What's happening to me? - Sterek - MPreg

He's Back

He grabbed my hands and I squeezed them, giving him a faint smile.

"Are you okay?" Genuine concern spread across his face. His green eyes looking intensely into mine, searching for any sign of pain or hurt.

"I'm fine," I waved it off but he didn't relax.

"Stiles. I know you're not fine." He pushes.

"Right. I forgot. You can smell it on me," I say coldly. Everyone asking me if I was "okay" was really starting to piss me off. 'No! Of course I'm not freaking okay! I'm scared out of my mind and I hurtled everywhere!'

He looked hurt at the harshness in my voice, and I regretted it. "Stiles," he lowered his voice to a perr. "Even if I couldn't smell it on you, I'd still know. Your my mate. I can see it in the way you move, in the way you talk, in your body language. I know, because I love you."

I looked up at him with teary eyes. He was right. And I was being so cold with everyone. I felt bad. "I love you too."

He smiled and wrapped his arms protectively around me. He bowed his head and kissed me softly. It was warm but sad at the same time.

I pulled away and smiled slightly up at him.

Our moment was broken when Scott came bursting through the doors. We both turned to him in surprise and Derek took a step back from me, feeling Scott's glare.

"What is it?" Derek asked harshly.

Scott glared back at him, then turned to me. "It's Deaton. He's here."

My heart quickened. It felt like it was going to beat out if my chest. "Okay," I gulped, taking Derek's hand. "I'm coming."

We follow Scott out of the room hand in hand. Deaton's standing on the opposite side of the examination table while the rest of the pack is surrounding him, eager hear some good news.

I push through the pack letting go of Derek's hand so I could talk directly to Deaton. "It's good to have you back," I smile nervously.

"Good to be back," he swallows, flicking a fake smile.

Something's not right. I can tell. He's acting strange, like he doesn't what to tell me something. "So... Did you find anything?" I ask hopefully, trying to lighten the mood a little. But what happens next confirmed my fears.

Deaton looks up at me. Looking me straight in the eyes. I search his eyes for a sigh. Any sigh. Hope, understanding, recognition. But all I find is sadness and failure. I understood what he is saying without the words, I don't need them. He's saying that he found nothing. Three months, and nothing. No cure. Not even a lead. Nothing.

My breath catches in my throat and I back away from the others, their eyes on me. I stumble further away from them and Derek catches my arm. My breathing becomes rapid and forced. My knees weaken and my whole body starts to shake.

"Stiles, what's wrong? Deaton, what's happening to him!?" Derek frantically demands.

Deaton walks over to me and takes one of my shaking hands, Derek still holding me up. "He's having a panic attack," Deaton explains and Derek's eyes widen in shock. My rapid breathing continues but no oxygen is getting to my starved lungs. I feel like I'm suffocating. "Quickly. Sit him down in that chair." Derek nods and walks me over to the chair in the corner of the room. I've had panic attacks before but they're never fun. I sit down in the chair and put my head between my knees. Or as close to as I can without squishing my belly.

Deaton kneels down in front of me and Derek stands behind him with a helpless, scared look on his face. The rest in the pack crowd around, watching the events unfold.