Discover Top Posts Tagged with #demios-itami

demios-itami asked: Maybe peter wants power and a dead kate cause coming back turned him into a delta and jaguars are a form of alpha - what if stiles kills kate cause he’s not as morally gifted as scott (who want to save everyone without death, you poor puppy/the world clearly hasn’t tainted him enough to be a successful alpha) causing stiles to become a human alpha/jaguar/raven/stiles/whatever and peter’s wolf is content to hand in the reigns and be a delta worthy of his alpha and their pup/fellow packmate(malia).

I hope you don’t mind me picking this up:) This prompt somehow got my muse going so I figured I’d just write something short for it. I’m not a huge fan of Stalia, Steter will forever be my OTP (Hey look, it rhymed! …Yeah, you can tell I’m writing this after pulling a caffeinated all-nighter studying for a test.), but Stiles/Malia with a sibling-esque relationship is something I can get behind, especially with Stiles as Malia’s Alpha. Also, Idk about the Delta thing, so let’s just say there’s a connection between Peter and Kate b/c of the way Kate was turned and then they both died and Peter lost his Alpha status while Kate turned into an Alpha werejaguar from her time in La Iglesia, and Peter basically has no choice but to obey her.

General Warnings: AU, Language, Violence, Preslash, Stiles Stilinski & Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Hale, Steter, Pack of Three

"Stiles! Stiles!” Stiles jerks awake, hand already reaching for the possibly illegally acquired dagger underneath his pillow, only to groan and flop over when he realizes that the person looming over him is just Malia. "You may not have been raised by them," Stiles sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "But you definitely inherited the Hale genes for super-creepiness." He squints up at her, quickly noting the heavy frown creasing her brow and the hint of fang as she chews on her bottom lip. "Alright, what’s up? Who do I have to kill?" He’s only partially joking, and they both know it. Malia only manages a wan smile but it’s genuine, with a touch of that same vindictiveness Stiles possesses, so Stiles’ll take what he can get. She still looks worried though, so with another sigh, he lifts one corner of his sheets in a silent invitation, and Malia doesn’t need any further prompting than that before she’s sliding in and nestling into his chest. "Okay," Stiles cranes his head a little to meet her gaze. "Now tell me what’s wrong." Malia grimaces, looking conflicted, but eventually, she does fess up. “It’s Peter.” No news has ever ended well when it started with that sentence. Stiles wonders if now is a good time to start regretting encouraging Malia to get to know her father. He knows how important family is, and it’s one of the only reasons he was willing to shove aside his misgivings about Peter Hale when Malia asked Stiles’ opinion about the whole matter. That, and he’s seen how isolated Peter’s been from the reinstated Beacon Hills Pack since the very beginning, even from his own flesh and blood. Neither Derek nor Cora wants anything to do with their uncle these days, but Stiles thought maybe Peter could get a second chance with Malia. Of course, Stiles has kept a close eye on their interactions whenever he can, and Malia doesn’t seem capable of keeping secrets from him anyway, but there’s always a chance that Peter went and screwed something up big time when Stiles wasn’t paying attention. And if the werewolf has done something to endanger Malia, well, he’s already set the guy on fire once; he can certainly do it again if it really comes down to it. Stiles hasn’t taken anyone under his wing since he met Scott a decade ago, so god help anyone who lays a finger – metaphorical or otherwise – on the people he calls his. Malia’s so like Stiles in some ways but also so very innocent in others, and yeah, the romance in their relationship never lasted beyond that single kiss back in Eichen House, but that hasn’t made Stiles any less protective of her. If anything, he’s even more protective of her because now she’s family to him, and there is absolutely nothing Stiles won’t do for family. Or Pack, as Malia likes to call it after Stiles slowly but surely coaxed her – mostly – out of that loner mindset of hers. Sometimes, Stiles finds himself calling it that too. A pack of two, possibly three one day depending on what Peter’s done this time. Perhaps Stiles has been running with were’s for a bit too long. "What did Peter do?" He asks now. A growl vibrates at the back of Malia’s throat, and if Stiles would’ve missed it if he isn’t as close as he is to the werecoyote. "I caught him sneaking away," Malia