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"You know what I could go for?"
Derek braces himself as best he can. With Stiles, the answer to that question could range from curly fries to wall sex to a midnight trip to the cemetery to grab ingredients for a spell. Apparently there's something especially powerful about feverfew from sacred land that's gathered on the night of a new moon, or so he's been told.
The whole magic thing is still a little out of Derek's comfort zone but that doesn't mean he won't trail along behind Stiles while he leads them through the cemetery if that's where this is heading.
Again.
But since Derek has never really been great at guessing what's about to come out of Stiles' mouth, he doesn't bother predicting the impossible. Instead, he keeps kneading his thumbs into the arch of Stiles' foot where it's sitting in his lap. "Hmm?"
"Nachos."
So he doesn't need to find the spade. Excellent.
"No, wait," Stiles says, halting Derek's movements just as he's about to get up, ready to head to the kitchen to bust out the tortilla chips and cheese. It looks like Stiles is either thinking or communing with the dead as he holds up a hand and looks up and to the right. "Not nachos. Tacos. And mexi-fries. Okay and maybe nachos, too."
Derek casts a glance at the clock on the wall. "It's already eleven. You really want to eat this late?"
He's met with a narrow-eyed gaze and is quick to hold up his hands in surrender.
"Not saying we can't go. Just reminding you that last time we ate this late, you had heartburn all night."
It had been...unpleasant. Stiles couldn't lay down but couldn't get comfortable sitting up either, which meant they both wound up on the couch watching a nature documentary until the sun came up and the heartburn dulled down.
"Okay. Yeah. But that was different." Stiles tugs his feet back and leans forward to grab his socks from the other side of Derek's lap. He also pauses to drop a kiss right to the side of Derek's mouth along the way, grinning like a mad man as he pulls back. "We were only at eleven weeks then. Now we're at twelve. Baby is used to all the food all the time. Hell, baby is the one demanding late night tacos. I'm just an innocent bystander in the whole thing."
"Mmhmm."
But while Derek aims for neutral disbelief with the quirk of an eyebrow, he winds up having to bite down on a smile as Stiles pats the barely there bump of his stomach.
Their baby.
Truthfully, it doesn't matter what argument Stiles uses, Derek already knows they'll be heading out in a matter of minutes. Even if it means they're both up all night, he's going to buy every item off that menu that Stiles could possibly want, and probably a few extras just in case.
"I'll get the keys," Derek sighs. Like he's hard done by. Like he wouldn't do absolutely anything for the man in front of him. Like he wouldn't give the whole damn world to a baby he hasn't even met yet.
And just when Derek thought he couldn't love Stiles any more, Stiles does a happy little wiggle and whispers 'tacos' right before he bounds to his feet and races to the door. Derek is suddenly unsure how his body can even contain this much love.
"Tacos it is."
°°°
Typically Derek is the first one up.
It's been that way since they got together nearly two years ago. By the time Stiles drags himself out of bed, all sleep-rumpled and barely conscious, Derek has usually gone for a run through the preserve and snuck in at least a hundred pull-ups and push-ups.
It's surprising, then, when he rolls over one morning and finds the other side of the bed empty.
It's even more surprising when he hears the microwave ding from down the hall.
A quick look at the clock tells him it's just past 6:30 — far earlier than either of them need to be up on a Saturday — but Derek still forces himself from under the covers, slips on a pair of sweatpants, and leaves the warmth and comfort of their bed behind.
His bare feet are nearly silent on the floor as he pads down the hall and through the living room, but his progress is brought to an abrupt halt as he reaches the entryway to the kitchen.
Because Stiles is there, gorgeous as always with his sleep-mussed hair and the ever-growing swell of his stomach, and yet Derek has never felt quite so repulsed. He quashes his initial grimace though, before he slowly moves in closer, eyeing the monstrosity in front of Stiles like it might just jump up and attack them both.
"Is that pulled pork?" Derek asks.
He already knows the answer.
When Stiles looks up at him, his grin is both abashed and defiant as he answers, "Sure is."
"On...ice cream?"
The aroma of the pulled pork on its own would be overwhelming this early in the morning, but thanks to his overly developed sense of smell, he can easily pick up the notes of vanilla and the sweet scent of cookie dough from the mountain of ice cream that's hidden beneath the meat and sauce.
"Mmhmm."
The embarrassment that had been tugging at Stiles' features seems to morph into anticipation and sheer delight as he dips his spoon into the horrifying concoction, careful to pull out equal parts meat and ice cream, before he pops it into his mouth.
And the thing is, Derek is used to conflicting feelings where Stiles is concerned. He battled attraction and annoyance for years after they first met, but this...this is a whole new level.
Because right now, as he tamps down on the gag that's pushing its way up his throat, he also has to contend with all of his blood unexpectedly flowing south as Stiles' eyelids flutter shut in ecstasy and an obscene moan falls from his lips.
