Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/941101.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Alan_Deaton,
      Peter_Hale, OFC, OMC, Lydia_Martin, Isaac_Lahey, Allison_Argent, Danny
      Mahealani, Aiden_(Teen_Wolf), Ethan_(Teen_Wolf), Sheriff_Stilinski, Cora
      Hale, Bobby_Finstock
  Additional Tags:
      Knotting, Anal_Sex, Barebacking, Bottom!Stiles, Awkward_First_Times, Loss
      of_Virginity, First_Time, Episode:_s03e04_Unleashed, Close_to_Canon,
      Angst, Mpreg, Episode:_s03e12_Lunar_Ellipse, Discussion_of_Abortion, Porn
      With_Plot, Masturbation, Flashbacks, Phone_Sex, Panic_Attacks, Plotty,
      Dreams, Harry_Potter_References, Implied/Referenced_Suicide, Masturbation
      in_Shower, New_Year's_Eve, Underage_Drinking, Frottage, Alpha_Scott, Beta
      Derek, Rimming, Felching, Simultaneous_penetration_with_fingers_and_dick,
      Coming_Untouched, Violent_Birth, Schmoop, Breeding, slightly_AU, Danny
      Doesn't_Know, Nemeton, Season/Series_03A_Spoilers, Season/Series_03A,
      SPFD, background_post_S3a_canon_relationships, Dirty_Talk, face_fucking,
      bottom!Derek_(epilogue_only), Blow_Jobs, Post-Season/Series_03A_AU,
      Podfic_Available
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-25 Completed: 2013-12-10 Chapters: 20/20 Words: 44700
****** The Threat of Human Sacrifice ******
by vampireisthenewblack
Summary
     The sheriff bought a crib and made Derek help him put it together.
     Stiles thought of Hemingway and the shortest, most heartbreaking
     story ever told, and dismantled it on his own while Derek was out.
     [The one where Stiles getting knocked up is the least of his
     worries.]
Notes
     This story contains flashbacks. The flashbacks are NOT in
     chronological order. You will know they are flashbacks because
     they're in italics and in past tense. Everything else (regular text,
     present tense) IS in chronological order. The flashbacks do not occur
     in every chapter.
     This was a work in progress, each chapter posted as it was written.
     It is now complete.
     Epic thanks to venis-envy, as per usual, for making sure I didn't
     embarrass myself too much. ♥
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles' hands press against the brick, palms flat. A bead of sweat paints a
trail down the side of his neck, another tickles the back of his knee before
sliding off and soaking into the mattress. He forces himself to breathe in,
slow, out again, but there's an audible shudder he can't stop.
"You're okay," Derek whispers into his ear, breath warm and moist. Derek is
behind him, as motionless as Stiles himself, one hand gripping the duct above
the bed, the other pressing against Stiles' belly. Their skin is slick with
sweat where they touch.
                                       .
"What do you want, Stiles?" Derek demanded, looking up from the papers and
books spread out on the table.
Stiles watched his feet as he picked his way down the steps. "Yeah. Um. Hey,
Derek. I was wondering if you would do me a favor?"
                                       .
"Could've warned me," Stiles forces out between breaths. He's gotta keep
breathing, because if he panics now, there's no getting away from it.
"I didn't know this was going to happen." Derek holds him tight and close to
his body. "It's never happened before. I had no reason to think it would."
"So what's different? Is it me?" Stiles says, and his voice rises in pitch. He
cuts himself off, forces himself to breathe again, but it's getting harder.
"Stiles," Derek gasps, and his body rocks. "Fuck. You've gotta stop. The more
you move—"
"I'm not moving," Stiles insists.
"You're getting tighter." Derek's forehead drops onto the back of Stiles' neck.
"God."
"I can't help it." Stiles tries to relax, closing his eyes, urging his body to
stop clenching around Derek's freakish werewolf dick but it's not working. "I
can't do it. Fuck, I can't. Derek, get it out, you said you'd stop, you've
gotta stop, get it out of me, please." Stiles' hands slip on the wall as he
tries to get away, as he fights the grip Derek has on him. The overwhelming
fullness tugs, making his eyes water and his body clench up even harder against
what's inside him.
                                       .
"Something bad is going to happen to me." Stiles sat on his hands to keep them
still. "I can feel it. I'm next. Any moment I could get taken and my throat
slashed open and then everyone will feel bad because everyone said no and no
one believed me."
A tiny crease appeared between Derek's eyebrows. "So why are you asking me?"
Stiles' jaw dropped, a hand came loose and he jerked it back, gripping the edge
of Derek's couch hard enough that the weave of the upholstery shifted between
his fingers. "Because everyone else said no, and no one else believes me." He
spoke very slow, as if Derek was a child he was trying to make understand.
"Also, I figure you've got pretty low standards. Kate Argent?" He twirled his
finger beside his ear and lifted an eyebrow. "Hot, yeah, but complete nut job
."
                                       .
Derek wraps his other arm around Stiles' chest and pulls him back off the wall.
"If I try to pull out I'll tear you apart," he says, his voice even, but with a
thread of anxiety running through that chills Stiles to the bone. He drops
kisses onto the back of Stiles' neck, down the line of his shoulder, humming
softly and making shushing noises. "You can do this, Stiles. I know you can.
You're gonna be okay."
"No," Stiles whimpers, but he makes himself stop fighting, lets his weight fall
into Derek's arms, and onto Derek's lap. Immediately the pressure eases, as
Derek sinks deeper, pushing the thickest part of the knot away from where
Stiles is tightest. "Thank god," he sighs when he's able to breathe again, when
his arms and legs stop aching from holding himself up.
"Huh," Derek says. "Should have done that before."
"Right." Stiles' eyes flick toward his phone where it sits on top of the pile
of clothes on the floor, too far away to reach. "How long's it been?"
"I dunno. Maybe fifteen minutes. We just have to wait. You're doing good,
Stiles. It's gonna be fine."
Stiles nods, and feels himself sinking further down. It's not hurting anymore,
and he just feels full. Coupled with Derek's arms wrapped around him, it's
almost comforting. Also, the knot is touching a place inside that makes him
breathe just a little bit quicker. "So, why now? What's wrong with me? Is it
because I'm a dude?"
Derek shakes his head, brushing his lips from side to side over Stiles'
shoulder. "That doesn't make any sense."
Stiles stops. "Well, is it... Is it because I've never done this before?" He
turns his head, looks over his shoulder. "Have you ever done it with a virgin
before?"
Derek clears his throat. "No." He lifts his head. "I don't know. It's
possible."
Stiles gives a non-verbal grunt of anger. "I come to you for a favor, to help
me get rid of something that's endangering my life, and in return, you endanger
my life?" He tenses up again and the knot presses harder against his prostate.
He involuntarily pushes down on it. "Fuck," he gasps. "That actually felt
good."
Derek's arms tighten. "You're not in danger if you don't panic. We've just
gotta... God, Stiles."
Stiles is getting hard again, his dick slowly filling. He's been soft since
Derek got inside him, too nervous to really enjoy himself long before the knot
started swelling. It's different now, and he doesn't know why but he doesn't
much care, either, because—holy crap—it feels good. "That's just unfair. Why
would it only happen with people who've never had sex before?" He risks rising
up, just a fraction, on his knees, sinking down again, and he whimpers. "It's
not like you're not already nervous as hell, you know." He moans as he moves
again. "Magic inflatable cock pretty much sure to freak you out completely."
Derek starts to help, holding Stiles by the waist, pushing up into him. "Maybe,
maybe it's to stop us breeding with another werewolf's mate. Or... I don't
know. Fuck, Stiles, I don't care, just keep doing it."
"Breeding?" Stiles' cock is hard and leaking on his thigh, and he reaches for
it, giving it a clumsy stroke. "Pretty sure I'm not going to be any good for
breeding, just so you know." He gets a rhythm going, jerking himself slow,
because he's not in any hurry and it feels amazing, and he doesn't want it to
end. "You'd think your dick would know the difference."
"Apparently not." Derek moves, wrapping his arm around Stiles again and easing
him forward. "I feel like I could..." With Stiles bent over, holding himself up
with one hand as he strips his cock with the other, Derek grasps Stiles' hips
and rocks against him. "You've gotta come, Stiles, fuck." He lowers himself
over Stiles' back, splays his palms over Stiles' chest and holds him close as
he jerks his hips in tiny thrusts. "I'm gonna come," he whispers against
Stiles' shoulder.
Stiles shudders, so close, heat building in his spine, sparking out with every
brush of the knot over his prostate. "What? Again? You already... Oh my god,
Derek."
Derek starts to shake all over, like he did right before he came the first
time, when the knot started growing. "Gonna fill you up, Stiles, fill your
belly, knot you until it takes." He gasps, moans, buries his face in the back
of Stiles' neck, lips sliding on sweat, and his next words are muffled. "Gonna
make you mine."
"Oh my god," Stiles groans, eyes wide and staring at the wall, both horrified
and aroused at Derek's words. "You better be kidding... Oh, fuck." He can feel
it, the pulsing of the knot as Derek starts to come, feeling fuller and warmer
and slicker inside. His own orgasm builds like a rolling wave and then crashes
over him, blinding, deafening, disorienting.
                                       .
"Relax, Stiles," Derek said. "This'll be easier if you relax."
"You were gonna kiss me," Stiles accused.
"You want to have sex with me, but not kiss me?" Derek pulled back, his
eyebrows drawn together into a frown.
"No, it just..." Stiles pushed himself up, reached out for Derek's hand. "I
didn't think you'd want to."
Derek went perfectly still, his eyes scrunching a little. "I'm not gonna hurt
you." He shifted, rising up on his knees, and he pushed Stiles down onto his
back. "But I'll hold you down if I have to." His hands clamped around Stiles
wrists, and he pinned them to the mattress above Stiles' head. "Because I'm
going to kiss you."
                                       .
When Stiles opens his eyes he's lying on his side, Derek behind him, and
they're still locked together. "Um. That was a little weird," Stiles says.
"Wasn't it?"
Derek clears his throat. "Yeah. Sorry."
Stiles figures Derek's probably relieved he doesn't have to look Stiles in the
eye. "That's not, um. It's not actually possible, is it?"
"I've never heard of it," Derek says, and then changes the subject. "Look,
Stiles, about what we just did—"
Stiles snorts. "You've never heard of half the things we've seen in the last
year." He pushes the thought aside, focuses on what's real. "You did me a
favor. Devirginized me and saved me from the threat of human sacrifice. So I'm
just gonna stay perfectly still and wait for your...thing...to go down and I'll
be out of your hair."
Derek exhales like he's been holding his breath. "That would be best." It
doesn't stop him from stroking his hand down Stiles' side, over his hip,
resting a hand on his thigh. "You should probably try to sleep."
Grateful, Stiles closes his eyes, still feeling the weight of Derek inside him.
                                       .
Stiles lifted his head. Derek was back on the floor, and as Stiles watched, he
pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it. "Oh. Oh that's nice." He
pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch.
Derek's smile was almost coy. "I had no idea you were even moderately attracted
to me, Stiles." He unbuckled his belt.
"Are you kidding?" Stiles pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Cheese
would find you attractive. You're probably just so used to the scent of
'attracted' from like, everyone you meet, that you think it's normal." He
tilted his head to the side as Derek dropped his jeans. "Holy crap."
Derek followed Stiles' gaze, looking down at his own erect cock. He cleared his
throat.
"Wow, dude. Impressive." Stiles looked up at Derek's face, determined not to
stare, but he couldn't help one last glance downward. "I think my whole body
just clenched."
Derek stared back, a challenge in his expression, and he wrapped his hand
around his dick and gave it a stroke.
"You know, I think I have something that might fit you," Stiles babbled, just
to fill the silence. "Speaking of which, do we need a condom? Cos I don't know
if the werewolf thing means we don't, or—"
"We don't," Derek said. "We can if you like, but, take it from me. It feels a
whole lot better without."
***** Chapter 2 *****
Cora's gone already, taken her bag and lugged it out the door. She gave Stiles
a funny look as she left, but it was only curiosity at being asked to go on
without Derek, nothing scathing, not any more.
Like her, Derek has softened, but it took him longer to get there. Stiles
figures it might not look that way from his perspective, but from where Stiles
is standing it's been a slow progression from 'I'm going to rip your head off
with my teeth' to the quiet, albeit wary, way he watches Stiles now.
"Scott said you were leaving town," Stiles says, his hands thrust into the
pockets of his hoody, fists bunched in the fabric.
Derek looks down at the bag at his feet. "Yeah."
"You don't have to, you know." The words spill out of Stiles' mouth too fast,
he sounds too desperate, and he presses his lips together hard. "I just mean,
you've got friends here. It's not like there's nothing left."
Derek stares at him for a long time, saying nothing, his face blank except for
a tiny crease between his brows. "I know." He licks his lips and looks toward
the door. "I got my sister back. I don't have a pack anymore, but I've got
family. I need to remember what that means."
Stiles lets his breath out in a rush. It's loud, shaky.
Derek looks up. "What's wrong, Stiles?"
Stiles shakes his head. He can feel the way his eyes are reddening around the
edges, and he keeps them downcast as much as he can. "Nothing. Nothing." He
swallows the lump in his throat, takes a deep breath, lets it out slow, then
lifts his head. "Drive safe," he says, and forces a smile that proves to be too
hard to maintain.
"Stiles?" Derek closes the space between them, his hand wrapping around Stiles'
upper arm. "What? Is it... It's what you did, isn't it? You and Scott and
Allison? What you did to find your parents?" Derek shakes his head. "There's
nothing I can do." He drops his hand, steps back and hauls his bag onto his
shoulder. "I'm sorry."
Stiles can feel it. The darkness around his heart, just like Deaton said. It's
like dread, like knowing bad things are coming, like knowing there's nothing
you can do to stop them. Even that doesn't compare to the panic he feels as he
watches Derek walk away. "It's what we did," he says, lifting his chin even
though his eyes are stinging and there's a tear soaking through his lower
lashes. It's wet on his skin, cooling in the breeze that swirls into the room
through the broken skylight. "You and me."
Derek stops at the bottom of the steps. "Stiles," he says without turning,
without dropping his bag. He looks down at the floor. "You were supposed to be
okay with that."
"I was," Stiles says. He stands motionless, staring at Derek's back. "I
didn't... It was weird. But that's normal, right? For things to be weird,
afterward?"
Derek turns his head just enough to show his profile. "I thought we did
alright."
Stiles pulls his hands out of his pockets, pushes his fingers through his hair.
"Okay. Maybe we did. I don't know. I've still got nothing to compare it to."
Derek's head turns, just a little more.
"I've gotta tell you something," Stiles says. He takes a single step forward,
then thinks better of it and stops. "You're gonna think I'm crazy." He turns
around, faces the window, rubs his fists against the sides of his jeans. "I
think I'm crazy. I think Deaton's crazy. Maybe I just wish he was."
"Stiles."
Stiles looks over his shoulder. Derek has turned back, dropped the bag off his
shoulder so it hangs from his hand. "He saw it," Stiles says, shifting his feet
to face Derek again, but not quite meeting his eyes. "He said he saw it, while
I was in that tub. Said he knew it wasn't just me in there. He knew what we
did. You and me. He knew what happened." He lifts his eyes to meet Derek's.
"There's only one reason that happens, Derek. It's got one purpose." Stiles
looks down at his hand, stretched toward Derek, because he has no memory of
reaching out. He balls it into a fist, presses it against his hip. "You knew.
Maybe not consciously, but you knew. You said it. You talked about it while you
were—"
"No." Derek's bag hits the floor, and so do his feet as he crosses the room in
less than a second. "No. No." He grabs Stiles by the shoulders, fingers
gripping tight enough to bruise. "No. You're lying."
"I'm not." A tear falls this time, streaking down his cheek, hitting the corner
of his mouth. He tastes salt.
"Then Deaton's lying." Derek shakes his head, looks away, over at the bed where
it happened. "It's impossible." He jerks his head back to Stiles. "It's not
possible."
"Apparently, it is," Stiles snaps. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slow.
"Scott's heard it. He doesn't know what, but he's heard it. He thinks there's
something wrong with my heart. Told me I should talk to his mom about it. I
made him swear not to tell anyone."
Derek goes very still, turns his head to the side, pulls Stiles closer.
"Can you hear it?" There's a lump in Stiles' throat that threatens to choke
him.
"Shh." Derek pulls Stiles just a little nearer, bends his head. His forehead is
creased in a frown as he listens.
Then he gasps, sucking air into his lungs before dispelling it in a rush. "Oh,
my god." He swallows and shakes his head. "How?"
"You heard it?" Stiles feels lightheaded, sick. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Derek's eyes are wide, his pupils contracted to tiny dots. "Yes, I'm
sure. I've been around pregnant women before. I know what a fetal heartbeat
sounds like."
"Oh my god. Don't say that word. I'm trying not to even think that word."
Stiles tries to push Derek away, the sudden need to run overpowering.
Derek holds him tight. "Pregnant?"
"And he keeps saying it!" Stiles twists out of Derek's grip and takes long
strides toward the door. "I wasn't going to tell you," he mutters, shaking his
head and clenching his fists. "Shouldn't have told you, should have just let
you go, should have let Deaton take care of it—"
Then Derek's there, blocking his way, fingers tight on his upper arms. He
pushes Stiles until he's backed up against the wall. "What do you mean, take
care of it?"
"What do you think I meant? In case you didn't notice, I am a boy, not a girl.
I'm not equipped for this. You should know that, because you had my dick in
your mouth the same day this happened. I. Can't. Do. This." Stiles squeezes his
eyes shut tight, but it does nothing to stem the flow of tears that run down
his face. "I shouldn't have to do this."
Derek loosens his grip, takes a step back. "No. You shouldn't. But you can't do
what you're thinking, Stiles. Please, you can't."
"He said I shouldn't tell you."
"Because he knew. He knew I couldn't let you."
Stiles opens his eyes. "Why not? It should never have happened in the first
place. Deaton hasn't even heard of it happening, and he always knows what's
going on. He can't tell me if it's even gonna last."
"Do you know how rare werewolves like me are? Like Cora? My mother was lucky to
have the children she did. It was part of why she was special..." Derek trails
off, stumbles back, lowers himself to the step where he sits with his elbows on
his knees and his hands hanging limp between them. "It doesn't make any sense.
Why would it happen to me?"
"Maybe it's a bloodline thing. Runs in families. Was Peter born a werewolf?"
Derek looks up. "Yes. But it only happens to Alphas. I'm not an Alpha anymore,
Stiles. This is my only chance."
Stiles lets his head fall back against the wall and breathes out in a rush.
"Awesome. Guilt. Because I don't get enough of that."
Derek looks up. "I'll take it," he says. "As soon as it's born, I'll take it
and you'll never have to see either of us again. You can forget it ever
happened. We won't disrupt your life."
Stiles lifts his head and slides down the wall, wraps his arms around his
knees. "Okay," he says, because he can't handle the fear and desperation on
Derek's face anymore. "Okay."
Then Derek's on his feet, crossing the space between them. He crouches down,
puts one hand on Stiles' knee, the other on the back of his neck. "Thank you,"
he breathes. "You can do this, Stiles. I know you can."
Stiles turns away, shaking his head.
"You're strong. You're gonna be okay." Derek leans in and presses his lips to
Stiles' mouth. The kiss is quick, over before Stiles can give in to instinct
and kiss Derek back like he wants to, grab on and hold him like he wants to,
then Derek is gone, too, striding across the floor and picking up his bag.
"You're still leaving," Stiles says.
Derek turns back and nods. "Yeah. I have to."
.
It hurt, at first. A burning stretch that made him whimper as Derek pushed
inside. The pain faded fast, though, as Derek waited, pressing kisses to his
shoulders, sliding warm hands over his back and sides, stroking, soothing.
And then it was too easy, too good. Stiles had expected to have to bite his lip
and bear it, to hold on until Derek was done, to hope that it would be over
fast, but it was nothing like that.
Stiles focused on the rough texture of the brick beneath his fingertips, on the
way it grazed the heels of his hands with each thrust Derek made into his body.
He had to have something, something other than the heat and fullness, something
other than the rapid beat of his heart, he had to have something outside to
ground him. He was afraid that he might lose himself if he let go, afraid that
it would become something he couldn't live without.
"It's okay," Derek whispered, pressing a hand to Stiles' cheek, pulling his
head around so he could kiss him. Stiles lost his grip, his control, moaned
into Derek's mouth, pushed back against him. "You're allowed to like it."
Stiles cried out as Derek pulled back, pushed back in, slow, careful.
"You like that, don't you?" Derek asked. "Does it feel good?"
"Yes." Stiles nodded, his fingernails scratching against the wall. His dick
started to fill again as he let himself feel it, as he surrendered to the
overwhelming sensations, to the emotions too intense to make sense of.
"I like it, Stiles," Derek said, his voice gone rough and raw. "I like the way
you feel around me, you feel so good." He took a few shallow, gasping breaths,
and his hands began to shake. "Stiles, fuck. Too good." Then he dropped his
forehead to the back of Stiles' neck as the shaking spread throughout his body.
"Are you coming?" Stiles asked, eyes wide and staring as a flush spread out
over his body.
"Sorry, god, I can't—" Derek took hold of Stiles' hips, pushed right inside, as
deep as he could go. "I have to—"
"It's okay." Stiles wondered if he should feel it, if he should feel Derek
coming inside him. He could feel something, but the jerking pulse he expected
wasn't there. Instead, he just felt fuller, a second later even more so. "Oh
god," he gasped, as it became too much, as it kept filling him. He tried to
pull away.
"Keep still," Derek said, hands tight on Stiles' hips. "You have to keep
still."
***** Chapter 3 *****
"Look," Scott says, grabbing Stiles by the back of his shirt as he's still
yanking books out of his bag. "New girl."
Stiles looks up, scanning the room. Kids are still getting to their seats, and
the room is full of the noise and movement characteristic of the moments before
class starts. They've been on a steady rotation of substitutes for English
since the last one 'mysteriously disappeared', today they're finally getting a
permanent teacher. The school board definitely needs to screen their teachers
better, so Stiles doesn't begrudge them the time.
"There."
Stiles looks where Scott's pointing. He didn't notice her before, as if his
eyes just skipped over that desk. "God. Is she even a junior? She's like,
tiny."
The girl turns and looks at him. Stiles jerks and swivels around in his chair.
"Oh my god. Did she hear me?"
Scott grins. "I dunno. Maybe she's a werewolf."
Stiles risks another look. The girl has turned back, and she has her head down,
scribbling on the cover of a pristine notebook. "She's so little," Stiles says
under his breath.
"Cute, though," Scott says.
"I don't believe something that small could be called anything but cute,"
Stiles says. "Unless they're evil. Which is a distinct possibility."
"Call it."
Stiles considers. She looks like a normal kid. Small, yeah, but not too young
to be a junior. Straight dark hair falls to just below her shoulders, and as
Stiles watches, she brushes a lock of it behind her ear. Which is just as small
and cute and tiny as the rest of her. He shakes his head. "Not evil."
The new teacher walks in, and a hush settles over the classroom. He's young
enough that he looks barely out of college. He holds his head high, though,
glaring down at the stragglers like he's got something to prove.
"Call it," Scott says.
"Evil. Definitely evil. Harris-class evil."
A shuddering noise of distaste comes from Scott's desk.
.
They're dismissed five minutes after the bell's rung. Stiles leaps to his feet,
gathering his books into his bag. "Didn't I say he was evil?" he says.
"You called it," Scott says. He stops, a book halfway into his bag. "Stiles?"
"Yeah?" He looks up. He knows that look on Scott's face, it's all noble
concern. He looks back down and closes his bag, swings it onto his shoulder and
wishes he could just walk away, leave his friend behind.
Scott grabs him by the sleeve before he can disappear. "Stiles. I heard it
again. Just now."
Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm fine, okay? I told you I was fine, can't you just—"
"You've gotta see someone about it. There might be something seriously wrong
with you."
Stiles sighs. "I did. And I'm fine."
"What, a doctor?"
"Yes." Deaton counts. He's not lying.
Scott narrows his eyes. "Okay. Well, if you want to talk about it?"
"Not yet," Stiles says. "I'll tell you, but not yet." He's not ready, not even
for his best friend to know, and he's got at least a few more months before he
won't be able to hide it any longer.
.
"Oh god." Stiles stared at the ceiling, fingers twisting into the blanket as he
tried to hold on. "I'm gonna come if you do that."
"Good," Derek whispered, his voice low and husky. He lay between Stiles' spread
legs, his breath cooling the growing pool of precome on Stiles' stomach. "It'll
take the edge off." He lowered his head, and his tongue swiped through the
patch of fluid, warm and rough, dragging against the tip of Stiles' cock.
"Oh, my god." Stiles lifted his head, looking down as Derek glanced up. His
eyes were scrunched at the corners, and his mouth curved into a smile as his
lips closed over the tip of Stiles' dick. "Do it," Stiles said. "Holy crap,
Derek, fucking do it or I swear to god—"
Derek slid his mouth down over the length of Stiles' cock, tongue pressing
against the underside, cheeks slightly hollowed as he applied just a little bit
of suction.
Stiles' eyes rolled back into his head, and his shoulders fell back onto the
mattress.
.
Stiles is warm in his bed, surrounded by darkness and blankets. His left hand
lies on his belly and his eyes are open as he stares up at the ceiling.
It was never truly flat, Stiles' stomach. Always had a slight roundness to it.
In the last few years it's gotten firmer as what little baby fat Stiles once
had gave way to lean muscle, but he's sure it wasn't like this.
It's tight, now. It's not a lot bigger, he's sure of that, not that anyone
would notice just from looking, but the skin is stretched taut over whatever is
inside. Stiles wonders where it is, what it's attached itself to. He's not
stupid, he knows this is more likely to kill him than not, at least by the
standards of the real world, the world without werewolves and all the other
supernatural bullshit he's seen in the last year.
Right now he's trusting the supernatural to save his ass, and he's putting all
that trust in Deaton.
Still, he's bitter. He has every right to tell Deaton to get rid of it, to take
it out. He said yes to Derek, thinking Derek would stay, because Stiles is
desperate for someone else to share this with, someone to talk to about it,
someone other than Deaton, who, despite all he's done for them, still keeps
everything just a little too close to his chest.
But Derek left, and Stiles feels very alone.
That anger is what makes him reach out for his phone and send the text that is
his first contact with Derek since he left town. I'm going to die for you. he
taps out, then hits send.
Five minutes later, there's still no reply, and Stiles gives up.
With his left hand still resting on his belly, he slides his right under the
waistband of his pajama pants.
Stiles can't help but associate the thought of Derek, his name, his face, the
memory of his voice, with the only sex he's ever had with another person. Even
just thinking about what's inside him makes him think of the man who put it
there, and how he did it.
Stiles pushes the thought of that away, of being physically tied to Derek, of
the fear and bliss that went with it, and goes with the memory of Derek's mouth
on him. He pulls his hand out of his pants, slides his middle finger between
his lips, wetting it, before wriggling his pants down to his knees and kicking
them off. He lifts his knees, making a tent under his blankets, and then drags
his spit-wet finger around the head of his cock.
His breath shudders and his feet press more firmly against the mattress. He
closes his eyes and drags his thumb across the tip of his cock, smearing a bead
of precome over the head. "Do it," he breathes, very softly as he sinks into
his fantasy. "Please."
Stopping long enough to squirt some lube into his hand, he jerks it over his
cock fast, until it's warm, then closes his eyes, sinks back into the pillow
and starts to move his hand slow, gripping tight as he slides it from base, to
tip, then down again. "God," he whispers. "Yeah. So fucking good."
He's so lost in his fantasy, in his memories, that when his phone vibrates, he
thinks it's a text message. But it keeps buzzing, the harsh sound against the
wood breaking his concentration. His hand still on his dick, he reaches out
with his left, but still leaves a wet smear of lube on the screen as he swipes
to answer the call.
"Where are you?" Derek asks. "What's going on?"
