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Maybe it was just because they were alive, and they had made it through the storm of another full moon with five and a half werewolves who didn’t really know what they were doing yet.  Maybe it was because a new moon was in the sky, and Stiles was still human. Maybe it was hate, maybe it was anger, maybe it was just lust. Stiles was a 16 year old boy and Derek was a very attractive, very available 24 year old man and it was really only natural that it happened at all. It was just sex.

It was just the pushneedpull of bodies, the sharp growl of Derek’s inner wolf as he claimed, and when he did, he claimed everything Stiles had to give. In those few moments, Stiles was Derek’s, mind, body, and soul. For those few moments when they rested, Derek knotted inside him in what was uncomfortable and comforting in the same moment, when Derek lapped at the bruises and bites on his neck and murmured apologies and things that he wouldn’t mean in the light of the morning.

Then it was over. Derek got up, got dressed, and gave one look back at Stiles and that was it. That was how it always was. This was the third time it had happened, the third time that they’d been together. There was a part of Stiles that hated Derek for it, for his ability to come, come, and then disappear, like some sort of bad episode of Queer as Folk. (Stiles swore he only watched it to try to figure out what gay guys found attractive.) He hated that he meant so little to Derek that he could be used and then walked away from.

He hadn’t told anyone. Especially not Scott. No. Especially not his dad. His father probably wouldn’t take the news that his son was sleeping with a 24 year-old ex –murder suspect who just so happened to be a werewolf very well. Actually, Stiles was kind of glad that Derek was a werewolf, that way if his father ever did find out, at least there would be a small, itty bitty, tiny chance that maybe Derek would be able to survive what Sheriff Stilinski did to him. But Stiles wasn’t hiding it from just his father, he was hiding it from everyone.

He didn’t want them to see what the Alpha did to him, what he so willingly gave the man, just to be thrown to the curb. And it wasn’t a one time thing. It happened, and Derek walked away. The one time Stiles had dared to ask why they couldn’t just be together, Derek had just given him an incredulous look and shook his head, replying “I’m not the kind of person you want to date,” before he disappeared once more. That had been the time before this one. And here Stiles was once more, laying in his bed, covered in the scent of an Alpha, still filled with Derek’s come, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He waited for the hatred he had for Derek to boil over enough, for him to be mad enough that he’d tell Derek no the next time he came to Stiles’ bedroom. Instead, he didn’t feel anything other than empty. Well…pseudo-empty, mentally and emotionally empty. Physically, he was still kind of full. It was, almost comforting, like Derek was leaving a piece (quite literally) of himself behind, for the few moments, until he stood and it dribbled in its natural, nasty way, out of him, to comfort Stiles in his loneliness.

Stiles wonders briefly if Derek ever actually read through the bestiary and if he knew that it was possible for an Alpha werewolf to get anyone pregnant. Even a male. It would never happen to him, of course, because that would mean that Derek might actually want some kind of a relationship with him, and that was impossible. He doubted the Alpha even knew that if he thought of Stiles as his mate, that he could get him pregnant. Stiles shuddered at the thought. He was a 16-year-old boy, addicted to caffeine and reliant on his Adderall to get through the day. The last thing he needed was to have been knocked up by some werewolf who didn’t even like him enough to spend the night with him.

With a resigned sigh, Stiles rolled over and fell asleep, and dreamed of tiny furry babies and Derek Hale’s face in an impossible smile. He tried to pretend there weren’t actually tears on his pillow in the morning.

After that night, Stiles does his absolute best to forget it ever happened. He always does, after he and Derek have sex. Derek certainly doesn’t treat him any differently. It’s not like he actually gives a crap about Stiles or his feelings. So Stiles buries his head into another book, reads up on the next creature the pack encounters. And life goes on for a few weeks. Derek never wants Stiles between full moons. He always takes him after the moon, when his need for release is the highest.

Stiles figures it has a lot to do with the fact that Derek doesn’t change during the moon. After, his wolf is just so pent up that it needs some form of release, and mating is its release (or Derek’s release) of choice. And Stiles is that gullible, loving boy who’s willing to let Derek fuck him, hoping silently that maybe he might stay the night. But of course, the boy wakes up the next morning with a sore ass and a shitload of memories of tender moments that never seem to appear in the memory of the Alpha.

Stiles does hate him. He swears he does. That doesn’t stop how badly he wants Derek to look at him. How badly he desires the pale eyes on his, how he wants the soft touches and gentle words Derek says after they’ve both come, while they’re waiting out the knotting, he wants that to be a thing that actually happens, not just…something that happened in his imagination. Because if Stiles didn’t know any better (and he didn’t wake up sore the next day) he’d swear Derek was nothing more than just a really good dream.

“Stiles…I asked you a question.”

Stiles looked up, his eyes widening, “Oh, what? Huh?” He yawned, “Sorry, Scott, what’s up buddy?”

“Dude, you’ve been so out of it lately. What’s going on with you.” Scott eyes him and Stiles shrugs, “Anyway, so Derek called a pack meeting. He said he wanted you to be there, you and Danny and Lydia. Are you going to go?”

“Why wouldn’t I go?” Stiles asked.

“You  glare at him a lot…I dunno, It just seems like you’re mad at him or something.” Scott shrugged.

“Mr. McCall, Mr. Stilinski.” The chemistry teacher snapped at them. “Please keep yourselves focused on the task at hand.” He waved to the lab set between them.

“Sorry, Sir.” Stiles murmured, getting back to work and trying really hard not to think about the fact that apparently he’s been glaring at Derek.

He and Derek haven’t actually seen each other in the week that it’s been since the full moon.  Stiles wasn’t purposefully avoiding the man, he just…really didn’t want to have anything to do with him. If Derk had like, called him or something, he would have answered, but he wasn’t going to put himself in another uncomfortable position just because. Derek was an asshole. And Stiles hated him. But he still wasn’t sure he would tell the man no, just because the sex was fantastic, and Stiles liked feeling fantastic at something. He’s just on the team when it comes to Lacrosse; he doesn’t play first string like Scott or Jackson or Danany. He’s good in school, but his ADHD prevents him from being some super genius like Lydia. And sure, he’s handy with a gun, his father made sure he could shoot from a young age, but he’s no Allison. There are a lot of things that Stiles isn’t the best at, but Derek makes him feel like the best.

And then tears it all down in a matter of moments. Which, honestly, doesn’t make Stiles feel all that good but he just lets it happen.

Just like how he walks into Derek’s halfway rebuilt house despite his anger with the man, and sits down on the ruined couch between Lydia and Scott. He listens idly to what Derek has to say about the other packs realizing that he’s making one, and that it was going to be somewhat dangerous and they weren’t to go out late at night, or shift, without someone else being around. Stiles lays his head back on the couch and stares at the sky through the tiny hole in the ceiling, wondering if Derek had realized that he might need to get the roof fixed before he did anything else.

“Stiles.”

Stiles ‘ head whips forward, “Yes.” He said, staring down the alpha, with his own brown eyes into Derek’s pale ones.

“Don’t go out alone either. You’re a human, which means you’re an easy target and they know that you’re meaningful to the pack. They’re going to try to take you all from me, and I’d rather not let that happen.” Derek nodded. “You can all leave.”

Stiles stared at Derek for a long time. He believed it when Derek said he didn’t want his pack to be taken, but he doubted it was an affectionate thing. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that an Alpha with a pack was stronger. And Derek was that kind of selfish person that would use his pack for that exact reason.

Which made Stiles hate him just a little bit more.

