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Let Me Tame Your Savage Beast	By : DevilnBlue Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 30 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, but I do own this fanfic.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter One
- 1
Hello Hopeless Blue Kiss here with a new story for you. I’m so pleasantly surprised that everyone liked my other Steter fic. Out of the whole cast of characters, Peter seems to get along with Stiles the most. However, there aren’t enough decent Steter fics where Peter isn’t somehow taken advantage of the resident human in a predatory way. So, I hope this fic does well here. It’s angsty and emotional, but let’s be honest, Peter has been through a lot and Stiles is just the person to heal him. Enjoy and please comment.
Let Me Tame Your Savage Beast
Burning.
Burning.
Burning.
Everything was too hot and burning around his ears. His throat was hoarse from smoke inhalation and screaming in horror and pain. Fingernails split and bleeding from clawing desperately for life at the barrier that separated him from damnation and salvation. He could barely recall which one of the little ones he held close to his side. His body instinctively shielded them from the brunt of the unforgiving flames as they charred and melted his flesh to fabric, hair to crackling skin. Chapped lips pursed together to hold back a scream as his face was set ablaze with flames. He smacked wildly at the fire trying to extinguish them as his eyes glowed electric blue, signifying an innocent life he once taken.
All their memories burning around his ears. The pictures, the clothes, the rooms, the people. All in flames, smelling of plastic, paper, flesh, and burnt wood. He had never wanted to know what human flesh smelt like burnt and clinging to his nostrils. Especially not his own. The pitying screams of help from little kids and the lies that fell like vomit from adult mouths, trying to reassure the kids that everything was going to be okay.
Nothing was okay.
Burning.
Burning.
Burning.
The front door and back door were somehow nailed shut to prevent the human family members from escaping. The windows were even nailed down and a thin layer of mountain ash was laid at every lower portal so that the werewolves couldn’t pry it open if only to save their human family members. They were stuck. Truly stuck and caught like mice at the mercy of all consuming flames that ate greedily, sucking down screams as it burned brighter and harder as it devoured.
Damn hunters. Vile, loathsome creatures, the lot of them. He tried to calm the masses and suggested their best route was to escape upstairs and through the attic. But many had shot that idea down as a Fool’s errand. They believed that the escape tunnels that they had in their basement was the best route to take. He turned to his sister for help, hoping a cooler head would listen to his logic. But Alpha, Talia Hale ignored him, dismissing his attempts at reasoning as foolishness as she led both injured and uninjured family members down into the basement to supposed safety.
Peter felt cold. He knew he wasn’t a leader like his big sister, but he was still her left hand. Her enforcer and her researcher. He knew how to protect the pack in ways that his older sister didn’t. He got his hands dirty so that she could remain pristine to the others. But what was a simple Beta’s words to an Alpha hire up on the food chain. He wanted to rush to the basement door and tell them they were making a mistake. Waste his time shouting out how all this feels like more and more of a trap. But instead he scooped up the kid that still clung to him like a bur and ran the other way pass the others that tried to get him to stop.
His limbs thrummed with adrenaline and sorrow as he ran away from his doomed family and thundered up the stairs. His mouth murmuring reassurance to the dark head tucked under his chin, as the child clung to him like a limpet. His instincts reassured him that the path he was taking was correct even as it got harder to breath and some straggling family members shouted from the ground floor to turn back around. He ignored them and yanked down the latch to the attack just as screams and a muffled sound of gunfire came from under their feet.
“Hunters,” he gasped out, voice thick with tears and smoke that clung to his throat. It sounded like it was coming from the basement. More than likely hunters or a turret set in place to rain down death the moment they tried to escape to safety from the basement. It hurt him to be so damn right in this moment as he gently tried to pry the small child off him so they could climb the ladder. It wasn’t that hard to pry tiny fingers from digging into his shirt to turn them towards the ladder in front of them.
