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They were never really... anything.
Not really.
It was one summer. Roughly six weeks of heatwave and shared worry, searching for Boyd and Erica, chasing down lead after lead and coming up with nothing more than the tentative knowledge that they were still alive out there somewhere.
And after hours of researching and looking through various empty warehouses and woodland dens, after sweating and cursing and beating frustrations into walls and furniture with sore fists... after that, Stiles would just follow Derek back to the loft and fall into bed with him.
It wasn't even sex, at first. They were too tired, first of all. But from the very first night they would wake up twined together, clinging or just snuffling in sleep. There were tears sometimes. Whispered fears and soothing assurances.
They're still alive, Derek. They're your betas. You'd feel it if...
Yeah. Yeah, okay.
Stiles can't even pinpoint when their first kiss was. It was probably sometime in the middle of a random night, both of them exhausted and touch-starved. He feels like he should remember it, but he can't. It's not really important, though, because it felt almost like habit from the first moment, and quickly became a consistent source of comfort.
He remembers the first time they had sex, though. A strange mix of frenzied and tender, too many feelings to be kept under wraps after getting the first actual confirmation that Erica and Boyd were okay. A risky message delivered scribbled on a coffee cup in a trash can.
We're okay. Please don't come after us. It's a trap.
The cup was on the night table where Derek could smell it, even just the faintest whiff of his betas under the coffee grounds and trash enough to settle him in a way he hadn't been able to in weeks.
And as if needing to take his relief and renewed desperation somewhere, he kissed Stiles with so much fervor and hunger that there was really only one way it could go, hands and mouths meeting over and over again, reaching, grabbing and holding until the last tremors subsided. Afterwards, Derek tried to pull away and apologize, but Stiles refused to let him.
It was your first time. It shouldn't have been... like that.
Shut up, Derek.
So that was them. An unacknowledged entity that nevertheless kept them both going through what felt like endless nights of planning and strategizing, but was really only a few weeks.
And then they pulled it off. Against all odds they got Erica and Boyd back, scattered the alpha pack to the winds, gained several unexpected allies, and somehow made sure they all lived to tell the tale.
After that, well. Derek needed some time with the betas, just convincing himself that they were okay and reaffirming pack bonds, and Stiles desperately needed to get back in his dad's good books, before the last, pathetic thread of trust between them completely eroded.
So Stiles studied, Derek trained the betas, and then school started. New villains popped up every few months, Stiles helped beat them and then went back to school. Derek never mentioned their thing, and Stiles didn't either.
A few times he sat with his phone in his hand, wondering if maybe he should at least text Derek or something, but it never felt like the right time. There was always something.
So. Time sort of just... passed.
Whenever Stiles thought back on it, the memories of it always had sort of an unreal glow to them. Like it happened to someone else, or in a dream. But the sensation of Derek's lips or his hands on Stiles' skin... it had been real. Probably one of most real things in the shit storm Stiles' life had become since Scott got bitten.
Stiles could still feel the phantom touch of it sometimes, late at night, after a long day, in that space right between sleeping and awake, but it never felt quite right to address in the light of day. It was never the right time for some reason he wasn't entirely sure of.
So life went on. Things calmed down in Beacon Hills, and Stiles went off to college and did what all college students did. He partied, studied, had lovers, girlfriends and boyfriends, and moved on.
On the rare occasions he saw Derek it seemed like he had too. He settled, got more relaxed and confident as an alpha. Dated a few people and apparently had some therapy, which Stiles was all for. Expanded the pack with a few more betas, restored the house. Got himself together.
In all honesty, Stiles came to a point where all he did was think back wistfully every few months or so. He wasn't actively pining for things past, or even thinking about it all that hard. He spent a lot more time missing his dad or Scott, and for the vast majority of his college experience he was just incredibly busy.
But graduation has come and gone now, and Stiles is heading home to Beacon Hills for a few months to start job hunting with his shiny new degree. There's no fixed plans for his life for the immediate future, and while his dad grumbles good-naturedly about having to have his grown-ass son eating him out of house and home, there's no disguising how blatantly happy he really is about having Stiles home again, if only temporarily.
He catches up with Scott and Lydia, farts around on the internet, and eats his weight in celebratory junk food while calling and emailing possible employers. He's not thinking about Derek at all.
