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Stiles sits in the middle of his bed packing a box of mementoes. He's not sure where they'll fit into Peter's elegant apartment, but they're going with him. Picking up a framed photograph of his parents, he stares at it for a moment and feels his heart stutter.
Would his mom be as disappointed in him as his dad?
A lump blocks his throat and he swallows convulsively, then runs one thumb over the image of his smiling, young mom, before carefully placing the picture in the box. His childhood teddy bear is next, one eye missing, the ears chewed on, and he drags it to his nose where his mom's perfume lingers even after so many years.
The image of a faceless child hugging this bear flashes before his eyes and anger floods him as he stuff teddy into the box and covers him with a mathlete trophy from sixth grade (Lydia'd been sick that day).
He doesn't care what the thing inside him plays with, but it's not getting teddy.
The anger is irrational, but his mood is all over the place. Hormones he shouldn't have are driving him nuts and, a part of him is happy to go spew them all over Peter rather than his already overburdened dad.
The lump returns and he swipes at hot tears suddenly on his cheeks. Stiles hates this so much and he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to leave the only home he's ever known.
He's fucking sixteen years old, only a little over half way through his junior year in high school, a year the majority of the second semester of which he's going to have to be home schooled by a psychotic Alpha because he sure as hell can't make an appearance outside the apartment after Spring Break. He's too thin. According to Deaton, the thing inside him will show early and ride on the front and he'll be huge and heavy and even clumsier and...
Stiles sniffles and then sobs and ends up curled against his headboard crying his heart out.
The arms that go around him startle him, but then he smells the familiar scent of Drakkar Noir and sweat and gunpowder and wraps himself around his dad. After a while his wild sobbing starts to calm and he hears the words his father's been saying over and over.
"It'll be okay, kiddo. We'll get through this, son. I love you, Stiles, never forget that."
It's the last that makes his heart ache because he's wondered if this was just the final straw for his dad, after all the lies and then the truth he struggled so hard to accept. Learning about his relationship with Peter drove John to the bottle and a brutal fight with Derek who just let the Sheriff beat on him as a substitute for the Alpha Stiles wouldn't let him face.
"I'm so sorry, dad," he whimpers, face buried in John's damp shoulder. "Sorry for disappointing you."
"You haven't, Giosue. None of this is your fault."
When Stiles lifts his head to protest, John cups his cheeks, his thumbs brushing away his tears. "Dad..."
"I put all this on him." Stiles winces at the venom in his dad's voice. He can't go after Peter. He can't. Even though Stiles nods in complete agreement. "This is all against your will and if you want to fight him, to refuse to...go to him, you know I'll stand in front of you."
"I know," he whispers, "And I can't do that." Slowly he pulls away and leans back against the headboard, his eyes dropping to his still flat stomach. "I know you don't want to accept it, but I willingly went to Peter, dad, not once, but a couple times before he became the Alpha, before all of...this." He can feel his cheeks heating in shame, but he's a pregnant, teenage boy, and telling his dad about his sex life with a man closer to his father's age than his own is the tip of the embarrassing iceberg.
"And after?"
"I still did," Stiles whispers and slowly raises his eyes to John's sad but compassionate ones. "I liked it, with him. I...still do. I hate him, but..." He looks away again, shoulders slumping in confusion.
"Stiles, you're still a kid. You're not expected to think straight. Hale's an adult. He knew what he was doing." John's voice hardens in anger.
"Dad, I'm not a kid, that's the problem. I knew what I was doing, too. He didn't lure me in with candy or video games."
"But he didn't tell you what he planned either, did he, and in that he took complete advantage of you. If he was a normal man, he'd be rotting in one of my cells after I beat the shit out of him."
"I know you're frustrated but you can't, dad, you just can't, because Peter doesn't care that I already hate him. He'll kill you and I'll be all alone. Please," Stiles begs frantically, afraid.
John sighs heavily but reaches out and squeezes Stiles' shoulder. "I won't. I already agreed I wouldn't, son, but it's damn hard."
Relief filling him, Stiles swings his legs around and sits by his dad, leaning against him. "I know, dad. I know all this goes against every parental instinct you have, but we're pawns in Peter's game. It's his board and he has all the advantages."
"For now," John stresses. "He hurts you and all bets are off."
"He doesn't hurt me," Stiles protests quickly. Keeping his dad's anger at an even keel is so hard these days, especially when his own flares so hotly.
John takes Stiles' left wrist and runs a thumb over the scars from four puncture wounds. "This hurts you."
He feels himself flushing again and gently pulls his hand free. "Because he didn't ask. They're...Wolves...they ask. The good ones ask." His voice drops sadly because Peter isn't one of the good ones. He never was and Stiles knows he lost sight of that and, despite his dad's belief, a lot of this is on him. He knew the risks and he still put himself in Peter's bed, even after he became an Alpha again.
Silence falls for a few minutes, before John huffs and rises to his feet. "When will Derek be here?"
"An hour or so. I have most everything ready." Looking around his childhood room, Stiles feels a pang of loss, but shoves it aside to get up to pack up his laptop.
"Giosue, anytime you want to come back..."
He tries to smile at his dad but knows it falls flat. "I know, dad. Thanks, but...I'm pretty sure I can't."
"Regardless, your room will be here. I...will you come visit?"
"Someone's gotta make sure you're eating right," Stiles tries to joke and is relieved when John smiles at him and nods. "Yeah, I'm not a prisoner. Maybe if I wasn't going willingly I would be, but I'm not going to risk that. And I'll call every day, and Opening Day of the As is still on in HD with hotdogs and popcorn, for sure, and..."
"Stiles..."
He tries to put on a brave face, but his dad suddenly looks like he's going to cry and it makes Stiles want to join him. Then they're hugging again, tightly, not letting go. "I'm not moving across the country, just across town. I'll be around bugging you all the time, I promise," he chokes out, and hopes that's a promise he can keep. Peter's been very vague about the rules of their relationship, just making sure that Stiles knows he doesn't get to make up any of his own.
"But, you're moving way too soon and not because you want to," John mumbles into his son's neck. "And I'm trying to get past that, accept it, but it's damn hard."
"I know and you're doing great. Best dad ever." Pulling back, he manages a true smile and is relieved when his dad returns it even if they both look discomfited by all the emotion they're displaying.
"You will be..."
Going cold in an instant, Stiles interrupts him with a hard slash of a hand and shake of his head. "No, dad. I'm not talking about that. It's not...not happening. I can't..."
"Okay, Giosue, okay," John placates and looks around the room. "Anything ready to go downstairs?"
Grateful for the change in subject, but knowing his dad won't drop this forever, Stiles nods and points to the two suitcases of clothes and toiletries. "Let Derek tote the boxes of books."
John snorts in agreement and hefts one of the suitcases before heading out the door.
Looking around at the room still full of furniture but with little left of him anymore--his research from the walls all packed in his backpack leaving only a couple of old pictures--Stiles feels that loss of his childhood returning and slowly shakes it off.
He made his bed--literally--he'll lie in it and deal with Peter and all of this as it comes.
Time to grow up.
End