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If there was one thing that Niklaus Mikaelson and Peter Hale agreed on, it was that neither of them was particularly fond of humans. Some of them were tolerable, of course, but as a species they were more trouble than they were worth.
Unlike vampire covens and werewolf packs, humans seemed to have no greater loyalty to each other. Many would happily trade their own kin for money or prestige, and more than a few sought to curry the favor of any supernatural creature they encountered in the hopes that it would give them a measure of protection from the fighting.
The truth was, most combatants on both sides would cheerfully gut any human that got between them and their enemy.
Niklaus, for his part, could count on one hand the number of humans he liked and have fingers to spare.
Which was why it made absolutely no sense for his brother to force him into this meeting. True, the Whittemores had clout among the humans, but they were well-known for playing both sides of the war for profit and had little pull in any meaningful quarter of the supernatural world. In Niklaus’s opinion, Lord Whittemore was a vain, imbecilic caricature of a man, and his son was little better.
The fact that the wolves had also agreed to the chosen meeting place was equally as baffling. He had thought that Peter Hale, at least, had a modicum of intellect, as the wolf had long been his only worthy adversary in a sea of mangy curs. Why, then, were they both being forced to endure this pandering toad’s hospitality?
Elijah, naturally, gave him no answers.
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“Why am I the one being forced to attend this meeting?” Peter complained for the dozenth time. He glared at his father. “Talia loves to talk, you should send her.”
Anthony Hale smirked at his youngest son over his drink. “Your sister is not nearly as savvy as you,” he admitted, “nor as able to…discreetly dispose of problems. I trust you to make the most of this opportunity.”
“Even I'm not so bloodthirsty as to attack someone in the middle of mediation. No matter how much they deserve it.”
“You're the only one I trust to match that Mikaelson brat’s craftiness; your siblings are too forgiving, your cousins are too stupid, and most of the other families are more concerned with fighting than with the politics of it.”
Peter conceded the point, but still wasn't happy about it. “And why did you agree to meet on the Whittemore estate, of all things? Frankly, I'm more likely to murder that poor excuse for a lord than any of the attending vampires.”
“Your Aunt Rose suggested it,” was all his father said.
Peter's eyebrows went up in surprise. Aunt Rose’s premonitions had saved his skin more than once; it was well-known among the pack that those who disregarded her words did so at their own peril.
He sighed. “I suppose I have no choice, then.”
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If anyone had suggested before today that Niklaus Mikaelson would become infatuated with a human—let alone within mere hours of meeting him—he would have happily ripped the offending idiot’s heart out.
Yet from the moment the young lordling had opened his mouth, Nik had been captivated.
And he wasn't the only one; the Hale prince seemed enamoured of him as well. Then again, Niklaus always had preferred those souls who burned the brightest.
Jackson Whittemore, of course, was but a mirror of his father, but the other...who knew such a treasure was hiding behind the estate’s walls?
The Whittemore boy was arguably the more physically attractive of the two, yet the second Whittemore representative, a young human named Stiles, was undoubtedly the smarter and wittier of the two, much to Jackson's frustration.
It was obvious to the supernaturals in the room—three werewolves, three vampires—that the blond was meant to be in charge, yet he was wholly unprepared for dealing with his guests. Almost immediately, the subtle insults bandied around the table had turned to snarls and open threats, and the Whittemore heir had done nothing but offer them refreshments and turn increasingly pale at their lack of restraint; it had been Stiles who had finally taken control of the conversation.
“Lord Cyrus,” Stiles asked one of the werewolves after Jackson had left the room yet again, “do you have an interest in woodcarving?”
The question was so unexpected that everyone stopped arguing and turned to the human in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
Stiles arched a brow at him. “I ask because you're gauging the table quite thoroughly.” He looked down to where the werewolf had dug his claws into the wood. “I agree that the carvings on the legs are quite ghastly, so I applaud your efforts to do what I haven't yet managed. Trust me,” he added wryly, “your destruction of this table is a gift to all.”
Cyrus blinked bewilderedly at the table, then back at Stiles. “You're welcome?”
