Work Text:
The Camaro starts sputtering ten yards past the “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign, the engine knocking a few times. Derek barely manages to pull onto the shoulder before it gives a hiss and a thump and judders to a stop.
Derek groans long and loud, conking his head on the steering wheel. Laura starts laughing, and he shoots her the dirtiest look he can manage.
She quiets and they both sit for a minute, watching the setting sun through the windshield, contemplating their bad luck.
“Shoot you for it?” Laura finally says.
Derek grimaces, but still taps his fist on his other palm.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Laura says, and then immediately starts grumbling.
“There’s a wrench set in the back,” Derek says smugly. “Maybe that’ll teach you to throw something other than rock sometime.”
“Smartass.” Laura knees him in the thigh not-entirely-accidentally as she squeezes through the space between their seats and rummages in the overfilled back seat for the tools.
With a bit more grumbling, she gets out of the car and pops the hood. Derek rolls down the windows, enjoying the light breeze before he takes out his phone and starts a game of speed Scrabble.
It has only been a few minutes before Derek hears the car approaching. He glances in the rearview mirror and then straightens up at the sight of the flashing lights, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
He meets Laura’s eyes as she shuts the hood.
“Stay in the car,” she mouths, and he nods, trying to breathe deep and stay calm.
Derek watches in the rearview mirror as the police vehicle pulls in behind them, staying a few yards back. He sees the man inside the cruiser talking on his radio for a moment, before putting it aside and opening the door.
“Relax, bro,” Laura hisses between her teeth as she sends the officer a jaunty wave. “Glad you happened by!” she says cheerily.
The officer doesn’t smile in return, his expression neutral although his keen eyes seem to take in every aspect of the situation. Derek watches him approach in the rearview mirror until he comes up even with the driver’s side window, ducking slightly to give Derek a nod before straightening back to talk to Laura.
He is baby-faced for a law officer — pale skin and moles, fluffy dark hair and surprisingly full pink lips. His shoulders are broad, though, and his lean frame solid where it is silhouetted against the setting sun, and if there is one thing Derek has learned the hard way it is not to judge people by their appearance.
“Car trouble?” he says, and Derek can almost feel Laura’s teeth gritting at the obvious statement.
“Yeah...not sure what happened, she just seemed to die on us.”
“Want me to take a look?”
“Nah, it’s fine...we're pretty good mechanics. We’ll get her going, and if not we’re not far from where we need to be. We can set up a tow.”
“That’s lucky.” The officer had moved in front of the car as he spoke to Laura. Derek realizes that he has slowly turned their conversation so he can see Derek through the windshield as well. “Not just passing through, then? You and your...friend...are planning to stay awhile?”
Derek can’t help the growl that escapes him, hopefully low enough that the officer doesn’t hear, but Laura’s eyes widen for a moment. She smiles again but it looks more forced.
Derek can see her hesitate, more out of habit than anything else. Running from hunters for ten years makes some habits die hard, especially not giving more information than needed to strangers. But failing to answer would seem suspicious, and Derek sees Laura reach the same conclusion.
“Actually, we’re moving back to town. We used to live here, but not for a long while.”
The man’s posture seems to ease a bit. “Oh, well then good to meet you...”
He lets the sentence trail off in a not-at-all-subtle way.
“Laura. Laura Hale. And this is my brother, Derek.”
Derek manages a wave.
“Laura and Derek Hale. Welcome to Beacon Hills,” the officer says. “Or I guess — welcome back to Beacon Hills. I’m Deputy Stilinski, but people call me Stiles. Glad to get to know you.” He looks at Derek and then Laura, meeting each of their eyes, his own brown eyes seeming to glow almost golden in the orange light of the sunset. “I guess I just have one more question for you, then.”
“Yeah?” Laura drops the pretense of the smile, her hands fisting at her sides as if she is struggling to keep her claws in. Derek can’t restrain himself any longer — he opens the car door, straightening to his feet, ready to back Laura up if needed.
The deputy turns a little to include Derek in the conversation, but doesn’t seem any warier, which is a little surprising. Derek knows how he usually comes across, with his leather jacket, forbidding eyebrows, and generally muscular appearance.
The deputy nods. “Yeah. Do you —” he looks at Laura and then at Derek, his eyes seeming to send a jolt through Derek with the force of his gaze “ — or your brother intend to harm this land or anyone who inhabits it?”
