Chapter Text
The loft doors rolled open with a familiar screech of metal, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. Derek shifted instinctively in front of him, protective, but Azalia just sat up straighter on the couch, eyes bright with anticipation.
The first through the door was Isaac, lanky and leaning against the frame like he was posing for a teen magazine shoot. Kira trailed just behind him, all sunshine and energy, followed by Boyd with his steady, grounding presence. Lydia entered like she owned the place, sharp eyes taking in every detail, and Peter - smug smirk firmly in place - slid in last like he was gliding on shadows.
The room filled with voices, questions, the hum of pack bonds stretching toward Derek in greeting. Then the whole group froze when they noticed the stranger on the couch.
Azalia’s jaw dropped. Her eyes widened as she pointed straight at Peter, her voice bubbling with disbelief.
“Oh my god.”
Peter arched an eyebrow, already intrigued. “What?”
“You look… young.” Azalia leaned forward, squinting at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Uncle Peter, you look - ugh, it’s disgusting, actually. How are you not completely gray yet? I’ve never seen your face without at least some laugh lines. You’re practically glowing.”
The loft went silent. Isaac coughed. Boyd blinked. Lydia’s eyes narrowed with sudden, sharp calculation.
“Uncle…?” Isaac echoed, his voice cracking as panic surged through him. “What the hell…”
Azalia ignored him, tilting her head like she was trying to reconcile this version of Peter with the one she knew. “Wow. I always thought you were handsome in a creepy, crypt keeper sort of way, but this? This is unfair. I mean, you’re not even trying to look intimidating. You’re like… wolf Hugh Jackman. What the hell.”
Peter’s smirk widened, smug and sharp. “I like her.”
“Of course you do,” Stiles muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Derek finally stepped in, voice steady but tense. “Everyone, this is… Azalia. She’s-” He faltered, looking at Stiles, then at the girl on the couch.
Azalia jumped in before he could choke on the words. “From the future,” she said brightly, flashing the pack a too casual smile. “And before you start, yes, it’s real, yes, it’s magic, yes, it’s a whole mess, and no, you can’t send me back yet because apparently the universe decided my visit was scheduled.”
Kira’s mouth fell open. Isaac glanced at Derek with wide eyes. Boyd crossed his arms, processing quietly. Lydia, however, looked like she’d been waiting for this kind of insanity.
“From the future,” Lydia repeated, stepping closer, voice clinical. “And related to us… how?”
Azalia grinned, pink eyes glittering. She gestured between Derek and Stiles with a theatrical sweep of her hand. “Meet my parents.”
The loft practically exploded.
Isaac actually choked on air. “Your what?” His voice cracked halfway through, eyes darting between Derek and Stiles like he was trying to see if one of them had grown horns and forgotten to mention it.
Kira’s jaw dropped, and then she let out the kind of squeal usually reserved for puppies. “Oh my god, you guys have a kid? She’s gorgeous! Wait - future. Okay. Still gorgeous.”
Boyd didn’t say anything right away. His brows knit together, his posture steady but alert, the same way he always was when someone threw chaos into the pack’s center. Finally, he said in his low, grounding voice, “Future or not, she smells like family.”
That made Derek tense even more. He hadn’t stopped cataloguing the girl’s every chemosignal since she arrived, every flicker of spark in her scent that was undeniably Stiles and every grounding undertone that was undeniably Hale. His wolf huffed and pressed against his ribs in agitation.
Meanwhile, Lydia’s sharp green eyes glittered as she stepped closer, studying Azalia like she was an equation she’d already half solved. “Pink eyes. A magical hybrid. You’re telling the truth.” Her voice was flat, but her lips pressed thin with the weight of the realization.
“Thank you,” Azalia said sweetly, throwing Lydia a little salute. Then she leaned back into the couch, all false nonchalance. “See? At least someone here’s quick on the uptake.”
Peter chuckled, dark and rich, like he was enjoying a private show. “Did you hear that, Derek? Did you hear her say I’m her uncle? Which means… I live long enough for her to know me. Long enough to spoil her, no doubt.” His grin widened into something feral. “Oh, I cannot wait.”
Azalia rolled her eyes. “Spoil me? Please. You made it your full time job. Every birthday. Every holiday. Every time I stubbed my toe, you’d show up with some ridiculously expensive gift and call it character development. You’re ridiculous, Uncle Peter.”
The loft went dead silent again.
Peter actually beamed. Not smirked, not sneered, but openly, genuinely grinned. “Ridiculous in the best way, clearly.”
Isaac whispered, “This is so messed up.”
“Yeah,” Stiles muttered under his breath, scrubbing a hand down his face, his nerves jangling. “Try living it.”
