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Stiles groans as his alarm goes off, the cheery trill growing progressively louder the longer it rings. It's not the phone that drags the noise from deep within his chest, though. That honour belongs solely to Peter, who has a firm grip on his hips and is fucking into him at the perfect angle to nail Stiles' prostate with every. Single. Thrust.
"Fuck!" Stiles cries out and grips the sheets even tighter with both hands. He figures he should reach out and shut the damn alarm off but he's so close to coming that he can't bring himself to move. Instead, he spreads his knees a little wider on the mattress, until the swell of his belly just barely brushes over the bed, inviting Peter even deeper into his body.
He just needs a little bit more, a little nudge to push him over the edge, but instead, Peter actually eases up, leaning over Stiles, pumping in deep and slow as he reaches over to the bedside table to silence the alarm.
"I'm so close." It comes out as a whine, though Stiles will deny that fact until his dying day. It's just that he's so desperate, so fucking horny all the time with the pregnancy hormones that are sloshing through his blood stream, and the mornings are always the most intense.
Thankfully, Peter is a god among men and has no trouble keeping up with Stiles' nearly insatiable sex drive. What's more, he seems to know exactly what Stiles needs to get off.
Without ever breaking pace, Peter reaches around and wraps a hand over Stiles’ aching cock where it's already dribbling precome on the bed. It only takes a dozen strokes before Stiles is shooting his load and clamping down hard on Peter, who follows him right over the edge and fills him up with his own release.
It's perfect.
Stiles can't exactly flop down on the bed, but he does drop to his elbows, resting his forehead against the mattress as he works to catch his breath and bask in the high of all the amazing feel-good chemicals his brain is tossing out like Mardi Gras beads.
Once he remembers how words work, he huffs out a breath and then practically purrs, "God, that was amazing,"
"Thank you." The smirk in Peter's voice is so loud it's deafening. "But you can just call me Peter."
Since Stiles is far too comfortable to reach around and smack him, he settles for clenching his ass around Peter's softening cock, drawing the type of gasp from the man that never fails to make Stiles giggle.
That giggle quickly turns to a moan as Peter slips free of his body and a warm gush follows along, Peter's spend sliding down Stiles' thigh the way it always does after being filled up nice and full. Stiles is pretty sure he will never, ever, stop loving that feeling.
"Hmm. I seem to have made a mess of you, darling." There's no doubt Peter is proud of that fact — he doesn't even try to disguise the smug satisfaction in his voice — but Stiles can't even tease him for it because he's just as pleased about it as Peter. So as Peter runs his thumb up the mess on Stiles' thigh only to push it back inside of his sloppy hole, he's not sure which of them groans louder.
"Dude, I have class in forty-five minutes. We do not have time for another round."
Frankly, Stiles would happily skip his first class for another mind-blowing round of sex, but he knows Peter will never go for it.
"Perhaps not." There's a hint of regret in Peter's voice that Stiles feels keenly. "But I think we have time for a shower."
"Together?"
"Is there another way?"
And really, Stiles can't argue with that. So he lets Peter help him to his feet and doesn't even protest when Peter's fingers slip down to the small of his back, flexing in and out like the world’s best mini-massage. Suddenly all the aches and pains and minor discomforts that come along with growing a life inside of him — the constant throb in his back and hips, the disconcerting feeling that his swollen ankles might just pop like overfilled water balloons, even the weird tenderness in his gums, which have been prone to bleeding a little of late — all just disappear as Peter siphons it away.
It's nice to have a little break, even if he won't admit it, and even if it's just for the short distance between the bedroom and the bathroom.
The house is charmingly vintage, so there's no ensuite off the bedroom. The only bathroom in the house is down the hall, between the two large bedrooms that the house boasts, but thanks to the renovation that Peter arranged before they moved in, that single bathroom is totally worth the walk. There's still something classic about the finishes, designed to feel at one with the rest of the home, but it has all the modern conveniences and tech that Stiles could dream of. And after his previous year of communal showers, Stiles doesn't take it for granted for even a second.
He'd spent his freshman year in the dorms on campus, but with a tortured artist for a roommate — dude was up all night painting and sketching and blasting the kind of emo music that even made Stiles want to slit his wrists — he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on his studies. So when Peter showed up for one of their date nights with the deed to a house only a twenty minute walk from the university, Stiles didn't think twice about the offer to move in.
He didn't regret it then and he certainly doesn't regret it now, as he steps into the oversized stall with a million shower heads and enough room for an orgy (a joke he made only once, because Peter became sullen and maybe just a little possessive and Stiles realized that Peter really doesn't like sharing at all, even in jest). Peter also upgraded the plumbing from the ancient hot water tank to a tankless heater that means they have an unlimited supply of warm water. It would be a luxury at any time, but it's especially nice after a full year in those shitty dorms with tepid, low-pressure showers, even if Stiles can't turn it quite as hot as he'd like thanks to the little stowaway in his belly.
But even better than the endless warm water and blissful pressure from every one of those showerheads is the fact that Peter is there with him. And sure, part of that is simply that Stiles enjoys looking at the man, at the flat planes of his body and his sculpted muscles and the effortless ease with which he seems to inhabit his skin, but it's more than just the whole eye candy thing.
Because Stiles is in love.
And even though he hasn't admitted that out loud to anyone, especially Peter, it still leaves Stiles wanting to spend more and more time with him every day.
So he soaks up Peter's presence as they both lather their hair in the offensively expensive shampoo that Peter always stocks, and Peter even helps Stiles scrub down all the bits that are getting a little too difficult to reach on his own. And if there are a few strokes and heated kisses along the way, well that's just fine by Stiles. Before long, though, they're both dried off, styled, and dressed for the day; Peter in jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt that hugs his frame spectacularly and might actually be made from literal clouds or magic or something, considering how soft it is, while Stiles tugs on his markedly unremarkable pregnancy pants and a dark grey shirt that intentionally does not hug his curves quite so fully. It still showcases his bump beautifully, something he truly loves since he’s more than a little in love with his new body, but any sort of tight clothing right now only makes him squirm and, weirdly, makes his recently popped belly button ache something fierce.
Few words are spoken as they work through their morning routines, but through it all, Stiles still feels connected to Peter in a way that makes him feel uncharacteristically settled, like the thoughts in his head that normally run a thousand miles a second can finally slow their roll.
Unfortunately, he doesn't have the option of just chilling with Peter all day. Not when he has midterms approaching soon and he's promised his dad that living with Peter (and this very, very unexpected pregnancy) wouldn't interfere with his attendance or his GPA.
"I could give you a lift?" Peter offers when he notices the way Stiles grimaces at the clock on the stove while shoving his notes and textbook into his backpack.
"Nah, I'll just cut through the woods. But thanks. Besides, don't you have a client to meet in like, fifteen minutes?"
Peter's business of trading in magical artifacts has gotten progressively busier — and more lucrative — since he regained his Alpha status following an unexpected face off with a lone, nearly feral Alpha last year. Regaining his spark didn’t really change a whole lot for Peter, but apparently being an Alpha commands quite a bit more respect in the supernatural world, even outside of werecreatures. As elitist as that feels, it’s left Peter with more meetings than ever before.
"Yes, but I'm meeting her at the Cafe down the street. Plenty of time for me to drive you."
Before Stiles can swing his bag onto his back, Peter is in front of him, hands on either side of his belly. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Peter was magnetically drawn to that ever growing swell, constantly resting his hands there whenever they're close enough to do so.
It's funny, really. When Stiles first realized he was pregnant — once he'd moved past the initial meltdown about ruining all of his plans for the rest of his university career as well as possibly his post-university life — he’d been kind of freaked out about Peter being the father of his child. They'd been seeing each other for over a year at that point, but there was no commitment, no reason for him to stay. Stiles thought for sure that Peter would bounce the moment he found out.
Instead, he bought a house.
More than that, though, as the pregnancy has progressed, the tenderness in Peter's gaze has grown more and more prominent. And it's times like this, when Peter is cradling his bump and looking down at his belly with a sense of awe and devotion, that Stiles is hit with the undeniable realization that Peter is going to be a wonderful father.
Even if he's bound to teach their child all kinds of illegal and/or morally sketchy life skills.
"Dude, we'll be fine," Stiles says softly, hating to cut short the bonding time between Peter and the baby, especially right as a fist or a foot nudges the spot where Peter's palm is pressing with just the barest hint of pressure. "You know walking every day is good for us both."
Peter hums noncommittally but pulls his hands back after just a few more seconds, crossing them over his chest instead like he's physically holding himself back from reaching out again.
"Right. Well. Go learn. Expand your mind." Peter finally looks up from Stiles' belly, but that softness in his eyes — something Stiles is sure very few people are fortunate enough to witness — never fades away for even a second. "I'll make that taco casserole you like if you think you'll be home for dinner?"
"Ooh, yes." Stiles' mouth is already watering at the thought. Discovering that Peter is an excellent cook was just one of many pleasant and unexpected revelations when they moved in together. The man is full of surprises. "My last class today ends at 2:30 but I have study group until 4:00. I should be home by 4:30 or so."
Stiles had lightened his course load for the semester, knowing damn well that he'd be giving birth before finals. On days like this, knowing he'll get to spend some extra time at home with Peter, he's especially glad he made that choice.
"If you want a ride when you're done..."
Laughter bubbles up in Stiles' chest, light and airy and full of the love he's so hesitant to confess. "Yeah I know. But I like the walk. It makes it feel like I'm not all that far from Beacon Hills."
Peter rolls his eyes but still leans in for a kiss, soft and lingering, and even helps Stiles get his backpack comfortably settled in place. Then Stiles is heading out with just a quick glance at the clock, knowing he'll need to pick up the pace to make it on time.
The house really isn't that far from the university, but there's a small field and then a wooded area that provides a barrier between the neighbourhood and the edge of campus. Most days, Stiles walks the long way around, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, but on days like this — and there are more days of running behind schedule than not lately, considering Stiles has a tendency to wake up before his alarm now, rock hard and so horny it almost hurts — he'll happily cut across the field and through the woods to get to class on time.
The trees aren't quite the same as back home — different species, different smells — but walking through the small wooded area still brings some of his oldest sense memories of Beacon Hills to the surface. It makes him feel closer to his roots, to his dad, to his friends, even if most of them are scattered across the country at different universities now anyways.
As those memories flitter behind his eyes, his mind cycles through a million side tangents — wondering how his friends are doing and if they still think of Beacon Hills as home, too; picturing Peter in the kitchen in his cheesy hungry like the wolf apron as he prepares Stiles' current craving food; regretting the long sleeves and heavy weight of his shirt because it's considerably warmer than the forecast called for on this late autumn day, with its golden sunbeams and yellowy-orange leaves that fall from the trees as he walks.
Maybe it's that preoccupation with trying to decide if it's worth going home to change or if he should just stick it out and hope the a/c is going strong in class that keeps him from really registering that the chitter of birds and squirrels and insects seems to have just...disappeared.
And it's not until he hears a twig snap nearby that the alarm bells in his head really go off.
He freezes at first, an instinctual response as he waits to hear something else in the silence that surrounds him, a silence that's not even broken by his own breathing because the air is caught in his lungs and refuses to move.
But then the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck all stand at attention and his heart begins to pound so hard against his ribs that it's like a drum line echoing up into his ears and those instincts that he's always relied on scream at him to run.
So he does.
He lets his bag slide down his arms and drop to the ground so he has less weight to carry and, despite the heft of his belly, he moves faster than any suicide drill that Coach ever made them run in high school, arms and legs pumping hard and fast as he moves through the trees.
Unfortunately, he's not quite fast enough.
Someone steps out from behind a tree only seconds before Stiles would have run through that exact space and he nearly tumbles over as he skids to a stop on the carpet of fallen leaves and twigs and stones beneath his sneakers.