Derek's jaw drops and he honestly can't tell just what he's feeling. All he knows is that he can't look away. It's like a car crash. And Stiles just scoops up another spoonful, the ice cream rapidly melting beneath the heat of the sauce and pork.
Stiles doesn't seem to mind.
If anything, he just eats it a little faster, smacking his lips between bites, lewdly licking off the spoon after each mouthful.
He's three quarters of the way through his bowl before he looks up at Derek in surprise, like he'd forgotten he was even there. Then he pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth as he asks, "Did you want some?"
The sauce and ice cream combine into a milky orange that drips off the spoon back into the bowl, an uneven trickle that feels so much louder than it should in the hush of the early morning that surrounds them.
Derek has to swallow hard before he can answer. "No, I'm good, thanks."
Stiles just nods and dives in, closing his mouth around the spoon and its nauseating contents in a way that leaves Derek adjusting his pants and wondering when his life became so very bizarre.
(He knows exactly when it was. Eighteen weeks ago when Stiles announced that the magic worked. That he was pregnant.)
And while he wouldn't trade Stiles or any of his increasingly bizarre cravings for the world, there are some things that he just doesn't need to see.
"I'm...gonna go for a run."
Stiles just grins at him, his mouth still full as he mumbles, "Have fun!" He manages to chew and swallow, thankfully, before he speaks again. "I'd offer to save you some but I used up the last of the ice cream."
It's just a hint of a shrug, the barest pull of the corner of his lips, but Derek can smell the hint of sadness over that fact and he blows out a breath and steps forward, clearing the distance between them with ease. The smell of the snack is even more pungent up close, but that doesn't stop Derek from sliding a hand over Stiles' belly and leaning in to drop a kiss to his temple. "I'll pick up some more on my way back."
And suddenly nothing else in the world exists but the smile that lights up Stiles' face and the little nudge against his hand from the baby.
So if pulled pork on cookie dough ice cream is what makes them happy, Derek will make it happen every time.
°°°
The paint glides easily over the walls, turning the dull white of the primer into a soft forest green that Derek thinks the baby will love.
He already knows that Stiles adores it.
Three walls of the nursery are already drying, the colour shifting ever so slightly as it does, but Derek really isn't in a rush at all.
He has all weekend.
As much as he hates being away from Stiles — the wolf in him bristles at not having his mate close enough to protect, the man in him just misses his best friend — he knows it's for the best. Not only does it keep Stiles away from the paint fumes while Derek prepares the nursery, but it gives Stiles one last road trip with Lydia, Malia, and Kira before the baby makes weekend getaways a little more complicated.
It's a complication that Derek can't wait for.
But, since he'll actually have to wait another three-ish months, he carries on with his painting, finding the sound of the roller on the wall and the repetitive motion to be surprisingly soothing as he finishes up the first coat.
It's not long before he leaves the walls to dry and heads to the bathroom to clean his supplies.
Which is when his phone rings.
He leaves the tray, roller, and the brush he'd used to cut in around the edges and corners on the side of the sink, quickly checks his hands for stray blotches of paint, and then reaches into his pocket for his phone.
He's not expecting a video call.
And he's definitely not expecting it to be Lydia.
His heart skips a beat or two and he's already calculating how quickly he can get to Lake Tahoe by the time he answers the call.
"Your idiot boyfriend is fine," Lydia says before Derek can even open his mouth and Derek has never been more grateful for how intuitive she is. With half of her hair pulled up in a messy bun and very little make-up covering her face, she's as beautiful as ever, just a little softer than he's used to seeing. But even the dainty purple hearts of her pyjamas can't distract from the cheeky glint in her eyes. "But we might kick him out and make him walk home. Does he do this in front of you, too?"
The camera spins around before Derek can answer and suddenly Derek is looking at the small kitchenette of their cabin rental, where a horrified Malia is leaning against the counter while Kira sits next to Stiles at a small dinette set, her jaw practically on the dated oak tabletop.
Stiles meanwhile, looks pleased as punch. He's sitting as close to the table as he can get with the bump of his stomach in the way — Derek loves that bump more than he ever would have expected — drizzling maple syrup over a plate of olives.
There's already two empty cans on the counter behind him, so Derek suspects this isn't his first plate of this particular 'delicacy'.
He would also swear he can actually smell it.
"It's unnatural," Lydia says from behind the camera as Stiles spears three olives with his fork, all glistening with thick maple syrup, and brings them to his mouth.
There's no stopping the full body shiver that rips through Derek, though he does his best to control his face.
"You're a banshee." Chewing while he speaks, Stiles doesn't seem self-conscious in the slightest, even with bits of olive stuck between his teeth. Derek can't help but wonder how he fell so desperately in love with the man on the screen as the fork he's wielding is pointed at Malia. "She's a werecoyote." He then swings the fork to Kira as he adds, "And she's a Kitsune." After that, the fork is left dangling between two fingers, hovering over his belly like one of his scrying crystals as he points out, "And I'm a pregnant dude that cast a spell so people won't think to question said pregnancy. There's nothing natural about any of us."
