Work Text:
Dear Derek,
So, how are things in Beacon Hills? I hear things from Scott every once in a while, but I think he spares me. I think he doesn’t want me to worry, or to second guess my decision to leave for school, even if I am only a few hours away. And I talk to my dad, obviously… but then, I always have the feeling that the supernatural doesn’t sit right with him, never has, and he avoids the subject so expertly that sometimes I forget that he’s actively avoiding the subject. So I’ll ask you, because you’ve always been honest with me, if nothing else.
How are things in Beacon Hills?
If I know what expression you’re wearing right now, you’re probably wondering why I’m writing you, or maybe just why I’m writing you a letter, which nobody has done since the computer was invented.
The sad truth is, I couldn’t tell you.
You know how they always say that if you’re mad at somebody, that you should write them a letter and not send it? Well, I’m not mad at you. But I’ve got a lot of words in my head, and some days it feels like I’ll go crazy if I can’t put them somewhere. Maybe that’s why I talk so much. But I can’t really blab to my roommate about how sometimes I worry that I’ll go home for Christmas and find my town filled with bloodthirsty creatures of the night. And I especially can’t tell him that that’s not a joke, or a bad TV show, or a worse dream.
And I don’t know why, when I pulled out this paper, I wrote your name at the top without even thinking about it. I’m pretty sure (like eighty-five percent at least) that you won’t ever write back, and that’s fine. Maybe it’s a healthy outlet, or whatever. Maybe I won’t even send this. But if you can read my crappy handwriting and if it doesn’t weird you out too much… I don’t know Derek, in my weaker moments, I miss you. Maybe I’m hoping that it will be easier for you to pick up a pen than to pick up the phone. At least then, you can think about what you have to say, and not be put on the spot. I know you hate that.
For now at least,
Stiles
…
Dear Derek,
Well, Okay, in all fairness, I totally knew that it was a long shot. I mean, it’s been a week, so I know that (failing massive ineptitude at the Post Office) you’ve at least gotten my first letter by now.
So maybe this was a subtle hint to me. But, Come on, Derek, you know me better than that. When have I even given up so easily?
I had a history test yesterday, and we’re doing a unit on ancient mythology. I had a really hard time studying for that test. I kept feeling all panicky and paranoid, like someone would figure it all out, or something. I guess it was a good thing that I didn’t have to study too much anyway, since I spent the last two years of high school basically memorizing the bestiary. I’m just glad it’s over.
You will be hearing from me again, Hale. Count on it.
Stiles
…
Stiles,
You caught me at a bad time. I went away for a week to see Cora, and when I came back, both of your letters were in my mailbox. Knowing you, there’s probably another on its way, but. I wasn’t ignoring you.
How the hell did you even get my address?
Things in Beacon Hills are… quiet. I know you’re probably going to tell me that I’m being paranoid, but it always feels weird when nothing’s happening. Like the calm before the storm. I’m kind of always on edge, I guess, but when there’s nothing to fight, it gets worse.
You can keep writing me if you want. I haven’t had a letter since my grandparents were alive, but I guess you’re right. It’s easier than the phone for me. And you’re right about me being honest with you, too. I know that Scott tries to shelter you, and I don’t blame him for trying. But I’ll tell you the truth, even if he does get mad at me for it.
Derek
P.S. Sorry about your test. I remember in middle school we had to learn about the Greek Gods and myths, and my teacher told us about Lycaon. At the time, I thought it was kind of funny. Now I really don’t.
...
Dear Derek,
I was so surprised that you actually replied to my letter(s) that I actually had to take a moment to just sit there gaping at the wall. But hey, thanks.
And this is where writing letters is cool, because if this was a real conversation, it would have been awkward when I couldn’t think of anything else to say. But you never have to know that I sat here for ten minutes trying to be clever.
(That was the best that I came up with.)
Okay, here’s a thing : I just realized that I’ve never seen your handwriting before. Weird, right? It seems like one of those things that seems really personal, you know? It’s like somebody’s voice, but on the page. Obviously it’s not like if you see somebody’s handwriting, you know what they would sound like, or vice versa. But when I saw your letter, it kind of all made sense. So thanks, I guess, for sharing that part of you with me, even though you didn’t know that I was going to make this all weird and personal at the time.
And by the way, you better have gone and knocked on some wood after saying all that shit about the “calm before the storm.” Seriously dude. Don’t you know better at this point?
