Teen Wolf: Finding Pack
Title: Finding Pack
Rating: Teen
Warnings: kidnapping
Word Count: 1020
Peter-Stiles friendship. Sorta.
Witches sucked.
No, really. Stiles was of the firm opinion that all magic users were utter assholes (looking at you, Peter), or at the very least way too busy being mysterious to actually be helpful (Deaton). Okay, maybe he was a little biased, but he figured that was allowed when freaking witches kidnapped him and tried to convince him to join their coven.
Seriously? People did that?
Just because he wasn't officially part of any pack but knew a lot of tricks when it came to staying alive, the supernatural beasties that seemed drawn to Beacon Hills seemed to assume that he was fair game and open to propositions. It had started with a pack of werewolves who'd been passing through town.
He'd said no, the Alpha had accepted that, they'd moved on without pissing off the hunters or Derek. Well done them. If only all the visitors could be that polite.
Next had been some hunters who thought he could be useful as a weapon against werewolves. They'd been a little more pushy, but Chris had stepped in and told them to get out of his town. Stiles wasn't sure what Chris had on the other hunters, but they left without further problems, and he thought that was that. For a while it was.
Then came the vampires. Then werewolves again. Then dryads, who had actually been pretty cool. He'd given their offer some thought, especially since they were happy to relocate to the Beacon Hills preserve. Then they'd mentioned the part about magically transforming into a female, and... nope. Not happening. After that were some fae (a world of no), more hunters, more werewolves, and most recently, witches. Each group (apart from the dryads) had been progressively more aggressive.
The thing was, that it had all been spread over several years, and in between other disasters, so the only one who really kept track seemed to be Stiles. He still wasn't really considered part of the pack, so none of the wolves paid much attention to threats towards him unless he brought it up. Now he was wishing that he'd brought up the 'witches are in town and trying to recruit me' thing a little earlier.
Things had even been looking up on the pack front, with Stiles being invited to more of the general pack outings and Scott accepting his place in the pack as well. Everyone had taken a year off after high school, putting thoughts of college off, to work or party or just figure out what to do next. That had resulted in closer friendships and an increased ability to work together... usually.
Stiles just hoped that the pack would make good on their promises and come get him before the crazy ladies decided to cut their losses and kill him. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely sure where he was, and given at least half the pack had gone off camping, they might not even notice he was missing for another few days.
To pass the time, Stiles mentally ran through the periodic table of elements. This was abandoned half way through when he got distracted by memories of Iron Man 2, when Tony Stark had invented a new element. This lead to reminiscing about the Marvel Movie Marathon he and Scott had indulged in on Stiles' eighteenth birthday. It was all done mentally because he'd been gagged partway through his previous rant on why evolution was cruel and had resulted in women having periods.
Yeah, mentioning that to a group of magic-using women... not his brightest moment. But still a great argument for why he hadn't wanted to become a dryad.
Stiles was just debating with himself whether it would be worth wetting himself to get their attention (pro: would relieve his bladder, might get them to untie him, con: he would have wet himself, if they didn't untie him he'd be stuck in soaked jeans) when, to his immense shock, a pair of bright blue eyes flashed in the darkness and quicker than he could see, two of the witches fell to the ground.
He was still trying to figure out what was going on - as were the rest of the coven - when the room had been cleared.
Of all the things that Stiles had been expecting, seeing Peter Hale almost materialise out of thin air was not at the top of the list. Not even in the top ten. He really should remember to always expect Peter to be up to something.
The werewolf said nothing as he untied Stiles and turned to walk away. For his part, Stiles was incredibly confused. He'd been under the distinct impression that Peter hated his guts, and the feeling was cheerfully mutual. If he was willing to come after Stiles and rescue him, though... maybe Peter wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought.
“Hey,” Stiles called out when he'd finally removed the gag, his voice rough from misuse. Peter halted, head half-turned to show he was listening. “I, ah... thanks,” Stiles bit the bullet and sagged as he acknowledged what had happened. “You didn't have to save me. Thanks.”
There was a pause, and then Peter quirked his mouth, a fang showing briefly.
“What can I say. Without you around, things are just plain boring.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, but jogged over to Peter. They walked out of the warehouse together, and Stiles grinned when Peter tossed him the keys to his jeep before heading off on foot.
“See you at the next meeting?” Stiles called out. He heard a huff of what could have been laughter, then Peter was gone. “Mysterious bastard,” Stiles muttered. This time, maybe, there was a little hint of fondness in his tone. Maybe.
~*~
The next time there was a pack meeting, Stiles shared his bag of cookies with Peter. Peter's comments were perhaps a little less acidic than usual. From then on, Peter actually started to give Stiles proper lessons in how to use and control his magic.
And the next time someone invaded and tried to recruit Stiles?
