Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s just after three o’clock in the afternoon when Derek is startled out of his book by a tap at the front door. It’s tentative at first, then becomes more insistent the longer it takes Derek to bookmark his page and set the book down. 

Knock knock knock.

“I’m coming,” Derek calls, shrugging on a sweater. The first few days of March had been warm, but the weather has turned in the last week - winter's last ‘fuck you’ - and Derek is expecting the icy blast as the warm air rushes out the front door. “What—” His breath freezes in his throat.

“Hey there, sourwolf.”

Stiles is standing on the front porch— Derek’s front porch— his right hand waved in a half wave.

“Stiles?” Derek almost takes a step back. “What are you— how?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Stiles says. “It’s almost like you didn’t want to be found.” His voice takes on a teasing edge, but Derek can scent the sour note in the air that betrays how nervous he is. 

“I didn’t want to be found,” Derek tells him. Waves of apprehension roll off the younger man, thick and cloying, and Derek takes pity on him. “It’s good to see you, Stiles.” And it’s true.  Of all the pack members Derek had left behind, it was Stiles that his thoughts sometimes turned to, wondering if the kid had made it out of that god-awful town. If anyone deserved a fresh start, it was Stiles.

“Right back at ’cha.” Stiles waits, false bravado plastered across his face. “So… you gonna let me in?”

Derek steps wordlessly aside. He looks out into the yard as Stiles scrambles past. The sky outside is overcast, the ground muddy with the recent rain, but there’s no sign of Stiles’ Jeep in the front yard.

“How did you really find me?” Derek asks, shutting the door against the frigid air. He follows Stiles up the short hallway into the open living space.

Stiles drops his bag by the couch and shrugs out of his jacket. “Cora.”

It’s been almost two years since they’d last seen each other, and they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Stiles had been reeling from the consequences of the nogitsune possession and Derek—well, Derek’s past had finally caught up to him.

After that, Derek had decided that Beacon Hills could no longer be home. He’d stayed with Cora and her new pack for the first month, but staying in one place for too long made him restless and anxious, so he left. 

From there he drifted from town to town, picking up work to keep himself busy. This is the longest he’s stayed in  one place other than Beacon Hills. It’s quiet,close to a number of preserves, the ocean—but Derek’s not sure he’s ready to stop moving yet.

“How did you get here?” he asks, shaking himself free of his thoughts. “And how did you really find me?”

“I told you.” Stiles drops down onto the couch, throwing his feet up onto the coffee table like he owns the place. “Cora told me.” he smirks. “And I drove.” The smile turns sheepish. “Actually, I broke down, just outside of the city. Roscoe was not made for cross-country travel,” he confesses. “Called for a tow and the mechanic dropped me off here.”

Derek just stares, bewildered. He can’t believe Stiles would waste his college break travelling all this way to see him.  He switches into autopilot, backing out of the room and into the kitchen.

“Uh, can I get you a uh, drink? Or something?” he asks. “I’ve got beer?” He slaps a hand over his face. Stiles is nineteen, he’s not old enough to drink. “Or water,” he tacks on lamely.

“A beer would be great!”

Derek hesitates, hand hovering over the bottles, then decides what the hell.  He sets one of the glass bottles down on the coffee table.

“Coasters?” Stiles grins. “You’re such an old man.”

Derek ignores the teasing and takes a sip of his drink.

“Why are you really here, Stiles?”

He takes a moment to look at Stiles, really look at him. There are dark smudges beneath hollow eyes and a restless air about him that’s more than just his usual fidgeting. It sets Derek on edge. 

Stiles had had a lanky build as a teenager, but Derek suspects that the current sharpness of his cheekbones is unrelated to teenage metabolism. There’s a bitterness to his scent that clings, masking the subtle hints of adderall and coffee that Derek had always associated with the teenager.

Stiles shrugs, his shoulders dropping. “I just—” He stares at the bottle, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. Condensation gathers on the cold glass and drips, leaving a wet ring on the coaster. “School finished and I just had to get out. Y’know? So, I did. I left.” Stiles picks up the beer bottle but doesn’t drink. “I accepted the first offer I got and just… packed up.”

At Derek’s questioning look, he supplies, “UC Irvine. Partial scholarship.” He starts picking at the label on his beer, shredding little sticky strips onto the table. “For a while, everything was so normal . I’d wake up, go to class, study. I was just... going through the motions.” He wipes his fingers on his jeans, rubbing back and forth across his thigh. “We spent so long dealing with all the crap that went down in Beacon Hills, and being away from that felt too good to be true. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the shit to hit the fan. I couldn’t focus on school, or study or any of that. Then the nightmares came back.” He won’t look at Derek. “And it’s so… stupid ,” he says, finally looking up. “Everything was fine, and I still felt like I was completely losing it. So, I took the rest of the semester off.”

And, well, Derek doesn’t know that to say. He thinks he gets it, though. He’s spent the last two years looking over his own shoulder, wondering how long until his past catches up with him.

“I, uh— I haven’t told my dad yet.”

This grabs Derek’s attention. “Why not?”

“I don’t want him to be disappointed in me.”

“He won’t be.” Derek can’t imagine Noah Stilinski could ever care about anything more than his son’s well being. It was abundantly clear how much he loved Stiles. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Stiles finally takes a sip of his beer. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go back in a few months, so really, he doesn’t ever need to know.”

Derek doesn’t have a response for that. He’s not about to tell Stiles how to live his life. He's not exactly setting a great example himself.

They both sit there as the silence stretches to fill the room. Stiles has completely destroyed the label on his bottle and is tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces which Derek will no doubt have to vacuum up off his carpet once Stiles is gone.

“So, what about you?”

Derek’s head jerks up at Stiles’ question.

“What about me?”

“Dude, you just up and left without saying anything. No one even realised you were gone at first.”

Derek’s not surprised, but it still hurts to hear. It hurts that the pack he’d worked to build didn’t notice, didn’t care that he’d disappeared— that he’d been taken. Though, he hadn’t made any effort to get in touch with anyone afterwards. He’d given Cora his new number, for emergencies, but other than her occasional welfare check and Stiles turning up at his front door, Derek hasn’t heard once from Scott or the rest of the pack. 

“They had a lot going on.” Derek doesn’t believe the words even as he says them.

“You know that’s not true,” Stiles tells him. “Scott’s a terrible Alpha. I think his heart’s in the right place, but he’s too easily distracted. He should have noticed, and he didn’t.”

“It’s fine,” Derek shrugs.

“It’s not,” Stiles says, taking another sip of his beer. “But I’m not going to argue with you and risk getting thrown out.” He grins suddenly. It doesn’t feel genuine. “I’m not even sure where the mechanic took my car, so I’m relying on staying in your good graces.”

“Okay, but why here?” Derek asks. “Why me? Why not just go home?”

The grin falls from Stiles’ face. “I went home for Christmas.” The bitterness in his scent swells until it’s almost choking. “I’d been home for less than a day when Scott asked me to help with a harpy.”

Derek grimaces. He’s never seen a harpy, but he’s heard stories.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, waving his hand at Derek’s expression. “Anyway, it got a decent swipe in and I spent five days in hospital. Missed Christmas and a week of classes.  To top it all off, Scott didn’t even come see me because he had to get back to school.” He chuckles darkly. “You could say I’m still a little bitter over it.” He downs the rest of his beer. “Scott, he just— doesn’t get it. He tries… I think, but— he always has bigger problems, y’know? Always. ”

It’s only Derek’s hearing that helps him pick up that last muttered word.

“So, what are you going to do then?” he asks.

“I don’t know yet.” Stiles brightens again and his scent evens back out. The sudden change is almost enough to give Derek whiplash. “I might travel. You know, get out of California, see something I’ve never seen before. Maybe I’ll go to the Grand Canyon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“I’ve been,” Derek says. “Once, as a kid. I think it was after Cora was born. Dad took me and Laura.” He remembers it in bits and pieces, like random clips of a movie he’s almost forgotten. “It was too cloudy to see anything, though. Laura was so mad. I’ve thought about going back but—” he shrugs. “It never seemed like a priority.”

“Dude.” Stiles leans forward in his seat. “You should come with me! We could make it, like, a trip or something. Drive out, see the site, it’ll be awesome.”

“In the Jeep?” Derek asks in disbelief. “You barely made it up from LA, how are you planning on getting to Arizona?”

“It'll be fine.” Stiles brushes off any concern. “It’s just a few days, and Roscoe has made bigger trips.”

Derek doesn’t believe that for a second, but he sees the earnest spark in the human’s eyes and it’s the first time Stiles has shown any genuine interest in something since entering the house.

“I’ll think about it.”

It takes Derek a long time to fall asleep that night.

He lies awake, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about Beacon Hills and everything he left behind. He hasn’t truly considered the town home in years, he’d only returned out of necessity.

After Laura had died and Derek had found himself with the Alpha power, he’d thought it was what he was supposed to do. Go back to Hale territory, build a pack and make the place home again, but his heart had never been in it— and it showed. 

Every decision he made as an Alpha had been the wrong one. People died because of him.

Erica.

Boyd.

His family.

It had been a relief when he’d lost the spark to save Cora. It was the only time being an Alpha had resulted in something good. After escaping Mexico, he’d stayed with her for a while. She’d found a pack to take her in. They were a good fit for her but Derek had never been able to shake the feeling that he didn’t belong. He didn’t fit in there, he didn’t fit in anywhere. Stiles had confirmed it.

Rolling onto his side, Derek faces the wall that separates him from Stiles in the guestroom.

Like Stiles, Derek knows how it feels to be on the run. He’s been doing it for the last seven years.

Running from the fire.

Running from his responsibilities as Alpha.

Running from his mistakes. 

He’s so tired of running, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

Closing his eyes, Derek wills himself to sleep. The house is quiet with just the occasional rustle of Stiles moving in the room next door.

Focusing his hearing, Derek picks up the human’s galloping heartbeat. He freezes, catching the hushed sound of a sob muffled by pillows.

A nightmare.

Derek is half out of bed when he hears the soft snk of the light switch in the other room. A few minutes later there’s a soft pad of footsteps down the hall and the rush of water from a tap. He deliberates over getting up and going out to check on Stiles, but in the end decides against it.

Wrapping his covers around himself, Derek listens as Stiles’ heart rate slowly eases and the water is shut off. He waits for the quiet shuffle of Stiles returning to his room.

He falls asleep before it comes.

The Jeep is in the shop for three days.

While they wait, Derek takes Stiles around to a few of his favourite places. They go to the beach, the misty rain chasing away anyone brave enough to face the cold. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind it. He digs his toes into the wet sand and turns his face towards the sky.

The whole time, Derek swings back and forth on his decision to go with Stiles. On one hand, it’s only a few days and might be a nice break in his monotonous routine. On the other, Derek’s memories of Stiles are of a sarcastic and irritating teenager. He’s not sure he wants to be stuck with that for several days.

Still, the Stiles who has been staying with him has been mostly quiet. He still fidgets, and taps noisily against the couch or the table, but he doesn’t say much. 

He doesn’t pester Derek about an answer though and Derek appreciates it.

On Stiles’ third night, his phone rings. He mumbles something about it being his dad and disappears out into the night to take the call.

Derek finds him later, sitting on the front porch, arms wrapped around his body to ward off the chill. He doesn’t look up as Derek approaches and Derek’s not even sure Stiles has noticed him, until Stiles speaks.

“Why here?” he asks. “Of all the places you could go.”

Derek sits on the top step. “I don’t know. I guess it just seems as good a place as any to stay for a while.” He stares out into the dark yard.

“What about Cora?”

Derek’s sigh puffs out in a long cloud of white. “She’s got her own life. Her own pack. I’m not going to get in the way of that.”

“Come with me.” Stiles twists to look at Derek, knocking their knees together.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Stiles demands. “There’s nothing keeping you here. What are you even doing here?”

“I’m tired of running.”

“Really? And what do you call this?” Stiles gestures around at the sleepy little street. “This isn’t living, Derek. You’re hiding. You’re wallowing in the guilt of everything that happened with your family, with Boyd and Erica.”

“Stiles—”

“Come with me.”

Derek wants to tell Stiles that he’s wrong. That whatever it is he’s looking for, he’s not going to find it. Not out here and not in the Grand Canyon. Derek has tried. He ran all the way to New York and back and found nothing. 

Yet, as he looks across at Stiles and takes in the stubborn set of his face, Derek can’t bring himself to say the words.

“Fine.” The words slip from Derek’s lips before he can fully think it through. “I’ll come with you.”

Chapter Text

They take the Camaro.

Stiles puts up a half-hearted argument when Derek suggests it, but ultimately agrees that it’s not worth breaking down in the middle of nowhere. With a long sigh, he moves the Jeep into Derek’s garage where it’ll  be out of the weather for the few days they’re gone.

They leave mid-morning the next day. That gives Derek enough time to sort some things out around the house and pack a bag.

Stiles is quiet as they pull out of the driveway. He fidgets with the radio station while they navigate their way out of the city, unable to settle on a channel until Derek finally loses his patience and growls at him to just pick something or play something from his phone.

The look Stiles sends him could almost be called amusement, but then he’s blank faced and scrolling through his phone to connect it to the Bluetooth. The first song only makes it a few bars before Stiles switches to the next.

“I swear to God, Stiles,” Derek warns, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Pick a song.” 

“Fine.” Stiles shoves his phone into his hoodie pocket and lets the music play uninterrupted. He stares out the window, watching as the distance between houses increases and they leave the city. 

Already Derek can feel regret and doubt beginning to creep in and he glances furtively across at Stiles. 

The person beside him is worlds away from the loudmouthed kid Derek had caught trespassing on his property three years ago.

Derek knows most of the story with the nogitsune. He won’t forget the cold empty eyes, or the way the trickster had toyed with them, pitting them against one another in its attempt to cause as much chaos and destruction as possible.

Derek can only imagine what the aftermath must have been like. He hadn’t been around to witness it first hand. After escaping from Kate, Beacon Hills had been the last place on Derek’s mind. His only thoughts revolved around the need to stay moving, stay hidden. Even after he learned of Kate’s death, he couldn’t go back. 

Beacon Hills was no longer home.

Why would Stiles seek Derek out after all this time? In two years they haven’t so much as texted. Derek’s not even sure he still has Stiles’ number. He’d dumped his old phone, keeping only Cora’s contact details in his efforts to stay hidden.

He steals another glance at the teenager sitting beside him and wonders what it is that Stiles is running from. 

“Are you hungry?” Derek glances over at Stiles in the passenger seat. They’ve barely spoken a word to each other since leaving Derek’s place. Stiles has dozed off a couple of times, his head lolling against the window. It never lasts longer than a few minutes before his heart rate skyrockets and he jerks away with a startled gasp and a guilty glance across at Derek.

Derek wants to ask him about the nightmares, but Stiles is already so closed off.  They’ve got a long drive to sit and stew in if the conversation goes downhill.

“Not really,” Stiles has got his hoodie bundled up between his head and the window. “We can stop, though, if you want to get something.”

It’s tempting to just keep driving through. Derek could grab something from one of the gas stations that pop up every other mile, but after another glance at Stiles, he makes the impulsive decision to pull off at the next exit. Even if he’s not hungry, Stiles looks like he could do with something a little more substantial than a gas station sandwich.

It takes a couple of circles of the block to find somewhere to park and Stiles has dozed off again by the time Derek cuts the engine. 

“Hey.” Reaching across the seats, Derek shakes Stiles gently by the shoulder. 

“Where are we?” He looks up blearily, his hair sticking up at all angles from being mashed up against the window.

“A bit north of LA, I think,” Derek says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’m going for a walk, stretch my legs and find somewhere to eat. You coming or staying?”

“I’ll come.” Stiles fumbles with his belt, almost falling out of the car.

It’s a nice day. Clear and warm, the sunshine is a welcome change from the rain. Derek leaves his jacket in the car but Stiles shrugs his hoodie back over his head. 

They wander around until they stumble upon a low-key burger joint and head inside. Their waitress is an older woman who calls them both ‘sweetheart’ while they order and Derek gets to see Stiles’ first real smile of the trip.

The second half of the day is better. Stiles is more animated after lunch, more like his old self as he reads aloud from one of the online park guides. 

“They have hikes you can do around the canyon,” he reads, scrolling down the page. “Oh my god, you can ride a mule.”

“What?”

“It’s a cross between—”

“I know what a mule is.”

“— a male donkey and a female horse.”

“I—” Derek frowns. He hadn’t known that. “So, what’s a female donkey crossed with a male horse?”

“I dunno.” Stiles shrugs. “A hule?”

Derek offers, “A morse?” and is rewarded with a soft amused snort.

“Hang on.” Stiles opens a new tab on his phone. “Apparently it’s a hinny.” He looks over at Derek. “So, you in?”

“I’m not riding a mule,” Derek tells him. “That was not part of the agreement.”

Stiles twists in his seat, tucking one foot up underneath himself. “Fine, but how do you feel about helicopters?”

