Crow AU
After the Argents burn down his world, Peter collects on a promise. aka what if The Crow had more werewolves and more gay? aka the in-progress fic I’ve been writing instead of my WIPs. --- (excerpt from chapter 1 draft) For one marked as he is, by his death and return, it’s easy to find. All Peter has to do is wish, so he does with all of his heart. He runs north, praying to the strange creature he’d found as a teenager. Runs until he receives an answer: the barest whiff of feathers, honeysuckle, and death. And soon, he crosses the invisible barrier into… Elsewhere. The moon wavers in the sky above him, shifting through its phases as though time itself has no meaning here. When Peter reaches the rusted iron tracks where the crow makes his home, it settles into golden fullness. Here, in the heart of a demon’s lair, a sweet carrion scent overpowers him. Hot and rich. Life-giving. Dimly, he’s aware of awful hunger. A gnawing pain that demands more and more attention as he breathes in the humid, blood-flavoured air, but there’s no time for that, not yet. With the ashes of his family still in his mouth, Peter speaks the name. Stiles.