divulges in a near whisper as if she’s afraid someone might be listening in. "He’s been disappearing a lot recently, and… I got curious because we’ve been, you know, bonding more lately, but then, suddenly, he says he’s busy, or he’s telling me to go hang out with kids my own age; things like that. So when he did it again today, I sort of doubled back and followed him. Not far because he would’ve caught me sooner or later, but just before I lost him, I saw him-" She scowls. "I saw him meet up with Kate Argent." Stiles freezes. “Kate?” Malia nods, shifting until her head’s resting on his shoulder so that she can examine him more closely with anxious eyes. “It was definitely her. Blonde hair, she had a gun with her, and she smelled like Argent under that disgusting wet sewer cat scent.” Stiles has to snort at that. He does appreciate the irony. Kate Argent, fanatical hunter extraordinaire, now a werejaguar. Karma works in funny ways. But Peter, working with Kate? Stiles just can’t see it. At all. "Blackmail, you think?" He muses out loud after a long moment of contemplation, and he feels more than sees Malia go limp against him with relief. "Maybe?" Malia looks hopeful and increasingly pissed at the same time, eyes flashing bright blue. "But I wouldn’t know what she’d have on Peter to force him to do anything." Stiles frowns up at the ceiling, mind leaping from theory to theory. “‘Force him’… Hey, Peter’s an Omega right now, isn’t he? Since Derek never accepted him into his pack back when he was Alpha, and Scott definitely hasn’t either.” "He could be a Beta now," Malia counters. "If he’s in our Pack." Stiles quirks an amused smile. Malia really is rather enamoured with the idea of Pack now that she has one. Sort of. “You know we’re not a strictly conventional pack, right? I mean we don’t even have an Alpha.” Malia pulls away a little at this. She stares at him for a moment before giving him one of those classic Hale eyerolls that Stiles has no doubt that she learned from her father. "What?" He grouches out, feeling mildly indignant. "Nothing," Malia grumbles, and it sounds a lot like ‘moron’. "So what does it matter if Peter’s an Omega or a Beta?" The topic change is far from subtle but Stiles lets it go anyway, refocusing on the matter at hand instead. “Well I guess it doesn’t really matter either way but what if Kate came back as an Alpha? I mean, how does the hierarchy work with werejaguars anyway? She can control Berserkers for god’s sakes, and last time I checked, werewolves can’t do that. And Peter was technically the one to turn her, so there’s a connection between them already, no matter how weak it is. What with Peter no longer an Alpha after coming back from the dead, and Kate admittedly having the personality of one even though she just turned not too long ago, something could’ve gotten twisted up in the process. It’s a possibility at the very least.” "So basically, she might be ordering Peter around using her Alpha status," Malia summarizes. Her lips peel back in a snarl. "I’m going to rip her throat out." "We can’t just go charging in," Stiles reminds her, but anger is beginning to simmer in his gut too. Even if Kate isn’t an Alpha, she’s certainly holding something over Peter’s head because there’s no way Peter would willingly work with the bitch who burned most of his family alive and then put him in a coma for six years, and Jesus Christ, how many people have tried their hand at using Peter for their own ends over the years? There was that crazy nurse of his, wanting the Bite and only helping Peter after he promised it to her. Then there was Meredith, and purposefully or not, she still violated his mind and then pinned the blame of the deadpool on him, to the point where the Sheriff pulled a gun on the werewolf, and god, Stiles never thought he would be ashamed of his own dad until that day. Then there was Derek, and then Scott, both of them using Peter for his knowledge before shutting him out of their pack once they didn’t need him anymore, and now there’s Kate, enough said. Jesus Christ. Stiles probably would’ve slit his own throat years ago rather than endure all that. Stiles may still be wary of Peter on some level, but he’s Malia’s father – family – which means that Stiles has an obligation to look out for Peter too nowadays. And honestly, even if he doesn’t, he’d pick Peter over Kate any day of the week. Besides, who would Stiles have to banter with and pull all-nighter research sessions with if Peter isn’t around because somebody fucked him over for good? “Alright, well,” Stiles nudges Malia up so he can roll out of bed too. “We kill Kate, problem solved, but I’d rather not take the credit for it afterwards. Pretty sure