It’s Scott who smelled it first. It’s not that Stiles suddenly smells wrong, because there’s nothing bad about how he smelled, it was just…different. Like, somehow someone had gone in and tampered with Stiles’ pheromones just enough to change how he smelled to what Scott could only nail down to ‘Stiles and.” It was nondescript, but there. Kind of like how after the full moon, Stiles always kind of smells like Derek. Scott hasn’t thought much of it. Maybe they hug or something. (Although the vision of that happening makes Scott laugh so hard that the entire  English class turns to look at him funny.)

It’s at lunch, the next period, that Scott leans over to Lydia and quietly asked, “Does Stiles smell funny to you.”

Lydia sniffed the air, because they’re werewolves and that’s what they do, “Yes.” She answered softly, “Like Stiles and…”

“See! I can’t name it either. He looks fine.” Scott stared at Stiles, who is talking to Danny about Lacrosse.

“There’s always some kind of strange smell on him after a full moon.” Lydia said, “It’s kind of like this.”

“That’s not Strange, that’s Derek.”

Lydia’s eyes widened, “He does smell like Derek after a full moon holy crap.” Only she said it slightly too loud and Stiles glanced over at them with confused eyes.

It’s then, and for the rest of the day, that Stiles noticed the entire pack’s obsession with smelling him. He showered this morning, which is normally why they sniff him, but he swears he showered. Maybe it’s that it’s the week before the full moon and they’re all a little on edge. For now, Stiles can live with that being a good explanation. This, of course, doesn’t stop him from casually checking his armpots as he walks to his next class. He smells fine. They’ve all just lost their minds.

Lydia and Scott, later on, would argue over who really figured it out first, would both try and say that they were the ones who smelled it first, who identified it first.  But for now, everyone seems to drop it.

That is, until the day that Stiles wakes up puking.

It’s the day of the full moon, and he doesn’t understand why this has to happen to him today. He blamed the cafeteria ladies, because of course it was their fault for not properly cooking the already poorly prepared foods he eats. He starts a text to his friends to see if anyone else got sick, but quickly aborts, because they’re all werewolves so of course they didn’t get sick. And Danny doesn’t eat the cafeteria food. What’s even more strange, is after he threw up one more time, he felt somewhat okay. Kind of queasy, but he decided that today was not a day to be holed up in bed. Today was the full moon. Things happened today.

He had to be alert.  So he wiped his face, took a shower and swallowed down a few tums before heading to school. The queasiness didn’t really go away, but by the time English came, it had eased up on him. But then Scott walked in and stared at Stiles. Then Lydia, who had walked in behind Scott, stopped to stare at Stiles.

Then both werewolves decided they needed to make sure Stiles was okay. Like ask him every possible question about his well being possible.

“Okay, stop,  guys.” Stiles held up his hands, “Just stop. I’m fine. How the hell did you even know I was sick this morning?”

“We’re were-“ Scott started to say it and Lydia elbowed him. “…observant.”

Stiles stared at them, disbelieving. “No really, is it the full moon? Because you guys are acting super weird.”

“Stiles…you smell.” Lydia stared at Scott, “Like…Stiles and…”

“And Derek.” Scott finished. “You smell like Derek and normally you don’t smell like Derek until after the full moon.”

Stiles just stared at both of them, “You’ve both lost your minds.” He shook his head, and walked up to the teacher, requesting to go to the nurse, a request that was granted immediately, the teacher eager to rid her classroom of one half of the ‘duo-that-always-talks.’

Stiles had a lot of time to think, sitting in the nurses office. Because all he was doing was laying there lying about feeling queasy. Because it made no sense. How could he smell like Derek.  It had been two weeks since he had even talked to Derek, at the pack meeting, and how did he possibly smell like him. Was Derek drugging his pack? Because that was some seriously messed up shit.

“Stiles Stilinski?” The nurse peeked her head in, “There’s someone here who would like to see you.”

“I asked them not to call my dad,” Stiles’ head fell back against the pillows, with a groan.

“It’s not your father.” The nurse grumbled and was pushed to the side, gently, as Derek Hale decided to grace the nurses office of Beacon Hills High with his all mighty presence.

Derek  stared at Stiles. Who stared back. Derek took a deep breath, and his eyebrows drew together. Then another long drag. Then he stepped forward and before Stiles could tell him not to, he’d buried his face against Stiles abdomen and was inhaling deeply. “It’s not possible.” He said, darkly.

“You wanna, clue me in here, buddy?” Stiles sat up, wrenching his body away from Derek’s grasp. “Like why the hell your puppies seem to think that I smell like you.”

“Because you do.” Derek said decisively, “because you’re…somehow…it’s not possible. It’s not fucking possible I don’t understand.” The exam table bent slightly under the slam of Derek’s hand, “You smell like a pregnant wolf.”

Stiles stared at Derek for a few minutes, and then,  thanks to the shock, blissfully fell into the darkness of unconsciousness.

The last thought before he took the plunge; The Alpha has to think of him as his mate.

When Stiles wakes up, his first thought is that he is no longer in the nurse’s office at BHHS, but rather, in his own bed at home, tucked amongst his own pillows and blankets and the scent of himself and…Derek. This makes him sit up, and glance around, glaring at Derek , who sits across the room. “Now I know I didn’t get to sleep through a full moon, so what are you doing in my room?”

“The moon is out now. Scott is watching the younger wolves and Jackson.” Ahh. That would explain the tension in Derek’s body.

“So, what? You’re here to fuck me like you do every month?” Stiles has somehow managed to find the strength to deny Derek, but he found it too fucking late because Derek has somehow managed to impregnate him. Him. As in him. Male Stiles. With male pieces. Not a girl. Fuck.

“No.” Derek said softly, not really looking at Stiles, “No I can’t. You don’t mate when pregnant.” His voice sounds like someone told him his life was over and he was going to die the next day.

Stiles had a really witty comeback for that, but it fades away and he just stares, “Derek you can’t do this on accident.” He said. “You had to think of me as your mate for this to happen and we both know that you certainly don’t. Or didn’t mean to. “ Stiles’ heart aches when he starts to say it, “We can talk to Dr. Deaton about…”

“No.” Derek’s snap and growl causes Stiles to push himself on the bed, “We’ll talk to Dr. Deaton about nothing unless we absolutely have to.”

“But I’m not your mate. Aren’t you only supposed to procreate with your mate? You know, the one you mate for life, not the one that you fuck once a month and then drop.” Stiles stares at the older man. “So what are we going to do?”

“You…are my mate…now.” Derek says, thought the look on his face makes it very clear that it pains him to say it.

“But you don’t want me to be your mate.” Stiles says, the unsaid portion of what Derek had to say. “So why not just…get rid of the thing making me your mate.”

“I never said I didn’t want you to be my mate, Stiles.” Derek said, “I said you didn’t want to be with me. And I’m not lying. But the wolf wants you. Unfortunately, that part of me is apparently stronger than I had thought it was. Which means now you’re pregnant with my cub and…” Derek’s eyes moved to Stiles abdomen, “even if I wanted to, nothing could make me harm it. Nothing.”

Stiles swallows harshly and takes a deep breath, “Does that mean you’re stuck with someone you don’t want to be with, just because you managed to get me pregnant?” He scowled and climbed out of bed, glancing down. Someone (Derek, his mind supplied) had put him in pajamas.

“You’re more worried about how I feel than how you feel.” Derek noted.

Stiles, who had walked over to his mirror, lifted the hem of his shirt, placing a hand over the flat of his abdomen, “It’s a baby.” He said.

“Cub.” Derek corrected. “My cub.”

“Yes, well it can be your cub. It’s my baby. And….” He looked at Derek in the mirror, “I kind of like the idea of having someone that needs me. You know, needs me and more than just once a month.” The insult isn’t lost on Derek.