“What?” Derek can tell Laura is struggling to control the flare of her eyes — her alpha instincts have gotten stronger and stronger as they approach Beacon Hills. “I mean, what kind of question —”
“No,” Derek interrupts gruffly. “No, we do not.”
The man looks at him, and then at Laura again, and Derek has the eerie sensation that the deputy is able to see right through them to the truth of the matter. Then, with the suddenness of the sun popping out from behind a cloud, the deputy smiles, wide and bright and completely genuine. It makes him look like a goofy teenager for a moment, and Derek feels the tension instinctively drain right out of his shoulders.
“Great!” he says. “Well, that’s that.” He knocks the hood of the car with his knuckles to emphasize his words, and with another sputter the engine starts up.
“Well...would you look at that!” the deputy says, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes wide and guileless in a way that Derek doesn’t believe in the slightest. “Must have just been a glitch. Still, you should probably get that checked out. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve been delayed enough. I’ll let you get going. Once again, nice to meet you both.”
With a quick wave the deputy turns and heads back to his car without hesitation. Derek and Laura watch as the lights turn off and the cruiser pulls out into traffic and drives off.
“What the hell was that?” Laura asks.
Derek shrugs. He wishes he knew.
Peter arrives first, as usual. He’ll also be the last to leave, Stiles knows, so that no one else sees him using the walker that he stashes in the hall closet on his way in.
The rest of the pack troops in one by one, bringing snacks and beer, grumbling about cancelled plans and cryptic texts. Ms. McCall is working late shift and Boyd is at a teacher’s conference in Sacramento, but everyone else was able to make it despite the late notice. The Sheriff brings a stack of pizzas, in a blatant attempt to get a slice of meat lover’s for himself. Isaac obviously stress-baked in the few hours since Stiles sent the text calling an emergency pack meeting, bringing in a giant tupperware full of brownies.
Stiles Skypes in Lydia and Jackson before he starts. Jackson looks bored as usual, and Lydia looks uncharacteristically frazzled, her hair in a frizzy braid down her shoulder. “The deadline for my grant is in six hours,” she starts in immediately, “so if this ‘emergency pack meeting’ is about some poor trail horse that you swear to god is a kelpie again —”
“Laura and Derek Hale have come back to town,” Stiles says peremptorily. “Maybe for good.”
The pack responds with stunned silence for several long moments, and then everyone starts talking at once.
Stiles meets Peter’s eyes for a moment. He’s the only one Stiles had told in advance, getting Peter to confirm that the license photos he pulled were actually his niece and nephew.
Stiles lets the pack babble for a few minutes to get it out of their system, before grabbing an apple from the bowl on the coffee table and holding it up.
“One at a time,” he says, and the room quiets again. “I’ll start with what I know. The wards at city limits on Route 5 triggered early this evening, indicating a supe had crossed the boundary. I was on shift so I checked it out. A black Camaro, registered to Laura Hale, with two people, both pretty obviously ‘wolves. They said they were moving back to town, and confirmed they meant no harm. I showed Peter the license photos, and he identified them as Derek and Laura. Who’s next?”
Several people hold up their hands, but Stiles throws the apple to Isaac, who looks the most anxious.
“Why are they back? Do you think Laura is alpha? Could she — do you think she could try to — I dunno — claim us in some way?”
He tosses the apple back to Stiles, who wishes he had more to reassure him. “I don’t know for sure why they’re back, but it could be just as they say — that they’re planning to settle back on Hale land. I can’t say 100% that Laura is an alpha, but I think she is — she had a different kind of energy than Derek, and that’s how we expected it to go, when we stripped the alpha spark from crazy!Peter.” He sends an apologetic grimace Peter’s way. “No offense.”
Peter shrugs in a water-under-the-bridge kind of way. They had hashed things out between the pack and Peter a long time ago, but damned if the long-lost Hales coming to town wasn’t likely to bring it all up again.
Several hands go up again, but this time Stiles throws the apple to Kira.
“If Laura is the alpha, can she like, compel you guys to do stuff? I mean, the ‘wolves that Peter bit?”
Stiles catches the apple back, but after a moment of contemplation hands it to Peter.
“Doubtful,” Peter says, his voice slurring just a bit the way it gets when he’s tired. “She didn’t bite you, so you would have to submit to her authority to become her betas. Unless that happens, she’s just an alpha on our territory.” He nods to Stiles, who takes the apple back.
“And if she tries anything against your will —” he looks carefully at Scott, Isaac, and Erica — “I’ll strip the alpha power from her just like I did from Peter. I’ll even know exactly what I’m doing this time.”
