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Derek drove slowly down Main Street, thankful that he timed his arrival for the middle of the night so that the streets were empty. He’d spent a lot of time debating returning to Beacon Hills, but once he’d found Laura’s diary and saw her plans and sketches for the old house, he knew it was a foregone conclusion that he would return to fulfil her dreams for her. It was the least he could do in her memory. Just because he rebuilt the house didn’t mean that he would have to stay once it was done; he would make that decision when the time came.
As he drove through the woods towards the preserve, he could feel the tension melting out of his shoulders despite the sorrow that clenched at his heart. He hadn’t been on the property since shortly after his entire family, with the exception of Laura and himself, had burned to death. Laura had moved him to New York in a too loud and full of strange smells loft in the East Village. Derek had hated it, missed the preserve and ended up spending far too much time in Central Park, but he loved Laura, his sister and his Alpha, too much to leave.
Then Laura had been killed. A stupid teenager texting while driving in rush hour traffic, a too quick death for her werewolf powers to heal and the power of the Alpha flooding his entire being. He’d ran into the woods of Central Park and howled until he couldn’t anymore, stunned by the reports all over the news the next day of a wild dog loose in the park. He knew then he would have to leave for his own safety. As he packed up the loft, trying to figure out where he would go, he’d found the diary and started reading.
The next day he’d been on the phone with contractors and the work on rebuilding had begun within a month. It had taken six months for the house to be built due to weather problems and a few issues of vandalism. He’d requested the house be built, but everything inside left undone so that he could do all the painting and decorating himself.
Finally, the day came for Derek to pack up the last of his belongings, the rest having been shipped previously and waiting for him, into his Camaro and drive across the country. He’d taken his time, stopping at all the stupid roadside attractions his sister would have claimed to hate but secretly loved. He amassed a large collection of postcards, planning to create a framed collage of them for one of the rooms in the house.
As he pulled up in front of the house, he slammed on his brakes as a black cat raced through the beams of his headlights and into the woods. Shaking his head, he looked up at the house, his breath catching at the similarities to the old house, but thankful for the modernization that eased the ache of nostalgia somewhat. He shook his head when he saw the porch light burning despite him having assured the contractor it wasn’t necessary. As he turned off the car, he heard a noise and spotted movement on the ground near the stairs. Stepping out of the car, his nose burned with residual magic and blood. Carefully approaching the black mass that was flailing about on the ground, he saw that it was a raven, its chest bloodied and it’s foot caught in some twine that must’ve been left behind by the builders.
Hurrying to the bird, he started talking quietly to it, wincing when it snapped at his hand, drawing blood. “I’m trying to help you, damn it!” he snapped and the bird stiffened and laid still. He would’ve been worried it had succumbed to death except for the way its eyes followed the movements of his hands as he began to tenderly untangle the twine. As he worked at the knot with gentle fingers, he stared at the eyes, surprised by the honey gold color of them; he was pretty sure ravens usually had black eyes. He chalked it up to a trick of the light and continued working.
Once the bird was free, Derek scooped it up into his arms and walked carefully up the stairs. He wasn’t sure what to do with the bird now, but he assumed he should clean the scratches on its chest and possibly call animal control or something.
When he entered the house, the bird let out another weak caw as its head swiveled around eyes taking in the entire room. Derek shook his head, confused by the unusual behavior. He took him into the kitchen and laid him on the counter and turned on the sink. Using the edge of his shirt, he cleaned the wounds carefully, running a gentle finger over the birds head whenever it made a noise of protest.
It didn’t take long for the bird to be cleaned up and to Derek’s untrained eye, it didn’t appear he was badly injured. He left the bird sitting in the bottom of the sink so he wouldn’t fall off the counter, while Derek ran out to the car to bring in his duffel, thinking he’d make a nest out of his clothing and then take the bird to a vet in the morning if he didn’t improve.
