Chapter Text
Peter wanted. He hungered.
The new young man in town was exquisite: wit and wisdom tied up in a pretty package that the alpha couldn't wait to open.
Unfortunately, he was ignorant of the supernatural, and Peter was loathe to pull him into unnecessary danger, no matter how much he longed to sink his teeth into Stiles’s flesh.
It was bad enough that the new deputy had become fast friends with Scott; he had somehow managed to impress Lydia and Erica as well, which meant that Peter was receiving nearly constant updates on Stiles's whereabouts.
(According to his pack, he was the brother Scott had never had, he could carry on an appropriately intelligent conversation with Lydia, and he wasn't afraid to have fun with Erica.
He’d be an asset to the pack, Derek said. Even Boyd seemed to like him.)
Peter had been contemplating appropriate (and a few inappropriate) ways to get arrested for weeks, just to spend more time with the man. He didn't even care that Cora laughed at him.
He shouldn't be this interested in one human deputy, yet the universe had conspired to put Stiles in his path at every opportunity. If he wanted coffee, Stiles was sitting in the corner of Peter's favorite shop. If he needed some light reading, Stiles was chatting with Mrs. Earnest in front of the library. He had even encountered the young man on his last visit to Deaton, as the deputy had been checking up on a recently rescued kitten. Each time they met, it grew more difficult to walk away until Peter was practically desperate to get closer to a man he’d only spoken to a handful of times.
Even worse, Peter was fairly certain that his interest in the other man wasn't one-sided. Stiles was polite and warm with everyone, but very few people regularly saw the sarcasm that the man kept on a short leash, or the carefully-banked anger in his gaze when dealing with unrepentant lawbreakers.
Still, Stiles was blissfully human, and Peter had every intention of keeping him that way--even with his wolf’s displeasure constantly scratching at his insides.
Peter could all too easily picture the good deputy dead at the hands of the coming alpha pack, either because he’d been called out to investigate some odd disturbance, or because Deucalion found out about Peter’s interest in the human and killed him for sport.
Neither option was acceptable.
Surprisingly, Cora was the only one to tease him about his infatuation with Stiles, perhaps because the others found him as fascinating as their alpha did, though for different reasons.
(If any of them were interested in being more than friends with Stiles, none of them were stupid enough to say so in front of Peter. Peter, however, was masochistic enough to begin following the deputy around town; ostensibly to protect him from the alpha pack, but mostly as an excuse to breathe in the human’s presence.)
“Despite the way Scott makes it sound, we don't actually see Stiles very often,” Erica told him one day. “He works, and he sleeps, that's pretty much it; we’ve only managed to get him out in public for more than an hour three times in the last two months. The coffeehouse and the library don't count.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Erica grinned. “Stiles deserves to have someone rock his world; even if that someone is a werewolf. You need to make a move.”
<> <>
Seriously?
Stiles rolled his eyes from his corner booth as he watched Scott and Lydia try to have a nonverbal conversation at the counter where they were picking up their drinks. He pretended not to notice the furtive glances they sent in his direction: first, because it was none of his business; and second, because he really didn't care about whatever they might be hiding.
He wanted to tell them that he had zero interest in getting involved with the supernatural shenanigans of Beacon Hills, but that would mean answering questions about how he knew about the supernatural in the first place, and he had no intention of sharing that information anytime soon.
Better to play ignorant than to be pulled into the nonstop drama of the Hale pack. Stiles liked each of them as individuals, but as a pack they were more trouble than they were worth. Truly, it was amazing that the town was still standing.
He probably should have known better than to take a position in such a small town, but he had felt the urge to come here, and he was old enough to trust his instincts about such things.
His decision had been a good one. Overall, he liked the town, his apartment, and his coworkers.
The attention of Peter Hale--werewolf or no--was a nice bonus.
Even though Stiles wasn't intentionally doing anything to attract Peter, he wasn't exactly going out of his way to push the man away, either. Peter was driven, intelligent, and charismatic, and Stiles couldn't help but be drawn to him.
Their interactions over the past few months had been as interesting as they were random: at the store, around town, in the park. Stiles was fairly certain that Peter and Derek had been in the process of burying something when he came across them while patrolling the Preserve his second week in town; thankfully, the two men had done a good enough job of covering their tracks that Stiles could reasonably play dumb about the situation.
Each conversation that Stiles had with Peter further piqued Stiles's interest until he found himself looking forward to seeing the alpha. The hungry looks that Peter occasionally shot him when he thought Stiles wasn't looking only cemented the deputy's fascination with the wolf; Stiles always had admired passionate people the most.
To have that passion directed at him was an exhilarating feeling, and not something that Stiles felt much anymore. It was almost enough for him to tell Peter his history.
Almost.
Of course, every time he came close to mentioning it, he would catch someone from the pack attempting to be sneaky, inadvertently reminding him of why he gave up all this nonsense years ago.