“Go sweetheart. I’ll be there shortly,” he reassured in a hushed tone. Peter was determined to save more lives if he could help it. But even as he stepped away from the child, they desperately grasped at his clothes, whining non-verbally in their fear. Peter cursed softly under his breath and secured the child once more in his arms, cradling the back of their head even as he walked purposely to the stair’s railing.
He once more offered the attic as the best escape route to those who managed to escape the carnage downstairs. He tried to be as authoritative and assertive as possible even under the weight of familial bonds snapping left and right as their lives were snuffed out by gunfire and flames. At least this way they could climb through the window and out onto the roof. There was a slim chance that at least one of their humans could escape and break the Mountain Ash barrier so that one of the werewolves could help get the rest out. But just as others were coming around and turn towards Petter on the stairs, a portion of the house came crashing down to block the way.
He cursed. He had to go. He had to move. Peter gently shielded the wolf pup from the faces of anguish and fear that would now be emblazoned under his eyelids as their last route of survival was cut off. Their cries of betrayal could no longer sway him when the greedy tongues of the fire greedily lapped up everything around them. He at least had one soul other than his own to protect. Was it little Cora? He was nose blind with all the smoke, and he immediately bundled the small one up in blankets so that the falling ash wouldn’t burn their skin as he quickly tested an upper window before realizing that yes, the attic was the best route.
Strong, thin arms wrapped around his neck like an albatross as he climbed with the weight of all he was losing burning behind him as he climbed with determination and adrenaline powering his movements. He would cry and curse later at how cruel the world was. He needed to survive long enough to mourn as he walked to an attic window too high up for their assailants to nail shut or put mountain ash on. All he could remember was breaking the stain glass window and emerging out the chrysalis bloody and worn, arms and legs akimbo on the rough as he waited for death or salvation to claim him as his limbs were weighed down by his destroyed pack and the small lump of a quivering lump still holding on before he passed out.
xXx
Of his large, boisterous family of thirty-eight that cycled in and out of the main house and in his life, only four, including himself had survived. Every pack thread that bound human and werewolf alike in the Hale pack had severed except those four. The other three bonds were so thin and fine as a spider’s web, it would take nothing to snap under the pressure of distance and stress.
His only surviving family had abandoned him to the chrysalis of his own body and mind, broken under the weight of lost and trauma. His mere existence up to this point after the fire was a continuous nightmare where he recycled over being trapped in the flames of his enemies and plotting what he would do to the entire world for wronging him. Occasionally, reality would pierce through the muffled shroud of his comatose mind, but it barely pierced the hellscape that his mind constructed in penance for surviving.
Peter felt everything and nothing. He wanted things to end so that he could no peace. But the same family that had abandoned him, refused to allow him to die. So, he clung onto an existence with no meaning or no end. Shelved as a broken good to be pulled out to remind someone of a past long gone. There was nothing for him. Nothing to do but wait.
Wait until him…
The music ebbed and flowed, licking at his consciousness with a kitten’s rough tongue. It dragged at his awareness like the far away ripples of a pebble penetrating a still pond. Peter still felt submerged in his nightmare, but he saw the ripples. Felt the music. It soaked into him, infusing him with a need to draw closer to the thing that invoked change in a hellscape of monotony and despair.
He recognized it after a bit as the low, mellow tones of a cello and felt it both strange and refreshing to hear a cello played while his world was burning. The irony that the song being played was ‘Peter and the Wolf’ was not lost on him, but he highly doubted the player knew the connection. He just clung to that melody greedily like a drowning sailor bereft at sea because he was drowning in his own consciousness. The music moored him, even in its amateur play. It was refreshing in the staleness of his benign life. He wordlessly cried out when it stopped. His mind refusing to submerge itself again when it had found respite.
