If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I would be having chats with the actors about their character arcs this season.

Enjoy!

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It all started with a simple question. Actually, it all started when Stiles met Scott and decided that they would be friends for life. However, for the sake of simplicity, this story began when Mr. Deaton asked Stiles how the teen felt about learning something magic.

When Stiles first purchased the jeep, he'd never assumed that he'd become so good at estimating how much repairs were going to cost. Jeeps were durable, sturdy, and Stiles hadn't assumed that he'd be driving full speed over dirt roads in the forest, or driving through buildings to run over humans. Were lizards. Whatever.

In short, Stiles had not anticipated werewolves, and he was paying the price. Literally.

Stiles stood in front of his house, staring at the jeep intently, eyes sharp, while mentally contrasting the money in his bank account verses amount of damage to his baby's frame. Stiles considered the possibility of adding a deer wrack to his jeep (though the added weight would wreck his gas mileage), when the sound of a boot scuffing on the side walk caused the teen to flinch, and twist his entire body to the source of the sound.

Standing tall (and in leather? Seriously, everyone involved in this whole werewolf debacle seemed to own leather clothing. Stiles might need to invest in some for himself), and looking distinctly amused, Mr. Deaton gave Stiles a little wave.

Stiles wondered how long the vet had been standing there, and then decided that he didn't want to know. Zoning out might be normal (especially with ADHD), but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. Seeing that the vet hadn't walked away, Stiles determined that the older man wanted to talk to him, so he strolled down the driveway.

"Hey." Stiles went for casual, but the slight crack in his voice betrayed him. Stiles looked Mr. Deaton over, and realized that the vet looked different, more serious, or intimidating. The teen barely managed to return his attention to Mr. Deaton rather than allowing himself to consider if Derek or Mr. Deaton would win an intimidation contest.

"The Mountain Ash worked for you. Would you like to learn how to do more?" Stiles' mouth dropped open, just a touch.

"Uh, nice to see you're doing well. " Small talk might be small, but you don't just launch into conversations about magic on the sidewalk in the middle of suburbia. It's weird! And it's not even dark yet.

"Stiles." Mr. Deaton doesn't have much of a facial expression, but he still manages to exude earnestness. "This is serious. I can teach you. I can teach you how to use that spark."

"Yeah, but still, you might want to work on your lead in." Mr. Deaton shrugged and continued.

"Look, Stiles. I wasn't sure that it would work for you. But it did, and it's a waste to have a talent for Sparking and not learn how to use it." Stiles held back the giggles that threatened to overtake his body. He really couldn't help it. Sparking? The name sounds like some stupid frat-boy game involving firecrackers or car batteries.

Mr. Deaton looked at Stiles, and the boy froze. The urge to laugh, or make jokes died suddenly, and the teen nodded solemnly.

"Yes. I'd like, no, totally scratch that, I need to learn how to do more of whatever this is." The teen, self conscious about his outburst, touched his cheek where the bruises from his earlier encounter were still fading. Mr. Deaton nodded, his face a study in blank understanding. The older man was already part way down the block when he turned back to face Stiles.

"I'd be grateful if you didn't mention this training to anyone else." Stiles nodded, willing to agree with the request even if he didn't understand it. It wasn't like it would be a secret for long, not with werewolf senses.

"Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow, early, at the clinic."

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Finally finished determining that he actually didn't have the money to fix everything that had gone wrong with his jeep, Stiles returned to his room, intending on Googling mountain ash or Sparking to see if he could get a little knowledge set up before meeting with Mr. Deaton the next day.

Peter had different plans for him.

Yes, that Peter, the crazy one who'd poisoned, risen from the dead, murdered, driven Lydia crazy, and offered to turn Stiles into a werewolf. Peter had done all of that, and in no particular order.

Stiles could have laughed. After his chat with Mr. Deaton, Peter flicking through a book on top of his chest of drawers was almost par for the course. Almost.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles' voice cracked, but this time it failed to bother him. After all, being afraid of a rabid werewolf fell under the rational fears clause, so Stiles didn't have to worry about his manliness.

Peter didn't even have the grace to look up, just continued to wander through Stiles' room, touching various objects, and smiling ever so slightly.

"I'd wondered when you'd show up." Peter finally made eye contact, and his smile grew wider. The smile made Stiles wonder if anyone had invented wolfsbane pepper spray, or anything that could incapacitate a werewolf long enough for Stiles to hide somewhere. Or call Scott. Actually, Derek was probably a better bet. Only Stiles wasn't sure drawing attention from the Alpha Werewolf was a good plan. Boyd? Yeah, Stiles could call Boyd.

"And why were you wondering that? In fact, why are you in my room? I thought we were done!" Okay, the speech came out a little melodramatic, but at least Stiles could still use his words, rather than just attempting to run away.

Peter hummed, and looked Stiles up and down. The teen was beginning to think that he maybe should have thought out sassing the crazy werewolf, when Peter finally responded to Stiles question.

"Meeting tonight. It's information you'll want. The subway. Bring Scott." Stiles stared. There were far less threats in this conversation than Stiles associated with having a conversation with a werewolf. While Stiles mulled on this new development, Peter moved forward, one of Stiles socks in his hand.

"You smell stressed." The werewolf continued, as though he hadn't invaded Stiles personal space, and started sniffing. Then he licked his teeth in a way that made Stiles scuttle backwards. Peter chuckled, his eyes on Stiles' face.

