Little Red and the Black Fox Chapter 1: Innocent, a teen wolf fanfic

Teen Wolf || Stetopher || Little Red and the Black Fox || Stetopher || Teen Wolf

Title: Little Red and the Black Fox – Of Heroes, Villains and Vigilantes

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, superheroes/supervillains, werewolves are known, Pack Alpha Peter, Spark Stiles, Nogitsune Stiles, post-Nogitsune, PTSD, Pack Feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, explicit intercourse, anal, oral, f/f, m/f, m/m

Main Pairing: Chris/Peter/Stiles

Side Pairings: Scott/Allison, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia, Malia/Kira, Ethan/Danny, Ennis/Kali, Deucalion/Stiles (past), Aiden/Lydia (past), Ethan/Jackson (past), Isaac/Allison (past)

Teen Wolf Characters:

Alpha Pack: Deucalion Blackwood | Visionary | Demon Wolf, Marin Morrell, Ethan Steiner, Aiden Steiner, Kali, Ennis

Other Characters: Danny Mahealani, Bobby Finstock, Noah Stilinski, Gerard Argent | Benefactor

Summary: Chris and Peter are a happily married couple of vigilantes, who finish the job when the big heroes are too lenient. Little Red is the man in the chair for their country's greatest hero, True Alpha, and thus one of the biggest thorns in their sides. The Black Fox is a vicious vigilante they'd love to court into their team. What they don't know is that both are not just the same person – both are really Stiles, the seemingly so normal best friend of their son-in-law.

Little Red and the Black Fox

Of Heroes, Villains and Vigilantes

Chapter 1: Innocent

Chris closed his eyes and tilted his head forward, letting the hot water massage his scalp as it hit him hard. His forearms leaned against the cool tiles on the wall, a jarring contrast that somewhat grounded him. His breathing was labored. Days like these, he envied his werewolf husband and the pups for their accelerated healing. Every muscle in his body burned.

Soft and firm hands were placed on his back and as they started rubbing firmly, soaping him up and massaging him all the same, the aches left Chris' body. Not just from the massage, he knew his husband was using that damn werewolf mojo to leech his pain. It put a scowl on Chris' face, because he hated having to rely on that to deal with his pain. Lips pressed against the back of his neck, slowly dragging down his spine the lower those magical hands wandered.

"How are you feeling, love?" Peter asked in a low voice.

"One day, I will wrangle that damn True Alpha's neck," Chris growled out.

It earned him a chuckle from the wolf behind him, Peter's fingers digging deeper into the muscles, working on a particularly hard knot that had Chris groan out in relief. Their lives could be so much easier if not for the True Alpha Squad. That self-righteous goodie-two shoes hero was the bane of Chris' existence, very closely followed, if not tied, with his sidekick and the brains behind his operation, Little Red. If not for that brat, True Alpha would not be half as effective a hero, which would mean he would not be half as obnoxiously in their way.

Chris and Peter weren't the bad guys. Well, Peter had had his villainous stint, before turning over a new leaf as a vigilante, but Chris liked to remember that any villainous actions had been brought forth by trauma and insanity. Chris? He'd never been a villain, but born into a villainous family.

It had been a shock to the world when in the 1940s, the supernatural world was revealed to humans. Supernatural creatures had been put in internment camps, experimented on, and others fought against that. Against the oppression, not just their own. Heroes emerged to fight injustice and to help the world heal and recover from the great tragedy that was World War II. But even after the war ended, the heroes stayed. Superheroes, they were called – supernatural heroes.

Where there were heroes, there were villains. Not all supernatural creatures wanted to use their powers to protect the innocent, enough of them had selfish goals too. Their world changed as heroes and villains became a normal part of everyday life, even as they changed over the decades.

The greatest, most celebrated superhero team in the states these days was the True Alpha Squad, lead by the country's most beloved hero, the True Alpha. An Alpha werewolf, leading his pack into battle against any kinds of villains. His right hand was a clever boy who kept to the shadows, known as Little Red. The one to get him all his intel, the one who came up with the plans. A snarky little loudmouth that infuriated Chris beyond belief. Aside from the two, there was an absolute powerhouse banshee known as the Wailing Wonder, Mirai, a powerful kitsune who even without her lightning-powers posed a serious threat with her katana alone, the skilled deadshot archer Artemis and the were Coywolf. They were powerful and skilled, Chris would give them that. The problem Chris had with them were their too tight morals. They let even the worst villains get away with a slap on the wrist. A prison sentence they oh-so easily broke out of again.

