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rocksaltandmountainash · 3 months ago

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Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 29

Chapter summary: all work and no play would make kara boring. peter is there to ensure that doesn't happen. set between Teen Wolf seasons 3b and 4, and Supernatural seasons 7 and season 8.

Series masterlist: can be found here.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings/notes: swearing, canon (TW and SPN) typical violence, smut, peter hale being incredibly attractive and nice, which definitely requires a warning. Gif sources: Peter 1 | Peter 2

Utah:

Peter scratches his nails through your scalp, eliciting a contented sigh from you as you recline against him. You’re all kinds of relaxed, leaning back on his chest and resting your hands on his bent knees, savoring the moment as you come down from your high. He’s just given you a good-morning orgasm and if he wasn’t sitting behind you, propping your body up, you could collapse and melt into the bed.

Almost. If not for one question that’s pin balling round your head.

“Peter?”

“Mmm.”

“You know that…. Wh- when you…ah fuck, never mind.”

He stops playing with your hair to peer down at you, “What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He swiftly wraps hands around your waist and shifts you so you’re facing him, draping your thighs over his own, “Tell me.”

Suddenly keenly interested in inspecting the veins running down his forearm, he has to lay a palm on your cheek to get you to look at him.

“Just…that thing you say -”

“We say a lot of things.”

You smile shyly at that, couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to, because Peter is vocal and descriptive in bed and he makes you loud. Part of you thinks he does it on purpose, like he’s hoping if you get enough noise complaints at one Motel 6, you’ll be banned from them all and he won’t have to lower himself to your standards anymore.

“You know which thing I mean.”

Peter genuinely has to wrack his brains to figure out what you’re talking about and grins when the penny drops on the word that makes you croon beneath him, throwing your body higher toward ruination in an instant.

“Oh - you mean ‘Daddy’?” he smirks before continuing, “I thought you liked that?”

“I do! But…it doesn’t weird you out?” averting your gaze, your eyes drill a hole in the wall behind him. Tell me you don’t think I’m a freak.

“Why would it?”

“Because you’re someone’s actual father.”

Peter draws in a weighty breath, staring at you intently. He didn’t realize you knew about that, and guesses your source at the same time you break and admit;

“Stiles?”

“Stiles.”

The sound of shared laughter pierces straight through your embarrassment.

“You know they’re dating, right?”

“Yes, thank you - I’m aware,” he says curtly.

It bugs him; Malia with the sarcastic boy who not too long ago was flinging chaos around Beacon Hills - though he knows it’s not his prerogative, his place to be worrying about her.

“For one thing,” Peter lifts his fingers to list off reasons, “I only found out about Malia recently. I didn’t raise her, and she has never called me that.”

It makes sense. You know that blood doesn’t necessarily mean family. As much as you came to adore Bobby, all his bumbling affections couldn’t turn back the clock and make it like you’d known him your whole life, like he’d parented you.

“Also, it’s…” his eyes drift, recalling each yes daddy, daddy please, fuck daddy, you’ve ever uttered, “Exquisite - so you better not stop.”

He grins when you relax, “And third, you started it.”

“What? No, I didn’t!”

“You did.”

“When?” you demand.

He thinks back, pinpoints the beginning, “Colorado - when we sorted that nest.”

“Oh…whoops.”

You don’t remember, would have sworn it was Peter who said it first, which only proves how corrupting he can be, how far gone you are. With your fears mollified, you scoot closer and push on his chest to force him down to the pillows.

“Does Stiles know about me?”

“Pretty sure you’ve met him - several times,” you tease, grabbing a condom from the box on the nightstand.

Peter rips the foil packet open with his teeth. “Come on, you don’t gossip about me?”

“God no! Much as I love the kid, I’m not sharing details of my sex life with a seventeen-year-old.”

Impatiently, you wait as Peter carefully rolls the condom down before positioning yourself above him.

“Fair enough…mmmm,” he sighs as you glide over his length. “What about Weiner boy?”

That would be worse than Stiles - technically Samandriel’s probably thousands of years old, but he looks eleven, so the thought makes you cringe.

“Nah, he’s mad at me.”

“Why?”

