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Derek had always been good at pretending. Pretending that the house he grew up in wasn’t suffocating. Pretending that the way his mother looked at him - sharp eyes that weighed, judged, and dismissed - wasn’t digging into him like claws. Pretending he wasn’t walking around with his shoulders hunched to make himself smaller, quieter, less of a target.
But lately, with Stiles, it was harder to pretend.
Stiles saw him. Really saw him.
The first time Derek accidentally let the mask slip, it was in the Jeep after lacrosse practice, both of them sweaty and exhausted. Stiles had made some joke about how Derek played defense like he had a personal vendetta against humanity, and instead of laughing, Derek had muttered, “It’s the only place I’m allowed to be angry.” He’d snapped his mouth shut immediately, heart hammering. But Stiles didn’t push or laugh it off. He’d just said, softer than Derek expected, “That sucks. You deserve better.”
That one sentence cracked something open inside him.
And it got worse after that. every day it felt harder to walk back into that house. Talia’s commands were endless: stand straighter, don’t slouch, stop wasting time, you’ll never amount to anything if you don’t listen to me, you’ll do as you’re told. She spoke like every word was law, and if Derek questioned her, she sharpened her smile until it cut.
The night it finally happened, Derek had been sitting at the dining table, jaw tight, while Talia picked apart his college applications. “This one?” she’d scoffed, flicking the paper like it was filth. “You’ll go where I say you’ll go. I’m not wasting my money on some useless degree.”
Derek had clenched his hands in his lap, knuckles aching. For years, he’d swallowed it down. But now, eighteen and standing on the edge of his own future, it tasted like poison.
Stiles was the one who made it real. Stiles had parked outside the Hale house, tapping the steering wheel of the Jeep like his bones were buzzing, waiting for Derek’s call. Derek had told him - quietly, like a secret - I can’t stay here anymore. And Stiles, without hesitation, had said, Then don’t.
When Talia snapped, “You’ll do as I say, Derek. I’m your mother,” something inside him finally broke. He pushed his chair back, the scrape loud against the floor. “No,” he said, and his voice shook, but it was firm. Stronger than he’d ever felt it. “I’m done.”
Talia’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“I’m done letting you control everything I do,” Derek said, chest tight but steady. He could feel the weight of her anger pressing down like fire, but he stood anyway. “I’m leaving.”
Her smile was cold. “You won’t last a week without me.”
“Watch me,” Derek snapped, and before she could sink her claws into him again, he grabbed his bag from under the stairs, already packed, just in case, and walked out.
The night air was cold against his skin, and he felt like he could finally breathe. The Jeep headlights cut across the driveway, and Stiles was already half out of the car, like he’d been ready to jump in if Derek hadn’t come.
“You did it?” Stiles asked, wide eyed.
Derek nodded, throat tight. He felt both shaky and light, like he might collapse or float away.
And then Stiles grinned, sharp and bright and full of pride. “Hell yeah you did.” He pulled open the passenger door. “Get in, Hale. We’re getting you the hell out.”
Derek slid into the seat, shutting the door on the Hale house behind him. For the first time in years, the weight on his chest eased. Stiles was already talking, half planning, half rambling: “Dad’ll be cool with it. He’ll probably give you the spare room and his dad speech about how he’s proud of you for taking control of your life - he does that, you’ll see. And hey, I call shotgun on the bathroom in the morning, but we’ll figure out a schedule.”
Derek stared out the window as the Jeep rumbled down the road, the house shrinking into the distance. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew this: he was free. And with Stiles next to him, he wouldn’t have to face it alone.
~~~~
It had been two days since Derek walked out of the Hale house. Two days of breathing air that didn’t feel like it scraped his lungs raw. Two days of sitting at the Stilinski kitchen table with mismatched mugs and an old radio humming in the background. Two days of Noah Stilinski quietly making space for him without questions, like Derek being there wasn’t strange at all.
But on the third evening, the knock came.
Derek stiffened where he sat on the couch, a book in his lap that he hadn’t really been reading. Stiles glanced up from his laptop, frown deepening when he saw Derek go pale. There was only one person who knocked like that - sharp, authoritative, like the sound alone demanded obedience.
