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“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Stiles bends over, bracing his hands on his knees as he pants. He, Erica, Boyd, Scott, and Isaac are gathered around the back of the school where they’d just run into each other, waiting for Lydia and Allison to see if the girls had had any more luck than they had.
“Did anyone see where it went?” Isaac asks.
“No,” Stiles groans, flopping to the ground. “I lost sight of it after it darted into the boys’ locker room.”
It’s Valentine’s Day, and there’s a Cupid loose in the high school.
Stiles can’t believe this is his life.
“I could hear it laughing through the hallways after it left the locker room but lost track of it while dodging Mr Johnson,” Boyd grumbles.
“Did you catch it?” Lydia calls as she and Allison round the corner of the school at a fast walk. They both seem to be carrying some sort of large brown sack in their hands.
“Does it look like we caught it?!” Stiles snaps, too frustrated to bite back his usual snark. He grimaces a little at Lydia in apology, only to get pursed lips in response. Yeah, that’s unsurprising.
“We still haven’t exactly established what to do when we catch it,” Isaac points out in his usual oh-so-helpful way.
“I still say we snap its little neck,” Erica grumbles, lips peeling back in a snarl as her eyes take on a golden gleam. They’d all seen the way it had taken great pleasure in taunting her as it evaded her through the halls, leaving her itching to wring its neck the second she got her hands on it.
“We’re not killing it,” Scott says, holding his hands up in attempt to placate the frustrated blonde.
All of them are frustrated, having seen the damage it had already done. Far from the angelic little cherub baby spreading love and joy everywhere, this Cupid was more like a miniature flying gremlin of chaos, taking delight in spreading lovelorn strife all over the place.
In a twist on the typical tales of Cupid, getting shot with this Cupid’s arrows (which seemed to be semi-corporeal and disappeared as soon as they struck their target) didn’t cause the victim to fall in love or profess their love to the first person they saw, but it did cause the irresistible urge to confess their feelings to whomever they were in love with. Unfortunately, contrary to what a romantic idealist might expect of such a situation, nothing about this situation guaranteed a happily ever after. The arrows didn’t guarantee the object of the victim’s affection returned their love, nor did they account for (or care) that there may have been a good reason the person had not confessed, or why they might not want to do so in front of an audience.
They’d learned all this when they’d phoned Peter and Chris after realising something was wrong at the school. Apparently the couple had already been investigating, the Cupid having started out with stirring up trouble in town before moving on to the high school, drawn by the temptation of so many hormone- and angst-ridden teenagers in one place. They’d left the teenagers to deal with capturing it while returning to their apartment to figure out what to do with it when they did.
The little bugger was hard to catch though, zipping through hallways and in and out of classrooms, always leaving some sort of mess in its wake. While a few new happy couples had benefitted from the Cupid’s arrows so far that morning, they’d seen far more heartbreak, humiliation, and rejection than they’d ever wanted to witness outside a TV screen.
Stiles himself had witnessed at least two students being outed against their will, three messy public breakups when someone confessed their love to someone they were not currently in a relationship with, and the incident that had drawn their attention to the issue in in the first place — Greenberg’s very public love confession to their coach in the middle of economics class. He doubts anyone is going to forget the look of Coach’s face any time soon.
Apparently, this Cupid cared less about true love and more about sowing chaos.
They’d been chasing it around the school for almost an hour now, Stiles, Scott, and Isaac immediately abandoning their class to chase after the small flying figure they’d noticed during Greenberg’s confession, soon joined by the test of their teenage packmates. Allison had already been on the phone with her father by the time they all met up, and they’d split up soon after to hunt it around the school while Lydia and Allison tried to work out a solution of what to do with it when they found it.
Turns out, the solution was two large brown sacks that had once contained various sports balls in the gym.
“You can catch it in the bag and then tie it shut until we figure out a more long-term solution,” Lydia explains, handing one to Scott while Allison hands the other to Isaac.
Not the most elegant solution, but it should work.
“Alright, let’s split up into teams again, each with a sack, and–” Scott’s words cut off at the sound of that annoying happy cackle, and they look up to see the cupid zipping out of the back doors to the school, pleased as punch and laughing hysterically as it does a small loop and blows a raspberry at them.
“Get it!” Isaac and Boyd cry out as they charge after it, Erica and Scott hot on their heels. Scott and Isaac each carry one of the sacs, holding them slightly open in hopes of sweeping the damn pest into one like a net.
Stiles sprints after them, but he’s got no chance of keeping pace with the wolves, especially after all his earlier running. Thankfully they don’t go far, trying to wrangle it into one of the bags on the lacrosse field.
