Chapter Text
Peter’s first encounter with the Sheriff’s delinquent son was not what you would call auspicious. In fact, it was the kind of meeting that would normally provoke a rather vicious, if not violent response in the Hale’s enforcer.
“Shit! I’m so sorry man, I wasn’t paying attention.” The youth’s anxious voice reaches him even before the kid opens the door of his jeep to clamber awkwardly out of its’ seat.
“Clearly,” Peter retorts vapishly as he glares out of the driverseat window of his own car.
The kid doesn’t seem to notice his frankly murderous stare as he focuses on where he hit Peter’s car trying to reverse out of where he’d been parked.
It was just Peter’s luck that he’d been rammed by the Sheriff’s own son at the most remote gas station in Beacon Hills county.
What were the odds? With the way Peter’s last few days had been going, it was admittedly par for the course.
Opening the door and stepping out of the car, Peter rounds it to survey the damage done.
“That’s going to cost you,” he says when he sees the damage. Admittedly it’s barely a scratch, but it’s the principle of the matter. And Peter was in a foul mood even before being run into by the town’s resident truant.
“Fuck!” The kid mutters emphatically. “Look, I- I don’t really have a lot of money. That is to say, I don’t have any. Money that is. I just paid for gas and...” he stops briefly to take a deep breath as he runs an agitated hand through his hair. For the first time he raises his head to briefly meet Peter’s eyes.
Peter is kind of shocked by how tired the kid looks. He’s pale, wan, and he’s got dark bruises surrounding bloodshot eyes. The rumours of the kid being on drugs might be more than just rumours after all. He seems strung out. He has an acrid artificial tone to his scent and Peter would feel bad for him if he had it in him to care. At the moment he’s got enough with himself and the pack.
In the short moment it takes the kid to meet Peter’s gaze, he freezes, his vision sharpens and his pupils shrink to pinpricks in his eyes. He seems to petrify for the briefest of seconds before his posture mellows out to strung-out teen once again. “Peter Hale.” He says it like he’s met Peter before in his life. Like he’s ever had a reason to know who Peter is. Like he knows Peter.
The only reason Peter knows of the kid is because of Derek and his incessant whining about the Sheriff’s delinquent, no-good son, and the blue jeep he drives around town when he’s not grounded for skipping school. He doesn’t even know the kid’s name because frankly Derek’s complaining gets on his nerves and his hero worship of the Sheriff bores him to tears.
Despite himself Peter now wishes he’d payed more attention. He’s intrigued.
“And you are?” He replies casually, his interest carefully masked behind habitual disdain.
“Oh,” the kid blinks. “I’m Stiles. Stilinski. But just call me Stiles. Everyone else does. That is to say, my dad does, and-”
“Stiles.” Peter states, and he refuses to pose it as a question. “How... unique.”
The kid, Stiles, blinks bruised eyes at him and miraculously it manages to come off as a guileless gesture.
“If you don’t have any money, what do you propose we do? I seem to recall your surname being somewhat familiar to me.” Peter
doesn’t imagine the brief grimace that flitters across the kid’s- Stiles’ face at the implications in his words.
Stiles briefly seems at a loss for words, a rare occurence Peter can’t help but intuit, before his shoulders straighten and a stubborn expression settles on his features. “I’ll pay it off in work, or... or a favour. Nothing, um... nothing illegal though. Not that I think you’d want me to do anything illegal. That is to say, I just know what people say about me and I wouldn’t. No. That’s not true. If it was important I probably would. Uh, shit. This isn’t a confession or anything. Only, if you really needed it, I probably would. If it was to save lives or something. So.” The kid forcibly stops himself and takes a deep breath before he continues. “I can pay you off in work, or a not too illegal favour.” He finishes.
Peter blinks. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s feeling kind of blown away by the rushed words. When his brain finally reorients itself, it’s his turn to sharpen his gaze. A not too illegal favour the kid said. Peter lets a wolfish grin cross his face as he regards the teen with predatory eyes.
“I think we can work something out.” He says.
Peter contemplates his run-in with the Sheriff's son on his way back to the Hale house. He can't help but think their meeting to be anything but serendipitous despite the rocky start. The accident might have seemed like it'd be nothing but an inconvenience, but with the favour he'd wrangled from the kid, he might actually be able to do something about the threath to his pack and his place in it.