I’m hoping that things stay calm on your behalf, but it’s not like the universe ever listened to me anyway.
For now at least,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
You’re right about tempting the universe.
A coven rolled into town last night. So far, nothing. Scott’s hopeful that they’re just communing with nature. Scott’s always hopeful.
Derek
…
Okay Derek,
What the fuck. This isn’t how this works. You cannot just say something like that without any context or information and then just LEAVE IT .
I DEMAND ANSWERS.
You don’t deserve a salutation, you jerk.
…
Stiles,
I’m sorry. You’re right.
If you make a big deal out of that, you’ll never hear from me again.
But Scott was right too. They didn’t want anything but access to the Nemeton, and then they held hands in a circle and did a little dance and it wasn’t evil (we checked) and then they blew town. I guess they really did just want to worship the “site of nature’s great power.” That’s what they told Scott, at least.
But I don’t know what you want from me, Stiles. Telling you can’t help anything. This information is days old by the time it reaches you. And I may not agree with it, but Scott’s trying to keep you away from all this because it’s what he thought you wanted.
Was he right?
I’ll try harder next time.
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
(I’m not going to tell you that I took out a permanent marker and put a big circle on last Thursday and wrote “Derek Hale Apologized” in it.)
I over reacted a little bit, okay? You’re right too, I can’t help anyone from here, and that still freaks me out sometimes.
I left beacon Hills for a lot of reasons. Okay, yeah, the supernatural shenanigans and the fact that I frequently almost died was a big part of that, but I wasn’t trying to run away and I wasn’t trying to escape you Scott. I just needed a breather.
I’ve been thinking about what happens when I graduate. I know it’s like a year and a half from now, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next Tuesday, much less next year. But on top of everything else, Jenni Ms. Blake was also a super shitty English teacher, and sometimes I would just sit there and think, I could totally do better. And when I graduate, I’ll have a degree that says the same thing, so sometimes I think about going home To Beacon Hills and proving it.
Don’t tell Scott or my Dad, okay?
But that’s the thing, even after everything, I still think of Beacon Hills as my home. And when I learn that something shifty is going down, my first reaction is usually, “I wish I was there to help.” Shouldn’t it be “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that anymore”?
So I don’t know. And you might not even care. I probably shouldn’t use you as a sounding board for all my crazy, half-baked ideas, anyway. My dad’s been telling me for years that I should get a therapist, and he’s probably right, except that my last one turned out to be an ally of psychotic werewolves who wanted to kill me and everyone I loved, so you can see why I’m a bit cautious.
And there I go again. Sorry.
Just… let me know that you guys are safe, okay? I really need that.
Stiles
…
Stiles,
We’re all safe.
We’ll try to keep Beacon Hills that way through Christmas for you. Scott’s threatening to throw a big dinner party, and he tried to bake a microwave dinner last week and then the plastic melted everywhere and he had to replace his oven. So I’ll probably be forced to cook it for him.
I guess I’ll see you then.
Derek
P.S. I think you’d make a really great teacher. I know that you’re already working on your degree for it, but I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before. And I think that Beacon Hills would be lucky to have a teacher like you. The High School could use someone in the know, anyway. The Police force has your dad, and the Vet’s Office has Scott, but we could use you, too.
Only if you want.
I won’t tell.
…
Dear Derek,
The Police Force has YOU, Dumbass.
I’m not even mad that Scott has the reading comprehension of a third-grader, apparently, since he couldn’t read the instructions on a frozen dinner box, because your potatoes are legendary and I take it as a personal insult that I’ve never gotten to try them.
You, me, Christmas, Potatoes.
It’s a date.
See you then.
Stiles
…
Dear Derek,
It was really great to see you.
You seem a lot happier than when I left this summer. I hope you are, because I think that you deserve to be happy.
And if what Isaac said about that Librarian was true, I hope she makes you happy as well.
Stiles
…
Stiles,
I’m glad that my potatoes lived up to all your expectations. At least, I’m assuming, since you ate half of them single-handedly at a table surrounded by werewolves.
I think Isaac made something up, because Trish and I are just friends.
This isn’t going to surprise you, but I have a really hard time trusting people. It’s a really short list. Scott, Isaac, Kira, your dad, Melissa, Cora, and you. That’s about it. I don’t think I could ever date somebody I didn’t trust again. Maybe she is interested, I don’t know. But even if she is, it’s probably just because she likes the way I look or something. I couldn’t date somebody like that either.