Even with the panicked tone, the sound of Derek's voice has Stiles giving his
dick an involuntary squeeze. "At home? Trying to sleep." He hopes Derek can't
hear his heartbeat over the phone, because it's racing, and his breath is quick
and shallow.
Derek grunts, the sound of confusion. "You're not sleeping, Stiles. Where are
you? What's happening?"
"I'm in my bed," Stiles says. "The place where I sleep."
There's silence on the other end, long moments that tick away while Stiles
can't help but stroke himself slowly.
"Your heart's racing, Stiles." The sound of Derek inhaling, exhaling. "Your
text... I thought you were in trouble."
"Duh."
"In danger, Stiles. I thought you were in danger."
"Also duh. You honestly think I'm going to survive this?" That even through his
anger, his cock stays hard, probably says something about him. Maybe it's
Derek's voice, with Stiles already thinking of the time they had sex, it's
natural that hearing it would have that effect. He slides his hand up and down
his cock, slow, aware that the slightest squelch might carry through the phone
line. "Science, Derek. Real world science, not all this supernatural stuff.
It's possible, what's happened to me, more or less. You know why they don't do
it, even though they could?"
"Because the guy wouldn't survive the delivery," Derek says, his voice suddenly
quiet. "I know. I know, Stiles, but I'm not going to let that happen, I swear.
I'm doing everything I can to make sure you both come out okay."
Stiles' hand stills, but he tightens his grip. He tries to hold his breath, to
control his breathing, but it just makes it worse when he lets it go.
"I'm not going to let you die, Stiles." Derek's quiet for several seconds.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Freaking out."
"No. Yeah, I know you're worried, but..." There's a small huff of laughter.
"I've heard you breathe like that before, Stiles."
"Fuck you." Stiles' grip on his dick loosens. He should hang up the phone, but
he doesn't.
"Are you with someone?" There's heavy tension in those few words.
"No." His grip tightens again. He pumps his fist, slow. "You're still the only
one with standards low enough to go there."
"I don't have low standards, Stiles, just bad judgment." Derek's voice is
suddenly softer, smoother. "I think we proved that. What are you doing? Are
you...?" Derek's breath comes quick, still soft, but Stiles can hear it. "God,
Stiles. What are you...?" There's static, as if Derek is moving the phone to
the other hand, or holding it between his ear and his shoulder. "Can I hear you
come? I need to— Please, Stiles."
"Oh my god," Stiles breathes, and he shifts his hand over his cock, a couple of
quick jerks before he slows again.
"Please. I can't get it out of my head, the way you sound, the look on your
face, the way you tighten up all over when you come."
Stiles is gasping now, sucking in great lungfuls of air, his hand flying over
his dick, the lube making wet, slick, smacking sounds.
"You're so close, I can tell. Were you close when I called? Have you been doing
it the whole time?"
"Fuck. Yes." Stiles' hand cramps, his pulls become erratic, but it's too late.
His back arches off the bed and he lets out a low, guttural moan as he spills
over his hand and all over his stomach. "Oh my god."
"Stiles, Jesus." Derek's breath is shaky and quick, huffing into the receiver,
scratchy and loud in Stiles' ear. "I'm sorry."
"What?" He's still groggy, his head still clearing, and his focus more on what
to do about the mess than what Derek's going on about.
"I shouldn't have done that." Derek's still panting, and Stiles wonders if he's
had his hand down his own pants, if it's still there. "I should go. I just
needed to make sure you were okay. I didn't... Not for this. I should go."
Stiles groans and pulls himself up into a sitting position, reaching for the
tissues. "Gonna die if this thing stays in me, but if you have to run off so
badly—"
"Trust me, Stiles." Derek's breathing is slower now, more controlled. "I'm
gonna find a way. Don't do anything final. I know Deaton's probably telling
you—"
"He's telling me that I'm dead if he doesn't take it out now, Derek."
Derek stops breathing altogether. "I need more time."
Stiles listens to the sound of silence for at least a minute before he hangs up
on the call.
***** Chapter 4 *****
"If you're not prepared to act, Stiles, despite the threat to your own life, I
must insist that you tell Scott. He's very worried about you."
Stiles leans against Deaton's exam table, his eyes lowered, focused on the jar
he's been given. It's half full of a yellow powdered substance, and like
Deaton's other weird jars of weird stuff, the only label is some kind of arcane
symbol that means exactly nothing to him. "Yeah," he says, turning the jar over
in his hands again. All he can think is that it's almost exactly like the other
jar of stuff Deaton showed him, the stuff that could make his problem go away.
He looks up. "He's not going to understand, you know?"
"Why you're risking your life on the hope that Derek can find a way to deliver
the child safely? No. I imagine he's not." Deaton turns away, starts packing
the jars back into the crate. He leaves one out, slides it toward Stiles. "Last
chance, Stiles. If I haven't been able to find an answer to this, do you think
Derek's going to?"
.
Stiles leaves the clinic with both jars in his bag. He's about to jump into the
Jeep when he hears a footstep behind him.
"Hello, Stiles," Peter says.
Stiles sighs and shoves his bag over onto the passenger side. "What do you
want?" No one's seen Peter, not since before Derek left, and they haven't
missed him. No one likes him, no one trusts him, and Stiles still thinks Scott
should have chased him out of town after Derek and Cora left, but Scott's very
much a live-and-let-live kind of Alpha.
"Well," Peter says. "You're family now. I wanted to offer my congratulations."
Stiles' blood runs cold. "How do you—" He turns, crossing his arms in front of
himself. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The baby, of course." Peter smiles, warm and benign, but it only serves to
creep Stiles out even more. "It's a wonderful thing, creating new life, don't
you think? And so rare for werewolves. Do you know why only Alphas have
children, Stiles?"
Stiles shakes his head, his arms tightening just a little more over his belly.
"For the same reason that only the bite of an Alpha can turn someone. They're
the only ones who can add to the pack, no one else."
"How did you know?"
Peter's grin gets wider. "He's like a little freight train in there. I forget
that you can't hear it." He leans close, sniffing. "And you've had the faint
scent of my nephew on you for some time." He steps back. "I thought you were
having secret trysts, but perhaps it was just the once. You still smell like
him, and he's been gone a month now."
Stiles wonders why Scott hasn't mentioned it. "Has this happened before? To a
guy, I mean? Have you ever heard of it?"
Peter frowns. "No. And that bothers me. I'm uncomfortable with not having all
the answers." He looks back over his shoulder at the clinic. "Your emissary?"
"He doesn't know anything."
"Well." Peter straightens up. "I'm sure everything will be fine. You and Derek
must be ecstatic."
Stiles stares in disbelief. "I'm probably going to die."
Peter tips his head to the side. "That's a noble sacrifice, Stiles."
.
"Oh my god, are you serious?" Stiles wanted to throw his arms around Derek in
gratitude, but he decided he might save that for later. "Thank you. You're
saving my life here, you're a life saver."
"I'm topping," Derek said. "Just so you know."
"No, of course. Yeah, you know I—" Stiles nodded. "You're the Alpha. It
figures."
.
"Stiles?"
There's a tug at his sleeve, and he realizes he's been staring into his locker
for far too long. He turns around, and has to look down at the person trying to
get his attention.
It's the new girl, the one who sat up front in English the day the new teacher
started. "Uh," he says.
"It is Stiles, right?" Her voice is soft and musical. "They said I should talk
to you about getting caught up with the rest of the class?"
Stiles shakes his head to clear it. "Uh, Stiles, yeah. But, what? Who said? Who
the hell are they?"
The girl smiles and her cheeks turn pink. "I just transferred here, and I don't
know anyone, and I thought—"
"You should talk to someone else," Stiles says, grabbing his books out of his
locker and slamming it shut. "I don't think I'll be much help, umm..."
"Dana," the girl says, and sticks out her hand.
Stiles stares down at it, his arms full of books he doesn't need. "Sorry,
Dana," he says. "Like I said, I've got a lot on my plate." He slides out from
between the tiny girl and the lockers, and he heads toward class.
Scott catches up with him, matches his step. "She likes you." He laughs under
his breath. "And you totally blew her off."
"I did her a favor," Stiles says, though he glances behind him anyway. The
girl's gone, and Stiles feels a pang of guilt at how rude he was to her. He
didn't notice, didn't see what Scott saw, but he doesn't have time to even
think about girls, now.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Scott asks. "You've been acting really weird
lately, Stiles. Ever since—" He stops walking, reaches out and grabs Stiles by
the upper arm, stopping him as well. "There is something wrong with you, isn't
there?"
"Fuck," Stiles chokes. "I can't, Scott. I can't do this now." It's suddenly
very hard to breathe, and when he drops his pile of books he barely notices
when they don't hit the floor. He lets himself be dragged away from the
classroom, down the hall, out the nearest door.
Scott pushes Stiles down into the grass, sits cross-legged across from him with
his hands around Stiles' wrists. Stiles sucks in fresh air, lets it out slow,
closes his eyes and leans into his friend. Scott's arms around his shoulders
ground him, and he wonders how he's gone this long without it. "I'm sorry," he
whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Bile rises up in his throat and he
coughs, fighting the urge to vomit.
"What is it, Stiles?" Scott whispers. "Are you sick? Are you...fuck. No."
"I don't know," Stiles says, his fingers twisting into the back of Scott's
shirt. "I'm not sick, but I'm freaking out, Scott. I don't know what to do and
I'm probably gonna end up dead and my dad, my dad'll be alone." He starts
gasping again, sucking in too much air all at once.
Scott pushes him away, holds him by the shoulder, presses his other hand flat
against Stiles' sternum. "Breathe out," he says, his voice deeper than usual,
his eyes briefly flashing red.
Stiles breathes out. "Did you just—?"
"I can't believe that worked on you."
Stiles shakes his head. "It didn't. I think it was shock that you thought it
might." He coughs again, but the lump in his throat won't budge. He
concentrates on his breathing, making sure it's steady and even. "Scott,
listen."
"I'm listening," Scott says, shifting his hand from Stiles' chest to his
shoulder. "Tell me what's going on."
Stiles laughs, but there's nothing funny about this. "No, I mean, use your
ears. Listen to my heartbeat."
"I can hear your heartbeat, Stiles. It's messed up. My mom could—"
"What do you hear? Tell me what you hear, Scott."
Scott closes his eyes. "There's your normal heartbeat." He taps a finger
against Stiles' shoulder. Tap tap. Tap tap. "But then there's something else."
A finger on the opposite shoulder taps a much faster rhythm. "It's like there's
two. Two heartbeats. At the same time." His eyes pop open. "How can you have
two heartbeats, Stiles?"
Stiles releases the breath he's been holding. "I had sex with Derek." His palms
are slick with sweat, and he wipes them on the grass.
Scott snorts and pulls his hands back, resting them on his knees. "What?"
Stiles looks down at the ground and nods. "It's true. Back when I was freaking
out about Heather. No one believed me, and Derek did." He looks back up. "It
was just the one time, enough to get me off what I thought was the sacrifice
list." He rolls his eyes. "I was wrong about that, but I was desperate."
"Oh my god." Scott giggles. "Did you keep something of his? Because I've kinda
been smelling him on you for a while now."
"You could say that." Stiles waits for Scott to click, but his best friend just
stares back at him expectantly. "The extra heartbeat? Oh my god, Scott. Come
on."
Scott narrows his eyes. "I thought you were changing the subject." He cocks his
head, listening again. "Eww, did he give you something? Like...like a werewolf
tapeworm? Oh my god, it's a parasite, isn't it? Some kind of creepy
supernatural parasite." He pushes himself to his feet, grabs Stiles' hand and
yanks him up as well. "Come on, we'll go see my boss—"
"Scott," Stiles snaps, yanking his arm out of Scott's grip. "I'm pregnant,
okay? Jesus." He lifts his eyes to glare at Scott as he turns back, but instead
sees a figure standing by the door they used to leave the school building.
"What?" he breathes.
Scott turns back to the school, following Stiles' gaze. They both stare at
their new English teacher as he stands motionless, watching. "What does Grimm
want?"
They'd thought the guy was joking when he'd written his name on the board that
first day, but he wasn't. Stiles wonders if perhaps that had influenced his
weird feeling about the guy, his spider-sense for evil, and maybe it did, but
the way he stares now only intensifies that sensation. "We're supposed to be in
English? Do you think he'll take impending panic attack as an excuse and not
give us detention?"
"Probably not," Scott says. He takes a hesitant step toward the teacher, and
Stiles follows.
The same instant, the teacher takes one long stride toward them and breaks into
a run.
Stiles jerks back. "Oh my god, he is evil." He grabs Scott by the collar and
tugs at him. "Run, holy crap, run."
They make it to the Jeep, Scott hovering protectively as Stiles jumps into the
drivers side and starts the engine. Tires squeal as they pull away, leaving the
English teacher slowing to a stop in the parking lot.
***** Chapter 5 *****
"Maybe it's cursed," Stiles says. "I mean, what are the odds of having two evil
English teachers in a row? This is our Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Scott sits on the floor under the window, thumbs moving fast over the screen of
his phone. He shrugs. "I dunno. I've told Isaac to keep an eye on him, see if
he acts weird."
Stiles shakes himself. "How was that not weird? He chased us out of the school,
Scott. I'd say that's like, the very definition of weird."
Scott puts his phone down and looks up. "When do the real bad guys actually act
like it at first? You said it. Harris-evil. He was an asshole, and he knew more
than he should have, but he wasn't the one going around killing people. Maybe
it's the same with Grimm. He was pissed that we cut class and—"
"Oh my god. It's happening again. Matt was evil. Human sacrifice was real. When
are you gonna start listening to me?"
Scott grimaces. "I think you're jumpy. Because of the..." He waves a hand
vaguely in the direction of Stiles' stomach. "You're freaking out—which I
totally understand, by the way—and you're seeing monsters where there's just
real life."
Stiles throws his hands up and let's himself fall backward onto the bed. "That
you believe."
"Two heartbeats. It's proof enough."
Stiles stares at the ceiling over his bed. "So, people have to start turning up
dead before you do anything?"
"I guess."
Stiles sighs. He's got this feeling of impending doom, and it was there even
before Deaton told him what he was carrying. The darkness that would make them
beacons, it's there, but Scott should be feeling it, too. He doesn't understand
what his own likely death should have to do with the anxiety he feels when he
thinks of the new teacher, but it's too much, like an itch under his skin that
won't fade until he knows the danger has passed.
Without thinking, he pushes up the hem of his shirt and lays his palm on his
belly. He breathes slow, in and out, feeling each breath as he tries to relax.
"Remind me to punch Derek in the face, next time I see him," Scott says,
scrambling across the floor and perching on the edge of the bed. "What are you
gonna do, Stiles?"
Stiles tugs his shirt down and sits up, shaking his head. "Deaton gave me
something." He reaches for his bag at the end of the bed, pulls out the two
jars and sets aside the one with the yellow powder in it, keeping the oily
black gunk, holding it in his hands. "I'm not a girl, obviously. I don't have
the right equipment, so when it's time..." He swallows hard. "It..."
"The baby?" Scott supplies.
Stiles screws his eyes shut tight and nods. "It'll probably be okay. But
whatever it's attached itself to, whatever part of me..." He opens his eyes. "I
looked it up. It's possible, you know. For guys to do this. Not get pregnant,
that's still some funky werewolf mojo right there, but they can be pregnant.
But not deliver it and survive. Surgery, obviously, but the risk of haemorrhage
is like, 100%. Maybe a werewolf could do it and heal. Not me, Scott. I'm too
human."
"I could bite you," Scott says.
It's not like it hasn't occurred to Stiles, and if it took it could give him a
fighting chance, but Peter's story about Paige is still fresh in his mind and
he's aware that it too could end in his death. "Maybe," he says, and to his own
ears his voice sounds flat and hopeless. He turns the jar of black gunk over in
his hands. "Or I could stop it now."
"What is that?" Scott takes the jar from Stiles. He pops the cap off, recoils,
and quickly shoves it back on again. Even the small amount of scent that
reaches Stiles makes his stomach churn. "That doesn't smell good," Scott says.
"It's a mixture of stuff. It'll..." He pulls a face.
"It smells like it'll kill it, if not you in the process." Scott looks
panicked. "I can't believe Deaton gave you that."
"If it's gonna kill me at the end anyway..." Stiles forces himself to meet
Scott's eyes. "I'm running out of time."
Scott shakes his head. "No, you're not. We've got months, and we'll find a way,
Stiles. I promise."
Stiles presses his palm to his stomach and watches the determination on Scott's
face, hears it in his voice, and he wishes he'd told Scott earlier. He wouldn't
have felt so alone these past weeks, and he wouldn't have felt so desperate.
"Okay," he whispers, feeling the tiniest bit of the weight that's been pressing
down on his heart lift. It's not enough, but it helps.
Stiles sits on his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, and waits as Scott
flushes the contents of the jar.
.
The darkness is tightening, suffocating Stiles' heart, and there's something
coming. He holds a warm, wriggling bundle to his chest and flees the crumbling
house, leaving the red painted, scratched up door hanging open on its hinges.
All he can hear as he runs through the woods are his feet hitting the ground
and his harsh breaths as his lungs burn from exertion. Still, he knows that
there's something behind him, something that wants to take his precious cargo
from him.
Past trees that seem to reach out with finger-like branches, catching on the
blanket, threatening to tear the baby from his arms, he runs, stumbling, almost
tripping on roots, saving himself just before he falls, and always, always
keeping the baby, his baby, safe from harm.
Finally, he gets to his destination. He looks behind him, all around, as he
lays his baby on the flat, cut stump of the Nemeton and turns back the edges of
the blanket. "It's going to be okay," he whispers as he produces a knife.
The blade is as cold as ice as it slices into Stiles' wrists. Blood drips onto
the blanket, then pours as he lies down, curling protectively around his child.
.
It's too real, the dream too fresh in his mind when Stiles wakes. His heart is
racing, beating so hard and fast that it feels as if it's about to leap out of
his chest. He still feels cold when he remembers bleeding out on that old
stump, and the terror he felt is still there. Bile rises up in his throat and
he barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.
Stiles vomits until his stomach is empty and the muscles around the baby inside
him are hurting. "It's okay," he whispers, one hand on his belly as he wipes
his mouth with the other. "Fuck, I'm so screwed."
.
"What's he gonna do in front of the whole class?" Scott says, holding Stiles'
arm and pulling him forcibly toward English. "We don't even know what he is
yet, or even if he is anything, so suck it up and get your ass into your seat.
We'll keep our heads down—"
"And hope he doesn't murder the entire class just to get to me?" Despite his
panic, he allows Scott to drag him into the classroom, though he takes Scott's
seat so he can hide behind his much stronger, faster friend. He quickly pulls
out his books and then scooches down in the seat, dropping his head onto his
folded hands while they wait for the teacher to arrive.
Grimm walks in just as the bell rings to mark the beginning of class. Stiles
stares, frozen, too anxious to even turn his face away, and when the man's eyes
fall on him, cold and hard, he can't look away.
Then Grimm shifts his gaze, eyes moving over the entire class, and he begins
the lesson as though nothing has happened.
When the bell rings to signal the end of class, Stiles shoves his books into
his bag and beats everyone to the door. His hand comes down on the handle, and
he's about to turn it when Grimm lifts his head.
"Stiles. I need to speak with you."
Stiles' spine fuses, and he stops and slowly turns, but the teacher has already
looked back down at his desk. Everyone else files out of the classroom, and
Stiles grabs Scott's sleeve as he passes. "You were there, too," Stiles hisses.
"Why doesn't he want to see you?"
Scott shrugs. "I'll be right outside," he says. "I'll hear everything. You'll
be fine."
"What if he gives me detention and then murders me during detention?"
Scott presses his lips together hard as he tries not to smile. "Then I'll sit
outside the window." He walks out the door, closing it behind him.
Stiles turns back to the teacher. "Panic attack," he says. "I was having one.
About to have one. Maybe. Scott was just—"
"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, Stiles?" Grimm asks, pushing
his chair out and standing. He's got at least a couple inches on Stiles, and he
uses it, lifting his chin and staring down his nose.
Stiles blinks. "Just me? What about Scott?"
"Scott McCall doesn't interest me, Stiles. You're the one I'm concerned about."
He bends and opens a drawer, pulls out a file folder and lays it on the desk.
"You're a good student. There's some extra assignments I'd like you to do. I
think you can have them back to me after the holidays." Every word is clipped
and precise, but it's not the threats or detention or attempted murder Stiles
had expected.
"That's it? Extra homework?"
Grimm pulls out his chair and sits. "I don't have the patience for torture. Do
the work, Stiles." He looks up, and his eyes are wide and focused. "And don't
run from me again."
Stiles is still shuddering when he leaves the classroom. He grabs hold of
Scott's upper arm to steady himself. "I have no idea what just happened," he
says. "I don't care what you say, that dude is not normal." Then he stops, and
he backs up a couple of steps. The new girl is on her tip-toes, one hand
reaching into her locker. "Need a hand?"
Dana looks up and smiles. "Hey, Stiles." She lowers herself back to the floor.
"I tossed my book in and it went all the way in the back." She bounces on her
toes.
Stiles reaches in, grabs the book easily, and hands it over. "I'm sorry about
the other day. Bad day. Bad week. All the bad things."
"It happens." The tiny girl takes a step, closing the space between them, and
she puts her hand on Stiles' arm. "Thanks," she says.
Stiles feels his cheeks turning warm, and for some reason he looks up. Scott is
standing down the hall, grinning back at him.
.
Told Scott. New English teacher is evil. Thinking about having sex with him.
How's the saving my ass going?
Stiles puts his phone down on the dining room table and picks up his spoon.
Soup and toast. He's glad his dad is working, because it's all he's been eating
lately and he's bound to notice eventually. The weird yellow tea Deaton gave
him might get questions, too, but at least it's working to settle his stomach a
little.
His phone vibrates with a reply from Derek.
I knew you and Scott would get together eventually. And I'm sure he can handle
the teacher. Still working on the other thing. How are you?
Your kid is fine. Stiles sends the text and finishes his soup.
He doesn't mean to be snarky, but he feels entitled. His body really isn't his
own anymore, may never be again if they don't figure out some way of getting
the baby out without killing him. He reaches for his bag on the floor, pulling
out the folder with the extra work from Grimm. He might as well see what he's
gotten himself into.
He opens it up, flicks through the photocopied pages. There's a reading list,
the same one he got at the beginning of the year, and the assignments relate to
the last few books on the list, the assignments he's likely to miss if he has
to skip the last few months of the school year. "What the fuck?"
His phone rings, and he picks it up without looking at the screen. "Yeah?"
"I meant you," Derek says. "I'm glad the baby's fine, but I wanna know how you
are. I need to know if you're okay."
"I'm getting fat," Stiles says, still staring at the 'extra' assignments. "I
throw up more than I'd like, I'm having crazy disturbing dreams, I'm hornier
than I've ever been in my entire life—and that's saying something—and I'm still
facing certain death." He flips the folder shut and leans back in his chair.
"And I've just realized that my new English teacher knows I'm pregnant."
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     I just have to take a moment to say thanks to everyone reading.
     Sacrifice hit 500 kudos after the last chapter, and I know that's
     just a drop in the bucket compared to what some sterek authors are
     clocking, but it's my highest ever and TBH I'm ecstatic. I do this
     for love of the characters and the universe (and porn, I do it for
     the porn, too) and your feedback—even just knowing someone read the
     fic and liked it enough to hit the button—means everything to me.
     THANK YOU!
Stiles' has spent most of the holidays working on it, but it's finally done,
and as he closes the file on the last of the assignments Grimm gave him, he
feels a kind of relief. That's one class, at least, where he's prepared for the
time he's going to have to take off school.
With the folder in his hand, he turns away from the desk, looking for his
backpack. He doesn't find it, because the thought disappears from his mind as
soon as he sees the figure standing in his open doorway.
The file folder flies into the air as Stiles jumps. Sheets of loose paper rain
down around him, stapled assignments crack as they open up and flutter to the
floor, and Stiles barely sees them as he stares, open mouthed and frozen.
"Derek," he says. "Derek?" He rushes forward, but stops half-way across the
room. "You're back. Are you back?"
"I'm back." Derek closes the space between them, reaches out, and his hand
comes down on the back of Stiles' neck.
"God." Stiles leans into Derek's hand. "How is your skin so soft? Don't
werewolves ever get calluses from running around on their hands and feet? But
if everything heals, I guess not. God, I'm so relieved. You're back. You have
no idea how much—" He stops, pressing his lips tightly together. "Hey," he
says.
A slow smile spreads over Derek's face. "Hey." He pulls Stiles into a hug, arms
wrapped tightly around Stiles' back, holding him as if he'll never let go.
"God, you smell good."
"I what?" As the shock fades, Stiles starts to feel his body react to Derek
holding him. "Scott and Peter said I smell like you."
"That's probably it." Derek releases him, holds him at arms length and looks
him up and down. "You've lost weight."
"Throwing up almost everything you eat will do that."
Derek's face falls. "Is it bad?"
Stiles shakes his head. "It's getting better." He fights the urge to squirm in
his jeans, because he's hard, and while his erection is covered by the
oversized T-shirt he's wearing, it's getting uncomfortable. "Other things, not
so much."
Derek leans just a little closer and his nostrils flare. Then he smirks. "All
the time?"
Stiles lets out an exaggerated sigh and lets his body relax, slumping under
Derek's hands. "All the fucking time. If you thought being a regular teenager
was bad, try being a pregnant one." He claps his hand over his mouth and looks
at Derek with wide eyes. "Dad doesn't know," he whispers.
"I figured, since he didn't shoot me when I asked if you were home." Derek
keeps his voice low, barely loud enough for Stiles to hear. "When are you going
to tell him?"
"Not until I absolutely have to. At some point, he won't take much convincing."
Stiles looks down at himself, and his hand hovers over his swelling abdomen. He
makes a fist and drops it to his hip, then flicks his eyes up again.
Derek's got a look on his face that's like wonder and longing. He drops his
hand from Stiles' shoulder, and like Stiles' before it, it hangs in the air,
the backs of his knuckles barely brushing the fabric of Stiles' T-shirt. "Can
I?" he asks, looking back up. "Stiles?"
There's a lump in Stiles' throat and his eyes tingle. He swallows and nods.
"Yeah. Sure."
Derek lets out a heavy breath and drops his eyes again. His knuckles brush
gently over Stiles' belly, his touch so light Stiles can barely feel it, Then
he lifts his hand and sets it down again, palm flat, wrapped around the side of
Stiles' waist, thumb stroking over the taut flesh.
Stiles can feel it now, can feel the reverence in the way Derek touches him, in
the slide of Derek's palm over his rounded stomach. "Derek, I—" he begins, but
the words get lost as his throat closes over. A tear rolls down his cheek,
falls onto Derek's hand.
Derek looks up, his eyes wide. "Stiles."
Stiles looks away. "I'm okay," he insists, but his voice is shaky. He wipes his
cheek with the back of his hand.
"Stiles." Derek holds Stiles' chin, turns his head to face him. "You're not
gonna die."
"That's not—" Stiles blinks. "You found something?"
"I think so, yeah." Derek lets go of Stiles, goes back to the doorway and picks
up a bag off the floor Stiles didn't notice until now. It's a leather satchel,
and Stiles wants to call it a messenger bag, but it's too old, too antique
looking to warrant that name. Taking it to the desk, Derek pulls out half a
dozen old books. Really, really old books, with crumbling leather covers and
embossed spines. "My life isn't worth living if these get damaged," Derek says,
looking pointedly at the scattered paper all over the floor.
Stiles takes a step back. "Noted." His heart is beating fast, hard, and his
breathing is quick and shallow. He watches as Derek opens a book to a marked
page and lays it open on the desk. "Give me the CliffsNotes version. I don't
think I can handle the suspense."
Derek nods. "This book? History. Records kept by the pack I was with in New
York—"
"You were in New York?"
"Yeah. This whole chapter deals with—"
"Huh. A pack in New York." Stiles feels a little sick. "How was the weather?"
