Upturned lips fell into a contrived pout, expression morphing insincerely towards hurt at Peter’s ribbing. While his reaction was fabricated, his eyebrows shot up with a modicum of genuine surprise at Peter's last jab. ‘ Lydia’s plaything, huh? ’ Stiles ignored the perk of interest towards the other’s unique turn of phrase, filing that thought away for an incognito tab later. Instead, he focused on what the other’s needling had confirmed. Peter still wasn’t part of the pack’s monthly newsletter—wholly unaware of who was still playing with who since their departures from Beacon Hills. That was good news, he supposed, running a hand over his shoulder to distract from the ache in his chest at the reminder of Lydia.
Peter’s next remark hit a little closer, Stiles’ mock pout thinning at the edges. The truth in Peter’s words played through his head as memories, stirring the creature in the back of THEIR mind. Shrugging off that familiar feeling of liability, Stiles reminded himself of the reality at hand. There was no other way this could have gone down. Scott still wanted to appeal to the humanity in every bump the night brought them. Stiles had finally accepted that there was only so much humanity to go around. To reverse what this thing had done to the town would require a sacrifice no lingering remnant of a soul could muster. Not even vampire Gandhi would have given him what he needed for this next part. ' It had to die. ' That’s why if he had surprised everyone by volunteering to go with the older Hale and maybe been a little obstinate about who would patrol where - leading him and Peter directly to the creatures hide out – well, wild coincidences happened to them all the time. Who could be mad at Stiles? It had attacked them first (sans Peter antagonizing it), going for the weakest link. He would have a nice little bruise on his face and tailbone to prove that. Secondly, what did they expect would happen if Peter ran across it? Everyone knew Peter wasn’t signed up for their little negotiation plan. And nobody would blame Stiles for not trying to stop Peter. He was just the weak, slow, human after all. And if Stiles had appeared just a little bit weaker and moved just a little bit slower tonight, enticing the deranged vampire to show itself, well…
Eyes dropped to where the toe of Peter’s shoe settled on the vampire’s face, watching it slowly grind down. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little bit of sick satisfaction thrum through his core at the site of it. He could still feel the fresh sting of a bruise blossoming across his cheek and so felt little sympathy for the creature that had so indignantly backhanded him. Thankfully, the ensuing stench of blood pouring out of its skull had Stiles' face contorting into a morally appropriate look of disgust. Of all things that had changed since he left Beacon Hills, he’d kill for his inadequate sense of smell back. Eyes raise to meet Peter’s, palms opening towards the other in a relenting gesture.
❝ Oh no, please. Keep talking. Really. As it turns out, the only thing more grating than the sound of your voice is the sound of jawbones caving in ❞
Truly, Stiles was still trying to ctrl-alt-delete that sound from his brain when Peter’s words, and shoulder, hit him. Spinning around fast enough to nearly trip over the body (fuck his life), Stiles couldn’t help but feel fully affronted. ‘ Reeks?! ’
❝ That’s rich coming from someone who— ❞ ‘ Relishes the scent of OUR blood ’ IT interjects from his mind, jovial in how this causes the human to falter between processing ITS words and finishing his insult. ❝-whose finisher move is to go all Jackson Pollock with everyone’s throat ❞ He blinked a few times, filing whatever IT had meant way for later as well. To be honest, Stiles wasn't the least bit surprised that the guy he had played multiple hands in either killing or locking away enjoyed the sight of the human getting some comeuppance. But slashing the vampire’s throat?! Was that really necessary? It did nothing towards actually killing the thing, but damned if Stiles’ signature plaid wasn’t cut in arterial spray while Peter stood there without a drop on him save for his claws. It was irritating enough for Stiles to reconsider if he actually needed Peter for the rest of this. Unfortunately, he already knew the answer.
At least the rest of the night would require fewer charades. If he was with anyone else right now, he'd have to feign falling over the vampire's body and smile none the wiser when by the time he scrambled back to his feet, the creature had one less fang in its mouth. With Peter, he could just reach down like he was doing and grab the conveniently pre-separated fang from the remnants of the vampire’s skull, picking it up like one might grab a shiny quarter off the sidewalk. Raising his hand to examine it in better light, the human’s gaze moved past the bloodied tooth between his fingers and towards Peter, locking eyes seriously.
❝ So... How much do you know about blood magic? ❞
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