Chapter 4

"If you're not prepared to act, Stiles, despite the threat to your own life, I must insist that you tell Scott. He's very worried about you."

Stiles leans against Deaton's exam table, his eyes lowered, focused on the jar he's been given. It's half full of a yellow powdered substance, and like Deaton's other weird jars of weird stuff, the only label is some kind of arcane symbol that means exactly nothing to him. "Yeah," he says, turning the jar over in his hands again. All he can think is that it's almost exactly like the other jar of stuff Deaton showed him, the stuff that could make his problem go away. He looks up. "He's not going to understand, you know?"

"Why you're risking your life on the hope that Derek can find a way to deliver the child safely? No. I imagine he's not." Deaton turns away, starts packing the jars back into the crate. He leaves one out, slides it toward Stiles. "Last chance, Stiles. If I haven't been able to find an answer to this, do you think Derek's going to?"

.

Stiles leaves the clinic with both jars in his bag. He's about to jump into the Jeep when he hears a footstep behind him.

"Hello, Stiles," Peter says.

Stiles sighs and shoves his bag over onto the passenger side. "What do you want?" No one's seen Peter, not since before Derek left, and they haven't missed him. No one likes him, no one trusts him, and Stiles still thinks Scott should have chased him out of town after Derek and Cora left, but Scott's very much a live-and-let-live kind of Alpha.

"Well," Peter says. "You're family now. I wanted to offer my congratulations."

Stiles' blood runs cold. "How do you—" He turns, crossing his arms in front of himself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The baby, of course." Peter smiles, warm and benign, but it only serves to creep Stiles out even more. "It's a wonderful thing, creating new life, don't you think? And so rare for werewolves. Do you know why only Alphas have children, Stiles?"

Stiles shakes his head, his arms tightening just a little more over his belly.

"For the same reason that only the bite of an Alpha can turn someone. They're the only ones who can add to the pack, no one else."

"How did you know?"

Peter's grin gets wider. "He's like a little freight train in there. I forget that you can't hear it." He leans close, sniffing. "And you've had the faint scent of my nephew on you for some time." He steps back. "I thought you were having secret trysts, but perhaps it was just the once. You still smell like him, and he's been gone a month now."

Stiles wonders why Scott hasn't mentioned it. "Has this happened before? To a guy, I mean? Have you ever heard of it?"

Peter frowns. "No. And that bothers me. I'm uncomfortable with not having all the answers." He looks back over his shoulder at the clinic. "Your emissary?"

"He doesn't know anything."

"Well." Peter straightens up. "I'm sure everything will be fine. You and Derek must be ecstatic."

Stiles stares in disbelief. "I'm probably going to die."

Peter tips his head to the side. "That's a noble sacrifice, Stiles."

.

"Oh my god, are you serious?" Stiles wanted to throw his arms around Derek in gratitude, but he decided he might save that for later. "Thank you. You're saving my life here, you're a life saver."

"I'm topping," Derek said. "Just so you know."

"No, of course. Yeah, you know I—" Stiles nodded. "You're the Alpha. It figures."

.

"Stiles?"

There's a tug at his sleeve, and he realizes he's been staring into his locker for far too long. He turns around, and has to look down at the person trying to get his attention.

It's the new girl, the one who sat up front in English the day the new teacher started. "Uh," he says.

"It is Stiles, right?" Her voice is soft and musical. "They said I should talk to you about getting caught up with the rest of the class?"

Stiles shakes his head to clear it. "Uh, Stiles, yeah. But, what? Who said? Who the hell are they?"

The girl smiles and her cheeks turn pink. "I just transferred here, and I don't know anyone, and I thought—"

"You should talk to someone else," Stiles says, grabbing his books out of his locker and slamming it shut. "I don't think I'll be much help, umm..."

"Dana," the girl says, and sticks out her hand.

Stiles stares down at it, his arms full of books he doesn't need. "Sorry, Dana," he says. "Like I said, I've got a lot on my plate." He slides out from between the tiny girl and the lockers, and he heads toward class.

Scott catches up with him, matches his step. "She likes you." He laughs under his breath. "And you totally blew her off."

"I did her a favor," Stiles says, though he glances behind him anyway. The girl's gone, and Stiles feels a pang of guilt at how rude he was to her. He didn't notice, didn't see what Scott saw, but he doesn't have time to even think about girls, now.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Scott asks. "You've been acting really weird lately, Stiles. Ever since—" He stops walking, reaches out and grabs Stiles by the upper arm, stopping him as well. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?"

