Archive of Our Own

Derek was in love with Stiles. There was no way around it.

At first, he had tried to ignore it. He'd tried to push the feelings of love and wanting and longing far out of his mind and heart, over and over again. But then Stiles would do something – always do something – that made those feelings flourish alive all over again, and Derek was back to square one, having to repeat the stomping and shoving and cursing at those feelings, until all he felt was numb or frustrated. More the latter than the former.

It had all started at the vet's, he supposed. When he had been shot with a wolfbane's bullet and his life was flashing before his eyes, the poison spreading through his arm and toward his heart and the rest of his body. Stiles had been the one to pull (punch) him back out of the darkness he had assumed would be death. Stiles had saved him, stayed with him through it all and had been willing to go through a lifetime of nightmares just to do so.

Hell, maybe it even started before that, Derek wasn't entirely sure anymore. One thing he was certain of, however – the one thing he knew for sure, was when he had realized what the feelings he had were.

The night the kanima had them trapped in the high school's pool, circling it. Derek paralyzed from the neck down and Stiles panicking, his heart pounding in his chest as he tread water. Stiles had kept him above water for hours, despite the constant claim that he hated him and wished him dead.

Keeping someone above water for hours until you physically couldn't anymore was a lot to do for someone you claimed to hate. Derek never forgot it.

He had fought the feelings for a long time after, and every time he thought they might be disappearing, Stiles would do something. Like spend his summer break helping him look for his lost betas or not even hesitate to agree to come with him to save said betas, even though Derek hadn't even been asking him, or lay a comforting hand on his shoulder after they nearly lost Boyd, the list was endless.

Eventually...

Eventually, he just let go.

Eventually, he just stopped resisting those feelings and let them flood over him, crushing him every time his eyes found Stiles across the room and every time his thoughts wandered to him.

Eventually, Stiles became his anchor, and Derek let himself pine for him. Even if it killed him a little more every day, knowing he could never have him.

[ ….. ]

“Are you sure you're gonna be okay here, all by yourself?” Erica asked, the words coming out in a teasing tone and her lips, lipstick free for the first time in a few days, curled back into a grin to match it.

A year ago, the majority of the pack – minus Isaac who was still a year behind, and Derek who hadn't been to school in years and wasn't going back anytime in the near future – had started college. Most of them attended colleges out of town and out of state. Lydia went the furthest, going to an ivy league to no one's surprise, and Scott stayed the closest to Beacon Hills by going to a college in California, just a few towns over.

For the first month or so, it had felt unnerving to be just two of the pack in the entire city. Beacon Hills had gone oddly quiet of the supernatural since the disappearance of the nogitsune. No one had tried to destroy the town or tear the pack apart or kill any of them or the citizens since then. It had just gone quiet, and it felt... nice.

Odd and frightening for the first several months, where they were all on edge at all times, waiting for the other shoe to drop and something bad to happen, but after the initial terror had subsided, it was nice.

They had finally been granted a break from the horrors and got to get on with their lives, which none of them hesitated to do.

Derek and Isaac had spend the time between the rest of the pack's breaks and long weekend visits recovering. Isaac had gotten his first full night's sleep for the first time in years close to Thanksgiving, and Derek... well, he was still waiting for his, but that was okay. He had told himself time and time again that he could focus on himself and his own recovery when Isaac followed the rest of the pack to college the following year.

Although, in the back of his mind, he always knew that was never going to happen. Keeping busy and not thinking about what he felt or putting off working on recovering was what he did, had done for years. He had no idea how to properly take care of himself, and he had been silently fearing the loneliness that would crush him once Isaac left as well.

Not that he had told anyone, never would. It didn't matter, anyway.

The pack had stayed in contact throughout their first year of college, and both Derek and Isaac had sat on the phone with any of them for hours on end, stretching into the early hours of the mornings sometimes. Although, that had been more Derek with Stiles than it had been Derek with anyone else, or even Isaac with any of them.

It was only because Derek hadn't wanted to stop Stiles from continuing on his ramble about every little thing he was experiencing on campus and in class and his classmates and his teachers and assignments and parties and his roommate, you name it. While it had pained him to not see his face, hearing his voice had been enough to make Derek's heart hammer in his chest and yet feel at ease all the same.

The voice of Stiles in his ear was soothing, and Derek gladly took what he could get.

When the pack had reconnected during breaks and long weekends – not always all of them, except for around holidays and New Year's – they had spend most of their time together, bonding. And Derek had barely been able to keep his hands to himself the entire time he was around Stiles.

Isaac had been the first to call him out on his feelings.

It had been the morning after the last of the pack (Stiles with Scott in the passenger seat) had driven off to get back to their dorms after winter break. Derek had stood and looked after them for far too long, and Isaac had told him, “You like him,” simply and as a matter of fact rather than a question.

Derek had frozen, staring at the road the blue jeep had disappeared off of with wide eyes, and Isaac had corrected himself and said, “No, you love him.”

Derek hadn't answered, and Isaac hadn't pushed it.

Although, he did like to tease him about it constantly, especially when Derek's phone conversations with Stiles went on for more than two hours.

It was like having a little brother constantly teasing him, and it was both annoying and oddly comforting.

With summer break arriving at the end of June, the pack had come back to Beacon Hills. It had taken a few days before they saw each other though, because the college students needed a bit of time with their families and to calm down, sleep off the exhaustion and switch their brains to break for the coming months.

Erica and Boyd had been the first to show, hand in hand to no one's surprise. Derek and Isaac had both greeted them in warm hugs, and they had spend no more than an hour catching up in the loft's redecorated living room space, when the door had flung open and Stiles had announced the rest of the pack's arrival with a loud and happy “We're back, bitches!” yelled into the place.

They had spend the summer catching up, both on their lives and on werewolf training. Pack bonding had also been a priority, which meant beach trips, movie nights, pack outings to the movies or restaurants that Derek always had to pay for, because Stiles liked to point out that, “We're starving college students and you're our alpha and you're rich, so you're paying, big guy.”

Sometimes Derek wondered why he liked- no, loved him.

He knew why, of course, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder why his heart wanted him, of all people.

About halfway through the pack's summer break, Cora had shown up for a brief visit. After South America, she had been going on a trip around the world with her new girlfriend – Cindy. She was nice – but had stopped by, because, while she hadn't said, she had missed her brother.

