Chapter 17

Fat drops of rain start hitting the skylight the moment Lydia screams, and after that, it gets dark quick. Derek pushes Stiles onto the couch, tries to drag Lydia out the door.

"I'm not a bloodhound," she says, shaking him off. "That's your deal." She grabs Dana by the arm. "We're leaving."

"Maybe it's nothing," Cora says. "People die all the time."

"She doesn't do that when someone dies in the old folks home," Derek says. "It's always violent death. It's bad. I can feel it."

"Then you should have no problem sniffing it out yourself." Lydia ducks down, wraps her arms around Stiles in a quick hug. "Call me, okay? If anything happens?"

Stiles nods. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and he's too warm. Dana crouches beside him, looks up, and she's the only one who doesn't look freaked out. "You can do this," she says. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Then they're gone, Derek following soon after with a whispered, "I'll be back before the moon rises, I swear."

Stiles gets up, finds the box Lydia gave him in the kitchen. He crouches to pick it up off the floor and grimaces as the baby pushes back, objecting to her space being reduced as his thighs press against the bottom of the bump.

"Need a hand?"

Stiles accepts Cora's offer of help, letting her pull him back to his feet. "I should want to hold onto her for a while longer, right?" he says. "But I don't know if I can face another month of this."

"She'll come when she's ready. Maybe it'll be tonight, maybe not." She takes the box out of his hands. "Where do you want this?"

"My bag, upstairs. It's for the baby."

Cora leaves him in the kitchen, leaves him with the half of his birthday cake they didn't eat. If she's born tonight, Stiles will forever remember his birthday as the day his baby was taken from him. He wraps his arms around himself, around his belly. "On second thoughts, stay there," he whispers. "Stick around for a bit longer, 'kay?"

She pushes back, feeling like she's stretching out inside him, shoving tiny feet up under his ribs and making it hard to breathe.

"Or not," he says.

.

Cora's right there at the door when Derek returns. It slides back slow, and Derek slumps against the frame like he's exhausted. There's blood on his hands, smears of it bleeding into the front of his wet shirt.

Stiles pushes himself up off the couch, but he freezes half way to the door when Derek looks up. There's so much pain on his face, like his whole world has just fallen apart. "Who is it?" Stiles says. "Who's dead?"

"It's Grimm," Derek says. "The Sidhe. Someone tore him apart."

"No." Stiles shakes his head. "No, no, he can't be." His head spins, and he feel sick. Bile burns his throat.

He doesn't remember Derek moving, but suddenly Derek's holding him, an arm around his back, the fingers of his other hand in Stiles' hair. "Stiles," he breathes, his voice nothing but a rasp of pure anguish. "Stiles."

"How can he be dead?" Stiles' fingers twist into Derek's shirt, wet with rain, soaked through to the skin. "They're immortal. How can he be dead?"

"He took human form." Derek's lips move against Stiles' temple. "Anything made of flesh and blood can be killed." He gulps, and the cold, wet rain dripping off him is interspersed with drops of hot salt.

"Then it's over." Stiles takes a deep breath. He was prepared for this before, he can do it again, he can find that place of acceptance. He nods against Derek's shoulder. "It's okay. You'll get to keep her, Derek. It's okay, I'm okay with that."

Derek stiffens and pushes Stiles out to arms length. "No. I'm not gonna let you die, Stiles."

"You can't do anything to stop it. And there's no more time. It's gonna be tonight, I can feel it."

"You can't know that. The moon isn't up yet, there's no way—"

"I know," Stiles says, because he does. She wants out, and she's not going to wait another month. "She's coming tonight, and without the Sidhe, I'm gonna die. But you'll have her, okay? You've gotta be okay for her, you've gotta promise me, Derek, promise me you're gonna be okay."

"It was Scott," Derek says. "His scent was all over the body. He wants her, Stiles, that's why he killed Grimm, so no, I won't have either of you, so you can't die, okay? You can't."

"Scott?" Stiles' knees buckle, and the only reason he doesn't hit the floor is because Derek holds him up. He's going to die and his best friend is going to kill his baby and all of it, everything presses in on him, around him. He can't get the air he needs, though he's gasping for it. He fights against Derek's grip with hands and fingers that won't do what he wants them to. Cold sweat breaks out all over his skin and he's dying, really dying this time, and the baby is going to die with him. "Get her out," he rasps. "Get her out, now."