Derek just looks away. “There are people that will come after you.” He said in the same soft tone that throws Stiles off a little bit. Because it’s just not Derek-y. “Because cubs make packs stronger. A mate alone is a good bargaining chip for territory or for them to steal the others. But a pregnant mate is just…people will take you and keep you until the birth and then they’ll take the cub and kill you.”

Stiles shuddered, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. “Do you think…you impregnating me has anything to do with the other packs paying more attention to us?”

“I think by the time of the next full moon, every female werewolf within a hundred miles of us will be able to smell the pregnancy. And will be envious.” Derek stared at Stiles’s abdomen. “An alpha’s cub is always in danger.”

“Not this one.” Stiles said, a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t looking at Derek, “This little one has a whole pack to protect him.” He finally looked up at Derek, “And if you think I’m letting anyone take my baby away you’ve lost it. When I was three, my mother was pregnant with my little sister. The baby died before my mom had her. And my parents were crushed.” He swallowed, “Then four years later, my mom dies. I’m done with death and dying and losing people. This baby isn’t going anywhere.”

He doesn’t realize until after he said it, that Derek has dealt with all of that and so much more. Neither of them chose to comment on that. Stiles is willing to talk about his pain and try to heal it.

Derek isn’t.

Telling Stiles’ father was an experience and a half. He’s somewhat okay with the whole werewolf thing. It takes two shots of whiskey and Derek shifting twice for him to get over that part. Then a third shot for him to get over the Derek part and a fourth before he’s fully accepted the fact that his son is carrying a baby. Make that five shots. Stiles pours, wishing he could take one to make the thoughts that plague his brain go away, but he had even feigned earlier, and Derek had started growling at him.

The one thing that Derek and the Sheriff can agree on is that Stiles needs to be kept safe. The Sheriff is under the impression that Beacon Hills is normally a safe place, but Derek points out the murders that have been happening (not mentioning that he now has the Kanima under control) and the fact that after the next full moon, the scent of Stiles’ pregnancy will be highly potent. They agree that Stiles shouldn’t go anywhere alone.

Stiles doesn’t have the energy to argue. His bed is calling to him but he’s kind of afraid to leave Derek and his father alone in the same room. He’s not quite sure that his father has really gotten the fact that in order for Stiles to be pregnant they had to have had sex. He’s not sure when that thought will occur to his father and quite frankly he’s afraid for Derek’s life. Well. He’s afraid for Derek’s wellbeing. It takes more than an angry sheriff with a shotgun to kill a werewolf.

“Stiles is tired.” Derek announces out of nowhere, looking at the teenager with concerned eyes. “And I need to go check on Scott and the Pack.”

“Go ahead.” Stiles said, shrugging, and yawning, “As my ridiculously attentive stud seems to have already pointed out, it’s been kind of a crazy ass day.”

“Stud?” Derek asks, eyes dark.

“Isn’t that what you did? Bred me?” There is barely-masked hatred in Stiles’ voice. He gets up from the chair and walks up the stairs to his room without another word, but he does not miss the sixth shot his father pours for himself. He knows Derek followed him.

“I didn’t breed you.” Derek says, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Until Lydia showed me the Bestiary, I didn’t even think it could happen.” He let out a growl.

“You don’t want me to be your mate, Derek. You don’t really want the baby, so what does it really matter? I’m the bitch who rolled over for you. I’m pregnant, and stuck with a sourwolf for god knows how long.” He shook his head, “I’m tired, okay? I just want to sleep and pretend like today isn’t the worst day on record.”

Derek didn’t say anything, he just cocked his head towards the bed and walked over to pull the covers down for Stiles. When that was done, and Stiles was tucked in tightly, Derek whispered, “You’re not stuck with me.” Softly, against Stiles’ hair, “I’m stuck with you. You’re free to be with whoever you want to be with. I just…can only be with you. This is my mistake, not yours. If you want out, then you can take your out whenever you’d like it. I have no right to hold onto you. You’re not a wolf. You’re pack, but you’re not a wolf, I have no right to control you. And you’re pregnant, which means I can’t even physically reprimand you as I have in the past.” He kissed Stiles’ head softly, “Sleep well, Stiles.”

Stiles remains silent, doesn’t say a word until he’s sure Derek is gone, and then he sits up, his knees bent in and his head between them, pillowed in his hands as the sobs come in quick gasps. It’s a lot to take, being pregnant with werewolf cub by a werewolf who is now stuck with you, and who doesn’t even want you. It’s a lot to take in. And most of it hurts. Stiles panicked breaths come in waves. He tries to calm himself down, but it takes a long time, and by the time he’s breathing again his head is swimming. He flops back against the pillow, one arm over his eyes.

“Stiles?” He hears his fathers’ voice at the door.

“If it’s Derek kick him out.”

“It’s not.” It’s Scott’s voice and Stiles sits up, as the door opens and Scott looks at him with puppydog brown eyes that are still kind of golden. “So you’re pregnant.” He says, blinking.
“Thank you, Captain obvious.”

“Derek is an asshole.” Scott notes, “Weren’t you the one trying to convince me to stay away from him in the first place?” He scoots onto the bed and tugs Stiles into a hug like he used to back in kindergarten, or like he did in fifth grade when Stiles’ mom died even though they were too old for that kind of shit.

“I should have listened.” Stiles notes, letting his best friend comfort him, “But I didn’t, and now I’m pregnant.”

“Dude, you’re a dude and you’re pregnant.”

Instead of falling asleep to tears, Stiles falls asleep in his best friends grasp, laughing about little jokes Scott keeps making, a never-ending stream of male pregnancy and dog sex jokes that keeps Stiles unable to breathe. But for just a few minutes, everything is okay.

“It’s not actually the worst thing in the world, you know.” Stiles jumps as Isaac walked up to him, bumping shoulders with him in the hallway of the school. “I did some research, looked through the bestiary, some other books…some of the diaries that Derek thinks he hides really well.”

Stiles looks over at him with a look that very clearly says ‘we’re talking about this is a HighSchool hallway?’

Isaac smiles nervously, “Well…I just thought you should know it’s not that horrible. And you’re not the first. It’s been about…50 years since it happened, but you’re not the first.” He shrugged.

Stiles nodded, “Thanks, Isaac.” He looks around, “Maybe once it stops making me throw up every half an hour until noon, I’ll stop thinking it’s the worst thing ever.”

“There’s recipes in the journals. Derek should have read them, I guess he skipped over these parts, for an elixir. I can look over it and see what it would take to make it. It’s to stave off nausea…” Isaac glances down at Stiles’ still flat abs before looking back to his face, giving the helpful smile once more.

Stiles stares at him, stopping in the hallway, “If you make me something that lets me keep down my lunch, you will become my favorite wolf.” He smiles at Isaac, “Thanks, seriously.”

Isaac hurries the other direction to his class and Stiles slips into his own, trying desperately to focus. Focusing is hard enough as it is, the doctors have been pumping him full of Adderall since he was five just to make him able to do so. Trying to focus when his mind is on other things, like his werewolf-not-boyfriend-but-babydaddy who hasn’t talked to him in a week, and the baby that’s growing inside him. Inside him. Which is just fucking weird to think as it is. There is a baby, an actual, live, human-werewolf baby that is going to be coming out of him somehow in god knows how long. The bestiary said that the body met the human and wolf gestational periods in the middle, so it was about five and a half to six months.