They stop for the night a few hours west of the state line.

Stiles brings up a map on his phone and directs Derek to the nearest motel with a vacancy for the night.

The room they get isn’t fancy — just two single beds side-by-side opposite a mounted TV and a kitchenette with a bar fridge and a microwave. Still, the sheets smell clean and that all Derek cares about after spending the day behind the steering wheel.

It’s just after six pm, so Stiles and Derek drop their bags and wander down the main street looking for somewhere to eat. They’re just getting back to their room when Stiles’ phone rings.

He glances at the screen, his scent souring, before answering it.

“Oh, hey Dad.” His tone is at odds with his scent. “No, I’ve got time. What’s up?” With a shrug in Derek’s direction, Stiles heads for the door, his voice fading the further he walks from the room.

It’s not late, but after driving all day Derek is ready to crash. He brushes his teeth and changes into a pair of sweats before climbing into one of the beds. Ten minutes later, Stiles returns, his phone in his pocket. He ducks into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth before turning off the lights and climbing into his own bed. 

Derek lies there in the dark, listening to Stiles’ slow measured breaths. To anyone else, it would sound like he’s sleeping, but Derek can hear the hummingbird beat of his skittering heart.

They’re both up early the next morning. They’ve still got about a five hour drive ahead of them and Derek wants to get on the road.

It’s a cold morning, and a thick fog blankets the town. Stiles scowls out the window as they pack up and shrugs on another layer before pulling on his hoodie. Derek doesn’t mind it though, the air tastes cool and crisp in his lungs.

As the early fog burns off, Stiles becomes more animated, though the shadows are still deep beneath his eyes.

“Alright big guy, let’s see what you’ve got.”

“What?” Derek glances across at him. 

“Music.” Stiles snatches up Derek’s phone from the centre console. “I’m assuming you’ve got some on here.” Stiles holds it out for him to unlock. Derek presses his thumb to the sensor and turns his attention back to the road. “Nope. Nope.” Stiles scrolls through the playlist. “What is this?” He waves the phone around. “This is old people music.”

Derek scowls, snatching back the phone. “They’re classics,” he says defensively, hitting shuffle and tucking his phone into his pocket. The first jaunty strains of Mr Blue Sky fill the car and he taps his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Sure they are,” Stiles snorts, leaning back in his seat. “You’re such an old man.”

“It’s better than that noise you were playing yesterday.”

“At least my music is from this century.”

It’s about three pm when Derek pulls into the Holiday Inn parking lot in Tusayan. 

“I’ve got this one,” Stiles tells him, swinging his backpack onto one shoulder before disappearing off towards the reception office. 

While he waits, Derek stretches out the kinks in his back. His skin feels like it’s been stretched tight across his bones and the urge to run sits simmering just below the surface. The full moon is still a few days away but already Derek can feel the thrum of energy in his veins and he resolves to go for a run later, once it’s dark.

Stiles returns, brandishing a key and leads the way to their room. Once inside, he drops his bag and falls face first onto one of the beds. Derek leaves him to nap, walking to the general store back on the main road, to grab a few things for the next day. 

The shower is running when Derek gets back to the motel. He sits on the end of his bed and packs the snacks he bought away. When Stiles emerges from the steaming bathroom, they wander back down the street to find somewhere to eat. Options are limited and they quickly settle on a Mexican restaurant.

“So, I’ve been looking at some of the walks and I thought we could do this one.” Stiles spins his phone around to show Derek. “It’s only a three mile round trip. What do you think?”

“It’s steep,” Derek notes, reading the description. “You sure?”

“Pft.” Stiles takes back the phone. “You’re a werewolf and I have spent the last three years running from monsters. I think we can both handle a little hill.” The waiter brings out their food and Stiles falls upon his enchiladas.

After they eat, they head back to the motel. Still brimming with restless energy, Derek kicks off his shoes. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, glancing up when Derek tugs off his shirt.

“I’m going for a run.”

Stiles’ eyes go comically wide when Derek reaches for the button on his jeans.

“Naked?” He squawks, spinning to look away as Derek shucks off his jeans and underwear.

“Wolves don’t wear pants.”

“Wait, what?”

Stiles twitches, almost turning before seeming to remember that Derek’s standing naked by the bed.

Derek bites back a grin and lets the new shape settle over him. It takes almost nothing to call on that deep thrum in his veins. The wolf is as much a part of him as his own skin and bones. 

It’s always a rush to be in wolf form. The nagging concerns that keep Derek awake no longer matter. The wolf doesn’t care. All that matters is the instinct to run, to chase, to eat and sleep. The rest just fades away.

He looks up at the sharp intake of breath

“Oh, shit.” Stiles sits heavily on the end of the bed. “You’re a wolf. An actual wolf.” His face is pale, but there’s no trace of fear in his scent. “Can all of you do this? Can Scott?”

Derek tips his head to the side.

“Right. Wolf. Can’t answer me.” Stiles lets out a breathless laugh and nods, chewing on his lower lip. His eyes never leave Derek as the wolf steps closer to the bed.

Scents are sharper in this form. The bitterness that clings to Stiles is clearer. It tickles Derek’s nose, triggering a sneeze. There are notes of something else to the scent, something that Derek missed in his human form. Pain. It’s not a physical hurt, but it’s deep and cutting. 

Derek’s ears flatten against his head, a whine almost catching in his throat. He backs away from the bed, turning towards the door and nudging at the handle until it opens. 

Outside, Derek turns his nose to the breeze and he runs.

Derek’s not sure what time it is when he jerks back to consciousness. It’s still pitch black in their room, set too far back from the road for the street lights to penetrate the gloom. 

Everything is still and silent, and he almost drifts off again before he hears it.

A gasp and a stifled whine.

Rolling over under the covers, Derek turns to face Stiles.

The teenager is on his side. He’s curled in on himself, hands clawing at the sheets.

“No—” He buries his face in his pillow, his body shaking. “I don’t—”

“Stiles.” Derek sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Hey, wake up.” He pads across to the other bed and couches down to turn on the lamp. The sudden harsh light casts a sickly yellow glow across the room.

“No.” Stiles lurches upright, blinking against the glare of the lamp. He doesn’t seem to notice Derek at first, staring blankly out into the shadows that stretch across the far wall, but then he turns, startling before recognition bleeds back into his expression. “I’m okay,” he says, his voice rough. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Derek moves back to sit on his bed. “Have you spoken to someone?” he asks. “About the nightmares?” Derek knows he’s hit a nerve. The glare Stiles shoots him is withering.

“And how exactly do you think that would go?” Stiles asks. “I was possessed by an evil trickster spirit, killed my best friend's ex-girlfriend and now I have trouble sleeping.”

Derek bites his tongue, not wanting to make things worse.

“You can go back to sleep,” Stiles tells him bitterly. “I’ll try not to wake you again,”

“Okay.” Derek climbs back under the covers, his eyes locked on Stiles’ silhouette.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” Stiles’ shoulders slump. “Do you mind if I leave the light on?”

“It’s fine.” Derek rolls over, turning his back to the light and shuts his eyes. It takes him a long time to fall back to sleep. He’s not sure Stiles even bothers.

Stiles doesn’t bring the nightmare up the next morning so Derek doesn’t either. He’s not sure how to address it with Stiles, and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure he wants to. 

They’ve only got another day before they head back and, surprisingly, other than the rough night, Derek’s been enjoying himself and he thinks Stiles has too.

The bitter tang of fear and exhaustion hasn’t gone away, but Stiles seems a little lighter since leaving California. Derek doesn’t want to ruin it.

They get ready to leave in silence. Stiles dumps his backpack out on the bed, scattering the old wrappers and empty cans that have been buried in there for way too long. He shoves in a sweater and the water bottle Derek hands him and swings his bag onto his back.

The silence stretches on between them as Derek drives up the highway towards the Grand Canyon. It doesn’t break until they’ve parked and are standing on one of the lookouts with miles of cliffs and valleys unfolding below them.

“Oh my god.” Stiles stands on the edge of the rim bouncing on the balls of his feet. “This is—” He digs his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and stares out across the chasm. “Have you ever— this is amazing!” He pulls his phone from his pocket to take a photo.

“It’s bigger than I remember.” Derek moves forward to stand beside Stiles, closing his eyes to focus on the sounds and scents. He can make out the shrill call of a hawk over the roar of the Colorado River in the distance. 

“Come on. The trailhead is over here.” Stiles grabs Derek by the arm and drags him over to the gravel track that winds down the face of the cliff. 

They take their time. Any ice that might have gathered on the track overnight has melted, but the loose gravel is slippery and it’s a long way down.

Derek watches Stiles bounce along the path, stopping every few hundred yards to take another photo. He feels the smile tug at his lips. It’s the most energy and enthusiasm he’s seen from Stiles so far.

“Oh my god. Goats!” Stiles scrambles over, spooking the animals into fleeing.

At the end of the first mile, Derek suggests turning around.

“What?” Stiles glances up sharply from the rock he’s sitting on, his bag open at his feet. “Already? You getting tired?” he teases. 

“You do realise, eventually, we’re going to have to climb back up that,” Derek points out, looking back the way they came.

“And?” Stiles shoves his water bottle back into his bag. “Come on, don’t be such a sourwolf. Let’s just go a little further.” He stands and swings his bag back onto his shoulders before stepping back onto the path. 

There’s a resthouse at the 1.5 mile mark. They stop for another break, sitting side by side on the edge of the track. 

Derek rummages through his bag for his water and the box of granola bars he’d packed. 

Stiles watches him eat one, his face pinched in distaste. “I don’t know how you can eat those,” he says, reaching for the box to read the ingredients. “This is like, rabbit food.”

“Not really your thing,” Derek agrees, reaching back into his bag. “Here.”

“What?” Stiles takes the pack of Reese’s Pieces Derek holds out to him. “I—” He looks at Derek, his lips ticking up. “Derek Hale, you like me,” he says, his smile turning teasing. 

“You got all that from some candy?”

“You’re enjoying my company.” Stiles knocks their shoulders together. “Admit it.”

“Just be quiet and eat your candy,” Derek tells him, but he doesn't try to hide his amusement. 

The path gets busier as the morning rolls on, with more tourists following the track down the side of the cliff. The growing crowds make Derek uneasy. It’s far too easy for someone to hide in a crows, using the scent of strangers to mask their own. 

He turns to Stiles, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Ready to head back?”

Stiles shoots one last glance at the canyon before stuffing his rubbish into his backpack.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They gather up their things and begin their track back up the side of the cliff.

It’s slow going. Every time Derek turns to look back over his shoulder, Stiles is a little further behind. After another hundred yards, he takes pity on the teenager and stops under the guise of getting a drink while he waits for Stiles to catch up.

“Oh my god.” Stiles sits heavily on the ground. “This was the worst idea ever,” he pants, struggling with the zip on his bag. “Whose idea was it to walk this far down?”

“I did warn you,” Derek reminds him.

“Yeah, well, you should have warned me harder.” Stiles’ grumbling is good-natured as he takes a drink. “You should have made me turn around sooner.”

“What was I supposed to do? Carry you?”

“Oh my god, can you?” Stiles flops back in the dirt, his hand coming to rest dramatically across his face. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

“Then it was nice knowing you,” Derek teases. He continues up the path, smirking at the skid of Stiles’ sneakers on the gravel as he rushes to catch up.

“Dude, just— can you slow down?” 

“What’s that?” Derek calls back over his shoulder. “I thought you could handle a little hill.”

“I hate you,” Stiles calls back at him.

Derek’s calves are burning by the time he makes it back to the top of the trail. He stands around, catching his breath while he waits for Stiles to reach him.

“Why did we do that?” Stiles complains, dropping his bag in the dirt. “That was the worst.” But he’s grinning as he crouches to dig out his half-empty water bottle. “Okay, what’s next?”

It’s late in the afternoon when they return to the motel, and they’re both exhausted, so they pick up some take out on their way through the town.

“Are you ready to head back tomorrow?” Derek asks, sitting at the small table in the kitchenette. “We could head back a different way. Maybe cut up through Nevada?”

“We could,” Stiles nods. He’s sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed, picking at the burger in his lap. “Or, I dunno, maybe we could keep going for a while. We could head north. I’ve never been to Yellowstone.”

Derek hesitates. “I don’t know.”

Stiles shrugs, nonchalant, but his scent gives him away. “It’s no big deal,” he says, stuffing the remains of his dinner back into the paper bag. “We can head back tomorrow.”

He unfolds his lanky limbs from the bed and tosses his trash into the bin before disappearing into the bathroom.

Derek stares after him. 

This wasn’t what they’d agreed on. They were only supposed to be gone for a few days but this— this will add almost another week to the trip. 

But is that really such a bad thing?

Derek can readily admit that he’s enjoyed the last couple of days. And really, he’s got nothing to lose by taking a few more. Maybe a break is just what Derek needs. He’s never really let himself have that before. Maybe he needs this just as much as Stiles does?

He waits until Stiles is out of the shower, using the time to clean up and pack his duffel bag.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Stiles shrugs. “Sure.”

He’s got nothing to lose, so Derek asks, “Why did you come looking for me?”

Stiles takes a long time to answer. He sits on the end of his bed, fingers toying with the frayed edge of his sleeve.

“You never expected anything from me.” He glances up, catching Derek’s frown, and sighs. “Scott always expected me to drop everything and help him out. No matter what I had going on. But, I dunno. You always asked. Even after—” he trails off. “We— I wasn’t particularly fair to you, but you still helped and you never expected anything back.” 

Derek sits in silence, pretending to mull it over, but he’s made his decision.

“So, Yellowstone,” he says. “It’s a pretty big place. Was there anything in particular you wanted to see?”

Stiles’ face lights up and he pulls out his phone. “I’ve got a list.”

Chapter Text

They split the drive up to Yellowstone National park over three days. 

Derek stops for gas on the first morning as they’re leaving the motel. While he’s standing by the car, watching the numbers on the pump tick up, Stiles disappears inside the store. He returns as Derek is twisting the cap back onto the gas tack, arms full of snacks which he dumps on the front passenger seat.

He pops the tab on a can of Monster and takes a long sip, wiping his face on his sleeve when he’s done.

“That’s disgusting,” Derek tells him, wrinkling his nose at the chemical scent of the artificial sweetener. 

“Hey, I got something for you too,” Stiles says. He reaches in through the open window to grab a granola bar. 

Derek catches the bar Stiles throws at him, then pats his pocket, checking for his wallet before heading inside to pay. When he returns, Stiles is sitting behind the steering wheel.

“No.” He pulls the door open and stands, leaning against the sun warm metal, waiting for Stiles to move.

“What? Come on.” Stiles doesn’t move from the seat. He grins up at Derek, his hands caressing the steering wheel. “Please? I have never driven a Camaro before.”

“No.”

“Really?” Stiles asks, his hands dropping into his lap. “One word responses? That’s all you’ve got for me? Let me drive! Just for a little bit. There’s like, nothing out here. You can have a break and we can swap back when we get to the next town.”

“Fine.” Derek tosses the keys to Stiles, who fumbles, almost dropping them into the footwell. “You can drive, but I’m picking the music.”

It’s weird dropping into the passenger seat. Derek can’t remember the last time he sat there, but he does remember that Laura had been driving.

He’s hit with a sudden and powerful sense of grief. It’s like a punch to the gut. 

He’s careful to keep his face neutral while Stiles flicks through the keys.

“Don’t get used to it,” Derek tells him, reaching for the bag of Skittles at his feet. 

“Hey, those are mine,” Stiles squawks, reaching for the bag. 

Derek holds it out of reach, tipping the rainbow candy into his hand. “You just keep your eyes on the road.”

“You are the worst.”

“Says the kid driving my Camaro,” Derek mutters just loud enough for human ears. “Here.” He waits for Stiles to hold out his hand before tipping in several Skittles of the same colour. “I don’t like the green ones.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but takes the candy.

“ No one likes the green ones.”

 They spend a night just north of Salt Lake City. The motel is a little older, but it’s well maintained and the reception office is clean. The room they get has an odd earthy scent to it that sets Derek’s teeth on edge. He tries to shrug it off, but Stiles must sense his discomfort and, despite the chill that still lingers in the night air, he suggests they sleep with the windows open. 

Derek wakes up covered in dirt. It fills his nose, his ears, his mouth. It spills down his throat when he tries to take a breath, choking his lungs and smothering the howl that burns in his chest.

He can't move his arms. They’re strung up above him, tethering him in place and every little movement sends another shower of dirt and dust tumbling down.

No. He’d escaped. He’d clawed his way free from the tomb and out into the option air. 

How did she find him again?

“Derek?”

He hears the crunch of footsteps on dirt. She’s coming.

“No.” Derek tugs at his bonds, slashing at the ropes that tangle around his body. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. He—

“Derek.”

The dark figure swims into focus above him, its features sharpening into Stiles’ pale, grim face.