(Of course, his brothers would say that his career in law enforcement would suggest that he wasn't quite as ready to give everything up as he said. He would say that he just had a strong sense of justice, that's all.)
Scott and Lydia glanced at him one more time before scurrying out the door, no doubt to fight the latest monster-of-the-week.
Stiles would leave them to it as long as the monster in question stayed out of his way.
<> <>
Stiles considered the chaos before him with a discerning eye. Werewolves could be so messy--especially when pieces of them were strewn about the warehouse.
It served the idiots right, though, for biting him. Frankly, the wolves were lucky their deaths had been so quick; if Stiles had been conscious during the biting and the clawing portion of the evening, their deaths would have been much slower, and even more painful.
Oh, well.
He scoffed as he surveyed the room. Human body or no, he still couldn't believe they’d managed to catch him that easily. Then again, he’d assumed that they wouldn't have resorted to sneaking up behind him. Stiles appreciated stealth as much as the next person, but they were werewolves. They should have just mauled him and been done with it.
They had certainly recognized their mistake in the end.
So, what to do now?
They weren't expecting him at the station on his day off, but he had been gone long enough that any other interested parties had likely noticed his absence.
Peter would be upset at having missed all of the excitement, of course, and irritated at his abduction; Stiles had no doubt that the upcoming temper-tantrum would be as adorable as it was terrifying.
He was actually sort of looking forward to seeing who would find him first: the pack or his brothers? Either way, the reactions would be interesting.
He didn't have to wait long for the answer.
“Hello, brother. You always did have a flair for the dramatic.” A pale, tow-headed man about Stiles's age stepped gracefully out of the shadows next to the deputy. Without waiting for Stiles to acknowledge him, he reached out and pulled Stiles into a welcoming hug.
Stiles squawked at Death, but only half-heartedly pushed him away. Stiles was glad to see him, despite the circumstances; it had been far too long since they’d last been together.
“The others?”
“Famine rests, as you did,” his brother answered, turning Stiles this way and that to search for any lingering injuries. As expected, the bite marks and scratches had almost entirely vanished.
“I'm fine, you know,” the brunette reminded him.
Death shot him a knowing look. “You weren't, though, which is how you got into the mess in the first place. Honestly, consorting with werewolves. You should know better.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “You know I'm not interested in dalliance,” Stiles said, stepping to the side so his brother could deal with the mess. A casual blink later, and all evidence of the presence of the Alpha Pack had vanished.
“I know,” the man said drolly. “And since you're not interested in building an army, I have to wonder what your plans are for Peter Hale.”
“He’s the one who’s been watching me,” Stiles pointed out. “But, to be honest, we have quite a bit in common.”
Sarcasm, cleverness, past anger issues…
“Have a care, brother--” Death warned, but whatever else he might have said was lost when the pack burst into the warehouse.
They stopped short at the sight of Stiles with someone who was not the alpha pack. Peter and Lydia both looked suspicious, but the rest of them just looked relieved that their friend was unharmed.
Lydia looked from Stiles to his brother with narrowed eyes. “Who are you?”
Death smiled indulgently, hand still resting on Stiles's shoulder. “You know who I am, Lydia Martin.”
“I am become death, the Destroyer of worlds,” Peter murmured, and the other turned to him in surprise. “That’s who you are, isn't it? How do you know Stiles?”
“My brother's names are as many as mine,” Death said.
“Death is your brother?” Scott looked seconds away from darting forward and grabbing Stiles away from the tow-headed man. “What does that mean?”
“Who are you?” Isaac asked at the same time. “What are you?”
Stiles smiled serenely as he watched Peter mentally put the pieces together. “Oh, I've been everyone, really,” he told the pack. “I've been gods and monsters, heroes and tricksters,” he chuckled fondly. “I was even King of the Cats for a little while.”
“So you’re not human?” Erica sounded inordinately thrilled by the revelation.
“But what happened to the alphas?” Isaac asked.
Stiles exchanged a glance with his brother and shrugged. “They killed each other,” he admitted.
“How? Why?”
“They were driven mad by the lust for power, the thirst for violence.” Stiles smirked at the Hale pack. “I gave them exactly what they wanted.”
“What, death?”
“No,” Peter answered, eyes glowing red as he stared at Stiles, “he showed them War.”
Stiles's smirk grew. “My purview is not simply guns and bombs,” the Horseman cautioned. “It is triumph and despair, brotherhood and betrayal,” his eyes flicked to the alpha, “passion and hatred.”
He grinned at the possessiveness in Peter’s gaze, even now.
The others looked equal parts fascinated and nervous.
“Don't worry,” he reassured them, “Our time has not yet come.”
“Trust Uncle Peter to fall in love with one of the harbingers of the apocalypse,” Cora groaned, but she was smiling as she said it.
“Oh, this is going to be exciting,” Peter breathed.
Stiles rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but agree.