inkandblade

 

Stiles just manages to extract himself gracefully from the entirely surprising, yet completely welcome, weirdness that was Alpha Derek Hale introducing himself by invoking an age-old courting tradition that went out of style with the horse and cart. 

 

He’s not really sure how Coach is involved, but Derek seemed to be just as shocked at the proceedings as Stiles, and Coach was actually eating popcorn while it all happened. Everyone thinks that the little popping-machine behind the counter is because Finstock likes to catch the daily Lifetime Matinee, but Stiles is, after several weeks with his ass planted in the corner of Grind Goal, beginning to conclude that Coach likes watching more than just made for TV movies.

 

He and Derek are apparently starring in Coach’s most recent favorite feature, and Stiles is finding that he doesn’t actually mind. 

 

After the whole coin-in-a-cake thing they’d introduced themselves, gotten over the fact that Derek was a deputy and therefore Stiles’ dad was his boss, and despite the antiquated courting gesture managed to move their acquaintanceship into the current century by swapping phone numbers. Then Stiles’ calendar reminder had beeped and he’d made his excuses. 

 

Derek, who Stiles now recognizes had been coming to the coffee shop on his way home from the swing-shift, looked grateful to have actually spoken to each other and swapped details, but also to be able to go home to what was likely a well deserved rest. 

 

Stiles is trying, as he walks to his appointment with Deaton, to not think about the fact that Derek Hale — the most attractive Alpha Stiles has ever met in real life — is going home to go to bed with the scent of a not-long out of heat omega in his lungs. 

 

The smell of medicines in Deaton’s office is enough to cut any dirty thoughts off in an instant, though, and it fills Stiles’ nose in a rush as he opens the door.

 

There are only a few moments between the bell jingling and Deaton appearing from behind his not-actually-magic curtain.

 

“Welcome, Mx Stilinski.” He gestures Stiles over to the stools in front of the counter, and waves a lazy hand at the front door. The sign flips from open to occupied.

 

“Thank you, Mx Deaton.” The stools are hard and cold, and Stiles always wonders if they’re that way in places like this to discourage lingering. Morell’s were the same.

 

“I trust your heat was without issue? Is there anything you need to discuss? Mx. Morell sent me your updated records. The time you spent with your aunt seemed to treat you well physically, at least.” Deaton leaves the last comment with a raised eyebrow instead of a raised word. It’s still a question, but not quite as intrusive.

 

Stiles takes a breath deeper than he thought he would and feels relieved when he exhales. He knew that Deaton had recommended time with an omega relative back when he’d properly presented, and that his dad hadn’t wanted to send him. Stiles now understands that the young Sheriff really didn’t have a choice if he wanted what was best for everyone. Young male omega’s heats and cycles are much more complicated than young female’s ones, and far, far less predictable. Stiles had hated leaving at first, he’d cried and cursed and sworn that he’d never come back and, well. It hadn’t taken long for him to get why his dad wouldn’t have really coped. 

 

He takes another deep, but far less tense, breath in. 

 

“Aunt Noa was wonderful. Fourteen year old me wasn’t happy, but I’m glad she was able to step in to help.” He shifts in his seat and finally puts his knapsack on the stool next to him. “As for this past heat, it was okay. Mostly normal.”

 

The eyebrow lift is back in lieu of an actual question. Stiles isn’t going to let Deaton get away with it, however. If he wants an answer, he is going to have to ask. 

 

Deaton quirks a smile before saying, in a tone that says he’s got connections and sources that will never be revealed, “I’m sure you know perfectly well what, or who, increased the intensity of your heat-dreams and their associated manifestations, of course.”

 

He glances at Stiles’ wrist. Stiles follows his gaze and realizes that he’s been rubbing at his lyca-band. He grips it a little harder and puts both hands into his lap, but doesn’t really try to hide them.

 

“I’ve just been given a courting token.” Stiles thinks about showing Deaton, but decides that his dad should see it first. 

 

This time both eyebrows go up, but are then hastily pulled back down. “By a wolf.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, then.” Deaton reaches under the counter and pulls out a large, leather-bound book with Records embossed on the front in curlicue font. “Just as I trust you understand your own cycle and the ups and downs associated with outside influences, I’m certain you know what your options are regarding suppressants and the like.” He finds the page he is looking for, and Stiles sees his own name written across the top. “However, a quick refresher is never a bad thing.”

