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When they finally left the town and scattered across the country to various colleges, it felt like freedom. Like they finally broke away from all the evil that had descended on Beacon Hills and dragged them down to the fiery pits of hell.
Lydia ended up at MIT, in their Mathematics department, only stopping short from running it because she got wrapped up in working on something that would eventually earn her the Fields Medal she’d had her heart set on since elementary school. Boyd and Erica stayed together, only as far as Sacramento, living near Boyd’s uncle who was the only family member Boyd had left after his grandmother passed away shortly after graduation. Scott and Isaac ended up rooming together as Freshmen, but split up afterwards -- Isaac followed Allison to France again, like after the Nogitsune chaos -- and Scott eventually came back to Beacon Hills, having decided that college wasn’t his thing. Jackson returned for a semester, then transferred to Boston to be close to Lydia. Danny was already there, working his way up the ladder in a computer security company.
Stiles declined offers from Ivy League schools, and settled on a small college close to New York at first, then moved back to the west coast when his Dad’s health took a turn for the worse for a while.
Most of the pack returned to town after getting their degrees though, and from the outside it looked like maybe Beacon Hills had a hold on them. It didn’t, and they came back because they all wanted to; because despite everything bad that happened, it still felt like home. The one thing that changed was that when they came back, they were all matched in pairs or triads. Even Melissa and John finally stopped resisting the draw to each other that Stiles used to swear had been there at least since he and Scott hit puberty.
Eventually, after new pack members joining in -- some bitten, some taken in from other packs, a few having been Omegas when they came to town -- there were only two perpetual bachelors left from the original pack.
Stiles had dated in college, kind of. There were girls, then there was a boy, then a girl again, then a few others on and off. Without fail though, none of them made it from the status of occasional hook-up to anything permanent. He was too busy with studies, he’d say when Scott or Lydia questioned him. He had no desire to settle down, he’d tell his father. At the end of his college years, he’d left behind a string of hearts that got their hopes up only to be shot down.
He didn’t feel like he had anything to regret though. Since high school, he had no desire for a relationship like his friends or his father did, he’d never felt the emotions that they talked about. He liked girls, liked boys, loved sex in a variety of ways, but he learned that the fluttery feeling he used to have about Lydia wasn’t love then, and even that wasn’t something he’d felt since they settled into friendship that became slightly terrifying to everyone around them. If anyone asked him, he’d be the first one to admit that in reality, he had absolutely no idea what love felt like.
Stiles had given up on his obsession with his plan to woo Lydia, and with that, it seemed like he’d given up on all relationships. At least that was what he was told through the entirety of his college years by several people from his original social circle that was their pack. People who’d known him growing up, people who stood by his side through the insanity that was Beacon Hills then.
“Maybe I’ve learned from your relationships,” he said a few times, to Scott, to Lydia, and then, eventually, to Derek.
Derek was the only other person who wasn’t happily wrapped up in an ongoing -- functional, thank you Stiles , Scott told him repeatedly -- relationship. When Stiles said it to Derek, he could immediately see that his words stung a little more than they did for the others.
Because Derek, unlike them, didn’t manage to salvage any of the relationships he’d had that had fallen apart. Granted, there was nothing left to salvage, seeing as his previous entanglements had ended up in death . And even if they had not, the partners that Stiles was aware of were not the same type as those that the others found or went back to. Even Jackson turned out to be a decent human being, something that Stiles wouldn’t have believed back in high school.
“What have you learned from me, then?” Derek questioned back, voice sharp and his eyes flashing -- red again, after an altercation with a pack that thought they could take over the town easily.
“Do background checks on all potential suitors?” Stiles quipped back in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I mean, psychosis and sociopathic tendencies are bound to show in a profile that’s in-depth enough.”
“Maybe you should have your Dad run those on your hook-ups,” Derek shot back, but he didn’t sound as cold as before. “Who knows what kind of evil is lurking, just waiting to take advantage of your willingness to jump into bed.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, and for a brief moment he wondered if he should walk off in anger. Then, for a few seconds of utter confusion, his brain filed Derek’s words and tone as jealousy. Stiles shook that thought off quickly, because it didn’t fit with anything he knew about Derek, or about whatever relationship they had. Instead of dwelling on it, he turned his attention to the map in front of them, the one they were trying to study when the topic came up in the first place.
“Anyway, what’s the plan for the gathering?” Stiles asked, eyes focused on the little pins that were spread out around the map, indicating points of entry.