Derek frowns, looks up at Stiles. "Snow."
Stiles nods. "Huh."
Derek looks confused, concerned, but eventually looks back down at the book.
"It's an old pack. They came over from Ireland in the 1800's, but they go back
way before then. In the first few years of the 1600's, the Alpha had a male
mate." Derek looks up at Stiles, as if he's waiting for something.
"Who he knocked up," Stiles says.
"Yeah. The pack had been hunted, almost to extinction. They were the only two
left of the entire family—"
"Excuse me? They were...family? And also a couple? Isn't that a bit—"
Derek grins. "Royalty used to do it, marry their cousins, strengthen alliances,
protect the bloodlines. Why wouldn't werewolf packs do the same?"
Stiles still shudders. "Go on. Hunted to extinction, etcetera."
"The pack would have died out, Stiles. Some packs, they don't turn betas."
Derek's cheeks flush a little, and Stiles wonders if that had been the case for
his pack, for his family, before most of them died in the fire. Derek's
certainly never given any indication that Laura gave anyone the bite in the six
years before Derek became the Alpha. "It was like nature stepped in to save the
pack."
Stiles' heart stops cold. "What?"
"You're carrying the next Hale Alpha, Stiles."
.
Stiles' sat on his heels, his knees spread wide apart. One hand rested on the
back of Derek's neck, the other—slick with lube—slowly pumped Derek's cock.
That was the extent of his ability to coordinate himself because the two thick
fingers in his ass, the hand on his dick, and the tongue in his mouth,
completely removed his ability to think.
"Ready?" Derek asked, his voice strained, rough. He pressed another finger to
Stiles' hole, and it slipped in easy alongside the others. "Yeah, you're so
ready. Put your hands on the wall, Stiles."
Stiles did as he was told, pressing against the brick with his palms. "God," he
whispered. "Oh my god."
"You're okay," Derek said, gripping Stiles' hip with one hand, lining himself
up with the other. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise, but if you want me to
stop, just say so."
Then there was pressure, so much, and it burned as he was stretched open, and
Stiles couldn't think, didn't care that he lost his erection as Derek pushed
inside, it was all just too much.
With his hips against Stiles' ass, Derek stopped, dropped his head onto Stiles'
shoulder. "You feel so good, Stiles. So good, I can't even—"
Then he started to move, fingers pressing bruises into Stiles' hips.
.
Stiles peels off his T-shirt and jeans and gets in the shower. Under the warm
spray he slides his hands over his stomach and wonders what's going to happen
next. Derek never got to that part. Stiles' dad called up the stairs to ask
when he was going out, and that reminded Stiles that he was meant to be at
Lydia's New Years Eve party, and Derek gathered up his books and left.
He gets it, now, why Derek was so determined. He'd heard about what he'd done
for Cora, had taken note of the fact he hadn't sent Peter away or killed him
after he came back. Stiles understood Derek's desire for family, knew why it
was so important to him that any child of his own was born. This, though, it's
so much more.
Stiles has been around werewolves long enough to understand the importance of
the Alpha. Sure, Scott went without one and he was fine, but Scott's a whole
different thing—he was destined to become one himself, for a start—Derek,
though. He's different. He should never have been an Alpha in the first place,
should never have had to shoulder that kind of responsibility.
Maybe it was the same 400 years ago, for that other Alpha. Stiles figures that
if the survival of your pack depended on the usual method of procreation and if
it was as important as Derek makes it out to be, you'd choose a female mate.
Stiles is aware that it's not that easy for some people, not like it is for
himself, but if they go to such lengths as to pair off with cousins then they'd
take the sex of the mate into account when thinking about breeding.
It must have been the same. A beta never meant to lead the pack had leadership
thrust upon him, and the result was a pregnant dude.
Stiles is still half-hard, and he gives his dick a couple of casual tugs
because that's all it takes to get him fully hard. He closes his eyes and puts
his other hand on his belly, imitating the way Derek touched him, imagining the
look on his face while he did it. There's probably something badly wrong about
getting a sexual kick out of Derek's emotion over his unborn kid, but weirder
things have turned Stiles on lately.
Stiles turns his back away from the water, drags body wash and bubbles down to
his dick, and lets himself remember how badly he wanted Derek to kiss him then,
how right and inevitable it seemed. Maybe it's some kind of pregnancy thing,
but the relief he felt when he saw Derek was almost painful in its intensity.
It's like Stiles needs him, more than to save him from dying when this kid is
born, and it hurt all over again when Derek took his prehistoric messenger bag
and disappeared out the door.
He hopes Derek shows at Lydia's tonight.
Stiles puts one hand on the tiled wall of the shower and leans forward as he
strokes his dick faster. There's a memory he sometimes draws on, of the moments
after Derek first got inside him the first time, how full he felt, how it wiped
his mind clean of anything else except for the desperation in Derek's voice
when he told Stiles how good it felt.
Right before Stiles comes, the muscles in his stomach contract and he can
almost feel Derek's baby inside himself. The thought amplifies his orgasm, and
the intensity of it almost brings him to his knees.
***** Chapter 7 *****
"It's nothing big," Stiles had told Derek about Lydia's party. "Just pack. And
Danny, because Ethan." Derek had pulled a face, which could mean any of a dozen
things, though Stiles was banking on either 'why would I want to hang out with
a bunch of kids' or terrified.
Even though Derek's got every reason to stay away, Stiles keeps looking toward
the door.
"What are you waiting for?" Scott asks, only minutes after Lydia announces that
it's an hour until midnight.
"Derek's back," Stiles says. "I told him to come tonight."
"I'm glad you're comfortable enough to invite people to my parties, Stiles,"
Lydia says, passing him an open beer.
He stares at the bottle in her hand. "It's Derek," he says, and then shakes his
head, declining the drink. Most of the people here have worked with Derek too
many times for Stiles to expect anything but his acceptance, but maybe he's
biased. Maybe he's projecting his own feelings about the man onto his friends.
Lydia cocks her shoulder and purses her lips into a smile, makes a soft noise
that Stiles knows well enough to recognize that she's noticed something. He
presses his lips tightly together and looks away.
"Speak of the devil," Scott says, his voice low enough that only Stiles beside
him and the other werewolves will hear it. He gets up and heads for the door.
Stiles follows, but Scott is out the door before he gets to it. It closes in
his face, and he fumbles with the doorknob for long enough that he misses
seeing the cause of the cracking sound from beyond it.
When he bursts out the door, Derek is working his jaw as a bruise fades and a
split lip heals. He looks cowed and hurt, his head ever so slightly lowered,
and his eyes flick toward Stiles, then back to Scott.
"Are you back?" Scott says.
Derek nods.
Scott breathes out and seems to relax. "Okay. Good." He turns, and, as he
passes, puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "You'd better come in then."
The door clicks shut, leaving Stiles outside with Derek. "Did he just punch you
in the face?"
Derek shrugs. "I probably deserved it."
"No, you—"
"I did." He looks up at the door and smirks. "I left..." he says, and leaves
the sentence unfinished.
"You had a reason." Stiles grabs Derek's arm and tugs him toward the door.
"Come on, dumbass. No one's gonna bite you. Well, Aiden might, but Lydia can
handle him."
Derek resists. "Stiles, we have to talk."
Stiles' jaw drops. "Are you kidding me? You're gonna drop one of the most
dreaded statements ever now? It's New Year's Eve, man. I want to spend it with
my friends."
He tries for the door again, fingers still wrapped around Derek's wrist. He
goes nowhere and rolls his eyes. "That includes you, okay? Oh my god."
Stiles takes him into the kitchen first, gets himself a coke, and Derek a beer.
Derek stares down the neck of the bottle as he leans against the counter, then
lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a long draft. "I didn't get a chance to
tell you everything," he says. "I don't want you to think I tried to hide it."
Stiles blinks. As much as they've had to trust each other, Derek's kept things
back from all of them, out of guilt or a feeling of responsibility, and there's
something in his voice, like it's laced with regret. Stiles wants to ask, wants
to know right now, but it's New Year's Eve and he's with his friends and
Derek's back, with maybe a way to save him and he just wants to not be
terrified for another—he pulls his phone out—half an hour. "Thirty-two minutes
to midnight, Derek. It can wait." And he grabs Derek's sleeve and yanks him
through into Lydia's living room.
"I'm just saying," Lydia says, waving a wine glass with a little more
exaggeration than usual. "It's got to be weird. Allison was with Scott but now
she's with Isaac and at midnight they're totally gonna make out and isn't it
just a little bit awkward?"
Scott looks over at Isaac on the other couch and gives him a tight smile. "I'll
live," he says.
Lydia crouches down beside Scott and sets her glass on the coffee table. "It's
New Year's Eve," she says with a pout. She looks up at him from beneath her
eyelashes. "It's not fair that you should be alone."
Stiles glances at Aiden, because his reaction is hilarious. He's like a tightly
coiled ball of frustration, unable to act, and no right to do so because Lydia
keeps him just far enough away to keep anyone from calling it serious. The guy
might still technically be an alpha, but he's not the alpha of this pack, and
if he wants to stay in town, if he wants to stay close to Lydia, he can't go up
against Scott, can't do a thing.
And Lydia loves to mess with him.
Ethan, by contrast, is laughing. He's sitting on the floor with Danny, their
limbs intertwined. That's looking pretty serious, even though Danny doesn't
know his boyfriend is a werewolf yet, doesn't know about werewolves at all,
though he's been fairly close to the thick of things too many times for it to
be kept from him much longer. One day he's going to find out.
Lydia looks up at Scott and licks her lips. Aiden is almost vibrating, and if
Stiles can see it, what can the werewolves feel? "I'll make out with you at
midnight, Scott," Stiles says, scooching closer to him on the couch, wrapping
an arm around his shoulders.
Scott breaks into a wide smile and a blush colors his cheeks. "Stiles, what?"
Stiles nods. "Yeah. Come on. You're alone. I'm..." he takes a deep breath.
"Alone. Who better than your best friend?"
Catcalls fill the room, and Scott scrunches up as he laughs and pulls a face.
Stiles pats him on the cheek. "You're so adorably straight, buddy." He pulls
his arm back, and his eyes pass over Aiden, now visibly relaxed. He breathes a
sigh of relief.
"He so is," Allison agrees, and folds in on herself as Isaac behind her tenses.
"What?" she says, turning. "He is."
The room fills with laughter, but there's someone quiet. Someone in the room,
but not part of it. Stiles looks up at Derek, leaning against the wall, a half-
full bottle of beer dangling at his thigh. Derek's eyes are on Stiles, probably
have been the entire time. His expression is all but blank.
Stiles wants to call him over, but he knows that Derek is just waiting for
midnight, waiting until Stiles lets him tell the rest of the story. Stiles
knows, though, that whatever he's found, it's not going to be easy. He doesn't
want to die, but there'll be a price to pay to save his life.
He wonders if any of them will be prepared to pay it.
"We really need more girls in this group," Scott says, and then elbows Stiles
in the side. "Hey, how come you didn't invite Dana?"
Stiles sees Derek's frown before he drags his eyes away. "She's not part of
the...group," he says.
"The new girl?" Isaac asks. "She might as well be. She was only sitting with us
at lunch the entire last couple of weeks of school."
"She's into you, Stiles," Scott says. "And she's cute. You should have told her
to come."
"What? No." Stiles squirms in his seat. "She just, doesn't know anyone else.
Sort of follows me around because I helped her with her locker."
Isaac frowns. "Is that a euphemism for something?"
"Err, Stiles?" Allison says. "That means she's into you."
Danny shifts and gets to his feet. "Leave him alone," he says. "He's into
someone else."
Everyone looks at Lydia. Stiles watches Danny, sees his eyes flick over Derek
as he heads for the kitchen. He picks up his can and drains the last of the
coke, and pulls himself to his feet to get another. Derek's still frowning as
he passes.
Danny comes out of the fridge with three beers in each hand. He stands back to
let Stiles pass. "I thought that guy was your cousin," he says.
Stiles blinks. "What? Derek? No." He closes the fridge and puts his coke on the
counter. "No. He just looks like my cousin. Miguel. With the nose bleeds."
Danny lifts an eyebrow. "Whatever, man." He heads back toward the living room,
pauses before he goes through the door. "It's a good thing he isn't your
cousin, because the way you two were looking at each other just now? That would
be seriously wrong."
Stiles tells himself Danny can't possibly understand what's behind those looks.
He cracks the tab on his can and heads for the door.
It swings inward. Through the open door, Stiles hears Lydia calling one minute
to midnight, sees her set her phone on the coffee table, propping it against an
empty beer bottle, before his way is blocked by Derek and he's gotta step back
or be bowled over.
"Dude," he says, reaching out, pushing on Derek's shoulder so he can pass.
Derek doesn't move.
"Is there a girl?" he asks, and the tension in his voice is more fear than
anger.
Stiles shakes his head. "No. You think I'm going to start something now? It'd
be pointless, for a start, and can you imagine trying to explain..." He looks
down. He tries to get past again, but Derek puts a hand on his hip and stops
him. "Dude, thirty seconds."
Seven voices join together in the living room. "...twenty-six, twenty-five,
twenty-four..."
"Stay here," Derek whispers. "Please, Stiles."
"...nineteen, eighteen, seventeen..."
Stiles looks up and shakes his head. "You couldn't wait another minute?"
"...twelve, eleven, ten..."
Derek crowds up against him, slides his hand up Stiles' shirt. "No."
"...five, four, three..."
The pulse in Derek's middle finger matches the seconds as they tick away. On
two, the voices fade out, and Derek kisses him, and all Stiles hears is the
blood rushing in his ears and a resigned 'Happy New Year' in Scott's muffled
voice.
Stiles is touched, because as gestures go, this is not what he expected from
Derek. He didn't expect anything, but certainly not this. He figures Derek's
being all noble again, doing the guilt thing and feeling as if he's done
something wrong. Stiles knows he should stop it, tell Derek that it's not
required.
He can't bring himself to stop. The taste of Derek's mouth takes him right back
to the first time, all that emotion and sensation, the way Derek brought him to
heights of need he'd never experienced before, hasn't since, probably never
will again. He wraps his arms around Derek's neck, leans back and shifts his
feet apart, letting Derek's thigh fit between his legs. His pants are
uncomfortably tight, his cock straining against the too-tight waistband of the
jeans he should have shoved to the back of the drawer, but wore anyway.
Stiles turns his head away, breaking the kiss, but as Derek's mouth shifts to
his throat, blunt human teeth working the curve where his neck meets his
shoulder, Derek grinds against him, and he's hard, too, and Stiles is
surprised. He can understand the wonder Derek could feel at what's growing
inside him, because he knows what it means to Derek, but it doesn't make Stiles
any less of a freak of nature. "You don't have to do this," he breathes,
forcing the words out, because if Derek stops now Stiles might just scream.
"I want to," Derek grinds out, and then his tongue is in Stiles' mouth again,
and his hand moves from Stiles' belly to circle his waist, pulling him closer,
grinding against him harder.
Then he just stops and pulls away. "Scott's leaving," he says, and grabs
Stiles' hand, tugging him toward the door. "We need him."
Stiles almost chokes in shock. His balls are hurting and he can barely walk.
"Err, did you miss the whole 'adorably straight' part of the night? Because I
can guarantee Scott's not going to be into whatever this is."
Derek throws him a smirk and guides him out of the kitchen. "Not for this,
Stiles. We need his help to save your life. I think he'll be interested in
that."
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They end up at the loft, because apparently Derek planned to come back all
along. The skylight has been fixed, but the place looks even more spartan than
it did before, if that's possible, and Stiles notices why immediately.
The bed is gone.
Every time Stiles has been here, his eyes have been drawn to it. Because of
what happened in it, because of what it reminds him of, all his focus has been
there. He feels lost now, as if there's a hole where it used to be, and he's
got no center.
He's still stopped at the bottom of the steps, his eyes stuck on that empty
spot when Derek passes him and looks back. There's a frown creasing the space
between his brows, but he follows Stiles' gaze, it fades, and he flicks his
eyes up to the floor above.
Upstairs. Stiles supposes that makes sense. If it's only Derek here now,
there's no reason why he should sleep in the main room, where it's been proven
time and again that pretty much anyone can get in if they want to. Derek's
safer up there. "Where's Cora?" Stiles asks, as he joins Derek and Scott at the
table and watches Derek spread out his borrowed books again.
"She stayed in New York," Derek says. "She'll come later." He looks up. "Closer
to the time."
It makes sense Derek would want his sister around to help. Girls are good with
babies, aren't they? And whether Stiles lives through this or not, it's Derek's
kid, Derek's family, his Alpha.
Stiles was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
For Scott's benefit, Derek repeats the story of the pack that was almost wiped
out in Ireland, of the Alpha's mate who got pregnant. It's more long winded
this time, most of it Derek reads from the crumbling old book, stopping every
paragraph or so to clarify something.
Stiles thinks Derek should have given Scott the same version he gave Stiles,
except that he's really too tired to speak up. He leans against the wall
underneath the window and tries to focus on what Derek's saying, tries to keep
his eyes open, but Derek's low, patient tones lull him quickly to sleep.
.
When he wakes, he's in a bed, and there's sunlight coming in through a window
just like the one in the loft. He must be upstairs, Scott must have left him
here last night, and Stiles is just relieved that he agreed when his dad told
him to stay at Lydia's if he was going to be drinking, not knowing how to tell
him why he most definitely would not be.
It's definitely Derek's bed, Derek's blankets, but it doesn't smell like him no
matter how far Stiles buries his nose in the pillow. He's hungry, his mouth is
dry, and he really has to piss, so he throws back the blankets and hauls
himself to his feet.
Only then does he see the chair off to one side of the bed, and the sleeping
form in it.
Stiles has seen Derek unconscious before, but never asleep. He looks incredibly
young, even with the scruff on his face, even with the stress lines on his
brow. Stiles wants nothing more than to watch him like this, but his bladder
drags him away to the bathroom.
When he returns, Derek's gone from the chair. He looks up at Stiles from where
he sits on the edge of the bed, his palm flat over the spot where Stiles was
lying not long ago.
"Scott wanted to wake you," he says. "He wanted to take you home. I wouldn't
let him."
Stiles shrugs. If he'd been asked, he probably would have gone with Scott, but
he doesn't mind being here. "I missed the big reveal, didn't I? How did the
story end? Did Scott tell you he offered me the bite? Is that why you brought
him here, too?"
"He told me, yeah." Derek's expression is blank, giving nothing away. "That's
not going to happen."
Up until Derek appeared in his room yesterday, Stiles was banking on it as
potentially his only chance. "Unless you've got another idea I'll bleed to
death when they take it out of me."
Derek reaches out, pulls Stiles down beside him. He puts one hand on Stiles'
shoulder, the other holds his head, thumb tracing his cheekbone. "If he bleeds
out fast enough, even a werewolf won't have time to heal." His eyes move over
Stiles' face like he's trying to memorize it, his only expression a tightening
of his brows.
It strikes Stiles as a funny time to kiss him when Derek leans in, considering
they're talking about how Stiles could die a handful of months from now, but
it's not like he pulls away. Morning breath and all, Stiles wants this, wanted
it last night, has wanted it since the first time, but that was a favor, Derek
only did it because Stiles was scared, because Stiles begged him to. "He died,
didn't he?" Stiles says, and it comes out garbled because Derek won't stop
kissing him.
"Yes." Derek only stops long enough to say that one word, and then he's licking
into Stiles' mouth again. He pushes Stiles back, pushing blankets aside, coming
down over him with one knee between Stiles' thighs, one hand cradling Stiles'
head, the other sliding down his side, stroking over the swell of his stomach.
That's when Stiles recognizes the desperation in Derek. "Oh my god," he moans,
and the words get swallowed up. He twists his fists into the front of Derek's
shirt and drags himself away. Derek only moves his kisses to Stiles' throat and
starts tugging at the buttons of Stiles' shirt. "What are you doing?" Stiles
says, and he should at least attempt to shove Derek away, but he doesn't.
"There's nothing, is there? There's no way of saving me." He should be
panicking, but he's not. Maybe it's shock. Maybe he's all panicked out. "I'm
gonna die." He relaxes his fingers and wraps his arms around Derek's back,
slides his palms over hard muscle, pulls Derek even closer.
"No." Derek's fingers move over the buttons of Stiles' shirt, opening it,
pushing it aside. "You won't. I'll tell you, just let me..." He drops his head,
kisses Stiles in the center of the chest, then licks at a nipple.
Stiles jerks up off the bed as pleasure arcs from his nipple to his cock.
"You're lying."
Derek shakes his head, quickly glances up, then suctions his lips over Stiles'
nipple and sucks.
Stiles thrashes and moans. "Fucking tell me." His cock is too hard, his jeans
too tight, and he gets a hand between them and pops the button open, leaving it
there because no way is he going to have Derek think he's begging while his
life is on the line, no matter how much he wants to be touched.
Still, it's as if Derek's taken it as a hint, because he wriggles down the bed.
"Not now, Stiles." Then his lips are on the place where Stiles' stomach starts
to swell, still low down on his abdomen, still small enough to hide under his
shirt, and yet it feels so strange and unnatural. Derek's breath is harsh and
stuttering, his hands gripping tight into Stiles' waist as he presses kisses to
firm flesh. He looks up, there's tears in his eyes, and he looks wrecked.
"Oh my god," Stiles whispers. "It's me or the baby, isn't it?"
"Not now, Stiles, please." Derek shakes his head. "I can't. Not now."
Stiles drops his head back to the mattress and stares at the ceiling. "You
promised," he says, and he feels warm tears drop onto his stomach even as
Derek's fingers draw down the zip of his jeans. "You said you'd find a way to
save us both." His voice is all but gone, no more than a breath, but Derek will
hear it.
"I know," Derek says, pulling Stiles' cock out of his jeans even though it's
gone soft. "I'm sorry." He sucks Stiles into his mouth, and it's warm and wet
and just so, so desperate and Stiles doesn't know whether Derek's trying to
make it up to him or get close to him or what. He doesn't understand any of it,
why the universe would let him get pregnant only to make Derek choose between
Stiles and the baby, and it's just not fair.
Still, Stiles gets hard, and Derek makes him come, and it's almost painful in
it's intensity. So much emotion, too much to process, and it just leaves him
limp and whimpering as Derek crawls back up and lies beside him.
"You want it?" Derek asks, his voice very small and quiet. "The baby. Do you
want it?"
Stiles supposes that Derek might be surprised if he did, because at the
beginning he was prepared to get rid of it, even though he suspects he could
never have gone through with it. "You want it," Stiles says, because more than
anything, what Stiles feels is Derek's desperation for the child, and his own
desire to give it to him. He breaks down then, breaks completely. "And I want
you." He cries and he sobs and he moans that it hurts because this is too hard
a decision to make. And even Derek's mouth on his, his tongue between his lips
doesn't stop him, and then he can't tell whether those are his own tears or
Derek's. "Fuck me," he says. "You can knot me, I don't care, I just want you
inside."
"I can't." Derek wipes tears off Stiles' cheeks with his fingers. "You're
already pregnant, and I'm not an Alpha anymore."
Stiles nods. "Then just get inside me and stay there. I want you to stay
there."
Derek gets up and finds lube as Stiles kicks off his jeans and underwear. He
doesn't even mind when Derek barely preps him, savoring the painful, burning
stretch that makes him cry out, because it lessens the ache in his heart.
As deep as he can go, Derek stills, his elbows on the mattress. There's so much
fear in his eyes, so much worry.
"Tell me now," Stiles whispers, tracing Derek's brow with his fingers, trying
to smooth out the lines. "How did the story end?"
"The Sidhe came," Derek says, and Stiles recognizes the word. He stumbled
across it while looking into Lydia's banshee deal. "They wanted the baby. They
offered to save the life of the Alpha's mate in exchange for it." He moves his
hips, just a little, and sinks deeper inside Stiles' body.
Stiles spreads his legs further and tips his pelvis up because he wants all of
Derek, as much as he can get. "He sacrificed his mate for the kid."
Derek shakes his head. "He wouldn't. The Alpha tried to give it to them, but
his mate refused, and he died because he wouldn't allow the baby to be taken."
Derek closes his eyes, the skin around them tightens. "Stiles..."
"But the baby lived?" Stiles clings to Derek's shoulders, arches up as Derek
pushes down. He doesn't want this to end, but he needs friction as much as
Derek does.
Derek gives up, pulls back, pushes back inside. "The baby saved the pack," he
breathes. "His descendants are the werewolves I was with in New York. He wrote
that book, that's his story." He pulls back, thrusts again, long and slow.
"Stiles, god."
"It's okay," Stiles whispers, sliding his hands down to Derek's ass, pulling
him in, guiding, encouraging. "Fill me up, Derek, come in me, but don't go,
please don't leave."
"I won't," Derek says. "I swear I won't."
When Derek comes, it's with a soft, painful whimper, and then he lowers himself
onto Stiles' chest, lays his head on Stiles' shoulder, and just breathes.
There's an ache still in Stiles' heart, but at least he knows what to do.
Chapter End Notes
     So I can avoid doing the epic exposition thing and boring those who
     are aware, click here for the wikipedia article that explains the
     Sidhe.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Stiles figures Derek's need to be close to him is some kind of instinct, some
compulsion to stay near his unborn child. He's not complaining. A guy could do
worse than spend his last few months with Derek Hale's hands all over him, not
that anyone but Stiles knows about that.
Oh, they know about the hands part. Even Stiles' dad has decided that his
underage son is dating Derek Hale. He gave Stiles the safe sex speech and
everything, while Stiles' face burned and he tried—and failed—to force himself
to tell his father what was going on.
Right now they're standing by the vast window at Derek's place, looking out at
the approaching dark and waiting for the full moon to rise. Derek's arms are
wrapped around Stiles from behind, his hands on Stiles' rapidly expanding
stomach, and it's the same possessive, desperate grief that it's been since
Derek came back.
"What does it feel like?" Stiles asks, his eyes on the glow over the cityscape.
"The full moon rising. How does it make you feel?"
"It's exciting," Derek says. "Your heart beats faster, harder. It's hard to
keep still, you want to run. Howl. Hunt."
Stiles turns in Derek's arms, so they're face to face, so his belly presses
against Derek's hard abdomen. "So why are you here? Why aren't you out with
Scott and the rest of them?" There's no new betas, not for a long time now, and
without something to fight or anything to do but look at old books, the
werewolves are out blowing off steam in the preserve.
"Plenty of time for that," he says, and the implied 'after the baby's gone'
hangs in the air like the static before lightning strikes.
"Do you think she feels it?" Stiles whispers.
Derek goes still, listening. He shakes his head. "She sounds the same. I don't
know."
Stiles stopped calling the baby 'it' first, and Derek followed his lead. He
doesn't know why she became she, only that it came easy to him. He could go to
Deaton and know for sure, or allow Scott to tell his mom so they can sneak him
into the hospital for a proper ultrasound, but honestly, he doesn't care. Derek
would hear if her heartbeat changed, Stiles knows she's growing, and while he's
not felt any movements yet, he's got time before he needs to start worrying.
When Stiles turns back to the window, the moon hangs full and heavy over the
skyline. Derek drops his lips to the back of Stiles' neck, kissing, licking,
biting gently with blunt teeth. He's warmer than usual, his bare skin where it
touches Stiles tingles and raises the hairs on the back of his neck and arms.
There's a weird quivering down low in Stiles' stomach. "I can feel it," he
whispers, then reaches back, threading his fingers through Derek's hair,
pulling him down, encouraging him to sink his teeth deeper into the meat of
Stiles' shoulder.
Derek moves fast then, fingers working at the button of Stiles' jeans, shoving
them down his hips, just far enough to expose his ass, and then Derek's fingers
are at his hole, slick with spit, one pressing inside. "I need you..." Derek
breathes, his free hand tightening on Stiles' hip.
"Sure," Stiles says. "But we should go upstairs."
