Chapter Text
In this world, humans and werewolves had lived alongside.
At first, there were issues, mostly for the younger wolves who were learning control of their powers.
After centuries of troubles between packs and human communities led by hunters, most countries children were separated until high school. At 15, werewolves were supposed to be fully in control of their wolf side. The educational system implemented new shared classes, such as interspecies world history, to develop a better understanding between wolves and humans. But they still were separated - especially P.E. and sports teams.
Werewolves, even bitten ones, are of course stronger, but also way taller. When Stiles's best friend, Scott, got bitten, he put on 7 inches in a week, even if, by werewolves standards, he was on the shorter side as there were no male werewolves under 6'4". Humans could not rival them at lacrosse, football or basketball. Stiles could not imagine being tackled by his best friend. His 147 pounds body would be literally crushed.
After the Great War, at the beginning of the XXth century were werewolves had been hunted and deported by humans and hunters, a deal made with the beasts - they could not turn humans. Of course, there were exceptions. Scott was one of them with his severe case of asthma.
In exchange, werewolves had a particular stature in society: one county, one pack.
In Beacon Hills county the Hales were the werewolves. They were present in the administration of the county even if essential positions such as the Sheriff or the mayor's office were reserved for humans.
That's how Stiles knew the Hales. His dad was the Sheriff and worked closely with Talia Hale, the Judge.
As retribution for the past offences against them, humans had to celebrate the greatness of werewolves. They would organise town gatherings where humans mostly provided food for the wolves. It was tradition by now.
The wolves could eat a tremendous amount of food. And it showed.
Stiles studied werewolf biology in middle school and learned that male werewolves' bodies quickly stocked calories. That's why most of the male werewolves were big. It didn't change their capacities, reflexes or health, but they were just fat.
In the case of Scott, a few weeks after the bite and his growth spurt, Stiles noticed he was gaining weight. He remembered poking at his little belly. Scott told him it was something his wolf liked and that his appetite had become bottomless. Now Scott was pushing 350, one of the biggest wolves of the school.
But, even if Scott tried hard to find time for his human best friend, he was also mostly with his Pack. Something Stiles was not hugely fond of as he was not an ardent adoring fan of Scott's pack mates.
First, there was Isaac Lahey - another bitten wolf and maybe the smallest. Well if considering being 6'6 for 280lbs small. He had a round babyface with curly golden hair that made him look like a giant cherub. An evil giant angel as he had the nasty habit of stealing Scott from Stiles.
Plus he was a bit arrogant. All werewolves were, and he was undoubtedly less than Jackson Whittemore. Urgh... that one was an idiot. Born with a silver spoon, or many, in his mouth, he was walking as if he owned their miserable human lives. He was also a bit of a bully with Stiles, even if he had stopped when Scott joined the Pack.
But the one Stiles swore he would never like was Derek freaking Hale. If Jackson was acting like a spoiled prince, Derek Hales was the freaking Queen of Sheba.
Granted the city belonged to his family.
Granted he was the heir of the Hale pack.
Granted he was the hugest man Stiles had ever seen (almost 7 feet and an astonishing 400lbs).
That was not an excuse to act like that.
"Stiles" called his gentle giant puppy, pulling him in a McCall signature bear hug. He took his morning "deep breath of Stile". That was a common wolf thing that Stiles accepted. "Got my morning treat?"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "As if I could forget. Just once and I had to suffer from your pouting face all day." He answered, pulling out a box of doughnuts for Scott. It was customary for humans to give food to wolves to show their "gratitude".
Scott was salivating. "You're the best bro." He said finishing in a bite the first doughnut. "I was so hungry."
"Aren't you always?" Stiles snickered while poking at Scott's massive belly. He growled playfully at that.
"You like it, bro."
Before Stiles could answer, they were interrupted but the other three members of the Pack. Stiles sighed. He knew they were aware he was not a big fan of them. And now they were crowding him by his locker. Isaac was eyeing the half-emptied box in Scott's hands trying to pick one.
"Hey!" Stiles exclaimed. "Those are for Scott!"
"And what are you going to do Stilinski?" Whittemore sneered. "Fight us?"
That's when he felt the bulk of Derek Hale on his side. "Calm down Jacks. Obviously, Stiles has a favourite wolf." At that, Scott looked at him, surprised.
"Shut up!" Stiles said as he tried to go past them. A bit difficult with these four massive bodies. "Lemme go."
"Why don't you bring me food?" Hale asked. "I'm going to be Alpha someday. Everybody gives me what I want."
"That's why I don't. Scott is my best friend, and he is nice to everybody. He doesn't remind me how weak and pathetic I am because I'm human! He's not arrogant like all of you! And he doesn't walk around like he's the freaking Queen of Sheba!" Stiles got speechless as he realised he had yelled at a werewolf. Something you didn't do, because they could destroy you in less than a second. And now everybody in the hall was looking at him with pity in their eyes.
"Excuse me?" Said Hale. His eyebrows raised as Stiles understood he had annoyed. He had to find a way out. "What did you just say?"
He thanked all the gods for his luck when the bell rang to announce the beginning of the first period, meaning he could be safe for at least three hours with his werewolves-free classes.