It could have been worse, really. It was already February, that meant that six months from now would be August and if he didn’t really start to show until after school ended, and he was out with the baby-cub-pup thing  before school started again, that would be lovely. He didn’t need people to ask that many questions. He didn’t really want to give the answer. Especially since right now he couldn’t even keep enough food down to keep himself from being hungry, let alone to have an excuse for gaining enough weight for a baby. Did he mention he was having a freaking baby-cub-pup thing? Maybe he’d just call it a Bup until he came up with a better word for it.

It turns out that Isaac does find the magic recipe for the magic elixir and he makes it for Stiles and suddenly life is okay. The first two months of the pregnancy begin to fly by. The only confrontation, or contact, really, that Stiles has with Derek is awkward midnight meetings in which Derek needs to cuddle close to Stiles and pet his belly and murmur things too low for Stiles to hear, and when Derek confronted Stiles about needing to quit Lacrosse. Stiles had balked at this, but eventually relented once Isaac threatened to withhold the magic elixir if he didn’t give in. Stiles would literally do anything to prevent himself from throwing up, like, ever again if it was possible, so he backed down. Life went on, as if everything was normal and Stiles wasn’t carrying a Bup in his abdominal cavity, somewhere between his intestines. He wasn’t exactly sure where it was growing, but it was in there.

But all good things must come to an end eventually. And on a night where Derek was training with Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Scott, Lydia, and their resident werelizard, Stiles was home alone. His father was out, working a night shift, and Stiles was perusing the internet for anything related to werewolves, just for the hell of it. He was so focused on what he was reading (a rare event) that he barely even heard the crash in his kitchen. Once he did remember that he’d heard it, it was because his bedroom door was swinging open and an unfamiliar woman walked into his bedroom.

Stiles stared at her, “Can I help you?”

“God your room stinks of him.” The woman grimaced, “You stink of him.” Her eyes drifted to Stiles’ stomach, and Stiles realized that this woman was a werewolf, and was here, probably to hurt him. He tried his very best not to whimper.

“Of…who?” Playing dumb, Stiles decided, is his best defense.

“Of your Alpha. Of the father of your cub.” She stared at Stiles, unamused. “Which, is a fucking freak accident that should never have happened.”  She walked towards him and Stiles pushed back but then Stiles was in her grasp. “The Hale pack doesn’t deserve a cub. Our pack does. The Xavier pack will benefit from the cub more than the dying Hale pack.”

“Um, don’t I get a say in this.” Stiles tried to push her arms away, “I mean…like, obviously this bup should be a Hale, not a…Xavier or whatever. It’s Derek’s baby. “

“Bup?” She looked unamused. “It doesn’t matter. The cub won’t know the difference once it’s born and its birthparent is disposed of.”

“Excuse me.” Stiles gave her a harder push, “I do get a say in this. I’m not going to be disposed of.”

“Actual—“ The woman stopped speaking abruptly because suddenly Derek was there, in his room, tugging the woman away from Stiles, who got thrown kind of across the room because she didn’t let go. But then Scott was on one side of him and Isaac was on the other and Erica and Lydia were helping Derek to hold down the other werewolf.

“Where are you from?” Derek growled, all wolfed out and Alpha-like.

“I’ll never tell.” The woman grinned, her eyes the golden of a beta.

“The Xavier pack.” Stiles supplied from the other side of the room,  “Seriously, did you not realize you had just told me that.”

The woman pushed against Erica and Lydia’s arms. “The Hale pack doesn’t deserve the cub.” She growled, menacingly. “You’re nothing but a group of mismatched, made werewolves. Not a true pack. What business do you have with a cub?”

The woman never got another chance to speak because Derek ripped her throat out, nearly severing her head from her body.

It was at the sight of severed head that Stiles fainted.

When Stiles stirs back to life, he is curled up warm and safe in someone’s arms. The memories shake through his mind and he snaps his eyes open, rolling over to look at the spot against the wall that the she-wolf’s head had damn near been severed off her body. There was nothing there except the slight depression in the wall where Derek had forcibly slammed her into it. The wall was its usual whitish color, and the carpet was its normal hue. It was like nothing had ever happened.

Except it had. Because someone had wanted to take the baby that was growing inside of Stiles’ away from him. His arms tried to curl around his stomach but they couldn’t because someone—Derek, Stiles’ mind supplied, finally catching up on the present—was already as wrapped around Stiles as one could possibly be wrapped around another. Stiles stared at the arms, at the careful placement of Derek’s hands on Stiles’ hipbones, his forearms forming a cross over Stiles’ abdomen. Derek’s breath was warm on his neck and Stiles had to close his eyes because this was too good to be true.

Derek couldn’t make a choice anymore. Stiles’ was the only one he would ever be able to love. The only one who could ever give him children, could ever be his mate. Stiles had a choice. He could have the baby, leave it for Derek, graduate high school and run. He could do it and go and never look back and that would be the end of it. He could love someone else, someone who could love him back, someone who chose him, not someone who made a mistake because they didn’t know any better.

But on the dark canvas of Stiles’ closed eyelids, a little dark haired boy ran through the trees. And he smiled up at Stiles’ and his heart began to melt. Because the little boy had dark hair and prominent cheekbones, but his eyes, his eyes were golden brown.

Derek’s eyes were green.

Stiles’ had tears in his eyes at the image, and they worsened when Derek showed up, and the little boy ran off to ‘Papa’ because of course Derek would be Papa and Stiles would be Daddy and that was how things were going to work and…fuck. Stiles tried to slip out of Derek’s arms but knew it was useless.  He also knew that by now, Derek would be awake, so he pulled a little harder. Derek’s arms tightened, and then released. Stiles got up to walk to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror for a long time.

How had he, Stiles Stilinski, get caught up in all of this? How had plain old, buzz-cut because otherwise his hair was ridiculous, ADD-affected, Adderol-dependant, failure-at-lacrosse Stiles Stilinski, end up being the one that…no not fucking Stiles, Genim, who didn’t even have a first name he was proud of or that people could say, be the one that got knocked up by a werewolf. His heart raced and his vision grew blurry again with the tears and Stiles sank against the bathroom wall and cried because this was his life now.

Stiles would have to choose. He would have to make the choice that everyone around him had given up. This baby, he wasn’t going to walk away from it. He could run, take the baby, make up stories about a teenage mother who abandoned her baby with Stiles’ and…try to explain how every time he looked at the child it reminded him so violently of someone he cared so deeply about that It made him cry. Or he could just stay. Stay and be okay with being Derek’s second choice. Those were his options.

So Stiles sat on the bathroom floor and cried. Because his options suck.

Derek is leaning against the opposite wall when Stiles leaves the bathroom and the younger man gives the other a long look.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks quietly, his eyes floating around before they found Stiles’.

“You don’t want me.” Stiles said plainly, nodded, “I’m second choice. I’m always going to be the one you got stuck with, not the one you wanted…”

“The wolf want—“

“Yeah well you’re only the wolf once a month.” Stiles poked at Derek’s chest, anger rising, “You’re only the wolf one day a month. And the human part of you either doesn’t want me, or is just too afraid to admit to it.” Stiles stepped back and licked his lips, “Leave, Derek.”

“But they might come for—“

“Then send someone else. But leave.” There were tears falling again, “Because I was falling in love with you.” Stiles’ voice grew harsh, “I was falling in love with you and I was okay with being used. But I’m not a whore. I’m not your whore anymore. This baby, this baby is as much mine as it is yours. But it’s your fault. I get to make choices, you don’t. But do you want to know the worst fucking part, Derek?” Stiles wiped away the angry tears, and his face grew still, and serious, “You would have been my choice.”

Stiles walked past Derek and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He moved back to the bed, curling up and crying once again. Stiles would later blame the baby hormones for all the crying. Fucking hormones.