"He has a point," Derek murmurs. His voice draws Stiles attention and earns him a smile and a wave, which Derek is quick to return.
"Hi D," Stiles says. "The girls don't care for my hors d'oeuvres."
"Shocking," Derek says, deadpan. "I packed some extra snacks for all of you in the green bag in your suitcase."
The news has Malia lighting up and disappearing off camera while Stiles looks over at Derek like he hung the moon. It's looks like that which make Derek strive to be a better man, to be deserving of the love Stiles has gifted him.
"Thanks, babe," Stiles says. "I don't suppose you happened to pack—"
"More olives? I sure did."
"Have I told you lately how much I love you? Because I really do. And not just because of the olives. It's—"
But the camera is flipping around again, back to Lydia as she rolls her eyes so hard that Derek wonders if she can see behind herself. "Ugh. No, we're not sitting through these declarations of adoration and devotion. This is a no boys weekend."
"Hey! I'm a boy." The protest comes from off camera, but Derek can perfectly picture Stiles' perfectly offended face.
Lydia seems to eye him up and down before she shrugs a rather non-committal agreement. "Fine. A no partners weekend, then. I refuse to listen to the two of you espouse your undying love for one another. Again"
"You realize you called me, right?" Derek asks, but despite his best efforts to maintain a scowl, he finds the corners of his lips twitching up.
"Clearly an oversight. I should have known you were enabling this unholy behaviour."
In the background, Stiles laughs and says, "You really should have."
Lydia sighs. "I'm hanging up now."
"Love you, D!" Stiles shouts and suddenly he and Kira are giggling like fiends in the background and Lydia is shaking her head but her eyes are sparkling and Derek can practically feel how much she loves them all, so the disapproval loses its edge immediately.
Off camera, Malia yells something about doritos but Lydia's gaze floats back to Derek one last time. "We'll take care of him," she offers before he can even think to ask. "And thanks for the real snacks."
With a burst of laughter from all four of them at the cabin, the phone call ends and Derek is left staring at his phone screen, wondering, once again, when this became his life. But as he cleans all of his paint supplies, he decides that it doesn't really matter.
He wouldn't want it any other way.
°°°
"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Scott asks for probably the tenth time.
If Derek wasn't wondering the same damn thing, he might actually be annoyed.
"Dude, it's fine. I'm fine. You both need to chill." To Stiles' credit, he really is doing great. They've been hiking through the woods just outside of town for nearly two hours and despite being thirty-five weeks pregnant, he's keeping up just fine. As a matter of fact, it almost seems like he's more coordinated than ever before, easily navigating the rough terrain.
That doesn't stop Derek from constantly monitoring his heartbeat. And his breathing. And his scent. And the jackrabbiting taptaptap of the baby's heart, too.
He hasn't been more than five feet away from Stiles since they had to leave the Camaro and head out on foot.
It's not like he doesn't know he's going overboard. Being overprotective. But on the bright side, at least it's not just him.
"I know you can handle yourself, man," Scott says from just in front of them, easily leaping over a fallen tree trunk before he turns around and holds out his hands for Stiles to take. "But this is pretty strenuous for someone in your..."
"I swear to god, if you say 'condition', I'm gonna shave off your eyebrows in your sleep."
In spite of the threat, Stiles still reaches out and grabs Scott's hands while Derek settles his own on Stiles' hips, helping to keep his balance and support his weight as they climb over the trunk.
"Okay. Not condition. But you're like, super pregnant, dude. And no one really knows just how this pregnancy is supposed to go since you're, you know, a dude. What if something happens and you go into labour out here?"
"Well, then I'll have two werewolf midwives to see me through," Stiles grunts as he hops down and nearly loses his balance.
Derek and Scott both move to catch him but he finds his footing quickly enough.
"Call the werewolf midwife could make for a pretty good TV show, right?" As a gesture of thanks, Stiles pats Scott's hand and then turns and plants a smacking kiss on Derek's cheek. "Besides. I'm not going into labour. Can you guys not feel the magic out here? I'm pretty sure the forest is working to keep me safe. No way this baby is coming early if we're out here."
Once Stiles mentions it, Derek takes a moment to close his eyes and really experience the space around them: the rustle of the leaves from a barely there breeze, the chitter of animals moving through the trees, the dappled sun breaking through the canopy overhead to pierce the semi-darkness below. Part of it feels familiar, like it does at the preserve; the innate calmness of being out in nature. But there's something different, too. Now that he's actually paying attention, he's aware of the flow of magic like a gentle caress over his skin. It's the same almost-tingle as when he shifts, the same heat as when he encounters a wall of mountain ash, but none of the ache that comes with it.
Stiles is right. It feels...protective.
"What is it?" Derek whispers.
"It's why we're here, now." A soft smile settles on Stiles' face. "In the spot where telluric currents converge and the ambient magic increases with the power of the solstice. Somewhere up ahead is the sister oak to the Nemeton and, if she's willing, she'll allow us to harvest some of her bark."
