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Scott McCall's I Saw It First

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It takes Scott three years after Peter Hale comes back from dead to realize that he really is different.

It isn't in the way he moves, self assured and cocky, like he owns the world. He's still an arrogant dick. It isn't in the snark, because he knows, unfortunately from a run in with some fae, that Peter will never shut up, even when tortured and half-way dead. It isn't even in the way he acts. He's still power hungry, even though he hasn't made any move to steal the alpha-power from him, nor has he left them all to die when things really go to shit(Case in point being gnomes. Those creepy bastards were immune to all things supernatural. Being dropped kicked? Not so much.).

Peter is self-absorbed and only helpful when it means helping himself. He withholds information just to watch them scramble, and if the choice is between saving his own life or that of someone else, he'll choose himself every time.

No, Peter is still a manipulative douche who causes Scott countless sleepless nights.

It's the way he looks at Stiles, like he's his whole world.

Although, that doesn't stop him from telling Stiles to shut the fuck up when they are trying to be sneaky, or blowing up his plans when they're stupendously bad. Half the time, he looks like he's considering killing them all in their sleep.

No, it's in the moments of chaos, when they're all scrambling for answers and trying not to run head first into shit - because they have learned that nothing good every comes from that - that Peter looks to Stiles, who is always arguing the loudest, always shouting to be heard as the rest of the pack pitches ideas, and he just seems to zero in on him. He waits for them to calm, sometimes makes them shut up himself, then he either questions Stiles about his plan, shaping it up by eliminating what will go wrong, planting his own twist to it to give it the extra kick in the ass to make it work, or ripping it to shreds and calling him an idiot.

Sometimes, as they rough out a plan, they get carried away. They gravitate towards each other, sometimes meeting in the middle, crowding each other over books to research, sometimes heading straight for the table to plan or even to the door – plotting out the final snags of their scheme as they head out to act out the first steps of said scheme. They wind themselves around each other, their ideas forming in rapid succession. They land on the same track and bulldoze past everything and every one, their ideas stacking together, their breakthroughs happening almost simultaneously. By the end, they are both flushed, riding high on the challenge of solving the puzzle of the monster of the week.

When it really first starts, during junior year, the pack had still been restless, split and disjointed. Often, it was only the two of them having these plan hashing sprees. Even after, now that the pack is all together, it might as well be as if they are alone. They hear suggestions, run with them or dismiss them, look at the person talking, but in the end, they always look back to each other.

After the plan takes place, most the time working unless some unforeseen hitch occurs, mostly due to bad information or an unforeseen mistranslation, they all file back to the loft. Sometimes Peter is with them, sometimes he is already waiting there. He glances at them, gaze assessing just how well the plan worked, determining to which degree he can gloat, then orders pizza. His gaze doesn't linger on any of them, but there is always a whole pizza with pineapple and turkey bacon, which Stiles noisily hoards in the corner.

Stiles slaps away all hands that ease towards it, but just sighs when Peter snags a piece, snarking, "I suppose you can have one, since you bought it. But don't come back. I don't care if you give me puppy dog eyes, scraps are bad for you."

Peter bares his fangs and Stiles throws his crust, which Peter bats away with a snort. Inevitably, Peter steals half the pizza and Stiles bitches about it for five minutes before demanding something to drink. Peter snarks at him, Stiles steals his drink and the cycle begins anew.

If that isn't a declaration of love between two of the most sarcastic people Scott knows, he really can't say what is. He tries not to think about it too hard, because it's gross. Stiles is his brother and Peter is a creeper-zombie. It was hard enough when he first started being able to pick individual scents apart and had to do tell Stiles that rinsing off and spraying on cologne after jerking off wasn't cutting it. They hadn't been able to look at each other for a week.

It takes Scott nearly a month after the great 'Peter Thinks The World Revolves Around Stiles' Ass' - revelation for him to have the second, 'It's Mutual' - revelation.

He had thought about it in passing, but the point is driven home when vampires invade.

Scott is walking out of his English 101 class at the community college when Stiles calls him.