“Now,” the human continued, “before Jackson returns, we should get this mediation business settled. Surely all of you realize by now that this is the worst place for this kind of negotiation. I don't know who Whittemore bribed to make this happen, but unlike my cousin, I'm not completely ridiculous, and we might as well make the most of it while you're here.”
Peter flashed his eyes. “What do you suggest?”
“First, stop being creepy. You’ve been staring at me all morning. It's not attractive and it probably makes other people want to kill you.” One of the vampires smothered a laugh while Peter glared at the young man. “Second, if you're serious about a potential truce—which you should be, because resources are already scarce—you two,” he glared at Peter and Niklaus, “are going to have to make an effort to get along. Not destroying any more villages would be ideal.”
“You would dare talk to your superiors in such a way?” Niklaus asked idly.
“It seems to me that the only thing you're superior at is slaughtering each other.”
One of the other vampires snarled. “I could gut you where you stand, human.”
Stiles had the gall to roll his eyes, and more than one jaw dropped at the motion. “The sad fact is, you will always be vastly outnumbered by humans. Even now, Lord Argent is meeting with human lords, trying to garner support for an insurgence. He will eventually succeed. In the meantime, he's perfectly fine with whatever you do, because as long as you're killing each other, you're not going after him.”
Stiles fell silent, and the rest of the room with him. Peter and Niklaus stared at each other from across the table, both having similar thoughts. Would their peoples be able to unite to fight a common enemy? How had no one noticed the danger before now? And, most importantly, which one of them could win this fascinating young creature’s favor first?
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By the time young Jackson returned to the meeting, Stiles had argued the room into agreeing to a temporary truce that would be enforced by the princes Niklaus and Peter. He fed the group lunch, redrew the territory lines, produced (seemingly out of nowhere) old treaties that he should not have had access to, complete with sensible changes, and had given the snarling vampire from earlier such a tongue-lashing that even Niklaus’s brows raised in surprise.
“The majority of you are centuries old,” he told them flatly, when one of them mentioned that his pack had spent too long fighting to stop now, “perhaps you should try acting your ages. If you haven't won by now, I don't know what makes you think victory is just around the corner.”
That, naturally, was the point in which the Whittemore heir returned, to the sight of Stiles poking a rather old and respected vampire in the forehead.
“What are you doing?” he yelled, causing all of the wolves to flinch. He seemed not to notice that the faces of the others wore fondness and amusement, and moved to grab his cousin’s arm. “You don't know anything about negotiations and Father will be angry if you ruin this for us.”
Stiles opened his mouth to argue when Jackson twisted his arm hard enough to wring a sound of pain out of Stiles instead and all but shoved him into a seat. He was surprised a low growling at the table, but he didn't look up to see who had made the sound.
For his part, Jackson didn't seem to notice the growling, and began a long, boring monologue about the honor of House Whittemore, his father, and the great Gerard Argent.
“Because when I think of trustworthiness, Gerard Argent is certainly the first face to come to mind,” Stiles muttered under his breath.
“Lord Argent has offered his land for any human that wishes to live peacefully on the borders. My family offers our humble services in making sure that peace is maintained in the interim.”
“And what, pray tell, would we gain from your assistance?” Niklaus asked.
“The treaty, of course.”
“I'd prefer one not written in blood, thanks,” one of the wolves remarked. “Besides, the treaty's done.”
“What? But—”
“Oh, yes, we’ve quite settled things without you,” the vampire prince purred. “And in recognition of your family's...services, we’re going to take your delightful cousin with us.”
“What?” Stiles asked flatly.
“What?” Jackson yelled.
The two princes, however, just smiled. If they were being forced to work together, they were most assuredly going to be rewarded for that effort.
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The next few months were...trying, to say the least. The Hales and the Mikaelsons were increasingly forced to work together, and although the things between them grew less hostile (a sentiment that eased its way through the other families on both sides as well), Niklaus and Peter were both as ill-tempered as ever.
Stiles had put up with the outlandish war for his affections for barely a month before he’d marched into a meeting between Theresa Hale and Elijah Mikaelson, threw his hands in the air, and announced that if the princes wanted someone to kiss them so badly, they should just kiss each other and be done with it.
