Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the deep, hollow ache of being worn down from the inside out. His head felt heavy all the time now, thoughts looping endlessly in the background: arguments replayed in sharper detail than he wanted, Derek’s voice low and hard edged, his own words sharp enough to cut him on the way out. It wasn’t even the fights themselves that left him raw, it was the silence afterward. The quiet in the loft, stretched too thin, where they circled each other like two men who’d forgotten they were supposed to be on the same side.

Derek seemed to think it meant something, that all this yelling was proof they still cared. He had this way of setting his jaw, of glaring at Stiles like it was better than looking away, like holding on through the fight meant they weren’t giving up. “At least we’re still talking,” Derek had said once, voice hoarse from too much shouting. “At least we’re still here.”

And maybe that made sense in Derek Hale’s broken, burned down logic - that fighting was safer than silence, that anger was better than indifference. But Stiles couldn’t stop hearing it for what it was: the alpha and his emissary screaming at each other in the middle of a pack meeting, voices cutting through the air until the others looked away, shoulders tense, breaths shallow.

Every time it happened, Stiles saw it in their faces. Erica’s eyes darting between them like she couldn’t decide who to back. Isaac stiffening like he was waiting for a blow that was meant for him. Even Lydia, all cool detachment, couldn’t hide the flicker of discomfort at watching two supposed leaders tear strips off each other.

The pack was fracturing. He could feel it, like hairline cracks running through glass, invisible until the whole thing shattered. And Derek didn’t seem to see it. Or maybe he did and just refused to admit it, clinging to this brutal, twisted idea that conflict meant connection.

Stiles didn’t know how much longer he could take it. He didn’t know how Derek could look at the wreckage of their arguments and still think this was worth it, that this was proof of anything but how far they were falling.

Stiles sank deeper into the couch, shoulders slumped, every muscle in his body heavy with a kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical. His fingers traced the rim of his mug, lukewarm coffee forgotten, while his mind ran in circles. They had been at it again tonight… voices raised, words sharper than they needed to be, the kind of shouting that left his chest tight and his stomach hollow. And just like every time, he ended up replaying it in slow motion, dissecting every syllable, every pause, every look Derek had shot him across the room.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to chase away the stinging that had nothing to do with tiredness. God, he didn’t even know why he stayed sometimes. They were tearing each other apart piece by piece, leaving everyone else in the pack holding their breath, pretending not to notice the cracks.

It wasn’t just Derek’s stubbornness that wore him down either. it was the way the alpha could act like everything was fine just because they were still talking. Still fighting. Still arguing. Like those fights were a badge of commitment instead of a warning. Stiles saw the looks on the pack’s faces, the way Boyd and Erica exchanged glances when Derek snapped, the way Isaac flinched even though he tried not to. Every time, it was a reminder that they were unraveling. Slowly. Loudly. And no amount of yelling or pushing or snarling was fixing it.

And Stiles… Stiles was tired of being the one who felt it all. Tired of carrying the weight of every fracture in the pack like some kind of invisible alpha second in command. He had tried. He had tried to talk to Derek, tried to reason, tried to give him a chance to see what was happening outside his own head. But Derek… Derek never saw it. He never admitted it. He only fought. Only raged. Only loved so fiercely that it left everyone, including Stiles, gasping for air.

That was when the thought came. Dangerous, sharp, and unwelcome. The thought of doing what he had sworn he’d never do. The thought of letting Derek off the hook because Derek would never do it himself.

Stiles could fix this. He could save the pack. He could put himself aside.

He could end it.

The words burned on his tongue before they even formed. He imagined the conversation, imagined the look on Derek’s face, imagined the sudden quiet that would follow as the reality of their breakup settled over the loft. He didn’t want to do it, he hated the thought of doing it, but he knew he had to. He had to. Because if he didn’t, if he let Derek keep tearing himself apart while pretending everything was fine, the pack would suffer. And he couldn’t let that happen. Not like this.

Stiles pressed his palms against his eyes, muttering under his breath, a whisper only he could hear: I’m doing this for everyone else. Not for me.

The thought of losing Derek was unbearable. It clawed at his chest in the quietest, most merciless way. But the thought of the pack fracturing under the weight of their fights… that was worse.

So he made up his mind. He would say it. He would end it before the damage went any further.

Before he could find the words, though, the front door slammed open.

Stiles didn’t even hear Derek come in at first. He was curled on the edge of the couch, head in his hands, the weight of every argument, every yelling match, every fractured glance at the pack pressing down on him so hard it felt like he might crack.