Happy is… hard. But I’m getting there. I hope you are, too.
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
You’re right, I’m not surprised. I wish it was different, because I know you’ve been hurt a lot before, and you didn’t (still don’t) deserve that. But I understand. I think that someday you’ll trust somebody enough again, but I think they’ll have to work hard to earn that trust.
That’s not a bad thing.
And, um, if she has eyes she definitely finds you attractive. But if she doesn’t know that your frankly unfair amount of beauty is totally coincident to the fact that you’re also a really good person, then she might be kind of shallow.
See, another reason that letters are good. Because now I can just shove this in an envelope and ignore my overwhelming embarrassment and never have to acknowledge it again.
Stiles
P.S. Happy seems closer every day.
…
Stiles,
We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But you said some nice things. It’s been a while since I’ve heard stuff like that. Since Laura, I think.
So. Thank you.
And I know that sometimes you get discouraged that you’re not dating anyone at school, but believe me when I say that alone and happy (or getting there) is better than being miserable with someone that’s wrong for you. And it’ll be worth it when you find somebody who deserves you (or so I’m told).
If you show anybody this letter, I’ll rip your throat out. With my teeth.
That was a joke, by the way.
Derek
P.S. Not to worry you, but Isaac thinks he smelled something weird over at the east boundary of the preserve last night. We’re not sure if it’s anything yet. Keep your phone on, okay?
...
Dear Derek,
Okay. I’m still worried.
Stiles
…
Dear Derek,
I know about the Golem. Scott told me, because there’s nothing in the Bestiary and he wanted my help with researching, which is scary. He was trying to sound confident, which is even scarier. I know that you’re going after it tonight, and that there was no time for a letter.
Hell, I know that this won’t get to you before you find it. I’ve called you twice and texted you but I haven’t heard anything. I know that there’s nothing this letter can do. But remember when I told you that sometimes I have so many words in my head that it feels like I’ll go crazy?
Derek, I’m going crazy.
I know that you have this really alarming tendency to offer yourself as a pincushion, a distraction, a whipping post, to do anything to protect others. It’s noble, Derek, but I can’t stand it.
I think about the danger you face daily, and I can’t sleep. I think about you going after it, and I can’t breathe. I try not to think about the worst, because when I do, it feels like the walls are closing in on me, like whatever’s got you has my heart in its cold dead fist, like it will never let go.
It hurts, Derek.
And worst of all, I know that if WHEN this letter reaches you, it won’t change anything.
Please be safe. Please.
I need that from you.
Stiles
…
Stiles,
I know that you know that we’re all okay.
But we’re safe.
And you’re wrong. That letter changed… everything.
You have me at a disadvantage, Stiles. You have an easy way with words. You can use them to paint a pretty picture or to make someone bleed. I can’t do that. I’m clumsy with them, and I’ve tried a hundred different ways to respond to you and none of them work.
Here’s the closest I can come: I read your letter, and I was happy.
Lo
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
I’m not going to cross it out.
Love,
Stiles
P.S. I think you severely overestimate my abilities. But here’s something : When you’re happy, I’m happy. You make me happy. And I don’t know what we’re going to do with that.
But here’s a start: I’m coming home this weekend.
I still have a key to your loft.
(I’m going to use it).
…
Dear Derek,
I know you think you’re bad with words. I disagree, but here’s something that might make you feel better: you really do have a talented mouth.
Love,
Stiles
P.S. I know we’re waiting for the main event, and I know that you know that I think it’s smart. But I will absolutely not be writing you sex letters. Sexting may be negotiated at a later date.
I might be persuaded to try my hand at love letters, though.
…
Stiles,
Please don’t write me sex letters. Sometimes Isaac and Scott still open my mail.
It was really nice having you here last weekend. It’ll be even nicer when you’re home for the summer. Only four more weeks.
Love,
Derek
P.S. I could be persuaded to read a love letter.
…
Dear Derek,
For what it’s worth, I think Scott knows. I know we were going to keep it quiet until we were both home and sure that it would work out, but he said you seemed “Too Happy” since I visited the other weekend.
Besides, I believe in us.
Three weeks to go.