The room stinks of fear and anxiety, most of it Derek’s, but some of it belongs to Stiles and Derek feels sick at being the source of Stiles’ fear.

“I’m sorry.” Derek untangles himself from his shredded bed sheet and stares down at his hands until the claws retract back to his blunted human fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles sits on the edge of the bed. “Nightmare?”

Derek nods without looking up. “Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t.” Stiles is quiet for a moment and Derek can feel the weight of his stare. “You want to talk about it?”

Derek looks up at this. “Do you?”

“Fair point.” Stiles stands and crosses the room back to his bed. “You want me to leave the light on?”

With another nod, Derek lies back down. “Thanks.”

He rolls towards the wall and shuts his eyes. The after images of the dream still burn bright against the back of his eyelids, and every time he closes his eyes, Derek sees that predatory grin.

With a sigh, he pushes back the sheets. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

Stiles makes a soft sleepy noise of acknowledgement, and Derek lets himself quietly out of the room into the clear cool night.

He runs.

He runs until his lungs feel like they might burst. He focuses on the ache in his chest and the burn in his legs and lets all other thoughts drift away. 

Derek doesn’t return to the room until the first streaks of pink and orange paint the horizon.

They spend the first day exploring the national park to the south. The park is quiet, with the roads only just reopening after winter. 

“Derek, look! Snow!” Stiles sits up in his seat and stares out the window. “Oh my god, pull over.”

“Really?” Derek eases off the road and watches in amusement as Stiles scrambles out of the car to stomp around in the snow. It’s more ice than anything but there are a few sheltered patches under the trees where Stiles can pack a handful of snow into a ball.

After spending time in New York, Derek associates snow with slippery sidewalks and dirty wet mush. Still, Stiles’ excitement is infectious and he climbs out of the car.

“It’s so cold,” Stiles complains, tossing his snowball into the trees. “Like, painfully cold.” He wipes his wet hands on his jacket before tucking them under his armpits. “It’s so awesome though. Could you imagine living in a place where it snows?”

“It loses its appeal,” Derek tells him, crouching to scoop up another snowball. “The first time you slip and fall over on the sidewalk in front of a dozen strangers.” He packs the snow tight between his hands. The chill of the ice is biting, leaching all the warmth from his hands until they ache.

“You didn’t!” 

Derek nods and Stiles barks out a laugh. 

“Really? What happened to those amazing werewolf reflexes of yours?”

“I’d never seen snow before,” Derek says defensively, and Stiles laughs again. 

“God, what I would’ve given to see that.” Stiles leans against Derek, still snickering to himself. “Alright, I’m freezing.” He pulls himself together and starts herding Derek towards the car. “Let’s go.”

They watch Old Faithful erupt and then pick one of the many trails that wind around the hydrothermal pools and geysers.

Derek has always enjoyed the outdoors, being out in nature and taking in the sights and scents around him. Stiles, it seems, is the same, though Derek never would have picked it. He would have thought Stiles would be more at home in front of a TV or computer game, but he comes alive as they walk through the trees and down into grassy meadows. He points out the different animals they see and asks Derek if he knows what every little sound is. It should be annoying, but Derek’s enjoying himself and, if he makes up the source of a few of the noises for his own entertainment, who is going to know?

“Are you sure it’s not a bear?” Stiles asks, striding along beside him. He stops in the middle of the path, turning to face Derek. “The sign said there might be bears. That would be cool.” 

“It’s not a bear.” Derek gives Stiles a little push to get him walking again.

“But it could be,” Stiles insists, spinning to walk backwards in front of Derek. “Do you think you could take a bear in a fight?”

“It’s not a bear.”

“But if it was? ”

A cyclist rings their bell and Derek pulls Stiles out of the way before he’s run down by the family.

“Why would I fight a bear?” he asks, dropping Stiles’ arm.

“It doesn’t matter why,” Stiles tells him, rolling his eyes and turning back to face the trail. “I just want to know if you’d win.”

“I wouldn’t fight a bear in the first place,” Derek says, biting back a grin at Stiles’ long-suffering sigh. 

“Derek, that’s not the point.” He turns again, glancing at Derek and catching the smile. “You’re a jerk. You know that?” But his lips are ticking up as he turns away. “What about wolves? We haven’t come across a single werewolf this entire time.”

“That you know of.”

“Wait.” Stiles skids to a stop. “Have we come across other werewolves?”

“Not directly, but we’ve passed through a few places with packs.”

“Do we need to do anything?”

Derek shakes his head. “The two of us aren’t much of a threat. As long as we keep to ourselves and move on, we’ll be fine. If we were planning on staying longer, I’d probably get in touch, just out of courtesy.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment, his gaze focused on the worn track beneath his feet. “So, what about a cougar? Could you win a fight against one of those?”

The next day is the full moon. Derek wakes early, body thrumming with the restless energy that flows just beneath his skin.

The full moon has been harder since leaving Cora. Each month it’s a reminder that his family, his pack, is gone. The echoes of those bonds ache like a broken bone, their splintered edges sharp in his chest. 

Most months Derek does his best to keep busy during the day, hoping to spend some of the excess energy and distract himself from the pain.

At night he runs until he’s too exhausted to think.

Stiles is still sleeping, so Derek dresses quietly and lets himself out of the room. He goes for a run, following the road into town, and lets his head clear, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his feet thudding against the road.

He stops at a coffee shop on his way back to the motel, picking up two coffees and a disgusting looking, sugar covered pastry he knows Stiles will like. 

Derek still feels restless and jittery as he enters the room, but he’s immediately distracted by Stiles making grabby hands at the coffee and the obscene sound he makes while taking a bite of the pastry. 

“Oh my god, Der.” There’s powdered sugar on his lips and fingers. “You sure you don’t want to try it?” Stiles waves the pastry in Derek’s face. “Just one bite. It’s so good.”

“I’m, uh, good.” Derek has to drag his eyes away and concentrate on drinking his coffee without choking on it.

Stiles shrugs, shoving the rest of the flaky pastry into his mouth. “Your loss.” Then he moves on to licking the sugar from his fingers.

Derek inhales his sip of coffee and coughs, clearing his throat.

Glancing up, Stiles freezes, his finger in his mouth. “I, uh—” he flushes, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“Uh, so I was thinking,” Derek says, cutting in. “We could go for a hike today.” He goes to his bag and starts pulling out clean clothes to change into after his shower. “There are a couple of trails I was reading about. What do you think?”

“Sure.” Stiles recovers quickly to draw the word out. He watches with narrow eyes. “Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem a bit, I dunno—” he waves his hand around “—worked up?”

“I—” Derek opens his mouth to tell him it’s nothing, but something stops him. Of all people, he thinks Stiles would understand. “It’s the full moon tonight.”

“Oh, do I— do I need to do anything?” Stiles asks. “I can, I don’t know, go do something on my own today, give you some space?”

“ No. ” It comes out with more force than Derek was anticipating and Stiles blinks up at him in surprise. “I mean— I don’t want to be alone,” Derek confesses. 

“Okay, so you want distractions?” Stiles says with a nod. “I can do that.”

He drags Derek out of the motel thirty minutes later and they spend the day exploring more of the park. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter while Derek follows along behind him, feeling lighter than he has all day. There are still a few hours until moon rise, but for the first time in months, Derek isn’t dreading it.

“Stiles—” he manages to cut in when Stiles finally stops to take a breath. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They spend a few days exploring the northern trails, heading up towards the hot springs. The pools are still closed after winter, but Stiles and Derek find plenty to look at while they walk. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, leaning out the open car window. They’re on their way back to the motel, but traffic is at a standstill as a herd of bison cross the road. “Have you ever—?” he trails off, turning to glance at Derek, his cheeks pink from the cold air blowing off the mountains. There’s life in Stiles’ dancing honey brown eyes as he turns back to watch the giant creatures. Derek watches him, unable to tear his gaze away.

The traffic starts moving again, forcing Derek’s attention back towards the road.

Stiles’ phone rings just as they’re getting back to their room. He glances at the screen, his scent souring with anxiety before he swipes his thumb across the screen.

“Oh, hey Dad.” Stiles’ tone is at complete odds with his scent. He stands from where he’d just sat down on the bed and walks out the front door. “Yeah, I got some time. What’s up?”

Derek stares down at his book, trying to tune out the conversation. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but he’s curious as to why Stiles acts this way every time his dad calls. He’s hiding something, that much is obvious, but Derek has no idea what it might be or why.

Stiles returns fifteen minutes later, phone clutched in his hands. 

“Is everything okay?” Derek asked carefully, putting down his book.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Stiles waves him off, tossing his phone onto his bed. “Dad just wanted to see how everything’s going.” He rummages around in his bag, pulling out a clean shirt and a pair of sweats. “He’s been pretty busy at work. Apparently there’s been this run of carjackings.”

His heartbeat is steady, if quick. Derek doesn’t think Stiles is lying, but he’s not quite telling the whole truth either.

“I hope they catch the guy,” he says. “Tell your dad I say ‘hi’ next time.”

Stiles makes a small noise of affirmation, straightening with his clothes. “Anyway, do you need the bathroom?” he asks. “I think I’m going to have a shower and call it a night.”

“No, you go ahead,” Derek tells him, still puzzled over Stiles’ weird behaviour. “I’ll use it later.”

The bathroom door slams shut, and when Stiles emerges twenty minutes later, some of the anxiety has faded from his scent. He sits on the end of his bed, shoving his dirty clothes into his bag.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he starts. “We should probably head back.”

Derek looks up from his bed. “Really? That’s it? There’s nothing else you want to see?”

“I’ve kept you long enough.” Stiles says it with a shrug but he won’t meet Derek’s gaze, instead focusing intently on zipping his bag up. “You’ve got a life to get back to.”

And he’s got a point. They had only planned to be away for a few days, but it’s been almost two weeks, and Derek should be getting back.

He tries not to dwell on the thought that he’ll be returning to an empty house, or that Stiles will go on his way, and they probably won’t talk again, or—

It’s with startling clarity that Derek realises he doesn’t want this to be over. He doesn’t want to go back and he’s pretty certain Stiles doesn’t want to either.

“You know,” he says, schooling his face into what he hopes is a neutral expression. “I’ve never seen Niagara Falls.”

Stiles gapes at him. “That’s on the other side of the country,” he points out.

“Yeah.”

Stiles shuts his mouth with a snap. “It’ll take us days to get there, even if we drive straight through without stopping.”

“I know.”

Stiles grins. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Derek knows he made the right decision.

Chapter Text

They spend a few days exploring Niagara Falls State park before continuing east to the coast. From there they take their time, following the winding coastline south, mostly avoiding some of the larger cities.

On Stiles' twentieth birthday, Derek takes him to Universal Studios. They’ve been traveling down the east coast for a few weeks, and just happen to be in Florida when the day rolls around.  

It’s hot and humid and there are people everywhere but Stiles’ excitement is infectious as he drags Derek through the park and on to every ride.

“Thanks for this,” Stiles says later, while they’re finding somewhere to sit and eat. “I know this isn’t really your thing. Y’know—” he waves his hand gesture to the people around them.

“It’s fine,” Derek tells him, snatching one of Stiles’ fries. “I’m enjoying myself.” And it’s the truth.

Despite the heat and the crowds, Derek is having fun. At first he’d been reluctant to join Stiles on any of the rides, but then Stiles had stumbled off the first roller coaster giddy with joy and adrenaline. Clutching at Derek’s arm, trying to drag him towards the line, Stiles had laughed. Actually laughed, and it wasn’t bitter or self deprecating, he was just happy.

It sparks something deep within Derek’s chest. Something uncurls, and he feels warm, like the sun has just come out after a long dark winter. He’d been helpless against it, caving in and lining up for the next rides. 

It’s the most fun Derek’s had in years. 

As the weather warms up they head inland, moving out of the flat swampy landscape. They’ve been traveling for ten weeks, taking turns picking the next destination.

There’s a small part of Derek that’s still expecting to get tired of it— the constant sharing of spaces, the lack of privacy— but it never happens. Stiles always seems to know when to back off and give him space. 

He still talks a lot. Driving down through South Carolina, Stiles somehow manages to fill an entire afternoon with facts about oysters. 

For the first time in a long time, things are good. Really good. 

It’s not perfect. There are still nightmares on both sides. Derek can’t help but notice that Stiles’ are worse after talking to his dad. They have their first real argument after Derek brings it up in Texas. Stiles yells at him to mind his own business and disappears for the rest of the day.

When he finally returns to the motel, Derek decides to let the issue drop. If Stiles wants to pretend there's nothing going on, Derek's not going to push it and risk damaging the friendship that's budding between them. 

The truth is, Derek’s enjoying himself.  

Stiles is quick witted and he’s clever, but Derek already knew that. He’s also really  funny, and more often that not, Derek finds himself laughing at Stiles’ stupid jokes and friendly teasing. 

Eventually, they end up back on the West Coast, heading south through Oregon. Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones. It seems like everyone is seeking sun and sand as the weather warms. 

“I found a place!” Stiles says, glancing up from his phone. “It’s about an hour down the coast, but I got the last room.” He tucks his phone away and reaches to snatch a fry from Derek’s plate. 

“We really need to start booking places to stay.” Derek swats at Stiles’ hand and pulls his plate closer.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Stiles asks. “Where’s the spontaneity? The sense of adventure? It’s worked out for us so far.” He makes another go at the fries and this time Derek lets him steal one. 

“Yeah, I’ll remind you of that when we end up sleeping in the car.”

“We’d figure it out.” Stiles stuffs the fry into his mouth. “You could just shift into, you know—” He pulls a growly face, curling his fingers into claws. “I bet you make a good pillow— a bit hot though—” He flushes, the tips of his ears turning bright pink and oh.

Oh.

“The weather.” Derek watches Stiles stumble over the words “Because, it's getting warm and you’re—” he waves his hand around. “Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” Derek’s voice sounds strained in his eyes but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, shut up,” he mumbles, but he’s grinning, staring down at the table top, his ears now bright red.

There’s a spiciness to Stiles’ scent that fills Derek’s senses. He doesn’t want to read too much into it. They’ve been living on the road for weeks, constantly in each other’s company and basically living in each other's pockets. There’s not a lot you can hide in a twin-bed motel room but what happens in the privacy of the bathroom under the running shower, stays there.

This is nothing more than basic human nature, nothing more.

Derek watches Stiles from the corner of his eye.

It can’t be anything more than that.

They hit the road after eating. The sun is just beginning to sink down below the horizon but it's well and truly dark by the time they reach the motel.

Derek waits by the car while Stiles rushes to get the key to their room.

“What would you do without me?” Stiles crows when he returns, waving the key to their room in Derek’s face. He grabs his bag from the trunk and lends the way towards the room. “I’ll tell you what you’d be doing. You’d be sleeping in your car.” He stops in front of the door and fits the key into the lock. “You can thank me later.”

The door swings wide to reveal the small open plan room and Stiles flicks on the light, painting the space in a soft warm glow. The green patterned wallpaper clashes with the bright orange duvet on the lone king-sized bed. 

“Huh.” Stiles wanders over to the bed. “I thought I booked a twin.” He drops his bag on the floor beside the bed, and turns to face Derek. “This, uh—  this is fine, right? I mean— I guess we could rock-paper-scissors for the couch.”

Derek glances at the two-seater.

“Or, maybe we could just make this work.” Stiles pats the comforter absentmindedly. “We’ve been sleeping in the same room anyway, so you’ve already had to suffer through my nightmares. Honestly, you’re the one getting the raw deal here.” At Derek’s questioning look, he elaborates. “Y’know, because of the whole kicking and flailing thing.”

“We could try somewhere else,” Derek offers. 

“Where? This was the only place with any vacancies in a hundred mile radius.” Stiles sits and starts tugging his sneakers off. “This will be fine for a few nights right?” 

Nodding, Derek puts his bags down beside the bed.

“Hey,” Stiles looks up with a grin. “At least it’s a king.”

It’s late so they get ready for bed, skirting around each other as they get changed and brush their teeth. Finally, there’s no more putting it off. Derek climbs under the covers, turning his back to the centre of the bed. He feels the mattress dip as Stiles does the same.

“G’night,” Stiles tells him, flicking off the light.

Derek wakes slowly, drifting peacefully in that warm drowsy place for a while. He feels good, settled. For the first time in as long as he can remember his mind isn’t a constant stream of nagging worries. It’s almost like being in his wolf form.

No concerns, just scents and sounds.

A soft rustling throws a scent into the air. It’s familiar. It reminds him of comfort, of home, and it envelops him in a way that just fits.

Derek wants to pull it close, and wrap himself up in the scent.

There’s a warm wright against his chest, and something tickles at his nose. Cracking open one eye, Derek squints down at the warm body pressed to his chest.

Stiles.

Derek breaths in deep, filling his lungs with the soft sleepy scent of cinnamon and coffee. The scent is Stiles, he realises belatedly, but it’s not the scent Derek has come to recognise over the last few months. For the first time it’s not muddied by the sour notes of guilt and bitterness, it’s pure and clear and right.

