Guys, after lurking in this forum for months, I have finally gotten up the courage to post.

WARNING: this is mPreg. If this offends you in any way, you have been warned and please do not continue further. Thank you.

"Maybe aliens do exist. I mean, if werewolves can exist, then why can't aliens? That would be so cool! Superman would be real! And Thor, too. Do aliens exist? Cause that would be so awesome if they did." Stiles babbled energetically from the passenger side of Derek's Camaro. Derek wondered how he could be so unaffected when an hour earlier he had been vomiting violently into the toilet.

"Stiles!" Derek barked. He only had so much patience. He was already on edge about the fact that his mate was sick. He needed Stiles to worry about himself as well. His scowl got deeper. The kid had no love for himself, only the people surrounding him. His self-worth was virtually non-existent. "God, you should be worried, too! You could be dying! I can't lose you."

For once, Stiles was flabbergasted. His mouth mimicked that of a fish for a few moments, before the words came. "I am worried, Derek. I'm worried that there will be something really wrong with me, but thinking about it won't help us. I know you're worried, but I'm strong. I will do everything in my power to stay with you. I survived that hunter's shot, didn't I?"

It was true. Months earlier, Stiles had taken a bullet to his abdomen. There had been so much blood, but he had pulled through in the end. Not without a nasty scar though. Derek hung his head. He was a terrible mate. First, he had let him get hurt, and then sick. His knuckles turned white, and his car rolled to a stop on the abandoned strip of highway. He needed to hold Stiles, to feel him alive in his arms. It was the only way he knew to reassure himself that everything was okay. Sour-wolf that he was, he constantly craved the touch of his mate.

Stiles yelped as he felt himself being pulled over to the passenger side. He was roughly deposited in Derek's lap and then surrounded by arms that were as set in place as brick walls. "Derek- what?" I thought we were going to see Deaton, not have a roadside cuddle." The arms only got tighter, and a whimper was stifled against his neck. "Oh. Oh! Yeah, okay, I get it. You need this right now, huh? I promise you, Derek, everything will be fine. So I'm just going to sit here now. Stuck on your lap. While we're stopped in the middle of the road. Which my Dad would totally give us a ticket for. Yup."

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." It's blunt and to the point of being rude, but Stiles could care less. He could feel the silent chuckle against his frame, and the scowl lessens from where Derek's forehead met his shoulder. Derek loved his voice- not that he would ever admit it, but Stiles knew. When you were dating a silent, glowering, hunk of meat, you had to learn to read microscopic changes in expression.

"So, do you think I could possibly get back to my side of the car? Not that this car is in anyway mine. It's just, you know, that I always sit in the passenger seat. And, uh, now I'm on your lap. And you're not letting me leave. Did you just growl? I'm just going to shut up now. That sounds like a great idea. Yup. Shutting up." And just like that he's facing the windshield of Derek's car from the right side, in his own seat. Sometimes he wonders if Derek moves that fast just to freak him out. Because that's the reason his heart skips a beat, not that I makes him totally uncomfortable down there. Except now it's making his stomach churn. He wonders if his face is going green because Derek is staring at him funny.

"Stiles, you okay?" Except, Stiles doesn't have time to answer him. When he opens his mouth, he finds himself fumbling for the door handle and leaning over to throw up what little breakfast he had managed to shove down his throat that morning. He ended up on his knees just outside the car, whimpering with every dry heave that contorted his torso.

Derek was by his side in a heartbeat, worry evident on his usually blank face. His hands are rubbing over Stiles back, and caressing the back of his neck. After Stiles was done, he pulled him into his arms, face dark and troubled, and pulled him into the back seat. After making sure Stiles was comfortably spread out, he reached to the front of the Camaro to grab a Poland Springs water bottle.

"Drink."

"Yeah." Stiles voice was hoarse, and his throat burned. The water felt like liquid relief. As it went down, the taste of his regurgitated food left, and he could begin to feel normal again. He knew that the strong muscles the locked around his torso that Derek was not going to let it go.

"You're not okay." He could feel the desperation rolling of the larger man. He wanted to comfort him, and tell him that it was just the stomach flu, or a virus, but he wouldn't listen. After losing the majority of his family, Derek clung to the things he loved with wild abandon. His instinct to protect his mate was in full gear. Stiles caved in, and decided to move the dead air sitting in the car.

"Why don't we head towards Deaton's place, now?"

Derek began to climb out of the back seat, but when his mate started to follow he held him back. "No. Stay- lay down." He then continued towards the driver's seat, going around the front of the car. Stiles could clearly see the murderous scowl displayed on his boyfriend's face.

"Yes, sir, caveman, sir," He muttered under his breath. If Derek heard him- which he probably did- he didn't acknowledge it. After he felt the car smoothly begin to move beneath him, he rested the back of his head against the cool glass of the tinted window. As Derek broke the speed limit- another thing his Dad would give them a ticket for- he sighed and closed his eyes as he waited to confront his reality. After being sick for a week, and strictly refusing to go to the doctor, it felt strange to finally be in the car. He had a funny feeling in the pit of stomach as they moved, like the news he was about to receive was going to change everything.