"Dude, I'm outside of the Cosmetology building. You need to get here, like yesterday."

"Why are you outside of the Cosmetology building?" Scott asks, unable to help it even as he heads to his dirt bike. He can't keep the smile off his face.

"I'm getting my hair done," Stiles draws, all sarcasm.

"Someone not paying you enough attention?" Scott can't stop the words.

"What?" Stiles actually sounds confused. "Whatever. Just get here." He hangs up after that.

When he does get there, he sees why Stiles called. The campus police have already pushed back most of the onlookers and Scott could hear sirens in the distance. Outside police involvement, meaning something beyond a few drunk students or unpaid parking tickets.

Scott finds Stiles pressed up against the yellow tape the campus police had put up. He twitches and his face is flushed. He smells of excitement, dread, and maybe a little nausea. He smells like his father, pack, and blood.

He jumps just a little and shoots Scott a glare when he slides up next to him. He mutters something about putting bells on every single pack member. Scott lets the words pass over him, before he looks at Stiles and asks, "Are you okay?"

Stiles frowns for a moment, questioning the question, then he waves his hand and sticks out his arms, pulling up his sleeves. They're covered in blood drops.

"It's not mine," Stiles mutters under his breath before slipping them back down. "I walked under her."

"Her?" Scott asks, peering past the rope and looking for the source.

Stiles grabs his head and angles up. "Her," is all he says.

Scott looks and figures out why Stiles smells like he's fighting to hold his stomach-content down.

The woman is strung upside from a large tree. One leg hanging awkwardly, flopping uselessly around as she softly swings in the breeze. Her other one is stretched out, a coil of pink rope wrapped around it, pulled taut between the branch and her dangling form. She's naked and she had been cut from ear to ear, then from sternum to groin. Scott feels his stomach heave a little, but fights it down.

"What did that? " Scott asks.

Stiles looks at him, then takes a deep breath. "I don't know. What do you smell?"

Scott breathes deeply and lets the scents fill his nose. It is always a strange combination of 'Guess That Smell' and 'Please Don't Let That Linger'. Crime scenes are always one of the worst. This one smells like too many people, hormones, faintly of blood, and death. And underneath it all, there is the smell of grave dirt, metallic and earthy. He opens his eyes and quickly blinks away the red in them.

"Not human." He grumbles, a bit of growl creeping in.

Stiles nods, looking back at the scene. "This took place in the city limits, so it's the city police's department. Dad won't be working this case," he speaks mostly to himself. He squints, getting the 'Thinking really deeply, do not disturb' face.

Scott knows the face well. He waits for the eventual, 'Almost there, currently buffering snarky way to say this', face. He gets it a moment later when Stiles finally looks at him.

"Scott, isn't it odd that there isn't more blood?"


The pack meeting is filed under a code blue, which means threat detected, but so far no werewolf dicing, or human(ish in most cases) slicing. Stiles is bouncing all over the place, and all eyes are glued to him. Scott smiles a little, because if they were werecats, someone would be making a laser-pointer joke. As it stands, Stiles isn't speaking, but he is flailing his hands around as he thinks.

Finally, he turns and grins. He spreads his arms, simply stating, "Sunnydale, " as if that word means anything to anyone.

Peter snorts from where he's sitting on the stairs and gets up, making as if to leave. Stiles sputters and glares. Peter sighs, leaning against the rails, he makes an long-suffering and exaggerated 'go on' gesture with his hands.

"What?" Erica asks when Stiles and Peter finally stops glaring at each other.

Stiles opens his mouth to announce his big discovery when Peter beats him to it.

"Vampires," Peter smirks at the outrage on Stiles' face. "You were being terribly slow," he says by way of explanation. "I'm sure you'll understand. Eventually."

Stiles has a belated moment of anger before a smile takes over his face. "Peter," he slyly says. "This must be so therapeutic for you." Peter narrows his eyes and waits. "You are finally meeting other people with similar experiences. You know, murder and coming back from the dead and all."

Peter turns and starts up the stairs. He waves over his shoulder and calls, "have fun being walking happy meals," before disappearing.

