December 2017
The music at Liam’s place was loud enough to block out any thoughts Stiles might have about being back in his hometown for the first time since he moved to Seattle. He looked around the room and realized he didn’t recognize anyone in this party, but it was Liam’s birthday and as such, he felt someone from the pack had to make it. Besides, free alcohol and possibly other mind altering substances that would help him fall asleep tonight were always welcome.
Somehow, he ended up with a bunch of Liam’s friends, playing Uno and downing shots as if he were a freshman again, half lost in his thoughts while making his next move to skip the player to his right. He was so distracted that the vibration in his pocket made him jump, which got a good laugh from the group.
He almost dropped his phone when he saw Derek’s name flash on his screen for the first time in what felt like forever. Faster than he would be proud to admit, Stiles opened the text and stared at his phone some. Then stared some more. He hadn’t heard from Derek in months —not since their relationship crumbled before his eyes. That’s why to say Stiles was surprised to get a text from him on the third day of his Christmas vacation was not enough. Especially when all the text had was an address.
He’d found out from Scott that Derek had sold everything in Beacon Hills and left for Brazil to see Cora, so the address meant he was back in town. Did this mean Derek was actually staying in town? For how long? Were they even supposed to see each other again? Derek had made it clear that what they had had been broken beyond repair and it was better to go their separate ways.
As with all his complicated life decisions, he decided to outsource the decision process.
He wrote to Scott: I really want to see Derek. thoughts?
Then he typed for Lydia: Derek just texted me an address on the other side of town and I really wanna go
Stiles received an almost immediate answer: no, both read. Lydia’s text had an additional 4 exclamation points.
can’t we just reconnect or smthg? Stiles sent back.
I highly doubt it, was Lydia’s quick reply.
A couple minutes later, Scott said: are you sure?
Stiles went ahead and lied so terribly that was painfully transparent even miles away: I only see him as a friend y’know
Ha! was Lydia’s swift comeback.
Man, I know you don’t mean that, wrote Scott.
Then can’t we fuck and still be friends?
NO!!! Lydia wrote back.
While Scott sent: are you at Liam’s?
But Stiles had already apologized to the table, stood up, and picked up his jacket, weaving a path to the door through the sea of people who came to celebrate with Liam. He’d barely seen the guy in question at the party, but Stiles knew he’d understand. If anyone seemed to think Derek and him could make it work, it was Liam.
The chilly bite of the moonless Beacon Hills night woke him enough to give him some clarity. He could at least ask some questions before walking into what could very well be a trap. Stiles typed quickly, wondering if Derek even remembered.
is it monopoly or clue night?
strip poker, actually, was Derek’s answer, followed by an emoji rolling its eyes.
Stiles smiled at the emoji. Derek remembered. Not only that, he was answering Stiles pretty much immediately, meaning he really wanted to see him and it wasn’t just playing nice for their friends.
you’re right, it’s a bad idea, he typed to Lydia, locking his phone without looking at the answer.
Fuck it.
Stiles’ car was old, he knew that. It was bound to fail sometimes. It also had a tendency to mess up his plans ever since he first got it.
“Come on, baby. Don’t do me dirty like this,” he said, tapping the steering wheel as if to wake the car up. He tried the ignition once more, but the car sputtered and died. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He got out of the car, slamming the door hard enough that he knew it would be jammed next time he tried to open it up. Stiles took out his phone and tried to get an uber, but after 5 minutes of nothing, he canceled the search and put his phone back in his pocket.
Maybe the universe was trying to say something: maybe he shouldn’t have started walking in the direction of the address; maybe he shouldn’t have been expecting to find a taxi somewhere; maybe he shouldn’t have been jogging as midnight struck and the rain started to fall.
Stiles only stopped when he reached downtown, leaning on his knees to catch a breath. He realized he would arrive in a sorry state to see Derek and maybe it would put him off. His phone rang in his pocket, scaring him out of his thoughts: it was Derek, because of course it was.
“What’s taking you so long?” he asked.
Stiles’ heart started beating quickly in his chest. He was embarrassed to admit that he was out of breath. If it was because of the jogging or because of Derek, he wasn’t sure. “Well, you chose the farthest possible point in town for me to go to. You sure want this to be hard for me.”
“Maybe that was by design, have you thought of that?” Derek sounded amused though, as if hearing Stiles’ voice was something enjoyable, wanted even. He could hear the turn signal in the back. So Derek was driving around. Interesting. “Are you at Liam’s?”
After looking at the cover of clouds above his head for a moment, Stiles spoke, “I’ve been literally running under the rain to get to this mysterious new place, soaked to the bone, and you’re just, what? Driving around Liam’s?”
Derek laughed. Something familiar settled in Stiles’ chest.
“Where are you? Send me your location.” Stiles didn’t reply immediately, he just closed his eyes and let the rain run down his face for a second. He must have been silent too long because Derek’s voice came back, worried this time, “Stiles? Are you there?”
“I’ll send it now,” he hung up and kicked the STOP sign, frustrated. He tapped the screen on ‘Live location’ and huffed. Even now Derek was the one that came to the rescue. It reminded him of the first time it happened and his stomach tightened.
Lydia was right, there was no way they could ever be just friends.
He was pacing up and down the sidewalk when the camaro pulled up. Derek lowered the window and said, “you look like you need a ride.”
Stiles wondered if Derek knew what his words sounded like. His grin said he knew exactly what he was doing to him. Stiles noticed the slightest hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure he still could make those kinds of comments. It saddened him that Derek could ever think his answer to that would be negative.
“You look like the ride I was hoping for,” Stiles said, feeling emboldened by Derek’s own attitude.
The moment Stiles got in the passenger seat, the tension was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife.
Definitely a good idea.
The moment the door closed behind Derek and turned around, Stiles walked him until his back hit the door. He put an arm on the door right above Derek’s shoulder, leaning forward, and lowered his voice: “what are we doing, Derek?”
“What does it look like?”
“Not a word since June,” he pressed on, moving his lips closer to his ear. “Not a call, not a text, and now this?”
Stiles was pleased to notice Derek’s flush and he lowered his eyes to hide the blue in them. Oh, so it is like that.
“What? You think I’m just going to be on call for you whenever I’m in town?” Oh, if anyone knew just how true those words were. “I’m not your thing anymore.”
Derek growled, all teeth and blue eyes, grabbing Stiles by the waist and turning them around so it was Stiles’ back against the wall now. “I’ll make you mine then.”
Stiles would have begged, but the words were stuck in his throat, all he could think about was Derek Derek Derek while the beating of his heart threatened to send him into cardiac arrest. “Well, are you gonna wreck me or not?”
Derek didn’t need any further invitation, crossing the distance to Stiles’ mouth in a swift movement that rattled the door behind him. Stiles grasped his jacket, pulling Derek closer still, opening his mouth to him. Fire coursed from every single contact point between them, destroying every bit of willpower Stiles could have possibly had left.
Derek’s hands roamed down his body until they found the back of his thighs and lifted Stiles. Instinctually, as he had done many times before, Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and let himself be carried while kissing Derek’s swollen lips.
Instead of the open space of the loft, they actually had to stop to enter a room this time. Stiles was curious about this place, but he didn’t ask, all he did was continue kissing Derek and roaming his hands down his body until they reached a bed as big as the one in the loft, his chest tighter at the memory of the nights spent in there.
Derek broke first, he was proud to say.
“I missed you so bad,” he murmured against his neck, making every hair in Stiles’ body stand up. “It’s just not the same without you here.”
“You could’ve picked up when I called.” Stiles’ breath hitched as Derek’s teeth scraped the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. “Or answered my texts.” He slipped his hands under Derek’s t-shirt. “You were gone.”
“I’m here now.”
It shouldn’t have been enough for anyone, but Stiles was wired differently and, when it came to Derek Hale, all his sanity went out the window.
He let Derek unbutton his jeans and when he went to his knees, all Stiles could do was swear under his breath. Derek pulled his pants and underwear down, letting his cock free, already hard and dripping, then he smiled. “God, you’re so desperate for me.”
“Blow me, Hale.”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” he replied, swallowing the head at once.
Stiles moaned. Suddenly, he wished to be back at the door where he had some support because his knees threatened to give out. His eyes closed, but he forced them open to look down at Derek who was taking as much as he could before bobbing his head up and down to swallow Stiles down.
The sight was something he’d long ago given up on repeating and he wanted to take it in before he and Derek had another argument that split them further apart. Just as he was starting to spiral, Derek’s hand grabbed his balls, rolling them between his hands and bringing Stiles back to this moment, lost in the sensation of Derek’s tongue under his dick.