Stiles was four months pregnant before he even saw Derek again. There would be times, when he was sleeping, when he’d wake up and he’d know that Derek had been there. One time, he left a sprig of fresh mint on the bed, which Stiles googled to learn was for nausea, and then one day it was oats, in a tiny Tupperware container, which Stiles eyes warily. Apparently they’re good for his skin, and restlessness and anxiety. Stiles still cries most nights, but for now, he’s handling things okay.

His stomach is starting to bulge out. Thankfully, his normal wardrobe of T-shirts and flannels cover it up pretty well. If anything, he’s just putting on weight from not playing lacrosse all the time.  But he knows that there’s a baby in there, that’s only a month and a half away from being born. And of course, that’s the part that no one is really sure about. The journals point to violent births. The journals also point to most of the previous male-pregnancies having occurred in a werewolf. Stiles is nervous, but he has talked to Dr. Deaton, against Derek’s wishes (So he’d learned through Isaac, who was his near constant companion.) and he agreed to perform a C-section. It was the only way that they could guarantee Stiles’ survival.

When Stiles does see Derek, it’s under less than enjoyable circumstances. Namely because he’s been kidnapped, for what seems like the umpteenth time. Most times, before they get far, the pack, sans Derek, descends upon them, and the lone wolf, or the low ranking beta, is killed trying.

Stiles knows something is different this time. Mostly because this time, he was drugged. This time, he was taken so quietly and discreetly that nobody in his pack noticed. When he stirs awake, he is sitting on a chair, his hands tied behind his back. He is shirtless and there are strange things drawn in herb-paste (judging by how it smells) on his jutting stomach. He blinks again, trying to get himself together enough to ask ‘What the hell is going on?’ but there’s nobody to ask.

“I wonder how long it will take for them to come for you.” Stiles jumps. Of course the person is behind him. Duh.

“Not long.” Stiles says, trying to sound non-chalant, but knowing he’ll fail in his attempt to fool a werewolf.

“Oh, we’re counting on that.” The flap of the tent –they were keeping him in a tent?—opens and Isaac walks in, his eyes sallow and tired, his wrists burnt with what Stiles knows is wolfsbane soaked ropes. His handlers wear thick gloves to protect their own hand. “That’s why we brought a beta. So that your precious Alpha will come even faster.” The woman walks around from behind Stiles, and he attempts a glare. But then frowns.

“You’re not even an alpha.” He says, staring into her blue eyes.

“I don’t have to be an alpha, sweetheart. My mate is the alpha though, if you’d rather deal with him.” She patted his cheek. Stiles heard Isaac pulling at his restraints, calling something from behind the gag that sounds like ‘don’t touch him!’ Stiles turns to him, meeting his blue-golden eyes with his brown.

There were sounds outside. Things being torn apart, tossed to pieces. Stiles closes his eyes and tries to hulk down over his stomach, trying to protect the growing baby if he can. There are tears leaking out of his eyes because crying is a thing that he does now, often. Suddenly, It’s not Derek that bursts through the tent, but Jackson, eyes wild and claws out and deadly, tail whipping. He swings at the beta, the alpha’s mate, and he has her by the throat. She bites at him and he lets out a cry, swiping with his claws to leave her paralyzed.

Stiles sees it coming, but Jackson doesn’t have time to anticipate because he’s incapacitating the beta. He turns his head at Isaacs scream, and watches the two wolves holding him drag their claws through his throat, watch his head leave his body. But then Stiles closes his eyes and pretend like this is all a bad dream. He hears Jackson’s cry again, and then two more thuds. The two that killed Isaac don’t survive doing so.

But Isaac is still dead. Isaac, who made Stiles the anti-nausea elixir, who helped Stiles against his Alpha’s wishes. Isaac, who had been there every time Stiles had needed him, But the one time he had needed help, had needed Stiles to cry out for Jackson, Stiles hadn’t. It was his fault Isaac was dead. All of this was his fault. Because he was some stupid, useless human who tried to run with wolves. And Kanima’s.

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to hear the rest of his pack file in. He knows Derek is with them, he can smell fresh blood and sweat. He keeps his eyes closed because he’s going to open them, and this is all going to be a dream and Isaac is going to be handing him a cup of tea and telling him its time for school.

“Stiles.” It’s Lydia in front of him, close. “Stiles, honey. Come on.” He feels the bonds at his hands and feet come apart like butter. He feels Lydia step back.

Someone heavier picks him up, Stiles decides it has to be Boyd. Then he’s carried out of the tent and walked through the woods and set into seats of soft leather and he knows the leather and it makes him curl over but he refuses to open his eyes. This could still be a dream. This has to be a dream. He can hear crying, sobbing, screaming, and he knows its Erica. One cry comes from the wolf that had taken Stiles, and then there is silence.

“Stiles.” It is Derek’s voice, and Stiles refuses to turn over or open his eyes on principle. “Stiles look at me.” Stiles ignores him, “Stiles I need to know that you are alright!” There is a sound of hysteria in Derek’s voice and that’s when he opens his eyes to see the wrecked Alpha.

Derek is covered in blood, his face has blood on it, his clothing, his hands, but he’s close to Stiles, gripping him like his life depends on the fact that Stiles is alright. Stiles stares for a long time, and then licks his lips, “Isaac is dead.” He says, his voice soft, “Because of me.” He bites his lip and looks away, tears forming in his eyes, his chest wracking with sobs. “Because of me and this FUCKING baby.” He brings a hand up to cover his eyes, his face squeezed tight.

“Calm him down, Derek.” He hears Lydia say, “Derek calm him down this is bad for the cub.”

Then he’s in Derek’s arms, and he cries and sobs and hits Derek and Derek doesn’t say anything, he just holds Stiles, one hand on his head and the other on his lower back, breathing shaky and broken like Stiles’ but he is a pillar of strength and Stiles holds on and cries because Isaac is dead.

And Stiles isn’t sure what he’s even going to do anymore.

For the next three days, the entire pack is in mourning. They stay in Derek’s refurbished house, together, and none of their parents even ask. Allison leaves, and comes back with food and water bottles, but other than that, they just sit in the house and mourn. If Stiles was a werewolf who wanted to steal his baby, he certainly wouldn’t come to the house of a pack who was this volatile.  This eager to turn on each other just because everyone was hurting. This angry at the world.

Erica was the most vocal about her anger. She stormed through the house and made everyone cringe. She was the one who cried, screaming, and went out into the woods for hours on end, and it was Boyd who was the most collected, and went after her every time. Jackson was a wreck, because he was there too, he had seen it, but had been unable to stop it. Lydia was sad because her and Isaac had been close, but was trying to stay strong for the rest of the pack. Scott felt the loss of a pack brother, and from the sounds of things, was burying his anguish in Allison every chance he got. Derek felt the loss of a beta, but hadn’t said much, or showed much emotion.

But the one everyone was the most worried about was Stiles. Because unlike the normal Stiles, who, even during his pregnancy hadn’t stopped talking, had been eating constantly, had been basically Stiles, just with a baby inside him, whenever Derek wasn’t around, was barely alive. He got up to go to the bathroom, and ate what he had to because he wasn’t going to risk the baby.  But other than that, he didn’t talk, he didn’t move, he just laid in the bed in what used to be Isaac’s room, and slept.

No one was really sure why Stiles took it so hard. Everyone who had tried to ask him. Tried to talk to him, had been sent away. The only person who hadn’t tried was the one person who probably could have gotten through to Stiles, but Derek just sat on the hard ground outside the room and waited.  He was there to help Stiles walk –he got progressively weaker as time passed, and he didn’t move or eat enough or talk—whenever he left his room. But Stiles was especially not going to talk to him.