"Aha!" Stiles shouts, pointing after him "I knew you were a closeted Buffy fan!"

The only response they get is a door shutting and Derek dropping his head into his hands. He rubs his temples. Finally, he groans, "Can we get on with this?"

That leads to Stiles launching into Vampires 101: Fact, Fiction, and How to Make the Dead Dead Again. He is talking about sunlight when Peter swiftly descends the stairs again, looking annoyed beyond belief.

"Obviously, sunlight hurting them is a myth." He snaps.

Stiles glares and challenges him with a, "really?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "Did you miss the fact that the body was found in the afternoon? Meaning that she was killed during the day. Do I need me to spell the rest out?"

"Huh," Stiles says, thoughtful and quiet. Then his face twists up in disgust. "They better not sparkle."


They definitely do not sparkle. They find out rather quickly that sunlight to them is almost as bad as a full moon to a werewolf. It make them strong, fast, and hungry. The only helpful thing that sunlight does do for the pack is give them enough light to witness the vampires kick their collective asses.

"What the fuck," Stiles seethes, dropping down on the couch in the loft. They all pile in pretty quickly, mostly bleeding and tired.

Peter settles onto the arm of the chair next to him. He favors his right side, where Scott knows he got gnawed while blocking an attack aimed for Isaac. He might be an asshole, but he's pack. He looks out for them, at least to the extent of keeping them breathing.

"Is this another silver/Argent thing, or am I looking at hundreds of years of folklore that has blatantly lied to me?" Stiles demands.

"More likely, they planted the idea of weakness against the sun in order to use it to their advantage. It would be the same as us telling people that we can't heal against dogwood."

"Wait, what about dogwood?"

Peter shakes his head. "Later," he tells him. "For know we need rest and then, figure out what to do next."

Scott agrees and Derek offers to let them stay. No one wants to drag themselves home after the fight they had and everyone is too tired to stay awake much longer. They end up dragging out pillows and blankets and dropping cushions onto the floor. The table ends up tipped over into a corner, staring at it for a moment, they decide to deal with it later. They are all setting down when Peter slaps Stiles upside the head with a pillow. Stiles blinks and looks at him, but Peter has already rolled over and and dropped off. Stiles fluffs the pillow and lies back against it. Scott can smell the tiredness and the frustration from everyone. His best friend reeks of it.

Stiles' heart evens out and he starts breathing deeply. Scott lays motionless in surprise, and he thinks in a tiny whisper, 'he fell asleep using someone else's pillow. Oh my god.' Isaac shifts beside him, throwing one leg over him. Allison nuzzles into his side. He pulls them both close and thinks, 'Stiles loves Peter. Holy shit, they love each other. Like, death can only delay true love, love. That kinda love.'

He snickers and can't stop, not even when his laughter shakes Allison awake and she looks at him funny. He shakes his head and she settles back down.

It's as he's drifting off to sleep that he has revelation number three. They have no fucking idea. Not a clue that they are in love, much less with each other. Scott laughs so hard that he wakes not only himself, but most of the pack as well. Getting a kick in the head from Stiles, who grumbles and turns over, and a face full of curls from Isaac. Scott can't stop the bursts of surprised laughter, not until everyone in the room is in different stages of 'shut up or else' and he can't breathe through the hysterics.

As he wheezes he thinks, 'and they call me oblivious.'

A few minutes later, when everyone is almost asleep once more, Erica sits up with a sigh and mutters, "Damn it, I gotta pee."

Everybody groans.


Lydia figures out how to kill the vampires pretty much by accident. She and Jackson are walking back from the movies when one jumps out at them. Lydia startles and throws the leftovers of a bucket of extra buttery, extra salty popcorn at it. When it hit, the vamp abruptly burst into flames.

It turns out that just about any seasoning would do in a pinch. By the end of the night, three different pack-members have made the "what's for dinner joke".

Afterward, they all go back to the loft to celebrate. By the end of the night, they managed to eat everything in the kitchen, then ordered takeout from six different places, and as dessert, devoured 32 pints of ice cream.

