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Peter’s hand flies to the right, sending the tomato he’d been inspecting flying and nearly smacking an old woman in the face. The angry glare she whips at him turns to awe and he can practically see the tirade she’d been about to unleash on him morph into “Oh! Oh my god! Congratulations! I’ll just leave you two alone.” She toddles off and Peter is left staring at his outflung hand and the red string extending from it.

His red string.

The red string connecting him to his soulmate who is nearby.

The red string that he’d given up hope of ever seeing as each of his birthdays came and passed. They said it wasn’t unusual for people to meet their soulmate in their twenties. All of the advice he’d read had said to travel, so he’d gone to New York City for college and spent a year abroad in France and yet here he was in the grocery store in his hometown that he’d been to countless times. He was only here until New Years and then he was supposed to go on a three-month tour of South America.

How had they missed each other?

The answer comes barreling toward him in the form of a child. It shrieks in glee as it collides with Peter’s leg. Its arms wrap around his leg and the child—the boy child—stares up at him with a wide grin and says “Hi!”

Peter stares. There is no longer a red string stretching out into the aisles. Instead it stops just below his knee. At the child. Of all the emotions Peter had expected to feel upon first meeting his soulmate, horrified was not one of them.

“Muireadhach! Where’d you wander off to this time, Muireadhach?” A woman, probably not more than ten years Peter’s senior, steps out of the cereal aisle. Peter’s frozen in place, partly worried that this woman is going to think he’s a pedophile and partly worried that he’s destined to become a pedophile, but the woman’s face brightens as she sees the boy wrapped around Peter’s leg. “There you are!” She smiles at Peter. “I’m sorry. He’s not bothering you, is he?” She squats down to the child’s level. “Let go of the nice man, Muireadhach.”

“No,” the child with the nearly intelligible name says. His arms tighten around Peter’s leg.

The woman’s expression is a mix of amusement and exasperation as she looks up at Peter. “I’m sorry. He’s not usually like this, but sometimes he just gets these ideas in his head, like the time we were having a picnic and he kept talking to the tree and…” Her words trail off and Peter doesn’t have to follow her gaze to know what she’s looking at. “Oh,” she says like the word was punched out of her.

Peter lifts his hand slightly, making the red string connecting him and this toddler all the more obvious. “I’m sorry,” Peter says for lack of anything else to say. His mind has gone devoid of all thought. He just… he can’t even process this.

“Oh, no, it’s alright.” The woman stands. She stares down at the child, presumably her child, for a moment, and then holds out her hand. “I’m Claudia. Claudia Stilinski.”

Peter takes her hand warily. “Peter Hale.”

Her smile widens. “Oh! Talia’s brother, right? My husband words with her. Well, not with her.” She makes some ambiguous gesture with her hands. “I guess you could say tangential to her?” Her face scrunches into a frown. “Or would that be parallel?”

Peter’s fairly certain his eyes have gone wide and his mouth is hanging open a little bit. He snaps his mouth shut and swallows. “Uh, at Harman, Hale, and Pierce?”

“No, no.” She swats at the air between them. “At the Sheriff’s department. He’s a deputy.”

Peter can feel the blood drain from his face. He’s a pedophile with the son of a deputy. Should he just go straight to jail now or wait to be arrested? Or is it only a crime if they have sex, because he is definitely not doing that. Not now. Possibly not ever. In his defense, he hasn’t even touched the kid, aside from the section of his leg that his child soulmate is wrapped around and oh god, he’s going to jail.

“Did you have shopping to finish?”

Peter blinks. “What?”

She gestures to her cart, which is half full of normal family staples. Apparently his soulmate likes Fruity Pebbles and Capri Sun juice boxes.

He’s so going to jail.

A hand flashes in front of his face. “Earth to Peter.”

He shakes his head. It takes him a moment to remember the question. “No. No groceries. It… they can wait.” Talia can get her own damn tomatoes and cucumbers. Fuck tonight’s salad.