Scott won’t be happy.” Malia pulls a half-baffled, half-frustrated look. “He doesn’t even want her dead. Why doesn’t he want her dead? After all the stuff she did, I would’ve killed her for less.” Stiles shakes his head even as he slings an arm around her shoulders in a brief one-armed hug. “Because Scott doesn’t want to kill anyone. Killing is like the worst thing you could do in his books. It’s…” Stiles thinks of Gerard, of Deucalion, of Jennifer even. “He’s naive, even after all this time. He sees the world in black and white. Killing is bad, capturing bad guys and handing them over to the authorities is infinitely better. And he’s an intrinsically good person when it comes down to it. Unlike me.” “Unlike us,” Malia corrects mulishly. “I don’t particularly care about being good if that means not killing the things that keep coming back to try and kill us.” Stiles shrugs. “Scott has morals. Me, us – not so much. Least not when it comes to our continued wellbeing.” Malia’s mouth curls down then, and her eyes go distant as they tend to do when she recalls her years living as a werecoyote, and what drove her to that in the first place. There are times, even now, when she can’t stand civilization, and that’s when Stiles takes her on a bit of a road trip to the middle of nowhere where she can just revert to animal for a little while and not care about all the complicated human stuff. “There are worse things than death,” She mutters. Stiles thinks of dead parents and torture in the guise of a pointless message. He thinks of that sickening lurch of fear whenever he even contemplates the deaths of the people he cares about, and he thinks of a dark fox tearing into his mind and forcing him to obey. “Yeah,” Stiles agrees grimly, arm tightening around her shoulders in wordless comfort when she leans into him. “There are.” He doesn’t dwell on it. There are more important things to deal with right now. “Come on, we’ve got research and scheming to do if we want to save your old man.” “You make eyes at my ‘old man’,” Malia shoots back with a sly smirk that’s all Peter. She laughs outright when Stiles splutters in response. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed!” “So sue me, he has an ass worth admiring,” Stiles gripes, recovering as he moves over to his laptop. He grins when Malia makes a revolted face. “Can we not talk about my dad’s ass?” “You started it.” Malia pouts even as she pulls over a chair to sit beside him. Stiles isn’t actually one for touch most of the time, even more so after the Nogitsune, but he’s comfortable enough with Malia to let her drape her arms around him and hook her chin over one of his shoulders. “So what’s the plan?” She asks, peering inquisitively at the screen. “Research first,” Stiles replies. “We need to know how to kill a Berserker. Preferably not the Derek method of throwing ourselves at the thing until it dies and we end up shish-kebabbed.” Malia huffs. “I could take one.” “Careful,” Stiles cautions dryly as he opens Google. “Your Derek is showing.” He gets a light thump to the head for that quip. -0- It takes almost a week to begin putting the pieces of a plan together, but Stiles on a researching binge plus a potentially life-or-death deadline will always equal Shit Is Gonna Get Done Fast. So while he’s figuring out how to kill Kate’s minions (fire apparently doesn’t do shit but really big explosions might, which will be problem because they don’t really want to give Kate the opportunity to run), Malia is sticking to Peter as much as possible without being too obvious about it, dropping casual because-I-want-more-father-daughter-time-with-you questions about where he’s going all the time. If Malia can get a bead on where Peter is meeting Kate every few days, Stiles can start arranging an ambush. “He is totally suspicious!” Malia laments melodramatically as she sprawls out on Stiles’ bed one afternoon. “He keeps giving me these sideways looks; it’s like he has a- a built-in detector for sensing-” “-bullshit?” Stiles supplies with a wry grin. “Not much gets past Peter. I wasn’t really expecting you to succeed in getting anything out of him.” He ducks the pillow Malia chucks at him. “Well it’s good to know I surpassed your expectations then,” The werecoyote declares, practically radiating smugness when Stiles blinks at her in surprise. “He smells a little bit like the sewers lately from meeting up with Kate no matter how much he showers, so I figured he would’ve left some of his scent behind in the sewers too. Which is why I stopped following him, and I followed his scent instead. It was really hard because it stinks like six-day-old dead fish and rodents down there, but I got it. I know which street the