Work Text:
Glowing embers flutter up and into the night sky like shooting stars burning themselves to the ground. With the canopy trapped between the bonfire and the velvet black infinity up above, the pack comes out as shadows dancing through the flames, like a panel from one of the comic books Stiles likes so much.
Derek tilts his head to the side, listening to the human’s heartbeat, never quite in tune with the rest of the pack. Stiles laughs at something Erica said, elbowing Scott, who broods, sitting as far away from the pack without getting out of the warm glow of the bonfire.
“Stop brooding Scott, Derek does it better!” Stiles insists, shoving his best friend off the log they share.
“Damn right,” Erica exclaims, nodding along.
Isaac cracks a smile at that, rough-housing with night birds on the edge of the fire, and Boyd sips his beer, watching them all. Boyd learns fast, and Derek preens at that. It’s good to be a role model, even though Scott resents him from everything that happened and doesn’t quite want to be part of the pack yet.
The full moon smiles down at them, and Derek throws his head back to share a grin with her, wide and sparkling. A sliver of silver light runs through Derek’s veins like the sweetest alcohol, a familiar burn and the promise of a good time while under the influence. Tonight, he can almost forget about nasty scars his body healed over, but his heart never quite recovered from, like fire simmering under the ashes still.
Scott takes off to play tag with Isaac, and Erica moves over to Boyd, snuggling up to him even though none of the werewolves is cold tonight. It takes more than an October night to bring down their naturally heightened temperature. Stiles, however, shivers in his red hoodie — he always picks this one for pack nights, the tease — and shuffles closer to the flames, seeking their warmth.
Derek always keeps his distance, even though fire doesn’t scare him per se but rather, hunters always too eager to start said fires. The flames bring back bad memories if he stands too close though, the smoke clogging his nose and flashing bright shades of red like blood splattering his face.
Tonight is a powerful turning point in the wheel of the year though, so he steps a little closer. The cycle of life, death and rebirth came full circle on Halloween, and coupled with the full moon — a rarity, or so Deaton said —, it’s more than time to release and let go of negative energies that hold him back.
Derek wants to celebrate the new energy that will take its place, and the light of the moon flows through his veins indeed. Moonshine on the rocks, he muses, a smile tugging the corner of his lips up and into a gleeful expression.
It must be the reason Derek crouches next to Stiles a moment later, a safe distance away from the fire, and watches him hopefully. Here’s to new beginnings, he cheers privately.
“Hey. How are you doing?”
Stiles doesn’t react at first, glancing at Derek curiously, so the alpha reaches out to cradle Stiles’ hands into his own and rub them gently, trying to work his own warmth into the human’s ice cold fingers. Stiles, of course, can’t stand the attention and deflects any kind of meaningful interaction by running his mouth, out of the blue, just like usual.
“Hey sourwolf, when do werewolves go trick or treating?”
Derek stares at him blankly.
“On Howl-o-ween!” Stiles reveals, beaming.
Scott bursts out laughing on the other side of the clearing, and Isaac tackles him to the ground. They tumble off and into the darkness of the preserve, and Erica cackles, leaning her head on Boyd’s shoulder. Derek rolls his eyes, squeezing Stiles’ hands one last time now that they have warmed up a bit, and goes to stand up again.
Except he wobbles.
Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he jumps to his feet, just as clumsy as Derek, and they hold onto each other for balance. Derek can’t tell who is the most surprised by this new turn of events, Stiles or himself, but he squares his shoulders and pretends nothing happened, trying to step away. Of course, Stiles stumbles right then and there, and falls into his arms with a helpless giggle.
“I’m drunk on three beers, what are you drunk on?” Stiles asks, looking up with big amber eyes and the shadow of his eyelashes elongating down his cheeks.
“I’m moondrunk,” Derek admits, voice low, it’s a secret he’s reluctant to part with.
“So cool,” Stiles breathes out, leaning more heavily against him.
Derek hoists him up and takes the opportunity to walk Stiles around the bonfire, away from Erica’s all too knowing eyes and Boyd’s approving nods. Stiles follows easily, one arm thrown over Derek’s shoulders. His feet barely graze the ground, and it’s probably why he leans so heavily on Derek, but the werewolf would carry Stiles anywhere if he had to, so he doesn’t point it out.
“Well since you asked earlier, I am warm and fuzzy,” Stiles pipes up once they’ve gone all the way around the bonfire. “Are you warm and fuzzy too?”
“I might be,” Derek allows, and Stiles grins.
“Good.”
With their heads tilted towards each other and the darkness surrounding them, Derek finds that it’s easy to lean in all the way and brush their lips together. Stiles sighs, sagging into his arms, and kisses back, warm breath mingling with the taste of beer and the bittersweet tang that is inherently Stiles’.
It’s all Derek could ask for and more, so he embraces it full heartedly. Stiles’ body pressed up against his, the pack cheering quietly in the background, the familiar sounds and smells of the preserve all around and the moon watching over them.
Derek takes it all, all for himself, just this once, and starts anew.