It takes five minutes.
Five minutes of the most awkwardly-aimed peeing of his life—and okay, yes, maybe trying to do all six tests at once wasn't his brightest idea—and he's back in his bedroom. The tests are laid out in a neat row on the bedspread in front of him ('business ends' all covered with the provided plastic caps, and wrapped in toilet paper besides, because eeeeeewwwww), and he watches as a little, bright blue "plus" sign swims into view on the end of every one.
He lets out a soft, strangled little breath.
Holy shit. Holy shit. He'd known—he'd known the pack wouldn't have acted the way they had been if they hadn't been sure, but this…this he can see with his own two eyes.
He just sits there, gasping and dizzy with the enormity of what he's looking at, some mix of emotions bubbling in his chest that's almost too crazed and chaotic to identify. He can't—he doesn't even know how to process this. His thoughts haven't run themselves in circles like this in years.
"You, uh…you don't look very happy."
He's been living with werewolves for too long to be startled by voices and the people attached to them just appearing out of nowhere anymore, but he shoots Scott a mildly irritated look. His friend shrugs sheepishly, stepping into the bedroom fully. "You left the back door unlocked," he says by way of explanation, shifting tentatively from foot to foot, as though unsure of his welcome.
"Did you think I was kidding about the BB gun thing?" Stiles asks.
"Hey, I didn't follow you! I just knew this was where you'd be," Scott defends himself, and then his eyes and mouth go kind of soft at the corners. "I was worried. And…sorry, man, but you can't just run off by yourself like that. Not now. Everyone was going nuts."
Stiles regards his best friend through narrowed eyes for a moment more, before sighing heavily and waving Scott over to the bed. Scott grins crookedly and plops down beside him on the mattress.
"I can't believe…I mean, I knew I could. I got The Talk from my dad and my doctor, and let me tell you, there are few things as traumatizing as listening to some sixty year old dude explain sex between two guys to you…" Stiles trails off, forcibly biting his lips together to stem the flow of babble that wants to spew forth. Scott doesn't say anything, just waits patiently for Stiles to sort out what point he actually wants to make.
"Just…when I started the Adderall, they told us it would probably mess that up for me. Uh…you know…the hormones and stuff. I didn't care. I mean, I was fourteen! Why the hell would I care that it might make it harder for me to have kids someday? I figured I was gonna marry Lydia and she'd be the one worrying about it."
Scott chuckles a little, scooting closer so that their knees are brushing. "Does Derek know? That you can get pr-pregnant, I mean." Stiles has to laugh a little at the way Scott stumbles over the word…like they're back in middle school health class, blushing and giggling stupidly whenever anyone says 'penis.'
"Of course he knows," Stiles says chidingly. Like Stiles would keep something like that from the person he loves most in the world. Like Stiles would keep something like that from Derek, when he knows family and pack are sacred in Derek's eyes…especially with the losses he's suffered. His shoulders slump a little. "But I was serious about the medications…practically anything can throw a guy's system out of whack, even worse than it does for girls, and the longer you're on anything, the worse it gets. I asked…I asked my doctor after Derek and I, well, after we moved in together, if I'd still be able to have kids. She wasn't very optimistic."
His doctor had actually told him, very gently and very sympathetically, that while nothing was impossible, the years of being on medication had probably dropped his chances of conceiving down to almost nil. Adderall wasn't really known for causing fertility issues in women, but for men everything was different. Any type of long-term medication tended to cause problems, and those problems usually persisted even after the medication was stopped. It had about broken his heart to put the idea of having children that were theirs, made up of both of them, on the table for Derek and then have to pretty much take it away in the same breath.
"Well. Guess you proved her wrong," Scott says blithely, and suddenly Stiles has to swallow, hard.
"It's not that easy," he says slowly. "I mean…I mean, I know why Lydia and the others didn't tell me right off the bat. I can't be more than a few weeks along. I mean, no way in hell Derek would've left if he had smelled it on me, so it must've just become, you know, noticeable. Statistically…statistically…" He can't get the words out.