It when on likes this. It was weeks, months, seconds, he wasn’t sure how long it was that within the cacophony of white noise and horror, the blistering skin of his soul was blessed with the refreshed coolness of that melodious string instrument. He just eagerly clung onto the sound each time it played, claws digging greedily into the life and rejuvenation that melodious tone brought him. His mind for once turned away from revenge and more towards a want he never knew he craved before.
xXx
Peter’s head lulled to the side as he was wheeled closer to the music that had him opening his eyes for the first time, the moment the music had started. He was still comatose and unresponsive to his caregivers and outside stimulants. But his eyes lit with hidden intelligence the moment they settled on a teenager on the cusp of manhood. The teenagers long, pale, mole-dotted limbs curled lovingly around a cello like he was an adorable koala clinging to his favorite tree. The way his digits danced over the strings while the other dragged out the baleful voice of the cello with the help of the bowstring was hypnotic.
It was like a world of possibilities blossomed in front of the youth’s sneakered feet. The curlicues of life-giving music seemed to trickle through his ears and over his body like a healing balm quenching his volcanic soul, which had been burning with hate. Revenge still itched at his fingertips, but the bloodlust was curbed by the soothing song the teen played on his cello. It was like he could breath for the first time and he wanted to reach out and touch the being of light. But his body was still encumbered with disuse in trauma that had atrophied after disuse.
The moment those honey-brown eyes finally settled on his disfigured form, Peter wanted to curl deeper within himself in shame. He didn’t kneed a mirror to know that his once handsome features had been scarred over and gaunt from lack of substance and burn scars. He was a vain wolf that had prided himself in his handsome features that had many a female and male turning their heads in interest and yet here he was now, bony and scarred. His body stale and unresponsive to the eyes of the teen that woke him up from his deep slumber.
Peter’s heart ache with the sudden inhale of the boy and his eyes widening in surprise. But to Peter’s wonderment the teen didn’t fully recoil like others would as he had started to become more lucid. He instead nibbled worriedly at a plump bottom lip, eyebrow wrinkled even as he drew closer in question.
“May I ask what happened to him?” the teen asked. Then just as quickly, “I’m sorry, is it okay if I ask? Or er… can he consent?” he apologized, both eager and apologetic.
“A house fire. He was one of the few surviving Hale members. The firefighters found him up on the roof clutching a child in his arms. She’s been rehoused and the other two surviving members fled soon after dropping him into hospice care. It’s a tragedy for sure,” the nurse said in matter-of-fact, but comforting tones.
The boy’s eyes with sudden understanding and sympathy. “My dad had recently worked on that case. It’s terrible how many lives were lost,” he blurted out. Then in a more subdued tone, hand hesitating to reach out to Peter to comfort him, “You have my sympathy. I hope my music was a small comfort. Was that why you brought him?”
“Yes, it seems many in the ward have found your music quite soothing. Not just your mother in her final moments,” the nurse reassured.
It was a bit of a surprise at first for the staff to see the teen lugging a huge cello case in one day with his cop father sullenly behind him. But the child had stubbornly been determined to reach his mother in a way that wouldn’t cause her to go into hysterics and call him a ‘monster’. It was tragic how far the mother had gone, but the somewhat amateur playing of this ‘Stiles’ kid had soothed not only his mother, but others that were sitting/laying there waiting for their demise.
“That’s a relief. I didn’t want to disturb anyone if I could help it. I just… my mother doesn’t recognize me much anymore. But she recognizes the music she used to teach me. I just thought if I played for her, she knew I was still with her,” the teen said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“You’re such a thoughtful kid. I know both of your parents must have been proud of you,” the nurse cooed in encouragement.
Peter noticed the slight grimace on the youth’s face. It was pained, but quickly painted over by a shy smile given. The werewolf wanted to pry and ask more of the teen that had played at his heartstrings so skillfully as he did the cello just then. But in order for him to stand a chance to stay by this young ones side he needed strength. An Alpha’s strength. He needed to lure in his wayward niece that abandoned him and take what was his, so that he could bask in the glory of his soulmate. His wolf and he savored in that thought that he had found him in the depths of despair, and he would now do anything to keep the teen close. Even if it meant dirtying his hands with the blood of his own kin.
- 1
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Let Me Tame Your Savage Beast