It wasn’t long before Stiles was right at the edge, exactly at the same spot Derek had been so good at taking him to. He wanted to say something, to warn Derek that he was close, but all that came out of his mouth was a drawn-out moan and he was coming.
Stiles must have blacked out for a second and his knees given out, because Derek was holding him up by his thighs, then his waist as he stood up. “Easy, easy. I got you.”
He would have been embarrassed but all his mind could spin was: Derek! Mouth! Good!
Stiles leaned against Derek for just a second, feeling the outline of his dick through his jeans, blood running hot immediately at the thought of riding him. He straightened up, stepped out of his clothes and gestured at Derek.
“I was promised a ride,” he said.
Derek’s brow furrowed. “I must be doing something wrong if you can still talk at all.” He took off his pants and grabbed a bottle of lube from the table, grinning, “on your knees, you know the drill.”
Stiles raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t let Derek win this.
“Maybe I wanna see your face while you do it,” he challenged.
The light in the room was off and the curtains were partially closed, so it was very difficult for Stiles to see it, but he would bet good money Derek was flushing then. “Okay. Then lie down.”
“Derek, give me that and lie on the bed.”
He frowned, but did as he was told, fixing a pillow before getting his hand around his own dick and stroking lazily. That was enough for Stiles to get to work, sitting at an angle where he could give Derek a view of what he was about to do. He coated his fingers with lube and slid one in his hole without much preamble. He wanted Derek inside him six months ago: every second that passed without Derek rearranging him from the inside was a second of his life wasted.
Stiles chanced a look at Derek and saw the man stroking his dick slowly with one hand, while grabbing the sheets tightly with the other one. His eyes had a slight blue shimmer that told Stiles the most important information he had gathered tonight. Derek still wanted him, as fiercely as he did six months ago.
He slid a second finger in easily, scissoring himself until he felt prepared enough. It was fine, when Derek truly wrecked him, it wasn’t his ass that would hurt. Stiles crawled up the bed, hanging above Derek’s hips for a moment.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Derek said.
“I'm still mad at you.”
“Are you, babe? ‘Cause it doesn’t look like it”
That’s what did it. He sank down on Derek’s dick all at once, a long moan leaving his throat. Derek’s hands immediately found his waist and held him still for a moment, eyes closed tight, like the sight was too much for him. It certainly was too much for Stiles who felt seconds away from a panic attack. For a second it didn’t matter who broke up with whom or what it was all about, because of course they found each other again, that’s what they did.
It was, as the artists say, sublime.
But he was brought back to Earth when Derek’s hips snapped up and his entire dick entered him. His heart beat faster, his dick twitched, his eyes closed. Stiles swore; he swore again and again and again until his words stopped having any meaning. When Derek slowed down, for whatever reason, Stiles did what he did best and took over, leaning down on Derek’s chest and planting down his feet on Derek’s side.
“You’re gonna remember this on your deathbed, Derek,” Stiles found himself saying.
“At this pace, you’ll be the death of me Stiles,” his tone was playful, but his concentration was obviously somewhere else. Stiles leaned down and kissed him until he felt dizzy, drunk on Derek, high on the feeling of his cock going deeper and deeper as Derek edged closer to his orgasm.
“Not yet, Hale.” Stiles took his half-hard dick in his hand, stroking it at the same time Derek hit that precious spot over and over again. Derek’s hand gripped him tighter and Stiles knew there’d be marks in the morning but he didn’t care. Stiles was close, too close to coming again even if it borderline hurt to touch himself, he wanted to come on top of Derek, mark him as his.
“Stiles I’m—”
“Not yet, not yet, don't let it be over yet,” Stiles almost begged, biting his lip, stroking himself to the edge.
Derek’s eyes did a once over and stopped at Stiles’ cock, reaching to touch him. It was more than enough to send Stiles over the edge and have him see white. At the same time, Derek groaned and Stiles felt Derek’s cock throb as he came inside.
They were silent for a moment until Stiles said, “God, was it always like this?”
“Maybe. I think so.”
Stiles climbed off Derek, feeling his ass drip come down his thigh. He laid down next to Derek, staring at the ceiling, counting to ten, then thirty, then sixty until he could no longer stay silent, but Derek beat him to it.
“Are you still mad?”
Stiles laughed, a genuine laugh that he didn’t think he’d had in months. “What are we doing, Derek?”
“It’s really not the same without you here.”
“I’m going back on January 2nd,” he said by way of answer.
Silence filled the room like a heavy blanket, hot and oppressive.
“After all that, you’re still going back?” Derek asked, turning to him.
“I’m not dropping out of my dream post-grad program for some dick. Didn’t you say that I shouldn’t do that?”
“I did.”
“You can visit me up there if you can actually stop running for a while and settle down here.” Stiles was still staring at the ceiling when he added, “we can play it by ear.”
“Can we, though?”
He knew Derek was listening to his heart then, trying to figure out if his next words would be a lie.
“Whatever.” He got up and started picking up his clothes, getting dressed in a hurry. Of course being fucked within an inch of his life wouldn’t solve anything, but he sure hoped it did. It was disappointing to find out nothing had been solved at all. “You kept my number apparently.”
“So did you.”
Touché.
When Stiles left the house, it was still raining. He didn’t go back inside to wait for his uber. Once in the car, he noticed he put on Derek’s t-shirt instead of his own, tears dried on his face as he thought of what they’d had once that they could never get back.
April 2015
Of course, their relationship was never perfect.
Their friendship had been built on a strong foundation of bickering like an old couple and saving each other's lives, walking a fine tightrope of love and hate, and that bled into their relationship: they went on long days of missing each other while Stiles was at college interrupted only by Derek’s visits in the middle of the night that ended in them having fights about everything and anything.
Stiles made a point out of visiting Beacon Hills every two weeks to see his dad, with the added benefit of he and Derek having time alone for themselves at the loft. He spent a few hours on Sunday with his dad if he was free and Derek often came over for dinner. They’d watch a game or a movie together and then his dad would find a moment to say just leave Stiles, have fun. They’d be out of the house in seconds, driving up to the viewpoint to make out for hours on end.
They were happy, young and in love in a way that directors would envy for one of their movies. According to Isaac, it was “sickening”. Stiles would’ve made a jab at that if he hadn’t noticed the way he still looked at Allison, or the way he looked at Scott too for that matter, and known that Isaac was deep in Heartbreak Land still picking himself up. Never kick a man down, they said. Stiles was a gentleman like that.
When Cora came back from wherever Derek hid her after the whole deal with the Alpha pack and she found out about Stiles and Derek, even Stiles heard the earful she gave Derek. The rest of Derek’s pack had all avoided Stiles’ eyes as Cora told Derek all the ways in which dating Stiles was a bad idea.
“He was fucking possessed, Derek!” she shouted. Erica flinched and Boyd held her hand. Stiles wondered if there was something else going on there, but he couldn’t think long about it because she continued. “What if that– that– thing is still inside of him and kills you? You’re all I have. Do you get that or not?”
“Stop bringing that up. I told you it’s been dealt with and we all lived to tell the tale. In a way. What matters is that we are alive now,” said Derek.
“And then what? You let him into your pack while you had me hiding ‘because of my safety’? That’s fucked up.”
And… Cora has a point about the reason Cora was hiding. Why was she still gone?
Wait a minute, Stiles was not— he wasn’t part of Derek’s pack. He wasn’t part of anyone’s pack.
“He’s not part of my pack,” said Derek. “He’s with Scott.”
“I’m not with any pack,” Stiles finally said. He knew Cora and Derek would hear him, even if it looked like they’d forgotten he was still there. “I’m leaving.”
“Stiles—” started Erica, but Stiles interrupted him.
“See you later, guys.”
He opened the door and went down the stairs two steps at a time, grabbing the railing to stop him from just throwing himself down. Moments like that were when it would have been useful to be a werewolf, but what was the point of thinking about that.
“Stiles!” he heard Derek yell, followed by quick steps down the stairs, catching up to him easily. Stiles went down the last couple without looking at his face. “Stiles, come on. You know I don’t care about what other people think. I love Cora, but she’s not even giving you a chance.”
“What if she’s right though? What if I’m nothing but a time bomb where you can’t see the timer, but you know the explosion will be bad.” Stiles often thought that, but never voiced those thoughts.
“You’re not.”
“But if I was,” Stiles insisted. “What if I was and what if I– what if I killed you? I killed Allie, I could do it again.”