Derek was here. And he knew. Knew before he even saw the slumped figure of his emissary, knew before his amber eyes swept the room. The tension in the loft shifted the moment he stepped inside. Derek’s wolf flared, muscles coiled, senses stretched tight. Something was wrong, and Derek could smell it in every heavy, ragged breath Stiles drew.

He crouched by the couch before Stiles even had time to blink. “Stiles,” Derek said, voice low and dangerous and soft all at once. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles lifted his head slowly, eyes rimmed red, shoulders trembling, and whispered, “I… I just… I can’t.” His words cracked under the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak. “I’m so tired, Derek. Why do we… why do we keep doing this?”

Derek’s hand brushed against Stiles’ arm instinctively, slow and grounding, but he didn’t move away when Stiles flinched. He stayed there, anchored, his wolf snarling in the back of his mind, sensing every shred of desperation pouring off him.

“You’re not happy,” Stiles went on, voice raw and hoarse. “And I’m tired of being the reason that you’re not happy. I’m tired of being the reason the pack is falling apart. God… I’m just so tired.”

Every word sliced through the room, cutting deep into Derek’s chest. His wolf was snarling now, a low, protective rumble. Every instinct in him screamed to shield, to fix, to take this pain and bear it himself. He brushed his thumb against Stiles’ cheek, trying to anchor him, trying to calm him down. “Shh… hey, hey, I’m right here,” Derek murmured, but Stiles’ exhaustion, his despair, was almost suffocating.

Stiles opened his mouth again, likely to spill the words he’d been circling for hours, the words that would fracture them forever, when the door slammed open.

A girl, mid teens, stood there, shoulders squared, chin high, eyes blazing like she’d swallowed a storm. “Shut the fuck up right now before you say something you’re going to regret!”

Time froze for a heartbeat. Stiles just stared, blinking. His jaw slack, disbelief mingled with incredulous laughter.

Derek’s body tensed instantly, growl slipping from his throat before he could stop it. The wolf inside him lit like a flare shot into the sky, teeth bared, hackles rising. He took a half step forward, protectively, in front of Stiles.

The girl didn’t flinch. Didn’t even step back. Her gaze locked with his, steady and defiant, and she growled back - not a childish imitation, but sharp, precise, threatening. Her scent hit him in a wave, tangy, familiar, and confusing.

Stiles barked out a laugh he couldn’t control - loud, incredulous, almost hysterical - the sound echoing off the loft walls. “What the hell… who are you?!” he managed between breaths, both terrified and utterly unable to contain the ridiculousness of the moment.

Derek’s eyes didn’t leave her. His growl was low and warning, but there was something else in it now. confusion, disbelief, something wild clawing at the edge of recognition. His wolf snarled, but his mind screamed that he didn’t understand… that he had never smelled anyone like this before, and yet every fiber of him screamed that she belonged.

And Stiles, still laughing, still reeling, still raw with exhaustion, felt something shift, something impossible and terrible and wonderful, in the air between the three of them.

The girl took a step further into the loft, boots scraping softly against the floor, and Derek’s muscles coiled instinctively. He moved in front of Stiles like a shield, wolf flaring, instincts screaming at him that she was a threat. Every nerve in his body was taut, every claw and fang ready.

But the girl just stopped and crossed her arms, tilting her head with a half smirk. “You know,” she said, voice sharp and mocking, “Stiles can take care of himself. So you don’t need to showboat in front of me right now.”

Derek froze. His eyes flared red, full, glowing, predatory. He had never needed to be this clear, this dangerous, this alpha in front of someone. He didn’t know what she was, and every instinct told him to be careful.

The girl didn’t back down. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, and her eyes caught his. Bright, shocking pink. Pink like neon reflected in sunlight, almost unreal in its intensity.

Derek’s breath hitched. He blinked. Once. Twice. No. This wasn’t possible. He had never seen eyes like that before. Not in any human, not in any wolf, not in any supernatural creature he’d ever encountered.

Stiles froze too, mouth half open, heart hammering in a mixture of fear and disbelief. He’d sensed something familiar about her, felt it in the pit of his stomach, but pink eyes? What the hell kind of creature was this girl?

The girl’s smirk widened, small, confident, as if she knew exactly the effect she had. “I’m the first of my kind,” she said, her voice steady, almost casual, but there was steel behind it. No hesitation, no fear. Just certainty.

Derek’s growl rose low and threatening, instinctively protective, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from those impossible eyes. His wolf snarled, confused and alert, and Stiles’ laughter from before faded into a breathless, nervous silence.