He then marched right out again, mumbling something about children and their toys that left both men grinning.
Within an hour, both vampires and werewolves were abuzz with the challenge that Stiles had inadvertently leveled at his potential paramours.
Within two hours, the disgruntled paramours in question had tracked down their human to answer the challenge.
“If I kiss him,” Peter clarified, eyeing the vampire critically, “you’ll kiss me?”
The human nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?” This from Niklaus, who was watching Peter much the same way that the werewolf was watching him.
Stiles was almost certain that neither man realized that they looked far more intrigued than repulsed by the idea. He hid his grin and shrugged instead. “If I am going to be a part of this peace, then I refuse to take sides and choose between you. You have to be willing to share. Are you?”
The two princes stared at each other for a long while—long enough that Stiles started to worry that his plan wouldn't work—and then Peter moved.
The werewolf surged forward and smashed his lips into the vampire's with a force that pushed Niklaus into the wall a foot behind him. The vampire looked shocked for a split-second before him responded in kind, pulling Peter forward so that neither of them could move and responding to the kiss with equal hunger.
“Well, that's certainly more entertaining than watching you try to kill each other,” Stiles said finally, his voice breaking through the haze that had settled over the two supernaturals.
The two men turned to him in tandem, glazed looks on their faces.
“Now, we're going to sit down and get to know each other like adults. We're going to spend time together that doesn't involve peace talks or Gerard Argent, and I’ll even reward you for good behavior.”
The young man reached forward and took both men by the hand, before placing a gentle kiss on Peter's, then Niklaus's lips. “Shall we?”
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This moment, unfortunately, was a long time coming. Still, Stiles couldn't regret warning everyone about Gerard Argent.
His candor had given him Nik and Peter, after all, and ended a baseless war. Despite the situation, the young man allowed himself a small smile.
“I'm not an unreasonable man, Stiles. I don't want to kill you.” Stiles struggled as the man dragged him toward the pond, but the earlier blow to the back of the head had left him unsteady on his feet. It was laughably easy for the old man to move Stiles however he wanted. “Really, you're doing me a service by dying here. I only wish I could see the look on Prince Niklaus’s face when he finds you.”
Stiles almost snorted. “My death is not going to be enough to restart the war.” His lovers had barely let him interact with their own family members, let alone the population-at-large. Half of them probably thought he was a myth, made up to keep them in line. “You're can't erase what I've done.”
Gerard sneered at him. “Are you willing to die for peace ? They're monsters; fighting is the only thing they know how to do.”
“I'm willing to die for the people I love,” he promised, even as Gerard pushed him under the water.
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Niklaus knew something was wrong from the moment he set foot on the grounds.
The sense of unease was almost overwhelming, despite the fact that the manor had been empty for hours. The entire coven had been given leave to attend the celebration and had happily taken advantage of the opportunity, so why did Niklaus suddenly feel so afraid?
Despite his vampiric speed, his feet felt like lead as he moved through the entire manor and out into the back gardens, dread growing with each step.
Then he saw it: there was something floating in the pond.
The vampire stopped, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. All too slowly, he moved toward the body, only to stop just short of the pool. Panic clogged his throat, and Niklaus suppressed a scoff at the thought that he—the mighty vampire prince—was frozen in fear.
Surely, he could identify one dead body in the hundreds he had seen in his lifetime?
Ever so gently, he flipped the body over to reveal an all too familiar face.
Later, he wouldn’t remember reaching into the water or pulling Stiles out. He wouldn't remember screaming into the night, or destroying half of the house on his way to the bedroom. The next thing that Niklaus was truly aware of was wrapping Stiles in the blanket on his bed, wet clothes discarded, as if to keep him from getting a chill.
“No. You can't leave,” Nik proclaimed, petting the other man’s hair. “You have to stay. You can't leave.”
Niklaus was going to slaughter them all, and he was sure that Peter would help. He was going to specifically find the person responsible for his lover’s death, and that person was going to beg for the end long before it came to him. Anyone who stood in the way of their vengeance was going to be reduced to mere meat on the ground.
