hi!! <3
short prompt (if you're still in the mood):
steter / "who are you?"
We’re going to die, Peter thinks. He never thought it would end this way. The Hale pack has stood for centuries. Nobody’s even dared to attack them for the past three hundred years.
But now their emissary has disappeared, their forests are burning, and there’s a veritable army on their land. His throat tightens as he extends his claws. He won’t go down without a fight, but he will go down. They all will. He looks at Talia and sees the same fear and anguish in her eyes.
He glances around the clearing at his nieces and nephews, and it feels like his heart is going to shut down in pain. He would willingly die for them, but he never wanted to die with them.
Deucalion and his army stand before them, all silent finally. The breath before the battle.
A twig breaks underfoot, and everyone’s heads snap toward the sound. A man walks into the clearing, taking easy, measured steps until he comes to a standstill between the packs.
“Goddess bless villains and their penchant for monologuing,” the man says. “I apologize for being late, Alpha Hale,” he adds, turning around with a slight nod to Talia.
Peter looks at her, and she shoots him a look that says, “I don’t know who the hell he is either.”
“And who might you be?” Deucalion asks.
“I am the protector of this land, and this pack,” the man answers. His body language is deliberately loose, but Peter can see that he’s much more alert than he’s trying to let on. Something about the set of his shoulders maybe. Peter can’t quite put his finger on it.
Deucalion laughs. “You think you’re going to protect them?”
“Yes, I do,” the man says. Then he snaps his fingers, and a hole opens up in the earth and swallows the man next to Deucalion. One minute there’s a person there, and the next there isn’t. The hole closes up behind him, leaving only a small disturbance in the soil.
It’s the kind of thing a mind doesn’t want to process. That’s probably why there’s a moment of silence before gasps and murmurs start.
“Now,” the mysterious man says, “Where were we? Oh, right. I was explaining to you how I am the protector of this land, and you will leave if you don’t want the same thing, or worse, to happen to you.”
Or worse? Peter thinks. He almost wants to see what else this man is capable of. Apparently burying a man alive in an instant is just level one for him.
“You think one trick is going to scare me-” Deucalion starts, but there’s a scream, and a woman disappears.
Half of Deucalion’s army runs off into the trees. The smart half, Peter thinks.
The man lets out a piercing whistle. Everyone looks around frantically, and then the beating of wings starts. It’s ravens, more than Peter’s ever seen at once. Their wings and cries are overwhelming. Peter clutches his hands to his ears, and watches as the ravens attack their enemies. Growls and shrieks and cries join the racket as the ravens shred with beaks and claws.
Then the man whistles again, and the birds fly off as quickly as they came, soon only a black cloud on the horizon.
“That was your warning,” the mysterious man says. “Your last and final warning. Leave here and never come back.”
They leave at once. Even Deucalion tries to leave, but he’s unable to.
“Not you,” the man says with a shake of his head. “I will not allow you to live, demon wolf.” One more snap of his fingers, and Deucalion disappears into the earth.
The man turns back to the Hales. “I would have liked to have dispatched him in a more colorful manner, but well, I suppose everyone has had enough trauma for today, don’t you think? Staring down death is not an easy thing.” He smiles sympathetically, his eyes drifting to Peter, and it’s only then that Peter realizes his own hands are shaking, and that Talia has dropped to her knees, her shoulders heaving with sobs.
Yes, things seem to have been tied up with a bow, but only moments ago, they had thought death was imminent. Just the thought of it still makes him ache.
“Who are you?” Peter asks through trembling lips.
“Stiles Stilinski,” the man says, holding out his hand. “Psychic. Witch. Spark. And your mate.”
Their hands close around each other, and Peter feels an almost unbearable rush of power as they do. “Shouldn’t you be waiting to tell me that last part?” He asks.
“What’s the point in being psychic if you can’t use it to move things along a bit from time to time?” Stiles says with a winning smile. “Now go look after your pack. They’ve had quite the shakeup today. I’ll find you later, my wolf.”
Then he ambles off across the clearing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Peter looks after him, and he can’t help the low rumble of relieved laughter that bubbles up. He turns his face to the sky, and smiles.