I feel like I have less to say to you since you’ve started calling every night, but I almost feel as if I have more to tell. Maybe it’s cowardly, but it’s easier to write.
So here’s something : I think I’ve felt something for you for a long, long time. Longer than I ever admitted, even to myself. You scared me. This still scares me, because sometimes I feel so much for such a short amount of time together.
But I’ve been scared before, and you’re a good scary. You’re exhilarating and exciting and new. I hope that you always scare me.
Love,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
For me, it was the pool. You looked me in the eye that night and you told me that you didn’t think I was an abomination. It doesn’t sound like much, but for me, it was.
It’s everything.
I’m sure that it was earlier for me than for you, and that’s okay. I just thought that you should know.
Two weeks.
You were right, Stiles. I did find somebody that I trusted enough.
Love,
Derek.
…
Dear Derek,
One week to go, and it feels silly to even write this. It’s so close.
And yet.
I couldn’t tell you when I felt it first, Der. Blistering attraction? Basically from the start, to be honest, but I was confused about myself and my sexuality and I denied it for a long time. Besides, I know that that part doesn’t matter as much to you.
Have you heard that if you put a frog in boiling water, it jumps out, but if you put it in cold water and turn the heat up, it will boil to death? I mean, that’s just a really horrible analogy. But if you’d told me at the start that one day I would fall in love with Derek Hale, I would have freaked out. It happened so gradually that I didn’t notice it’s evolution, until I woke up one morning and it was suddenly true.
I think your story is better.
But here’s what matters in the end: I love you, and soon I’ll get the chance to prove it.
And here’s what you’re really not going to believe: I don’t even mean sex.
First, I’m just going to hug you. For a really, exorbitantly long, amount of time.
Then we’ll see about the sex.
Love,
Stiles
…
Dear Derek,
This one is going on your pillow, because I’m not going to wake you in the morning when I have to leave early.
I know that tomorrow is going to be hard for you. I know that anniversaries always are. And I know that everybody handles them in different ways.
So if you want to be alone tomorrow, I understand. You don’t have to call or write or do anything but lay in bed, if you don’t want to.
You do this thing, Derek, for the people you love. You stand and you take whatever they throw at you. You take their blows, and their words, and you take their anger. Even when it’s not directed at you, especially when you don’t deserve it. You let them work out their problems, and you never fight against it.
It makes you an amazing person, Der, but it’s a lot for one man to take.
Here’s something : Daily, I want to touch you with gentle hands, and tell you what you’re worth, and I want to take what you have to throw at a universe that has been so unfair.
And if you want me tomorrow—if you want me to mourn with you, or to distract you, or simply to love you—I’ll be there.
All my love,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
I know that you and your dad have a tradition for today. I know you’re going to get breakfast together, that you’ll buy red roses, and that you’ll visit the cemetery. I know that your mom’s birthday is always hard.
And believe me, I know that nobody can make the hard days any better.
But when you find this in the morning, if you want company or a shoulder to cry on, I’m only a phone call away.
All my love,
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
Here’s something : The world can be so fucking mean.
You make it better.
It’s only a school year, right? We’ve made it through worse.
All my love,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
Only a week down, and I feel empty.
Frankly, it’s not new.
But you, I can pick up the phone and call. So I’ll do that.
All my love,
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
Why should I complain that I get to see you every weekend? That I talk to you every day, that I feel so close to you I hardly have time to miss you?
Only because I miss our letters.
I’ll talk to you soon, Der, but I hope that when you get this, it still makes you smile.
You have a beautiful smile, and a beautiful soul (That’s also the opening line to the song that I’m writing about you, by the way—if only I could sing).
Never show Isaac these letters. Seriously.
All my love,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
You always make me smile.
I hope to return the favor.
All my love,
Derek
P.S. Nobody else is ever getting their hands on these letters. I’m considering having them put in a safe deposit box.
That’s not even a joke.
…
Dear Derek,
If I was thinking about writing you a sex letter (I’m still not) I would tell you what I’m REALLY grateful for, since I couldn’t say it at the Thanksgiving Table.
But I won’t. Especially since my dad still doesn’t knock before he comes into my room.
Maybe I’ll drop by later and tell you in person, like when I hand deliver this letter.
Until then, then,
All my love,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
I know that you know that you can’t have real mistletoe in the house with all these werewolves around.
What you don’t know is that I gave Melissa some of the fake stuff to put up.
