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“Okay, you said you need to talk with me urgently. So… what’s good? You said you had a favorite sandwich here?”
“Hey, Stiles,” the guy behind the counter says as he passes a large carving knife from hand to hand. “You gonna do your regular spicy turkey?”
“Yes, please, Jason. Same for my friend here, but he needs to be easy on the jalapenos.”
“Real light on those, please.” Scott shakes his head and turns back to Stiles, whispering, “You gonna tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to guess?”
“I’ll tell you, geez, be patient.” He hands over two bottles of soda and points to a table by the front window. “You go get that table and I’ll pay and bring stuff over. I just want to eat a few bites and get my head together. And thanks for coming out.”
Scott gives Stiles a sunny smile and says, “Sure, of course. I always have your back.”
“Get ready for the best sandwich of your life.” Stiles puts two plates on the table and slides into his chair with a sigh. “Best part of my week. Or the two times a week I eat this.”
“Okay,” Scott answers and shrugs, looking at his food. “Oh, wow, this is like real turkey, like a Thanksgiving sandwich!” He takes a bite, shutting his eyes and smiling.
“Yeah, I know!” Stiles takes a bite and rips open a bag of chips. “I also told Jason to give you regular Jack cheese rather than pepper jack. Because you’re just a spice baby.”
Scott snorts and takes another bite, rolling his eyes. “You know it’s the wolf thing. And you sounded kind of freaked out on the phone. What’s up, Stiles?”
“Way to ruin a good lunch.” He pulls a jalapeno out of his sandwich and says, “I have a stalker. A fucking stalker, Scott.” He eats the pepper and more chips, shaking his head. “I am not supposed to have a stalker. I’m a male college student and I left the fucking hell-hole that is Beacon Hills behind. I’m not supposed to have a stalker! It’s like a fucking ID Discovery show!”
“You gonna eat that?” Scott asks, pointing at the remainder of Stiles’ sandwich. He has it pulled in front of him before Stiles gets a chance to nod. “Have you seen this person? Do you know who they are? When did this start?” He leans forward and whispers, “You’re sure they’re human?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, I’m mostly good knowing if there’s supes around, but actually, I was hoping you could sniff around my apartment? See if you can figure anything out?” He pours the last crumbs of chips into his mouth, using it to avoid eye contact with Scott, in case he’s feeling used.
Of course, he’s not. He’s Scott, the BFF of all BFFs. Yes, sometimes he forgets Stiles is just a human – a birthday hug requires Tylenol after – but he’s always willing to use his wolfie powers to help his human bro. “Sure. But your apartment? You think whoever this is is coming into your apartment?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Stiles gathers their plates on the plastic tray to make it easier for the cleaning people and checks his pockets for his wallet, phone, and car keys. “I think so, I don’t have proof, not yet. But it’s like…I know where I put my keys, I put them in the same place every time. And sometimes they’re not there. I can find them, but they’ve been moved. Or it’s just – you know, you know when someone has been in your place, touching your stuff? Pick it up and put it down just a little differently? Yeah?”
“Of course, I do.” Scott touches his nose and shrugs, pushing back his chair and grabbing the tray. “Let’s get to your place and I’ll check it out; maybe I can figure out what’s going on. Maybe it’s nothing and you’re just imagining things?”
“When is it nothing, Scott? Is it ever nothing?”
Scott shakes his head and huffs a sigh. “No, you’re right. It’s never nothing.”
Stiles’ apartment is walking distance from his job at the university library. It’s not what he intended to do when he started college, but it gives him time to practice his magic and access to any book he could possibly want. If it’s not in their library, he can put in an cross-library loan and get items normal patrons aren’t allowed to check out.
Scott runs up the stairs, eager little pupper that he is, while Stiles is slower, checking through the few pieces of mail from the mailbox in the lobby.
“Gotta say, Stiles, there’s a lot of people smells in your building,” the werewolf says, wrinkling his nose. “Some older, I’m guessing I can ignore those – unless you’re being stalked by a ghost!”
“That’s not even remotely funny, dude. And it wouldn’t surprise me, but let’s put that on the bottom of the pile.” Outside of Stiles’ second floor apartment, he steps aside and gestures to the door. “Getting anything?”