That was where Chris, Peter and their pack came into play. They picked up where the heroes left off, finished the job that the good guys couldn't. Ended lives where it was obvious that no prison could hold that villain, that redemption was impossible, that only more lives would be lost if that person got away. They weren't heroes, because they took lives, but damn did they save them.

Vigilantism wasn't the life Chris had ever pictured to lead. Once upon a time, he'd been a normal man, with a wife and a daughter, proudly working for the family business. Argent Arms supplied weapons, gear and armor for heroes. Ten years ago, Chris found out that his father was dealing arms to villains and militia too. His father's deeply seated bigotry against the supernatural was so much worse than Chris had ever realized and he had been horrified to realize his wife and sister were just as bad. When Allison's first boyfriend Isaac turned out to be a werewolf, Victoria tried to poison the kid, even though he had never done anything, his only crime was being a werewolf.

And when Chris learned that his sister's bigotry had made her burn down a whole werewolf family some years ago, it had filled Chris with guilt and the need to atone for sins that weren't his. He'd reached out to the Hales, awkward and guilty and unsure what to do. He was met with suspicion and hostility at first, but with time, he proved himself to them, after many arguments and fights. Peter, the now Alpha and the only survivor who had been in the fire himself, was unwilling to accept pity or to be something that made Chris feel better about his family's sins, which had shaken Chris and made him change his approach. They became reluctant friends and Chris proved himself to the wolf when he helped Peter track down Kate to get his revenge.

Victoria was dead now. Kate was in the wind, had nearly died but gotten away in the last second and was by now leader of a gang of Berserkers, acting as a villainess known as the Blue Jaguar. Gerard had gotten away, because the True Alpha had shown the man too much mercy.

And Chris? Chris had gotten adopted by a pack of werewolves. Back then, Peter's pack had only been Peter and his nephew and two nieces. All that was left of the proud Hale family.

Peter and Chris became friends and, while building up the Hale Pack, they became lovers. Chris smiled faintly as his eyes landed on the silver wedding band on his finger. Now, they were husbands, raising their kids and leading their pack together. Not just Laura, Derek and Cora, and Chris' daughter Allison, but also Isaac. Because even after Allison and Isaac broke up, the boy just… stayed, with the Argents, having found a home with them. He was a packless orphan, his abusive father having been killed in an attack. Chris had ended up adopting the kid before he turned eighteen and though Allison had mixed feelings about the matter since he was her ex, she also knew that the legal document giving Isaac a genuine place to belong meant the world to the boy. Chris would have never predicted this life for himself, but he could not be more grateful for it.

Behind him, Peter suddenly tensed, a low growl coming from the Alpha and tearing Chris out of his musings. "There's someone in the house. Scentless."

When Chris turned toward his husband, he saw the blazing red eyes of his wolf. Cupping Peter's cheek, he brought the Alpha in for a brief kiss before getting out of the shower. Their pack lived with them and came and went as they pleased, but Peter would be able to tell pack and family by scent. Scentless meant someone was deliberately using scent-suppressants, which may mean a threat. Someone dumb enough to break into the house of two deadly vigilantes, not that they'd know. Their civil identities as a big-name arms dealer and high-class lawyer did technically make them perfect targets for a break-in and robbery. Any robber would be in for a surprise though.

The husbands quickly dried up and put on at least sweatpants. Before they headed downstairs did Chris grab one of his guns, just to be sure. His husband's claws and fangs were all nice and effective, but a bullet to the head took out a threat far more effectively. When they rounded the corner from the stairs into the living room, Chris had his gun trained on the intruder and Peter had his claws lifted ready to attack, eyes still their imposing, gorgeous red. Both froze.

"Uhm. Oh. You guys are home. Didn't think you were home. Can we put the gun and claws down?"

