Archive of Our Own

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Archive Warning:

Category:

Fandom:

Relationships:

Characters:

• Derek Hale
• Stiles Stilinski
• Scott McCall (Teen Wolf)
• Kira Yukimura
• Allison Argent
• Isaac Lahey
• Lydia Martin
• Jackson Whittemore
• Erica Reyes
• Vernon Boyd
• Alan Deaton
• Original Characters
• Sheriff Stilinski

Additional Tags:

• Everyone Is Alive
• Mating Cycles/In Heat
• Alpha Derek
• Omega Stiles Stilinski
• Discussions of mpreg
• Mpreg
• fake relationships
• some kind of threat
• Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
• Knotting
• Top Derek Hale
• Bottom Stiles Stilinski
• scott is an arse
• Derek is secretly a romantic
• but also can't make up his mind
• i just need you all to know i don't like scott
• Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
• Mentions of Rape
• in chapter 8
• Rape Recovery
• Past Rape/Non-con

Language:

English

Collections:

SterekCollectionOfFavourites

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582

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62,836

Waxing

Summary:

The Hale land in Beacon Hills is being contended. Derek needs to prove he's not going anywhere. And the best way to do that, according to Deaton, is to have an heir.

But they don't just grow on trees.

Notes:

I think some of you have been waiting a long time for this fic. I dropped a preview in one of the later chapters of my last fic, and then kind of went quiet for a while. But here it is! I'm very nervous about throwing it out into the world, as I am with everything, but I hope you enjoy! Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

Chapter 1: Chapter One

It's a curious sensation that Derek feels as he drives once again through Beacon Hills. It is, obviously, very much like coming home, but there's such a calmness, such a peace about the place that it doesn't feel quite right. Like he's driving into a parallel universe Beacon Hills that hasn't seen death and misery in abundance.

But Deaton has called him back, so Derek is assured that things are probably going to take a darker turn pretty soon.

It's been a while. Years now. Three, maybe, since he was last here. Since he last saw anyone. It's Scott's territory. Derek was happy to relinquish the place to him before he left. To pass it on and bury all of the bad memories he had of the place. If Scott and the others wanted to hold onto it, then that was on them.

He pulls into the parking lot of the animal clinic, looking around at the several other cars that are parked up there, filling the small parking lot. The clinic is closed now, most of the lights are off, so this is everyone. It’s everyone.

Maybe it's because it's familiar too, but Derek finds himself looking for a baby blue jeep. There's no evidence of it.

The air smells heavily of rain and tastes of the trees as Derek makes his way to the back door. He’s come from the thick, smokey air of New York, and he’s almost forgotten the way forest smells. His wolf shivers happily, and there’s a small burst of energy beneath his skin, like he wants to run. The way he used to.

Derek pauses halfway to the building and just breathes. He doesn’t want to miss it. He doesn’t want to long for this place and every individual scent that makes this home and nowhere else. Pushing the back door open, he lets himself into the largest and most familiar of Deaton's treatment rooms.

Here he is assaulted not only with the heavy smell of chemicals and medicines, but of bodies, scents that he had once been so familiar with-

Their owners turn almost in unison to look at him, and he feels immediately as though he's imposing.

Scott's pack. Scott's land, his brain reminds him as he looks around, too.

Scott himself is at the far end of the room, still in his work scrubs, glaring. He’s sat in a chair facing the room, his posture aggressive. A little way over sits Allison, close to Isaac, then (to his relief) Boyd and Erica. He knew both of them had skipped town after he had, knew they’d set up home somewhere in the southern part of the state. Erica is pregnant, and that fills Derek with a warmth, a sense of pride. She would never have thought of having children when she was human, but now she is glowing, her hand resting on her stomach, the other one being held gently in Boyd’s. Both of them seem happy to see him.

Malia is beside them, then Kira, and then Stiles-

Derek pauses. For all that Scott hasn’t changed, Stiles looks like a completely different person. His hair is longer, his shoulders broader, a light dusting of hair covering his lower face. Derek doesn’t know what to do with himself. And for a few moments he thinks the sharp scent of alpha is coming from Stiles but no- no, that’s Lydia beside him. When he finally drags his eyes away from the only person in the room not looking at him, Derek counts off Lydia, then finally Jackson at her side.