"Get there quickly. I'd hate for you to get hurt because you didn't know what was going on." Stiles felt sure a threat existed in the subtext of that comment, and frowned. Peter moved to the window, opening it, and looking at Stiles once more.

"If you need help with your stress, you just let Uncle Peter know. I'll help you." And then he hopped out of the window. Stiles stared at the window, first thinking that Peter Hale was the creepiest man he knew (and that included the man's nephew), and then the teen cursed.

Peter Hale had stolen his socks!

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Whenever Stiles thought his life couldn't get weirder, it did. Almost like clockwork. Or a curse.

For instance, he'd though an offer of apprenticeship in magic followed by the world's creepiest invite (seriously, Isaac could have just texted him, or Scott) couldn't be topped, at least not easily.

But then he arrived in abandoned subway hideaway; Derek Hale and his band of misfits handily did away with that assumption.

After all, how often do you walk in on four naked werewolves spooning?

Stiles had already turned around, muttering to himself about how Peter had told invited him to a meeting, not an orgy when Scott grabbed his best friend's arm, and started dragging him toward the naked people.

"What the hell did you do, Derek?" Scott demanded, his voice strident. Scott dropped Stiles' arm, and waded into the pile of (thank god) only mostly naked people, dragging Isaac out. The blond werewolf looked sick, his eyes puffy and dull, hardly reacting to Scott yanking him around like a ragdoll.

Stiles frowned, and looked closer to see what he'd missed. The teen's mouth began creeping open again as his eyes took in more information about the state of Erica and Boyd. The two werewolves had been worked over, and for some reason their werewolf healing hadn't kicked in.

With wide eyes, Stiles looked back at Scott, finally listening to the words his best friend directed at Derek.

"And why weren't you watching out for Isaac? You know how hard it is to take away the pain!" Scott was breathing hard, and Stiles didn't like the look of Scott's eyes. Derek, for his part, hadn't responded to Scott's tirade, but hadn't looked away from the younger wolf. Stiles felt like he should interfere, but considering he still didn't know what had happened, the teen decided to try to keep his mouth shut.

Scott continued talking, and Stiles considered the three werewolves on the floor. Derek looked drained, like he needed to sleep it off (whatever "it" was), but had no wounds obvious from his position behind Erica and Boyd. He was clutching both of the wounded teens to his chest, and lines of black intermittently raced up his forearms. Erica and Boyd were asleep, or at least unconscious, and had blood and mud caked over their bodies. Unfortunately, the coating did nothing to disguise how badly they'd been beaten, clawed or bitten. Stiles swallowed down the certainty that they would already be dead if Derek hadn't been there to hold them together (literally).

Stiles' mouth opened and spoke without his consent, ignoring the fact that Scott was midsentence.

"Did Gerard do this?" Stiles could feel his heart speeding up, the idea of the newly turned psycho running loose scaring him more than he would ever admit. Gerard's ability as a human were too great, and the idea of him hyped up with superpowers haunted Stiles subconscious, reminding the teen of his vulnerabilities.

"Alpha pack." Derek ground out, his eyes slowly shifting from Scott to Stiles. "The Alpha pack did this."

Scott glanced from Derek and then to Stiles. His face held an expression that Stiles associated with puzzlement. Blank puzzlement.

"What's an Alpha pack?" Scott questioned. Derek kept his eyes on Stiles, but responded to Scott's question.

"Multiple alphas all in the same pack." Derek's eyes flashed red, reminding them of the differences between a 'normal' werewolf and an alpha. Stiles shivered.

"Do you want to give us some more details than that? Like how we pissed them off enough for them to do that? Or when they got here? Or what we're going to do?" Scott's expression changed from the puzzled expression that Stiles felt used to; over to an expression Stiles saw only rarely- concern.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Stiles ignored Scott's attempt at sympathy and stared with determination at Derek, willing the alpha to answer his questions. Derek growled slightly, still staring at Stiles. It had reached creeper status earlier in the conversation, but still had nothing on Peter.

"Look, Stiles. Now? Not the best time for this conversation. What do you need to know? You're safe. For now." Derek shut his eyes, and Stiles almost screamed in frustration. About to step forward and tear a hole into Derek (using his words. No matter how weak the werewolf looked, Stiles knew better than to think he could take him physically, even with Scott's help), Stiles felt a tug on his arm.

Looking next to him, the wide blue eyes of Isaac subtly pleading for him to drop it for now, Stiles froze, and sighed.

"This isn't over." Stiles said instead. "Scott and I are taking Isaac to get some food." And to pry whatever information Isaac might have gleaned out of him, but Stiles didn't feel the need to inform Derek of that fact.

"But you let us know when Erica and Boyd wake up. Then we'll discuss this, and whatever else you've been keeping from us." Trying to keep his breathing even, Stiles stalked from the warehouse, hoping that everyone had been fooled by his show of bravado. Hoping that Scott would follow his lead.

It could happen. Stranger things had happened that night.

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Well, I hope you liked it! It's un-beta-ed, so I apologize for any mistakes. If you point them out, I'll fix them, I promise.

I have this entire thing plotted out, and it comes out to roughly ten chapters, with two more stories after it. It's the longest thing I've ever attempted, so if you have anything to say, please tell me. I need all the comments I can get.

It's intended to be Sterek, but nothing overtly slashy will occur in this particular story. Just a lot of slow building friendship.

If you have questions, comments, or concerns, please, please, please let me know. I might miss something, or forget something important, and I'd prefer not too!

Amanda