Chapter Text
Not many people know, but John wasn’t Stiles’ biological father. People tend to forget - the Stilinskis were adored and well respected, and no one seemed to remember the pregnant runaway Mrs Stilinski used to be, back when she was just Claudia.
There’s something almost poetic about it, if a bit sad, I guess.
Stiles never thought he’d suffer the same fate - he is a guy, after all.
And yet...
And yet.
On the day he confesses his pregnancy to Peter, he’s a jittery, shaking mess. He’s taken one too many pregnancy tests after a not too subtle “do make sure you eat enough red meat” from Deaton. To his questioning motion, he then continued graciously “werewolf offsprings generally need a stronger sustenance, Stiles”.
He’s never been more frightened, not even when he faced that river demon last month.
Oh my god, he has faced a river demon whilst pregnant!
He’s an awful parent - the worst parent there is.
Maybe not as bad as Isaac’s dad, but a close second. He can never endanger their baby again - not that he thinks Peter will let him.
And Peter... Peter will be so happy. He’s been aching for a pack, a real family, and now, after two years filled with feverish whispers of love, stolen kisses after each snarky comment, and steadily building their relationship despite what anyone might think of it...
Stiles can finally give him what he really wants. What they both want.
Although he is a bit nervous about telling Peter, he’s not worried about his reaction. He’s mostly questioning his ability to care for their baby on the long run.
He’s only twenty years old!
He’s so goddamned lucky he has Peter. He will - without a doubt - know what to do.
Somehow along the line, Peter became the most important person in his life. They fit together so well, all broken pieces and hard edges.
“I don’t want to be like you” he said once, so long ago, but he already was - even back then.
Lie. Peter had hissed in answer, and Stiles could only thank the man's insanity that he didn’t figure out the real reason why his heart skipped a beat or why the hitch in his breathing.
“My darling boy” Peter says, and the moment he opens the door, he also opens his arms for Stiles. He’s so tactile and soft with him, that Stiles gets breathless straight away. He tries to fill his lungs with Peter’s scent - a scent he now associates with safety, home, contentment - and presses a kiss onto the man’s collarbone.
“Hi” Stiles smiles brightly at him and gives him another nuzzle.
“Hello” Peter closes the door, and guides them to the ridiculously soft suede sofa in his living room. “I have to admit, there’s something very pleasing about you walking through my apartment door already covered in my scent.”
Stiles looks up in surprise. As far as he knows, he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary today. He spent the night home yesterday, freaking out and trying pregnancy tests, so if anything, he thought Peter would smell all the stress and worry on him. So unless their scent already mingled... no, wait.
“I may be wearing your underwear” he says quietly, with head bent down in submission. They play this game a little bit too often, and Peter sitting there, so closely, with his legs apart is enough to make him all kinds of distracted.
“Are you now?” Peter hums, like it’s not a big deal, like it’s an everyday occurrence and he’s not a bit turned on by it.
I must say, those tight dress pants are really proving that hypothesis wrong right about now.
“I have something to tell you” he says then quickly, before Peter could decide to use his ability to turn Stiles’ muscles into jelly within five seconds with his tongue.
“Surely it can wait” Peter breathes, and god, he sounds wrecked, or more like he wants to wreck Stiles and no. No.
He’s not getting sidetracked again.
“This is important!” He yelps as he feels Peter’s hand on his inner thigh. “Goddamnit Peter, just let me say it!”
“If I must” Peter sighs dramatically, but Stiles knows him. He knows that the sparkle in his eyes means he can tell him anything, and they’d solve it together. He anchors himself in his love for Peter, and says it.
“I’m pregnant” as the words leave his lips, he instantly feels Peter’s hands freeze on him.
“Run that by me again, Stiles?” Oh no, this is not good. Peter was always calling him nicknames in private, he must be very shocked.
“I’m pregnant, Peter” he keeps it simple, short. They’ll have time to talk out all the details and plans. No doubt by the end of this week Stiles would have detailed charts and presentations on this, and Peter would sit with him to go over them all - complaining about it the whole time, of course. Because that’s the kind of person he is. Can't let anyone think he is actually nice.
“No, you’re not.” Peter exclaims with such force, such finality. He has an air of authority around him that compels Stiles to devote all his attention to what he has to say. Even if it’s total bullshit. “If you wanted to tell me that you can lie to werewolves proficiently, I already suspected that for a while. There’s no need for tasteless pranks.” With that, he turns to get away from him, the earlier intimacy gone.
