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Stiles finds out via text.
Somehow it seems fitting. Such a casual way to turn his entire world upside down. A simple throwaway sentence that reads like it means nothing, like it changes nothing.
His life is a mess, has been for a while. He’s living out of two unpacked cardboard boxes with assorted stuff and a small suitcase with mostly dirty clothes in a tiny, shitty apartment that he only took because he was sure that he would be moving back in with Lydia in a week, a month tops. It’s been six months and he’s still here. In a one bedroom messy place that he shares with at least one cockroach. He named him Steve.
He hasn’t unpacked because unpacking feels like defeat, feels like accepting that this is where he’s staying and he’s not.
Lydia asked him once why he wanted her back and he had flailed unhelpfully and hadn’t been able to find an answer past that this was what they’d done for the past twelve years. They fought, they broke up, they made up. That’s just what they did.
After Lydia made it clear that they aren’t going to be doing that anymore, he tried to focus on other things. Like his job. Stiles quickly discovered that he really hates his job. There is so much red tape. His entire life consists of paperwork and “sorry, you can’t”. He wanted to be part of the FBI to make a difference in people’s lives. He wanted to do good. Instead all he really does is ruin the planet by contributing to mass deforestation.
When he gets home the day of the text, he’s thinking about what to eat for dinner, whether to order take out or hope that he still has some leftovers that haven’t fallen victim to mold or Steve and his buddies. He’s thinking about falling into bed face first, with a shitty movie playing in the background and just not moving until his alarm goes off in the morning.
It’s what he always does. There really isn’t any variation to his daily routine. He doesn’t see the point. He finds Mexican food from two days ago and shoves it into the microwave. His phone pings and he almost ignores it. It’s probably work and he really doesn’t want to end up going back into the office tonight. He thinks for a moment that it might be Lydia, begging for him to come back to her, but he’s not that delusional.
He reheats his mold-free takeout and unlocks his phone. The microwave beeps but Stiles doesn’t move. He’s not even sure he’s breathing. It takes him a moment to understand that the reason the words in front of him are blurring is because there are tears dripping down his face.
Lydia has texted him after all. Not to beg him to come back to her. No, to inform him that Derek Hale is dead, that he had a son who’s now living with Scott and Allison who’s no longer dead. All that wrapped up in a simple “Just thought you’d like to know…”
He throws up. His stomach is empty and all that comes up is bile. His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.
They say losing a person close to you can make you reevaluate your own life. And when Stiles takes a look at his own life he sees nothing but a mess. He knows then that something has to change. Derek wouldn’t have wanted this for him. But he hadn’t spoken to Derek in over ten years, so what does he know?
And yet, thinking about the fact that he’ll never be able to see him again, feels like the bottom has dropped out of his life. He suddenly needs to be back in Beacon Hills. He just knows he needs to be there as fast as he can. And he isn’t going to be coming back here.
He sends his letter of resignation in at 3am, tells them his vacation days should cover his two weeks and to dock his pay if they don’t. He throws the pile of dirty clothes he keeps on the floor back into the open suitcase, zips it shut and takes a last look around his apartment. He’s not going to miss this place. He leaves the last month's rent in an envelope on the counter, plus some extra for cleaning and drops his keys into the landlord's mailbox on the way out.
Then he drives to the airport.
An hour later he’s in a heated discussion with the person behind the ticket counter. And it doesn’t look like he’s winning. He’s this close to flashing his badge and calling it an FBI emergency when he remembers that he resigned and he dropped off his badge and gun before coming here.
“Sir, there’s nothing I can do. There are no flights available,” the man behind the counter says not for the first time. Stiles wants to scream in frustration, instead he can feel the tears shooting into his eyes again.
“Please,” he finally begs. “Please! I need to… I need…”
“Sir, there are no flights with empty seats,” the man just patiently repeated. “You can wait to see if one frees up if you like,” he finally offers and Stiles just nods tiredly and without much hope.
He’s not sure why he feels such a rush to get to Beacon Hills. If Lydia’s text is to be believed Derek’s been dead and buried for a week. And he left behind a fucking son that Stiles had no idea even existed. He wonders how old the kid is and why the hell he was left with Scott of all people.
