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Can't Wipe That Blood Right Off Your Hands

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“Do you want the bite?” Peter asks, voice dripping like honey but tinged with poison. Stiles would laugh but considering the situation it would be inappropriate. It’s a situation Stiles has faced before infinite times. He’s chased Peter across infinite lifetimes; he’s seen Peter in infinite forms. Werewolf is a first though. And it’s not even Peter at his most dangerous.

Stiles remembers Peter on the battlefield in Arthurian times, riding on horseback with his sword held high. Stiles remembers Peter as a gladiator, blood dripping from his hands and sweat rolling down his forehead. Stiles remembers every version of Peter, from the innocent to the bloodthirsty. Stiles personally prefers the bloodthirsty versions but it’s not like he gets to pick. Each Peter has the same fundamental characteristics, (cunning, calculating, etc.) even if the package is different. Stiles likes this Peter’s body. It looks flexible.

Stiles has seen every version of Peter and he remembers. Stiles remembers Peter, finds Peter no matter what lifetime. Stiles is old, has wandered the planet a thousand times over, been drawn to whatever reincarnated version of Peter that has happened to grace this lifetime. Peter never does. Peter never remembers. Peter dies and forgets and Stiles is left to grieve and move on. He’s seen Peter die so many times and it hurts every single time.

This Peter is lethal. Stiles has seen the mutilation. Stiles might have to kill him. He’s done it before. In WW1 during battle, Stiles had killed a German soldier with a bayonet and as the soldier fell Stiles had looked into his eyes and known; known it was Peter. Stiles has been a druid priest and Peter had been his human sacrifice. Admittedly they’d had fantastic, filthy sex before hand but Stiles had still had to carve into Peter and present him to the Gods.

Peter is holding Stiles’ wrist, his fangs are sharp. He’s giving Stiles the option to become a werewolf. Stiles thinks adding werewolf to immortal being and dabbler in the dark arts is pushing it supernatural wise. Plus the whole go crazy at the moon thing is not appealing in any way. So Stiles puts on the innocent, useless act that he’s perfected over the centuries. It allows him to be overlooked.

“I don’t want to be like you,” Stiles says, retracting his wrist. Peter smirks. No matter what form Peter always smirks in that way. Stiles mentally kicks himself and thinks about dead puppies to avoid getting a boner. Peter taunts him with words, crushes his car keys and saunters away. Asshole.


Peter is burning. Stiles almost feels guilty for grinning because the last time Peter burned it was at the stake and Peter was accused of being a witch. The air is filled with the smell of burning flesh and barbequed dog hair. Jackson looks like he’s about to throw up.

Stiles watches Peter collapse, a hunk of scarred and burnt skin but still conscious. He’s taunting Derek while Scott tries to save his Romeo and Juliet Romance. Peter meets Stiles eyes and there it is. The recognition. The thousands of lifetimes flashing before Peter’s eyes before the light fades and his throat is slashed.

“I’m the alpha now,” Derek roars, eyes crimson red and burning. Stiles rolls his eyes because how dramatic can you get. Scott looks like he’s been kicked in the groin; Chris Argent clings to Allison tightly and Jackson is breathing heavily while leaning on his Porsche. Stiles sighs, ignores the tightening in his chest and helps to drag Peter’s body to the burnt out Hale House to hide beneath the broken floorboards. And if Stiles touches Peter’s cheek gently before he leaves, well that’s his business.


Days later Scott gets a haircut. Stiles claps him on the back and tell him he looks older. Scott then proceeds to get threatened by Chris Argent and the Scott/Allison epic romance goes underground for its own safety. Stiles considers manipulating Chris Argent’s mind, removing the issue completely but after the last romantic fiasco (cough Helen of Troy cough) he lets Scott and Allison act out their tragic love without magical help.

Derek’s making werewolves out of self esteemed deprived teenagers, there’s a crazy lizard man wandering round murdering people, Allison has a psychotic nut-job for a grandfather, Jackson was bitten but seems to not be a werewolf yet and Lydia is not a werewolf but she’s not human either. It’s a clusterfuck of weird. Stiles hasn’t had this much fun since he convinced a drunk Loki that fucking a horse was the best idea ever. Eight legged horses aside, the lizard man, or ‘kanima’ as Dramatic Derek the pretentious werewolf elects to tell them, is actually becoming an issue.

The kanima is found to be Jackson. Derek laments because his bite caused this while Scott wants to save him and Lydia is clueless. Coupled with the fact that Gerard is looming over them like a homicidal bat, it stops being fun and starts being irritating. Stiles considers moving on and leaving this lifetime behind him, even though kidnapping Jackson and hiding him in the back of a police van is hilarious. Getting arrested isn’t even that bad; he was arrested in Calais once for trying to smuggle two dwarves and his own weight in diamonds through customs. What a wild Valentines Day that was.

Lydia’s birthday party ends up being a huge fucking trip. Stiles watches Peter die over and over again until Scott dumps his head in the pool. Stiles blinks away blood and screaming then throws up in a bush. His whole body is tingling, the feeling is familiar but before he has time to process it, that’s when creepy Matt reveals himself to be the ‘kanima master’, which honestly Stiles figured out long ago because Matt looks like an evil fucker. He looks especially creepy with lizard Jackson wrapped around his leg like a murderous dog.