Derek wriggles his finger deeper, leans into Stiles' back, bending him forward
so he has to put his hands on the ledge or hit the window. "No. Now."
Stiles winces. "Dude, if you try to fuck me without lube, I'm totally telling
Scott. He'll pull that face he makes when he thinks about us having sex and
then he'll punch you."
That makes Derek hesitate. "Okay," he mumbles, sliding his finger out, wrapping
his arms around Stiles' chest and pulling him up. "Hurry."
Minutes later, Stiles is naked, his knees on the floor, bent over the end of
the bed with two of Derek's fingers inside him. He's rushing, but it's okay,
and Derek isn't usually like this, not before now, but Stiles understands,
almost as if he feels it too. The only light in the room is the moon shining
through the windows, and Stiles is tingling with barely contained energy. "I'm
ready," he says, because he needs to have Derek inside him, he needs to be
taken, to be fucked, to be claimed.
Derek groans in relief, slides his fingers out, then enters Stiles in one swift
thrust. "Oh god," he says, doubling over, licking and sucking at Stiles'
shoulder. His hands wrap around Stiles' ribs, holding him just above the bump,
and he rolls his hips and shudders. "You've gotta stay with me," he says,
panting against Stiles' back. "After. I won't be able to... Not without you,
Stiles."
Stiles turns his head to look over his shoulder. "I will," he says, and he can
feel his own heart beating faster, harder, because he's lying, and he wonders
why Derek can't tell.
.
Stiles wakes when Derek gets up, but he doesn't open his eyes. He listens to
the stairs creaking, to the front door opening, to low voices that get louder
as they get closer.
He hears Peter, could tell that it was Peter even if he couldn't, because of
the way Derek's words are clipped and impatient. He strains his ears, but few
words reach him until Derek's voice rises with emotion.
"I can't ask him to do that. I've got no right."
Stiles' eyes fly open, and he wriggles closer to the edge of the bed.
"He'll do it, Derek, believe me. Stiles is his best friend, don't you think
Scott would do anything he could to save him?"
"He won't have to," Derek says, and Stiles has to strain his ears just to hear
it. "Stiles is going to be fine."
"At the expense of your child, Derek, the only one you'll ever have—and without
whom your family will simply disappear. We're already scattered, and there's so
few of us. Without that baby, we're finished, and it'll be the second time
you've done something to destroy your family."
There's a crash downstairs, and growling, scuffling. "Get out," Derek roars,
and there's noise and movement and finally the door slides shut.
Stiles climbs out of the bed, grabs the nearest shirt and pulls it on. He
climbs halfway down the stairs and then sits, and from where he is he can see
Derek, standing at the bottom of the steps, still staring at the door. His
jeans are hanging low on his hips, and he's wearing no shirt, and his fingers
are still tipped with claws.
"Go back to bed, Stiles," he says, without turning.
Stiles doesn't move. "He's right, you know," he says. "Not about it being your
fault. But you can't just give her away. She's going to save your family, your
pack, and my life isn't worth—"
"I'm not going to let you die," Derek snaps, and then he drops down to sit on
the step. He drops his head into his hands, claws shrinking back into his
fingers. "I'm not going to be the cause of that."
Stiles gets off the stairs and crosses the room. "Okay," he says, because he's
not going to waste his breath. He already knew Derek would never do it. He
doesn't talk about Paige. He knows Stiles knows, but he won't talk about it.
"Scott would do it," he says, lifting Derek's chin up.
Derek shakes his head. "It would happen too fast. He'd be wasting his time.
He'd give you all he had and you'd still die."
Stiles nods. "So nothing changes."
"We wait for them to come," Derek agrees. "And we say yes." He reaches out and
places his palm on Stiles' stomach. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
Stiles knows he's not apologizing to him, but he says, "It's okay," and moves
up onto the step, straddling Derek's thighs.
Derek's hands grip Stiles' waist, and he pulls him down, fits his mouth over
Stiles', and the kiss is slow, and sweet, and painful. It's always going to be
like this, Stiles knows. Every moment he has left with Derek is going to be
bittersweet, is going to cut right to his heart, but it's worth it.
Derek breaks the kiss, tips Stiles' head back so he can look at him. "There's
already an Alpha in Beacon Hills. Hale is just a name. The pack will still be
here."
Stiles says nothing. He searches for Derek's lips again, needing the
connection. He reaches between them and opens Derek's jeans so he can feel
Derek's cock against his own.
He feels a tickle inside him as he strokes them both together and quickens his
pace. "Do werewolves always fuck like bunnies on the full moon?" he asks,
because Derek's already arching into his touch and gripping his hips like he
wants to lift Stiles onto his cock already.
A soft huff of laughter comes from Derek. "I don't know. I've never fucked a
werewolf."
"Well, I have, and it feels like it's rubbing off." Stiles grinds against
Derek's cock, letting his hand fall away, rising up on his knees, pushing up on
Derek's shoulder with one hand, reaching behind him with the other and
positioning Derek's cock at his entrance. "Because I have this urge," he moans,
and then slowly impales himself on Derek's dick. "To fuck. Like bunnies."
Derek grunts and his hips jerk upward. "Yeah." He lifts the hem of the shirt
Stiles is wearing—Derek's shirt—and pulls it off over his head, tossing it
away. He drops his head, licking each of Stiles' nipples in turn, sending
sparks of sensation to Stiles' groin, then choosing one and sucking hard.
Stiles can barely move. Derek's holding him, an arm tight around his waist, the
other bending him backward so he can get to Stiles' chest. All he can do is
rock his hips and moan, tangle his fingers in Derek's hair and hold him closer,
and deal with the crazy fluttering in his stomach. "Oh my god," he gasps when
it hits him. "Oh my god, Derek. Oh my god."
Derek releases his nipple, moving his kisses to Stiles' throat, nibbling at his
shoulder, licking his skin. "I know, Stiles," he moans, grinding his cock
deeper into Stiles' ass. "Fuck, I know."
"No." Stiles clings to Derek's shoulders, gasps for breath. "She's moving,
Derek. I can feel her moving."
Derek lifts his head and stills his hips. "What?"
Stiles looks down, presses his palm flat to his stomach, but that's not where
he can feel it. It's inside him, right inside him, like butterflies, and he
might have mistaken it for hunger or anxiety or sickness, but this is real.
"There, again. God."
Derek pushes his hand out of the way and presses both hands to Stiles' abdomen.
He's still, perfectly still and silent, waiting.
"There, again," Stiles says. "Can you feel it? Can't you hear it?"
Derek looks up and shakes his head. "No." He looks stricken, desperate.
"It's okay," Stiles says, taking Derek's hands and pulling them to his waist.
"You will soon. Now fuck me, Derek." He lifts himself up, drops down again,
keeps doing it, until Derek takes over, until Derek lifts him, still inside,
and lays him on his back at the bottom of the steps and pounds into him until
they're both slick with sweat.
Derek roars when he comes, eyes flashing blue, claws gouging lines into the
floor, and Stiles is sure he sees a hint of fang. It's all gone by the time
Derek pulls out, trailing come over Stiles' thigh as he wriggles off and sucks
Stiles' dick into his mouth.
Stiles puts his hands on his belly before he comes, because she's awake, still
fluttering in there. When he tightens around her, now that he's felt her and
she's even more real he wonders if he shouldn't feel a bit weird about it.
***** Chapter 10 *****
"Finstock just told me to lay off the twinkies, Scott. I think it's time."
Scott glances sideways and down. "You can't tell." He looks back up and reaches
into his locker. "Isn't that your dad's hoody?"
"Yes," Stiles huffs, slamming his locker shut but not making any effort to move
away from it. "I'm reduced to wearing my dad's clothes, because while mine
still technically fit, they make my condition rather frickin obvious. It makes
my considerable experience in hiding awkward boners pale in comparison." He
sighs. "So, I figure I fake an illness, something contagious so no one feels
the need to check up on me. We might need your mom's help on that." He turns
back to the hallway and leans his butt against his locker. "And I'm going to
have to tell my dad."
"Hey, Stiles," Dana says as she suddenly appears in front of him.
Stiles jumps. "Jesus. You're like a were— Cat. Remind me to get you a little
bell."
The tiny girl tips her head to the side and smiles. "Does it come on a sparkly
collar?"
Stiles grins. Despite her sudden appearances and unfortunate crush, he likes
her. "I dunno. I think you're more of a velvet girl."
Her laugh is like music. Stiles vaguely registers Scott closing his locker and
wandering away as Dana opens her bag and pulls out a sheet of paper. "I noticed
you were kinda zoned in Econ, so I took down the homework for you."
There's shouting down the hall, the sound of feet hitting the floor. Stiles
glances up to see a bunch of senior boys pushing each other around, but they're
laughing, so he looks back down. "That's so sweet, thanks. I was distracted—"
"You probably could have got it off Scott I suppose," she says, and her cheeks
go pink.
Stiles shakes his head. "He usually gets it off me." He waves the sheet of
paper. "This is great."
The seniors come tearing down the hall. Stiles doesn't pay much attention to
them, until one ankle-taps another, who comes careening toward them. Like slow
motion he sees the big, heavy guy coming at them and Stiles doesn't have enough
time to move, to grab Dana and get them both out of the way.
Instinctively, he wraps his arms around his stomach. Dana sees his eyes, sees
his movement and looks down. Her own eyes go wide, and then the senior hits her
from behind.
They both end up on the floor, Stiles on his back, Dana on top of him, her
hands on his stomach and he can see it in her eyes as she looks down at him.
She slithers off, and her eyes flick over him, her face a picture of confusion
and disbelief.
"Oh my god, Stiles. Are you okay?" Scott grabs his hand and pulls him up, and
then Scott and Isaac are crowded around him, hiding him from the crowd that's
gathered.
"I'm... I'm fine," Stiles gasps, catching his breath. "Dana, she... She was the
one that got hit. I just broke her fall."
Isaac looks the length of the hall. "She's gone," he says.
Mr. Grimm comes out of his classroom and stares right at Stiles. It's the first
time the man has so much as looked at him since he handed in the assignments,
but now, it's like the guy can see everything, knows what he's thinking, and it
makes his skin crawl.
Stiles drops his eyes. "We're okay," he whispers, pressing his hands to his
stomach, rubbing his sides. From the corner of his eye, he sees Grimm striding
up the hall, grabbing two students by the collar and dragging them away.
"She's fine," Scott whispers, his hand on Stiles' shoulder, one finger tapping
a quick, regular heartbeat.
.
"I'm okay," Stiles says into the phone. "No, you don't have to come right now,
I'm doing homework and you're the one who keeps telling me I'm going to be fine
and shouldn't neglect my studies and shit, so, just come over later, okay?"
There's a knock on his bedroom door and he covers the phone with his hand.
"Yeah, Dad? I'm doing homework." The door starts to creak open. "I gotta go,
Derek." He looks up at the door, expecting to see his father.
Dana's standing in the doorway, looking awkward. "Hey," she says. "Your dad
said to come right up."
"Bye," Stiles says, and ends the call. He tosses his phone onto the desk.
"Hey."
Dana walks into the room and closes the door. "I just wanted to see if you were
okay."
"I'm not the one who got hit by a dude three times my size."
"I'm not the one who's pregnant," she counters.
There's a long moment spent just staring at each other. There's an almighty
battle going on inside Stiles. Fight or flight. Deny the crap out of it, or
tell her the truth. He's usually a good judge of people, and while it's been
impossible to get to know Dana as well as he might have done with everything
going on on top of all the regular secrets Stiles has to keep, he trusts that
she's not going to spread it around the entire school.
"Right," he says.
"Right," she echoes, and then she stares some more, and Stiles can practically
see the cogs turning in her head as she attempts to piece things together.
"So," she finally says. "Are you trans? Because normally, guys can't get
pregnant."
"No," Stiles says, and then he frowns. "But I probably should have said yes,
huh? That would have been an easy explanation." He hits himself in the forehead
with the heel of his hand. "But no. All the boy parts, here. It's kind of a
long story."
"This town has werewolves, and the normal rules don't apply?"
"Or not." Stiles gapes at her. "You know about werewolves?"
Dana shrugs. "Wolves howling when there's no wolves in California, a history of
mysterious animal attacks, and snippets of conversations overheard at school? I
figured it out. So." She waves her hand in the direction of Stiles' stomach.
"This is a werewolf thing?"
Stiles nods, and then shakes his head. "Yeah. But I'm not a werewolf. Just the
poster boy for abstinence, apparently."
Dana grins and sits down on the edge of Stiles' bed. "Noted. So, how far along
are you? I mean, when are you...?"
Stiles winces, because the time keeps getting shorter, and he keeps trying to
tell himself it doesn't matter whether the Sidhe ever show up or not, but he's
scared. "A little over five months. So, May. Obviously I'm going to have to
quit school. Well, not quit, but sort of take a leave of absence. I'm gonna
fake mono, so if you hear anything of the sort, descriptions of horrible rashes
would be much appreciated."
Dana pulls an 'eww' face. "I'm happy to help." Then her cheeks color. "I'm
guessing you have a scary werewolf boyfriend, then."
As if on cue, there's a knock on Stiles' bedroom door, and it swings open.
Derek looks at the girl on the bed and his nostrils flare. His eyes flick to
Stiles with a questioning look.
Stiles waves his hand at Derek. "Speak of the devil," he says. "Dana, Derek.
Derek, Dana. I thought I told you I was fine?"
"I thought you said you were doing homework?" Derek says, lifting an eyebrow.
Stiles rolls his eyes. "Dana was between me and the freak of nature who decided
to throw himself around the hall. She was just checking to make sure I was
okay."
Dana stands up. She barely comes up to Derek's armpit, but she looks up at him
with curiosity, and no fear at all. Stiles is pleased, it means at least he
doesn't have to deal with his new friend having a totally-not-irrational fear
of the supernatural. "I should go, anyway. Will I see you at school tomorrow?"
she says.
Stiles nods. "I'm gonna finish the week."
As soon as she's gone and closed the door behind her, Derek pulls Stiles out of
his chair and runs his hands all over him, searching for bruises and bumps.
Once he's satisfied, his palms settle under Stiles' hoody, over his stomach. If
Stiles thought Derek was handsy before, he's twice as bad now, every chance he
gets his hands are on the baby, desperate to feel her move or kick, but up
until now, only Stiles has been able to feel it.
"Down a bit," Stiles suggests, because he's starting to get hard and it's been
a couple of days since they've been alone together.
Derek frowns. "You have homework."
"Sex first, homework later." He turns his head and finds Derek's lips, gives
him a quick kiss. "I told you not to come until I'd finished my homework.
You're a distraction."
"I can be quiet." He pulls away and climbs onto Stiles' bed, lying back with
his hands behind his head.
"No, because I'll look, and you'll be there, and I'll want to have sex." Stiles
climbs onto the bed, straddles Derek's hips, and even though they're fully
clothed simply grinding his cock against Derek's makes him shudder. "Come on,"
he says, yanking at the button of Derek's jeans. "Just a quick—"
"Your father is home," Derek breathes.
"You'll hear if he comes upstairs," Stiles says, pulling Derek's cock out and
then undoing his own pants. "And he knows you're here. He's not going to come
in here without knocking, believe me." He wraps his fingers around Derek and
himself, squeezes both their dicks together. "Fuck, oh yeah."
"He'll just shoot me on the way out," Derek says, arching up into Stiles' fist.
Stiles pushes Derek's shirt up to expose his abs. They're pretty to look at,
and Stiles loves coming all over them, plus, it'll keep his clothes clean. "Run
faster."
"Stroke faster," Derek counters, covering Stiles' hand with his own, guiding
the movements, pressing them together more firmly. With his free hand he drags
down the zipper of Stiles' hoody, spreads it open, then pushes up the shirt
underneath, rolling it and tucking it above the bump. "God, you look good," he
breathes. "I never thought..."
"Whatever." Stiles snorts. "I'm a complete freak of nature. How can you even—"
"Shut up, Stiles," Derek snaps, then his voice softens. "You're so fucking hot
like this and you smell so good, and you feel so good, and so right, and..." He
trails off, breathing hard, and his eyes slowly slide up over Stiles' body, his
free hand sliding over the bump, settling on the side of Stiles' swollen
stomach. "Stiles," he breathes, and his hand, wrapped around Stiles', starts to
move faster.
It's the fact that Derek's baby is inside him, Stiles has decided. It makes him
smell like Derek, makes him smell like he belongs to him, and it's got to have
an effect on Derek's werewolfy instincts. When the baby is out, there's every
chance that Derek won't need him anymore, won't want him, but the look on his
face right now makes Stiles' insides twist up and he's happy.
Derek's shoulders tense, lifting off the bed. "You're gonna come, aren't you?"
Stiles says. "I wanna come with you, make me come with you."
"Stiles, fuck," Derek gasps, scrunching up his eyes, and he slides his hand
down to work the base of their cocks.
Stiles' works on the heads, rolling them together in his hand, stimulating the
sensitive spot on the underside. He arches back as heat coils in the base of
his spine. "Yeah," he says, and does it again.
The first spurt when he starts to come dribbles through his fingers, down over
their hands. Derek swallows back a shout, and his cock jerks against Stiles'.
He can feel it, pumping through the big vein on the underside, pulsing against
his own, and it's too much. He falls forward, catching himself on one hand
before he face-plants, and hunched over he milks them both onto Derek's hard
stomach.
Derek tips Stiles onto his side before he falls, and he curls into Derek's side
as they both come down, their breathing slowly easing back to normal.
"Naptime," he whispers, dragging his fingers through the mess on Derek's
stomach.
Derek reaches behind them for the box of tissues Stiles keeps on the shelf and
starts to clean himself up. "Homework," he says. "You've gotta keep up, Stiles.
It's going to be hard enough for you to catch up next year as it is."
"No point," Stiles whispers sleepily and then shakes himself alert. "What? Oh,
right." Derek's looking at him with his brow furrowed in concern. "Sidhe. No
dying." That's not how it's going to go, but he's gotta fake it, for Derek's
sake. For everyone else's sake. For his own sake. He nods and looks up at his
desk, where his textbooks are still lying open. "Homework."
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles' dad is at the table, files from his latest case spread out around him,
when Stiles sits down. "What the hell is that?" the Sheriff asks as the steam
from Stiles' cup drifts over.
"Tea," Stiles says. "Ginger root." His heart is racing and his cheeks are warm
as he prepares for one of the most difficult conversations of his life.
The Sheriff frowns. "I think your mother used to drink that. Years ago." He
looks up. "Why are you—?"
Stiles takes a deep breath. "Dad, I had sex with Derek."
The Sheriff stares at Stiles as long moments tick away, then he sighs and
closes the file in front of him, pushing it into the center of the table.
"Okay," he says. "I suppose I should be happy that you felt you could tell me,
but Stiles... You're sixteen, and Derek's a lot older than you. Don't you think
it's a little soon? I mean, how long have you been dating now, a month?"
"The first time was almost six months ago," Stiles says.
"Stiles."
There's nothing that cuts to Stiles' heart more than that tone of
disappointment in his father's voice. "I was scared, Dad." He wipes his palms
on his shirt. "It was just after Heather was murdered, and the whole virgin
sacrifice thing." Stiles shakes his head. "I didn't want to leave you alone."
He doesn't want to think about the irony of his current situation, and how that
one decision brought him right back to the same place, only this time it's
real.
Stiles' father shakes his head in confusion. "Almost six— Stiles, are you
telling me you and Derek have been dating for six months and you didn't think I
deserved to know until a couple of weeks ago?"
"No." Stiles shakes his head, but it's just getting worse. Nothing he can say
here, no way he can word it, will help any of what he has to say go down
easier. "It was just the one time. We weren't together then. There wasn't
anything else between us until after he came back from New York, and you know
about that."
His dad scrubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. "You had sex
with a man you didn't even have a relationship with? Oh, this just gets better
and better."
Stiles pulls himself up in his chair, wraps his hands around his cup and takes
a sip. The familiar flavor sends warmth flowing through him. "That's not
everything. I've gotta tell you something else."
The Sheriff shakes his head and shifts in his chair. "I don't think I've ever
been happier that I have a son instead of a daughter, because that sounds
terrifyingly ominous."
"It wouldn't have made any difference, Dad." Stiles gulps more tea, but it's
not helping. Bile burns his throat, and he swallows it back. "I'm still
pregnant."
.
"He's completely freaking out," Stiles says. He's sitting on his bed, knees
drawn up, his arms wrapped around them. "The denial didn't last long, once I
showed him this." He looks down at his stomach. "But he's downstairs cleaning
his gun now and—"
"If he does shoot Derek, chances are he won't kill him," Scott says. He's still
leaning against the open window he climbed in after Stiles called him in a
panic. "Did you warn him?"
"Yeah. He's gonna make himself scarce until my dad gets over it. If he gets
over it. God, Scott, this is such a mess." And it's worse, for reasons Stiles
can't say out loud. When he's gone, the only family his father will have will
be the baby he's carrying. "Scott," he says, wiping at the moisture on his
cheek with the back of his hand. "If I die, can you make sure my dad gets to
see the baby? I mean, if he never forgives Derek... They've gotta make it work,
for m— For the baby."
Scott throws himself onto the bed and pulls Stiles' hands away from his face.
"You're not gonna die, Stiles. They're gonna come, you've gotta believe it."
Stiles shakes his head and he looks into his best friends eyes. They're so big,
so warm, familiar, comforting. And earnest. Scott's so earnest. "I don't know
if I want them to. I don't know if I can give her up, even if it means I'm
gonna die."
"No," Scott says, shaking his head. "I understand, Stiles, I do, but if it's
the only way to save you, you've gotta give the baby to them." His eyes flick
around the room, like he's looking for something. "Does Derek know that's how
you feel? Is he okay with that? Is that what he's telling you is the right
thing to do?"
Stiles shakes his head. "You can't tell him, please. I just... It's not him,
Scott. It's me, and I can't tell him. Forget I said it, I needed to get it out
but I'm fine. I'm okay."
Scott shakes his head, just a little. "Don't think like that, Stiles. We need
you. Your dad needs you. I need you." He lets out a soft huff of laughter, but
there's no humor in it. "I think even Derek needs you."
.
He's got to be quiet. He's got to get out without anyone seeing him, without
anyone hearing him. He holds his whimpering, blanket wrapped bundle tightly to
his chest and makes soft shushing noises to keep her quiet.
She calms as he goes down the steps and walks carefully into the woods. Soothed
by his movement, she nuzzles into his chest and falls asleep.
Stiles walks briskly toward the lake and carefully climbs down the bank.
There's a basket there, caught between two tree roots, floating on the gently
lapping water.
He puts her in, tucks the blankets down away from her face, folds in her tiny,
jerking arms, then pushes the basket out away from the shore.
He watches it drift.
Caught in a non-existent current, the basket floats parallel to the shore. As
Stiles watches it go, he turns, and sees a figure standing on the bank.
Dana climbs down and reaches out as the basket drifts in to shore. She pulls it
in, lifts Stiles' baby out, holds her close and climbs back up the bank. Then
she turns, looks at Stiles, and she nods before she disappears into the trees.
.
"Stiles, wake up," Derek hisses.
Stiles opens his eyes and reaches out, twisting his fingers into the fabric
over Derek's chest. "They're gonna take her," he says, and the urgency is still
there, the need to be silent, to get her away undetected. "I have to keep her
safe."
"You're dreaming," Derek whispers. "She is safe. She's in here."
Stiles feels Derek's hand on his stomach, and he reaches for it, locking their
fingers together over the taut skin. He blinks into the dim light as his mind
clears. "You're in my bed," he says, his voice still hushed. "Why are you in my
bed? Are you trying to get shot? Did you come through the window? Oh my god,
you're like a parent's worst nightmare."
Derek sighs. "Your father is sleeping. It's okay. Go back to sleep."
Stiles shakes his head, rubbing his face against Derek's shoulder. "I don't
wanna sleep." Apparently, neither does the baby, because there's a quiver
inside him, one that's getting stronger every day. "Feel that?" he asks, like
he always does, though Derek has never been able to feel it before.
Derek inhales sharply. "I—"
She does it again, and this time it's a rolling sensation, like she's shifting
position.
"I think I—" Derek's almost shaking, his body so tense it's quivering. "Stiles,
I felt it. I felt her move."
Stiles smiles against Derek's shoulder and wriggles down under the blankets,
fitting himself closer to the warm body beside him. He's almost happy, but it's
bittersweet.
.
"So what are your plans?"
It's the tensest dinner ever, in the history of dinners, as far as Stiles can
remember. His father has been all but silent throughout, not saying anything
but 'pass the salt' and 'I'll drink as much as I like, I don't need a sixteen
year old kid to tell me what to do'. Stiles looks up from the plate of food
he's barely touched. "Plans?"
"Yeah, plans." The Sheriff waves his empty whiskey tumbler in his hand. "I'm
guessing you're not going to dump your cradle-robbing, creature-of-the-night
boyfriend just because I say so, so you two must have some kind of idea what's
going to happen after."
"Oh," Stiles says. "Umm. Derek's going to have her. The baby. She'll be with
him."
"She," his dad says. "It's a girl?"
"I don't know. I don't really care, but it felt weird calling her 'it' all the
time. Like she wasn't even human."
"Is it human?" The Sheriff stares at Stiles for a long time before he tears his
gaze away and reaches for the open whiskey bottle. "This shouldn't even be
possible."
"She's a werewolf," Stiles whispers.
"A werewolf." Stiles' father brings his glass to his lips, drains it halfway.
"My grandkid is gonna be a werewolf." He looks over the top of his glass. "She
stays here, do you understand me?"
"What? Dad—"
"If you're here, she's here. I mean it, Stiles. That building Derek lives in is
no place for a baby. If you two decide you're going to move in together I guess
I won't try to stop you, but you're not just going to hand her over to him, I
don't care what kind of baby she is."
"Dad, I've got school, and—"
"No, Stiles." He shakes his head. "I refuse to believe that you'd just give a
kid away like that. It's not in you."
Stiles' chest feels very tight as he realizes that his father knows him better
than anyone. "You're right," he says. "Okay. But whatever I decide, I'll be
living here until afterward. Could you please not shoot Derek, though? That
might make things kinda awkward."
"Deal," the Sheriff says. "But I reserve the right to be petulant."
Stiles reaches out and slides the bottle out of his fathers reach. "I love you,
Dad."
"I love you, too, son." He drains his glass and hands it to Stiles. "Next time,
you tell me what's going on, okay?"
Stiles drops his eyes to the table as he pushes himself up out of his chair. "I
will," he says, but he's still lying to his father, still holding things back.
Chapter End Notes
     I just posted a filthy PWP if anyone needs a break from the angst of
     it all. Find it here if you're keen :)
***** Chapter 12 *****
"Come on, man. Let me go. I'm not a kid." Stiles twists out of Scott's grip,
even though he figures that he wouldn't actually be able to drag him past the
mountain ash gate into Deaton's clinic. Even though he's been brought here
against his will—it's the last time he lets Scott drive—and he's got every
right to turn around and leave, he continues on into the back. "Fine. I'm here.
What the hell is this all about?"
"Hello, Stiles," Deaton says, and he's got that kind of amused smile on his
face, like Stiles is hilarious and he's just barely holding back. "It's been a
while. How are you feeling?"
Stiles huffs and shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his dad's hoody.
"Oh, yeah. Fine. Just fine. Good, in fact." He looks from Scott to Deaton and
back again. "Are we done? Can I go?"
He starts for the door, but Scott steps in front of him. He reaches out, puts
his hand on Stiles' shoulder and shakes his head. "Just listen."
"What did you tell him? Scott? I trusted you—"
"I don't want you to die, Stiles." Scott grabs Stiles by the other shoulder and
turns him, gives him a shove. "Listen."
Stiles lifts his eyes to Deaton, who has lost the look of amusement. "Scott
told me about the Sidhe."
"Yeah." Stiles smirks. "See, Derek did come up with something. And you said he
wouldn't." He only barely resists adding 'so there' and poking out his tongue.