The room felt smaller, charged with something new and unknown. Every hair on Derek’s body bristled. Every thought in Stiles’ head tripped over itself. The three of them - Stiles raw with exhaustion, Derek taut and dangerous, and this girl with pink eyes and confidence that defied every rule they knew - stood frozen in that charged, impossible moment.

And in the silence, one truth thumped in Stiles’ chest: whatever this girl was, she had just changed everything.

Chapter Text

The girl’s gaze slid off Derek and fixed on Stiles, sharp and unyielding. Her eyes softened a fraction, though, the pink glow still bright enough to burn into his chest. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, voice firm, steady in a way no teenager’s should be. “And I refuse to let that happen.”

Stiles blinked at her, throat dry, words caught somewhere between his brain and his mouth. How the hell could she know? His pulse raced in his ears, the ache in his chest twisting tighter, because she did know. Every fractured thought he’d had, she was standing there, naming it, cutting through it before he could even breathe the words out loud.

Derek’s growl deepened, chest vibrating with it, confusion and instinct making him bristle. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice cracked in the quiet, harsher than he meant it, but desperate. His wolf pushed against his skin, on edge, restless, demanding answers.

The girl didn’t so much as blink at his snarl. She tilted her head, almost pitying, and said, “Your wolf already figured it out, probably months ago. You just haven’t caught up yet.”

That stopped Derek cold. His heart punched hard against his ribs, and the wolf inside him let out a sound - a raw, keening whine, sharp and full of loss. It echoed in his head so violently he actually staggered, blinking against the sudden pressure in his chest.

His eyes snapped to Stiles, and for a moment he saw nothing else… not the girl, not the loft, not even his own fear. Just Stiles. Just the exhaustion painted across his face, the resignation in his shoulders, the sadness that clung to him like smoke.

“You’re leaving me.” The words tore out of Derek, broken, jagged, half a plea, half a realization. He sounded like he’d been gutted.

Stiles froze, every muscle locking as Derek’s voice cracked through him. He stared up at him, wide eyed, unable to breathe. He hadn’t wanted this. Not like this. Not with an audience. Not with Derek’s wolf already bleeding grief into the air.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came. His throat burned. He didn’t know how to explain. Didn’t know how to soften the truth he hadn’t even said yet.

And then, so soft he almost thought he imagined it, Derek heard the girl murmur: “Oh, Ta.”

The word hit him like fire under his skin. His head whipped toward her, but she was staring at Stiles, not him, something sorrowful and knowing etched across her face.

For a single heartbeat, Derek thought he’d misheard. He had to have misheard. But the wolf inside him whined again, sharper this time, twisting like it knew something he didn’t, something impossible.

Derek’s breath came fast, uneven. His claws dug into his palms as his eyes flicked between Stiles’ stunned face and the girl’s impossible pink gaze.

And for the first time in years, Derek Hale felt utterly, terrifyingly unmoored.

The words crack like a whip in the room, raw and desperate. Derek’s voice is jagged, breaking in a way Stiles has only ever heard once before, when they buried Laura. His chest heaves, broad shoulders rising and falling like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

Stiles swallows hard, his throat closing around the lump that’s been building for weeks. His own heart stutters painfully, because seeing Derek like this should feel like the answer to everything. It should be enough to quiet the doubt, to stitch back together the torn edges of them. But it doesn’t. It only makes the air heavier, the silence after more unbearable.

“Derek-” Stiles starts, softer now, but Derek barrels forward, eyes wet and glowing faintly red at the edges.

“You think I don’t know we’re a mess?” Derek’s voice cracks again, bitter and helpless. “You think I don’t wake up every morning wondering if this is the day you finally realize you deserve better than me? That you’ll just…just walk away, and I’ll have nothing left?”

Stiles blinks fast, vision blurring, but he doesn’t let himself look away. He can’t. Not when Derek looks like his whole world is tilting beneath him, like the floor might give out if Stiles doesn’t answer.

“It’s not about better,” Stiles whispers. His hands shake where they’ve been fisted at his sides, and he finally drags them through his hair, tugging hard, grounding himself in the sharp pull. “It’s about the fact that we don’t work anymore. You’re scared, and I’m drowning, and the pack feels every goddamn ounce of it. They see us like this and they flinch, Derek. You want to protect them, right? You want them safe, stable? Then you can’t keep-” His voice breaks, splintering on the next word. “-we can’t keep doing this.”

Derek’s wolf howls inside him, an anguished, guttural sound that has his knees threatening to buckle. It claws at him, frantic, because it knows the truth before Derek is willing to let it sink in. That Stiles is slipping. That no matter how hard Derek fights, no matter how deep his love runs, it may not be enough to hold Stiles here.