He feels torn. There’s a part of Derek that’s panicking at just how comfortable he feels sharing this space with Stiles. The other part just wants to pull Stiles close, press his nose to the back of his neck and breathe in.

The panic wins. The panic always wins.

Carefully, Derek extracts his arm from underneath Stiles and sits up, shuffling to the edge of the bed. Behind him, Stiles mumbles something and rolls into the warm patch left behind. 

Their scents mingle together in the early morning air. It makes Derek’s heart beat faster and his breath catches in his throat.

With great reluctance, Derek stands, edging away from the bed. He changes quietly and slips from the room, hoping a run in the fresh ocean air will help clear his head.

By the time he returns Stiles is awake. He’s sitting, legs crossed, at the end of the bed scrolling through his phone when Derek enters the room.

“Hey,” he says, smiling up at Derek. “Good run?”

Unable to trust what might come out of his mouth, Derek just nods and grabs a clean set of clothes from his bag. He definitely doesn't go and hide from Stiles in the bathroom. He needs a shower, and if he takes longer than normal that's only because they’ve finally found a place with decent water pressure.

Stiles is still sitting in the same spot when Derek finally emerges.

“Oh my god, you won't believe this,” he crows, unfolding his lanky legs. “Okay, so there’s this park in town called the Exploding Whale Memorial Park.”

“What?” Derek sits on the end of the bed beside Stiles and rummages through his bag for a clean pair of socks. It’s been a while since they’ve been to a laundromat and Derek is running out of clean clothes. “Why is it called that?”

“I’ll give you one guess…”

“Did a whale actually explode?”

Stiles leans over, shoving his phone in Derek’s face. “It exploded everywhere. ”

They sit and watch the old newsreel, snorting at the narration as bits of whale go flying in the video.

“You want to go to the exploding whale park, don’t you,” Derek says when the video ends. 

“ So bad.” Stiles tucks his phone into his pocket. “You don’t even know.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea,” Derek teases. “The whale didn’t even explode at that park.”

“Don’t care, we’re going,” Stiles tells him, tugging on his shoes. “What about you? Anything you want to do?”

“We’re getting pretty low on clean clothes,” Derek points out.

“You want to do laundry?” Stiles pulls a face. “Ugh, boring. What do you want to do for fun? I know you’re capable of having it,” he teases. “Oh!” He jumps to his feet. “We could go sandboarding. There are these dunes and you can rent boards and surf down the sand.”

Derek snorts. “That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Hey!” Stiles throws one of the pillows at him. “I could be awesome at it.”

Catching the pillow and dropping it back on the bed, Derek laughs. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it. Come on.”

“I told you it sounded dangerous.”

Reaching out, Derek grabs Stiles by his right arm and hauls him to his feet.

“This wasn’t even my fault,” Stiles complains. He pulls his hand away and brushes the sand off his ass and out of his hair. “That kid ran me over.” He flexes the fingers of his left hand and doesn’t quite manage to hide the wince.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks. “That looked like it hurt.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Stiles brushes him off. He flexes his hand again, sucking in a little breath at the movement.

“Let me see.” Derek holds out his hand.

“It’s fine, really,” Stiles says. “I just landed on it weird.”

Carefully, Derek grasps Stiles’ wrist, noting the stifled noise Stiles makes when he inspects it. There’s no one close by so he pulls at some of the pain, frowning at the sharp throbbing ache that curls through his veins before easing off.

“Maybe you should get this looked at.”

“It’s probably just a sprain or something,” Stiles says, his face relaxing as the pain eases. “I’ll grab a couple of those instant ice packs on the way to the  motel.”

Derek feels his frown deepen. He had felt the amount of pain Stiles was in. It didn’t feel like a sprain to him. “Stiles—”

“I said it’s fine,” Stiles snaps, pulling away and turning to walk back to the car.

They drive back into town, stopping at a pharmacy on their way back to the motel. Stiles cracks one of the ice packs as soon as he gets back in the car, laying it across his wrist and slumping back in his seat.

By the time they reach the motel, Stiles has withdrawn into himself. He disappears into the bathroom and doesn’t come back out.

Derek leaves him alone, afraid to push the matter and upset the delicate new friendship they’ve built. Instead he gathers up their laundry and takes it down to the laundromat he finds on Google Maps.

The old machines eat up all his coins and the better part of the afternoon. Derek waits, thumbing through his phone, for the dryer to finish so he can stuff their clothes back into his duffel bag and walk back to the hotel.

Stiles has moved from the bathroom to the bed. He’s watching videos on his phone when Derek returns with their laundry, his left arm resting in his lap.

“It’s looking pretty swollen,” Derek comments with a nod of his head towards the lib. “Are you sure you don’t want to get it looked at?”

Stiles’ head jerks up, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down the panic that spreads to fill the room.

“It’s fine, Derek. Really,” he says, even as his heartbeat betrays the lie. “It’s a sprain. Just keep that magic werewolf mojo coming and it’ll be better in the morning.”

Derek doesn’t believe it, but he decides not to push it further, Stiles will only double down. Instead he offers to go pick up dinner, bringing back burritos that Stiles just picks at before deciding on an early night.

Neither of them end up sleeping much. Stiles tosses and turns, the scent of his pain and discomfort hanging heavy in the air. Between that and the constant shifting, Derek keeps jerking awake too.

Fed up, Derek rolls over to face Stiles. He’s facing away and he flinches when Derek reaches over to gently grasp his arm.

“What are you doing?” Stiles’ voice is sleep heavy, the words mumbled. “Oh.” The taut line of his body relaxes as Derek pulls the ache from his wrist. “That’s good,” he mumbles into his pillow. “Thanks Der.”

For the second morning in a row, Derek wakes up with Stiles pressed against his chest. Stiles is still asleep, curled protectively around his left arm. 

It doesn’t make sense, and it chafes at Derek, that for some reason this is the hill Stiles has chosen to die on. They both know it’s more than a sprain but Stiles’ stern refusal to go to a doctor is bewildering.

Moving carefully to avoid waking him, Derek reaches over to lay his hand on Stiles' arm.

Stiles stirs, shifting beneath the covers and the tense lines on his face even out as Derek draws the pain away.

“Stiles.” Once the ache has eased to something manageable Derek sits up, pulling his hand away. “Hey, wake up.”

Stiles blinks up at him. “Hm?”

“I think you need to go to the hospital”

“What for?”

Derek stares down at him, unimpressed. 

“I can tell how much pain you’re in Stiles. You need to get that looked at.” He gestures to the arm, swollen and clutched close to Stiles’ chest.

Stiles scowls. “How about you mind your own business and keep your nose out of it,” he grows, sitting up. 

“Stiles—”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Stiles says, spitting the words like they’re acid. “I’ve seen what happens to people when you try— everyone ends up dead.”

There’s a beat of silence, then all the blood drains out of his face. 

Stiles starts mumbling apologies but Derek can’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. The world shifts, going fuzzy around the edges but hyper focused in the centre.

He stands slowly, rising from the bed, and walks towards the door. Behind him, Stiles’ voice is just white noise. The buzzing fills the room pushing out all the air until no breath is deep enough to draw in any oxygen.

Derek moves on autopilot, not even realising he’s outside until the salty ocean air hits his face.

There’s sand beneath his bare feet. Derek focuses on the scratch of coarse grains against his skin and slowly the bad around his lungs loosens and he can breathe again. Looking around, Derek realises he’s made it all the way down to the beach.

Dressed only in the shorts he’d worn to bed, Derek doesn’t look out of place among the early morning runners. He sits just about the high tide mark and stares out across the breaking waves.

He knows Stiles hadn’t meant what he’d said, but it still hurts because it’s the truth.

His parents.

His sister.

Erica and Boyd.

Everyone he’s ever cared about is gone, and it’s all because of him.

Derek’s not sure what time it is when he returns to the motel. Stiles is still sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, staring into space. His face is pale, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. The air in the room is thick with Stiles’ anxiety.

He flinches when the door swings shut, his eyes darting up to Derek like he’s just noticed he’s there.

He opens his mouth, then seems to change his mind before finally saying, “I’m still on Dad’s health insurance.”

And suddenly it all makes sense. 

“Where does he think you are?” 

Stiles won’t look at him and that’s all the confirmation Derek needs.

“He thinks you’re back in California, at school. Doesn’t he?” Derek knows he’s right when Stiles doesn’t say anything. “You still haven’t told him you dropped out of college.”

“I haven’t dropped out, I’m just taking a break.”

Derek stares at him. “Okay, try that again but make it more believable this time.”

“How did you know?” Stiles scowls. “You’ve been eavesdropping? Or nose-dropping, or— whatever? You know it’s not fair when you do that.”

“Stiles, it didn’t take heightened senses to know how miserable you were when you first turned up at my front door,” Derek tells him gently, refusing to rise to Stiles’ bait. “It’s been three months and you haven’t mentioned college once. It’s not hard to put it together.” He sits beside Stiles on the bed. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“I didn’t want him to be disappointed with me.”

“When has your dad ever given you that impression?” Stiles opens his mouth but Derek doesn’t give him the chance to argue. “Stiles, he won’t be disappointed.”

“It’s just—” Stiles picks at the quilt cover with his uninjured hand. “I’ve been telling everyone for years about wanting to be in the FBI. It’s all I ever wanted! And I couldn’t even make it through one semester of college.”

“It was a big adjustment. Your dad will understand that. Just talk to him.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Derek promises. “But we can sort that out later. Please, let me take you to the hospital. We can work out how to talk to your dad after.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, his voice small and weary. “I’ll go.”

He’s quiet as Derek finds his shoes, nudging them towards his feet. He watches in silence as Derek tugs on a shirt and his sneakers and lets Derek guide him out to the car.

At the hospital Derek sits in the waiting room while Stiles goes with the triage nurse. The waiting room is noisy but doesn’t seem too busy. The scent of pain and grief is strong here, it’s almost overwhelming, but Derek stays in his seat and waits for Stiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long before a nurse approaches. 

“You’re Derek?” she asks. “Your friend is asking for you.”

“Stiles? Is he okay?”

She nods, smiling. “Come in, I’ll show through to him.”

Derek follows her through and into a large room with curtained off beds. Leading the way over to one of the cubicles, the nurse holds back the curtain so that Derek can duck inside.

“Hey.” He stands awkwardly by the bed, waiting for Stiles to acknowledge him. 

“Hey.” Stiles sits on the bed, his legs crossed. “So, you were right.” He laughs humorlessly. “Broken.”

The long silence stretches on between them, punctuated by the busy hum of the room beyond the curtain.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stiles—”

“No, let me finish.” Stiles cuts him off with a shake of his head. “I—” He stops, takes a breath and starts again. “I said some really awful things to you that you didn’t deserve.” He looks up to meet Derek’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.” Stiles looks away again. “I understand if you want to go home after this.”

The idea shocks Derek. At no point that morning has the thought of going home even occurred to him. He’s not even sure where home is anymore. The last few months on the road, traveling with Stiles, have had more than a few bumps along the way. Still, it feels more like home than that empty house back in Monterey. More than Beacon Hills was after Laura’s death. Derek doesn’t know where he’ll go if Stiles decides to leave.

Stiles is home.

And that idea frightens him more than anything else.

Stiles gets a green cast and once the X-rays come back everything is in alignment, he’s free to go.

Derek drives them both back to the motel, the heavy silence settling over them once more. Neither have said much since Stiles had asked Derek if he wanted to leave.

Back inside their motel room, Stiles stares at his phone, his finger hovering over the call button. The screen is lit up with his dad’s phone number, but Stiles makes no move to connect the call.

His head jerks up when Derek turns for the door leading out to the balcony.

“Where are you going,” he asks, panic creeping in around the edges of his voice.

“I was going to go for a walk,” Derek explains. “Give you some privacy.”

“Stay?”

Derek drops his hand from the door handle. “Okay.”

He walks back over to the bed, taking a seat beside Stiles. He stays quiet while Stiles stairs down at his phone for another long moment. 

With a long slow breath, Stiles finally hits the button. The call rings and rings, and Derek’s convinced the call’s going to go to voicemail.

“Hey Dad.”

“Hey kiddo. This is a nice surprise.” In the background Derek can hear the bustle of the station but then Noah must go into his office because it suddenly goes quiet. 

“Dad, I—” Stiles takes another breath, wet and shuddering.

“Stiles? What’s wrong?”

“Dad, I couldn’t do it.” Stiles' voice crack as the first tear tracks down his cheek. “I tried, I did. Please don’t be disappointed.”

“Hey. Hey. Slow down.” Noah’s voice is a calm tide that washes over the room. “ Stiles, tell me what happened. Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m safe. I’m uh— I’m with Derek.”

“Derek Hale?” The voice on the phone rises in surprise. “Stiles, where are you?”

“I— I dropped out of school, Dad. I really tried, but—” Stiles glances up and Derek gives him an encouraging nod. “Things were good. They should have been good but— I couldn’t think, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Oh kid.”

“I should have told you but— I guess I was scared. You were so proud when I got the scholarship and— I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me—”

“Stiles.” Noah’s voice is insistent as he cuts in over Stiles. “Stiles, I need you to listen to me. You could never disappoint me kid. Never.”

Stiles’ breath hitches with a sob.

“Do you want to come home?” Noah asks. “I can come get you.”

“No.” Derek stares at Stiles, surprised by the strength of his conviction. “I want to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

Stiles glances back over at Derek, his face set in determination.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for Derek to wonder if Noah is going to challenge Stiles’ decision.

In the end though, Noah just sighs. 

“You know you can call me any time,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, I know Dad.” Stiles’ slumps forward, his shoulders going loose in relief.

And Derek, if you can hear this, you take care of my kid.”

“I will,” Derek promises and he means to stand by that. 

“Okay then.”  There’s another short pause, almost as if Noah is hesitant to end the call. “I guess I’ll talk to you later then. I love you, Stiles.”

“Love you too, Dad.” 

Stiles holds it together until the call disconnects. 

Tentatively Derek reaches out, giving Stiles plenty of time to pull away. He doesn’t. Stiles lets Derek reel him in, his forehead pressed to Derek’s shoulder and his own shoulders silently shaking.

They stay like that for a long time— minutes, hours? Derek’s not sure— until finally the tremors ease and Stiles tugs out of Derek’s embrace.

“Shit.” Stiles gives a watery laugh and wipes his face on his sleeve. “Sorry. I like, cried all over you.”

Derek shrugs. “You needed it.”

Stiles doesn’t respond. He picks at the edge of his cast, something clearly on his mind.

“Do you want to go home?” Derek asks. Stiles had seemed sure earlier but that might have just been a reassurance for his dad. “We can head back if you want.”

“No.” Stiles shakes his head. “I meant what I said. This— these last few months— has been really good. I’m not ready to go back yet.”

“Okay.” Derek hides his relief. He wouldn’t blame Stiles for wanting to go home, but he’s not ready for it to end either. He’s not sure he can go back to living his life as it was before. Without Stiles. “In that case, what do you want to do? We could stay here for a few weeks, until you get your cast off.”

“In a motel?” Stiles pulls a face at the idea.

“We might be able to find a short term rental or something,” Derek suggests. The idea of staying in the same motel motel room doesn’t really appeal to him either. It’s fine when you have to pack up and move on every few days, but in the long term it’s really not practical.

“With a real kitchen?” Stiles sighs wistfully. “I’ve got to admit, I miss cooking. I never thought I’d say this but eating out gets old. And it’s expensive.”

Derek can’t help but agree. He’s never been big on takeout anyway, preferring a home cooked meal over anything you could buy in a takeout shop. 

The thought of spending time with Stiles, doing something as domestic as cooking, sends a sudden thrill through Derek. 

He shakes it off, turning to Stiles. “So, we’re staying then?”

“Yeah.” A slow smile spreads across Stiles’ face, dazzling in its sincerity. “We’re staying.” 

Chapter Text

Stiles does some digging and finds an Airbnb that allows long term rentals in Eugene, about an hour away from their current motel. It’s less house and more cabin with just one bedroom, but by this point neither of them really care. 

They spend the first day exploring the city. Despite being the second largest city in Oregon, there are lots of green spaces and parks and they walk down along the river, following one of the trails that curls around its banks.

After lunch they head to a grocery store to stock up the cabin’s pantries. Stiles is a whirlwind of movement, disappearing down aisles and reappearing with various items that “we just need, Der. Don’t question it.”

And Derek doesn’t. Not where there’s light in Stiles’ eyes again. It’s like the conversation with his dad has lifted some invisible weight from his shoulders.

It’s not perfect, the nightmares haven’t stopped, but it’s a start. 

When they get back to the cabin, Derek cooks while Stiles gets in the way, insisting on sitting on the counter and stealing bites from the chopping board every time Derek turns away. 

