Chapter 19

There's an urgency right on the edge of Stiles' awareness. It's the feeling he gets when he can sense the sun streaming in through his bedroom window, when at first he thinks he's slept through his alarm but then remembers it's Saturday and he can sleep as long as he likes.

He's not warm, though. He shivers with the cold, feels around for blankets, but there's just a kind of slimy mess on the hard surface beneath him. He presses it between his fingers, and it's sticky, thick. He moans, licks his dry lips, tastes copper and salt.

Tastes blood.

Stiles' eyes snap open.

There's the moon, hanging above him, bright and clear. Stiles sucks in a deep breath, feels his lungs inflate like they haven't been able to in months. His hand flies to his stomach, but it's not there anymore, the place where his hand should find flesh keeps falling until it lands on a flat expanse of sticky bare skin and he's pretty sure all his insides should be on the outside about now but they're not. He probes at his belly with his fingers and there's no pain, not so much as a tenderness under the skin. "Holy crap," he breathes. "I'm not dead."

There's a soft huff of relief, a hand squeezes his thigh, and something else. A quiet whimpery snuffle that has been there the whole time but Stiles is only just registering.

He sits bolt upright.

And there's Derek, sitting at his hip, a tiny bundle wrapped in what's left of Stiles' shirt cradled in one arm. His hands are bloody to the elbows, more soaks the front of his shirt. There's tears on his face, and he offers Stiles a tentative smile.

"Oh my god," Stiles says, reaching out with grabby hands for the baby. Derek rises, lowering the bloody bundle into Stiles' arms, hovering close. "Oh my god," Stiles repeats and he stares down into big, dark eyes in a little face smeared with blood. "Look what I made," he says, glancing up at Derek for just a moment, and then back down at the baby because he can't get enough.

"I know," Derek says, and presses his lips to Stiles' temple. "She's amazing."

"She?" They never knew for sure. "Is she a she?" He pulls aside the wrappings to check. "Oh my god." He looks up again as he folds it back. "I made a girl. We made a person, Derek, oh my god."

"Yeah." Derek's smile is sad. He looks up, and Stiles follows his gaze as it falls on Dana, standing just a couple of feet away. "I asked her to wait," Derek says. "Until you woke up. I knew you'd want to see the baby, before..." His voice breaks, and he presses his lips tightly together.

"No," Stiles says, all the joy and wonder that had filled his heart suddenly sucked back out again. He shakes his head and looks back at Dana. "No, no, no—"

"She saved your life," Derek says, and he's very carefully keeping his eyes on Stiles' face, never letting them stray down to the baby in his arms. "You were in pieces and she put you back together. You should be dead right now and I need you, Stiles."

Stiles looks back down at his baby, chokes around the lump in his throat as she snuffles her nose against his chest. He could tell Dana to take it back, to undo whatever magic she did to keep him alive. He could tell her to do that so she'd leave the baby with Derek, but they'd only come back for her when she was older. Derek wouldn't have either of them. "Okay," he whispers, trying to remember that this way, she gets to live. He lifts his head. "Maybe she'll come looking for us someday."

"Maybe," Derek says. He looks so broken.

Like a band-aid, Stiles tells himself. Do it quick. He presses a kiss to his daughter's forehead, leaving a tear behind, and then he swings his legs over the edge and gets to his feet.

Dana smiles as he approaches. Stiles expects her to reach out for the baby, but she doesn't. His arms protest, his heart fighting against his brain's instructions to hand the baby over. He bites down hard on his lip to fight the tight, twisting pain in his stomach as he holds her out.

Dana tips her head to the side and gazes down at the baby with a benign smile on her face. "She's beautiful," she says as she looks back up. She doesn't make a move to take the baby out of Stiles' arms.

"Aren't you gonna—?" Stiles stops, pulls the squirming baby back into his chest. "You're not gonna take her?"

Dana shakes her head, still smiling. "She was born using silver. I can't touch her. None of us can."

Stiles blinks. "What, ever?"

"Nope."

Stiles' body jerks as a rush of relief and hope surges through him, and the baby startles, tiny fists flailing, and starts to cry. It's a tiny sound, but it makes his stomach clench. He cradles her closer to his heart, and she settles. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he hisses. "This was your plan all along? You watched me angsting for months. Why didn't you say something?"

Dana frowns. "Grimm died because he lacked subtlety. I'd be no use to you dead."

