Chapter Text
Deaton’s staring at him like something horrible happens.
It’s true, to some extent. Stiles himself is neither recovered from shock, but hey, it’s not polite to stare at people like that, please don’t let everyone turn into Derek Creeper Hale during his semesters, one’s more than enough. And he still wants to yell at Derek because of things, lots of things, for today, it’s mainly the very thing he comes to Deaton about.
“Stiles?” Deaton says his name like the “s” at the end is a question mark, eyes widen.
“Yeah, me. The one and only dear me. I need your help.”
“Stiles as a human should be able to pass the doorframe.”
“Stiles as a human plus something else cannot, apparently.”
He sighs.
Deaton surveys him for a whole minute.
“You sound very Stiles.”
“Because I am Stiles?” He rolls his eyes, “Can we stop using my name as an adjective? It’s not okay. It’s rude. Very rude and we are both adults and we know better to be rude, Dr. Deaton, and Stiles doesn’t like to stand in the aisle like a fool. I need…” He pales a little all of a sudden, “I need to sit down. Please let me in.”
Deaton doesn’t speak. Or before Deaton can speak, Stiles has to run to the toilet down the aisle. AGAIN. He thinks it should only happen in the morning! Why do they call it morning sickness otherwise? It’s so unfair and his body feels numb. And tired.
He should be tired, though. He drives for hours.
Shambling back to the door, he resists the desire to lean on the wall (it feels strange. Like there’s a DON’T TOUCH sign on it) and barely holds himself up, gazing at Deaton the Silencer.
It’s worse than the normal Deaton the Riddle, he decides, and he really needs to sit down. Or better, lie down. He needs to get it over with before doing so, though.
Deaton doesn’t give him the invitation in speak. To his surprise, Stiles finds himself get half-carry in by the Vet before he collapses on the ground, sitting in the armchair with a cup of hot tea in hands, zoning out a bit. Only Deaton speaks does he come back to himself and forms the words of the other man’s saying:
“What happened, Stiles?”
He sort of mutes at once, doesn’t figure out where to begin. He tries. Tries really hard- what he manages, is not much, but totally enough to his defence.
“I slept with Derek. I have not-so-morning sickness.”
Deaton turns to collect tools for full examination without a word.
Stiles knows already.
He just wishes he know what to do.
Practically Deaton knows nothing. It’s not like he knows more about werewolves than Stiles already does (‘kay, maybe he does, but he never gives answers and Stiles? King of Research. Who always does his homework.)- Stiles is pregnant (officially confirmed then), it happens to male werewolves if they do the knotting as well as females, no big deal, only that Stiles is a human boy.
“But, ” says the Vet, “You’re the spark.”
Sounds like it can be an answer to everything, and the answer explains itself pretty well (which is not, at all).
It’s been a while, the vivid change of words, from “a spark” to “the spark”. At first he takes it as nothing more than a casual use of phrase, then it gradually becomes something Deaton means. Like, it’s permanent, it’s more a concept than nickname, and it’s unique. Stiles is unique in his own way, all his lifetime, and it feels like he is when it comes to the supernatural world, being The Spark.
Shame’s that he can’t find anything on the Internet and the only source he can rely and trust on is Alan Mysterious-I-am-but-an-Vet Deaton. Sometimes, sometimes he really wants to shoot the man, if he were not on their side, because it’s damned annoying. He wants to do it now.
He’s a pregnant w… man, it’s only logical to be bad-tempered.
“So, ” he tells himself to be civil and not a bad example to the baby (mom instincts or what, isn’t it too soon?), “It’s magic.”
“Not exactly, Stiles. ” Deaton holds his gaze, “It’s you.”
It’s totally not his fault that he punches Deaton in the nose, he doubts it barely hurt. Deaton’s not mad, though. He also assures he would not tell anyone because it’s not his news to break, then drives Stiles back to the dorm personally, with a pile of Whoops! Ready to be a Mom? -ish books dumped on Stiles’ bedside desk. Stiles thinks about arguing all the stuff could be find online but he’s too deep in exhaustion, so he let it be.
Looks like the damage of weak punch still does its work.
Makes his point soundly, at least.
The second month into pregnancy, he passes out on Jackson.
Ironic, huh? In a pack of teenagers it has to be Jackson that choose the same Uni as Stiles does, and throughout the whole campus Stiles somewhat finds that it is safe around Jackson because he smells like home (and/or the pack), so he passes out in a manly manner. On Jackson. A freaking-out Jackson.
Damn his life.