Derek had missed her too, still did, always would.

There had only been a few supernatural incidents while the pack had been back. Nothing dangerous, not really. Fairies passing through town, a harmless witch doing the same, a pack of werewolves coming to sniff out the Hale alpha and then leaving again as quickly as they had come. Nothing they had needed to worry about.

And now there they were, at the end of the break, and the whole pack was leaving again. Isaac included, Derek not.

“I spend the last several months mostly by myself while you guys started college,” Derek said to Erica and tossed her a pillow, that she caught with ease. He send her a humorless smile as he continued. “I'm sure I'll be fine this time too.”

“Yeah, but last time you had Isaac to keep you company,” Erica said, stuffing the pillow into the already filled to the brim suitcase laid out on top of her bed. Most of her closet had been packed already, ready to be moved across several states to then be unpacked in her dorm room. “This time you've got just yourself.”

Derek lifted his gaze from the blanket he was folding to his beta on the other side of the bed. He instantly noticed that the teasing grin had faded and she looked genuinely concerned and worried now. So he immediately plastered on a reassuring smile and told her, “Erica, I'll be fine,” both lying and telling the truth.

He couldn't possibly know if he would be fine or not – the pit in his stomach told him he wasn't, while his brain told him he was – but telling someone worrying that he would be fine was all he could do. He didn't want her to worry about him, because it was pointless.

“I won't be alone,” he continued, going back to folding the blanket. “The Sheriff offered me a job at the station.”

“You're gonna be a werewolf deputy?” Erica questioned, and Derek didn't have to look at her to know she was quirking a brow and making a face.

Derek huffed, shaking his head. “Not exactly.” He tossed the folded blanket to the top of the suitcase. “He needs a supernatural expert and with Deaton's hands full, he asked me.” He paused, shrugging. “I figured, why not?”

Erica hummed softly, as she struggled momentarily to get the suitcase zipped closed. “Is he gonna pay you for it?”

When she lifted her gaze to meet his, Derek gave her a flat look. “I think I've got enough money already.”

“You're working, so you should get paid,” Erica said in a muttering voice, lifting the suitcase down on the ground to the rest of them. “So what if you're already loaded? You should get paid for your hard work regardless of the money you've got.”

Derek shook his head, more out of fondness than in disagreement or annoyance. “You're getting too clever.”

“That's what happens at college,” Erica teased back, a grin on her bare lips again.

With a huff and another shake of his head, Derek dropped the subject and turned his attention to the bags laid out on Erica's clean floor. “You got everything packed up?”

Erica's eyes wandered over the room for a moment and with a nod, she turned to him. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay.” Derek stepped over and grabbed a few of the suitcases and bags, as many as he could carry with his two hands, letting Erica take the rest. “Let's get going then.”

They piled the bags into the back of Mr. Reyes' car, and Derek stood back while Erica said goodbye to her mom. He let himself be brought into a tight embrace afterward, fitting his arms tightly around her and feeling his heart sink with sadness, knowing he wouldn't be seeing her again for a few months. Hear her voice, sure, but not actually be near her.

As a bonded pack of werewolves, that was the hardest part of this.

He stayed with Mrs. Reyes for a minute, both of them watching the car disappear at the end of the road, and afterward, he headed back to his own building. Stiles had told him he would stop by before driving off to his own college, and Derek was just a little bit nervous.

Nervous and sad.

When he turned into the parking space by the building, he saw a familiar blue jeep already parked outside and a familiar brunette leaning against it, phone in hand and jeep packed tightly.

Stiles wasn't the skinny kid with a buzz cut that Derek had met in the woods all those years ago anymore. His hair had gotten longer, now cut and styled into something that fit his face perfectly, and he had put on more muscle over the years, filling out shirts that used to hang loosely on his previously skinny and slim frame.

He was beautiful, and for Derek, looking at him felt like getting the air punched out of his lungs and like he was finally looking at home at the same time. And home was so close, yet so far away.

“Put more into that jeep and it'll burst,” Derek called out as he swung his car door open and stepped out of his car, a smile tugging at his lips when Stiles lifted his gaze from his phone. “I'm surprised it's still working, actually”

Derek forgot how to breathe for a moment, when a warm smile spread across Stiles' lips, but that was nothing new.

“Roscoe may be old,” Stiles said and patted the jeep's hood with one hand, while the other moved down into his pocket along with his phone, “and it may have been through a lot, but it's tough.”

With a teasing smile curling at his lips, Derek moved over to stand by the jeep and in front of Stiles. “Didn't it break down a month ago? And the month before that too?”

Stiles huffed at him, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but that was nothing. I once crashed it into a tree, and it still survived. Old Roscoe isn't going anywhere.”

Derek hummed noncommittal and eyed the full jeep. Almost instantly, his eyes landed on the pillow pressed against the back window, pinned by a large suitcase, and he couldn't help but smile slightly. Stiles had brought that particular pillow over for pack sleepovers more times than he could count.

“You gonna be okay here on your own?” Stiles asked, and Derek turned to look at him, giving him a deadpan look.

“I'm 23, Stiles, not a child,” he told him. “Believe it or not, I do know how to take care of myself.” A lie.

“Alright, Mr. Sassy Pants,” Stiles chuckled, kicking him lightly on the shin with the tip of his shoe. He quieted quickly though, his smile fading and a crease appearing between his brows, his eyes earnest and concerned. “Seriously though, are you?”

Derek looked at him for a moment, his pause easily mistaken for hesitance. The pause didn't last long, and he smiled, slightly forced, and nodded as he spoke again. “Yeah. I'll be okay.”

Stiles nodded a few times, and his pause was definitely hesitance. It wasn't long, though, before he stepped forward and into Derek's space, wrapping his long and now strong arms around him, and Derek wrapped his own around his waist, returning the hug with no hesitation.

They hugged for longer than two friends should, Derek's face buried in Stiles' neck. As subtly as possible, he tried to breathe him in, desperate for his scent and desperate for it to linger in his nostrils for as long as it could after they parted. Stiles himself had his face buried in Derek's neck, but Derek thought nothing of it.

Stiles took in a deep breath, gave Derek one last squeeze, and then leaned back to face him. The smile on his lips looked awfully forced and sad. “Keep me updated on shit in town, okay?”