See you under the mistletoe?
All my love,
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
Passing me handwritten notes during a Christmas party?
Very Middle School.
I bet you were cute back then (You’re definitely hotter now).
It’s a date, babe.
All my love,
Stiles
…
Dear Derek,
You know better than anybody how crazy my last semester has been, but I can spare a moment for this:
Happy anniversary.
I don’t speak French, but you do:
Car, vois-tu, chaque jour je t’aime davantage,
Aujourd’hui plus qu’hier et bien moins que demain.
All my love,
Stiles
…
Stiles,
For, you see, each day I love you more,
Today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.
The countdown begins again.
Three weeks.
All my love,
Derek
P. S. Is it supposed to be this easy?
…
Dear Derek,
Shakespeare said once to “Swear not by the Moon.” He never met you, he never knew us, because for us, Derek, the moon is the only thing that could do us justice.
You’ve always had a strange and special place in my life, but now I know what it is.
Scott once tried to describe what the shift felt like: a tingle under the skin, an irresistible pull, a longing that edges on pain. If that’s true, Derek, then I think it’s fair to say that you are my moon. Being around you awakens parts of me that I didn’t know existed. You excite me, you fascinate me, you draw me in. I didn’t so much fall under your spell as fall into your orbit, helpless against your gravitational pull.
I’ll never escape you, Derek. It’s just physics.
We’ve cycled over the years, the two of us, growing close and drawing apart again and again, sure as the full moon’s return. Even in the weeks and months that we never so much as spoke, you were always there, my new moon, if I looked hard enough.
It was you who told me the stories of your mother’s pack, the lullabies of the wolves. My favorite was the tale of Mother Moon, who so loved her children that she shone brightest for them every twenty-eight days, the only nights they could take their true forms, to light their way.
I like to think that when you howl, Derek, that your mother and her mother and all of them back to Mother Moon herself hear you and mourn with you and celebrate with you. That they love you enough to know your pain, to share your burdens, and to light your way.
All these words, and what I’m trying to say is simple. You’re everywhere, Derek, in every night sky, and I never want to slip free of you.
I love you, Derek, and I want to love you until the moon itself falls from the sky.
I want to love you like you deserve to be loved. I want to share your triumphs, your burdens, your full moons and your new. I want you to be as sure of my love as you are the phases of the moon—changing, perhaps, but always present.
I want to love you like the moon loves you.
I can love you with all I have and it may never be enough. All I can ask in return is that you let me be your sun. Let me pull you into my path, let me warm you, let me see the best parts of me reflected in your face. Let me promise that the night will always end, that I can chase it from you as sure as a sunrise.
There were moments when I thought that our orbits would never cross, Derek. I thought perhaps I was doomed to spend all eternity chasing you, always hoping, never succeeding. That maybe that was our curse.
But we came together, and it was big and beautiful and it left us both powerless.
It was an eclipse.
Another bad metaphor, but I feel compelled to see it to its end: In all the star systems and galaxies and the deep, dark parts of this universe, I am so thankful that we share our little solar system.
Here’s something : I think the universe is on our side.
(I told you that one day I would write you a love letter.)
All my love,
Stiles
P.S. I love you, you love me. What’s hard?
P.P.S. Two Weeks.
…
Stiles,
It’s unfair that I can’t return the favor. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve got hundreds of half-written letters on the floor.
Here’s what I can do: I can tell you that I trust you more than anyone, that I love you more than anyone, that when I think about our future, for the first time, nothing looks dark.
I can give you this key to a house which is too big for just me, and I can make a proposition. You have a job and a boyfriend who desperately loves you in Beacon Hills, and I have an empty house.
One more week, my love.
All my love,
Derek
…
Dear Derek,
Four years since you refused to write the word ‘love’ and what do I have to show for it? A job I actually like, a beautiful house, a town that is no longer on the brink of supernatural Armageddon.
Oh, and a boyfriend that I can’t seem to stop kissing.
What’s a guy to do?
Here’s something : The future is never certain, but there’s one thing that I know. Whether we end up with dogs or cats or kids, I want to do it all with you.
What do you say, Babe? I’ve got a tiny little box with your name on it. Come find me and answer this question:
Marry me?
Forever yours,
Stiles
(“A Letter Always Seemed to me like immortality, because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend”—Emily Dickinson)