Hey there, I'm trash and I know it. I should be writing Dobby's Deceit, or literally any other unfinished story, and I will, but this just grabbed me out of nowhere and demanded to be written RIGHT NOW, so I did. I have no idea when it'll be finished, or even if, but I don't expect this story to become overly long. At least I'll try to keep the word count low, which I can't say about all of my work.

I know that some people have problems reading Steter stories because of the age difference, and yes, Stiles is very firmly underage at the beginning. There won't be underage shenanigans for those two, if that's a concern, because as usual I'm a freak and simply can't write smeksy stuff that isn't at least halfway kosher.

This is unbeta'd as hell, so if you're afraid of typos and other disgusting stuff, back away now.

To those who're brave enough to proceed: have fun! :)

Bite Me (Terms And Conditions Apply)

Part 1

What if Stiles had accepted Peter's offer to bite him, after all? What if there'd been actual negotiations? How would that impact the story?

oOo

"Give me your keys."

Stiles sighed in defeat but took the car keys from his pocket. "Careful, she grinds in second."

Peter snatched the keys, closed his fingers around them and made a quick fist. When he opened it again, all the keys were mangled - useless. Almost nicely, Peter then let Stiles have them back and turned to get in his (the dead nurse's) car.

With a bravado he couldn't explain having, Stiles demanded, "So you're not gonna kill me?" Of course it made Peter halt, and Stiles stepped back from the unamused werewolf as he turned. "Oh god."

For a second, Peter stared at him. With astounding patience he then said, "Don't you understand yet? I'm not the bad guy here."

"You turn into a giant monster with read eyes and fangs, and you're not the bad guy here?" Stiles asked, incredulous. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he just couldn't stop himself.

Peter looked at him, looked him over, before stating, "I like you, Stiles. Since you've helped me, I'll give you something in return. Do you want the bite?"

Stiles couldn't believe his ears. Air was stalling in his throat and he needed a moment to wheeze out a pathetic, "What?"

"Do you want the bite?" Peter repeated, speaking very clearly. "If it doesn't kill you - and it could - you'll become like us."

"Like you," Stiles echoed, dumbly.

"Yes, a werewolf. Would you like me to draw you a picture?" Peter was engaged now, all of his attention on Stiles. "That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could've easily been you. You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger, and quicker, more popular, watching him get the girl. You'd be equals. Maybe more." An intense look came over his face and he almost gently took Stiles' right wrist, raising it to his mouth in anticipation of his answer. "Yes or no?"

Stiles swallowed, emotions warring so fiercely inside that he needed the scrape of Peter's fang against his wrist to jolt him out of his stupor. With a sharp yank, he took his arm back, heartbeat now truly racing. "I don't wanna be like you."

Peter's affable expression soured as he straightened up again. "Do you know what I heard just then? Your heart beating slightly faster over the words "I don't want". You may believe that you're telling me the truth, but you're lying to yourself. Goodbye, Stiles."

Stiles couldn't help it, he twitched towards the man as he made to get into the car. "Wait."

Peter stopped, going very still.

Sweat was beading on Stiles' upper lip and he shuffled awkwardly. "Look, I-"

"Yes?" Peter turned around again, his stare now even more intense than before.

"I don't wanna be like you," Stiles burst out. "A bloodthirsty murderer, okay. But being a werewolf? That'd probably amazing, crazy hunters notwithstanding."

"You wouldn't be like me," Peter said slowly, dangerously. "You'd be your own wolf. Obviously."

"I know that, okay?" Stiles took a step back from the slowly advancing werewolf. "But you'd be my alpha. I know what you can do. You can call Scott to heel and you'd probably be able to order him to do atrocious things if you ever got hold of him. So, thanks but no thanks to that. If it's just about needing cannon fodder, I'm really, really not interested."

"Hmm, I see." Peter took another step forward, head tilted consideringly. "What could interest you enough to accept the bite?"

"The bite from you, you mean," Stiles snarked.

"The bite from me," Peter agreed. "If quick healing, amazing reflexes, seemingly unlimited strength, and acute senses aren't enough to tempt you, what is?"