"Fuck," Stiles chokes. "I can't, Scott. I can't do this now." It's suddenly very hard to breathe, and when he drops his pile of books he barely notices when they don't hit the floor. He lets himself be dragged away from the classroom, down the hall, out the nearest door.

Scott pushes Stiles down into the grass, sits cross-legged across from him with his hands around Stiles' wrists. Stiles sucks in fresh air, lets it out slow, closes his eyes and leans into his friend. Scott's arms around his shoulders ground him, and he wonders how he's gone this long without it. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Bile rises up in his throat and he coughs, fighting the urge to vomit.

"What is it, Stiles?" Scott whispers. "Are you sick? Are you...fuck. No."

"I don't know," Stiles says, his fingers twisting into the back of Scott's shirt. "I'm not sick, but I'm freaking out, Scott. I don't know what to do and I'm probably gonna end up dead and my dad, my dad'll be alone." He starts gasping again, sucking in too much air all at once.

Scott pushes him away, holds him by the shoulder, presses his other hand flat against Stiles' sternum. "Breathe out," he says, his voice deeper than usual, his eyes briefly flashing red.

Stiles breathes out. "Did you just—?"

"I can't believe that worked on you."

Stiles shakes his head. "It didn't. I think it was shock that you thought it might." He coughs again, but the lump in his throat won't budge. He concentrates on his breathing, making sure it's steady and even. "Scott, listen."

"I'm listening," Scott says, shifting his hand from Stiles' chest to his shoulder. "Tell me what's going on."

Stiles laughs, but there's nothing funny about this. "No, I mean, use your ears. Listen to my heartbeat."

"I can hear your heartbeat, Stiles. It's messed up. My mom could—"

"What do you hear? Tell me what you hear, Scott."

Scott closes his eyes. "There's your normal heartbeat." He taps a finger against Stiles' shoulder. Tap tap. Tap tap. "But then there's something else." A finger on the opposite shoulder taps a much faster rhythm. "It's like there's two. Two heartbeats. At the same time." His eyes pop open. "How can you have two heartbeats, Stiles?"

Stiles releases the breath he's been holding. "I had sex with Derek." His palms are slick with sweat, and he wipes them on the grass.

Scott snorts and pulls his hands back, resting them on his knees. "What?"

Stiles looks down at the ground and nods. "It's true. Back when I was freaking out about Heather. No one believed me, and Derek did." He looks back up. "It was just the one time, enough to get me off what I thought was the sacrifice list." He rolls his eyes. "I was wrong about that, but I was desperate."

"Oh my god." Scott giggles. "Did you keep something of his? Because I've kinda been smelling him on you for a while now."

"You could say that." Stiles waits for Scott to click, but his best friend just stares back at him expectantly. "The extra heartbeat? Oh my god, Scott. Come on."

Scott narrows his eyes. "I thought you were changing the subject." He cocks his head, listening again. "Eww, did he give you something? Like...like a werewolf tapeworm? Oh my god, it's a parasite, isn't it? Some kind of creepy supernatural parasite." He pushes himself to his feet, grabs Stiles' hand and yanks him up as well. "Come on, we'll go see my boss—"

"Scott," Stiles snaps, yanking his arm out of Scott's grip. "I'm pregnant, okay? Jesus." He lifts his eyes to glare at Scott as he turns back, but instead sees a figure standing by the door they used to leave the school building. "What?" he breathes.

Scott turns back to the school, following Stiles' gaze. They both stare at their new English teacher as he stands motionless, watching. "What does Grimm want?"

They'd thought the guy was joking when he'd written his name on the board that first day, but he wasn't. Stiles wonders if perhaps that had influenced his weird feeling about the guy, his spider-sense for evil, and maybe it did, but the way he stares now only intensifies that sensation. "We're supposed to be in English? Do you think he'll take impending panic attack as an excuse and not give us detention?"

"Probably not," Scott says. He takes a hesitant step toward the teacher, and Stiles follows.

The same instant, the teacher takes one long stride toward them and breaks into a run.

Stiles jerks back. "Oh my god, he is evil." He grabs Scott by the collar and tugs at him. "Run, holy crap, run."

They make it to the Jeep, Scott hovering protectively as Stiles jumps into the drivers side and starts the engine. Tires squeal as they pull away, leaving the English teacher slowing to a stop in the parking lot.