The entire time Scott watches the others vigilantly, searching for any sign that anyone else is aware of the epic romance that is occurring right under their noses. Apparently, they are still hung up on the Allison/Scott thing that became the Allison/Scott/Isaac thing, as that is all they will talk about when he brings up romance.

All in all, Scott can conclude that not a single other pack-member has any clue, much less the two witless wonders.


About three weeks after the vampires are all well-seasoned and gone, Boyd shows up at the loft sweating. He's out of breath, which in itself isn't an easy feat. They all gather around and he says the one word that none of them ever really wanted to hear.


"Fuck me," Stiles groans.

Scott twists his head, waiting for Peter to snark something along the lines of 'for here or to go' or any number of lines straight out of a bad porno. But all Peter does is walk over to the bookshelf and starts hunting for the quickest way to get the witches out of Beacon Hills.

Because while it's entirely possible for a group of supernatural creatures to come here and be friendly, they have yet to meet any.


A black bear turns up dead the next day, its internal organs removed and symbols carved into its pelt. Deaton tells Scott about it over a cat that got its tail too close to a candle. Scott nods, deciding that they really do need to get a handle of the situation ASAP.

That and his best friend really needs to get laid. Scott could only handle so many of the three A.M. wake up calls about how he can't sleep, and all he can think about is how when he was little, a teacher told him that if he ate watermelon seeds they would grow in his stomach and kill him and that he wonders if that had caused psychological trauma & eventually, if he wants to go get breakfast together?, before hanging up on him.

Scott usually ends up saying yes, despite everything.


Three days after the bear episode brings Stiles strolling into the loft, a skip in his step and a triumphant smile on his face. The pack collectively look up from where they are working through eight centuries of cryptic bullshit and writings in archaic code.

Isaac drawls, "Tell me that you figured out how to get rid of the fucking witches."

Stiles shakes his head. "Better." He tells him.

Scott crosses his fingers, praying for confessions of undying devotion and lust, because the sexual tension that surrounds them is fucking unbearable.

"What." Derek ground out through clenched teeth.

Stiles does a little happy dance. "I got a date," he proclaims. No one around the room looks impressed. Stiles sighs and says to himself, "tough crowd."

Peter looks up from his laptop for only a moment. "I'm sure you and your right hand will have a lovely time together."

Scott knows he must look like a bloodhound on point, but he's been waiting for this moment and he will relish it. Relish.

"Alas, it's better company than you," Stiles rolls his eyes and sits down next to Boyd.

Scott deflates.


The next day they are back to hitting the books when Peter and Stiles walk through the door, a heated argument taking place between them. It takes Scott a minute to figure out that what they are arguing about isn't the supernatural problem at hand, but rather, a TV-show.

The pack watch them, their attention varied and expressions much the same. Allison looks up from her book and frowns at Stiles as he starts gesturing wildly towards Peter again.

"Wasn't your date tonight?" She asks and it's like someone pulled the emergency brake on Stiles' train of thought.

He swears, looking at his phone. He runs out the door and Scott sits there, looking around with a 'oh come on' face because, well, Come On. Stiles blew off his date for an argument with Peter. With Peter, being the main words.

The only ones who seem to even slightly notice the thing between Stiles and Peter is Lydia & Danny. But for all intent and purposes, they both decided to let it go. Scott thinks that it's a good idea.

For now.


Stiles comes back to the loft around 11:30 pm. The remaining pack look to him questioningly.

"How did it go?" Cora asks, but she seems to be fishing for insults instead of actually caring.

"Not bad." Stiles says, dropping into a chair. "He was very understanding."

"Really." She asks flatly.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You Hales and your allergy to question marks. Yes, he was understanding to why I was late to our date."

"You told him you were arguing with an undead werewolf." Derek couldn't quiet contain the sass.

"Yes. At least, in layman's terms. I said my puppy was acting out and I was trying to teach him that he was wrong."

Scott thinks that sounds suspiciously close to sexual and shifts uncomfortably. The images his mind conjured up was a little too kinky, even for him.

Derek rolls his eyes as Peter pokes his head in. "You are a heathen. Season three was best."

