The last thing the Sheriff of Beacon Hills expected when he entered his son's apartment was to hear the words "I'm pregnant."
But maybe he should accept by now that the last thing he expects usually is what will happen (werewolves exist).
"Stiles," Scott murmured anxiously, "Your dad is heading towards the door, you gotta perk up a little, I sent him an SOS but I didn't send him a call for 911. You look like death, man."
Stiles looked up numbly at Scott from his curled up position on the couch under Scott's arm and sat up a little at his words. The straightened posture did nothing to improve the general heartbroken vibe that Stiles gave off at the moment, but it would have to do, Scott decided as he got up to open the door for the Sheriff.
“Scott,” said Sheriff Stilinski once he was facing Scott in the doorway, “What’s wrong with Stiles?” Scott jerked his head at Stiles, who had slumped back down, and at the sight of his dad, burst into tears again.
Alarmed, the Sheriff hustled over to his son and wrapped an arm around him, crooning nonsense words of comfort as he rubbed his free hand in circles on Stiles’ back.
“I—“ Stiles tried to speak but was crying too hard to manage to say anything.
“Shh, Stiles, calm down, tell me what’s wrong, you’ll be okay, we’ll figure this out,” the Sheriff said in a low, calm voice as if trying to soothe a frightened animal.
“I’m pregnant,” Stiles choked out between sobs, “I’m pregnant and Derek doesn’t want it and I already—I feel connected and I don’t even know how, and I’m a male, I shouldn’t even be pregnant much less feel motherly love and Derek said he would find a way to get rid of it!” the last part was screeched in disbelief and horror.
The Sheriff’s arms stopped mid rub and there was a silence after Stiles’ panicked ramble.
“Pregnant, Stiles? Really?”
Stiles cringed at his dad’s voice and turned around, the last few tears still rolling down his cheeks.
“Uh…yeah, I was about to tell you about that, dad, but um.”
“We just found out, Sheriff,” Scott said quickly and Stiles shot him a grateful look.
“Well. I guess if werewolves exist…male pregnancy isn’t quite as shocking.” The Sheriff looked vaguely uncomfortable with saying ‘male pregnancy’ but somehow managed to sound as if he were confirming the weather report.
At that moment, another knock on the door startled the group and Scott cocked his head to listen before shrugging and going to open the door.
They waited as Dr. Deaton walked into the room and settled down onto the couch with several books in hand.
“Stiles.” Dr. Deaton said before sighing, “Only you would defy the laws of nature.”
“You mean it’s not a thing?” Stiles asked, biting his lips in worry.
“Well. Apparently, if the mate of an Alpha werewolf has a spark, and they desperately want something to come true, it’ll come true.”
Stiles exchanged looks of confusion with Scott.
“What do you exactly mean, Dr. Deaton?” Stiles asked, watching as the veterinarian pull the first book off his pile and hand it to Stiles. “The Olde Booke of the Sparke Human. What?”
“You remember when I told you that you had a spark, and that’s why you could use mountain ash?”
“Not really, I remember you going on about sparks and then telling me to hope that the mountain ash would work,” Stiles muttered, shrugging when the vet sighed in exasperation.
“Well some humans have the tiniest spark of power in them. You’re not magical, per se, but according to that book, it’s enough. You wanted something to tie you and Derek together, some undeniable proof that you’re his, and he’s yours. And so you created a baby.”
Stiles gaped at the vet. Scott made a sort of dying noise when Deaton said the ‘you’re his’ stuff about his best friend and his Alpha. The Sheriff merely stared at Deaton as if nothing could surprise him by now.
“I made a baby.”
“I made a baby.”
“I made a baby because my subconscious was thirsty for a steady boyfriend.” Stiles was terrified at the thought of his subconscious wanting to keep Derek close, so much so that it made a baby.
“Stiles!” Dr. Deaton gripped Stiles’ trembling shoulder, “You have to keep calm, your body can’t be under too much stress while you’re carrying this baby. It isn’t good for the baby.” At those words, Stiles took a deep breath and stilled himself.
“Please,” Stiles whispered, “How do I keep my baby safe?”
The Sheriff interjected himself into the conversation here, looking alarmed at the way Stiles seemed almost desperate to keep the baby. “Alan, how on earth is Stiles suddenly okay with the baby, why’s he so attached to it already?”
Dr. Deaton frowned in concentration at Stiles and flipped through another book. Finally, he looked up at the Sheriff, “I believe it’s because of his mate. Wolves tend to be possessive animals and werewolves thrive with large families, packs. Stiles’ own spark made this baby possible, he’s already completely attached to this baby, it’s accelerated his hormones already—his mood swings and over reactions prove that.”
Stiles snarled at Deaton, what over reactions was he talking about?
All three of the other people in the room looked at Stiles in shock.
“I…” Stiles stared at his hands, feeling like he was out of control, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
Deaton looked at Stiles and then asked somberly, “When do you think the baby was conceived?”
Stiles chewed his lips as he thought about it, “Well…we haven’t really had um, time, since last week, before Derek’s trip,” he blushed and punched Scott when he made a retching sound.