drainage tunnel that they’ve been meeting in is under.” It’s on the tip of Stiles’ tongue to scold her for taking such a risk. After all, what if Kate caught her while she was down there, or one of the Berserkers did? And she didn’t even tell him first before doing something so reckless. But Malia looks so damn proud, like the first time she managed to score a B+ on a Biology test after two weeks of intensive studying with Stiles, and Stiles himself knows the feeling of accomplishing something and wanting a bit of appreciation for it. God knows Derek only ever threw him into walls after Stiles produced seventy-two hours’ worth of research for him or saved his life from one monster or another. And that – making people feel like they’re never good enough no matter what they do – is not something Stiles ever wants to make a habit out of, especially when it comes to the people he trusts to watch his back. Besides, Malia always comes to him when she thinks she needs assistance. She can be as reckless as Stiles when it comes to danger, but she also has a level head on her shoulders. Stiles should trust her judgment. So he says instead, “That’s awesome!”, and it’s genuine because it is awesome. Now that they have a location, he can move the plan forward. “Nobody saw you though? And you can definitely find it again?” Malia beams with pleasure. “Thanks. And nope, what kind of tracker do you take me for? I even dunked myself in sewer water before I headed in so I wouldn’t leave my scent all over the place.” She shudders, and ah, Stiles now understands why he came home earlier today from the supermarket to find Malia using up all the hot water and then some. “And I can do you one better,” Malia swings off the bed and saunters over. “I can point it out on a map if you have one. I made sure to remember all the street signs and everything once I got back to the surface, plus, I found two other tunnels that lead to the same storm drain, except Peter and Kate haven’t been using those. And of those two tunnels, only one of them smelled like Berserkers.” Stiles’ eyes widen. Malia puffs up, just a little, cheeks tingeing pink before she ducks her head and plops down in his lap so that Stiles loses sight of her face. That’s okay; hugging her from behind is no hardship, and it makes it that much easier for him to press his cheek against hers in an imitation of a were’s penchant for scent-marking. Malia automatically nuzzles back, a soft, slightly bashful smile tilting her lips. “You are more amazing than words can describe,” Stiles tells her with utmost solemnity, and it makes her crack a grin, her usual poise returning to the forefront. “Well of course I am,” Malia lounges back further into Stiles. “Is that enough information for you to figure out how to take down Kate and her Berserkers?” “More than enough,” Stiles assures, and their respective smiles are decidedly not nice. “Give me two or three days, and then we’ll go and save your dad’s ass before he does something stupid and gets himself killed.” “Yeah, and then you’ll have nothing worth admiring anymore,” Malia cackles, apparently deciding that Peter’s ass can be talked about after all if it means embarrassing Stiles. She doesn’t stop snickering even when Stiles dumps her onto the floor in retaliation. -0- In the end, Stiles decides to handle the Berserkers with a mix of magic and a handful of grenades that he filched from Allison a while back, and she either never noticed or didn’t care. Either way, she’s dead so it isn’t as if anyone can trace them back to him anymore anyway. And Stiles has it on good authority that weapons in the Argent family are all specially manufactured for them, unique from your everyday weapon brands, which ties in neatly to the rest of Stiles’ plan. They don’t tell anyone about it. Scott would insist on a different plan that will undoubtedly be tedious and require several near death encounters before they make any progress, and it will probably end with Kate escaping in their attempt to apprehend her without hurting her, none of which Stiles has any patience to spare for. Plus, the entire Pack would sooner believe the moon was made of cheese than even consider the notion that Peter isn’t plotting their demise behind their backs. “The Berserkers don’t have heartbeats,” Malia informs him, nose wrinkled. “They just smell like death. I can track Peter; I can track Kate. But I can’t track the Berserkers.” “That’s fine; I can more or less predict where she’d place them to guard her little hideout. I’ll mark them down for you. And I only have seven grenades anyway,” Stiles scans the sewer system blueprints in front of him, absently chewing on the cap of a highlighter. “So we’ll just have