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Stiles is still fumbling with the key, willing his trembling hands to put it in the lock, when the door opens. The sight of a sleep rumpled Derek gives Stiles a momentary sense of peace. It can be done. You can go through literal hell and wake up looking soft and sleepy, with messy hair, a loose purple shirt, and stripy boxer briefs.
Then the memories from the dream jump back to forefront of Stiles’ mind. The blood. The screams. The smells of burning chemicals and mould. A phantom pain shoots through his left hand. This dream had been the last straw. The last drop. The camel’s back is broken and the bucket’s overflowing
‘I’m sorry I woke you,’ Stiles says. His hurting left hand twitches in the front pocket of his hoodie.
‘That’s okay,’ Derek says. His eyes roam over Stiles’ pinched face and tense shoulders, flick down to Stiles’ stumbling heart. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I need to get out of here.’
He’s been toying with the idea of getting out of town after graduation for a long time. He’s even mentioned it to his dad and Scott, but never made any definitive plans. Graduation was three days ago and he’s barely slept since. Not that he slept much before then, but he’d kept it together enough to get his diploma.
‘When are you leaving?’
Stiles can’t help a small smile. He’d known Derek wouldn’t try to persuade him to stay, known he’d understand. Fuck, nobody understands needing to get out of Beacon Hills as well as Derek.
‘Now. I can’t…’ Stiles swallows and closes his eyes. He can’t stay here a second longer than he absolutely has to. The drive over to Derek’s was a nightmare all on its own, sleep deprivation and memories working together to make him see monsters on every corner.
‘So you came to say goodbye?’
There’s disappointment in Derek’s voice, though he does his best to hide it. They were supposed to go on a date tomorrow. Their first date.
Stiles shakes his head and opens his eyes. ‘I came to ask you if you wanted to come with me.’
Derek stares at him intently, and Stiles thinks he’s going to say no. Then, Derek nods and smiles.
‘Give me fifteen minutes.’ Derek steps aside to let Stiles into his apartment. ‘You can make me coffee while you wait.’
Stiles busies himself with the coffee machine and finding thermos flasks while Derek gets dressed and packs. He also grabs some fruit and granola bars, and puts them in a plastic bag. In his hurry to leave, he’d forgotten to pack food.
True to his word, Derek is ready in fifteen minutes. He carries a small duffle bag that’s probably far more efficiently packed than Stiles’.
‘Where are we going?’ Derek asks as they walk to Stiles’ car.
‘I was thinking New York. I’ve always wanted to try a real New York pizza,’ Stiles says with forced levity.
Derek throws his bag in the back of Stiles’ Jeep.
‘We can look up flights on our way to the airport,’ Derek says.
‘No. Let’s drive there.’
Derek turns to him with raised eyebrows.
‘You want to drive all the way across the country. For pizza. With me.’
‘Would make a hell of a first date. Great story for the grandkids,’ Stiles grins nervously. What if Derek decides he doesn’t want to come after all?
‘You really want to be cooped up in a car with me for weeks on end? Sleep in crappy motels? Eat almost nothing but diner food?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re gonna fight.’
‘Definitely.’
‘And we’re gonna smell.’
‘That’s why they invented showers and deodorant, big guy. And windows that open,’ Stiles counters. ‘Look, we can have separate rooms and take some time off from driving if we get sick of each other. And either of us can get out and get on the first plane back any time they want. I’m going to do this and I really want you to do this with me.’
‘Alright, but we’re taking the Toyota,’ Derek relents.
Stiles is far too relieved that Derek is coming with him to protest. He pulls their bags out of the back of his car and carries them over to Derek’s mom-car. When all their luggage has been transferred, the realization that he’s really going to get out of Beacon Hills today finally hits him. He wants to cry and dance with joy, but what he does is yawn. Very loud and very wide. Derek chuckles on the other side of the car. Stiles climbs into the passenger side seat and yawns again.
He watches the town pass by as Derek drives to the town limits. They pass them and they keep driving. Stiles fiddles with the radio until he finds a station that seems to think it’s still 1995. He hums along to the songs in between yawns.
They still have things to do, like letting everyone know they didn’t get kidnapped and making sure someone takes over all the perishables from Derek’s cupboards and fridge. They also need to figure out their exact route and a driving schedule. But Stiles is too tired to do any of that now, or to even bring it up. All the sleep he’s missed in the past two years is suddenly rushing to get caught up, but he’s doesn’t want to hear the screams and his hand still feels sore.
‘Stiles, I’m right here,’ Derek tells him. His hand is lying on his leg in an open invitation that Stiles readily excepts.
Reclining the seat back when half asleep and with only one hand proves a little tricky, but Stiles eventually manages to get it down far enough that he knows he can rest.
The radio, the grinding of the wheels on the tarmac, and the hum of the engine soon lull Stiles into a dreamless sleep. The last thing he notices is the pressure of Derek’s fingers gently, reassuringly, squeezing his.