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28 weeks
Derek had found himself breathless midway through the night, feeling like his lungs were being squashed as he tried to sleep – he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.
The bags underneath his eyes were drooping further than they ever had and were the deepest shade of purple he’d ever seen.
He’d officially deciding he wasn’t going to ever leave the house again, feeling like he had a bowling ball for a belly and swollen feet the size of his head.
He’d even put himself on best rest, never wanting to moving again from the warm and comforting bed he had, that and he wanted to be in bed for as long as possible, hoping it would persuade his mind to sleep.
Rubbing his sore belly, he sighed.
Maybe he was losing his mind or maybe he was dying. He didn’t know, just wanted all of the painful twinges and symptoms to disappear.
He pushed himself up from his bed with a heave and slid his glasses on, yawning. Thudding his way down the stairs, he froze, sensing a presence in the house.
“Hello?” He called out, making his way to the kitchen.
Parrish stood by the cooker, holding up rubbing cream which was supposed to soothe skin.
Derek sighed. “Jesus Parrish, what now?”
“Is it sore?” The man asked, blinking away his glowing eyes.
Derek shrugged in response, rubbing his eyes and trying to stop his own eyes glowing, sometimes they did when he was trying his best to see in the dark.
“What time is it?” He asked the Deputy, feeling truly lethargic and like a walking zombie.
“Uh…” Parrish turned around to the cooker, cringing when he saw the time. “Three.”
Derek resisted the urge to curse because he still hadn’t had any sleep yet for the night. Instead, he growled.
“Something’s wrong.” Parrish declared, his eyes beginning to glow again.
Derek half-snorted because something had been wrong with him for months.
“I can…” The young man froze suddenly, flaring his nostrils. “Smell magic.”
Derek snorted again, shaking his head because this man – that he barely knew – was actually suggesting magic was real. But then it hit Derek. Fairies and magic, he’d encountered them, been hella rude to them and they’d said something ambiguous about giving his one true desire. He went rigid.
His one true desire wasn’t to get ill or die… so what the hell?
“Stupid fairies.” Derek growled. He should probably have started preparing to say goodbye to the world, knowing that they had definitely screwed him over somehow.
Parrish snarled, staring at the door behind Derek, making him snap his head around to see.
A group of fairies prancing around in his house, their neon lights shining around the room, whizzing and making Derek feel dizzy.
He growled. “I told you to leave.”
Bewildered, he watching as Parrish launched at the fairies, tugging each one of them by the feet and snarling at them. Apparently somebody was feeling protective. The fairies squealed, making Derek’s ears ache and he stomped his foot.
“Enough!” He yelled, holding onto his ears.
Parrish turned, blinking away his hellhound eyes and pulling a guilty look.
“What did you do?” He hissed at the fairies, scowling at each individual one until they answered, saying unanimously that they granted his wish. “What wish?!” He’d roared because the last time he remembered wishing for something, it wasn’t illness or death.
12 weeks to go, one of them said. Derek furrowed his brows, rapidly losing patience with the little devils.
“Until what?”
One sniggered, telling him that he’d find out soon enough and they all took off, leaving darkness to swallow up the kitchen and Derek no wiser as to what was going on with his body.
“What’s your one true desire?”
He turned to Parrish with a glum sigh. “I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands across his face, wanting to do nothing but sleep – or slam his head against the worktop and force himself to sleep. “I’m going sleep.” He grumbled.
Parrish nodded quickly. “Use the cream!” He called out, as Derek left the kitchen.
Derek sighed, holding the cream in his hands. His skin shouldn’t have been that sore or itchy.
|°|°|°|
33 weeks
The reappearance of heartburn came, Derek growling out of frustration because everything had gotten worse. He had heartburn, he couldn’t sleep, he had backache, his feet were swollen like to giant lumps of rock.
When Parrish showed up again, he begun to feel worried. The man only ever turned up when Derek needing something and was suffering.
“What now?” He said exasperated.
“Nothing supernatural, I don’t think!” Parrish exclaimed with a sheepish grin, when Derek raised his eyebrows at him. “Okay, well, it’s more of a theory actually.”
Derek was in his chair, eyes shut and feet up, trying to ignore the odd twinges and tightening of his belly, since it was only another symptom to add to his list. “About what?” He grunted.
“You.”
Derek opened his eyes, putting his feet down and leaning forward. He rubbed his chest slightly, feeling the now familiar sensation of heartburn. “Me?”
“Yes,” Parrish sat down opposite to Derek. “Look, it’s going to sound completely crazy but…at least hear me out.”
“Go on.” Derek pushed.
Parrish cringed. “I told Scott’s boss-“
“Deaton.” Derek clarified, Parrish nodding at him.
“Deaton,” he corrected. “About your symptoms.”
Derek blinked back anger. “You what?”
“He helped me to realise a few things…” Parrish winced. “Hellhounds only look after people when they’re dying…or pregnant. We guard the supernatural to protect them from death or to…well, make sure new life is okay.”
“So I’m dying?” Derek said finally, after a long pause.
“Maybe not?” Parrish held his hands up, knowing how ridiculous his theory was going to sound. “I’ve been helping you, yes? The cream, ginger tea, the bucket…” Parrish snorted slightly at the bucket incident before his face returned to worry again.
“What are you suggesting?” Derek narrowed his eyes at the hellhound and covered himself with his blanket.
“I think you’re pregnant, Derek.”
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