When Derek returned to the kitchen, the bird was standing on one leg on the edge of the sink staring at the doorway. As soon as it made eye contact with Derek, it’s wings spread and it flew out over his shoulder cawing. It stopped in the foyer, landing ungracefully on the ground and cawing at the door. Derek looking down at it and tilted his head as the bird began to tap his beak on the door. “Do you want to go out?” He felt stupid talking to a bird, but figured there was no one around to watch him as he followed up with, “Tap once for yes and twice for no.”
He swore the bird rolled its eyes before it gave one definitive tap against the door and then hopped backwards and looked at Derek. Stunned, did the bird really just answer him. He squatted down to get a closer look at the bird and got a strong whiff of magic, enough to make him sneeze and he swore the sound the raven made was a cackle, not a caw.
“Alright, well, I hope you’re alright,” he told the bird as he stood and reached for the door. The bird flew enough to land on the porch railing and look back at Derek, his head giving a quick bob, almost like a nod of greeting. “Well, I guess, don’t be a stranger,” he said, the bird giving another head bob before taking off and flying off in the direction of the road. “Whoever or whatever you are.”
Derek spent most of the rest of the night unpacking and getting the empty house as settled as much as he could. He was just glad he’d found the coffee maker and coffee pods because he was going to need the caffeine in the morning. It was just before sunrise when he unrolled his sleeping bag and grabbed his pillow, dropping down to sleep on the living room floor with a quiet groan.
His eyes were still gritty when something pulled him from his sleep, something he was grateful for his dreams had quickly started darkening, the images twisting until he felt his claws popping even as he slept. Retracting his claws, he rubbed at his eyes as he tried to determine what had woken him up. It only took a few moments before he heard a quiet, yet insistent, tapping at his front door.
He sniffed, sneezing at the slight burn of magic. “It can’t be,” he mumbled, as he crossed the room, pulling open the door to the sight of the raven standing on the porch, still only on one leg, a blue flower clasped in its beak. Derek took a step back in fear before realizing it wasn’t wolfsbane. He squatted down and reached out to run a finger over the bird’s head, laughing when it bumped his head against his fingertips before hopping forward and dropping the flower onto Derek’s knee. “This for me?”
He was surprised when the raven tapped his beak gently against his knee once. He’d always heard that ravens were smart, but this was amazing to him. “Do you want to come in?” Derek asked as he stood up, taking the flower with him and sniffing at it. He felt two taps against his toes and then the bird was hopping to the edge of the porch and flying away. “Thanks for the flower,” Derek called to him, closing the door and heading into the house.
As he cooked himself breakfast, thankful he’d gotten someone to stock the kitchen for him before he arrived, he kept looking over at the flower that he’d put in a glass of water. The blue was a soothing shade and Derek wondered if he could find paint in that shade for the master bedroom. When he’d finished eating and cleaned up after himself, he got dressed and grabbed the flower and his car keys to head into town.
He saw heads turning as he drove down the street. He was sure no one knew who he was, yet, but he was something new in a small town so tongues would start wagging. It would only get worse once word traveled that Derek Hale was back in town. He did not look forward to the attention he would receive at that point.
Pulling into the parking lot of the hardware store, he was pleased to see that it was empty save for a powder blue Jeep that looked almost as old as he was. The bell over the door jingled and he heard someone from near the back of the store call out, “Be right with you!”
A quiet thumping sound preceded the appearance of a young man with messy brown hair on crutches. When he reached the counter and looked up, Derek could hear his heart skip a beat as Derek’s gaze traveled his face, something familiar about him. “Can I help you?” he asked, breaking the spell between them.
Derek held the flower out. “I’m hoping to find some paint in this shade,” he explained as the boy reached out long fingers to take the flower from him, a strange look on his face. “I don’t know what the flower it-”
“It’s a hydrangea,” the boy interrupted and Derek searched for a name tag so he could stop calling him boy in his head. He spotted one, but the only letter he could make out was an M, the rest scratched out. “They come in a lot of shades, but blue is just pretty, don’t you think? I think we have something that might work. It’s a shame we don’t have that paint matching technology the bigger stores have...” He trailed off. “Unless you’d like to take it to one of them? There’s a Lowe’s about fifty miles away.”