“Other than you?” Scott walks around the small hallway, eyes squinting in concentration, but not obviously sniffing like he used to do when he was a new, inexperienced werewolf. “Not really. A few people have been at your door… Erica’s been over? A while ago, I think?”
“Wow, yeah, a month ago or so. Just to pick me up to go to a movie with her and Boyd. Had to pee, she was in and out in maybe five minutes.”
“Hmm.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “Not getting anything out here then. Want to go in?”
“Ready when you are. Just let me know if you scent someone being furtive. Suspicious.” Stiles unlocks the two locks and pushes open the door.
“I do know what furtive means, Stiles,” Scott says walking into the apartment in front of his friend. “It’s another thing you learn about when you’ve lived in Beacon Hills. Furtive, sneaky, guileful, dishonest…” He turns to Stiles and wrinkles his nose. “I love you Stiles, but you need to open more windows.” He glances at the sofa and adds, “And maybe wash that blanket more often. Or better yet, throw it out.”
Stiles grabs the offending blanket, rolls it into a ball and quickly puts it outside his front door. “Sorry and I do wash stuff, you know. It’s my favorite blanket, I’ve had it since-“
“I remember it,” Scott answers, grinning and walking towards the window, looking out at the other apartment buildings facing Stiles’ home. “I fell asleep under that blanket more than once. Of course, at the time, I don’t think it smelled quite as…” Happily, he doesn’t finish his sentence and stops, tilting his head.
“What? You got something?” Stiles asks, moving next to his friend. “At the window?”
“Maybe.” Scott walks around the apartment, not touching anything, just looking and taking in scents. “I mean it’s an older place, you’re not the first tenant. Some smells are old and some are fresh.” He gives Stiles a familiar grin and says, “At least you’re dating more than you did in high school or college.”
“I do okay. But are you getting anything suspicious? Damn, I hope it’s not someone I was dating – although I don’t know why it would be, no one has been serious. I don’t think I’ve dated anyone more than three times before we mutually decided ‘we’re better as friends’.” He uses air quotes and shrugs. “Or I got dumped. I don’t think I’ve been a dumper, I tend to be a dumpee.”
“So sad.” Scott nods and tilts his head. “Peter’s been here? His scent is… a couple, maybe three or four days old at the most.”
“What? Peter Hale? Our Peter Hale’s been here? I mean the Peter Hale?” Stiles tries to breathe, mouth suddenly dry. “Peter? Fuck.” He sits on the couch and puts his head in his hands. “I haven’t talked with him live in months. I mean, if he wanted to talk, he could text me – that’s the only way we talk at all. I mean, I would let him in the fucking front door! Probably.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just telling you what I found.” He sits next to Stiles, rubbing his back and sighs. “He wasn’t here that you knew of? He didn’t want to, I don’t know, borrow any books or anything? I know you two used to trade books on spells or whatever. I thought you kind of liked him.”
Stiles sits up and gives his friend a small smile before leaning back against the couch, head tilted back, to study the ceiling. “Nope. We talked, like I said, a month or so ago. He was looking for information on a Norse sea monster called a Hafgufa. I found some information at the library, took pictures of what I found and texted it to him. That’s it.”
“And he’s never been here personally?”
“Nope. At least I didn’t think so and if he did, I hope he’d use the door. You can’t smell him at the door?”
Scott stands up and does a slow trip around the room. “Heavily over here, by the window. I’d say, yeah, he came in through this window. More than once, as well. I can’t tell exactly how many times, but the scent is heavy enough that it’s more than once.”
“Oh, lords, that can’t be good.” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair and looks around his room. “Can you tell where else he’s been or what he’s touched?”
Nodding, Scott does another walk around, stopping every few feet to shut his eyes and take a deep breath. “Yeah, he was over here at the bookshelves. Just kind of…” He takes a few steps, running a finger along the spines. “I don’t even think he really looked at any.”
“Great, so he’s just wandering around. Was he in the kitchen, or, please don’t tell me he was in my bedroom.”