He turns the key to the ignition and listens to the ticking of the cooling engine for a minute before he leaves the car. He's parked so that he can look at the familiar structure of the Hale house. It's been in the familiy, in the pack, for generations, and but for a stoke of luck it might not've been here today. He hasn't forgotten what nearly happened six, almost seven, years ago. He probably never will. He can't help but feel that his sister has done her best to forget. To put the past behind them as she constantly says.
Peter sneers to himself. He can't help but think that Talia's become soft after what happened to her eldest and only son. Instead of showing a strong front after what happened, instead of striking back and proving them unbroken, she'd pulled them all back, kept them isolated and seemingly gutless and weak. Peter's never understood her decision to let the Argents get away with what they almost did, but he's followed her lead regardless.
He's not sure he can do that anymore. After the most recent events, he's sure he can't.
Talia's not fit to lead as Alpha anymore and it's his duty as the enforcer to change the status quo. It's time for a new Alpha to step up and at the moment Peter's the only one who'll do what the pack needs done instead of what the pack wants to be done.
He'll either make the pack or break it, but it certainly won't fall prey to outside forces again. Peter can't abide the Hales being perceived as weak anymore. It's an insult to their heritage and legacy.
Cora meets him at the door when he finally enters the house. He ducks past her with a smile as she flails her way out the door with a wave and a thrown kiss. "Hi uncle Peter! Bye uncle Peter!" She's out before he gets a chance to reply and he can't help but shake his head at her. She's always been an energetic little shit. When Derek did a u-turn from impressionable rule-breaker to law abiding citizen with a stick up his ass, Cora became Peter's undisputed favourite. He's always hoped the sentiment was returned.
He can hear the familiar sounds of his pack throughout the house. Talia's in the kitchen, cluttering around with the kettles. Dinner's soon done and the scents from the meal are permeating the first floor like a warm blanket of familiarity and comfort.
He can hear Talia's husband on the second floor loudly arguing with Laura about how she should come home from her studies at her next break. Derek's not home yet, but Peter can still find traces of his presence in the house. A black leather jacket is haphazardly thrown over a chair in the livingroom and he's left his sneakers in the middle of the doorway when he enters the hallway leading to the bathroom.
Peter's greatest fear is to lose all of this and what it represents.
Derek retunrs from work just as dinner is put on the table. Peter is not surprised. His only nephew's always appreciated a good meal.
"How was work?" Talia enquires as Derek pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the table.
Derek grunts and shrugs off his uniform jacket to hang it over the chair's back. Peter'd scold him for how he treats his clothes, but he knows it's a lost cause. Derek's never been particularly tidy.
"No new reports of any animal attacks." Derek replies tiredly as he takes a serving of potatoes.
Talia hums quietly. "That's good news."
Peter has to concentrate to keep from gritting his teeth. Since when has no news been good news? It's not that he wants more people to be attacked, but he'd certainly want more clues to work with. Forewarned is forearmed after all.
Derek shrugs. "How's the McCall kid doing?" He asks.
"Cora's visiting him today. She managed to get an invitation to dinner since they're working on a school project together. He's still wary about coming here to learn, but after what happened to him I can't really blame him. We still have some time before the full moon, so we can afford to let him come to us." Talia replies.
"It would be better to teach him control sooner rather than later." Peter can't help but interject. "He's a ticking bomb as he is now, and we can't afford to have someone from the pack on his tail twentyfour seven."
Talia sends him a quelling look over the table. "He's had this forced on him against his will," she states. "We can and will do our best not to traumatize him more."
"But what if he ends up traumatizing someone else? He could reveal himself to the wrong person, or worse, he could kill someone!" Peter can't quite keep his voice from rising at the end.
"That enough Peter." Talia cuts him off. "We'll talk about this later." She ends the subject.
Her husband doesn't seem to care about the sudden tension in the room. Peter knows he partially agrees with him, but that he'd never speak against his wife where others can hear him. Derek's the only one looking somewhat awkward. Being a werewolf himself, the friction in the room's more noticable to him than to the human senses of Talia's husband.
"I'll keep you updated if there are anymore attacks or suspicious sightings." Derek eventually breaks the silence. "At the moment the most exiting thing that happened today was how the Sheriff's kid ditched school again."
Peter barely keeps himself from showing anything that would betray his interest as he fixes his gaze on his plate. The meal is half eaten and not even remotely interesting compared to what Derek is saying.
"Everyone on patrol got orders to call it in if they saw him, but no-one did." Derek continues oblivious of Peter's metaphorically perked ears. "I just don't get how he can disrespect his own father like that."