“I have an idea. He thinks it’s dumb.”

The sensation of Peter’s hands squeezing your waist, exerting control over your motions, gets you worked up, primed for another round. How he studies your every move floods you with want, causing your cheeks to flush as you grind.

“What’s the idea?”

“Not telling.”

“Why?”

“It might actually be dumb…shit…”

Peter sits up, the head of his cock tapping against your entrance,

“Can you just shut up now?” you whine.

“Depends,” he smiles into your neck, gripping the base of his cock, “You gonna keep saying it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Finally, he tilts his hips and lets you sink down onto him.

****

Arizona:

You decide you deserve a night off. The day hasn’t been particularly taxing, just a couple of hours wandering through the mall to replenish your shower stuff and skin care.

You even got a trim, a few inches of split ends taken care of before feeding quarters into a massage chair and licking cinnamon sugar from your fingers after a warm pretzel, reluctant to venture out of the air conditioning back into the humidity.

After such a peaceful day of research and retail therapy, you simply can’t face the thought of hunting, want to chill, be normal for a change. So now you’re wolfing down a burrito while you watch A-Team reruns and text Peter. He’s arriving tomorrow, and you’ve been thinking about him all week.

Luckily, the limited amount of sex you’d had in the past hadn’t been bad, per se, maybe just a little disappointing. Bland. Boring. Not that you’d known at the time.

Chris was your introduction to multiple orgasms and dirty words falling from your mouth and all kinds of things you’d wanted but never tried. The discoveries you’d made about yourself, the way he monopolised your mind for a bit there, had felt like more than only sex. All intertwined with wanting to be his - you liked it when he called you pretty as he came and held your hand after, loved how he snuck kisses away from the bedroom.

But that’s all it - all Chris - can be now; a memory. Had to try to forget, the good parts and the bad. Clear out the image of his hand wrapped around a gun, pointed at Stiles. Push down the humiliating way you’d tried to fuck him after Allison, how kindly he’d denied you, barely touched you after that night. Until he left and kissed you goodbye at the airport.

Forced to choose one thing to lock away in your mind forever?

You wouldn’t be able to decide between the miss you and you’ve got this and trust your instincts or the heat of his breath on the shell of your ear moaning your name and groaning shit baby, just there and mmm, that’s it.

Peter, on the other hand, is your first experience of fucking like it’s sport, or a competition, something to excel at. Of giving yourself over to someone and letting them use you as they please. He calls you things you never would allow outside the walls of cheap motel rooms, things you probably shouldn’t enjoy - slut and whore. But always daddy’s slut and my perfect little whore.

It’s disgusting, and it’s worrying and it’s perverse, except...it really isn’t. It’s fucking hot.

No stake in each other, no claims, just teasing and playing games and then going your separate ways. It’s purely physical, neither of you have feelings, you’re merely another of each other’s bad habits, like how smoking tastes so right when you’re drinking.

Regardless of what this thing with Peter is, it’s undeniably fun and you want to keep it. You’re even beginning to feel relieved you’re so completely alone, because you don’t want to defend your desires, just want to follow them down the rabbit hole. Why not have some light to look forward to when everything else is so dark?

Wiping your hands, you laugh at his response to your text saying you’re headed for a shower.

Pics?? 🙏

You tell him to piss off and stand waiting for the water to warm up with your phone in your hand.

Go clean up, doll. Tomorrow you’ll be filthy. Sleep well x

****

Oregon:

A month later, and you’ve got a fairly stable routine going, taking tentative steps back into the real world. It’s an after effect of running away or being left behind that you become adept at rebuilding. You’ve done it before, even find some comfort in sowing the seedlings of a new life.

You work during the week, mostly straightforward cases, make time for Samandriel even though neither of you have anything resembling news, and do a reasonable job of being nice to him.

Peter usually arrives on Fridays - grabbing you up as soon as you open the door, always ready and always with some snarky remark about your lodgings.

“Is there any hovel you won’t stay in?”

“‘Dunno, any mirror you don’t stop in front of?