“Okay.” Claudia smiles at him in a way that feels almost condescending but not, like the way a parent might smile at a small child that’s being clever. “I just have two more things if you don’t mind waiting.”

He blinks. Is she asking him if he doesn’t mind waiting until she finishes grocery shopping before he goes to jail?

She apparently sees the confusion that’s riddled his face and every other part of him. “To register.”

As a sex offender?

“As soulmates,” she clarifies, when it’s apparent that he has no clue what’s going on.

“Oh.” He stares down at the child on his leg. Apparently this is okay, somehow. He’s still not one-hundred percent sure. He should probably call Talia, she’s the lawyer. “Okay.”

He should definitely call Talia. He needs a lawyer.

The child—Muir-something-something—stands on Peter’s foot and giggles every time Peter awkwardly takes a step. He’s lucky he has nieces and nephews—a lot of them. He’s had practice.

Claudia grabs tomato sauce in a jar and a box of spaghetti and then they make their way to the cash register. The cashier smiles at Muir and says “Having fun with daddy?”

Peter goes pale. Claudia chokes on air while trying to—unsuccessfully—stifle her laughter. Muir shouts “Mine” before either of them can speak up and Peter decides to roll with it.

Claudia won’t stop laughing.

He follows her to her car because he has no choice. As soon as they’re in the parking lot, Claudia just says “your face” and then breaks into another fit of laughter. Peter feels an intense sulk coming on.

They stop beside a large blue Jeep and he helps Claudia load her groceries into the back while carefully avoiding hitting Muir in the head with any of the bags.

“Wait here,” Claudia says and then goes to return the cart.

Peter stares helplessly down at the child that still has yet to let go of his leg. The child beams up at him and says “Hi” again.

“Hello,” Peter says, since that seems like the only logical continuation of the conversation.

“I like you.”

“We just met,” Peter feels the need to point out.

The child squeezes Peter’s leg. “You’re mine.”

Peter’s mouth opens. His mouth closes. He’s not sure what to say.

“Hop in the back,” Claudia says, interrupting the awkward stalemate. “I’ll drive.”

Peter stares down at the child still attached to the leg. “I just…” He stares down the rows of the parking lot. “My car…”

Claudia waves a hand and opens the back door of the Jeep. “We’ll come back for it. Come on, Muireadhach, in you go.”

“Mine,” the child says defiantly.

“Peter’s coming with us.”

The child hesitates. He looks up at Peter and then nods. “Okay.” Just like that, Peter is free and the child is clambering up into the back of the Jeep.

Peter feels like this would be the opportune moment to start running but he’s not sure what to do about the string.

“You too. Hop on in.”

Peter’s not entirely sure why he gets in the car. He calls Talia on the way to the Bureau. She laughs for a minute straight, conferences in Amelia, and then they both keep laughing. He hangs up. All the while his soulmate beams and babbles at him from his car seat. A fucking car seat. His soulmate isn’t even old enough for a proper seatbelt.

There is only one other couple in the waiting room of the Bureau for Soulmate Registration and Identification. Unfortunately, they’re a teenage couple who won’t stop snickering when they see that Peter is tied to a toddler and the toddler keeps attaching himself to Peter’s limbs. At least it’s his arm this time and they’re both sitting in different chairs. He sighs and beats the back of his head against the wall until their number is called.

They’re ushered into an office where the middle-aged woman behind the desk gives Peter a look with one very pointed eyebrow as he takes a seat before her. “Names and date of birth.”

“Peter William Hale. October 27, 1976.”

Claudia’s pulled Muir-whatever into her lap, though he keeps making flailing arms in Peter’s direction. Peter is almost tempted to let the kid hold his hand but that feels like a bit much. “Muireadhach Czcibor Stilinski. April 8, 1994.”