He backs up several steps before his brain even catches up, but it isn't long before he bumps into the solid body of another person behind him and he ends up swinging around with a surprised yelp. He only takes one step back this time, but in the second it takes to do so, three more figures bleed out of the woods, forming a loose circle around him.
Trapping him in place.
His heartbeat accelerates dangerously as his gaze swings around the space, looking for an escape before he even understands the threat. It's only then, as his eyes pass over the first man once more that Stiles realizes he's seen him before. A blond guy in his mid thirties with a penchant for skinny ties and a trenchcoat, Stiles remembers thinking he had a bit of a John Constantine vibe going on — the comic book, not the movie — when he saw him last.
"It's Christian, right?" The attempt to keep his voice steady is a spectacular failure and Stiles might actually be embarrassed by the tremor that cracks the question if he wasn't still battling the adrenaline that's flooded his system. His hands immediately fall to his stomach, like he can somehow protect the baby with the touch alone, but the reality of his helplessness makes him want to vomit. The baby shifts restlessly inside, like they can sense his fear, and Stiles wishes he could whisper and coo and tell them it'll all be okay. Still, he's level headed enough to look around once more, and realize he's met two of the other people as well, the ones off to Christian's right. "And uh. Eliza and Henry, right?"
Thankful for the surprisingly good recall of names he's developed over the last couple years, Stiles looks from the pale, smirking woman with brown hair that flows down to the waist of her floral boho dress, to the lean man with dark skin, a casual, lightweight sweater, and a conflicted expression tugging at his eyebrows.
All three of them were at the meeting Peter set up when he first moved to town, touching base with the local pack before putting down any kind of roots. Peter said it was best to be upfront and open when moving to another pack's territory and had even brought Stiles along so they'd know Peter was tied to a human, not just some lone wolf looking to make trouble. The Alpha, Isa, was kind, accepting. She was curious about Peter's work and seemed genuinely pleased to have his business in the city.
Her right hand, Christian, however, seemed less than thrilled about the prospect. And when Isa gave her blessing for them to stay, Stiles definitely noticed a look shared between Christian and Eliza. At the time, Stiles assumed their disapproval wouldn't really matter — a pack is not a democracy after all, and Isa made it clear that she ran a tight ship, even with nearly fifty members in her pack — so he didn't really think of them again.
He sees now that was a mistake.
Since none of them are saying a word, Stiles licks his lips and tries again. "I, uh. I don't think I've met you two," he says to the angry looking strangers in their group, a woman with shoulder length hair, so dark it's almost black to match her entire wardrobe, and a man who is almost twice Stiles' size, with a slightly unkempt beard and moustache and a barely restrained sense of strength singing beneath his bulging muscles. "I'm Stiles. A friend of Peter Hale? He, uh, he spoke to your Alpha a few months ago?"
It seems to have been the wrong thing to say because the two complete strangers let out nearly identical growls. Stiles' heart skips a beat or three as their claws slide out at the same time, and it doesn't help that Christian and Eliza both laugh at the sight.
"Oh, that's Shalimar and her brother EJ." Christian says casually. "You might want to stay back. They don't like humans much."
It's said in the same tone Stiles would use to announce that his dad doesn't care for vegetables. Like it's a mild inconvenience but one that he secretly finds just a little amusing beneath his exasperation.
"Good to know." It comes out just above a whisper and Stiles hates just how frightened it makes him sound. He clears his throat as he takes a half step away from EJ and Shalimar, but that only puts him closer to the other three which isn't exactly reassuring. His voice is at least a little more steady as he says. "So, uh, what's up?"
"What's up is that you're polluting our bloodline," Christian says. The other four remain still as stone, Shalimar and EJ halfway into a battle crouch, Henry and Eliza more casual but no less deadly. Christian, however, has begun pacing, slow and leisurely, back and forth between Shalimar and Eliza. The movement leaves an open spot each time he walks to the side and Stiles can't help but look over, wondering if he should make a break for it. The campus is so close he can actually make out bits of the engineering building through the trees, but it's still a ways to go through the woods and then a massive greenspace to run through on the other side.
There's no way he'd make it.
"Polluting your bloodline?" Stiles says instead, figuring he's going to have to find a way to talk himself out of...whatever this is.
"Fucking humans," EJ growls. Of all the werewolves Stiles has encountered, EJ is easily the most animalistic, even in his full human form. There's something wild about him, like his place is in the woods, running free, hunting, howling at the moon. Even when Malia was adjusting to being human after eight years as a coyote, she never seemed quite as feral as EJ does now.
"Eloquent as ever, EJ." Christian chuckles but turns to face Stiles. "He's right, though. That is the heart of the problem. Werewolves fucking humans. It's bad enough to stoop to those levels for a one night stand, but to choose a human as a mate? To breed one and carry on the bloodline? It's revolting."
The smile hasn't slipped from Christian's face, which somehow makes everything so much worse.
"And then Peter comes here," Christian continues, that smile transforming into a snarl before Stiles' eyes, "to our city, showing you off to our pack like some sort of fucking prize?"
"That wasn't his intention," Stiles says, holding his ground.
"Are you sure about that?" It's Eliza that asks. She's so soft spoken, with a dreamy hippy vibe that makes her seem like no threat at all, but the vibrant blue of her eyes as they start to glow says otherwise. "He may have tried to conceal his pride and love when he introduced you," the word is chewed up and spit out like it's left a bad taste in her mouth, "but he reeked of it."
Henry nods his agreement and while the rest of the group are exuding nothing but hatred and revulsion, there's a candidness to Henry's expression that makes Stiles wonder if Eliza is telling the truth.
"It was disgusting," Eliza adds quietly.
This time, speaking quietly with a voice that's low and deep, Henry finally weighs in. "You never should have been allowed to stay."
"You never should have been allowed to live," Shalimar hisses.
Stiles can feel the danger growing, spreading like a noxious cloud in the air. He tries to steady his heart as he speaks. "But Isa said—"
"Isa is a fool," Christian snaps. "And when we're done with you, when your wolf cries foul and the pack is distracted with his grief, we'll take care of her as well."
"Christian will take his rightful place as Alpha." As quiet as the words are, there's an unhinged sense of devotion wrapped around each one. Stiles realizes that Eliza is in love with Christian just as Christian's words really sink in.
They're going to kill him.
They're going to kill the baby.
"You don't have to do this." It's hard to speak around the lump in his throat, but Stiles forces himself to try. "I'll leave. Right now. I'll leave the city and never come back again."
His degree is nothing compared to the life of his child.
"Please."
Henry looks over to his leader, jaw tight as he speaks. "Christian, we should let him—"
"Sorry Stiles, but that's just not good enough," Christian says, cutting Henry off without even looking his way. "We can't let you walk out of these woods."
"Christian, what are you doing?" Henry asks urgently, but still Christian pays him no mind. He's too busy staring at Stiles as the bones in his face slowly rearrange and his fangs slide out.
Stiles sucks in a breath, filling his lungs as deep as he can as Christian spits out his next words.
"You or that bastard inside of you."
As Christian looks from Eliza to Shalimar to EJ, nodding his go ahead, Stiles uses that breath to scream at the top of his lungs and prays that it'll be enough.
"Peter!"
Twin growls from behind him set Stiles' feet in motion before he makes the conscious choice to move, bolting for the opening that Christian has left in their circle. Someone's claws rip into his shoulder just as he breaks free of his makeshift prison, tearing through flesh and muscle before scraping over bone but it doesn't slow him down. He knows he needs to buy himself some time if he has any hope of saving the baby, so he runs with everything he has, dodging the trees in his path and at least some of the claws that swipe at his body.
Not all of them, though.
Sharp gashes rip down his back from right shoulder to left hip and, soon after, his left calf is punctured by four claws, sinking in deep enough to yank his leg back, tearing open the flesh as Stiles loses his balance and starts to fall forward.
He manages to jerk his body to the side as he hits the ground with a shout but there are already claws digging into him from all angles as animalistic growls fill the air around him. And it doesn't matter how much he curls around his stomach, he can't hide it all. The blood curdling scream that's ripped from his lungs when Shalimar's claws sink into the side of his stomach has more to do with fear and anguish than pain, even though he's literally being ripped to shreds.
He's terrified for his baby.
But then a howl breaks through the pain, so loud and so raw that it shakes the ground where he lays and Stiles opens his eyes just in time to see EJ's throat torn open, gushing blood like a goddamn waterfall in the second it takes for his body to hit the earth.
Everything seems to freeze then.
It's almost like time has ceased to exist as all eyes swing to Peter, massive in his Beta shift and more ferocious than Stiles has ever seen. The world only starts to move again, frantic and desperate, when Peter draws in a breath and roars once again.
There's no mistaking the threat in the sound.
Eliza yanks her claws from where they're buried deep in Stiles' inner thigh but she doesn't get a chance to even swipe at Peter before his claws are sunk into her spine and he has her lifted up into the air, legs twitching like an electric current is running through her body. Peter throws her so hard off to the side that she breaks through several trees before landing crumpled and unmoving on the ground.
Peter drops the length of her spine he's still holding like it's nothing more than trash but Stiles thinks his rescue might have come just a moment too late. The damage is done and Stiles can feel the blood flowing fast and warm from his leg.
Much too fast.
He wants to cry out for Peter but the pain steals his words away as Shalimar launches herself off of his battered body to attack Peter, her foot landing on the same spot where her claws had been not long before, and it's all Stiles can do to just keep breathing.
The battle between Peter and Shalimar is savage and blood thirsty, attacking one another with teeth and claws and preternaturally powered punches. Trees snap in half as they crash into them but neither of them slow down and their vicious growls only gain strength as the war wages on.
Stiles is so absorbed in his own pain and his terror for Peter and the baby that he barely even notices when Christian shifts behind him.
It's only when Christian stabs one set of claws in Stiles' shoulder and begins to pull that Stiles remembers the biggest threat is still in play. He has just enough strength and presence of mind to bite down on the scream that builds in his chest and reach out to grab hold of a nearby stone before Christian roughly drags him from the ground. The world around him tips and sways at the sudden movement and it takes everything he has to keep his grip on consciousness and the rock in his hand.
He's losing too much blood.
But he doesn't need to worry about keeping himself upright because Christian yanks him back until they're pressed together, back to front, with Christian holding Stiles firmly to his chest. Even if Stiles thought he could stand on his own if he managed to free himself, he can't make that attempt because four razor sharp claws are pressed up against his throat, right next to his Adam's apple, hard enough that they've already broken the skin and seem to be digging deeper with every second, every breath. One wrong move, Stiles knows, and his larynx will be ripped clean out.
"Peter! Stop this now or your mate dies." Christian's voice rings through the space, distorted ever so slightly by the elongated teeth in his mouth and the sense of panic he's so obviously trying to hide, but he doesn't even get the chance to finish speaking before Shalimar's head is torn off and tossed off to the side and Peter has turned his full attention to Christian and Stiles.
The funny thing is, even with Peter absolutely soaked in blood and more furious than Stiles ever thought possible, a sense of safety that's completely at odds with the situation seems to wrap around Stiles like a blanket.
So even though he's still weak and about to pass out, even though the pain is growing by the second as his adrenaline begins to fade and he's experiencing the type of agony that he didn't even realize the human body was capable of feeling, there's a sudden sense of clarity that Stiles had been lacking.
And he waits for his opportunity to strike.
"Counter offer," Peter growls, slowly stalking closer. He doesn't bother to hide the menace in his movements. "You let him go and I'll kill you quickly."
"That's your counter offer?" Christian's laugh is borderline hysterical and a sense of satisfaction washes over Stiles, unabashedly proud of Peter for causing this fucker so much fear.