Tonight, though, you’re alone. Kicking open a flimsy bathroom door and slamming on the light switch, leaving a trail of blood across the wall and knocking the hairdryer out of its cradle. Panting hard and mumbling to yourself, you take off your jacket and cut your t-shirt up the middle so you can peel it away.

One glance at the gash that starts at your shoulder blade and runs all the way round your left side has your throat filling with acid. You slip your arms through your bra straps, unclip it and drop it at your feet before you lay out supplies across the counter and steel yourself.

“Shit.”

Much worse than you’d thought.

You’d only tracked two demons sneaking in and out of the abandoned mill. Nothing you couldn’t handle on your own. After climbing in through a basement entrance, there were three more waiting. During the fight that ensued, you lost your footing and landed on something sharp. In your hustle to get back up, you’d twisted without thinking, howling as your flesh tore open.

With the stress and the fever pitch of your anger, you were able to clumsily dispatch the last demon before you staggered back to your car, which was hidden behind the tree line a mile down the road. Not your finest work. Wasn’t until you were a few blocks from your motel that you started to feel the pain.

You feel sick as you un-spool thread with trembling hands. Feel so fucking stupid as you poke into the skin under your breast, watching your progress in the mirror, so you can pretend it’s not your body that’s carved and leaking blood.

Realizing there’s no chance you’ll be able to reach around to patch up the entire wound, you let the needle hang useless and pull your phone from your jeans pocket.

Don’t want to ask for his help but you’re out of options; the cut is still dripping and you’re chilly and tired and he’s closer than anyone else.

“Fuck.” you watch a fat red line dribble down your abdomen as your finger hovers over the contact. You hit the call button before you change your mind.

When it clicks over to voicemail, you turn and slide down the cabinet, wanting to cry at the automated voicemail greeting.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m in Oregon…can you…”

Suddenly you panic. He won’t come. Why the hell would he? You barely talk when he visits. All your questions seem to annoy him, so you just bang the weekend away - hardly what you’d call friendship, and probably not worthy of a favour.

“Can you come fuck me right now?”

The only ace up your sleeve to guarantee he’ll show up.

“Sweet Home Inn, Highway 20, Room 7.” you speak fast, closing your eyes and pulling your jacket to wrap it around yourself.

Peter parks next to your beaten up car, smiling to himself and brimming with smugness as he retrieves his overnight bag from the passenger seat.

It’s only Wednesday and you’ve called to beg. This is going well.

He raps his knuckles on the door, playing out in his mind how the night will go, what new thing you might be up for trying this week. Then there’s an unmistakable scent in the air and he barges in to find you slumped against the bathroom cabinet.

You’re out cold, topless except for your jacket thrown up over your shoulders. Could be mistaken for asleep, if not for the puddle of stained red clothes next to you, if your skin didn’t look ashen, gray under the singular lightbulb.

He moves your jacket aside and sees what he’d smelt - long, dried rivulets down your stomach.

Peter scoops you up and takes you to the bed, happy to hear you groan but unhappy you’re not waking. He presses a towel to your torso, because moving you caused fresh streams.

so much blood

Deaton doesn’t answer Peter’s call, and he fights the impulse to throw his phone across the room, electing instead to glower at your side, as if his angry look alone might staunch the flow.

too much blood

He calls Derek, who thankfully picks up.

“What?”

“I need you to go to Deaton’s.”

Peter can feel Derek rolling his eyes at him through the phone.

“Why? Pet-”

“Kara’s hurt. She needs a Doctor.”

****

People are arguing.

“She should be in the hospital.”

“Keep your voice down.”

They’re quieter now, “If she wanted to go, she would have.”

“Fine. Get her a tetanus shot, at least. And look out for signs of infection.”

“Fine,” Peter is equally snarky, “Here.”

He hands the man wearing glasses a wad of cash and bundles him out the door.

You watch it occur from one opened eye, wondering briefly who that man is and who they’re talking about before you fall back asleep.

****

Night comes and Peter wakes you, gently running his palm up and down your arm until you stir.

“Hey. You came?” you’re groggy and sore and more than a little shocked.

“You called,” he tucks your hair behind your ears, unsettlingly relieved to hear you speak, “Who did this, Kara?”

