Archive of Our Own

Stiles asked him to try. To get up in the morning and face his demons. To not run away for running away’s sake, but to breathe, to create space and hopefully find a bit of peace. And maybe that peace will ease something in him, or rupture his entire structure. Either way, he’d be trying, one more time to be better. To conquer the things beating him down and making him give up.

So he does. But not because Stiles asked, but because Stiles was going to leave.

He is the one good thing about all this, and Derek wasn’t quite ready to give him up just yet.

Stiles said southeast. They drive southeast. All the way to San Antonio, and check into the Fairmount Hotel. Stiles immediately grabs a tourist guide from the front desk and scans through it, rattling off all the things he wants to do.

Derek just nods as he carries both their bags to the room. The only thing he refuses is SeaWorld.

“Why,” Stiles asks.

“Have you not seen Blackfish?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m surprised you have.”

“The way they treat those animals is repulsive.”

“What about The Alamo? Want to go see that?”

“No. I do not want to see a famous battle site celebrated by white people in taking land from Mexicans.”

“Okay. I get that, but you’re looking at it all wrong. It’s a piece of important history tied to something ugly that reminds us, of a younger generation, the mistakes our ancestors made so we don’t repeat those very same atrocities. Not visiting it, and paying respect to those that lost their lives fighting for what they believe in is like…refusing to go visit Gettysburg because of the south’s position on slavery.”

“Gettysburg was a hard-fought battle won by the Union which became a turning point within the Civil War for the North to advance on the south, and also where Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address. The Alamo is a poorly fought battle Americans lost in their attempts to rob people of their land. I think they’re both a little different.”

“Fine, spoils-sport. I’ll go by myself.”

“No.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“Really? I need to be chaperoned?”

Derek decides to pull one of the few cards he has with Stiles. “I’ll let you use your fake ID to drink.”

“Fuck The Alamo.”

»»»

“One more and that’s it,” Derek tells him.

“Fine.” Stiles downs his second margarita, ready to order another.

They’re sitting on the patio of a Mexican Cantina, right on the Riverwalk. It’s nice.

Their waitress swings by. “How you two boys doing?” She’s all big, white teeth, blonde hair and thick Texas twang.

“We’re fine. Thank you. He’d like another margarita though,” Derek says, pointing to Stiles.

“Really, honey? You hardly touched your enchiladas,” she says to Stiles.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not thirsty.” He shakes his margarita glass at her.

“Sure thing,” she says, taking Stiles’ glass from him. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder before heading back into the restaurant.

“She’s rude,” Stiles says dryly.

“How so,” Derek asks.

“So what if I didn’t finish eating and want another drink? It’s not her business.”

“Actually it is, Stiles. Servers are supposed to time your alcohol consumption in accordance with your food intake, so you don’t get obliterated and hold the restaurant liable if you get into an accident when you leave. It’s called over-serving.”

“How do you even know that?”

“…Laura waited tables for a while when we were in New York.”

“…You don’t say much about her.”

And he’s not going to. He returns to finishing off his giant burrito.

“You can talk about her with me. You can talk about Laura, and your mom, and Cora, or anyone else you want to…with me.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Why not, Derek?”

Derek gives him a hard stare, hoping his glare is enough to show Stiles he doesn’t want to do this. He already feels plenty robbed of his emotions where Stiles is concerned. He doesn’t want to make this one of those moments.

“I just think that—”

“Are we going to talk about your mother, too?”

The look on Stiles’ face is enough to make Derek feel shitty, but not for long—

“Alright. A margarita for you, and I brought you another Cuba Libre on the house,” their waitress says, placing the drinks down. She winks at Derek.

“Excuse me,” Stiles says, pushing back his chair and hurrying into the restaurant.

“If you ain’t careful those margaritas will run right through you,” the waitress giggles.

Derek gives her a faint smile which she returns with another wink before going back into the cantina.

»»»

Stiles doesn’t return to the table until Derek’s paying the bill. His eyes are red-rimmed and mouth in a tight line. He doesn’t touch his margarita.

Derek hands the box he had Stiles’ food put into to him and notices their waitress’ name and number on the back of the receipt scribbled neatly in a big heart.

Stiles storms out of the patio and through the restaurant!

Derek leaves the phone number on the table. As he makes his way to the entrance/exit, he spots their waitress at another table. They make eye contact and she gives his a flirty wave ‘goodbye’. Derek nods and heads out into the parking lot.

Stiles is waiting by the car.

Derek unlocks the doors. Stiles throws his take-out box in the back seat and sits with his arms folded, looking out the window like a petulant child.

They ride in silence back to the hotel.

When they get to the room, Stiles flops down on his bed with his arm across his face. Like doing so would somehow make Derek disappear.