Him and Scott had parted ways ages ago. There simply had been too much that had happened. Stiles had needed his distance, his own life, away from it all. Now he feels left out and alone. Like the pack as a whole had moved on and left him out. It’s his own choice, he knows that but it still stings.
Stiles sits himself into the uncomfortable plastic chairs and waits. He doesn’t even try to sleep. He tries not to let himself think either. There is an empty hole in his chest and he knows if he lets himself think too much, he ends up sobbing and then he’ll lose all chances of getting on a flight any time soon.
“Are you the guy, who was giving my staff trouble?” a voice asks him, drawing him out of whatever numb state his brain had shut down into.
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles. There is a woman in a pilot uniform standing in front of him, looking equal parts stern and amused. “I didn’t mean to be a nuisance. I hope I didn’t make too much of a fool out of myself.”
“Well, apologizing got you one step closer to getting onto a flight,” she tells him.
“Uh, is there a flight I could get on?” he asks, suddenly feeling a light flicker of hope in his chest.
He ends up apologizing to the flight attendant he had his little break down with earlier. He feels like a schoolboy but half an hour later he’s boarding a flight that will take him from D.C. to Texas with the promise that there’ll be a flight to L.A.X. waiting for him.
He’s completely sleep deprived, in serious need of a shower and he still hasn’t been able to eat anything, too afraid he’ll throw it right back up, but almost twelve hours after he got the text from Lydia that he steps foot into Beacon Hills.
He rented a car at the airport and has been driving the two hours, grateful for the autopilot feature. Normally he would scoff at it, but it turns out it can be quite useful when he’s running on too little sleep. He just hopes he doesn’t get pulled over like this. His dad would have some choice words on road safety for him.
When he reaches the town it’s late afternoon and he has no idea where to go. He doesn’t think he’s quite ready to face his dad yet, not after months of barely speaking to him while floundered around with the break up from Lydia and sorting out his life, not when he just quit the job his dad was always so proud of him for having.
He tries to remember who of Scott’s pack might be in town but if he’s being honest he has no idea who even really is part of Scott’s pack anymore or where they might live.
He settles for trying to stay on his own for now. He doesn’t want to deal with people, with questions and with the inevitable judgment.
He drives to the cemetery. Lydia’s text had mentioned that there had been a funeral. That meant there was a grave, right?
The cemetery is empty, there are no other cars parked there, there are no other visitors anywhere to be seen. He opens the gate and walks in. It’s depressing as always. It’s been years since he’d last been here.
His feet seek out his mom’s grave all on their own. He kneels down in the dirt, his hand ghosting over the headstone. He wants to tell her he’s sorry for not visiting in a while, wants to say it’s because he was needed at his important job but he’d never been able to lie to her.
“I’m sorry,” is all that he says in the end. He doesn’t know if she would have understood, but probably not. He doesn’t understand himself on most days either.
As he slowly gets up and dusts off his knees, he looks around. He doesn’t see any fresh graves, so he walks over to Erica and Boyds graves next. There are fresh flowers on each of them. Probably from their families, Stiles thinks. He doesn’t have the strength to stay longer than just to pass by.
Derek hasn’t been buried with them. They might have been his pack once upon a time but clearly he belonged… The Hale family grave looks just the same as Stiles remembers it. The headstone is old and it looks like no one has visited it in years. There are no fresh flowers, there is no name that has been added to the stone, no sign that Derek would have been buried here.
“Where are you?” he asks uselessly.
He slips back behind the wheel of his rental car and drives out into the preserve. He finds the area where Derek had reburied Laura easily. The boulder he had used as a headstone is overgrown with moss and plants and the grave looks entirely undisturbed.
Where could they have possibly buried Derek? Not with his pack, not with his family, not with his sister?
Stiles walks aimlessly through the forest. His feet guiding him along worn paths he hasn’t taken in years. He wants to be surprised when he comes to a stop in front of the stump of the Nemeton but really he isn’t.
He hates that tree, it has caused so much chaos and suffering in his life. He still dreams about it sometimes, it stars in most of his nightmares. But he also knows that he owes it to the Nemeton that he got his dad back alive when the Darach took him.