"I knew the story, Stiles. I knew that if you were allowed to remain pregnant,
that the Sidhe would come."
Stiles jerks, his fists clenching as he barely resists the desire to hit
something, hard. "Oh my god." He turns away, presses his hands against the
shining stainless surface of the exam table. "Dude. When are you going to start
being straight with us? Do you know how long I went absolutely certain I was
gonna die before Derek figured that out?"
"But nothing's changed, has it, Stiles?"
Stiles flicks an accusing glare at Scott. "You don't understand."
"I do," Deaton says. "Nine months is a long time. Plenty of time to form an
attachment to the child growing inside you. I would imagine it would be a very
difficult thing to sacrifice your child to save your own life."
Stiles freezes. He looks down at the shiny steel and blinks, but a single tear
falls and hits the polished surface, spreading into a many pointed star. "But
it's my choice, right? You guys can say what you like, but you can't stop me
from telling them no."
"Stiles, you can't," Scott says, leaning over the table, grabbing Stiles by the
wrists and squeezing tight. "Don't you dare—"
Stiles jerks back on his arms, but only succeeds in hurting himself. "You were
the one who wouldn't let me take the stuff Deaton gave me," he accuses. "You're
the one who flushed it, who said it was wrong, that we'd find a way. There's no
way, Scott. Handing her over, not knowing what's going to happen to her, that's
not an option, do you understand? I'm not doing it and I don't fucking care
what happens to me, okay?"
He expects Scott to bite back, to argue. Instead, he freezes, and his grip on
Stiles' wrists loosens. Stiles looks up in time to see Derek appear in the
door. His face is twisted into a mask of pain.
Derek shakes his head. "No," he mouths, and then backs out of the door.
"Shit," Stiles says, and shakes off Scott's hands. He rounds the table,
following Derek out to the front. "Wait." He grabs him by the back of the
shirt, but Derek's moving too fast, and all he succeeds in doing is hurting his
hand as fabric is wrenched from his fingers. "Fuck, Derek. Will you stop? I'm
okay with it. I don't blame you. There's no reason you should feel responsible
for this."
Derek freezes with his fingers on the door handle. "You think I'm going to let
them take her and save you because I feel responsible? Because I did this to
you?"
"Well," Stiles says, coming up behind him slowly. "We wouldn't be together if
it wasn't for this. But I'm... Your kid is inside me. I smell like you. So
you're here. And I'm not gonna send you away, because what other chance have I
got to be with you?" He puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, tries to pull him
around, but he won't come. "It's my choice, Derek. I know you'll look after
her. You're gonna love her. So I'm okay with it."
"I can't..." Derek croaks, and then he drops his head to the door and mutters
something Stiles can't make out. "I won't be able to look at her if you die."
"Do you think we'll be able to look at each other if she dies?" Stiles moves up
close, presses his chest to Derek's back because he needs it, the warmth, the
smell of him. "It's okay, Derek. I'm the one who gets to choose, and this is my
choice."
"But what if you don't have all the information?"
Stiles twists his head to look back at Deaton in the doorway, Scott hovering
behind him looking shell-shocked. "What?"
Deaton smiles. "How can you make an informed choice, if you don't have all the
information?"
Derek turns, and with his hands on Stiles, carefully guides him out of the way
as he stalks toward Deaton. "We've spent months picking through everything I
could get my hands on. What do you know that we don't?"
"I know about the Sidhe," Deaton says. "Are you really going to wait for them
to come to you? Are you really going to trust that the one who finds you will
offer to save Stiles' life? Just because that's how it happened in the past,
does not mean it will go that way this time."
"What else am I supposed to do?" Derek growls, taking another threatening step
toward the doctor. "Tell me what you know."
"Derek," Scott says, his voice resonating in the small space.
Derek's eyes flick up to Scott and then down to the floor. His posture
immediately relaxes. "Please," he says as he slowly lifts his eyes back to
Deaton. "I need to know what you know."
"We need to work together on this," Deaton counters. "Come into the back. I
don't need you scaring away my customers. I've still got a business to run."
.
"What do you know about the Sidhe?" Deaton asks.
Derek presses his lips together. "You said you know the story. I have books, I
could—"
"That's just one story, Derek. One experience. Is that all you have?"
Derek's eyebrows almost meet in the middle as he frowns. He opens his mouth to
speak then snaps it shut again.
"Fairies," Stiles says. "Elves, little people, woodland spirits, etcetera
etcetera. Immortal, supernatural beings that mess with our frickin lives." He
looks down at his stomach and finally voices something that's been nagging at
him for some time. "Maybe they're the ones who put the bun in my non-existent
oven."
There's silence in the room, and Stiles looks up. Deaton has a faint smile on
his face, Scott and Derek are both staring. "What?" Stiles says. "Wikipedia. I
was looking into Lydia's banshee deal and there it was."
Scott lifts an eyebrow. "Fairies? So... Lydia's a fairy? She's gonna love
that."
"Don't believe everything you read on the internet," Deaton says. "But for the
most part, you're right. The Sidhe are immortal and supernatural. They have
magic, tied to the earth, to nature. They're certainly capable of doing it." He
turns away, starts picking through his crate of jars. "No gift from them comes
without a price, however."
Scott snorts. "Some gift."
"Shut up, Scott," Stiles says, as Derek's head snaps around to send Scott a
glare.
"For anything they offer, they'll expect a sacrifice," Deaton continues, and
then, with a jar of something dirty green and powdery in his hand, he turns.
"To save your life, for example, they'll take your child."
"But what if they're the ones that got me pregnant in the first place? How does
that make any sense?"
"For the child, they'll take your life."
"I didn't ask for this," Stiles says, even though he wouldn't have them take it
back, even if one of them was right here and offered it freely.
"I don't think the gift was meant for you, Stiles," Deaton says, and his eyes
track across the room to where Derek stands.
Derek stares at the floor. "It was for me."
Stiles snorts. "There is no logic here. What kind of sacrifice is that? He
didn't give a shit about me when we—"
"I did." Derek looks up, his forehead creased in confusion. "How can you think
I didn't care about you? Do you think I'd sleep with someone I had no feelings
for?"
Stiles stares, his mouth hanging open in shock. He tries to speak but nothing
comes out.
"Can we not talk about you guys having sex?" Scott says. "I'm trying to ignore
that it happened."
Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek. "Ahh, Scott?" He waves his hands over
his stomach. "Evidence, right here. Get over it." He looks back at Derek. "I'm
sorry. I didn't know. I thought—"
Deaton clears his throat. "You need to find the Sidhe," he says. "They'll
already be here, watching you. They cannot lie to you, but nothing they say can
be trusted. You must ask the right questions. It's the only way to know what
you need to know to make your decision, Stiles."
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Derek leaves him at the clinic, slips out while Stiles is talking to Scott, and
it's not until Stiles hears the door latch that he realizes.
So he runs. Chases Derek down the street with one hand under his hoody, feeling
slow and unbalanced. "I didn't know," he says, out of breath already but
knowing Derek will hear, even as he disappears around the corner. "How could I,
when you didn't tell me?" Stiles rounds the corner, but Derek's gone, so he
slumps down on the sidewalk, back pressed against the brick wall of the coffee
shop, and he drops his head into his hands to hide his tears.
"Come on," Scott says when he finds him. "I'll take you there."
Scott follows him into the loft, even though Stiles wants Derek alone right
now. How was he supposed to know—Derek never said anything, and that day, the
day Stiles came to Derek, scared and with no other option, Derek kept saying
things like, 'no strings' and 'just this once'.
He was firm about it. Spelled it out, in letters. Stiles understood, and how
was he expected to know otherwise?
So he's pissed, and when he sees Derek standing at the window, looking out,
ignoring the fact that Scott and Stiles have entered, it makes him crazy.
He crosses the room, grabs Derek by the shoulder and pulls him around. His
mouth is open, he's about to speak, to tell Derek he needs to use his words, to
tell him everything, because he's sick and fucking tired of people holding shit
back. But Derek's eyes are red. Not Alpha red. They're red-rimmed, wet. There's
salt, shimmering on his eyelashes.
"He's grieving for you already, you know."
Stiles' head snaps around.
Peter's sitting on the stairs, elbows on the step at his back, legs stretched
out in front. "For the record, I'm with you, Stiles. Any child is a gift, but
this one... She's extra special. Too special to lose, at any cost." He pulls
his legs up, rises to his feet and approaches. "Look at you. You're positively
glowing."
Peter turns away, heads for the door, but he stops before he passes Scott. "You
know what Derek did to save Cora, don't you?"
Scott nods. His face is hard, cold. "Yeah. I know."
Peter smiles. "It would give Stiles a chance, at least. But I understand if you
don't want to give up what you have. The power, it's heady. Intoxicating. Very
difficult to give up." He glances back at Derek. "Derek did it. I was
pleasantly surprised."
They're all silent as Peter leaves.
"You know I'll do it," Scott says after, Stiles guesses, enough time has passed
that Peter is out of earshot. "I don't care about power. About any of that
stuff."
"No, Scott," Stiles says. "You care about the pack. It needs an Alpha."
"It'll have one," Scott says as he crosses the room. "The baby, right? And what
if... What if me giving up my Alpha...ness is enough of a sacrifice. Maybe
they'll be satisfied with that. Maybe that's what they wanted in the first
place. Derek's, but he gave it away to someone else. They should take mine,
right? It's gotta be just as good."
"None of this helps," Derek whispers. "It probably won't be enough, you could
give it up and Stiles could die anyway. And they want my sacrifice, no one
else's. We won't know until we find them and ask."
"The right questions, though." Stiles slides his hand down Derek's shoulder and
links his fingers into Derek's. "We might only have one chance. We don't even
know where to look."
"They're already here, Deaton said," Scott says. "Have they been here all the
time? You said they hung out in the woods, right? Should we maybe be looking
there?"
Derek suddenly tugs Stiles toward the table. There's an open book laid out
there, and he runs his finger down a page. "There. They can take human form.
Pretend to be normal, insinuate themselves into your life."
"Oh my god," Stiles breathes. He flicks his eyes up to Scott. "Are you thinking
what I'm thinking?"
Scott's eyes widen, and his jaw drops. "Yeah. Holy crap, yeah. Why didn't we
think of it before?"
"They get into your life," Stiles says, voice rising in pitch as the excitement
of discovery takes hold. "It's obviously—"
"Dana," Scott says.
Stiles blinks. "What? No. Are you crazy?" He leans over the table—not a mean
feat with his belly in the way—and raps on Scott's forehead with his knuckles.
"Hello? Grimm? It's obviously Grimm. The name alone should have tipped us off,
but he knew from the beginning that I was pregnant. I told you he was evil."
"The Sidhe aren't evil," Derek says. "Just kind of... Morally ambiguous."
"Whatever." Stiles closes the book and pushes away from the table. "He's our
guy. He knocked me up to get a born Alpha for some nefarious purpose. He's an
asshole."
"I knocked you up," Derek whispers, pressing close to Stiles' back, wrapping
his arms around, laying his palms over Stiles' rounded stomach. "He might have
made it possible, but it was me who—"
"And that's my cue to get the hell out of here," Scott says, backing away.
The door is barely closed behind him before Derek continues. "I remember how it
felt," he whispers. "Being tied to you, knowing that you were full of me. And
it felt so right, Stiles. But I should never have touched you in the first
place. I had no right to take advantage of your fear, but it was the only
chance I'd ever have."
"Why didn't you say something?" Stiles puts his hands over Derek's, linking
their fingers together. "I thought you were only here for the baby."
"She just made it impossible to stay away from you," Derek whispers, and he
presses his lips to the back of Stiles' neck. "Do you remember what it was
like, Stiles? Did you feel it then? How right it was?"
Stiles shakes his head. "Not then. After, though. When you wouldn't let me
leave. That's when I knew I never wanted it to end."
Derek lets out a moan, and he turns Stiles around and then presses him back
against the table as his lips come down on Stiles' mouth. "Yeah," he breathes.
"I couldn't let you leave. Not until I'd had everything, every bit of you I
could get. Because I thought it was the last time. The only time. And I
couldn't bear the thought of it."
.
Derek was still inside him when Stiles woke. "How long's it been? " he asked,
arching his back in a stretch. Derek's cock slipped out of him, slick and
messy, and he groaned at the sudden ache it left behind.
Derek slid his hand up over Stiles' chest, pulling him back against him. "A
little under an hour. You snore."
It was worryingly comfortable pressed against Derek's chest. "I guess I should
go," Stiles said. The sky outside the window was growing darker.
"Not yet," Derek said, very quietly. He put a hand on Stiles' shoulder, tipped
him onto his stomach, and rolled over him.
Stiles could see Derek from the corner of his eye. "What are you doing?" he
asked. He'd figured Derek would want him to leave as soon as possible, as soon
as the knot was gone and they were no longer locked together, but Derek was
looking down at Stiles as though he wanted to start all over again.
"Shh," Derek said, and lifted one hand off the mattress. It came down again
between Stiles' shoulder blades, palm sliding down his spine and settling in
the small of his back. Then Derek followed it, crawling backward on his knees,
dropping kisses onto each of Stiles' vertebra as he went.
It was a slow progression. Derek would stop, press his lips to Stiles' spine,
inhale, and blow the breath out slow. Then he would move further and do it
again.
"Won't Isaac and Cora be back soon?" Stiles asked, not wanting to be caught
like this, yet reluctant to move. Derek's touch made him feel warm, it made him
feel wanted, and he didn't want that to end.
"Texted Cora," Derek said between kisses. "Told her to take Isaac for something
to eat. He'll love it."
"Why?"
"I'm not finished," Derek said, and then he dropped his last kiss right above
Stiles' tailbone. He breathed in through his nose—Stiles could hear the
difference—and out through open lips. His breath washed over Stiles' ass and
made him shiver. "Cold?" Derek asked.
"No," Stiles said, his own breath coming quicker. His cock started to harden
beneath him, and he shifted to get comfortable.
Derek pressed his hands to Stiles' ass, spreading him open with his thumbs. He
blew against Stiles' hole, and it soothed the the heat of well used flesh.
"Derek?" Stiles asked, the pitch of his voice just a little too high. "What are
you doing?"
"Cleaning you up." Derek dipped his tongue into the crease, gave a long, slow
lick with the flat of it over Stiles' hole.
"With your tongue?" It went another octave higher.
"Yeah." Another lick as Derek washed away lube, his own come, other
possibilities Stiles didn't want to acknowledge.
"Oh my god." Stiles pulled his elbows up under him, spread his legs a little
wider. Derek hummed and settled between them. "Why?" Stiles asked. "Don't get
me wrong, it feels fucking amazing, but isn't it kind of gross?"
It took Derek a good few licks to pull away and speak. "I want to." He buried
his face between Stiles' cheeks and pushed his tongue inside, opening him up
again. He pulled back, pressed his lips against Stiles' hole and sucked.
"Fucking... Oh fuck," Stiles gasped. His body jerked at the sensation, his cock
rubbed against the sheet, and it felt so good Stiles moved his hips, looking
for more. "Derek, oh my god, let me up, I need—"
The next instant, Stiles was on his elbows and knees, dragged up by Derek's
strong hands, and the very next, Derek's tongue was in his ass again, pressing
in, scooping out, sucking come out of Stiles' body. Stiles wrapped his hand
around his cock, started stroking. "I need to come," he said, "because holy
fuck, Derek..."
The groan Derek let out vibrated throughout Stiles' body. "Wait for me," he
said as he lifted himself, moving up and over Stiles' back. Then his cock was
pressing against Stiles' hole again, pushing in.
Stiles stiffened. "Are you crazy? We're gonna get stuck—"
"Not this time," Derek said, and he held Stiles' hips and pushed all the way
inside.
"Oh, god." Stiles hung his head, lacking the give-a-crap to tell Derek to stop.
He didn't want him to stop. It felt too good. "You're gonna mess me up again,"
he whispered as Derek started to move, long slow thrusts in and out.
"Then I'll clean you again," Derek said. He let out a soft, quiet moan and
slowed his thrusts even further. "You took so much," he breathed, sliding the
pad of his thumb around Stiles' tingling rim where his cock slid in and out. It
felt squeaky-slick, and Stiles just knew it was because every time Derek pushed
into him, come leaked out around the edges. "You took it all," Derek said. "All
of my cock, all of my come, like you were made for me to fuck you." He pulled
back, until only the tip of his dick was inside Stiles, pushed his thumb in in
its place, right to the knuckle, fingers splayed over Stiles' cheek.
Then he drove his cock in to the hilt.
Stiles arched his back and gasped. There was more stretch, more of that full
feeling, and the dull aching pain that made him wonder if his asshole wasn't
black and blue by now. It still wasn't something he wanted to end. He never
thought it would be like that, so intense, so raw, but so perfect. He could
handle this, provided... "If we get stuck again," he said, sucking in air
between the words. "I swear I'm gonna kill you."
Derek started rubbing his other thumb around Stiles' rim, spreading the fluid
that was leaking out. "We won't," he said. He slid out halfway, then worked his
other thumb into Stiles before thrusting home again.
"Holy shit," Stiles whimpered, stretched to his limit, but he fixed every burn,
every ache in his memory. He had to, because every little thing Derek did to
him made him crave more, and he'd need those memories when he left here.
Derek groaned and pulled his dick out, leaving Stiles with two thumbs in his
ass and feeling like he was being held open. "There is so much of my come in
you," Derek said, then his mouth was there again, tongue scooping up all the
mess that had been pushed out by his dick, licking inside him, sucking it away.
"It's so good watching you take it, watching it leak out of you." He pulled
back, then his thumbs were gone, and what felt like two fingers slid inside,
pressing down.
Stiles let out a gasping moan and pushed back. "God. Derek, yeah, please." He
let go of his own cock and dropped his hand back to the mattress for leverage
as he sought more pressure on his prostate.
"Want more?" Derek asked. "Want me to make you come?"
"Yes, fuck yes." Stiles fell onto his elbows, unable to hold himself up any
longer. "Right there, right fucking there."
Derek put more pressure on his fingers, but it wasn't until a second later that
Stiles realized he was pushing his cock back in. Stiles was full of cock,
pressing down on Derek's fingers inside him, and there was no way he could
think anymore. His entire body became a mass of constantly sparking pleasure
that came in waves driven by Derek's rhythmic thrust and pull.
The come that leaked out of him dribbled down his perineum and onto his balls.
He was a mess, slick with sweat and filthy with come, shameless and begging.
Derek could have knotted him again and he wouldn't have cared. "Make me come,"
he whispered, his throat too hoarse to speak out loud. "Please."
Derek slowed his pace, pulled out, leaving his fingers inside Stiles' ass,
leaving the head of his cock inside. He was still for just a moment.
It was almost over. Stiles could feel his orgasm balanced on the edge,
thrumming through every part of him. He didn't want this to be the end, he
didn't want this to be the only time he felt Derek's hands on him, Derek's
voice in his ear. "No," he whispered, as he felt Derek tense like an animal
about to spring.
Derek thrust in, hard.
Untouched, Stiles came, his vision going white, his mind so consumed with the
explosion of pleasure inside him that it was wiped clean for long moments. Then
slowly he became aware of his surroundings, of Derek, one hand on each of his
hips, fingers pressing bruises into Stiles' skin, the rhythmic pulse inside as
he came without the knot.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm always on the lookout for great flash (1000 words or less) fic.
     I'm collecting it here [Teen_Wolf_Flash_Fic] but so far my collection
     is a bit pathetic and biased. I need authors to add their own fic and
     readers to add their bookmarks. Please? *drops to knees and begs*
***** Chapter 14 *****
Stiles hangs back until the rest of the class has filed out of English. As the
door closes behind the last student, he approaches the teacher's desk and
presses his hands to the surface.
Grimm doesn't so much as look up. "I don't have time for this," he says, flat
and unemotional, scribbling long lines of tiny, incomprehensible script into a
pocket notebook that looks like it came from the same library as Derek's
borrowed books.
"This is my last day," Stiles says. "I'm due to come down with something
extremely contagious but non-fatal this weekend. But I think you know that."
"Of course." Grimm doesn't so much as pause in his writing. He fills a page,
moves to the next. Stiles has to squint just to recognize that it's not even
English. "I trust I've prepared you for your absence, at least in this class,"
Grimm continues.
"Yeah." Stiles takes his hands off the desk, bunches them into fists and rubs
them against the sides of his jeans. "I know who you are. What you are."
Grimm doesn't so much as twitch. "Have you made similar arrangements in your
other classes?"
Stiles frowns. "My dad's gonna pick up my assignments," he says. "What do you
care? It's not as if you're a real teacher."
Finally, Grimm's pencil stops scratching. He lifts his head, and his blank
stare seems to shimmer like a mirage before Stiles' eyes. Thin lips stretch
wide, turn up into a grin. As creepy goes, this guy puts Uncle Peter to shame.
"You're making preparations for your own future. That means I'll get what I
came for."
Stiles feels suddenly sick, bile rising up in his throat, burning. He wants to
throw himself forward, throw punches until the Sidhe is bloody and
unrecognizable. He wants to scream at him, tell him he can't have her. He digs
his fingernails into his palms and pushes back his anger. "What are you going
to do with her?"
Grimm drops his head, starts writing again. "The child will join the host. Now
please leave. I'll come when it's time, and not before."
"I don't know what that means," Stiles says, shaking his head. "You have to
tell me everything. I haven't made up my mind yet, I need to know." He's not
prepared for this, he doesn't know what to ask, doesn't know what the right
questions are. "What happens if I say no?"
Grimm snaps the notebook shut, scrapes his chair back and stands. "Then you'll
die. Your mate will suffer, and when the child can speak for herself, we'll
take her anyway."
Stiles stares, horrified. "It'll kill him," he whispers.
Grimm pushes his chair in and takes long strides toward the door. "Yes." He
opens the door, steps through.
"Why did you chase me that day?" The words spill out without Stiles even
thinking.
Grimm turns, gives Stiles that same unreal stare. "The Alpha would take the
child's power," he says. "We cannot allow it to happen." And then he's gone,
footsteps dull and quick as they fade down the hall.
Stiles stares at the open door. He feels cold, shivers as he pulls his arms
around himself. He can't move, can't speak, can barely think past Deaton
telling them that the Sidhe can't lie and remembering that he was with Scott
that day.
.
The school is deserted when Stiles finally manages to leave the classroom. He
drags his feet, still cold, hands pulled into the sleeves of his jacket.
Everything feels surreal, like reality is warping around him.
His Jeep is the only vehicle left in the parking lot. There's a small figure
standing beside it, and Dana looks up as he approaches. "There you are," she
says. "I've been texting you, but you didn't answer. I was worried."
Stiles blinks, realizing his phone has been buzzing in his pocket. "What are
you doing here?"
"I was in the library. Saw your car, thought I'd wait for you." She looks up at
him, brows drawn together. "Are you okay? You look sick."
Stiles lets out a soft, humorless laugh. "I don't know who to trust," he
whispers, and then slumps against the side of the Jeep. "Grimm, he—" He looks
down at his friend, aware that she's still on the perimeter of all of this,
thankful that he's got someone kind of on the outside he can talk to. "Did you
know that fairies are an actual thing? But they're nothing like you'd think."
"Figures," Dana says, her lips pulling into a smile. "I mean, werewolves.
They're supposed to be all monstery, but... Isaac, for example? He's so sweet.
And he looks like an angel." She lifts her eyes to the sky, a beatific smile on
her face.
"And I thought you liked me."
"I do." She leans on the Jeep beside him, drops her head onto his arm. "You're
shaking," she says. "What happened?"
"I have to give the baby up," he says, and the words get stuck in his throat.
"And I don't know if I can trust my best friend."
"Scott?" Dana says. She's silent for a long time. "I think you know in your
heart what's right, Stiles. Things aren't always as they appear."
"Can I trust you?" he whispers.
"Yes."
Stiles looks down. Dana's face is open, honest. He believes her. "Fairies are
going to take the baby," he says.
"They are famous for that." Dana frowns. "Are you going to let them?"
"I wasn't going to. Derek wanted her, so much, even when I didn't. But... It'll
be worse for him later on if I don't." He still can't imagine it, going through
all of this, feeling her moving inside him for so long, and then having nothing
to show for it. His diaphragm contracts and he shudders as a tear streaks down
his cheek. But it's better to get it over with, and even if she's gone, they'll
still have each other. At least Stiles can try to keep Derek from blaming
himself.
Stiles stiffens as Dana wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight. "It'll be
okay," she says, and she's got so much confidence and strength that just a
little of the tension he holds drains away. "You have to trust that you're
doing the right thing."
"And Scott?"
"You know him, Stiles. Maybe you just have to look deeper."
Stiles frowns, not understanding, but everything still feels so unreal. His
phone buzzes in his pocket again, and he ignores it, his thoughts going to
Derek, because he's gotta go there, he's got to tell him that he's going to say
yes. "Do you need me to drive you somewhere?" he asks Dana.
A smile spreads over her face, but she shakes her head. "I'm good," she says.
"I'll see you around."
As Stiles pulls out of the lot, he sees her walk across the road and disappear
into the trees.
.
The last person Stiles expects to see at Derek's is his father. He freezes on
the landing, staring at the two men leaning over the table like bookends, palms
pressed to the wood. There's a coffee cup at each man's right hand, and his
father turns the page of a thin book and points at the page, while Derek looks
up at Stiles, eyes wide and horrified.
"Dad?" Stiles says as he skips down the stairs. "What are you doing here?"
The sheriff looks up. "Hey, kiddo. You didn't answer your phone, so I came
looking for you. Nice to know you're not lying in a ditch somewhere, by the
way."
"I had some..." Stiles gestures vaguely behind him. "Stuff at school I had to
take care of. Sorry."
"My mother was always talking about the ditches," Derek says, eyes on the books
spread out on the table.
"Really?" Stiles gets closer. They're glossy catalogs, half a dozen of them
scattered over the wood surface. "Even with the werewolf thing?"
"All any parent wants to do is protect their children," the sheriff says. He
picks up one of the catalogs and slaps it against Stiles' chest. "You were
crawling at seven months. This place is going to need some serious baby
proofing, and I don't care if she's a werewolf, my grandkid is not going to be
falling down those stairs." He glances up at the spiral staircase.
"Understand?"
Stiles takes a closer look at the book he's holding. "I'm not putting my kid in
a cage," he mutters, but wishing it was something he had to worry about.
"Pretty sure they're calling them playpens now," the sheriff says. "But
whatever. I don't want to be the butt-in grandparent or anything, but I will be
if I have to. That kid is half werewolf and half Stiles. You boys have no idea
what you're in for."
A soft snort of laughter makes Stiles jerk his head up in surprise. Derek's
smiling, but his eyes are wet. He blinks a few times, sniffs, and the
emotion—the grief—on his face makes a lump form in Stiles' throat that he can't
swallow down. "We'll keep her safe," Derek says.
"Good. Don't think I won't pull the statutory rape card if you step out of
line."
Derek's eyes go wide and he nods in quick jerks. "Yes, sir."
The door has barely closed behind the sheriff and Derek already has his arms
wrapped around Stiles from behind. "You haven't told him," he says.
"My dad doesn't need anything else to worry about. He'll just try and stop it,
but he can't." Stiles twists in Derek's arms, pushes away. "I talked to Grimm.
He is the Sidhe, and I'm going to say yes. He said... He said she'd join the
host. I think that means they're not gonna kill her, right? She'll live?"
"She'll be one of them," Derek says. He drops his head to Stiles' shoulder, hot
breath pushes through the fabric of his clothes and over his skin. "And you'll
be alive."
"You're gonna hate me," Stiles breathes. "You won't be able to help it, and I
won't blame you."
"No," Derek says, shaking his head. "I'm going to love you. I'm not fucking
capable of anything else, do you understand? I'm gonna need you. I need you to
stay with me, Stiles, please."
"I will, okay? I promise."
Derek pulls back, and his eyes track down over Stiles' body. "I told your
father I wanted you here with me now," he says. "I promised I'd keep you safe."