Pretty, impossibly wide doe-eyes stared at them like a deer in the headlights, hands raised in alarm. The boy was soaking wet, water dripping off his red flannel and jeans, the white shirt he wore beneath the flannel clinging onto his skin, completely see-through from the water. He wasn't a werewolf, didn't have that physique, wasn't exactly well-trained by human standard either. He had some definition from running, but what shone through the shirt that tempted Chris weren't so much abs as it were moles. His eyes darkened as he traced these never before seen moles, eager to map them out with his tongue, connect the constellations painted on that pale skin.

"Stiles," Chris growled and slowly lowered his gun. "How the hell did you get into our house."

Stiles offered a broad grin and shook the key-chain in his right hand. There were too many keys on that and the one he was holding it by was Chris and Peter's house-key. Peter next to Chris heaved a sigh, claws retracted and eyes back to their pretty, natural ice-blue color.

"Why," Peter sounded utterly amused. "Do you have a key to hour house?"

The Alpha's eyes were brimming with fondness as he looked at the boy. Of course would Peter be enamored with the brat's breaking and entering. Chris huffed to himself, putting the gun aside for now, uncomfortable just holding it with their boy in front of him like that.

"It helps me get into the house when you guys aren't home," Stiles offered with a shrug.

"...How often and why are you getting into our house when we're not home?" Chris asked.

He crossed his arms with a glare at that. They led a secretive life and there were things people outside their pack shouldn't know about. Couldn't know about. Especially not clever, nosy investigative journalists. Stiles made a show of rolling his eyes at Chris.

"Did you really assume that Allison waters your plants when you guys are away for work?" Stiles snorted amused. "That girl could not keep a cactus alive. She can barely keep herself and her husband alive and that is only due to the help of Melissa and me, let's be real."

Chris heaved a sigh at that and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Point taken. Why are you here now though, we have no plants that need watering."

Stiles turned away from them and bent over the couch, absolutely testing Chris' patience as that tight ass, clad in even tighter jeans, was pointed at him and Peter. Peter flashed his eyes red, fangs poking out as he smiled in a hungry way. Chris reached out to grab his husband, just to be sure.

"Hah!" Stiles yelped triumphantly and turned around again, lifting up Allison's green hooded jacket. "Ally said she forgot this yesterday during dinner. Since I live closer to you guys than her and Scotty do, I offered to pick it up and bring it to work tomorrow."

Stiles was Allison's 'work husband', as they liked to call it. The duo worked at the Beacon, one of the country's most respected newspapers. Stiles was an investigative journalist and Allison a renowned photographer. Ever since their first shared assignment, they had been joined by the hip. That was how Allison had met her now husband Scott, who was Stiles' best friend.

"And it didn't occur to you to text us to drop it off at your work tomorrow on our way to work? Or generally text to ask if we're home?" Peter asked amused, one eyebrow raised.

Stiles blinked those big amber eyes at them. "Erica canceled on me tonight because you guys had a pack thing planned. Since you're the Alpha Pair, I figured that'd, you know, include you."

Pack thing…? Oh. Right. The mission. The reason why Chris had been exhausted in the shower not even ten minutes ago, to wash off the blood and grime of the fight and let his muscles relax.

"Our 'pack thing' ended early," Peter chuckled and leaned against the wall. "Now that we cleared why you are here and how you are here, care to explain why you're dripping all over our expensive Brazilian walnut floors, darling? Not that the wet t-shirt look isn't spectacular on you."

Stiles' eyes widened and he looked down himself, noticing his see-through white shirt. He blushed furiously and self-consciously pulled the plaid tightly over his chest and started buttoning it. Once it was half-way buttoned, he gave Peter a pointed look and then pointed with both hands toward the large window-front on the other side of the couch, with the glass-door leading out into the garden. Rain was whipping against the glass in loud pitter-patter sounds, the wind whistling through their trees. Leave it up to Stiles to distract the two highly trained, deadly vigilantes to the point of not noticing a storm roaring outside. That was just the effect the pretty boy had on them.

"I guess I should be heading out then. I clearly interrupted something."

Stiles' eyes trailed over them both, at which point Chris remembered that him and Peter were only wearing sweatpants, because they hadn't wanted to face an intruder naked, but were still a little moist, hair wet and messy, chests bare. A wolfish grin spread over Peter's lips as he casually leaned back against the wall, flexing ever so slightly. That man wasn't a werewolf, he was a damn peacock.