The ritual they used to do that gave him a lifelong connection to that damn tree. He still feels it in the back of his head, an odd itching sort of feeling. Deaton had said it was because of his Spark that it made the connection stronger. Stiles just wishes that the tree would get caught in a wildfire and be done with.
He sighs and wonders for a moment if he could manage to use his useless little Spark powers to get the Nemeton to draw him a map to the place Derek was buried. He knows he could just ask Lydia but the cold, impersonal “Just so you know…” from the text makes the bile rise in his throat again just thinking about it.
He could probably ask his dad but then he would have to explain why he’s in town, why he isn’t at his important job. He could ask Scott since something must have happened between Scott and Derek that had closed their rift if Derek entrusted his son to Scott.
No, he decides. Whatever this trip is, he needs to do it on his own. He feels like he owes that to Derek somehow. Whatever this thing between him and Derek was, could have been, he needs closure and Derek deserves a proper goodbye from him.
They always kept running from one another, Derek left Beacon Hills behind to find his happiness and Stiles left to find his years later. There were so many unsaid things between them, so many ‘what if’s.
There was that whole summer filled with too gentle kisses and too rushed sex while they searched for Erica and Boyd. And there was the abrupt end to it, when school started back up. There were years of longing glances between the both of them, with neither of them having the courage to try again.
There was the FBI raid and Derek’s firm presence in the hospital and after as Stiles recovered from his toe amputation. There was the week it had taken them to drive back to Beacon Hills afterwards. The late night stops in cheap motels and the kisses that got more and more desperate as they got closer to home until they stopped.
Stiles places a hand flat on the Nemeton.
“I need to find Derek,” he whispers. “Can you show me the way?”
Nothing happens.
Then with a gush of wind Stiles can feel the hairs on his arms stand with electricity or… well, magic, he guesses. He can feel something in the back of his mind, the connection to the Nemeton is coming alive with magic.
“Derek Hale?” he asks again. “I need… I need him.”
The connection in his head feels different for a moment. He can’t quite place what’s happening, he feels lightheaded and part of him realizes that putting his hand onto a magic tree stump and making demands is a pretty bad idea but he can’t for the life of him pull back.
Suddenly an image flashes through his mind. An old tree, a hollow space under it, washed out from the rain and the nearby river. It’s a place here in the preserve, he knows where it is.
Without a second thought he stumbles to his feet and takes off into a run. He rushes through the forest, trips over roots and rocks, almost loses his footing more times than he can count. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he gets there.
He comes to a stumbling stop when he reaches the tree. His heart beating hard and his breathing quick. It looks exactly like it had in the picture in his head. He approaches carefully, not quite trusting the Nemeton.
There is a low growl that vibrates through the air. A clear warning no to come closer. In the low light of the small space under the tree he can see a pair of red glowing eyes.
“Derek,” he breathes. It’s instinct to recognize him. Every rational part of him knows that Derek is dead, isn’t even an Alpha anymore, that his eyes were blue last time he’d seen him. But Stiles just knows it in his very core: This is Derek.
He lets out a helpless sob.
“Hey, big guy,” he says, his voice breaking. It earns him another growl. He steps closer anyway. And even closer.
He can’t see anything in the darkness of the hollow tree base but the red glowing eyes. He doesn’t know if Derek is feral, if he is shifted, if he is in his complete wolf shift. Which Stiles feels a spark of excitement at. He’s never seen Derek’s full shift. He wonders if his fur is soft to pet.
But really all that matters is that Derek is here, alive and growling at him. Stiles has never heard a better sound.
When he gets to his knees and crawls into the borrow he’s met with more threatening gowling and the face of a very pissed off looking wolf, black fur standing up, ears forward.
If this is how he dies then Stiles decides he’s perfectly fine with it.
“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” he tells the wolf, who just growls again. But Stiles notices that the wolf has backed up all the way into the burrow to make room for him. And it's noticeable not eating him right now. He counts that as a win.
People called him smart his entire life but they called him way too impulsive for his own good more than that. He reaches a slow hand out towards Derek, letting his fingers slide between the strands of fur.