"But I already told him I'd stay home."
"He agreed with me," Derek says. He pulls down the zip of Stiles' jacket,
shoves it off his shoulders, lets it fall to the floor. "Something about
getting used to each other before we have someone else around for the next
eighteen years." His hands slide down, over Stiles' stomach, fingers splayed
out. He smiles sadly when the baby kicks. It's like she knows he's there.
"Whoa. Dad sanctioned sex," Stiles says.
"It all depends on you." Derek looks up. "Do you want to be here?"
"I do." Stiles rubs his cheek against the scruff on Derek's face.
"I'll stay out of your way so you can do your school work. I'm sure Scott will
bring—"
"Scott." The mention of his name hits Stiles hard in the chest. He starts to
shake again, goosebumps rising on his bare arms, his short sleeve T-shirt not
enough to keep him warm. "Grimm," he whispers. "He said... He said Scott wanted
her power. What did he mean? Can I even trust Grimm? I don't know if I can
trust Scott now, Derek, what the fuck am I gonna do?"
Derek's hands fly to Stiles' upper arms and he grips tight enough to hurt.
"What did he say? The Sidhe can't lie, Stiles. What exactly did he say?"
Stiles tries to organize his thoughts, to remember the teacher's words. "The
Alpha. He said 'the Alpha' would take her power, and that he couldn't allow it
to happen."
Derek's pupils contract to tiny points. "There's three alphas in Beacon Hills,
Stiles."
"But I was with Scott, not the twins. Derek, he's my best fucking friend. What
do I do?"
Derek shakes his head. "I don't know. Shit, Stiles. I don't know."
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles wakes to morning wood and a warm, wet tongue lapping at his treasure
trail. "Gross," he moans, his tongue still thick with sleep. "You're cleaning
dried jizz off me again, aren't you?"
Derek hums an affirmative, tongue too busy to answer properly. He's got one
hand covering the length of Stiles' dick, holding it out of his way, the other
rests on the curve of Stiles' belly.
Stiles cracks an eye open. He can barely see the top of Derek's head over his
stomach. "Could you hurry up and get me off, please? Your kid is using my
bladder as a trampoline."
"Yeah," Derek murmurs, and Stiles can tell from the sound of his voice that
he's only just woken up himself. The next moment Stiles is enclosed by wet and
warmth, the head of his dick right down Derek's throat. He thinks, sometimes,
that the lack of gag reflex might be a werewolf thing, and he likes it, along
with Derek's propensity toward putting his tongue in places other people might
find off-putting. Stiles likes it.
It's not long before Derek gulps around the head of Stiles' dick and Stiles
comes with a whimper. It's little more than relief. He shoves at Derek's head
to get him off. "I need to piss so bad, move it."
Derek hums again and settles in further.
"Urgh. No." He manages to get a foot up on Derek's shoulder, pushes him
forcibly off—and Derek lets him, hands sliding down Stiles' naked thighs.
"Hurry back," Derek murmurs as Stiles snags a discarded shirt from the floor
and heads for the bathroom.
When he returns, Derek is sitting up against the pillows, the sheet draped over
his lap but hiding nothing. Stiles crawls back onto the bed, up and over
Derek's stretched out legs.
"Take it off," Derek says, tugging at the hem of the shirt Stiles is wearing.
Stiles wrinkles his nose but drags it off over his head. They have this fight
every night, every time Stiles gets out of bed in the morning and throws
something on to cover himself for the few steps to the bathroom. Every day he
gets bigger and he can't see what Derek finds physically appealing about it.
He obviously does, though. Stiles would know if Derek was faking this.
Derek holds Stiles carefully by the waist and rolls them until Stiles is on his
back. Derek's hand slides up, slowly, over the bump and down to brush over each
nipple in turn, following the forward motion of his hand with his body as he
holds himself carefully above Stiles. "I love you," he whispers, lips barely
brushing over Stiles' mouth. "I love you so fucking much."
Stiles closes his eyes and lifts his chin, smiling into a soft, slow, lazy
kiss. "Will you still love me when I'm all scarred and marked and flabby?" he
asks when they pull apart. He's got this image in his head of the caesarean
scar running from one side to the other through his middle, even though Deaton
told him it will be small and low and hardly noticeable once it's healed. Even
if that's true, he'll still have the stretch marks that have spread out over
his lower abdomen, and he figures he's going to have far more skin than he
needs once the baby comes out.
"Yeah," Derek breathes as he slides Stiles down the bed, hands spread out over
the small of his back, lifting him with werewolf strength. Derek kisses what's
left of Stiles' belly button and down, following the lines of stretched skin.
"I hope they never go away. I wanna see them every time I strip you naked. I
want to remember every time I look at you." He kisses the tip of Stiles'
flaccid cock and sucks it into his mouth.
Even as he starts to get hard, silent tears spill out of Stiles' eyes, running
down his temples and onto the sheets. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them
away. "Derek," he whispers. "Can you fuck me, please?"
Without taking his mouth off Stiles' dick, Derek finds the lube and opens
Stiles up on his fingers. So gentle, and so slow that Stiles is crying out,
begging, and his tears have dried by the time Derek slips back between his
thighs and pushes into his body.
Derek goes slow. So slow it's maddening, so slow Stiles tries to reach out, to
drag him inside, harder, faster, more, but Stiles can't sit up on his own now,
he can't reach, can only cling to Derek's wrists as he holds Stiles by the
waist and rocks into him. "Let me up," he pants, needing to get onto his hands
and knees where he'll have some leverage, where he'll be able to push back and
meet Derek, thrust for thrust.
Derek pulls out, takes a moment to lean over and press kisses to Stiles' face
before he offers his arm to help Stiles to sit up.
Over on his hands and knees, Stiles pushes back against Derek. "Need you to
fill me up," he breathes. "Wanna be so full of you."
One of Derek's hands slides down, cradling Stiles' stomach. "You already are.
God, Stiles. So full of me, so fucking gorgeous." He guides his cock back in,
slow and easy. "Wish I could keep you like this. Wish I could... Fuck,
Stiles..."
It doesn't take much. A few long, jerky thrusts, and Derek's coming, filling
Stiles' ass, hot and wet and making everything slicker. He holds himself there
while he strokes Stiles to orgasm with his dick still inside.
Derek's soft when he pulls away, trailing wetness down the back of Stiles'
thigh. "Stay," he whispers, as if Stiles doesn't know the drill already, as if
he'd want to be anywhere else but here. Derek crawls backward, and then his
tongue is dragging between Stiles' cheeks, hot and rough over the sensitive
hole.
Stiles pushes back into it, because he loves this part, this need Derek has to
take care of him, to soothe the ache, to clean up after making a mess of him.
Any questions Stiles once had about Derek's feelings for him are gone.
Stiles dozes while Derek showers. Since Stiles moved in, they've developed a
routine. Stiles sleeps late, because why the hell not. Derek brings him
breakfast, and then he starts his day. He doesn't really go anywhere, it's too
hard to hide the fact that he's a heavily pregnant boy now, and his dad is
happy to come to them with Stiles' school work and his pamphlets and tape
measures.
The sheriff bought a crib a month after Stiles moved in, made Derek help him
put it together. Stiles cried while he watched them, saw Derek's lips move when
he whispered 'hormones' to his father even though it was a lie. Stiles thought
of Hemingway and the shortest, most heartbreaking story ever told, and
dismantled it on his own while Derek was out.
.
The smell of bacon rouses Stiles from his nap. Derek's grinning down at him
when he opens his eyes, waving a crispy rasher in front of his nose. Stiles
grabs it from his hand and puts it in his mouth. "When are you gonna dip it in
chocolate for me?" he asks as he chews.
Derek smiles wider, showing his teeth. "Cora's back."
Stiles is suddenly wide awake. He shoves himself up onto the pillows and grabs
the plate out of Derek's hands. "Downstairs? She's downstairs?" He starts
shoveling food into his mouth.
"Yeah. So get your ass into the shower." He leans close, pecks a kiss to
Stiles' temple. "You stink of me."
"Well, of course I do," Stiles says around a mouthful.
.
Everyone else has been there, watched, as Stiles got bigger. Cora hasn't been
back since she and Derek left town months ago, so he's nervous as he comes down
the stairs, because he's huge, and conscious of it. He grips the hand rail
tight and goes down one step at a time, because for a start he can't see where
he's putting his feet, and reaches the bottom before he looks up at Derek's
sister.
Cora's eyes are wide, and her face is blank. "Stiles," she says. "Oh my god."
She glances up at Derek beside her. "I guess I never really believed it," she
says.
"Believe it," Derek says. He grabs her hand and pulls her toward Stiles.
"Listen."
Cora rolls her eyes. "I heard it over the phone already." Still, she cocks her
head to the side and lets out a little gasp of surprise when she hears the
baby's heartbeat, and her fingers twitch as she reaches out, stopping her hand
only inches from Stiles' belly. "Can I?" she asks, eyes flicking up at him.
Stiles squirms. He still doesn't understand the need to touch, why they'd want
to do so. As much as he wants this baby, as much as he loves the way Derek
touches him, he still feels like a freak. "Umm, okay?" he says.
Her fingers are tentative and gentle though, and only linger long enough to
feel a well placed kick before she jerks her hand back with a nervous laugh.
"So, how long?" she says, looking back up at Derek. "This month, or next?"
Werewolf babies always come on a full moon, so Stiles has been told, even when
humans are the ones carrying them. Derek was born on a full moon, Cora too, he
figures. Of course Stiles' baby will be born whenever Deaton can cut him open
and pull her out, but it's not quite that simple.
"We don't know," Derek says. "Forty weeks is right at the new moon, so it could
be this month, it could be next. Deaton doesn't want to take her out too early,
so we're gonna wait, see if there's any signs." He grimaces and Cora pulls a
disbelieving face.
"Right there with you," Stiles says. The last thing he wants to do is go into
labor. The thought terrifies him, even though Deaton has assured him that he'll
act to get the baby out at the first sign.
"So," Cora says. "This Scott thing. You've been sitting on it for how long?"
"A couple months," Derek says. "We still don't know for sure, but he's got too
many on his side. Even the twins are following him, following his orders. We
can get him here alone, but I'm not confident I could stop him if he tried
anything."
Cora shakes her head. "I don't know. Stiles, you've known him for how long? Is
he even capable of something like that?" Suddenly she looks up, right before
there's a knock on the door.
Derek jumps up, hops up the steps and unlocks the door, slides it back, letting
his uncle in. Peter nods at Cora. "About time you got here. Sorry I'm late." He
crosses the room, leans against the windowsill. "Stiles, you look..."
"Just say it. I'm huge," Stiles says.
"Okay. Huge. You're looking huge." Peter flicks his eyes to Cora. "As for
Scott, it's instinct. The current Alpha doesn't want any little upstart
threatening his position, his power."
"He may not even be conscious of it," Derek adds.
"And think about what killing betas did for Deucalion," Peter continues.
"Imagine how much power Scott could add to his own by sacrificing a born Alpha.
He'll be unstoppable."
"I didn't think Scott cared about power," Cora says, but her tone is uncertain.
"Stiles, really?"
Stiles shrugs. "Honestly, if it was just me, I wouldn't even be worried about
it. But it's not just me. It's not me at all. At this point it doesn't matter
that I don't get to keep her. I know that she's going to live if Grimm takes
her, and I'm not going to risk that for anyone. If there's the slightest chance
that Scott could be planning to hurt her, whether he knows it or not, I'm not
gonna take that risk."
"Okay," Cora says, nodding. "But what are you gonna do? Wait until she's been
taken and then just be best friends again? How can you handle not knowing?"
"That's why we waited for you," Derek says. "If we can get him here alone, the
two of us should be enough. Just in case."
"I need to talk to him," Stiles says. "I need to look him in the eye when I
tell him what I know, and see how he reacts."
Chapter End Notes
     The_shortest,_most_heartbreaking_story_ever_told.
***** Chapter 16 *****
"Derek, you open this fucking door or I'll break it down."
At least a couple times a week, Scott comes by after school and bangs on the
door, yells through it, demands to be let in. Every time, Stiles sits on the
couch and listens, knowing that Scott can hear his heartbeat.
"Stiles?" Scott says. "Stiles, are you okay? Come on, man, I need to see you.
He can't keep you locked up like—"
Derek slides the door back. Scott stands in the opening, fist raised to knock,
eyes wide.
"Come in," Derek says.
Scott's eyes flick around the inside of the room, marking Cora in the center,
Peter on the stairs, finally settling on Stiles as he sits cross-legged on the
couch. He glances back at Derek, looking confused, then starts toward Stiles.
Derek grabs him by the arm. Scott freezes, but doesn't throw Derek off. "Slow,"
Derek says.
Scott turns his head, and the look he gives Derek is part glare, part
disbelief. "I don't even know what this is about," he says. "He's been locked
up in here for months. You don't have the right to—"
"It was my idea, Scott," Stiles says. "It's my choice to be here. It's been my
choice to keep you away. I couldn't risk it." He wraps his arms around his
stomach, cradling the baby inside. "I have to keep her safe."
"What?" Scott looks from Stiles to Derek and then twists out of Derek's grip.
"What's he been telling you?" He takes a few steps toward Stiles, shaking his
head at the way Derek hovers close. "Whatever it is, Stiles, it's not true. I
would never do anything to hurt you, no matter what Derek's trying to make you
think."
"It's not Derek," Stiles snaps. "It was Grimm. He's the Sidhe," Stiles still
twitches over how weird that sounds out loud. "And Sidhe can't lie."
Scott pushes past Derek, sinks down onto the couch. "Then he's wrong." He puts
a hand on Stiles' shoulder, ignoring the low rumble that comes from Derek. "How
can you even think that I would do anything to hurt you? Or the baby? Stiles,
look at me." He puts another hand on the top of Stiles' head, fingers threading
through his hair, tipping his head back.
Derek growls and jerks forward, only stopping when Stiles shakes his head.
"It's okay," Stiles says, then turns his eyes on Scott, reading the hurt and
betrayal in his best friends face. He's missed Scott, so much, but some things
are more important than hurt feelings. "You tried to kill me once. You couldn't
help it. It was instinct. What if this is the same? I can't take the chance."
Scott shakes his head, and his hand slides through Stiles' hair to the back of
his neck. "I am not gonna hurt you," he says as he pulls Stiles into an awkward
hug.
Stiles, even though his eyes are closed, can feel, hear, as Derek and Cora both
approach. Not trusting Scott is contrary to every single one of his own
instincts, he wants to return the embrace, wants to cling to his friend, wants
to give him all his trust.
But he can't risk it. He shoves away. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'm sorry."
"Stiles?" Scott tries to keep hold, but releases his grip as Stiles pushes at
him.
"You have to go."
"No." Scott shakes his head, and his eyes dart around the room, as if he'll get
support from one of the others. "You need me, Stiles," he says. "I'm your best
friend. You're gonna need me when this is over." He doesn't struggle when Derek
grabs him by the arm and drags him up off the couch.
"I'm sorry," Stiles repeats. "After... When she's gone, Scott, when she's
safe—"
"Safe?" Scott digs in his heels, refuses to be pulled up the steps. "Safe? He's
stealing your baby and you're calling that safe?" Cora tries to grab his other
arm, but he throws her off and she goes stumbling back. "He's the one who told
you I'd try to hurt her and you're believing him? You're trusting him?"
"She'll be alive," Stiles rasps, fighting the tears welling in his eyes. He
fails, they spill over and streak down his cheeks. A well aimed kick makes him
gasp and he presses a hand to the top of the bump. "At least she'll be alive."
Scott doesn't offer any more resistance, and once the door slides closed and
Derek puts the lock in place he's right there at Stiles' side. "Heartburn?"
Stiles pushes gently at the pressure digging in under his ribs. "Foot."
"I'm sorry," Derek whispers, cupping the side of Stiles' face with his hand.
His face is stricken, eyes so sad it breaks Stiles' heart. "He doesn't even
know. Maybe the Sidhe was wrong. Maybe it's not—"
"I can't risk it." Stiles leans into Derek, taking every ounce of comfort his
warmth offers. "I can't risk it."
.
Stiles' birthday falls on a Wednesday. Lydia and Dana come after school with
the largest cake box Stiles has ever seen and small, wrapped gifts. Derek and
Cora take the box, disappear into the kitchen, but only Cora comes back with a
plate. The four of them lean over the table under the window and eat cake with
their fingers.
"This feels really girly," Stiles says, licking frosting off his fingers and
forcing a grin. He should be enjoying his birthday, he should be enjoying the
company of his friends, but he can't relax, can't sit still. It's a full moon
tonight, and he's restless on a level he's never felt before. Cora told him it
was normal, that it didn't mean tonight would be the night, only that the baby
could feel it coming.
Lydia dabs at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. "You're an honorary
girl. Not girly in the least, though. You've got no reason to feel
emasculated."
"Except for the extreme case of pregnancy."
"Except for that." Lydia smiles, but it's a slow, sad kind of smile that
doesn't reach her eyes. "Okay. Presents." She turns to Dana. "You go first."
Dana hands over a small, oblong parcel wrapped in navy blue paper and tied with
a silver ribbon in a plain knot. Her cheeks turn pink as Stiles beams at her
and starts to tug at the ribbon.
He peels the thick paper back to expose the curved and highly polished hilt of
a silver knife. He picks it up, pulls at the blade with his thumbnail and it
pops out with a satisfying snap. It's a perfectly mirrored, shimmering surface.
"Oh my god," he breathes, and then looks across the table. "You gave me a
knife?"
Dana's blush spreads further over her cheeks. "Yeah. You run with wolves, but
you don't have claws. You should have something."
A genuine smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "It's amazing. Thanks."
"It's silver. I mean, real silver."
"Silver doesn't work on werewolves," Cora says. "That's a myth."
"Looks like it'd cut them fine to me," Lydia says, pressing the tip of her
finger to the point of the blade and then popping her finger into her mouth.
"No," Dana says. "But it works on other things. And this town..."
"Right." Stiles snaps it shut and slips it into the pocket of his jeans. "I
love it. Thanks. I don't figure I'll have much use for it, not until after—
Well. I'm not doing much of anything lately." He glances down at his stomach,
brushes a few cake crumbs off himself.
"Bullshit," Cora says. "You're doing plenty. I can hear, you know."
Cora's been on the couch since she got back. Only temporarily, until she finds
her own apartment. They've been quiet, Stiles knows they've been quiet, but...
"Werewolves, man. You suck."
Cora turns her eyes away. "No. You do," she smirks.
"Oh my god," Stiles chokes. "Are you seriously—"
"You realize you're talking about your own brother's sex life," Lydia says.
"Do you realize I have to listen to it? They never stop, it's disturbing."
"Oh my god," Stiles repeats. "I can't even..." He backs away from the table,
then stops, returns for a slice of cake, and then he slips away to find Derek.
He's in the kitchen, leaning against the wall, fighting laughter.
"You suck too," Stiles whispers as he puts down his half eaten cake on the
counter and wraps his arms around Derek. He bounces a little on the balls of
his feet, twitchy. "You said she wouldn't hear."
"Not my fault you make all that noise when I do," Derek says as he pulls Stiles
into a kiss that gets heated fast.
Stiles flails out of his grip. "No. Cora will be giving them a running
commentary if we're not careful."
There's a knock on the brick on the outside of the arch that leads into the
kitchen. Stiles turns to see Lydia in the opening. She tries to hide a smile
and then looks at Derek. "I wanna give Stiles his present," she says. "Do you
mind?"
Derek's hand slides down Stiles' spine as he leaves them alone in the kitchen.
"I can come out," Stiles says, even as Lydia moves deeper into the kitchen,
pulling her own gift out from behind her back.
"It's fine," she says as she puts it into his hands. "This is better."
Stiles wonders if it's a book at first, from the shape, but it doesn't have the
weight of a book. It's almost weightless, in fact. So he slips off the raffia
it's tied with, and folds back the paper. It's just a cardboard box inside,
plain white, with no markings. He looks up at Lydia with a curious smile and
hooks his fingers into the lid.
Lydia twists her hands together and her eyes flick from Stiles to the ceiling
and back again. "I know you might think it's maybe a little inappropriate, or
insensitive, or whatever, because I know you're not keeping her, but I just
thought—"
Stiles frowns, and lifts the lid of the box.
"She should have something nice to wear. For... The trip." There's a tear, just
at the edge of her lashes, and as she tries to smile, it falls.
Stiles looks down with a lump in his throat. He picks up a tiny jacket, pure
white, made of the softest, finest wool imaginable. Underneath, there's a pair
of pants in the same fabric. He puts the jacket back in the box and closes the
lid, pressing his teeth hard into his lower lip as he tries to hold back the
sudden, violent rush of emotion that squeezes his lungs tight enough that he
can barely catch his breath.
"God, Stiles," Lydia whispers, twisting her hands so hard her knuckles turn
white. "I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry, here, I'll just—" She tries to take the
box out of his hands.
Stiles holds it to him. "No." He shakes his head. "No, it's good. It's perfect.
Thank you, I..." Tears streak his face, wet his shirt. "It's perfect. Thank
you." He reaches out, pulls her into an awkward hug with the box trapped
between them, one corner digging into his side. There's an answering flurry of
jerky kicks from inside him. "It's perfect."
"Are you sure?" Lydia looks up, and her face is streaked with tears.
"I'm sure."
"Good. Because it was really expensive."
Stiles snorts, even through his grief. "Totally worth it." He presses a kiss to
her forehead and then tucks her underneath his chin and just holds her,
grateful for his friends, because he's going to need them afterward.
A minute passes. Two. Stiles doesn't want to let go, even when Lydia starts
pushing away, at first gently, but then she shoves back, out of his arms. She
hits the counter, grips the edge of it with her hands, and her eyes are wide,
like she's scared.
"What? What is it?" Stiles asks, moving toward her.
Lydia pushes his hands away. "No, no," she whimpers, keeps trying to back up
but she's got nowhere to go.
Stiles takes a breath, prepares to call for Derek, for anyone, because at first
he doesn't know what's happening.
Until Lydia opens her mouth in a scream that fuses his spine and cuts right
into his heart.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Fat drops of rain start hitting the skylight the moment Lydia screams, and
after that, it gets dark quick. Derek pushes Stiles onto the couch, tries to
drag Lydia out the door.
"I'm not a bloodhound," she says, shaking him off. "That's your deal." She
grabs Dana by the arm. "We're leaving."
"Maybe it's nothing," Cora says. "People die all the time."
"She doesn't do that when someone dies in the old folks home," Derek says.
"It's always violent death. It's bad. I can feel it."
"Then you should have no problem sniffing it out yourself." Lydia ducks down,
wraps her arms around Stiles in a quick hug. "Call me, okay? If anything
happens?"
Stiles nods. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and he's too warm. Dana
crouches beside him, looks up, and she's the only one who doesn't look freaked
out. "You can do this," she says. "I'll see you later, okay?"
Then they're gone, Derek following soon after with a whispered, "I'll be back
before the moon rises, I swear."
Stiles gets up, finds the box Lydia gave him in the kitchen. He crouches to
pick it up off the floor and grimaces as the baby pushes back, objecting to her
space being reduced as his thighs press against the bottom of the bump.
"Need a hand?"
Stiles accepts Cora's offer of help, letting her pull him back to his feet. "I
should want to hold onto her for a while longer, right?" he says. "But I don't
know if I can face another month of this."
"She'll come when she's ready. Maybe it'll be tonight, maybe not." She takes
the box out of his hands. "Where do you want this?"
"My bag, upstairs. It's for the baby."
Cora leaves him in the kitchen, leaves him with the half of his birthday cake
they didn't eat. If she's born tonight, Stiles will forever remember his
birthday as the day his baby was taken from him. He wraps his arms around
himself, around his belly. "On second thoughts, stay there," he whispers.
"Stick around for a bit longer, 'kay?"
She pushes back, feeling like she's stretching out inside him, shoving tiny
feet up under his ribs and making it hard to breathe.
"Or not," he says.
.
Cora's right there at the door when Derek returns. It slides back slow, and
Derek slumps against the frame like he's exhausted. There's blood on his hands,
smears of it bleeding into the front of his wet shirt.
Stiles pushes himself up off the couch, but he freezes half way to the door
when Derek looks up. There's so much pain on his face, like his whole world has
just fallen apart. "Who is it?" Stiles says. "Who's dead?"
"It's Grimm," Derek says. "The Sidhe. Someone tore him apart."
"No." Stiles shakes his head. "No, no, he can't be." His head spins, and he
feel sick. Bile burns his throat.
He doesn't remember Derek moving, but suddenly Derek's holding him, an arm
around his back, the fingers of his other hand in Stiles' hair. "Stiles," he
breathes, his voice nothing but a rasp of pure anguish. "Stiles."
"How can he be dead?" Stiles' fingers twist into Derek's shirt, wet with rain,
soaked through to the skin. "They're immortal. How can he be dead?"
"He took human form." Derek's lips move against Stiles' temple. "Anything made
of flesh and blood can be killed." He gulps, and the cold, wet rain dripping
off him is interspersed with drops of hot salt.
"Then it's over." Stiles takes a deep breath. He was prepared for this before,
he can do it again, he can find that place of acceptance. He nods against
Derek's shoulder. "It's okay. You'll get to keep her, Derek. It's okay, I'm
okay with that."
Derek stiffens and pushes Stiles out to arms length. "No. I'm not gonna let you
die, Stiles."
"You can't do anything to stop it. And there's no more time. It's gonna be
tonight, I can feel it."
"You can't know that. The moon isn't up yet, there's no way—"
"I know," Stiles says, because he does. She wants out, and she's not going to
wait another month. "She's coming tonight, and without the Sidhe, I'm gonna
die. But you'll have her, okay? You've gotta be okay for her, you've gotta
promise me, Derek, promise me you're gonna be okay."
"It was Scott," Derek says. "His scent was all over the body. He wants her,
Stiles, that's why he killed Grimm, so no, I won't have either of you, so you
can't die, okay? You can't."
"Scott?" Stiles' knees buckle, and the only reason he doesn't hit the floor is
because Derek holds him up. He's going to die and his best friend is going to
kill his baby and all of it, everything presses in on him, around him. He can't
get the air he needs, though he's gasping for it. He fights against Derek's
grip with hands and fingers that won't do what he wants them to. Cold sweat
breaks out all over his skin and he's dying, really dying this time, and the
baby is going to die with him. "Get her out," he rasps. "Get her out, now."
Cora pushes Derek out of the way. "He's having a panic attack," she says, and
grips Stiles by the shoulders even as they both sink to the floor. "You're not
breathing properly. Do you know what to do?"
Stiles shakes his head. She's right, but it feels too much and he can't even
think.
"Okay, here," Cora says, and she puts her hand on his swollen stomach. "Breathe
from here. In. Good, now out. Breathe out, Stiles. More. That's it, good."
Slowly, the panic eases. Stiles can curl his fingers around Cora's wrist. He
can reach out for Derek as he looks on, helpless, can pull him down to the
floor. "Don't let it happen," Stiles says. "You can't let it happen."
"I won't," Derek says. "I promise you, I won't." He stands up. "Cora, I need
you with me on this." Then he goes to the door.
When he slides it back, Peter's there. "Watch him," Derek says. "We've gotta
stop Scott." Derek turns back, eyes full of fear as they pass over Stiles. "The
moon's rising now. If there's any sign that it could be tonight, take him to
Deaton."
.
"This is good," Peter says, a slice of cake on a plate in one hand, a fork in
the other, a crumb on his lower lip that he licks away with a quick, darting
tongue. "Mmm. You said Lydia picked this out? She always did have excellent
taste." He breaks off a forkful, offers it to Stiles. "No?" He pops it into his
own mouth, closes his eyes and smiles around it before he slides the fork out
from between closed lips. "Happy birthday by the way. You won't forget this one
in a hurry, I'm guessing."
"I'll be dead," Stiles says. There's a black cloud hanging over his head, and
it's never going to go away.