Derek shook his head. “I prefer to shop local, so let’s see what you’ve got.” He followed as M hobbled over to a display of paint chips that took up a large section of one wall.
“Do you know a lot about flowers?” Derek asked as the silence dragged on. “You identified this one pretty quickly.”
M shrugged, leaning heavily on one crutch while he reached out to grab a couple of paint samples. “My mom was a huge flower buff. She had a huge garden and grew all kinds. Some kids learned their colors and letters, I learned plants.” He laughed, but his scent was sad.
“Was?” Derek prompted.
“She passed away when I was ten,” he explained. “I’ve tried to keep the garden up, but I’m not quite the green thumb that she was.” Derek tried to find something to say, but he wasn’t good with words even in the best of situations, so faltered right then. “They mean gratitude.”
“What?” Derek was confused by the comment and was distracted as the boy turned to compare the chips to the flower, the collar of his shirt shifting to reveal some narrow scratches on his chest.
“Hydrangeas. They mean gratitude. If someone gave you this, they were probably thanking you for something,” he explained, pulling back to slap one of the paint chips against the back of Derek’s hand. “Perfect!”
Derek eyed it carefully, impressed by how close the paint really was to the soft blue shade of the leaf. Then he chuckled when he saw the paint was called, Blue Hydrangea. “Almost seems like cheating, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged, grinning widely. “I impressed you for half a second, though, admit it.”
Derek rolled his eyes but admitted it matching the smile that grew even wider on the boy’s face. “I’ll probably need at least two gallons.”
“No problem, I’ll get them mixed right up for you. Do you need to do any other shopping?” he asked, making his way over to a complicated looking machine and pulling out two paint cans.
“I do,” Derek responded, moving back toward the front of the store where he’d spotted shopping carts.
“My name is Stiles. If you need any help, just holler!” he called after him.
“I’m Derek,” he responded as he reached out for a cart, his hands squeezing hard enough to crack the plastic when Stiles responded with, “I know.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Stiles continued and Derek realized he wasn’t raising his voice like he knew that Derek could hear him. “It’s not my business, but my dad is sheriff and said that you were moving back to town so I did a bit of critical thinking to figure it out.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and Derek felt foolish for acting like a jerk. In his defence, he’d been on constant alert since the fire.
Derek moved through the store, pretending he couldn’t hear Stiles as he continued to babble about the town and how much had changed since he and Laura had left. The boy knew way more about Derek than he felt comfortable with, even more than he was letting on until Derek couldn’t take it anymore.
He left the cart by the paint tarps and stormed over to Stiles who looked up, his eyes a bit wide. “You know, don’t you?” he snarled, trying to control his eye flash.
“That you’re a werewolf?” Stiles asked and Derek gave a stiff nod. “Yes,” he responded as his fingers tapped the countertop one time. “I’m a Spark.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “My best friend is a werewolf and I’ve been training with Deaton for the last five years.”
Derek was overwhelmed by Stiles’ openness and, thankfully, he seemed to pick up on that because he began talking about the paint mixing process allowing Derek to wander away, retrieve his cart and finish his shopping.
By the time Derek made it back to the house, he had everything he needed to paint the bedroom and some extra paint chips and sample cans of paint for other rooms of the house. He’d even allowed Stiles to push some interior design magazines on him. Stiles had extracted a promise that Derek would come back if he had any other questions and he’d been surprised how easy it was to make that promise. He’d even gotten Stiles’ cell phone number in case he had questions when the store was closed.
Settling onto his sleeping bag, Derek ate the Chinese takeout he’d picked up before grabbing the paint tarps and painter’s tape and heading up to the bedroom. He set an alarm on his phone, determined to get a decent amount of sleep and by the time it went off, the room was ready to be painted. He went downstairs and climbed into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes and drifting into a sleep of the truly exhausted.