It was the fourth day that Erica was apparently done grieving. She stormed past Derek into Stiles room. “It could have been any of us.” She said, tears in her eyes, “Isaac would have tried to protect any of us. If it was me who was pregnant, or Lydia, or Allison.” She crossed her arms at the boy who had rolled over to stare at her, “Isaac would have been there, and would have died no matter what. And let me tell you, at least now, dead, he has the satisfaction of knowing that he did everything he could have done to keep you alive. That he made sure that you, and that cub, got to go home safely.” The tears streamed down Erica’s face.

“And what are you doing with his death? With what he gave his life for? You’re getting weaker and weaker and hurting yourself and hurting the baby that Isaac gave his life to protect. You’re not Stiles anymore. You’re a fucking ghost. And this pack, Stiles, without Isaac, this pack can’t afford to lose anyone else.” She wiped at her eyes. “So get the fuck up, walk your ass out to Isaac’s grave, say goodbye, and then get the hell back to NORMAL.” She turned and walked out the door, hitting the opposite wall on her way out.

Stiles sat up, and rubbed at his eyes, looking around the room he hadn’t left. It smelled like Isaac, and the herbs he’d used for Stiles’ elixir. It smelled like clean and like safety. Stiles associated Isaac with comfort because Isaac had been his best friend when Scott was too busy. Tears fell out of his eyes and Derek appeared in the door way. “Isaac died for me, and for the baby.” He said softly.

Derek nodded, “He died to protect you. And the cub.”  Derek stared at his mate.

“I’m just supposed to  be okay with that? Like I’m supposed to get up and move on and be okay with the fact that Isaac died because of me. That a member of the pack was gone because I am pregnant and I’m some useless, stupid human who can’t protect himself. I’m just…I’m nothing. I’m a pawn. I’m prey. And a werewolf, who was a pretty damn good werewolf, died for me. I’m just supposed to be okay with that?” Stiles got up and Derek stepped close incase he fell.

“Nobody said you had to be okay with it.” Derek said. “They’re just worried. The pack is worried. We’re down Isaac, we can’t lose anymore.”

“I’m not dying. I’m just—”

“You’re not yourself.” Derek said, rubbing at Stiles’ arm. “And they…they love you for you, Stiles, not for this zombie you’ve become.”

Stiles nods and steps carefully past Derek. “I need to eat, and apparently go say goodbye to Isaac.” He steps closer to the door, and then stops. “Derek. If this baby is a boy, his middle name is going to be Isaac.” He leaves no room for argument.

Just like Derek made no mention of himself when he said that the pack loved Stiles for Stiles.

The day the baby comes, Stiles feels really stupid. Because he should have known earlier that morning that this was going to happen, and that going out into the woods with Lydia and Erica on a picnic would probably have been a bad day. He should have known better than to go out and lounge out on a blanket with his shirt pulled up so that the girls could poke at his belly. It was the first day since Isaac had died that Stiles had actually had the gall to smile. And the Bup just had to go ahead and decide that that was the day he wanted to come.

Which ended in Lydia in hysterics because Stiles was radiating pain, Erica angry, because they have to get him the fuck to Dr. Deaton before something horrible happens, and of course, once Derek got involved, there was always infinitely more anger in the mix. It was Scott and Boyd who showed up in the middle of the woods in Stiles’ Jeep to pick them up, driving like a bat out of hell because he, like Lydia, could feel the pain radiating off of Stiles.

It hurt. His body would cramp and then it would release and it would feel like the thing had claws and was trying to claw its way out of Stiles’ abdomen. Stiles wanted to throw up, curled over himself, eyes squeezed shut, secretly, silently wishing for Derek to be there. As much as Stiles hated Derek sometimes, as much as he resented the fact that Derek would never really want him, Derek was still the baby’s father too. Derek needed to be there to hold Stiles because someone had to so it might as well be Derek.

Dr. Deaton became his best friend, after Stiles got over the fact that he jabbed a needle that looked like the thing his mom used to check the temperature on a thanksgiving turkey into his back. Because then he was flooded with a glorious feeling of numbness. It was then, of course, once Stiles wasn’t radiating pain, and once he was just trying to relax so Dr. Deaton could get this thing out of him, that Derek finally showed up.

The last thing Stiles heard before he drifted off into a cold blackness, was the cry of something human-but-not. Stiles blacked out.

The pack didn’t. Dr. Deaton didn’t. The entire operating room of the Veterinary clinic was bloody. The cub actually had started to cut his way out of Stiles, and the inner walls of his abdominal muscles were shredded. Dr. Deaton tried to keep Stiles unconscious, and Jackson showed up with the blood he’d stolen from the hospital, because Stiles was dying without it.

Derek was a wreck. In a way that none of the pack had ever seen him, he was a mess. His eyes were dark and framed with bruises, his hands, claws out, were clenched into fists, blood dripping down his fingers. He stared at Stiles’ motionless body, his lip quivered and then he turned around and walked out, slamming the door behind himself. Lydia, who had the cub wrapped up in her arms, stared at him, nodding at Jackson to go after him. None of them wanted to think about what would happen to Derek if Stiles’ didn’t make it.

And none of them were willing to accept the fact that Stiles might not make it.

Scott was helping now, hands in gloves, stitching as fast as he could. Dr. Deaton had set up the IV, and Stiles was slowly coming back to life-colored. Once enough of it was sewn, Dr. Deaton closed up the relatively small incision he’d made in Stiles’ abdominal wall, and wrapped him up.

None of the pack said a word while they waited for Stiles to wake up.

Lydia held the baby, bouncing him and murmuring things into his ear when he cried. She dressed him in the diaper and onsie that they’d brought for him, and then just sat on the floor holding the baby with tears streaming down her face. It was the first time she’d really cried, even after losing Isaac. Allison and Erica sat next to her, Boyd looming over them. Scott was standing next to the bed, staring at Stiles’ face, tears falling out of his own eyes.

Then Stiles was floating. He was there and he wasn’t there. He saw people come and go, but couldn’t quite push through to the surface.  He saw them leave the room, and come back, he saw glimpses of his son, but he couldn’t make his arms lift to grab him. It was like he was in a fog, like his body wasn’t ready for him to wake up. He wanted to, wanted to reach out and grab the baby and cuddle him to death because that was his son, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell Scott or Lydia that he was okay.

And Derek. Derek looked wrecked. Derek was falling apart at the seams because he might lose Stiles and for the first time, Stiles felt like he actually wanted him.  It got tiresome, trying to make things work when they didn’t want to, so sometimes, Stiles just went back to sleep. His body needed to heal, or so he heard when Dr. Deaton tried to talk to him. And his body heals slower than a werewolfs.

You don’t say.

Someone is talking the next time Stiles rises from the strange abyss like place he’s been floating in. Whatever Dr. Deaton is keeping him on is good stuff. Too bad Stiles really never liked drugs. He can hear the voice, but he doesn’t see the face, or recognize it, really. It sounds like someone is crying, like they’re really really upset, but it’s a male voice. Normally only the girls get that upset.

“—I need you, Stiles.” Holy shit. “I need you to come back. I’m sorry that I didn’t….I wanted you to be happy, not forced into all of this shit. I needed you to be safe. The closer you were to me, the more dangerous it was for you. And now, look at you. I did this to you.” It couldn’t be Derek. “I got you pregnant.” Well there goes that theory. “And the fucking cub nearly killed you. I can’t even…Stiles I can’t even look at our son. I want to, I keep glancing but then I just get so…you don’t know what it’s like. You’re not a werewolf, you don’t understand that you lying here like this. I failed. I failed to protect you.”

