Work Text:
Derek doesn’t remember what the world smelled like before he was fifteen. He remembers that, after, it smelled of ash and burned flesh and pain and rage. He smelled and tasted it with every inhalation until it made it hard to breathe. He remembers it fading, though, with time. In New York, he found himself not moving on but acclimating to his new foundations after he let his old ones be ripped out from under him. Laura helped.
He was twenty-two when he choked again, breathing deep of air that smelled like the ground he buried her in, like her blood-matted hair and fur, like his own pain and rage. He couldn’t find solace, then, in anyone. He killed his uncle and smelled the blood he’d spilled and found no one who eased the pain.
So he snarled and fought and tried to understand a power never meant for him. He did his best and failed miserably again and again.
He’s twenty-seven when he realises just how easily he’s breathing, that, when he takes a deep breath, it smells like someone he hasn’t seen for weeks. He closes his eyes and wonders when that happened.
When he thinks back, Derek realises that it was so gradual that he didn’t notice it. The first time it eased, he thinks, is when he stopped being able to breathe entirely. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate until he discovered that it had more plans for him. When he broke the surface of the water and breathed again, what he got was chlorine and teenage boy and determination and frustration. Derek doesn’t remember what the world smelled like before he was fifteen. He remembers that, after, it smelled of ash and burned flesh and pain and rage. He smelled and tasted it with every inhalation until it made it hard to breathe. He remembers it fading, though, with time. In New York, he found himself not moving on but acclimating to his new foundations after he let his old ones be ripped out from under him. Laura helped.
He was twenty-two when he choked again, breathing deep of air that smelled like the ground he buried her in, like her blood-matted hair and fur, like his own pain and rage. He couldn’t find solace, then, in anyone. He killed his uncle and smelled the blood he’d spilled and found no one who eased the pain.
So he snarled and fought and tried to understand a power never meant for him. He did his best and failed miserably again and again.
He’s twenty-seven when he realises just how easily he’s breathing, that, when he takes a deep breath, it smells like someone he hasn’t seen for weeks. He closes his eyes and wonders when that happened.
When he thinks back, Derek realises that it was so gradual that he didn’t notice it. The first time it eased, he thinks, is when he stopped being able to breathe entirely. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate until he discovered that it had more plans for him. When he broke the surface of the water and breathed again, what he got was chlorine and teenage boy and determination and frustration. ‘Can't you trust me just this once?’
He closes his eyes, tips his head back and smiles at the sun. It’s been five years since he started breathing easier. It took a long time but the world feels good now. It smells like pack and trust and home. Behind his closed eyes, Derek sees the face that helped it happen. Smirking and laughing and yelling at him. Hundreds of moments covering years of loss and rage and fear.
But not only that. There was also sarcastic humour and concern and loyalty. Bickering and banter, rebuilding. Derek realises that he’s grinning at the same time as he notices the tears sliding down the sides of his face. He never could cry. At first, it was the guilt that made him feel he didn’t deserve to mourn. Then, after years of holding it back, he found that he didn’t know how to let it out. ‘No, I will not shut up. And I don’t think you really want me to either.’
It makes sense that, the first time he cries, it’s due to relief. He laughs, then, and hears footsteps and a door opening. He looks up from his spot leaning on the porch steps. Isaac is looking down at him with an eyebrow raised. He stares for a moment before he smiles, not knowing why but sensing that nothing’s wrong.
Nothing’s wrong. Derek finds that thought makes more tears spring to his eyes. He sits up and puts his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, as he sobs out his laughter. Isaac sits next to him and looks up at the sun. He stays for a long time, saying nothing, waiting for the near-painful mass of emotions in Derek’s chest to ease enough for him to quiet. ‘Yeah, so maybe I cried. But it was manly crying, okay? Stop looking at me like that. Stop laughing! There’s no shame in crying over a cartoon movie!’
Isaac looks at him and grins. It’s an expression he couldn’t quite manage for the first couple of years after they met. Everything is better now, for everyone. He’s going away, leaving Beacon Hills to go see the girl he met at university until he passes by before the end of summer. He stands up to go get his bags, his smile turning small and anticipatory as he enters the house.