The poor clerk stares at Claudia with wide eyes. Claudia has to spell Muired’s name four times before the woman gets it right. Peter has given up hope of ever remembering it. He’s going to need a cheat sheet with pronunciation guide. He’ll get it laminated and put one in his wallet. Maybe he’ll make a couple to distribute to the family.

“But his friends call him Stiles if that’s easier,” Claudia adds.

Peter casts his eyes up at the ceiling and mouths a faint prayer because he is never, ever going to remember his soulmate’s name. The last name is obviously Polish but the rest, he has no clue. It’s not French, Spanish, or Italian, because he speaks those and Claudia’s name offers no clues.

“Are you planning on keeping the bond?”

Peter’s brain goes blank. That’s an option? He’d always imagined he’d meet his soulmate and that would be it. He’d be set. Even if Stiles is a child, even if they’re probably two decades apart, he can’t even fathom meeting the one person who is literally his perfect match and letting them go.

But he should. Stiles is a child. Talia said it was legal but it still feels like he’s doing something wrong. But the wolf part of him, the deep, primal part of him, says to hold on and never let go.

“Yes,” Stiles says. He lunges for Peter again but Claudia skillfully keeps him steady in the chair. “Mine.”

“Okay, then.” The clerk makes a note on the form in front of her. “Since one participant is a minor, this registration is considered temporary until Mir…” She glances down at the form again. “Stiles turns eighteen or both parents agree that he is of age to enter into a formal bond.” She shoves the form towards them and holds out a pen. “Sign at the bottom.”

Against his better judgement, Peter signs the form. Claudia signs for Stiles. The clerk notarizes it and then hands them each one of the carbon copies. They’re ushered out of the office.

Peter has no idea what to do. The registration form is crumpled in his hand. He wants to go hide in the woods forever but he’s still got a red string attaching him to a four-year-old.

“Come along,” Claudia says. She has Stiles by the hand. Stiles grabs Peter’s hand and he’s drug along as Claudia starts to move. “We’ll go to mine, unload the groceries. You can meet John when he gets off shift and then we’ll go to yours so you can get some things for the week. I hope you like spaghetti.”

“I love spaghetti,” Stiles exclaims, hopping mid-step.

Claudia sends him a fond smile. “I know. That’s why I’m making it. You don’t have any food allergies, do you, Peter?”

He shakes his head dumbly and follows along because why the hell not. He has no idea what’s going on. He has no idea what he’s doing. How is this even his life?


“Peter, Peter, I met a sparkly lady!”

Peter has enough time to drop the knife in his hands before Stiles collides with his hip. He wipes his hands off with a towel and then pats Stiles on the head. “Did you now?” It’s amazing how used he’s gotten to these random conversations. He shares a smile with Claudia from where she’s stationed in front of the stove.

Cora follows Stiles into the kitchen and rolls her eyes. “There’s a new librarian,” Cora says, voice dripping with disdain. Peter knows exactly which relative she learned that tone from—him. He can’t help it. He’s proud, or would be if it weren’t leveled at Stiles. “She doesn’t sparkle.”

Stiles grips Peter’s waist tighter. He’d be afraid of Stiles crushing something if Stiles weren’t a human child and Peter a werewolf and that is not a conversation he is looking forward to. “Does too.”

“Does not!”

“Too!”

“Not!”

Claudia is laughing again while Peter casts his eyes heavenward. “Children,” he says in the long-suffering tone that’s been perfected over the last four years. At least he no longer has to worry about being arrested. He doesn’t even get speeding tickets anymore because none of the deputies can look at him without laughing. He does get parking tickets, but those are usually just suggestions on age-appropriate date ideas. The attendants at the zoo all know him by sight, and they laugh too.

Peter hates the whole fucking town.

Stiles squeezes Peter’s waist tighter. He looks up at Peter with wide doe-eyes and Peter can’t do a damn thing but melt a little. His soulmate is eight and he already has Peter at his mercy.