"Season five!" Stiles shouts but it's to empty space as Peter was already gone.


It's the following Tuesday night pack-meeting that Stiles gets a call. They're wrapping up for the night, so he picks up the phone. Frowning at it as he stands and walk over to the windows.

"Hello?" He asks.

"Stiles?" A male voice asks on the other end.

"Brandon?" Stiles suddenly looks weary and suspicious.

Kira mouths, "date" and Erica mouths back, "trouble in paradise", snickering.

Scott tries to not overhear the call, but Stiles has his volume at max as usual.

"Yeah, hey. So, I wanted to start off by saying I'm really sorry-"

The smell of relief is so powerful that Scott can't help but stand and to move towards him. He hadn't even been aware that something had been wrong in the first place.

"Hey, man, it's fine. No hard feelings, really. It just isn't working out-"

"Wait, are you breaking up with me?" The voice demands.

Stiles freezes and sounds very much like he wants to hang up. "You aren't?"

"No, fuck, Stiles, no. It's just," Brandon sighs. "I didn't know you were part of the pack. I'm really sorry."

"What," Stiles chokes out. There is a rush of commotion as everyone who can hear the conversation are suddenly on their feet and the ones who can't are demanding an explanation. Stiles stares at his phone in surprise, wide-eyed and for once, completely speechless.

"Sorry." Brandon apologizes. Scott runs across the room, but it's too late. The sound of aggressive chanting slams through the phone as fast as bullets.

Scott reaches for the phone a second before the chanting cuts out. The smell of ozone and damp forest fills the room. It feels how Scott imagines taking off on a rocket would. There is a pressure on his chest and his ears pop. Getting the briefest moment of dizziness Scott's stomach drops.

Then he is front of Stiles, grabbing him as the phone slips from his hand. Scott knows the second he touches him that somethings seriously wrong. Stiles is cold, his body shaking and his eyes wide. He's dimly aware of the phone being crushed to pieces by a nearby boot. He knows that it's Peter's doing, but he can't turn his head away, can't look away as Stiles gives him a crooked, smile-like grimace.

"Sure now how to pick 'em, don't I?" He asks, suddenly twisting away as he hurls, the white of his eyes turning purple.

Scott barely catch him before he sinks to the ground. Stiles, wiping at his mouth, his sleeve coming away red. Scott stares at the mixture of bile, blood, and bark.

Stiles leans against him weakly. "Deaton?"

"Yeah," Scott tells him and he feels like howling as Stiles' eyes close and his legs gives out.

The part that is Alpha and the part that has known Stiles since he was five are in perfect agreement.

He is going to rip those witches limb from limb.


Deaton ends up coming to them. They get Stiles to the couch before he starts to writhe in pain. Scott sits next to him, Stiles' hand clenching in his. If he were still human, the grip would hurt. As it is, it hurt anyway, as Scott were leeching his pain away. Stiles is gasping, back bowed taut with tears of pain streaming down his face. He keeps talking the entire time, just like someone else Scott knows.

"Feels like something is digging it's way out of my fucking stomach, holy shit. I can't believe I went out with that goddamn asshole. At least I dumped him first. I wonder if this is what giving birth to the facehugger from Alien feels like."

Scott tries to smile, but his face doesn't seem to be working right at the moment. He feels light headed and Scott's whole body is thrumming with pain. It feels like he is shaking apart, but it is only second-hand pain compared to what Stiles is feeling.

"Oh, oh fuck, oh Jesus." Stiles croaks out, looking pale as death as he leans forward and vomits again.

Scott kicks out to move the couch back a few feet from the new mess. Stiles uses his sleeve, the one already crusted with blood, to wipe at his mouth again. He doesn't sit up, his chest heaving, trying to keep whatever it is amassing in his innards from coming up. Scott takes what pain he can, but it isn't enough and quickly it becomes too much for him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Stiles swears, fingers turning white, nails slicing crudely into Scott's palm. The next second his grip eases and he lulls against him. "Thank you," he breathes.

Scott looks up and sees Peter, his hand settled around the back of Stiles' neck. He's wincing, but meets Scott's eyes with a challenge.

