Only He saw

Blue Eyes

Coughing loudly, Stiles bats away the cobwebs entwining around his fingers. Peter snickers, instantly regretting it when an offended Stiles deposits the cobwebs into his perfectly coiffed hair. He sighs loudly, failing to keep the smile off of his face, then carefully navigates through the clustered attic, holding an almost full cardboard box.

The two work steadily, using a traffic light system to decide what they're taking to the new house, what they're still deliberating about, and what's not coming. Huffing tiredly, Peter places a worn bauble into the box, before reclining onto the sloping walls. Stiles looks over, smiling gently, before coming to sit next to him. The two watch the dust swirl in mesmerising trails through the minimal light in silence, enjoying the brief stint of silence.

Peter looks over at the teen, eyeing his nostalgic expression. Stiles startles, blushing under Peter's stare. "What, do I still have cobwebs in my hair?" He jokes, combing through it, doing nothing to help the mess. Peter grins, shaking his head.

"No, I was just watching you." He states plainly, unashamed.

Stiles smirks, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. "I can see why, creeper-wolf."

Peter frowns, lazily letting his fangs drop, glinting in the light. Stiles snorts, rummaging through the disregarder box, before unnaturally stilling. Peter quirks a confused eyebrow, and leans forward, curious to see what caused the boy such shock. The teen quietly pulls out a weathered book, the corners crumpled and bent, the cover dusty.

Flicking through the pages, he set the book on his lap, leaning into Peter's side. The Were stares at the photos, chuckling at the photos of the rosy-cheeked boy with various members of his family. Stiles stills on a weathered photo, fingers tracing the faces.

A woman, Stiles mother, he thinks, is stretched out over an old couch, the one still downstairs, precariously attaching tinsel to a curtain rod. A toddler easily identified as Stiles gleefully stands beneath her, clutching handfuls of the tinsel, a pair of decorative antlers precariously perched on his head.

"Me and mum on my fourth Christmas." Stiles murmured softly, rubbing his thumb over the indents of the dates written on the back of the photo. Peter smiles lightly, squeezing the Werau's hand. "I still remember being really attached to those antlers." He chuckles, mouth twisted up wistfully.

"You were adorable," Peter says quietly, eyes trained on the dusty photo in awe. Stiles looks at him, a moment of silence. He tightens his grip on his hand, and ducks his head.

"Are you saying I'm not adorable now?" He challenges, eyebrow quirked. Peter huffs, shaking his head in amusement.

"You always have been and you always will be, Stiles." He returns, putting the book back into the box and descending down the stairs onto the landing, Stiles crawls over the opening, looking below. Peter beckons him down, until he follows him, nearly falling in the process.

Stacking the box onto a pile of similar boxes, Peter sits at the kitchen table, Stiles rooting through the now bare cupboards for lunch. Five minutes later, they find themselves eating a healthy array of pop tarts, microwaved macaroni and red bull.

"Graduation tomorrow, then we're leaving," Stiles remarked, face showing how daunting the sudden approach of the move was.

Peter nods, setting down his fork. "No more Beacon Hills." He says, sarcastically toasting. Stiles clacks his own glass against the Weres, then jumps at the loud knocking on the door. Peter narrows his eyes, a murmured "Derek and Scott" before he heads for the door, Stiles frantically following behind.

Yanking the door open, Peter stands in the doorway, barring view into the house. Crossing his arms, he nods his head brusquely, unwilling to greet the pair. Stiles pushes past him, eyeing Derek and Scott warily. The intruders stand awkwardly in a defensive stance on the doormat, eyes cautious.

"What do you want?" Stiles demands plainly. Leaning against the doorframe.

"Make me an alpha again!" Scott snarls, rearing forward and flashing his icy blue eyes as Derek pulls him back, claws on the back of his jacket. Derek growls, shaking his head.

Peter laughs disbelievingly, staring at Scott and then Stiles. "Well, that's a development." He mutters amusedly, smirking. Stiles high fives him, ignoring the raging wolf in front of them.

Derek steps forward, scowl firmly in place. "You're in Hale territory." He rumbles, eyes downcast. Stiles scoffs, Peter rolling his eyes, shaking his head in incredulity. "We can't have another unannounced pack here."

"Not that you've ever bothered with pack politics, but there's no need to worry yourself, we'll be gone in two days," Stiles says breezily, finally addressing the heaped boxes behind him. Scott's eyes widen, and he looks wounded.

Derek nods slowly, barely containing his confusion. Scott moves forward, angry again. "My eyes..." He rumbles. Making them flare to further his point. Stiles looks forward, attempting to look concerned, but failing miserably.

"Sorry Scottie," Stiles sings, the Were cringing at the fake normality. "But that kind of thing is irreversible...and something I can't tamper with." Scott's eyes widen, and he stumbles back as if scalded. "Sadly my comment was only for dramatic effect...is there something you'd like to share with the class?" He drawls sarcastically, waiting to see the other's reaction.

Derek loosens his grip on the younger Were, letting his hand to his side in bewilderment. He backs away, waiting for an explanation. The air is stagnant, and Peter listens to Scotts heartbeat climb.

"What're they talking about, Scott?" Derek demands finally, eyes accusing. Scott shakes his head frantically, Peter steps past Stiles, now invested in the result of the conversation.

"...I'm...I..." Scott whimpers, gasping for air, seemingly crumbling in on himself. He stares at Derek and Peter, both increasingly bewildered.

"What do you mean?" Derek rumbles, voice steady and barely contained. Peter steps forward, glaring at Scott.

Scott starts to tremble, bringing shaking hands to his eyes as if trying to hide their piercing blue. "I...Cora..."

Stiles approaches him swiftly, wary, suddenly aware he'd uncovered something much bigger than he'd thought. He gripped the Were's wrist, then stumbled back, dumbfounded, ripping his hand away and landing on Peter. The older Were steadies him, inquisitively demanding to know what he saw. Stiles breathed deeply, ignoring Scott's terrified face to tell the new news.

"He killed Cora." His voice cracked, face pained. Derek stilled, face slacked. "He killed her, she never went back to South America, he killed her and hid her body." His voice turns monotone as he tries not to break down. Peter whimpers behind him, stricken. "He went to Deaton and tricked him, somehow forging fake bonds between you and Cora before weaning you off of them until you couldn't feel her at all, but never noticed." Scott stands still, seemingly rooted to the spot, betrayal at the words clear in his face. Peter stares at him, face filled with fury.

Stiles stumbled forward, eyes dark as he glared disbelievingly at his former best friend. "Your eyes turned blue after you killed her, so you managed to trick Deaton again..." The shock makes his voice crack, and he struggles to go on. "And you managed to give yourself a fake alpha status...claiming you were a true alpha!" He spits the words, disgust clear in every syllable. "My magic was too strong for your...concoction and reverted your eyes back to what they truly are." He whispers the last sentence, eyes distance, face unreadable.

"You enjoyed it!" He whimpers, face accusatory, close to hyperventilating. "You...shredded her skin and enjoyed it! And then you came back with a fucking fake god complex..." He spat, tears streaming down his face, staggering towards the rabid Were. Derek lunged forward, a growl escaping his throat, followed shortly by Peter, who sprung after Scott.

Scott growled, hate in his eyes as he glared at his former best friend, before he ran, sprinting towards the forest line, Derek and Peter at his heels.

Stiles stood in silence, cheeks wet, staring at their retreating backs. His breaths came hard and fast, and he collapsed shaking on the ground, thoughts pounding.

Scott had killed Cora.