My personal favorite head canon is that any time the pack has interacted with other werewolves they all seem to stay away from stiles. At first, everyone thinks it's cause he's human. Maybe some old world prejudice. Then they start to hear the stories. About a wild man with a bat in a red hoodie. How the alpha of the Hale pack is the only reason all of their enemies aren't dead. Because if he wasn't holding onto Stiles' shoulder, anyone with a smart mouth might find themselves missing more than just a few teeth. And Stiles loves every single second of it
AHHHHH someone is speaking my language >:D
I absolutely love the idea of the rumored feral human in a red hoodie with a baseball bat. And then it turns out everyone thinks he’s dangerous because he’s always flailing around so damn much and hits people by accident lmao. The pack finds it hilarious, but to Stiles it's freaking awesome. He feels like Batman, just...with a bat. Bat-man. Ha ha. Get it??
"Yes, Stiles," Derek sighs. "We get it."
BUT I ALSO love when the rumors are actually true. When the Hale pack is actually very dark and scary, and Stiles is this unhinged character—maybe with elements of the Joker and Harley Quinn and Negan from The Walking Dead (no, I will never shut up about my Negan!Stiles fantasy. It lives rent free in my head, okay).
He will have people (preferably hunters) on their knees on the ground and just torture them for a few hours, whistling and playing mind games with them. “Oh what is that? I should beat the crap outta one of these guys?" he says, pointing his bat at them, a big, unsettling smile stretching across his face—completely deranged, of course. "Hah, sorry. It's the voices. They just won't shut up ever since that fucking demon fox.” Then he starts laughing like a maniac.
The alpha is very proud of him, and always rewards him for his hard work. *insert me laughing like a maniac*
The few intruders on Hale land who survive are deliberately sent back as a warning, with broken bones and pale faces distorted by fear. They all whisper about little Red. The wolves will kill you, but it's the human...and—and he never stops talking.
Derek is the only one who can control Stiles' chaos. Stiles rests his bat against some poor bastard's head, excited to hear the skull crack under the impact. Derek stops him with a motion of his hand.
"Not yet, sweetheart. He still hasn't told us how he got past the barrier into our territory."
"Aw," Stiles pouts. "Can I break his arm? Derek, please, please, please?"
Derek is nothing if not generous with his human beta. "One," he says, smiling as his baby's eyes light up and long fingers tap along the bat's handle.
"But which one?" Stiles asks, almost breathless. "Which one, Derek?"
"Dealer's choice," Derek says simply, watching as Stiles struggles to make up his mind. It's easy to see when he settles on a decision—his eyes going dark, beautiful smile curling on his lips. He looks over to Derek one last time, eyes searching for approval, and Derek nods once.
"Shh, shh—don't move," Stiles whispers to the whimpering man on the ground. "I want the sound to be right."