"But why? Isn't the whole acquisition of other peoples kids thing like, your raison d'être? I mean, not that I'm complaining, I'm just..." Shocked. Surprised. Pissed off that he had to go through all that emotional pain for nothing. He looks down, realizes that he'd do it all over again if he had to.

"Not all of us," Dana says.

Stiles lets out a breath he feels like he's been holding for the last six months. "Well, that's awesome." He looks back over his shoulder. Derek's standing beside the Nemeton looking like the sole survivor of a horror movie. It's a mix of gore and bone-deep relief, and Stiles figures he probably doesn't look much different. "So," he says, turning back toward Dana. "You're like, her fairy godmother or something?"

His eyes land on empty air. Stiles' gaze flicks around the clearing, then he turns in a circle. "Okay," he says. "She went poof. I didn't even get a chance to say thanks."

He hears a distant shout, then someone crashing through the trees, and Scott's panicked voice saying, "this way."

Then Derek's right there with him, bloody fingers turning back the edge of the cloth the baby is wrapped in so he can see her face. "I can't believe it," Derek says. "I get to keep you both."

Scott appears from the trees, Deaton close behind him. They freeze at the edge of the clearing as they take in the scene before them.

Scott is the first to come forward. "What happened? Oh my god, is that your baby?"

"No, it's someone else's baby," Stiles says, rolling his eyes even as he grins at the look of disbelief on Scott's face. "Dude, of course it's my baby. Derek took her out with my knife and then I woke up like this and Dana said I get to keep her because silver and oh my god. Look. Look how fucking gorgeous she is."

Scott's eyes are everywhere, open wide. His mouth works, but nothing comes out. Eventually he gives up and just nods.

"She'll get cold," Deaton says. He holds out a white blanket, helps Stiles to discard the bloody T-shirt and cover her up properly before he pulls Derek aside. "You have to tell me everything," Stiles hears him say.

"You've got a kid," Scott says. "Holy crap, you've got a kid."

.

"I'm sorry about the whole 'you're evil' thing," Stiles says. Scott's beside him on the couch, watching as Stiles feeds the baby while Derek and Cora put the crib back together upstairs.

Thank god for Stiles' dad, who, as well as the crib, bought everything from clothes to bottles when Stiles and Derek believed they wouldn't have a baby to feed or dress. Thank god for the 24-hour supermarket where they sent Scott for formula and diapers.

Scott shrugs. "None of us knew Peter got his Alpha mojo back when Derek gave it up. I'm just sorry I had to break Cora's leg before they'd listen to me."

It had been Scott who'd found Grimm dead, touched him, leaving his scent all over the body after Peter's had been mostly washed away in the rain.

"Cora's leg healed," Stiles says. "Benefit of being a werewolf." The baby's fallen asleep, lower lip dragging on the teat of the bottle. Stiles puts the bottle down on the floor and wipes away the trickle of milk that runs from the corner of her mouth and then traces his finger over a tiny eyebrow. "I'll never have to panic when this one falls over and skins her knee," he says.

"Yeah, you will," Scott says, his voice hesitant. "I figured Derek would have told you already. She's not a werewolf."

Stiles' eyes flick up. "What?"

Scott shrugs. "She's human. She was never a threat to anyone. If Peter had known, maybe... Maybe I wouldn't have had to kill him."

"Peter was a crazy sonofabitch who was going to kill my baby. He deserved to die," Stiles says. "Does Derek know she's not a werewolf?"

"He must," Scott says. "She smells like a regular human."

"But—" Stiles' heart starts pounding. "She was supposed to be the next Alpha... His pack..."

Scott looks up, looks behind him, as if he's heard something. He gives Stiles a tight smile, and then gets up and walks away, leaving space on the couch for Derek as he comes down the stairs.

"You really think I'd care about that?" Derek says, leaning over, pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple and then brushing his fingertips over the baby's soft, dark hair. "I knew as soon as I pulled her out of you, and it didn't matter. It didn't make it any less heartbreaking that I would have to give her up." He moves his hand to the back of Stiles' neck, pulls him in for a proper kiss. "We caught a break, Stiles."

"Yeah," Stiles breathes. It still doesn't feel real, even though the sleeping baby in his arms does. This moment could have been so much different.

"She needs a name," Derek whispers.