to hope that Kate doesn’t have more than seven of them.” Malia will be in charge of shadowing Peter until the guy starts making excuses again, and by this point, the werecoyote has become pretty adept at knowing when her father is slipping away to meet Kate. (“He always looks a bit angry,” Malia discloses irritably, fiddling with the gun that Stiles technically should not possess and looking like she wants to use Kate to learn how to shoot. Stiles is rather glad that the thing isn’t loaded at the moment. “And if Derek’s there, he always throws out all these snide insults until Derek looks ready to strangle him. To be fair though, I think Peter wants to strangle everybody by that point.”) She would rendezvous with Stiles after that, and then they’d head out. If everything goes according to plan, Beacon Hills’ latest crisis should be resolved before dawn. -0- Stiles lets Malia lead the way, stopping when she motions for him to do so. They’re depending on the werecoyote’s ears right now since they can’t afford to alert Kate to their presence too early. The charms he made for the two of them hide both scent and noise but Stiles doesn’t want to push their luck, just in case. “They’re talking about Scott,” Malia whispers, all but mouthing the words against Stiles’ ear. She cocks her head, listening intently. “Kate wants to kill him for Allison. Peter’s agreeing with her, says the Alpha power in Beacon Hills should never have gone to an inexperienced teenager.” Stiles frowns in thought. Is Peter going along with that plan to keep Kate from doing something even more drastic? Although Peter must have some sort of plan of his own to free himself from Kate’s control. There’s absolutely no way Peter doesn’t want to kill Kate sooner or later. Kill Kate. By killing Scott first and gaining- Stiles glowers down the tunnel. He and Scott may be on the outs when it comes to getting shit done, but Scott is still Stiles’ brother, and if Peter wants to be free of Kate, well, there are more than one ways to do that. “They still talking?” Stiles says in an undertone. Malia nods. “They’re going over plans. Something about Mexico and Berserkers. They’ve moved further in; I can’t hear them as well.” “Okay,” Stiles digs into his bag and pulls out five grenades, handing them to Malia. “You know what to do.” A predatory gleam enters her eyes as she nods again. “Leave the Berserkers to me.” Stiles reaches out before he can stop himself, clasping a hand around the back of her neck and drawing her in until they’re forehead to forehead. “Be careful.” Malia gives his forearm a squeeze. “You too.” Stiles watches her go before shunting aside the concern gnawing at him. Malia is capable, and Stiles has faith in her. Right now, he has to concentrate on his part in all this. -0- Mountain ash is Stiles’ bitch. He’s become so proficient with it that shaping it is as easy as breathing to him. And lucky him, he’s facing two were’s, one of whom doesn’t know a thing about him aside from being Scott’s sidekick. “Fallen on hard times, huh?” Stiles steps out into the open, interrupting Kate mid-sentence, and as she whirls to face him, Stiles is the only one to catch the spasm of horror on Peter’s face when the werewolf spots him too. Thank fuck. The last of Stiles’ reservations dissipates. “Your evil lair of doom could use some work,” He continues taunting. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes when Kate relaxes again upon seeing him. Even the gun in her hands dips, and her startled expression is replaced with noticeable mockery. “Oh? So the Sheriff’s boy is the one who figures it out first?” Kate cants her head, eyes glittering maliciously. “Too bad you’re just a human; you won’t stand a chance, and I’m afraid I can’t let you leave alive.” Her lip curls. “Not that I would anyway. A human running with mutts. You’ve been tainted.” “Pot, kettle, bitch,” Stiles retorts, and in the shadows around them, mountain ash slithers silently along the floor, moving where Stiles directs it to and forming two discreet circles, one around Peter and the other around Kate. Now he just has to worry about the gun. Kate sneers at him. “I’m just avenging my niece; if that means in this disgusting form, then so be it. But you’re not worth my effort.” She flicks an idle hand at Peter, who is standing very, very still. His eyes are an electric blue, and every line of his body is wired like a coiled spring. “Why don’t I give you to Peter instead? Did I mention that? I have my own pet guard dog now, though it’s a pity that nobody will be surprised when I reveal his part in my plans; I would’ve loved to see their faces if one of your more loyal members betrayed you.” Stiles sort of wants to put a