With a grand sense of deja vu, Derek awoke to tapping on his front door. Pushing himself to his feet, he pulled open the door and stood back waving an arm towards the inside of the house. “C’mon in, Raven,” he said, chuckling when the bird seemed to glare up at him, a light pinkish purple flower, flecked with darker colors, clasped in his beak. He followed the bird as it took flight and landed on the counter in the kitchen. When Derek reached him, Raven waved the flower in the air until Derek took it. “Very pretty,” he said, moving to get a glass of water as the bird seemed to preen at the praise.
“Does this flower mean something?” Derek asked and the bird tapped the counter once. “Can you tell me?” He scoffed when the bird actually rolled his eyes before tapping twice for no. “You aren’t a bird are you.” Instead of answering, the bird flew to the foyer and stood by the door. “Time to leave already?” One tap and Derek was opening the door and watching the bird fly away.
Shaking his head, lips quirked in a smile, he knew how to find out what the flower was. He picked up his phone and snapped a photo, sending it off to Stiles. It was early, so he didn’t expect a response anytime soon.
He as upstairs, opening the first paint can when his phone buzzed. He opened the one-word message.
Alstroemeria
And does it mean anything?
Friendship
He fought the urge to stick his tongue out at the phone, the difference in Stiles’ terse texting to his verbosity in person was a bit disconcerting. Then again, he might be busy at the store and was risking his job to even send the one-word texts.
The next few days passed with Derek painting and waiting for someone to install his internet. He didn’t mind using his phone for quick searches, but he wanted to be able to log into his computer to do the major ordering for the decor so he didn’t have to spend excessive amounts of time in town ordering things. Raven came by to see him each morning, the first day he’d brought Derek a variegated tulip which Stiles told him meant “Pretty Eyes”. At that revelation, Derek had blushed and hidden away in the bedroom laying down hardwood flooring and ignoring the outside world, something he quite enjoyed.
The following morning, Raven had shown up, a small book sitting next to him on the porch, but Derek was more excited to see that the bird was standing on both legs. “You’re better,” he said, reaching out and letting Raven bump his head against his fingers and then hop up to rest on his knee as Derek picked up the book. “ The Language of Flowers, ” he read. “This will let me stop bugging Stiles, at least.” He jumped when Raven pecked the back of his hand twice, made eye contact with Derek and pecked twice more. “Okay, okay, you don’t want me to stop asking Stiles, I get it.”
With that, Raven flew away. The bird never stayed long and once he was gone, Derek would start his day. That day he planned to go into town to pick up some more paint for his bathroom and the guest room. He knew he could order paint online, but he was curious to see if Stiles would still be the person he’d been the last time I’d been in the store or if he would be more like his texts.
When he got to the store, he saw Stiles sitting on top of the counter next to the cash register, legs swinging as he talked to a petite redhead who was perched next to him. When the bell jangled, Stiles flailed and slipped off the counter barely managing to land on his feet, both of his feet. “You’re better,” he said, having that strange sense of deja vu.
A strange smirk crosses Stiles face as he approaches. “What can I help you with? Got another flower that needs identifying?”
Derek shook his head, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the book that Raven had left him. The redhead arched a brow. “Stiles, don’t you-”
“That’s really awesome,” Stiles said, taking the book and flipping through the pages, stopping on the couple that Derek had already been given. “Cool, I was right.” He handed the book back, their fingers brushing and Derek felt a strange calm flow into him.
“So, I need some more paint,” Derek explained, sliding some paint chips out and laying them on the counter. “I’ve marked the ones that I like, but I need to narrow them down. One for the bath off the master bedroom and one for the spare room.” He pointed to several neutral shades.
Stiles let out an obnoxious yawn. “These are all boring,” he teased. “Don’t you want something snazzy for your house?”
“I’m probably going to sell it when I’m done. Neutral is smartest for the market,” Derek explained, looking up and taking a step back at the dark look in Stiles’ eyes.
“Go with white or off-white then. That’s as neutral as you can go,” he said, his voice short, reminding Derek of his texts. “Hollar when you decide.” He walked back to the redhead who frowned at Derek over Stiles’ shoulder.