"Yes. And I suggest you take it. Otherwise, I'm going to drag you somewhere far away and kill you exceedingly slowly so that you keep healing." There's no exaggeration in the words, just a promise that Peter most certainly intends to keep. "I will peel the skin and muscles from your body, one slice at a time." As Peter moves forward, Christian moves back, pulling Stiles along with him, but Christian has to keep looking over his shoulder for trees to avoid and can't move with the ease Peter can. "I will rip out your eyeballs and piss in the sockets while you beg for me to kill you."
As they back away from Peter's ire, Christian stumbles ever so slightly over the uneven ground, and in that split second the grip on Stiles' throat loosens just enough for the claws to slip free of his skin.
Stiles doesn't hesitate.
He jerks his body to the left, spinning himself inwards to face Christian as he does. Not only does the movement free him of the hand around his throat, but it allows him to harness the momentum to smash the rock he's holding into the side of Christian's face.
There's not enough strength behind the blow to cause any real damage, but the surprise is enough that Christian staggers back a few steps, his hold on Stiles forgotten completely.
And as though Peter was just waiting for the perfect opportunity, he leaps through the air the second Stiles is free, every inch the predator he is. His feet haven't hit the ground before he's ripping Christian apart with claws and teeth, soaking the woods with even more blood.
Stiles doesn't see much of that, thankfully. It turns out he really is far too weak to hold himself up after all.
The leaves soften his landing but Stiles doesn't really feel it anyways. His vision is swimming and a low thrum of static has begun to swirl around his head, a sure sign that he's going to pass out soon. That feeling nearly overwhelms him when he finally chances a quick glance down at his body, only to be met with the sight of horribly mangled flesh and more blood than he's ever seen.
The scream that's been trapped in his chest finally surges up his throat, but without the energy needed to let it free, it only escapes as a quiet groan. The sound still captures Peter's attention and he freezes with his arm raised up in the air, poised to continue mauling Christian. The second he looks over to Stiles, however, he seems to forget about Christian entirely. Stiles only catches a glimpse of the man, or what's left of him anyhow, as Peter leaps to his feet, but it's enough that he has to close his eyes against the sudden wave of nausea that slams into him at the sight.
There's little left but a pulpy mess.
"Stiles?"
In all the years that Stiles has known Peter, he doesn't think he's ever heard fear in the man's voice. Not like he does now, as Peter rushes to his side and drops down next to him on the ground. It seems to take a moment for Peter to shift back to human and then a second or two longer for him to find a stretch of Stiles' skin that hasn't been ripped open that he can set his hand on, but as soon as he does, the pain that's been clawing at Stiles like the attack never stopped finally comes to an end.
He's pretty sure he loses consciousness for a minute.
Peter is nearly frantic when he opens his eyes again, calling his name, trying to apply pressure to the worst of the wounds: the punctures on his inner thigh.
"Peter," Stiles mumbles. It's bizarre. All the pain is gone, but he's still woozy and weak, can barely even keep his eyes open. A part of him knows he's dying but it's hard to reconcile that fact when he feels...fine. "The baby?"
Speaking uses up too much of his energy. Each word feels like it's sucking the life out of him, but he needs to know that their child is safe, that there is hope for the baby, even if there isn't much left for Stiles.
When Peter closes his eyes to listen for the heartbeat that's come to mean the world to them both, a trail of tears slips down his cheeks, cutting through the blood that's splattered across his skin, but almost immediately a small smile tugs at his lips.
"The heartbeat is still there. Weak, but it's there."
Then Peter leans in without ever opening his eyes, until his ear is just over Stiles' heart and his face contorts into the type of grief that makes Stiles ache for him before he even opens his mouth to speak.
"We have to get you to the hospital," Peter's voice is thick with emotion but he's already shifting himself on the ground, trying to work out how to best lift Stiles without aggravating any of his wounds. The leaves crunch beneath his knees as he moves, releasing a scent that feels so much like home that a soft prickle builds up at the back of Stiles' eyes and suddenly a warm flood of tears are streaking his face, too.
"S’no time," Stiles breathes. He's fading, fast, and they both know it.
But Peter just growls at him, eyes flashing that beautiful Alpha red. "Don't you dare give up on me."
"Never," Stiles whispers. He wants to tell him that he'll never stop fighting for him, for their baby, but he doesn't have the energy or the time to put it all into words. Instead, he looks up at Peter and, with a voice that's completely wrecked, says the one thing he never thought he'd say. "Give me...the bite."
All those years ago, when Peter had offered it to him in that parking garage, Stiles said no and he'd been happy with that decision. He likes being human. But he likes being alive even more. Besides, he's not going to make it to the hospital and while there's a chance that the baby could survive even if Stiles doesn't, he knows the odds are better if Stiles — the human incubator — can continue to provide the baby with the vital nutrients they need.
So as Peter looks down at him, visibly conflicted, Stiles makes sure to look him in the eye, fighting to keep his eyelids from fluttering shut. "Please."
"There's no guarantee it'll work."
Stiles knows that. Of course he knows that. The chances may be slim, but they have to try.
"Please," he says again. It's hardly even a breath.
But it's enough.
With one hand still pressing down on the gash in Stiles' thigh, Peter releases his other hand from Stiles' neck for just a second, just long enough to move his hand down to wrap around Stiles' wrist.
The agony that floods back into him in that split second is almost unbearable. It ignites inside, spreading through his entire body like wildfire, but it's doused just as quickly as Peter once again siphons the pain, leaving his nerve endings tingling with the change. The new spike of adrenaline helps keep Stiles conscious as Peter lifts his arm to his lips, kissing the delicate skin at the inside of his wrist before allowing his teeth to slide out.
"Keep fighting," Peter whispers.
Then, before Stiles can even think about answering, Peter sinks teeth into flesh and Stiles finally closes his eyes as more of his blood is spilled. It's strange, feeling those razor sharp fangs bite down to the bone, but experiencing none of the pain that should go along with it.
He doesn't have long to dwell on it.
As the teeth pull free of his arm, Stiles fights to open his eyes once again. He's too weak to speak, but he manages to move his mouth in a silent thank you just as Peter sets his arm back down, gently laying it above the swell of his stomach.
"We still need to get you to the hospital, darling. This is going to hurt. I'm sorry, but I have to stop taking your pain."
As much as he knows it's going to suck, Stiles is almost happy to hear it. Those black lines that are disappearing under Peter's sleeve at the wrist have started to crawl up the veins in his neck only to creep up into his face. Peter may be trying to hide it, but Stiles knows he's at his limit for how much he can take.
"I can help." The voice startles Stiles, even though he recognizes the low timber quite quickly, but Peter is on high alert immediately, his head snapping up, eyes wild and glowing, teeth bared as he looses a threatening growl in the direction of the voice.
Henry walks over slowly, hands raised in front of him to prove he's no threat, or maybe in a sign of surrender, Stiles isn't really sure. His head is too fuzzy to work it out.
"Please, let me help. I swear to you, I had no idea what they were planning. I thought they just wanted to scare him off, I had no idea they meant to do...this."
Stiles actually believes him but Peter looks halfway ready to wolf out and tear the man apart just like he did with the others. Henry seems to recognize that, but he still lowers himself to his knees on the other side of Stiles, despite the growl that's growing in intensity. "You can kill me later if that's what you need to do. Let me help first."
"If you hurt him—" Peter rumbles, but Henry cuts him off.
"Yes, I know. Pissing in eye sockets. I heard." And without waiting for any other confirmation, Henry reaches out and takes hold of Stiles hand to begin taking his pain. "You can stop now."
Peter huffs out a breath but then ends the pain drain, visibly sagging as all of the hurt he'd been taking falls away, but Stiles still feels nothing because Henry is siphoning it all, gritting his teeth against the pain as he does. Henry also takes over applying pressure to the gash in Stiles' leg so that Peter can slip his arms beneath Stiles and pick him up.
Stiles passes out before they even make it upright.
He's pleasantly surprised to actually wake up again sometime later. He honestly didn't expect to.
He's in the hospital, tucked into a bed in a private room, hooked up to all kinds of machines and tubes and in enough pain that it steals his breath and leaves him panting, but he doesn't care about any of that.
All he cares about is the baby.
Lifting his arm hurts. A lot. It tugs at the flesh that was so recently sliced open, but he does it anyway, slipping his hand beneath the light blanket that's draped over him so the only barrier between his hand and his belly is the flimsy hospital gown he's been changed into.
And he waits.
Thankfully, it isn't long before he feels it. A tiny nudge just next to his fingers, followed by the unmistakable feel of the baby shifting inside of him.
It's the relief that hits him harder than anything, dragging a sob from so deep inside of him that he feels it in his soul, and the second the sound slips from his lips — scraped up and ground down — a commotion breaks out from just beyond the door to his room.
Peter.
"Shoot me if you have to but I'm going in."
With that, the door to the room swings open and Peter marches inside, looking so completely un-Peter in a pair of light green scrubs that Stiles is actually startled from his tears even before two police officers follow him inside.
Without a word exchanged between them, Peter's lips find Stiles' in a kiss that's gentle but so very desperate.
"How are you feeling?" Peter whispers against his lips, but then pulls back just a little and adds, "And before you ask, the baby is fine. She's a fighter like her daddy."
"She?" Stiles whispers. He sounds like shit. He sounds broken.
But Peter smiles a watery kind of smile, the kind that Stiles knows for a fact that he would never let anyone else see. "The doctor let it slip. I thought it's only fair that you know, too."
"We're having a girl." Stiles starts to smile but winces when his skin pulls, suddenly reminded of the feel of claws scraping over his face from the corner of his mouth all the way to his ear. Peter quickly slips a hand around the back of his neck, just below the gauze that rings his throat, and begins to take away that ache and all the others. Stiles smiles again, a little more cautiously this time so as to not tug on the stitches he's guessing are there. "We're having a girl."
"Yes, darling, we are."
They'd decided early on that they were going to keep it a surprise, but honestly, after all the surprises of the morning, it's kind of nice to know this one little thing.
Peter seems to think so too because he leans in and kisses him once more, but is quickly interrupted by one of the cops behind him clearing their throat quite purposefully. A low rumble builds in Peter's chest as he pulls back and Stiles can tell that he's struggling to play nice with the police. Fortunately, Peter doesn't go far, one hand still a comforting presence on the back of Stiles' neck while the other lightly curls around the spot on his right arm where Peter had bitten him, now wrapped up in layers of gauze.
And Peter nods.
Neither of them need to say a word because Stiles knows exactly what Peter is telling him.
The bite is taking.
Stiles still has so many questions — how does he know, what happens now, what does this mean for the baby, will his injuries heal even though he received them before the bite, will Isa's pack want revenge now that Peter has killed four of them, what happened to Henry — but he knows he can't ask any of that until they're alone.
"Who are...your friends?" Stiles rasps, loud enough for the police to hear, but with a hint of a smirk just for Peter, who instantly relaxes at the sight.
Just as Stiles had hoped.
"Officers Monroe and Payne." Peter gestures first to the female officer, a stern looking blonde with her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, then the male next to her, a younger man who seems somewhat uncomfortable to be there and might as well have rookie tattooed on his forehead. "They seem to think I put you in here."
Stiles scoffs, an action which sends a sharp jolt through his throat even with Peter acting as his own personal morphine. At the same time, the rookie shakes his head, eyes wide, while Officer Monroe speaks up to refute Peter's statement.
"Mr. Hale, we never said that."
Stiles has to hand it to her, she remains perfectly calm even as Peter glares at her from his spot beside the bed.
"We just had some questions that needed to be answered. It's standard procedure." Officer Monroe seems to realize that Peter isn't exactly going to be cooperative at the moment and turns her attention to Stiles instead. "Mr. Stilinski, I know you've been through a harrowing experience but if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions before your doctor arrives we can hopefully get out of your hair."
For as much as Peter obviously dislikes the officers, Stiles immediately feels a sense of home with them, especially Officer Monroe, who seems to possess the same quiet stoicism as his dad.
