Chapter Text
"Erica, no."
"Come on! It's only fair! We helped you with your romantic, heroic rescue mission, didn't we?"
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. "Erica."
Erica twists her face into a caricature of Derek's scowl. "Derek," she growls. "See, I can do it, too. Don't be a douchebag, we'll only stay for, like, ten minutes at the most! It'll be fun! Pleeaassse?"
"Fine!" Derek throws up his hands in defeat. "I'm heading over at noon, okay? But you have to give me a second to warn him before the three of you just bounce in and scare him to death."
"Yay!" Erica claps her hands and bounces, and Derek smiles reluctantly. "Oh, I'll go tell Boyd and Isaac." She kisses him on the cheek. "You're the best, Der."
"Yeah, yeah." He waves her off.
At noon, the four of them climb into Derek's Camaro (Derek takes vindictive pleasure in watching Erica and Isaac try to squeeze into the tiny backseat) and they take off for the cove.
If Derek's being completely honest with himself, he's actually pretty nervous. He'd only seen Stiles once since what Stiles had dubbed the Great Rescue, and that was two nights ago. Stiles told Derek all about his homecoming, his father's gruff breakdown, and his newfound fame in the village. "Told you I'd make history!" he’d crowed. Derek had spent the night listening and holding Stiles in his arms, staring up at the night sky. Then, after Stiles had finished relishing in the "seriously convincing impression of an anglerfish" that was Jackson's dismay, he’d dropped the bomb on Derek.
"By the way, apparently Dad's men have been scouting that cove. We've known about it for a while, but we never really dared to stay there for long periods, you know? We weren't sure if it was safe. But Dad's men say that they haven't seen anyone stop by, even on boats. It seems to be completely abandoned. You know what that means, don't you?"
"What does that mean?" Derek asks absently. He's got an arm around Stiles, tracing the ridges on Stiles' spine and trying to memorize them by touch.
Stiles sucks in a breath through his teeth and Derek feels Stiles’ body ripple against his side. "Rub me there again, and I'll completely forget what I'm trying to say."
Derek grins, all teeth. "What, here?" He presses his thumb on one of the smaller knobs.
Stiles shivers and babbles unintelligibly. "Holy Man'O'War, Derek, yes, god."
Derek hums and moves his hand lower, stroking Stiles' hip, completely content. "Okay, then. What were you saying?"
"I hate you," Stiles hisses. Two pink spots have risen high on his cheeks, contrasting with the blue-gray of his skin.
"No, you don't."
"You sure about that?"
Derek presses a kiss into Stiles' hair. "Positive."
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Stiles grumbles. "You win this time. But seriously, what was I saying?"
"The cove," Derek prompts.
"Right!" Stiles brightens and shifts up so he's resting on one elbow, looking down at Derek. "It means that, tentatively, I can see you whenever I want. No more midnight rendezvous, no more sleeping through the day to make up for it. If this cove really is abandoned, we can use it as a meeting ground, whenever we want. Isn't that great?"
"Really?" Derek blinks up at Stiles, who is haloed by moonlight. "Yeah, that's great.” He catches a spare droplet of saltwater on Stiles' throat. "Wow, you're beautiful."
Stiles' kiss tastes of chocolate and seawater. "Yeah. Sucks I got hooked by such a— what was that word? Oh yeah— a troll."
If prompted, Derek couldn't say what's making him so nervous all of a sudden. He knows Stiles so well by now, this shouldn't be a problem. But there's a dynamic shift happening here. Midnight rendezvous, for all their impracticality, are romantic staples for a reason: it's a lot easier to hide scars and scabs in pale moonlight than in the brightness of the sun. Meeting Stiles like this raises the stakes of their relationship, makes it feel more permanent. Derek doesn't have commitment issues, really, and he's already basically committed himself to Stiles, anyway, but there's something daunting about taking such a large step forward.
