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Stiles pulled up in front of the decrepit Hale house at around eight-twenty-five. About five minutes earlier than he was bid to, by the random text message from the random number that he could only assume was Derek.
Well, he hoped. It could’ve been anyone, really. But based on the gruff, short text messages, and the obvious contextual clues, he figured it was probably good ole’ Sourwolf himself.
Instinctively, he pulled out his phone, to check to see if there was a follow-up message of some kind. Of course, there was none. So he scrolled back through the ones he had. There were four of them. A record of some kind, Stiles figured, for the werewolf who couldn’t understand that a google search on his phone had taken mere seconds to figure out where Erica and Boyd were earlier that year, before the Darach and the sacrifices.
“Stiles. Meet me at the house at 8:30 tonight.”
“Derek? Is that you?” He’d texted back, surprised. He had all the other important numbers saved. His dad, Scott, Isaac, Lydia, Danny, Allison, Deaton; he even had Derek’s number saved somewhere in there. It had an odd New York area code, just like this one. That’s why he’d asked.
There was no answer to that. Just: “And bring a shirt and some pants.”
“...uh, why?” He’d texted back at the odd request.
“Just do it.”
“By ‘house’ you mean…” Duh, the old Hale house, but he wanted to make sure this wasn’t Scott or something. Or some random creeper.
“Not the loft.” Bingo. It was Derek. Being a tad mysterious, apparently. But Stiles had to be sure.
“Your penchant for secrecy is unmatched, you know that?”
“Just shut up and do it.” Yeah, it was definitely Derek.
So after spending a few unproductive hours trying to do homework and decidedly not thinking about the fact that Derek was coming back, and texting him, no less, Stiles glanced over at the clock. It was about eight fifteen, and the sky was beginning to darken. Because of course Derek wanted to meet at night. Under what appeared to be a full moon.
The dude was nothing if not dramatic. Or just bad at timing. Or both. Probably both.
Stiles thought briefly about stopping by the loft to gather the clothes Derek had asked for, but he figured that when the dude left, he probably took it all with him. Not to mention, he had no idea how he’d actually get into the place. The last time he checked, the door was locked tight.
Oh yeah, he checked up on that. Pretty regularly, actually.
No, he didn’t want to talk about it.
Shrugging and figuring that his own clothes couldn’t hurt, Stiles gathered an old pair of jeans that had ripped in one too-many places for his liking, and scrounged around looking for a shirt. Part of him figured that any old thing would do, but he also felt like Derek would probably take a look at something that wasn’t a deep v-neck or a dark henley and toss it away.
As he opened up a drawer, he shuffled through the shirts he still had folded up, until he came across one in particular. He pulled it out, and held it up for inspection, a wry smile spreading across his face. Yup, that’s the one, he thought.
But then he looked at the clock, and realized that if he didn’t leave right that second, he was going to be late. And he figured that it was probably not a good idea to keep Derek waiting. And because the two-lane highway through the preserve was completely deserted, he ended up being early regardless. Who knew. So he killed the screen on his phone, which was unsatisfyingly bereft of any more messages from the werewolf, kicked open the door of the jeep, and jumped to the ground, grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat.
In the pale moonlight, the burnt-out shell of the old Hale house was creepier than normal. The light streamed through the cracked and hazed-over glass, and created moving shadows from every jagged, broken piece of frame that been eaten away by the flames all those years ago. So logically, Stiles decided to keep as far away from it as possible. He settled for hopping onto the bumper of the jeep, and scooting back over the hood, idly tossing his bag onto the warm metal next to him.
Bracing his palms against the hood behind him, Stiles leaned back and scanned the edge of the woods for any sign of the familiar brooding werewolf, noting briefly the direction of the clearing where they’d met almost two years ago. There was nothing. He sighed. He made a promise to himself to leave if Derek didn’t show up in fifteen minutes, but after five, he was lying back against the warm hood, dozing under the cool breeze that eased through the forest around him.
At roughly eight-forty, the sharp crack of a twig caught his attention. He was half-dozing, so he heard it only slightly, and didn’t even deign to open his eyes. But he listened anyway. Nothing, no more sound. Whatever, the werewolf still had five minutes or so to appear, so Stiles let himself doze off again.
The next sound he heard was a thick, angry growl, and it was enough to shoot his entire body’s supply of adrenaline straight into his veins. He bolted upright with a little too much force, lost his balance, and flailed right off the side of the jeep. He made a high, extremely undignified sound as he crashed to the ground in a heap of limbs and curses, before looking up.
What? Don’t most people spaz dramatically when they encounter a wild predator?
Standing over him was the most enormous black wolf Stiles had ever seen. Big, steel-blue eyes seemed to glare into his very soul, it’s lips curled back into a feral snarl. For a second, Stiles found the terrifying canine relatively humorous. Here he was, alone, in the woods, waiting for Derek to show up, only to get attacked by a random freaking direwolf. The irony of it was almost hysterical.
That was when he recognized something about the eyes leveled into his. They were almost- did they seem- familiar? Like he’d seen them a hundred times before, but never surrounded by shiny black hair, or settled around a log, lupine snout. He was suddenly conscious of his throat as he swallowed hard.