“Stiles, look… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your mother like that. I just… I don’t want to talk about my family, okay? And I need you to be respectful of that. Just like I’m respectful of you.”

Stiles scoffs. “Whatever. Go fuck that waitress. I don’t care,” he says, attempting to get up from the bed.

“Excuse me,” Derek asks, blocking his path to the bathroom.

“Why do I even bother?! Are you ever coming back to Beacon Hills?!”

“What does that have to do with the waitress?”

“I stayed because I thought we were trying to work things out with us! I thought we were trying to be better, more open and honest! You don’t want that! You just want to fucking wallow and be miserable and not give a shit!”

“It’s been two days since New Mexico, Stiles! What did you think was going to happen in two days?! That I was going to just tell you all my biggest fears and deepest secrets?!”

“No! But I thought you’d at least… I don’t know, tell me something, give me something! Open up just a little bit!”

“Why is the little you get never enough for you?! Why are you so damn greedy with other people’s emotions?! You always want more from them than what they give you!”

“Are you talking about Lydia?!”

“Everyone, Stiles! It’s like you need some grand fucking gesture or crying jag from people to know that they care about you! You always need some outrageous display of emotion!”

“Not that they care about me! That they care about themselves! There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to know just how amazing they are! Because if they know then they’ll see it in you, too!”

And he gets it now. He can see why Stiles always pushes and pulls and wants and frustrates with just how clingy, pestering, and persistent he can be.

“…You don’t need other people to validate you, Stiles. You don’t need to build other people up, to…fix them or whatever, and hope they like you for it. Whether or not someone likes you doesn’t mean shit.”

“Then why don’t they,” he says, wiping away tears. Derek wants nothing more than to hold him in his arms, shushing his worries away.

“I like you, Stiles.”

“You tolerate me because of Scott. There’s a difference.”

“Actually, Scott’s the one I ‘tolerate’.”

“What?”

Derek takes a seat on the bed. “You want me to open up about something? Fine. I hate Scott.” He’s surprised at how good it sounds finally being spoken aloud.

“Are…Are you serious? It’s Scott. Everybody likes Scott.”

“I don’t like Scott.”

Stiles sits beside him on the bed. “Why?”

“Because Scott’s annoying.” Derek wants to laugh at the comical way Stiles’ eyes go wide at his statement. “He’s selfish, too. Stubborn. Naïve. Disloyal. Insensitive. A whiner. Childish, and a little dumb…a lot of dumb actually.”

Stiles snorts but quickly covers his mouth. “Don’t ever tell him I laughed.”

“I did want Scott a part of my pack, but I realized quickly, after Gerard took you and Erica and Boyd, that it wasn’t really him that I felt I needed. Stiles, everyone’s got it wrong. They keep thinking Scott’s the whole package; the brains and the brawn and the heart, but it’s not true. He’s just barely one of those things. You’re the rest.”

Stiles tries to hide a blushing smile. The rose color his cheeks turn makes Derek want something he knows he can’t have.

“Scott has his moments. He’s a good guy deep down, Derek. A lot better than most.”

“You don’t need to sell me on Scott. I have my opinions of him and I’m fine with what I think of him. Scott’s just an irritating factor I have to deal with in order to know you.”

“…Really?”

“Do you think I’d drive across 5 states with someone I only found ‘tolerable’?”

“I didn’t think you’d drive across 5 states with anyone.”

Derek chuckles. “Yeah, but I did, with you.”

He’s staring at him; looking, searching for something with his big, amber eyes. Derek doesn’t know what, but he likes it. He likes having Stiles’ attention. He likes the curious, interested, look the human bores into him, rakes all over his face, and lands on his mouth…

Derek stands, clearing his throat. “Maybe The Alamo isn’t so bad…”

“No, uh, no, that’s okay. I’m not really up for The Alamo anymore.”

“Well, then what do you want to do tonight, since you’re dragging me to a water park tomorrow?”

Stiles shrugs. “We can, um, stay here, in the room, tonight. We don’t have to go crazy the whole time we’re here. We can take our time. It’s not like we have anywhere to be.”

He keeps forgetting that. They don’t. They have all the time in the world. “Sure,” Derek nods. He kicks off his shoes and lies down on his bed. He tosses Stiles the remote to the TV.

Stiles turns on the TV, flipping through a few stations, landing on the SyFy channel. “You ever see Helix?”

Derek shakes his head.

“It’s so good!” Stiles tosses the remote aside. He toes his shoes off onto the floor and scoots back onto his bed.

Derek watches Stiles pick up his box from the cantina, then fish out a fork from the plastic bag… He smells something… Not food, but something sweet, yet wild, like perfume on trees. Something like…moonflower.

Stiles.

Stiles smells like moonflower. He smells…happy.

And looks ridiculous with sour cream all over his face.