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Derek isn’t a fan of Halloween. In his opinion, it invites trouble. If anything supernatural were to happen, then tonight’s traditions would perfectly disguise it, which is precisely why Derek is out patrolling the streets and not in his cosy bed right now.
He’s been at it for hours when he sees a familiar-looking figure toward the edge of town. He’d know that casual shuffle and lanky frame anywhere. What’s surprising to him, though, is that Stiles is decked out in a Spiderman costume. A particularly tight, very revealing Spiderman costume at that, and he seems to be alone.
It’s peculiar. Why on earth would Stiles be out here, trick or treating by himself? He’d seen Boyd, Erica and Isaac across town in their Scream masks terrorising children, and Scott’s with Allison at Lydia’s annual Halloween soiree. Intrigued, he follows from a safe distance, ducking in and out of the shadows.
A pattern forms over the next half hour. Stiles, with his plastic shopping bag in tow, knocks on what seems like random doors. However, the doors that he picks are always flung open by smiling faces with open arms, reaching out to hug him. He chats with them a while, they hand over some candy, and then they hug him goodbye. Weird.
Derek realises he’s overstepping by following (some might classify this as stalking) him, but this is bizarre behaviour, even for Stiles, and the last thing he wants is for Stiles to end up hurt. That's not going to happen on his watch. Stiles is by himself, Derek reasons, continuing to track him from a safe distance.
At the end of the block, Stiles makes a left into an eerily dim road. Only three or so houses are in view, all of them cloaked in darkness. Stiles doesn’t stop at any of them; he doesn’t even look back toward the safety of the last streetlight, he just keeps walking.
Derek isn’t afraid of much, nevertheless even he can admit that this is a little bit unnerving. If it weren't Stiles walking toward the shadows, he’d be out of there. But it is Stiles. Stiles, who time and time again comes through for him, someone who has always believed in the good in him and given him hopes that one day he could put all of this in the rearview mirror, forget about Beacon Hills and just be content, maybe even with someone like Stiles. A shiver races up Derek’s spine, and he instinctively zips up his leather jacket, the taut feel of it, bringing a morsel of comfort.
Derek follows Stiles until he seems to have reached his destination. He’s hiding behind an overgrown willow tree, about ten metres from Stiles when he notices the ornate arch, with a small hanging sign and realises why Stiles has come here.
They’re in the Beacon Hills cemetery, and Stiles is sitting next to his mother’s grave.
But why come here tonight?
The graveyard is quiet, no shenanigans at this early hour, and despite the overcast weather, it’s still, with not a breath of wind.
Stiles’ fond voice cuts through the night. “Hey, Mom.” Derek can hear it perfectly, even without his wolf hearing. Stiles' voice is gentle and loving, as he tells his mom about how he still has to make sure his Dad watches his cholesterol and eats a salad every once in a while, tells her about his excellent grades and hopes for the next year, and tells her he thinks he’s met someone that he wants to build a life with. All the while stuffing candy into his mouth and chewing loudly.
Derek’s ears prick up at the mention of Stiles having met someone, and he’s baffled, busily sorting through and crossing out options in his head when Stiles starts chatting again.
“He can be a bit grumpy sometimes, but he’s kind and a total hottie. He’s been through some shit, but Mom, he always puts others first. He’s the strongest person I know. Well, aside from Pops of course,” Stiles praises, his affection for the man evident in his voice, “His name’s Derek, Derek Hale, Mom, and I know you would have liked him.”
Derek’s frozen to the spot, momentarily forgetting to breathe. His breath whooshes out of him as his mind scrambles. Stiles is talking about him, about how much he likes him, to his mom. A swell of emotion smashes through him, and he can’t wrap his head around all of this, he can’t process this much 'happy'.
Then it hits him. He should not be privy to this conversation, and he needs to get his ass out of here now before Stiles becomes aware of this breach of privacy.
Fate obviously has other ideas, because despite following Stiles in here like a stealth ninja, this time the moment he takes a step it’s on to a leaf that has the consistency of a potato chip, and makes a noise that sounds like Cookie Monster is binge eating behind the tree.
“Hello?” Stiles calls out with a mouthful of candy, baby deer eyes looking around wildly.
Derek emerges with his hands up as if surrendering.
“I’m so sorry, Stiles, I was just making sure you were-“
“It’s okay,” Stiles interrupts as if it’s nothing. As if spilling your guts about the man you want to be with, in front of that man is par for the course. “Sit with me?” Stiles asks hopefully.
Completely thrown off by Stiles’ lack of concern over his snooping, Derek nods and comes to sit next to Stiles, careful not to disturb the area where his mother’s laid to rest.