“Huh? No one…” you scramble for something that will stop the chilly steel in his voice from overflowing, because he’s here now and you don’t want him to leave, “I….slipped.”

You change the subject, wriggling your arms out from the sheets, “Who was that guy?”

“Some doc Deaton recommended. Stitched you up. Said you made a good start.”

Peering under the blankets, you look over the cleaned up wound, take in the line of sutures - much tidier than you would have achieved.

“I tried.” you admit, embarrassed by your efforts, and squirming under the soft smile he’s aiming your way.

“What do you need?”

Closing your eyes, you stretch your legs, careful not to move your body too much.

“I’m starving. Diner?”

“No, you need proper food.”

You roll your eyes at Peter’s disapproval. True, you’ve been subsisting on a steady diet of scrambled eggs, takeout, and protein shakes. Though in your defense, the drinks are loaded with vitamins, taste like chocolate milk and are the easiest way to stay full during your long drives.

He swats at your leg, “C’mon - get your ass up.”

“Eggs are healthy,” you mumble under your breath as you slowly get off the bed to wrap a bandage around yourself.

“They’re probably powdered.” Peter tells you, helping you get your bra clasped and pull a shirt on.

“Waffle House would never!” you protest, swaying as you let him do your buttons.

“There,” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, “You’re ready.”

****

The restaurant Peter takes you to is fancy, as expected. What’s unexpected is that the hostess let you in.

Must be a slow night, or he laid out a hefty tip or - there it is. You realize Peter has disarmed her with all his handsome and charm when she grazes her hand over his back while taking his coat, and looks solely at him as she lists the specials.

“It’s like I’m not even here.” you tease after she’s gone.

“Jealous?”

“Definitely…. think she’ll take my number?”

Peter peruses the wine list as you read the menu, frowning at the prices.

“Don’t,” he warns, “Get whatever you feel like. My treat.”

“You sure? I didn’t bring my wallet.”

He pulls the menu away from your face, “It’s just dinner. I’m not giving you an organ.”

“You’d love to give me an ‘organ’”

Groaning at your terrible joke, he opens his mouth to say something obscene when the hostess returns, beaming at him.

He orders, then directs her attention to you, “What do you want, darling?”

“I’ll get the eye fillet, please.”

“Sides?” she’s a touch less friendly now.

“Green beans, and mashed potatoes, and…mushrooms.”

Peter grins at your appetite and you shrug, too hungry to care about politeness and if he’s buying, you’re eating.

“Drink?”

Now she sounds downright snippy and you can’t look at Peter in case you laugh.

“Just whatever he’s having.”

You hand back the menu and glare at Peter, waiting till she’s out of earshot to scold him, “Why’d you say that? She’s gonna fuck with my food!”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Your phone vibrates against your ass and you squeak before you pull it out of your pocket and read the screen, remarking on the coincidence -

“It’s Derek.”

“Ah.”

You raise your eyebrows that he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I called him. I was trying to get hold of Deaton. Derek went and found him.”

Peter tries not to let it get to him when you mutter shit before hitting ‘answer’.

“Hey, one sec.” you tell Derek, holding the phone against your chest while you get up from the booth.

“I’ll be quick,” you promise Peter, “Check my food for broken glass please?”

You drop a peek on his cheek as you pass, leaving him smiling. Outside, you pace the block as you bring the phone up to your ear.

“Hi.”

Derek doesn’t bother with a hello, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just a cut. All sewn up.” You pretend that’s all he’s talking about.

“That’s not - why is he there?”

“He’s…we’re…”

Screwing each other senseless? Pals?

“I called him.”

“Kara, he’s not what you think.”

“And what is it I think, Derek?” you ask, working hard to keep your voice on an even keel.

“I mean…he’s not a good guy.”

He’s probably right, you should heed his warning, but you look through the window and see Peter sip his wine without a care in the world. He’s just him, he’s here, and you’re not particularly good either.

“I can handle Peter.” you laugh off Derek’s worries, “Okay?”

You hear him exhale… ”Okay.”

****

Peter stays an extra few days, helping you out while you recuperate. He refuses to let you do anything for yourself, bringing you coffee and food in bed, fetching your laptop when you’re fed up with reality TV, lingering outside the bathroom door while you shower.