Cora pushes Derek out of the way. "He's having a panic attack," she says, and grips Stiles by the shoulders even as they both sink to the floor. "You're not breathing properly. Do you know what to do?"

Stiles shakes his head. She's right, but it feels too much and he can't even think.

"Okay, here," Cora says, and she puts her hand on his swollen stomach. "Breathe from here. In. Good, now out. Breathe out, Stiles. More. That's it, good."

Slowly, the panic eases. Stiles can curl his fingers around Cora's wrist. He can reach out for Derek as he looks on, helpless, can pull him down to the floor. "Don't let it happen," Stiles says. "You can't let it happen."

"I won't," Derek says. "I promise you, I won't." He stands up. "Cora, I need you with me on this." Then he goes to the door.

When he slides it back, Peter's there. "Watch him," Derek says. "We've gotta stop Scott." Derek turns back, eyes full of fear as they pass over Stiles. "The moon's rising now. If there's any sign that it could be tonight, take him to Deaton."

.

"This is good," Peter says, a slice of cake on a plate in one hand, a fork in the other, a crumb on his lower lip that he licks away with a quick, darting tongue. "Mmm. You said Lydia picked this out? She always did have excellent taste." He breaks off a forkful, offers it to Stiles. "No?" He pops it into his own mouth, closes his eyes and smiles around it before he slides the fork out from between closed lips. "Happy birthday by the way. You won't forget this one in a hurry, I'm guessing."

"I'll be dead," Stiles says. There's a black cloud hanging over his head, and it's never going to go away.

Peter nods, licks frosting off the edge of the fork. "That's right, you will. But on the bright side, Derek's probably going to kill Scott."

Stiles' eyes flick up to Peter's face. "Bright side."

"Well, yeah. One less thing for me to do."

Stiles' heart stops cold. "What?"

Peter puts the plate down carefully on the floor. "I really thought you would have caught on sooner, Stiles. Now Derek, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed. The brains really did skip a generation in his case. But you're supposed to be the smart one. The one who figures things out." He looks pointedly at Stiles' belly. "Of course, you've had other things on your mind." He reaches out, lifts Stiles' hand off his lap, moves to pull him to his feet. "Up you get. It's time to go."

"Scott didn't kill Grimm," Stiles says. "Scott's not the Alpha Grimm was warning me about, is he?"

Peter lifts an eyebrow. "Sorry, did I not cover that? No. Come on, Stiles. Scott's your best friend. You've got to have a little more faith in him, you know." He forcibly pulls Stiles to his feet, wraps one strong hand around the back of his neck and grips tight. "Of course, it's a bit late for that. You'll both be dead very soon."

Stiles' hands shove ineffectually at Peter's chest as he tries and fails to get away. "Please. You don't have to do this." He manages to get one hand up and claws at Peter's face, going for his eyes but narrowly missing. Three red lines flare across Peter's cheek, then fade with only a few drops of blood as evidence that they were ever there.

Peter lets out a bitten off growl and grabs Stiles' wrist, pulling his arm up behind him. "Actually, I do. There's just a few too many Alphas in this town, and I have to get rid of them all. Your baby is a two-for-one deal. I kill her, ensure my position, and the power her sacrifice will give me will make me unstoppable."

The thumb and fingers gripping each side of Stiles' neck dig deeper into his flesh. In seconds Stiles begins to feel lightheaded, then the room spins, he feels like he's falling, and everything turns black.

.

When Stiles comes to, he's cold. The rain is just a mist now, enough to dampen his clothes and make him shiver. Above him, the moon hangs full and heavy, around him, there's trees and the soft sounds of the woods on a calm night. Insects, night birds, decaying leaves rustling softly as small creatures move among them.

Stiles is on his back. Something smells like old, wet wood, and he figures, from the damp soaking into his clothes from the back, that it's coming from whatever he's been tied to.

Tied, because when he tries to move his arms, wet rope tightens around his wrists. His ankles are free, but while he can roll onto his side, without the use of his hands, he can't get any further.

It only takes a few seconds for all of this to sink in, and then the blind terror takes over, and he starts to thrash and scream.

"None of that," Peter says, his face appearing in front of Stiles' eyes, blocking out the moon. "I'd rather Derek not come stumbling in and messing up all my careful planning." He slaps a hand over Stiles' mouth. "Now be quiet, and let nature take its course, will you?"

That's when he feels it. A stretching inside him, and a sharp pain way down low that makes him stiffen and moan. The baby needs to come out, but somehow, it feels like that is the least of Stiles' worries right now.