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Step by Step, We'll Get There	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 4677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf nor profit of it. Jeff Davis owns it.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
Author's note: Hey look, for once I'm actually updating on Friday! Miracles do exist! *coughs*
Warnings: eh, mostly angst and something you probably already expected LOL
I hope you'll like it!
Chapter 27
"You never told me I could make leaves grow!"
Deaton looked up from whatever book he'd been reading before Stiles had stormed into his office, bypassing Scott who'd been secretly texting Kira, and tilted his head slightly. "Pardon me?" he said mildly.
"The Nemeton! You never told me I could make leaves grow on those branches!" Stiles snapped, waving his phone around with the picture of the bright green leaves.
After he'd recovered from his shock – not completely but enough to function again – he'd taken a picture of the leaves before driving straight to the druid's office. He knew he'd bonded with the Nemeton, but nobody had told him he could actually make leaves grow! Was that shit even normal? Because it didn't seem normal to him!
"Close the door, please. I'd like to take a better look at the picture," Deaton said calmly and stood up, walking around his desk. He accepted the phone while Stiles closed the door, studying the picture intently. "Tell me what you were doing when this happened."
"Ehm." Stiles blinked, a bit taken aback. "I was just talking aloud to myself like I usually do, about classes and such, and then I stood up and I said that the Nemeton would probably like for spring to come soon, so that it would get its leaves back. Then I touched one of the branches and well, this happened." He waved helplessly at the phone. "Is this because I mentioned the whole spring thing? Or something else? Should I worry?"
"That depends entirely on how you look at it," Deaton said cryptically, which did jack shit to calm Stiles' nerves.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked nervously, stuffing the phone back into his pocket when Deaton handed it over.
"Have you touched the Nemeton before – since it lost its leaves, I mean," Deaton clarified.
"Er, not that I can think of …" Stiles answered hesitatingly, trying to remember whether he had. He was pretty sure he hadn't; at least not since it had become completely barren.
"Interesting," Deaton murmured; his eyes gaining a distant sheen as if he was somewhere else with his thoughts, somewhere far away.
"Interesting, why?" Stiles asked apprehensively, wringing his hands together.
"As you know, you've bonded with the Nemeton," Deaton started and he nodded impatiently. "This means that any big changes your body goes through, the Nemeton will reflect this. In the case of your mother, for example, when she passed away, the Nemeton followed in spirit until you woke it up again."
"And what big change would make it grow leaves again in the freaking winter?" He was sure nothing out of the ordinary had happened to him in the last couple of months. He studied his ass off; visited his friends and pestered his dad at work; went to Derek's place as often as he could where they might or might not spend quite some time in the bed as of late …
Bar that brief stomach flu he'd had, he hadn't been seriously ill; nothing that could bring about a change in him.
"Well, I can't say for certain, but I know of something that would cause the Nemeton to bloom earlier than it should be," Deaton said thoughtfully, leaning against his desk.
"All right, and that's?" Stiles stared at him expectantly.
"I suggest you take a test to see whether the … progress in your relationship with Mister Hale has brought something to fruition," Deaton replied and gave him a meaningful look.
The progress in his relationship with Derek? What the hell was he going on about now? What bullshit mystical answer about fruition would explain why the Nemeton …
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck.
He spent the rest of the drive to the store two towns over completely in denial land. Why wouldn't he be when it was clear there was no way Deaton was right? What he had suggested – that was beyond ridiculous, incredibly stupid even!
Of course it was stupid and impossible, because he was taking precautions and he never forgot those, so there was no way this was happening to him. It was simply impossible. All the same, though, he guessed it couldn't hurt to check, if only so he could go back to pester Deaton about what really was making the Nemeton come back to life.
Because it wasn't him. Couldn't be him.
Not with the pills he was taking, not when he was sure that this time nobody was messing with them. They couldn't be safer than they already were, so Deaton's implication was simply impossible.
Still he felt like he was going to be sick any moment now when he finally parked his car and hurried into the store. He'd chosen one two towns over to avoid anyone recognising him; the last thing he needed now was someone asking the sheriff why his son was buying tests. That was not a conversation he was ready to have yet – if ever.
He kept his gaze trained to the tiles, ignoring the other shoppers, and went straight to the correct aisle. There, he wavered in front of the shelves, wondering which one would give him the most accurate result. Why did they even have so many brands in the first place? The deal was simple: the test just had to display a positive or a negative result. So why the hell did they have to have so many different brands for something as easy as that? That was just meant to give people even more stress than they were already experiencing, he was sure!
He stood there for several long minutes, progressively feeling more and more idiotic – and like everyone was staring at him, though the rational part of his brain told him he was just imagining that, because why would anyone care what he was doing as long as he didn't start shoplifting? – before he grabbed two boxes of a brand promising 99% accuracy which was good enough for him.