Peter nods, licks frosting off the edge of the fork. "That's right, you will.
But on the bright side, Derek's probably going to kill Scott."
Stiles' eyes flick up to Peter's face. "Bright side."
"Well, yeah. One less thing for me to do."
Stiles' heart stops cold. "What?"
Peter puts the plate down carefully on the floor. "I really thought you would
have caught on sooner, Stiles. Now Derek, he's not the sharpest tool in the
shed. The brains really did skip a generation in his case. But you're supposed
to be the smart one. The one who figures things out." He looks pointedly at
Stiles' belly. "Of course, you've had other things on your mind." He reaches
out, lifts Stiles' hand off his lap, moves to pull him to his feet. "Up you
get. It's time to go."
"Scott didn't kill Grimm," Stiles says. "Scott's not the Alpha Grimm was
warning me about, is he?"
Peter lifts an eyebrow. "Sorry, did I not cover that? No. Come on, Stiles.
Scott's your best friend. You've got to have a little more faith in him, you
know." He forcibly pulls Stiles to his feet, wraps one strong hand around the
back of his neck and grips tight. "Of course, it's a bit late for that. You'll
both be dead very soon."
Stiles' hands shove ineffectually at Peter's chest as he tries and fails to get
away. "Please. You don't have to do this." He manages to get one hand up and
claws at Peter's face, going for his eyes but narrowly missing. Three red lines
flare across Peter's cheek, then fade with only a few drops of blood as
evidence that they were ever there.
Peter lets out a bitten off growl and grabs Stiles' wrist, pulling his arm up
behind him. "Actually, I do. There's just a few too many Alphas in this town,
and I have to get rid of them all. Your baby is a two-for-one deal. I kill her,
ensure my position, and the power her sacrifice will give me will make me
unstoppable."
The thumb and fingers gripping each side of Stiles' neck dig deeper into his
flesh. In seconds Stiles begins to feel lightheaded, then the room spins, he
feels like he's falling, and everything turns black.
.
When Stiles comes to, he's cold. The rain is just a mist now, enough to dampen
his clothes and make him shiver. Above him, the moon hangs full and heavy,
around him, there's trees and the soft sounds of the woods on a calm night.
Insects, night birds, decaying leaves rustling softly as small creatures move
among them.
Stiles is on his back. Something smells like old, wet wood, and he figures,
from the damp soaking into his clothes from the back, that it's coming from
whatever he's been tied to.
Tied, because when he tries to move his arms, wet rope tightens around his
wrists. His ankles are free, but while he can roll onto his side, without the
use of his hands, he can't get any further.
It only takes a few seconds for all of this to sink in, and then the blind
terror takes over, and he starts to thrash and scream.
"None of that," Peter says, his face appearing in front of Stiles' eyes,
blocking out the moon. "I'd rather Derek not come stumbling in and messing up
all my careful planning." He slaps a hand over Stiles' mouth. "Now be quiet,
and let nature take its course, will you?"
That's when he feels it. A stretching inside him, and a sharp pain way down low
that makes him stiffen and moan. The baby needs to come out, but somehow, it
feels like that is the least of Stiles' worries right now.  
***** Chapter 18 *****
"There's nothing natural about this," Stiles gasps between the pains. His
throat is hoarse, it hurts to scream. Another one comes, and he twists,
dragging at his bonds, hissing through the tearing sensation inside him.
They're not contractions. He doesn't have the anatomy for it. This is, plain
and simple, something that should never have been in him in the first place,
grown too large and pushing against the confines of its prison.
Peter sits on the edge of the massive tree stump Stiles is tied to, watching in
interest. "True. I can take her out now, if that's what you want. Have you had
enough, Stiles? Of course you're going to bleed to death. Do you know what will
happen when your blood soaks into the Nemeton? There'll be so much of it and
it's going to make me stronger."
Stiles whimpers. He's going to bleed internally if this goes on much longer.
He'll die, and the baby will die with him if she stays inside. "What are you
going to do to her?"
Peter gives him a benign smile. "I'm going to cut her throat. I'm going to add
her blood to yours. I'll be more powerful than Deucalion ever was."
"Then leave her in me." Hot tears pour down Stiles' temples, soak into the wood
beneath him. It'll be a better end for his baby. Peaceful, instead of violence
and pain. Now all he can do is hope that he dies quickly.
Peter shakes his head. "Sorry. Can't do that. It would be a terrible waste, for
a start." He holds out his hand, claws stretch out from each fingertip. "I
think it's time, don't you?"
He leans over, shoves Stiles' shirt right up, tucking it over the top of the
bump. Cold rain hits Stiles' skin, and then the sharp point of a claw digs into
the taut flesh of his side.
"I hate to make a ripe fruit joke here," Peter says, "but it's really just like
that, isn't it?" The claw drags, and a line of fire inches up Stiles' side.
He starts to scream.
Peter lets out a growl at the same moment the pain eases to a burning throb.
Stiles snaps his eyes open, and Peter's there beside the tree trunk, crouched
and ready to spring. The next instant, he's gone in a blur of hair and limbs
and fangs and claws, and there's a resounding thump as two werewolves hit the
ground somewhere behind him, somewhere he can't see.
"Derek," Stiles whines, but it's drowned out by snapping jaws and deafening
growls.
A warm hand comes down on Stiles' stomach. "Right here," Derek says, and then
Stiles can see him, and he's never been happier to see someone in his life.
"It's not Scott," Stiles rasps. "It's Peter. It was always Peter."
Derek's claws slice through the rope holding Stiles' arms, freeing him. "I
know. Scott's okay. He's keeping Peter busy, but we've gotta get you out of
here."
Another pain rips through Stiles' middle and he screams again, arching up off
the stump as his limbs go rigid. There are hands on him, trying to hold him,
but they're hurting him more and as soon as the attack eases, he hits out at
whatever he can reach. Wet rope rolls down his arm, falls across his chest and
he flicks it away. "It hurts," he whimpers, every fiber of his body stinging in
the aftermath of pain. Skin, bones, flesh, all burning away without fire and
even though he can see the black spiraling up through Derek's veins, it doesn't
seem to ease it at all.
The snarling and snapping comes closer, but Derek stares down at Stiles in
horror, eyes wide, jaw hanging open.
"Help him," Stiles says. "Help Scott. You've gotta kill Peter, or he'll kill
the baby."
Derek's just a blur as he moves. Stiles lets his head turn to the side, watches
as Derek throws himself into the fray, catching Peter from behind, clawed hands
locked around biceps, a knee in the small of Peter's back as he pulls him to
the ground.
Scott springs, eyes glowing blood red, one clawed hand drawn back. He seems to
hang in mid-air for a moment, and the expression on his face is pure
determination. Then he comes down, his arm swings, and Stiles sees the blood as
it sprays across the clearing.
Peter falls in slow motion, onto his face in the dirt.
Stiles smiles, and then the pain comes again.
When he can see, when he can hear and think, Derek's crouched beside him.
There's blood spattered across his cheek, smeared into his hair. "Is he dead?"
Stiles asks.
Derek's lips are pressed together tightly as he nods.
"For good this time," Scott says, then to Derek, "we have to get him to
Deaton."
Derek nods again, rises, slips a hand beneath Stiles' shoulders as if to lift
him, but the pain is excruciating.
"No," Stiles gasps. "I can't. Please, don't."
"You're gonna die," Derek whispers. "You're bleeding internally, I can hear
your insides tearing."
"I'll go," Scott says. "I'll bring him here." He's gone in a rapid beat of feet
and hands hitting the earth.
"Hold on," Derek says. "You can do this, Stiles. You've just gotta hold on."
Pain tears through Stiles again, but he's too exhausted to fight it. He
clenches his teeth and groans, deep and guttural, until it eases. "They'll be
too late," he pants, barely able to catch a breath between words. "You've gotta
do it. I'm gonna die, Derek. You've gotta get her out, or she'll die, too."
"No." There's tears on Derek's face, washing paths through the blood. "No,
Stiles."
Derek's hand is pressed palm down on the surface of the tree stump. Stiles uses
a final reserve of energy to lift his hand and place it over Derek's. "I love
you," he breathes. "Save our kid. But if you Twilight this baby out of me with
your teeth, I'm going to come back from hell, and punch you in the face."
Derek lets out a sob that might be one part laughter to a hundred parts grief.
"The last place you'll be going is hell, Stiles."
Stiles feels light-headed, floaty. His eyes drift to somewhere over Derek's
shoulder. This is it, he thinks, when he sees her come out of the darkness like
mist solidifying. This is what dying is like, pain and dreaming. "Dana," he
whispers.
She smiles at him as she stands over Derek's shoulder and looks down. "Hey,
Stiles."
Derek jerks his hand out from under Stiles', falls onto his ass in the dirt.
"What?" He gets his feet under him, rising up, eyes locked to her and staring.
"I didn't hear you. I can't smell you."
"She's not really there," Stiles slurs. He's having trouble keeping his eyes
open. "Figment of my imagination."
Derek's head twitches around as he glances at Stiles. "She's there," he says.
"I can see her." He looks back at Dana. "What are you?"
Stiles blinks, realization bringing him just a little more alert. "Shit," he
breathes. "You're Sidhe. You've been here all along."
"Then you can save him," Derek says. "You can, right? That's why you're here."
"Yes," Dana says. "There's a knife in his pocket."
Derek stares.
"I can't do anything until the baby is out of him, Derek. Get the knife."
Stiles moans in pain as Derek lifts him enough to be able to fish the silver
knife Dana gave him for his birthday out of his jeans pocket. It feels like a
lifetime ago that she gave it to him, a lifetime since they gathered around the
table and had cake, even though it's just a handful of hours.
When Derek hands her the knife, she stares at it. "I can't touch that," she
says. "It's made of silver."
"What?" Derek shakes his head. "You gave it to him."
"For a reason," Dana says. Stiles has never seen her so fierce or so strong.
"You have to be the one, Derek. It has to be you." She glances down. "Hurry.
He's dying."
Derek climbs up onto the tree stump, kneeling by Stiles' hip, leaning over his
stomach. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, and then the knife bites in.
A line of liquid fire spreads over Stiles' stomach. He feels wet where it
passes, warmth spreading over his skin, and then cold as a breeze washes over
him. He thinks he can feel Derek taking his pain away, a slow drawing of fire
into the hand that presses against his skin. His throat is too raw to scream,
and he can only whimper, blinking up at the moon as it blurs in front of his
eyes, seems to quiver in the sky, and is slowly blocked out as his eyelids fall
closed.
Stiles can feel the slow beat of his own heart as it pumps the life out of him
and onto the tree beneath.
***** Chapter 19 *****
There's an urgency right on the edge of Stiles' awareness. It's the feeling he
gets when he can sense the sun streaming in through his bedroom window, when at
first he thinks he's slept through his alarm but then remembers it's Saturday
and he can sleep as long as he likes.
He's not warm, though. He shivers with the cold, feels around for blankets, but
there's just a kind of slimy mess on the hard surface beneath him. He presses
it between his fingers, and it's sticky, thick. He moans, licks his dry lips,
tastes copper and salt.
Tastes blood.
Stiles' eyes snap open.
There's the moon, hanging above him, bright and clear. Stiles sucks in a deep
breath, feels his lungs inflate like they haven't been able to in months. His
hand flies to his stomach, but it's not there anymore, the place where his hand
should find flesh keeps falling until it lands on a flat expanse of sticky bare
skin and he's pretty sure all his insides should be on the outside about now
but they're not. He probes at his belly with his fingers and there's no pain,
not so much as a tenderness under the skin. "Holy crap," he breathes. "I'm not
dead."
There's a soft huff of relief, a hand squeezes his thigh, and something else. A
quiet whimpery snuffle that has been there the whole time but Stiles is only
just registering.
He sits bolt upright.
And there's Derek, sitting at his hip, a tiny bundle wrapped in what's left of
Stiles' shirt cradled in one arm. His hands are bloody to the elbows, more
soaks the front of his shirt. There's tears on his face, and he offers Stiles a
tentative smile.
"Oh my god," Stiles says, reaching out with grabby hands for the baby. Derek
rises, lowering the bloody bundle into Stiles' arms, hovering close. "Oh my
god," Stiles repeats and he stares down into big, dark eyes in a little face
smeared with blood. "Look what I made," he says, glancing up at Derek for just
a moment, and then back down at the baby because he can't get enough.
"I know," Derek says, and presses his lips to Stiles' temple. "She's amazing."
"She?" They never knew for sure. "Is she a she?" He pulls aside the wrappings
to check. "Oh my god." He looks up again as he folds it back. "I made a girl.
We made a person, Derek, oh my god."
"Yeah." Derek's smile is sad. He looks up, and Stiles follows his gaze as it
falls on Dana, standing just a couple of feet away. "I asked her to wait,"
Derek says. "Until you woke up. I knew you'd want to see the baby, before..."
His voice breaks, and he presses his lips tightly together.
"No," Stiles says, all the joy and wonder that had filled his heart suddenly
sucked back out again. He shakes his head and looks back at Dana. "No, no, no—"
"She saved your life," Derek says, and he's very carefully keeping his eyes on
Stiles' face, never letting them stray down to the baby in his arms. "You were
in pieces and she put you back together. You should be dead right now and I
need you, Stiles."
Stiles looks back down at his baby, chokes around the lump in his throat as she
snuffles her nose against his chest. He could tell Dana to take it back, to
undo whatever magic she did to keep him alive. He could tell her to do that so
she'd leave the baby with Derek, but they'd only come back for her when she was
older. Derek wouldn't have either of them. "Okay," he whispers, trying to
remember that this way, she gets to live. He lifts his head. "Maybe she'll come
looking for us someday."
"Maybe," Derek says. He looks so broken.
Like a band-aid, Stiles tells himself. Do it quick. He presses a kiss to his
daughter's forehead, leaving a tear behind, and then he swings his legs over
the edge and gets to his feet.
Dana smiles as he approaches. Stiles expects her to reach out for the baby, but
she doesn't. His arms protest, his heart fighting against his brain's
instructions to hand the baby over. He bites down hard on his lip to fight the
tight, twisting pain in his stomach as he holds her out.
Dana tips her head to the side and gazes down at the baby with a benign smile
on her face. "She's beautiful," she says as she looks back up. She doesn't make
a move to take the baby out of Stiles' arms.
"Aren't you gonna—?" Stiles stops, pulls the squirming baby back into his
chest. "You're not gonna take her?"
Dana shakes her head, still smiling. "She was born using silver. I can't touch
her. None of us can."
Stiles blinks. "What, ever?"
"Nope."
Stiles' body jerks as a rush of relief and hope surges through him, and the
baby startles, tiny fists flailing, and starts to cry. It's a tiny sound, but
it makes his stomach clench. He cradles her closer to his heart, and she
settles. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he hisses. "This was your plan all
along? You watched me angsting for months. Why didn't you say something?"
Dana frowns. "Grimm died because he lacked subtlety. I'd be no use to you
dead."
"But why? Isn't the whole acquisition of other peoples kids thing like, your
raison d'être? I mean, not that I'm complaining, I'm just..." Shocked.
Surprised. Pissed off that he had to go through all that emotional pain for
nothing. He looks down, realizes that he'd do it all over again if he had to.
"Not all of us," Dana says.
Stiles lets out a breath he feels like he's been holding for the last six
months. "Well, that's awesome." He looks back over his shoulder. Derek's
standing beside the Nemeton looking like the sole survivor of a horror movie.
It's a mix of gore and bone-deep relief, and Stiles figures he probably doesn't
look much different. "So," he says, turning back toward Dana. "You're like, her
fairy godmother or something?"
His eyes land on empty air. Stiles' gaze flicks around the clearing, then he
turns in a circle. "Okay," he says. "She went poof. I didn't even get a chance
to say thanks."
He hears a distant shout, then someone crashing through the trees, and Scott's
panicked voice saying, "this way."
Then Derek's right there with him, bloody fingers turning back the edge of the
cloth the baby is wrapped in so he can see her face. "I can't believe it,"
Derek says. "I get to keep you both."
Scott appears from the trees, Deaton close behind him. They freeze at the edge
of the clearing as they take in the scene before them.
Scott is the first to come forward. "What happened? Oh my god, is that your
baby?"
"No, it's someone else's baby," Stiles says, rolling his eyes even as he grins
at the look of disbelief on Scott's face. "Dude, of course it's my baby. Derek
took her out with my knife and then I woke up like this and Dana said I get to
keep her because silver and oh my god. Look. Look how fucking gorgeous she is."
Scott's eyes are everywhere, open wide. His mouth works, but nothing comes out.
Eventually he gives up and just nods.
"She'll get cold," Deaton says. He holds out a white blanket, helps Stiles to
discard the bloody T-shirt and cover her up properly before he pulls Derek
aside. "You have to tell me everything," Stiles hears him say.
"You've got a kid," Scott says. "Holy crap, you've got a kid."
.
"I'm sorry about the whole 'you're evil' thing," Stiles says. Scott's beside
him on the couch, watching as Stiles feeds the baby while Derek and Cora put
the crib back together upstairs.
Thank god for Stiles' dad, who, as well as the crib, bought everything from
clothes to bottles when Stiles and Derek believed they wouldn't have a baby to
feed or dress. Thank god for the 24-hour supermarket where they sent Scott for
formula and diapers.
Scott shrugs. "None of us knew Peter got his Alpha mojo back when Derek gave it
up. I'm just sorry I had to break Cora's leg before they'd listen to me."
It had been Scott who'd found Grimm dead, touched him, leaving his scent all
over the body after Peter's had been mostly washed away in the rain.
"Cora's leg healed," Stiles says. "Benefit of being a werewolf." The baby's
fallen asleep, lower lip dragging on the teat of the bottle. Stiles puts the
bottle down on the floor and wipes away the trickle of milk that runs from the
corner of her mouth and then traces his finger over a tiny eyebrow. "I'll never
have to panic when this one falls over and skins her knee," he says.
"Yeah, you will," Scott says, his voice hesitant. "I figured Derek would have
told you already. She's not a werewolf."
Stiles' eyes flick up. "What?"
Scott shrugs. "She's human. She was never a threat to anyone. If Peter had
known, maybe... Maybe I wouldn't have had to kill him."
"Peter was a crazy sonofabitch who was going to kill my baby. He deserved to
die," Stiles says. "Does Derek know she's not a werewolf?"
"He must," Scott says. "She smells like a regular human."
"But—" Stiles' heart starts pounding. "She was supposed to be the next Alpha...
His pack..."
Scott looks up, looks behind him, as if he's heard something. He gives Stiles a
tight smile, and then gets up and walks away, leaving space on the couch for
Derek as he comes down the stairs.
"You really think I'd care about that?" Derek says, leaning over, pressing a
kiss to Stiles' temple and then brushing his fingertips over the baby's soft,
dark hair. "I knew as soon as I pulled her out of you, and it didn't matter. It
didn't make it any less heartbreaking that I would have to give her up." He
moves his hand to the back of Stiles' neck, pulls him in for a proper kiss. "We
caught a break, Stiles."
"Yeah," Stiles breathes. It still doesn't feel real, even though the sleeping
baby in his arms does. This moment could have been so much different.
"She needs a name," Derek whispers.
It was something they'd never talked about, just like they'd never bought
anything for her, just like Stiles had hidden the things his father gave them
away in boxes so he'd never have to look at them. The more they prepared for
her birth, the more heartbreaking it would be when she was gone. And when
Stiles was prepared to die so Derek could keep the baby, he figured Derek would
name her once he was gone. "I haven't thought about it," he says. "Did you want
to—?"
Derek offers him a tentative smile and nods. "Yeah, if that's okay?"
"She's your kid, too. Go ahead."
Derek looks down at the baby. "Olivia," he says. "It doesn't mean anything. I
just liked it. It's okay if you hate it. We'll pick something else."
Stiles blinks. "I don't hate it." He looks down at his baby and tries the name
out. "Olivia. It's kind of perfect. I figured you'd name her after your mom, or
your sister though."
Derek looks up, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "I've never
understood the tradition of naming children after dead people."
"I was named after a dead person."
"And look how that turned out, Stiles." Derek smirks, then looks up right
before the banging starts.
Muffled words come through the door. "Let me in, I wanna see my grandkid."
"Oh my god, it's my dad," Stiles says, eyes on Derek as he goes to open the
door. "You called my dad?"
"Of course." Derek slides the door back and the sheriff marches in. His hair is
sticking up, like he's been sleeping on it—which he probably has, considering
it's the early hours of the morning—and his shirt is buttoned up wrong.
"Hey, Dad," Stiles says as he stands up, careful not to jostle the sleeping
baby. "Look what I got for my birthday."
His father's eyes look him up and down. "What are you...how are you...? Didn't
you just get cut open by a veterinarian?" He jerks his head back to Derek.
"What the hell are you doing, letting my son out of bed when he's just had
major surgery?"
"I'm fine," Stiles says, tugging up the hem of the clean shirt he pulled on
when they got back to the loft, yanking it back down fast when he realizes he's
still covered in his own dried blood. "Huh, you didn't need to see that. But no
scars, totally healed, fairy magic fixed me up after Derek cut me open and
pulled her out. And you really didn't need to know that."
His father blinks at him. "Derek delivered the baby? Fairy magic?" He swallows
and then seems to recover. "And you couldn't take a shower?"
Stiles grins sheepishly and shrugs as best he can. "I have a baby. You think I
wanna put this awesome thing down?"
"Yes, please," the sheriff says, reaching for her, glaring when Stiles takes a
step back. "Give me the damn baby, Stiles."
Stiles whines.
"He won't even give her to me," Derek says.
"Scott's mom says it's fine," Stiles argues. "It promotes attachment. Or
something."
"Oh for the love of... Just give the baby to Derek," the sheriff says. "And get
in the goddamn shower before you start to stink."
"He already does," Derek says as he pries the sleeping baby from Stiles' arms.
"Be thankful you don't have a werewolf's nose."
"Traitor," Stiles hisses, dragging his feet as he heads for the bathroom.
.
The hot water as it sheets over him and swirls pink down the drain forces the
last of the chill from his bones. He'd hardly noticed it before now, too high
on creation to worry about whether he was warm enough. He should probably be in
shock, but instead he's elated. It's like the best drug ever, and he wonders
why people don't have babies all the time.
In the last twelve hours, he's been through so many things that should have
sent him crazy. He thought he was going to die, thought his baby would die with
him, and the pain he went through was like nothing he's ever felt before.
And now it's over. All that terror and grief is over. He gets to keep his
baby—Olivia—he gets to stay with Derek, he gets to have a life.
And, he thinks, as he slides his hand down over a stomach he figured he'd never
have again, Dana put him back together just like he was before.
His fingertip catches on a line of puckered skin below his belly button, and he
smiles, realizing that Dana left him with the stretchmarks. He doesn't mind.
They're a reminder that he carried his baby, despite logic and possibility, he
grew her inside him until she was ready to come out.
Stiles rushes after he gets out of the shower, rummaging through a drawer for a
shirt that isn't stretched out and baggy. He can hear them talking downstairs,
Derek and his father, and he wants the reassurance of his baby in his arms
again, to remind him that it's real.
All he finds is one of Derek's shirts, and he pulls it on, then heads for the
stairs.
Halfway down, he stops. Under the window, with the sky just starting to
lighten, Derek and Stiles' father stand face to face, close, only inches
between them as they both smile down at the baby in Derek's arms. They speak
quietly, Stiles can't hear, but as Derek's lips move and he grins wide to show
his teeth, he lifts his head. The sheriff matches that movement, smiling back.
Stiles isn't sure he can cope with being so content. A tear trickles down his
face, a happy tear this time, and he gulps past the lump in his throat.
Then Derek turns his head, still smiling, and second only to the baby, it's the
most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Notes
     This has been a long time coming. I can't believe I was getting a
     chapter out every couple days on average, and this epilogue has taken
     me, what? Two months to even write? Madness. It's also three times
     the length of any of the chapters O.O Anyway, hope you enjoy, it's
     all fluff and filthy porn. To those of you who have been following
     along the whole way, thank you so much. You've been fantastic, your
     comments have encouraged me, inspired me, and it's been brilliant.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Come on, Scott. I haven't had sex in weeks. You need to do this for me."
Scott still gets that weird look on his face whenever Stiles talks about his
sex life, and he's been talking about his sex life—or lack of it—a lot lately.
But it's all become too much, Stiles is going crazy. It was okay while he was
home, but now that he's back at school while Derek stays home with Olivia, he's
got too much time to think about it.
"Me?" Scott says, still pulling that face, but this time it's flavored with
shock. "Why me? I don't know anything about babies."
"The pack," Stiles hisses. "Goddamn it, Scott. You think Derek would let her
out of his sight without a frickin honor guard? No. You need to bring the pack
and take her out. Saturday. All day. She hates the crib, man, she won't sleep
alone and we've got a lot of time to make up, so you just come in the morning,
get the baby—"
"Stilinski," Coach shouts from across the locker room. "Jesus Christ."
Stiles spins around, blinking as Finstock bears down on him. "What? What?"
Coach looks him up and down. "Most people lose weight when they're sick. What
the hell were you doing? Trying to combat the itching with doughnuts?"
Stiles looks down at himself, at the skinny jeans he can get into again, at the
T-shirt he's wearing, and maybe they're just a little more snug than before but
he's so much smaller than he was just a few short weeks ago that he never
really noticed. He looks up again, but Coach has already moved on to berating
Greenberg about the fact that his shorts are on backward. "Did he...?" Stiles
says, looking back at Scott. "Did he just call me fat?"
Scott bites back a grin and shrugs.
Danny appears beside them. "You look good, Stiles. Don't pay any attention to
him."
"Oh, well thanks, Danny." Stiles glares at Scott. "Nice to know someone's gonna
be supportive."
"What's this about a baby?" Danny asks. "Did one of you two knock someone up?"
Stiles freezes and his palms get sweaty. He's only been back at school a couple
days, and he figured he wouldn't have to field these kinds of questions for a
while yet. "Um, Derek's baby," he says, and it hurts to have to say it, to have
to just hand over ownership like that. "Derek's baby."
"She's only a few weeks old," Scott says.
"Six weeks, three days," Stiles adds.
"And really cute," Scott says.
Stiles backhands Scott in the chest. "Are you kidding me? She's the most
beautiful thing you've ever seen. Admit it."
A grin spreads over Scott's face. "Yeah."
"Derek?" Danny says. "Isn't he the guy you were making out with at New Years?"
Stiles nods. "Yeah, we're together. "
Danny lifts his eyebrows approvingly. And then frowns. "And he has a baby?"
"Yeah. So?" Stiles says, feeling his hackles rising.
Danny takes a step back, puts his hands out in front of him, palms forward.
"Nothing. Just... That's a big commitment. If you guys are serious, that kid's
gonna grow up thinking you're her dad, you know?"
Stiles feels his eyes widen and his jaw drop. He gapes at Danny for a while,
and then forces himself to remember that Danny doesn't know, can't possibly
know the truth. "And?" He wants to tell Danny that he is her dad, the same as
Derek is her dad, but he can't. Danny doesn't need to be dragged into all the
supernatural crap, not like that, anyway. "And that would be fine," he says
instead. "I am totally cool with that."
He definitely needs to chill out, though, so he turns back to Scott. "Sex, man.
I need some, stat. Are you gonna help me out here, or what?"
Scott snorts and busts out laughing, directs Stiles to look behind him where
Danny is still standing, looking scandalized.
"Babysitting," Stiles chokes. "Oh my god, you thought...? No. Scott? Hell no.
No offense, buddy, but I've got Derek at home and Saturday, man, you've gotta
do this for me."
"Okay," Scott laughs. "We'll do it. Just make sure you pack the instruction
manual."
.
"Are you sure about this?"
Stiles looks up at Derek from where he's fastening the last button on Olivia's
cardigan. She's wearing the outfit Lydia gave him the day she was born, and it
only just fits her now. She still seems so tiny, but this was too big just a
couple of weeks ago. He can't believe how much she's grown already. "No," he
says. "Yes. I don't know. I trust them. I trust Scott, and everyone. I'm having
parental guilt though. Tossing her out of the house so we can have sex. Isn't
that, like, one of the things people talk about behind your back?"