“You’re leaving me,” Derek says again, lower this time, the words a wound ripped wide open.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut for a beat, then opens them, staring up at Derek like the weight of the world is balanced on his shoulders. “I don’t want to.” The admission scrapes out of him, raw and unguarded. “But someone has to make the call. Someone has to put the pack first, and you-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You’ll never choose that. Not if it means letting me go.”

And it’s true. They both know it.

Derek’s chest caves in around a sob he doesn’t let out, his jaw tightening as if it’ll hold back the flood.

“Goddammit, Stiles,” Derek whispers, almost reverent, like a prayer or a curse.

“Don’t-” Stiles chokes, dragging his eyes to the floor, to anywhere that isn’t Derek’s shattered expression. “Don’t make this harder, okay? I’m not…this isn’t about me. This is about the pack. You’re not happy, Derek. You think I don’t see it, but I do. You’ll let everything rot before you admit it, but it’s there. And I’m just…doing what needs to be done.”

“Fuck the pack!” Derek’s voice ricochets off the walls, raw and jagged, a sound that makes the girl flinch. His hands are fists now, trembling with the sheer force of holding himself back.

Stiles’ chest seizes, because god, if only Derek knew how much Stiles didn't want to hear that out of Derek's mouth. He swallows the hurt and lifts his chin, forcing himself to stand in the wreckage of his own heart. “That’s why I have to be the one to make this decision, Derek!” Stiles fires back, the words spilling fast, sharp, ragged. His throat burns, but he can’t stop now. “Because when it comes down to it, you’d let the whole pack fall apart before you ever fucking admitted we’re terrible together. You hate me, Derek! You’re so unhappy, and all we do is fight. We fight and we fuck, and nothing else! Not anymore. Why the fuck should we stay together? Why put the pack, and ourselves, through this?”

Derek’s whole body jerks like Stiles physically struck him. His eyes are wide, wet, his wolf clawing at the edges. His voice tears through the space between them like a gunshot.

“Because I love you!”

Stiles freezes.

“I’m not unhappy, I’m-” Derek’s voice cracks, his shoulders heaving with the force of it, “I’m fucking terrified every second of every day that something is going to happen to you and then what the fuck do I do? Huh? I can’t-” his voice breaks, splinters into something raw and unguarded, “I can’t lose you!”

And that’s it. That’s the knife twisting deeper. Because Stiles feels it, feels the truth behind Derek’s words, feels the wolf keening inside him, feels the bone deep terror. But it doesn’t undo the months of fractures. It doesn’t stitch back the bleeding edges of everything they’ve broken.

Stiles’ chest is a cage too small for his heart. His eyes sting, and he wants so badly to step forward, to take Derek’s face in his hands, to say okay, okay, we’ll try again.

But the girl is watching. Quiet, solemn, eyes shimmering with grief she doesn’t voice. And Stiles knows, he knows, that maybe Derek loves him, but love hasn’t been enough for a long time.

The tension in the loft had reached a fever pitch, the kind of weight that made the air feel thick and almost impossible to breathe. Derek’s jaw was taut, fingers digging into his thighs as he tried to anchor himself. Stiles’ chest heaved with exhaustion and heartbreak, eyes rimmed red, voice raw. And then… a voice cut through it all like a lightning strike.

“Nope. That’s not happening.”

Both of them froze. Derek’s wolf flared instinctively, muscles taut, and Stiles blinked, staring at the girl standing in the doorway like she owned the room.

“And that’s apparently where I come in, to save the fucking day,” she continued, voice sharp, rolling with sarcastic disbelief. “I cannot believe you two used to be like this. You’re absolutely disgusting now. I had no idea when Uncle Peter told me you used to fight like you hated each other. I thought he was a dramatic old man, and he is, but holy shit, he was right.”

Stiles opened his mouth, trying to find words, and only managed a strangled, “Who the hell are you?” His voice was raw, a little frantic, his emotions too high to bother with politeness.

The girl stepped further into the loft, pink eyes blazing, tattoos and piercing catching the light, shoulders squared like she was ready for battle. She sighed, a little exasperated, like she was trying to figure out the least painful way to do something monumental.

“I probably shouldn’t do this,” she admitted, voice dropping just enough that it had a strange weight to it. “I’m probably going to fuck something up. But… when in Rome, right?”

Derek’s brow furrowed, red eyes narrowing as the tension coiled tighter in his chest. Stiles just stared, heart hammering, utterly frozen, as she pushed one hand on her hip and said, with total confidence:

“Nice to meet you. My name is Azalia Claudette Stilinski-Hale. I’m your offspring.”

