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They’re walking off the field and into the crowded parking lot of teary-eyed parents and embarrassed high school grads donned in bright red caps and gowns.
The three of them haven’t left each other’s side since throwing their hats in the air. Lydia nearly loses her tassel, but makes sure her valedictorian sash and honor student cord is proudly on display around her neck.
Stiles, however, snatches his cord off his neck, choosing to hold it instead. He sat on stage between Lydia and Kira as the school’s salutatorian, baking in the hot sun right along with them on the football field. The back of his neck turned sunburnt. The last thing he wants right now is a nylon cord rubbing against it, irritating his skin further.
They make their way through the sea of fellow graduates, giving polite nods, taking pictures with random co-eds they’ve never talked to before, and stopping to write stupid messages in the yearbooks of people Stiles has never cared for, and knows he’ll never see again.
He suddenly feels a sharp pain of sadness wave over him at the thought of those who aren’t there with them. Their names etched deep into his brain forever.
Allison. Erica. Boyd. Isaac. Jackson. Cora.
Scott’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “You okay,” Scott asks.
Stiles nods and hands back a yearbook to a girl he’s had gym class with since he was a freshman, but at the moment can’t remember her name.
They keep walking along the pavement with no particular destination in mind. No parent or friend they’re searching for. Just a quiet reflection between them of the last 3 years of their lives, and the anticlimactic ending it’s crawling toward.
Scott stops, sniffing the air.
“What,” Stiles asks.
Scott doesn’t answer. He moves hurriedly through the sea of dressy casual relatives and excited 18 year olds. Stiles and Lydia follow. By now they know that when one of them runs, they all run.
They reach the fence bordering around the school's property, and there, on the other side, against the forest of trees like a backdrop, is Derek. Derek Hale. Derek Hale in black jeans, a white Henley, and black leather jacket, standing against a sleek, brand new camaro like he’s Danny Zuko.
“That asshole,” Stiles says, but he’s smiling. Or trying hard not to.
“Stilinski,” Derek shouts, and nods at the car, beckoning him.
The human can’t breathe, slapped with the stinging knowledge of what this is, why the werewolf is here: Derek showed up to their graduation. For Stiles. To take him…somewhere, with him.
There’s screaming. In his head. He’s still, more still than he’s ever been, and quiet, but there’s screaming. End of the world type screaming.
“Well, you heard the man. Go,” Lydia tells her speechless friend.
He finally moves, turning his head to look at her. She’s smiling.
Lydia knows.
OF course Lydia knows.
Scott, nonetheless, looks just as confused as he did in chemistry class.
Stiles is going to Stanford in September. Lydia’s moving to Cambridge and going to MIT at the end of August. Scott’s staying here, in Beacon Hills, with Liam and Mason. He didn’t get into UC Davis like he wanted, but he’s doing two years of community college then trying again when he get's his Associate's degree. Kira, however, is off to Berkley when the summer is over. And Malia… Malia ran off with Peter months ago.
The point being they have plans. Stiles has plans. Stiles made plans because...because Derek left. And he wasn’t coming back.
So he thought.
“Why does Derek want you to come with him,” Scott asks, still curious and confused.
“Stiles,” Lydia says, grabbing his chin and looking right into him. “Go. Now.”
“Where,” Scott asks.
He doesn’t know.
“I don’t know...” Stiles answers. He hands his cord to Lydia and rips off his cap and gown, shoving them at Scott before flailing over the waist-high fence. He jumps up from the dirt onto his feet. “And I don’t care.” He pulls them close, into his arms. “I love you both. So much.” He kisses Lydia’s cheek and tightens his arm around Scott’s shoulders.
“Wait. Dude—” Scott pleads.
“Tell my dad... Tell him I’ll call him. Promise.” Stiles runs toward the muscle car and smirking werewolf in front of it. He tries to slide across the hood, Dukes of Hazzard-style and lands in the dirt again.
Derek shakes his head and sighs as Stiles pops back up from the ground. They snipe at one other before getting in the car.
Lydia smiles wide as Derek gives she and Scott a wave. She waves back until they peel out toward the street, and disappear around the corner...
“Wh…What just happened right now?”
“A certain werewolf realized he couldn’t live without his anchor anymore,” she answers coolly.
“Wha… No way.”
She shrugs with another knowing smile, and Scott’s whole world comes to a screeching halt like tires of on asphalt.
“‘No way’ what,” the sheriff asks, sneaking up on them, Melissa and Parrish with him.
“Uhhhh…” Scott falters.
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Derek was here. Stiles left with him.”
“Left with him? Like left with him left with him,” the sheriff asks.
Lydia nods. “Yup. Said he’d call you.”
The sheriff groans, dropping Melissa’s hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, at the onslaught of a tension headache building. Melissa complacently pats his arm with a smirk on her face.
“It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it? Just a matter of time…” he sighs, because really, that’s all it’s ever been.