Derek has always had an aversion to graveyards; they remind him of what he missed out on, and of who he lost. This though, sitting here next to Stiles, his strong heartbeat tapping out a steady beat, this feels peaceful.
“So, you probably think this is kinda cray cray, right?” Stiles blurts, breaking the silence.
That isn’t the word he’d use. Odd, maybe? He ignores the texting vocabulary in favour of trying to process what is going on with Stiles, on top of what is going on between him and Stiles, and if he’s honest, he’d dealt with his grief by making lousy sexual choices, so 'cray cray' is okay, 'cray cray', even though he deplores the saying, he can deal with.
“No, Stiles,” Derek replies softly.
After a long minute, Stiles speaks again.
“My mother,” Stiles starts. His voice sounds constricted and filled with emotion, and Derek watches as he runs his hand across the grass in front of him delicately, trying to sort through the torrent of emotions. Derek comprehends loss, and once a year he too can feel his heart tear a little more when that certain date falls, and he remembers his family.
Without contemplating, he reaches over and rests his hand atop Stiles’ and brushes his thumb along his knuckles in what he hopes is a consolatory manner. “Tell me about her?”
Stiles peers up at him with a shy smile as he links his fingers through Derek’s and pulls their intertwined hands into his lap.
“She used to take me trick or treating every Halloween until she got too sick. It was always one of our best nights together!” Stiles says with certainty. “She would dress up as Casper, literally the least scary thing ever. Then when I was scoring my candy, she would hide, and she always managed to frighten the living crap outta me, and then steal at least half of my candy.” Stiles laughs at the memory and then drops his eyes back to their hands.
They both fall silent. Stiles seems lost in thought, so Derek waits patiently, and when Stiles continues his voice is barely above a whisper.
“Mom died the day after Halloween, ten years ago.”
Derek shifts closer to him until their arms press together and Stiles can feel the warmth radiate off him.
“I come here every Halloween because it’s one of my last happy memories with her before she got sick, you know? Before she couldn’t remember stuff.”
Stiles huffs, eyes flicking to Derek’s quickly before he looks away.
“I know it’s kinda silly,” Stiles says, throwing up his hands dramatically, letting go of Derek’s hand amidst his theatrics. “I dress up in my Spiderman costume, which is way too tight around my junk, by the way. I visit the same houses and talk to the same people that I did all those years ago because it makes me feel closer to her.”
Stiles stares at his hands, his breathing is shaky and uneven, and he wishes that he hadn’t accidentally flung Derek’s hand away, and oh god would it be okay if he just grabbed it again? As he silently deliberates, Derek’s hand skates over his thigh, grabs his hand and pulls it into his lap. Stiles glances over at him, only to find him staring down at their tangled digits, smiling.
“That’s a lovely way to remember her,” Derek affirms, giving Stiles’ hand a firm squeeze.
Stiles leans into him, or maybe Derek reels him in, Stiles can’t recall. But it doesn’t matter because for the first time in his life he feels understood.
After ten minutes of what Stiles will for future reference refer to as the ‘graveyard snuggle’, Stiles suggests they leave.
Derek squeezes Stiles hand agreeing, then stands and hoists Stiles up with him. Stiles is about to say goodbye when Derek walks to the headstone and rests his hand gently on it.
“Mrs Stilinski, I promise you, I will always be there for your son, and keep him safe.” Derek nods his head at the grave solemnly, bowing his head and waiting for Stiles to speak.
Beside him, Stiles can’t speak, and he can’t disguise the tears that appear in his eyes, because Derek just spoke to his mom, like she was there with them, and because he just promised her he’d always be there (and somehow he knows, that’s a promise that Derek intends to keep). He’d answered the question that Stiles had been wanting to ask him, but was too afraid to. Do you feel this too?
“I love you, Mom,” Stiles whispers, as he grabs the bag of candy and pulls out a handful to leave at the base of her headstone. “See you next year.”
Derek smiles softly at Stiles and holds out his hand. They walk in silence all the way to Stiles’ front door, hand in hand.
“Um, so,” Stiles mumbles nervously, fiddling with his keys.
“Goodnight, Stiles.”
Derek plants a chaste kiss on Stiles' knuckles and tells him to call whenever he needs him.
Stiles waits like three hours to call. Okay, maybe it was only two. Reasoning that his cold feet needed Alpha heating.
And you can bet your ass that Derek showed up. He showed up for Stiles every single time. In fact he’s already picked out a silly costume, and will be trick or treating with his boyfriend next Halloween.