"And you can use the bark in a spell to defeat that Mare thing that's terrorizing the town?"
Scott nearly trips over a root when he turns his head to look at Stiles as he speaks, but now that Derek's paying attention, he sees the way that root seems to burrow into the ground just before Stiles reaches the same spot, like it's clearing a path for him.
And Derek suddenly understands why Stiles is moving so easily through the dense woods. The magic of the forest really is protecting him.
"Defeat? I don't know. Deaton's working on that part. But I can use the spell to trap it and keep it from using its nightmares to scare people to death. And right now, that's good enough for me."
Fortunately, they find the sister oak soon enough. The tree is huge, larger than Derek ever imagined the Nemeton could have been, back when it was fully grown. And while Stiles communes with it — or with her, as Stiles keeps correcting — Derek and Scott wait nearby. It's maybe ten minutes before Stiles presses his forehead to the bark in what looks like a gesture of thanks, and then pulls out a knife to cut away a small swath of the tree.
"Okay." There's something peaceful in Stiles' expression as he walks back over to them, wrapping the bark in a piece of cloth before he tucks it into his pocket. "She wishes us well. And...I think she may have blessed the baby, but we can talk about that later." Stiles waves it off like it didn't just make Derek's brain do a record scratch. "Right now, we need to get back to Beacon Hills before the Mare does anymore damage."
"We should take a break," Derek says, halting Stiles with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You've been walking for over two and a half hours. You need to rest."
With a smile that feels a little like Stiles is humouring him, he takes Derek's hand and moves it down to his belly, letting it rest there as the baby shifts and moves inside. The contact helps soothe Derek immediately, and Stiles seems to know that.
"We're fine. And we need to get back before nightfall or more people are going to die."
Stiles doesn't push any further, allowing Derek a moment to feel their child, to assess Stiles in all the ways he's been doing since they started this journey. And it's only when Derek nods his agreement — there's hardly a hint of discomfort coming from Stiles, nothing but the baseline fatigue that's been following him since the pregnancy first began — that Stiles starts walking again, leading them back towards the car.
"All that I need right now is to get rid of this horrifying nightmare creature," Stiles says. The dirt and leaves and twigs in front of him level out with each and every step and Derek realizes that, for Stiles, their hike has been no more strenuous than a walk through town. It eases his mind a little more. "Well. Stop the creature and also...a snack. God, I'm hungry. I should've packed some trail mix or something."
But the thing is, Derek knows Stiles. He knows him so well, in fact, that he'd prepared a baggie of his latest craving food before they left the house that morning.
Even if it made him scowl the entire time.
So now, as they walk through the magical woods that have apparently blessed their baby and are clearing a path for Stiles, Derek pulls out the baggie of licorice wrapped sardines and hands them over without a word.
Scott grimaces and takes a few steps ahead, choosing to lead them once again rather than having to watch Stiles eat the damn things, but Stiles just grins and spins around to give Derek a patented Stilinski hug, holding him close and tight and long enough for it to really count.
"You are the best boyfriend a man could ask for."
Derek knows that Stiles has that backwards, but he doesn't say a word. He just watches as Stiles pulls out one of those disgusting 'treats' and takes a bite. It gets the full body happy wiggle as a seal of approval and then they're back at it, walking through the woods as Stiles continues to munch and chatter about the spell he'll need to perform and just how it will trap the Mare.
The funny thing is, Derek would swear he hears a titter of laughter coming from the trees around them. And while he can maybe brush the sound off as a trick of the wind through the leaves, there's no mistaking the way the ground seems to flatten out beneath his feet as they walk after that, roots and rocks and branches suddenly sinking into the ground to ease the way for him, the same way it's been doing for Stiles.
Somehow, he understands exactly what it means.
The woods, the tree, the magic that surrounds them...it approves of him.
Derek doesn't look that particular gift horse in the mouth. He just keeps pace with Stiles and continues to monitor him, to make sure he's okay, that he's happy and healthy and safe to keep walking.
But when they get back to the car, once Scott and Stiles have already clamoured inside, Derek takes just a moment to turn back to the woods and whisper his thanks. Because anyone, anything, that protects Stiles is an ally, as far as Derek is concerned.
Today he found an ally in a magical forest.
And apparently all it took was a baggie of licorice wrapped sardines.
°°°
"Ooh, ooh, ooh! Stop the car!"
"What?"
"Stop the car! Here!"
Derek hits the brakes a little harder than intended but quickly eases off and rolls to a softer stop, then turns to Stiles so quickly his neck snaps. "What's wrong?"
"What?" Stiles says absently as he gazes out the window. "Nothing's wrong."
Derek's pretty sure he hasn't yelled at Stiles in years, not since before they really became friends, let alone something more, but right now he has to clench his teeth to keep from shouting. He manages to blow out a slow breath and lower the volume when he asks, "Then why are we stopping?"
