Chapter 16

"Derek, you open this fucking door or I'll break it down."

At least a couple times a week, Scott comes by after school and bangs on the door, yells through it, demands to be let in. Every time, Stiles sits on the couch and listens, knowing that Scott can hear his heartbeat.

"Stiles?" Scott says. "Stiles, are you okay? Come on, man, I need to see you. He can't keep you locked up like—"

Derek slides the door back. Scott stands in the opening, fist raised to knock, eyes wide.

"Come in," Derek says.

Scott's eyes flick around the inside of the room, marking Cora in the center, Peter on the stairs, finally settling on Stiles as he sits cross-legged on the couch. He glances back at Derek, looking confused, then starts toward Stiles.

Derek grabs him by the arm. Scott freezes, but doesn't throw Derek off. "Slow," Derek says.

Scott turns his head, and the look he gives Derek is part glare, part disbelief. "I don't even know what this is about," he says. "He's been locked up in here for months. You don't have the right to—"

"It was my idea, Scott," Stiles says. "It's my choice to be here. It's been my choice to keep you away. I couldn't risk it." He wraps his arms around his stomach, cradling the baby inside. "I have to keep her safe."

"What?" Scott looks from Stiles to Derek and then twists out of Derek's grip. "What's he been telling you?" He takes a few steps toward Stiles, shaking his head at the way Derek hovers close. "Whatever it is, Stiles, it's not true. I would never do anything to hurt you, no matter what Derek's trying to make you think."

"It's not Derek," Stiles snaps. "It was Grimm. He's the Sidhe," Stiles still twitches over how weird that sounds out loud. "And Sidhe can't lie."

Scott pushes past Derek, sinks down onto the couch. "Then he's wrong." He puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder, ignoring the low rumble that comes from Derek. "How can you even think that I would do anything to hurt you? Or the baby? Stiles, look at me." He puts another hand on the top of Stiles' head, fingers threading through his hair, tipping his head back.

Derek growls and jerks forward, only stopping when Stiles shakes his head. "It's okay," Stiles says, then turns his eyes on Scott, reading the hurt and betrayal in his best friends face. He's missed Scott, so much, but some things are more important than hurt feelings. "You tried to kill me once. You couldn't help it. It was instinct. What if this is the same? I can't take the chance."

Scott shakes his head, and his hand slides through Stiles' hair to the back of his neck. "I am not gonna hurt you," he says as he pulls Stiles into an awkward hug.

Stiles, even though his eyes are closed, can feel, hear, as Derek and Cora both approach. Not trusting Scott is contrary to every single one of his own instincts, he wants to return the embrace, wants to cling to his friend, wants to give him all his trust.

But he can't risk it. He shoves away. "Sorry," he mutters. "I'm sorry."

"Stiles?" Scott tries to keep hold, but releases his grip as Stiles pushes at him.

"You have to go."

"No." Scott shakes his head, and his eyes dart around the room, as if he'll get support from one of the others. "You need me, Stiles," he says. "I'm your best friend. You're gonna need me when this is over." He doesn't struggle when Derek grabs him by the arm and drags him up off the couch.

"I'm sorry," Stiles repeats. "After... When she's gone, Scott, when she's safe—"

"Safe?" Scott digs in his heels, refuses to be pulled up the steps. "Safe? He's stealing your baby and you're calling that safe?" Cora tries to grab his other arm, but he throws her off and she goes stumbling back. "He's the one who told you I'd try to hurt her and you're believing him? You're trusting him?"

"She'll be alive," Stiles rasps, fighting the tears welling in his eyes. He fails, they spill over and streak down his cheeks. A well aimed kick makes him gasp and he presses a hand to the top of the bump. "At least she'll be alive."

Scott doesn't offer any more resistance, and once the door slides closed and Derek puts the lock in place he's right there at Stiles' side. "Heartburn?"

Stiles pushes gently at the pressure digging in under his ribs. "Foot."

"I'm sorry," Derek whispers, cupping the side of Stiles' face with his hand. His face is stricken, eyes so sad it breaks Stiles' heart. "He doesn't even know. Maybe the Sidhe was wrong. Maybe it's not—"

"I can't risk it." Stiles leans into Derek, taking every ounce of comfort his warmth offers. "I can't risk it."

.

Stiles' birthday falls on a Wednesday. Lydia and Dana come after school with the largest cake box Stiles has ever seen and small, wrapped gifts. Derek and Cora take the box, disappear into the kitchen, but only Cora comes back with a plate. The four of them lean over the table under the window and eat cake with their fingers.

"This feels really girly," Stiles says, licking frosting off his fingers and forcing a grin. He should be enjoying his birthday, he should be enjoying the company of his friends, but he can't relax, can't sit still. It's a full moon tonight, and he's restless on a level he's never felt before. Cora told him it was normal, that it didn't mean tonight would be the night, only that the baby could feel it coming.

Lydia dabs at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. "You're an honorary girl. Not girly in the least, though. You've got no reason to feel emasculated."

"Except for the extreme case of pregnancy."

"Except for that." Lydia smiles, but it's a slow, sad kind of smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Okay. Presents." She turns to Dana. "You go first."

