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As he drives, Stiles drinks the bottle of water and seethes in silence. Usually he listens to music in the car, tapping his fingers to the beat, singing off key, but he doesn't want the distraction. He needs to be angry, to feel it grow inside him, to strengthen him for the coming confrontation.
His hands clench around the steering wheel and he hisses out a curse as he takes a corner too sharply. He's being reckless, but he doesn't care.
His life is over anyway.
A flash of pain and fear and then he's even more furious. He wants to kill Peter, really wants to kill him.
He knew. He had to know this would happen.
He wanted it to happen.
An instant of grief and Stiles jerks the jeep to a stop in the alley behind the loft. Stiles knows Peter's there--his apartment is his sanctuary and while the Hale House is being rebuilt, Derek's loft is the Pack den. Bastard doesn't work, just lords it over all of them, and Stiles is going to fucking kill him.
As he exits the jeep, his head swims but he ignores the weakness. He can collapse later, at home, after...
The anger in him continues to build as he rides the elevator up to the top floor. It drives him as he yanks open the rusty gate and storms across to the loft door. It carries him through the door and down the three steps and across the floor where Peter waits, standing in front of the wall of windows, watching him.
Fury erupts in a magic backed punch and Stiles throws all his will into it, wanting Peter to feel it as it cracks across his jaw.
When the Alpha reels, Stiles grins in sick satisfaction and shakes out his sore hand. Behind him Derek and Cora start to protest, yell, until a look from Peter silences them, and one word, "Out," sends them from the loft.
Peter pops his jaw and arches his eyebrows and waits.
"I hate you," Stiles seethes, feeling it still building, all that anger and fear and frustration at the knowledge that his life has just gone so wrong.
"Go sit down and calm yourself," Peter replies cooly.
"Fuck you!"
"Very articulate of you, darling. Go. Sit. Down."
The Alpha command rocks over him, sends him reeling, but he resists. He's not a wolf. He doesn't have to obey.
A moment later, when Stiles finds himself sitting on the couch, all the anger drains from him, and he buries his face in his hands, desperately trying not to cry. He feels Peter crouch in front of him, but doesn't look up.
"Calm down, Stiles," Peter coaxes, voice gentle now.
When a hand touches his knees, Stiles flinches back and chokes out, "Don't touch me."
"I know this is a shock," the wolf begins patiently. "Something you never expected. I understand that, but..."
"No 'but', Peter." Looking up, he glares through stinging eyes at the older man before him. "You knew this would happen. You've ruined my life."
"So, you've said many times in the last couple of months," Peter bites out and rises to loom over him. "I warned you from the start that I wasn't a nice man."
"And I accepted that! I accepted you becoming Alpha. I willingly joined your Pack. I even can handle this." He sticks out his scarred wrist. "But, this? No, Peter. I'm not accepting this and I'm getting it out of me." Somehow, there has to be a way. Deaton doesn't know everything.
But, immediately Stiles knows he's pushed too far. Peter drags him to his feet, fingers barely clawless biting into his upper arms, and spittle hits his face as the wolf roars.
"You will never think that again. You will never plan anything like that. You will never do anything to harm my cub, do you understand? I will chain you to my fucking bed for the extent of the pregnancy, if I have to, Stiles."
"Go ahead," Stiles yells back bravely. "Prove what a real bastard you are. Treat me like shit. You got what you wanted. Your Emissary under your thumb, tied to you forever, and now knocked up with your brat." When Peter shakes him in frustration, he laughs hysterically. "I hate you so fucking much."
He watches as Peter's face closes down, his eyes flashing crimson, and winces as the fingers tighten for one more shake before he's released to fall back on the couch. "I don't care. You're right. I have what I want and you'll protect my precious cub until it's born. You can be as petulant as you want, my bitchy little mate, but you'll obey me and take care of yourself." An evil smirk forms on his lips. "And we both know that all I have to do is touch you and you'll beg for my cock."
Stiles feels himself pale then redden in humiliation because Peter's telling the truth, but still he denies it. "Not anymore. Never again. Don't you dare touch me!"
Peter snorts in cold amusement. "Never, Stiles? You'll come crawling within a week. Now go home and eat a good dinner and if I hear you're not following Alan's instructions, you'll be punished."