“First of all, you didn’t kill Allison, but you were the one who brought her back and I think that should be enough for you.” Derek found his eyes and held his gaze. “You’d fight the Nogitsune and win.”
“And if I hurt you before?” Stiles’ eyes were staring at Derek, who took one of Stiles’ hands and said.
“Then I promise I’ll fight to come back to you because I know you’ll be fighting to come back to me too.”
And then he shrugged as if he were talking about the weather.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing him, all lips and tongue and teeth, a raging storm that made his heart surrender.That’s how Stiles suddenly became aware of one thing: if there was forever, it was Derek for him.
June 2015
Sometimes, they had intense fights that dissolved into frenetic kissing, clothes peeling off their bodies faster than they could keep track of. Sometimes, those makeout sessions devolved into primal fucking against Stiles’ uncomfortable mattress in his small room at the apartment he shared in the city, trying to keep quiet so his roommate wouldn’t start playing that awful EDM that signaled he was particularly angry at Stiles. Sometimes, like today, their kissing had become slow and deep, a soft rhythm beating steady in his heart, Derek’s arms holding him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
He couldn’t remember how the fight started this time, just that they’d been up in each other’s faces in a way they hadn’t for a long time and for a split of a second, and Stiles thought this would be it, the fight that broke them apart. Instead of that, at some point during the fight, Derek had said, frustrated. “I just— I love you so much and it’s driving me insane that you don’t think about what it feels like to see the person you love the most running into—”
Stiles’ words had been out of his mouth out of their own volition, a hopeful, desperate whisper that the werewolf’s ears would pick up anyway. “You love me?”
Derek had looked at him, serious, “if you don’t know that by now, what have we been doing all this time?”
“Say it.”
Derek shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe Stiles.
“I love you, Stiles. I love you. How could you not know that by now?”
When they kissed, their mouths crashed against each other in a way that they hadn’t since the first time they kissed: it was a return to the origin of everything. Things heated up quickly and before long, they’d been kissing against the door of Stiles’ room, desperately trying to get their hands all over each other while not letting go.
When they finally got their shirts out of the way, they moved things to the bed, where Stiles straddled Derek at once, his tight jeans making it hard to hide exactly how riled up he got. Usually, that was the point where they’d get naked and have mind blowing sex, but this time, they naturally gravitated toward a slower rhythm, Derek driving his hips up against his ass in a way that was driving him insane. Still, Stiles fought himself to keep things PG-13.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered against Derek’s neck.
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Derek answered, his hands running up and down Stiles’ sides.
“I wanna– sleep next to you,” he said, in between kisses. “Just– sleep.”
“We’ve slept– together– before,” said Derek in the same manner.
Stiles stopped kissing him just long enough to let the words spill out of his mouth, charging the air in the room. “Just let me wake up one morning believing our lives aren’t a shit show, believing we’re gonna be fine. Just one morning thinking every morning will be like that.”
There was a moment of stillness in the room while they both made sense of what Stiles was really saying. Stiles scrambled to move from the place where he was on top of Derek, an apology half on his lips when Derek grabbed his wrist and looked up at him, hazel eyes full of emotion. “We could have that.”
Stiles' heartbeat jumped.
“Are you—?”
“If you ask me if I’m serious, I’m leaving,” said Derek, but he was smirking in a way that let him know they were back at the point where they could joke with each other.
Stiles kissed him again, a short thing followed by a long chain of pecks on the lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Stiles.”
November 2016
At what time are you getting to BH? read the text Derek sent.
I’m not going, Stiles texted back.
Why not?
I don’t see the point. It’s not funny, he typed. He deleted it. Instead, he sent, I just don’t feel like driving
His phone rang and a picture of him and Derek flashed on the screen. They were together at a fair and Stiles had just won Derek a floppy stuffed animal. They looked happy there. Stiles wanted to be next to him more than ever, but at the same time, the notion of going to Beacon Hills today felt like a heavy weight in his chest pulling him down.
“What happened?” was the first thing Derek asked, not even waiting for Stiles’ greeting.
“I just don’t think that celebrating when someone came back to life is particularly appealing,” he said, getting up to open the window and sit on the small balcony he had.
“I thought it was the celebration of victory,” Stiles could hear a smile on his face. He probably looked handsome enough to be a God.
“Can’t we just ignore my past with regards to the events surrounding Allison’s death? I’d rather forget about the whole ordeal.”
Picking up on something that apparently only werewolves could pick up over the phone, Derek said, “I’ll see you tonight. Leave the window open.”
“Edward Cullen-like behavior,” Stiles replied, fond of how ridiculous his boyfriend could be.
Later, when Derek arrived and they kissed, devouring each other as if every second apart was torture, Derek asked again what had changed that he didn’t want to go back to town for their yearly reunion.
“I love the guys. I miss them, all of them. I just can’t deal with the reminder of all the things that happened– not around this date.”
“What's so special about it?”
“Did I ever tell you that before the Nogitsune announced itself, my father took me to the doctor to see if I had the disease my mother had?” The words spill out of him in a rush, a familiar sadness creeping up his voice. “It was around the same time of the year my mom told me about hers. I don’t know, I thought I would eventually forget about it, but it’s another year and my mom has been gone longer than she ever was with me and I don’t think I remember her voice anymore, except for the time when she said goodbye.”
“Oh, Stiles—” Derek sounded as if someone punched him in the gut. “I didn’t know–”
“I never told you.”
“I should’ve known,” he insisted.
Stiles huffed a laugh. “You carry enough grief of your own. You staying tonight?” Derek froze, a deer in the headlights look on his face.
“Relax, we don’t have to talk about it,” Stiles reassured him. “We have all the time in the world.”
June 2017
It didn’t end the way Stiles would have wanted, both of them growing old in a house in the middle of the forest, drinking herbal tea on the porch while gossipping about the neighbor’s new boyfriend. No, Stiles wouldn’t be so lucky, obviously.
It was a hot summer night, hotter than most nights at this latitude, and Scott was visiting his mother from Los Angeles. He had just graduated less than two weeks ago, coming back to Beacon Hills barely a few days ago. Stiles had spent every single one of those days at Derek’s, naked most of the time. The news had been talking nonstop about the heat wave and the effects it would have on the environment and the wildlife of the region. Stiles should have guessed “wildlife” included the company he kept.
It was only Lydia, Allison, Scott, Derek and him —what Stiles jokingly referred to the originals sometimes— and they were drinking beers while grilling some steaks when Scott said, “man, this is probably the last time we’ll all be together.”
“Not everyone’s here yet,” said Lydia.
“You know what I mean. You’ll be leaving to MIT in August, I’ll go back to LA, Stiles moving to Seattle, Kira and Malia moving to—”
Stiles’ eyes widened and he tried to communicate to Scott that he needed to shut up ASAP, but it was too late.
“What do you mean?” asked Derek. “Stiles isn’t going anywhere.”
“Sure, not now, but soon. Summer will be gone in the blink of an eye and then it’ll be goodbye,” added Scott, none the wiser.
Lydia tried to come to his rescue then, but the damage was done. “Well, it’s just a few years. And he can always come back in the summers, Christmas, spring break—”
Derek turned to Stiles, brow furrowed. “What does Scott mean?”
Stiles shrugged, standing up from his seat. “Does anyone want another drink? I’ll go grab another beer.”
“Stiles?”
Derek’s voice didn’t sound mad, but he was cautious not to assume anything yet.
“I’ll be right back.”
Stiles went into the kitchen hoping to get a few minutes to come up with something, but Derek was right behind him and the dreaded question came all too soon.
“Stiles, what’s going on?”
He opened the fridge and took way longer than necessary to fetch two bottles. “Nothing,” he lied.
“Stiles, come on,” Derek pushed.
Stiles realized there was no way he could keep postponing this conversation. Scott was right, summer would be gone in the blink of an eye and Stiles would be packing up his stuff and driving up to Seattle where he’d stay for the foreseeable future.
“I got into grad school.” A beat of silence. “In Seattle.”
“You didn’t say you were applying,” Derek said, his voice soft and understanding. God, this would be difficult.
“I didn’t think I’d get in, what with my messy transcripts and all.”
Stiles got ready to hear grumbling about hiding things, but instead, Derek said, “congrats, Stiles.”
He was looking at him with those sad eyes he had sometimes when he thought about his family on a particularly vulnerable day and Stiles didn’t think he could take it. After what seemed like the longest silence there’d been between them ever, Stiles said, “I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not. I can’t do it,” Stiles found himself saying.