He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the old lady in front of him to finish paying – which naturally she had to do in cash and in small coins, because the universe wasn't merciful at all today.
When it was finally his turn, he just quirked a weak smile in response to the chirpy greeting of the cashier and watched her ring up the two boxes; his stomach turning into a leaden ball when he handed over the money.
"All right, you're all set. I hope you'll get the result you're hoping for!" she told him brightly, smiling friendly.
God, he didn't even know what he was hoping for. "Yeah, thanks," he smiled weakly and left the store, trying not to look like he'd just stolen something as he scurried back to his jeep.
The two thin boxes were thrown on the passenger seat without a glance before he started the jeep to drive home again. He'd cranked up the heating high, but even with the hot air blasting in his face, he still felt inexplicably cold. Maybe there was cold air sneaking into a crack? Probably through the window behind him; he knew he should have got that one fixed last summer.
He conveniently forgot that he'd never had issues with the heating before this winter – practically the only thing in the car that he hadn't had issues with, but that was neither here nor there.
Back at his house, he spent some time just staring at his steering wheel, focusing on his breathing to keep it slow and even, so he wouldn't sink deep into a panic attack. He hadn't had to use his breathing exercises in a while and that realisation only made him more sick; bile burning the back of his throat before he swallowed it back down.
Snatching the boxes from the seat, he pushed open the door and got out on unsteady legs. The short walk from the car to the front door seemed endless all of a sudden and he dropped his keys twice before he could finally push them into the lock.
Almost mechanically he got rid of his coat and his shoes, going upstairs after quickly checking his phone. Still two hours left before dad would come home from his shift.
It took him five tries before his brain finally absorbed the instructions on the box and then it was another five minutes before he could actually bring himself to open the boxes and use the tests. The timer on his phone was set for three minutes and then he just dropped down on the closed toilet seat, resolutely not checking the tests on the sink every five seconds like he wanted to.
His right leg started jiggling as he watched the numbers dwindle down slowly, dread lying heavy in the pit of his stomach. It was stupid to feel nervous; when he checked them, they would be negative after all, considering he took his pill every day on time. There was no way for the tests to be positive, because it was simply not possible.
That was what he kept telling himself up until the timer reached the end and alerted him that three minutes had passed by producing shrill beeps. He hurried to silence it, the shrill noise drilling into his skull, and shoved his phone in his pocket, standing up on weak legs. His bones seemed to have been replaced by rubber as he slowly shuffled the couple of steps towards the sink.
Feeling like he was going to throw up any second now – at least he was near a toilet this time – he picked up the sticks with trembling fingers and turned the screens towards the light so he could check them.
"One, two, three," he counted down and took a deep breath, finally checking the mini displays.
He stared at the two signs before snatching one of the boxes from where he'd dropped them in the sink, and hastily checked the back of it again, looking for the explanation of the signs. Sure, he'd read the instructions and the explanation of the signs before he'd used them, but just to be sure, be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him …
Blackness started creeping into the corners of his sight and dimly he was aware of how his breath was speeding up, becoming too loud and too quickly in the small bathroom, but he didn't care about that. Couldn't care about that when the results were staring rudely back at him, daring him not to believe them.
Somehow he managed to stumble into his bedroom without slamming into walls or tripping over his feet, which was a goddamn miracle with how unsteady and weak he felt right now. His ears were buzzing, his skin felt too tight and too hot at once, and he feared he was going to faint before he could sit down.
He didn't, though, managed to get onto his bed without crumpling through his legs, which was about the only thing he could be victorious about now. His phone was digging into his thigh and he struggled to get it out of his pocket, staring down at it once he finally had it. He needed … He didn't know what or who, but he just …. He couldn't be … Not now, not when his entire life had just been upended right in front of his eyes, just because of some damn fucking sticks, and he couldn't …
"You better be dying, Stilinski, because I'm up to my neck in assignments and none of my classmates are worth a damn," Lydia growled viciously.
Oh so he had dialled her then, that was … Well, he supposed somehow that would make sense? Although he hadn't even been aware that he'd been calling someone, so that was …
"Stiles?" Her ire disappeared in a flash, making place for worry. "Are you okay?"
"Lydia, I'm … I'm in deep shit," he choked out; a lump rapidly forming in his throat, making it harder to push the words out. He bit down hard on the side of his palm, like that would help but he needed something, something to distract him, and he tasted a hint of copper and rust when he broke through the skin.
"Tell me what's wrong," she ordered immediately.
"I'm pregnant."