The Hale-McCall pack, thanks to its growing strength, had offered to host a meeting of several packs in the vicinity. That was why Stiles was in the loft, studying the maps of the area and helping Derek figure out the best location for the meeting. It was the first time they were working together again since Stiles returned back to town, the last of the original pack to do so. Lydia wasn’t finished with her studies, but she was working on them online and with only occasional trips to visit her professors. She, along with Jackson and Danny -- and that was a combination Stiles couldn’t quite figure out -- moved back to town, into a house that Jackson helped design.
Stiles only dumped all his things in his Dad’s house -- packing boxes intact -- because he was going to find a place of his own. Soon, he’d tell his Dad every week since he returned, but neither Stilinski was willing to make a serious move towards that happening. John admitted that he was mostly glad to have Stiles back home, their bond stronger than ever.
“The house is almost finished,” Derek said, pulling Stiles back to the present.
He was pointing to the familiar clearing in the Preserve, one where the old Hale house once stood, and where the pack had been building a new one over the past year. It would replace the loft as the pack’s base when it was done.
“Will it be ready?”
“It will be enough,” Derek said. “The packs are only staying a few nights, and we might need to warn them about the sparse furnishings, but I don’t think they’ll mind.”
They fell into conversation about the packs that were due to visit, about where they’d be staying in the house, and what else needed to be done in preparation. By the time they wrapped up, it was dark outside, and Stiles was failing miserably at hiding how tired he was.
“I was going to get some pizza, if you want to stay,” Derek offered, barely glancing at Stiles as they were wrapping up the maps.
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Stiles mumbled, but the thought of dinner made his protest weak.
He knew that his Dad wouldn’t be home, and that there was barely anything left in the fridge. Most of that was also of the “things that prevent and will not cause a heart attack” type. Stiles had to clear out the fridge when he first arrived back, because while his Dad was supervised by Melissa, she didn’t have time or the chance to check on everything.
“Words I never thought I’d hear,” Derek said, laughter coloring his voice.
“Hey!” Stiles tried to protest, but didn’t try too hard.
Before college, he’d never have considered any answer other than “fuck yes” to Derek’s offer to provide food. After the years away, in a different social circle and with a bit of growing up, Stiles wasn’t the same kid he’d been in high school. He had boundaries now, okay? He knew the limitations of personal space. At least mostly: werewolves were a touchy-feely bunch, and he had vivid memories of puppy piles from a not-so-distant past.
“I can stay,” he said quietly when the last of the maps was off the table, and Derek looked at him with expectation, phone in his hand. “If you don’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” Derek said. “And I do know that your Dad’s on night shift, so you don’t have to rush home yet.”
“I’m going to avoid mentioning how stalkerish that last sentence sounded, because I know you,” Stiles said, and chuckled when he saw Derek’s expression change to one of horror as he ran the words through his mind.
“I didn’t…” Derek started, but Stiles shook his head immediately.
“I’m kidding, dude,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I am aware that you’ve grown out of your lurking tendencies.”
“That was one time ,” Derek protested.
His expression could only be interpreted as a pout , and Stiles’ brain almost screeched to a halt trying to process it. Ever since he came back from college, he’d been discovering new things about Derek; there were new expressions and new habits that blew all Stiles’ preconceptions out of the water. Derek laughed nowadays, made jokes and teased back instead of just grumbling and staring with stony silence.
“Fine, fine, you’re not Edward Cullen,” Stiles said, hands raised up in a defensive way. “You’ve never actually watched me sleep,” he added and laughed.
He’d looked away from Derek with that last sentence, his eyes on the bag that he was reaching for to get his phone. So when his comment was met with silence, Stiles turned around and was met with Derek’s sheepish expression and a blush underneath the stubble on his jaw.
“Derek?” Stiles turned around completely, his heart racing. “You haven’t done that, right?”
“Not… recently,” Derek replied, his cheeks turning a deeper red.
“By recently, you mean not in the last few years, right?” Stiles asked.
Not that he thought it helped anything. Because the idea that Derek spent any time at all on Stiles even before college seemed outlandish and impossible. At least unless…
“Was it when the hunters shot me and I was unconscious until Melissa got to us?”
It was the one time that he could remember clearly when he was in danger because he was human and had been hurt. There were other occasions, but that time was especially memorable because Stiles actually ended up in surgery after it. He’d been limping for weeks after, but the bullet luckily didn’t hit anything vital.
“Yeah, but…” Derek still looked sheepish, and bit his bottom lip.