Isaac printed off directions to the cove before they left, and he's insisting that they're here. Derek turns off the Camaro and steps out. He shoves the seat forward so Erica can wrestle her way out of the back seat, and together they take in the cliff face overlooking the ocean.
Boyd is the first to step up to the edge. "It's about a thirty foot drop," he says. "We could jump it."
"Yeah, but can we climb back up?" Isaac frowns. "Not a lot of handholds, there."
Derek shrugs. "We'll manage." Without further ado, he jumps off the cliff and lands on the sands below. It stings up his shins, but he stays standing. "Okay, guys," he calls up. "Let me talk to Stiles before you crowd around him. He's only ever met me, so he's bound to get overwhelmed."
"Aye aye, amigo," Erica salutes. "Give us the bat signal when you're ready." All three betas disappear over the edge of the rock and Derek, suddenly feeling alone and exposed, crosses his arms and waits.
It only takes a few minutes for Stiles to arrive, but they feel like hours. "Hey," Stiles says, smiling. Derek's breath catches in his throat. Stiles practically glows under the sunlight, gray lightening to shimmery white. Derek hadn't noticed it before because he was so focused on not dying and the subsequent heart-to-heart about his history, but now he sees that Stiles is absolutely radiant.
"Wow," Derek says, stepping forward into the surf. "Hi. I missed you."
Stiles swims forward. "Listen, I would love to flirt right now," he says hurriedly, "but—"
"I'm here," John finishes for him, popping above the water. "Derek."
"John," Derek greets. "How's the tribe?"
"Better, now that we have Stiles back." John's face, darker than Stiles', warms into worn, content wrinkles. "Thank you for that."
"Any time," Derek says seriously. Stiles beams at him.
"Hey fartface, can we come down yet?" Erica shouts.
"You brought others?" John asks, surprised.
"My roommates," Derek sighs, nodding. "All werewolves, and they've all sworn to keep your secret. They insisted on tagging along. They want to meet Stiles. I can tell them to leave, if you want."
"No, don't," Stiles says. "I want to meet your friends."
"We heard that!" Isaac calls, and they leap down a second later.
"Holy shit," Boyd whispers. "It's true."
Stiles kicks up his tail behind him, the show-off. "Indeedy! You're Boyd, right? And that one's Erica, and that's Isaac. Are you guys, like, all really good-looking? Like, is that a nightstalker thing, or a you guys thing?"
"Stiles," John chastises. "For pike's sake, one question at a time."
"Well, really, though!" Stiles exclaims. "Look at them! You know humans aren't this pretty, we've seen it!"
"You are completely not what I expected," Erica says, grinning. "You're Stiles? As in Derek's Stiles?" She turns to Derek, looking mischievous in a way that makes Derek nervous all over again. "You've been holding out on us. He's adorable."
"Too adorable," Boyd says. "He's legal?"
"I am forty-seven," Stiles groans, just short of a whine. Derek laughs at the expressions on the betas' faces.
"I forgot to tell you that, didn't I? Merpeople live for around two hundred years. Stiles is actually forty-seven years old. Legal enough?"
“I’d say,” Erica drawls. “Man, you’re looking good for your age.”
Stiles gives Erica a suggestive smile. “You’re not bad, yourself.” He scrunches one side of his face in a wink, and Erica cackles.
"I'm sure I don't want to know why you people are questioning my son's age," John interrupts warningly, "and its legality."
Derek can almost feel all three of his friends blush; it echoes the warmth pressing up his own cheeks. "Sir,” he says awkwardly, “in human culture it's considered inappropriate for someone my age to have any kind of relationship with someone under the age of consent, even if it's just a friendship. I promise there's nothing untoward going on." He mentally pats himself on the back for the diplomatic save.
"Yet," Stiles adds impishly. Derek's torn between wanting to kiss him and smack him, and settles for hiding his face in his hands.
"Stiles, you're going to make an early floater out of me, I swear," John sighs. "Derek, you're sure you want to deal with this one? He doesn't get easier."
Derek's throat clogs and he nods. "Yeah."