Derek nodded, his hands slowly sliding down Stiles' arms. He quickly caught himself though and let go. “I will.”

Stiles gave one quick nod and stepped back, before he got in his jeep and turned on the engine. “Oh.” He leaned halfway out the window, a grin on his lips. “And make sure my dad keeps eating healthy. Don't let him get away with those greasy burgers.”

Letting out a breath of a laugh, Derek promised him he would. “Now go,” he said, patting the hood of the jeep. “Drive safe.”

“Aye aye, alpha, my alpha,” Stiles said with a wide smile, saluting him.

This time, there was no Isaac to stop Derek from standing there and looking after the jeep for far too long.

[ ….. ]

Derek spend the first few days with no pack around him in a blur. If you asked him, he couldn't tell you what he did, other than cleaning up the loft and busying himself by going for a run after dark had fallen.

It wasn't until Monday arrived and classes begun, that he started hearing from the pack again.

Isaac was the first to call, and Derek put him on speaker and let him tell him everything there was to know about his new campus and college and his new roommate and everything, every single detail there was and then some. He let Isaac go on and on, and he couldn't help but smile at how excited and genuinely happy he sounded.

Good. He deserved it.

The call ended when Isaac's roommate came back into the room, requiring his attention. It was some guy named Thomas but preferred to be called Tommy. He and Isaac had become quick friends, according to Isaac. Tommy was a fellow supernatural creature, a non-dangerous one, and they had bonded over that.

Boyd was the next to contact him. Not with a call but with a quick text to check in. While Derek would usually read or catch up on the television shows or movies he had missed while eating his now prepared dinner, he found himself lounged out on the couch with his phone in hand as he texted with Boyd, everything else off and dinner going cold in his lap.

Erica was added to their conversation somewhere along the way. Isaac too, but there was nothing from him.

All he got from Scott was a picture of a dog he had run into at the new clinic he worked part time at. He didn't hear anything from Lydia or Allison, but that was nothing new. Those two were busy and only checked in once or twice a week. Lydia more than Allison.

Kira checked in every once in a while too, and even though he wasn't officially in the pack and hadn't been back in Beacon Hills for years, Jackson did send the occasional text or postcard from London.

Stiles called him around nine, just as Derek was considering going for a run.

“Oh my God, I'm so tired,” was the first thing Stiles said to him, words whined out and voice slightly muffled by what Derek guessed was his pillow. In his mind, he could see Stiles flopped out on his bed, face buried in his pillow, and he smiled softly at the image.

“Hello to you too,” Derek responded dryly, pushing all thoughts of running out of his head for the foreseeable future and instead made himself comfortable on the couch.

It was fairly new, this one. Isaac had complained about the old one about a month ago, so they had gone and gotten a new one. This one was bigger, could fit three or four people. Five if they sat thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. Derek could lay on it, legs stretched, and it wouldn't be uncomfortable.

“Hi,” Stiles said. There was some shifting on the other end, and when Stiles spoke again, his voice wasn't muffled anymore. “How are things back home? My dad still eating healthy, or do I need to leave him a very angry voice mail?”

Derek huffed quietly, amused. “I haven't been to the station yet. I'll go tomorrow and let you know.”

“Thank you.” Whatever Stiles said next was interrupted by a loud and prolonged yawn.

“If you're so tired, you should go sleep, idiot,” Derek told him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, phone cradled to his ear.

“Can't,” Stiles sighed tiredly. “My asshole roommate needs to study for another hour.”

“Shut the fuck up, Stiles,” came a slightly familiar voice in the background.

“You're the one keeping me up, James,” Stiles retorted, voice raised. “I can complain as much as I want, dude.”

Derek held back a chuckle when he heard James repeat Stiles' words in a mocking tone, but he let it out when he heard the unmistakable sound of a pillow being thrown across the room and James yelling at Stiles to cut it out.

Derek had never actually met James, had only heard him through Stiles' phone and knew only the little Stiles had told him. Jealousy had flared when Stiles had let it slip that James was gay, but he had quickly let go of that jealousy, when Stiles had dived into the tale of how James was head over heels and wooing this guy that worked at the local coffee shop. “It's so cliche and I love it,” Stiles had commented, sounding amused while James had been groaning in the background.

“What have you been up to?” Stiles asked him in the present, silence fallen on his end.

Derek shrugged, even though Stiles wouldn't be able to see it. “Not much,” he answered and then hesitated. He continued in a lowered voice. “Been thinking about rebuilding the house.”

The thought had crossed his mind more than a handful of times ever since the burnt ruins of the old Hale house had been torn down. He still owned the land, knew several people in town who could help him get things started – most of them old friends of his mom – and he had all this time on his hands now that his pack was out getting college degrees, so why not?

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, urging him to continue.

“Yeah,” Derek echoed, slumping back on the couch.

When Derek didn't continue, Stiles did. “I think that's a great idea,” he said, smile audible in his voice. “Maybe we could have New Year's there this year, if you're done by then. Or! Pack nights, Derek! Dude, you could make the living room huge and we could build a giant blanket fort, and maybe-”

Stiles kept talking, kept throwing out ideas, and Derek listened with a little smile on his lips. Quietly, he took notes of what Stiles wanted.

They kept talking until James was finished studying for the night, and Stiles could get some much needed sleep. After they hung up, Derek spend several long minutes on the couch with the phone clutched to his chest, before he got up and went for a run through the quiet and sleeping town and into the dark woods.

He ran until his thighs were sore and his heart was beating rapidly for a different reason than earlier.

[ ….. ]

Despite having been partially blown up, despite having had supernatural creatures tear their way through it more times than you could count on one hand, the station still looked like it always had. A few slight alterations and more reinforcements against the supernatural, sure, but mostly the same.

They had more deputies now too, their forces stronger, and while not all of them were even aware of the supernatural creatures that had been in the town in the past, some still there, there were still weapons against them. Mountain ash, silver bullets, you name it. Courtesy of Chris Argent.

The Sheriff had decided that after everything with the nogitsune that had nearly taken the last bit of his family from him, it was a necessity. To have his deputies ready for anything, have the weapons they needed. Just in case the town got supernaturally dangerous visitors again.

More than a year had gone by though, and things were peaceful. Well, mostly.