Lightning lit up the dark garden, making the wild winds and rain look all the worse. "Absolutely not, Stiles. You're not going out into that weather again."

Chris leveled a pointed glare at the boy, his arms crossed to make him look even more stern. It just got him a bemused eye-roll and then the brat had the audacity to try and walk past them. It was truly a testimony to Chris' good self-control that he had never bent the boy over to spank him. Disobedient, defiant little brat that he was. His jaw set, but before he could say anything did Peter snatch their boy by the waist, easily lifting him off the ground.

"You missed the stairs, darling," Peter chimed. "Up you go, to the bathroom. You are freezing."

Before Peter could walk past him did Chris reach out to rest a hand on Stiles' forehead, brushing wet, dark hair out of his face and feeling just how truly cold the boy's skin was. An even more displeased frown found its way onto Chris' face.

"Peter is right," Chris growled. "You'll take a hot shower and change into some warm clothes and then you're going to wait for the storm to pass, Stiles. This is not up for debate."

"So bossy," Stiles muttered, but his cheeks were red. "Fine, fine! I don't have anything better to do tonight anyway, since Erica canceled on me. But you know I didn't exactly bring a change of clothes with me. I just came to fetch Ally's favorite jacket."

"That is quite alright, sweetheart, you can borrow something of ours," Peter offered generously.

Chris rolled his eyes and watched Peter more or less carry Stiles up the stairs, still lifting him just two inches off the ground. Such a selfless offer from the wolf, to wrap their boy in their clothes and cover him in both their scent. Heaving a sigh, Chris put the jacket by the door so Stiles would remember to take it when he left. And then he walked upstairs to follow his husband.

"You know we can't keep him," Chris muttered lowly.

Peter was humming happily while going through their closet to find the perfect mixture of both their clothes. For a moment did the Alpha pause, throwing a withering glare at Chris, before he returned his attention to the closet. It made Chris heave a sigh. He sat down on their bed, watching Peter with worried eyes. They were both gone on the boy, but Chris knew that wolves grew much more attached, on a more primal level. Peter's wolf had chosen Stiles and it didn't understand why it couldn't have their perfect, clever boy, even if the man in him knew.

Stiles was innocent. Sure, he was involved with the supernatural, because his best friend Scott was an Alpha and he was part of a pack, but Stiles himself was as human as it got. All lanky limbs and accident prone, broad grins and snarky sarcasm. But beyond the supernatural world, the world of superheroes and supervillains? That was not a place they could drag their boy into.

Peter and Chris had been thrown into this world by their families' legacies. The Hales had been what would now be classified as heroes centuries before the term superhero was coined; supernaturals, sworn to protect their small home town from anyone that meant them harm. And then the proud family was near completely wiped out by Chris', who was now atoning for his family's sins. Peter may not have set out to do that, may not have set out to help anyone, but his self-centered drive for revenge against those who had harmed him and his family had gained him a lot of attention and fame, even a certain fanbase. People who agreed with the sentiment that some villains needed to be stopped for good. And when his personal revenge was dealt and the debts of the past settled, he simply kept following the path he had forged for himself.

They were leading dangerous lives and they weren't good men. They killed, tortured, did whatever it took to protect the innocent, to end threats that needed ending. Their hands were soaked in blood and that wasn't going to change. They weren't going to stop. This wasn't a life someone like Stiles deserved to be dragged into, to be made a possible target simply because Chris and Peter adored him. Their boy deserved to remain untainted by that darkness and shouldn't be burdened with the morally questionable decisions Peter and Chris made on the regular.

And all of that was on top of the already glaringly obvious reasons why Chris and Peter shouldn't pursue Stiles. The boy was more than twenty years their junior and he was one of their daughter's best friends. The fact that, despite his young age, he was also a quickly rising investigative journalist added to it. A dangerous profession for someone who was as involved in Chris and Peter's lives as Stiles already was, but if they were romantically entangled? That was a disaster waiting to happen. No, the list of reasons why Stiles should never be theirs was simply too long.

And yet that didn't change the way Chris felt about Stiles, or the way Peter felt about Stiles. The boy was clever, could keep up with Peter in battles of wit and snark alike, he was also breathtakingly gorgeous and he loved with his whole heart in a way that made one wish to be counted among his loved ones, to have that fierce loyalty and dedication aimed at them.