The words hit the room like a bomb. Time slowed. Derek’s wolf snarled low in his chest, confused, alarmed, protective. His own mind refused to process it. Offspring? His gaze snapped to Stiles, searching his face for some clue she was joking, for anything, but Stiles was just as frozen, wide eyed, mouth half open.

Azalia tilted her head slightly, smirk tugging at her lips despite the seriousness of her announcement. “Yeah,” she said, pink eyes flashing. “You two. Made me. And I’m here to make sure you don’t destroy each other before I even exist.”

Stiles blinked, caught between horror, disbelief, and the faintest edge of laughter that threatened to escape despite the knot in his chest. Derek’s hands flexed at his sides, wolf snarling, sensing danger but confused by the overwhelming familiarity of her scent, the undeniable pull of something he didn’t understand yet.

Azalia, utterly unbothered by either of them, leaned back slightly in the doorway, arms crossed. “So, uh… you two? Yeah. We need to have a talk.”

The loft, once heavy with tension and exhaustion, now throbbed with something entirely new, chaos, disbelief, and the faint, electric spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be set right.

Chapter Text

Azalia shifted her weight, leaning one hip against the doorway as if the entire loft were hers to command. “Okay,” she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “so here’s the deal. I’m from the future. Yeah, I know, that sounds crazy, but hear me out.” She paused, eyes flicking between Derek and Stiles, her expression serious beneath the irreverent tone. “I was practicing my magic, and clearly, it went tits up. Because, surprise! Here I am. In your timeline. Apparently… earlier than planned.”

Derek’s muscles tensed instantly. Wolf instincts screamed that this was danger, that she was some kind of unpredictable entity that might hurt Stiles, or the pack, but something else nagged at him, sharp and confusing. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, moving closer to her. Every inch, every breath, his senses reached out, scouring the air around her.

Her scent was impossibly familiar. Not just pack, not just Stiles… a combination of both, like echoes woven together into something real and undeniable. His red eyes narrowed.

And then she shifted, her pink eyes dropping the magical “glow” for the briefest moment, and Derek froze. Because for a single heartbeat, he saw Stiles’ eyes staring back at him through her gaze - the same shape, the same warmth, the same stubborn spark that had kept him tethered for years.

Azalia’s features were unmistakable yet utterly her own. Strong Hale eyebrows framed her expressive eyes, just like Cora’s, but softer, with a defiance that was all her own. Her cheeks and nose were freckled, dotted with small moles, giving her an almost playful, human imperfection that made her feel impossibly real. Her lips quirked in a tiny, ironic smirk as if she were aware of the effect she had on both of them.

Derek’s jaw tightened. His wolf growled low, confused and restless, tugging at him like it didn’t know whether to attack, protect, or simply flee. Every instinct screamed that this girl was something entirely new, entirely dangerous, and yet, beneath that, another instinct whispered truth. She was… family.

Stiles, frozen on the couch, felt his heart slam painfully against his ribs. He wanted to reach out, wanted to touch her, wanted to ask questions, so many questions, but he couldn’t find his voice. He just stared, dumbstruck, as Azalia crossed the threshold into the loft fully, like she belonged there.

“Yep,” she said, breaking the silence. “That’s me. Future magical weirdness. And, again, I’m here to make sure you don’t completely ruin everything before I even exist. Lucky you.”

The loft felt smaller, tighter, electric with disbelief and awe. Derek’s senses still hummed with alarm, but the pull in his chest l, that undeniable recognition of Stiles within her, made every protective instinct falter, just enough for curiosity, just enough for the faintest spark of wonder.

Stiles’ voice finally found him, a whisper thick with disbelief and awe. “She… she’s… ours?”

Azalia rolled her eyes, exasperated but faintly amused. “Yes, genius. I’m your kid. And if you two don’t shape the hell up, the future’s going to be really fucked.”

Azalia leaned back against the edge of the couch, arms crossed, smirk tugging at her lips. “And just so we’re clear,” she said, voice sharp but tinged with amusement, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m the first of my kind. At least the first one Aunt Lydia has been able to track down. Half spark, half werewolf. And apparently, stronger magic than anyone’s ever seen.” She let that hang for a moment, eyes glittering with mischief. “Which is really fucking cool… until two weeks ago when I accidentally burned a boy’s face kissing him because my magic decided it wanted to act out.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. His head shot up, disbelief written across his features. “You… you look way too young to be kissing boys.”