Gathering the chips, Derek decided he’d either come back another day or go with his backup plan of ordering online. He was nearly back to his car when he heard someone call his name. Wincing, he turned to find the source was a man dressed in khakis, a badge on his chest and gun on his hip.
“Mr. Hale,” he said as he approached. “Sheriff John Stilinski.”
Derek smiled tightly, but took the hand that was offered, shaking briefly and fighting the urge to yank his hand away in fear. As he looked at the man more closely, something about his eyes felt familiar. He tried to place him, but beyond remembering Stiles saying his father was sheriff, he couldn’t reach the bit of memory this man was poking.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked. “I’m not surprised. It was a stressful night.”
“You were at the fire,” Derek said, the door on the memory opening and he remembered he and Laura being wrapped in blankets and settled into the back of a cruiser. “You took my sister and me to your house for dinner.”
“That’s right. My son didn’t want you to leave,” he responded. “He was fascinated by you, especially when he spotted your eyes flashing.” Derek’s jaw dropped. “Having to explain werewolves to the world’s most curious eleven-year-old was exhausting.”
“You’ve known…”
“My wife knew your mother. She told me,” the sheriff explained. “I thought you knew that I knew. I thought that’s why you were willing to go home with me that night, but at least that explains why Laura didn’t accept my offer to stay.”
Derek swallowed hard. “I...I don’t know what to say.”
John placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to say anything, son. Just know, there are a lot of people in this town you can turn to.” He looked past Derek. “And I’ve got to go. Dinner plans with my son. It was good seeing you.”
“Y...y-ou, too,” Derek stammered, standing frozen on the sidewalk for many minutes after the sheriff had left. He finally started moving again when the redhead brushed past him, knocking him off balance for a moment.
The next day, Derek woke up. He’d moved his sleeping bag to the floor of the master bedroom the night before. It really was time for him to get something a bit more comfortable to sleep on. He debated between purchasing a full bedroom set or just an air mattress as he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, yawning. He started the coffee maker, surprised when the clock read that it was just after noon. Raven hadn’t come to wake him up. He frowned and wondered if the cat had gotten him again, but, when he went outside, the porch was littered with stems.
It had to have taken Raven hours to cover every inch of the porch with Queen Anne’s Lace. Derek looked across the property and could see the empty spaces where Raven had stolen the blooms. He turned to go back inside and spotted one flower that was different from the rest. He picked up the pink tightly curled bud, knowing it was familiar but unable to place it.
He snapped a picture but hesitated before sending it to Stiles, remembering the anger rolling off the boy the day before. Instead, he settled at the counter in the kitchen and flipped through the book. The first thing he learned was that Queen Anne’s Lace represented haven or sanctuary, so either Raven was saying Derek’s house was his sanctuary or he was trying to tell Derek it should be his own.
After a half hour and a cup and a half of coffee, Derek was ready to throw the book away. Finally, he texted the picture to Stiles. It took only a few moments for a response.
Petunia.
Derek flipped through the book and found Petunia. “ Petunias represent anger or resentment. ” Great, now Raven and Stiles were upset with him and he had no idea why.
He went out onto the porch and started cleaning up the flowers, letting his mind wander as he worked. He was hoping by letting his subconscious waken, an answer to why two of the only three beings to show him kindness so far in this town were angry with him. His conversation with Stiles played through his mind and his own voice stuck on repeat. “I’m probably going to sell it when I’m done.”
Derek dropped the flowers and closed his eyes with a groan. Stiles was angry he wasn’t staying. He glanced down at the flowers in his hands and then through the window into the house; he couldn’t see the petunia but he knew it was there. He thought they meant that Raven was angry that he wasn’t staying as well.
They were both upset with him or the very same reason. It was crazy, how could two totally separate beings be- Derek’s thoughts stopped, his heart skipping several beats as images flashed through his mind. Raven hopping around on one foot. Stiles hobbling around on crutches. Raven’s chest bleeding on his counter. Scratches peeking out of the top of Stiles’ shirt. The smell of magic whenever he was around Raven. The repeated refrain of “You’re better” on the same day.