Like you did your pack? Peter thinks, but doesn't say. He knows Derek regrets his past actions. He knows he's turned a new leaf after what happened to him. He knows Derek was the real victim. The only victim by luck alone. He still can't quite forgive either Derek or himself for what happened.
"Teenagers will be teenagers," Derek's father says philosophically. "It's normal to test parents' limits at that age."
Derek grimazes, probably realizing that he doesn't have a leg to stand on. Still, he continues on, righteous in his defence of the Sheriff. Peter does respect the man for helping Derek, for doing his job and subsequently saving them all. "I know, but Stiles isn't normal. He's been like this for as long as I can remember. Disrespectful. Disobediant."
"He did lose his mother young." Talia interjects.
Derek falls silent at that, but Peter can't help but wonder. The Sheriff lost his wife even before Derek was manipulated and taken advantage of. Stiles' mother would have been dead for over seven years. Stiles himself would have been around eight or nine years old when he lost his mother, maybe even younger. Certainly it would've been traumatizing to lose his mother so young, but the teen he met today seemed weighed down by more than his mother's death. Anxious, strung out and frantic by turns. Peter couldn't help but feel that there was more to the boy. Maybe he was a drug addict, or a kid involved in something too big for him. Maybe gangs or something else like it, though Peter doubted it.
If Stiles had been misbehaving for years, since his mother's death, then surely something else was behind it. Peter nearly laughed at his own thoughts. He was overthinking it. Stiles was probably traumatized by losing his mother. He'd probably started out small and things had probably escalated from there. It wasn't unusual for kids with single workaholic parents to act out.
Well, no matter. The kid's delinquent behaviour would work to Peter's favour and he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Peter met with Stiles a couple of days later. It was after dinner and the afternoon sun was shining dappled lights through the canopy of the trees surrounding the school's lacrosse field.
"This is an odd time and place to meet. I didn't figure you for an eager student staying late at school to get his studies done." Peter couldn't help but comment when Stiles finally showed up.
"Detention." Stiles answered succinctly as he removed his backpack to dig through it. "Also, I might have, maybe lost driving privileges for the rest of the month on account of skipping school the other day." Stiles started to ramble as he finally emerged from the backpack with a thick bundle of papers.
Peter regarded him with open curiosity as the teen straightened with the papers in hand.
Stiles looked better than the last time he saw him. He still looked tired, but the shadows under his eyes weren't as pronounced as before. His scent was also more settled though the artificial tone was still present. He could pinpoint it now as something chemical, a drug, certainly, but probably medicinal. He was still somewhat twitchy, but again, it seemed to be a natural form of twitchyness for the teen. Not the anxious, frantic movements he'd showed at the last meeting.
Peter tracked the teen's long fingers as they tap tap tapped along the edges of the papers in his hands. He had elegant hands. Long and thin, with nails bitten to the quick.
"I got as much information as I could. I couldn't find a lot about the attacks in the preserve, but the information I found from the attacks out of county should help." Stiles said hesitantly as he held the papers out to Peter.
Peter's attention sharpened. "The attacks out of county? I haven't heard anything about attacks out of county." He demanded, nearly, but not breathlessly. Derek hadn't mentioned anything about attacks other than the ones in the preserve.
Stiles shifted restlessly where he stood. "Yeah, I mean, you wanted information on unusual animal attacks so I found dad's records on the attack on Scott and the mutilated animals. After that I searched for other similar attacks from areas bordering the preserve. Most of the information on those were in different news articles online so they're not the most detailed, but maybe they'll be of help?"
Peter blinked, startled that he hadn't thought to check the internet himself and silently damning himself for it. He'd been too preoccupied by the mauled animals in the preserve and the subsequent attack on the McCall kid. The sigils carved into the animals had signaled the maulings as something personal for the Hale pack. He simply hadn't thought to check sources outside the county and the territory of his pack.
Briefly looking through the pages, Peter stopped at a familier name. "What's this?" He held the page that had caught his interest out for Stiles to see.
"Oh, that." Stiles blinked and ran a hand through his hair selfconciously. "I just. Even though I know I said I'd be willing to do something slightly illegal to pay you back, I didn't think you'd ask me to. So I did some digging." Stiles glanced nervously in Peter's direction even as he powered on. "Into you, I mean. And your family. And I read about Derek and that woman. Uh, Kate? Kate Argent? Oh God! Please don't kill me!" Stiles backtracked a couple of steps and his voice rose frantically as he back-pedaled.