He’s kind and attentive and you wonder if it’s because he feels guilty. He should. You’re frustrated, borderline hostile, because Peter’s been ignoring you.

Tipsy from the drinks you had downed, drunk on how he’d taken your hand and shot the hostess a pointed stare, you pawed greedily at him in the car on the way back from dinner.

“Peter? Can I?”

He tuts, shaking his head as he peels your hand off his thigh, “No, you’ve been bad - running off, getting hurt.”

You huffed and sulked, then your hand snaked back toward him. “Please….Daddy?”

He couldn’t refuse, with your voice needy and your fingers running across the pronounced bulge in his trousers.

“Need it that bad?”

He smirks as you nod eagerly and pretends to be annoyed, “Go ahead, doll.”

Made it back without crashing, locked the door behind you, and almost got him right where you needed him. Peter could always fuck you dumb, bury himself deep in a way that had your vision blurring and stopped your mind from spiraling.

So, you braced for the pressure that would drive away your shame at messing up and having to resort to calling him to rescue you.

He looked down, saw your eyes squeezed tight shut and quickly put an end to it. Making a barrier of pillows between you, he told you to quit bitching and rest.

By the end of the week, you’re climbing the walls, itching to leave. Had grown accustomed to being alone, to uninterrupted days spent with only your own thoughts, so it’s strange to share your space with someone for such a length of time. And if he won’t fuck you, what’s the point?

“It looks good,” Peter says, inspecting the cut as you lie on your side, arm thrown up over your head and clutching a sheet against your front.

You’re healing fast, not as fast as he would, obviously, but he’s pleased with your progress.

“Good enough to get outta here?” you ask, dropping your arm.

“Wait…” Peter pulls your arm back where it was, “I’m fixing you.”

He focuses on arranging three rectangles of gauze in a line and taping them down carefully as you huff out a sigh, not sure which is worse - the ache of your injury or the one between your legs.

“Done.”

You tug a t-shirt over your head and start clearing up the trash, but Peter smacks your hand away.

“I got it.” he sits next to you and repacks the first aid kit, “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”

You glance toward your open notebook, “Mmm. Maybe Chicago?”

“What’s this?” he stands and picks it up, flipping through the pages, “See the Empire State Building? Faulkner Books, Jackson Square?”

“Hey! Give it back.”

Leaping off the bed, you grab for the book, but Peter spins and continues to read,

“Ride a horse? Kara, there are horses in Oregon.”

“Not the point, you dick.”

“Are you…” he turns to face you, “Are you scared of horses?”

“The average horse weighs 500kgs.”

Peter laughs.

“Shut up!” you try again to get it out of his grasp, wincing as you reach up.

“Sorry, here.” Peter hands it over immediately when he sees your pain, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” annoyed you lift your shirt to show him your side, “See? No blood.”

Peter’s gaze travels along your body, taking in the littered bruises in various hues of yellow and purple, and the small cuts and scabs of pink that dot your skin.

“Darach?” he whispers, eyeing older scars that have faded to an almost translucent silver.

Nodding and realizing he’s staring, you drop your shirt, self-conscious under his burning scrutiny.

You’re not hideous, but you don’t think you’re beautiful either. Hated feeling frail or weak, so are proud of your hard earned muscles, years of a strict training schedule giving you strength where you wanted it. A decent rack, curvy enough to like the way you look in jeans - but that was in clothes, covered. Without layers is a different story, an ugly one.

“Don’t.”

Peter moves your hand away from your hem, tracing his fingertips gently across your skin. His other hand reaching around the nape of your neck to bring you close,

“Scars mean you survived.”

#wakingupinbeaconhills #peter hale smut #peter hale fanfiction #supernatural x teen wolf fic #spn x tw #tw x spn #alan deaton #derek hale #peter hale

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notanettelmao · 2 years ago

Text

The Tell pt. 1

Also on AO3

(A Teen Wolf Rewrite)

Fandoms: Teen Wolf, Supernatural Warnings: usual TW and SPN stuff Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x reader Words: 1,8k

Tags: @venomsvl @celestair

If you wanna be tagged let me know!

