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He was minding his own business, avoiding Derek and his little imaginary pack (since half of them have resigned over to Scott instead), avoiding trouble. Building an arcade of ideas for his next mission of psychopathy gaming, playing with the world as it turns around his life. It is in his hands for him to create. But he is, in fact, avoiding trouble. For now.
As he’s strolling down the road, breathing in the crispy air, waiting for winter to hit, a small animal passes him. It’s fast and its completely, snowy white fur is shining in the sun. It runs down the street like a vessel on a hunt.
“Quick!” he hears someone shout behind him. “Catch the cat, it stole my wallet!”
Without bothering looking who shout at him, he shrugs his shoulders and starts running. The cat is fast on its slenderly legs but Peter is faster; sprinting closer and closer to the furry animal. His animalistic self is catching on, rumbling inside of him as every nerve is cheering. He should be careful of letting himself turn into the werewolf he was born as, in case judgmental or unaware people sees him. But he can’t help it; the fire in his body is too tempting to not give into.
A growl slips out of his throat that shakes the whole street beneath him; his eyes glowing bright blue. He’s running on all four now in a faster pace than before, only inches away from the terrified cat. With a low rumble in his chest, he catches up to it, smirking wickedly in his werewolf form.
**
He often lost dares, if often could be translated to all the time. Especially if someone else is calling out the dares and he is stupid enough to play. They’ve learned, strategically, that he sucks at dares someone else is making up. This time, Boyd was after his ass, wanting some sweet revenge for Stiles’ prank involving lots of slime. But daring the oh so innocent boy on if or if not he could sneak pass the library lady in his underwear without getting noticed, was stupid. The elder woman was like a hawk with eyes on the back of her head, knowing everything about every corner. Of course she’d notice him creeping on his tiptoes dressed in just his Spiderman underwear. It was a stupid dare, why wouldn’t he do it?
The boys was laughing at him, with tears in their eyes; clutching their stomachs, when Mrs. Dwight dragged him out. Her eyes turned into hellfire, burning him up with her murderous gaze. Promising him that detention for two weeks waited for him.
When Boyd had calmed down his hysterical laughter (hyena, Stiles thought, frowning irritably at the boy) and handed him an unopened can. Stiles stares down at his hand. Tuna. Why did Boyd give him a stinking can of tuna?
"Put it in your wallet and in your pockets," Boyd told him.
"No freaking way! Stiles protested, eyes widening dramatically.
"You lost the bet. It’s either that or walk naked into math class." Boyd smirked at him with a superior winning laugh.
"You are a horrible person, Boyd. Terrible. You’re worse than Peter."
Going through the rest of the day with stinking tuna in his pockets, school was finally over. Quickly walking away from all the humiliating laughter and looks behind him, he picked up his wallet from his pocket. Drenched in tuna, he was trying to get the worst out, grimacing disgustingly at the smell.
That’s when he feels something brushing against his leg, meowing softly from the ground. Below him is a cat with incredibly white fur and big, blue eyes, staring up at him with a hungry face.
“If you start munching on me, I swear to God I’ll-“ further didn’t he have time with, before the cat makes a graceful jump and snatched the tuna smelling wallet from his hands. At first, he’s just standing there and stares at the white flash running away from him, before he reacts. It just stole my freaking wallet, he registers with a gasp, and then he starts running.
The cat quickly bypasses a walking figure on the pavement, so he screams:
“Quick! Catch the cat, it stole my wallet!” The figure just starts running after it; doesn’t even bother to look behind. Stiles tries to catch up but realizes there’s no use, it’s already burning in his chest. He starts jogging instead to keep up so he can still see the man pacing after the cat in high speed.
When the man suddenly starts running on all four, all color is drenched from Stiles’ face. A freaking werewolf is running after the white thief cat. And when a growl is being heard from the wolf, Stiles has to stop to not shout. Shocked, he’s waiting for the wolf to return with his wallet. In front of him strives Peter with the wallet in his hands.
There’s also blood.
A lot of blood.
“Got your wallet,” Peter murmurs and gives him the wallet. With his then free hand, he wiped away the blood that is smeared around his mouth; plucking flesh between his teeth.
“You killed the cat,” Stiles whispers in horror, staring at the, now red, animal in Peter’s right hand; staring at Stiles with a dead expression.
“It was an accident,” the man sighs, putting down the lifeless creature on the grass beside the cement sidewalk.
“You killed the cat,” Stiles says again, louder this time.
“Come one, I’ve done worse.”
“No,” he disagrees, flailing with his hands in dramatic gestures around his head. “No, this is- you- kill all the humans you want but cats- animals, you are not allowed to hurt animals you- you beast.”
Peter just looks at him with a ‘no shit?’ expression, smirking like he’s amused by something. Then he sniffs the air, looking diverted. “Why do you smell like tuna?” he then asks, quirking his mouth at Stiles’ blush.
“It was a dare,” he explains tiredly.
“So this is actually your fault? Here I was, minding my own business, planning with no action. And then you put tuna in your wallet, getting a cat killed in return.” His eyes are glistering meanly at Stiles but there’s also a playful glimpse behind it. “So you like dares?”
“No, I hate them. Despise it. But that's why I fall for them. I'm a sadist that way.”
Peter nods slowly and furrows his brows as he's thinking. “I dare you to walk naked through town and if you don’t, you either have to boil this cat and eat it or kiss me.” His voice is a low growl now, vibrant eyes in the sunlight.
Stiles stares at the werewolf with a criticizing expression. He can’t take the older man seriously.
“Are you out of your mind? I’m not doing any of that.” Stiles shakes his head and turns around to walk the other way, not bothering to look back at the man who’s laughing at him. It shouldn’t send a shiver down his spine, but it does; he doesn’t want to know why Peter’s laughing that way, as if he knows something Stiles don’t. Because there’s nothing. He’s disgusted. Pissed off. Not feeling challenged in the best way possible. Not a single bit.