“Generally, when you have a stalker, I don’t think he’s hoping to have a nice cappuccino,” Scott answers, and snorts just a bit. He walks into the small kitchen, and takes a quick look around. “He was in here, but not – not for long. Kinda in and out?”
“Good, I don’t want him touching my food; he’d probably poison it.” Stiles sighs and gives Scott a pat on the back while passing him in the hallway. “Okay, every werewolf’s favorite spot to sniff – let’s go in my bedroom and have a smell party.”
Scott leads the way, takes one step in Stiles’ bedroom and stops, shaking his head. “Stiles. Man, it’s like the locker room in high school after a match.” His nose wrinkles and he adds, “Well, as sweaty at least, and it’s a bit more funky in here.”
“Hey, I’m not a monk, pardon me.” He kicks a pair on sneakers under the bed and says, “I do laundry, I vacuum, I do all the adult things I’m supposed to do. Sorry if your super-sensitive nose is offended by adult things, Scotty, I do try.”
Scott snorts and shakes his head, pulling Stiles into a one-armed hug. “I know, I know, I’m just giving you grief. I mean what are friends for? And there’s also a scent of…” He sniffs for a second and smiles. “Lavender laundry soap? Lots of cleansers and stuff like that. Your house does smell like you clean it a lot. It smells like a very clean bordello.”
“You’re a laugh riot, I can’t imagine why I ever moved away from Beacon Hills. Oh, I remember, I was supposed to be avoiding crazy people and monsters and werewolves. Like the one who’s been entering my apartment whenever he pleases.” Stiles falls on his bed, looking at the ceiling. “What’s the bad news in here?”
Scott sits on the bed, next to where Stiles is laying. “Do you want the good news first or the bad news?”
“Let’s start with the bad news and then the good news can cheer me up. Maybe?”
“He hasn’t been in your bed. That’s good, right?”
“Creepiest good news ever. Anything else good?”
“Depends on what you consider good, I guess.” Scott gets up and looks around. “He’s touched your dressers and stuff, I don’t think that he actually went into the drawers, I don’t think…” He opens the top drawer and takes a quick sniff, slamming the drawer shut. “He didn’t fondle your underwear. That’s good, right?”
“Stay gold, Ponyboy,” Stiles says, kissing the back of Scott’s head. “Where else has that pervert been? Want to check out my dirty laundry hamper? Notice how I said that as though it was a funny idea? I was serious. It’s in there.” He points to his closet, giving Scott a gentle push. “Look for Peter – not anyone else.”
“This is more than just a sandwich, Stiles. You are going to owe me –” Scott steps back from the open closet doors, blinking rapidly. “You owe me a dinner. Or a car.” He squats next to Stiles’ laundry hamper, shuts his eyes and takes a breath. “I hate you so much right now. You owe me a house. And Peter was in your closet, as far as I can tell, which is as far as I want to go, he didn’t touch your laundry basket. And when did you become such a slut?”
“Hey, no slut shaming. You had sex in high school and I finally got popular in college, so sue me. What else did he touch? Can you tell how often he’s been here? How’s he getting in?”
Standing as far away as possible, Scott shuts the closet doors and turns to his friend. “He kind of, ran his hand across your stuff on the top clothes bar-thingy. Probably judging your things, dude. And noting what a slutty-slut-slut you are.” He grins, showing he doesn’t mean it; he’s been Stiles’ wing-man on more than one occasion, going back to their earliest college days. “As far as how he got in, I’m going to stick with what I said earlier and go with that window where his scent’s heaviest.” He leads the way out of the bedroom back to the living room window. “Yeah, his scent is centered here; I bet he comes up the fire escape. It seems like he does a quick walk around your place, living room, kitchen, bedroom – which honestly, is your whole house. I can’t tell you how long he’s here, or how often, but the last time was probably…” Scott scratches his head and shrugs. “Three, four days ago. On the bright side, at least you know the freak who’s stalking you.” Scott can still outshine the sun. “That’s gotta be a positive, right?”
“Yeah, I know the freak who’s stalking me and I’m going to fucking skin him alive and wear his hide as a coat.”
