ephemeral || stiles and the originals

chapter twelve

hehe

"Well hello, little brother, still alive and killing, I see."

saturday, february 19
new orleans, louisiana
third person pov

Stiles sighed, eyes flitting up apologetically to the pack as he spun on his heel, a small, empty smile playing on his lips, "Niklaus."

That stupid, arrogant smirk that Stiles had sincerely hoped his brother had grown out of after a few centuries stretched across Klaus' face, his arms spreading out as his chin tilted derogatorily, "And here I thought three centuries would allow you to come up with a more dramatic reunion greeting. Yet all I get is a grumpy 'Niklaus' as if I was the disobedient little brother who ran away from home."

His voice remained light but Stiles caught the thunder brewing behind his eyes and okay, maybe riling up his sociopathic brother was a bad idea, but screw it, Stiles was going to enjoy it.

"I sense some resentment, Klaus," Stiles took a step forward, "although you are disobedient, you are my brother, and," his eyes scanned over Klaus' form, mouth twitching mockingly, "you are rather small."

The familiar spark of anger lit Klaus' eyes, but a low voice interceded, "Enough. I see you still have a knack for antagonizing Klaus, Mieczyslaw."

"Elijah," Stiles nodded at his eldest brother who approached from the double doors Klaus had come through, "I enjoy doing things I excel at, and it's been ages since I've been able to play the deranged little brother."

"Yes, well, whose fault would that be?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "I suppose you would say that it's my fault, Rebekah?"

"Isn't it?" Dark-rimmed eyes scanned over him as his sister came to stand three feet in front of him, scrutinizing, "You've gotten taller."

"Don't think that's exactly possible, Bekah," Stiles barely had time to register the shock before arms were crushing him into a hug, "I'm pretty sure the whole undead thing that stops aging is also a growth limiter."

"What the fuck?" Stiles broke out of the hug, jaw dropping before pointing at Kol, a very alive, undead, older brother Kol, as in the brother he though had been dead for practically his entire undead existence, "You're dead!"

Kol grinned, "So are you, Mischief."

"Stiles," and it had been going so well. The pack had been quiet, off the radar of his very dangerous, killer siblings that definitely didn't hold any reservations of human life, but then Lydia couldn't keep her fucking mouth closed or curiosity away, "I thought you said there were only four of them including you."

Stiles sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. Klaus' eyes positively lit up which was bad, very very bad, "Oh, this must be the pack!" his hands clapped together and the best description Stiles could think of was an excited child who had just beheaded a barbie doll because, "And I thought Marcel had been lying. Pity, would've liked an excuse to kill some of his idiot daywalkers as punishment."

Elijah quirked his lips into a wry smile, "I think that Mieczyslaw covered the killing part quite well on his own."

"I suppose some things do never change," Klaus moved, looking over Lydia, hands reaching out to brush back a loose piece of her strawberry blonde hair, Elijah's hand fell onto Stiles' shoulder stilling him, "Or perhaps they do. The Mieczyslaw that went into that dreadful coffin centuries ago would've finished the game he started, reaching into the pathetic chests of the humans he had fooled and ripping out their hearts slowly so they get the opportunity to see their bleeding mass of life in his hand before they died."