The wolf doesn't move, doesn't even growl. It just looks at Stiles with startled eyes and Stiles smiles. Yeah, he knows that look. He has seen it on Derek's face a million times. It's his Stiles specific 'I can't believe you just did that' look.
He feels the relief that Derek is okay, that Derek is alive and right here, flooding through him.
“I really thought I lost you, you know,” he tells Derek, rubbing his hand over the side of his snout. “I thought I’d never get to see you again.”
Stiles continues to talk and to talk and to talk. He keeps running his hands through the wolf’s fur, who slowly seems to relax and finally settles down on the worn ground. Stiles follows him easily, curling up close to the warm animal. He keeps petting Derek as he talks.
He tells him about the messy break up with Lydia, how it had been way overdue but they’ve both been too scared to end it. He tells him how his life has been a mess ever since, how his job sucked, how he had no idea who he was anymore or what he was supposed to do with his life.
He quietly tells him about finding out about Derek’s death, how it had hurt and how he had panicked and packed up his life to get here as fast as he could. Stiles realizes he’s crying when a warm, wet wolf tongue licks over his face.
“But then I asked the Nemeton and you were here,” he whispers finally into the damp fur under his face. His hands are clenched into it and it takes conscious effort to relax them so he doesn’t hurt the wolf.
He doesn’t know how long they just stay there, with Stiles talking until his voice is hoarse and Derek’s oddly gentle licks across his face. He just knows he startles awake to a howl right next to his ears. He is curled up close to the wolf, which is probably a good thing, he figures as he shivers in the now cold night air.
The sun must have set hours ago. It’s dark in their little cave, the entrance illuminated by the moonlight streaming in.
Derek howls again.
“Dude,” Stiles murmurs in complaint. “Be a little nicer to my poor ears.”
But a moment later he stills, he hears an answering howl in the distance. Derek must hear it too and must recognize it. He sits up on his haunches and throws his head back in a loud howl.
Pack. Stiles thinks. Derek is calling to pack. Was Scott still in town? Who even was part of Derek’ pack?
“Dad?” He hears the loud yell from outside. Derek gives a growly bark in return.
Derek has a son. Stiles remembered. He has no idea how old the kid would be, but surely he shouldn’t be wandering through the preserve alone at night right?
“Dad?” He sounds closer now. Derek’s tail gives an excited swish and he howls again.
“Dad?” The boy sounds further away again and Stiles can feel the distress coming from Derek. He hasn’t shifted back yet, Stiles frowns.
“You can’t shift, can you?” he asks quietly. The wolf gives him a truly exasperated look and huffs. “Okay, okay. I was a little too distracted with my own meltdown to notice. Cut me some slack, okay?”
“In here!” he turns and yells. “We’re in here! Under the tree!”
He hears some cursing and a second later a shadow appears in front of the entrance.
“This better not be a trap,” the boy calls. “If it is, I need you to know that I’m a werewolf and I can hurt you.”
Derek gives an amused bark. Stiles rolls his eyes and hides a laugh against Derek’s fur.
The boy crawls in and Stiles shifts closer to Derek to make space.
“Holy shit! That’s a wolf!” He’s staring at Derek with wide eyes. Derek’s eyes flash red and the boy’s eyes answer in gold. “Dad? Is that really you? It feels like you but…”
Derek whines softly at the obvious distress in his son’s voice.
“He can’t change back. I don’t know what happened,” Stiles explains and the gold eyes snap to him in a second. He has shifted and seems ready to attack.
Stiles gives a startled yelp when Derek’s wolf tongue swipes right over his face.
“Fucking hell, Derek. What the fuck?”
It earns him another lick. Stiles sighs and lets it happen.
“Why?” he asks, defeated when Derek stops.
“Umm, I think he tried to show me you’re not a threat. Sorry,” the boy says. “You’re not a threat, right?”
“What? No, I’m… I’m Stiles,” he finishes lamely.
“I’m Eli,” the boy says. “And I’m pretty sure that’s my dad,” he adds, pointing to the wolf behind Stiles.
He’s older than Stiles expected. He knows he hasn’t seen Derek in close to twelve years, so clearly the kid must be around that age, right? He certainly doesn’t look like he would be Braeden’s, so Derek must have met and married someone else.