Y/N was with Derek when he heard about the attack at the video store. He took off in the direction of the store, leaving her behind. She swore, looked around, and started running after him.

When she finally got there, he and Scott were climbing the rusty ladder on the side of the building. Y/N rolled her eyes and climbed after them. Scott said hi to her while Derek stared at her as if he wasn't expecting her to follow him. He then turned to Scott.

"Starting to get it?" He asked, leaning over the edge to look down in a way that didn't make him visible to the people on the ground under them. Scott did the same.

"I get that he is killing people. I don't get why." Scott mumbled. Y/N walked a few steps toward the edge to take a look at the scene.

"I mean, we don't go out in the middle of the night murdering everyone, do we?" Y/N turned to look at Scott.

"Werewolves are predators. Not killers." She said. Derek agreed, not looking away from the people on the street.

"Then why is he a killer?" Scott asked looking at his friend and then at the older werewolf.

"That's what we are going to find out. Y/N, how does this look like from the perspective of a hunter?" Derek turned towards her. The youngest Winchester took a deep breath and stepped away from the edge of the roof.

"It must have been a rogue omega. He killed Laura to get the alpha power, which we already knew. We know that he wants to build a pack, and that's why he bit Scott. But something isn't right here. Why didn't he bite anyone else? I'll need to do some research on my own, maybe I will take Stiles with me because he can get us the police reports. I need to know if there were organs missing or if he is just killing for the fun of it." Y/N looked at her phone, texting Stiles to meet her a few blocks away from the video store.

"You do that. I'm gonna take Scott to the house for a bit. I'll see you later," Derek waved a hand her way and then ran off the roof, Scott following him. Y/N groaned when she realized she will have to climb the ladder down

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

The youngest Winchester got to the meeting point at the same time as Stiles parked his jeep on the side of the road. She quickly jumped into the passenger seat and told him to drive to his house. She needed his whiteboard for this.

"So, what are we going to do now?" Stiles asked as they got into his room. He sat on his bed and watched Y/N pace around the room picking different stuff up and then wiping his whiteboard so she had a clean space to work with. She ignored his question and wrote 'THE ALPHA' in capital letters in the middle of it, then drew lines around it and started writing everything they knew already.

"I need you to look in your dad's files to see if there were any bodies found dead with their heart missing in the towns around Beacon Hills." Y/N turned to look at Stiles who was reading the words on the board, looking really interested.

"You think it could be the bad kind? The one you told me about?" He was suddenly up, looking worried. Y/N swallowed and nodded.

"I have a bad feeling. And I need another wolf to talk to about it. Not Derek. And not Scott, Scott hasn't been a werewolf for long." She ran her fingers through her hair.

"I guess we have one more Hale we can visit." He said quietly. Y/N nodded.

"I'll go see him. I need you to go look through the folders. Look for the missing hearts and anything that could be a clue." She quickly dropped the parker on Stiles' table and turned to walk out, but stopped in between the door.

"I don't have a car." She turned back to look at Stiles. He let out a laugh and then motioned for her to follow him.

"Come on, I'll take you there."

��⋆⋆⋆⋆

Peter lived on the side of Beacon Hills where Lydia did. The rich part of town. He moved into his house right when he was let out of the hospital after his miraculous recovery. Y/N actually helped him and Derek to pick the place and get him used to being around people again. No one really recognized Peter in town, which saved them a lot of explaining about how the hell he was walking and talking after spending six years in a coma.

Y/N thanked Stiles for the ride and closed the car door. She watched him drive away and then let herself in through the gate. She walked up the stone steps towards the front door and knocked. She didn't have to wait long before Peter opened it, frowning. When he saw her he smirked.

"Ah, Winchester. What can I do for you?" He asked, moving to the side so she could walk in.

"Hi, Peter. Nice to see you too. Are you doing better?" She lifted an eyebrow at him and took off her shoes. She put them on the shoe rack in the huge hallway.

"Did you come over only to ask me how I was doing or do you actually need something?" He led her towards the kitchen.

"Oh, I just wanted to talk." She sat on one of the chairs at the kitchen island and put her phone in front of her.