It's possible Stiles is entirely unaware of the aneurysm Derek is about to have, because he turns back and looks at Derek with wide eyes and a dreamy expression and he sighs, "Pie."
It's only now that Derek realizes they're parked outside of a hole in the wall diner in the middle of town, one of those establishments that's been there forever and only the locals know about, a place that serves the most delicious greasy breakfasts in the world alongside their various other less-than-heart-healthy menu options, including a selection of pies that's, frankly, ridiculous in its variety.
It's Stiles and Derek's go-to restaurant.
But right now, Derek cannot believe what he's hearing.
"You've got to be kidding me." Derek's already white-knuckled grip goes even white-knucklier. His voice gets just a little louder (though he swears he's still not yelling) as he helpfully points out, "Stiles, you're in labour!"
"Yeah, but the contractions are like, ten minutes apart. We have time. I'll be back in a jiffy."
"Oh my god, Stiles, you can't—"
But as it turns out, Stiles apparently can, because the door is open and the seat belt is hanging outside the car and Stiles is already waddling his way to the front door.
Derek nearly rips the steering wheel off.
With a grunt, he manages to drive up a few spots to where there's an available parking space and he even manages to shut off the engine and close both doors without breaking the car before he hurries back to the restaurant and rushes in like he's about to rob the place.
He's stopped in his tracks when he finds Stiles at the front desk, helpfully being guided into a chair by a waitress as he cries uncontrollably, breaking down with great heaving sobs that feel like knives being plunged into Derek's heart.
"What happened?" Derek growls at the waitress, a middle aged woman named Beverly who always has a smile for them and has taken to comping Stiles' desserts over the last few months. Fortunately, she doesn't take Derek's anger to heart.
Honestly, she just looks worried.
"He asked for a slice of strawberry rhubarb," she says helplessly, still with a hand on Stiles' shoulder even though he's fully seated. "We're out."
"Stiles." Derek crouches in front of Stiles, setting his hands on either side of his face, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that stain his cheeks. "I will get you all the pie you want later. Please let me take you to the hospital."
A small gasp escapes Beverly's lips at the mention of a hospital, but Derek doesn't look away from Stiles for even a second.
"But the baby...wants pie," Stiles has to suck in a breath to keep going, but Derek's touch seems to be settling him so Derek just keeps the contact and gives him time. "It's the last craving I'll have. The last thing I'll get to share with them before they're born. I know, it's stupid." Stiles sniffles and blinks back the last of his tears. "I just wanted this one last thing."
Any irritation that Derek may have been feeling drains away in an instant and suddenly Derek wants nothing more than to get Stiles a damn piece of pie.
"Okay," Derek says.
"Okay?"
"Okay." Derek leans in and kisses him once, soft and quick and a little salty from the tears before he pushes to his feet and turns to Beverly. "How can we make this pie happen?"
It's obviously not what Beverly is expecting because she blinks at him several times before she answers. "What?"
"The pie. Who makes them?"
"Big Jim makes all the pies first thing in the morning, but he's gone for the day."
'Would you mind doing me a huge favour and call him? Ask if he'll come in and make one more pie? I'll make it worth his while."
The sounds of the diner still continue on around them, occasional clinks of silverware and conversation, but Derek slowly becomes aware that most of the patrons are looking their way, specifically at Stiles. It doesn't matter, though, as long as they get that pie. Besides, Derek doesn't know what they're seeing, but it's not a pregnant man. Or if it is, the spell that Stiles cast upon himself nine months ago is doing something to quell any questions that they might have. Derek still doesn't really get it — he and the pack still see Stiles in all his pregnant glory — but not a single townsperson has questioned the remarkable feat of Stiles' pregnancy this whole time. He assumes right now, that they're just watching a man cry about pie.
"I can call him, hon, but I can't guarantee he'll say yes," Beverly says. "And even if Big Jim comes in, it'll take at least an hour or two to make the pie." The concern that's been written all over her face since Derek rushed through the door seems to etched itself in a little deeper. "Did you just say something about a hospital?"
It only takes one look at the hopeful expression that's taken over Stiles' face for Derek to know exactly what's about to happen. Labour be damned, they're getting some pie.
"It's fine. Make the call. Please."
Big Jim, as it turns out, has a soft spot for Stiles and shows up ten minutes later, ready to bake. About an hour and a half after that — along with twelve sets of contractions that the other patrons in the diner don't really seem to notice — they have an entire strawberry rhubarb pie in front of them on the table.
"Oh my god, that smells amazing." Stiles' eyes practically roll back in his head as he leans forward to take a whiff. "Big Jim, you might just be my new favourite person in the world."
Derek might be offended if Stiles hadn't said that to literally everyone who's given him food over the last three weeks. Now, he doesn't even blink. He just pulls a couple of hundred dollar bills from his wallet, hands them over to Big Jim, and pushes to his feet, more than ready to get this show on the road.
"Woah. Are you sure about this?" Big Jim asks, looking down at the bills in his hand like Derek clearly made a mistake.