So Stiles nods to her, but then looks up at Peter. "Did you call my dad?"
"He's already on his way. His flight lands in about an hour."
Stiles relaxes at the news, even if he's unsure exactly how his dad will react to the whole werewolf thing. No matter what, though, at the end of the day, he knows his dad will love him unconditionally, even if there's a whole lot of yelling and death threats along the way.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Officer Monroe asks once Stiles looks back her way.
The problem is, Stiles isn't entirely sure what Peter already told them and he doesn't want to contradict the story. He also doesn't want to send the police out to that spot in the woods where four bodies may still be lying.
In a hell of a lot more than four pieces.
But Peter just gives his arm a squeeze and offers the smallest nod and Stiles takes it as a sign to tell as much of the truth as possible.
"I was...heading to campus. Decided to cut through the woods. I was running late," he has to pause, swallowing hard against the ache in his throat, and Officer Payne quickly steps forward, moving to the bedside table to pour him a cup of water from the little pitcher that's sitting there. He looks far more comfortable now that he has something he can do to assist, and Stiles can't help but smile, thinking he's going to be a good cop to have in the world. "Thanks."
Without ever removing his hand from the back of Stiles' neck, Peter helps to raise the head of the bed so that he's almost sitting up, then he helps steady the cup in Stiles' hand as he lifts it to his lips. He's still weak and shaky, and even just the simple action of drinking a few sips of water leaves him exhausted.
Officer Payne takes the cup back and places it on the stand once Stiles is done, then slips out his notebook, poised to record his statement. "Please continue."
"I heard a noise, like something was following me." Just thinking back on it makes his heart rate spike and one of the monitors next to his bed tattles on him with a single beep. He's not ready to think about what happened next and he knows he can't exactly be honest with them anyways, so he blows out a slow breath and recalls Argent's words after they lost Allison. "It all happened so fast."
"It's okay, Mr. Stilinski, you're safe now." Officer Monroe says, voice quiet and calm. "Just take your time and tell us what you remember."
"Claws and fangs and fur. And blood, so much blood." Stiles isn't above lying to the police, but it helps that he can tell the truth for that much, at least. But his voice is getting worse by the second and even though he can't feel the pain, he can tell his throat is protesting the usage. "I think it was like, a rogue pack of wolves. Or something."
Peter's eyebrows knit together, like he can sense Stiles' discomfort. "He's answered your questions. Can you leave him be now?"
Apparently, it's enough for both officers, because Officer Payne closes his notebook and tucks it back in his pocket while Officer Monroe offers a small smile.
"Yes. Thank you. Animal control is already out searching. And I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Stilinski."
With that, Stiles' case seems to be closed. He waits until they leave the room before he whispers, "What about the bodies? The blood?"
"It's taken care of." Along with the reassurance, Peter lightly kneads Stiles' neck where his hand still sits. It feels nice.
"And the baby is really okay?"
"The doctor said she's perfect." There's a glint in Peter's eye and a twitch at the end of his lips as he says, "As if there was any doubt with us as her parents."
The chuckle it draws from Stiles is small but genuine. He knows that if there were even the smallest complication with the baby, Peter wouldn't be cracking jokes. The fact that he is, is the best confirmation for which Stiles could ask.
"Her heart is steady and strong. You'll be able to hear it soon, too."
And that's a whole other thing that Stiles really hasn't had time to process. "It worked? How do you know? I don't feel wolfy."
Considering nearly his entire body is wrapped in or taped up with stretches of gauze — some of which is already stained red and in need of changing — and he still vividly remembers the pain even if he can't feel it right now, it doesn't seem like much of a transformation has happened.
"You will." Peter's voice is low but unmistakably pleased. "I can feel the connection already."
"Connection?" When Stiles doesn't catch on as quickly as he probably should — he blames the trauma and whatever medication they've managed to give him that's baby-safe but brain-fuzz-inducing — Peter just smiles down at him.
"Pack."
Oh.
"Oh," Stiles breathes. He'd sort of forgotten about that. "Right. Guess that means you're really stuck with me."
He'd meant for it to be light, joking, but it comes out sounding hesitant and unsure, more like a question than anything else. But the thing is, Stiles doesn't exactly know where they stand with one another. He never has. Sure, they're about to have a baby together and yes, they've been living together for about half a year, but they've never dropped the L bomb, never committed to one another, never really even talked about the future. And now, because Stiles asked for the bite to save his life, they're going to be tied together in a way that Stiles can't really comprehend at the moment.
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," Peter says. It even sounds like he means it. But the lack of confidence that Stiles is trying so hard to hide must still peek through because Peter's expression shifts, eyebrows tugging in like he's suddenly got his own set of questions that need answering. "You don't believe me?"
When Peter pulls his hand away, there's a terrible moment where Stiles thinks he's going to leave, but instead, Peter just shifts himself to sit on the side of the hospital bed, taking Stiles' hand and his pain without batting an eyelash.
"You're an idiot," Peter says quietly. The funny thing is, it sounds a little like a declaration of love.
"What?"
"You. Are. An idiot," Peter says slowly, like he needs to dumb it down a little. Stiles would be offended if Peter didn't look quite so soft. "Darling, I love you. Of course I want to be stuck with you. With you and our daughter, actually."
Peter's free hand lands gently on Stiles stomach, the side that isn't puffy with the bandages that no doubt encase his belly where Shalimar had tried to claw the baby right out of him, but Stiles' brain is stuck on those three little words and barely even registers the touch. He has to force himself to tuck those words and all the emotions they invoke aside, though, because Peter isn't finished.
"After the fire, I never expected to be part of a family, part of a pack, again," Peter says quietly and Stiles keeps his mouth shut because Peter rarely talks about the fire and he knows this isn't a confession he shares lightly. "Even once I'd healed, I kept Derek and Cora at arm’s length. I told myself it made me stronger, not having ties to hold me back. The truth is, I was...apprehensive."
The little shrug and roll of the eyes that Peter gives in response to Stiles' raised eyebrow is confirmation that what Peter was really trying to say is that he was scared. Stiles isn't exactly surprised that Peter won't admit that outright, but that doesn't stop him from lifting a shaky hand to rest over Peter's in a show of support.
"Then I found out about Malia and things began to change. Slowly."
A lot of things changed in those days, Stiles thinks. For better or for worse.
"And then there was you." It almost sounds like an accusation but that gleam of mischief is bright in Peter's eye and Stiles can't help but grin. "Suddenly, I found myself in love and I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. And then you announced you were pregnant."
"You were in love with me before that?"
When they first started sleeping together, Stiles wasn't honestly sure Peter even liked him. It was a good time, good stress relief, and a great way to celebrate being alive after fighting whatever hellbeast had been trying to kill them that week. And sure, it became something more than that eventually, and Stiles maybe even considered that they were kind of dating but they never discussed it and Stiles didn't want to sound young and needy and inexperienced so he'd just gone with the flow.
"I've been in love with you for years," Peter huffs. "Hence...you are an idiot."
"But I'm in love with you, too."
"I know."
"You know?" There's a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest that Stiles would really like to bask in, but he's more than a little confused. "But I never said it."
"You didn't need to," Peter says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I thought I didn't need to either. Apparently I was wrong."
"Did it hurt to admit that?" Stiles asks.
"Shut up." Peter's laugh is quiet but no less light and beautiful for it.
Unfortunately, they can't get any further into the conversation that is, apparently, years overdue, because a doctor and nurse both walk into the room and the next hour is filled with examinations and tests and strict instructions not to speak.
Christian's claws, as it turns out, caused fairly severe trauma to his larynx. They're not sure if his voice will ever be the same.
It's hard to care about that, though, when the doctor announces that the baby is, miraculously, in perfect health. It was one thing to hear it from Peter but it's entirely another to hear it right from the lips of a medical professional and Stiles doesn't even bother trying to stop the few tears that escape at the news, even as the doctor politely excuses himself.
All things considered, he feels really fucking lucky. That luck is pushed a little, though, when the nurse unwraps the wad of gauze from around his forearm to check the bite mark that Peter left behind.
"Oh." The nurse is an older lady, probably nearing sixty, who introduced herself as 'Nurse Namur, but you can call me Cindy'. With grey hair and full, rosy cheeks, she actually reminds Stiles of Mrs. Claus, but right now, she looks more confused than merry. "Well, your intake notes made the bite sound much worse than it is, love."
Stiles looks down cautiously, a little afraid of what he might see — blood has always made him queasy and pregnancy has not helped with that — but it turns out Cindy is right.
The bite looks halfway to healed, like it's been days, maybe even weeks, since he was bitten. The indent of the teeth are still there but there's no raw wounds, no torn and bloodied flesh.
Stiles looks up at Peter where he's standing watch at the foot of the bed — the closest Cindy would let him be as she examined the site of the animal bite — and he suspects they're both thinking the same thing.
They need to get out of here.
Now.
Because if Stiles is already starting to heal, how the hell are they going to explain the sudden lack of injuries to hospital personnel who just spent ages debriding the wounds and wrapping him in gauze?
So as soon as Cindy is done with all her tasks, leaving the room with a smile settled back on her face and a promise to come by and check on him in an hour, Stiles does his best to pull himself fully upright in the bed, intending to toss his legs over the side and get moving.
Turns out that not only is moving a hell of a lot more painful than he was expecting, it's fucking exhausting too. He's hardly managed to sit himself up all the way and slide one leg off the side of the bed before he feels like he might just drop.
"Thought I was...supposed to be getting...better." He's winded just from the small movement, which is equal parts embarrassing and confusing. "Will I heal? Everything?"
"It's going to take time, darling," Peter tuts and hurries over to support Stiles and disconnect him from all the machines. Stiles doesn't know why Peter seems to know exactly which buttons to press to keep the monitors from sending off any alarms, and he certainly doesn't know why Peter knows how to quickly remove an IV line and catheter, but he's certainly thankful that he does. "Your body isn't just healing, it's transforming. In the meantime, you heard the doctor. You're not supposed to speak."
Stiles grunts as Peter helps shift him so both legs are off the bed. "Did you arrange this whole thing just to shut me up?" Even with Peter taking his pain again it's difficult to move. The gashes in his skin pull and bleed with even the slightest shift and Stiles ends up talking just to distract himself from the sickening sensation of what feels like a million stitches pulling all over his body at one time. "Because really, there are easier ways to get me to stop—"
Peter doesn't need him to finish that thought, apparently, because he lightly presses their lips together as soon as Stiles is on his feet, proving he already knows just how to shut him up.
"Please stop talking."
"Did you just say please?" Stiles rasps. "You never say please."
"If I promise to say it more often, will you shut up and let me get you out of here?"
Honestly, as difficult as it is for Stiles to activate the filter between his brain and mouth, he's kind of on board with the idea anyways. He's exhausted and out of breath and his throat aches something fierce anytime Peter isn't siphoning his pain, so as they get to the door of the room with one of Stiles arms looped over Peter's shoulders for support, Stiles mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key.
He's pretty sure neither of them actually expect it to last.
He manages to keep quiet as they escape the hospital, though, letting Peter lead the way through the halls, even sinking down gratefully into the first wheelchair they stumble across so they can move a little faster. The borrowed scrubs that Peter is wearing come in handy, too, because once they make it off the ward they were on, no one even bats an eye at what appears to be a nurse wheeling his patient through the halls.
Stiles still thinks Peter looks ridiculous, though.
He keeps that thought to himself but is about to ask how they're going to get home when he sees a cab pull up outside the main entrance, just as Peter is about to wheel him through the door.
And because fate is a funny little fucker sometimes, it's his dad who steps out of the cab, looking ten years older and more than a little distraught until he catches sight of Stiles being wheeled out of the hospital. The carry-on sized bag that he'd been pulling out of the backseat hits the ground, forgotten, as he rushes over to Stiles.
"What are you—Jesus, are you okay? Why aren't you in a bed? Is the baby okay?"