He knows that back when he first got tested, male pregnancies accounted for less than five percent of recorded live births worldwide. It said so right on those glossy, ridiculous pamphlets that they'd read. He knows that percentage hasn't gone up all that much in the ensuing years. It's still unusual, still incredibly uncommon. Men who have this particular genetic quirk still have even lower chances of conceiving and carrying to term than women do, and the early miscarriage rate…well. Yes, he knows why the pack kept it to themselves when they figured it out.
"Dude," Scott says, his voice earnest and urgent as he reaches up and grips Stiles' shoulder. "This kid has you for a dad. It's got you and Derek for dads. You really think statistics are gonna mean anything?"
Times like this, Stiles remembers exactly why Scott is and always will be his best friend.
Scott grins at him, wide, and goofy, shaking him a little. "You're gonna be a dad, man! Oh my God, I'm gonna be an uncle!"
And it hits him.
He's having a baby. He's having a baby. A little person…a little person that's half him and half Derek. Holy motherfucking shit, they're going to be parents! He feels an answering grin breaking across his face like sunshine, and then he and Scott are both laughing wildly. The crazy, frenzied swirl of emotion bubbles up in his chest, stealing his breath, and he finally recognizes it for what it is: pure, incandescent joy.
They drive back to the house together, stopping at a drive-thru for the dinner neither of them ate. Scott gets the strangest look on his face when Stiles starts ordering burgers, fries and milkshakes, shaking his head slightly when Stiles pauses and raises a questioning eyebrow.
"Nothing, nothing…just…I kind of feel like I don't want you eating that crap. Like, really don't want you eating it."
Stiles groans, thumping his head lightly against his steering wheel. "Would it help if I get the chicken salad wrap and a bottled water?" he asks fatalistically, his voice muffled against the horn. Scott purses his lips a moment, before nodding sadly.
"Yeah. Yeah, it would. Otherwise, I think I might have to jump out of the car and hunt you down a fresh rabbit or something."
"Salad wrap it is! Awesome, awesome salad wrap! I love salad wraps!" He pays for the food and wonders disconsolately if this is how his dad has felt all the years Stiles has been harping on him to eat right. They are halfway back to the house when another, horrifying thought occurs to him. "Okay, just warning you. If Derek tries to bring me dead animals in our bedroom, I'm staying with you and your mom until the baby's born."
He's pretty sure the utterly besotted grin that breaks out on his face when he says 'baby' ruins the effect of the threat.
"Oh hey, none of them told Derek, right?" he asks, as he pulls into the long drive that leads back to the house. He supposes he can deal with practically their entire family knowing he was going to have a baby before he did…but he really wants to see Derek's face when he finds out. He really, really wants to share that moment with his mate, he realizes.
Beside him, Scott snorts. "Did you hear any sonic booms over the town when he broke the sound barrier to get back here? Of course they didn't tell him," he says dryly.
Stiles just grins.
The pack is trying and utterly failing to look casual when he and Scott enter the living room. Jackson clearly turned the TV to a random sports channel mere seconds before they opened the front door (Stiles knows this because no matter how studiously he, Isaac, and Boyd are pretending to watch it, none of them like or even understand curling). Erica and Lydia have clearly been cleaning the kitchen to within an inch of its life in an effort to get back on his good side (Stiles knows this because the only time they ever willingly pick up a dish rag is when they've done something they know has pissed him off, because everyone is well aware that Stiles loves to cook and hates to clean, and taking over KP is the fastest route to his forgiveness). They are all five darting quick, barely-there looks at him as they pretend to go about doing things casually like they aren't worried (even Jackson), and Stiles can tell Isaac is about thirty seconds away from whining his distress. Even so, he lets them stew another few moments, before smiling broadly at them.
"Just so you know, I'm totally milking this for all it's worth, now," he says brightly, and just like that the tension breaks.
His pack look at each other, and then they're swarming him, practically lifting him off his feet as he's passed around for hugs and congratulations and (in Jackson's case) manly slaps on the back and inquiries as to whether or not this means they can start calling him "Mom" un-ironically.
And as soon as Derek gets home, Stiles is pretty sure his life is going to be just about as close to perfect as it's ever going to be.