Racing down the stairs, Derek didn’t bother with his car, he just ran. It took him very little time to reach the town, but the store was closed so he rested for a moment, sniffing the air and catching Stiles’ scent faintly in the air. Following it, he passed many storefronts before stopping in front of the Sheriff’s Station. Signing, he climbed the stairs, entering cautiously.
All noise in the station stopped, all eyes turning to him and Derek realized for the first time that he was wearing just a pair of loose sweatpants, his feet bare, body splattered with mud and he assumed his hair was a mess of bedhead. A deputy approached him and Derek turned to reach for the door, freezing when he heard Stiles call his name softly.
Turning back, he saw Stiles standing next to his father in the doorway of an office. They both gestured to Derek who moved carefully through the bullpen, staring at his shuffling feet to avoid the stares of the deputies. When he was close enough, Sheriff took him gently by the arm and pulled him into his office. Stiles closed the door behind them as the Sherriff settled him onto a couch that smelled like Stiles.
Pulling a chair away from the desk and placing it in front of Derek, the Sheriff dropped down, his hand returning to Derek’s arm. “What is it, son? Is someone chasing you? Is it Hunters?”
Derek shook his head, his heart sinking at the trouble he was causing. “No. No,” he assured when the Sheriff looked doubtful. He looked up to find Stiles watching nervously from the doorway. Derek held out a hand, waiting, but Stiles turned his head away. “Stiles,” Derek croaked out and saw Stiles swallow heavily and blink his eyes closed.
Derek took a deep breath and tried again. “Raven,” he called this time and Stiles’ head whipped around to stare at him and Derek didn’t know how he hadn’t recognized Raven’s eyes in a human’s face the first time they’d met. “You’re Raven.”
The sheriff sighed. “Are you harassing people in bird form again?”
“No,” Derek hurried to answer before Stiles could. “He hasn’t been harassing me. Just visiting.”
“But you’re safe,” the sheriff asked and Derek nodded. “Okay, then you two can work this out, although I suggest you get some more clothing before you go anywhere else.” He stood and left the office returning a second later to open all of the blinds so they could see straight into the bullpen and everyone out there could see them as well. “Behave.”
Stiles took the sheriff’s chair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “After you saved me that first night, I just wanted to say thank you.”
“The hydrangea,” Derek said.
“You seemed so pleased by it, I couldn’t help but bring you more. Then you showed so much interest in the meanings and no one has since my mom…” He trailed off, brushing at his eyes an refusing to look up at Derek.
“You wanted to share it with someone,” Derek filled in, smiling when Stiles nodded.
Hesitantly, Derek reached out and ran a hand over Stiles’ hair, much like he’d do with his fingers to Raven’s head. Laughing softly, Stiles bumped his head against his hand. “So, I have beautiful eyes, eh?” Derek teased, laughing when Stiles punched him in the arm, wincing and shaking his hand out.
“I think I should go home and put some proper clothes on,” Derek said, blinking when Stiles grinned blindingly. “What?”
“You called it home,” he whispered in response. “Does that mean you’re going to stay.”
Derek thought about it, realizing despite his best efforts, he had been preparing the master bedroom to be his. He’d even hung up the postcard collage when he’d finished it the day before. “Yeah, I think I am. Guess I’ll need to get some furniture.”
“We could go to Ikea!” Stiles said, looking excited. “It’s only just over an hour away and if we borrow my friend Boyd’s truck we can probably get enough for at least one room and have the rest delivered.”
Derek started laughing. “We?”
Stiles face blanched and he started to stammer. “I mean, only if you want to, of course. I didn’t mean to be-”
“It’s a date,” Derek told him. “I’ll go home and get changed while you look into your friend’s truck. Text me and let me know when you’ll get there.”
Stiles nodded excitedly, already on his phone, thumbs flying over the screen, presumably texting Boyd. Derek rose to his feet and took a few steps toward the door, stopping when he remembered his state of undress. “Perhaps you can give me a ride home first?”