Stiles is surprised to see the Sheriff raise his hand this time, and he throws the apple to his dad, who catches it deftly. “I remember those kids,” he rumbles, his voice calm as always. “They were good kids, but scared. Stiles, they passed your test at the ward line. Lydia, do you feel any trouble brewing?”
Lydia seems to turn her focus inward for a moment, and then shakes her head.
“I know you kids are used to seeing everyone as a threat, but it could be that’s just not true this time,” the Sheriff says. “Maybe the talk of ripping the spark out of Laura is a little premature, huh?”
He throws the apple back to Stiles, who catches it, feeling chastened. “Okay, so step one — see what they intend by moving back here. Maybe clue them in that we have a pack of our own without giving details, and suss out what they think about that. Peter, for all we know they think you’re dead. Are you okay with them knowing you’re alive?”
Peter shrugs again, which Stiles understands. He’ll ask him again once the others are gone. He knows that Peter doesn’t feel any pack bonds to Laura and Derek, and that he still resents them for leaving him behind. Even the phone number they left hasn’t worked for years; it was already out of service by the time Peter emerged from his coma long enough to hit his crazy streak, and that was five years ago.
“We’ll figure this out,” Stiles concludes, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn to help bolster their confidence. “We’re a strong pack, and we’ve survived a lot. A few stray Hales are nothing to worry about.”
Peter definitely hears the lie, and maybe a few of the other ‘wolves, but that’s not much to cause concern. They know that Stiles always worries about everything. It’s why they’re all still alive.
Derek is unpacking boxes when he hears the ungodly rattle of a bad crankshaft bearing coming up the drive. He stops and brushes his dusty hands off on his jeans.
The baby-blue jeep is old, so old that he’s impressed that it’s still roadworthy, although by the sound of it, it won’t be for long. The driver springs out of the vehicle in an ungainly tangle of limbs, and Derek would recognize him anywhere, even though he’s out of uniform, wearing beat-up jeans and a flannel shirt open over a graphic tee.
Derek stands at the half-open door, tempted to shut it in the man’s face. But the man goes around the back of the car, pulling out a cardboard box from the trunk, balancing it on his knee as he kicks the tailgate closed, and Derek’s curiosity starts to override his caution.
Still, he meets the man out on the front porch.
“Can I help you?”
“Derek.” The deputy — Stiles, Derek remembers — smiles, climbing the few steps until he’s level with Derek on the porch. He’s just about Derek’s height, strong forearms ending in long-fingered hands wrapped tight around the cardboard box. “I formally request an audience with Alpha Hale.”
“What?” Derek instinctively steps back, until the door is solid against his back. He hasn’t heard that title since his mom was alpha. “What are you — who are you —”
Stiles just watches him, his gaze infuriatingly steady as Derek struggles to recover his equilibrium.
“Laura not home, then?” Stiles says evenly, as Derek retreats into stubborn silence. “I’ll wait.”
He plops himself down on the top step, setting the box next to him. He leans back on his hands, the soft breeze ruffling his wild hair. He seems entirely at ease, like he hasn’t just admitted that he knows Derek is a werewolf and then immediately turned his back on him.
Derek feels the handle of the door pushing into the small of his back, and thinks about retreating back into the house. But Stiles seems pretty unthreatening as he stretches his long legs and basks in the rays of sun that are creeping across the porch, his foot jiggling just a little. He doesn’t smell like a threat either. Just warm and a little tangy, like citrus or new grass. Something that might be gun or motor oil, and the oddly nostalgic scent of Old Spice. It’s actually a really nice smell.
Derek watches him for a few more minutes, dithering, and then finally makes his way cautiously closer. Finally, he sits down on the porch next to Stiles. He tells himself that it’s so that he can be there when Laura comes home, and not because he’s curious about Stiles.
“So you know about — ?” he starts, although something in him won’t let him finish the sentence on his own, too conditioned toward caution to say the word out loud.
“Werewolves?” Stiles contributes readily, apparently having no similar compunction. “Yep.” His fingers beat an uneven tattoo on the porch boards, like a drumbeat that Derek can’t place.
“Are you —?” Derek takes another surreptitious inhale, but there’s still no scent of ‘wolf on the man. Or at least not directly, as covered as he is by a melange of other peoples’ scents.
“Nah, not me. I’m something else.”
