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20. ARE YOU EATING MY PICKLES!?

Stiles would happily like to say that things stayed the same after the pack found out about Little Sourwolf – Derek had growled at the name – but everything had just gotten worse. Suddenly, Stiles found that he couldn't lift anything by himself. Not because he was incapable of doing it, no – because his stupid, overprotective friends and his mate thought he'd injure himself and the baby lifting a spoon. He was all for not having to lift really heavy things – he never did that anyway, because why would he when he had friends with super strength? – but he could lift light things. He didn't get when they were being so overprotective.

He got why they were when another pack came to town. If another pack was on territory, it was their instinct to protect the humans of the pack; especially if one was pregnant. And he got why they wouldn't let him tag along to take down supernatural beast, because even he knew that it was dangerous for the baby. The rule that had been made a little over a month ago didn't help. They just didn't listen when Stiles told them that he could this and that by himself without help, or that he could at least pee by himself.

It was a Wednesday when he decided it was enough.

Erica and Jackson had brought him breakfast in bed, and while he knew they were just trying to be nice, he had wanted to get out of bed and actually get some fresh air. Eating quickly, and clutching his stomach when it lurched a little, he got out of bed, stormed past the two blonde pack members and down the stairs and out the door. Sighing, he sat down on the porch steps.

Coming back in, he met Derek at the bottom of the stairs, who proceeded to tell him off for going outside without telling him, and that it wasn't just him anymore, and that he needed to be more careful. Stiles had stormed past him as well, took a pee in the toilet and then sat and sulked while everyone else went out to train.

When they had all come back inside, they had practically ignored Stiles when he told them he wanted to go out, and started eating sandwiches. That was when Stiles noticed it. His eyes narrowed at the jar in the middle of the table, and Scott froze reaching in, his arm outstretched. Stiles was like one of those cartoon characters; if it was possible, he would have steam bellowing out his ears as everyone in the pack turned to look at him.

"Are you eating my pickles!?" Stiles exclaimed, rushing in and snatching the jar away from them before they could steal anymore. "Right, everyone get comfortable because this is going to take a while."

"I'm going to take a whazz," Jackson said, standing up.

Stiles glowered at him. "SIT DOWN!"

Jackson, not used to Stiles looking like he was going to murder someone, sat straight down as everyone gawped.

"Thank you," Stiles said, before starting to rant, "I get that this is a new thing, me being pregnant. I get that you've all done research and know what I can and cannot do. And I love you all for it, really, I do. But there's a line between being protective and being over-bearing, and do you wanna know which one you are?"

"Overbearing?" Isaac offered.

Stiles glared. "Yes, thank you, Isaac. I think everyone got that." Everyone was silent. "You guys won't even let me get out of bed anymore because apparently, it's too much strain. I've been ignored when I've told you guys I want to go outside, and I've had these stupid pregnancy vitamins shoved at me every five hours. I've had it! You remember that rule we made? About not treating Stiles any differently then you usually would?"

Blank faces blinked up at him.

"Of course you don't! Because anything that I say doesn't matter anymore. Guys, I'm not going to die if I set one foot out the front door. I'm pregnant; I don't have stage three stomach cancer. I'm just coming up to being two months pregnant. I'm not eight months about to pop. I am allowed to go outside, alone, I can pee by myself, and walked up and down the stairs. I don't need all this fussing right now, okay? I'm still just Stiles. The only thing I can't do is have coffee. And lift heavy things. I have agreed to no meetings with new packs, and no tagging along to take down supernatural creatures, so can you just respect my wishes? Please?"

"And what are your wishes, Stiles?" Lydia asked.

"My wishes are that you let me do things my way until I have to waddle to walk, or the fact that I have to pee every five minutes, okay? And that I'm allowed to go to school, and that I'm allowed to go visit my dad and Mama McCall, and I'm allowed to do all that, alone. I don't want to be ignored, especially not about this," Stiles said, "And if you can't respect that, then, I'm moving in with my dad for the remainder of this pregnancy and you guys do not get dubbed uncles and aunts."

A gasp came from Scott. "B-b-but you said I'd always be Uncle Scotty to your sproggs."

"Then respect my wishes and don't ignore me," Stiles said firmly. He looked down towards Derek and glared at the alpha. "And don't you think you're getting let off for all the time you've turned down sex, and all the times you've ranted that it's not just me."

"But, Stiles-" Derek started to whine – though he'd deny it was a whine later.

Stiles shook his head. "Don't wanna hear it."He was still clutching at his pickles. "And nobody touches my pickles, all right? You see pickles in the cupboard, don't eat them. They. Are. Mine."

"Yes, Stiles," They all chorused.

Stiles nodded happily as he excused himself from his dad's kitchen to use the bathroom, alone, without having any clingy pack members with him to help him to pee.

"Stiles, do you want some help to go with the toilet?" His dad called.

Stiles figured he'd let his dad off – this was his first grandbaby.

The pack were reminded of Stiles' wishes because they were typed in bold, and put up next to the rules.

As for the rules, the newest rule was not to touch Stiles' pickles, and nobody in the right state of mind touched them. Not even Derek.

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