“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Now that he knows what he’s up against. Stiles can swiftly move into action. Action is good, action is doing something, action is taking back his own life and that’s Stiles – Man of Action. Trademark pending.
First thing is cleaning everything. It makes him feel better to get rid of as many traces of Peter as possible. Also, Scott’s comments were a little harsh and while Stiles is pretty sure he’s got a clean apartment, well, werewolves. He really doesn’t need Erica asking for details; her raised eyebrows are enough.
After multiple loads of laundry, vacuuming, washing the kitchen and bathroom floors, and washing windows, Stiles feels pretty comfortable he could pass inspection from anyone. Even Derek and his judgmental eyebrows.
Next, of course is mountain ash. A lot of mountain ash.
Luckily, he has plenty of access from people he knows from work and from suppliers he’s been in contact with over the years. That part’s easy.
With all the books he has access to, he’s also able to put together what he thinks are some pretty awesome wards. Not to kill anyone, but they should notify him if someone he doesn’t know or want in enters. This is the first time he’s tried these particular ones; previously, all the wards had been against supernatural creatures. These wards should help him with both humans and non-humans. Hopefully.
Lastly, he installs motion detection cameras inside and out, making sure he has a clear view of that living room window. They’re not cheap, but he borrowed a co-worker’s Costco card and gets a set of four. After downloading an app, he’s got everything covered.
He doesn’t need to keep the app open, he only checks it when he gets notification something’s set off the camera. Normally, it’s birds, a squirrel or the neighbor’s cat, Brian. The fire escape next to his window is in the sun for most of the afternoon and Brian’s made it his nap spot. It’s actually kind of cute. Brian is orange and dumb as a box of rocks, but the cat is leading the life Stiles kinda wants.
Beyond that… once during the two weeks since he set everything up, the cameras went off at the front door and he saw someone wearing a black hoodie and black jeans come to his door and then leave. It could have been a neighbor, probably possibly, and the wards didn’t go off, so there’s that.
Brian knocked down a neighbor’s flower pot. Stiles has it on tape, but he’ll never give Brian up. Snitches get stitches.
Stiles doesn’t completely relax, however, because it is Peter they’re talking about. Or trying to avoid, or whatever it is. Peter is not a good person. He’s done some good things for the pack; he’s done research, he rescued some of the pack members from whatever crap showed up in Beacon Hills – when it didn’t inconvenience him, that is. But overall, Stiles knows he’s not to be fully trusted. Even if they were sort of friends, or at least allies.
Then again, Stiles probably isn’t to be fully trusted, if truth be told. He is working on spells that can kill people, because sometimes people need to be killed. He doesn’t discuss all this with Scott, because Scott doesn’t like to hear it. He’s still the same guy who recognizes there can be problems, deadly problems, but thinks pre-emptive killing is wrong. Scott thinks killing during the heat of battle is wrong. It’s like Scott is completely against killing.
Stiles thinks sometimes it has to be done. In that, Peter agrees, so maybe he shouldn’t be so judgmental about Peter. They also agree on some basic principles, like not dying. And Peter is pretty funny when he wants to be. And he holds a grudge at least as much as Stiles does. He’s loyal to those who are loyal to him. He’s not ugly, not that it matters, but since Stiles is thinking of his good qualities, he may as well admit the man is hot and age hasn’t changed that, unless for the better.
Still doesn’t mean he wants the werewolf following him around and invading his home.
And it doesn’t mean the time when they were in the Ghost Rider’s stupid train station and they were scared and bored and made out for a few minutes means anything or gives Peter any points. Peter started it, doing that Hale thing (the hot thing) of slamming Stiles against a post and plundering his mouth for a few minutes until he pulled away, muttering “No, no, no. Too young, mustn’t touch” and avoided Stiles for some amount of time that might have been a day or might have been longer. The train station was weird and after they escaped, they didn’t discuss it ever, no part of it.
If it got added to Stiles’ spank bank, it’s no one’s business but his own.
Okay, it’s been over a week since the last sighting of anything suspicious and honestly, Stiles is getting bored.
It’s a little cumbersome to keep checking on the mountain ash, and for it to be effective, he needs to keep the window shut, and it sometimes needs to be open for, you know, that fresh air Scott went on and on about.