"Dad, I'm fine, we all are." His voice barely carries over the sounds of traffic, chatting visitors going in and out of the hospital, and ambulances pulling into the emergency bay down the way.
His dad stops just in front of him, crouching down and then dropping one knee on the ground for a little more stability the second Peter stops pushing. It makes Stiles wince, knowing his knee is not going to appreciate that, but right now his dad is abortedly reaching out, like he wants to hug Stiles or touch his belly to make sure the baby is really okay but is afraid to actually make contact. So Stiles cautiously takes hold of his dad's hand and gives it a small squeeze before setting it on the side of his stomach that sustained the least damage.
"She's fine," Stiles whispers. Seeing his dad tear up is making it even harder for him to speak, which only reminds him that he's not supposed to be doing that at all. Fortunately, one look up at Peter is all it takes for Peter to take over explanations.
"The baby truly is fine, and Stiles will be too, but we need to get him out of here before he starts healing."
It seems to take a second for the meaning of that to sink in, but his dad nods slowly and then pulls his hand back and gets to his feet. For a second, Stiles' heart plummets, thinking maybe his dad is not as okay with this coming change as he'd thought, but then he reaches out both hands, ready to help Stiles from the wheelchair. "Okay then. Let's get moving."
As soon as he's upright, his dad pulls him into the most gentle hug he's ever had, but then they're hurrying to bundle him into the back of the cab with Peter. His dad takes the passenger seat up front as soon as Stiles is settled, and Stiles is left absently watching the empty wheelchair as they drive away from the front of the hospital, wondering if it's the last time he'll ever be able to go to a hospital at all.
Which makes him wonder how the hell he's supposed to have this baby.
Whether it's his chemosignals or a spike in his heart rate, Peter picks up on his sudden anxiety immediately, moving even closer as he wraps an arm around Stiles' shoulders.
"We'll figure it out," Peter whispers.
"Together," Stiles says, even quieter as he rests his head on Peter's shoulder. His eyelids flutter shut the second his head makes contact, completely worn down by everything that's happened.
Everything he survived.
He's asleep before they even make it out of the hospital parking lot, but his rest doesn't last nearly long enough. Soon, Peter is carrying him inside as his dad opens the door and eventually pulls down the covers in their king sized bed. Stiles thinks he ought to be embarrassed, having his dad see the bedroom they share, but he's back asleep before he can so much as mumble out an apology to his dad for dragging him out of Beacon Hills or a thank you to Peter for changing the sheets after their morning's activities.
He's pretty sure Peter never lets go, though, and his dad never leaves his side.
Every now and again, he half wakes up, usually from the start of a nightmare of claws and teeth and flashing eyes. More often than not, as he's pulled back into the land of the living and waits for his heartbeat to slow down enough to fall back asleep, he's greeted by the sound of Peter and his dad talking in low, hushed tones. It helps to settle his nerves each and every time. It also helps that Peter is always wrapped around him and their bed is like laying on a cloud and Stiles feels so unexpectedly safe after a morning of unbridled fear and danger, that he can let himself drift off again and again.
When he finally wakes up for real, it's dark outside. The streetlights cast a hazy glow in the room through the gossamer curtains that cover their windows, lending a softness to the night that eases his transition to the waking world. He takes a moment to bask in the feeling of home that swells in his chest at the sight. It's kind of funny, in a way, that it took all of this — the attack, the bite, the transformation — for Stiles to truly feel like this, here, in Peter's arms, has become just as much his home as Beacon Hills ever was.
It probably helps that he can hear his dad in the kitchen, frying up an egg on the stovetop. It's always been one of his dad's late night go-to foods, a fried egg sandwich on toast with ketchup. The smell takes Stiles back to his childhood and makes him smile.
"How are you feeling?" Peter's words wash over the part of Stiles' neck that's free of gauze.
"Good. Great, actually," Stiles says, taking stock of his body. Even the tightness in his throat has disappeared when he speaks. "But I'm guessing part of that is thanks to you?"
Peter's hand is slipped beneath the hospital gown that Stiles is still sporting to rest beneath the curve of his stomach, skin to skin, the perfect place to siphon his pain.
Except, apparently, that's not what's happening at all.
"I stopped taking your pain about an hour ago. There was none left."
Stiles whips his head around so fast that he nearly smacks it right into Peter's nose. "What?"
It takes a little more effort to turn himself over so that he's facing Peter but it's still far, far easier than it should be. It's like he has a command over his body that he's never experienced before, a perfect control over muscles that seem stronger than they have any right to be.
"Holy shit."
Settled face to face with Peter, he finds an amused pleasure etched into the pull of Peter's lips and the crinkle of lines around his eyes. More than that, Stiles is pretty sure he can smell his delight. And perhaps his lust, which is distracting as hell. It's actually a bit difficult to focus on Peter's words as he asks, "How do you really feel?"
Stiles isn't quite ready to get up, to leave this little bubble they're in, but he does work his muscles a little at a time, contracting and releasing starting with his toes and working his way up. Not only is there a measure of strength and control that is almost dizzying with just how good it feels, but there's no ache from his injuries, no pull of stitches.
Nothing.
"I feel fucking amazing," Stiles breathes out, completely in awe. "Holy shit. This is how you always feel?"
Because the thing is, Stiles has always considered himself a pretty fit guy. Maybe not to the level of Jackson or Scott or Danny, but he spent enough time running and fighting all the things that wanted to kill him that he figured he was in above average shape. There were never any lingering injuries or illnesses to cause him pain or slow him down. When he woke up every morning, aside from being tired, he thought he felt good.
He had no idea how much better he could feel.
"Yes," Peter smirks. "Welcome to the superior side of the genetics pool."
The reminder is a bit of a shock — his genetic code, his DNA, has been irrevocably altered — but he can't seem to find it in himself to care because he feels so damn good! It's enough that, after leaning in to kiss Peter — and holy fuck is that something he wants to experience more of once his dad isn't in the house because he can feel Peter's heartrate spike and smell his arousal and taste the coffee that he obviously had at some point during the night, all wrapped up in something that is so quintessentially Peter that Stiles kind of wants to drown in it — Stiles actually manages to drag himself away so he can roll over and get out of bed.
The last couple months of his pregnancy have been challenging. With his body changing every day — his pelvis shifting, the constant ache in his back, the balance issues, the water retention — Stiles had actually forgotten what it felt like to not be uncomfortable all the time. But now...
Now he feels incredible.
He practically leaps out of bed and doesn't even need to worry about tipping over as the weight of his stomach tries to knock him off balance. He can feel every movement of his body and compensate accordingly. Considering he spent the entirety of his life being uncoordinated and rather flaily, it's a bit of a trip.
But then he spins around back towards Peter, so fast that his arms swing out to the sides, and he knocks the lamp off the bedside table with an epic crash.
"Oops." Stiles says, already crouching down to pick up the lamp from the shards of broken light bulb that surround it.
"Don't touch the glass." Peter is already halfway out of bed when his dad comes racing into the room, gun drawn.
Stiles drops the piece of glass he'd just picked up and holds up his hands. "Whoa. Dad. It's fine. It's all good. Just me knocking things over."
His dad blows out a breath and lowers the gun while Peter tugs Stiles to his feet. There's just a hint of humor beneath his dad's words, peeking through his exasperation as he says, "So not everything has changed, then?"
Peter smirks as well and Stiles can feel his cheeks heat up as he stands, careful not to step on any of the shards of glass. "Shut up," Stiles grumbles. He's not really even sure who he's talking to.
But his dad sets his gun down on the top of the dresser and clears the few steps between them so he can look him over, his gaze raking over the gauze that still litters his body before landing on his face with an intensity that Stiles hasn't seen in him in a while. "You look better."
"I feel better." Stiles says honestly. The second he smiles, his dad tugs him in for the warmest, tightest hug that they can manage with the heft of Stiles' belly between them. And for the first time since he heard that twig snap in the woods that morning, Stiles feels like everything is going to be okay.
It helps, too, that when he and Peter head into the bathroom to pull all of his bandages off, he finds knotted up threads stuck to the gauze, like his stitches had just pushed free of his skin as it healed, trapping the sutures in the blood which stained his many bandages. It's weird as hell to see, but his skin is perfectly clear almost everywhere. The only marks left that appear to still be healing are the gashes on his inner thigh which, according to the doctor, came dangerously close to severing his femoral artery. But even those wounds, as deep as they were, are nearly gone. All that's left is a pink stretch of healing skin which seems to be disappearing before his eyes.
He's healed.
"Dude, this is so fucking cool!"
"Just think, you could've had this years ago," Peter chuckles. "And don't call me dude."
Despite the eyeroll that Stiles gives him in return, Peter still helps remove the last of his bandages and the hospital gown that Stiles had sort of accidentally stolen, and then strips down and follows him into the shower as well.
There are no heated kisses this time, no lingering strokes. Not when Stiles is well aware of his dad waiting for him in the living room. Even over the thrum of the water, if Stiles focuses hard enough, he can hear his dad's heartbeat, strong and steady.
It's weirdly reassuring.
But what settles Stiles more than anything else is Peter's hands on either side of his stomach, right where they belong.
"So what happens now?" Stiles asks eventually.
They're both rinsed off and really have no reason to stay in the shower but there's a sense of security in the heated space and Stiles isn't exactly keen to up and leave just yet.
"Well, that depends on you," Peter says. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry either, content to stand there with his hands on Stiles like there's literally nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. "If you still want to stay and finish your courses, we'll meet with Isa tomorrow. I've already spoken to her about what happened.” Stiles can only imagine how that conversation went. “She’s looking into it. ‘Cleaning house' were her words. But if you want to finish your degree somewhere else, we can just as easily leave in the morning."
There's a pause then, and Stiles would be willing to bet that Peter's debating whether or not to say something else. And while Stiles' first instinct is to fill the silence with something sarcastic, he bites down on the urge and waits until Peter speaks again.
"Or I could kill the whole pack, if you want."
Stiles is pretty sure that he shouldn't find the offer nearly as hot or endearing as he does, but Peter is so sincere and maybe just a little blood thirsty and he's also naked and dripping wet, so it take Stiles longer than it probably should to shake his head and turn down the offer.
"As much as I appreciate that," Stiles says with a small smile, "I actually kind of liked Isa. I think she could still be a good ally.”
Stiles reaches over to shut off the water without ever dislodging Peter's hands from his bump but he doesn't move to step out of the steamy stall just yet.
"And as for finishing my degree, I kinda want to stay if that's okay. Or, I guess, if you think it's safe?"
He'd chosen that university for a reason. The program is going to get him exactly where he wants to be in life, even if Peter and a baby weren't originally in that perfect mental picture that he'd had when he first applied.
Honestly, they just make it better.
"I'll make sure it's safe," Peter says before leaning in for a kiss. Then he steps back and out of the shower, reaching for two towels for them to both dry off. In those few seconds that he's gone, Stiles reaches out and draws a heart in the steamed up stall of the shower, right around Peter's head on the other side of the glass. His finger squeaks at the curve, pulling Peter's attention back to him. The roll of his eyes is filled with a fondness that makes Stiles' heart pitter patter. "You're an idiot."
It's a near miss, but Stiles just manages to catch the towel that Peter flings at him.
"I love you, too," Stiles grins.
Getting dressed this time involves sweats and a t-shirt for Stiles, and he's out on the couch in the living room in a matter of minutes, feet propped up on the pillow that's made a home on the coffee table before he remembers his ankles aren't actually swollen anymore and he can sit with his legs down if he wants.
"Huh." Stiles drops his feet to the ground and still feels just as awesome.
His dad looks at him from the other end of the couch like he's lost his mind, but he looks so much more relaxed than when Stiles first saw him at the hospital that it's hard to believe it's only been a matter of hours.
"You good, kiddo?"
"Peachy keen," Stiles says honestly. "Never better."
