Bugs || Malia Tate

5. Hes a rugrat not a werecheetah...

"What did they call you on the lacrosse team? Bugs the Savage was it?"

The Nogitusne hadn't talked for hours, seeming to enjoy the darkened night as he worked tirelessly, keeping Bugs turned so he wouldn't see just what was going on. Bugs had reluctantly agreed, turning and looking at the dirt covered walls he sat inches from. Nothing about the place he had been led too was appealing but it screamed darkness and pain. Of course this place was where the fox would go.

His mind briefly drifted to his pack members and father, had they even noticed his absence? Of course not, he was careful not to leave a trail. His pack thought he was grieving Stiles disappearance in his own way and his father had put much of his strength in finding his youngest son. Bugs wasn't angry at any of them for this, more relieved then anything because this meant he could keep everyone safe. Everyone but himself of course.

The fox had told the older twin that something needed to be done, something so he knew Bugs was on his side. He hadn't spoken since then, having kept to himself and humming a tune so old Bugs had resorted to matching the tune with the various songs he knew, so far not one matched the tune.

It wasn't until his brothers familiar voice yet with a darker tone in it spoke that Bugs decided to turn back around. He hadn't waited for permission from the Nogitsune, who had specifically asked him to stay turned or else he would pay, Bugs didn't give a shit. He was bored and quite frankly his back was aching from sitting up so goddamn much.

Of course the Nogitusne seemed to slightly grow irritated at the rebellious Stilinski who hadn't seemed to fear him much. This intrigued the dark fox, of course he already known this about Bugs. He could see much more in the older twin then even Stiles would be able to, thus leading to his thought out question.

Bugs mouth went dry, brain working overtime in search of a reasonable explanation to this sudden question. He didn't even bother to wonder about how the fox knew that about him, no, his thoughts centered around why he cared so much. Why was this the only question the Nogitsune had spoken in hours.

"Yeah." Bugs finally spoke up, green eyes staring intently at the face of his brother. They looked even more alike now, equally matching purple bags under their eyes and disheveled hair, combined with the pale almost translucent skin, they match to a T.

"Why?" The trickster fox asked, his mouth lifting into a sinister smile, the action alone sending high alerts into Bugs.

He wasn't scared though, not anymore, he was cautious and downright paranoid but not scared.

"Because..." Bugs mind drifted back to the simpler times of his life, where his temper was the worst part and the red seeped into his mind. When he saw black and red on the, a combination so deadly it was no wonder he was given such a mortifying nickname on the field. "Because when I got on the field, I was dangerous."

"No," the fox cut in, tilting his head. "That's not it, you weren't dangerous Bugs, you were downright lethal. When the adrenaline kicked in and you felt cornered you turned into a feral savage, and fought your way to a win. How many legs did you break Bugs? How many times were you benched because of your temper? "Gentle soul anywhere else but put the boy on a field and he will become possessed." Isn't that how coach phrased you to your father one time?"