Peter sighs and runs his hand through Stiles’s hair. It’s getting long. They should get it cut soon, but Peter kind of likes it this way. He knows Stiles does too. He leans into Peter’s touch like a happy cat. “Why don’t you two go get started on your homework?”

Cora turns and marches out but Stiles just stares up at him with pleading eyes. “Will you help me?”

Peter sighs again and gives Claudia a pleading glance, more for show than anything. She waves him off with a chuckle and shouts for Paul to come take over Peter’s prep work. It should feel strange how well the Stilinskis have integrated with the Hales, but instead they’ve slotted in like a missing puzzle piece.

Peter sits on the couch and reads while Stiles and Cora do their homework on the coffee table in front of him. Despite Stiles’s daily requests for Peter’s help, Stiles has relatively few questions. His teachers are talking about moving him to gifted classes, but Claudia doesn’t want to take him away from his friends.

Derek and Laura arrive home an hour later and then the rest of the adults start filtering in. John and Talia are the last ones in the house. They all slot into place around the massive dining room table like they do every night. Stiles bounces from conversation to conversation, pulling most of Peter’s attention as he once more talks about the sparkling lady at school. The adults share smiles. Peter knows that one day Stiles will grow out of this imaginative phase, but until then he will keep finding all the obscure mythology books he can to read to Stiles and keep his soulmate full of wonder.

Peter hugs Stiles goodbye as the Stilinskis head home for the evening and he can’t help but think that one day Stiles will be able to stay.


The Hale house is on high alert with all of the packs in town. Talia’s taken the week off work and even though John doesn’t know what’s up, he’s keen enough to figure out that something’s going on. The week goes smoothly enough. Talia keeps most of her meetings with the other Alphas during the day or late at night. Claudia works extra shifts at the library while Peter and Paul have run of the kitchen. The visitors are usually gone by the time Stiles and Cora come home, and Peter thinks they may actually somehow pull this meeting of Alphas off without the Stilinskis becoming supernaturally aware.

That is until Deucalion’s meeting with Talia runs over on Thursday. Deucalion’s on his way out when Stiles and Cora come in. Peter tenses, not sure what he’s worried about but this is Stiles and Stiles has an amazing knack for getting into trouble. Cora waves but otherwise pays Deucalion no mind, but Stiles stops and tilts his head. He studies Deucalion. There’s no other way to put it. The look on Stiles’s face is strangely intense. Deucalion smiles and crouches down, paying the boy’s expression no mind. He holds out a hand. “Hello. You must be Stiles. Peter’s told me a lot about you.”

Stiles looks down at Deucalion’s hand, back up at his face, and then down at his hand. Peter doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Stiles takes Deucalion’s hand, shaking it once. Somehow they’ve all managed to instill an ounce of basic manners into the boy.

But Stiles doesn’t let go of Deucalion’s hand. Instead he turns, pulling Deucalion with him down the hall. Deucalion looks bemused. Peter fears he might have an aneurism. He’s too young to have an aneurism. Is that even a thing for werewolves? It’s about to be a thing.

His heart rate spikes even more when Stiles leads Deucalion back into Talia’s study. The adults follow out of curiosity. Stiles takes one of the chairs in front of Talia’s desk and waits for Deucalion to indulge him by taking the other.

“What’s on your mind, child?” Deucalion asks, smiling.

Stiles frowns. “I’m not a child. I’m ten.” Deucalion has the grace not to laugh. Stiles points a stern finger at Deucalion. “Don’t meet with the bad man. You’re going to but you shouldn’t. He’s a bad, bad man and he’s going to take your eyes and that will be bad.”

Deucalion’s eyebrows raise. He looks over at Talia and then Peter in confusion. Peter is just as stunned as the rest of the adults. Peter leads the group as they filter into the office and shut the door behind them. Peter moves in front of Stiles’s chair and takes Stiles’s hands in his. “Stiles, darling, you can’t joke about things like this.”