Derek waits, too stubborn to ask, and Stiles is apparently too stubborn to say unprompted. They sit in silence for awhile, Derek staring down the driveway waiting for Laura, and Stiles with his eyes closed, soaking in the sunlight.
“So, what’s your beef with cops?” Stiles says suddenly, eyes still closed.
“What makes you think I have a problem with cops?”
Stiles opens his eyes at that, apparently just so he can roll them at Derek.
“Yesterday, when I pulled in behind you guys. Laura looked more worried about what you might do than what I was gonna do.”
Derek thinks about not answering. But there’s something about Stiles, how he never sits fully still, and yet there’s something so peaceful about sitting here beside him.
“Had a run-in with some local law enforcement a few years back that were hunters too. And a few more run-ins over the years with cops who just didn’t like the look of me.”
Stiles’ mouth twists. “I’m sorry, man. That sucks.” There’s not a hint of a lie in his heartbeat.
Derek looks at Stiles in surprise and their eyes meet, sending a jolt straight to Derek’s belly. The porch step creaks as Derek shifts his weight. Stiles seems closer than Derek had remembered him being, his whiskey-brown eyes soft and deep, his lush pink mouth open just a touch…
The Camaro pulls into the driveway and Derek jumps, pulling away from Stiles. Had he been the one to move closer or had Stiles? He doesn’t know.
Stiles straightens slowly to his feet. He reaches down and snags the cardboard box again.
“Well.” Derek can’t interpret the look Stiles gives him. “Showtime, I guess.”
Laura eyes Stiles as she jumps out of the car.
“Alpha Hale,” Stiles says, and once again the title sends a shiver down Derek’s spine. “I formally request an audience.”
Laura looks to Derek, and then back at Stiles. “You’d better come in then.”
Laura closes and locks the door as Stiles leaves, and then flops down on the couch next to Derek.
“What. The. Fuck?” she says.
Derek stares dazedly at the coffee table, where Stiles had laid out his gifts for the Hale alpha. They were well-chosen, demonstrating a deep familiarity with werewolf customs. A small wooden box, thrumming with the power of the Nemeton, inscribed with the Hale triskele. A meticulously-drawn map of the Preserve and surrounding lands. And finally, a giant tupperware of peanut-butter cookies. “Because Isaac stress-bakes,” Stiles had explained.
Power. Knowledge. Sustenance. Gifts that would traditionally be offered from one alpha to another. Stiles was welcoming Laura, but not ceding any authority over the territory. It was pretty skillful, Derek had to admit.
“You think he’s telling the truth?” he asks.
“It sounds crazy, but his heart never stuttered,” Laura acknowledges. “And the timeline fits.”
Five years ago — six years after the fire — Laura had suddenly woken up, her eyes alpha-red, the Hale power thrumming through her veins. There was no way Stiles could have known.
“So Uncle Peter wakes up from his coma five years in, goes crazy, and bites a bunch of teenagers. And despite knowing nothing about the supernatural before that point, they manage to figure things out, strip the alpha spark from him, and now they’re all one big alpha-less pack? Can that even happen?” Derek asks.
“Jesus, Der — how would I know? I haven’t heard of half of the stuff he mentioned. Banshees and kitsunes and a freakin’ kanima.”
“And how about what Stiles said he is — a spark? Did mom tell you anything about that?”
Laura bites her lip. “I think I’ve heard of that one before. God, it was so long ago, and I never expected — I thought I had more time to learn…”
She trails off, but that doesn’t quell the sick curl of guilt in Derek’s stomach. He knows, of course he does, that it’s his fault Laura wasn’t ready to be alpha.
“C’mon, Der.” Laura jostles his shoulder with her own. “You know I didn’t mean it that way. I just...I don’t know. Just because I’ve never heard of a stable, alpha-less pack doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”
“So what does that mean for us?” In all their discussion and planning and arguing about moving back to Beacon Hills, they had never even once thought that the land might already be occupied.
“Let’s just meet them, and go from there.” Laura’s scent is tinged with something that Derek can’t quite interpret. He stares at her, trying to figure it out, and when her eyes meet his they look almost guilty.
“You —” Derek can’t stop the words. “You’re happy about this.”
Laura starts to shake her head, and then shrugs instead. “I just think...it could maybe work out. They sound nice. And they’ve dealt with stuff really well — better than we have. They took care of Uncle Peter when we didn’t. I dunno...it might be good not to be alone anymore.”