There’s a sweetness in the air too. Something that is calming to him, something warm that makes this seem just a little less daunting.

Deaton is holding court, the only one standing, leaning casually against a large metal table.

“Glad you could make it,” he addresses Derek. “I’m sorry it was such short notice.”

“That’s fine,” Derek replies, despite having dropped everything to catch a flight from New York back down here, having to hire a car and book a hotel for whatever undisclosed amount of time-

He edges over to one of the remaining seats (a few spaces away from Jackson, keeping a gap between himself and the rest of the pack) and settles down- though no sooner has he sat than Scott is speaking.

“So, now you can tell us what this is about?” he snaps. Maybe being an alpha (the alpha) is wearing on him.

Out of the corner of his eye Derek sees Stiles finally glance over. For a second their eyes meet, and then Stiles looks away once more.

“I received a message from the emissary of another pack,” Deaton begins without preamble. “The pack in question is coming to Beacon Hills and they intend to contest the land.”

“Why? We’re established here. They can’t-” Scott interjects sharply, as though Deaton isn’t going to offer any more of an explanation. “What is there to contest over?”

“They know Derek isn’t here anymore,” Deaton replies calmly. “And this has been Hale land for a very long time.”

“Derek gave it to me, so it’s my land, right?” Scott replies.

Derek, for all the truth in that fact, feels a flare of anger in his chest. Scott sounds like a spoilt child. Sounds so angry about it.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. Even if Derek has said verbally that this is your land, unless you kill him it doesn't belong to you," Deaton says, his tone strangely bright.

Scott looks as though that's a small price to pay, that he'd be quite happy to kill Derek if it meant he wouldn't have to face contention for his land.

"So-" Scott starts slowly, his eyes fixed on Derek across the room. "I have to-"

"Or you can have his child," Deaton adds blithely.

Scott's head swivels around so fast that Derek thinks he might break his neck, his expression going from relatively murderous to horrified. Derek would be amused, but he too is now staring at Deaton with disgust.

"Well, I can't," Scott growls. "You mean be his mate? I’m an alpha. He’s an alpha. How is that supposed to work?" Again he’s speaking as though Deaton isn’t gently baiting them, as though the doctor doesn’t already have some kind of plan in place.

"The land belongs to Derek and his family unless you kill him and take it. Derek not being here has meant the land is up for contention. And even with Derek here, even if we can convince them he still lives in Beacon Hills, the fact that he is unmated and has no heir to carry on the Hale line, no one to pass the land onto, there will probably be a problem either way."

"So you called me here to fight to the death?" Derek asks, getting prepared to stand up and leave because he doesn't need this shit. He'd be quite happy to leave Scott to fight for the town, he’s done it before, he can do it again if he wants it bad enough. Derek has no intention of potentially laying down his life for this place.

"Or to father a child," Deaton adds.

Derek wants to punch him in the face for how casually he's talking about this. For how easily he’s just leaning against his table and looking at Derek as though he’s being a little irrational about the whole thing.

"Why not Malia? She's got Hale blood, she could have a kid-"

"It has to be you. The line is following down from Talia. Malia isn't directly descended..."

Derek starts to pace. "Well, it's not that simple."

"That's why I gathered everyone here," Deaton says, as though he's been doing them a favour all along. "If you can get someone pregnant, if there is a Hale heir living here, then the claim to the land is theirs whether you reside here or not."

Tension is rising in the room. Derek feels sick. Erica is obviously out of the question, so he either has to get Lydia, Kira, or Allison pregnant-

"I'll do it."

This time Derek feels his own head spin, looking around the gathered people, following the wide eyes to the source of the statement.

Stiles is sitting up straight, his gaze fixed on Deaton.

"Thank God," Derek hears Lydia breathe softly, but he's more interested in Stiles' offer. Stiles.

"Stiles?"

His own voice sounds too quiet, too far away from him, but Stiles turns his head anyway and fixes him with a heartbreakingly sweet expression.

"I'll do it," he says to Derek this time. "You can trust me. And we're- we were pretty close, right?"