Stiles looked at Dr. Deaton anxiously, “What do you see? Is something wrong?”
“No, Stiles,” the vet said calmly, “Nothing is wrong, but now we have a time frame that we can go by. You’re obviously not going by human pregnancy standards.”
“I’m not?” Stiles asked, confused, “But I thought it was my human spark and all that made it possible?”
“Yes, but you’re carrying a werewolf pup, so you’re going by wolf pregnancy standards.”
Scott gasped and stared at Stiles. “Oh my god!”
Stiles looked nervously between Scott and Dr. Deaton, confused and wary.
“It means, Stiles, that your pregnancy will last for approximately sixty-three to sixty-five days, and you won’t show until about thirty days in—and your pack could smell the pregnancy at a week or so.”
Stiles looked wondrously at his flat abdomen and patted at it, “Wow. Hey there little buddy, you’re gonna come out in just about two months!” Scott smiled goofily at his best friend and poked at Stiles’ stomach but snatched his finger back when Stiles growled at him.
“Holy shit! Stiles! You just growled at me!” Scott yelped, clutching his hand to his chest and scooting backwards on the couch.
Dr. Deaton chuckled at Scott’s antics and nodded, “Yes, that’ll be the protectiveness showing. He’s going to be very protective of his baby and it seems that he has some wolf instincts that come along with the pregnancy.”
Stiles grinned sheepishly at Scott before grabbing his hand and placing it on his midsection. “You can’t feel anything, dude, but it’s still cool, right?” Apparently, Stiles had adapted quickly to the idea of male pregnancy—it could, Stiles reasoned, be the whole spark and wanting a connection thing that Deaton had said, but Stiles preferred the idea that he was an awesome adapter.
Scott grinned and poked gently at Stiles’ stomach. “How big is he gonna get, doc?”
Dr. Deaton grimaced at Scott’s casual nickname but ignored it otherwise and shrugged, “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen a case like this before. I’m going on theories and hypotheses right now. I’m guessing we’ll learn as we go. I’ll drop by every week to check up on you, Stiles, and if you feel anything strange be sure to call me.” With that, he stood up and shook hands with the Sheriff, nodded a farewell to the two boys and left.
“So,” Sheriff Stilinski stared at his son’s flat stomach, “you got any ideas for names?” The Stilinski men were great adapters.
Somewhere in the woods, a startled howl was cut off and a sinister presence took its place inside its chosen vessel. Revenge, it thought, was going to be fun.
Stiles had fallen asleep at eleven.
It was the earliest he’d gone to sleep in years, and yet he’d felt exhausted by ten. While they hadn’t known the gender (Stiles had berated Scott for not being able to find out even using his wolfy powers), he and his dad and Scott had fun going through various names. After a while, it had seemed almost natural, talking about his pregnancy.
The Sheriff hadn’t brought up the elephant in the room of Derek’s whereabouts. He had sensed that it wasn’t a good time and Stiles was grateful for his dad’s patience. He was pretty sure that when Deaton had said “stress,” more crying fests and worrying about Derek’s feelings towards him was included.
Some time around ten-thirty, his dad had to go back home (he had a shift the next day) but Scott vehemently refused to leave (to the secret relief of Stiles) and curled up in bed next to Stiles.
It seemed Stiles was pretty worn out by all the day’s activities and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
“I want this baby, Scott,” Stiles whispered to his best friend, his rock of stability in this whole fiasco. Scott made a soft noise of comfort and wrapped an arm around Stiles. No one was going to hurt the baby or Stiles on his watch.
And apparently, Stiles found out, on any of the pack’s watch.
Stiles woke up feeling heated and tried to wiggle out from under Scott’s arm (stupid werewolves and their warmth), but he found that he was stuck under several arms. And a leg.
“MRPH!” Stiles grunted in surprise—the whole pack (except Derek, but Stiles refused to think about Derek) was gathered in a huge puppy pile on his bed.
“Shuddup, S’iles, sleeeeep,” whined Erica from her position curled up against Stiles’ back. She had an arm draped over Stiles and her hand was lax against his stomach. In fact, every single pack member had somehow managed to have a body part either touching Stiles or Stiles’ stomach.
“What is this?!” Stiles yelped in shock, “Is this a pack thing? Oh my god, is this because of the baby? Why are you here, Lydia? You’re like, immuno-pack-human! And Allison! Why are you guys here, on my bed! With me?!”
An arm flapped against Stiles’ head in an effort to muffle Stiles’ loud questions. Somewhere from his legs (so that was why he couldn’t move his legs) someone grunted a “shut up.”
“Stiles. Shut up. And let us sleep,” commanded a sleepy and grouchy Lydia.
Stiles gazed around at his pack and felt a sort of warm, happy feeling sweep over him. This, he thought, this he could get used to. Well, he amended when someone’s feet shifted near his head, maybe he should get a bigger bed before he got used to this.
And he drifted off back to sleep—with only the slightest twinge of hurt that Derek hadn’t appeared.