“Parrish!” was the sound Derek was met with the day after his phone conversation with Stiles. It was the Sheriff's voice, loud and booming over the snickering of the younger deputies. “How many times do I need to tell you to empty the damn coffee filter?!”

Biting back a grin of his own and nodding a greeting at the deputy at the front – her name was Clark – Derek ducked into the station. His eyes wandered over the room of deputies doing their best to look busy, all ducking their heads to hide their grins and biting their lips to keep from laughing.

He saw deputy Parrish scurrying off to the cells, and finally, he saw the Sheriff by the coffee machine, grumbling to himself as he tossed the coffee filter in the trashcan. A bit angrily, too.

Derek was only a few steps from the Sheriff, when the Sheriff - “Call me John, son,” he'd said one night, Derek remembered – turned to give him a quick glance and then sighed as he pushed the button to start brewing a new round of coffee. “Derek.”

“Hey,” Derek greeted in return, stopping next to him. “Deputies giving you trouble?”

John sighed heavily. “If it's not my son, it's my deputies,” he said in a mutter and with a shake of his head. The coffee finished brewing, and he poured some into his mug – a #1 Dad mug that Stiles had gotten him for Christmas the year before, the #1 crossed out and replaced with a #2. John had found it funny, rather than annoying or insulting – before he gestured to his office, grabbing a pack of sugar with him.

“We got a call last night,” John said, closing the door behind them. “Someone thought they saw something weird in the woods.”

“Mountain lion?” Derek asked, eyeing the takeout box on the desk. The lid was flipped open, and there was a greasy burger with a bite or two missing inside, along with an unopened box of fries leaning next to it. Looked like he was already taking advantage of Stiles not being around to kick his ass for unhealthy eating habits.

Or so he thought, at least.

“No, nothing like that.” John took a sip of coffee from the mug, before he set it on the desk. He turned around and headed over to the other side of the office to rummage through one of boxes there. “Said it looked human but not really. Glowing halo above its head, or something. The kid could've been on drugs or really drunk, but just in case, have you, I don't know, smelled or felt or whatever something that's out of place recently?”

Derek inched closer to the desk, glancing at the takeout food. “No, nothing. It's been quiet, but I can check the woods tonight. Just in case.”

Before Derek left the station, after having a quick look through some of the open case files in case there was anything supernatural about any of them (there wasn't), he sneaked the takeout food out while John's back was turned to him, and he returned the grin that one of the deputies at the station send him while he walked fast out of there.

He was one foot into the parking lot and the takeout food was in the trashcan outside, when he heard John curse in his office and mutter “Damn it, Stiles, why'd you get the damn werewolf on my case too?” to himself.

Derek texted Stiles about it and got an earful of bright laughter in his ear an hour later, when Stiles called him.

There was nothing in the woods that night. No supernatural creatures with glowing halos above their heads, nothing. There wasn't anything the next night or the night after either.

He and John concluded that the kid who reported it must have been drunk, and when Derek told Stiles a few days later, Stiles agreed.

Derek kept his ear trained to the forest for another week, just to be sure.

Still nothing.

[ ….. ]

Derek hadn't been able to fall into a deep sleep for a long time. For years, he had been too alert to allow himself to really sleep, to really get those resting hours that every person needed, supernatural or not. And if it weren't supernaturally evil people coming to tear shit up, it was his mind preventing him from sleeping and keeping him awake for hours on end.

Even now that Beacon Hills had fallen quiet of the supernatural evil, he wasn't able to get a full nights sleep nor was he able to really sleep deeply. Which was why he was easily woken up by the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand next to his bed, creating noise in the otherwise quiet loft.

When the pack had left, he had told each and every single one of them that they could always call him or text him if they needed to, no matter how late or how early and no matter what they needed. He was their alpha, and he would always be there for them.

Even if that meant getting woken up at 3:28 am in the middle of the week, like now, he didn't care.

“Stiles?” he answered the call, instantly alert. His voice was only slightly rough from the little bit of sleep he had managed to catch and from the disuse, having not talked since that morning.

It wasn't unusual that Stiles called him in the middle of the night. Sometimes, before he had gone to college, he would even come to the loft. The nightmares were less and farther between than they used to be, but they still occurred. And sometimes, Stiles just needed to be assured that he was awake, that things were okay, and that he wasn't still being controlled by an evil demonic spirit.

A shaky breath answered Derek, and he waited patiently for Stiles to speak first. “Derek,” and god, Stiles' voice sounded wrecked from sobbing or screaming or both, the one word spoken shaking around every syllable.

Derek wanted, so desperately, to wrap his arms around him and hold him. To comfort him and whisper in his ear that he was okay and that Derek was there, protecting him. He wanted to stay with him, holding him close, until he calmed down and fell back asleep.

But he was miles away and all he could do was talk.

“Yeah,” Derek whispered back, and he shifted slightly on his bed, sitting up properly. “Yeah, I'm here.”

Stiles let out another shaky breath and even over the phone and miles apart, Derek could hear his heart hammering away and not calming down. “I- I can't...”

“It's okay;” Derek quickly said, keeping his voice calm and even. “Stiles, I need you to do me a favor. Okay?” He waited a second for a reply that he knew wouldn't come, and it didn't. “Count your fingers for me.” Stiles continued to be silent, breathing heavily and shakily. “Out loud, Stiles.”

“One,” came Stiles' shaky voice a moment later. “Two... three... four...” A heavy breath. “Five.”

“Good,” Derek praised him. “One more time.”

Stiles did it three more times, before his breathing and heartbeat started to calm. And with it came a broken sob. “I'm sorry.”

Derek took in a deep breath and sighed quietly as he hung his head, relieved that Stiles was at least calmed down enough to breathe properly. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured him in a lowered and softened voice. He paused for a moment, letting Stiles choke out a few more sobs. “You wanna talk about it?”

Stiles sniffled and let out a shuttering breath, and Derek could hear him move against the sheets. “Not really, no.” There was a pause with more sniffling, and then Stiles continued. “Could you just... uh, could you just talk to me, or something? For a bit.”

“Of course,” Derek said without hesitating. He'd do anything for Stiles, anytime. A thought, however, hit him. “Is James there?”

Stiles huffed. “No,” he said, sounding annoyed but also relieved. “He's sleeping over at a friend's, or something. I don't know, I didn't really ask.”

