Spell of Forthcoming's Spent

Chapter 9: Part 1-The Nature of Peter

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, or the Characters.

"It is my nature to be kind, gentle, and loving. But know this: When it comes to matters of protecting my friends, my family, and my heart. Do not trifle with me. For I am also the most powerful and relentless creature you will ever know."

~Unknown

John listened to the radio, and then slammed his fist into his desk. "Dammit!" They had him. They had him and he was able to throw them off his tail. For gods sakes the man was circling.

"Sherriff?" A deputy stuck his head in and looked inquisitive at the man standing ridged at his desk.

"It's nothing," John turned around to look at the map again. The man was circling… that's right. The man was circling. He took a closer look at the map… and smack down in the middle was his house.

But Peter was at Talia's today. John pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed him. Peter had to be at Talia's.

Peter picked up on the second ring. "Hello."

"Peter where are you?"

"Home," John could hear the smile on his lips. "Stiles and I are making empanadas for dinner. We thought we'd try something new."

"Peter, just stay right there. Don't move." John ordered.

"John? What is it?" Peter's voice was tight.

"Just stay there Peter," John ordered. Peter wasn't supposed to be home. They weren't supposed to be home. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay John," John hung up after Peter's confirmation. He had to get home, and then get his family to safety.

Peter looked down at the phone in his hand.

"Peter?" Peter turned to Stiles and smiled.

"Yes darling?"

"Are you okay," Stiles cocked his head.

Peter smiled brightly, "I'm fine darling boy. Your dad just called he's coming home early, I just wanted dinner to be a surprise, but this maybe better."

Stiles smiled at him, "Sure."

Peter lifted the little boy up onto the counter to help him scoop the meat mixture into the flat dough circles before they closed them.

There was a crash, and Peter turned to see a smoke bomb begin to fill the room. He made to turn back to Stiles, to grab him and run but he was an instant too late. A flash bomb landed in the middle of the kitchen.

"Stiles," Peter yelled out as Stiles cried out in pain. Peter felt little hands encircle his neck, clutching tight. "I got you baby." He murmured more for himself then for Stiles benefit. He couldn't see, everything was so blurry.

The shots rang out harshly in the stillness of the afternoon. Peter cried out in pain as he blocked Stiles from the kitchen doorway, where he could see the fuzzy outline of the hunter.

Something pierced his chest and he looked down, his vision back, to see and arrow shaft. Another hit him in his shoulder, and then one embedded into his thigh. He growled, his claws coming out as Stiles whimpered behind him. No one would hurt his pup. No one.

The hunter walked forward as Peter dropped to one knee. Agony was shooting up his spine.

"Get the fuck away from him." Peter roared as the man reached for Stiles.

It was when the man's hand wrapped around Stiles' arm that Peter looked up. John was standing in the doorway, leveling a gun at the man. Peter made to lunge backward and to use his body to hide Stiles when the man yelled out. Where his hand touched Stiles sparked and then burst into flames. Peter could see the boy's eyes, they glowed with molten fire.

That was certainly new. Though Peter had read that if a spark had a traumatic event occur to them when they were young, they could develop a specialized powers. But fire? Why did it have to be fire? Though Stiles did have an affinity for it, even in the other time line, it was always his favorite tool to use.

A shot rang out and the hunter dropped dead. Blood splattered across Stiles face and Peter cooed at him as the boy began to shake. He maneuvered so that Stiles was at his chest, somehow fitting around the arrow shafts, as the boy began to shake.

"Shh, baby, I got you." And then Peter looked up to see a gun level with his face.

"What the fuck are you?" John growled out, unknowingly imitating the creature he was leveling his gun at.

"J-John," Peter whined. He let his features melt away. Realizing that he had no idea when he shifted. "It's just me John. It's always been just me."

"That doesn't answer my question!" Peter could see the man's face turn purple.

"I'm a werewolf. I'm sorry John; I was going to tell you." Peter cried out.

"And what? You expected me to just let a monster around my son? To let you stay? I trusted you." The last part was said in a broken whisper. "You're the reason that those men went after us aren't you?" Peter flinched.

"Jo-hn," Peter's voice cracked. "Please, I didn't… I love you."

John turned away from him then.

Peter let out a sob. He could feel Stiles clutching to him still, the boy also sobbing.