Stiles frowned, unsure not only about Derek’s apparent secret but also about what the sight of the blush and Derek being flustered was making him feel. There was a fluttering in his chest, not unlike the kind he’d felt when one of his idols came to be a guest lecturer in one of his classes. That time, Stiles was all too aware of his crush on the guy. This, however, was Derek. The same Derek who used to scare him, who used to fight against him back in the early days of their acquaintance. The very same Derek who was the reason for at least some of Stiles’ nightmares -- almost cutting off an arm and seeing werewolves fight to death will do that to a person.
That Derek was standing across the room, fingers twitching whenever Stiles’ mind brought up another memory. Since he didn’t say anything, Stiles’ brain helpfully supplied a kaleidoscope of other things. He remembered his own “fuck, he’s hot” thought from the first encounter with Derek, when he’d immediately recognised the guy he’d had a crush on before he’d known what crushes were. There was a whole slew of brief moments that made Stiles think of how they slowly gained trust in each other. Then a flash of Derek leaving Stiles with Cora in the back of the ambulance, when she was close to death.
After, with Derek still quiet and staring at his feet, Stiles thought back on how Derek was the one who drove all Stiles’ things to his dorm, how he’d meet up with John for dinners and would report back to Stiles that his Dad was eating healthy. How Derek got in his car at 2am in the morning when Stiles called because he was homesick. Then another time when Stiles called drunk, dialled the first number his fingers came across, and complained to Derek about an annoying succubus who wouldn’t quit.
“Derek?” Stiles finally whispered, shaking his head to escape the memories so he could think clearly.
“I shouldn’t have,” Derek said back, voice barely audible. “Before, it used to be because I needed to check on the pack, make sure you’re all okay. But then you fell asleep here last week, and…”
Stiles remembered that night. They were partying in the loft, celebrating the birthday of one of the kids that were now pack, and everyone ended up leaving early enough, since the party was mostly for the birthday kid. Lydia had brought wolfsbane vodka and regular vodka though, and insisted that they all take shots to celebrate … Stiles had no recollection of what they’d been celebrating.
The loft still had Derek’s old bed in the corner, usually with pillows piled up on one side and several spare blankets on top. It was used as an emergency shelter sometimes, when a pack member needed a night of peace, or when they couldn’t go home for whatever reason. Stiles had been more drunk than usually, and had no one to drive him home, so he’d buried himself under the blankets and crashed.
“Huh,” he muttered and took a hesitant step towards Derek. “You like me,” he stated, and watched as Derek’s head lifted up slowly.
“Yeah,” Derek admitted. “I’m sorry…”
“Unless you’re about to apologise for not mentioning something sooner, I don’t think I want to know what you’re sorry for,” Stiles said, and closed the distance between them.
Derek didn’t reach out, but one of his hands twitched like he wanted to, so Stiles moved instead. When their hands touched, there was a second when Stiles’ stomach tensed, and his heart sped up. Derek’s eyes widened at that, but he didn’t move or speak.
“So, uh, just so we’re clear,” Stiles said, breaking the silence. “I’m not sorry that I found out. I’m not sure… look, cards on the table, I don’t know anything about relationships. I’ve never been in one. Or been in love.”
“Lydia?” Derek asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Crush, obsession, stubbornness,” Stiles said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Not love. Took me a while to figure that one out, but I got there eventually.”
Derek’s eyebrows returned to their normal position, but he looked like he was unsure what to say.
“I don’t know if I can do the whole love thing,” Stiles admitted.
He’d been looking it up, trying to find a word or definition for how he felt. Or rather, for why he didn’t seem to feel anything for any of the people he’d been with, sexually or not.
“I do like you,” he said to Derek, and then he laughed. “Oh god, my sixteen year old self is rolling his eyes at me right now. Back then, I was trying to hard to act like I hated your guts because Scott did. Instead, you were the hottest guy I ever saw, and man, was that an awakening.”
“Stiles,” Derek interrupted just as Stiles’ mind began offering up flashbacks. “I’m not expecting anything. I really am not. I’ve watched you sleep that night you got shot not only because you were hurt. And last week with you being drunk and in danger of being sick... It just happened to be a good excuse to do it. I’ve kind of liked you since… well, for a long time. As long as you don’t run away now, we’re good.”
“I’m not going to,” Stiles said, and watched as relief washed over Derek’s face.
“Good,” Derek smiled, and he pulled Stiles closer.
Their hands parted, and Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist. Stiles buried his face into Derek’s shoulder, and his arms moved up to rest on Derek’s shoulders. For the next while, the only thing he was able to focus on was the warmth from the body pressed against his, and the thought that “single” suddenly didn’t seem all that much like freedom or a win anymore.