She bumps Derek’s shoulder again. “C’mon. I’ll get the groceries in, but you’re making lunch.”
She pushes to her feet and heads for the door, and Derek numbly watches her go. Everything is changing.
It might be good not to be alone anymore, Laura had said.
He hadn’t thought that they were alone before because they had each other, but maybe Laura felt differently.
The meeting with the Beacon Hills pack starts out just as awkward as Derek expects.
Stiles has arranged for Peter, Laura, and Derek to arrive an hour earlier than the rest.
Stiles had been tactful but matter-of-fact when he informed them that their uncle was not only alive, but also previously insane. Stripping the alpha powers from Peter restored his sanity but greatly slowed his healing, leaving him with his current infirmities.
Derek assumes that the social manipulation of having them meet under Stiles’ supervision is just another way of keeping Peter in line. It only takes him a few minutes to realize how mistaken he is.
Stiles mostly stands back while the Hales attempt a stumbling conversation. When Peter’s jaw clenches too tightly, however — when his words start to slur or his right hand starts to tremble — Stiles is suddenly there, pressing a palm to his shoulder, or rubbing the back of his neck. Treating him like pack, rather than a prisoner.
That, more than anything, makes Derek realize exactly how mistaken he was. The brief summary of events Stiles had given to Laura and Derek didn’t convey anything about the genuine affection between Stiles and Peter, and how much they both must have struggled to achieve it after all that occurred.
In the same quiet way, Stiles seems to be looking out for Laura and Derek. When Peter’s sarcasm edges into true cruelty, Stiles is there with a joke or deflection, allowing them all time to recover. They are not going to fix things in one meeting, but Derek can see the possibilities — another member of his family, back against all expectations.
Derek should be thrilled, and yet when Stiles skims his hand down the back of Peter’s neck and Peter’s shoulders instinctively relax, it makes Derek’s stomach twist.
Amazingly, unexpectedly, infuriatingly, two hours later the party is in full swing and Laura seems to fit in with the Beacon Hills pack like a missing puzzle piece. Derek stands at the edges of the room, nursing his warm wolfsbane-laced beer, while Laura cackles with Erica, trades dry quips with Boyd, runs an affectionate hand through Isaac’s curls…
It’s like this is the pack — the family — that Laura was meant to have all along, ready-made and presented to her with a bow on top. It’s only Derek who doesn’t belong, lurking in the shadows, the last awkward remnant of the tragic events he brought down on them all.
Laura says something and the room erupts in laughter, and suddenly it’s too much for Derek. Too much warmth, too much noise, and it grates against Derek’s overactive senses like sandpaper. He edges backwards, finding the handle of the back door and sliding outside. He’s sure that no one will notice he’s gone.
The air is cool, a welcome relief for Derek’s flushed cheeks and agitated nerves. He looks around, finding a garden of sorts — patches of shrubs and herbs and flowers that must have been orderly once but now have an unruly, overgrown look to them. Irregular slate stones mark a meandering path through the profusion of greenery, and Derek finds himself wandering down it unthinkingly.
He is distracted enough by the turmoil of his thoughts and by the scents and sounds of the garden that at first he mistakes the noise for that of a small animal — a squirrel or rabbit. The soft curse meets his ears right as he turns the corner to see Stiles, crouching down as he scrabbles at the base of an oleander bush with a trowel.
“Motherfucking… goddamn...trumpet vine…” Stiles mumbles, as he grabs a tendril of greenery and yanks.
Derek should back away — he’s sure Stiles hasn’t seen him in the dark — but something draws him forward instead.
“What are you doing?” he asks, much more gruffly than he means to, and Stiles yelps and falls back on his ass.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” he says, glaring up at Derek. “Dick move!”
Derek tries to hide his smirk. He holds out his hand, and Stiles grimaces but takes it, allowing Derek to pull him to his feet.
They stand in silence for an awkward minute, before Stiles finally cracks.
“So why are you escaping the party in your honor?” Stiles asks.
Derek can feel some of that irritation and insecurity tying his stomach in knots again.
“Why are you escaping the party you’re hosting?” he counters.
Stiles looks away. “Probably for the same reason.” He scowls, reaching down and tugging at the stubborn tendril of vine. “All hail the prodigal daughter.”
Derek can’t figure him out in the least. “I thought you wanted this — you set all of this up in the first place.”
Stiles straightens up again, his eyebrows a dark slash against his pale forehead. “I want what’s best for the pack,” he snaps.