"I've been burned alive, twice," he snaps. " I think I can handle a bit more pain than you."

Scott doesn't say anything. He looks to the door, hearing footsteps. The door opens and Deaton rushes in, Lydia and Jackson close behind him. They had been waiting out front to lead him up.

"Mr. Stilinski, " Dr. Deaton glances at the vomit and drops to his knees in front of Stiles. "I see you got yourself into quite a pickle."

Stiles opens his eyes and looks at him. "Normally I'm cool as a cucumber, but drop me in some vinegar and this is what happens."

Dr. Deaton looks less than amused. He takes out a flashlight and lights it into Stiles' eyes. He's looking grim as he takes Stiles' free hand and pours what looks like black pepper into it. It hits his palm and scatters, almost like an air current is circling his body. Leaning back, Dr. Deaton looks up at him.

"It appears that you have been cursed Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles grits his teeth. "Really."

"Yes. This particular curse is a very nasty one. It eats you from the inside out, using naturally found elements. In your case, wood. Most likely from the nemeton."

"How do we stop it?" Derek demands.

Deaton keeps his eyes on Stiles. "True love's kiss."

Stiles relaxes. "Oh thank god. Scott-"

Scott is already there, leaning forward because if he has to kiss his best friend to save his life, so be it. Hell, the thought that Stiles had just thrown up didn't even cross his mind. He is half way there when Deaton stops him.

"I'm sorry", and he looks like he is as he says it. "As true as your love may be," he looks around at the pack. "As true as any of your love might be, this one is very specific. It must be of a romantic nature. In this day, it is hard to find, and more so when the last date Mr. Stilinski undertook resulted in this."

Scott feels it like a punch to the gut. He's not enough to save his best friend, his brother, his pack -

Scott twists around, as a ripple of anger, panic and grief rushes through the pack.

Stiles whispers, "but what about my dad?"

Scott is on his feet, looking at Peter, who has a look of anger on his face. His veins are black and his eyes are blue, but he meets Scott's gaze head on. He looks taken aback for a moment, confusion warring with anger.

"Save him." Scott demands.

"What?" The question is spoken by half the pack, including from both Stiles and Peter.

"You two are snarky assholes and you have been in love since forever. Kiss him so that you two can figure all this out for yourselves."

"What? No way," Stiles protests weakly.

Peter looks like he's been punched in the face.

Lydia steps forward, looking from Peter, to Stiles and back. "You are," she says decisively. "You two always gravitate towards each other, you argue, share pizza, do all the things that you won't do with us. Yes, you are." She informs them.

"Lydia-" Stiles starts but doesn't finish, instead hacking up more blood.

Leaning over the couch, turning Stiles' head towards him, Peter presses his mouth over his. It's a quick press, close-mouthed, almost chaste. Stiles' eyes going wide, he throws one hand out to catch Peter's shirt. He stops breathing and snatches it back. As Peter pulls back, Stiles draws in a deep breath and his heart slows down in his normal hyperactive beat.

"What-wh-what?" Stiles stammers.

No one answers as they watched the purple hue fade from the whites of his eyes.

"Well," Deaton said. "That is interesting."


"What do we do about the witches?" Derek asks.

Scott glances back at him. He has his ear pressed against the door, listening to Stiles hyperventilating inside. His heart's racing but he doesn't smell like musty socks and grief. he isn't having a panic attack, at least.

No, he smells like exhilaration, fear, and love. Then again, he always smells like that.

"Don't worry about them," Deaton gathers his things up off the floor. "When Peter broke the curse, it whiplashed back onto the original caster. It would have damaged the part of their spirit where their magic resided. The boy and whoever helped him will likely never cast again."

"And the rest?" Derek asks. Scott gives him his attention, but Derek had his eyes focused on Deaton. Scott is sure that he is listening to hear when Peter comes back. He had left pretty quickly after Stiles improved.

Scott knows he'll be back.

"His coven will have experienced the backlash as well. More so if they all helped him with the spell. Harmful spells take a lot of power. They will likely leave Beacon Hills as soon as they are able."