He was happy to say that he already belonged to a pack.
Rating: Teen
Warnings: kidnapping
Word Count: 1020
Peter-Stiles friendship. Sorta.
Witches sucked.
No, really. Stiles was of the firm opinion that all magic users were utter assholes (looking at you, Peter), or at the very least way too busy being mysterious to actually be helpful (Deaton). Okay, maybe he was a little biased, but he figured that was allowed when freaking witches kidnapped him and tried to convince him to join their coven.
Seriously? People did that?
Just because he wasn't officially part of any pack but knew a lot of tricks when it came to staying alive, the supernatural beasties that seemed drawn to Beacon Hills seemed to assume that he was fair game and open to propositions. It had started with a pack of werewolves who'd been passing through town.
He'd said no, the Alpha had accepted that, they'd moved on without pissing off the hunters or Derek. Well done them. If only all the visitors could be that polite.
Next had been some hunters who thought he could be useful as a weapon against werewolves. They'd been a little more pushy, but Chris had stepped in and told them to get out of his town. Stiles wasn't sure what Chris had on the other hunters, but they left without further problems, and he thought that was that. For a while it was.
Then came the vampires. Then werewolves again. Then dryads, who had actually been pretty cool. He'd given their offer some thought, especially since they were happy to relocate to the Beacon Hills preserve. Then they'd mentioned the part about magically transforming into a female, and... nope. Not happening. After that were some fae (a world of no), more hunters, more werewolves, and most recently, witches. Each group (apart from the dryads) had been progressively more aggressive.
The thing was, that it had all been spread over several years, and in between other disasters, so the only one who really kept track seemed to be Stiles. He still wasn't really considered part of the pack, so none of the wolves paid much attention to threats towards him unless he brought it up. Now he was wishing that he'd brought up the 'witches are in town and trying to recruit me' thing a little earlier.
Things had even been looking up on the pack front, with Stiles being invited to more of the general pack outings and Scott accepting his place in the pack as well. Everyone had taken a year off after high school, putting thoughts of college off, to work or party or just figure out what to do next. That had resulted in closer friendships and an increased ability to work together... usually.
Stiles just hoped that the pack would make good on their promises and come get him before the crazy ladies decided to cut their losses and kill him. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely sure where he was, and given at least half the pack had gone off camping, they might not even notice he was missing for another few days.
To pass the time, Stiles mentally ran through the periodic table of elements. This was abandoned half way through when he got distracted by memories of Iron Man 2, when Tony Stark had invented a new element. This lead to reminiscing about the Marvel Movie Marathon he and Scott had indulged in on Stiles' eighteenth birthday. It was all done mentally because he'd been gagged partway through his previous rant on why evolution was cruel and had resulted in women having periods.
Yeah, mentioning that to a group of magic-using women... not his brightest moment. But still a great argument for why he hadn't wanted to become a dryad.
Stiles was just debating with himself whether it would be worth wetting himself to get their attention (pro: would relieve his bladder, might get them to untie him, con: he would have wet himself, if they didn't untie him he'd be stuck in soaked jeans) when, to his immense shock, a pair of bright blue eyes flashed in the darkness and quicker than he could see, two of the witches fell to the ground.
He was still trying to figure out what was going on - as were the rest of the coven - when the room had been cleared.
Of all the things that Stiles had been expecting, seeing Peter Hale almost materialise out of thin air was not at the top of the list. Not even in the top ten. He really should remember to always expect Peter to be up to something.
The werewolf said nothing as he untied Stiles and turned to walk away. For his part, Stiles was incredibly confused. He'd been under the distinct impression that Peter hated his guts, and the feeling was cheerfully mutual. If he was willing to come after Stiles and rescue him, though... maybe Peter wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought.
“Hey,” Stiles called out when he'd finally removed the gag, his voice rough from misuse. Peter halted, head half-turned to show he was listening. “I, ah... thanks,” Stiles bit the bullet and sagged as he acknowledged what had happened. “You didn't have to save me. Thanks.”
There was a pause, and then Peter quirked his mouth, a fang showing briefly.
“What can I say. Without you around, things are just plain boring.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, but jogged over to Peter. They walked out of the warehouse together, and Stiles grinned when Peter tossed him the keys to his jeep before heading off on foot.
“See you at the next meeting?” Stiles called out. He heard a huff of what could have been laughter, then Peter was gone. “Mysterious bastard,” Stiles muttered. This time, maybe, there was a little hint of fondness in his tone. Maybe.
~*~
The next time there was a pack meeting, Stiles shared his bag of cookies with Peter. Peter's comments were perhaps a little less acidic than usual. From then on, Peter actually started to give Stiles proper lessons in how to use and control his magic.
And the next time someone invaded and tried to recruit Stiles?
He was happy to say that he already belonged to a pack.