Derek shook his head. “What program did you get into? Is it the master’s-PhD you were talking to Lydia about a month ago?”
Stiles realized that while he’d been engrossed hiding his application and trying to come off as if nothing was happening, Derek had been looking and he had probably known all along what Stiles’ intentions were. It made it unbearable. There was no way Stiles could leave Beacon Hills to live far away from Derek.
“I don’t have to go to school there,” Stiles said.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, Derek—”
“You do. You’re not going to stay for anyone but yourself. And you don’t want to stay, Stiles.”
“What would you know?” he raised his voice, suddenly aware of the people still hanging out in the backyard as the smell of burnt meat hit his nose. Of course, they’d all forget about the meat while listening in. His voice got louder as he said, “can someone check on those steaks, for fuck’s sake!”
He heard the guys scramble to do something about the meat, then loud whispering, and finally, steps walking away. Before Stiles could say something else, Derek said, “I gotta go.”
“What? No, no. Why?”
“I gotta think about stuff.”
“What do you have to think about?”
“I don’t know.” Derek shook his head. “You’re leaving, Stiles. In a couple of months you’ll be gone.”
“Not forever. Like Lydia said, I’ll drive down often, you’ll see. We can make this work.”
“Make it work? You’re not even gone and we’re already fighting!” Derek raised his voice. “Look at us!”
“Then come with me,” Stiles pleaded.
“To Seattle? To do what?” Derek looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here having this conversation. Stiles knew they could make it work.
He looked for his eyes before saying, “to be with me.”
Derek gave him a weak smile before reaching to softly caress his cheek. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Werewolf politics. Werewolf magic. It’s complicated.”
Stiles didn’t like the condescending tone. “Then dumb it down.”
“I could be stepping into someone’s territory. I could break the bond I have with the land here in Beacon Hills. I could, I don’t know, accidentally start a new pack with you and you made your feelings about being a pack very clear already.”
“Oh, so you’re not coming with me because I said I’m not with any pack?” Stiles’ blood went cold. He didn’t pursue a career as Emissary precisely because he didn’t want to be the reason for more fights between Derek and Scott. They were friends now, they worked together all the time, they trusted each other, they were a proper pack… all of that would be shattered the second Derek made some kind of claim that split the pack in two. He was supposed to be neutral territory, that’s how Stiles had always seen it.
“I’m not coming to give you a way out,” said Derek, as if uttering the words was a stab to the chest. It certainly was to Stiles’.
“A way out?” Stiles' voice broke. “Are we breaking up?”
Silence filled the room, thick and cold like trying to wake up on a winter Sunday.
“We can talk later, Stiles.”
“You don’t mean it,” he almost threw himself at his feet, but he still had a shred of dignity left and that part of himself was burning with white hot anger. Derek would not leave like this. It was not supposed to end like this. As Derek walked to the door, Stiles grabbed his wrist and said, “Why wait, huh? Why don’t you break up with me? Why don’t you do it right now?”
“Stiles—”
“Come on. Do it, do it.” Derek looked at him pityingly; Stiles immediately hated it. “You know what? I’m gonna do it.” He let go of Derek’s writst and pushed his arm away. “It’s over. I don’t wanna see you anymore.”
He left then, softly closing the door behind him, seemingly exerting every ounce of self-control he had to avoid slamming it shut.
Before ten full seconds passed, Stiles opened the door and called, “wait a minute, we’re not really breaking up, are we? This is just another fight we’re having.”
Derek’s only response was to run away at a sprint, quickly disappearing from Stiles’ sight.
For the first time ever, Stiles felt that a fight was painful: a bleeding wound in his chest that made him keel over and fall to his knees.
He supposed he knew what a broken heart meant now.
November 2014
It started not like a storm that swept you off your feet, but a drizzle that made you look up at the sky and admire the clouds for as long as you could while the droplets ran down your face. Or at least, that’s what Stiles told himself whenever he thought of that night. He wasn’t even supposed to be in Beacon Hills, it was a quick detour to see his father before arriving at the community college where he’d complete his associate’s degree.
It was all supposed to be temporary: a temporary job that could sustain him through college, a placeholder degree while he made up his mind after the Virginia plans fell through, a week in his childhood bedroom reading ancient comic books frayed at the edges. He was doing just that when the bell rang and Stiles’ old Beacon Hills habits kicked in. He grabbed his baseball bat from behind the door and went down the stairs slowly, careful not to step on the places where the stairs creaked under his weight.
Someone pounded on the door impatiently.
“Stiles! Come on! I know you’re there!”
Derek’s voice shouldn’t have surprised him that much, given that he knew the man lived in town, but it still sent a chill down his spine. Derek’s voice always meant trouble was on its way. Or that Stiles’ brain would power down in embarrassing ways.
Something must have changed though, because this time, it kicked Stiles into gear, making him drop the bat and quickly open the door.
He quickly wished he hadn’t though.
There he stood, leather clad, leaning against the door and dripping blood, Derek Hale in all his 6 ft. glory. His shirt was so ripped it was barely held together by the leather jacket, which was a mess itself. Derek’s jeans were not spared from the bloody fest and a long rip went down the left thigh until the knee. Surprisingly, his boots were in one piece.
After a moment of silence, Stiles said, “well, are you coming in or what? I have neighbors, you know?”
“Oh, I’m familiar,” he replied, hoarsely.
Stiles frowned at him, worried. “Are you healing?”
“Yes,” Stiles could hear the eyeroll in his voice. “I just needed a place to rest for a second.”
“And you were coming to my dad’s?” Stiles questioned, hands on his waist.
“He’s in the know.” Derek leaned against the railing of the stairs, exhausted. “I didn’t know if someone would follow the camaro, so I walked to the closest, safest place in town—”
Derek’s eyes dropped, his breathing became labored, then a second later he was passing out, the banister breaking under his weight. Stiles barely had time to catch him, stopping him from hitting his head against the floor.
“Good God, how many times are we going to end up in the exact same place?” Stiles mumbled, carrying Derek’s body to the couch. “Jeez, how are you heavier? Can werewolves pack extra muscle per square inch?” Once Derek’s head was safely propped up, he lifted each leg individually. “Okay, Derek, you know the drill, wake up.”
Derek seemed to move his head, but it was useless. Stiles sighed and shook him by the shoulder. “Come on, Derek.”
When there was no response, Stiles’ sigh got louder and longer as he sat down on the table in front of the couch. He softly hit Derek’s face using the palm of his hand, where once upon a time he would have gone directly to a slap. “Derek, wake up.”
He tried one more time —and if his hand lingered for a second on Derek’s cheek, that’s between him and God—, this time his hand was a little heavier, his heart pounding harder inside his chest. He was surprised to hear his voice tremble when he said, “Derek, you’re not gonna die on my couch, you fucking hear me?”
Derek’s eyes fluttered open, bright and beautiful and alive. “Who said— sumthin’ ‘bout dyin’?”
“Werewolves!” said Stiles, exasperated.
Stiles got up and brought his dad’s first aid kit from the cabinet it was kept in, grabbing a clean kitchen towel along the way, then wetting it with warm water before going back to Derek. He could’ve said the man was asleep since his face was covered with his left arm, but his right hand was fiddling with a torn piece of leather.
“My sister gave me this jacket,” he said unprompted. “Now it’s ruined.”
“You can probably fix it and it would look badass still,” Stiles replied.
“But you’d still be able to see all the patches and missing pieces.” Stiles closed the curtains, prompting Derek to let his left arm fall to the side. “I just wish I didn’t have to let go of this too.”
“You don’t have to,” Stiles insisted. “I’ll find someone to fix it. Community college students are always looking for these kinds of projects.”
Derek huffed. “I wouldn’t trust a college student to patch this up.”
“Will you trust this college student to patch you up, at least?”
Stiles felt more than he saw Derek shift, then sit up on the couch. “Of course.”
He took off the torn jacket and what was left of his shirt, sitting up straighter when Stiles’ towel touched his chest. Derek let Stiles clean him up, hissing only occasionally, staying otherwise silent during the whole process. Once clean, Stiles put gauze in the places where the deep cuts had not healed yet to avoid them from getting infected, or the cleaning would have been for naught.
“I don’t actually need—”
“Derek, shut up,” Stiles said, confidently. There was a time where he wouldn’t have dared say such a thing, but there was too much water under the bridge for him to be afraid of Derek anymore. If anything, he was afraid for Derek, especially not knowing what happened to him. “Take your pants off.”
