Chapter Text
Let it be known that Stiles is a patient man.
He's dealt with Werewolves, a Kanima, a Nogistune, a freak-in-the-sheets Coyote, an Alpha Pack, Witches, what looked like a Kracken, a fucking OGRE, and a crazy ass uncle who refuses to just DIE all in the span of six years. Quite frankly he's surprised he made it through high school let alone to twenty-two. Two of the aforementioned years were spent as the decidedly happy mate of Alpha Derek Hale, an emotionally constipated pain in his ass but love of his life.
The last two years, to be specific.
They have stuck together through thick and thin, through betrayal and new alliances, through loss and through gain. It's been a rough ride on a bumpy road filled with potholes of death, he'll give you that. But it's always worth it in the end. His determination, iron will, and badly timed dirrhea of the mouth have all been paid back in full.
Well, not full, but you get the point. Or, well, Allison and Aiden got the ACTUAL point, but fuck that train of thought.
The case being made here is that the pack has been bruised, shredded, bitten, and even killed yet strong they stand. Or as strong as they can get after years of chaos and ample time to mourn. Derek has done brilliantly with Stiles serving as the *ahem* BETTER half of the Alpha Pair. They balance each other out and show the others what a soul deep bond can blossom into and all the joys that come with it.
Well, that and the shit load of angst Stiles generally tends to tamp down on. Can't be the weak mage, right? Forgive and forget, roll with the punches.
Prime example being on a Friday afternoon in the middle of the preserve, golden sunlight streaming through gently swaying treetops as Stiles lays stomach-up on a checkered blanket, Tupper ware in hand.
"It's fine, Stilinski. He's probably just stuck in traffic, or maybe he ran out of gas. Or, or maybe he stopped to get you a present!" A shiver of anticipation flitted down the knobs of Stiles' spine as he gave himself a pre-date pep talk.
Every couple of Friday's Stiles and Derek met up at the exact same spot on the preserve for a date. Derek had called it necessary bonding, while Stiles generally referred to it as "a prelude to sexytimes, Werewolf-style." They would find a time and date they agreed on and mark it on the calendar as a reminder. Today, however, Derek was fifteen minutes late. Derek Hale was NEVER late without good reason.
Besides, Derek promised to make up for his little... incident a week ago, before the supernatural shit storm hit.
So Stiles, being the patient little mate he is (ha!), waited ten more minutes before finally texting his husband.
To LOVERWOLF (12:55 pm): Hey, babe, everything okay?
After no immediate reply came, he texted again.
To LOVERWOLF (12:58 pm): Derek?
It took every last ounce of his control to last a grand total of thirty seconds before punching his number in and calling. The dial tone was off putting and a growing knot of fear twisted in Stiles' belly as he got the same response for each of his three placed calls. In a panicked haze, Stiles flew to his jeep, which was parked not even twenty feet from where he'd been sitting, leaving the food and blanket forgotten.
Stiles heartbeat was by now off the scale, he was so overcome with desperation to find his mate, his husband, his Derek. Just as he was pulling into the driveway of the newly remodeled Hale House (now Stilinski-Hale, thank you very much) his phone began blasting Survivor by Destiny's Child. He picked up.
"Isaac?"
A loud gust of air was heard through the speaker. "Stiles, thank God! Are you alright? Derek said he was picking up some pretty alarming vibes from your end of the bond."
Time stood still. "What did you say?"
"Um," Isaac sounded wary at the icy tone of Stiles' question. "I said, Derek told us he was bombarded with scary feelings from your half of the mate bond. Is everything okay?"
"Define 'us' for me, Isaac."
"Uh, me, obviously, Derek... and, um, Jackson."
Stiles counted up to five, held his breath for four, and blew it out for three. He repeated this until he felt he was able to speak without his voice breaking. Giving Derek the benefit of the doubt, Stiles asked, "Isaac, Babywolf, does Derek know the date by chance?"
"His phone must have reset itself again," he heard Derek grumble. "Tell him it's Friday the 14th."
Tears of frustration threatened to spill from Stiles' eyes as what Derek said sank in. Derek knew the date. Derek IGNORED the date. Derek ditched Stiles. For not only Isaac, but fucking JACKSON of all people. Thinking back on it, he had been acting really off these past few weeks, what with the ogre and Liam's untimely kidnapping that had cause the postponing of their last date till God-knows-when. More distant, less tactive and lovey dovey.
More violent.
"Stiles? Are you there?"
A giggle escaped him. "Yeah. Yes. When am I not?"
Muffled voices were heard on the other end, as well as loud guffaw that Stiles knew for a fact was Derek's. He was obviously enjoying himself while remaining oblivious to the pain Stiles was neck deep in. As was usual lately.
"Isaac, how long do you think you'll be?"
"Oh, I don't know." More whispering. "A solid two hours, maybe three."
"Great. Goodbye, Isaac."
Stiles hangs up before he an even reply, switching off the Jeep's engine with a heavy heart. The door takes four tries to open with his shaky hands and when he finally manages it, he all but collapses against the hood.
Stiles was suddenly, OVERWHELMINGLY, tired. He didn't want to keep waiting for his brick wall of a lover to open up, or at least stop giving him the cold shoulder. Four weeks of that really weighs down on a guy. Derek was obviously done with him. He just wanted to be alone in his heartache, wallow in no one's presence but his own. And maybe Lydia, if she was up for it. Yeah, that sounded good.
And so, with a depressing finality, Stiles turned and made his way up the steps.
He was done being patient.