Maybe Peter’s gotten the message. Maybe the cameras and wardings and mountain ash actually worked to get the message through. He’s not wanted if he’s coming in through the window. A phone call or text and maybe, if he’s in a good mood and the stars align, Stiles might let him in.
Stiles is thinking he’s going to cut down on the mountain ash this weekend. The weather is warmer and he’d like to have a window open sometimes. He’ll have it fixed so it can’t be opened more than a few inches, but even that’ll make a mess with the San Francisco winds creating a mini tornado in the apartment courtyard.
Plus, with the window open, Brian might come and visit. He’s been caught on camera sitting on the outside window sill.
He checks his phone one more time as he goes up the stairs. Yes, it’s time for a rethink, the camera at the window must have moved, it’s just showing a blank screen. It’s weird, but again, that fucking wind.
He opens the door and there’s a backpack on the sofa and it’s not his.
In addition to that, the window is open. He checks on the wards and they’re kind of screwy – he should have had some notification if it’s Peter.
The mountain ash is all over the floor and Stiles takes a second to call it back into a nice pile he can pick up later. Cleaning up mountain ash was a good spell and one of the first he taught himself. Next step is to go to the cabinet back at the front door to get the taser his father bought him as a ‘going away to college’ present. He’s never used it, but he always keeps it charged. Sheriff’s kid, after all.
It’s not there.
He doubles back to the kitchen and grabs the biggest knife he has then starts down the hall to the bedroom, where he’s sure Peter’s sniffing his underwear or something.
And he hears Peter calling, “Stiles, dear heart, could you please come here? I’ve something to show you.”
“Fucking freak of nature, Peter Hale, like I’m going to come and get locked in a room with you!”
Peter pokes his head out of the bathroom, smirking, of course with an eyebrow raised, of course. Because it’s Peter. “You’re coming down the hallway anyway. We’re in the bathroom. I tossed your taser on your bed, if you feel a need to grab it.”
“We’re in the bathroom?” He makes a detour to grab the taser and walks across to the small bathroom. It’s crowded with the two of them in there. Oh, and in the bathtub is Jason from the sandwich shop. He’s got zip ties around his ankles, knees, wrists and elbows and a couple of strips of duct tape over his mouth. “Is he alive?” Stiles asks, bending down to be sure his chest moves.
“Of course. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t just leave bodies lying around. He’s alive. I just hit him over the head and dragged him in here.” Peter sits on the toilet and leans over to smack Jason in the head again. “See? He’ll come around.”
“And you did this why? Why are you here? Why is he here?”
“My gods, Stiles, do I need to explain everything? Seriously, you’re smarter than that.” Peter leans back against the tank and crosses his legs. “This person here has been breaking into your apartment for the last seven weeks. He also has an apartment across the street from your bedroom apartment and watches you while you undress.”
“Ew, really?” he looks down at Jason, still unconscious in the tub, noting the thin ribbon of blood from his nose. “I thought he was an okay dude, if I thought about him at all. He makes good sandwiches. I always tip him.”
“Well, that’s enough for some people to think you’re ready to get married. Anyway, I noticed him watching you, so started watching him and your –“ he waves his hand and continues, “your diversions kept him away for a bit. I’m sure he wondered about the dust on the floor, and then today, I saw him coming in, carrying a backpack and decided it was enough.”
“Back pack? Oh, the backpack in the living room is his? And you’re watching enough that you just managed to see him sneak into the same window you sneak into?”
“You seem to be missing the point here, sweetheart. The first thing he went for was your taser; he knew exactly where it was. He grabbed that, I grabbed him and the rest, as they say, is history.” Peter puts his boots on the side of the tub by Jason’s head and smiles smugly. “Thankfully, his backpack does contain the necessary supplies to subdue a person. In this case, luckily, him.”
“What? What do you mean?” Stiles feels his heart start to pound and his hearing feels like he’s underwater. “Supplies? Where’d you get the tie-thingies, Peter?”