There’s not much in the way of kitchen equipment, but they make do. It surprises Derek how easy it is to fall into a routine with Stiles. There are a few days after the argument where they both walk on eggshells around each other and Derek’s afraid they aren’t going to get back the easy camaraderie they’d built. It doesn’t last though and they work things out. 

It’s a relief. 

In the last three months they’ve become close. Derek cares about Stiles more than he’s cared about anyone in years. It scares him a little how comfortable he is with this realisation. It feels right, like they fit together. 

It’ll never go any further than that. It can’t. There’d been some truth to what Stiles had said, the morning of their argument, even if he’d never meant to say it out loud. 

Derek is a danger to those close to him, and he’s not going to let Stiles become one of the many people he’s hurt. So he tamps down on the feeling that bubbles in his chest, right beside his heart.

“I might reach out to the local pack,” Derek says, waving Stiles away from the chopping board again. “Let them know we’ll keep out of their way.”

Stiles frowns, kicking his heels against the cupboard doors. “Is it going to be a problem?”

“I don’t think so,” Derek says, shaking his head. “If I remember right, their territory doesn’t actually extend to the city. They’re further up the river.”

“Okay.” Stiles doesn’t look convinced. Derek knows he isn’t keen on meeting up with other wolves, so he doesn't mention that he’s met the Alpha before or that she knew his parents. It doesn’t matter. He’s confident their presence isn’t going to be an issue in a university town anyway.

Derek wakes to flailing. 

“Stiles.” He rolls over and grips the younger man’s shoulder, careful to dodge his casted arm. “Stiles, wake up.”

He can feel the exact moment Stiles jerks awake, his body tensing.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, rolling over and away from Derek.

“It’s fine.” Derek lets his hand drop, staring at the back of Stiles’ head in the darkness.

Stiles is quiet, but he hasn’t gone back to sleep. His heart is still beating too fast, his breathing too rough. 

“I killed someone,” he says suddenly, his voice soft and almost lost in the dark. “Not Allison— someone else.” He’s still got his back to Derek, offering his words up to the dark. “It was after you left.”

Derek shifts, propping himself up on his elbow. “You don’t need to tell me about it.”

“I know.” Stiles’ voice shakes. “I didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident.” His good hand comes up to rub at his shoulder. “I just wanted to get away.”

“Can I?” At Stiles’ jerking nod, Derek hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt. It’s difficult to see in the dark, but Derek can make out the spiral pattern of scar tissue. “Someone did this to you?” Anger burns hot and deep in his gut. “What happened?”

“The Jeep wouldn’t start.” Stiles shrugs and rolls onto his back. “Same old, same old.” He draws his legs up under the quilt, his hands resting on his stomach. The fingers of his right hand pick at his cast. “He chased me into the library, up some scaffolding. I just— I was just trying to get away.”

Derek sucks in a breath. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Tell that to Scott. Theo convinced him I’d done it in cold blood.”

Derek doesn’t know who Theo is, but the thought of this person makes his eyes flash in anger before the rage in his stomach sours, churning into guilt.

“I should have come back.”

“What? No.” Stiles rolls over so that he’s facing Derek. “I know why you left,” he admits. “I heard what happened, with…” he trails off without saying her name and Derek is grateful. “I thought maybe you’d come back once she was dead, but— I get why you didn’t. I don’t blame you for staying away.” He lets out a humourless laugh. “To be honest, I’m not sure I ever want to go back.”

“What about your dad?”

“I miss him, but— it’s not enough to go back.” Stiles rolls onto his back again and sighs wistfully. “Maybe we can just stay here.”

Derek’s heart skips at ‘we’ but he just hums noncommittal. “Maybe.” 

Derek gets a text message from the Thompson pack a few days after they’ve settled in Eugene inviting him and Stiles over for lunch. Derek’s not sure how to raise the idea with Stiles. He’d been wary about getting in touch with the pack in the first instance and Derek doesn’t blame him. 

He’s surprised at how much he wants to go, though, It’s been so long since he’s been around other werewolves. There’s an emptiness in his chest where his pack bonds used to be and though the remaining bond between him and Cora is strong, it’s stretched thin by the thousands of miles between them.

He resolves to bring it up with Stiles, and decides that if he doesn’t want to come, Derek will just go on his own. He goes to bring it up several times during the day but each time he pulls himself back, the words sticking to his tongue. Things have been good since Stiles opened up about his nightmare and Derek is trying to do the same but after so many years of bottling himself up, it goes against everything to just open up to someone.

“Just spit it out, man.” Stiles grins at him from across the room.

“Spit what out?” Derek asks.

“Whatever it is you’ve been wanting to say all day.” Stiles laughs. “You really think I haven’t noticed?” He puts down his phone and stands, crossing the room to sit beside Derek on the couch. “So?”

“So,” Derek says, echoing Stiles. “The Thompson pack invited us over for lunch on Saturday.”

“Oh.” Stiles’ brows knit together in a frown. 

“And I’m thinking of going,” Derek finishes quickly. “It’s fine if you don’t want to come through.” He expects Stiles to say ‘no’ straight away, but instead he looks thoughtful. “They’re a good pack,” Derek says. “But there’s no pressure. You don’t have to come.”

“I’ll think about it,” Stiles promises.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Stiles asks for the fourth or fifth time.

He’d eventually decided to tag along, but now Derek can feel the waves of apprehension rolling off him.

“It’s just lunch,” Derek reminds him. “But if you change your mind and decide you don’t want to be here, just say something. We can leave early.”

“You’re looking forward to this, aren’t you?” Stiles watches Derek with a scrutinising gaze. “You’re practically vibrating, man.”

“It’s the full moon.” Derek brushes him off. Yes, he’s excited to be among his own kind again, but he’s also nervous. It’s been years since he last saw them and he’s changed so much in that time. What if he’s too different now?

“The full moon is still two days away.” Derek glances sharply across at Stiles who simply shrugs. “I’ve been keeping track.”

Warmth blooms in Derek’s chest and he turns away. 

“So, how do you know these guys?” Stiles asks, turning the conversation back to their meeting with the pack.

“Through my parents mostly,” Derek says. “They were friends with the Alpha, Sarah, but I’ve only met her once or twice. She was one of the few to reach out when they died. She offered Laura and I a place to stay.”

“Why didn't you stay with them?”

“Laura was a new Alpha,” Derek offers as explanation. “It wouldn’t have worked out.” He doesn’t tell Stiles that Laura had begged him to go stay with them. She’d wanted him safe within a well established pack and he’d argued that their pack had well established too. That was before he’d confessed he was the reason their family was dead.

Turning off the main road they drive towards the river. It’s a warm day, but the breeze blowing in through the windows is still cool. Derek Stiles has his window down to hide his anxiety. The rushing wind steals his scent away before Derek can catch it, but it can’t hide the nervous drumming of Stiles’ fingers against his thigh.

Without thinking, Derek reaches across to still the nervous tapping.

“Remember,” he says, giving Stiles’ fingers a squeeze. “No pressure. If you want to leave, just tell me.”

Stiles stares down at their hands for a charged moment.

“Yeah, okay.” He glances up to meet Derek’s gaze. “We’ve got this.” He gives Derek’s hand a small squeeze and turns back to look out the front windscreen. 

They turn onto a long driveway that winds along beside the river. Dappled sunlight streams down through the trees and sparkles on the water beside the road. 

Stiles stares out the window, mouth hanging open in awe.

“This place is amazing,” he says as the large house comes into view.

The trees open up into a wide green lawn that wraps around the building. On one side, the grass continues down a few hundred yards towards a pebbly riverbank. There’s a garden on the other side and a path that winds back into the trees.

Derek pulls up beside another car and cuts the engine before turning to Stiles.

“You ready?”

Stiles is still gawking up at the house, mute, as he nods and reaches for the door handle.

From within the house there’s a shriek and a squeal, loud enough even for Stiles.

“They’re here.”

The front door slams open and a small child darts onto the wide porch to hover excitedly at the top of the stares. They’re followed by a number of adults, including the woman Derek recognises as the Alpha.

He moves to greet her. “Alpha Thompson.”

“Oh please,” she says, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she waves off his formalities. “You know I prefer Sarah.” She reaches out, hands on Derek’s shoulders as she looks him over. “You’re all grown up,” she says, pulling Derek into a warm hug. “And you must be Stiles,” Sarah says once she’s released Derek from her bone crushing grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Stiles tells her, stepping forward. “Thanks for inviting me.” All his nervous energy from the car seems to be gone, replaced with his usual goofy grin.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Sarah says, turning to beckon the rest of her family over. She introduces her husband and children first. Her oldest daughter, Charlotte, if Derek remembers correctly, is in her late twenties or early thirties. The child from the porch clings to her leg and offers a shy “hello” when introduced.

Olivia is the middle child— she’s a year older than Derek— and Ella, the youngest, has just graduated high school.

Derek starts to lose track once they get to the aunts and uncles. Sarah must see his expression start to glaze over because she shoos everyone away, claiming there will be plenty of time for introductions over lunch.

They eat outside in the shade, sitting around tables pushed together so that the whole pack can squish in. Stiles and Derek sit side by side, their shoulders bumping together as salad and bread and trays of barbecued meat are passed around.

Stiles talks animatedly with Ella about her plans for college. Derek tries not to eavesdrop on their conversation, but there’s something about how quickly the two click that makes him bristle. He shoves the feeling down, feeling guilty about the spike of jealousy that courses through him. It's unfair of him, Derek knows that. Stiles should make other friends, especially if they’re going to be staying in the area for a while.

“—Derek?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, tuning back into the conversation he was supposed to be paying attention to. “What was that?”

“I was just wondering how long you guys were planning on sticking around,” Charlotte says, hiding her smile behind a forkful of potato salad.

“We’re not sure yet,” Derek tells her. “At least until Stiles gets the cast off. A few weeks maybe.”

“How’d he manage that anyway?” Olivia asks, gesturing with her fork.

“Sandboarding,” Stiles says, cutting in before Derek can speak. “In Florence.” He leans into Derek’s space to talk to Olivia and Charlotte. “Which I was totally amazing at by the way. A complete natural.”

“You didn’t even touch a board,” Derek reminds him with a teasing grin. “You barely even stepped onto the sand. You were taken out by an eight-year-old.”

“Lies and slander,” Stiles complains. “Don’t listen to a single word he says.” He laughs and knocks their knees together under the table.

They end up spending the rest of the afternoon with the pack. After lunch, they get dragged down to the river bank to splash around in the water. 

Stiles doesn’t go any deeper than his ankles, using his lack of swim shorts as an excuse from going any deeper. That hasn’t stopped some of the younger wolves from shedding their clothes and diving in. 

They stand side by side in the shallows and watch the smaller children chase each other, squealing and splashing through the water. It’s a scene that feels achingly familiar. If Derek closes his eyes he can almost believe it's the laughter of his cousins that fills the air. The spell is broken a moment later and the fresh wave of grief is choking.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Stiles is watching him with thinly veiled concern.

Derek doesn’t trust himself to answer. He excuses himself and walks up to the main house to use the bathroom. 

Instead of immediately heading back to the river, Derek lingers on the porch. Over on the bank he can see Stiles is still standing on the water, bathed in golden light. He’s got his head thrown back, laughing along with the two kids hanging off him. 

Derek lets himself just look for a minute, secure in the knowledge that Stiles can’t see him from here. He’s put on some weight in the months since he turned up on Derek’s door steam, and now his shirt pulls tight across his lean chest. He’s definitely broader across the shoulders than he had been two years ago and he’s finally grown into his lanky limbs. 

Movement from within the house behind him catches Derek’s attention. He focuses on the sound but he doesn’t know the pack well enough to identify who it is based on the way they move through the house. It’s not until they pass through an open doorway that Derek recognises the scent of the Alpha.

“Derek,” Sarah greets him as she steps onto the porch. She’s got a pitcher of iced tea and a tray of glasses that she sets down on one of the patio chairs. “I was hoping to get you alone for a moment.”

Her smile is warm as she pours two glasses of tea and joins him by the railing. 

“It’s really good to see you, Derek,” she tells him quietly as she hands him a drink. “After what happened to your family, and then to Laura… I’m really sorry, Derek.”

“I— thank you,” he says, accepting the glass. He can’t quite look at Sarah as he says it. She’d seen him at his worst, those first few days after the fire, before he’d followed Laura to New York.

“I’m glad you decided to come. After hearing about what happened in Beacon Hills, I was worried about you.” Sarah sits on the railing Derek is leaning against, watching him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

Derek stars out across the lawn. The late afternoon sun paints the clearing in reds and golds. 

He doesn’t blame her for staying away. Beacon Hills was dangerous and she had a pack to keep safe. And in the end Derek had done the opposite. He’d abandoned his pack, his family’s land, to run as fast and far as possible.

“You did the right thing,” Sarah tells him, picking up on his inner turmoil. 

“Did I, though?” Derek finally turns to look at her. “I just left. I abandoned the territory. It’s been Hale land for generations and I just let it go.”

“You did what you needed to do to survive,” Sarah says gently. “You know your parents would have wanted you to be safe and happy. In Beacon Hills you weren’t either of those things.” She hops down from the railing to stand beside Derek. For what it’s worth, I think they’d be proud of you. You kept going, and from what I’ve seen today you’ve made it to a place where you seem genuinely happy.”

Derek squirms under his warm appraisal. He doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he admits.

Sarah just smiles. “We all make mistakes,” she tells him. “And then we learn from them. It’s all part of growing up.” She knocks her shoulder against his. “Do you feel ready to head back down there?” She tilts her head in the direction of the riverbank.

Derek nods and drains his glass.

“Great.” Sarah picks up the tray she’d put down earlier. “There’s another pitcher in the kitchen if you down mid grabbing it.”

It’s late by the time Derek and Stiles return to their cabin. As late afternoon stretched into early evening the pack had convinced them both to stay for dinner and Derek’s worn out, both physically and mentally. Stiles is so easy to talk to that he’d forgotten how draining socialising can be. 

Taking his turn in the bathroom, Derek lets his thoughts drift and his mind wander.

He can hear Stiles stomping around in the bedroom next door, and without thinking he tunes into the sound. If he really focuses, he can hear the soft thump of Stiles’ heartbeat under the constant patter of the shower. His traitorous mind brings up the image from earlier of Stiles, his head thrown back to expose the long column of his throat. 

For a brief moment, Derek imagines tracing that long line with his tongue and tasting the sun-warm skin. 

There’s a thump from the next room and the illusion shatters. 

Derek turns the shower off and reaches for a towel. He presses it into this face and groans out a muffled “ fuck ”.

And this— this is a problem. 

Stiles was always supposed to be the annoying, loud-mouthed teenager. He wasn’t ever supposed to be more than that. He wasn’t supposed to be this kind, funny, loyal person. He wasn’t supposed to make Derek feel like this.

He dreads leaving the safety of the bathroom for what’s going to be an awkward encounter in the bedroom, but he can’t stay here all night. Stiles will know something’s up.

“I was beginning to think you’d drowned,” Stiles jokes when Derek finally opens the door. He doesn’t wait for Derek to move, squeezing past to fetch his toothbrush. 

“Sorry. Distracted,” Derek says, mumbling a week excused before moving through to the bedroom. 

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles replies around a mouthful of toothpaste. He doesn’t elaborate and Derek can only wonder what’s on his mind.

Stiles wanders out of the bathroom, his toothbrush still clutched in his hand. “So, I was thinking— you know, if we’re here a while— that I wouldn’t mind if we went and saw them again.”

Well that answers that, Derek thinks to himself while  Stiles rinses off his toothbrush.

“Yeah?”

“Mm, I liked them.” Stiles returns to the room, pulling back the sheets to take a seat on the bed. “I was uh, talking to Charlotte. Did you know she’s a psychologist? I guess it just never occurred to me, you know, that there could be people ‘in the know’ who work in things like that.” He makes the quotation marks with his fingers.

Derek nods. “There are people with supernatural backgrounds working in all sorts of fields. One of my aunts was a pediatrician.”

“Huh. Honestly, I thought everyone was kinda like you,” Stiles admits with a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stiles’ grin turns mischievous. “Lazy bums with too much money.” He catches the pillow Derek throws at him. “You’re not getting this back,” he says, hugging it to his chest.”

Derek tries not to think about how it will smell like Stiles when he finally gets it back and busies himself with getting ready for bed. 

“Maybe I’ll talk to someone,” Stiles says suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. “If we’re going to be here for a while anyway. Charlotte said she could recommend someone.” He sighs, and Derek feels the bed shift. “I’m so done with the nightmares and the panic attacks and —” he cuts himself off. “Aren’t you?”

Derek hums softly in agreement but doesn’t actually answer the question. The idea of telling another person what he’s done terrifies him. But, maybe, if Stiles can do it, Derek can do it too. 

He settles down in bed with his back to Stiles. With his eyes closed, Derek absolutely doesn’t think about the mere inches that separates them, until finally exhaustion pulls him under.