Teardrops splash onto his arm. “I love you. I have always loved you, Stiles, just…goddamn it come back. Because I can’t raise the baby without you, I don’t even know if I’ll survive without you. You’re the center of my world. I’m Stiles-centric.  You are the reason I get up, the reason I keep going. You’re my mate, and I need you to understand how important that is and I need you to forgive me because I’m so fucking sorry, Stiles. I’m so…so fucking sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“‘sokay.” The word comes out sluggish and he’s not even sure it was him that said it, but Derek starts and stares at him, Stiles knows because his eyes finally open, and he can see Derek, wrecked and crying, standing over the bed. Stiles blinks because damn that light is bright, and licks his dry lips. “Water?” He tries hopefully.

Derek nods and walks over to grab a cup and fill it, holding it to Stiles’ lips and helping him drink. Derek hasn’t said anything else. He just stares at Stiles like he doesn’t know what to do or say.

Stiles never seems to struggle with that. “Do you actually love me?” He asks, when his mouth wants to work and he’s drowned the fire-ants feeling in his throat.

Derek stares at Stiles and nods. “I do.” He says, softly, leaning down over the bed to bury his face in his mates neck, taking a deep breath. His hands clench on the metal table and his body shakes and Stiles realizes that Derek is crying. Because Stiles is alive. Hell, maybe Stiles isn’t a second choice.

“Where’s the baby?” Stiles asks, trying to sit up and then letting out a cry that makes Derek look up at him with a pained look. His stomach muscles still feel like they’re on fire if he tries to use them. Derek’s hands are suddenly on his back, and Stiles bites his lip and tries to relax his stomach as Derek sits him up, crawling on to the table behind him so that Stiles can use him as a backrest. This is a veterinary clinic after all.

“Lydia.” Derek says, softly, but he knows Lydia will be able to hear him.

Stiles eyes go teary and blurry when Lydia walks through the doorway, tears in her own eyes, with Stiles’ precious sleeping, furry, son in her arms.  She smiles at Stiles, “You’re back.” She says softly, walking to the table.

Stiles nods, “I’m back.” He tries for a smile, but just stares at his son, holding out his arms. A rush of warmth fills him when Lydia lowers him into his arms. She kisses Stiles cheek and steps back. Stiles stares down at the baby, stroking through the soft downy hair that covered his body. The baby is sleeping, but his eyes crack open when Stiles takes him, and he yawns a tiny yawn that makes the cutest noise that Stiles has ever heard. And his eyes are golden brown. Stiles kisses his forehead, and leans back against Derek. “Did we name him yet?”

“No. I haven’t…” Derek reached around Stiles to touch the baby—cub’s arm. Stiles got it now, why it was a cub and not a baby. “I haven’t even touched him yet. He was…he’s you. Well, both of us, but he smells so much like you, and it would have been horrible if you…” Derek’s forehead drops to Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles doesn’t push him.

“Jonathan Isaac Hale.” Stiles says softly. “After my dad and Isaac.” There was no question of whether the baby was going to be a Stilinski or a Hale. He could have come from Stiles, but that baby was going to be Derek’s whether Stiles liked it or not, and the tiny terror was more wolf than human at the moment.

“The fur will come off.” Derek says softly. “In about a week. It’s because…when werewolves were first around, we were sometimes exiled.  Cubs were born with fur so they would survive until their body started to generate its own body heat well enough.” Derek stared over Stiles’ shoulder at the baby. “It’s a good name.” He says softly.

Stiles wants to turn and look but he can’t take his eyes off of the baby that’s staring up at him. “Hi Jon.” He says softly, smiling. The cub just blinks at him, golden brown eyes staring up at him, little socked feet kicking gently.

And for the first time since Stiles found out he was pregnant, everything felt right. Because now Jon was here, and now Stiles had a new focus.  He tilted his head up, careful to avoid using his abdomen, and Derek kissed him, and everything, for the moment, was alright.

It was a few weeks before Stiles was back to full working condition. True to Derek’s word, Johnny, as they called him, had shed his fur in the second week of his life. He had big, round eyes that Stiles recognized, and they could already see the makings of cheekbones. The baby truly was his and Derek’s, there was no longer any denying of that. Once Stiles could move again, he was the primary caretaker to his son, but before then, it had been a pack effort to keep the baby fed, clean, and warm. Stiles couldn’t be grateful enough.

Derek had decided to dabble into the business that had made his family money in the past, going into the city for a few days before rapidly returning. He was never gone long, but Stiles felt the loss of him, missed him when he was gone, and it was then that he realized he was really fucked. Because not only did he have a (finally hairless) baby that was completely dependent on him (and that he adored) but a boyfriend-mate-partner thing that he was also dependent on. So it was just a big, annoying circle of dependency. Regardless, as Stiles walked into his son’s room every day, and picked Johnny out of his crib, Stiles cuddled his son to his chest and realized that even given the choice he wouldn’t change his life at all.

Especially since usually around then, a pack member would come rushing in and check on Stiles and Johnny and make sure everything was okay. Usually it was Lydia, but occasionally it was Scott, who Derek and Stiles had named Johnny’s godfather. Once Stiles had reassured them that he was indeed still fine, they left him be, and he had a few minutes to cuddle and coo at the baby that had cost him so much, but on the same token, had also given him so much.

Stiles should have known that everything couldn’t have stayed as perfect and normal as it seemed to be. He had to go back to school, for one, and pretend like he didn’t have a son at a house out in the woods that he wanted to dedicate all of his life to. He had to pretend like Derek wasn’t his lover, hadn’t turned into the moon to Stiles’ tide. But even that would have been better than what he woke up to two weeks before school started.

Because waking up to find a very angry werewolf alpha standing in front of your son’s crib was not something any parent wanted to experience.  Stiles heart sank.  He stared at the baby and then at the alpha, “Can I help you?” He asked softly. Johnny was still sleeping. He needed to stay that way.

“You.” Stiles didn’t shrink back when the Alpha glared at him. “You birthed this cub.”

Stiles nodded, “I did.”

“You’re the reason my mate is dead.” His voice was cold and hollow and broken and Stiles suddenly understood why he was so deranged. The Alpha’s mate that had kidnapped him, the one that Jackson had killed, the one that had killed Isaac, this was her mate. Broken, shattered, a beautiful mess.

“She killed my friend.” Stiles said softly. “Or had him killed. She wanted to take my son.” He stared at the werewolf, well aware that he was staring death in the eye.

“She wanted a cub of her own.” He said, turning from Stiles to stare wistfully at Johnny.

“Well that one certainly wouldn’t have been her own. He’s mine. Like I have the scar to prove he’s mine.” Stiles took a step closer, desperate to get on the other side of the Alpha so the pack could attack without risking the baby.

“She wanted him and you KILLED HER.” The alpha roared and Johnny squalled in his crib and every protective instinct in Stiles was on high alert.

Then the world froze because Derek appeared, wild and angry and wolfed out, “Step away from my son.” He ordered, strolling into the room with a purpose. The Alpha turned and grinned. It was a terrifying, broken grin.

“There’s everyone’s favorite Alpha.” He stalked closer to Derek and Stiles grabbed for Johnny, wrapping the squalling baby in his arms.

“What do you want, Xavier?” Derek asked. “Did we not send enough messages? Through your betas and your mate? You cannot have our cub. He is fixated on his birthfather now. To take him away would be death for the cub.”

Stiles hadn’t known about that. But the baby had stopped squalling and he cuddled him closer to his chest now. He kissed the top of his dark downy hair and tried to ignore the werewolf face off. Protecting Johnny was his only focus right now.