But Azalia wasn’t fazed. She leaned forward, pink eyes glinting in the dim light, her freckles glowing against her skin. “You’ll get used to me. You always do.” Then, softer, more serious, “You’re my family. All of you. I’ve known you my whole life. You just… don't know me yet.”
Kira’s lips parted, her expression melting into something awed. Boyd’s gaze softened a fraction, his shoulders lowering just slightly. Even Isaac looked less horrified and more unsettled, like he wasn’t sure if he should be scared or impressed.
But Derek? Derek couldn’t look away. The words “my family” echoed in his chest, his wolf howling under his skin. His eyes flickered red, not in threat but in aching recognition, and he caught Stiles’ gaze across the room.
For a moment, the fighting, the exhaustion, the talk of breaking apart - it all hung suspended.
And in the middle of it, their daughter from the future smirked, kicking her feet against the couch like she belonged.
Azalia drummed her fingers against her thigh like she was keeping time to some private song. “Man, this is surreal. You’re all so… young.” Her gaze swept over them again before landing on Peter. She smirked. “And you, Uncle Peter, honestly, you look like a baby. It’s freaking me out.”
Peter arched a brow, amusement flickering. “Careful, little hybrid. I still bite.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it,” Azalia shot back, unimpressed. “You’re still gonna be the one who sneaks me out for ice cream when Dad’s being overprotective and Tata says no.”
“What?” Derek’s head whipped toward her, voice sharp. “Overprotective?”
Azalia blinked at him innocently. “You train me like a drill sergeant, Dad. Half my childhood is push ups and sparring matches and lectures about discipline. With me being the future Alpha and all. Somebody had to balance it out.”
Stiles snorted despite himself, covering his mouth with his hand. “Oh my god, that’s so on brand for you.”
Lydia’s voice, calm but sharp as a blade, cut through the tension. “Why are you here, Azalia?”
Everyone turned toward her. Lydia stood with her arms folded, her expression unreadable, though her eyes were narrowed like she was already pulling threads together. “Time travel isn’t accidental. Not like this. So, why here? Why now?”
Azalia shifted uncomfortably, chewing her lip. Her eyes darted to Stiles, then Derek, then back to Lydia. For a moment, it looked like she might lie. But then she sighed, shoulders sagging. “Because my Tata was about to do something really, really stupid. He was going to leave my dad.”
The words hit like a live wire.
Stiles’ eyes went wide, blood draining from his face. “You - what the hell, Azalia?” he snapped, panic threading his voice.
Derek closed his eyes briefly, jaw clenched, because it wasn’t news to him - but it still gutted him to hear it out loud.
The rest of the pack, though?
“What?” Isaac’s voice shot up an octave. “Stiles, you were gonna break up with Derek?”
“Oh my god,” Kira whispered, clutching Boyd’s arm like she needed to steady herself.
“Dramatic much?” Peter muttered, though his smirk was razor sharp.
Azalia ignored them all, gaze fixed stubbornly on Lydia. “But that’s not even the biggest reason I’m here. He can’t leave my dad because-” She hesitated, then delivered the blow with a bluntness only a Hale could pull off. “He’s already pregnant.”
Dead. Silence.
Then absolute chaos.
“WHAT?!” Isaac practically screamed, stumbling back a step. “Pregnant? He’s - what. how-” He flailed, voice cracking like he was about to combust.
Kira’s jaw dropped so wide it looked painful. “That’s… oh my god, that’s amazing!” she half squealed, half gasped, tears immediately springing to her eyes. “Stiles, you’re - Stiles is - oh my god!”
Boyd just stared, eyes huge, muttering under his breath, “What the actual hell.”
Peter clapped once, slow and gleeful, his grin spreading like wildfire. “Oh, this is delicious. Stilinski pregnant. I cannot wait to see how that plays out. Do you have cravings yet? Mood swings? Can I be in the delivery room?”
“Shut up, Peter!” Stiles barked, his face scarlet, voice pitching high with outrage.
But nothing compared to Lydia. She tilted her head, eyes gleaming like she’d just solved the most complicated puzzle in the world. “Of course,” she said softly, almost to herself. “That’s why her eyes are pink. That’s why she’s both. You were the anomaly. A spark carrying a werewolf’s child. She’s proof of what happens when magic and wolf DNA fuse at conception.”
“Lydia, don’t - don’t science my unborn teenage kid right now!” Stiles groaned, dragging both hands through his hair like he wanted to tear it out.
Meanwhile, Derek stood frozen, staring at Stiles like the rest of the world had fallen away. His eyes glowed faintly red, his chest rising and falling fast, his wolf howling in triumph inside him. Stiles avoided his gaze like it burned, mumbling, “This is so not how I wanted anyone to find out.”