“Boyd, watch out!”
“Isaac–”
“Dammit!”
“Come here, you little shit!”
“To your left!”
The Cupid has them practically running in circles, a jumble of flailing limbs and cloth sacks as they dive after it and jump around each other in attempts to corral it like some messy mockery of team strategy. It would be hilarious to watch if Stiles weren’t so irritated.
As it is, Stiles really wishes he had his baseball bat, itching to smack the little pest out of the air. Allison and Lydia had followed at a jog, stopping several paces back so that Lydia can plant her feet and prepare to scream it out of the air as a last resort. Allison guards her with a dagger in each hand, but they’re no use as long range weapons and the wolves are in far too much of a jumble to use her miniature crossbow that she snuck to school.
They wince a little when Erica attempts to pounce at the thing with an enraged snarl and only manages to kick Boyd in the stomach and punch Isaac in the face, taking him down with her. It’s nearly painful to watch.
Thankfully, the Cupid does seem to be slowing down, no longer cackling and the loop-de-loops he’d been flying around them growing sloppy and sluggish. Scott’s noticed this as well, eyes locked on to it, and on its next swoop towards the ground Scott leaps forward to bring the bag down over top of it.
He’s not quite fast enough, though. Just as the bag is descending over its head, the Cupid looks meets Stiles’s eyes with a manic grin, arm drawn back and bow raised, and Stiles feels a sharp prick at his neck just as Scott rolls to the ground with the closed sack.
“Aha!” Scott shouts in victory, but Stiles is too busy staring in blank horror at the last spot he’d seen the creature, hand clasped to his neck and heart pounding.
“Stiles?” Allison asks in concern as she and Lydia approach, stopping by his elbow. She’s got a soft frown on her face, concerned as she takes in whatever expression is on his face. Her tone draws the wolves’ attention too, and soon he’s distantly aware of them all crowding around him.
“It got me,” Stiles whispers, still staring blankly. He knows he’s gotta be paler than usual, all the blood draining from his head as the reality of the situation sinks in. Scott looks at him in concern, mouth opening to speak, but a soft touch from Allison at his elbow jolts Stiles out of his shock, panic flooding his system as he meets her eyes.
“I– I have to go!” Stiles gasps, covering his mouth with a trembling hand as he stumbles away. He can already feel the tugging sensation in his gut, the draw to confess, and he needs to get away before it gets too hard to resist.
He ignores the confused and concerned shouts of his friends behind him as he runs away. He doesn’t even care that he doesn’t have his stuff with him; he’s got his phone and his keys and that’s really all he needs. If no one grabs his bag for him then he can get it tomorrow. Right now, all he cares about is getting away as fast as possible.
“What was that about?” Isaac asks with a frown, watching Stiles’s retreating form. Many of them look tempted to follow, but they hold back.
“He got hit by one of the Cupid’s arrows,” Lydia murmurs, distracted as she watches Stiles’s back disappear into the parking lot.
“He’s going to do everything he can to avoid confessing,” Scott mutters in agreement, face tight with concern for his best friend. He’s got a wriggling sack in his hand though and a pack that still needs to figure out what to do about it. He has every intention of following his friend as soon as this is handled.
“Why?” Erica asks, glancing between them all with a confused frown. “I mean, it’s not like it’ll surprise anyone — I’m pretty sure half the town knows he’s in love with Lydia by now. Why’s he suddenly so stressed about hiding it?”
Boyd shakes his head a little while Scott and Allison boggle at her. Isaac is the only one that seems just as confused as she is.
“Are you really that unobservant?” Lydia asks scathingly.
“Stiles hasn’t loved Lydia like that in a while,” Scott says, cutting the Banshee off before she can say anything worse. Allison nods in agreement while Lydia’s lip curls derisively.
“Yeah,” Allison murmurs softly. “He loves her, but he’s not in love with her, not anymore. I’d say she’s probably more like a cross between a sister and a friend to him at this point.”
Lydia harrumphs, crossing her arms across her chest as she nods in agreement.
“So…who’s he in love with then?” Erica glances between them unsurely. At this Scott looks just as clueless, shrugging with a small pinch between his brows. They look to the girls when they notice them exchanging a heavy look.
They shake their heads when they notice everyone’s attention has turned to them.
“We have a suspicion, but we won’t say,” Lydia says. Allison nods slightly.
“It’s not our business, and clearly Stiles doesn’t want anyone to know. It’ll work out in its own time.” There’s a small wrinkle on her forehead, and Erica, Boyd, and Isaac share a look, not sure what to make of the expression on her face. She doesn’t seem entirely confident in her words, a weight behind them that they don’t understand.