Talia.
Before Derek could stand, Noah was already at the door. He opened it calmly, like this was just another visitor, but his shoulders straightened a fraction when he saw her.
“Talia,” Noah said evenly, one hand still on the doorframe. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come to collect my son,” she said, her voice cool as glass. Her eyes flicked past him, landing on Derek. “Pack your things, Derek. You’ve had your little tantrum. Now it’s time to come home.”
Derek’s stomach knotted, his breath catching in his throat. His hands curled into fists against his knees. He wanted to shout no, wanted to hold his ground, but the weight of her gaze pressed into him, just like always, pinning him in place.
Before he could force the words out, Noah stepped fully into the doorway, blocking her line of sight. His voice was calm but steel edged.
“He’s not a child you can order around, Talia. He’s eighteen. That makes him an adult, and he’s chosen not to live under your roof anymore. That choice is his to make, not yours to undo.”
Talia’s smile was thin. “With all due respect, Sheriff, you don’t understand our family. Derek doesn’t know what’s best for him-”
Noah cut her off, voice low but firm. “No, what I understand is when someone’s being controlled to the point they can’t breathe. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen in my house. Derek stays here as long as he wants to. You don’t get to decide that for him.”
For a long moment, the porch was silent except for the cicadas buzzing in the warm night air.
Talia’s expression faltered just slightly, anger tightening her jaw, before she pulled herself back into icy composure. “He’ll regret this,” she said, her tone clipped.
Noah didn’t flinch. “Maybe. Maybe not. But at least if he makes a mistake, it’ll be his mistake. And that’s what growing up is supposed to be.” He shifted, hand tightening on the door. “Now, unless you’ve got a warrant or an emergency to report, this conversation is over.”
And just like that, he closed the door.
The silence that followed was heavy, Derek staring wide eyed at the man who’d just stood between him and his mother like an unshakable wall. His hands trembled, and he quickly pressed them to his knees, ashamed.
But Noah just turned back, his expression softening. “You’re safe here, son,” he said simply, and walked back into the kitchen like nothing earth shattering had just happened.
Derek swallowed hard, chest tight with something he didn’t have a name for. Gratitude, maybe. Relief. He looked at Stiles, who was watching him with a fierce kind of pride.
“You’re not going back there,” Stiles said firmly.
And for the first time, Derek believed it.
~~~~
The first morning after Talia showed up, Derek woke early, long before the sun rose. Habit. The Hale house ran on rigid schedules, and even out of it, his body still jolted awake like an alarm clock had been set in his bones.
But the Stilinski house was quiet. Not suffocatingly silent, just… peaceful. There was the faint hum of the refrigerator, the creak of pipes as the heater kicked in, the soft snore of Stiles upstairs.
Derek sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee Noah had set out the night before, staring at the old plaid curtains. The warmth of the mug seeped into his hands, and it was ridiculous how grounding it felt.
When Noah padded in, still in his robe, he didn’t comment on Derek’s dark circles or how stiff he looked. He just poured himself a cup and said, “We usually do pancakes on Sundays. That work for you?”
Derek blinked, caught off guard. “I - yeah. That’s fine.”
“Good,” Noah said simply, reaching for the skillet. “You’re on orange juice duty, then.”
It was such a small thing, but it hit Derek harder than any lecture or demand ever had. A choice. A role. A place at the table that wasn’t earned through obedience but simply… offered.
That became a rhythm.
Dinners around the Stilinski table were messy and loud compared to the Hale household’s strict formality. Stiles talked with his hands, nearly knocking over his glass every other night. Noah groaned at his son’s jokes but always ended up chuckling anyway. And Derek…Derek sat there, stiff at first, then slowly leaning into it. He started eating more. Talking, sometimes. Once, he even laughed, surprising himself as much as everyone else.
Stiles nearly spit out his water when it happened. “Holy crap, Hale, you do have a sense of humor. I knew it was buried in there somewhere!”