"We can't get him involved in all of this, Peter," Chris whispered, voice a gentle plea. "He is an innocent. He's already suffered more than he should have, but if we got involved with him, he will be dragged into this life of ours and you know he will suffer for it."

Stiles had lost his mom when he was eight years old and before her death, the illness had taken her mind and left an abusive shell of a woman behind. For years, he'd dealt with his father's drinking after that. Yet Stiles had come out on top, had worked hard to be where he was now, to be happy and safe and surrounded by people who loved him. Chris and Peter had no right to take that away from him. Chris saw the way Peter faltered, even as he carried the clothes out of the bedroom. With a heavy sigh did Chris collapse back onto the bed. Stiles and Allison, they were the only two normal people they had in their life, untouched by this dangerous world of theirs. The thought of anyone hurting Stiles because of them broke Chris' heart. It was better this way. Stiles was safer this way.

/break\

The thing about innocence that Christopher didn't understand was that its appeal laid in its corruption, not in preserving its purity. Stiles was beautiful and innocent, unaware of the depth of depravity that Chris and Peter's life really had, and Peter was dying to see what their boy would do once he learned. Thanks to Allison, they had spent a lot of time with Stiles during family dinners hosted at Allison and Scott's and every time the conversation steered toward current news on heroes, villains and vigilantes – which happened quite frequently, considering Allison and Stiles' line of work – their boy proved to have much more flexible morals than his best friend.

Now, Scott? Scott was an innocent, and Peter said that with a sneer on his face. The boy's morals were unable to bend, he thought human life was sacred and murder was never-ever the answer and urgh was that dull. He was firmly against vigilantes, while Stiles had even dared argue with his Alpha on the matter and made a case in favor of Peter and Chris a couple of times (not that their boy knew he was talking about Peter and Chris, of course). Scott didn't understand loss and despair, not the way Stiles did. And Peter knew, he just knew, that Stiles would take beautifully to it.

After all, the boy's life was already entangled in all of that. He was a very talented journalist and regularly investigated criminals, both of the regular and the supernatural variety, uncovered corruption and involved himself in the grim side of things. Stiles understood nuances and Peter knew if they explained things to Stiles, their boy would understand. But Chris vetoed that, argued that getting Stiles involved in their life would make the boy a target. The only argument that actually worked with Peter, because he knew… he knew what that was like. He had lost so many already and the thought that someone could take Stiles away from them filled Peter with dread.

"Here you go, darling," Peter announced loudly as he entered the bathroom. "I'm putting the clothes on the counter. And could you be a dear and remove the scent-suppressor, please?"

His nose curled as he sniffed and got not a whiff of Stiles, only his shampoo and Chris' bodywash. "Oh. I'm still wearing that? Sorry. Must have forgotten to take it off after work. Sure thing, I know how much you weres hate the lack of scent. And thanks for the clothes! I'll be just a moment."

Peter nodded pleased. Due to his line of work, Stiles often wore scent-suppressors – it wouldn't do for the criminals he was investigating to be able to pick up his scent – but Peter loathed it. Stiles had one of the most pleasant scents Peter had ever come across and any moment he was robbed of it was a travesty, really. With one last glance at the milk-glass of their shower-stall, eyes tracing the blurry outline of Stiles' body, Peter left to head downstairs. He found Chris already mopping up the mess their soaking wet stray kitten had made all over the floor.

"I'll make our boy a tea," Peter declared with a narrow-eyed glare at his husband.

Really, that Christopher had to be this stubborn about Stiles was infuriating. He hadn't been aware of just how many 'morals' still burdened the man. But then, in a way, Peter supposed, their lack of morals was one of the burdens. He thought they would make their boy's life harder, darker and more cruel if they introduced him to what they really did. While making the tea, Peter's mind wandered to this afternoon's mission. True Alpha and his little squad of do-gooders had fought another villain just yesterday, one who'd taken countless lives in an attack, and then just… handed him over to the police. The guy broke out this morning, easily slipping out of police custody with his chameleon powers. Peter, Chris and their pack had to clean up after the heroes again, but by the time they got the guy, he'd already killed three more people. Deaths that could have been prevented had True Alpha the balls to actually finish the damn job he started.