Derek moves behind Stiles, wraps his arms around his waist and rests his chin
on Stiles' shoulder. "It was always tainted," he says. "Not just the sex.
Everything. Every moment we spent together before she was born. We had this big
scary threat hanging over our heads. We couldn't relax. Ever. We need to take
some time. I don't resent her for a second, Stiles, and if we couldn't do this,
if we had to make do with five minutes in the bathroom while she sleeps, I'd be
okay with that."
From the very first day Olivia refused to sleep without one of her parents
close by. Stiles just assumed she had to sleep in the crib, and he was tired
and stressed, walking the floor with the baby asleep on his shoulder until
Derek finally got fed up with him and dragged him into bed, baby and all. "She
can't smell you, in the crib," he'd said. "She can't sleep without your scent
around her." And that was that. She might not be an actual werewolf, but she
was close enough in some respects.
So, when, a week later, she actually stayed asleep when Stiles rolled off the
bed while Derek was in the shower, Stiles standing in the middle of the room,
just staring at the marvel of a sleeping baby as Derek opened the bathroom
door, it seemed to hit them both at the same time. "Quick," Derek had said,
yanking Stiles backward into the bathroom and closing the door. A moment later
his jeans were around his thighs and Derek was on his knees and it was a good
thing Stiles was frustrated and came not two minutes later, because Olivia's
mewling cry drifted through the door right then. Stiles hiked up his jeans,
gave Derek an apologetic glance because he was obviously hard, his towel having
slipped off his hips and fallen to the floor, and went to see to the baby.
After that she was onto them, and every time Stiles tried to slip out of bed
without jostling her, she'd wake, like the warmth of his body disappearing was
immediately evident. "No," he says, lifting the baby onto his shoulder,
cradling her head in his hand as he leans back into Derek's arms. "We've got to
do this. But what if she doesn't sleep all day? What if—"
"She fell asleep on Scott last week, remember?" Derek reminds him. "And Cora
wore her around the apartment most of the day yesterday while you were at
school, and she was asleep the whole time. She sleeps on your dad all the
time—"
"So it's not just werewolves," Stiles interrupts.
"Or he smells enough like you to make her feel safe," Derek says. "She'll be
fine. They'll be fine. And if they're not, they'll bring her home. You've got
nothing to worry about."
"Except that I'm one of those parents that fills the shopping cart with beer
and cigarettes instead of buying diapers and formula," Stiles whines.
"Derek..."
Derek laughs. "Did you never stay with your grandparents when you were younger?
Never get left with a babysitter?"
"Not so my parents could have sex," Stiles insists. He pulls away, and, one-
handed, lifts items of clothing out of drawers, packing them carefully into the
diaper bag alongside change mats and sterilized bottles and careful measures of
powdered formula in a partitioned Tupperware container. "Pass me the wrap."
The five yard length of fabric was Derek's idea. He remembered his mother
carrying Cora hands-free with the use of a vast length of fabric alone, but not
having been anywhere near babies since then, he had to look it up on the
internet. Olivia was less than a week old when the wrap was delivered, and once
he learned to tie it, Stiles had hands again. He didn't have to sit on the
couch with her in his arms while she slept, or carry her around the house,
unable to use his hands for anything else, or lie down on the bed beside her
while she slept. It wasn't up to him all the time, he knew that, and Derek
spent just as much time with Olivia in his own arms, but Stiles liked having
her close, even when he was studying madly to make up for the time he spent out
of school, or researching the potential threats that could be drawn to Beacon
Hills.
He takes it out of Derek's hands, squishes it into the bag, and zips it closed.
"Okay. We're ready. We're doing this."
"Good," Derek says. "Now let me have a cuddle before they arrive."
When the pack spills through the door, Stiles is back on the couch, diaper bag
upended, diapers and baby wipes and clothes in little piles everywhere as he
repacks it to make sure everything's there. He glances up quickly, does a quick
head-count, sees Scott and Cora, Isaac and Allison, Lydia and Aiden, Ethan and
Danny. He wonders if it was curiosity, or the fact that the rest of their group
was coming, that brought Danny today. He wonders how long it's going to be
before they can't keep werewolves and the supernatural from him any longer. He
blushes as Danny looks over, his eyes scanning the little piles on the couch,
then flicking back up to Stiles' face.
Stiles quickly starts repacking the bag.
He dumps it by the door alongside the baby capsule, and joins the cooing mass
of werewolves and their significant others, just as Danny reaches out to a
reluctant Lydia. "You've got all day to play pass the baby," Stiles teases her,
but intercepts the pass for one last squeeze. He kisses her hair, so soft and
fine, and dark like you'd expect, and inhales her sweet, milky baby scent.
"She's gorgeous," Danny says, a faint note of surprise and confusion in his
voice. He sounds like he wants to ask something else, like he sees more than
he's been told.
Stiles just looks up at him, gives Danny a conspiratorial smile, because he
can't bear trying to fake that Olivia's not wholly his, that she didn't come
from his own body. He smiles wider when Danny blinks like he's been given
confirmation of whatever he's thinking.
Whatever it is, Stiles doesn't think he's even close to the truth. It doesn't
matter. He'll find out at some stage, and he'll probably be pissed, but Stiles
knows that Danny knows that Olivia belongs to him—as well as Derek—now, and it
takes a little of the anxiety away, a little of the voice inside him that tells
him he should be shouting from the rooftops to anyone who'll listen, that he
made this child, that he's proud of her and what he had to go through to get
her and to keep her.
He's earned that.
Senses full of Olivia's scent, he looks up at Derek. He's earned this, too, he
decides. She'll be safe with the pack, with her extended family. He shouldn't
feel guilty for wanting some time alone with Derek. It'll be better for her to
have both her parents relaxed and happy and secure in their relationship.
So with one last kiss, he buckles Olivia into her car seat, puts the handle
into Scott's hand. "Have fun," he says.
"You, too," Scott replies, and then his cheeks turn pink as he realizes what
he's saying.
.
As soon as the hum of many voices fades, Derek presses him against the closed
door, slipping a thigh between Stiles' legs as he reaches out and slides the
bolt to lock it. "That was very brave," Derek says, sliding his fingers through
the hair on the back of Stiles' head, leaning in to ghost his lips over Stiles'
mouth.
"No it wasn't." Stiles is hard already. He didn't jerk off in the shower this
morning like he usually does, choosing instead to savor the anticipation of a
few hours alone. "I trust them. So does Olivia. She'll be fine." He tips his
head up, opens his mouth, licks at Derek's tongue. "Also, I fucking need this.
Let's go upstairs."
Derek shakes his head. "We're staying right here." He gets a hand between them,
tugs at the button of Stiles' jeans until it pops open. "I can't decide how I
want to make you come first."
Stiles moans at the feeling of Derek's warm hand on his dick. It's both
familiar and not, it's been so long and things are so different now. There's an
element of abandon to what they're doing that wasn't there before. The entire
lack of desperation, of hurry to get as many touches in as possible before they
lose the chance altogether.
"With my hand?" Derek says, fingers playing over the length of Stiles' cock,
still trapped in firm cotton knit. "Bet it wouldn't take long, I know you
didn't come this morning."
"Goddamn werewolves," Stiles says, smiling against Derek's lips. "Can't a guy
have any secrets?"
Derek smiles back, shaking his head. "Should I get down on my knees and suck
you off?" He slides his hand down, cups Stiles' balls as he leans in to whisper
in his ear. "D'you wanna fuck my mouth, Stiles?"
"Holy fuck, Derek." Stiles lifts his hand, traces Derek's lips with one finger,
trying to remember how those lips felt around his cock. He can't, it's been too
long and there was either too much else on his mind or they were in too much of
a hurry for Stiles to have consciously imprinted the feeling on his memory.
"Yeah," he says. "I really really want to fuck your mouth. Can I?"
Derek's smile widens. He pulls Stiles away from the door, backs himself up to
it, and drops down to his knees. He looks up at Stiles from beneath dark
eyelashes. "Come on. Fuck my mouth."
Stiles steps forward, spreading his legs to skirt Derek's knees on the floor as
he pulls out his dick. Derek leans back, until the back of his head hits the
door, grabs Stiles by the hips and pulls him in, tongue darting out and
dragging up the underside of Stiles' cockhead as he opens up. Stiles' mind is
blank, nothing clogging up his thoughts except for wanting to get in there,
wanting to fuck until he comes.
Somehow, his fingers find their way into Derek's hair, twisting into the
strands, pulling Derek's mouth onto his cock as he pushes in. All he can do is
stare down, wide-eyed. Stiles could get lost in Derek's eyes, he already is.
"Fuck," he says, and his voice is thick and hoarse, as if he's been screaming
for days, and he feels wrecked already. "I love you so fucking much," he says,
and watches as Derek smiles around his cock and his eyelids slowly close.
Derek was right, and it takes almost no time at all for Stiles to come,
thrusting maybe half a dozen times before he's spilling down Derek's throat.
Stiles' dick is still jerking when he drops to his knees, needing to feel
Derek's lips on his again. And this is shockingly familiar because he gets this
every day, the warmth, the softness, but so rarely now does he get to kiss
until he's breathless, feel the rasp of three-day beard on his chin, taste his
own come on Derek's tongue. Still lost in the kiss, he reaches for Derek's
dick, slides his hand over the hard length straining behind denim. "We need to
go upstairs," he says, the words muffled against Derek's lips. "I need you to
fuck me."
"Fuck upstairs," Derek says, and with a few deft motions, flips Stiles onto his
back on the landing.
Stiles blinks. "That was the idea, but, you know, whatever. We're really
wearing too many clothes, though. Also, lube. You know it's been a while—"
Derek grins and reaches behind him, pulling a pocket sized tube out of the back
of his jeans. He tosses it at Stiles' chest, and then starts tugging his jeans
down. "Are you okay?" he says, when Stiles' bare ass hits the bare floorboards
and he hisses.
"Cold." Stiles sits up and peels his shirt off over his head, chucks it away.
"I'm fine." He reaches out, slips his hand around the back of Derek's neck,
pulls him down for a kiss. "God, Derek. I want you in me. Just... It's
different now. Fuck, it's going to be so different."
Derek sits up to peel his own shirt off, then gives Stiles a quizzical look.
Then his face softens. "We've never done it like this before."
Stiles feels his lips stretch into a smile. "We've done it on the steps."
Derek shakes his head. "No." He lowers himself back down, drops soft, slow
kisses to Stiles' jaw and throat. "The first time. It was your first time. You
were scared."
Stiles scoffs. "I was not."
"You were scared of dying. That's why you came to me. But you were nervous,
too. And then the knot—"
Stiles is hit with a sudden memory, as clear as if he can feel Derek locked
inside him all over again. He lets out an involuntary moan, and arches up off
the floor. His cock tries to get hard again, and he can't catch his breath.
"God, Derek."
"I knew. That I'd never want anything else, anyone else. It was supposed to be
just that one night, so I took as much as I could get. It was so good, but it
hurt because I didn't think I was allowed any more than that."
"I know," Stiles whispers. He tilts his chin, closes his eyes, feels as if he
might melt into nothing when Derek kisses him. "I was scared," he says. "But I
think about it sometimes. Your knot... How full I was. So fucking full of you—"
"Stiles." Derek's voice is hoarse as he reaches for the lube that's slipped
onto the floor.
"Sometimes I wish it would happen again— No, I know, I know it can't." Stiles
shakes his head and whimpers as Derek's slick fingers press into him, shivers
with the stretch because it's been months. "I can think about it though. About
being so fucking full of you we can't separate. About maybe..." He writhes as
Derek's fingertips graze his prostate. "She's so fucking beautiful, Derek, so
perfect, and I sometimes think that if it were possible, maybe it wouldn't be
so bad if it happened again—"
Derek twists his fingers deep, and then slides them out. "I spent months
thinking I would lose one or the other of you. I couldn't do that again."
Stiles blinks up at him. "Right. I know." He takes a deep breath, lets it out
slow. "Sorry." He closes his eyes and nods. "'Cause we've had all the emo sex
already. This is the happy sex." He grins. "Will you please put your dick in me
now?"
Derek groans and pushes forward, filling Stiles in one smooth thrust.
Stiles arches his back off the hard floor and cries out. It's sudden and
intense, and he clings to Derek's hips, trying to keep him there, right there,
just until he can think again.
"This is the first time I get to be inside you, without believing I'm going to
lose someone," Derek whispers. "I don't know how I survived before. I feel like
it should have killed me, Stiles, and it would have if I'd lost either one of
you." He pulls back, so slowly, and just as slow, pushes back in.
Stiles shudders and moans, because it's too much already. "Happy sex," he
rasps. "Remember? We're fine. We're both fine."
Derek drops his head to Stiles' shoulder, nods and says, "I know," as he grinds
into Stiles with slow intent. "I love you."
His thrusts pick up pace, and his lips search out Stiles' mouth, and it's just
as desperate as it ever was, and maybe that's just the nature of it, that they
came so close to losing what feels like everything, and they can never forget
that, like it's left a scar on their hearts or their souls.
Derek keeps fucking into him, the sounds he makes growing increasingly
desperate. Stiles holds on, because he's hard, but his dick is trapped between
them, and he doesn't need to come again just yet.
"Come on," he whispers, canting his hips so Derek can get deeper with each
thrust. "Fucking fill me up." His thoughts drift to the knot, how stretched he
felt, how full, but also, how possessed, like he belonged to Derek. "Ahh, fuck,
Derek. Come in me."
Derek moans and fucks Stiles into the floor until he thinks every single one of
his vertebrae will be bruised, then Derek stills, his face buried in Stiles'
throat, and Stiles can feel the pulse inside him.
.
Finally, they get upstairs. Derek collapses on his back on the bed after
finally stripping off his clothes, leaving a trail of them from the top of the
stairs. Stiles follows him, crawling up and over him, because he rarely gets to
see Derek like this, and he just wants to look, and touch, and lick the sweat
off his shoulder.
Derek lets out a happy sigh, squirming under Stiles' tongue, wraps his arm
around Stiles' neck and pulls him down for a kiss.
"Do you wanna sleep?" Stiles whispers against Derek's lips. Derek's so relaxed
beneath him, his eyes are closed and his breathing is slow and even.
Derek shakes his head. "No." He opens his eyes, and there's a smile on his
lips. "Come here," he says, wraps an arm around Stiles' waist and pulls him
down on top of him.
Stiles can't help but squirm, giving a tiny thrust to rub his cock into the
hollow of Derek's hip. "But you're so sleepy," he says. His own eyes are heavy,
but there's no way he can sleep. He feels as if he's got to get as much of
Derek alone as he can, before Scott and the pack get back with Olivia.
Again, Derek shakes his head. This time he stretches beneath Stiles, extending
his body, tipping his head back to expose his throat. He wraps his legs around
Stiles' hips, gripping tight. "I don't wanna sleep."
"Whoa," Stiles breathes, as his cock aligns with Derek's and Derek's still
soft, but this posture has Stiles giving an instinctual thrust of his hips.
"This is nice."
Derek's hands move down, grab hold of Stiles' ass, pulling them together as he
rocks up. "Could be. You want to?"
Stiles lets out a shocked huff of breath. "Uh. You mean—"
Derek arches up, captures Stiles' mouth in a kiss that only fuels the heat
building in Stiles' belly, and by the time it ends, Derek's hard again between
them. "You wanna fuck me, Stiles?"
Stiles blinks down at Derek, has to shake his head a little to clear it enough
to speak. "Uh. Yeah? Yeah, I would like to do that. That's a thing I— Oh yeah."
Derek grins up at him. "Good. Get the lube."
Stiles blinks for the few more moments it takes him for Derek's words to sink
in, then he moves, scrambling over to the bedside table, rummaging amongst
tubes of diaper cream, packets of baby wipes, a discarded pacifier and other
baby paraphernalia, many of which he didn't know existed until just a few short
weeks ago. He looks up. "Dude, this is so wrong. Where the hell is the lube?"
Derek laughs and drops his head back down to the pillow. "I put it in the
bathroom weeks ago."
"And what's really sad is that I never noticed," Stiles grumbles as he rolls
off the bed and heads for the bathroom.
When he comes back, Derek's watching him, lying on his side with his cock in
his hand, slowly stroking. It's a beautiful picture, one he wishes he could
record for posterity and future generations and shit, but he figures that if he
whipped his phone out right now that other thing might suddenly be off the
table.
He's so not missing out on that.
So he climbs onto the bed, walks up behind Derek on his knees, and with a hand
on Derek's shoulder, gently pushes him onto his stomach.
"You've done this before, right?" Stiles says, as he slides both hands down
over the perfect globes of Derek's naked ass. His voice has gone thick and
rough, and there's a lump in his throat as he worries about whether or not he's
capable of doing this right. Whether he's going to be able to make Derek feel
good, or if he's just going to come as soon as he gets inside. "'Cause this is
a first for me. But you know that."
"It's been a while," Derek says. He shifts, pillowing his head on his folded
arms, looking back and up. "We don't have to, if you don't want—"
"Oh, I want," Stiles says, dragging his eyes back down to where he's sliding
into the crack of Derek's ass with both thumbs. He brings one to his mouth,
wets it, and then drags it over the tight pucker between Derek's cheeks.
Derek shivers, and he lets out a shaky breath. "Stiles," he says, a hint of a
plea in his tone.
"Yeah," Stiles answers, not really even sure what he's agreeing to. He circles
Derek's hole with his thumb lightly, no pressure, just feeling and staring in
fascination. The skin is so smooth around the edge of the pucker, so soft, and
his brain doesn't even register the impulse until he's already bent down and
dragged his tongue up the crack of Derek's ass.
Derek lets out a soft sound, something between surprise and pleasure, and
relaxes under Stiles' hands and mouth.
Derek's so warm here, and he tastes like soap and spicy-heat and clean sweat
and Derek, and he remembers wondering why on earth Derek would ever want to put
his mouth on Stiles' ass when he first did it, put it down to a wolf thing, but
this... He drags his tongue right over Derek's hole, teases at it, and then
moans. He gets it now, at least he knows why he wants to do this himself. It's
so fucking intimate, more than sucking cock, or being fucked, or putting your
life in someone's hands. The noises Derek makes as Stiles licks at him with
firm strokes are so raw, small, broken gasps and grunts and he's never heard
Derek make sounds like that before.
He can feel Derek loosening up beneath him, even as the muscles in his thighs
tense, pushing back into Stiles' face.
"Stiles," Derek groans, his voice raspy and deep. "Come on."
Stiles hums, his brain supplying the affirmative, but his mouth is busy, his
tongue pointed and squirming against Derek's tight hole until it gives.
Derek lets out a soft, shaky moan and rocks his hips, probably rubbing his dick
against the sheets, and Stiles holds him by the hips and goes with it,
wriggling his tongue deeper until he can slide it in and out with ease.
Up on his hands and knees, Stiles strokes his own aching cock as he fucks into
Derek with his tongue.
"Don't come," Derek begs. "Don't you dare come until you've fucked me, Stiles."
Stiles hums again, then slides a finger into Derek. It goes in easy and deep,
deeper than he could ever get his tongue, and he's never been happier for his
long fingers as now, because Derek whimpers and arches back, lifting his hips
off the bed and letting out a soft whisper that sounds like, "please."
"Yes, yes, fuck," Derek grunts when Stiles pushes two fingers in, and his spit
isn't going to do the job any longer. He squirts lube around the base of his
fingers, and on the next stroke, pushes it into Derek's ass, and he's rewarded
with a satisfying squelch and a wanton moan. "You should see this," he says,
and his voice is rough, thick with lust and emotion. "My fingers in your ass,
Derek. Looks so good."
"Feels good," Derek pants. "Want you to fuck me."
Stiles pushes another finger in, just to be sure, twists them in past the
knuckles, because Derek's tight, but he barely shivers as Stiles stretches him.
"Now," Derek says. "Come on, Stiles, I want you inside me." He moans and arches
and tightens around Stiles' fingers like thinking about it is too much.
"Stiles, now."
Stiles spreads lube over his dick and murmurs, "Yeah." Then he presses the head
of his cock against Derek's loosened hole and starts to push in.
His head is sinking in when it occurs to him that he should savor it, this
first time. He memorizes every sensation, the tight, velvety heat that
gradually swallows up his cock, and the low, drawn out groan that comes from
Derek and doesn't let up until Stiles is balls deep and his chest is pressed to
Derek's back, sweat slicking between them.
He stills, his hands pressed to the mattress each side of Derek's shoulders,
and he drags his lips down the line of Derek's neck, and he breathes.
Derek's eyes are closed, his breathing is slow and even. "You can move," he
whispers. "I'm okay."
Stiles snorts. "Course you are. You're a big strong werewolf. Me, on the other
hand, I'm only human and I'm gonna come if I so much as wriggle right now, so
you're just gonna have to wait."
"Okay." Derek smiles, and he doesn't open his eyes. "You feel good, Stiles."
Stiles grunts and fights the urge to thrust. "Yeah. Fuck, so do you." Then he
can't resist, rolling his hips to push his cock deeper into Derek's ass. "Holy
fuck, Derek. You feel so good."
Derek's breath goes shaky and his ass clenches around Stiles' dick. His eyelids
flicker, then he looks up from the corner of his eye, showing the white. "Let
me up."
Stiles holds tight to Derek's hips as they move, then Derek is up on hands and
knees and Stiles is upright behind him. Stiles can't help but slide his hands
over all the exposed skin, Derek's muscular back, tracing the swirls of his
tattoo with his palms. Down strong thighs, and then leaning over Derek's back
to wrap his arms around Derek's chest.
"You can come," Derek whispers. "It's okay."
Stiles, who stilled again once they got up, gives a slow, rolling thrust. "Nah,
I'm good. Just...savoring. I'm in no hurry." He pauses. "Are you in a hurry?
Oh, god, is this awful? Am I doing it wrong?"
He starts to pull back, but Derek snaps an arm back, grabs the back of Stiles'
thigh so he can't go anywhere. "You're doing great, Stiles. I need you to move,
though, I need you to fuck me."
"God," Stiles breathes, then he pulls his hips back before pushing back into
Derek's ass. "I think I can do that."
He feels Derek's low chuckle rather than hears it. "Good. Do it. Fuck me."
Stiles gives Derek a couple of quick, long thrusts, then alternates with a slow
one. He notices Derek's center of balance shift, then his elbow appears at his
side, moves in slow jerks that makes it obvious he's touching his cock.
"What's it gonna feel like when you come, I wonder," Stiles muses, then he
realizes he's not going to get to see Derek come like this, in fact, he's
missing out on a whole world of awesome not being able to see Derek's face
right now.
He pulls out. "Flip over," he says, before Derek can think he's had enough. "I
wanna see you while I fuck you."
Derek turns over in a flash, spreads his legs obscenely wide, and pulls Stiles
back to him.
Stiles slides back in easy, deep. Derek's eyelids flutter shut, his back
arches, and he tips his head back to expose his throat. Stiles can't believe
that's because of him, that Derek looks like that because of him. Derek lets
out a soft grunt when Stiles thrusts again, wraps his fingers around Stiles'
wrist where his hand lies on his hips, and there's a barely perceptible tremor
in Derek's hand.
"You okay?" Stiles asks. "Is this okay?" He pulls back, then a long slide in,
watches Derek's lips as they part in a tiny gasp. "Is it good?"
Derek's lips spread in a smile and he opens his eyes. They're heavy lidded, his
pupils are blown wide open. "So good," he says. "Just—" He puts his hands on
the mattress, cants his hips, and on Stiles' next thrust he moans and shudders.
"Yeah. There, Stiles. Like that."
"Holy fuck," Stiles breathes, and he tightens his grip on Derek's hips and
increases his pace, watching Derek's face as he moans and shakes and looks more
and more wrecked.
He's so focused on Derek that when heat spreads across the small of his back
and starts darting up his spine, he's unprepared. Derek's cock is leaking on
his belly, slapping against hard muscle with every one of Stiles' thrusts, but
neglected. Stiles needs to feel Derek come around him, he needs Derek to come
first, but Derek's a mess, fingers digging into the mattress, bunching the
sheets, mouth open and lips wet and eyes desperate and Stiles wants to watch
him fall apart like this, doesn’t want to distract him and make him focus on
getting himself off.
Stiles wraps his hand around Derek's dick, smears precome down the length,
strokes him hard and fast.
It takes only seconds. Long seconds in which Derek's eyes lock onto Stiles'
face and don't let go. Long seconds in which Stiles sees all the trust and
vulnerability in them. Long seconds in which Stiles wonders what he did to
deserve so much perfection.
Then Derek starts to come and it wipes Stiles' mind clean of anything but the
sound of Derek's voice as he cries out, the tightening clench of Derek's body
around his dick, the pulse of Derek's cock in his hand as it erupts, painting
long streaks of come all the way up to Derek's chest.
"Fuck," he says, is all he can get out before he follows, pumping deep into
Derek's body as it's still tightening around him. "Fuck," he repeats, as his
dick spasms weakly at the end and he falls forward onto Derek's body, Derek's
come slick between them, a little smearing against Stiles' cheek as he lays it
on Derek's shoulder. "Oh, fuck."
He must doze a little, because when Derek shifts beneath him and pushes him
off, he doesn't remember when his dick softened enough to slip out of Derek's
body. Derek pushes him into the shower, and when he gets out, Derek's changed
the bed and laid out pajamas, and Stiles falls in between crisp, clean sheets,
and goes straight to sleep, rousing only long enough to twine his limbs with
Derek's when he joins him still slightly damp and smelling of soap.
.
Stiles doesn't wake again until he smells baby and hears Derek's voice, soft
and gentle. He opens his eyes and pulls himself up and reaches out for his
daughter. "When did they drop her off?" he asks, wondering how long Derek's let
him sleep. The sky is dark outside the window, but just barely.
"Not long ago," Derek says, placing Olivia in Stiles' arms. There's a catch to
his voice, the tiniest crease between his brows.
Stiles looks down at the sleeping baby in his arms. She's perfect, dressed in a
clean onesie, a drop of milk at the corner of her mouth that he wipes away with
one finger, her tiny lower lip pouted out in sleep. "What?" he asks, looking
up, because Olivia's fine. It must be something else. "What happened?"
"They found a body on the edge of the woods," Derek says. "Looks like something
crawled out of the lake, and it's headed toward town. I'm gonna go help them
track it."
Stiles fights the urge to climb out of bed. He would have, if he didn't have
Olivia in his arms. "Okay. Okay, just give me some time to—"
Derek smiles and drops his eyes. "You're not coming, Stiles."
It's the first time the supernatural has raised it's head since Olivia was
born. Stiles hasn't had to think about whether or not he'd be joining the fight
again. Maybe he just assumed he would. "Come on," he says. "Babies are much
more difficult than all the evil. I can do this."
Derek's smile spreads wider. "Who's gonna watch her, Stiles? Even if she was
big enough, I know you're not planning to strap her to your back while we hunt
this thing down."
"I'll drop her off with my dad—"
"One of his deputies was the first on the scene. Your dad's covering damage
control, pitching 'animal attack' to the papers."
"Scott's mom—"
"Is working, Stiles." Derek sighs. "I know you want to help, but Olivia needs
you more than anyone else right now. We just need to find it, herd it back to
where it came from if we can, kill it if we can't. I'll feel better knowing
you're both safe at home, okay?"
"Okay." Stiles sinks back into the pillows. "But get pictures. A description."
He shrugs. "Maybe we can figure out what it is, what it wants."
Derek nods. "Good idea." He pulls himself to his feet and takes a deep breath.
"Don't leave the apartment." He turns to go.
"Don't you dare turn up back here bleeding, mister," Stiles says, and Derek
stops halfway to the stairs. "I'll kick your ass if you do."
Derek nods and half turns. There's a smile on his face. "I love you, too," he
says.
Chapter End Notes
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