Chapter Text

“You’re quiet today,” Stiles says softly, sitting next to Derek on the bed. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Derek puts down the book he's been idly flipping through. It’s one he’s read before, one of his favourites, but he’s too distracted to process a single word.

Moon rise is only a few hours away and already it has the blood fizzing in Derek’s veins. He’s already been out for a run, twice, and he still can’t get the wolf beneath his skin to settle. 

It feels different this time. The shredded pack bonds still ache, but for the first time in years it’s not an all encompassing agony. Every emotion is heightened during the full moon, but the grief and anger that usually overwhelm him are not what’s got him feeling so distracted. 

He shakes his head, not sure how to put down in words how he feels.

“Okay.” Stiles nods. “Want to watch a movie?”

Derek goes to shake his head again, the thought of going into the city and being around other people is too overwhelming, but Stiles is already standing and crossing the room to his bags. 

He returns a moment later with his laptop.

“Scoot over,” he says, sitting on the bed to boot the computer up. 

“Wait, have you had that this entire time?” Derek asks.

“Yup. Now, what are we feeling?” Clicking around on the track pad Stiles opens up a folder on the screen and scrolls through a list of titles. “Oh, yes! This is what we need. Hold this.” He sets the computer in Derek’s lap and scrambles off the bed to close the blinds.

When he returns he scoots in close, his shoulder pressed against Derek’s so that can both see the screen.

The line of pressure against his side is electric. It sparks a rush of heat that spreads through him. It calms the wolf and eases the ache inside Derek’s chest. He refuses to think about how right it feels, sitting there with Stiles, and instead turns his attention to the movie.

“The Mummy? Really?”

Stiles turns and grins. “Yeah, it’s a classic. Shame they only made two movies though.”

Derek frowns. “Didn’t they make a thir—”

“Such a shame,” Stiles cuts in over him. “You know I’m pretty sure these movies were my bisexual awakening,” he explains and Derek almost chokes on his tongue. “What?” Stiles exclaims, bumping his shoulder against Derek’s. “Seriously! I don’t know who I was more in love with, Rick, Evie or Ardeth Bay.” 

“I— what?” Derek doesn’t have a response to that.

“You know, ‘cos he’s tall, dark and handsome.” Stiles is looking at the screen, but the tips of his ears are bright pink and—

Oh.

Derek deflects, rolling his eyes. “You just wanted to be a treasure hunter, didn’t you?” It earns him another shove from Stiles before he hits play and they settle in to watch the movie.

He shifts so he can watch Stiles, while still pretending to watch the movie. The light of the screen splashes across Stiles’ face, painting his features in a warm glow. It highlights the uptick of his lips, moving with the dialogue and reflects in his shining brown eyes.

As if sensing the attention, Stiles glances up, his eyes locking with Derek’s.

He doesn’t look away, frozen by the weight of Stiles’ gaze. The moment is broken when Stiles glances away, a smile tugging at his lips as he murmurs, “you’re supposed to be watching the movie.”

Caught out, Derek flushes and turns his attention back towards the screen.

After the second Mummy movie they move on to something else, but they keep to the theme of lighthearted and fun— nothing that requires too much thinking. Stiles ends up dozing off somewhere around the middle of Pacific Rim, his head pillowed on Derek’s shoulder.

The movie continues on the screen, but Derek isn’t paying attention. He’s barely been paying attention to any of the movies, preferring to watch Stiles’ reactions to them. Now that he’s asleep, Derek is even less interested in what’s happening on the screen. Instead he listens to the steady rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat and watches the soft rise and fall of his chest.

He should stop.

He should get up, move away from the bed and shove down the little voice in his head that wonders at the possibility. The little voice that whispers maybe you can have this. 

The feeling is only heightened by the pull of the moon.

And the thing is, Derek’s pretty certain that the attraction is not just one sided. If he were to give into his feelings and offer himself up to Stiles, he thinks Stiles would open to something. And that just makes it all the more difficult, because Stiles can never know.

Because Stiles deserves better. 

The moon finally rises in the early hours of the afternoon. Derek can feel the shift in the air, the crackle of static that dances across his skin, as it crests the distant horizon. Sitting around is no longer an option after that.

He shuffles across the bed carefully, trying to move away from Stiles without waking him. He doesn’t get far though before the jostling rouses Stiles from his nap.

“Hmm?” Stiles blinks blearily up at Derek. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” Derek swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I just need to stretch my legs.” He reaches for his shoes to tug them onto his feet. “I’ll be back soon.” He glances back at Stiles and catches what looks like disappointment before Stiles quickly schools his expression into something more neutral. “Or you could come too,” Derek offers.

“Okay.” Stiles scrambles off the bed to find his shoes.

Once they get outside, instead of wandering down towards the main road, Derek turns deeper into the trees that line the back of the quiet street. 

“You better not get us lost,” Stiles jokes as he follows Derek around the back of the house. 

“What’s this ‘us’ business?” Derek asks, taking a deep lungful of air and rolling his shoulders back to stretch them out. “I can’t get lost, but you will if you can’t keep up.”

He takes off at a jog, winding through the trees and biting back a grin at Stiles’ choked off cursing.

It feels good to be moving, burning off some of the restless energy that’s coursing through him. He doesn’t run at full speed, not in daylight with Stiles stumbling along behind him, the risk of running into someone is too high this close to the city.

After a few hundred years he slows to a walk and lets Stiles catch up.

“I hate you so much,” Stiles grumbles, falling into step beside him.

“No you don’t.”

They walk together in silence for a while. At one point, Stiles goes bounding off with a gasp and returns with a stick he swings through the grass while they walk.

“If you need to run some more I could throw this for you,” Stiles tells him with a smirk. He pokes Derek in the side with his stick and dances out of the way when Derek snatches at it. “You want the stick?”

“I can’t believe you made it three months without telling a dog joke.”

“Honestly, same,” Stiles says. “You would not believe how many opportunities I’ve had and have just kept it to myself. I really deserve a medal. I was in physical pain Der, but I never broke.”

“How big of you,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. 

Stiles pokes him again and Derek pretends to lunge, barking out a laugh when Stiles stumbles, tripping over his own feet. He catches the back of Stiles’ shirt before he can fall, holding on just long enough to be sure Stiles has got his footing.

They spend the rest of the afternoon outside before finally wandering back to the house. Derek is still buzzing with restless energy, so he drags Stiles into the kitchen to help cook dinner and they eat outside bathed in the light of the setting sun. 

As soon as it’s dark enough Derek lets the shift wash over him. As his human features fall away, all the trivial human worries slide away too. Everything feels less complicated like this. The thoughts are still there, but are background to the scents and sounds that compete for his attention.

The dirt is still warm beneath Derek’s paws, releasing the trapped heat from earlier in the day. The night air is cool though, and Derek takes a deep breath, his body thrumming with the magic of the full moon.

There’s a distant song on the breeze— the Thompson pack calling to each other. Derek longs to call back, longs to join them on their run and feel the strength of the pack bonds. But Derek is an outsider, and the echo of their howls only serves to remind him of what he’s lost. 

There’s another call. Louder. Beckoning. 

Derek takes a step towards it, curious, as more voices join the chorus. The harmony tangles around him like a thread, driving him onward, and Derek follows, helpless against the pull.

When he finds the pack, he hangs back in the trees, suddenly hesitant to join them. As he watches a large grey wolf breaks away from the group and trots over to his hiding place. Eyes flashing red, tongue lolling in a wolfish smile, she nudges him towards the rest of the pack.

Those who aren’t shifted greet him warmly, while those who are bound over, tails wagging. He’s quickly caught up in the swell of the group and he raises his voice to join them.

It’s late by the time Derek returns to the house. Carefully, he eases the bedroom door open and pads quietly into the room. The soft glow of the setting moon through the window is more than enough light to see as he shifts and changes into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. 

"Feel any better?"

Startling, Derek turns towards the bed where Stiles is sitting, his back propped against the wall. 

"I thought you’d be asleep." It's well into the morning, with the sky outside painted with the hues of predawn pinks and greys.

“I couldn’t,” Stiles admits softly. He pats the bed, his eyes following Derek’s movements in the darkness. “Wanna watch another movie?”

Derek stares at him for a moment, considering, before nodding. He crosses the floor to take a seat on the bed, stretching out across the mattress as Stiles reaches for the laptop.

He’s asleep before the end of the opening credits.

Sunlight filters in through the window to splash across Derek’s face. He squints, his face scrunching up from the glare, and rolls over. The bed beside him is empty, but he can hear Stiles moving around in the room next door. 

With a low sigh, Derek reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s still early, but despite the late night Derek feels rejuvenated. Running with a pack again had been exhilarating. It’s been so long and he’d forgotten what it was like to run purely for the joy of it.

He stands, stretching as he makes his way to the living room. Stiles is sitting at the little dining table, his open in front of him and his attention caught by whatever it is on the screen.

Derek pads over to the kitchen to make coffee, glancing over Stiles shoulder as he passes by.

“What are you looking at?”

“Jesus!” Stiles slams his laptop shut and twists in his seat to glare at Derek. “Warn a guy, Der, before you scare the shit out of him.”

Chuckling softly, Derek goes to the coffee pot.

“You’re in a good mood,” Stiles notes, propping his casted arm along the back of the chair. “Got all your full moon wiggles out then?”

“Hilarious.” Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles’ teaching. Carrying his coffee over to sit at the table. “So? What were you doing?”

Stiles chews at his bottom lip, his heart rate rising.

“I really like it here,” he says slowly, his fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the laptop.

“I like it here too.”

Stiles nods jerkily. “I think I’m ready to stop.”

A cold hard weight settles in Derek’s gut. “You want to go home.” 

“I think—” Stiles hesitates over the words. “I think I am home?” He steels his expression into something more certain. “I want to stay here.”

Derek stares at him, unable to form words.

“And I want you to stay too.” The words tumble out of Stiles’ mouth in a rush and he looks everywhere but at Derek. “I mean, I get it if you don’t want to. You’ve got your place back in California, so if you want to go—”

“I want to.” Derek is quick to cut Stiles off. “Stay, I mean. I want to stay here too.”

Stiles frowns like the words come as a surprise. “But what about your house?”

Derek shrugs, reaching for his forgotten coffee. “I can end the lease,” he says. “Most of the furniture came with the house so—”

“What about my Jeep?”

Derek winces. He’d forgotten about Stiles’ car. The battery’s probably flat after sitting idle for three months.

“We could probably arrange to have it brought out here,” he suggests. 

“Okay,” Stiles draws the word out, his eyes shining with hope. “So you’d really stay here? With me?”

Derek nods. “I like it here.” He doesn't add ‘with you’, he just lets the unspoken words hang in the air between them.

That’s all the confirmation Stiles seems to need. “Great, because I’ve been doing some research,” he says, opening his laptop and showing Derek the rental listings he’d been looking at. 

They spend the rest of the day, at Stiles’ insistence, making lists of places to look at. They migrate to the couch after lunch, where Stiles lies sprawled, his feet hanging over the armrest and his head almost in Derek’s lap.

“Oh, hey, what about this place?” He waves his phone in Derek’s face, the house listing open on the screen.

Derek has to grab his wrist and hold it still so he can read. It’s a two-bedroom house on the other side of the city. “Sure, add it to the list.”

Stiles pulls his arm back and keeps scrolling down the page.

“How about this one?” Derek asks. He has Stiles’ laptop open on his knees and he turns the screen so Stiles can see.

“Oh.” Stiles props himself up on his elbows so that he’s not craning his neck. “That looks awesome.” He pulls his feet off the armrest and sits up, leaning over Derek to read the info on the screen. “Hang on.” Stiles snags the laptop off Derek’s lap. “You’re on the wrong page. These aren’t rental listings, they’re to buy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says, taking the computer back and making a note of the inspection times.

“What, you’re going to buy a house?” Stiles scoffs, unlocking his phone again. “Okay then, Mr. Moneybags.”

When Derek doesn’t respond, Stiles glances back up at him, his eyes narrowing.

“Seriously?” He asks, disbelief painted across his face. “Der, you can’t just buy a house!”

Derek shuts the laptop carefully and turns to Stiles. “Why not?”

“Uh, because one, houses are like stupid expensive.” Stiles counts off on his fingers. “And two, buying a house is like, a forever thing.”

“I can afford it,” Derek reminds him. “It's not a big deal.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open. “No, Derek. It’s a huge deal,” he says, arms waving. “People don’t just buy houses because they feel like it. Jesus.”

“We’re looking for a house to live in,” Derek argues, a little amused by Stiles’ outburst. “These are houses to live in. Why does it matter if we rent or buy something?” He doesn’t understand why Stiles is so against the idea. If they buy a place it's theirs. They won’t have to worry about landlords telling them what they can and can’t do with it.

“What happens later if you decide you don’t want to live there anymore?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t know, Stiles. What do most people do when they decide to move to a new place?” Derek asks, biting back a smile. “We can sell it or rent it out to someone else.”

Stiles says nothing for a moment. He watches Derek with a narrowed, calculating gaze and Derek can see the wheels turning in his head.

Finally, Stiles breaks. “You think this is funny, don’t you.” He flops back down on the couch, but there’s a smile pulling at his lips.

Derek can’t help it. “A little,” he says, cracking a grin and opening the laptop to show Stiles the next house on the list. “What do you think about this one?”

Chapter Text

It takes them a few weeks to find a place they like enough to put in an offer. Derek watches the enthusiasm and excitement slowly fade from Stiles’ eyes as he realises just how much waiting and paperwork is involved in buying a house.

They finally get the keys on the same afternoon Stiles gets his cast removed. He chatters on about furniture and cutlery and who gets which bedroom the whole time his cast is being cut off. It takes a nudge from Derek to get him to pay attention while the doctor is checking the movement of his wrist. 

Once they’re done, Stiles insists on eating dinner in their new place. They pick up pizza and soda on their way over to the new house and sit on the back deck bathed in golden sunlight.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” Stiles says around a mouthful of pizza. He stares up at the house, eyes wide with awe. 

It’s a modest three bedroom house on a quiet street near the southern edge of the city. The deck they’re sitting on opens out from the living room and looks over the shady backyard. 

Derek’s already a little bit in love with it. 

Stiles reaches for another slice. He’s sitting up against the wooden railing that borders the deck, the pizza box beside him.  His long legs are stretched out, closing the gap between them to knock his foot against Derek’s ankle in a playful rhythm.

“We’ll need to go shopping,” Stiles says, mostly to himself as he picks apart his pizza. “We still need furniture. I can ask Dad to send me my Xbox, but we’ll need a TV. Oh, and plates and a fridge…” He trails off, staring down at his hands. “I’m going to need a job,” he groans, letting his last slice of pizza drop back into the box. “I mean, realistically I knew I’d have to get one eventually. I’d saved up a bit before I came and found you but between travel and renting and—” Stiles glances up “—everything else, it’s not going to last much longer.”

“You don’t need to pay rent,” Derek tells him. “I told you I can afford it.”

Stiles pulls a face. “Uh, yes I do,” he argues. “Are you kidding me? You bought a house, Derek. I want to help out.”

“You should save your money,” Derek says. “Use it for something important. Maybe you could go back to school.” he knocks his foot against Stiles’. “If you wanted.”

Stiles stares down at his arm, scratching at a patch of dry skin on newly freed his wrist. He’s been doing it all afternoon, despite the doctor telling him to avoid scratching the sensitive skin. 

“I don’t think I want to be an FBI agent anymore,” he admits quietly. 

“Then don’t. You could study something else,” Derek offers. “Or, you never have to go back at all.” 

Stiles doesn’t look up. He continues to scratch lazily at his wrist, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “Did you go to college?” he asks suddenly, glancing up.

“No.” It’s not strictly true. Laura had made him get his GED while they were in New York and afterwards he’d enrolled in an online course, picking at random from a community college catalogue because Laura had given him that look - the one that had said she was worried about him - and Derek couldn’t stand to disappoint her. He’d never really committed to it though. 

“Do you want to?”

Derek’s head jerks up, caught off guard by the question.

“I don't know,” he answers, honestly. “I don’t think I ever really considered it a possibility.”

Stiles’ face twists into something soft and sad. “Well, you could,” he says. “If you wanted to.”

Three days after they’re handed the keys, Stiles and Derek sit on the floor of the living room surrounded by boxes of furniture that still need to be opened and assembled.

Stiles is putting together the coffee table, using his feet to brace the pieces he’s screwing in because his wrist is still stiff from the cast. 

Derek sits nearby, using a claw to tear through the plastic wrapped around a headboard. He digs around to find the assembly instructions for Stiles’ bed and starts carrying pieces into the next room.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Stiles asks, abandoning his table to trail after Derek.

“I thought you could take this room,” Derek explains, leaning the headboard against the wall.

“What?” Stiles twists to face him. “No way,man. You bought the place, you should get the bigger room.” He wanders past Derek to stand in the doorway to the ensuite. “I already claimed the room overlooking the backyard and the bathroom upstairs has an actual bath.”