Considering he was literally dying this morning, it's hard to wrap his head around it, but he figures he really doesn't need all the answers to everything tonight. Right now, he just wants to curl up on the couch and watch Die Hard with his dad, who has also already changed into his pyjama pants and a faded grey t-shirt. It's late enough that Stiles suspects his dad won't even make it as far as the highrise takeover, but just having him there is enough for Stiles.
Peter, on the other hand, walks into the living room maybe ten minutes later in one of his especially slutty v-necks and that pair of his dark wash jeans that hugs his ass so perfectly that it's damn near pornographic.
"I figured you need some time with your father," Peter says when Stiles arches an eyebrow at the choice of clothes.
Definitely not couch cuddling attire.
"So you're gonna go whore it up at the campus bar? Without me?" With mock offense, Stiles slaps a hand over his heart. "How very dare you?"
"Good god, I don't need to hear what you two get up to in your spare time."
Stiles laughs and even Peter cracks a smile, something he's less inclined to do whenever Stiles' dad gets huffy.
"I thought I would take care of a few things before we meet with Isa tomorrow?" While Peter doesn't specifically ask if that's okay, there's a hint of a question in the statement and Stiles knows that, if he wanted, he could ask Peter to stay and he absolutely would, no questions asked.
"Yeah of course. Me and dad are just gonna watch John McClane save the world and kick some ass."
"Excellent. I should be back in time to see Hans Gruber fall to his death," Peter says with a pause in the middle as he leans in to kiss Stiles.
Without ever looking up from where he's searching for the input button on the remote to switch to the DVD player, his dad mutters, "Spoilers."
"I happen to know you've seen the movie several times, Sheriff," Peter says, not sounding the least bit remorseful. It's one of Stiles' comfort movies and Peter knows damn well that his dad had sat with him to watch it repeatedly after his mom died, and again in the wake of the Nogitsune.
His dad just grunts and changes the input, then gets up to pop the DVD in. It leaves Peter smirking as he turns to Stiles and says, "Call if you need me. I'll be nearby.”
Before Peter can turn towards the front door, and before Stiles can even open his mouth to say goodbye, his dad looks over to Peter, expression serious but concerned. "Be careful out there."
It's not often that Peter is rendered speechless, but for a handful of seconds while he sort of just blinks and stands there with his lips slightly parted, he definitely is.
Stiles can't decide whether he wants to laugh or hug them both and never let go.
When Stiles and Peter first started seeing each other, things were a little tense when their families and friends found out. That tension was amplified tenfold when it came to any interactions between Peter and Stiles' dad. The relationship between those two was painfully formal on a good day and downright contentious the rest of the time. And when Stiles first announced he was pregnant, he was legitimately concerned that his dad may actually try to kill Peter.
Over the last few months, things have gotten a little better, but this here — a genuine concern for Peter's wellbeing — is definitely new.
"I...will," Peter says slowly after a moment, tossing a slightly confused and yet undoubtedly pleased look at Stiles as he does. "Thank you."
Another grunt from Stiles' dad signals the end of the conversation and Peter heads out the front door, with his dad following right behind to lock the door and set the alarm.
"What?" his dad asks as he walks back in and sits on the couch once again.
"Nothing."
"That smile doesn't look like nothing."
Stiles tries to rein it in but fails miserably, if the eye roll his dad gives him is any indication.
"Oh for God's sake. It's not like I want him dead."
"Anymore," Stiles tacks on helpfully.
For just a second, Stiles thinks his dad is going to deny it, but then he tilts his head and almost smiles as he concedes. "Anymore."
"What changed?"
His dad blows out a slow breath as he skips over the previews and goes directly to the start screen of the movie. "It's been obvious how much he loves you for a while now, but seeing him today was...something else."
Stiles is torn between asking what his dad means about it being obvious that Peter loves him — Stiles just figured that out today, so it seems a little unfair that his dad has known longer than him — and asking what exactly Peter did today to sway his opinion, but he doesn't need to say a word because his dad just keeps talking.
"He called that Alpha while you were sleeping. Isa, I think her name was? That was...a terrifying conversation to listen in on." The remote ends up passed back and forth between his dad's hands as he speaks, but his expression doesn’t hold any of the discomfort Stiles was expecting. There's some shock there, sure, but mostly there's a sort of respect in the jut of his chin and the tilt of his head. "If I hadn't been sure of his devotion to you and the baby before today, I certainly am now."
Stiles has a vague recollection of the threats Peter made against Christian in the woods and figures similar warnings were issued to Isa if any of her other Betas harboured similar feelings as those he'd already taken care of.
"How'd Isa take it?" Stiles is hesitant to ask — if the whole thing breaks down into an Alpha pissing war, he may have to rethink his stance on staying for school — but he figures he's more likely to get an unbiased answer from his dad than from Peter.
"I could only hear bits and pieces of her side of the conversation, but she sounded genuinely upset about what happened to you. And the one piece of conversation that I picked up with ease was her saying that if there were others who had aligned with Christian, she would 'ensure their bodies will be disposed of with Christian's and the others.'"
Stiles had been wondering what exactly happened to the four bodies that Peter had left in the woods. He wasn't expecting the answer to be that Isa took care of them, but he supposes it makes sense, in a way. Isa certainly seems like the type to clean up her own messes. That thought still leaves Stiles immensely curious as to what became of Henry, but he's not sure if he's ready for an answer to that question just yet so he keeps it to himself.
"Anyways." His dad breaks into his thoughts. "He loves you. He wants to keep you safe. I'm never going to be the president of the Peter Hale fanclub, but I guess you could do worse."
"What a ringing endorsement. Better not tell him to his face or his head might swell."
"More than it already is? Is that possible?" A sense of amusement is clear beneath the grumbled words and when his dad looks up, there's an honest smile on his face, despite how tired he looks.
"Ah, I think you underestimate the sheer size of his ego, daddio," Stiles laughs. "It knows no bounds."
Honestly, it's one of the things Stiles loves about him.
"Yeah, well, you know who else had an inflated ego?"
As one, both Stiles and his dad answer together.
"Hans Gruber."
And with that they both settle in to watch Die Hard for the umpteenth time. They're maybe fifteen minutes in before a quiet snoring floats to Stiles from the other end of the couch and Stiles just chuckles. He's honestly a little surprised his dad made it as long as he did, considering he'd flown out shortly after working the night shift and then spent all day keeping an eye on a sleeping, healing Stiles.
Stiles, on the other hand, is still wide awake and settles back to watch the movie with a checkered throw blanket tossed idly over his legs, absently rubbing his belly to soothe his daughter's apparent sleeplessness. Her movements are constant and restless and send him to the bathroom more than once to empty his bladder for fear of peeing his pants if he doesn't, but he still winds up falling asleep before the big finale. He's only vaguely aware of Peter's arrival back home, mostly because he picks Stiles up and carries him to bed, completely ignoring the sleepy and slightly incoherent come-ons that Stiles mumbles as they move.
Despite spending most of the day in varying degrees of unconsciousness, Stiles actually sleeps quite late, though not exceptionally deep. Their daughter continues to perform daring feats of acrobatics in his belly through the night and by late morning some light cramps begin to ripple through his stomach, too. He's not entirely sure if it's a werewolf thing or a hey-maybe-it's-time-to-have-this-baby thing, but for some reason, he's not actually worried about it.
It feels like his body is doing what it's supposed to do.
It's nearly noon by the time he wakes up and when he does, it's to discover Peter and his dad talking quietly in the kitchen. He finds them seated across from one another at the table, but the conversation dries up when Stiles shuffles in, and it's not until he's nearly halfway through his first cup of coffee that he realizes he totally could have been listening in when he first woke up.
This whole werewolf power thing is going to take some getting used to.
"What?" Stiles asks, realizing he wasn't even human-listening as he doctored his coffee and took his first sips.
His dad and Peter both grin and Stiles waves them off with a flap of his hand as he sits down in the empty chair between them.
"Sleep well, darling?"
For a second, he debates on telling them about the cramps and the baby's increased activity but he figures he has some time before it becomes something that needs attention and he's more curious about what they were talking about anyways.
"Not bad," he says. "You guys seem all buddy-buddy here. What's going on?" Then, before they have time to answer, he adds, "It's kind of weird."
Peter grins. "I was filling your father in on the plan for the day. Assuming you still want to stay in the city?"
"Yeah," Stiles says, "I do."
"In that case, we'll meet with Isa in an hour."
It doesn't leave Stiles with much time to ask a lot of questions, but it also solidifies his decision to keep the possible contractions to himself for the time being. If they think there's even a possibility of it being labour (though he's still not convinced it isn't Braxton hicks or even something to do with his transformation into a mother fucking werewolf) there's no way either of them would let him go.
So he gets himself ready and the three of them drive across the city to the massive mall that Stiles has only stepped foot in once since he moved there for school. He never exactly figured himself as a small town boy, but there's something about being in a mall that huge that has him missing the far more limited selection of Beacon Hills. He understands the decision to meet there, though. It's busy as hell, with teenagers using their phones to record themselves left, right, and center. No werewolf is going to start anything at that mall.
They make their way to the food court and Stiles is promptly distracted by the delicious smells that waft through the air and he figures if he has to put up with the crowds and ten thousand miles of walking — or waddling, in his case — he's sure as hell going to get something out of it. So even though Peter lays a hand on his lower back and tries to steer him to the tables in the middle of the massive and bustling space, Stiles veers right and steps in line at the Panda Express.
Peter is clearly taken by surprise, wide eyed as he changes course to follow along, but his dad keeps going, speaking under his breath as he walks. "I'll grab a table."
It doesn't take long to order himself some chow mein and sesame chicken — their little stowaway has been obsessed with sesame chicken since Stiles hit his second trimester — and a bowl of rice and black pepper steak for his dad. He's about to order something for Peter as well, but Peter himself steps in and tells the lovely woman behind the glass that that'll be everything.
"Sure you don't want something? My treat," Stiles asks as he pulls out his wallet. Peter, however, has already swiped his credit card before Stiles can even say a word and has the tray in hand as soon as it's ready. "Or not."
"You should've said you were hungry. I could have made you something at home." With the tray balanced on one hand, Peter's free hand still finds its way to Stiles' lower back to lead him through the food court.
"Okay, first off, you should know by now that I'm always hungry. Second, I wasn't planning on ordering anything until we walked in here. And third," Stiles is too distracted by the smell of the food to remember what he was actually going to say, so he plucks a piece of chicken off the plate and says, "thank you for lunch."
Although Peter smiles and offers a quiet hum of acknowledgement, Stiles can sense the tension he's carrying through his body as he scans the food court. It's almost like he's bracing for attack.
"Are you worried this won't go well?" Stiles asks quietly, suddenly feeling far less hungry. Somehow, he didn't really consider the possibility that this would end badly.
With a frown, Peter glances over to Stiles, his gaze immediately dropping to where Stiles has placed his hands protectively over his stomach.
"No, darling. Just exercising caution." As they arrive at the table — Stiles notices that they're not all sitting together, with his dad at a table two down from where Peter guides them, but doesn't say a word about it — Peter sets down the tray and then turns to face Stiles. "If I was worried it wasn't safe, you wouldn't be here. But it's best to be prepared."
Peter pulls out a chair for Stiles, and although Stiles still doesn't have the same rush of appetite he'd had when they arrived, he feels a little more at ease with Peter's assurance. He knows Peter would never risk their baby if he thought it was unsafe.
"Careful, you're starting to look and sound like a boy scout with all your 'be prepared' and pulling out chairs and shit."
As soon as Peter has tucked the chair beneath Stiles, he smirks and fires off a three finger salute, then takes the food that Stiles had ordered for his dad and walks it over to him. He sets it down with a nod before he turns back to Stiles, who is staring at him with his eyebrows tugged down and his mouth hanging open.