Azalia threw her head back and laughed, bright and musical, though it had a sharp edge of exasperation. “Tata!” she called out, using the nickname she’d given him. “I’m sixteen, Tata! And that’s exactly what you said to me when I called you crying because I burned my boyfriend’s face and needed you to fix it.”

Stiles froze, eyes wide. His voice dropped to a quiet, incredulous whisper: “You call me… Tata?”

Azalia’s smirk widened, amber eyes glinting like she knew she had him exactly where she wanted. “I do,” she said, mock solemn, pointing one finger at him like she was sealing the truth. “You like it more than ‘dad’ or ‘pops’… which is what I call that one over there.”

She tilted her head toward Derek, who was standing stiff as a board, hazel eyes wide and glowing faintly with that low, predatory flare of disbelief. Derek’s jaw clenched at the title, his wolf whining in confusion at the bizarre dynamic unfolding in the loft.

Stiles, meanwhile, ran a hand over his face, muttering under his breath, half laughing, half groaning. “Oh god. I can’t… I can’t believe this. You calling me tata, what even…”

Azalia raised a brow, pink eyes dancing with amusement. “Relax, Tata. You’ll get used to it. Eventually.” She winked, leaning back casually, utterly unbothered by the chaos she’d just dropped on them.

“Okay,” she said, voice low but commanding, “before we go any further, I need to know… what’s the date?”

Stiles blinked at her, confusion thick in his chest. “Uh… June 29th, 2015,” he answered cautiously, still trying to process that she was standing in his living room.

Her jaw dropped slightly, and her freckles seemed to shimmer in the light, though whether that was magic or shock, Stiles didn’t know. Then her face shifted, her eyes widened in realization, pupils flaring, and she whispered, almost to herself, “Of course… it was always meant to happen. Me… being sent back… to this time.”

Stiles felt his chest tighten. “Wait …what does that mean?” he asked, voice trembling, heart hammering in his chest.

Azalia’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as she turned toward Derek. “Dad,” she said quietly, “get close to Tata… just… listen. Use your senses.”

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion, the wolf in his chest growling low and uneasy. “I… what? Why?”

Azalia’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and her voice dropped to a mumble, barely audible, but full of pleading: “Please.”

Something in that one word, the tone, the weight, the certainty, made Derek freeze. He stepped closer to Stiles, the pull of instinct and curiosity stronger than any doubt. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself onto the couch beside Stiles, letting his senses reach out, tuning into the subtle rhythms, the chemical signals, the hidden truths he’d somehow never noticed before.

He closed his eyes, inhaled, and then felt it. A ripple under his skin, a heartbeat that wasn’t quite his own, nor Stiles’. Warm, pulsing, fragile and insistent. His senses flared, wolf and human alike screaming at him, the world narrowing until all he could feel was Stiles… more accurately inside Stiles.

Somehow… someway… Stiles was already pregnant.

The realization hit Derek like a physical blow. His eyes snapped open, wide and alpha bright, pupils dilated with shock. He stared at Stiles, mouth slightly open, hands frozen in his lap, utterly paralyzed by the impossible, beautiful truth.

Stiles’ jaw dropped, heart thundering, eyes wide. “Wait… what? How…how is that even possible?” His hands flew to his stomach instinctively, but the weight in his chest wasn’t fully registering yet, the truth too massive, too surreal.

Azalia’s smirk returned, softer this time, tinged with triumph. “Told you I wasn’t kidding, Tata,” she said, voice playful but firm. “That’s why I’m here. And now? You two? You need to… fix this. Together.”

Derek felt his wolf stir, confused, exhilarated, protective, and entirely in awe. And Stiles… well, Stiles just stared at him, stunned, terrified, and somehow, in the back of his mind, a flicker of hope, because Derek’s hand, warm and steady, found his own.

The loft had gone from heavy with despair to charged with impossible possibilities, and Azalia stood at the center of it all, pink eyes gleaming, like a lightning bolt they never saw coming.

Chapter Text

The silence that fell over the loft was deafening. Derek sat frozen, red eyes glowing faintly, his hand still wrapped around Stiles’ like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. His wolf was howling inside him, not with pain this time, but with something that felt perilously close to joy, fierce, protective joy, even though Derek’s mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Stiles was the first to break, voice cracking as the words tumbled out in disbelief. “Pregnant. I’m-Derek, I can’t-what the actual fuck? That’s not, people don’t, guys don’t-” He pressed his free hand against his stomach again, as if it might offer answers, but all it did was make his pulse quicken until his throat went tight.

Derek turned toward him slowly, the weight in his eyes staggering. “I feel it,” he said hoarsely, the words raw and reverent. His voice cracked on the last syllable, and he shut his eyes against the swell of emotion. “You’re… carrying. Our…” He couldn’t finish, the word catching on his tongue like it might unravel him completely.