It had been a cruel battle. Cora got out of it with three large gashes along her side, Chris had thankfully only been bruised heavily and exhausted. Peter's hand trembled a little and he balled it into a fist. Perhaps Christopher was right, somewhat. Every time Chris was in danger, Peter couldn't quite breath. Sure, his mate was a trained fighter, a cunning hunter, a strong man – but he was still so fundamentally, painfully human. When his bones broke, they didn't take hours, they took weeks to heal. It was why they had never told Allison what they were doing, because they couldn't get their innocent daughter involved in all of this. The betas, they had forced their way into it, partially against Peter and Chris' will (one could only be stalked by Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Cora so often before admitting defeat and making them part of their mission. Jackson had already acted as a vigilante on his own before he had become part of their pack).

Stiles was only human and unlike Chris, he wasn't a trained hunter and soldier. And Stiles was unfathomably reckless and protective. If they told him the truth, he would want to be front and center, he would throw himself into every danger, the way he did for his investigations.

"Mmmh, you made tea," Stiles gave a soft, pleasant sigh.

Peter turned around with a smile, lifting up the mug. Words were taken from him when he laid eyes on Stiles though. His hair was messy and still wet and he was wearing Chris' sweat-pants and Peter's gray sweatshirt, one of his beloved v-necks cut oh-so deeply. And how much Peter appreciated that cut, now that he got to see it on Stiles. Their boy, wrapped up in their clothes, surrounded by their scents. Closing his eyes for a moment, Peter inhaled deeply. There, beneath their own scents, was Stiles' real one. Soft, sweet honey and electrifying, dangerous lightning, with that note of ink. Peter loved every aspect of the Stiles' scent. The delicious honey that made him want to taste the boy. The lightning like an oncoming storm that could not be tamed, pure danger and beauty. The knowledge hidden within the boy, like ink on old books.

"...Can I have the tea, or are you having an intense moment with it? Should I leave?"

Startled, Peter opened his eyes again and then handed the tea over to a very amused Stiles. "Pardon me, darling. I truly do not like when your scent is dampened."

Amber eyes twinkled with fond amusement before Stiles took a deep sip of his tea. Chris had joined them by now, standing close to their boy. Peter gave his husband a pointed look for it, because they both knew for all his big words about how they shouldn't claim Stiles, Chris couldn't stay away from the young journalist either. Rolling his eyes, Chris walked past both Stiles and Peter to get to the fridge. With a curious hum did Peter go and join Stiles at the table so they could both watch how Chris started making sandwiches for all three of them. Food. A good idea. The two of them sat in silence, watching Chris and exchanging amused looks every now and again.

"C'mon, you two," Chris grabbed two of the plates of sandwiches. "Living room."

Peter fetched them all drinks, while Stiles took the third plate of sandwiches and then the three found their way onto one of the large couches in the living room. Their living room was incredibly spacious and the three couches they had in it were deep, with a lot of sitting space for pack piles. Despite the large space, Stiles ended up curled close to Peter, much to the Alpha's delight, with Chris on Peter's other side, all three facing the window-front to watch the storm.

"So wait," Stiles frowned, cheeks stuffed with sandwich. "Where's everyone?"

Peter pursed his lips amused, looking around the empty living room. "Since our plans wrapped early, the pups decided to go dancing, I believe. Derek went on a run."

The frown on Stiles' face deepened and his scent soured. It took Peter a moment to put it together. Their boy had said he had plans with Erica that fell through because of this mission. Knowing Stiles, his mind was right now going to a bad place where his friends had found the time to go out after all but hadn't invited him along. A part of Stiles would forever be the lonely little boy whose only friend in the world was Scott and who thought nobody else would want to spend time with him, would want to be his friend (Scott McCall had exactly two redeeming qualities. He loved Allison with his whole heart and treated her as the best damn thing that ever happened in his life and as her dad, Peter could respect and appreciate that. Secondly, Scott had been the first person to realize how amazing Stiles was and how honored anyone should be to be loved by the boy).