“Really, the bath is what sold it?”

“You underestimate the power of the bubble bath,” Stiles tells him, then he laughs. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you wouldn't know self care if someone smacked you in the face with a loofa.”

Derek crosses his arms with a frown. “That’s not true.”

“Der, when we met, you were living in the burned out shell of your house.”

“I wasn’t actually living there.”

“So, what…?” Stiles’ mouth twitches with a smile. “You’re arguing that an abandoned train depot is better?”

“I—” And Derek doesn’t have a response to that so he sighs. “Fine,” he says, amused. “I’ll take this one.”

They work together to put the bed together, then head upstairs to do the same in Stiles’ room. 

Derek bans Stiles from lifting anything too heavy, and for once Stiles doesn’t argue. He stands in the doorway, holding the little bag of screws, handing them over one by one as Derek assembles the bed. 

Derek can feel the weight of Stiles’ stare on the back of his neck and he turns. Stiles is watching him with an expression Derek can’t name and he startles, fumbling with the plastic bag in his hands when Derek catches him staring. He flushes and laughs, mumbling an excuse, and Derek has to look away because he can’t . He can’t let Stiles see how much it affects him.

He kneels by the headboard and pretends not to notice Stiles’ soft sigh. He doesn’t look up until he hears the soft tread of footsteps descending the stairs. 

Derek stays in the room even after he finishes building the bed. He’s hiding. He’s not even going to try and convince himself otherwise. The thought of going downstairs right now and pretending he feels nothing for Stiles is just too much.

Stiles has to know something’s going on. He seems unaware of Derek’s feelings but Derek doesn’t trust that assumption. Stiles is too observant to be completely oblivious.

Steeling himself, Derek pushes to his feet. He can’t hide away in Stiles’ bedroom forever. They still need to put together the kitchen table, plus they need to go shopping for sheets and towels and kitchen supplies, among other things.

Reaching the ground floor, Derek notes Stiles has finished putting together the coffee table and has started on the cabinet for their, currently, non-existent TV.

Derek moves one of the mattresses into his room and then makes a start on clearing some of the plastic packaging and cardboard from the living room. He ends up hiding most of it in the garage when he realises it’s not going to fit in the trash.

When he returns, Stiles is attempting to force a screw into the half-completed cabinet, his tongue poking through his lips as he turns one of the shelves in his hands trying to work out how it fits. He glances up as Derek enters the room. 

“I’m so bored of building furniture,” he whines, dropping the allen key with the rest of the screws. He stands, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Wanna go to Target?”

“Not particularly,” Derek deadpans, but he goes to find his keys anyway. He’s ready for a break too.

When he gets outside Stiles is leaning against the driver’s door of the Camaro. As Derek approaches, he holds out his hand, grinning expectantly.

“Come on, you haven’t let me drive in weeks,” he says, making a swipe for the keys.

Derek holds them out of reach. “Because your arm was broken.”

“And now it’s not,” Stiles counters, snatching at the keys again.

Derek lets him take them, a slow smile spreading across his face as Stiles cheers and climbs eagerly behind the wheel.

Bedding alone ends up filling an entire cart. 

“Uh, I think we have vastly overestimated the storage capacity of the Camaro,” Stiles says, gripping the edge of the cart. “We’ve barely got half the things we need.” He pulls up the list on his phone, scrolling through to see what they still need to find. “We’re never going to get all this home.”

“We’ll probably need to hire a trailer,” Derek says, turning the cart towards the checkout. “I don’t want to do multiple trips if we can help it. Is there anywhere around here we can hire something?”

Stiles does some quick googling and finds a U-Haul about ten minutes away. They pay for what they’ve already stacked in the cart and take it out to the car. It takes some work to get it all packed into the trunk, but once they do, Stiles drops Derek off at the U-Haul. He hires a truck and meets Stiles back at Target so they can finish shopping.

By the time they get everything back to the house and return the pick-up , the afternoon has well and truly settled into evening.

Stiles orders take-out on his phone then gets to work opening up boxes of plates and glasses and cutlery, stacking it all into the dishwasher while Derek makes a start on assembling the dining table. 

When their food arrives they sit outside again, side by side, soaking in the light of the setting sun. Stiles has his legs crossed with his pad thai balanced carefully in his lap, his shoulder bumping against Derek’s while they eat. 

It’s hard to find the motivation to head back inside once he’s done eating, but there’s still so much to do. 

Gathering up the rubbish between them, Derek is about to stand when Stiles’ phone rings. 

Retrieving it from his pocket, Stiles glances down at the screen, his brows knitting together in a frown. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s Scott.” Stiles swipes his finger across the screen. “Hey, Scotty.” The lines on his forehead deepen. 

Derek can hear Scott’s voice through the speaker, but he restrains himself from focusing his hearing better to pick up the words. 

“Uh, actually, I’m not coming home for the break,” Stiles says, tracing his finger around a knot in the wooden deck. “You need me?” He glances over at Derek. “Scott, what’s going on?” 

Feeling like he’s intruding on the conversation, Derek finishes picking up their rubbish, rising to stuff it in the trash can around the side of the house.

“I mean I can do some research but —” Stiles’ voice cuts off abruptly. “I told you I’m not coming back.” He pauses, his gaze lifting to meet Derek’s and he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Dad knows.” There’s another pause and Derek can hear Scott’s voice rising on the other end of the call. “I’m not hiding anything , Scott. You want to know what’s going on? Fine. I’m not in California right now, and I don’t feel like just dropping everything to rush back to you.”

He sighs, pushing to his feet to walk inside. Derek follows, turning towards the kitchen to unpack the dishwasher and give Stiles some semblance of privacy.

“I’m in Oregon.” Stiles’ voice floats through the open doorway. “No, I’m with Derek.” There’s a frustrated edge to it as he adds, “Yes, Derek Hale. What other Derek would I be talking about?”  

Moving to stand in the doorway, Derek watches Stiles pace around the living room. 

“He’s not dangerous, Scott,” Stiles insists. He looks over at Derek, his expression so earnest that for a second he almost believes it too. “No, I’m not going to argue with you. I said I’d look into it but I’m not— yeah, whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

Stiles drops onto the couch, flopping back to sprawl across the cushions. 

“Is everything okay?” Derek asks. He crosses the living room to take a seat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Yeah.” Stiles lets out a long sigh, “No. I don’t know.” He sits back up. “It’s fine.” He must see something in Derek’s expression, because he quickly adds on, “Really. It’s just— something I need to work out with Scott. You can’t help me here, Der, but I appreciate you wanting to.” He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Come on, we still need to finish the dining table.”

Between the two of them they manage to finish putting together the table and the dining chairs that go with it. They also manage to find places for all the kitchenware once the dishwasher cycle has finished.

They still don’t have any appliances— no fridge or microwave— and they don’t have any groceries. Derek suggests heading back to the rental for one last night, but Stiles has his heart set on sleeping in the new house. 

That’s how they find themselves at ten PM, searching through the bags for bedding. Derek gathers up his things, pausing at the entrance to the hall. 

“Good night, Stiles.”

It doesn’t feel right walking into his empty bedroom alone. He’s grown so used to sharing his space with Stiles, to waking up beside him, that this almost feels wrong. 

Derek makes the bed quickly, then rifles through his things to find his toothbrush. He can hear Stiles moving about upstairs, so close yet so far away. He tries not to dwell on it. This is for the best. 

When he’s finished in the bathroom he strips down to his underwear, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, and climbs into bed.

Lying there in the dark, the negative thoughts lurk in the shadows. Derek wonders if he made the right choice. It had been an impulsive decision, or, as impulsive as buying a house can be, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s made a huge mistake. 

On the road, sleeping in motels, he could pretend that this was all just temporary. That eventually they would both go back to their own lives and any feelings that they have for each other would fade.

Things would return to how they were before. 

And that scares Derek more than anything. He doesn’t want things to go back to the way they were. He doesn’t want to be the person he was before Stiles had found him. That person had been scared, lonely, and so, so angry.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Derek rolls onto his side. He’s on the left side of the bed— it’s a habit he’s formed in the last two months. He never used to care what side of the bed he slept on, until Stiles had insisted that he needed to be on the right. 

Derek closes his eyes. It was a busy day and he should feel exhausted but instead he feels wide awake. He can’t shut off, his mind jumping from one thought to the next, and they’re all competing for his attention. It leaves him feeling restless and wired.

The sheets tangle around his legs, the thin material sticking to his skin. It feels too much like the rope bond Kate had used and Derek tugs his legs free, his heart pounding in his constricting chest.

He stares up at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep but it won’t come. With a long sigh he sits up, tugging off his underwear and shifting into the wolf. 

His mind settles, tuning in on the rustle of movement in the room above. There’s no second guessing in this form. No overthinking or agonising over a decision. It just makes sense to follow his instincts and pad out into the hall, up the stairs and nose past the door into Stiles’ room.

Bathed in the soft light of the waning moon, Stiles sits up in bed. He doesn’t say anything, but his mouth ticks up when he spots Derek and he shifts over to make some room.

Derek takes the invite, jumping up onto the bed and stretching out on top of the sheets.

“You’re such a dork,” Stiles murmurs, lying down and tangling his fingers in Derek’s fur. “You didn’t have to shift. It’s too hot and you’re too fluffy. You could have just come up here like a regular person.” Even as he complains, he’s curling his fingers to hold Derek tight, light he’s afraid Derek might leave.

Finally, Derek sleeps. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, Sarah invited us over for a fourth of July barbecue.” Stiles sits on the counter, his legs swinging while Derek moves around the kitchen. He’s got his phone in his hand, his attention focused on the screen as he talks. 

“You’ve been texting Sarah?”

“Well, no,” Stiles says after a beat. “But I’ve been texting Ella who said we’re invited. He shuffles across the make room for the chopping board. “She said her mom was going to ring you about it.”

Derek searches the drawers for the peeler he knows they bought just that afternoon. “You want to go?” he asks, looking up from his search.

“Yeah, I like spending time with them.” Stiles taps out something on his phone screen before tucking it into his pocket. “They make everything feel so normal, you know? Like, I know most of them are werewolves, but with them it doesn’t feel like they’re just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Derek points out. “Beacon Hills was the exception, not the rule.” He straightens, shutting the drawer and moving to stand beside Stiles at the bench. “And Beacon Hills wasn’t always like that either.”

“I know. I’m just saying— Stiles appears to hesitate over the words “— I like it here. And I like the pack and— I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too.” And Derek allows himself a moment to hold Stiles’ gaze. He needs Stiles to know how sincerely he means it. For so long, it’s felt like Derek has been holding his breath, but now, for the first time in years, it feels like he can breathe again.

And it’s all because of Stiles.

Stubborn, sarcastic, tenacious Stiles.

Who had pestered Cora until she’d given him Derek’s address.

Who had driven across the state in his piece of junk car to find him.

Who had decided Derek was worth saving too.

Stiles gives every piece of himself to help others and Derek loves him fiercely for it. Even if he shouldn’t.

“So…?” Stiles nudges Derek’s thigh with his foot. “You want to go?”

“I do,” Derek says nodding. “I’ll call Sarah and get the details.” He hands over the peeler and pushes the chopping board closer to Stiles. “Now are you going to help me or are you just going to watch?”

“Hey, you guys made it.”

Most of the pack is already outside when Stiles and Derek pull up outside the large sprawling house.

Olivia meets them by the car, eagerly accepting the container Stiles hands her. “Mom’s inside, but I think everyone else is down by the river.” She lifts the lid on the container, peeking underneath. “Oh my god, what is this?” she asks, looking from Stiles to Derek.

Derek can only shrug in response. 

Stiles had banned him from the kitchen while he was cooking, but Derek had hovered nearby, watching Stiles carefully measure out ingredients, muttering to himself under his breath.

“Uh, it’s Kołaczki,” Stiles says, scratching self-consciously at his neck. “My mom used to make them all the time when I was a kid.” He glances across at Derek.

“Well, they look delicious,” Olivia says, snapping the lid back on. “Come on, Mom wants to say hi.” She turns towards the house, leading them inside and through to the kitchen.

“Derek, Stiles! Welcome.” Sarah moves around the counter to greet them both, pulling each of them into a hug. “I’m so glad you could both make it.” Stepping back, she leans against the counter, and turns to her daughter. “You really couldn’t wait until after lunch, Liv?”

Rolling her eyes, Olivia hands over the container, but there's no remorse as she takes another cookie. “If I waited until after lunch, it would all be gone,” she argues, ducking away from her mother as she snatches another cookie. “For the road,” she grins, disappearing out through the doorway.

With an amused smile, Sarah turns back to Stiles and Derek.

“So, how have you both been?” She moves back around the bench and Derek pulls up a seat. “You all settled in now?”

Derek nods. “I think we’ve finally got everything now. No more trips to Target.” He turns to Stiles beside him. “And this one’s been applying for work.”

“Yeah, I had an interview at a bookshop near our place a few days ago,” Stiles says. “It went okay, I think.”

“I’m sure you were great,” Derek says, bumping their shoulders together. He knows Stiles is worried about money, but he’s been putting so much pressure on himself to find a job and help contribute to their expenses.

“You have to say that,” Stiles tells him with a fond eye roll. 

Sarah looks between them, her expression unreadable, before her gaze settles on Stiles. “You’re looking for work?”

He nods. “Since we decided to stay here, and I’m not going back to college— well, at least not right now, anyway— I thought I should probably find a job.” He grins over at Derek. “Not everyone can be a rich lazy asshole like you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Derek teases. “You’ve got the lazy asshole part already.”

Stiles turns to Sarah with an over the top sigh. “You see this? This is why I need to get out of the house.”

Sarah laughs. “Well, I’m sure your interview went well, but if you get stuck just give me a call. I’ve got a few connections in the city.”

“I, uh— thanks,” Stiles tells her. 

He looks a little overwhelmed, so Derek changes the subject, looking over the spread of bowls and platters on the counter. “Can we help with anything?”

Wiping her hands on a towel, Sarah nods. “Stiles, can you go see where Evan and Rick are with the barbecue? They should be almost done.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Stiles nods, still looking a little awestruck before turning to head out through the front door. Derek can hear him muttering about werewolves as he clatters down the porch steps.

“What about me?” he asks.

“Just let me finish up with this and you can help me carry some of these out.” Sarah bustles around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the dishes. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she says, pulling spoons from a drawer to stick in the salad bowls. “The full moon’s next week.” She stops to lean against the other side of the counter. “I know you spent the last one alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Derek says, casually. “I had Stiles.”

They’d hooked Stiles’ computer up to the television to play video games and Derek had lost every single one of them. Badly. Stiles still hasn’t let him forget it.

Sarah’s expression softens into a smile.

“He’s your anchor.”

“No.” Derek’s response is immediate. “He’s not.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Sarah says, but she doesn’t look particularly apologetic. “What is your anchor then?”

Derek hesitates. “It’s— anger.”

She looks at him, and it feels like her gaze pierces all the walls he’s put up around himself. Then she shakes her head. “Are you sure? You don’t seem particularly angry to me.”

Her words set his thoughts spinning. Anger had been Derek’s anchor for years. Focusing on the rage that blazed inside him was what kept him grounded, using the hot burn of his fury to mask the pain of the charred pack bonds in his chest.

But since Stiles— the full moons have been different. More settled.

Derek glances over his shoulder, out towards the front of the house— the direction Stiles had disappeared in.

“Have you thought about telling him?”

Derek jerks back around to face Sarah. “Tell him what?” His heart is pounding in his chest and he knows she can hear it, even if she doesn’t show it on her face. “I— I can’t.”

“Why not?” Sarah asks. “You like him, he likes you. It’s pretty obvious.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek says. “We’re not good for each other.” 

“What do you mean?”

“ I’m not good for him,” Derek tells her. “I hurt people, and Stiles has been hurt enough. I’m not going to do it again.”

“Derek—”

“Whatever he’s feeling, he’ll get over it eventually,” he says. “We both will. It’s for the best.”

Sarah’s expression is thoughtful. “You’re allowed to be happy Derek. And if Stiles makes you happy, why not go for it?”

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It could be.” Sarah pushes back from the counter. “Come on, grab those two bowls there and help me carry some of this food out.” 

He follows her outside to the tables set up on the lawn, setting the bowls he’s holding down before wandering over to join Stiles. 

“Hey.” 

Stiles pauses his conversation with Charlotte and Olivia to look up at Derek as he takes a seat, but there’s something off, something in his scent that Derek can’t quite place. 

It lingers through lunch and into the afternoon, driving Derek mad.

On the surface, Stiles doesn’t seem to be acting any different. After lunch they move down to the shady riverbank to escape the afternoon’s heat. Stiles sits between Ella and Charlotte, laughing at a joke Ella is telling.

He glances up, catching Derek’s eye and his whole face clouds over. It only lasts half a second before his gaze is sliding away and he stands, holding out his hand to pull Ella to her feet and drag her out toward the water to join the little kids splashing around.