It was something they'd never talked about, just like they'd never bought anything for her, just like Stiles had hidden the things his father gave them away in boxes so he'd never have to look at them. The more they prepared for her birth, the more heartbreaking it would be when she was gone. And when Stiles was prepared to die so Derek could keep the baby, he figured Derek would name her once he was gone. "I haven't thought about it," he says. "Did you want to—?"

Derek offers him a tentative smile and nods. "Yeah, if that's okay?"

"She's your kid, too. Go ahead."

Derek looks down at the baby. "Olivia," he says. "It doesn't mean anything. I just liked it. It's okay if you hate it. We'll pick something else."

Stiles blinks. "I don't hate it." He looks down at his baby and tries the name out. "Olivia. It's kind of perfect. I figured you'd name her after your mom, or your sister though."

Derek looks up, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "I've never understood the tradition of naming children after dead people."

"I was named after a dead person."

"And look how that turned out, Stiles." Derek smirks, then looks up right before the banging starts.

Muffled words come through the door. "Let me in, I wanna see my grandkid."

"Oh my god, it's my dad," Stiles says, eyes on Derek as he goes to open the door. "You called my dad?"

"Of course." Derek slides the door back and the sheriff marches in. His hair is sticking up, like he's been sleeping on it—which he probably has, considering it's the early hours of the morning—and his shirt is buttoned up wrong.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles says as he stands up, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby. "Look what I got for my birthday."

His father's eyes look him up and down. "What are you...how are you...? Didn't you just get cut open by a veterinarian?" He jerks his head back to Derek. "What the hell are you doing, letting my son out of bed when he's just had major surgery?"

"I'm fine," Stiles says, tugging up the hem of the clean shirt he pulled on when they got back to the loft, yanking it back down fast when he realizes he's still covered in his own dried blood. "Huh, you didn't need to see that. But no scars, totally healed, fairy magic fixed me up after Derek cut me open and pulled her out. And you really didn't need to know that."

His father blinks at him. "Derek delivered the baby? Fairy magic?" He swallows and then seems to recover. "And you couldn't take a shower?"

Stiles grins sheepishly and shrugs as best he can. "I have a baby. You think I wanna put this awesome thing down?"

"Yes, please," the sheriff says, reaching for her, glaring when Stiles takes a step back. "Give me the damn baby, Stiles."

Stiles whines.

"He won't even give her to me," Derek says.

"Scott's mom says it's fine," Stiles argues. "It promotes attachment. Or something."

"Oh for the love of... Just give the baby to Derek," the sheriff says. "And get in the goddamn shower before you start to stink."

"He already does," Derek says as he pries the sleeping baby from Stiles' arms. "Be thankful you don't have a werewolf's nose."

"Traitor," Stiles hisses, dragging his feet as he heads for the bathroom.

.

The hot water as it sheets over him and swirls pink down the drain forces the last of the chill from his bones. He'd hardly noticed it before now, too high on creation to worry about whether he was warm enough. He should probably be in shock, but instead he's elated. It's like the best drug ever, and he wonders why people don't have babies all the time.

In the last twelve hours, he's been through so many things that should have sent him crazy. He thought he was going to die, thought his baby would die with him, and the pain he went through was like nothing he's ever felt before.

And now it's over. All that terror and grief is over. He gets to keep his baby—Olivia—he gets to stay with Derek, he gets to have a life.

And, he thinks, as he slides his hand down over a stomach he figured he'd never have again, Dana put him back together just like he was before.

His fingertip catches on a line of puckered skin below his belly button, and he smiles, realizing that Dana left him with the stretchmarks. He doesn't mind. They're a reminder that he carried his baby, despite logic and possibility, he grew her inside him until she was ready to come out.

Stiles rushes after he gets out of the shower, rummaging through a drawer for a shirt that isn't stretched out and baggy. He can hear them talking downstairs, Derek and his father, and he wants the reassurance of his baby in his arms again, to remind him that it's real.

All he finds is one of Derek's shirts, and he pulls it on, then heads for the stairs.

Halfway down, he stops. Under the window, with the sky just starting to lighten, Derek and Stiles' father stand face to face, close, only inches between them as they both smile down at the baby in Derek's arms. They speak quietly, Stiles can't hear, but as Derek's lips move and he grins wide to show his teeth, he lifts his head. The sheriff matches that movement, smiling back.

Stiles isn't sure he can cope with being so content. A tear trickles down his face, a happy tear this time, and he gulps past the lump in his throat.

Then Derek turns his head, still smiling, and second only to the baby, it's the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.