Derek raised an eyebrow at him and Stiles felt his cheeks heat up.
“Do you want me to wash those or not?” Stiles asked.
Derek looked pained at having to stay in his boxers, but at least Stiles wasn’t going to ask him to wait naked for his clothes. He gathered all the pieces of Derek’s shirt and the stained towel and threw them in the trash. When he went back to the living room, Derek was looking at his jacket from every possible angle, as if trying to mend it with his sight alone.
“Come on,” Stiles said. “I have some clothes you can wear.”
Derek huffed.
“If you want to stay in your boxers and explain to my dad what you were doing in the living room like that, you’re more than welcome to do it.” Stiles made his way to the stairs and added, “by the way, you’ll have to fix this before I leave.”
He picked up his bat and went up, shaking his head. Derek could freeze his bits off in subzero temperatures for all he cared. Who gave him the right to look so attractive after all this time? And what had possessed Stiles to care for him when he thought he was dying when Derek clearly only wanted a place to bleed on for a while? And actually—
He realized he was pacing across the hallway when he saw Derek standing at the top of the stairs, only in his boxers, looking tired and beaten up. He was hugging the leather jacket and all the ribbons it had been ripped into to his chest the same way a child would hug a beloved blanket.
Without saying a word, Stiles went into his room and started going through some clothes he kept there. He quickly found what he was looking for: his lacrosse jersey was big enough to loosely fit Derek and one of his old sweatpants would have to do because he didn’t think there was a pair of jeans in the house that would fit that beautifully sculpted bottom of his.
Derek accepted the offered clothes with only a soft scowl and mildly pursed lips. So mild in fact, you might even miss it or confuse it for a smile.
Stiles was about to leave Derek to dress by himself when Derek grabbed his wrist. “Stay?”
All he did was nod and sit on the bed, trying to find somewhere to look at that was not Derek’s abs as he put on the jersey or Derek’s legs as he slipped the pants on.
Derek sat down next to Stiles.
“So, now you tell me what happened?”
“What for?”
“I just want to know if I have to stay longer in Beacon Hills or if my dad is safe here.”
“Your dad is always safe. He’s a grown man who knows how to take care of himself,” Derek said, wincing slightly as he rolled his shoulder.
“I still worry, you know?” Stiles insisted, knowing it was a weak point. His dad hadn’t ever needed his help to deal with whatever came his way. Other people always did the heavy lifting if his dad was in danger.
“I know.”
After a beat of silence, Stiles’ mouth betrayed him. “And you? Are you safe?”
Derek didn’t reply immediately. “I will be now.”
“You better,” Stiles found himself saying.
Derek huffed. “Why do you care so much?”
“I just do, okay?” Stiles’ heart beat faster, nervous. “I don’t want to go to your funeral anytime soon.”
“You don’t have to lie about it,” Derek said, a current of sadness running clear through his voice. He looked ahead and swallowed, a blank mask covering his grief as if it was never there.
“I’m not. Lying, I mean.” Before he knew what made him do it, he grabbed Derek’s hand and said, “I mean it when I say I don’t want to go to your funeral. To be honest, I’d rather die first.”
“Stiles—”
“No, listen to me, I’m serious. I would rather die than live in a world where I don’t get to patch you up once every six months.” Stiles could have stopped. He should have stopped there. Instead, he said, “I’d rather die than not see those big, beautiful eyes again. I’d rather die than never have the chance to tell you—”
“Tell me what?” Derek interrupted.
“You know, Derek.” Stiles looked at their joined hands and realized Derek hadn’t made a move to pull away. “You must know.”
Derek’s free hand came to touch Stiles’ face, looking into his eyes.
“Tell me what,” he repeated, softly, a whisper that almost got lost in the room.
Stiles took Derek’s hand and put it on his own heart that was beating senseless inside his chest cavity. “If you can’t hear it, then you're a worse werewolf than I thought.”
For a moment, everything in the room was still, electricity charged the air as Derek listened to Stiles’ heart beating wildly inside of him. Stiles almost said something that would’ve ruined the moment, but Derek’s hoarse voice made him lose it when he whispered in his ear, “were you thinking about me?”
All Stiles could do was nod and swallow, anticipation tightening his stomach. Derek’s mouth pulled up at the corners, then the hand on his face guided Stiles’ face into a kiss. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat, his heart seemed to beat even faster, his hands were sticky with sweat, but all that mattered was this: the moment Derek’s lips touched his, the world around him dissolved and nothing was as important as the feeling of Derek’s warm mouth on his.
He didn’t know how much time it passed, just that it was enough for the washing machine to beep downstairs letting him know the clothes were ready. Stiles opened his eyes to find Derek looking at him, a look of unbridled joy in his eyes. “You’re so damn beautiful,” Derek said.
“Yeah, right,” Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to stand up, but Derek stopped him.
“Be my boyfriend,” he said, recovering some of his usual confidence.
“We haven’t even gone on a date.”
“Then let’s.”
Stiles bit his lip nervously, aware of Derek’s eyes following the movement. For a second, he wondered what it would be like, dating Derek. Then he realized he could find out right now.
“Alright. Let’s.”
March 2018
Stiles closed the door and leaned against it. That was by far the worst date he’d ever been on. He was tired of the pointless swiping right and one night stands that left him feeling as empty as he was before, with a sprinkle of guilt at the thought that when he agreed to go on subsequent dates with these people, he knew he was leading them on because there was one person he could not forget under any circumstance.
He didn’t tell Lydia that he had slept with Derek that night back in December, but there was no need, she’d figure it out when he stopped replying to her increasingly worried texts. The only thing she’d asked when Stiles called her the next day was “was it worth it at least?”
Stiles hadn’t been able to reply back then and he still didn’t know. Had it been worth it? To be honest, anything seemed to be worth having Derek’s mouth on his, his hands on his body, his come dripping down his chin after blowing him senseless.
But he had to get over it. Derek was over it —if Erica’s description of the girl he’d been seeing was anything to go by. Maybe Erica was just fucking with him for her own entertainment or, most likely, Derek had finally decided to move on and Stiles should do the same.
He was wondering how long he’d have to carry with him the pain of not being able to let go of Derek, when he heard a noise by the balcony.
One of the things he’d never thought he’d have to worry about living on the fourth floor was burglars, but here he was apparently: grabbing his bat and walking as quietly as possible towards the window. Not for the first time in a possible fight, he wished he had a better weapon but he couldn’t grab a knife from the kitchen without announcing himself and he wanted to keep this as quiet as possible.
Stiles saw the silhouette of a man climbing the balcony and braced himself to strike, then the silhouette solidified just a couple of feet away and he immediately recognized the width of the shoulders, the cadence of that voice when he mumbled a curse, those blue eyes flashing as he barely avoided one of Stiles’ plants.
“You know, I didn’t think I’d have to worry about someone coming into my house using my fourth floor balcony, but thank you for hooking me up with a new fear,” he said by way of greeting. Thanks to the almost-full moon lighting up the balcony, Stiles caught the first time Derek was surprised by not hearing Stiles. Immediately, his emotions shifted to confusion followed by sadness, then he scented the air and something like regret and jealousy crossed his face before it all disappeared under a mask of nonchalance.
“I don’t like that guy,” Derek said. Stiles just looked at him with a raised eyebrow that he hoped conveyed What? “The guy who dropped you off. Pretentious asshole.”
“And you would know this because…?”
“I was waiting for you outside,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “And he drove a Mercedes. I thought you had an opinion about guys with expensive cars.”
“I have an opinion about one of them right now.” He put his bat down and stood up straight, he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, as Stiles stretched his wrists, Derek’s eyes followed the movement of his body biting his lip.
“So, why are you here?” Stiles asked, harsher than he meant.
“I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t want to interrupt what looked like a very awkward goodbye.”
“Why?” he echoed like a broken record.
“Maybe that way I can be the one to save the night?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “We can’t just pretend that it’s been 3 days since we fucked. It’s been 3 months, Derek.”
“I hoped we could ignore that part. You just had the worst date ever.”
“Maybe it was so interesting I want to drag it out, have you thought about that?” Stiles said, noticing for the first time just how close they were.
“Maybe you were thinking about someone else the entire time. “ Derek took a step closer. “Maybe—”
Stiles put a hand on Derek’s chest, keeping him at a distance. All it accomplished was give Stiles a direct line to Derek’s feelings with the beating of his heart. He feigned nonchalance as he said, “if we do this, it’s no strings attached. Strictly sex, nothing else.”