“Uh,” Stiles just says. It earns him a nudge from Derek’s snout against his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says then. Another nudge. “I mean you sorta look like him.” That earns him another nudge, less gentle this time, followed by a nip.
“Derek!” he complains. “I can’t read your mind! You need to use your eyebrows to communicate here.”
Derek huffs and licks at him again. Eli laughs.
“Yeah, I get it, Dad.”
“Great,” Stiles grumbles.
“So, how do we turn him back?” Eli asks him and Stiles only looks at him with surprise.
“I- I have no idea,” he admits. He hadn’t even really thought about it.
“Alright,” Eli just says, sitting down next to them. “Do we stay here or can he come home?”
Derek answers for him when he stands up immediately, pushing at Stiles to get him moving too.
“Yeah, okay. I get it. Stop pushing.”
They climb out of the tree. Stiles' knees crack and his back hurts. He stumbles after Eli with Derek firmly pressed to his side, keeping him from falling down. His hand slips into the dark fur and he lets the wolf guide him.
His Jeep is parked next to the rental car he drove here. It looks… Well, if he’s honest it looks better than when he left it with Scott. The paint doesn’t look as chipped in places and the tires look brand new.
“Huh,” he says.
Eli walks past him and slips into the driver seat like he owns it. Derek huffs and jumps into the open passenger side door before slipping into the back seat. He gives the empty passenger seat and Stiles a pointed look.
“I’m getting the story behind that out of you,” he promises the wolf. He gets a wet nose pressed to his cheek in reply.
The Jeep drives a lot smoother than Stiles remembers it. The engine doesn’t splutter once and Eli doesn’t have to seem to correct the steering the entire time too. When they pull into a driveway, Stiles is pretty sure that it's just not his Jeep but an oddly specific copy.
They walk into an ordinary-looking one story house. Eli toes off his shoes as soon as he enters. Stiles turns to do the polite thing and take off his own muddy sneakers and almost falls flat on his ass laughing. Derek is carefully wiping all four paws on the doormat.
“Oh my god, I love you,” he laughs. He’s aware that his giggles have turned somewhat hysterical when Derek presses his snout against his stomach to guide him into the house. Derek has managed to herd him onto a well worn sofa by the time Stiles realizes he’s crying again.
“I love you,” Stiles repeats. He feels like it should come as more of a surprise to both him and Derek. But Derek only seems calm and he can’t say that he feels all that surprised himself. It feels like all the messy pieces of his life that he thought were broken suddenly fit together.
Arms wrap themselves around his shaking body and Stiles just holds on for dear life as it all comes crashing down on him. All those years he wasted trying to do what everyone expected from him, what he thought he should do to right all his wrongs and become the person he was supposed to be. He did everything everyone expected him to and he was so fucking unhappy he didn’t even realize it.
They say when you lose a person close to you, it gives you a different perspective on your own life. Stiles is pretty sure getting Derek back changes more for him than losing him ever would have.
His tears stop falling eventually and he wipes the warm skin under his face dry.
“Um, you’re human again,” he says uselessly.
“Good to see you’re still as observant as ever,” Derek says dryly. There is a smirk to his lips and Stiles wants to kiss him so bad. He almost leans in. Almost. Before he remembers that he hasn’t seen Derek in twelve years, that Derek has a son and that that means that Derek pretty sure has a wife and probably has zero interest in him.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles murmurs quietly.
Derek looks at him, his head tilted to the side as if he can’t quite figure Stiles out.
“I thought you were…” he rambles, “but now you’re here and you know… you and…”
“Stiles,” Derek starts. “Thank you for finding me.”
“I…”
“Thank you for anchoring me and bringing me back.”
“You…”
Stiles frowns. Trying to grasp Derek’s words and make them make sense. Anchoring him? Why would he of all people be able to anchor Derek? Shouldn’t Derek’s pack anchor him? His family?
“What?” he looks at Derek with confusion.
“And for what it’s worth: I love you too.”
Stiles just stares at him, mouth open. He’s still blinking slowly when Derek presses a careful kiss to his lips.
He hears a quiet cheer in the background.