Because of course Stiles knows that Derek isn't going to want to father a child with just anyone. Of course Stiles knows that effectively taking him as his mate means he needs to have some feelings- and sure, both of them had acknowledged that that ship had sailed a long time ago, that things always got in the way of them actually exploring that potential, but they could-

Only-

"How?" Derek realises that should have been his first question as soon as Stiles spoke, but he'd been too thrown off track, his mind already bubbling over with thoughts and images of the potential to remember the sticking point-

"Omega," Stiles says simply, a cocky little smile spreading over his face.

"No," Scott bites out. "No. No, you can't."

It's Stiles' turn to do the breakneck head swivel. "Excuse me?"

“You can’t. That’s ridiculous,” Scott replies. “You haven’t spoken to Derek in how long? And you’re just- no.”

Stiles stands up. He’s certainly taller than Derek remembers, lithe but broad at the same time, even if he is also obviously a little softer in places, around his hips and thighs. He fills out his clothes nicely. And if Derek were Scott, he’d be backing down.

“So you want us to just give up Beacon Hills to some random pack because what? You don’t want me to have sex with Derek?”

“Give up Beacon Hills?” Scott rises to his feet. “You think I couldn’t take on this pack? I’m pretty sure I’ve done it before.”

“You had a strong pack before,” Stiles returns. “We had help before. We had the rights to this land, and now we don’t. Now your crazy ass werewolf law says it isn’t ours until you fight for it, and the crazy ass laws always have some kind of an impact, don’t they?”

“It’s worth trying before you whore yourself out-” Scott says.

“And by then it’s going to be too late. They’ll be here and there’s no way you can turn around then and say ‘oh, and this is the guy carrying Derek Hale’s love child’” the mocking imitation of Scott’s voice would be funny in any other situation, but right now Stiles is just terrifyingly ballsy. “Because that child won’t exist. So we’ll be fucked. We’ll be beaten, and we’ll be fucked. And you might be dead. So you wanna weigh that up again? You wanna rephrase me whoring myself out to a ‘thanks, Stiles. Kind of you to offer’?”

Scott looks on the verge of shifting, his eyes are flashing, and Derek feels that same prickling, ready to stand up and get between the two of them. Stiles is stupidly brave, and maybe he trusts that Scott won’t hurt him, but Derek’s wolf doesn’t agree with that summation.

He stands. Scott looks over Stiles’ shoulder to him, and Derek straightens up. He could take Scott.

“Gentlemen. Can we all sit back down,” Deaton says softly, gesturing with his hand for them to all resume their seats.

No one moves.

“Gentlemen,” for once Deaton’s voice is clipped, authoritative, and the three of them turn to look at him. “Sit down.”

Scott is the last to retake his seat, and he does so uncomfortably, tense, on edge.

“I think if Stiles is graciously willing to offer, the two of you should really discuss it,” Deaton says to Derek. “Consider it. I know it isn’t ideal. I know it isn’t what you would really want, but it is our most viable option.”

Making a child for the sake of this place is abhorrent to Derek. Having a child raised in this place that has taken everything for him makes his insides hurt. But he looks at Stiles, who is watching him with patience and gentleness, and if Derek were ever going to create a life, he would want it to be with him. Somehow that makes sense to him.

“We can talk about it,” Derek says, addressing Stiles only, even though he can see Scott in the background glowering, fidgeting. “I’d like to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, a bright smile flickering over his face before he manages to reign it back in.

“Wonderful. Great,” Lydia chimes in then, the first of their audience to speak, and the different voice startles Derek for a second. “Now that’s sorted out and everyone has finished pissing on each other, can we go? It’s a work night, I haven’t had dinner-” She stands up, smooths down her skirt and looks around expectantly.

“Yeah, I’d...I think we should go,” Malia says, her eyes shifting uneasily to Scott and then back around the room.

“Okay then,” Lydia doesn’t seem to want to wait for any more agreement, tucks her chair back against the wall, and then clips out of the room with a little waggle of her fingers, an airy goodbye.

Jackson and Boyd busy themselves moving all of the chairs back into the waiting room, and Derek says goodnight to Allison, Isaac, and Erica as they pass him. Kira’s expression is rather tight as she passes, and then it’s just the most awkward fourple left, with Deaton supervising.