He’s stopped flinching when people raise a hand to him, he’s stopped being meek and he’s stopped trying to be the opposite, stopped trying to prove something. He doesn’t look at Derek as if he’s meant to be his father anymore, just his friend, his leader. He can talk about his brother and his dad while smiling, without his throat going hoarse. It took time.
It all did. Erica and Boyd will return from their honeymoon whenever the hell they feel like it. She’ll be wearing sweatpants and have her hair in a messy bun and not be wearing makeup because she’s stopped trying to validate herself with her beauty, knowing that she’s gorgeous without it. She’ll look at Derek and roll her eyes at him but hug him anyway because she’s gotten over thinking of caring as weakness. ‘You’re not as scary as you used to be, Erica. Ow, ow! Okay, I take it back!’
Boyd will be the way he’s almost always been. Except that he’ll smile more and talk more. He’ll make his points for or against an idea because he cares enough about everything now to think and speak for himself. He’ll greet Derek with a handshake, a hand on his shoulder and a grin.
It took a long time for Derek to forgive the two of them. But he had help by way of stern lectures about the importance of understanding people, not overestimating their ability to deal with fear and situations that they’re not accustomed to.
Lydia and Jackson are still at university, together. They’ll visit when they’re done with her studies and his sports, whenever that will be because they both work too hard. When he tells them that, they’ll grin and call him a hypocrite. ‘The deputy uniform makes you look like someone who belongs in porn. Or, well, actually, you already looked like that. It makes it worse, though. Wait, is it worse or better? I can’t decide.’
It didn’t take as long as it should have for either of them to forgive him for planning to kill them. They understood that the lives of the few were outweighed and Jackson would have preferred to die than to kill, than to be a tool. They say they came to that conclusion on their own but Derek can hear their lies, know that they had help.
Scott maintains that he hates Derek, even if he knows that almost all of them can hear him lying. He won’t hug Derek and he won’t wish him well but he doesn’t try to kill him or undermine him or anything anymore. That’s good enough. If he’s honest, he prefers it that way. It makes him less likely to hear about his and Allison’s latest breakup. Their drama has lasted years. Derek thinks they should stay apart or get married. Commit to something. ‘Go big or go home.’
He feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder and realises that his eyes are closed. He leaves them shut and listens as the car pulls away, bags in the trunk, and knows that he’ll hear it return in a month and a half.
The next time Derek opens his eyes, night has fallen. He’s still on the porch, in an uncomfortable position. When he moves, his muscles smooth themselves over and the pain in his neck and back ease and disappear. He looks up at what woke him. Who woke him.
“Did you wait on the porch for me? So many dog jokes, man. I don’t know where to start.” The last time Derek saw Stiles, they were wearing suits and attending a wedding. Everyone had discovered that Stiles loves waistcoats and pinstripes and that he cleans up really ridiculously well. Now, he’s wearing a t-shirt, jeans, his typical flannel and his thick-rimmed black glasses. Derek is staring because he’s realising that just the sight of Stiles makes him relax. ‘Don’t even pretend you won’t miss me, man. I’m too awesome for you not to.’
So he grins. “Tell even one and you’ll overstay your welcome.”
Stiles returns the expression before he drops to sit next to Derek on the porch. “Your threats have been empty since I was eighteen, man. Also, you’ll kick me out? I remember when every other thing you said to me was a death threat and the rest was ‘Shut up, Stiles’. This just seems tame.”
“Was that a dog joke?”
Stiles looks confused before he huffs out a laugh. “Unintentional, I swear.”
Derek has long since accepted that he wants Stiles in a sexual way. He remembers the first time Stiles returned from university. The way he looked in his new glasses, in his relief at being home, his happiness at seeing Derek. His shirt was tighter around a chest and arms gone stronger, his hair longer and his voice quieter. Derek had worried that university had taught him to contain his babble. It hadn’t. He talked just as quick and just as much, only his voice was softer, like he knew he no longer needed to struggle to be heard.