Derek had ducked his head, cheeks hot, but the warmth in Noah’s smile told him it wasn’t something to be ashamed of.
The hardest adjustment wasn’t the food or the noise - it was the freedom.
At home, if Derek wasn’t at practice or studying, he was expected to be available, visible, controlled. Here? Noah told him where the spare key was, shrugged, and said, “Come and go as you please. Just lock up if you’re last out.”
That first afternoon, Derek froze on the porch with the key in his hand, stunned at the trust. No suspicion. No leash. Just… freedom.
He went for a run, came back flushed and breathless, and found Stiles sprawled across the couch, waving a bag of chips at him like nothing had changed. But something had. Inside Derek’s chest, something unclenched for the first time in years.
The nights were the strangest.
Derek hadn’t realized how tense he slept until he didn’t anymore. The first week, he woke at every noise, ready for a fight, for Talia’s voice cutting into him. But the house stayed warm, quiet, safe. Eventually, exhaustion won, and one night he slept through until morning.
When he shuffled into the kitchen the next day, Stiles glanced up from his cereal and smirked. “You look less like a zombie. Progress.”
Derek muttered something about him being annoying, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward.
Little by little, Derek settled in.
He learned Noah kept extra blankets in the hall closet because Stiles “hogged them like a dragon.” He learned the back porch creaked under his weight but not Stiles’. He learned the sound of Noah’s laugh was gentler than he’d expected, and that Stiles’ chatter filled up the quiet spaces in Derek’s head until they didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Most of all, he learned that home didn’t have to be a place where you were controlled, suffocated, or diminished.
Home could be pancakes on Sundays, arguments about laundry, and a sheriff who looked at him with quiet pride instead of disappointment.
And as Stiles nudged him on the couch one evening, grinning as they bickered over what movie to watch, Derek thought that maybe he finally belonged.
~~~~
It started with Stiles standing in Derek’s doorway at almost midnight, already in his hoodie and jeans, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood.
“Come on,” he whispered like they were sneaking out of prison. “Grab your jacket. We’re going.”
Derek blinked at him from where he sat cross legged on the bed, a textbook open in his lap. “It’s midnight.”
“Yeah, and? That’s, like, prime teenager adventure hours.” Stiles rolled his eyes, tugging Derek’s arm until he stood. “You live with me now, so congratulations, you’re officially enrolled in Stiles’ School of Normal Teenager Shenanigans. Step one: late night drive to absolutely nowhere.”
Derek groaned but shoved his feet into his shoes anyway, pretending it was just to shut Stiles up. The truth was, something about the way Stiles grinned like the world was wide open and waiting made Derek want to follow him anywhere.
The Jeep rumbled down back roads, windows cracked, cold air whipping through the cab. The radio buzzed between stations until Stiles settled on some old rock song, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
Derek leaned back, eyes closing as the wind rushed over his face. For once, he didn’t feel trapped. No heavy house pressing in on him, no orders waiting, no weight he couldn’t carry. Just Stiles, the Jeep, and the open road.
“This,” Stiles said suddenly, glancing at him, “is what you should’ve had all along. Dumb drives, staying up too late, eating terrible diner fries at one in the morning.” His smile softened. “Not… whatever your mom was putting you through.”
Derek’s throat tightened. He didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know how to explain the ache in his chest, equal parts grief and gratitude.
“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered instead, but his voice was rough.
Stiles didn’t miss it. His usual sarcasm faded, replaced by something gentler. “Maybe. But you’re here now. With me.”
The words hung between them, louder than the music.
They ended up parked on the overlook outside town, Beacon Hills twinkling below them. Stiles dug two candy bars out of the glovebox like it was an emergency snack stash. He tossed one to Derek, then unwrapped his own, chewing thoughtfully.
“Okay, confession time,” Stiles said, swinging his legs onto the dash. “Sometimes I think I’m way in over my head with… all this. Like, you’re this intense, broody, stupidly good looking guy, and I’m just - me. The spaz who talks too much and never shuts up.”
Derek froze, candy bar halfway unwrapped. “Good looking?”
