thoughtformed | the moon went up and i went outta my head

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the moon went up and i went outta my head

WHO: Stiles Stilinksi, Jakob Marlowe, Derek Hale
WHAT: It probably wasn't a good idea for Stiles to be wandering about at night on a full moon, huh?
WHEN: August 31st
WARNINGS: Violent werewolf shenanigans

There was no milk left and Stiles just wasn't having any of that. Yeah he could wait, but he really wanted midnight cereal. It's way more fun that morning cereal anyway.

He had his hands in his hoodie pockets and was humming softly to himself as he walked. There was a place open 24 hours right? Or was that only back home? Well, crap. He'd find out soon enough. What kind of archaic place would this island be if there wasn't at lest one 24 hour convenience store, right?

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Ever since his encounter with the other werewolf his first moon on the town, Jakob had been keeping his nose to the wind for the Alpha wolf's scent. He was still not quite sure whether to steer clear of the strange, foreign werewolf or stick near the way his pack instincts urged him towards. There was the briefest glimmer of something akin to hope each time he considered the fact that he was not entirely alone as he had believed. And then the confusion and the jealousy would settle in like violent imps jabbing at his core, the unwanted feelings associated with contemplation of his kind and their existence or potential lack thereof.

He had been searching for the older man he had pinpointed the week prior as unlikely to be missed. The sacrificial appeasement to the beast's hunger that he was enduring for the second night of the month. He had nearly reached the block before it hit him in a wave of scents and chain reactions, switches going off along his brain and shooting to the base of his animal instincts. The other werewolf's scent. Faint and tainted with the hormonal overload of the younger humans, but then, Derek had seemed young in comparison.

This scent was different, but Derek's scent was unmistakably there and enough to distract the hungry beast from the hunt and move Jakob's feet for him in a new direction. His snout raised to the air as he breathed in deep snuffs of warm, island air. Oceanic, it stung with the salt on the night breeze, but it afforded him a better sense of direction. Under the moon's brilliant glow he loped through the city, sticking close to the shadows of the buildings and the narrows of the back ways between streets. His claws barely making more than the faintest scrape on the hard ground beneath his pads. He was not built for city running, but his new target was not far from him now.

When he stopped near the source of the scent he had been following, it was to halt hunched under the shadow of an apartment building, out of the dim glow of street light. The moonlight cast an unnatural glow on his eyes and glinted of the fangs just visible in his slightly open jaws. That was not the other werewolf, strolling down the street, humming to some unfamiliar tune, and his lips curled back in a wolfish grin that was far from pleasure.

He had been in the midst of a hunt, and now, here, was a lone human, strolling down a dark street, heading directly for him. It was opportunity in a big way in the beast's eyes. Animalistic instincts sized the human as minimal threat potential, and alone. It was too good to pass up, and while any other moon would have given him pause to wonder as to why this human smelled of werewolf, the beast had not fully accepted Derek as an alpha, or a threat, after their draw of a fight over territory the time before. It did, however, acknowledge Stiles as prey.

Claws dug into the ground, scouring the cement beneath his paws, one powerful, heavy clawed arm tucked to his chest, three other limbs bunched and ready for the killing strike. His long tongue traced the sharp, saliva coated fangs as Stiles approached, and when the smaller human was within striking distance he launched himself from the shadows.

It was the full moon, there were weird monsters lurking in the shadows, and Derek didn't want Stiles wandering around after dark on his own. But there was cajoling and begging and finally Derek had agreed to let him go on his own.

What Stiles didn't know, however, was that Derek wasn't going to let him go by himself. The night was too dangerous, and after pacing in the apartment for a good ten minutes, he finally won the war with himself, and left the apartment, slinging on his jacket and heading out into the night. It took him a while to pick up on Stiles' scent. It was familiar, but the slight breeze and the other smells of the city clouded it a little, but as soon as Derek picked it up, he was on his way, hands shoved into his pockets, sniffing the air.

And then the second scent hit, a cloyingly (almost achingly so, even if it was slightly off) familiar scent, one Derek knew well. Werewolf. Derek's stomach leapt, a small little twinge of homesickness, actual homesickness for his family catching at his throat, but Derek shoved it away, buried it back where it belonged and narrowed his eyes. He hadn't known there were others on the island. He didn't like that.

He was too dumbstruck by the scent to realize that it was close, and by the time he did, it was too late. The other wolf had already attacked his target, some kid in a red hoodie--

The growl that came from his throat was primal, and before he knew it, Derek had changed, claws out, fangs out, and he was leaping forward.

"No!"

Poor Stiles only noticed something was Not Right until it was just a second too late to do much about it.

He looked up and yup there sure was some big snarling possibly werewolf coming straight for him. Yup. Goddammit Stilinski, you are your milk.

"Shit!" Stiles vaguely noticed something coming out of his mouth at all and he tried desperately to run off, but he trips and probably slammed into something and ow his everything kind of hurts all of a sudden.

He did hear a familiar voice - Derek? yeah for his sanity he's going with Derek - and he was briefly thankful that he at least wouldn't get torn to shreds all alone in the dark. Best to be optimistic, he supposed.

There was a good deal of snarling and heavy acrid werewolf breath in Stiles' direction all the way up until the other werewolf arrived on the scene. The werewolf he had been seeking out. That did not register right now,however. What registered was prey and then competition.

Sharp, determined claws had sank through fabric and into one of the smaller, gangly human's shoulders, and Jakob had positioned himself above Stiles with a stance that was clear enough to any animal. Stiles was his prey, and he wasn't giving that up without a fight. A fight Derek was clearly willing to put up. But the last time they had fought over Jakob's chosen prey, Derek had eventually left him to it with something close to an air of disgust. He had no reason to assume the other werewolf would not back down again this time, other than the traces of Derek's scent on Stiles.