Stiles frowns and yanks his hands away. His arms cross in front of him defensively. “I’m not joking. He’s going to get hurt. A lot of people are going to get hurt.”

Peter opens his mouth, a reprimand ready on his tongue, but Talia’s hand lands on his shoulder, startling him. Talia gently pushes Peter back and leans against her desk. “Why do you say that, Stiles?”

Stiles frowns. His eyes narrow. “You don’t believe me. You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, which is stupid. You’re werewolves but you don’t pay attention to anything else that’s out there.”

Peter feels his heart jump to his throat. Deucalion holds himself still, sensing the tension in the room.

Talia chooses her words carefully. “Stiles, honey, who told you we were werewolves? Was it Cora, because-“

Stiles snorts and shakes his head. “No one told me. Jeez.” He waves his hands at them. “It’s obvious.” Stiles cranes his head back toward the rest of the adults. “Well, except for Paul. He’s normal. Sorry, Paul.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot toward the roof. He falls backward, landing on his ass. “How…”

Stiles regards him almost coolly. “You never believed me. All those things I told you about—the talking trees, the librarian at our school, the mermaid I met at the beach. You thought I was making it up.” He shakes his head and points a scolding finger at Peter. It’s so much like Claudia that Peter nearly laughs. He keeps the sound trapped behind his lips. It would have come out a little hysterical.

Stiles hops to his feet. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

The adults part in front of Stiles like they’re afraid to touch him. As they trail out of the house, the children join them as well. Derek and Laura just drop their bookbags at the door and join the line. Stiles leads them out into the Preserve. The noise of their footsteps is almost deafening. Stiles walks like he’s done this before, like he’s sure of his way even though they’re not following any path. Peter knew that the children liked to play in the woods but he didn’t think they’d ever gone this far.

He nearly grabs Stiles and pulls Stiles tight against him when the Nemeton appears. Talia’s hand on his chest is the only thing stopping him. Stiles walks right up to the tree trunk and hops up on it, like he’s not standing on something sacred and ancient. The crowd forms a loose circle around the clearing. The children have questions which are answered in hushed whispers.

Stiles looks up at the sky. “It’s okay. You can come out. They won’t hurt you.”

For a second, nothing happens, which is exactly what Peter expects. Then he catches a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye. He starts to turn when he sees another and another. Lights of every color flood the clearing, bringing with them the sound of soft bells and tiny laughter. The lights swirl around Stiles and he giggles, even as he’s lifted off of the stump, hanging a good foot in the air with nothing holding him up. Talia and Amelia both have to hold Peter back.

Stiles holds out his hands, letting the lights land on his palms. When they do, they resolve into tiny, naked people with translucent wings. Stiles nods along to whatever the faeries are telling him. “Yes,” Stiles says. “I know.” A pause. “Of course, I will. Thank you.” He turns to a light hovering over his shoulder. “I’ll let them know. Keep watching him.” A section of the lights zip away. The rest leave more slowly.

Once the faeries have dropped Stiles back onto the Nemeton, Talia and Amelia let go. Peter’s across the clearing in seconds, pulling Stiles into his arms. Stiles huffs and presses his forehead against Peter’s neck. “Silly wolf,” Stiles whispers.

Someone clears their throat. Peter reluctantly releases Stiles and they turn to find Deucalion and Talia next to them.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me more about who this bad man is?” Deucalion asks.

Stiles shrugs. “You already know him. The Hunter King.”

Deucalion and Talia share a look. “Gerard.”

Deucalion extends his hand again, palm up this time. “I’m in your debt. If there’s anything I can do…”

Stiles tilts his head and then turns to Talia. “Does this mean you’ll bite my mom before she starts dying?”


Word of the Hale’s faery child spreads. They have people coming in once a month at least to see Stiles. John keeps a list of everyone new in town. He took the news of werewolves surprisingly well, especially once his wife became one. They clear out space on the Hale land for two more houses. By the time Stiles is in high school, the Hales and Stilinskis are neighbors and the Reyes family is in the process of moving into their new home. Isaac Lahey has been adopted by the Stilinskis, much to Cora’s delight, and Scott and Boyd are over practically daily.

