Chapter Text
Stiles could smell the smoke as he pulled against whatever the hell was around his wrists keeping him bound to the post. It bit against his skin, sharp metal still cold even though Stiles could feel the heat from the fire inside the house. He wasn't going to break free of the restraint, but that wasn't the point any more. He was trying to get cut now. It wasn't working.
Stiles let out a small sob as his frustration built. He was going to die here. On the porch of this stupid condemned building.
“Uh uh, don't cry,” Peter said lightly as he came outside, pressed up against him, and licked the tears from Stiles' face. Stiles' stomach rolled and he yanked hard against the metal round his wrists again. Peter sighed into Stiles neck, breathing him in. “I'll be back in one moment. I just want to watch the last of her burn,” he said stepping away back inside.
Stiles rolled his hands into fists and drove his finger nails into his palms. Finally, some breakthrough. He pressed his now bleeding palms against the banister he was tied to, praying it'd be enough. Peter stood in the doorway now, staring at Stiles.
“Stiles,” he breathed. “Stiles Stilinski. The Sheriff's boy,” he said stalking closer. Stiles gritted his teeth. “And such a clever boy too,” Peter remarked with some admiration in his voice. “So clever,” he said putting a hand to Stiles cheek. “That you're going to tell me exactly why I'm not going to kill you.”
Stiles stomach dropped. Heart going into overdrive. He could feel the edges of a panic attack creeping in.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, please,” he choked out. “Please don't -”
“Stiles, calm down. You misunderstand,” he said stepping even closer, nearly fully flushed along him. “I am looking for a reason.”
Stiles tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn't quite make it past shallow pants. He looked at Peter's eyes. They were steady, calm, expecting. The pros of being a psychopath he supposed, tranquil as a building catches fire. Fire. FIRE.
“This whole thing,” Stiles croaked out, tongue darting out to wet his lips even though his throat was dry too. “It's been revenge – justice. It's been about justice. About getting the people who... who burned your family, right?” Stiles asks. Peter gives nothing away, just keeps staring at his face, Stiles looks over Peter's shoulder through the window at the flames in the house that are only getting higher. “It's been about avenging them. Not about... hurting people. It's about getting the people who deserve it,” Stiles feels sick as he says it. Nobody deserved the brutality this man had dished out. “I... I never hurt your family,” Stiles coughed out. There's enough smoke now that it's starting to sting his eyes. “Please...”
Peter stepped away from him and disappeared. Stiles cried silently, trying once more to get free. He's made dents in the wood of the porch banister but nothing apart from that. God he was so weak. Peter walked past him with a bag and put it in the boot of his car. Slamming it shut he turned to stare at Stiles again. God what was with all the staring.
Suddenly Peter was right in front of him, up against him, hand wrapped tight around his jaw, pulling his mouth open, putting lips on his, tongue in his mouth.
Stiles' desperation welled up in him. This guy is a murderer and a rapist. Great. Oh god, this wasn't happening. Nononononononono.
“No no no no no no no no...” Stiles was yammering his eyes shut tightly as they could go.
“Stiles.”
“No no no no no no no no...” Stiles blathered on completely ignoring everything.
A sharp crack of pain blossomed on Stiles' cheek and Stiles' eyes flew open, mouth snapping shut. This was the first time Peter had actually hit him.
Peter held Stiles' gaze for a few moments. A part of the house fell down and Peter still didn't flinch.
“Stiles.” Peter placed his hands on Stiles hips.
“Yes?” Stiles croaked out.
“Do you understand,” he said brushing his nose along Stiles' jaw. Stiles started shaking. “Why I can't let you go?”
“Cause you're a super psycho rapist that -”
“No Stiles,” Peter said cutting him off with a nip of his ear that Stiles flinched back from. “Use your head. Why can't I let you go?”
“I don't know, man. I don't -”
“Stiles. Don't disappoint me.”
Stiles swallowed at the thinly veiled threat, and tried to think. So, apart from the heavy molesting that was currently going on...
“I've seen your face,” Stiles grit out.
Peter pressed ridiculously close up against him as he reached around and released his hands from their restraint. Peter stepped back, walked over to his car, and held open the passenger door. Stiles glared tearfully, rubbing his wrists, and glanced down to see what it was that had held him. All he could see was a crowbar, but surely the recently comatose psycho couldn't have bent a crowbar so quickly -
“Stiles. You stay there any longer you're going to burn.”
Stiles flicked his eyes up and walked over to the car.
“I hope you know what you're getting into here. I have ADD, can't control what I say.”
“I'm sure I'll find something else for your mouth to do,” Peter said leering at him. Stiles' stomach had finally reached its limit and he threw up. Dropping to his knees and gasping for air Stiles let out a final plea.
“Please, please. I won't say anything I promise. Please, please don't -”
“Shh shh shh,” Peter said curling a hand round the back of Stiles head and pulling him into a hug. “I'm sorry,” Peter whispered into Stiles' ear as he sobbed. “I've already made up my mind.”