Scott convinces Stiles that they have to go to the police. That ends well. Matt tries to pair Stiles off with Derek and at least ten deputies are brutally slaughtered. Stiles observes the ceiling listlessly. Derek sticks his claws in his leg in an attempt to kick-start the healing process so he can be a dramatic badass werewolf. That’s when Stiles remembers the tingling sensation and remembers what it means. Peter has been reincarnated.

Scott drags Stiles away at Derek’s insistence and places him in the interrogation room. Stiles is left to his own devices after that. The kanima venom wears off and Stiles strolls out of the police station to the sound of gunfire and hissing. The tingling is intense, his skin is buzzing.

He’s being pulled toward Peter’s reincarnation, feels it in his bones. The amber of his eyes melts away to liquid gold as the magic that’s woven into the universe surrounds him and guides him. He stumbles around until he reaches the river. Gerard is drowning Matt in the murky water then proceeds to connect with the kanima emotionally. It’d definitely going on Stiles list of weird shit he’s seen. Stiles hides behind a tree until Gerard and his new lizard best friend leave.

Peter walks across the bridge above the river. Stiles watches in awe, mouth parted and breath heavy. He’s alive. Alive and bearded, which in all honestly is hot in Stiles opinion. It’s been a couple of lifetimes since Peter has had a beard. Stiles watches Peter disappear into the darkness.

This has never happened. Peter dies, Stiles grieves, then waits until the tingling starts. The last couple of times, Stiles has buried the tingling in booze, sex and drugs, anything to avoid loosing Peter again. It’s the 21st century, he’s allowed to avoid feelings if he fucking wants. But this is new. Peter is a resurrected werewolf. Stiles slumps down against the tree and cackles into the night like a malevolent bond villain.

That night Stiles gets as pissed as a newt on the roof of his apartment. He stares at the stars, swigs from a bottle of jack, uses magic to rearrange the garden of the house across the street and giggles occasionally. He remembers fucking Peter in a five star hotel in Paris before the outbreak of WW2. He relishes in the memory of Peter’s skin against his, of lips locking and hips rocking.

He goes to the lacrosse game with the biggest fucking hangover but high as a kite. Scott’s panicking, Jackson is gormless because his mind belongs to a 90-year-old murderous pensioner and Coach is yelling profanity at the other team.

Coach throws Stiles into the lacrosse game practically by his ears. He doesn’t do too badly until he’s kidnapped. He gets the shit kicked out of him by a homicidal grandfather in front of two electrocuted werewolves. He regrets getting out of bed this morning. Gerard throws him to the ground and leaves. Stiles spits blood over the floor but can feel everything healing. Perks of immortality. This isn’t the first time that Stiles has been beaten up and probably won’t be the last. He’s still banned from that speakeasy in Peru.

He gets up, switches off the electricity and they all escape out the basement window. If Stiles uses magic to flood the basement then who can blame him. Boyd and Erika stick close to Stiles after that. Something about safety in numbers and feelings of fear in relation to facing Derek. Stiles isn’t really paying attention; he’ll return the puppies to their pack mother later. They trundle back to school so Stiles can retrieve his jeep. Lydia is waiting.

“I want to save Jackson,” Lydia says firmly. Once upon a time Stiles would have seduced her. She’s intelligent and frightening, a hurricane contained within glass box and it’s very sexy.

“Jackson is a crazy lizard man,” Erika quips, “He’s beyond saving at this point.” She tosses her hair and inspects her nails. She’s doing quite well considering she was being tortured less than half an hour ago. Boyd stands stoically in the background.

“Peter said there was a chance,” Lydia retorts, stumbling slightly over saying Peter. Stiles will examine that later. “I want to save him and goddamnit Stiles you will help me. I know you’re in on all this.” Stiles runs his tongue along teeth and makes a clucking sound. He considers it.

“Alright, everyone get in the jeep.”


Running Jackson over with the jeep is a pleasure that Stiles treasures forever. It’s hilarious to watch Jackson being run over, his lizard face smacking into the glass before he rolls off the bonnet.

While Lydia and Jackson explore the power of love and have an epic reunion that rivals the tragic legendary love of Scott and Allison, Stiles happily replays the image in his mind. He’s seen too many love reunions to last several lifetimes.

Boyd and Erika are standing with Derek, looking suitably ashamed for desertion. Isaac is in pain, Derek is making puppy eyes at Scott while Scott makes puppy eyes at Allison. Allison looks suspiciously guilty. Chris Argent seems nervous.

Then Jackson is a werewolf and buck ass nude, which is also hilarious. Stiles was not expecting that. Luckily Jackson and Lydia are swept into the back of Chris Argent’s car, along with a emotional Allison. Scott claps a hand on Stiles’ shoulder then follows. The shoulder clasping is their way of saying they’ll talk later. Stiles likes Scott, he’s sweetly moral. It’s wonderfully refreshing.

Derek and his troop of puppies leave next, but not before Derek has grunted out a thank-you for saving Boyd and Erika. It sounds as though it physically pained him but it’s a sign of gratitude. Stiles takes what he can get when it comes to Derek.

Stiles is left alone with Peter. Peter watches him with deep blue eyes, eyes that seem older.

“How much do you remember?” Peter asks. Stiles drops the act that makes him look innocent. He stands up straighter, his gaze grows harder and he sharpens.

“Depends,” Stiles says, running his tongue along his lip.

“On what?”

“How much you’re willing to share.”

Peter narrows his eyes. Stiles shrugs nonchalantly.

“I remember everything,” Peter says, eyes bright and wanting. Stiles grins wickedly.