Derek took another step closer, putting a hand on Stiles’ hip, then he whispered next to his ear, “can’t we fuck and be friends, at least?”
Stiles almost laughed at his choice of words knowing he had echoed them a number of times. Instead, he grabbed Derek’s face with both of his hands and crashed his lips against Derek’s: the man came closer as if pulled by the moontide, opening his mouth to Stiles, biting his lower lip, drawing a filthy moan out of Stiles.
He was lost to Derek’s mouth and before his rational brain could catch up, he kissed Derek on the way to his room, peeling Derek’s clothes off him as he walked.
“God, I missed this,” said Derek, kissing Stiles’ neck. “I missed you.”
Stiles wanted to say that’s not very friendly of them, but instead of that, he focused on Derek’s jeans and Derek’s lips on him and the way his pulse was beating a different beat ever since Derek touched him again.
Of course the first rule he broke was no strings attached.
May 2018
It’d been a couple of months since Derek had first come to Seattle to look for him and Stiles woke up to a text of an eggplant emoji and a question sign. It wasn’t the first time —and it probably wouldn’t be the last time— that Stiles would wake up, see Derek’s name on the screen and feel his chest tighten. It was second nature now: they fucked, they went their separate ways, they met again. Sometimes they fought, but it was the same kind of fight as before, merely foreplay for them.
tonight? wrote back Stiles.
Now if you want to
Then his phone beeped with a new message: a picture of Stiles’ building from the parking lot across the street.
come up, he sent back.
The sex was good, because of course it was: Derek still hadn't had a bad run in the 4 years they’ve been sleeping with each other on and off. Derek was sprawled on his back and Stiles was sprawled on his stomach, half on top of him, still sticky with sweat.
There was something going on with Derek though, who seemed to be in a state of rumination ever since they came down from their post orgasm highs. Stiles didn’t ask though, he let him be for as long as Derek needed, knowing, from years of experience, that there was nothing one couldn’t wait out of Derek Hale from.
Stiles almost fell asleep but Derek’s voice next to his head woke him up. “I want us to be a thing again.”
“A thing?” Stiles looked at him with a smile on his face. “Aren’t we a thing now?”
“You know what I mean, Stiles.” Derek grabbed one of his hands and put it on his heart. It was beating a steady rhythm under Stiles’ hand. “I miss you. I don’t like it when we’re apart.”
Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. They’d been dancing around the topic ever since Derek climbed back up his apartment balcony, scorching his skin with the touch of his hands and the sounds that left his lips as Derek begged to be wrecked by Stiles. It was precious.
Now, Stiles wanted to hide from the raw feelings hanging in the silence of the room.
“Derek—” he started.
“You’re about to say no,” said the man, his right arm falling on his face to cover it.
“I think we should talk first.”
“About what? I’m crazy about you, you’re crazy about me. Why not?”
“That’s the thing,” Stiles sat upright, reaching for his clothes on the floor. “We’re being crazy about this. Can we just think things through? I’m not gonna be done with my PhD for another year, I have shit to do here.”
He put on his pants and a T-shirt that used to be Derek’s, but that had been with him for years now. It made something in his sternum pulse with pain.
Derek, for his part, got dressed as well, shaking his head. “Well, clearly, we can’t be just friends.”
“We’re friends,” Stiles rushed to say.
“We’re way past that,” he replied, walking out the room.
Of course, Stiles followed him. He would follow him anywhere.
“So what? This is it?”
“I gotta find a way to quit you, Stiles.” His gaze was blank as he shrugged on his old leather jacket. Stiles could see the places where he had stitched it back together from the ribbons it had been torn into. One could argue that the scars on the jacket represented the man in it, since he looked so vulnerable and beaten up, even when there wasn’t a scar visible on his body. The metaphorical resonance wouldn’t leave Stiles’ mind any time soon. Just as he was about to speak, Derek continued, “being with you is all fun and games until I’m back home alone thinking of you all. The fucking. Time.”
Derek sounded angry, at himself most likely, but Stiles didn’t like it anyway. It mirrored what he felt when Derek wasn’t around , but he would never admit it out loud.
“If it’s such a fucking chore, then don’t come back,” said Stiles. “If it’s so terrible that you can’t bear thinking about me, leave.”
Derek came closer then, grabbing Stiles’ face with both of his hands. “You don’t mean it and you’re gonna regret it.”
Stiles knew he would, still, he pushed Derek away and looked the other way.
The door slammed shut behind him and all the pieces of Stiles held together by Derek fell to the ground. It hurt worse than the first time.
June 2018
Stiles had been in Beacon Hills for all of one night when Scott appeared at his door telling him they needed to go to Deaton’s as soon as possible.
“Man, I just got here,” he complained, knowing he’d go anyway.
“It’s about Derek.”
“What do you mean about Derek? What happened to him?” his voice gave him away easily if Scott’s look was anything to go by.
“He disappeared,” Scott didn’t elaborate until they were in Stiles’ care. “We need to pick up Lydia.”
Stiles’ blood ran cold. Scott must have sensed something because he said, “I’m not saying Derek’s dead. I don’t know where he is, but Lydia can maybe help us find him.”
They were at the clinic when Stiles found his voice again, “so, how long has it been?”
“Weeks.” Stiles’ stomach tightened. Scott reached into a cabinet. “He’s not answering any of my texts.”
“Did Derek ever return your texts? He certainly didn’t return mine.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he knew he was painfully transparent by Scott’s look.
“Once. Definitely. At some point.” He finally found what he was looking for in the cupboard and turned around, holding it tight. “So I went to his house, right? The alarm was still on, everything looked okay. But then I found these.”
He passed them the canister he pulled from the cupboard and Stiles took one of the bullet casings inside. It was engraved with a skull.
“I sent a picture to Deaton and he said it was the mark of a family of hunters based in Mexico. The Calaveras. Chris Argent confirmed that apparently, they were in California a few weeks ago.”
Stiles straightened up. “Alright then.”
“What would they want with Derek?” Lydia asked.
“Wait, you don’t think they killed him?” interrupted Stiles, aware of the desperation bleeding through his tone.
“I don’t know.” After a moment, he pushed the canister in Lydia’s direction. “This is why you’re here.”
Lydia took the casings out of the canister and rolled them in the palm of her hand, closing her eyes as she let them fall on the metallic surface of the table. She looked lost in her thoughts for a moment, then she opened her eyes, looking confused.
Stiles couldn’t bear it for three seconds. “What? Is he dead?”
“No.” Stiles didn’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. He was glad for holding back when Lydia’s next words came. “He will be if we don’t find him though.”
Stiles walked around Lydia to make it to the door. Scott’s only question was, “where are you even gonna look for?”
“Mexico.”
June 2018
“This might be the stupidest plan we’ve ever come up with.”
Stiles swallowed. “I’m aware it’s not our best.”
“We’re going to die,” Lydia said.
“Are you saying that as a banshee or just being pessimistic?” Stiles didn’t even turn to her to reply, following Scott’s instructions to the house where the Calaveras operated from. He was distracted, his mind only on one thing.
“I’m saying it as someone who doesn’t want to die.”
“Well, from now on, keep it strictly to banshee life-or-death business.”
After a beat, she said, “this plan is stupid and we’re going to die.”
“Oh, thank you,” he added sarcastically as they turned onto the street where they were supposed to find the club.
It was a very quiet street and if Stiles hadn’t already known that the Calaveras had a club here, he would’ve thought he had the wrong street.
They stopped in front of a big house where two bouncers in black closed flanks in front of Lydia and Stiles.
“Get lost, kids,” told them the one to the right, a thick Mexican accent coming through.
“Estamos acá por la fiesta,” said Lydia.
“Tenemos—” Stiles reached out to his pocket and saw the bouncer grab for their guns, he gestured to his pocket, then quickly added, a thick American accent of his own, “invitación.”
Stiles showed them the card, then followed the men’s eyes to the camera. Grateful for catching up quickly, he showed the invitation to the camera, hoping that his nerves weren’t obvious.
The door behind the men opened ominously, letting them into a dark corridor. Lydia and Stiles walked down until they reached the end of it. There were paths to their right and their left and a big oak, probably soundproofed, door right in front of them. They shared a look and then pushed the door open together.
The floor was brimming with teenagers and young adults dancing as if there was no tomorrow. Stiles could see people vaping while others sniffed a line of cocaine from someone else's tits. It was the kind of party his freshman-self would’ve enjoyed, but his 23 year old self didn’t care for. Or at least, not when all he could think of was Derek is here somewhere.