bullet in that gleeful smirk of hers. But. Not yet. He has to wait for Mali- “Stiles!” Peter speaks for the first time since Stiles arrived, and he growls it out through a mouthful of fangs. “Stiles, you have to ru-” Kate’s eyes flash an ominous green. “Peter, kill the boy.” Peter jerks like he’s been shot, his shoulders hunch like he’s fighting with himself, and then he’s launching himself forward, and it would be absolutely terrifying if it weren’t for the fact that the werewolf doesn’t get three feet before he crashes headlong into the barrier that Stiles erected only a minute ago. Peter’s knocked right back onto the ground, and Kate’s head snaps around, her smirk dropping off her face. A moment of distraction is all Stiles needs, and he strikes. In the blink of an eye, he hurls one of his remaining grenades at the werejaguar. Kate snarls, skin flooding blue, and she bats it aside, only for it to explode the second she touches it. Except it doesn’t go boom. Instead, there’s a fwoop sound of compressed air, as if someone’s hit the mute button, and when the thing blows, it doesn’t even shake the support structure around them. A contained explosion. Stiles grins. He loves magic. Kate howls, still alive, but her gun clatters to the ground as she clutches at her burnt skin, and Stiles doesn’t waste a second. He lunges forward into the circle of mountain ash, snags the gun, and hauls ass back out just in time, diving the last few feet and still feeling the phantom skim of claws that just misses his neck. Holy fuck, that was close. Kate surges forward, ramming her shoulder into the invisible barrier, features twisted into an ugly mask of hate. “You’ll pay for that!” She snarls, shoving against the barrier with every last scrap of super strength she now has. Her eyes glow that unnatural green again. “My Berserkers will come and they’ll tear you to pieces!” “Actually, no they won’t,” Malia’s voice interjects, and a moment later, she’s prowling into the storm drain as well, hair tousled like she’s been in a fight, eyes burning blue, and claws still unsheathed, but not a single scratch anywhere on her. She grins up at Stiles as she steps up to stand beside him, holding out a hand to pass two grenades back to him. “There were only three, and I got ’em all. Told you I could do it.” Stiles snorts, feeling something relax in his chest at the sight of her unscathed. “Like I ever doubted you. I let you handle it, didn’t I?” “Yeah, with an hour of fussing beforehand,” Malia snarks back, but she leans over to rest her weight against his shoulder for a moment, and Stiles can tell she’s tired. Three Berserkers, even with grenades, super speed, and from a distance, can’t have been easy to take down. “So you planned this with your girlfriend,” Kate hisses, pacing along the barrier now. “I should’ve guessed. The kids in this town do have a history of thinking with their dicks before everything else after all.” “She’s not my girlfriend,” Stiles corrects, ignoring the shot at Derek. “And you didn’t really think I’d let this go, did you?” Malia growls, low and threatening as she takes a step forward. “You think you could force my dad into doing whatever you wanted, and get away with it?” Kate blinks, and Stiles realizes that she had no idea. Peter never told her, and there was no reason for the former hunter to randomly search for a connection between a werewolf and a werecoyote. “You-” Kate stares between Malia and Peter. Peter who’s picked himself up from the ground but looks… thrown. Stunned. And he looks at his daughter like he’s never seen her before. “So why haven’t you called your little pack down here then?” Kate sneers, recovering quickly, and not so subtly prodding for a clue about how much more danger is heading her way. “Warn your Alpha about me? Get Scott McCall to swoop in and save your father?” Malia scoffs. “As if he would’ve acted right away. They would’ve wanted proof. They would’ve doubted Peter. If I want anything done, of course I’d go to Stiles.” She bares her fangs. “And Scott is not my Alpha.” Stiles cuts in before the situation can go any further south. They need to wrap this up soon. “Besides, it’s not like we need the extra manpower,” He places a calming hand between Malia’s shoulder blades, and he can feel some of the tension leak out of her. “You’re not really going anywhere anytime soon, are you?” Kate glowers darkly at him, a clawed hand scraping down the mountain ash barrier. “You think you can just hand me over to the authorities and be done with me? I’d just escape again. You’re weak. You should’ve killed me.” “And who says I won’t?” Stiles enquires rhetorically even as he reaches behind him for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans. Kate