John nods his head decisively. "Then let me say my piece, and I'll leave you kids alone. Derek, last time we met, you asked me how I could walk on land."
Stiles gasps. "Wait, you went to Derek? I thought you said you caught him while he was in the water."
"I did. I lied." John doesn't bother looking guilty; Derek respects him for that. "I wasn't sure I could trust you with the truth just yet, Stiles, and I wasn't sure I could trust Derek to keep us safe. Now I know I can.
"There's a plant, Stiles, that grows in the Cold Deeps. We call it the Dremora. It temporarily splits our fins into legs, but it only works for up to four hours. I cannot stress this enough, Stiles: this plant is not a quick fix. While human, you age as a human, and the more you use it, the more time you lose. I've seen mers wither and die sixty years before their time."
"Hold on, what?" Stiles shakes his head slowly. "Are you serious? Why did you keep this from me?"
"Not just you, Stiles: everyone. This plant is the most well-kept secret of our people. Can you imagine the kind of chaos that would ensue if all merfolk knew of the Dremora? How long would it take, do you think, for one of ours to forget the time limit and transform on dry land? How long before we're discovered? The plant's power comes with massive risks, which is why tribe leaders have ruled it for emergency use only."
"Then why tell him now?" Isaac asks curiously. "Sorry."
John nods to Isaac approvingly. "Good question. This situation is... unique. Merfolk haven't seen nightstalkers since the dark times, when humans were ruled by gods, not science. In many respects, you're like us: you live in secret from upwalkers and, from what I'm told, tend to stick together in the face of adversity."
"A wolf is nothing without a pack," Erica says, fistbumping Boyd.
"Precisely," John says. "My gut tells me that you would extend the same care and attention to my son, which is why I'm allowing Stiles to use the Dremora as he sees fit."
Stiles collapses underwater for a moment and comes up coughing. "Geez, Dad, you gotta warn a guy. Are you serious? But this means—"
"This means that we can be together." Derek swallows, though his mouth has gone dry. Despite their talk a few days ago, Derek had himself convinced that while they can try to make it work, there was no feasible way to keep this relationship alive in the long-term. When he said “okay,” he’d meant that he’d stop fighting against Stiles, not that he could guarantee a lasting relationship. He’d never expected something like this to fall into his lap. "Stiles."
Stiles blinks. "Next time we are alone, Derek, I am kissing you so hard."
"Poseidon grant me patience," John mutters. "Stiles, I expect to see you home by Evening Conch. We're going to discuss this. Gods only know how I'm going to explain this to the tribe. And you," he points at Derek, "you and I are going to have another talk, too, about why your friends seem intent on knowing my son's age, and the implications of being with a merperson."
"Holy squid, Dad," Stiles mumbles, mortified, "can we not?"
"Stiles, I am bending every rule in the book by even considering this," John admonishes. "I could always change my mind."
Stiles ducks his head guiltily. "No, that's fine."
"That's what I thought," John says. "Now, I have a tribe to lead. Evening Conch, Stiles." He waits for Stiles to nod before ducking under the water. Derek sees a forest green tailfin flip into the air a moment later.
Silence falls over the cove after John leaves. Derek doesn’t know how to break it, or if he even should. He supposes he should have figured there was some way for merpeople to walk around; he had, after all, met Stiles’ father in his home a few days ago. He’d been so focused on saving Stiles, though, that he’d completely forgotten about everything that wasn’t dedicated to his rescue.
But foresight or no, Derek is completely taken aback by John’s decision to let Stiles use the plant to be with him. It’s a huge deal. Stiles can walk. He can see Derek's house. They can go to an actual restaurant. He can take Stiles to a movie. It’s all possible now. They can have a real relationship.
"Wait," Stiles says suddenly, "does this mean we can do that thing you told me about?"
Derek flushes hot. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about that aspect of real relationships. He'd only mentioned sex in passing to Stiles— he already struggled to control himself when they were talking about mundane things like cheese production, let alone the wonders of actual sexual contact— but, apparently, it had stuck. "Uh…."