"Good, punish me, beat my ass, hopefully I'll lose the parasite," he yells irrationally and then cringes as Peter's nostrils flare in fury, but the Alpha controls himself and takes a step back from the furious boy.
"I will never hurt you, Stiles."
"You've destroyed me."
"God save us from melodramatic teenagers." He actually as the gall to roll his eyes!
"You're the one who knocked one up, deal with it, asshole." Shoving himself to his feet, Stiles storms towards the door. "Stay away from me."
"At the moment, I have no desire to touch you, brat. Go home," Peter commands and Stiles is in his jeep, driving home before he realizes it.
"Dammit!" Smacking his hand on the steering wheel, he curses and wants to go anywhere but home, but he's in his driveway before he can think of going anywhere else. "I hate him," he mutters. "God, so much hate, so much..." Voice strangling in his throat, he buries his face in his crossed arms over the wheel and cries helplessly.
When he finally calms down and lifts his head, he realizes his car isn't the only one in the driveway. His dad is home.
He has to tell him.
Oh fuck, this is going to be bad. Chess pieces aren't going to cut it.
Slowly he drags himself from the jeep and up the walk. He hesitates at the door, but then finally opens it and goes inside.
"Stiles? Good timing," John calls from the kitchen. "Dinner'll be ready in about twenty minutes. Turkey meatloaf."
Stiles' stomach turns and he barely makes it to the downstairs' bathroom before he's sick. When he finally gets everything out and is slumped over the toilet, shaking and freezing, he hears his dad clear his throat.
"Son, are you okay?" Crouching down, he lifts Stiles' head and presses the back of his hand to his forehead. "I don't think you have a fever. Did you eat something that didn't sit well?"
His dad is so concerned and all Stiles can do is start crying and collapse into his arms.
"Oh kiddo, what is it?"
"Everything's gone wrong," he sobs out, "And I don't know what to do."
"Is this...werewolf stuff? Did someone hurt you? Stiles?"
"Yes. No. Maybe," he chokes out and clutches John's shoulders.
"Okay...Okay. Let's get you cleaned up and we'll talk." As he speaks, he helps Stiles to his feet and up the stairs to the main bathroom. "Wash your face and rinse your mouth and I'll get you some pjs, okay?"
Stiles nods helplessly and obeys his dad, because it's so much easier to be told what to do right now. Peeling off his sweaty and gross shirts, he tosses them towards the hamper, then toes off his shoes. His hands are trembling so much he can barely get his jeans undone, but then they join the shirts along with his socks. When his dad returns with some warm pajama pants and a sweatshirt, he's shivering in shock and John basically dresses him before helping him into his bed.
"I'm going to take the meatloaf out of the oven. It's just as good heated up, don't worry. And I'll get you some Seven Up okay?"
Nodding again, he settles against the headboard on a pile of pillows and watches his dad leave, a look of concern on his face, and has no clue how he's going to tell him anything.
A few minutes later when John returns with a bottle of pop, he still has no clue. His dad sits down facing him and sets the bottle down on the bedside table, then reaches over and brushes the hair from Stiles' forehead which just makes him want to cry again.
"Feeling any better?"
Stiles nods because his stomach has settled and there's nothing left in it to come up anyway.
"You just want to get some sleep or...?"
"No. I...I need to tell you something and I don't know how." His voice sounds broken and he takes the bottle, sips at the cold bubbly liquid that soothes his tight throat.
John gives him a concerned look. "You know you can tell me anything. I can't guarantee I'll understand right off the bat, but no more secrets, right?"
Stiles knows he must look stricken because his dad frowns and his voice is sharper. "Stiles?"
"It's not...it's not werewolf and magic stuff. I mean, it is, but it's not, and..."
"Breathe, Stiles," John says more gently. "It's okay. We've gotten through a hell of a lot this past year. Whatever it is can't be any worse."
Barking a hoarse laugh, Stiles takes another sip and then sets the bottle down before his trembling hands drop it. "Okay. I'm just going to...Shit..." He tugs on his hair, then takes a deep breath and tries again. "You remember how I told you the Darach was starting through the cycle again? Virgins were up first." At John's nod, he looks away and just spills it. "I was sure I'd be one of the sacrifices. I mean, we didn't know the Darach's identity but it knew who I was and now we know for sure she knew who I was and I was vulnerable so I...did something about it."