Derek had stared, heart rate picking up, and realised that he was insanely attracted to someone he’d known for years, who was a member of his pack. He had decided that the sex wouldn’t be worth it, no matter what the traitorous voice in his head said. He knew better. Stiles is all heart. He wouldn’t want just sex. He’s not the type, no matter what he used to claim.
He knows, though, that, for a while, his heart hasn’t picked up speed because he’s lusting. It does because he’s started imagining kissing and cuddling and bickering more than he imagines having sex. He knows that Stiles’ heart kicks up around him in return, but isn’t sure what it means. Stiles finds him attractive. Stiles is fond of him, cares about him. There’s only so much senses can tell and they can’t tell the future. He doesn’t know what Stiles wants. And can’t know unless he asks. But the ease of Stiles leaning back beside him is at risk if he does.
For a while, Derek couldn’t entertain any thoughts of propositioning Stiles at all. He’s six years younger than Derek where Kate was six years older. At first, his attraction turned his stomach. When it became something more innocent within the year, he found that he couldn’t compare the two anymore. The differences were too stark for them to blur.
And he was happy that Stiles was happy. He and his dad talked about werewolves and finally smoothed out the rift between them. He got into a fantastic university that Derek still thinks isn’t worthy of him, full scholarship and all. He’s comfortable with who he is, isn’t trying to prove anything anymore. He knows his weaknesses and plays to his strengths. It took Derek telling him outright that he didn’t need to be a werewolf to be pack, that he was enough as a human. ‘Woah, way to get all heartfelt on me, man, are you feeling o- Okay, sorry, automatic deflection. Thank you. I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t think you thought that highly of me. Thanks. I’ll just. Go. Now. See you, uhm, later.’
Stiles doesn’t need validation from anyone anymore, even though he preens when he gets it. He isn’t trying to get the most popular girl in school to notice him, he isn’t trying to solve mysteries to prove that he can, he isn’t trying to be who he thinks others want him to be. Stiles was always uniquely himself, regardless of how hard he tried not to be. Now, after learning to like it, he’s more himself than anyone Derek’s ever met. He doesn’t pretend and he doesn’t play and he doesn’t bother hiding what he means or being careful with his words.
Derek is glad that Stiles likes who he is. Because Derek loves him.
“You look happy,” Stiles says, breaking the silence.
“I am.”
“Any particular reason?”
“No. Just, everyone’s happy at the moment. I have a house with six bedrooms for specific people and couples, which see use at least once a year when my pack comes back from their studies. I have a job I like, the summer’s warm, nothing’s tried to kill us in the last year. Things are going well.”
Stiles scoffs. “I think the fact that nothing trying to kill us for a while being a point in the positive column says a lot about our lives.”
Derek grins. “You always used to nag me about thinking too negatively.”
“Yeah, well, I used to be a hypocrite.”
He looks at Stiles, looks at the sky and remembers the time they spoke when Derek was being arrested. He remembers Stiles saying he wasn’t scared and then admitting that he was. Over the years, false bravado has turned into something real. Stiles doesn’t back down when Erica glares at him and he doesn’t let Scott be a shit friend and he absolutely doesn’t let Derek get away with doing anything stupid. He managed that a few times when he was still pretending but now, he doesn’t have to. He has the confidence he needed to make it real. ‘We both know you don’t mean it so stow it.’
“Dude, are you okay? You look smitten.”
Derek’s face falls and he looks at Stiles, confused. “What?”
Stiles looks apologetic. “I hate to say it but you kind of look like Scott when he thinks about Allison. While they’re together, that is.”
“I… I don’t even know what to say to that. I am genuinely offended. I think you just mortally wounded our friendship.”
Stiles laughs, then, and says, “Sorry, sorry. You’re not that bad, I think. I don’t think you could pull off puppy eyes and stupidity nearly as well, at least. Which isn’t an insult! But no, seriously, you look… uh, similar to that kind of feeling he has. Like, love. And stuff.”
Derek’s heart is picking up speed and, for the umpteenth time, he’s thankful that Stiles isn’t a werewolf. He manages his driest tone when he echoes, “Love and stuff.”
