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“It’s finished Derek. You can come back.”
The rain was pouring so hard, Stiles had to spit a mouthful of water out, just from having spoken.
“It’s never finished Stiles. This…this is all I am. This is all I have to give. Death. Bloody violent death. And I want more than that for you! You deserve more than that.”
Stiles took a step towards him, and he took a step back.
In a voice that sounded even to him, so broken, he all but cried.
“I’m not safe to be around Stiles. I’m dangerous. I’m evil. Just…Just…forget that you ever knew me.”
There was a violent flash of lightning that stunned Stiles’ senses. In the moment of confusion, he’d run, disappearing into the night, into his self imposed exile.
I'm comin' home, I've done my time
Now I've got to know what is and isn't mine
If you received my letter telling you I'd soon be free
Then you'll know just what to do
If you still want me
If you still want me
It had been 36 very long, very agonizing months since he’d left Beacon Hills. That late night in midsummer when he’s stood at the peak of Beacon’s Bluff, rain pouring down on him and Stiles, screaming into the night, as though their words would tear down the gods themselves.
Sitting on the bus, watching the landscape change over to the more familiar environment of northern California, he listened to a song on an old radio that filtered over the heads of the people on the bus. It seemed a little appropriate, and having heard it once when he was a child playing at his grandmother’s feet, he’d remembered it when he sent Stiles the letter.
Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon 'round the ole oak tree
It's been three long years
Do ya still want me (still want me)
If I don't see a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree
I'll stay on the bus
Forget about us
Put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon 'round the ole oak tree
His heart was well and truly in his throat this entire trip. He’d sent Stiles an email, but hadn’t heard anything. He’d gone south to find himself. For three years he’d wandered the wilds of New Mexico, Texas, he’d even gone through the Bayou in Louisiana before heading to South America.
He’s learned to master his rage, though that was still there. He’s tamed his wolf, though there was something still wild in him. He’s tempered the beast and is no longer a slave to its whim. He’d ought a hard battle within himself, and felt like maybe, just maybe, he was ready to rejoin the world.
Bus driver, please look for me
'cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see
I'm really still in prison
And my love, she holds the key
A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free
I wrote and told her please
He’d had the hardest time writing the letter to Stiles. To find the words to ask his forgiveness, and the prayer to the lords above that he’d find solace when he returned home. A dull ache that he hadn’t even noticed was all he felt inside, and nothing would satisfy it.
It was a simple gesture from him, that handed the human all the power in his world. Seeing the sign in the distance, “Welcome to Beacon Hills” had him almost out of his seat and pacing like a caged animal. The town smelled the same. Looked the same. Felt the same.
Hopefully the same would be true of Stiles.
Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon 'round the ole oak tree
It's been three long years
Do ya still want me (still want me)
If I don't see a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree
I'll stay on the bus
Forget about us
Put the blame on me
If I don't see a yellow ribbon 'round the ole oak tree
Making his way to the front of the bus he kept his back to the window. He’s slipped the driver an extra $50 to keep his eyes peeled for any trees with a yellow ribbon. It was corny, he knew that, but it didn’t matter what anyone thought. He was allowed, on occasion, to be corny.
“I’m sorry to tell you this son,” the bus driver had started, “but I ain’t seein’ no oak trees around, and none of these trees have nothin’ but bird feeders.”
Derek’s eyes clouded over but he remained silent.
“Shoot. Nearest thing I see is some skinny kid wrapped up in caution tape, hoppin’ like his feet are on fire outside the bus stop.”
Derek’s eyes snapped up and he spun to look out the window. Sure enough, there he was, wrapped up like a mummy in the police’s caution tape that was usually reserved for murder scenes.
Now the whole damned bus is cheerin'
And I can't believe I see
A hundred yellow ribbons 'round the ole oak tree
I'm comin' home, mmm, mmm
Leaping from his seat, he was out the door and across the parking lot in less than a heartbeat. Stopping dead in front of Stiles, he searched the younger man’s face for any signs of rejection or anger. Seeing the excited joy in Stiles eyes, he smiled.
“Couldn’t find an oak tree?”
“None to be found. Also couldn’t find any yellow ribbon, so I improvised. That was a terribly cheesy email you sent me, you know that right.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Here I am. And there you are. Still dangerous?”
He shrugged, “A little.”
“Still not safe?”
“I have my moments.”
“Still evil?”
“Only in the morning before I’ve had my coffee.”
Stiles couldn’t help but smile at that.
“I’ll remember that tomorrow morning.”
Wrapping their arms around each other, they just swayed to the dying words to the sad romantic song.
(Tie a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree)
(Tie a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree)
(Tie a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree)
(Tie a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree)
(Tie a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree)
(Tie a ribbon 'round the ole oak tree)