It's ridiculous, really, how they finally meet again. It's in the Quick-E Mart, of all places. By the produce. Stiles is feeling up a melon and snickering inside – because he'll probably never get too old for boob jokes – when suddenly there's someone sidling up next to him.
Turning his head feels like slow motion, because he knows. He knows who's there. He doesn't even have to see to know. But when he does clap eyes on Derek for the first time in something like four years, his breath catches in his throat. Because Derek is there. And he's real, and solid, and looking at Stiles like it could have been that same summer. Like they're entwined on his shitty bed in the loft in the early hours of the morning after hours of fruitless searching, followed by yet more hours of worrying and clinging to each other, finally resorting to physical intimacy to at least try and get some sleep. Derek is looking at Stiles like they're still that close. Like Stiles could just step into his arms and be welcome like he'd been that summer, so long ago now.
Derek looks older, the tiniest hint of gray in his beard and slightly more pronounced crow's feet at his eyes. Like he's smiling more. His hair is longer and he's wearing a dusty-blue jacket rather than the black leather, over a sweater that looks ridiculously soft. He looks huggable.
“Hi,” Stiles breathes, and Derek's tiny smile grows a little wider.
“Hi.”
Even his voice makes Stiles want to wrap himself in it, and he blindly puts the melon down, somehow managing to not make the whole pile of them tumble to the floor. “Hey,” he says stupidly, and Derek's already growing smile goes all crooked and amused.
“Hey, yourself.”
They don't say anything else. They just stand there, in the fluorescent-bathed aisle of a small grocery store in downtown Beacon Hills, taking each other in. And even though Derek has definitely changed, and though Stiles knows he has too, nothing feels different. It's all coming back to him, fresh and real in a way it never was, even when it was happening, and... Stiles isn't sure how he knows this, but he's absolutely convinced, right down to his bones, that Derek is feeling the same way.
But he has literally no idea what to even say about any of it.
Thankfully, it seems Derek has been working on some conversation skills over the years.
“How've you been?” he asks, and Stiles feels the words wash over him like a caress, and he can't stop himself from shivering.
“Uhm. Good. Yeah, good. You know. Yeah. Good.”
Derek's grin is beautiful and familiar, and also just so dear. Stiles has the sudden and intense urge to reach out and like... smoothe Derek's hair or stroke his cheek. Like they're a couple who've been together for decades, intimacy habitual and sweet.
“Good,” Derek says, because he's still a little bit of an asshole. God, Stiles adores him.
“How... how about you?” Stiles manages after what is definitely too long time spent just lovingly gazing at Derek's face.
“Not bad. A little lonely, maybe.”
Stiles frowns, because Derek has a decent sized pack now. He should never be alone. “Do I need to kick anyone's ass? I don't care if they are your betas-”
“No, Stiles, it-” Derek cuts himself off with a soft groan, and then looks heavenward with a sigh. “It was meant to be flirting.”
There's a moment of stunned silence before Stiles bursts out laughing. “Oh my god. Derek, you moron, you know damn well shit like that is too subtle for me.”
“Guess I was just optimistic for once. I thought maybe you'd learned how to pick up things like this by now.”
“Nope. Some things never change.”
Derek's smile goes back to that amazing softness that makes Stiles' gut do all kinds of somersaults. “No. Some things never do.”
Stiles wants to ask if he's reading too much into it, but he doesn't know how without sounding like a dick. But, thankfully, Derek takes the initiative again, and leans in – almost painfully slowly – giving Stiles plenty of time to pull away or protest. But that is honestly the furthest thing from Stiles' mind right now, and he's already leaning closer himself by the time Derek gets close enough to press warm, dry lips to Stiles' cheek, so gently he barely feels it. But even that tiny contact is enough to make the breath whoosh from Stiles' lungs, and his eyes flutter shut.
Derek doesn't move away, stays there with his lips gently pressed again Stiles' cheek, but eventually rolls his head just enough for their jaws to brush instead. He's obviously using his senses to make sure Stiles is okay with it, because a few seconds later he moves again, dragging his bearded cheek against Stiles' almost sensually, keeping their faces touching until he can nuzzle their noses together, and coax Stiles to open his eyes.
“Hi,” Derek whispers, and Stiles barks out a weak laugh. It feels like his whole body is quivering and threatening to just give out, if he wasn't so desperate to keep the contact between them unbroken at all costs. It feels like something is finally slotting into place. Like getting something back he hadn't even known had been missing in the first place. Like... scratching an itch you've had for so long you'd just gotten used to it.