“See. To take him from Stiles…would be traumatic for the cub.”

“And yes, we know what happens to cubs that were traumatised at a young age.” The Alpha gave Derek a pointed look and Derek bristled.

“Yes,” Derek’s eyes were wild, “They go feral. They learn to trust few, and to protect the ones they trust.”

Stiles closed his eyes and dropped down when Derek launched at the Alpha, cowering beneath the crib with Johnny close. His stomach muscled twinged but he barely felt it. He focused soley on his baby, making sure that he had stopped crying, murmuring soft words to him. He hated this part of their life. The werewolf part.

It was a part that was someday, going to be a much larger part of Johnny’s life than it was of Stiles. But for now, the baby was just a baby, curled up and quiet in his father’s arms, while his other father took down the last true threat to their happiness. The door opened, Stiles could hear, and other pack members joined, Jackson especially making the fight much quicker.

He wouldn’t always be able to protect his son. It was something he had learned, watching his Father struggle everytime he came home beaten and bruised. He wouldn’t be able to keep Johnny from going out and being a werewolf. From being like his father. But what he could do, is make sure that he was more like the man Derek should have been. That his family didn’t all die in a fire. That the baby grew up knowing love and companionship.

He would make sure that Johnny was happy. And well loved. Because that was what his own father had wanted for him. And even after his mother died, the Sheriff had done his best. Now here Stiles was, 16, and a father himself. And only now did he understand.

But he also knew, as Derek crouched to tell Stiles he could come out, that he wasn’t going to be the only one who was dedicated to this baby. The pack stared at him, and he held out the baby to Lydia before crashing himself into Derek’s chest, shaking from the fear he hadn’t been able to feel with Johnny present.  He knew that Derek was going to take care of him, and take care of Johnny. Auntie Lydia, Erica, and Allison, and Uncle Jackson, Boyd, and Scott would be there to take care of him too.

And of course, Derek, Broody and dark, scarred and fragile, tender and loving, everything Stiles hadn’t realized was possible from the Alpha, was always going to be there to take care of him. Stiles stared up at Derek, and for a moment, he was the only one he saw.

Nearly Four Years Later:

“Johnny, make sure you hug Grandpa John super tight.” Stiles smiled at his father as he bundled his son into the winter coat that he didn’t need. His son was like a heater, and at almost four years old, he rarely stopped moving long enough to feel the heat anyway. He always told his son to hug his father, because he wanted his Dad to feel loved. Stiles hadn’t lived in John Stilinski’s house in four years, and the Sheriff had aged from not having a child to father.

“Is Papa home?” Johnny asked, turning his big brown eyes up at Stiles.

Stiles shrugged, “Maybe. But Auntie Lydia and Uncle Jackson will probably be there. They said they were coming into town tonight.” He kissed his son’s forehead, and stood up to hug his father.

“There are people that think you’re crazy you know, being a stay-at-home father.” The sheriff smiled. “They think you ought to go off to college.”

“Yes, but, when have I ever done what people thought I should do?” Stiles asked. He looked down at Johnny. “I wouldn’t change it for anything, Dad. Just like you wouldn’t have given up the time you spent with me.”

“You just…you know you can do classes online, get a degree, a career…”

“In case Derek ever leaves me?” Stiles sighed, “Dad you know he can’t.”

“But you can…”

“I know that you worry about us, but…Dad.” Stiles ran a hand over his hair, “If I go, I have to leave Johnny. I can’t leave my son. I love him, I love Derek. I love my family.” He stared at his father, “You do this every time I come over and then wonder why my husband grumbles when I say I’m going to my Dad’s.”

“I just want what’s best for you, Stiles. I mean, you’ve got Johnny…I know you and Derek are talking about another baby, but…You’re not even 20 years old, is this really what you want?”

“Dad I…” Stiles faltered. “I had a choice. To walk away. I could have done it years ago. But not now. Johnny is a Hale whether I liked it or not. I’ve fallen in love with Derek. I know that he’s always going to take care of us. I love him. For better or for worse.” Stiles ushered his son out of the house.

His father meant the best, but at 19, the Sheriff had been a party-going, fun-having teen ager, at least until he met Stiles’ mother. Stiles knew that his father wanted what was best  for him, however, Stiles was okay with his life. More than okay with his life. He loved to get up, kiss his husband, get his son dressed and sent off to Pre-K. He loved his life. He loved the idea of expanding his and Derek’s family, he loved that he could carry and have children, for Derek. Whether it was a submission inherent in him, or because his mate was an Alpha werewolf, it gave him a sense of purpose, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

He drove the Camaro back down the road to the refurbished Hale house. True to their word, Jackson and Lydia had driven in from Berkley, where they both attended, for today. The thought had been weighing on Stiles’ mind all day. Today, four years ago, Isaac had given his life to protect Stiles and the then-unborn Johnny. His hand curled around his stomach, and he walked into the house, smiling at Lydia and Jackson, who swooped down to fawn over Johnny.

“So how long have you known you were pregnant and why didn’t you tell anyone?” Lydia looked up, giving Stiles a pointed look. “I mean, you had to have known that we would smell it as soon as we saw you.”

“I’m only a few weeks. Deaton isn’t sure if what this monster did to me is going to mess anything up for the new baby.” Stiles smiled widely, the secret off his chest. “I hope it’s a girl this time.”

Lydia rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You’re happy, Stiles. I’m so glad you’re happy today of all days.” Stiles shared a quiet smile with her.

“Hey Johnny!” The toddler had run towards the door when Scott opened it, Allison following through. Scott adored Johnny. He’d been around for everything, from his first steps to his first words to sentences, which he was just getting started on.

Erica and Boyd came down from upstairs. Stiles’ heart panged when he saw Erica’s bloodshot eyes. Erica also loved Johnny, but there was a gap there. She always felt the loss of Isaac, and knowing that Stiles’ son had survived because of Isaac’s sacrifice set her apart from the rest on a day like today. She felt the anger and frustration of losing someone she loved much more than Stiles did. He still had Derek and Johnny, but she had lost her best friend, the person she, and the rest of the pack, truth be told, had come to rely on.

Derek walked into the house last, stopping, and dropping to his knees to kiss Stiles’ stomach. The pack knew. The pack had always been able to tell when Stiles was pregnant. Stiles ran a hand through Derek’s hair and then motioned for him to stand, a silent command that nobody other than the Alpha’s mate could have given him.

The group didn’t have to ask where they were going when Stiles lead the way out the back door, through the frozen forest, down the path to Isaac’s grave.

The group was silent for a long time, before a choked sob rose up in Erica who quickly turned to walk back to the house. She had said her good byes long ago. More goodbyes now just hurt more.

It was Stiles who stood there the longest, and Derek at his side. The others had gone back, Scott taking Johnny because ‘it’s cold and he’s little.’ Stiles just stared at the tiny headstone they’d had made for Isaac.

“It wasn’t your fault, Stiles.” Derek said softly. “I promise, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.  I’m just a human. “

“He knew the chances he was taking.” Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ hips. “If it was anyone’s fault it was my fault. I should have been protecting my mate. Not him.”

“It’s done now.” Stiles murmured softly. “It really, there’s nothing we can do about it, really. It’s over and done with. He’s gone, and we all feel the loss of him, every day.” Stiles traced the words on the headstone.

Derek’s hand moved to Stiles’ stomach. “We have other things to focus on now.”

Stiles looked down. “I know. But some things never leave us.”

Stiles knew that he would always have Derek, and Johnny, and his pack. But that would not change the fact that he had lost so much. He had his pack, he had his life, but Isaac,

Isaac was gone. And the loss would never leave Stiles.