"Stiles darling, I need you to go to your father," Peter said quietly.

"No," only Peter could hear the whispered word.

"I need you to," Peter spoke just as soft. "I love you baby boy and I always will, but I'm not welcome anymore. Just know that if you ever need me I'll be there."

Stiles clung to him as he handed the boy over to the Sheriff, and limped out into the woods beyond the backyard. He let loose a heart wrenching howl, and heard his pups scream in answer as well as the howls of his pack.

It was all too much.

Spell of Forthcoming's Spent

Chapter 9: Part 2-The Nature of John

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, or the Characters.

"The more one judges, the less one loves."

~Honoré de Balzac, Physiologie Du Mariage

"You take people, you put them on a journey, you give them peril, you find out who they really are."

~Joss Whedon

Peter lay curled up on his side. He hadn't moved for more than going to the bathroom and eating the minimal amount of food to survive going on four weeks now. And even then it took some doing for Talia to get him to even consider it. Lately they had taken to sending in Derek to do their dirty deeds, as the boy was the only one who could get him to eat with little fuss.

His gaze lingered on the open window as he let himself waste away. It is funny how even in this lifetime he is condemned to go through this catatonic state, slowly driving himself crazy.

And this time it was worse. He had done it to himself. But did he regret it?

No, he could never regret Stiles, and he could never regret… John.

He could feel a bubble rise in his chest, filled with hurt, and shame, and guilt.

He perked up as a breeze slithered into the room. He knew that scent. That was Stiles' scent. Finding more energy than he had in weeks he rose from his bed and leapt from his window, landing lightly on his feet.

He looked a sight he knew. Wearing only a pair of dirty and stained plaid pajama bottoms, his hair tousled and unwashed, and his beard overgrown and wild. Not to mention the bags growing steadily bigger as the days gone by.

He headed south, knowing that his pup's scent came from that direction. He had maybe gone on about ten minutes when he came across Stiles huddled in on himself, Derek hovering over him. Stiles was crying and Derek looked bewildered and unsure. If the situation hadn't been as messed up as it was, he would have thought the scene to adorable for words.

"Darling," Peter called softly crouching down.

Stiles' head snapped up, and his body followed jerkily. Peter smiled; his darling boy was starting to grow into his twitching teenage limbs. Oh if he wasn't the cutest little boy to ever exist, Stiles being at the edge twitching pre-teenhood, would be downright glorious.

"Papa," Stiles surged forward, "Papa!" and then began to cry in earnest.

Peter looked to Derek, "Derek, sweets, I got it from here. Why don't you go find your mother?"

Derek looked skeptical, but after a moment turned to leave.

Peter tried to get Stiles to tell him what was wrong but the only thing he got out of him was, "I'm a freak!" before he burst into sobs again.

And that was how Peter ended up walking through town with a sobbing little boy, unshaven and wearing very little. By the time he reached the Stilinski household, he could tell something was off. The door was cracked open, and the lights were dimed.

Looking down at Stiles who had fallen asleep a few minutes ago he walked up the walk and in through the door. On his way to Stiles room he caught sight of John on the couch, drunk off his ass and muttering to himself. Peter would get to him in a moment. He climbed the stairs carefully and entered Stiles room, laying the little boy down.

Stiles eyes opened a little to look up at him. "Papa?" he whispered. Peter melted. What had happened to cause such a change in his little man? The last time he had seen Stiles he was still Peter.

"Always darling," Peter reassured.

"I miss you." Stiles whispered.

"I miss you too baby," Peter ran his hand through Stiles' hair and wonders when the buzz cut came about.

"Will you ever come back?"

"I hope so darling." Peter says, "Now why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

Stiles was quiet for a few seconds, "Promise Daddy won't get in trouble?" And Peter's hackles rose. What the fuck did John do? Peter inclined his head, knowing he couldn't promise anything. "He sometimes drinks that brown colored drink that smells funny and tastes icky. But even when he starts to act funny he keeps drinking it. He told me it lowers his in-ha-ba-tions or something. But tonight he kept talking. He said he missed Momma, and then he said he missed you, and then he got really angry. He said I wasn't normal. He shook me and asked why I could light things on fire. I accidently set the drapes on fire. I'm sorry, will you tell him I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a freak." Stiles was crying again.