"I'm sure. Thank you for everything."
Honestly, the look of pure bliss on Stiles' face as he digs into the pie — straight from the pie dish, like the heathen that he is — is worth a hell of a lot more than what he'd handed over. It just happened to be all the cash he has on hand.
"Stiles. Can we go now? Please?"
The last two contractions were only six minutes apart and Derek is fairly certain his heart is going to give out if they're not on the way to the hospital before the next one hits. He's not sure he's ever been so wound up in his life.
For Stiles, it's exactly the opposite. Once Derek helps unwedge him from the booth, he's all smiles, waving goodbyes to townspeople who haven't even noticed he's pregnant, let alone in labour, stopping to thank Big Jim and Beverly again, laughing about his crazy antics like they were some sleep deprived shenanigans.
Derek just bites his tongue and carries the pie.
It's probably for the best, since Stiles definitely would have dropped the pie as he doubles over just before they reach the car, forcing out the timed breaths he's been practicing through yet another contraction. Derek's pretty sure Stiles would have turned back around and asked Big Jim to start all over if he'd been carrying it.
They definitely don't have time for that.
They get Stiles settled in the car, buckled up with the seat belt under his bump and the pie balanced on top, fork in hand and ready to go.
He's eaten nearly half of it by the time they reach the hospital.
"Okay." Derek throws the Camaro in park just outside the emergency room doors. "Are we ready to go in now?"
The late afternoon sunlight that fills the car lights Stiles up with an ethereal glow as he looks down at the pie and then grins up at Derek. It might be the most beautiful he's ever been.
"Definitely. Let's go have a baby." It's maybe two seconds later — not even enough time for Derek to reach for his door — before Stiles sucks in a sharp breath. "Holy shit, we're about to be dads."
This time it's Derek's turn to grin, to lean in and kiss the love of his life, slowing the world down around them for just a second.
"Yeah. We are. And you're gonna be amazing."
It earns him a crooked smile and Stiles doesn't even fight him when Derek takes hold of the pie and sets it on the back seat.
And with that final craving out of the way, they head inside, ready to welcome their baby into the world.
°°°
The bustle of the party floats through to the kitchen where Derek is starting another pot of coffee and he can't help but smile at just how happy everyone sounds. How happy they are.
He can feel it through the pack bonds that have only grown stronger with time and new additions.
It's everything Derek never thought he'd have, everything he used to think he didn't deserve.
But everything is different now.
And right now, the two biggest parts of that pack bond that's lit up inside of him are walking into the room, hand in hand, all smiles and laughter and excitement.
Stiles is dressed like Willy Wonka, a look that suits him in a bizarre and unexpected sort of way, complete with purple jacket, brown top hat, and an over the top bow tie thing that somehow doesn't even clash with the purple floral shirt. But it's Abigail Rose that really makes Derek grin. He didn't even know they made oompa loompa costumes so small, but he's never seen anything more adorable in his life.
As soon as she sees Derek, a squeal of "Papa," floats through the kitchen and she lets go of Stiles' hand to toddle over to him, faster than her little legs know how to control. She's built up enough momentum that she ends up tripping over his foot while she slams into his shin with a tiny oof, though her grip on his leg keeps her from landing too hard as she sinks to the ground. In the end, she winds up with her back on the floor, looking up at him as she giggles out a surprised, "Uh oh."
Most everyone says she looks like Derek, but her smile is Stiles through and through.
Unfortunately, so is her coordination.
"You need to slow down, peanut," Derek laughs as he picks her up and swings her into the air, just to make her laugh some more. Then he settles her on his hip like it's where she belongs as he turns to face his husband.
Calling him that, even in the privacy of his mind, still gives Derek a warm fuzzy feeling inside, even three months after making it official.
"You two look adorable together," Derek says, looking between Stiles and Abby.
"Uh huh, of course we do. Are you wishing you would have said yes to the family Halloween costume now? I even would have let you be Willy Wonka if you wanted, though I think you would have done better as Grandpa Bucket. Or maybe Violet when she turns into a blueberry."
In a twist that Derek never could have seen coming, a little part of him does regret saying no to the whole costume idea. He hasn't dressed up in years, since before the fire when the whole Hale family would throw the most elaborate Halloween party in the county. Before today, the idea of dressing up again seemed too painful to relive. Now, though, seeing his family like this...it seems right. Like carrying on a tradition that was cut short far too soon.
"Next year," Derek promises and Stiles lights up like a Christmas tree.
"Really? You're not just saying that? Because dude, I have ideas." Stiles does a little jazz hand type action to emphasize just how deep those ideas run and Derek knows he should probably be scared but instead he just laughs.
"I'll give you free rein," Derek says.
Stiles eyes sparkle with mischief. "Living dangerously, Hale. It's what I love about you."
"Oh, is that all?"