Stiles’ hands flail a little from where they were in his lap. “You’re totally deflecting! You actually have feelings for someone!” Stiles’ own heart rate is increasing.
“I think I should be offended that you sound surprised.”
“I think I should be offended that you think you can distract me with your…” He flails a little before finishing with, “Stop it and tell me about her!”
Derek scoffs and turns his face to the sky again. It’s getting cold out. There was another reason he wasn’t going to risk telling Stiles how he felt. Everything Derek touched always seemed to shatter. It’s been a long time since Isaac stopped flinching, Erica stopped trying too hard, Boyd started caring, etc… He didn’t want to break Stiles. It’s been a long time and the other shoe has yet to drop. He thinks he’ll always be waiting for it to happen. But he’s realising, now, that Stiles would be pissed at being protected, being cheated out of the chance to make his own choice. ‘I may be the token human but I’ll decide what risks I get to take!’
He’s waited too long anyway. It’s been over two years since he realised his feelings went deeper than lust. Their lives aren’t safe enough for this half-assed crap. He needs to do something or let it go entirely.
So he looks back down at Stiles, who’s given him time to think but looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, impatient. His heart rate is still high. Derek sits up and puts his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands together. He can’t look at Stiles right now. “It’s ‘he’,” he says, too quietly. It annoys him that he’s nervous but he thinks Stiles would say that that’s nothing to be mad at himself over. ‘You’re way too down on yourself, man. Not everything’s the end of the world.’
“Wh-what?”
“Not ‘she’. He’s pretty amazing. You’d like him.” Stiles’ heartbeat is genuinely deafening. “I think I waited way too long, which is stupid, considering how many people have wanted to kill me over the years but that’s probably okay ‘cause he’s always trying to save- fuck this third person crap. Stiles, I have no idea how you feel about this. I can hear your heart trying to beat out of your chest but that could be due to anything. Even if you’re not, you know, amenable… I’d like to stay friends.”
The silence carries for long enough that Derek turns and finds Stiles looking at him with an incredibly fond expression, eyebrows turned up like it hurts. “Did you just use the word ‘amenable’ while coming on to me?”
Derek grins and rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know whether that’s a yes or a no but it does at least mean that things will stay the same if he’s not interested. Derek actually startles when Stiles puts a hand on his cheek. “I thought you knew how I felt about you.”
Derek leans into the touch. “I knew you felt something, I didn’t know what.”
There are some things that Derek will always hate about his healing. He never got callouses from playing the guitar in high school, he never gets muscle soreness from working out and he’ll never get drunk or high off normal substances. Now, as Stiles leans forward, he wishes he could have kiss-bruised lips, red and swollen. Later, he knows he’ll wish that Stiles could leave finger-shaped bruises on his hips and hickies on his neck.
He smiles as they kiss, though, because he’s already planning on calling the Alpha in Stiles’ city, asking for the freedom to visit for Stiles’ birthday weekend. He’ll surprise him when he’s coming out of classes and Stiles will be shocked into spluttering because Derek cared enough about the occasion to ask another pack for permission. Derek’s not good with his words so he’ll show Stiles that he cares in every other way.
“Stop smiling, you’re making this difficult.”
“You’re smiling too.”
“Guess I’m still a hypocrite.”
They fail to kiss properly for the next five minutes and the five thereafter are spent laughing at their own failure. Stiles finally drags Derek to his feet and shoves him against the front door, mirth forgotten for the moment. Derek likes the feeling of Stiles’ fists digging into his chest, reminiscent of a moment long past, reversed in every possible way.
He likes how cold Stiles’ skin feels in contrast to his supernatural body heat. It feels like aloe on a burn and Derek wonders how much hurt he has left for Stiles to ease. Even if he has more than can be helped, even by Stiles, Derek is happy with just this. Breathing in the smell of him and elation and happiness.
Five years ago, he would never have imagined life being this easy, this good. He never used to have time to sit around on sunny days. And he never made time to date. Now he does and he will. Even if the world goes to hell like it did the year they met, Derek will make time for Stiles. ‘Can't you trust me just this once?’