Scott still hasn’t stood up, but that seems to be keeping his annoyance contained. Malia looks sour, and Derek doesn’t really blame her. She’s been told she’s not Hale enough to be useful. Not even as the ruling alpha’s partner.

Stiles rises, straightens his clothes, and doesn’t look towards his best friend. His eyes are fixed on Derek. And that sweet scent from earlier comes back. It washes over him and takes away all of the annoyance. It feels like an age since he last smelt an omega properly. Diluted somewhat, Stiles is probably taking pills, but God it’s beautiful.

“Call me,” Stiles says softly as he passes Derek, his hand lingering on Derek’s lower arm. “I’m serious. I’m serious about this. I want to help.”

“I know. I- thank you,” Derek replies. He can’t stop himself from touching, either. His hand goes to Stiles’ hip. “Your number-?”

“Hasn’t changed,” Stiles replied. Then he adds without missing a beat. “Do you need it?” Because he knows Derek. He knows that there’s a chance Derek deleted all of their numbers as soon as he made it out of state.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and hands it over.

“Look at you, keeping up with technology,” Stiles chides playfully, his smile making little dimples appear in his cheeks. He smells so good. Derek breathes in shallowly, for the moment having no regrets about coming back here. And the prospect of fathering a child with Stiles doesn’t seem so radical.

His phone is pressed back into his hand, and Stiles squeezes Derek’s fingers closed around it. “Call me,” he says again, offering Derek one more smile before he’s brushing passed, literally brushing, and heading out the door.

****

Derek drives back to his hotel and checks in. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He had gone straight to Deaton’s after hiring his car, so now he’s standing in a fresh room, holding his case and his laptop bag and feeling out of place. Not that the apartment he left back in New York is particularly lived in, but it’s familiar, it smells of him. This room just smells of strangers and starched sheets.

Unpacking his clothes into the wardrobe and his other bits and pieces into drawers and onto the desk takes about five minutes.

And he’s now very aware of how quiet it is. Even being fifteen storeys up with double glazing in New York he could hear the city; constant cars, sirens, horns. Here the silence yawns around him. He can hear his own pulse.

Opening the window, the sweet, rainy air washes over him again. Derek breathes in. He can hear a few cars, can hear animals and birds, can hear the conversation a couple are having over a cigarette outside the hotel. It’s better.

He hasn’t really let himself think about what had happened with Deaton, what the conversation has meant, what the conclusion is. But there isn’t a whole lot he can do to distract himself now. And Derek really has to know what he wants so that he can have a conversation with Stiles.

Stiles, who is an omega. Stiles, who can carry his child.

Derek only has a small handfuls of names in his phone, and now one of them is Stiles. He’s going to call, but there’s too much pressure on that. Texting is nice. Texting he can be fully on board with.

Derek (20:04): Hi

Stiles (20:06): Hey, Der! X

Derek snorts at the enthusiasm, and then sighs at the warmth of the familiarity. He’d always put kisses on his texts to Derek, like it would get a little rise out of him, but Derek had just never sent one back. He has no intention of doing it now, but he does like it.

Derek (20:07): Do you want to have coffee tomorrow? We should talk.

Stiles (20:10): I have an hour for lunch at midday. Otherwise I finish at five. X

Derek (20:10): Where do you work?

There are longer pauses between Stiles’ replies. Derek kind of wants to know what he’s doing.

Stiles (20:15): I’m a cop, buddy! X

Of course. Derek should have known that. But working for the police is going to make it difficult for Stiles if he’s pregnant. He can’t go out and patrol, he can’t go anywhere dangerous, it’s not going to be ideal. But Stiles knows what he’s doing. Derek has to keep reminding himself that Stiles offered.

Derek (20:16): Congratulations. Perhaps lunch?

Then he doesn’t have to spend all day wondering.

Stiles (20:19): Okay, smooth talker. You want me to come and pick you up? X

Derek (20:19): Pick somewhere and I’ll meet you there. I’ll pay.