Lydia’s gaze sharpened on Azalia, studying her like she was a rare specimen under glass. Her lips parted as realization clicked into place. “It’s you,” she breathed. “Stiles isn’t just pregnant… he’s pregnant with you. That’s why your magic sent you back here, now, of all times. Not an accident. A fixed point. You were always meant to stop this… to stop Stiles from breaking Derek, and yourself, apart.”
The room went dead silent.
Peter, for once, looked stunned. His mouth opened, then closed, then he blinked at Lydia with something uncharacteristically reverent flickering in his eyes. “You… figured that out.” His voice was low, almost in awe.
Azalia wrinkled her nose, flopping back into the couch cushions with a groan. “Ugh, wondered when that look was gonna come out. You guys are so gross it’s insane.”
Peter’s head snapped toward her, offense flashing across his face. “Excuse me?”
That was when Lydia, cool as ever, dropped her own bomb with surgical precision. “Don’t act so surprised. I figured out ten minutes into our first argument that I was going to marry your crazy ass.”
The loft exploded.
Isaac yelped, “WHAT?!” so loud it echoed.
Kira’s hands flew to her mouth in delight, muffling a squeal.
Boyd actually choked on his own breath, coughing out, “Wait…marry?”
Even Stiles, who had been trying to quietly melt into the floor after being exposed as pregnant, popped his head up with wide eyes. “Whoa, whoa, wait a second - what the hell just came out of your mouth?”
Peter, however, just stared at Lydia like someone had smacked him upside the head and simultaneously handed him the crown jewels. His smirk was slow, dangerous, hungry. “Well,” he purred, voice rich with smugness he didn’t even try to hide, “I do love a woman who knows what she wants.”
Lydia rolled her eyes but her lips twitched with the faintest smirk.
Meanwhile, Azalia just spread her hands wide, grinning like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “See? I told you all. Disgusting.”
Despite the whirlwind of noise, disbelief, and the pack’s collective freakout, Derek’s world had narrowed to one single, undeniable truth: Stiles was carrying their child. And that child was Azalia, sitting mere feet away, grinning like a mischievous little queen of fate.
Derek’s chest felt tight, lungs burning, a feral ache humming through him. His wolf prowled under his skin, insistent, desperate, a primal call that refused to be ignored. Slowly, almost reverently, he stepped toward Stiles, his long stride swallowing the distance between them. The room’s chaos dulled into background noise, a muted buzz he barely registered.
Stiles was frozen, heart hammering in disbelief, voice lost somewhere between panic and awe, hands still pressed against his stomach. Derek didn’t wait for permission. His hands reached for Stiles’ sides, sliding under his arms, pulling him into the kind of tight, unshakable embrace that could anchor them both.
He pressed his forehead against Stiles’, breathing shallow, chest flush with heat and fear and hope. The wolf inside him whimpered, low and urgent, as if it had finally found what it had been clawing toward for weeks. Derek inhaled deeply, drinking in Stiles’ scent, the sharp tang of anxiety mingled with the softer, sweeter undercurrent of life growing beneath Stiles’ skin.
His hands dropped, resting lightly but possessively on Stiles’ stomach. The subtle rise and fall beneath his palms was a rhythm he’d never forget, a heartbeat he’d protect with every fiber of his being. Derek nuzzled his nose gently into Stiles’ neck, over his shoulder, letting his fangs graze the tender skin as he exhaled, a deep, shuddering sound that was equal parts relief and raw emotion.
Stiles trembled under him, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he let Derek’s warmth, his grounding presence, wash over him. He let Derek feel, fully, the enormity of it - that inside him was life, their daughter, and the future Azalia had promised.
“I’m here,” Derek murmured into Stiles’ hair, voice hoarse and rough. “I’m not going anywhere. I'll never let you down again. Not you, not her. I’ve got you. All of you.”
Tears pricked Stiles’ eyes, and he whispered, voice breaking: “I… I’m scared.”
“I know,” Derek breathed, lips brushing his temple. “I am too. But I’ll keep you safe. Always.”
And in that instant, the chaos of the room, the pack’s wild reactions, Peter and Lydia’s revelation, Azalia’s pink eyes sparkling with amusement, none of it mattered. There was only this moment. Only Derek pressed to him, his wolf quieting to a satisfied rumble, only the life growing beneath Stiles’ hands, and the impossible, beautiful certainty that they would get through it together.
Derek’s hands tightened just slightly on Stiles’ sides, then softened again, as if the world could be held in that perfect, fragile balance. He rested his head lower, nuzzling against Stiles’ stomach, inhaling the proof of their future.