 

Stiles doesn’t disagree. 

 

“Yep.”

 

Deaton blinks at that, then picks up a pencil and begins bringing it to a point with a little metal sharpener. “Morrel’s prescription for you should be done in another three weeks. You have until exactly nine days before that ends to let me know your decision, as compounding some things takes that long, and skipping even one day would not be advisable if you’re dating or courting.”

 

Stiles wants to pick up his bag and put it on his lap, but instead he just keeps rubbing at his bracelet. He hums and says, “I can keep going with what I’m on, the straight suppressant, or I can move to a suppressant-cum-contraceptive, or just a contraceptive, or stop with the meds altogether, yes?”

 

“Yes.” Deaton writes the date in pencil in his book. “Ceasing all medication completely is unwise if you’re not bonded. A contraceptive for humans is simple, but one that will also prevent insemination by a Wolf is far more delicate. You know, also, that the lyca-strength one makes unbonded-omegas smell quite unpleasant, yes?”

 

Stiles snorts. “Everyone knows, don’t they? Two omega girls at the high school I went to were from one of those anti-Wolf cults. They got put on the suppressant and lyca-strength pill days into their first heat, apparently. Every week all the unbonded omegas from their group would get walked, separately, past some poor, unsuspecting Wolf — just to make sure the Alphas’ noses would still wrinkle up in disgust.”

 

Deaton nods. “It’s a horrendous practice. We very are lucky to not have any such believers in Beacon Hills anymore.” The Argents had been run out of town with the equivalent of pitchforks when Stiles was a still a baby. “Do you have any questions about your choices?”

 

Stiles thinks for a moment, and really, there’s only one thing he’s never really been able to get a straight answer to. Thankfully the same magics that let Deaton compound and concoct Wolf strength contraceptives also provide a seal of confidentiality to their discussions. No one will ever know he asked, so...

 

“Is it true that the first, um, coupling between an alpha Wolf and a newly-bitten omega Mate can’t produce a pregnancy?” 

 

Most people might snigger, but Deaton simply answers the question. 

 

“It’s generally so, yes. When a human is bitten into a Pack, there is generally time for their body to transform in all the ways it will before any kind of sexual congress takes place. However, when an alpha Wolf bites their chosen Mate into their Pack — omega or beta — it’s usually done as part of sexual congress, so the lycan-transformation isn’t always complete when conception takes place. Any possible pregnancy from that coupling is treated by the human body as an invasion, and thus ‘healed away’ in the same way arthritis or asthma or food-poisoning is during the change. Pregnancy at Mate-Bite is possible, but very, very improbable.”

 

Stiles takes a moment to digest what he’s just been told. It jives with most of what he’s been able to find, and it’s consistent with what he understands medically. Taking just suppressants lessens the chance of baby making, but only by about fifty percent if he has sex with a human and about twenty-five percent if does it with a Wolf. Of course, there’s also the fact that Wolf sperm eat condoms for breakfast. And, while he can get knocked up by a Wolf, such a pregnancy won’t usually last more than a few weeks. His human body will treat it like an invading virus and he’ll get horrendously sick and apparently smell like woe and pain while it’s happening: he can’t have a Wolf baby with his human womb, but he can get physically and emotionally screwed over by accidentally getting in the wolfy-family way. 

 

It makes sense, then, if his human body treats it like an infection, that the Bite process would for all intents and purposes purge a newly formed zygote from his body. 

 

“So, if I want to date a Wolf and have them not gag every time we’re in the same room, then taking suppressants and keeping everyone’s pants on is the best way to make sure there are no pre-bonding impregnations.”

 

Deaton scrawls something entirely less legible than the date he’d written before into the book. It’s upside down, and looks like runes, and Stiles really, really wishes he could cultivate an the air of enigma with what basically amounts to a few hand-wavy magic things and bad penmanship.

 

“Alpha Hale will be very pleased with your decision, I’m sure.”

 

Well, that and the slight mind-reading thing that Deaton has going, of course. Though Stiles suspects that’s more to do with him buying a daily afternoon coffee and cake  from Coach.

 

 

 

 

December January Prompts List/Series: AO3, Pillowfort, Dreamwidth