Derek dropped it and instead started telling Stiles about what was going on in town. He quickly ran out of updates though, considering they had talked the day before already, and he ended up telling Stiles about the most recent book he had read and the most recent movie he had seen, and the thing he saw the week before that reminded him of something his mother used to say or do.

He stayed with him, talking quietly, until he fell asleep. And if he stayed on the phone for close to an hour after, listening to Stiles breathe evenly and sleep peacefully, well... no one needed to know.

[ ….. ]

On the corner of Circle Street, right next to Greenvale Park, was a bookstore. It didn't really have a name, the sign above old and rusty, the letters barely there anymore, unreadable. It had been open for so long and loved by so many though, that it was never shut down, not forcefully nor willingly.

The place wasn't all that big, most of the space inside filled up with bookshelves overflowing with books, but it was big enough. The giant windows let in daylight, casting a cozy light into the ocean of books stacked on the floor. The door – the previous one was wooden, this one was metal and sturdier – was open at all times during open hours, no matter the weather, inviting people on the street inside.

As did the fold up sign on the street with the word BOOKS in capital letters written on it. The bookstore's previous owners had passed away a few years back, and the new owner was unimaginative. Derek found it funny.

The books in the store were more donated than they were bought these days, people more willing to buy their books online from the safety of their own homes than to walk five minutes to support their local bookstore. And yet the place still stood.

When you stepped into the store and went around the first bookshelf filled with travel books and guides, you'd get in view of the new owner always lounging behind the counter, feet propped up and usually with a comic book spread out on his elevated thighs. His name was Francis and he was... unusual but friendly. Easy to talk to.

Derek had made quick friends with Francis the first time he had visited the store about a month into the pack's summer break – they had bonded over a mutual friend from New York, both of them having spend time there and apparently having ended up befriending the same guy – and he just hadn't stopped coming back every now and then.

More often than not, it was because he had run out of reading material, or because Stiles had either casually mentioned a book he was reading for class or actually recommended him one that either he or one of his friends were reading at the time.

It was the latter that had Derek stepping into the store a few days after Stiles' nightmare.

“Whassup, Derek?” Francis greeted him from his usual spot behind the counter, feet up and an actual book resting against his elevated thighs for once. “Run out of books already?” He whistled lowly as he turned a page. “Man, that was quick.”

“No,” Derek responded with a quick shake of his head, and he rested a hand on the edge of the counter, near the Captain America bobble head figure. “I've still got a couple left to read. I need a new one, though.”

Francis shut the book and lifted his legs off of the counter, turning to give Derek a wide smile that had the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Anything for my most loyal costumer.”

Derek told him the title of the book and after Francis hummed in thought for about ten seconds, he followed him toward the left side of the store, that had all the fantasy books and series, a couple of boxes of comic books because Francis hadn't bothered organizing those properly yet.

“How's the wife?” Derek asked conversationally and leaned against the nearby pillar, while Francis flipped through the shelf of books.

“Not my wife yet,” Francis reminded him, a smile tugging at his lips as he went on to another shelf. “But she's still with me, so I think she might be one day. Hopefully soon, if I can find a ring.”

“I'll be on the lookout for a wedding invitation then,” Derek teased, and Francis tutted at him dishearteningly.

They held easy conversation while Francis found the book Stiles had mentioned to Derek the night before, a night that had been nightmare free, and Francis put in a recommendation of his own, before they moved back to the counter. Derek paid, thanked him, and then he left.

Sometimes, Derek was surprised at how comfortable it was to be in Beacon Hills these days. To be back in a place that had done nothing but hurt him in the past, but was now so calm and peaceful, that it occasionally didn't even feel real.

Sometimes, he expected to wake up and it would all have been a dream. That he would still be on the way to South America with Cora in the passenger seat, and the pack would be back in Beacon Hills. That he had thought it all up, had imagined a life that felt too good to be true more days than it didn't.

Sometimes, the life he lived felt too surreal and those times were the times where talking with the pack members spread out across the country felt relaxing and reassuring and comforting rather than on the brink of overwhelming. They reminded him that it was real, that it wasn't a dream too good to be true.

Months went by, days and weeks blurring together.

Derek visited the grounds of the old Hale house a few times during the first month, before he decided that he couldn't rebuild it. He just couldn't. The smell of smoke was still there, faintly or maybe he was just imagining it, but it was enough to remind him of the tragedy that had happened all those years ago. It was enough to remind him of the night he lost everything all at once, and his heart and body hurt and ached at the memory alone.

Losing a member of your pack when you're a werewolf is like losing a limb, and losing his entire family all at once had felt like dying for Derek. Still did, sometimes.

So he decided against rebuilding the house, much to the pack's disappointment. He didn't sell the ground though. He tried to make the decision to do that, to give another family the joy of living in the woods, but something in him just wouldn't let that happen, so he didn't.

Maybe one day he could rebuild it, make it something new, but not now. Not yet.

Having no pack to focus on and no house to rebuild and no official job, there weren't a whole lot of things that kept Derek busy during the day. His time at the station lessened the more obvious it became that no supernatural threat was just around the corner. Or anywhere near them, even. It seemed like the supernatural had left Beacon Hills for the time being and had moved elsewhere. Where, Derek didn't know.

Occasionally though, he would visit the station anyway and make sure John was still keeping his hands off of unhealthy habits. Stiles had gotten a few deputies on his case as well, so Derek didn't really need to do it, but he wanted to. It gave him an excuse to talk to Stiles about something other than his college adventures and his own boring days.

Most of his time was spend helping the pack out, listening to them vent out about the usual college stress and whatever else was on their minds. Sometimes, and not as often as he had initially thought, he'd sit and help them with their homework or assignments or studying. He could only do so much from miles away, but he did what he could.

At least he didn't have to think too hard if they were struggling with history or their chosen foreign language. Those two – those he could do.

Derek did what he could to keep himself from thinking too much, to keep himself busy. It wasn't just that he wouldn't stop thinking and pining for Stiles, it was everything on top of that.

Oh, who was he kidding. It was mostly Stiles related thoughts, because he was pathetic and jealous and, more importantly, pining.