"Wait. Dude, were you actually a boy scout?"
Picturing Peter in one of those silly little outfits makes Stiles want to laugh but somehow, it seems to fit. He'd be willing to bet Peter was willing to lie, cheat, and steal to earn every badge he could.
But Peter just maintains an enigmatic half-smile as he sits down and pushes the plate in front of Stiles. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
And yes, he would, but a cramp ripples through his belly and Stiles discreetly checks the time on his phone, noting it's been almost fifteen minutes since his last one and that he still has time before he needs to worry. His OB/GYN cheerfully informed him at his last appointment that he wouldn't need to head to the hospital until contractions were five minutes apart.
On the bright side, he certainly isn't doubting that they're contractions now. And even more importantly, Peter has been so wrapped up in keeping an eye on their surroundings that he hasn't picked up on the spikes of discomfort that have been getting progressively closer, longer, and harder to ignore.
This one only lasts for thirty-eight seconds though it's strong enough that Stiles grips the table and squeezes to keep from giving himself away.
It doesn't work.
"What's wrong?" Peter asks, quiet but urgent. Stiles isn't sure when Peter's gaze switched from surveilling the food court to examining him, but those gorgeous blue eyes are boring through him with an intensity that makes his skin tingle.
"Nothing," Stiles laughs lightly and releases his grip on the table to reach out and pat Peter's hand. "Our daughter is just using my insides as a bouncy castle. Hopefully some sesame chicken will calm her down."
Peter doesn't seem overly convinced and Stiles is really just hoping this meeting happens in the next fifteen minutes or so because now that Peter is on the lookout, he knows there'll be no playing off the next contraction.
Fortunately, his wish is granted almost immediately.
Stiles has just taken a mouthful of noodles and chicken when Peter stiffens up, his head swinging towards the food court entrance. Chewing a little more quickly, Stiles follows his gaze to find Isa walking towards them, flanked by a man and woman that Stiles recognizes from the last meeting they had with her.
They all look hopeful, if not a little worried.
Stiles swallows just as they approach, ready to stand and greet her the way Peter is so obviously about to do, but Isa just smiles and waves for them to both stay seated.
"Peter, Stiles, it's good to see you again. May we join you?"
"Of course," Peter answers, gesturing to the two empty chairs across from them.
Stiles is about to suggest pulling up another chair at the end of the table, but the tall woman in jeans and a Kinks t-shirt nods to Peter and Stiles in greeting and then steps away, moving two tables down to hold out a hand to Stiles' dad.
"Hello Sheriff, I'm Prudence. Would you mind if I joined you?"
His dad casts an uneasy glance to Peter, who just nods easily, completely unconcerned.
Once Prudence has joined his dad, Isa and the man that Stiles thinks was named Albert each take a seat across from Peter and Stiles.
"I was very glad to hear you wanted to meet," Isa says right away. Dressed in a finely tailored pantsuit with her short grey hair expertly styled, Stiles gets the distinct impression that she's treating this as an important business meeting, rather than just a chat with two stragglers that happen to be in her territory. That respect for another Alpha isn't exactly surprising — Stiles has interacted with enough packs by now to understand inter-pack dynamics more than he ever would've expected — but he is a little surprised and maybe a bit flattered that the respect she clearly holds for Peter seems to extend to Stiles, too. There's a warm compassion in her eyes and in her voice as she turns to him and says, "And I am so very sorry for what you went through."
"Um. Thanks. Sorry about you losing pack members," Stiles says, unsure what the proper response should be. It appears to be the right choice, though, because Isa and Peter both smile, albeit a little tentatively.
"Sometimes amputation of a fetid limb is necessary for survival and growth. I consider the loss of those pack members to be a service you've provided and I thank you both for bringing the issue to my attention," Isa says with a slight bow of her head. "My pack is stronger with them gone."
Albert murmurs his agreement and even Prudence looks over with conviction written on her face as she nods, and Stiles can't help but feel that Isa is right. Her pack is probably far more cohesive now than it was before, which can only be a good thing for all of them.
"Now please, don't stop eating on my account," Isa says with a wave of her hand to Stiles' food. "I remember in my last months of pregnancy with both of my children, I was famished all the time. We can discuss steps moving forward while you enjoy your meal."
It seems a little strange to be the only one eating, but honestly, Stiles kind of feels like he and Albert are mostly there as witnesses so he slowly works away at his food while Peter and Isa discuss the viability of them staying in Isa's territory, including assurances that nothing like what happened with Christian will ever happen again. As a token of apology, Isa even offers to put Peter in touch with a powerful Peruvian mage that he's been trying to make a business connection with for years.
Isa seems keen on keeping a friendly relationship between them and Stiles is pleased to hear it because he really does want to stay and finish his schooling. But as the clock ticks steadily closer to the ten minute mark since his last contraction, he also hopes they'll wrap things up quickly.
He's not quite that lucky.
At twelve minutes, it hits him like a truck.
His breath catches in his chest and he braces himself with both hands flat on the table, breathing through the cramp that ripples top to bottom along his belly and that he'd swear he can actually feel in his thighs and back as well.
It is not fun.
"Oh my, we could have rescheduled this meeting." Isa sounds as concerned as Peter and his dad both look, but Stiles gnashes his teeth and tries to breathe through the ache and somehow manages to wave them all off.
"It's fine," Stiles grunts out just as the contraction ends. "We still have time."
A quick glance around tells him that Peter is trying not to yell at him, Isa is trying not to smile, and his dad is just rolling his eyes the way he does when he's completely exasperated but so very used to Stiles' shenanigans. Albert, on the other hand, looks a little horrified, and Prudence is peering down at her watch like she's timing something.
"How long have you been in labour?" Peter grits out and, oooooh he sounds pissed.
There's still some residual cramping in his belly but Stiles manages to whip out his best puppy dog eyes and the long-perfected look of innocence that's gotten him through so many run-ins with angry teachers and peers. "Since last night?"
It's been several years since Peter looked at him like he was truly considering killing him and Stiles actually thinks it's cute now that he's no longer terrified of the man, but Isa is kind enough to intervene before Stiles can say that out loud.
"I don't wish to overstep, but since I'm assuming your original plan was to give birth as a human, have you had time to consider what you'll do now?" More than ever, Isa looks like a concerned grandmother and Stiles finds himself liking her even more. "I only ask because Pru is a nurse and trained midwife and handles all of the deliveries in our pack. We'd be more than happy to lend her services if you'd like. That's actually why I asked her to join us today."
Peter drags his glare from Stiles to look over at Prudence, who has finally looked up from her watch. Her voice is quiet and calm but carries to them perfectly even from two tables over and with the buzz of the food court around them. "Both heart rates are perfect. Based on how long we were sitting here before the contraction started and how long it lasted, I think Stiles is right. You have some time. But I'd still like to look him over if that's okay with you both."
Thankfully, Peter seems more concerned than angry when he finally looks back at Stiles. They've known each other long enough now that they don't even need to speak to communicate and a shared look seems to ask the question of Is this okay and answer I think it is. Stiles still reaches out beneath the table, though, and sets his hand on Peter's knee, because he knows damn well that they're stronger when they're together, and Stiles figures they both need the comfort and the strength the touch seems to bring.
"Yeah. That'd be good, thank you," Stiles says to Prudence. "Um. Where exactly do we do this?"
It's Isa that answers, a twinkle in her eye. "Well, we have a sort of examination room that we often use for check ups and treating injuries that don't heal right away, but deliveries are usually done at home. It's your choice, of course, but I would imagine since this trust between us is new, you may want a more familiar location. And one where your pack can gather to wait."
Stiles is about to say that it's just him, Peter, and his dad right now, but he follows Isa's gaze as she looks around the room, stopping to nod several times along the way. And sure as shit, over by the Chick-fil-A, he finds Scott and Lydia looking back with sheepish smiles. Stiles almost calls out, but Isa's gaze has moved on, down to where Derek is seated next to the floor-to-ceiling windows that light the space in a flood of late-autumn sunlight. And as Stiles looks over in shock at that familiar brooding face, he realizes Malia is seated across from him, digging into a burrito like she's absolutely starving. When she feels Stiles watching, she looks up and smiles and it doesn't matter that she has a mouthful of food because that smile lights up her face like she's genuinely happy to be there.
"What..." Stiles starts to ask, but Isa is still nodding a greeting to others around the room and Stiles suddenly can't speak around the lump in his throat.
Liam, Mason, and Corey are seated next to the carousel at the far end of the food court, each with an empty tray of food in front of them, and Stiles is starting to wonder how long they've all been here.
Hell, he's wondering what everyone is doing there in the first place.
He almost doesn't notice Kira and Cora sitting tucked off at the side of the space, just before the long hall that he knows leads to the bathrooms, but his eyes sort of stutter back to them just before he spots Chris, Melissa, and Isaac sitting in front of the smoothie shop.
Stiles can't actually remember the last time they were all together and suddenly he's blinking back tears because they all showed up. For him and Peter and the baby.
And while Stiles doesn't quite understand why they're all there, his heart still swells with love for this family, this pack, that he's lucky enough to be a part of.
"I'll be honest, I have many questions as to how your pack works with two Alphas," Isa says when she turns back to Peter. She's still completely relaxed, still smiling, which is a relief because Stiles was a little worried that having their pack there might be viewed as a sign of aggression. Clearly he has a lot more to learn about werewolf politics than he thought. "But I think those questions can wait. Perhaps we should see to your mate now and finish these discussions later?"
Stiles is pretty sure there's some kind of deliberation about where to go and next steps but he's too wrapped up in the sight of all his friends together that he only half pays attention because then everyone is rushing over and Stiles is wrapped up in a million hugs and quiet words of shock and congratulations. There's even some lighthearted teasing about no longer being the human liability, and it all feels a little like a dream.
He knows everyone around them is watching this impromptu gathering in the middle of the food court, but Stiles really couldn't care less because his friends are there and he's about to have a baby with the man he loves by his side and they've just negotiated the start of a new and worthwhile alliance with Isa's pack and life is good.
Really good.
Even as his water breaks right there in the middle of the mall.
Things are a little more hectic after that, but they manage to get home and, with Prudence and Melissa helping him through — and with Peter by his side, not even complaining as Stiles' claws slide out for the first time only to dig into Peter's palm through the worst of the contractions — their little girl makes her first appearance in the world. By the time the sun dips beneath the horizon, Stiles is exhausted and bone-weary and happier than he ever could've imagined possible as his daughter is placed in his arms, all pink and gooey and screaming nearly as loud as her auntie Lydia.
She's perfect.
And it's like a whole new part of his heart opens up in that split second as he looks down at the child that he carried inside of him for over eight months. Stiles knows he's been fortunate enough to have many people in his life who he can honestly say he loves, but this...
This is something else entirely.
And judging by the look on Peter's face when Stiles eventually manages to tear his gaze away from their daughter, he feels the exact same way.
"She's..." Stiles whispers, but there doesn't seem to be a word that's strong enough to encapsulate all that he's feeling.
Peter just smiles a watery kind of smile and finds an answer that's as close as they're going to get. "She's everything."
Stiles finds it nearly impossible to look away from her, even as Prudence and Melissa help to get both of them cleaned up, so he hardly even notices when they both leave the room, talking quietly amongst themselves. It's only when the door clicks behind them that he realizes it's just the three of them left in the bedroom, with Peter next to him on the bed, his right arm curled around Stiles' shoulders and his left hand resting gentle as can be on their daughter where she's all swaddled up in Stiles' arms.
She looks so small and peaceful and Stiles realizes then and there that he would do literally anything to protect her. He'd burn down the world to keep her safe if it came down to it.
He'd rebuild it for her, too.