“Your kid,” Azalia supplied casually, breaking the fragile stillness with teenage bluntness. She crossed her arms, leaning on one hip as if this wasn’t the biggest revelation of their lives. “Yeah, welcome to the Twilight Zone. And before you both combust - no, it’s not a mistake, no, it’s not some fluke. This is how it was always supposed to be.”

Derek’s wolf surged, tail lashing in his chest. His hand squeezed Stiles’, as if letting go would mean losing everything. His entire body was trembling with the truth of it, the scent of life humming under Stiles’ skin, the impossible miracle of it burning through him. He finally managed to whisper, almost brokenly, “I can’t lose you. Either of you.”

Stiles’ heart lurched at that, throat tightening. He turned to Derek, saw the raw terror in his eyes, the way he was holding onto him like he was already halfway gone, and it gutted him. “Derek…” His voice cracked, everything he’d been building toward - the breakup, the self-sacrifice, the resolve - crumbling to ash under the weight of this revelation.

Azalia cut in again, clapping her hands together sharply, startling them both. “Okay, emotional breakdowns later, please. Focus. Because you two were about five minutes away from blowing up the pack and my entire existence, so you’re welcome for the save.”

Stiles whipped his head toward her, eyes wide and wet. “You - you’re telling me you knew? You knew I was-”

“Not until I got here,” Azalia interrupted, shrugging like it was nothing. “But now? Yeah. It makes sense. Aunt Lydia always said this was… inevitable. I just didn’t realize this was the day I’d land on.” Her voice softened, just barely. “I told you, Tata. It was always meant to happen.”

Derek’s wolf keened in his head, recognition and devotion all tangled together, and he pressed closer to Stiles without realizing it. His forehead almost touched Stiles’ temple, like he needed the contact, needed to anchor himself. His voice was low, torn open: “You were going to leave me.”

Stiles flinched, shame twisting in his chest. “I thought I had to,” he whispered. “For the pack. For you. I thought I was just… dragging you down.”

Azalia groaned loudly, throwing her head back. “God, you two are so melodramatic. No wonder Uncle Peter said it was torture being around you sometimes.”

Both of them turned to her with incredulous looks, but Azalia didn’t back down - if anything, her pink eyes gleamed brighter. “Listen to me. You fight. You yell. You’re both stubborn idiots. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re you. And you don’t get to quit on each other - not now, not ever. Not with me on the line.”

Her voice wavered just slightly at the end, betraying how much this meant to her. For the first time, she looked her age, sixteen, scared, trying to hold too much weight.

Derek’s chest cracked open at the sight. His wolf recognized her, as impossible as it was. Family. His. Theirs.

Stiles, still trembling, turned back to Derek, voice barely above a whisper. “What do we even do with this?”

Derek swallowed hard, his hand tightening around Stiles’ as if there was only one answer. “We don’t let go.”

Azalia exhaled, shoulders dropping in relief. “Finally. Progress.”

Stiles swiped at his face with the heel of his hand, trying to wrestle his emotions back under control, but it wasn’t working. He looked at Azalia - this impossible girl with his eyes and Derek’s eyebrows - and managed to croak, “You’re… really mouthy for a sixteen year old, you know that?”

Azalia smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Where do you think I learned it from?”

Stiles opened his mouth to retort, but Derek actually huffed out a laugh; sharp, surprised, almost disbelieving. Stiles turned to look at him, stunned, because that laugh wasn’t bitter or mocking; it was real, warm, like Derek’s wolf had slipped it past his walls before he could stop it.

Azalia leaned back against the arm of the couch, studying them both with that unnerving mix of sharp wit and familiarity. “You want to know the truth?” she asked. “The future isn’t some nightmare. Not anymore. Aunt Lydia and Uncle Peter figured out a way to cleanse the Nemeton. Beacon Hills stops being a magnet for every homicidal supernatural creep on the planet. It becomes… home. Safe. For the first time.”

Derek’s breath caught. Safe. The word hit him like a blow. He didn’t even know how to picture it, but his wolf leaned into the idea so hard it ached.

Azalia’s voice softened, pink eyes flicking between them. “I didn’t grow up in the middle of constant war. I had a family. A pack. You two… you raised me with more love than I even knew what to do with. I had birthdays where the whole town showed up, holidays where nobody was looking over their shoulder, nights where the scariest thing was you two bickering over who had to do dishes.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, chest tight, throat thick. “That doesn’t sound like us.”