"First of all, knowledge," Stiles huffed, like it should've been obvious. "Scott and Derek aside, I know nothing about real live werewolves. How do packs work? What do you do when there's no bloody vendetta turning everything to shit? Also, what about my dad? I'd have a real problem if you used him as leverage against me. That's not gonna fly, you know. Same with my friends."

Peter seemed delighted instead of annoyed. "All very good questions, Stiles. I think we should enter into Bite Negotiations."

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "Bite Negotiations."

"Yes, it's quite the proper thing to do." Peter smirked at Stiles' bitch face, clearly not bothered that he'd bitten Scott without consent. "I was a lawyer before Kate Argent killed my family, did you know that? It'd only be between us, but I'd feel honour bound to adhere to any agreement we reach."

"I ... really?"

Peter smiled sharply. "As long as you'd do the same."

"Can I ..." Stiles flushed, suddenly feeling rather small and uncomfortable. "Can I think about it?"

"I'm afraid not," Peter replied. "You do recall that your friend is missing, and that a psychotic hunter is on the loose, targeting my remaining family and that same dumb friend of yours?"

"... right." Stiles rubbed his forehead in a bid to stave off the coming headache. "What are we gonna do now?"

Peter stepped up to him, close enough for Stiles to be able to smell the supple leather of his coat and his disturbingly attractive cologne. "How about a ceasefire for the moment? If you decide in the next five minutes that you do not want my bite after all, you'll simply stay out of my way. If you decide that you want it ... I'm not above accepting your help to ensure that I make it out of that confrontation alive."

Stiles was stunned. "My help?"

"You're far more clever than that idiot boy I bit first," Peter admitted with an aggrieved sigh. "I could use someone with a level head by my side. Do you accept?"

"I ... yes. Okay, ceasefire." Stiles warily offered his hand - the same hand that had nearly been mauled - for a shake. "If I do decide to help, you won't kill my friends. All of them, not just Scott. Deal?"

Peter sighed again. "Fine. I'll do my best. If they come close to ending me, all bets are off, though."

Despite everything, Stiles couldn't fault him for that. He shook Peter's warm, dry hand again. "Okay. Agreed."

For a moment they stared at each other, something strange passing between them. Then, somewhere, a car door slammed closed, making Stiles nearly jump out of his skin. Suddenly he remembered that there was the body of a dead nurse in the trunk of the car next to him, and that he'd just parlayed with a murdering werewolf.

"Oh my god," he whispered, feeling a panic creeping up on him.

"Easy now, Stiles," Peter said. "The circumstances aren't ideal, I'll be the first to admit that, but we'll work it out. We'll work everything out. You have my word."

"I ..." Stiles gulped in several deep breaths of air. "Okay. Okay."

"I have to go now, dear Kate is probably getting impatient," Peter continued. "If you do want to help, hop in. If not, go home. I'll find you when it's all over."

"You're so sure you're gonna come out on top?" Stiles asked.

"I'll be fighting two pups and a deranged hunter. Of the three, Kate Argent is the real threat, and I don't intend to play around with that one," Peter replied. He smirked. "It warms the cockles of my charred heart to know that you're already worried about your investment."

"Wha ... what investment?" Stiles spluttered even as he winced at Peter's words. "There is no investment. Not yet! I'm in the contemplation phase! Because this? This is super high risk, man!"

Peter swayed forward and sniffed loudly. "Mmh, I'll say."

"Oookay, time-out, I've had about enough of the bad touch, dude!"

Peter had the audacity to laugh. "Go home, Stiles. I'll see you later."

"Wha-" Stiles twitched after Peter again, but this time the man got in the car, slammed the door and started the motor. "Hey!"

"Go home, Stiles," Peter called, speeding off.

Stunned, Stiles stared after the vanishing tail lights.

"Fuck!"

oOo

It had to be fate that Jackson wanted to find Scott, Stiles decided. And that Jackson was even willing to lend his Porsche to the cause. Chris Argent's audacious appearance was not enough to stop him, but when they finally arrived at the Hale house, things were already going majorly south.

Like, Stiles' investment was one second away from going full on rampage - and probably getting himself killed while at it.

