ohyeahderekhale

[ohyeahderekhale]

It’s been six months since the Nogitsune. Since he was the problem. Since he was the monster.

Everyone keeps saying he looks good now. Healthier. That he's back to himself again.

But the truth is, Stiles hasn't felt like himself in a long time. He wakes up some mornings and stares at the ceiling for an hour, wondering if the feeling in his chest is dread or just emptiness. He jokes, because it’s easier than explaining. He smiles, because they expect him to. He says he’s fine, because what else is he supposed to say?

“I’m fine,” he tells Scott when he checks in.

“I’m fine,” he says to his dad, who comes to his room with home cooked meals more than he used to.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles when Lydia hugs him a little too tight.

But he’s not.

He’s tired. His bones ache in a way that has nothing to do with age and everything to do with the weight of remembering. He can’t sleep without dreaming of bandaged hands and bitter laughter. Of what he did. What it did. Same difference, right?

The worst part is no one blames him. They should. He does. Every time he sees the scar on Derek’s shoulder or the lingering fear in Isaac’s eyes. Every time Allison’s name comes up and the conversation stalls just a second too long.

Stiles is broken in a quiet way. Not like when he lost his mom and fell apart. This time he’s shattered on the inside - a neat, presentable mess. Like a house with the lights on but no one home.

Therapy helps, a little. Talking to someone who wasn’t there, who doesn’t look at him like they’re waiting for the punchline, helps. His therapist tells him healing isn’t linear. That sometimes surviving is the brave part. That sometimes you have to sit in the darkness to see the cracks where the light gets in.

He wants to believe that.

And then, one night, he finds himself sitting on the porch of the rebuilt Hale house. It's quiet. The air smells like pine and the distant promise of rain.

Derek finds him there.

Doesn’t say anything. Just sits.

They don’t talk often, not like they used to. But Stiles always found something safe in Derek's silence. It doesn’t demand anything from him. Doesn’t ask how he’s feeling or if he’s okay.

Derek just is.

After a while, Stiles speaks.

“I’m not fine.”

It hangs between them. Raw. Ugly. True.

Derek doesn’t flinch. He just nods, slow and deliberate.

“You don’t have to be.”

And maybe that’s the first step. Admitting it. Saying it out loud.

Maybe that’s how you start to become something more than a collection of cracks.

Maybe one day, Stiles will be fine.

But tonight, it’s enough that someone finally heard him say he’s not.

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

Derek: *waking up next to Stiles after endless months of intense flirting and finally spending their first night together* Derek: What is your face doing so close to mine? Stiles: *kisses Derek* Derek: Oh.

[ohyeahderekhale]

TYLER HOECHLIN Superman & Lois │Loyal Subjekts

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

Stiles never said it.

Not when Derek brought him coffee every morning during finals week without asking how he took it. Not when Derek patched him up after a hunt, fingers brushing too softly for someone who claimed not to care. Not when Derek lingered every time Stiles was near, always one step behind, always looking.

And Derek never said it either.

Not when he growled at anyone who looked at Stiles too long. Not when he let Stiles crash at the loft after one of those nights when the silence at home felt too loud. Not even when he started keeping Stiles' favorite snacks in the kitchen - things Derek didn’t even eat.

They never said it.

Until one night, sitting on the roof of the rebuilt Hale house, legs dangling over the edge, Stiles wearing Derek's favorite hoodie because Stiles forgot his again.

Stiles bumped Derek's shoulder. “You ever think some stuff means more than words?”

Derek didn’t look at him. Just leaned slightly closer, so their sides touched completely.

“I do,” he murmured.

And maybe that was the point.

Maybe they didn't have to say it.

Maybe the way Derek pulled him into his side, the way Stiles rested his head on his shoulder, the way their hands brushed and stayed - maybe that said everything.

More than words ever could.

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

santa: what do you want for christmas?

me: tyler hoechlin.

santa: *takes off glasses*

santa: *wipes away tears*

santa: *whispers* me too.

me: *jumps away from santa*

me: *angry voice* BACK OFF, OLD MAN! HE'S MINE!

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

Stiles: describe yourself in one word.

Derek: yours

Stiles: *smiling like a crazy madman*

Stiles: that's so sweet i thought you would say something like sad or smth.

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

Stiles: Derek...please don't be mad.

Derek: What did you do?

Stiles: So you know how I was supposed to take Eli to get a pet fish?

Derek: I swear to god if you bring home anything other than an aquatic animal, I will shoot you.

Stiles: *disappears outside and comes in with a golden retriever*

Stiles: We named him fish.

Derek: You did not.

Stiles: Derek he is SO fluffy.

Derek: I cannot believe you let our kid name his first dog 'fish'.

Stiles: I think it's cute. *walks away*

Derek: I also cannot believe you bought our son a fucking dog after going to the store with the intent of purchasing one fucking goldfish.

Stiles: ...

Derek: And NOW you stop talking. Great.

Derek: Fish better be the goddamn best dog in the fucking world.

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

[ohyeahderekhale]

ayyy lmao