They settled by the bar and waited to signal someone, but before they could say anything, the bartender put two shot glasses before them. As Stiles rushed to refuse them, a man put their hand on his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lydia shift as the man did the same to her.
“On the house,” the man said. Stiles shook his head and as he changed positions, the man’s holstered gun pressed against his back. “I’ve never seen a pair of Americans refuse a drink before.”
“We’re not here for a drink,” Lydia added. The casing clanged against the shot glass as she dropped it, making the man shift back in the process. He spoke a couple of words in Spanish into his radio, then nodded.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
Araya Calavera’s office was dark. It had deep red walls, small lamps for lighting and a huge desk separating them from Araya herself. It seemed to have several windows but they were darkened by thick curtains that barely let in any light. She was entertaining herself with a knife, pulling stitches apart from a piece of clothing. She was talking, but Stiles didn’t hear anything until the one person he needed the most right now was mentioned.
“We’re here for Derek Hale,” said Lydia, not a tremor in her voice. You’d never guess she was the most reluctant to do this.
“Is that so?”
“We know you have him,” Lydia pressed on. Araya’s gaze finally came up to look at her. Stiles thanked not being subjected to those cold daggers. The silence in the room was growing uncomfortable when Lydia added, “we’ve heard… you can be bought.”
Stiles took his cue and put the money on the table, arranging the five stacks of cash neatly. He felt a rush of adrenaline down his back. Somehow, staring death in the face in the search for the love of his life who might not even be alive is the most alive he’s felt in a long time. “That’s $50,000 for Derek.”
“Now, where does a college student get money like this?” Stiles doesn’t have time to wonder why they know he’s in college somewhere because Araya continues, “Japanese mafia, perhaps?”
All the guards in the room went around loading his guns, pointing them loosely in Stiles and Lydia’s direction.
“Not smart to come alone,” she said, smiling.
“What makes you think we came alone?” Stiles asked, his voice raspy from staying silent so long. He smugly watched the smile disappear from her face.
She stood up, hot anger flashing on her face. “You brought a werewolf into my home?”
Lydia turned to look at him and Stiles was suddenly aware that these people were ready to kill them all. He thinks of his friends blending into the crowd in the club, he thinks of those waiting outside, ready to go at their signal. He figures, what the hell.
“We brought a Pack.”
Araya turned around and asked something about the dark moon. He didn’t hear Lydia’s answer because he was trying to listen for noises in the corridors. He heard the faint sound of a fight and two of the guards left the room to check on it.
“I wonder why… when you have suffered so much, you would risk it all for someone like Derek Hale?”
Stiles hated her tone, he hated her and right then, he knew that he might not be a wolf, but he was clearly in the pack, because the animal fury that coursed through him at the idea of abandoning his packmate was so big that Stiles could have started killing with his bare hands. “‘Cause we don’t like to lose.”
At the same time, the man who brought them to the office checked in with the perimeter. He’d just gotten an affirmative from the east corridor when he said, “norte? Norte? Repórtate. Cambio.”
The radio on the table cackled, then Scott’s voice came as clear as day. “Stiles, take 10 off the table.”
Stiles did as he was told, pocketing the money in a manner that suggested he felt more comfortable at this table than he really was.
“Maybe you should just take the deal,” said Lydia.
The fighting noises were closer now and the last two guards left the room, only Araya and the man who seemed to be her second-in-command remained.
“Tempting,” she smiled at them and a chill went down Stiles’ spine. So this would not be easy. “But I’m going to have to decline.”
“Come on. Just give us Derek,” Stiles said, frustrated. “You don’t want him anyway. Haven’t you noticed what a downer he is? Just come on, take the money.”
“What do you say, Severo? Should we show them how the Calaveras negotiate?”
The man, Severo, lit up and called on the radio, “fumigación en el pasillo 3.”
Stiles wondered what that was about, but soon he had his answer, as two men came in dragging Scott into the room, followed by Malia and Kira. They were coughing, their eyes shining uncontrollably: wolfsbane poisoning. At least, they hadn’t caught the rest of them yet. Stiles felt he was running out of time, but all that really mattered was that Derek was still in danger and he’d be damned if something happened to him on his watch.
“Alright, I’m fucking tired of this,” Stiles said, grabbing the stacks of bills from the table and passing them over to Lydia. She frowned as this was not part of the plan. “Where’s Derek? This is the last time I’m going to ask.”
“Stiles—” Scott interrupted, but had to stop because one of the guys holding him drove a taser into his stomach.
Stiles breathed in and closed his eyes, reaching inside of himself. Sure, he hadn’t pursued a career as Emissary, but after what happened with the Nogitsune? There was no way he would be defenseless again. He was still a beginner, but every time a supernatural nasty had been following him, it had been enough.
Once he felt around his spark, he grabbed as much of it as he could without the restrictions he put on himself to practice in his apartment. It was overwhelming, the power in his hand, and Lydia’s voice ran cold next to him, screaming when he opened his eyes.
Araya Calavera looked surprised for the first time in the evening.
“A druid. Impressive. I didn’t expect it from McCall’s pack. That makes it, what? Three different types of monsters to eliminate from this Earth.”
Stiles didn’t let her continue, knocking the guns and tasers out of the guards hands, giving Malia and Scott a chance to fight back which they immediately took. When one of the men fell to the floor, Kira grabbed a knife out of his ankle, then drove it deep into his thigh, blood coming out in quick pulses out of the wound.
That’s when Araya shot twice, once hitting Scott and once hitting the wall behind the place where his head had been only moments ago. The bullets weren’t laced with wolfsbane, or Scott would be writhing on the ground, but they still hurt and Scott cursed as he took down two guards at the same time, slashing one of their throats.
Araya seemed to realize she was outnumbered and there was no way she came out of this unharmed, when she raised her voice, “alright, alright, stop. You want him so bad, I can take you to him.” There was a short moment when no one said anything, unsure of how to proceed. “But only the Banshee and the Emissary. The rest of you stay here.”
“Stiles, it’s not—”
“Fine,” agreed Stiles before his brain could catch up to him. He just wanted to be with Derek, he didn’t mind being the one in danger.
Araya was alone as she led them through a couple of dark corridors and eventually opened the door to a dark basement. Stiles had to stop himself from running the minute she opened the door, lest he fell into a trap. Araya went in first, then Stiles followed by Lydia. Derek was shirtless, hanging from a set of heavy chains that kept him mildly suspended, his eyes half-closed, bare feet trying to get a better grip on the ground. Lydia gasped behind him. Stiles’ heart was beating faster than ever.
“Disconnect him from the electricity first,” said Stiles, trying to sound as confident as he felt.
“I don’t know how,” said Araya, feigning naivety. She walked closer to Derek, close enough to touch him, but stopped a feet away, cocking her gun in his direction.
Lydia grabbed the back of his shirt and he noticed he had moved in Araya’s direction. Stiles tried to be calm, he didn’t want to risk awakening anything weird in him, but he couldn’t help reaching for the power inside of him. When he opened his eyes, he knew they had a ring of white by the look on Araya’s face.
Stiles lifted his hand in the direction of the console connected to the long cables that ended at Derek’s ribs, he tilted his head and pulled until the machine hit the floor with a loud clang. Then he pushed all of his strength to flatten the dials and levers in the machine. It beeped twice before going dark.
“Lydia, please check on him,” he called.
Araya looked at him up and down, appreciatively. “Is this Alan Deaton’s work? It looks different. Darker. What are you, Stilinski?”
Right then, the rest of the pack made it to the room they were in, some ponytails loosened, clothes askew, but everyone looked in one piece.
“You weren’t coming out,” said Scott by way of apology.
Araya took their tiny moment of distraction to put her gun right against Derek’s temple. “One step closer and I kill him.”
Suddenly Stiles couldn’t take it anymore, he was tired of people messing with him, with his pack, with his— with Derek. He wasn’t sure how, but everything bubbled in a flash of hot white anger and Stiles was screaming.
He heard the chains holding Derek break free and he heard Lydia’s banshee scream, still he couldn’t see anything for a few seconds while he came back to himself.
The next thing he saw was Araya on the floor, grabbing at her stomach, while Lydia and Cora lowered Derek’s lax body to the floor. Stiles didn’t know how he was still upright, but he walked to Derek’s side and went to his knees, braving Cora’s snarl.
“Easy,” said Lydia. “Both of you. Maybe let him breathe a little.”
Cora stood up and walked towards Araya. Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes off Derek not even for a second.