"You know, as messed up as it is, I'm kind of grateful for everything that happened yesterday." Stiles doesn't even raise his voice as loud as a whisper, unwilling to disturb the hardwon nap that his daughter has most certainly earned. Peter obviously hears him, though, because his breath sort of catches like he can't quite believe it. "I don't know that I ever would have asked for the bite otherwise," Stiles explains before Peter can ask. "And now, like this, I'm stronger. Faster. I'll keep her safe."
"You would have kept her safe even as a human, darling. I don't doubt that for a second."
Stiles would like to believe that but there's a visceral memory, hiding just beneath the surface, of just how utterly helpless he was as Christian and his pack attacked him in the woods. He already knows that feeling of complete powerlessness as they ripped him apart is going to haunt his dreams for a very long time, even now that he's been changed. But now, at least, the playing field is a little more level.
And Stiles will take any advantage he can get, especially now that he has someone besides himself to keep safe.
He doesn't say any of that, though. He doesn't need to. With a gentle kiss to his temple, Peter shows he understands exactly what Stiles was thinking. So Stiles takes a breath and asks something far more important.
"What should we name her?"
There'd been some back and forth over the past few months, names bandied about as they laid in bed or worked side by side in the kitchen, but they never really settled on anything. To be fair, they expected to have at least three more weeks to make that decision.
"Well, I think Elijah is out," Peter says with a quiet huff of laughter. Stiles grins but their shortlist of boys names was definitely narrowed down more than girls names, so that doesn't actually help much.
"She doesn't look like a Hailey," Stiles says.
He can feel Peter nod next to him. "Or an Addison."
"Agreed."
It's surprising just how momentous the decision feels, knowing she'll likely be carrying the weight of their choice with her for the rest of her life. So they slowly run through some of the other names they'd liked, looking at her perfect little face as they do, trying to decide what name suits her. A few are considered maybes, most are tossed aside the moment they're spoken, but the right name seems to come from their daughter herself.
When Stiles quietly suggests, "Adalyn," her little cheeks plump up as the most adorable smile that Stiles has ever seen lights up the whole damn room.
Stiles swipes away the unexpected tears that blur his vision at the sight, staring down at his little girl with an almost crushing sense of wonder.
"Well, I guess that answers that question," Stiles sniffles. He can't stop smiling.
And as Peter leans in to kiss Stiles and then Adalyn, he notices that Peter looks happier than he's ever seen him before, too.
"Welcome to the pack, Adalyn Stilinski-Hale," Peter murmurs.
And from the living room and backyard, a chorus of cheers erupts that leaves Stiles and Peter laughing and their daughter scrunching up her face against the sudden noise.
"Stop listening in, you creepers," Stiles chuckles, but there's already a knock at the door and Stiles just rolls his eyes and says "Yeah, come meet her."
Thankfully, they come to visit her in small groups, all of them oohing and aahing and generally being big fluffy marshmallows rather than the lethal weapons that each and every one of them are. Stiles has a feeling that Adalyn has the entire pack wrapped around her itty bitty finger within two hours of making her grand entrance into the world.
And he really couldn't be happier about it.
Most of the pack can only stick around for a day or two before they'll have to get back to their own lives and classes and jobs, but it's enough time to bond with their newest member and get baby cuddles all around. What's more, it's enough time to truly demonstrate the strength of their bonds to Isa and her pack, which, according to Peter, was the reason he asked them all to come in the first place. It's not that they don't trust Isa — well, Peter doesn't, but Peter doesn't really trust anyone ("except you, darling," he'd added as a caveat when the pack had discussed strategy the day after Adalyn's birth) — but Stiles understands his tactics.
Going after one wolf and his human mate is considerably different than facing off against a pack with unbreakable ties.
Isa doesn't seem to mind the show of power, either. She and Prudence come by the next day, partly so Pru can check on her patients and partly so Isa can extend congratulations from her pack to theirs. And while everyone seems to get along great and the pack seems to like Isa and Prudence quite a lot, Stiles can't help but notice that the wolves are especially protective of Adalyn while they're there, subconsciously forming a sort of barricade around whatever room she's in.
Stiles is about to get up and tell them to cool it a little when Isa smiles and gives her head a small shake, then comes to sit next to him at the dining room table while everyone else coos over the baby in the living room.
"It's fine, they're just following their instincts," Isa says quietly. "You're lucky to have a pack that loves you and your family so fiercely."
In a world full of uncertainty, that right there is one thing Stiles knows to be completely and unequivocally true. "Yeah, I really am. They're pretty awesome."
He still can't believe they all dropped everything they were doing to fly out for him. But he supposes that's what family does. He'd do it for any of them in a heartbeat, too. It makes him wonder, though, if maybe their pack is different than most. Maybe not all the packs out there are as close as they are, with bonds that run deeper than just family and friends. Peter has said in the past that losing a pack member feels a lot like losing a limb, but maybe the emotional connection that their pack has goes beyond pack ties.
"How are you doing?" Stiles asks, pulling his gaze away from where his dad is reluctantly handing Adalyn over to Scott after hogging her for most of the day, claiming 'grampa's prerogative'. Stiles already knows his dad is going to be the best grampa that his little girl could hope for. "I mean, look. I'm not sad they're dead, not after what they almost did to Adie," Stiles says carefully, watching her reaction. She doesn't seem angry. "But it can't have been easy for your pack either."
Isa tilts her head in acknowledgement but takes a moment to respond. "I meant what I said. My pack is stronger without them. We've actually been...more harmonious since their deaths than usual. I don't think I realized how deeply their poison ran. I can assure you it's not a mistake I'll make again."
Somehow, Stiles doesn't doubt that.
"And what about Henry?" Stiles asks. He's been wondering about the man's fate since he left the hospital, conflicted in his feelings. On the one hand, Henry was clearly there to chase him out of town for being human. On the other hand, he didn't seem to have any idea what the rest of them were really up to and he risked his life to help get Stiles to the hospital.
What it all boils down to is that Stiles isn't actually sure what answer he's hoping for.
"I'm glad you asked, actually. He's been kept locked up since he returned from the woods and told me what happened." Isa's words provoke images of chain link fences and electric currents in Stiles' mind and he's surprised how uneasy the idea leaves him. It must show on his face, too, because Isa reaches out and gives the back of his hand a quick pat where it's resting on the table. "He's comfortable enough where he is. Think of it like a small, inescapable hotel room."
No electricity, no torture. Stiles nods.
"Before I make any decisions as to his fate, I thought I would ask your opinion, as the victim of his crimes. Death, I think, is off the table," Isa says, eyeing Stiles speculatively, clearly curious as to his reaction, but Stiles just nods, already agreeing. "But he can still be cast from the pack, left to wander as a lone Omega, or merely placed on a sort of probation, left to earn the goodwill of the pack once again."
Unexpectedly, when Isa mentions being cast from the pack and left an Omega, Stiles instinctively knows exactly how that would feel. He's not sure if it's part of being a wolf, or maybe just because his new bonds with Peter and Adalyn are so strong, but the thought of those bonds being severed, of being banished from the love of his family and his pack...he's pretty sure death would be a kinder sentence.
"I mean. Obviously, you're his Alpha and the decision lies with you," Stiles says slowly, considering. But from the living room, Scott looks over with those big puppy dog eyes, his expression achingly soft like he still can't quite believe the baby he's holding is part of their lives now, and it only reinforces his decision. "But family is everything. I don't think Henry had any idea what the others were planning, and I don't think he should lose his family because of one mistake."
Isa gives his hand a light squeeze and offers a heartfelt smile. "I'm glad to hear you say that. He's a good man at heart. I think he was just misled by Christian. That man was more charming than the devil himself."
"I'll have to take your word on it."
It draws a laugh from Isa and Stiles finds himself smiling right along with her. "Yes. I suppose you never encountered his full charm. He could be very persuasive. I'm only now discovering some of the many lies he told to me and the others. I fear Henry was swept up in his bid for power as well."
They fall into silence for a little after that, watching the pack quietly argue about who gets to hold Adie next, both of them grinning when Peter stakes his claim and everyone else realizes they've lost.
"He's an impressive Alpha," Isa says after a moment.
"He is," Stiles agrees without hesitation. In the living room, the barest hint of a smile tugs at one corner of Peter's lips, an action so small that Stiles is sure Isa wouldn't even notice, but that proves to Stiles he's listening in, as expected. Honestly, if Stiles had to guess, he'd bet that every pack member with enhanced hearing has been listening in since Isa sat down next to him.
Adie isn't the only one they've been extra protective of.
He suspects Isa knows it as well, but that doesn't stop her from speaking. "I'm glad you're both staying. I believe our packs will make for strong allies, if you're open to the possibility."
"Me?" Stiles looks over, surprised. "Shouldn't you be asking the impressive Alpha?"
"Yes," Isa smiles, "of course I'll speak with him as well, but it's clear the decision will lie with you. I just wanted you to know that I'd very much like to grow this burgeoning friendship if you're open to the idea."
More than a little confused, Stiles just nods his agreement. He may not understand why Isa thinks his opinion is so important, but he also believes deep down that her pack will make for steady allies, and he looks forward to exploring that partnership.
It isn't much later that Isa and Prudence take their leave, with an open invitation to call if they need anything at all, and promise to reach out in a week or two to discuss business relations. Most of the pack follows suit later that day or the next, heading back to their own lives with promises to visit soon and often.
Stiles suspects their spare bedroom will be getting an awful lot of use in the coming months.
His dad is the last to leave, three days after Adalyn's birth, and Stiles can tell how hard it is for him to say goodbye to his granddaughter. Stiles gets it, he wouldn't want to leave either, but Parrish has been covering things at the Sheriff's station and they both know he needs to get back to relieve him. It doesn't make it any easier to say goodbye, though.
Even all grown up with a family of his own, Stiles realizes he still misses his dad.
What does make it easier is that Peter has booked the three of them a flight to Beacon Hills the weekend after next, so they can go visit with his dad again. Just the sight of the ticket eases the ache in Stiles' heart and earns Peter an unexpected hug from his dad as they drop him off at the airport.
The two of them have been acting more like family every single day, something that Stiles loves more than he would have expected. It means the world to him that they're getting along now.
But once they get back home, for the very first time, it's just Peter, Stiles, and Adie together in the house as the family they created for themselves.
It's kind of perfect.
And since Peter had called the university at some point to explain that Stiles had unexpectedly gone into labour and was now recovering, he doesn't even need to stress about school for the time being. He gets to just be home, with the two people he loves most in the world, curled up on the couch together as he and Peter watch Adalyn's every breath, every stretch, every yawn like it's the most fascinating and important thing to have ever happened in the history of ever.
To them, it is.
And as they sit there, Stiles realizes that this is just the start of their new lives together.
"Thank you," Stiles murmurs without ever looking away from their daughter. "For saving her. For saving me. For setting us up here and getting everyone to come out. For the tickets home next weekend."
Unexpectedly soft, Peter presses a kiss to his temple. "You're welcome. But the tickets home are less of a romantic gesture than you seem to think."
Stiles shifts on the couch, careful not to disturb Adalyn as he pulls one leg up on the cushion to better face Peter. "What do you mean?"
With the craziness of the last few days, Stiles realizes he's missed the mischievous smirk that usually seems so at home on Peter's face. "You haven't looked at a calendar have you, darling? It's a full moon. Your first full moon. And we're going to need a babysitter."
Stiles just blinks a few times, processing. In all the pandemonium of the last few days, he'd sort of forgotten. It's not like he can't feel the difference, but he hasn't exactly had time to really think through what it means, to focus on the fact that he's going to be bloodthirsty and out of control and an honest to God wild animal.
After a moment of silence, Stiles settles on a heartfelt, "Well, fuck."
At that, Peter's gaze turns darker, his smirk growing a little more predatory. "Yes. That, too."
And, well, Stiles thinks maybe being a little wild and out of control won't be the worst thing in the world.
Maybe, just like everything else these past few days, it'll be kind of awesome.
And Stiles is more than ready to find out.