His lips drew back again and he snarled at the leaping form, holding his ground. He drew back the arm not pinning Stiles to the pavement to lash out at the approaching threat, a fierce and dangerous growl rushing from his throat to greet the primal sound of the strange foreign werewolf who could change at will.

Shit. Shit shit shit. The iron smell of blood hit his nostrils, and Derek's eyes flashed red, his vision going red. This wolf was not Pack, he wasn't even an ally, and he was attacking what was rightfully Derek's.

The idea popped in and out of his head so fast he didn't even realize he was thinking it. The wolf had taken over, primal instinct kicking in, and Derek let out a warning snarl, catching the hand lashing out at him with his own, lips curling back in a defiant angry motion.

"Mine," he snarled, squeezing the wrist in his hand.

All Stiles was registering at that point was pain because holy shit, holy shit, claws in in. He could smell his own blood and he was probably making all sorts of embarrassing whimper-y, shrieky noises of pain but he couldn't care about that right then.

His vision was going white and hazy and he heard that voice again - yeah it was definitely Derek - and he whined out. Now if this werewolf would get his other claw out of his flesh, that would be great. "D-Derek..."

The claim reverberates of something very different than the sort of claim Jakob had been trying to lay down. He doesn't want to let his prey go. He's a bit larger than this werewolf as they are now. It was possible he could gain the advantage. Was it worth the trouble? His fur bristled with challenge, eyes golden in the moonlight and ears up and alert.

He bared his teeth at the challenger to his meal, wrenching at the grip on his wrist. An action that shoves his claws deeper into soft, squishy human flesh. Floods his sense with the smell of hot, fearful blood and his stomach gnaws at itself. The beast clambering, demanding blood and flesh, and making it's hunger known.

Teeth click in challenge, gnashing together. He chances a glance down at the rigid, fearful human beneath him. Breathes in deeply the sickly sweet smell of a meal in wait and then darts his eyes back to the other werewolf.

Instincts battle for dominion over this challenge. Jakob was never the alpha wolf type, unless the bedroom was the topic in question. He was also a starving beast this particular day of the month, and determined to get what he had been hunting for, even if it meant challenging another werewolf.

Was this gangly human worth the fight, or did he tuck his tail and find another victim for this night? It would be simple to track his original victim back down, but he could taste this one's blood on his tongue.

Another snarl and his claws removed themselves from Stiles' shoulder with sickly wet popping noises of sharp keratin sliding free from bloodied flesh. There was a hesitance in his movements and then he wrenched his wrist fully free of the other werewolf's grip, ears flattening against his head, teeth still bared and jaw open to breath in the air.

He took a single step back, eyes firmly set on Derek's, every muscle beneath the thick fur along his body bunched and ready for a fight.

He wanted. The hunger clawed at his insides and ached with the desperation of the beast. Golden eyes flickered back to Stiles, claws digging marks into the cement under foot, then back to Derek again. Another step backwards, another growl, and then he was back on all fours, hunched and watching. Indecisive. Waiting for the other werewolf to make a move.

He squats next to Stiles, half covering the boy's prone body, lips still curled up in a snarl. His eyes are locked on the other wolf, one hand up in a defensive position, the other placed on the ground. His breath is racing, his heart beating fast, and he huffs out a breath, stone still.

He's watching that other wolf, waiting, and he huffs out another growl as he speaks, scraping his claws on the ground into a fist.

Stiles is thankful that the claws are out of his flesh but now all he can smell is his own blood and this is probably the most pain he's ever been in his entire life. He's trying to stay awake because he knows he hit his head pretty hard but it's proving more and more difficult with each shallow, ragged breath he tries to take.

But then Derek is arched over him and he feels the fear inside him lessen just ever so slightly, because at least he's not laying prone and bloody and trembling.

He tries to reach up to Derek but he can't, the pain shooting from his shoulders down to the tips of his fingers. Stiles tries to speak again, but all that comes out are hollow croaks.

It takes a few lingering moments of a stand off for Jakob to back off a few more steps. Stiles smells like fear and blood, and every beastial instinct drives him to finish it. But his first fight with Derek still lingers on both his own memory and his instincts. Jakob takes a few more slow steps back. This wolf was an alpha, and he had laid claim to Jakob's prey.

He growled, lowly and almost submissively, though irritation and frustration were boiling beneath his fur. He would not turn his back on the other werewolf. He could toe the suicidal line any other day of the month, but this particular night, the beast was not having it. So he continued to walk backwards, slowly. One paw after the other. Eyes glinting in the moonlight, firmly fixed on Derek.

There was easier prey to be had. Easier, unclaimed prey. There is a small, miniscule amount of guilt that will grow tomorrow. He almost killed a kid. A kid.

But right now there was hunger and frustration, and blood on his claws.

And a few blocks away there was an easier meal waiting for him in a dark and comfortable house where no one would bother him.

All right. Fine. This one was Derek's. Mark Stiles on the do not touch list. Message received. His paws scraped at the cement again, one last, lingering hesitation, and then the werewolf was backing away into the shadows, never turning to leave his back exposed.

Derek doesn't move, doesn't shift, waits for the other wolf to back off completely, memorizing his scent. He can smell the hunger, the desperation, and while the wolf inside of him understands, the wolf inside of him is also pissed.

This boy was someone important to someone Derek considered pack. That made this boy, in his own right, part of Derek's pack, regardless of any other feelings he might have towards him. It was the same for Allison, and the same for anyone that Scott considered pack.

This wolf would not touch him.

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the moon went up and i went outta my head

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Not as much fighting as I would have expected but what can you do. They do what they want.

probably for the best, tbh T^T