Chapter 5

"Maybe it's cursed," Stiles says. "I mean, what are the odds of having two evil English teachers in a row? This is our Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Scott sits on the floor under the window, thumbs moving fast over the screen of his phone. He shrugs. "I dunno. I've told Isaac to keep an eye on him, see if he acts weird."

Stiles shakes himself. "How was that not weird? He chased us out of the school, Scott. I'd say that's like, the very definition of weird."

Scott puts his phone down and looks up. "When do the real bad guys actually act like it at first? You said it. Harris-evil. He was an asshole, and he knew more than he should have, but he wasn't the one going around killing people. Maybe it's the same with Grimm. He was pissed that we cut class and—"

"Oh my god. It's happening again. Matt was evil. Human sacrifice was real. When are you gonna start listening to me?"

Scott grimaces. "I think you're jumpy. Because of the..." He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of Stiles' stomach. "You're freaking out—which I totally understand, by the way—and you're seeing monsters where there's just real life."

Stiles throws his hands up and let's himself fall backward onto the bed. "That you believe."

"Two heartbeats. It's proof enough."

Stiles stares at the ceiling over his bed. "So, people have to start turning up dead before you do anything?"

"I guess."

Stiles sighs. He's got this feeling of impending doom, and it was there even before Deaton told him what he was carrying. The darkness that would make them beacons, it's there, but Scott should be feeling it, too. He doesn't understand what his own likely death should have to do with the anxiety he feels when he thinks of the new teacher, but it's too much, like an itch under his skin that won't fade until he knows the danger has passed.

Without thinking, he pushes up the hem of his shirt and lays his palm on his belly. He breathes slow, in and out, feeling each breath as he tries to relax.

"Remind me to punch Derek in the face, next time I see him," Scott says, scrambling across the floor and perching on the edge of the bed. "What are you gonna do, Stiles?"

Stiles tugs his shirt down and sits up, shaking his head. "Deaton gave me something." He reaches for his bag at the end of the bed, pulls out the two jars and sets aside the one with the yellow powder in it, keeping the oily black gunk, holding it in his hands. "I'm not a girl, obviously. I don't have the right equipment, so when it's time..." He swallows hard. "It..."

"The baby?" Scott supplies.

Stiles screws his eyes shut tight and nods. "It'll probably be okay. But whatever it's attached itself to, whatever part of me..." He opens his eyes. "I looked it up. It's possible, you know. For guys to do this. Not get pregnant, that's still some funky werewolf mojo right there, but they can be pregnant. But not deliver it and survive. Surgery, obviously, but the risk of haemorrhage is like, 100%. Maybe a werewolf could do it and heal. Not me, Scott. I'm too human."

"I could bite you," Scott says.

It's not like it hasn't occurred to Stiles, and if it took it could give him a fighting chance, but Peter's story about Paige is still fresh in his mind and he's aware that it too could end in his death. "Maybe," he says, and to his own ears his voice sounds flat and hopeless. He turns the jar of black gunk over in his hands. "Or I could stop it now."

"What is that?" Scott takes the jar from Stiles. He pops the cap off, recoils, and quickly shoves it back on again. Even the small amount of scent that reaches Stiles makes his stomach churn. "That doesn't smell good," Scott says.

"It's a mixture of stuff. It'll..." He pulls a face.

"It smells like it'll kill it, if not you in the process." Scott looks panicked. "I can't believe Deaton gave you that."

"If it's gonna kill me at the end anyway..." Stiles forces himself to meet Scott's eyes. "I'm running out of time."

Scott shakes his head. "No, you're not. We've got months, and we'll find a way, Stiles. I promise."

Stiles presses his palm to his stomach and watches the determination on Scott's face, hears it in his voice, and he wishes he'd told Scott earlier. He wouldn't have felt so alone these past weeks, and he wouldn't have felt so desperate. "Okay," he whispers, feeling the tiniest bit of the weight that's been pressing down on his heart lift. It's not enough, but it helps.

Stiles sits on his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, and waits as Scott flushes the contents of the jar.

.

The darkness is tightening, suffocating Stiles' heart, and there's something coming. He holds a warm, wriggling bundle to his chest and flees the crumbling house, leaving the red painted, scratched up door hanging open on its hinges.

All he can hear as he runs through the woods are his feet hitting the ground and his harsh breaths as his lungs burn from exertion. Still, he knows that there's something behind him, something that wants to take his precious cargo from him.

Past trees that seem to reach out with finger-like branches, catching on the blanket, threatening to tear the baby from his arms, he runs, stumbling, almost tripping on roots, saving himself just before he falls, and always, always keeping the baby, his baby, safe from harm.

Finally, he gets to his destination. He looks behind him, all around, as he lays his baby on the flat, cut stump of the Nemeton and turns back the edges of the blanket. "It's going to be okay," he whispers as he produces a knife.

The blade is as cold as ice as it slices into Stiles' wrists. Blood drips onto the blanket, then pours as he lies down, curling protectively around his child.

.

