Chapter 11

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.