Peter absently noticed that he'd crused the paper in his fist when he'd curled it in instinctual anger at the mentioned name. He'd also subconciously taken a step forwards. Luckliy he hadn't lost more control than that, and his claws weren't out yet. His eyes were blue, but not preternaturally so.
"I'm sorry." Peter forced out. "It's just that name. What she did to.." He trailed off.
Stiles was nodding rapidly. "Wow, yeah. No. I get it." He kept nodding, hands held up in defence.
Peter forced himself to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. The nervous, agitated scent of the teen in front of him hit his nose and he forced himself to calm further. The kid had done good so far. He'd earned enough slack for Peter to hear him out.
"Please continue."
"Yeah, so," Stiles started hesitantly. "I read about what... happened?" He trailed off. Peter nodded to show that he could continue. Stiles kept his silence for another second, gauging his sincerity before he forged on. "So, I noticed that dad had tagged that surname way back when. And it came up again now, so. Um, i guess. They're back in town? The Argents I mean. Or, at least, um, Chris is back in town. With his wife and daughter. Or he's moved here for the first time. I don't think he was here when she. I mean. She was his sister, I think? At least that's what the records say. And I thought that you'd want to know. That he's here. No. I mean, that someone from that family's here. You should know. You and your family I mean. I, shit. I'm not making much sense am I?" Stiles eventually trailed off in a question.
Peter was coming to realize that the feeling of being blown away that he'd had the first time he'd met Stiles, would probably become something of a familiarity in their interactions. At least it seemed that way for now. Two out of two meetings wasn't a pattern yet, but it wasn't far off either.
"No." He eventually answered when he'd gathered himself. "You're making a lot of sense."
Peter regarded the teen in front of him once again. He couldn't help but feel that there was so much more to the kid than what was immediately apparant. Stiles was tall and gangly. He was pale, but not in the sense that he didn't get out much. His skin seemed pale like moonlight seemed pale. It was clean and refreshing. The moles dotted around on the surface of his skin only accentuated and didn't detract from how natural and well the skintone fit him. His hair was dark brown. Maybe there were hints of auburn in it. Peter couldn't tell since it was too short for him to judge that. His eyes though, were tinged copper gold, like a glass of sunstreaked whiskey.
At the first impression, Stiles seemed scatterbrained and distracted. He fluttered about and always seemed to be in motion, even when he stood still. His heartrate was a bit elevated compared to other youths his age. He seemed tired. Stressed.
The second impression leant the illusion that the kid was a willfull rulebreaker, bucking under the weight of authority. Here was a kid willing to do something rash for dumb reasons, but...
But.
Peter narrowed his eyes slightly as Stiles' fidgeted in apparent discomfort.
The third impression revealed a far more intriguing side to the teen. A side Peter'd more sensed than glimpsed at their first meeting. Here was a kid probably constantly under the watchful eyes of his father. Allegedly the best sheriff Beacon Hills had ever had. Here was a youth barely into his teens capable of thinking outside the box and capable of seeing the bigger picture. A teen capable and willing to skirt the law, but not with the intent to harm others. Peter strongly suspected that Stiles was a person more to his own way of thinking than Talia's. Otherwise he wouldn't have told Peter that the Argents were back in town.
Talia would've kept that information close, willfully blinding herself to the possibility of her pack getting hurt in a senseless belief that the pack not knowing about Argents would help to keep them safe.
Peter swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. He had to keep the pack safe. Talia certainly wouldn't. He had to kill the Alpha.
"Thank you." Peter eventually said when the silent staring had dragged on far too long.
Stiles' entire body jerked in surprise. "Oh, it was nothing. I mean, of course it wasn't nothing to you. I mean." He stopped and took a visible deep breath. "Your welcome."
Peter was about to leave when Stiles abruptly stilled again. Like the last time it happened, when he'd recognized Peter for the first time, his entire body seemed to freeze for less than a second before he loosened up again into a lanky spastic teenager. Peter still took notice and halted in his step, turning sideways to keep Stiles in his vision. The teen's gaze was cool for once. Calculating.
Peter inexplicably felt his hackles rising. A chill ran down his back like a frozen waterfall.