It’s become a game to Stiles to try and sneak kisses. Peter doesn’t blame him, not when he’s surrounded by soulmates who are of the same age and doing things teenagers probably shouldn’t be doing. Cora and Isaac sneak off every chance they can get. Erica’s taken to being a werewolf like she was born to it and with the transformation came a sex drive Peter wishes he knew less about, if only to save his own sanity.

Peter’s phone rings late on Saturday and Peter snorts when he sees Stiles’s number on the caller ID. Their houses are close enough that Stiles could shout and get Peter’s attention but far enough for some privacy. John, Claudia, Talia, and Paul are out on a double date.

Peter puts his book down and answers the call. “Hello, darling.”

For a moment, there’s no answer. Peter frowns. He can hear Stiles breathing—it sounds irregular. He’s about to hang up with the assumption that Stiles butt-dialed him when Stiles says his name. “Peter.” Stiles’s voice goes straight to Peter’s dick. It’s rough and breathless and a little on the wild side. “Peter.”

“Stiles…” He should hang up. He can hear Stiles moving, shifting. He sounds like he’s on his bed.

“Peter, I just need…” Stiles’s voice cuts off with a barely muffled moan. “Talk to me,” Stiles begs. “I need… I need to hear your voice.”

Peter closes his eyes. He reminds himself twice that he’s the adult. He’s the one that has to be responsible here. “Stiles, you’re sixteen.”

Stiles’s next moan is less muffled. Peter’s blocked out every sound in the house, focused entirely on the phone call. He can hear Stiles writhing against the sheets. There’s a faint mechanical hum and Peter nearly loses it at the thought of Stiles fucking himself and thinking of Peter.

“I… I know,” Stiles gasps. “I wouldn’t… Usually… Ah.” Peter’s nails shift to claws and he very nearly breaks his phone. “I know you don’t want…”

“I want,” Peter growls. “Never doubt that I want.” He leans back against his headboard and stares at the ceiling. He is not hard. He’s not. He refuses to masturbate while his underage soulmate is on the phone.

“You never…” Stiles voice twists into a whine. “Peter… I want… You won’t even kiss me.”

“You’re sixteen, Stiles,” Peter hisses.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says. He’s moving faster now. The mechanical hum is louder and Peter thinks that he can hear the vibrator moving in and out of Stiles’s body. “I want… I want you so much, Peter.” Peter drops the phone on his pillow because he really is going to break it. “You’re… you’re it for me, Peter. My only… Only you.” Stiles moans again and doesn’t bother hiding it. Peter’s claws shred his sheets.

“What are you doing?” He shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t. He should hang up. He’s a bad, bad man and he’s going to jail. He’s going to drive himself down to the station right now and have John arrest him. Right after this phone call.

“I…” Stiles’s voice stutters. He sounds close. “I have a vibrator. I bought it… it doesn’t matter. I bought it thinking of you. Always thinking of you.”

“Good,” Peter growls. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” Stiles gasps. “Yours. Always.” He moans again. Peter clenches his hands on the edge of the mattress to keep from touching his dick. “It’s always you. I can’t stop think about it. About you inside of me. I want…”

“I know.” He can’t hear it. He’s going to lose his mind if he hears it. “I would. If I… If we weren’t… Soon. Two more years.”

Stiles moans. “No. I can’t… It’s unbearable… I need… Fuck. I need you, Peter. Fuck me. Please. God, Peter, please.”

“I want to.” His words are slurred by his fangs. “I’d make you ride me. Show me how much you want it.”

“I want it,” Stiles says. He’s panting into the phone. Peter closes his eyes, imagining what Stiles must look like right now, what he must smell like. He’s so hard it hurts. “I want it. Please.”