Isaac bursts into laughter. "Oh, Derek, you didn't," he snickers. Erica and Boyd join him, and Derek wants the sand to swallow him whole.
"I can see that I wasn't supposed to mention that," Stiles states. He sends Derek a guilty smile. "Never mind."
Derek sits down at the surf. "No, it's okay," he sighs. "I just forget sometimes that I live with children."
"Hey, now," Boyd defends as the three betas join Derek at the water. "That's not fair. This is kind of a lot to take in all at once."
"I told you," Derek reminds Erica. "I said that this was a bad time to meet him."
"Oh, please," Erica drawls. "You've kept him to yourself for long enough. Besides, this is a big moment for you. It's the least we can do to stick around and make sure you're okay." She bumps her shoulder against Derek's and he leans into her without thought.
"So, hey, Derek's friends." Stiles swims up to the surf and wedges himself in the sand. "It's awesome to finally meet you." Derek’s grateful that he decided to drop the sex talk for the time being, more so when Stiles shoots him a tiny wink. A purposeful diversion, then.
"Holy fuck," Isaac breathes, eyes glued to Stiles' tail. "You really have a tail."
Stiles looks over his shoulder at it. "Well, yeah. How do you think I get around?"
"It's gorgeous," Erica says, reaching out a hand. She stops just before she touches Stiles' scales. "May I?"
Stiles nods. "Just avoid touching my fins, okay? They're, uh, sensitive."
Derek feels his breath catch in his throat. Stiles has been rubbing his fins all over Derek since they first met. He wonders, for the first time, if maybe there was more to all that touching than he'd imagined.
The betas coo over Stiles' tail for a disturbingly long amount of time, even though Derek knows that’s hypocritical of him: he’s probably logged hours of tail appreciation time over the course of their relationship. Stiles, the shit, revels in the attention and tells them all about which fins do what, and how some members of his tribe spend hours polishing their scales to attract mates. "Scott spent an entire weekend rubbing hagfish jelly into his tail before his first date with Allison," he tells them, rolling his eyes.
"Oh yeah, how's that going?" Derek asks curiously. He’s always wondered about merfolk romance, but he never brought it up for fear of leading Stiles on. Now that that concern has been rendered null and void, he realizes that he wants to know everything about merfolk culture.
"It's horrible," Stiles groans. "Do you know how often he comes home with teal scales stuck in his tail? It's revolting. He's freaking burgundy, for crying out loud! It's not like it's not obvious!"
"Ooh, mermaid drama, I like it," Erica says with a grin. She spots the jewelry on Stiles’ wrists and stops cold. “Hey, wait! I know those bracelets!"
Stiles looks down at his wrists. The bangles have lost almost all their shine by now, so much so that Derek’s curious why Stiles still wears them. "Oh, these were yours? They're very nice. Or, well, they were. Sorry about that." He shakes his arms so they jangle together. "Saltwater's a real bitch sometimes."
Erica laughs. "It's okay, I have more. Just tell me someone was jealous of them."
"Are you kidding?" Stiles pats the bangles happily. "These bad boys were the talk of the town for a week. Harris thought I'd assaulted a swimmer for them and tried to have me investigated. It was awesome."
They all burst into laughter, and liquid warmth pools high in Derek's chest. He wonders how they look from afar, the five of them circled up, joking around and laughing. He wonders, if his parents could see him now, what they would say about the family Derek's found. He touches the ring around his neck and looks up into the clouds. He wonders if they'd be proud. If they'd be happy.
God, he misses them.
"Hey, Derek," Stiles says, drawing his attention away from the sky. "You know, I’m thinking back, and Ariel should’ve given honesty a chance. I mean, look at us, right? No muss, no fuss. You, me, a pair of legs and a tail… it worked out anyway, didn’t it?"
Derek grins, and it's broad and honest. "You know, I think it did."
His parents would be ecstatic.