"Whatever's mauling those animals," Stiles began, his voice measured and words carefulle chosen. "Whatever bit Scott. I don't think it's a mountain lion like the reports say. The markings on the bodies are... not something an animal would do." Stiles paused briefly, gauging Peter's attention. "If you're going after it, whatever it is. Don't do it alone."
Having said his piece, he left.
The next time they met wasn't anymore planned than the first, though there were less vehicular accidents involved. Thankfully.
It was a full week later and Peter'd been meticulous in combing through the information-packet Stiles had gathered for him. The information that there'd been attacks outside of Beacon Hills county had been priceless, and Peter was now reasonably sure that he knew where to look next. The other attacks that occurred had given him enough to sense a pattern that he wanted check out properly.
Peter was in a hurry. He was just planning to pop into the diner to grab a quick coffee before he drove on to check out his latest hunch. He was excited and wasn't planning to stop for anything, which was why he surprised himself by slowing as he exited the diner and spotted Stiles' blue jeep in the parking lot.
Peter frowned even as he drew nearer to the jeep. Hadn't Stiles said that he'd lost driving privileges when they last met?
Stopping at the driver's door, Peter could see Stiles awkwardly reclined in the driver's seat. He looked to be sleeping, fitfully at that. His heartrate was through the roof and he had a thin layer of sweat covering his upper lip. He jerked in his sleep at times, as if someone was prodding him with a pointy stick at odd intervals. Peter could scent the sour, acrid stench of fear through the closed door.
Frowning, Peter felt unsettled at seeing the teen in such obvious distress. Without secondguessing himself, he rapped shortly on the jeep's window.
Stiles jackhammered up in the seat and nearly ended up braining himself on the steering wheel. His breath was coming in agitated exhales, as if he'd been running and had trouble drawing in enough oxygen.
"Stiles," Peter prompted, hoping to draw his attention.
Stiles blinked a couple of times before his eyes eventually focused on Peter. "Hale," he answered, still seeming a bit out of it even as he rolled down his window.
Peter wanted to ask him about the obvious nightmare he'd just witnessed, but couldn't quite manage to interrogate the boy when he clearly wasn't all there yet. "Out on a coffee-run?" He asked instead.
Stiles ran an agitated hand through his hair. Peter recognized it as a tick he did when he was uncomfortable or nervous. "No," Stiles muttered eventually, even as he had to break off to yawn. "I was looking for you actually." He finished.
Peter couldn't have been more surprised. "Me?"
"Yeah, was on my way..." Stiles gestured up the road that would eventually take him to the Hale house. "But then I was really tired and I thought it would be smart to stop for a couple of minutes."
Peter couldn't fault him for that. Now that the window wasn't obstructing his view, he could see that Stiles looked the worse than ever. His pale skin looked washed out and the dark bruises around his eyes were nearly black. He had a fine tremble running through the entirety of his body, unnoticeable if not for Peter's enchanted senses.
"You don't look fit to drive anywhere." He eventually ended up saying. "Your revoked driving privileges seem to be less of a punishment and more an attempt in saving you from yourself. And shouldn't you be in school?" He couldn't help but add.
Stiles grimazed halfheartedly. "Dad called me in sick."
"I'm not surprised. You should be in bed." Peter couldn't help but wonder why the teen had been haring off to find him when he was so obviously unwell.
"It couldn't wait." Stiles turned in his seat to dig out a new bundle of papers from the glove compartment. "Here," he thrust them at Peter. "I found out more about the animal attacks. You should read them when you get home."
Peter nearly fumbled the new bundle of papers, but managed to catch them and stack them into some kind of order.
Curious as he was about what could be important enough in them for Stiles to drive out to find him when he was sick, Peter couldn't help but be more worried about Stiles himself. The kid really didn't look good.
"We should get you home." Peter couldn't keep from articulating his worry even as Stiles blinked blearily at him.
"Yeah, I-" Stiles broke off into a yawn. "I'll drive straight home after this."
"The hell you will!" Peter exclaimed, shocked into a sudden overprotective anger at this odd, thoughtful teen in front of him. "I'll drive you." The words were out, before his mind could regulate his thoughts.
"The jeep," Stiles protested. "I'll be even more grounded than I already am, if I leave the jeep here for dad or one of his deputies to find."
"I'll drive you home in the jeep and get someone to come pick me up. You really shouldn't be driving Stiles." Peter implored.
Blinking once more at him, Stiles seemed to study him briefly before a halfsmile crossed his features. There and gone again before he could blink. "Yeah, okay. Thanks." He finally replied acquiescent.