There were molotov cocktails in the car, but after learning what Peter had already suffered, Stiles couldn't, couldn't, couldn't bring himself to use them. Instead, he grabbed his phone, turned on the MP3 player as loud as he could, and threw it as hard as he could at Peter.

The werewolf jumped when the phone hit him in the snout, the music blaring loudly in the dark clearing. Confused, he shook his head even as he broke the phone with a stomp of his paw.

"Run, you idiot!" Stiles yelled. "Or do you want to die!"

The grotesque creature roared and Scott was screaming out his betrayal.

Jackson got out of the car, eyes wide, whole body trembling. "What is that!"

"Peter!" Stiles grabbed the next thing he could reach, which was a molotov cocktail. With no fire at hand, it was relatively harmless, but to be safe he threw it against the side of the house, smashing the bottle. The stink of chemicals made the huge beast roar again. "Run!"

Allison raised her bow. "Stiles! If you've got another, throw it now!"

"As if," Stiles muttered. He got back into the car and leaned all of his weight onto the horn.

The shrill sound finally seemed to do the trick: Peter shook his massive head, roared again and ran off, lightning fast. In a mere second, his black bulk had vanished between the trees.

"Stiles!" Allison and Scott screamed.

"What?" Stiles demanded. "You wanna murder someone, you do it yourselves, you assholes!"

"We tried!" Scott shouted. His chest heaved. "You ruined everything, Stiles! Killing him would've been my cure!"

"Your what?" Stiles was incredulous. "Who the hell told you that?" It didn't take long to find the culprit; Derek was looked aside and hunching his broad shoulders. "Oh my god, seriously?"

Scott gaped at them both. "What? Derek said that's how it works!"

"Yes, and he didn't have an ulterior motive, like, getting help staying alive," Stiles retorted dryly. "Grow the fuck up, Scott!"

"Stiles, what you just did-" Chris Argent began.

"No," Stiles snapped. "You don't get to say anything about this. At all!" He got away from the car and rounded on the hunter who actually took a couple steps back. "You tried to kill Scott! You tried to kill Derek, and you treated my like shit not an hour ago. And you!" He glared at Allison. "What the hell are you doing, shooting arrows willy-nilly! Are you crazy?! You could've hurt someone!"

"She shot me," Derek said into the uncomfortable silence. "Twice."

"Oh my god, you what?!" Stiles cried. "Allison!" He raked his hands through his all too short hair. "You're all ... I don't have words for what you are."

"Stiles-" Scott tried.

"No." Stiles took his hands down and glared at them all. "Shut the fuck up. I'm so done with all of that shit. I'm done with you mooning after Allison, Scott, and what the fuck were you thinking, making her name your user name and password?"

"Really, Scott?" Allison whispered. "That's ... sweet."

"No, it's fucking not!" Stiles shouted before her father could. "As for you, Allison, if that's who you really are, I don't wanna hang out anymore. Your fucking aunt burned down the Hale house - with actual people in it! - and you tried to kill actual people just because she told you to! You tried to kill Scott, for fuck's sake!"

"There was proof that they are monsters," Allison tried to defend herself. "And ... and I was in shock."

"So?" Stiles flailed his arms wildly. "I'm in shock practically every freaking day! Do you see me going about and killing people because if it? Hell to the no! I do not, even when people fucking deserve it!"

"Small mercies," Chris muttered.

"Oooh, don't get me started, Mister. I'll report you to the sheriff, who, incidentally, is also my dad. I'm done with you people slamming me against walls, or into things, or threatening my life," Stiles continued. "You can all stay away from me until I decide I feel better about you fuckers."

"Stiles-" Scott protested.

"Shut the fuck up, Scott," Stiles snapped. "I'm going home. You coming, Jackson?"

"I ..." Jackson stared at Stiles like he were some sort of apparition. "Yeah. Let's go back."

For a second, Stiles debated letting Jackson drive his own car now, but then he decided that he deserved something nice for the shit show this night had turned out to be. He'd even drive gently, because for once Jackson hadn't been a douche about things, and he was all about rewarding good behaviour.

End of part 1