It was hard, having to sit and listen to Stiles tell him all about his college adventures and about the girls and guys he would occasionally flirt with but never get anywhere with. Anytime Stiles mentioned someone he thought was hot or pretty or even remotely interesting, Derek felt jealous. It was like being stabbed in the heart with a blade of jealousy and hurt, but all he could do was let Stiles talk and listen to whatever he wanted to say and bite back what he was feeling.

Because not only did Stiles not feel the same way, he also deserved so much better. He deserved to get the full College Experience, and Derek was going to let him have it. No matter how much it killed him not to be with him and let him fool around with anyone else.

As previously mentioned, Isaac was the first to clue in on Derek's feelings for Stiles. Erica was the second.

“So Stiles, huh?” was her simple way of letting him know she knew.

Derek groaned and silently cursed at the food he was preparing. “Did Isaac tell you?”

“Nope,” Erica responded, sounding cheerful for having been right. “I mean, not really. He said you were pining hard for someone, but he didn't say who. It wasn't that hard to figure out it was Stiles, actually. He was my first guess.”

Derek was silent for a minute, phone clutched tightly in his hand as he swallowed thickly. “Don't tell anyone,” he said in a small and slightly strained voice.

“I won't,” Erica promised immediately. “But you should.”

“No.”

“Derek, come on. How long have you been pining for him?”

Derek hesitated. “I don't know,” he lied.

“That long, huh?” He rolled his eyes at her, though she couldn't see. “Okay, I won't push you, but just think about it.”

He told her he would, because when didn't he think about it? When didn't he fantasize about Stiles coming back for break and Derek just telling him how he felt? Usually, because he was a secret romantic, his dream sequence ended like it would in a romance novel. With a kiss and happy smiles and a happy life together. Realistically, it wouldn't end that way, and he knew it.

Both Erica and Isaac started teasing him about his feelings, and Derek continued to groan at them. Boyd knew as well, had figured it out a while ago, but he kept quiet about it, much to Derek's appreciation.

Although he did complain about their never-ending teasing, it was nice to have three whole people who knew about his secret. Three whole people who were more than willing to let him come to them if it hurt too much to hear about Stiles' college partying.

One time that was especially bad was Halloween, when Stiles called him, shitfaced drunk and, by the sound of it, surrounded by a medium sized group of people that were all equally as drunk as he was.

“Derek!” Stiles greeted him the second he picked up. “Derek, hii! Guys, I got Derek!”

Derek bit back a smile at the sound of whistling and whooping in the background. “Hi, Stiles. You having fun?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles drawled. “I'm having so much fun. The ceiling's spinning, Derek. Or maybe I'm spinning. James, am I spinning?”

“How much have you had to drink?” Derek asked, more concerned than he would like to admit, right after James told Stiles that no, he wasn't spinning.

“Just a beer or two and, like, fifty shots, I don't know.” Stiles sighed exasperatedly. “I miss you,” he continued in a mutter, the pout on his lips audible in his words.

Derek felt his heart flutter and the tips of his ears burn, the smile he had bit back earlier breaking free and forming on his lips. “I miss you too,” he admitted and god, did he miss him. He missed him so much it hurt.

“There was this guy dressed as a werewolf at the party,” Stiles told him, words slurring slightly. “One of those shitty werewolves with too much facial hair and looking like a mutated dog walking on two legs, ya know? Was gonna send you a picture and be like “hey, I didn't know you were here, haha!” but nah. That guy wasn't nearly as pretty as you.”

Derek stopped breathing, his heart stuttering and his ears burning a bright red. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing more than the first syllable of a word managed to get out. He didn't get to say anything either, because Stiles kept going.

“Did I ever tell you you're one of the best people I know?” Stiles asked, and Derek ignored the cooing from Stiles' end in favor of focusing fully on Stiles' voice. “Like, you're grumpy and an asshole and really fucking rude sometimes, but you're so smart and funny and yeah. You've got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen, did I ever tell you that? I should. They're real pretty and nice to look at.”

Stiles sighed, and Derek croaked out an “I-” but he stopped when he realized he had no idea what to say.

“Oh my God!” Stiles exclaimed, a sudden change in his tone. “You know Heather, right? Dude, she kissed me tonight!”

And suddenly the hot feeling of a blush was gone and the jealousy stab at his heart was back.

You'd think, that after pining for someone for years and seeing or hearing about him flirting with several people, hearing about the handful of people he'd made out with during his college parties – you'd think it would get easier.

But no, it just got harder. With each passing day, Derek felt his heart break a little bit more.

[ ….. ]

It happened on the Sunday after Halloween.

> [01:13 PM] Stiles: guess who has a date on friday!

The text was staring right back at him, practically mocking him until the screen went black, and he had to wake it up again. Read it over and over to make sure it was real. He had done so for what was barely five minutes but felt like a long, horrible, painful eternity.

Derek wasn't stupid, alright? He always knew that someone someday would realize what an amazing and incredible person Stiles was, underneath the asshole part of his personality. He always knew that someone would one day ask him out and Stiles would accept. He knew that, had given it much thought in the past because he had to.

He just really thought he had prepared himself enough for that when the day finally did arrive, it wouldn't feel like his heart was shattering to a million pieces like it did every time Stiles talked about anyone he was even remotely interested in.

He was wrong. He was so, so wrong.

The text was still open on his screen ten minutes after he had received it, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to cry and crush the phone in his hand and run. Run away from everything until all he could feel was numb and not the hurt and anger and jealousy he was feeling at that very moment.

But what good would that do? Stiles was miles away and had a date, and Derek was in Beacon Hills pining for him.

Pining for him so pathetically, even he knew it was ridiculous.

Around the thirty minute mark of staring down at the text, having realized it was real and not a nightmare, Derek put down his phone and went for a run. When he came back hours later, the sky dark and the city quiet and sleeping, his phone was buzzing on the table where he had left it, and he ignored it.

He didn't sleep. He didn't sleep the next night either, and he ignored the stream of texts and calls that had his phone buzzing damn near constantly. He hadn't touched it, didn't want to.

Halfway through Tuesday, a day spend curled up in bed with the blanket over his head and shutting out the world, Derek had had enough with the constant buzzing of his phone. He doubted there had been a break in between texts and calls he had received since the sun had risen outside. Not one he had registered, at least.

He shut it off and threw it across the room, not caring if it broke or not, and went back to bed.

He didn't check his phone Wednesday or Thursday either and on Friday, he left the loft for the first time in days, phone left behind and heavy bags under his eyes.