Heavy silence on the other end of the call. In that silence it was like a dam suddenly broke down and the words poured out of him like a flood. "Knocked up, up the duff, bun in the oven, having a baby, I can't deal with this, this wasn't supposed to happen, but it is, and fuck, what's my dad going to say? What's Derek going to say? I'm fucked, so fucked, and it's not like this is my fault! I'm taking suppressants, why the hell aren't they working?! They're supposed to be doing their job, but obviously they aren't and now I'm in deep shit!" he yelled hysterically, pulling at his hair and barely registering the stinging pain accompanying that. "I'm so unbelievably fucked, Lydia, and I don't know what to do! What am I supposed to do now, this was never the plan! Not this soon, not this early, I can't, I really can't, I - "
"Stiles, don't faint on me now," Lydia cut him off sharply. "I'm booking the earliest flight back to you; I'll see you in five hours, try not to fall apart too much until I'm there."
Her order and the subsequent beeping noise signalling the call had been disconnected, shocked him into silence. He could only gape as he lowered his phone and stared at the screen, which dimmed after a short moment before turning completely black.
Not fall apart too much? A burst of hysterical laughter escaped him before he clamped his mouth shut, slamming a hand in front of it for good measure. Well, he could attempt not to completely lose his shit, he supposed.
Easier said than done.
"I'm sorry; you shouldn't have come all the way over here," Stiles apologised awkwardly.
Lydia didn't even spare him a glance as she sped past another car and just scoffed. "Stiles, sweetie, shut the hell up. Of course I should be here – who otherwise will make sure you don't drive yourself completely crazy? McCall?" She wrinkled her nose.
He wanted to come to his friend's defence, but well, to be honest, Scott wouldn't have managed to calm him down enough to get into a car and agree to a check-up with a private doctor. If anything he'd probably be panicking right along side Stiles' and while he appreciated the sympathy, that wouldn't help him.
Lydia's no-nonsense, don't bullshit with me attitude on the other hand was helping somewhat.
At least enough that he no longer felt like he was going to pass out any second now. He was still panicking – god knew that wouldn't stop any time soon – but he could at least function enough to answer her questions.
"And you haven't felt any nausea so far?" She tapped her nails against the steering wheel impatiently when they had to wait in front of a red light.
"No, nothing. I mean I had the stomach flu a little while ago, but that's not really the same as that whole morning sickness thing, right?" he replied nervously, rubbing the back of his left hand across his mouth.
"No, not exactly," she hummed and gunned it as soon as the light turned green. "And you're sure you didn't miss a single day of your prescription?"
"No. Ever since," he swallowed, "ever since Theo, I make sure to check my pills even if he is, you know, dead now. I didn't miss a single pill, I swear."
"I looked up the brand you're taking," she commented and of course she did; she was nothing if not thorough. "And it has one of the highest success rates of all suppressants. When taken like it should, there's zero possibility to end up pregnant."
"Yeah, that's why I was taking it, but apparently I'm the exception to the rule," he mumbled gloomily, looking out of the window. He turned his head surprised when she patted his hand gently.
"We'll figure out what happened," she promised. "For now, let's first find out just how far along you are and we'll go from there."
"Right," he said weakly.
One thing at a time.
Evening had already fallen by the time they left the doctor's practice. As they walked back to Lydia's car, the wind almost howling around them, Stiles tried to wrap his mind around what he'd seen in the doctor's office.
Lydia's private doctor was a female Beta around her mid forties. She had had the same no-nonsense bullshit as his friend, but had still been friendly throughout the entire examination, explaining step for step what she'd been doing and why. There had been no judgement in her gaze when he'd told her how old he was and why he was visiting her; he guessed in her profession she'd seen worse.
Her verdict when he'd been on the examination table, staring blankly at a fuzzy screen, had been unbidden, though: the tests were correct. He was pregnant, five weeks to be exact.
That meant that according to his calculations he'd ended up pregnant during the weekend he'd had sex for the first time. No wonder the Hale siblings had kept commenting about Derek's smell sticking to him.
That was his shitty luck apparently: he finally had sex with the guy he liked and then he ended up pregnant from the first time despite having taken all the precautions he could think of. Fuck his life seriously.
Hadn't it already been bad enough that he'd been targeted by a fucked up psycho before that bastard went and bit the dust? Now he had to deal with an unexpected baby as well?! What the hell had he done to the universe to deserve this nearly full year of bullshit?
"How did you actually know you had to take tests if you weren't feeling sick?" Lydia asked in a neutral voice when they sat in her car. "I've been wondering about that since you called me."
He breathed out slowly, resting his head back against the headrest. "I was visiting the Nemeton and when I touched one of the branches, it suddenly started sprouting leaves. I freaked out about that, went to Deaton, and he told me in his usual bullshit cryptic way that I might be better off taking some pregnancy tests."