Peter shushed him, "You're not a freak baby. Never a freak. You are a wonderfully miraculous little boy. So brave, and smart. There isn't a more perfect little boy in the world. Why don't you lay down darling, and everything will be better soon I promise okay?"

Peter watched as Stiles fell into a fitful slumber and made his way down stairs.

John found that having a half transformed werewolf at your throat had a very sobering effect. Peter had picked him up off the couch by his neck and slammed him against the closest wall. Fangs were out and fierce, the man's glowing blue eyes shown ferally in his face.

"You!" Peter growled out. "You will never make him feel like you did today ever again. He is a perfect little boy, with miraculous talents and far more beautiful then you could ever hope to come into contact with. The fact that he ran away to the woods where I found him sobbing is enough to tell me how atrocious your behavior is, but add to it that he feels like a freak because of misguided judgment on your part is unbelievably cruel on your part, whether inebriated or not." Peter growled again, more ferocious then the last, "I love you John, and no matter your thoughts on me, you are never allowed to treat you son like this again. And John, mark my words if you so much as edge across this line again I will take our pup and you will never find us. He deserves the world, and if you won't give it to him, I shall!"

And John watched, sliding down the wall, as Peter turned and ran from the house.

He couldn't believe that even after the rejection he had given the man that he still loved him. John knew immediately that the separation had been as horrendous on the werewolf as it had been on himself, just by the look of him. Peter was never in anything less than immaculate condition.

And then John felt shame. Shame so deep and far reaching that he wanted to curl in on himself. But he didn't. He got up and headed for the kitchen. First things first… coffee, and then he needed to make a call to Talia. He needed to understand this; he couldn't deal with Peter not in his life. It was just too hard.

John didn't know what to do. And that was why he was here, standing on the Hale porch with a crying and heaving Stiles.

It had been a few weeks since Peter had come over and threatened him. Because John was under no illusions that it was anything but. He had put himself back together.

And then after talking to Talia and getting the information that he was sure Peter wouldn't ever divulge to him—like how he was Peter's mate, and Stiles was Peter's pup, and there would be no one else for the man—he had come to terms with what they were, and what he was. He was a mate to a werewolf, and that meant forever. And John kinda liked that thought. He liked the idea of forever.

He had planned to do this in a better way. He was going to ask Peter out on a date, and romance him. He was going to win him back. But Stiles hadn't had a moment of relief since John had rejected Peter. The boy's nightmares had gotten worse, and during the day he has been having these fits.

John had taken him to the Doctor, and the man had said Stiles had been having panic attacks. Now John had been trying everything in his power to calm Stiles, but he was down to his last resorts. Either let Peter have a go, or medicate his son like the Doctor seemed to be pushing for. He'd rather not medicate Stiles if he could help it though.

Standing on the porch, he knew Peter could hear them. Talia had already told him that Peter would be home with Derek this evening.

"Peter," John knew he sounded pathetic, but it must have worked, and Peter must have been just beyond the door because it swung open wide to a frantic Peter.

"What's wrong?" Peter looked down at Stiles. "What's happened?"

John clutched Stiles to him, "He's been having panic attacks, and I just, Peter…"

Peter took a step forward and enveloped his mate and pup in a hug. Stiles immediately calmed, and John took a sigh of relief.

"Come inside," Peter urged. He prodded them into the living room and set them up on the couch.

John looked up at the man. "Can we talk?"

Peter nodded, "Derek." Peter called quietly. John was sure the boy couldn't have heard, but never the less he walked into the room. "Derek will you stay here with Stiles?"

Derek nodded, "Yes."

He walked over taking Stiles into his arms and Peter smiled as the boy began to shakily talk to the preteen.

The adults walked into the hall and Peter backed himself into a wall, his gaze downcast.

"I made a mistake," John said. "I made a mistake and I didn't take what we had into consideration. I didn't think, and I didn't ask questions. I hurt you and my son… our son. Is there… is there any way that you'd forgive me?"

Peter was not a weak man. He didn't cry and he didn't break. He was strong and stoic. He twisted and bent, and got revenge for transgressions against himself. But he could feel his eyes begin to tear up, and all it took was a bubble of hope filling his chest.

"John," Peter's voice barely audible, and then when strong arms wrapped around him, for the first time since they separated he sobbed. John's litany of 'I'm so sorry' swirling around in his head.