“What did you want with my brother?” she asked. Araya didn’t reply and Cora took that as a challenge. She crouched in front of the woman and grabbed her wrist, pressing on it until Araya dropped her gun and whimpered. “Did you hear a crack? I think I heard a crack. Tell me what you want with Derek.”
The man in question, however, wasn’t moving. He was barely breathing and Stiles didn’t want to see him like this anymore. He held Derek’s hand and said, “hey, baby, I’m here. It’s gonna be okay, you hear me?”
Derek’s eyes fluttered open and looked for his face, having trouble focusing for a moment. “Stiles?”
“That’s right, I’m here.”
His eyes unfocused and he turned his head to the side, spitting black blood. “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he mumbled.
“If anybody fucks with you, they fuck with me,” Stiles reassured him, worried about the black substance at the corner of Derek’s mouth. He cleaned him up using the sleeve of his hoodie, questions rushing through his mind: what was going on? Why wasn’t he healing? What did they do to him? Why was he so cold?
“Come on!” Cora yelled. They all heard the crack that followed when she broke Araya’s arm. “Why do you want him so bad?”
“He’s– the only one who can get her,” she replied, cradling her arm, angry tears running down her face.
“Get who?” pushed Cora.
After a long moment of silence that Stiles spent cleaning the sweat off Derek’s brow, she said, “La Loba.”
Scott caught up first, “She-Wolf?”
“Ah, McCall. Lobito, you have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?” her self-assured tone was making a comeback.
“Guys,” called Erica from the back. “I think we have to go.”
“Leave,” said Stiles, holding Derek’s body fully on his lap now. “I can take Derek through the back door.”
Cora stood up, claws at the ready. “And her?”
“We can’t go around killing hunter families,” reasoned Scott. “But she’s coming out with us.”
Isaac and Cora dragged Araya out of the room, Cora giving Derek a look that seemed to say I’ll stay with you.
Derek was awake enough to say, “go. Go with them. I’ll be right behind you.”
For a moment, as the guys left the room, Stiles thought they were alone, but Lydia was standing on the threshold looking sad. “Lydia, we’ll be right there, I swear.”
“Stiles—” she started.
And Stiles knew. He didn’t know how, but he knew she was about to say something that would shatter his heart forever. If she said anything at all, since sometimes all she could do was scream.
“Go, Lydia,” he insisted.
Once they were alone, Stiles turned to Derek again and noticed he had the tiniest smile on his face.
“I didn’t think it’d be like this,” Derek said. “I thought there’d be more pain.”
“What do you mean, baby? We’re leaving. We’re gonna be okay.” Stiles caressed his face, his hand trembling. “This is just another fight we’ll tell our kids about in a few years.”
Derek’s smile lit up, “our kids, huh?”
“Yeah, we’re having at least one of those, aren’t we?” But as Stiles said it, Lydia’s look came back to his mind and he knew that that future wasn’t in the cards for them.
“You’ve thought about that stuff?” asked Derek, a line of black running from the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, you haven’t? I thought we were both crazy about each other like that,” he tried to hide the stab of pain that came knowing he was probably holding Derek as he died, his face pale and cold to the touch like he’d never seen it before.
Derek coughed once more and his head rolled to the side.
“Hey, Derek. Derek, look at me,” he pleaded.
“I’m glad–” he stopped to catch his breath, then he said, “if it had to happen like this, I’m glad I was with you.”
“Come on, Derek. Don’t talk like that.”
Derek’s body shook with spasms and his eyes rolled back, then he went still in Stiles’ arms.
He didn’t notice he was crying until he saw his own tears fall on Derek’s face. All his mind could think about was Derek Derek Derek, just as something dark that felt a lot like grief, opened inside his chest, consuming him from all sides.
This was not how it was supposed to be.
They were supposed to leave together, to live together: they were supposed to be happy far away from this mess.
Stiles closed his eyes and reached inside him for his spark, knowing he was going further than he’d ever gone, but willing to risk it all for Derek.
When he opened his eyes again, he put his hand on Derek’s chest and passed on to him all the strength he would need to heal and recover, all the while spiritually pulling him closer, reluctant to let go of Derek in any way. A soft shimmer engulfed him, but it died out quickly, before Stiles could hang onto it and bring him back to where he was supposed to be.
“Arggggh,” Stiles cried out in frustration. He slapped Derek’s chest with his next words, “you can’t leave me! You promised! You promised you’d come back to me!”
Stiles thought he could hear Lydia screaming far away, then a loud howl followed by a bunch of others. They all felt Derek go, but Stiles refused to believe it.
“Come on, Derek,” he shook the man on his lap one more time. Stiles put him flat on the ground and did the most human thing he could’ve done: CPR as he learned from Melissa a long time ago.
From the moment he put his mouth on Derek’s and blew air into his lungs, he knew it was pointless, yet he tried it once, twice, three more times. It was his last resource, he had to give it a try.
When nothing happened for a while, Stiles’ compressions turned frantic and he heard a rib break along the way. Tears ran down his face and he was mumbling nonsense that he’d never get to say to Derek when a hand fell on his shoulder.
Stiles cursed inwardly for his lack of awareness, but he knew it was someone from the pack by the tenderness with which they touched him. They all knew that what Derek and Stiles had was a love story too big to be contained in writing or in pictures and, though they always teased them about it, the pack was big into them being together. And most importantly, they all loved Derek because, once you got past the whole snarling and posturing, Derek was impossible not to love.
“Stiles, we gotta go,” said Scott. “Araya’s secure but we don’t know how much time we have.”
Stiles swallowed and nodded. “Can we—?” he pointed at Derek.
“Sure, we’ll take him. You need to get out of here first though,” he said, helping Stiles up by the shoulders.
For a moment, Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes off of Derek’s body looking a size too small. Scott turned him in the direction of the door. “Go.”
Stiles took a last good look at Derek and he saw his right hand twitch.
“What the—?”
He never found out if Scott finished his sentence. Stiles dropped to his knees as if the threads holding him to reality had been cut. He grabbed Derek’s hand and held to it desperately, looking for a pulse on his weakened wrist. “Derek?”
Stiles felt the faint flutter of Derek’s heart and sobbed.
“Yes, baby, I’m here, come on,” he continued, using whatever strength he had left to call on him. Derek opened his eyes and they were the deep blue of the wolf inside him. “You're healing,” he whispered, awed.
Derek tried to speak, but Stiles put a finger on his lips to shut him up. “Not now, Derek. We can fight later.”
He spoke anyway.
“I promised, didn’t I?” his voice was small in the grandness of the torture room he’d been for who knows how long.
“Guys, we really have to go,” insisted Scott. “Can’t you have your weird reunion when we’re out of here?”
Stiles and Scott helped Derek up, holding him in between them. Derek glanced at Stiles with hopeful eyes.
“It’s okay, babe. We have all the time in the world.”
They were in Stiles’ jeep, just the two of them, and Stiles was driving faster than he probably should, but they were past the border and his rational brain had gone to sleep while the animal part that wanted to be with Derek remained.
They would be meeting up at the motel to regroup, but Stiles only cared about one thing: Derek was here. He was alive. They made it out.
Stiles parked the car at the far end of the parking lot, turning to Derek who was already looking at him.
“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked.
“Fine.” After a moment. “Weird.”
“You just died,” whispered Stiles and somehow putting the words out there made it more real.
“Don’t you wanna know what it’s like?”
“I think that’s between you and God.” Stiles smiled. “I’m just glad you’re back.”
“Did you–”
“I tried,” he answered, knowing where Derek was going with that question. “I tried so hard, Derek, but you kept slipping away.”
“I think I was supposed to die,” he said looking at his hands.
“Derek—”
“Something’s different and I think it’s because I was gone for a moment.” Derek looked back up at Stiles.
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
“Together?” he asked, eyes bright and hopeful.
“Yeah, Derek. Together.”
Stiles doesn’t know who breached the distance first or if both did it at the same time, but he knew that he’d never been kissed like that before.
It was a storm in the middle of the desert, the first breath of a man after drowning, the fire that burned through the doors of hell itself. Stiles had never felt a rush of emotion like this, something so fierce taking hold inside of him that he knew he could never live a life where not kissing Derek was the only option.
The words spilled out of Stiles’ mouth before he could properly think them. “Marry me.”
Derek pulled back from their kiss. “We don’t even live together.”
Stiles smiled at the memory that wording stirred in him.
“Then let’s,” he said, but he meant I love you, stay.
After a moment, Derek closed the distance between them and whispered on his lips:
“Let’s.”