He needed to find Peter, Nik thought dimly. Peter would help. Unfortunately, he couldn't leave Stiles alone and unprotected.
He would have to trust in the bond that Stiles had believed in, and hope that the werewolf came to them.
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Something was horribly, horribly wrong and Peter couldn't fix it.
He could feel the wrongness deep in his bones. It made him want to rip something apart, even as his pack and neighbors celebrated around him.
Talia would no doubt accuse him of pining for his lovers, but this was not the drugging warmth he felt around Stiles or Nik. This was cold and harsh, and it made him want to search them both out to make sure they were well, to hide them away from whatever was stirring his instincts.
The werewolves and vampires may have reached a tentative peace, after all, but Lord Argent was very much a problem. Very few understood the relationship between he, Nik, and Stiles, but the packs and covens knew that to move against their human was to invite an excruciating end.
Very few of them were that stupid, and those that were generally had minders.
Humans, however, were a different matter, and Peter worried for his younger love. If anything happened to him--
A bloodcurdling scream tore through the night.
Peter ran.
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Much, much later, Peter would realize how foolish it had been to race unescorted through Mikaelson land, but in that moment Peter’s world had narrowed down to Nik and screaming.
And Stiles, who was far too still.
“Why?” Peter asked. He didn't dare take another step, afraid his legs would give if he did. “Why him?”
“War requires sacrifice,” Nik spat bitterly. He turned haunted eyes to Peter. “Wasn't that what I told him?”
“He knew the risks—”
“There should have been no risks to him!” the vampire roared, clutching the body tighter. “We should have protected him.”
“What do you want to do?” Peter asked carefully. He pushed aside his heartbreak and focused on his other lover. He’d break down later, after Nik had pulled himself together. The world wouldn't survive both of them on a rampage.
“I want to kill them all.”
“We will,” Peter promised. He had never meant anything more in his entire life.
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What followed in the next few months was a ruthless culling of nearly the entire Argent line, no matter how distant the relation.
Shortly thereafter, the two princes vanished, never to be seen again.
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Stiles would have to be blind not to notice his admittedly attractive stalkers. He wasn't blind, or stupid, but he honestly couldn't figure out why they were tailing him. He lived in a less-than-ideal part of town, his jeep was mostly dead, and his wardrobe was largely sweatshirts and jeans. It wasn't that Stiles had low self-esteem but really, what was the attraction? Did they have him confused with someone else? They hadn’t made any threatening moves, so Stiles tried to ignore them, but it was pretty hard to do, considering their...everything.
And also, what was it with grocery stores using four sacks when they could have fit everything into two? He could barely see his lock around all of this—
“You must be Stiles,” a voice said somewhere to his right, just before he felt two of the sacks leave his arms.
“Um, yes?” he answered, as another two sacks left from the other side. He breathed a small sigh of relief as the key finally slid into the lock.
His two stalkers stood beside him, arms full of groceries and inscrutable looks on their faces.
“You don't seem entirely certain,” the blonde offered, a smile in his voice.
“What exactly do you want from me?”
“You remind us of a very dear friend of ours, and we’d like to get to know you better.”
Neither man made any move to follow Stiles into his apartment, or as he took the bags from their arms and set them inside.
“Why have you been following me, then?” he asked. “Why not just walk up and introduce yourselves?”
The blond laughed. “We've been told that the two of us can be…overzealous in our attentions. We hoped not to frighten you away too early.”
Well, that wasn't ominous sounding at all. Stiles didn't feel the least bit frightened, though. Intrigued, excited, but not scared.
“Tell us, do you believe in love at first sight?” the brunette inquired, the casualness in his voice belied by the seriousness in his eyes.
Honestly, Stiles probably should have run as fast as he could in the other direction. Unfortunately, Stiles had never been known for doing what was expected. He actually thought about the man’s question without slamming the door in his face. He knew his answer.
“I can't believe I'm doing this, but do you want to come in?”
Stiles watched the other two men's faces light up and knew that he was making the right decision as he stepped aside to let them in.