“I'm sorry,” Derek says eventually, and Stiles frowns at him, going slightly cross-eyed trying to look at him so up close.
“For what?”
“For not... back then... when we- I'm sorry. I wish I could have-”
“Yeah,” Stiles says with a nod. “Yeah, I... me too. I should've... I dunno. Done something.”
Derek lets out a small, almost bitter laugh. “Not sure it would have made a difference. I wasn't... there yet. I never should have done that to you.”
“No, hey,” Stiles protests, reaching up to take hold of Derek's shoulder, in case he'd get the incredibly stupid idea of moving away. Stiles is definitely not a fan of that. “Listen to me. You did nothing I didn't want. Okay?”
Derek huffs and shakes his head, but his forehead is still pressed gently against Stiles', so at least it looks like he's not about to make a run for it. “Pretty sure the law-”
Stiles snorts so hard his nose actually hurts. “Derek. Seriously. The sheer amount of laws we've broken, from misdemeanors to felonies, damn near defies comprehension. In comparison, I honestly don't think having some amazing and consensual sex would be the one to tip the scales, you know what I mean?”
There's a tension around Derek's mouth that tells Stiles that he still feels bad, and that just won't do. “Hey,” he says, waiting until Derek's eyes find his again. “You're not her. Okay? Not by a long shot. And also, have a little faith in me, okay? You think some random teenager in Nevada is somehow more mature or able to consent than I was at sixteen?”
“No,” Derek says on an exhale. “You were always...” he trails off, but Stiles gets it. It had always felt like he'd aged several years in those first few months after Scott was bitten. Like he was forced into adulthood before it was physically or legally possible. No teenager should have to juggle life or death like that, but – as if to evidence his actual age – Stiles hadn't made the obvious choice of appealing to an adult for help, choosing instead to rely on himself and his equally terrified peers. An excellent way to grow prematurely old, but also a massively stupid idea in hindsight. Which is annoyingly twenty/twenty.
But at least now all the adults who should have been involved at the time are actually up to date on everything. And it will probably never stop being a source of great frustration to the sheriff that he wasn't told until Stiles was over eighteen, making it impossible for him to ground his unbelievable kid's sorry ass for the rest of existence.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, and finally gives in to the urge to let his hand slide up to cup the back of Derek's head where his hair is so long now there's enough to tangle fingers in. Stiles loves it. “In any case, I'm a grown-ass man now, and I've only ever looked back on what we had, with... fondness.”
“Okay. Okay, good,” Derek says, and sighs when Stiles scritches gently across his nape. “How... how long are you in town for?”
Stiles shrugs, and bumps his nose against Derek's, just because he can. “I dunno. Until I find a job, and figure out what I'm gonna do with the rest of my life, I guess.”
“Staying with your dad?”
“Yup.”
There a weird pause, and Stiles is suddenly starkly aware that they're basically cuddling in the middle of a grocery store. He can't bring himself to care that much, honestly, but gossip is bound to run rampant within a day. Which means his dad will know real soon that his son was pretty much canoodling that Hale boy in front of the melons for god and the world to see.
Derek seems to realize it too, his eyes darting towards movement at the end of their aisle. He doesn't move away, though, and Stiles appreciates it, because he's not ready yet.
“Would you... would you like to come home with me and... discuss further?”
Stiles can't help but laugh. “Wow, sound more constipated, why don't you. But yes, please. I get the feeling we've got a lot of things to... discuss.”
“Wow, make that sound more like an innuendo, why don't you,” Derek shoots back, and Stiles feels like he could fucking levitate, his chest bursting with sheer happiness.
He bumps their noses again, just because he can, and then forces himself to move away, because otherwise he never will. “Anything you need to buy, or-”
“Fuck the groceries,” Derek snaps and drops his basket. Stiles had completely forgotten he was even holding one, and puts his own down a little softer next to Derek's.
“Not really my kink, but you know...” he breaks down in helpless snickering as Derek grabs his hand and bodily hauls him out of the store.
It might only have been a few weeks during a summer of fear and stress, but the tenderness and intimacy comes back easy as anything, like this unknown thing between them needed only the slightest breath of air to burst back to life. Like it never went away, merely went dormant. Waiting for spring.
And the next morning, as Stiles wakes up in Derek's arms again for the first time in years, he can't help but feel like the sun is finally coming out again.
End.