“And you don’t think that’s Laura?” Derek bristles. Laura has her flaws, but she’s his sister, and the Beacon Hills pack would be lucky to have her.
Stiles throws the vine on the ground. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. But it would be nice for once if I weren’t the only one on guard against —”
“On guard?” Derek repeats scathingly. “What, you think that Laura is going to —”
“Where has she been for ten years?” Stiles spits. “If she’s so great, and everything is so meant to be, where the hell has she been this whole time that we were fighting for our lives, without the slightest clue what we were doing, nearly dying a hundred times over?”
Derek feels the words like a knife to his gut, because he knows the answer to that question. Laura could have a place here, a pack, and once again he’s the one who screwed everything up.
“It was me,” he finally manages, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “She wanted to come back — even before she was alpha, she wanted to come back here. I begged her not to. I was the one who couldn’t face it.” Derek feels his stomach give a slow, sickening roil. “Even after she became alpha again, she held out for as long as she could. Until she was aching with it. She didn’t want to, but she did it for me.”
A few moments ago, Laura becoming one of the Beacon Hill pack was Derek’s greatest fear. Now that the opportunity might be slipping away — now that Derek might be the one who messed everything up for her yet again — he would do anything to make it happen.
Derek steps back, seeking refuge in the shadows that line the path. “Listen, if — I’ll go. Just — just let Laura stay. She really needs this.” He swallows, his voice growing thick. “Our pack — the two of us — it’s not enough for her anymore.”
“Jesus, Derek.” Stiles grabs Derek’s arm, his eyes wide and alarmed. “You’re not going anywhere. ” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm and then grimacing as he realizes he’s dribbling dirt down the back of his collar. “This isn’t fucking freshman rush,” he says in exasperation. “You’re not getting kicked out of Beacon Hills because I’m having some sort of — identity crisis.”
The change in his demeanor is so sudden Derek feels like he has whiplash. “An identity crisis? You?”
“Why not me?” Stiles’ eyes are narrowed now, as if he thinks Derek is mocking him.
“It’s not —” Derek has stepped in it again, the words coming out wrong as always. “You just seem — you seem to always have everything handled.”
Stiles snorts, dropping his eyes from Derek’s as if he was more capable of handling the insult than the compliment. “Is that how it seems? Because I’m a fucking mess.” He kicks at the vine on the ground. “Out here sulking because my pack is getting along a little too well with the alpha I hoped they’d learn to tolerate.”
Derek realizes that he and Stiles have more in common than he thought. And somehow, with that realization, comes the understanding of exactly what Stiles needs to hear.
“They’ll always be your pack,” he says, voice gruff as if that will hide the fact that he is somehow talking about feelings. “Even if Laura becomes their alpha, you’ll still be their leader. She’s not going to take that away from you.”
Stiles’ whiskey-colored eyes are a little too perceptive. “Just like Laura will always be your family first,” Stiles says in return. “Even though you found Peter again, even if you join the pack. We’re not trying to change that.” Stiles mouth twists. “I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”
Derek nods. By some unspoken agreement, they both turn, heading back towards the house.
“Laura says I have trouble believing in something good,” Derek offers. He feels like he can trust Stiles with that secret. He suspects it’s one that Stiles shares.
Stiles nods. He reaches out to touch a branch as he passes, sending a shower of fragrant petals to the ground. “The land is glad to have you back,” he says unexpectedly. “That’s part of why I’m so pissed. We fought and bled for this fucking town, and all you guys had to do was cross the borders and the land is...it’s singing for you.”
Derek pauses, trying to imagine it. “I don’t feel it at all,” he says. “But if it’s true...if the town wants us here —” He meets Stiles’ eyes, trying to convey the certainty he feels deep down to the marrow of his bones. “If you want us here, then we’ll do what we can to protect the town, and the people here.” He swallows, but the guilt he’s so accustomed to feeling seems more manageable now, less like it’s slowly choking the life from him. “We won’t run again.”
Stiles smiles, wide and bright and open, and later Derek thinks it might be the moment he starts to fall in love with him.
“I said it before,” Stiles says, “But I really mean it this time. Welcome home, Derek.” His voice is soft, and it sends a curl of warmth through Derek’s chest.
Home. It doesn’t fit, not yet. But the windows of the house are glowing bright in the darkness, and the voices of his family and pack are laughing within. And as Derek walks toward the house with Stiles steady at his side, the edges of their fingers just brushing together, he can see that someday it might.