"Talk? About what? And where is my nephew? Does he still refuse to buy a normal living space and tortures himself by sleeping in the burned-down house?" He pulled out two cups and started the coffee maker.

"Derek is currently at the old house with Scott. And yes, he still lives there. He is way too stubborn to listen to us. Even though it would be safer for him to move somewhere else now that Kate is in town. That woman is a whole new level of crazy. But that's not why I'm here. I need to talk to you about werewolves. And about how they go rogue." Peter turned to look at her.

"Why don't you ask your uncle about it?" He asked and placed one of the full coffee cups in front of her.

"My uncle was in an accident a few days back. I don't really want to bother him now, as I am sure he and my brothers have a lot of stuff to do because the Leviathans are getting all around the USA."

"Yes, I remember you telling me about him being shot. What do you need to know?" Peter sat down on one of the chairs on the other side of the island.

"How does a wolf go rogue?" Y/N asked.

"Depend on the situation. You can be kicked out of the pack, and then if no other pack wants you in, you lose it. You start going more and more feral. That's how omegas are made, but omegas are usually born wolves that go feral. The bitten omegas are more..." Peter stopped talking, thinking about how to say it correctly.

"They're the worst kind, right? The ones that feed on the hearts of humans?" Y/N asked quietly. Peter nodded.

"Yes, they are the worst. I don't know how, but they actually became weak to silver. Us born wolves aren't."

"I know. It is a myth connected to the Argents as they are the oldest line of hunters ever." Y/N agreed. She then pulled her father's journal from the bag she had brought with her.

"Can you look over this to see if there are correct facts?" She pushed the journal towards Peter, who took it in his hands carefully.

"It was my father's and my brothers left it with me just in case I needed it. And I know you know a lot of stuff about the supernatural as you yourself are supernatural. Also, Derek told me you used to have a lot of different bestiaries and other books before..." Y/N didn't finish the sentence when she noticed the pained look on his face.

"Why are you asking me all this? You think the alpha is a bitten wolf?" Peter asked. The girl nodded.

"If it was a born wolf someone would know something. There are not that many of you anymore and my brothers keep tabs on all of the packs with born wolves. They would know if one of them went rogue." Y/N explained.

"Did you tell any of this to Derek?"

"No, are you crazy? You know him. He would go right after the guy and get himself killed in the process." She took a sip of her coffee and watched Peter as he agreed.

"If you are right, and you probably are... We are going to need all the help we can get. Derek is not as strong by himself, your friend Scott still doesn't really know how to have control over his shift, and the sheriff's kid is a skinny human who talks too much. Even with the help of your angel friend, my wolf is not healed fully yet. You are probably the strongest of us right now with your hunter training." Y/N knew what Peter wanted her to do.

"I can't call them here Peter. They have a lot of stuff going on, I told you the Leviathans are everywhere-"

"Y/N, you are creating a pack around yourself. The alpha is going to see you as a threat." Peter said as if it was nothing. Y/N froze in her seat.

"I'm creating a pack around myself? How is that possible? I'm not an alpha, not even a werewolf." The youngest Winchester looked so confused Peter had to laugh.

"It is possible. You have to have the right amount of Spark to pull it off. You are a Winchester. You and your brothers stopped multiple apocalypses. The angels watched over you. You went against multiple gods and came out alive. There is no one else that could do all that."

"So what, I'm an alpha, but not really?" Y/N cringed as she said that. It sounded ridiculous.

"Something like that." Peter shrugged and got up from his chair with her journal in his hands.

"If you'll need me I'll be in the library." With that, he walked away.

"Okay, hold up. You can't just drop that and walk away! Peter!" Y/N yelled as she watched his back disappear up the stairs.

"You son of a bitch." She let out a sigh and put her empty cup in the sink. Her phone buzzed at the same time. She quickly picked it up and looked at the new text. 'There are at least 4 cases where bodies were missing hearts' was all it said.

"Shit." She let out as she grabbed all of her stuff and ran out of the door.

#teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #derek hale #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #y/n winchester #winchester!reader #superantural x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #teen wolf rewrite #peter hale #kind of au?#might be different from spn canon #why are there no gifs of the rooftop scene

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