"D-Derek?” He asked tentatively, “Holy shit, is that you?" The massive black wolf growled in response, but there was no edge to it, no spite behind the sound. In fact it was almost intelligent, like the giant dog was answering the proffered question. Or trying to at least. Stiles had a moment of panic, because no, it couldn’t be- that couldn’t be Der-
But then he looked back at the eyes. The familiar, blue-irised eyes that he’d seen many times before, well not many. He still wasn’t used to them not being red. But he knew that look. Stiles had his answer. Derek. He didn’t waste any time before he scrambled up from the ground where his earlier flail at the then-unfamiliar-and-utterly-terrifying wolf-growl had left him.
Derek didn’t have time to react before Stiles locked his arms around him and squeezed tightly, like if he’d let go, then Derek would run off again, just like he did two months ago. There was a second of resistance, before the wolf just settled against him, all warm and soft and smelling faintly of wet dog. Stiles buried his face into the fur, and didn’t even realize it when the Derek-wolf began to shift back to his human form, until he felt the press of rough stubble against his cheek.
That was when he realized that Derek was hugging him back. Stiles hadn’t admitted it to himself, but this was all he wanted during the time they spent apart. He’d been so lonely, and with Scott trying to figure his new status out, and his dad working more hours at the station, he just, yeah, missed him. He squeezed his hands against the skin of the werewolf’s back, before he opened his eyes and looked down, and his eyes went wide.
Holy shit, Derek was naked. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure how that made him feel. Well, he was, but hell if he was going to admit it out loud. That must’ve been the reason why Derek asked for the clothes.
"Derek, you’re-"
He cut him off. "I know, Stiles.” He pulled back from the hug and stood up, and Stiles had to fight every muscle in his neck not to look down. He failed miserably. Because holy- just wow. Stiles slowly let his eyes travel back up the tall collection of muscles standing in front of him, until they settled on the oddly-appreciative-looking eyebrow cocked back at him. Derek had leaned out a little since he left, his body a little less defined than it had been back when he was an alpha. It was like somewhere along the way, he stopped punishing himself with the constant workouts. “Did you bring the clothes like I asked?”
Stiles blinked, not entirely sure if he heard the question. He was too busy eye-banging the werewolf in front of him. “Wha- oh, yeah. In the bag.” He watched as Derek reached for them, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. Even still he couldn’t suppress a smile. Suddenly he was obscenely glad he didn’t ignore the alpha’s earlier text messages.
He couldn’t stop himself, he just had to. "My, Derek, what a big-"
Derek growled at him sharply as he unzipped the bag. "Shut up, Stiles." Stiles fought down a laugh. It was the hardest thing he ever did. Okay, well, the second hardest thin-
“Stiles!” Derek’s protest brought him back to reality. “What’s this?” He was holding up the shirt that Stiles had brought for him, the familiar, orange-and-blue henley that he’d had the werewolf put on when he was hiding out at his house last year.
“It’s a shirt,” Stiles shrugged, a note of sarcasm in his voice. He was still having trouble not staring at Derek’s… you know, everything.
“Yeah, but did it have to be this one?” He asked, eyebrows locked into a query on his forehead. Stiles shrugged.
“It was the only one I had,” he lied. Derek let out a huffed little laugh and shook his head.
“You’re an idiot,” he offered, before yanking the jeans out of Stiles bag and slipping them on, just slowly enough to where Stiles thought he was doing it for his benefit.
"Says the naked werewolf," Stiles smiled wryly at Derek’s back, as he buttoned the jeans, cocking a weird glance over his shoulder toward him. He shrugged Stiles’ old shirt over his shoulders. By the looks of it, it was still way too tight, even with Derek’s leaner frame.
“Does it fit?” Stiles asked, because he couldn’t resist.
“No,” Derek answered quickly. Stiles rolled his eyes. Typical Derek.
“Shut up and get in the jeep, Sourwolf.” He brushed off the remnants of the leaves still stuck in his jacket from his earlier flail, and pulled himself back into the cab as Derek slid in next to him. He pulled the door closed and leaned down to start the ignition, pausing just before he pushed the key into the slot.
“I’m glad you’re back,” He said to the dashboard, stealing a sideways glance at Derek as he buckled in, looking utterly ridiculous in Stiles’ old clothes.
There was a pause, followed by a sheepish smile from the werewolf.
“Me too,” Derek answered quietly, wrapping a hand over Stiles’ thigh. He smiled with a little surprise as the touch sent his heart into a run. Alpha Derek never would’ve done that, would never have let himself get that close. Stiles turned to look, to question, but couldn’t before Derek crowded into his personal space and pressed a barely-restrained kiss against his stunned lips. Stiles sank into it, and had just enough presence of mind to flick the lock on the doors.
Derek pulled back slightly, grazing his nose against Stiles’.
“Why’d you do that?” He asked, voice teetering on the edge of breathless.
“Just in case you decide to run off again,” Stiles shrugged, before diving back into Derek’s mouth.
“I can’t…” Derek answered through Stiles’ lips. “...I’m wearing your ridiculous clothes.” Stiles choked on his laugh midway through the kiss, because holy crap Derek just made a joke. He stifled the rest of it as he bit down on the werewolf’s bottom lip.
“Like you’re complaining,” he whispered as he licked into Derek’s mouth again. He wasn’t. If Derek could, he’d stay right there in that moment forever.
Because it fit.