There's a tree deep in the woods in Beacon Hills, where the trees were closest and the sky was shut out during spring and summer, when the trees' crowns bloomed and lay an artwork of shadow leaves on the forest ground.

This particular tree was big. The trunk was nowhere near as thick as the nematon's used to be, but it was taller than the nematon ever was. Probably one of the tallest trees with the biggest crown.

Branches, thick and sturdy, fell out along the trunk, but you'd have to jump high to even reach the one lowest to the ground, and then jump again to reach the next. A few branches up – the ground far enough down that you'd break an ankle if you fell or jumped – the tree split into three, spreading the crown wider.

The tree was a good fifteen minute run from what used to be the Hale house, and back before everything – before the fire, before any of them grew out of their playful ages, before Laura started getting friends at school who she'd rather hang out with, long before Derek met Paige – the Hale siblings used to climb it.

It had become a competition between them. To see who could climb the highest without getting scared. Talia had called them a pack of monkeys the first and second time she found them fighting their way upward, but she had only shook her head fondly and let them be, happy to hear their laughs and sibling bickering.

Sometimes, when things were too much and he needed to not be found, Derek would go there. Sometimes, he would climb up to where the tree split and the branches were thickest and make himself comfortable there and just sit. It was where he felt the closest to his sisters, and sometimes he just needed that.

Like now, when his heart was breaking into a million tiny, little pieces that he couldn't just ignore.

He sat there while the sun went down and the sky above him became dark and full of stars. He sat there feeling numb and broken at once, no tears shed but a lump in his throat he couldn't swallow away. Not that he had tried, but he couldn't be bothered either.

He lost track of time, but he guessed it was way past midnight, the half full moon high on the starry sky above him, when he heard a distant shout in a familiar voice in the distance.

“Derek!”

Derek tensed, just slightly, and he held his breath as the voice came nearer and nearer. Soon, he saw a beam of light between the sea of trees surrounding him, and the voice shouted again. It was like a wave of anxiety and panic that hit him the moment his eyes landed on Stiles behind the beam of light coming from his flashlight, the anxiety and panic radiating from Stiles.

He swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat and struggled to find his voice for a moment. “Aren't you supposed to be on a date?” he called out.

Stiles startled and yelped, and then quickly flicked the flashlight up along the tree until the beam of light landed on Derek perched where it split. He sighed heavily and even from so high up, Derek could see him glaring.

“Are you fucking serious?” Stiles called back and yeah, he sounded angry. Upset. “You don't answer your phone for days, and you think I give a shit about going on a date with someone I don't even like?”

Derek didn't respond, just sat as still as he could. Stiles stepped closer and looked up at him, flashlight still pointed at him. “What's going on, Derek?” he asked, voice softer now, and had Derek not been a werewolf, he wouldn't have been able to hear him.

“How did you find me?” Derek asked instead of answering.

Stiles shrugged, worry still seeping out of him but the anxiety had lessened. Good. “Well, you weren't answering your phone, so I got scared something bad might have happened to you-” Derek looked away, guilt washing over him “-so I canceled the date and drove here. You weren't at your loft or any of your other hiding places, so I came here. Don't know if you remember, but you did tell me about this place.”

Derek had. Years ago. “Didn't think you'd remember that,” he admitted, although his voice was lowered to a mutter, so Stiles didn't hear him.

“Derek, could you please come down and talk to me?” Stiles asked, lifting his free hand to rest it on the trunk. “My neck is starting to hurt from having to look up this much, just so you know.”

Derek hesitated. He really did not want to talk, he wanted to run and hide and forget about all of this. But a voice in his head – a voice that sounded oddly like Erica's and maybe a bit like Laura's – told him to stop running and just let it happen. No matter how bad the outcome was going to be.

So he jumped. Right off the tree and landed on the ground on his toes, having done it enough to know how to land without breaking anything. “There's nothing to talk about,” he told Stiles, avoiding his gaze.

Stiles scoffed at him and clicked the button to turn off the flashlight. “Bullshit.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Derek told him after a minute, eyes anywhere but on Stiles, despite Stiles trying to move into his field of view with a few small sidesteps.

“Okay, not to be an asshole, but-” Stiles stopped talking. He stopped talking because Derek, out of reflex and habit, had let himself slip and had turned to give him a judging look. Stiles glared at him in return. “Oh, so now you wanna look at me.”

Derek sighed and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, eyes downcast. “I just want to be alone, Stiles.”

“Well, tough shit,” was Stiles' immediate response, and Derek tensed when he stepped closer. “You're not going through anything alone ever again, so you better tell me or I'm gonna go full mother hen on you.”

Derek felt a little tug at the corner of his lips, but he forced away any smile and hoped the darkness of the night had kept Stiles from seeing it. “I can't tell you.”

“Can't or won't?”

Derek swallowed and finally met Stiles' eye. “Both.”

In his head, Erica called him a coward and Isaac rolled his eyes disapprovingly at him and Boyd shook his head. But he was. He was a coward, and Stiles deserved better.

Stiles looked at him in silence for a few moments, very obviously hurt but doing his best to hide it. “Then I'm just gonna have to mother hen you, I guess,” he muttered and moved forward. He reached out to grab Derek's hand, but Derek flinched back without meaning to. The hurt in Stiles' eyes got more obvious in a split second.

When Stiles moved forward again, carefully this time, Derek purposely didn't move. “Please tell me what's going on, Derek,” Stiles said, pleading and voice breaking slightly. “Don't shut me out. Please.”

Derek didn't respond, his jaw clenched tight to keep himself from blurting something stupid, and Stiles sighed, annoyed and angry and hurt.

“What the hell happened, Derek?” Stiles said, voice raised to a near yell in frustration. “I'm your friend! You can tell me anything and you know that, but you're just shutting me out and you won't even tell me why!”

“Because I love you!” Well, so much for not blurting something stupid. Might as well keep going. “I love you, and it kills me to hear about you flirting with other people and kissing other people and going on dates with other people, so I have to shut you out, Stiles!”

A silence fell and Derek didn't dare look up from where he was boring holes into the ground below his feet, his ears burning and breath shallow and heart pounding in his chest. He mentally prepared himself for the inevitable rejection, however it would come, even though he knew he would never truly be prepared enough for it. Prepared to have his heart broken for good.

