Chapter 8

They end up at the loft, because apparently Derek planned to come back all along. The skylight has been fixed, but the place looks even more spartan than it did before, if that's possible, and Stiles notices why immediately.

The bed is gone.

Every time Stiles has been here, his eyes have been drawn to it. Because of what happened in it, because of what it reminds him of, all his focus has been there. He feels lost now, as if there's a hole where it used to be, and he's got no center.

He's still stopped at the bottom of the steps, his eyes stuck on that empty spot when Derek passes him and looks back. There's a frown creasing the space between his brows, but he follows Stiles' gaze, it fades, and he flicks his eyes up to the floor above.

Upstairs. Stiles supposes that makes sense. If it's only Derek here now, there's no reason why he should sleep in the main room, where it's been proven time and again that pretty much anyone can get in if they want to. Derek's safer up there. "Where's Cora?" Stiles asks, as he joins Derek and Scott at the table and watches Derek spread out his borrowed books again.

"She stayed in New York," Derek says. "She'll come later." He looks up. "Closer to the time."

It makes sense Derek would want his sister around to help. Girls are good with babies, aren't they? And whether Stiles lives through this or not, it's Derek's kid, Derek's family, his Alpha.

Stiles was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

For Scott's benefit, Derek repeats the story of the pack that was almost wiped out in Ireland, of the Alpha's mate who got pregnant. It's more long winded this time, most of it Derek reads from the crumbling old book, stopping every paragraph or so to clarify something.

Stiles thinks Derek should have given Scott the same version he gave Stiles, except that he's really too tired to speak up. He leans against the wall underneath the window and tries to focus on what Derek's saying, tries to keep his eyes open, but Derek's low, patient tones lull him quickly to sleep.

.

When he wakes, he's in a bed, and there's sunlight coming in through a window just like the one in the loft. He must be upstairs, Scott must have left him here last night, and Stiles is just relieved that he agreed when his dad told him to stay at Lydia's if he was going to be drinking, not knowing how to tell him why he most definitely would not be.

It's definitely Derek's bed, Derek's blankets, but it doesn't smell like him no matter how far Stiles buries his nose in the pillow. He's hungry, his mouth is dry, and he really has to piss, so he throws back the blankets and hauls himself to his feet.

Only then does he see the chair off to one side of the bed, and the sleeping form in it.

Stiles has seen Derek unconscious before, but never asleep. He looks incredibly young, even with the scruff on his face, even with the stress lines on his brow. Stiles wants nothing more than to watch him like this, but his bladder drags him away to the bathroom.

When he returns, Derek's gone from the chair. He looks up at Stiles from where he sits on the edge of the bed, his palm flat over the spot where Stiles was lying not long ago.

"Scott wanted to wake you," he says. "He wanted to take you home. I wouldn't let him."

Stiles shrugs. If he'd been asked, he probably would have gone with Scott, but he doesn't mind being here. "I missed the big reveal, didn't I? How did the story end? Did Scott tell you he offered me the bite? Is that why you brought him here, too?"

"He told me, yeah." Derek's expression is blank, giving nothing away. "That's not going to happen."

Up until Derek appeared in his room yesterday, Stiles was banking on it as potentially his only chance. "Unless you've got another idea I'll bleed to death when they take it out of me."

Derek reaches out, pulls Stiles down beside him. He puts one hand on Stiles' shoulder, the other holds his head, thumb tracing his cheekbone. "If he bleeds out fast enough, even a werewolf won't have time to heal." His eyes move over Stiles' face like he's trying to memorize it, his only expression a tightening of his brows.

It strikes Stiles as a funny time to kiss him when Derek leans in, considering they're talking about how Stiles could die a handful of months from now, but it's not like he pulls away. Morning breath and all, Stiles wants this, wanted it last night, has wanted it since the first time, but that was a favor, Derek only did it because Stiles was scared, because Stiles begged him to. "He died, didn't he?" Stiles says, and it comes out garbled because Derek won't stop kissing him.

"Yes." Derek only stops long enough to say that one word, and then he's licking into Stiles' mouth again. He pushes Stiles back, pushing blankets aside, coming down over him with one knee between Stiles' thighs, one hand cradling Stiles' head, the other sliding down his side, stroking over the swell of his stomach.

That's when Stiles recognizes the desperation in Derek. "Oh my god," he moans, and the words get swallowed up. He twists his fists into the front of Derek's shirt and drags himself away. Derek only moves his kisses to Stiles' throat and starts tugging at the buttons of Stiles' shirt. "What are you doing?" Stiles says, and he should at least attempt to shove Derek away, but he doesn't. "There's nothing, is there? There's no way of saving me." He should be panicking, but he's not. Maybe it's shock. Maybe he's all panicked out. "I'm gonna die." He relaxes his fingers and wraps his arms around Derek's back, slides his palms over hard muscle, pulls Derek even closer.