“Tell me how much you need it.” He’s going to Hell for this but the price of admission is worth it. “How much you need me, need my dick buried inside of you.”

“Yes,” Stiles gasp. “I want you inside me. Are you big? Are you uncut? I’ve fantasized so much about your dick.”

“Naughty boy.” Stiles gasps. That phrase obviously does something for him and Peter’s never met a button he didn’t press. “Have you been naughty? Thinking such lewd things about an older man. Should I spank you?”

The only answer he gets is a whine.

“I am big,” Peter says. His mouth has completely disconnected from his brain. He’s lost control and he really hopes no one in the house is listening in. “And uncut. I’d fill you up, darling. Better than that toy. I’ll be your first and only. The only one who gets to fuck that sweet ass of yours.”

“Peter!” Stiles’s breathing goes erratic and Peter knows Stiles is coming. It makes Peter growl into the phone. Every ounce of him fights to keep from leaping out his window and running down the road to the Stilinski household.

He’s going to need a new mattress.

“Peter…” Stiles’s voice is softer now, sweeter. “I love you, Peter.”

He smiles. How can he not? “I love you too, darling. It’s late now. You should try to get some sleep.”

Stiles hums his agreement but he doesn’t hang up. Peter certainly isn’t going to be the one to end this. After a moment of silence, Stiles asks—soft as a whisper—“Did you come too?”

His pants are a mess. He feels like a teenager again. “Yes.”

He can practically hear Stiles smile over the phone. “Good night, Peter.”

“Good night, love.”

The line disconnects.

Peter cleans himself up and drives to the Sheriff station. He has to wait until John and Claudia’s double-date ends. He’s not surprised when Talia and Paul follow John in.

John refuses to arrest him. That bastard.


Peter is going to go out of his mind. He’s seriously considering taking that trip to South America that he put off when he first met Stiles. Anything to get away from the hormone-riddled angst-fest that is Stiles every time he’s near Peter. Claudia—the heartless bitch—won’t stop laughing. Both Derek and Laura call him from New York City to mock him. Amelia is insufferable. Talia doesn’t say a word but she doesn’t need to. Her expression is enough. John keeps not-so-subtly watching him every time Peter’s in a room with Stiles. Peter makes very sure they are never alone together, much to Stiles’s dismay.

It takes two months before John finally snaps. Peter comes home on a Friday to find John, Claudia, Talia, Paul, and Amelia waiting for him. There’s a packed suitcase by the door. This is it, he thinks. This is where they send him away until Stiles is eighteen.

Instead, Claudia bursts into laughter. She hands him a pharmacy bag and an envelope. Peter frowns. It’s never good when Claudia laughs like that. “What…?”

“Just look in the bag,” Talia says with a shit-eating grin.

He does. There’s three tubes of lube and five boxes of condoms. His eyes go wide and he stares at John like he’s facing an execution squad.

John waves a hand. “The envelope too.”

There’s a receipt for the honeymoon suite at the Beacon Hills Hilton and two keycards. Peter is pretty sure that means something but his brain seems to have frozen.

“Pick Stiles up from school,” John says. “Don’t come back until Sunday.”

Claudia claps him on both shoulders. Peter flinches involuntarily. “Make my son a man.”

Peter nearly has a heart attack in the hallway. He’s pretty sure John’s right there with him. It takes all five of them to shove him out of the house. He seems to have forgotten how to move.

He doesn’t remember the drive to the high school. He has to wait fifteen minutes until school ends. He feels like a sexual predator, sitting outside a high school with a bag of condoms in his trunk. Stiles beams and tosses his keys to Scott as he runs over to Peter’s Mercedes.

“What’s the occasion?” Stiles asks as he climbs in the passenger seat.

Peter has no words. He just drives, parks in the hotel’s underground lot, and carries their bags up to the suite. Stiles’s eyes widen when he enters the room. His grin splits his face as he launches himself at Peter.

They don’t leave until Sunday.