This is it. This is the moment that Stiles decides what kind of a man he is going to be. A man, not a boy, no child could ever make this decision. The choice between his life and the life of another, of his father.

Peter almost got away, except his dad found them in the garage. The Sheriff, standing there with a deputy guarding the other entrance, his gun hand shaky because behind keen eyes his son's life is flashing before him and the Sheriff knows that he'll never forgive himself if he loses Stiles.

Stiles is having the same thought. His mom died when he was five, most days he doesn't even remember what she looked like yet he can still remember the smell of her perfume when she kissed him good night and the warm feeling inside him when she smiled at him. He only knows how to miss her, and he doesn't want to miss his dad.

"Your choice, Stiles," Peter reminds him, and the Sheriff angles his gun towards the man standing next to his son. For some reason the man is holding Stiles' arm near to his mouth, and the Sheriff doesn't know why but that fills him with dread.

"Dad... run, please just get out of here," Stiles begs breathlessly. He wants his dad to run, but knows that even if he does it is a pointless gesture. Peter is fast enough to snap Stiles' neck and chase after his dad killing them both, and that was after being shot by a useless bullet.

"You always do your best for those around you... even when they don't appreciate it. Like my nephew... and Scott," Peter mused out loud, unconcerned by the gun pointed at him.

"Oh god," Stiles gasped out as Peter's grip tightened around his arm.

"Tick tock goes the clock until Peter gets an answer," Peter sang out quite tunefully.

"Stiles, I need you to duck son," the Sheriff said loudly, "as soon as I pull the trigger, run for it."

In a panic Stiles moved so his body was shielding Peter's, not out of any desire to protect the murdering werewolf but because if his dad shot Peter with a regular bullet then Peter might decide to take revenge on his father. "Dad, please you don't understand what is happening. Just promise me you won't shoot," he begged.

The Sheriff's gun hand faltered. "Stiles? You'd better tell me what the Hell is going on or I'm going to have to come in there."

"No!" Stiles shouted, unconsciously stepping towards his father causing Peter to painfully pull him back towards him. Stiles was now back-to-chest with the psychopathic werewolf and there was nothing about that which was improving the situation.

"It's a pity you came when you did, Sheriff," Peter said.

"I'll bet," the Sheriff agreed dryly.

"I was going to leave, let your son go, at least until I'd dealt with my nephew and Scott. Of course, I always intended to come back for him. So much untapped potential... and he smells divine," Peter claimed, and licked a path from his white collar to his ear.

"Oh my god!" Stiles whispered, "what the hell are you doing," he whined, once again renewing his attempt to get away although with the strength of Peter's grip he could only squirm uselessly unless he wanted to risk breaking his own arm.

"Step the hell away from my son!" the Sheriff yelled, fear and disgust fuelling his anger.

Peter sighed, all amusement in the situation gone. These people were making him late. "Okay, here's what's going to happen-"

The next thing Stiles knew he was free, and Peter was next to his father sinking his elongated teeth into his neck. A scream (his father's) and then the Sheriff was on the floor and Peter was gone.