He’s pretty sure that in three years a few places will have popped up in town that he isn’t aware of. He didn’t really go out a lot the last time he lived here, and the places he used to hang out as a kid have all changed. He’s developed quite a pallet for coffee in New York, and kind of craves some now, even if he should sleep, compensate for the flight and the timezones.

Stiles hasn’t text back yet. Derek should have asked if he still lived with his dad. He could drive over there. But then the Sheriff might not be impressed with a man turning up on his doorstep to discuss knocking up his only child.

He paces the room, goes to stand at the window again. The moon was full last week, the side of it is shaved off now, bright in the cloudless sky. Derek has spent most of the moons alone in his apartment. The few wolves he found in New York liked to spend their moons indulging in each other, and that isn’t really Derek’s thing. Once or twice, yes, when the lack of a pack and the loneliness was too much for him to resist the draw of company.

If he’s still here at the next moon… that’s going to be very different.

Stiles (20:46): There’s a coffee shop around the corner from the station. The muffins are great! And they do police discount. X

Derek (20:47): You can’t have a muffin for lunch, Stiles.

Stiles (20:47): It’s my body, Derek, OMG! I’ll do what I want! X

Derek (20:47): Stiles

Stiles (20:49): I’m joking, Der. I’m just teasing you. But I am having a muffin for lunch. And a large coffee. Maybe a sandwich. X

Derek (20:50): And yet you still manage to keep your figure.

Stiles (20:50): Some guys like a bit of junk in the trunk. I have to keep them happy. X

Derek frowns at his screen. He isn’t particularly comfortable with the thought of Stiles pleasing other men. It isn’t any of his business, and he isn’t stupid enough to think that Stiles hasn’t notched up some numbers, but he doesn’t like it. Which is stupid.

Derek (20:51): You’re so considerate. I’ll be by the station at 12.

He’s hungry, now that he thinks about it. He ate on the plane but it wasn’t much. There’s a Subway just down the street. He could go for a salad. Or drive out and find something a bit more substantial, but he’s not really in the mood to drive. He might not stop if he starts.

Derek’s jacket and shoes are back on, and he’s out the door, and Stiles still hasn’t replied. He gives a little bit of consideration to going over there now, but maybe Stiles is showering or in bed or...doing something else, and it would be entirely inappropriate.

The last message comes through whilst the guy in Subway is throwing Derek’s choice of salad in a box, but he doesn’t read it until he’s walking home.

Stiles (21:15): Wonderful. See you tomorrow. Night, Der! X

He waits until he’s in to reply, as though it’ll give Stiles a taste of his own medicine. As though Stiles will care.

Derek (21:21): Good night, Stiles.

Derek eats his salad and doesn’t anticipate a reply.

***

He is a little early, standing outside the police station feeling rather shifty. He’s been in countless numbers of times, but he doesn’t feel like he should go in now. He texts Stiles to let him know where he is, and then he waits.

It’s not a long wait, but God it’s worth it.

Stiles wanders out in his uniform, and Derek is admittedly thrown by how good it looks on him. He’s not the kind of man to be particularly turned on by something as simple as a uniform, but it might have been knowing Stiles as a gangly sixteen year old and seeing him now, grown up, that gave it some extra shine.

The other man smiled at him, sauntering over with his hands in his pockets.

“Look at you,” Derek smiles back (a smile that is maybe a little bit more like a smirk).

“You are, aren’t you? You like what you see?” Stiles turns slowly on the spot and yes, Derek takes advantage of what is on offer. “Well, that’s a good start. Come on, I need feeding. Gotta keep these curves well supplied.”

Stiles is bubbly, chatty, and fills Derek in on all the things that might have changed in town since Derek was last here.

“How will your dad feel about us having a child together,” Derek says, stirring his coffee slowly.

Stiles has gone from bubbly to jittery, gazing into his own cup, his knee jiggling up and down. His muffin is half eaten. “I want kids. Of course I do, I’m an omega-” he huffs gently, not looking up. “But I can’t- I won’t mate. I mean, I won’t have a mate. An alpha. I can’t.”

Derek nods his understanding. Stiles isn’t the type, no matter his status, to allow himself to be made into a submissive partner. And it doesn’t have to be a sentence like that, now. He can be an independent omega, he has the right to it. And certainly most alphas were in line with that way of thinking as well, but there are certain things about being mated, intrinsic, instinctive things that Stiles would succumb to that would probably make him miserable in the long run.