"Ah."
Silence for a little while before she asked softly, "You have any idea yet what you're going to do now?"
"None whatsoever," he replied flatly. A part of him was still hoping he'd wake up any second now, proof that this was just one fucked up dream. No such luck of course.
"Well, you still have some time to think about it," she murmured uncharacteristically gentle, stroking a curl of her strawberry red hair back. Her eyes seemed to glow in the small overhead light.
He nodded. "Yeah …" He supposed his habit of ignoring things until they went away wouldn't quite work out in this case, though. Now he would actually have to confront it and decide what to do about it; he wasn't looking forward to that.
"I'll bring you back home, okay? Unless you want to go somewhere else?" she offered, starting the car.
"No, home's fine." Not like he had anywhere else to go. Well, he could probably go to … No, not tonight. Not when he was feeling this vulnerable, this hollowed out. He couldn't let the other one find about this, not yet anyway.
Not tonight.
Dad was home by the time Lydia dropped him off and he made up some vague excuse about having lost track of time when he'd been visiting the Nemeton. Dad was tired enough from pulling a long shift that he didn't question the late hour and they simply heated up some lasagne from the evening before as dinner.
He told his dad goodnight after finishing the dishes and practically fled upstairs to his room. The sticks he'd put in a small plastic bag, he hid in his wardrobe under a bunch of old clothes he never got around to throwing out. He'd get rid of the sticks when it was time to put the garbage outside to have it picked up; less chance of being caught by dad then. He knew he should tell the truth sooner rather than later, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet.
He'd tell him soon, just – not yet.
He went through the motions of getting ready for bed like a robot; mechanically brushing his teeth and washing his face before stripping off his clothes – studiously ignoring looking at himself in the mirror – and pulling on his pyjamas.
He went to bed a lot earlier than usual, simply because he didn't know what else to do now, but instead of lying awake for hours, the stress and exhaustion of the day caught up to him and he fell asleep before the clock even hit midnight.
Deaton was surprisingly more forthcoming with answers when he cornered the druid the next day.
"I suspect your lineage as an Elemental Creature might have something to do with your recent development," he mused aloud, tapping his fingers slowly on the examination table. His patient, a cat still in its cage, was watching his gloved hands with wary eyes and a threatening low growl.
"What does that mean?" Stiles asked blankly, hugging himself. The stench of disinfectant hanging in the air was tickling his nose, making him close to sneezing.
"Well, I cannot say for sure, of course," Deaton said mildly, setting out a needle and a small vial with some clear liquid, "seeing as there are far too few Elemental Creatures for any studies to have been conducted, but I suspect that your Elemental heritage had some sort of influence on your suppressants. It is perhaps possible that it weakened the effect of them."
"But I didn't have this problem before. Otherwise Theo would have - " he cut himself off before he finished his sentence, not ready yet to rankle up that particular part of the shitfest his life had been the past year.
"While it is true you have been an Elemental Creature from birth, it didn't become active until you bonded with the Nemeton," Deaton said contemplatively. "I'd say before you found the Nemeton in your search for safety, your Elemental heritage was dormant to the point you were considered a fox like other shifters of your kind. When you sought out the Nemeton for help, however, and bonded with it, it made your Elemental side surge up and take over. Having that side awakened might have interfered with the suppressants you started taking afterwards."
He side-eyed him when Stiles remained silent. "However, this is all pure speculation on my part. I could be entirely off the mark and you might have just the misfortune of having an accident with the suppressants. I cannot confirm either way."
"Right, of course, thanks anyway," Stiles muttered distracted and turned around to leave.
"I'd be careful of who I'd bring around the Nemeton now if I were you, Mister Stilinski, for how long you choose to remain quiet about this," Deaton said mildly. "I imagine the branches suddenly sprouting to life due to your presence would be difficult to explain otherwise."
"Right." He nodded mindlessly and left Deaton to his vet duties, driving straight home again. When he got there and checked his phone, he had received two messages.
Lydia: 'I'm here whenever you want to talk'
Man, he must have looked really pathetic yesterday for her to actually sent this text. He shot a quick 'Thanks, I will' back and then checked the next one, which was from Derek.
'Do you want to spend the evening together?'
Gnawing on his lip, his stomach squirming uncomfortably, he replied, 'No, sorry, too much homework'
He might not be able to ignore this whole situation this time, but nobody said he couldn't procrastinate for as long as possible.
AN2: I guess it was pretty obvious what was happening with how the previous chapter ended, but now you know for sure: the MPreg part is finally starting! It's starting in all its glorious angst! *claps hands* And yes, Stiles is definitely going to regret his habit of procrastinating in the next chapter.
Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me!
I hope to see you all back in the next chapter!
Cuddles
Melissa
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