Allison’s phone chimes, and she checks the screen.
“My dad says to bring the Cupid to our apartment. He and Peter know what to do.”
Chris and Peter look up from the books spread out over the dining room table when they hear a key in the door, watching as the youngest pack members fill the hallway. Chris’s eyebrows pinch when he notices one person missing.
“Where is Stiles?”
Peter’s back stiffens at his question, eyes quickly flitting between them as he searches for his familiar form. The teens trade heavy looks.
“Stiles got hit by one of the Cupid’s arrows,” Allison answers, making both of the men straighten their backs in alarm. She eyes them warily as she continues. “He ran off as soon as he realised.”
Peter frowns, already darting looks at the door as he strains to go look for him right that minute. Chris puts a quelling hand on the man’s shoulder, knowing they have to deal with this before they can go find their boy. He looks to the wriggling sack clasped tight in Scott’s hand.
“Bring it over here,” Chris says, moving to the side table where they’d got an old animal trap waiting. It was the best they could find on short notice that would work for these purposes. He swings the cage door open and helps Scott transfer the Cupid into the trap without letting it loose, then snaps the door shut and drapes a towel over it. They can still hear the little Cupid grumbling and rattling the cage, but at least now it won’t be able to shoot at them between the bars.
“The effect of the arrows only lasts as long as Valentine’s Day,” Peter explains, “and he’ll be harmless and uninterested in sticking around once the day is over. We just have to keep him locked up until then. I think he’ll get the message not to come back next year by the time midnight rolls around.” He aims the latter at the cage with a warning glare and a cackle echoes from beneath the sheet. Peter’s lips curl back in a silent snarl.
Personally, Peter would be perfectly find snapping the little thing’s neck and Chris wouldn’t mind much either, but considering it was veritably harmless most of the year and mainly just caused minor chaos, there was no way the young alpha in the room would be okay with that.
“So that’s it?” Isaac asks warily, eyeing the shaking cage. Erica’s eyeing it too, though she looks more like a cat about to pounce on its prey, idly flexing her claws on one hand. Boyd lays a silent hand on her shoulder.
“Yep, that’s it,” Chris agrees. He offers a little shrug, knowing it’s a more anticlimactic than they’re used to, and certainly not quite as satisfying after the havoc it had wreaked on their morning. “You lot should head back to the school before your absence draws attention.” When they immediately look like they’re going to protest, Scott especially, he holds up a hand to cut them off. “Skipping one class is a lot less noteworthy than a whole group of students disappearing for half a day. Considering the drama of the morning, I doubt your teachers will care so long as you make it back before your next class.”
Most of the betas look unhappy but acquiescing, but Scott isn’t deterred.
“I need to go find Stiles,” he protests.
“We’ll find him,” Peter says, flexing his hands at his sides in frustration at having to wait. They notice the small speaking glance shared between Lydia and Allison and know they suspect. It’s not a surprise; Peter had already warned Chris about it.
Scott’s still frowning, but Chris speaks smoothly.
“It’s fine, Scott, we’ll go make sure he’s okay and let you know when we find him. I’m sure he’s just gone home to be alone. You lot go back to school; Peter and I had the day off anyway.”
Scott sucks in a deep breath, lips pinched, but he finally nods, turning and leading the other teens out the door. Allison is the only one to linger, pausing in the doorway to direct a shadowed look back over her shoulder, eyes unreadable.
“Just…be careful,” she murmurs. “And…don’t hurt him.”
The door shuts behind her before either of them can respond.
The jeep is parked haphazardly in the driveway when they pull up to the house, the cruiser absent. Peter can hear the frantic beating of Stiles’s heart and wastes no time getting out of his car, striding to the door. It’s unlocked, and Peter lets himself in, Chris right on his heels. They move so quietly that he doubts Stiles even realises they’re there.
Sure enough, Stiles’s eyes go huge and horrified the moment they swing his door open, shaking his head desperately. They halt in the doorway as soon as they see him before moving forward with more urgency, hearts aching at what they’ve found. Perhaps they should have spoken to him about this sooner, saved themselves this heartache.
“Oh sweetheart,” Peter breaths with a sad sigh, crouching in front of the panicking boy. He’s sitting on his bedroom floor in front of the window, one of his wrists handcuffed to the radiator while the other motions desperately for them to leave. A strip of duct tape covers his mouth, muffling whatever words are attempting to pour of of him. His phone is on the floor by the door, tossed out of reach.