freezes when he brings it out. “Peter can’t kill you for obvious reasons. Malia would love to kill you, also for obvious reasons, but she’s a more hands-on person, and I’d rather not leave traces of werewolf all over your carcass. So.” Kate draws herself up to her full height, and there is no denying the apex predator in her. But she’s a caged predator, and that makes all the difference. “You don’t have the nerve,” She decides, but for the first time, there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Stiles rolls his shoulders in an easy shrug as he brings the gun up. “I’ve already killed one Argent. Arguably two if I’m feeling particularly depressed that day. I don’t even like you. Trust me when I say I have zero hang-ups about making it three.” Kate stares at him, and he sees the exact moment when it clicks. “You killed-” “-Gerard, yes,” Stiles smiles, and it’s gratifying to see the werejaguar take a step back. Perhaps something of the Nogitsune left its mark after all. Or maybe some part of Stiles has always been like this. “Scott left him in Chris’ hands, alive. My bro couldn’t kill someone in cold blood – or otherwise – if his life depended on it, so somebody had to make sure that that geriatric wouldn’t come back for round two when no one was looking. Besides,” He flicks off the safety. “That bastard kidnapped me and tortured me. He signed his own death warrant.” He extends his arm. Kate backs away until her back is pressed against the other side of the barrier. Real fear finally dawns on her face. “Peter is Malia’s family,” Stiles says quietly. His hand is as steady as a rock. “And Malia is mine, which means you don’t touch her, and you don’t touch Peter, not if you don’t want to deal with me.” “Wait!” Kate snaps out, desperation colouring her features. “I could leave, I could just leave-” “I don’t think so,” Stiles rebuffs with cold finality, and then he pulls the trigger. It’s a perfect shot through the head, and a moment later, Kate Argent is dead. -0- A long silence ensues, right up until Stiles blinks and lowers his gun, and then Malia is scrambling forward towards her father. Stiles follows her, feeling oddly… disconnected, but he focuses on breaking the mountain ash circle and letting Peter out. “Are you okay?” Malia demands, flitting over to Peter’s side. Peter attempts his usual smirk but it falls a little short, if only because the werewolf can’t seem to hide his shock. He glances at Malia. “I’m fine.” He meets Stiles’ gaze and holds it. “More than fine, all things considered.” Stiles hums in acknowledgement, moving over to where Kate’s body crumpled. “You should’ve just said something, creeperwolf. I could’ve killed her weeks ago.” “Yes, and I suppose I should’ve just known that I had my own private cavalry on the side?” Peter asks sardonically, and there’s the Peter Hale Stiles is used to. “Of course,” Stiles agrees as he bends down to check for a pulse. You never know. “I mean dude, I thought you were smart.” He can almost hear Peter rolling his eyes. It makes him smile, but there’s work to be done still. “Look, we’ll talk later,” Stiles says as he stands again and turns back to the two were’s. “Malia, why don’t you get Peter back to my house?” He glances at the werewolf in question. “Is that okay? Or would you prefer your own apartment?” “Well, since you’ve extended an invitation, it would be remiss of me to turn it down.” Peter’s roundabout way of saying he doesn’t want to be alone is as exasperating as it is amusing. Stiles inwardly frowns. Wait, how did he know that? He can sense Malia’s temperament most of the time these days, but that’s because he can read her, and he can’t read Peter anywhere near as well as Malia. Right? He gives himself a mental shake. Later. Malia’s already tugging Peter in the general direction of the closest exit. “We’ll wait up for you!” Peter stalls long enough to pin Stiles with a considering look. “You’re cleaning up here?” Stiles answers with a sly smile. “Have to set things up so that it’ll look like we were never here. Kate losing control of the Berserkers, and they end up killing each other – sound good?” Peter smirks back at him. “You’ve always been my favourite, Stiles.” Stiles rolls his eyes hard. “Malia, get Creepy McCreepster outta here.” Malia just snickers at them both, glancing back at him with knowing eyes. Stiles has a feeling she won’t be leaving certain things alone if Peter decides to stick around. The two were’s disappear down the tunnel. Stiles blinks down at Kate’s corpse. Dumping her in the remains of the Berserkers, and then getting rid of any evidence of the bullet wound with another grenade or two should do the trick. Time to get to