"Well," Stiles meanders closer a half step at a time. "I suppose I could think of one or two other things I love about you." As soon as Stiles is close enough, he leans in and lightly presses his lips to Derek's. The touch is so light, in fact, that their lips are barely connected when Stiles grins like a mad man and whispers, "Like your catering skills."
And with that, Stiles pulls back and heads to the kitchen island, laughing lightly as he walks to the spread of food that they've laid out for the pack. As always, Stiles' laughter leaves Abby giggling and clapping her hands and Derek just smiles and shakes his head as he looks down at her and says, "Your daddy is a menace to society, you know that?" She babbles something completely unintelligible in return and Derek nods along until she's finished and looks up at him like she's expecting an answer. "I know. I really don't know what to do about him either."
"Excuse you," Stiles huffs out, quite obviously amused. "That's not what she said at all. She was complementing this smorgasbord of food here, because our little lady has exceptional taste."
They probably did go a little overboard, with several salads, an extensive variety of meats and cheeses, two separate fruit platters, loads of breads and crackers, and several other odds and ends to fill a growing pack. And that's not even including the kitchen table, which is full of Halloween candy and several themed desserts that Stiles and Derek whipped up last night after Abigail went to bed. The severed witch's fingers — a delicious green shortbread cookie with an almond slice for a fingernail and blood red jam at the 'amputated' end — went over especially well with the pack.
"Of course she has exceptional taste," Derek agrees, picking up a slice of strawberry for Abby as she makes grabby hands for her favourite fruit. "She's ours."
"Damn rights she is."
It's adorable, really. If Derek used to think that wolves were overly protective and possessive and proud of their young, it's only because he hadn't seen Stiles in full fatherhood mode.
It's beautiful.
But right now, Stiles is apparently in grazing mode as he picks his way through the meats and cheeses, taking bites of this and that as they discuss bringing out any more food for the party, but it isn't long before he turns his attention to the table for some sweeter treats.
"We have the cake in the fridge still," Stiles points out as he tosses a handful of candy corn in his mouth. The homemade cake, shaped like a gooey brain, was still setting when everyone arrived, but Derek figures it should probably be good to serve now.
"I'll pull it out in a minute," Derek says. Cautious of nearby little fingers, he cuts a grape into pieces for Abby, who also seems to have inherited Stiles' full body wiggle when she eats anything delicious.
It makes Derek smile every damn time.
"I kept a couple boxes of candy in the bedroom to hand out for trick or treaters later." Stiles grabs a Halloween-sized pack of licorice and pulls it open, peeling apart the two strings of candy before taking a bite. "But if we need more out here, I think one box will be more than enough for the kiddos tonight."
He's probably right. They don't exactly get many trick or treaters at the building, even if they sit outside with a table full of candy. They're too far from the residential neighbourhoods where most kids go and, despite improvements to the building over the last few years, it still looks kind of abandoned.
"Maybe we should head to your dad's house after we take her trick or treating. I'm sure we can hand out far more candy there."
"That's a great idea." Still munching on his licorice, Stiles heads over to the pantry, digging around, apparently without much success. "Do you know if we have any sardines? I could really go for some right now."
While Stiles continues his search and destroy mission of the pantry, Derek's entire world comes to a standstill. Abby must sense the change in him too, because she looks up with wide eyes, forgetting about her grapes altogether, which is a feat in itself. He makes sure to smile down at her and tweak her nose before he looks back at the purple jacket that's all he can see of his husband at the moment.
"Stiles?"
"Yeah?" More rustling in the pantry.
"You know that spell you did? The one that let you get pregnant with Abby?"
"The one that took me months to prepare and knocked me on my ass for three days after?" Stiles laughs. "Yeah, I kind of recall that."
Derek shakes his head and blows out a slow breath. "Did you ever...end it. Cancel it out, or whatever it is you do to complete a spell?"
"Aha!" The shout of victory is muffled and Stiles backs out of the pantry with a piece of licorice hanging from his mouth and a can of sardines in his hand. "Uh. No. It was a one time deal. Why?"
It only takes a second of Derek looking back and forth between the licorice and the sardines for Stiles to catch on. The licorice falls to the floor as his jaw drops in shock, but he doesn't even seem to notice. He's too busy staring down at his stomach, which is exactly where his free hand tentatively floats.
"You don't think..."
"I don't know," Derek whispers. "Is it even possible?"
"I...I'm not sure. I didn't really think the spell could last, you know? It was supposed to be a one and done situation. Unless..."
"Unless?"
"Remember last year when we went to get the bark from that tree? The Nemeton's sister oak?"
Derek nods.
"Uh. Remember I said the tree blessed the baby? What if it like, made the spell permanent or something?"
"Is that a thing?"
"It's a freaking magic tree! How the hell would I know?"
Stiles' scent is shifting, hope and worry and a thousand other things that Derek can't quite place at the moment, so Derek steps forward and takes the can from Stiles' hand, setting it on the counter before he pulls him in for a hug. Abby, of course, joins right in throwing her tiny arms around both of them as best she can.