"Darling, check your phone," Peter suggested gently, his fingers barely gracing Stiles' shoulder. "You were still wearing your suppressant patch when you arrived here, I'd wager a bet that you haven't turned your notifications back on yet either. You always do turn them off when you need to concentrate on an investigation. I'm sure you have a few missed messages."

Stiles stared at him in surprise for a moment, before reaching for his phone that he had put down on the living room table earlier, together with the keys. Leaning over Stiles' shoulder, Peter watched the boy unlock the phone (four digit code, finger print scan and a puzzle that needed to be solved). Immediately after he turned his message notifications on again was he flooded.

CATWOMAN [8:32PM: BATMAN! our plans fell short! We r going out! join?

CATWOMAN [8:41PM: C'mooon it'll be fuuun

CATWOMAN [8:50PM: kay cehcked with A. says you guys had a hard day nd you propably turned in early :( sleep well lots of love from all of us 3 you will come next time!1!

CATWOMAN [8:51PM: and with me as ur wingwoman you WILL 'come' next time too ;D

Stiles' scent sweetened again and he smiled a little, relaxing more against Peter, who gladly took it. Chris made a soft grunting noise that Peter sufficiently ignored in favor of pulling Stiles closer.

"I don't believe I ever did get an explanation for why she calls you Batman," Peter frowned thoughtfully. "Your profession would make you much more of a Superman, wouldn't it?"

Stiles snickered a little and looked up at Peter. "Sure, I suppose. But she calls me that because I'm the world's greatest detective. According to her. Because I solve crimes."

"Ah, so you are not secretly a billionaire who fights crime at night," Peter teased.

"On account of the orphan adopting rich guy angle, you two qualify much more for the position," Stiles argued. "Between Derek, Cora, Isaac and arguably Jackson, who prefers you guys to his actual adopted parents, you are spoiled for choice on Robins."

"Can you imagine Derek in a bright yellow, red and green spandex suit with a cape?" Peter snorted delighted. "He would kill me on the spot. But it may actually be worth it."

Stiles snickered and settled a little more comfortably, putting his half-empty plate aside. The fact that it wasn't entirely empty put a displeased frown on Chris' face. The man worried too much, always wanting to make sure their boy ate enough. They both did know that Stiles was prone to forget food when he fell down a research hole, often times only remembering to eat because Allison got hungry and ordered them take-out while they worked.

"What does Erica mean, she talked to Allison and you had a rough day?" Peter asked after a moment, his fingers gently carding through Stiles' hair.

Stiles blinked up at him. "We were out following another lead on Blue Jaguar."

Chris tensed, instinctively leaning in closer to look more directly at Stiles, pressing himself against Peter. "Did… Did it pan out? Did you get anything useful?"

A frustrated groan and then Stiles hit his head against Peter's shoulder. "Of course not. It never does. But you know how it is with her, following any lead is always… gruesome. She's twisted."

Peter had to bite back a snort. Did they ever know. This was the woman who had killed Peter's family. And she was Chris' sister. Not that Stiles was aware of that; Kate had done a good job at hiding her identity. Officially, legally, Kate Argent was still dead, after Peter's alter ego had torn out her throat. They all thought she had died, until she resurfaced.

"I'll get her," Stiles promised, eyes dark. "She keeps getting away, but I'll get her."

"We know you will, darling," Peter smiled and laid his arm around Stiles' shoulders.

"She's like my white whale," Stiles heaved a sigh and leaned into Peter, before pausing. "I mean, in the Captain Ahab and Moby Dick allegory sense, not the actual supervillain White Whale sense. Quite frankly, I don't think the White Whale is anyone's white whale. The dude sucks."

Chris looked fondly at Stiles. "You should stay the night, it's late and the storm isn't easing up."

Stiles made a sleepy noise of agreement, looking temptingly innocent in his half asleep state.

Author's note: This story is brought to you by a brief stint of reading Marvel fics late last year and a desperate craving for secret identity porn. And then I thought "oh wait LAYERED identity porn", because Stiles as a hero but also as a vigilante who ties up loose ends himself? All the more fun! ALSO INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST STILES IS ACTUALLY PERFECT FOR HIM? I just keep collecting professions for Stiles that I like infinitely more than where canon landed my boy

Next chapter, we're going to get some insight into Stiles, and into the McCall Pack/True Alpha Squad ;D