work. -0- “Alpha,” Peter remarks softly later that night (or really early morning depending on how you look at it). Stiles squints up from where he’s been dozing off with Malia plastered against his left side and Peter sitting against the headboard on his right. “Hunh?” Peter snorts quietly before swaying forward a bit to catch Stiles’ eye. “You’re Malia’s Alpha.” Stiles stifles a yawn. Why do they have to have such serious conversations at four in the morning? “What’re you talkin’ ’bout, Peter? I’m a human.” “And now you’re a human Alpha,” Peter clarifies nonchalantly like it’s no big deal, but Stiles suddenly finds himself wide awake. “You killed Kate. She was an Alpha in her own right; she carried the power of one, and you killed her. Malia wasn’t an Omega even before today though; Kate’s death just made it a little more… official.” Stiles pushes himself upright, careful not to wake the werecoyote in his bed. “Wait, what do you mean by that?” Peter cants his head, blue eyes intent. He looks less stressed than he has been in a long while though. “You said Malia was yours.” “She is,” Stiles asserts instantly, glancing down at where Malia is sleeping soundly in one of his baggy t-shirts and pajama pants. “I’d protect her with my life.” Peter inclines his head. “And I believe-” Uncharacteristically, he breaks off, looking almost hesitant. Stiles turns his full attention on him, and the line of Peter’s shoulders relaxes minutely. “…I believe you staked a claim on me today too.” Stiles opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again. Did he? What he said to Kate, he only said what felt right. And yet… Peter’s in his bed, and – on hindsight – Stiles never found it even remotely strange for a second. When he came home earlier, Peter already had a simple meal whipped up, and both the werewolf and Malia were – and still are – wearing at least one article of clothing from his closet. Stiles didn’t begrudge them for that; the sewers stank, and they obviously needed a change of clothes. But then, when they first settled down for the night, Stiles made room for Peter, made room for Malia, and that was that. He wanted them with him, within his line of sight, just to be sure that both were safe. “…Huh,” He manages at last. Peter doesn’t roll his eyes this time. In fact, he looks… nervous. Apprehensive. Like he’s waiting for Stiles’ verdict. “Do you want to be, er, Pack, I guess?” And wow, it abruptly occurs to him that Malia’s been saying that for months, and Stiles is an idiot for not noticing. Peter doesn’t answer verbally, watching Stiles instead with none of his usual sass and arrogance. It makes him look almost painfully vulnerable, and that makes Stiles want to reach out and- and- He just does it, lets his instincts guide him, and when he runs light fingers along Peter’s neck before curling a hand around his nape in a gentle but firm grip, Peter slumps like his strings have been cut. The werewolf makes a low noise at the back of his throat, something between a whine and a very long, very tired sigh, and then he’s tilting his head and baring his throat, and oh. It’s like a puzzle piece clicking into place in Stiles’ mind, right alongside Malia’s and his own, and there’s a new thrum of energy there too, something binding and surprisingly strong. Without a word, and biting back the million and one questions swirling around in his head, Stiles steers Peter down to lie flat on the bed, and he himself wriggles until he’s on his side again as well. It’s warm, with a were’ behind and in front of him. Malia squirms closer even in her sleep, moulding herself against his back and throwing an arm over him for good measure. Peter on the other hand just crowds closer until his breath fans out over Stiles’ collarbone. When Stiles makes to let go, the werewolf tenses up, so Stiles leaves his hand at Peter’s neck, thumb brushing soothingly at the skin under the werewolf’s jawline, and he doesn’t even twitch when the man proceeds to snake a possessive arm around his waist. They’re going to have to talk about this in the morning (later in the morning, or whenever they wake up). But for now, Malia’s snoring softly in dreamland, and Peter’s eyes are lighter, warmer, in a way that Stiles has never seen before. The werewolf is struggling to keep them open though, exhaustion clearly pulling at him, so Stiles slings an arm of his own over Peter as well and promptly shuts his eyes. When he manages to peel open a drowsy eyelid several minutes later, Peter’s breathing has evened out, and he’s definitely out for the count. His expression is positively serene like this, stress lines smoothed away. Satisfied, Stiles closes his eyes again and follows his Pack into slumber.