"You had sex," John parses from all that, breathing a sigh through his nose and running a hand over his head to squeeze the back of his neck. "Okay. Okay. Well, it's not great news but not all that surprising. It's illegal but then when has that law stopped any determined teenager? Just, were you careful? Is the girl okay?"
"Um...Yeah, see, dad, that's just it. It wasn't..." He takes another deep breath and blurts out, "It was a guy." At the silence that falls, Stiles carefully looks up at his dad who is reddening and looking away from him.
"Okay," John breathes out. "Yeah, okay. So, were you careful?"
"Why are you hung up on that?"
"Stiles!"
"We...it wasn't necessary. He's a werewolf."
John pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Please don't tell me I have to go arrest Derek."
"You can't arrest anyone! And it wasn't Derek."
Flinching a bit, his dad hesitantly asks, "Scott?"
Stiles feels his empty stomach churn and chugs another gulp of Seven Up. "God no, he's my brother. Dad just please stop guessing. Let me tell you and you can yell but don't storm out to arrest him because it wouldn't be...good."
His dad is a detective, a damn good one, and Stiles sees the knowledge cross his face before it shuts down and his eyes harden. Cringing back, he can only nod.
"If it was one of your friends, well, they're your age and while it's still illegal it's not an offense we arrest teens for. The adult males of the Alpha Pack are dead and you say it's not Derek so that leaves one werewolf, Stiles. One very adult werewolf."
"You can't arrest him!"
"Give me one good reason."
"He'll kill you." Stiles can't help it. Fresh tears spill from his eyes because he knows it's true. If his dad interferes, Peter will kill him. It's not like he cares at all for Stiles. He just wants the thing inside him that his magic's given him.
"Oh, kiddo." Face crumbling, John reaches out and tugs Stiles into his arms again and Stiles just cries, hating that he can't seem to stop. "Jesus, did he...did he hurt you?"
"No, no." Because Peter hadn't, even after the forced mating, and Stiles hates thinking about the fact that his mate can make him shake apart so easily in lust. "He doesn't..."
"Doesn't?" John asks sharply making Stiles flinch again but not leave his dad's embrace.
"It wasn't just once. I...I don't want to talk about that. That's not important." Slowly he forces himself to pull away and lean back against the headboard again before reaching for the leather wristlet, unsnapping and removing it. He sees his dad's eyes fall to the ugly red scars, sees him pale.
"Is that a bite?"
"Yeah."
"Are you...are you a werewolf?"
"No, God no, dad, sorry. It's not a turning bite. It's...well, shit, probably in your eyes it's worse."
"Stiles..."
His dad is obviously losing patience so Stiles just blurts it out again, "It's a mating bite. I'm his mate. For life. He'll never let me go and I can't ever want anyone else and it's just a big mess and..." He breaks off when he realizes his dad is just staring at him.
"Wait...mating?"
"Um, yeah. I think maybe it was Peter's plan all along. I mean, I was already his Emissary but now I'm bound to him forever and there's more." Choking again, he takes another sip to try to clear the lump in his throat. "My magic, his being an Alpha, I don't know how but somehow...I'm pregnant."
Trying to find the courage to look up, Stiles just gives up an stares at his lap, waiting for the explosion.
But, it doesn't come. Slowly John pulls him back into his arms, stroking his back and kissing the side of his head. As fresh tears spill from Stiles' sore, swollen eyes, his dad murmurs, "I don't understand how, but we'll deal with this okay, kiddo? I swear."
"You can't go after Peter, dad, please, promise me," Stiles begs desperately.
"I..."
He can tell his dad wants to get his gun and go kill Peter but he can't! "Dad! God, I can't lose you, please, please, please."
"Okay, okay, shhh, I won't go after Peter."
Sagging in relief, Stiles clings to his dad and prays that this isn't the final straw to break the other man. He's comforting Stiles now, but once he really thinks about it...
He knows he's a complete disappointment.
And he just can't stop crying.
End