"No." Derek's fingers move over the buttons of Stiles' shirt, opening it, pushing it aside. "You won't. I'll tell you, just let me..." He drops his head, kisses Stiles in the center of the chest, then licks at a nipple.

Stiles jerks up off the bed as pleasure arcs from his nipple to his cock. "You're lying."

Derek shakes his head, quickly glances up, then suctions his lips over Stiles' nipple and sucks.

Stiles thrashes and moans. "Fucking tell me." His cock is too hard, his jeans too tight, and he gets a hand between them and pops the button open, leaving it there because no way is he going to have Derek think he's begging while his life is on the line, no matter how much he wants to be touched.

Still, it's as if Derek's taken it as a hint, because he wriggles down the bed. "Not now, Stiles." Then his lips are on the place where Stiles' stomach starts to swell, still low down on his abdomen, still small enough to hide under his shirt, and yet it feels so strange and unnatural. Derek's breath is harsh and stuttering, his hands gripping tight into Stiles' waist as he presses kisses to firm flesh. He looks up, there's tears in his eyes, and he looks wrecked.

"Oh my god," Stiles whispers. "It's me or the baby, isn't it?"

"Not now, Stiles, please." Derek shakes his head. "I can't. Not now."

Stiles drops his head back to the mattress and stares at the ceiling. "You promised," he says, and he feels warm tears drop onto his stomach even as Derek's fingers draw down the zip of his jeans. "You said you'd find a way to save us both." His voice is all but gone, no more than a breath, but Derek will hear it.

"I know," Derek says, pulling Stiles' cock out of his jeans even though it's gone soft. "I'm sorry." He sucks Stiles into his mouth, and it's warm and wet and just so, so desperate and Stiles doesn't know whether Derek's trying to make it up to him or get close to him or what. He doesn't understand any of it, why the universe would let him get pregnant only to make Derek choose between Stiles and the baby, and it's just not fair.

Still, Stiles gets hard, and Derek makes him come, and it's almost painful in it's intensity. So much emotion, too much to process, and it just leaves him limp and whimpering as Derek crawls back up and lies beside him.

"You want it?" Derek asks, his voice very small and quiet. "The baby. Do you want it?"

Stiles supposes that Derek might be surprised if he did, because at the beginning he was prepared to get rid of it, even though he suspects he could never have gone through with it. "You want it," Stiles says, because more than anything, what Stiles feels is Derek's desperation for the child, and his own desire to give it to him. He breaks down then, breaks completely. "And I want you." He cries and he sobs and he moans that it hurts because this is too hard a decision to make. And even Derek's mouth on his, his tongue between his lips doesn't stop him, and then he can't tell whether those are his own tears or Derek's. "Fuck me," he says. "You can knot me, I don't care, I just want you inside."

"I can't." Derek wipes tears off Stiles' cheeks with his fingers. "You're already pregnant, and I'm not an Alpha anymore."

Stiles nods. "Then just get inside me and stay there. I want you to stay there."

Derek gets up and finds lube as Stiles kicks off his jeans and underwear. He doesn't even mind when Derek barely preps him, savoring the painful, burning stretch that makes him cry out, because it lessens the ache in his heart.

As deep as he can go, Derek stills, his elbows on the mattress. There's so much fear in his eyes, so much worry.

"Tell me now," Stiles whispers, tracing Derek's brow with his fingers, trying to smooth out the lines. "How did the story end?"

"The Sidhe came," Derek says, and Stiles recognizes the word. He stumbled across it while looking into Lydia's banshee deal. "They wanted the baby. They offered to save the life of the Alpha's mate in exchange for it." He moves his hips, just a little, and sinks deeper inside Stiles' body.

Stiles spreads his legs further and tips his pelvis up because he wants all of Derek, as much as he can get. "He sacrificed his mate for the kid."

Derek shakes his head. "He wouldn't. The Alpha tried to give it to them, but his mate refused, and he died because he wouldn't allow the baby to be taken." Derek closes his eyes, the skin around them tightens. "Stiles..."

"But the baby lived?" Stiles clings to Derek's shoulders, arches up as Derek pushes down. He doesn't want this to end, but he needs friction as much as Derek does.

Derek gives up, pulls back, pushes back inside. "The baby saved the pack," he breathes. "His descendants are the werewolves I was with in New York. He wrote that book, that's his story." He pulls back, thrusts again, long and slow. "Stiles, god."

"It's okay," Stiles whispers, sliding his hands down to Derek's ass, pulling him in, guiding, encouraging. "Fill me up, Derek, come in me, but don't go, please don't leave."

"I won't," Derek says. "I swear I won't."

When Derek comes, it's with a soft, painful whimper, and then he lowers himself onto Stiles' chest, lays his head on Stiles' shoulder, and just breathes.

There's an ache still in Stiles' heart, but at least he knows what to do.

So I can avoid doing the epic exposition thing and boring those who are aware, click here for the wikipedia article that explains the Sidhe.