Stiles was still staring at his phone, but he swung a key ring around his fingers and led the way out of the station, the both of them waving to the sheriff. Derek followed Stiles to a blue jeep and climbed in. As Stiles started the car, Derek took the phone out of his hand. “No texting and driving. I’ll let you know if your friend responds.”
The ride was filled with Stiles chatter, pointing out parts of the town that had changed since Derek had left. He also mentioned the night of the fire and Derek and Laura coming for dinner. “You were so nice to me even though you looked like you were going to fall apart,” Stiles told him. “I never forgot that and then you helped me as a raven and were so gentle.”
Stiles’ phone buzzed and Derek looked over the message preview. “Boyd says you can have the truck tomorrow any time, but he’s busy today.”
“Damn,” Stiles muttered.
“Can you go tomorrow or do you work?” Derek asked, not relishing the idea of going shopping on his own.
Stiles nodded. “I only work until noon, though. So I can get the truck and be at your house by one?” he suggested just as they pulled up to the house, Stiles parking next to the Camaro with a low whistle. “Beautiful.”
“Better than my eyes?” Derek teased and Stiles groaned knocking his forehead against the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you live that down...eventually.”
He got out of the Jeep, patting the door awkwardly after he closed it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Stiles grinned, turning his head, forehead still on the steering wheel. “It’s a date. You said so.”
“I did,” Derek assured, stepping back and raising an arm in a wave as Stiles backed out and disappeared down the road. Once he was gone, Derek went inside and spotted his flower book. Picking it up, he started planning for the next day and headed upstairs to shower.
The next morning, Derek heard tapping against glass. Rubbing at his eyes, Derek sat up and glanced towards his bedroom window, laughing when he saw Raven-correction-Stiles flapping outside. Hurrying, he opened the window and let him inside. Stiles flew over Derek’s pillow, dropping the flower from his beak and then flying back out the window. “I’ll see you later!”
Picking up the purple flower, he trusted Stiles wouldn’t gift him with wolfsbane. He sniffed it carefully and then noticed an index card attached to the stem. It simply said, “Anemone” . Picking up his book, he found the entry quickly and smiled. “Anticipation. Me, too, Stiles. Me, too.”
Derek was pacing nervously on his porch when Stiles pulled up in the blacked out Dodge Ram. Moving his occupied hand behind his back, he approached the truck as Stiles climbed out and handed him a bouquet of flowers. Nervously, Derek reached for them while holding out his own to Stiles, who started laughing as he ran his fingers over the flowers.
“White tulips, sunflowers and pink peonies. That’s quite a colorful combination,” Stiles told him. “I’m sure the florist loved you.”
Derek ran his hand through his hair. “I bought them all separately and mixed them when I got them home. They mean pure intention, adoration and bashfulness.” He bit his lip and focused his attention on the bouquet from Stiles, tiny pink rosebuds that looked fuzzy. “Pink roses?”
“Pink moss roses,” Stiles supplied. “Can we put these in water in your house before we go?”
Derek nodded and led Stiles into the house and across to the kitchen where he pulled out a vase he’d bought at the florist the day before. “Think they’ll all fit in here?”
Stiles tilted his head studying the bouquets and the vase. “Yes. Let me do it. Do you have a sharp knife?”
Derek let Stiles get to work while he picked up his flower book and flipped through the pages. He found roses and after some searching, pink moss roses. “Confessions of love.” He felt his cheeks warming and he coughed to cover his embarassment.
Stiles glanced over and then back to the flowers. “Might be a bit soon, but it was better than orange tulips which mean ‘let’s get it on,’” he explained.
Derek thought about Stiles and Raven as he watching him move around the kitchen as if he belonged there. He felt the warmth in his chest that spread through his body like an internal blanket and remembered his mother describing the same feeling when she’d first realized that his father was her mate. It might be too soon to tell Stiles that, but for pink moss flowers… “Not a moment too soon,” he told him, reaching out to run a hand over Stiles’ head, grinning until his cheeks hurt when Stiles gave a little giggle and bumped his head into his palm.