"Good," Derek growls darkly.

Scott still wants to rip them to pieces. The wolf howls for it. Stiles is his second, his Spark, his brother, and his best friend. He fights down the urge, focusing on his anchor. He can feel Allison and Isaac, through the pack and the mate bond. They push back, sending comfort and calm through to him. He appreciates it and pulls it around him like a blanket.

"Good." Scott echoes. Stiles' heart hitches and then beats even. He hears soft footsteps, the slight scuff of his right shoe. Scott smiles.

He had been right.


The witches left a parting gift of three dead goats and the words, "we'll be back," written in blood on a wall.

No one is really afraid. Stiles keeps saying it is unhygienic. It's either bitch or fend off all questions regarding Peter, true love, and at which base they were yet.

"Should we be start planning for the wedding?" Erica asks.

"Does this make you a Disney Princess? " Lydia can't help but wonder.

"My true love ending was better," Jackson grumbles.

And so forth.

Scott is about to establish alpha rule number one: quit asking, but doesn't have to. They all hush down when he flashes his eyes.

That doesn't stop them from doing it when he isn't there, though.


Stiles calls him at midnight nearly a week later. "Dude," he starts without preamble. "Why didn't you te-tell me that I was in love with Peter fucking Hale?"

"Are you drunk? " Scott asks.

"That is neither hide nor hair," Stiles slurs.

"What? "

"What? Uh, love. Tell me about that."

Scott yawns. "Dude, I thought you'd figure it out on your own, but it was taking too long. Was kinda an emergency situation and all you know?"

Stiles is quiet, which is bad. Always bad. "Do you think he wants me?"

Scott groans. Allison lifts her head, looks at him, then at the phone. She raises a knowing eyebrow.

"True love," Scott states.

"You're absolutely no help," Stiles huffs.

Allison takes the phone from him and grumbles, "Ask him on a date like a normal person. And quit calling us in the middle of the night."

She hangs up and rolls over, ending up spooning Isaac. Scott thinks it is a great idea and curls up against her, reaching over to rest his hand over Isaac's chest. He drifts off to sleep listening to both of their hearts beat.


The next pack meeting is on Saturday. Both Stiles and Peter are late. Stiles winks and drops down next to Erica. Peter disappears upstairs without a word. None of them say anything until the rest of the pack shows up and Peter comes back downstairs. After that, no one would shut up. 


Scott regrets ever even mentioning the whole "Stiles and Peter have the whole true love, mates, soul bond thing". He really does, mostly because they are having sex all the time. Scott knows, not just because Stiles tells him, but because he can smell it. It's enough to make him wish he could bury his head in the sand. It's horrible.

He isn't the only one who thinks so either. He has seen Isaac cover his mouth and nose when one of them walks by, seen Erica sniffing a scented tree, and Boyd become intimate friends with a bag of aromatic coffee beans. The rest of them are more subtle, even if no one in the whole pack can really be accused of that. Derek wrinkles his nose every time and Cora leaves the room all together. The twins doesn't really seem to care, but Jackson almost always moans about it, usually when neither of them are in the room to retaliate. Kira just blushes a lot.

Stiles seems unaware of just how much he reeks of sex and wolf. He sometimes gets a frown on his face when he notices that the room are a few occupants short all of a sudden, but he never asks. He always continues with whatever it was that had brought him there in the first place.

Peter knows exactly what he's doing. Ever time he is in the same room as Stiles and the pack he gets a smug look on his face. Scott wonders if he should tell Stiles about how possessive a werewolf's wolf-side can be, about scent-marking and claiming, about the full moon sex marathons.

He looks down at the book in his lap, opened to a diagram of every bone in a horse's body and decides that he should let him figure that out for himself.


It is all worth it when one night right before bed Stiles calls and demands, "is knotting a real thing? Scott. Scott, stop laughing. I'm being serious. Scott!"

Scott laughs hard enough to draw both Isaac and Allison away from the bathroom. Isaac takes the phone, turns it off, and throws it across the room.

For the first time in years, Scott sleeps soundly through the night.