Who: Peter & Marlene What: GUESS WHAT EVERYBODY? Peter's possessed by a serial killer. Please, sit back and enjoy the irony. When: Recently Where: The woods Warnings: Peter's not well-hinged or hinged at all to begin with and he's got a serial killer in his head....sooo yes warning.
The thing about Peter's insanity was that he was quite well aware of his sociopathic tendencies. Any moral compass that he might have once possessed was long gone and truthfully he doesn't miss it. He enjoys the sweet, cold, clarity that comes from not having many fucks left to give. Forget wolfsbane, hunters and house fires - as far as Peter was concerned it's sentimentality that's the real killer. So when he's accused of being a psychopath (incorrect) or a sociopath (close enough) he didn't bother to quibble about it. Sociopath or not, he had his priorities and currently raising two betas with Kate Argent on the loose was his top priority.
Which is why he found it odd the first night he woke up in the ramshackle house he was in the middle of rebuilding and found himself holding a can of gasoline and a pack of matches.
Being a self-aware sociopath meant that he knew himself well enough to tell his thoughts, desires, wants and needs from those of anyone else's. It also didn't hurt that he'd played the possession game from the other side before and he knew what it meant to hollow out a place for himself inside someone else's head. The only question he had was "Who?"
He had to get out of the house. That was more important than anything else. Yes, he'd killed one pack already to make himself an alpha again but that had been a calculated move and the pack had been carefully chosen. He didn't want to hurt Nathan or Caleb and he was still himself enough to control his body and force it out of the house and further away from the property one slow step at a time. He even managed a curt text to Caleb to pick up Nathan and go to the prison immediately and not leave under any circumstances. But the harder Peter tried to shove back against the killer in his head the worse he felt.
Contrary to popular belief Peter didn't enjoy killing. Yes he was perfectly fine with killing the people responsible for the fire that killed his family but whoever was squatting in his head took more than satisfaction in it - he reveled in it. He wanted nothing more than for Peter to take his pack and his family apart piece by piece. Instead he kept dragging himself further into the woods towards the cemetery where he figured he was first exposed to whoever this was.
By the time he arrived his eyes were icy blue, his claws were out and his body dripped with sweat and the voice in his head was roughly a billion decibels loud. Peter could slowly feel control slipping through his fingers. There wasn't time to get help and he'd thrown his phone away halfway to the cemetery to keep from trying to lure Caleb or Nathan out of the prison. He was frozen in front of the grave of one Henry R Gayle died 1937 with nothing more than a cross and a prisoner number. "Now what?" Claws dug into the side of his leg, for the first time in a long time Peter was afraid. Afraid of what he would do if he moved and afraid of what would happen if he didn't.