For stydia-fanfiction's prompt: "Lydia goes into labor. Stiles is cool as a cucumber... On the outside. Internally, he is freaking out. Lots of fluff and supportive Stiles."
Summary: Lydia goes into labor and Stiles tries his best to be there for her along the way.
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"Stiles..." She calls for him with an uneven voice, tone wavering, unsure.
From the kitchen, Stiles doesn't seem to notice her distress. It's understandable, she thinks, since her voice sounded weak even to her ears. Or, well, at the very least slightly panicked.
"Stiles!" she says more assertively, looking down at the colorless liquid that's slowly running down her parted legs and starting to pool at her feet.
He appears by their bedroom door soon enough, drying his hands on a dishcloth and wondering why she's even up at this hour. "Yeah?"
"I-" She looks up at him then, her voice coming out raspy because her mouth is a little dry. "I think my waters just broke."
There's a fleet second when his features show confusion, as if he has no idea what his very pregnant wife could ever be talking about, and then it hits him and he pales. Stiles literally, very much visibly pales at her words, and if Lydia wasn't so apprehensive about what's to come next she'd actually laugh.
A few seconds pass them by in silence as Stiles tries his best not to show that he's starting to freak out. He can feel it, the energy already starting to cripple under his skin like electricity, his heart starting to beat faster in anticipation.
They were the first ones in the pack to expect a child and it's not like, growing up, either of them had that much contact with children. And well, theory can only get you so far, but they've fought all kinds of supernatural shit and still won.
He'll be damned if parenthood will be any harder.
(He is not delusional, alright? A guy can dream!)
Taking a deep breath, Stiles looks her over and throws the dishcloth on top of their comforter, reaching out to take Lydia's hand and cup her cheek. "Okay. We can do this." There's an almost shy smile ghosting his lips. Lydia could never tell if the reassurance is for her or for himself. "How do you feel?"
Lydia tilts her head. She was expecting more of a fuss. How's he the calm one about this? "I uh--" Actually, slightly uncomfortable. She needs to clean herself up, regain some control over the situation.
At least while she'll still be able to, anyway.
Finding Lydia looking down at her legs again, Stiles speaks before she can continue. "Why don't I get you a towel and call Melissa while you clean yourself up?"
Lydia smiles softly and kisses his cheek, her hand trembling slightly as she squeezes his. "Yes, please. Thank you."
Stiles starts moving immediately, passing Lydia a fresh towel and picking up his phone from his bedside table. "Are you in pain?" he asks, already dialing Melissa's number.
Lydia sits on the edge of the mattress and huffs, considering what's the best approach to clean herself and the mess on the floor properly when she's almost 39-weeks pregnant. Stiles notices that too, of course, because he always notices everything, and he doesn't hesitate in dropping to his knees in front of her and taking the towel from her shaky hands.
"Doesn't it gross you out?" she asks out of uncertainty when she sees him scrunch his nose distractedly, because one thing is all the preparation they had for her delivery, another entirely different actually living it.