It could have been ten minutes or it could have been ten seconds, when Stiles broke the silence and asked in a tight voice, “How long?”

“How long what?” Derek ground out, curling his hands into fists in his pockets.

“C'mon,” Stiles huffed, and Derek allowed himself to listen to the way his heart was beating almost as rapidly as his own. “You know what I mean. How long have you...” Stiles cut himself off, swallowing audibly. “How long have you loved me?”

Derek shrugged, deciding he may as well be honest now that the truth was out. “A few years now.”

Stiles laughed, the laugh tight and humorless, and Derek looked up to see tears making his brown eyes sparkle in the moonlight. “You've loved me for a few years and you've never told me until now?” He sounded... frustrated. “Why?”

Derek wanted to look away. He didn't. “You deserve better, Stiles.”

“Don't you think I get a say in that? 'Cause I'll have you know...” Stiles paused and stepped closer, leaving no more than a step between them. There was a faint color of red or pink dusting over Stiles' cheeks, and his brows were furrowed slightly, the corners of his lips curling back a little. “I kinda love you too.”

Derek's face went slack with surprise and he stood up straighter. He almost wanted to ask if Stiles was joking or messing with him, but he couldn't find the words in his mouth. He didn't get the chance to either.

“Okay, not kinda,” Stiles continued. “I've actually been pining for you for too long, and it's been killing me, because I didn't think you loved me or even liked me back in that way.” There was a smile on his lips now, and Derek's heart was still pounding away in his chest, eyes stuck on the man in front of him.

“So I thought I had to move on, but,” Stiles shook his head. “But I just can't. You're the only one I wanna be with, Derek. The only one that matters. Always has been, always will be. It just... It just took me a while to realize that.”

Derek stared at him. Stiles wasn't lying. His heart was beating rapidly, but there were no upticks in his heartbeat or any other indications that he was lying. He was being completely honest, every word of what he said.

Derek wanted to kiss him.

So he did, and Stiles kissed him back, letting the flashlight clatter to the forest ground before taking Derek's face in his hands.

Derek had imagined what kissing Stiles would feel like more times than he could count. When Stiles had been talking about something and his lips were moving frantically as more words formed, when he sucked on lollipops until his lips were more red than pink or chewed on the string of his hoodie or a pencil or a straw, when Stiles licked his lips and bit the lower, when Derek was in bed and Stiles happened to pop into his mind for no particular reason, the times were endless.

He had thought it would be heated, with lots of passion but a lacking of love. At least from one of the parties. He had thought wandering hands and grinding and tongues mingling would be an addition to their first kiss he never thought would be a reality.

He had never thought – more because he hadn't thought it was possible than he hadn't wanted it, because he wanted it more than anything – that kissing Stiles was like coming home. Coming home after a long day at a workplace he didn't have, peaceful and comfortable. Like laying your head on your lover's chest and have their arms wrap around you in a secure hold.

Kissing Stiles was like finally – finally things were at peace and he could breathe again. He felt lighter than air and a shudder ran through his body and down his spine, a tingling in his toes, when Stiles ran his fingers through his hair, and he felt at home.

The kiss wasn't heated, there were no tongues or grinding and their hands stayed north. It was passionate and there was no lack of love from either parties, each slide of their lips like a whispered love confession.

Derek lost himself in the feeling of Stiles' lips moving against his own, lost himself in Stiles' fingers on the back of his head, curling around the short hairs there. He had no idea how long they had been standing there, under the tree and under the starry sky, kissing. He had no idea, but the kiss broke when he dared parting his lips and let his tongue move out to swipe across Stiles' bottom lip.

Stiles was the one to pull back, but he pressed their foreheads together immediately and let out a shuttering breath that felt cold on Derek's red and kiss swollen lips.

“I've wanted to do that for a long time,” he told him in a soft whisper.

Slowly, Derek opened his eyes and was met with two beautiful, brown ones staring back at him, shining with happiness. He smiled back at him, slowly and almost timidly. “Me too.”

They both fell silent, and when Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, Derek moved his around Stiles' middle and pulled him closer. The air was cool around them but standing this close, neither of them shivered or had goosebumps. Stiles' nose was a little bit cold, sure, but Derek pressed his own against it and the coolness slowly disappeared.

Neither of them moved away, kept their foreheads pressed together.

Like so many other things, this felt surreal. To have Stiles, the man of his dreams, in his arms, to be allowed to kiss him, to know he loved him back... it felt surreal and like a dream, and Derek hoped, prayed to whoever would listen, that this would be the dream he wouldn't wake up from.

Derek didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve someone as good as Stiles loving him back. Not after everything he had done. But there Stiles was. Loving him back despite everything.

“Promise me you'll never do that again,” Stiles whispered in a tight voice after several minutes of the two of them just standing there, wrapped in each other. “Promise me you'll always answer your phone, so I won't have to worry myself to death thinking you're dead or kidnapped or hurt or-”

“I promise,” Derek interrupted, squeezing Stiles gently as if to emphasize it. “I promise.”

Stiles let out a relieved sigh and nodded, his nose rubbing against Derek's, and he sniffled slightly. “Good.” He brought his hands to Derek's cheeks, thumbs running along his cheekbones slowly. “Then I think this might work.”

Reluctantly, Derek pulled back. Just a bit. Just enough to see Stiles' face properly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles echoed, a little smile curling his lips back.

Derek didn't hesitate before he leaned forward and kissed him again. Stiles gasped softly against his lips, and Derek took the chance to slip in his tongue, which dragged a pleased moan from Stiles.

They kissed until Stiles started shivering from the cold, and Derek took his hand in his, intertwining their fingers and giving him a gentle squeeze. He didn't let go until they were at the loft, and it was only so he could wrap himself around Stiles as they moved to lay in his bed.

Their lips slid together in lazy but firm kisses, and they stayed wrapped up in each other until they both fell asleep.

When Derek woke up the following morning, sunlight beaming in through the giant window, Stiles was sound asleep to his right. He smiled softly and took a moment to just look at him, before he scooted over and wrapped himself around him, burying his face in Stiles' neck and breathing him in.

Stiles made a soft noise in his sleep and sleepily fumbled for the hand that rested on his stomach. Derek took it and squeezed.

This wasn't a dream. This was real.