It's too real, the dream too fresh in his mind when Stiles wakes. His heart is racing, beating so hard and fast that it feels as if it's about to leap out of his chest. He still feels cold when he remembers bleeding out on that old stump, and the terror he felt is still there. Bile rises up in his throat and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

Stiles vomits until his stomach is empty and the muscles around the baby inside him are hurting. "It's okay," he whispers, one hand on his belly as he wipes his mouth with the other. "Fuck, I'm so screwed."

.

"What's he gonna do in front of the whole class?" Scott says, holding Stiles' arm and pulling him forcibly toward English. "We don't even know what he is yet, or even if he is anything, so suck it up and get your ass into your seat. We'll keep our heads down—"

"And hope he doesn't murder the entire class just to get to me?" Despite his panic, he allows Scott to drag him into the classroom, though he takes Scott's seat so he can hide behind his much stronger, faster friend. He quickly pulls out his books and then scooches down in the seat, dropping his head onto his folded hands while they wait for the teacher to arrive.

Grimm walks in just as the bell rings to mark the beginning of class. Stiles stares, frozen, too anxious to even turn his face away, and when the man's eyes fall on him, cold and hard, he can't look away.

Then Grimm shifts his gaze, eyes moving over the entire class, and he begins the lesson as though nothing has happened.

When the bell rings to signal the end of class, Stiles shoves his books into his bag and beats everyone to the door. His hand comes down on the handle, and he's about to turn it when Grimm lifts his head.

"Stiles. I need to speak with you."

Stiles' spine fuses, and he stops and slowly turns, but the teacher has already looked back down at his desk. Everyone else files out of the classroom, and Stiles grabs Scott's sleeve as he passes. "You were there, too," Stiles hisses. "Why doesn't he want to see you?"

Scott shrugs. "I'll be right outside," he says. "I'll hear everything. You'll be fine."

"What if he gives me detention and then murders me during detention?"

Scott presses his lips together hard as he tries not to smile. "Then I'll sit outside the window." He walks out the door, closing it behind him.

Stiles turns back to the teacher. "Panic attack," he says. "I was having one. About to have one. Maybe. Scott was just—"

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, Stiles?" Grimm asks, pushing his chair out and standing. He's got at least a couple inches on Stiles, and he uses it, lifting his chin and staring down his nose.

Stiles blinks. "Just me? What about Scott?"

"Scott McCall doesn't interest me, Stiles. You're the one I'm concerned about." He bends and opens a drawer, pulls out a file folder and lays it on the desk. "You're a good student. There's some extra assignments I'd like you to do. I think you can have them back to me after the holidays." Every word is clipped and precise, but it's not the threats or detention or attempted murder Stiles had expected.

"That's it? Extra homework?"

Grimm pulls out his chair and sits. "I don't have the patience for torture. Do the work, Stiles." He looks up, and his eyes are wide and focused. "And don't run from me again."

Stiles is still shuddering when he leaves the classroom. He grabs hold of Scott's upper arm to steady himself. "I have no idea what just happened," he says. "I don't care what you say, that dude is not normal." Then he stops, and he backs up a couple of steps. The new girl is on her tip-toes, one hand reaching into her locker. "Need a hand?"

Dana looks up and smiles. "Hey, Stiles." She lowers herself back to the floor. "I tossed my book in and it went all the way in the back." She bounces on her toes.

Stiles reaches in, grabs the book easily, and hands it over. "I'm sorry about the other day. Bad day. Bad week. All the bad things."

"It happens." The tiny girl takes a step, closing the space between them, and she puts her hand on Stiles' arm. "Thanks," she says.

Stiles feels his cheeks turning warm, and for some reason he looks up. Scott is standing down the hall, grinning back at him.

.

Told Scott. New English teacher is evil. Thinking about having sex with him. How's the saving my ass going?

Stiles puts his phone down on the dining room table and picks up his spoon. Soup and toast. He's glad his dad is working, because it's all he's been eating lately and he's bound to notice eventually. The weird yellow tea Deaton gave him might get questions, too, but at least it's working to settle his stomach a little.

His phone vibrates with a reply from Derek.

I knew you and Scott would get together eventually. And I'm sure he can handle the teacher. Still working on the other thing. How are you?

Your kid is fine. Stiles sends the text and finishes his soup.

He doesn't mean to be snarky, but he feels entitled. His body really isn't his own anymore, may never be again if they don't figure out some way of getting the baby out without killing him. He reaches for his bag on the floor, pulling out the folder with the extra work from Grimm. He might as well see what he's gotten himself into.

He opens it up, flicks through the photocopied pages. There's a reading list, the same one he got at the beginning of the year, and the assignments relate to the last few books on the list, the assignments he's likely to miss if he has to skip the last few months of the school year. "What the fuck?"

His phone rings, and he picks it up without looking at the screen. "Yeah?"

"I meant you," Derek says. "I'm glad the baby's fine, but I wanna know how you are. I need to know if you're okay."

"I'm getting fat," Stiles says, still staring at the 'extra' assignments. "I throw up more than I'd like, I'm having crazy disturbing dreams, I'm hornier than I've ever been in my entire life—and that's saying something—and I'm still facing certain death." He flips the folder shut and leans back in his chair. "And I've just realized that my new English teacher knows I'm pregnant."