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."