“Peter. Peter, I’m not joking. I am pregnant, you know, knocked up, up the duff” Stiles clarifies weakly, trying to get the point across to his emotionally constipated boyfriend.
Peter stills in the doorway. His claws are peeking out, and his eyes burn electric blue as he hisses out.
“And tell me, Stiles. Did you wail while he fucked you? Did you like fucking your mate on the side? You should’ve had the spine to leave me first!”
“Wait! No! You know damn well you were my first and only!” Tears are stinging his eyes, but Stiles can’t let Peter see him cry. The man’s accusations hurt, but the thought that Peter didn't have trust in them is worse.
He had never thought Peter would question their relationship like that.
“You are my mate!” Stiles shouts, this time in anger. The room seems to cool a good few temperatures as he awaits Peter's reply. He really doesn't want to fight, not about this, not with Peter.
“Sebastian was my mate” comes the answer, calm and collected. Peter looks into his eyes, but they're missing their usual warmth – they look murderous. “Sebastian was my mate” he repeats himself again. “Do you want to know what you are? Nothing. A distraction, a mediocre fuck” Peter's tone is light as he looks Stiles over. “I should kill you for trying to fool me like that.”
Peter pushes him up to the wall then, cages him with his body, and Stiles feels lost in the havoc of all the emotions he's feeling right now.
He's... He's scared.
For the first time in his life, he's scared, scratch that, terrified of the man he loves.
“But you love me” Stiles whines with the last of his conviction, holding onto the little bit of hope that's left in him. Peter's chuckle, that has no happiness, no feeling behind it is what takes it away.
“Do I now? Even if it was my child in you, I still wouldn't want you” Peter whispers in his ear softly, and then in a hard contrast, he shoves him down to the floor. “Don't get blood on my carpet on your way out”
His journey home is very fuzzy after that. His head still bleeds heavily, but that's nothing compared to the gaping hole inside his chest. He's alone. Pregnant, and alone. He could come up with three different plans to prove Peter they're true mates, but...
“Even if it was my child in you, I still wouldn't want you” rings in his ear, loud, clear and cruel.
Is it possible to still want the best for somebody after they crushed your heart?
He puts his phone on his nightstand, and walks to his father's bath. He's not weak.
He's not.
He won't hurt himself or his child out of pure spite – if Peter doesn't believe him, he'll miss out on him, on them.
He can love their child enough for two, and he will.
-
He wakes up in the hospital – he must have fallen asleep in the tub. God, if his dad found him, he must be freaking out. He looks around the room when he feels like he can do so without falling out of it. He's alone – and it really shouldn't surprise him as much as it does. He's not that close to anyone in Beacon Hills anymore, most of his friends could never accept his relationship with Peter.
There's a packed overnight bag next to his bed, and as he looks it through he finds a few sets of clothes in there, toiletries, money, and his wallet.
His father probably didn't mean it the way it looks, but it's the perfect runaway package. Not big enough to raise suspicion, but just enough to last a few days. He gets out of bed slowly, thanks the god he doesn't believe in that he's not connected to anything else but an IV and changes into his clothes. He takes off the bandage of his head, and while it still hurts a bit, he's just glad he doesn't feel the weight of it anymore.
He doesn't need the reminder.
He empties his regular card using all three cash points inside the hospital. By the end of it, he has two thousand in cash, but he knows he has to be smart with it. His father doesn't have access to his savings account anymore, but he should at least move that money just in case.
Walking out of the hospital he sees Derek's car. His heart actually beats a little bit faster thinking the man is here to see him.
There's this voice in his head saying that he should steal his car so he can't come after him right away, but that's one of the things he has left of his family, and Stiles doesn't want to take it from him.
So he finds an ugly red Honda, and tries not to think of the fact that he's skipping town with a stolen car.
His eyes are wet as he drives past the “you are now leaving Beacon Hills” sign, but he just carries on.
He's driving for hours when he finally decides to dump the car somewhere near the outskirts of Nevada, and gets on a bus to a shitty, small town on the far side of the state. The bus drive takes seven hours, and he sleeps through most of it. As soon as he gets to Utah, he's mostly just glad to be in a different time zone – it feels like proof that he's made it quite far. His anxiety keeps nagging him to put more distance between himself and P... and the pack, so he steals another car, makes it all the way to Denver, but he's never been a hipster, so he just takes the earliest train to Nebraska. He's always liked the song, anyway.
By the time he calms down, he’s sitting in a beat-up motel, under a fake name. It's a bit too far – more like a bit too dramatic – to turn back, so he doesn't.