Peter stands and pushes Stiles out of the room, keeping his hands on Stiles’ shoulders as he escorts him out. “Go look in the backpack he brought, Stiles. And you’ll see why he’s unconscious in your bathtub.” Before Stiles get to his living room, Peter stops him and says, “I’m not the enemy, Stiles.”
He nods and grabs the bag, moving back towards the bathroom. For some reason there, it feels safer. Smaller, not so out in the open as his living room, which might be one hundred square feet, but suddenly feels as huge and unprotected as an airport terminal.
“Okay, here it is,” he says and opens it, taking out each item. “Zip ties, that’s normal, right?” He places them in the sink, and looks in the bag, taking out a clear bottle with a rag in it. “What’s this? I’m just going to go out on a limb and say chloroform or something like that. Yes?”
“I didn’t test it, decided to save it for you.” Peter tilts his head, studying Stiles. “You okay, still? There’s more and I’m sorry.”
He opens a brown envelope and flips through a stack of twenties. His swallow is loud when he turns the envelope over and a passport falls out. “Okay, that’s not good, is it?”
Peter sighs and says, “There’s something else in there, too.”
Stiles reaches in, eyes shut and pulls out a hunting knife, technically a skinning knife. “I think I’m going to faint,” he whispers, and the room spins as he drops his head between his knees.
“Here, here, you’ll be fine,” Peter whispers, guiding Stiles to sit on the floor in front of the open toilet. “I’ll, um, get some water and be right back.”
Peter comes back while Stiles is washing his pale face. “Here, some 7-up or something.” He looks at the can and says, “Sprite. Same thing, I think. Anyway, rinse and drink this.”
Stiles does as he’s told, not meeting Peter’s eyes. “Did you know he was so…”
“Bat shit fucking crazy? No, I knew he was creepy and invading your privacy and peeking where only I should be peeking. This nuts? No.” Peter smiles his genuinely fake and cheesy smile, which Stiles secretly finds a little funny. “Next question is, what would you like to do? It’s absolutely your decision, but I’m thinking there’s a couple of options. We wait until evening, and I can take him out and then either threaten him and beat the living snot out of him, or – and this is my preference – I can get rid of him for good.”
“You mean, you’d…kill him? For me?” Stiles knows that somewhere Scott is crying, but this is kind of sweet. And sexy, in a creepy way.
Darling, please.” Peter’s eyes glow red as he embraces Stiles, resting their foreheads together. “You must know I’ll do anything to protect my emissary.”
“Emissary? You’re assuming a lot and when did you even get the new eyes. Scott didn’t say anything - does he know?”
“It didn’t seem like the kind of thing to tell you over text. And I have no idea what Scott thinks, nor do I care. I’m not in his territory. I live here.” He steps back and takes a breath. “And yes, I would love you to at least consider being my emissary. I think you can see I’ll help take care of you – only if you need it, of course.”
“I can usually take care of myself. I’m sure with –“ Stiles points to Jason – “you might think I can’t, but I’ve got a few things I can do.”
“I don’t doubt that, not in the least.” Peter steps away and squats to check Jason’s breathing again. “So, an option is you take care of him yourself. If you want to, you can take the lead and I’ll follow whatever you want.”
“Maybe. By the way, I like your hair like this, longer. And the beard, too. I can’t grow a beard, I still have that patchy…” He picks up the taser and points it towards Jason’s neck. “Yeah. I think—I think he’s not going to walk out of this.”
“Good. You also have the option of both of us getting rid of him here and, well, since he’s in the tub, it would be fairly easy to put pieces of him in extra-strong black trash bags. The bags go into some cheap suitcases we can pick up from Goodwill and they go bye-bye from there.” Peter chuckles, holding out a hand to admire his claws. “There is a benefit to living by the ocean, sweetheart.”
“I think we go for the last one, at least mostly. We can kill him in the tub, it’ll be easier to clean.”
Peter pulls Stiles to him and murmurs, “How old are you now? You’re over 20, right?”
“Yes, Peter. I’ll be 22 in three months and I’ll graduate college a couple of months after that. Am I old enough now?”
“Darling, you may be perfect. You and I could be very good together.” He steps back, turning around and takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. “Okay, what would you like to do next?”