"Whatever happens, we'll be fine," Derek assures him.
He's never meant anything more.
It only takes a moment for Stiles' chemosignals to settle into the same calm, joyous scent that it always takes when he's curled around Derek and Abby, something that reminds Derek of sunshine and Skittles and home.
"Yeah." The word comes out as a relieved breath as Stiles relaxes in his arms. "Yeah, you're right. We're pretty awesome dads already."
"The best."
Stiles has taken to fatherhood like a fish to water and Derek couldn't be more thankful that Abby has him as a father. If they end up blessed with another baby, that child will be just as fortunate to grow up with Stiles in their life.
Despite all that love, Abby tires of their hug after just a moment, squirming to be put down, and all of a sudden, a tiny oompa loompa is wobbling through the kitchen and back into the living room where she's met with a chorus of "Abby!" from an excited pack.
"She'd be the best big sister," Stiles whispers. They're still pressed together, just outside the pantry, while the sounds of the party wrap around them from the living room. It feels a bit like they're in their own little world
"She really would."
Expanding their family isn't something they've discussed, but Derek is surprised just how much he wants it. How much he hopes it's true.
"I really liked being pregnant," Stiles confesses, like Derek didn't already know. Like he couldn't smell it all over him through the whole pregnancy.
"I really liked you being pregnant," Derek confesses in return.
The admission leaves Stiles laughing quietly, soft huffs of breath against his neck before he pulls back with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Yeah, I might have noticed that."
A burning heat flushes over Derek's cheeks at being called out like that, but he doesn't mind. Not when Stiles is looking at him like that. Like they're about to start their newest adventure, hand in hand and side by side.
"So we're doing this?" Stiles asks. "I mean, if it means what we think it means?"
Which makes Derek wonder, "Maybe I could..."
He lowers himself down to one knee in front of Stiles, fully ignoring Stiles' half hearted, "Is now really the time to get our sexy on?" He's too busy pressing his ear to Stiles' stomach to answer anyways.
It's a long shot, he knows. Even if Stiles is pregnant, it could be early enough that he won't be able to hear a heartbeat.
But he has to try.
So he holds his breath and closes his eyes and he focuses his hearing past Stiles' heartbeat, past the swoosh of his blood through his veins, past the gurgle of his intestines, until he finds exactly what he's searching for.
A taptaptap so fast and so quiet but so very there that there's no mistaking it for anything but what it is.
A baby.
Their baby.
The surprise, the sheer joy must show on his face, because when he looks up, Stiles absolutely beams back down at him. Then he's being tugged back up to his feet and pulled into a crushing hug that he never, ever wants to leave. He has to though, because as soon as Stiles whispers, "We're pregnant," there are so many cheers and shouts from the living room that Derek has no choice but to spin them around before they're tackled into a group hug by the whole damn pack.
"I guess there's no keeping secrets from werewolves," Stiles laughs as Captain Hook — AKA Scott — lifts him up and spins him around.
But that's fine. They would have told them all anyways, and now they get to celebrate the good news with all of their friends and family already gathered together. And even though Abby doesn't understand what's happening, the excitement leaves her bouncing in her grampa's arms until Stiles has been passed around for hugs from everyone and can take her and plant kisses all over her face until she's giggling like crazy and making grabby hands for Derek as she calls for her papa to save her.
He does, of course, because he'd do anything for her. Anything for the little family that's become his entire life.
Including opening up a can of sardines as Stiles looks at him with pleading eyes from across the kitchen while his dad hugs him for all he's worth.
"Oh god, not this again," Malia says, face scrunched up as the pungent smell floods the kitchen. "Come here, Abigail, I'll save you from having to witness your daddy's revolting cravings."
"You eat wild game!" Stiles squeaks out and Noah finally lets him go with a ruffle of his hair. None of them comment on the tears in Noah's eyes. Or in Stiles'. "Like, uncooked and in the woods."
"Like mother nature intended," Malia agrees without a hint of shame. When Malia holds out her arms, Abby happily goes over, like she does with all of the pack. Like she knows down to the marrow of her bones that they're family. That they're safe. And while it's a little odd to see an Oompa Loompa in the arms of Beetlejuice, Abby doesn't seem to mind in the least. "No licorice wrapped monstrosities, right, baby girl?"
It doesn't matter that Abby doesn't know what they're talking about, she nods her head at Malia's tone and everyone takes it as proof that she's obviously right. Still, Lydia — dressed as a slightly sexy and extremely intimidating viking warrior — tosses Derek a pack of licorice and Scott starts pulling out sardines like it's no big deal.
Soon enough, they have a slap dash assembly line going, opening wrappers, passing out sardines, wrapping them in licorice, and either handing them directly to Stiles or stacking them in a Tupperware container for him to return to when the next craving hits.
And it will.
By now, they all know it. Maybe it's the magic or maybe it's just Stiles, but his pregnancies are filled with cravings that range from intense to downright unhinged and the pack is in for another nine months of it.
And Derek can't wait.