Stiles choked. “Oh my god, that’s what you focus on? I bare my soul, and you-”
“Good looking,” Derek repeated, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth. His heart pounded so hard it almost drowned out the rest.
Stiles groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Yes, okay, fine, you’re ridiculously good looking. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Derek was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the lights below. His hands felt clammy, his chest too tight, but he forced the words out anyway. “You’re… the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than what my mom thinks I am.”
That got Stiles’ attention. His hands fell away from his face, and his eyes softened, wide and raw in the glow of the dashboard lights. “Derek…”
The silence between them stretched, heavy but not suffocating. Derek turned to look at him, breath catching. The world felt sharp and fragile, like glass.
And then Stiles leaned in, nervous and clumsy but determined. Their lips met, quick and awkward at first, then again - longer this time, surer. Derek’s hand found the edge of the seat like he needed to ground himself, but he didn’t pull away.
When they broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, eyes wide.
“Okay,” Stiles whispered, voice shaking but grinning anyway. “So, uh. That just happened.”
“Yeah,” Derek said, still dazed. “It did.”
“Cool,” Stiles muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, softer: “I like you. Like, a lot. In case that wasn’t obvious.”
Derek swallowed, heart in his throat, but he nodded. “I like you too.”
The words were simple, but they felt like a rebellion. A freedom.
Stiles let out a laugh - relieved, joyful, a little breathless. “Guess step two in Stiles’ School of Normal Teenager Shenanigans is… first kiss achieved.”
Derek shook his head, hiding the smallest of smiles as the Jeep sat under the stars, warm and safe. For the first time, he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.
~~~~
The week after their kiss, Derek and Stiles fell into something new. It wasn’t dramatic or earth shattering, not like the movies made it seem. It was quieter. Secret smiles exchanged across the kitchen table. Stiles bumping Derek’s knee under the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. Derek pretending not to care when he actually felt like his chest was going to crack open.
But Noah noticed. Of course he noticed.
One evening, Stiles had dragged Derek into the living room for a Star Wars marathon, the coffee table covered in popcorn and soda cans. By the second movie, Stiles had fallen asleep, sprawled half on Derek, his head tucked against Derek’s shoulder. Derek sat frozen, heat creeping up his neck, but he couldn’t bring himself to move him.
That’s when Noah came home.
The door clicked open, boots thunked down, and Derek’s whole body went rigid. He half expected shouting, questions, some reminder that he didn’t belong. But when Noah rounded the corner and saw them, he only paused for a beat, eyebrows raised.
Then he smiled.
“Thought I heard the Imperial March,” Noah said, voice low so he wouldn’t wake Stiles. “Didn’t know it came with a nap feature.”
Derek swallowed hard, panic twisting in his stomach. “I - he just…he fell asleep, I didn’t-”
Noah held up a hand, cutting him off. “Relax, Derek. You don’t have to explain.” He studied him for a moment, softer now. “You care about him?”
Derek’s chest tightened. He could’ve lied. He almost did. But Noah’s gaze was steady, patient, and for once, Derek didn’t feel like he had to defend himself.
“Yeah,” Derek admitted quietly. “I do.”
Noah nodded once, as if that settled it. “Good. He needs someone who cares about him like that.”
Derek blinked, caught completely off guard. “You’re… okay with it?”
“Derek.” Noah’s tone was gentle but firm, the way it always was when he meant every word. “You’re a good kid. You’ve been through more than anyone your age should’ve, and you’ve still managed to hold on to the part of yourself that matters most. If Stiles makes you happy, and you make him happy, then yeah - I’m more than okay with it.”
Something in Derek’s chest cracked wide open, and for a terrifying second, he thought he might cry. He looked down, throat tight, and Noah must’ve noticed because he clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder, solid and grounding.
“You’ve got a home here,” Noah said simply. “With or without Stiles. That doesn’t change.”
Derek couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat, so he just nodded.
And when Noah walked into the kitchen to start on dinner, humming under his breath, Derek looked down at Stiles still curled against him and felt truly happy.
Not just free. Safe. Wanted. Happy.
Home.