“Okay.” Charlotte scoots across to sit closer to Derek. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” Derek replies honestly, watching as Stiles catches one of the shrieking kids, swinging the little girl up onto his shoulders so they can chase the older boys. 

Looking back to Charlotte, Derek can feel the heavy weight of skepticism in her gaze.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admits with a sigh. “He hasn’t said anything.”

This is what he’d been talking about with Sarah, about how all he does is hurt.

“Ugh, stop moping,” Charlotte complains, shoving Derek with a hand. 

He catches himself before he can go sprawling, turning to her to argue. “I’m not moping.”

“You are. It stinks.” Her teasing grin reminds him so much of Laura and the fights they had as kids and Derek can’t help but grin back, catching Charlotte’s hands before she can shove at him again.

“I’m sorry, let me go wash that off for you.” He tightens his grip around Charlotte’s wrists to drag her to her feet.

“Derek, don’t you dare.”

The commotion has caught the attention of the kids in the water, and they scream and cheer as Derek attempts to toss Charlotte into the river. 

From the corner of his eye, Derek can see Stiles. He stands off to the side, just watching, not attempting to join in as the kids swarm around them. It’s enough of a distraction that Charlotte manages to flip Derek over her shoulder and into the freezing water.

As he surfaces, spluttering, Derek’s eyes find Stiles and catches the ghost of a smile on his face.

The drive home is tense and silent. 

Derek’s not sure how to start the conversation with Stiles, he’s not sure he wants to, but anything has to be better than this. 

At the very least, Stiles doesn’t seem angry with him. He’s quiet, more thoughtful than anything, staring out the window as they follow the winding road back towards the city.

He doesn’t say anything until they get back to the house. 

It’s late, but Derek’s too wired to go to bed just yet. Instead, he turns the coffee maker on, pouring himself a cup to take outside. The air is warm and still, with just a hint of the cool change they’re expecting overnight.

He leans against the balcony railing, his hand wrapped around his mug. Behind him, the sliding door eases open and Stiles joins him outside.

“You’re wrong,” Stiles says, his voice low. He’s staring out across the dark backyard, the light from the living room spilling out behind them to cast long shadows over the grass.

“What about?” Derek asks, his brow creasing in confusion.

“We are good for each other.”

Derek’s next breath freezes in his throat.

“Stiles—”

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?” Stiles asks. “You know, at first I thought that, maybe, it was one-sided— it usually is— but you’re a terrible liar, Derek.” He turns to face Derek. “I just— I don’t understand why.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”

“Well, I did.” 

Derek swallows, his coffee souring in his belly. “Stiles, you said it yourself. Everyone I care about gets hurt. I can’t— I can’t risk that with you.”

Stiles stares at him, his mouth hanging open. 

“I didn’t mean that,” he argues after a beat. “I didn’t— I was angry. Not at you, but at myself, and I was stupid. I said those things because I knew it would hurt.”

“Because it’s true,” Derek says, softly.

“No, Derek. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s fine.” Derek waves him off. “You’ve already apologised.”

“Derek, it’s not but—” Stiles cuts himself off and takes a breath. “For the last three months, I have been falling in love with you. I’m in love with you.” He rushes on before Derek can say anything. “And I know you feel, at least a little bit, the same way.” 

Derek can only stare at Stiles as he pulls away from the railing. “How?”

A quick smile pulls at Stiles’ lips. “Like I said, you’re a terrible liar.” He ducks his head, his hand coming up to scratch at his neck. “Look,” he says, glancing up again, “If you’re not ready, I get that. I’m not going to push, but— just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. Don’t shut me out just because you’re trying to protect me.”

And isn’t that exactly what Derek’s been doing? Keeping Stiles at arm's length because he’s afraid of hurting him. 

“Can I—” Stiles steps up into his space. “I want to kiss you.”

The first press of his lips is tentative, growing deeper when Derek doesn’t pull away. He can’t pull away— wouldn’t— not when he’s wanted this for so long. He kisses Stiles back, his tongue slipping through parted lips. It draws out a soft sigh as Stiles settles against him, his hands slipping beneath Derek’s shirt. 

It’s everything Derek has imagined, and it’s more.

“Bed?” Stiles presses the words into his skin and Derek finds himself nodding wordlessly as they stumble inside towards the bedroom. 

Derek crowds Stiles back, until his legs hit the bed and they’re tumbling, falling among the sheets. Stiles squawks in surprise as they go down, and Derek’s laughs, his face hidden against Stiles’ neck while he catches his breath.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Stiles grouses, but when Derek lifts his head, his eyes are shining with amusement. 

“It was a little funny,” Derek tells him, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ jaw and trailing his lips down along the short stubble. He slides his hands beneath Stiles’ shirt, trailing his fingers up along the warm skin towards his ribs.

“Wait.” Stiles goes rigid beneath him and Derek backs up, sitting on his heels.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, offering a hand to help Stiles up.

“No, I want to. I just—” one of his hands creeps up to his shoulder, where the spiral scar tissue is hidden beneath his shirt. 

“Can I?” Derek splays the fingers of one hand across Stiles’ hip, with the other, he toys with the hem of Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles gives a short, jerking nod and Derek slowly slides his hands beneath his shirt, his fingers tracing over the raised ridges of scarring that wrap around Stiles’ ribs.

“Just tell me if you want to stop.”

Stiles wets his lips with his tongue. “I’m good,” he says, voice low.

Derek rucks the shirt up, dragging it up until Stiles has to shift and wiggle to get it over his head. 

With gentle fingers, Derek traces the length of the longest scar, marveling at the way Stiles’ skin pebbles with goosebumps beneath his touch.

“Harpies?” Derek thinks back to that first day, when Stiles had sat on his couch nursing a warm beer. 

“Mm.” Stiles wiggles when Derek hits a ticklish spot. He catches Derek’s hand, his fingers wrapping around Derek’s wrist, dragging it down to another scar on his stomach. “Nogitsune.” 

It’s a couple of inches long, and faded with age. Derek presses both hands on either side of it. 

“So,” Stiles says, his voice rough and scent spicy with want. “Are you going to do something or are you just going to sit there and look?”

“Look,” Derek teases, biting back a grin.

Stiles jerks his hips up, trying to dislodge Derek. “Dick.” Beneath the lust, his scent is bright and happy. “You’re still wearing too much.” His hands reach up to tug at the hem of Derek’s shirt. “We should fix this.” 

Chapter Text

Being with Stiles is like breathing. Derek doesn’t even have to think about it. It’s something that he just does, something he’s always done and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. 

They fall into an easy rhythm with each other that’s not much different from before. They had already been so close, and now after taking that step of actually admitting their feelings for each other, not much has really changed.

One of Derek’s favourite changes to their relationship is that now Stiles is even more tactile than he had been before. He has no shame when it comes to sprawling all over Derek. He’ll drape himself over Derek; on the couch with his head on the werewolf’s lap, or in the kitchen with his chin hooked over Derek’s shoulder. 

(Oh, and the sex. The sex is great too.)

Still, sometimes Derek will get caught up in his own head, worrying about whether he’s done the right thing when history has shown that Derek is a dangerous person to be around. 

That’s why, when Stiles comes home one afternoon and quietly announces that he’s found a therapist, Derek decides to make an appointment too.

This thing with Stiles is too good for Derek to ruin with his anxious spiraling.

Opening up and sharing some of his fears is equal parts terror and relief. 

There’s the terror that Dr. Nicholls might agree with him, tell him he’s right to be afraid of the damage he could do, and relief that he’s finally able to get it off his chest.

Derek walks out of the first session feeling simultaneously lighter, and like he’s been hit by a truck. 

“Hey.” 

Stiles is already home from work when Derek opens the front door. He pauses his game, twisting on the sofa to watch Derek cross the room.

Derek drops down onto the couch beside Stiles, pulling his legs up to tuck into his boyfriend’s side. 

“Hard session?” Stiles asks, shifting his legs so Stiles can lie between them. His fingers tangle in Derek’s hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?”

Derek shakes his head, his face turned to press against Stiles’ shirt. There are no more words in his head, he’d used them all up talking about Kate.

Stiles doesn’t push. He’d been in the same position just a few days ago and Derek thinks he probably understands better than most how he’s feeling.

“Wanna go take a nap?

Derek nods, letting Stiles drag him up off the couch and herd him down the short hall towards their bedroom. 

“Hey, so I’ve been thinking.” Stiles hands Derek his coffee, setting his own down on the counter so he can hop up to sit, his feet swinging. “My Jeep’s still in California, and you need to go get the last of your stuff so you can end your lease.” He nudges one of his bare feet against Derek. “So I thought, maybe we could do another trip. For old times sake.”

“Yeah? When were you thinking?” Derek wraps his fingers around Stiles’ ankle, holding his foot still. When Stiles tries to kick him again, he runs a finger down the sole of his foot, grinning as Stiles squirms.

“Dick.” Stiles tugs his foot free and immediately goes back to poking Derek with his toes. “I was talking to Dad, and he said he has some time off over Thanksgiving. I thought we could take the week off. We could drive to Beacon Hills to visit Dad and pack up the house on our way back.”

Derek hesitates, setting his coffee down on the counter and turning to Stiles. “Are you sure? The last time you were there—”

“I almost died,” Stiles finishes. “I know, I was there.” It’s a testament to how far he’s come that his lip tick up as he says it, though Derek is still struggling to find the humour in his words.

He can’t, not when he remembers what Stiles was like when he first arrived. He remembers the stench of fear and pain that had clung to Stiles, drowning out his natural scent. 

“Okay.” Derek rises from the stool, moving to stand between Stiles’ swinging legs. “If you want to do this, I’m in.”

“Yeah?” A slow smile spreads across Stiles’ face. “You’ll come?” He wraps his legs around Derek’s hips, locking his feet together to keep him captive.

“Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble,” Derek teases, stealing a kiss.

“Rude.”

“You love me,” Derek murmurs, pressing another kiss against Stiles’ jaw. It still sends a thrill through him, to be able to say those words and watch as Stiles struggles to keep from smiling.

“I don’t.” Stiles leans into him, letting his head tip to the side. “Not even a little bit.”

Derek huffs out a soft laugh, and Stiles’ skin pebbles with goosebumps beneath his lips. “Mm, I can tell.” He hooks his hands over Stiles, tossing him with a short yelp over his shoulder.

“Derek!” Stiles laughs, his hands scrabbling to find something to hold on it. “ Derek. I’m going to be late for work.”

“You want me to stop?” Derek asks, grinning as he moves to set Stiles down on his feet. 

Stiles clings, his scent spicy and his face flushed with glee. “No.” He keeps his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist so that he can’t be put down. “We’ll just have to be quick.”

A few days before Thanksgiving, they leave for Beacon Hills. They set out early, hoping to leave behind the dark clouds hanging over the city, and drive south towards California. 

The clouds finally burst around lunch time, soaking the earth in freezing rain. They’re stopped near the state border, stretching their legs with a short walk through the redwoods when the heavens open.

“Oh my god.” Stiles bounces on the balls of his feet, his arms wrapped around himself. “Whose idea was this?”

Derek searches his pocket for his keys, unlocking the car as they approach. They’re both soaking wet, and he can feel the freezing rain dripping down the back of his neck. Still, he grins as he opens the trunk to grab his bag. 

“It was yours,” he says, climbing in behind the steering wheel. He strips off his drenched shirt, tossing it into the backseat. “You could have flown, but you wanted to ‘rekindle the magic of the road’.”

“Yeah, and look at as,” Stiles jokes, stripping out of his wet shirt. “Already half naked. I think it’s working.”

Derek huffs out an amused laugh. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“I’m soo cold.”

Shrugging on a dry shirt, Derek passes over his bag so Stiles can grab one too. He starts the ignition, turning the heater on full blast while Stiles shivers in his seat.

“Better?”

Stiles nods wordlessly, and they pull out of the parking lot.

The rain finally eases the next evening as they’re driving into Beacon Hills. It’s late, and they’re both exhausted as Derek pulls up to the curb and cuts the engine. 

“Dad’s on a night shift,” Stiles says, climbing out of the car. “But he should be home in the morning, and he’s got Thursday off.” 

He stretches out his long limbs, grabbing his bag before they make their way up to the house. They reach the front door and Stiles stops.

“It kinda feels weird to be back here.” He turns to glance over at Derek. “It’s been so long. It feels like everything should be different, but it all looks exactly the same.”

“It feels like the world moved on without you,” Derek says, softly. 

Stiles nods. “You know, a year ago that would have devastated me.” He searches through his keys for the one that will open the front door.

“And now?”

Stiles shrugs. “This isn’t my world anymore.” 

He unlocks the door and steps inside, but Derek hesitates, Stiles’ words still ringing in his ears. 

Because it’s true.

Derek thought it would hurt more. After all, it's where he grew up. It’s where his family, his pack , have lived for generations. Instead, there’s a freedom in accepting that Beacon Hills isn’t their home anymore. 

“Are you coming in?” Stiles asks, snapping Derek out of his thoughts. “Or were you planning to use the window, for old times sake?”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek pushes past Stiles into the living room.

“Oh my god, he can use a door!”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek tells him, kicking off his sneakers and lining them up beside the Sheriff’s boots.

“Can you blame me?” Stiles asks. “I don’t think I saw you use a door for two years.  You either just appeared out of nowhere, or you came creeping in through my window.”

“How else was I supposed to get past your dad?”

“You make it sound like we were hooking up.”

“Stiles!”

“You do!” Stiles heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time and Derek has to wonder how many times he tripped on them as a kid. “You know,” Stiles pauses at the top of the stairs, looking down at Derek. “I think Dad suspected something was going on between us.”

Derek feels his nose wrinkle. “You were a teenager.”

“An incredibly adorable and lovable teenager?” Stiles pushes open his bedroom door and drops onto his bed. 

“You were a menace.” Derek sits down on the bed beside him and drops his bag. “You got me arrested.”

“I — okay, that’s fair.” Stiles grins, pulling his feet up to kneel on the bed. “But in my defence, you were very dark and brooding in your leather jacket.” He swings a leg over Derek, settling in his lap. “That was back before I ever saw you in a sweater.” His fingers pluck at the woolen collar of Derek’s dark green sweater.

“And I’d only ever seen you in graphic t-shirts and plaid,” Derek says, his hands dropping to Stiles’ hips. 

“My taste impeccable,” Stiles teases, his hands on Derek’s shoulders, pushing him back until they’re lying on the bed. “I chose you.”

Derek wakes to the sound of movement in the kitchen downstairs. 

“Your dad’s home,” he mumbles, pulling Stiles in and pressing a sleeping kiss to his forehead. “We should get up.”

Stiles gives a soft hum, his breath tickling against Derek’s neck. “Five more minutes.” He shifts, sprawling over Derek and tucking his icy feet against Derek’s calves.

“He’s making bacon.”

Stiles sits up with a start. “He’s what?! ”

The hair on the left side of his head is smooshed flat, while the right side sticks up at all angles. 

Derek bites back a grin, reaching up to smooth Stiles’ hair back. “You’re still on that? It’s just bacon.”

“He knows it’s bad for him.” Stiles throws off the sheets, rummaging through his bag for a pair of briefs. “Derek, get dressed. C’mon.”

A pair of sweats smack him in the face, and Stiles snorts, hiding his grin beneath his hand. 

“Sorry.”

They get dressed and head downstairs, following the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. 

“Bacon, Dad? Really?” Stiles rounds the counter, while Derek hands back at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Tell me you didn’t come home just to police my diet.” Noah pulls Stiles in for what looks like a bone crushing hug. 

“Somebody has to,” Stiles murmurs, his arms tightening around his dad.

“I missed you so much, kid.”

They stand there like that in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment. 

They finally  step apart and Noah turns. “It’s good to see you, Derek. I hear you’ve been keeping this one out of trouble.”

Derek’s not sure what Stiles has told his father about them, but considering they both came out of Stiles’ bedroom this morning, Derek figures he must know.

“It’s a full time job, sir,” he says, grinning at Stiles’ eye roll.

“Please, son. It’s Noah.” He claps Derek on the shoulder and turns back to Stiles. “You look good, kiddo.” There’s something in his voice— equal parts relief and admiration.

And Derek gets it. 

Because the Stiles wrestling with the coffee pot is not the same person he was when he left Beacon Hills, and neither is Derek. 

They've both come a long way together. Stiles had been constantly looking over his shoulder, always braced for the worst, and Derek had been on the run, afraid to put down roots.

Watching Stiles move around the kitchen, joking with his dad and snatching pieces of bacon out of the pan, Derek realises he's not afraid anymore. For the first time in a long while, he's looking forward to the future.

Pulling up a stool, Stiles takes a seat beside Derek, still laughing as his dad swats him away from his plate. 

"You good?" Stiles threads his fingers through Derek's, giving his hand a quick squeeze. 

"Yeah." Derek nods. "I'm great."