Chris hovers behind them, watching with dark, pained eyes as Stiles presses himself back into the wall, terrified as he attempts to ward them off. His head shakes emphatically as he alternates between holding his hand up between them to halt Peter’s approach and pointing urgently at the door. His mouth and jaw move all the while, unintelligible words pouring out uncontrollably behind the tape. Peter ignores the gesturing and reaches carefully for the tape covering his boy’s mouth, persistent even as Stiles tries to twist away, knees up between them and slapping at his hands.
Peter is undeterred, patient in his movements but unrelenting. Guilt strikes them both as they see the tears gathering in Stiles’s eyes, Peter doing his best to hush and reassure him with soft, soothing words, approaching him like one would a spooked animal. Which, in some ways, isn’t that far from the truth.
“Hush Stiles, everything is alright,” Peter murmurs to him soothingly, “we’re not here to hurt you, you needn’t worry. It’s okay, sweet boy. Everything’s going to be okay now.”
Peter removes the tape as carefully as he can, wincing a little as it pulls at Stiles’s skin, the tugging made worse by the twisting motions of his head. Stiles’s hand clamps over his mouth the moment the tape is free, muscles straining and hand shaking at the effort it takes to stem the flow of words desperately trying to pour out of him. Tears glitter on his cheeks now, unable to hold them back as he looks at them desperately, begging silently for them to leave before he breaks.
Don’t hurt him indeed.
Peter reaches out to touch soft fingers to Stiles’s cheek, and Stiles breaks. He sucks in a harsh gush of air as his hand falls, unable to hold the words back any longer.
“I love you,” he gasps raggedly, “I love you so much, both of you, I’m in love with you, have been for ages– GODDAMMIT!” Stiles breaks, folding in on himself as the compulsion fades, giving up on fighting Peter off as he buries his head in his knees, shoulders shaking as he sobs. The realisation that Stiles is muttering heartbroken apologies between heaving breaths strikes them like an arrow to the chest.
Chris moves away for a moment before crouching next to Peter, a small key in hand. He reaches forward with cautious hands, carefully releasing Stiles from the cuffs and running soothing fingers over the red marks on his skin. As soon as Stiles is free, Peter scoops him up into his arms and moves them to the bed, climbing on and settling against the wall with the crying boy in his lap. Chris follows, pressing in at their sides and rubbing a calming hand up and down his back while Peter holds him tight and runs his hand through Stiles’s hair and over his arm, both of them murmuring quiet reassurances in his ears. They doubt he’s overly aware of what they’re saying at the moment, so they focus more on the soothing tone and motions until the distress fades a little.
Finally Stiles seems to cry himself out, sucking in hiccupping breaths as his tears slow. He keeps himself curled up, aware of their positions and unwilling to face them. And that just won’t do.
Chris places a hand on Stiles’s back while Peter presses a kiss to Stiles’s temple and rubs his arm before nudging his chin up. Stiles’s eyes are red and dulled, misery clinging to him like a second skin.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers before they can speak, and they immediately protest.
“No, sweet boy, you have nothing to be sorry for. We’re sorry, for not having this conversation sooner — we never realised it would cause you so much distress.”
“We love you too, Stiles,” Chris says, knowing they can’t wait any longer to say it. He says it clearly, leaving no room for Stiles to doubt what he means. “We’re both in love with you too.”
Stiles sucks in a sharp breath, wide eyes staring at their laps, as if raising his gaze any higher will break some spell and he’ll see they didn’t mean it after all. Peter taps his chin again, holding one of his hands in his own and brushing a thumb over the back of his knuckles.
“It’s true, Stiles. We’re sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We thought we had more time, that it was best not to rush you. We didn’t know how much distress this had been causing you, and for that we are sorry.”
“You’re not just saying that because I just had a pathetic meltdown and cried all over you?” Stiles asks roughly, scrubbing the back of his arm over his face. Chris grabs that arm in a gentle grasp and raises it to place a gentle kiss to the back of his hand.
“No, Stiles, we’re not just saying this. We mean it.”
Stiles finally lets himself sink into Peter’s embrace, leaning his head against his collarbone and looking up at Chris through his lashes, searching for any last sign of a lie. Peter’s arms pull him in tighter, a comforting rumble in his chest, and Chris leans into them as well, resting his head above Stiles’s on Peter’s shoulder and pressing his lips to the top of his head. They’d kiss him properly later, when he isn’t still covered in tears and feeling raw from crying.
For now, Chris wraps his arms around his partners and holds them close, wishing it hadn’t taken an annoying pest’s magic arrows to get them here but grateful nonetheless.