Dana hands over a small, oblong parcel wrapped in navy blue paper and tied with a silver ribbon in a plain knot. Her cheeks turn pink as Stiles beams at her and starts to tug at the ribbon.

He peels the thick paper back to expose the curved and highly polished hilt of a silver knife. He picks it up, pulls at the blade with his thumbnail and it pops out with a satisfying snap. It's a perfectly mirrored, shimmering surface. "Oh my god," he breathes, and then looks across the table. "You gave me a knife?"

Dana's blush spreads further over her cheeks. "Yeah. You run with wolves, but you don't have claws. You should have something."

A genuine smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "It's amazing. Thanks."

"It's silver. I mean, real silver."

"Silver doesn't work on werewolves," Cora says. "That's a myth."

"Looks like it'd cut them fine to me," Lydia says, pressing the tip of her finger to the point of the blade and then popping her finger into her mouth.

"No," Dana says. "But it works on other things. And this town..."

"Right." Stiles snaps it shut and slips it into the pocket of his jeans. "I love it. Thanks. I don't figure I'll have much use for it, not until after— Well. I'm not doing much of anything lately." He glances down at his stomach, brushes a few cake crumbs off himself.

"Bullshit," Cora says. "You're doing plenty. I can hear, you know."

Cora's been on the couch since she got back. Only temporarily, until she finds her own apartment. They've been quiet, Stiles knows they've been quiet, but... "Werewolves, man. You suck."

Cora turns her eyes away. "No. You do," she smirks.

"Oh my god," Stiles chokes. "Are you seriously—"

"You realize you're talking about your own brother's sex life," Lydia says.

"Do you realize I have to listen to it? They never stop, it's disturbing."

"Oh my god," Stiles repeats. "I can't even..." He backs away from the table, then stops, returns for a slice of cake, and then he slips away to find Derek.

He's in the kitchen, leaning against the wall, fighting laughter.

"You suck too," Stiles whispers as he puts down his half eaten cake on the counter and wraps his arms around Derek. He bounces a little on the balls of his feet, twitchy. "You said she wouldn't hear."

"Not my fault you make all that noise when I do," Derek says as he pulls Stiles into a kiss that gets heated fast.

Stiles flails out of his grip. "No. Cora will be giving them a running commentary if we're not careful."

There's a knock on the brick on the outside of the arch that leads into the kitchen. Stiles turns to see Lydia in the opening. She tries to hide a smile and then looks at Derek. "I wanna give Stiles his present," she says. "Do you mind?"

Derek's hand slides down Stiles' spine as he leaves them alone in the kitchen.

"I can come out," Stiles says, even as Lydia moves deeper into the kitchen, pulling her own gift out from behind her back.

"It's fine," she says as she puts it into his hands. "This is better."

Stiles wonders if it's a book at first, from the shape, but it doesn't have the weight of a book. It's almost weightless, in fact. So he slips off the raffia it's tied with, and folds back the paper. It's just a cardboard box inside, plain white, with no markings. He looks up at Lydia with a curious smile and hooks his fingers into the lid.

Lydia twists her hands together and her eyes flick from Stiles to the ceiling and back again. "I know you might think it's maybe a little inappropriate, or insensitive, or whatever, because I know you're not keeping her, but I just thought—"

Stiles frowns, and lifts the lid of the box.

"She should have something nice to wear. For... The trip." There's a tear, just at the edge of her lashes, and as she tries to smile, it falls.

Stiles looks down with a lump in his throat. He picks up a tiny jacket, pure white, made of the softest, finest wool imaginable. Underneath, there's a pair of pants in the same fabric. He puts the jacket back in the box and closes the lid, pressing his teeth hard into his lower lip as he tries to hold back the sudden, violent rush of emotion that squeezes his lungs tight enough that he can barely catch his breath.

"God, Stiles," Lydia whispers, twisting her hands so hard her knuckles turn white. "I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry, here, I'll just—" She tries to take the box out of his hands.

Stiles holds it to him. "No." He shakes his head. "No, it's good. It's perfect. Thank you, I..." Tears streak his face, wet his shirt. "It's perfect. Thank you." He reaches out, pulls her into an awkward hug with the box trapped between them, one corner digging into his side. There's an answering flurry of jerky kicks from inside him. "It's perfect."

"Are you sure?" Lydia looks up, and her face is streaked with tears.

"I'm sure."

"Good. Because it was really expensive."

Stiles snorts, even through his grief. "Totally worth it." He presses a kiss to her forehead and then tucks her underneath his chin and just holds her, grateful for his friends, because he's going to need them afterward.

A minute passes. Two. Stiles doesn't want to let go, even when Lydia starts pushing away, at first gently, but then she shoves back, out of his arms. She hits the counter, grips the edge of it with her hands, and her eyes are wide, like she's scared.

"What? What is it?" Stiles asks, moving toward her.

Lydia pushes his hands away. "No, no," she whimpers, keeps trying to back up but she's got nowhere to go.

Stiles takes a breath, prepares to call for Derek, for anyone, because at first he doesn't know what's happening.

Until Lydia opens her mouth in a scream that fuses his spine and cuts right into his heart.