Taking a minute to study Peter’s back and his backside, Stiles thinks about being with him. About alpha Peter and being in his pack, being his emissary, being in his bed. And he’s okay with all of it, at least on a trial basis. Peter isn’t Stiles’ psycho stalker. He’s just the normal psycho Peter.
He steps around the wolf, grabbing one of Jason’s arms to be sure he’s face up and then turns on the shower. “Fucker’s gotta wake up. I’m petty that way. He terrorized me, I’m terrorizing him.”
They watch as Jason wakes, shaking his head, trying, unsuccessfully, to fight his way out of the tub with no use of his arms or legs. His eyes go wide and dark as he recognizes Stiles standing over him, but he’s only able to grunt and moan.
“Hey, Jason, fancy meeting you here, you sack of shit.” Stiles shakes his head and takes Peter’s hand. “This here, this guy is Peter and he’s my – boyfriend.” He looks at Peter and asks, “Boyfriend? Is that right?”
Peter lets his eyes glow and fangs drop. “That works. You can’t just call me your alpha when we’re so much more, sweetheart.”
The ammonia smell from Jason makes both men step back, but the shower takes the smell away quickly.
“Yeah, Jason. You picked the wrong person to stalk.”
He slumps back in the tub, defeated. He shuts his eyes and whimpers, the fight out of him quite quickly.
“I’d love to watch his face, but arterial spray’s a bitch.” Stiles kneels on the floor next to the tub, and asks Peter, “Do you want to flip him and do that rip his throat out thing you do so well? Or should I use the knife he brought here on him?” He smiles at Jason, tossing the knife between his hands. “Knife or claws? Claws or knife? Wolf, how about you do the honors – your courting gift to me.”
“Gladly, thank you.” Peter flips Jason onto his stomach, holding him down with a firm hand on his back, and pulls his claws through his throat.
He holds his arm under the flow of the shower for a moment, letting the blood wash off, while Jason gurgles and finally stops thrashing.
“Now what? I don’t suppose you have a saw of any type, do you?” Peter asks, leaning over to turn off the shower. “I can just tear, but it makes more of a mess than clean cuts.”
“I’ll be right back!” Stiles yells and races from the room and back in a minute’s time. “Okay, got it. Here, let’s try this. It’s worked on some smaller things I found.” He sprinkles gray and powdery dirt over Jason’s waterlogged corpse, while whispering something that’s too quiet even for Peter’s ears. “You have his wallet and car keys and stuff, right?”
“Of course, boy. This isn’t my first dead body.”
“Asshole,” he answers, automatically. Stiles shuts his eyes and puts both hands over his heart. Then, he says, “Gone.”
And Jason is gone, there’s some gray sludge in the bottom of the tub, but that’s it.
Peter looks from the tub to Stiles and back again, unable to keep his eyes from glowing their alpha red. “You have much more magic than I thought, sweetheart. I must say, it’s rather attractive on you. Maybe after we clean up, you’ll let me take you to dinner and you can update me on your post-Beacon Hills adventures.”
Stiles nods absently, staring at the tub. “Yeah, sure. You know, I thought this would be more like ash. Just take out the vacuum and suck it up and done. I’m a little nervous about trying to get it drown the drain.”
“Maybe because he was so wet, he’s more sludgey than expected.” Peter kisses the back of Stiles’ head and walks towards the kitchen shouting out, “I’ll get some plastic bags and a bowl or something. We can scoop up the majority and then rinse down the rest.”
“Yeah, thanks. Dump him and his stuff someplace – you probably have a dealing with a dead body checklist by now.”
Peter comes back with supplies, handing a plastic pitcher to Stiles while he doubles up the garbage bags. “Maybe I do, darling. If you want to kill more people, I’ll certainly find a place for your leftovers.”
“What a good alpha. Let’s get this done and then we can discuss our pack and next steps.” Stiles wraps a hand around Peter’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Now that I’ve had time to adjust, I’m glad you’re here.” He scoops up some of the gritty mud in the tub and dumps it into a bag Peter’s holding open. “You wouldn’t know anywhere to get a good turkey sandwich, would you?”