“So I guess this would work out well for the both of us,” Derek murmurs, similarly fixing his gaze down, admiring the bubbles clinging together on the top of his drink as his spoon moves around.

“Yeah. You can go back to New York once I’m pregnant. Or once our pup is born-” Pup. Stiles uses the term so easily, even throws in a little shrug of his shoulders. It isn’t as common a term outside of wolf pairings anymore. “-I have a lot of people here who’d help. You wouldn’t be obligated to stay.”

Derek stops stirring, rubbing his face with his other hand before he looks up at Stiles. Stiles still has incredible eyes, like gold, just clear, brilliant gold. Full of sincerity. He breathes in slowly. The air smells of sugar, but he can still pick out Stiles’ scent. There’s a wordless stretch of time as Derek thinks it over, before he can work out what it is he’s thinking and feeling.

“I don’t think I can leave,” he admits finally, heavily. “I don’t think I could leave you both.”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders gently again, but it’s far less casual this time, and there’s a warmth in his eyes. “I always thought you’d be a good dad-” he says, then adds just as gently. “Are you seeing someone in New York? Would this make it difficult for you?”

“No,” Derek replies, perhaps too fast. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.” He looks across at Stiles, who is now meeting his gaze. “Are you?”

“No. It’s kind of difficult to be with someone when you’re pretty sure it’s just because you smell like a fuck toy.”

Derek frowns at him. “You don’t. I mean, you smell great-” Stiles’ soft omega scent is filling the air around them, and Derek has been happily breathing it in since they sat down. “But I’m not about to strip us both naked and have my way with you here-”

Stiles’ eyes twinkle for a second, and Derek feels a flush creeping into his cheeks.

“That’s because you don’t just think with your dick,” Stiles says. “And that’s another reason I’m happy to do this. I know you’ll respect me. You won’t make shit weird.”

Derek nods slowly to buy himself some more thinking time, which doesn’t help because nothing conclusive crops up.

“So, what’s next?” is all he manages, finally lifting his cup to his lips.

“My heat is still a couple of weeks away and I don’t think we can wait that long, even if it is pretty much a guarantee. I think we should start trying as soon as possible. I’ve come off of my birth control, and even if it takes a few days to get back to normal, I don’t think we should waste time.”

Derek gazes at him, wondering how Stiles can be so pragmatic about this. But it is Stiles’ body. He knows it better than Derek. He’s probably a lot of time thinking about all of the possibilities open to him. Stiles has always been the one with the plan.

“So- would you like to go for dinner tonight or tomorrow?” Derek starts, watching the momentary softness that covers Stiles’ face before it’s back to business.

“We don’t have to date, Derek,” he says gently. “I don’t need that.”

“You just want to get together and have sex?” Derek asks, hoping that doesn’t sound too crass or...disappointed?

But Stiles nods, giving yet another shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t see why not. It’s not like we’re strangers. We have something between us, but we don’t have to force that. I think it’s pretty obvious that our baby will be more than just insurance.”

Our baby. Derek lets out a breath, nodding his head, though his brain is stuck on that one thought.

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Stiles says gently. “After work. What’s your room number?”

“421,” Derek replies, wishing they had somewhere better than a hotel room to do this so that it wasn’t so sordid.

“Okay,” Stiles smiles, standing like it’s the end of a business meeting. “Thanks for the coffee. I really need to get back to work. I’d better make the most of these before I’m on the decaf.” He gives Derek a bright smile and knocks back the rest of his drink, then hesitates, clearly wondering how to say goodbye.

“I’ll fill you with sushi, beer, and coffee whilst I can,” Derek says, a little thrown at the abrupt end to their lunch. He doesn’t stand, doesn’t get up and embrace Stiles the way he actually wants to, because that seems like too much all of a sudden. “See you tomorrow.”

Stiles seems happy with that sign off, his posture relaxing as he gives Derek a small wave before heading back out to the busy street, turning in the direction of the station. Derek watches him until he’s out of view, trying to ignore the nagging of something in his chest.