Azalia tilted her head, smirk tugging again. “Oh, it’s exactly you. Just… older. Calmer. Happy.”

Derek swallowed hard, staring at her like he could piece together their entire future from the curve of her cheek and the stubborn set of her jaw. “You’re saying… we make it.”

Azalia rolled her eyes but her voice shook, just a little. “Obviously. I’m standing right here, aren’t I?”

Stiles let out a wet laugh, his hand pressing instinctively against his stomach again, still unable to wrap his mind around it. “I can’t believe this. You’re saying we… raise you. In Beacon Hills. Safe.”

Azalia’s gaze softened again, her sarcasm dropping away for a beat. “You don’t just raise me. You build a life. One where I never had to know the kind of pain either of you grew up with. That’s what you gave me. That’s why I couldn’t let you tear it apart tonight.”

Derek’s throat worked, his wolf whining with a mixture of awe and grief for all the years he’d lost, and hope for the ones she was promising. He finally whispered, almost reverently, “Our daughter.”

Azalia sank onto the couch across from them, pink eyes sparkling as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You want the truth?” she said, voice lilting between mischief and fondness. “You really want to know what it’s like? Okay. Buckle up.”

Stiles blinked at her, still pressing his hands to his stomach, trying to process all of this at once. Derek’s jaw was tight, eyes fixed on Azalia like she was a riddle he’d spent years trying to solve.

“First off,” she began, smirk tugging at her lips, “Peter spoils the absolute hell out of me. Seriously. Old-man-Hale-level ridiculous. You should’ve seen the way he’d bribe me to come to family dinners when I was moody during puberty. Ice cream? Check. Unlimited comics? Check. A slightly sinister but very satisfying magic trick to freak out my friends? Check. He’s insufferable, but somehow… awesome.”

Derek blinked at that, a ghost of a smile tugging at his own lips. “You… call him uncle?”

“Yeah, Dad, he's not so crazy anymore.” she said, wagging a finger at Derek. “And he’s the best, even if he drives you both completely insane. But he’s nothing compared to Dad.” She gestured at Derek, her voice dropping into mock seriousness. “Which brings me to you. Oh, Dad. You train me hard. No mercy. Every morning, every evening, drills, combat, pack control, survival skills. You are terrifying, but I respect the hell out of you for it. And I love you, don’t think I don’t.”

Derek blinked, stunned, at her words, chest tightening as the reality of her existence settled like lead.

“And Tata,” she said, swinging her gaze toward Stiles, voice softening, “you trained me in magic. You’d sit for hours with me, helping me control it, guiding me when it got… messy. You taught me patience, focus, responsibility, stuff I’d probably still be messing up if you weren’t there. And, of course, I cursed at you constantly while I learned it.” She grinned, flashing a mischievous look at him.

Stiles let out a dry laugh, voice trembling slightly. “You cursed at me?”

Azalia rolled her eyes dramatically. “Constantly. But I was polite about it sometimes.”

Then she paused, expression flickering for a brief moment, something softer creeping in. “Oh, and… there’s Eli.”

Both Derek and Stiles froze. Derek’s brow furrowed. “Eli?” he said, voice cautious. “We don’t… know an Eli.”

Azalia tilted her head, eyes wide and almost amused. “You will. He’s my little brother. He’s… yours too.”

Stiles choked on his own breath, eyes darting between Derek and Azalia. “Wait… we have a son…two children?”

Azalia nodded, grinning. “Yep. Me and him. You two get to mess up the world together… again. Except, in the future, you mostly do it in a good way.”

Derek’s jaw went slack, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and anchor himself in this impossible truth. His wolf prowled under his skin, restless, protective, and utterly bewildered by the reality in front of him.

Stiles just pressed his hand harder against his stomach, trying to imagine the impossible. Two children. Their children. Magic and wolf and laughter and chaos bundled into little humans that had their faces, their quirks, their stubbornness.

Azalia leaned back, satisfied with the stunned silence she’d left in her wake. “So, tata, dad,” she said, voice casual but pointed, “you have a lot to fix. Because this? This is the start of it. And if you screw it up, you don’t just ruin your lives - you ruin mine. And Eli’s.”

Derek’s voice was hoarse, trembling despite himself. “We… we won’t. I swear we won’t.”

Stiles’ hand went to his chest, heart hammering. “Yeah… yeah, we’ll… we have to figure this out. Together.”

Azalia grinned, pink eyes twinkling, half-teenage sass and half-future wisdom. “Good. Let’s get started, then. Because, believe me, the universe isn’t waiting for you two to figure your shit out.”

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.