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[thewolfwiththeredrose]

No Looking Back Or Down Chapter Five

Also on AO3

Rating: Mature (rating subject to change later changes)

Pairing: Stiles/Derek (Sterek)

Words: 2,375

Summary: The jarring electronic ringing noise splitting through the comfortable silence in the car is what snaps Derek back into the present. It takes him a few seconds to register that the sound must be Stiles’ phone ringing from his backpack that was haphazardly slung on to the back seat some hours ago. It isn’t until he looks over at Stiles that his stomach drops to his feet.

OR

Derek loves to read, and Stiles doesn't want to answer his phone.

Warning:  There is a description of a panic attack in this chapter. It's not very graphic because it's written from an outside perspective, but please do not read if you think this could trigger you in any way.

I Hear You Callin’ (But I Can’t Come Home Right Now)

It’s well past noon by the time that Stiles’ phone rings for the first time. Honestly, Derek had expected it much sooner, but then again nobody but him had paid attention to Stiles before, so he isn’t sure why he had expected it to be any different when they left town.

They have been on the road ever since they left Tom’s, and to Derek’s utter surprise the ride hasn’t been silent. The conversation had started rather hesitantly, but Stiles was the one to start it, so Derek saw that as a win.

“So, you like reading because of your dad? Whenever you were hanging around in the loft you pretty much always had a book in your hands” Stiles asked, voice soft and hesitant, as if Derek were an animal that he didn’t want to spook. Derek couldn’t tell whether the question was intended to get him to talk about his father, or about books, but he made up his mind on the spot to go with the safer option, to get Stiles to talk, to hear his voice even if he’s not really saying anything.

“Yeah, kind of,” Derek began, relaxing backward in to his seat, trying to adopt a casual air about him to steer the conversation to comfortable ground. “My dad used to like classics, so I used to read a lot of those, but there’s only so many times that a guy can re-read Lord of the Rings without feeling the need to branch out a little.”

“You like Lord of the Rings?” Stiles asked, amusement thick in his voice, eyes slanted towards Derek and the smallest of smirks lifting the corner of his mouth and oh. Oh. “You’re a nerd. The great Derek Hale, leather-clad stubbly cool guy is a nerd.”

That smirk had been absent for so long that Derek had almost forgotten what it looked like, so infuriating and antagonistic that he had hated the sight of it for so long, right up until it was gone, when all he could do was live in hope that it would soon return to once again send his heart in to a flutter that he had always thought meant irritation. How wrong he had been.

“Hey, don’t judge me,” Derek replied, voice gruff in false defence, causing Stiles to jokingly hold his palms up in surrender.

“Not judging,” Stiles replied, smirk still firmly in place, “but you must be warned that I reserve the right to get you to talk nerdy to me later.”

“Understood,” Derek replied, secretly looking forward to it, adopting a teasing tone to his voice before continuing, “as long as it isn’t about the history of male circumcision. I may have branched out with my reading, but not quite that far.”

“I’ll have you know, it’s a much more interesting topic than you would assume,” Stiles retorted after throwing a mocking affronted gaze at Derek and huffing a short laugh. “So, what is your favourite genre to read?”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Derek said, side-eyeing Stiles who raised his hand and drew a cross over his heart with his index finger. Derek figured that was good enough. “I like fantasy books. Supernatural fantasy books.”

“Dude, you’re kidding,” Stiles replied, snapping his head towards Derek, pinching his lips together to avoid laughing but the amusement rolled off him in waves. “Surely, that’s the last thing you would spend your time on. We practically live in a supernatural fantasy novel. Or, like, maybe a TV show, or some shitty fanfiction, I don’t know, but still. Why would you want to read that stuff as well?”

“A couple’ reasons, firstly it’s funny reading some of the stuff that authors make up about supernaturals, like, some of the origin stories I’ve read for ‘wolves and vamps are hilarious,” Derek began, he could see Stiles nodding from the corner of his eye, surely the boy had come across some of this fiction in his research, “but mostly I think it’s the escapism. I know that sounds weird because like you said, I’m pretty much living it, but I guess it’s like when single people read romance novels, with these books you always know that good overcomes evil and there’s a happily ever after and I just like that, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Stiles said, his voice softened with understanding, “I guess I feel the same about research. Like, I know shit about creatures we don’t even know are real yet, but I enjoy it because it makes me feel like if we ever do meet something new, we won’t be in the dark, there could still be a happy ending. Even then, I still like to read fiction. Like you said, escapism.”

“I was the same when I was younger, before everything,” Derek replied, keeping his tone light, focusing on the conversation and not on the past, “I used to read all of the books I could find at home about my pack and our history, our lore. It’s come in handy a lot with pack stuff in the last couple of years but I’ve never really been good at researching or seeking out information that wasn’t easy to find. I would never have got this far without you.”

Derek glanced over to gauge Stiles’ reaction. The boy looked set to argue, his brows pinched and jaw set, stubborn and beautiful in a way that Derek kicked himself for not noticing sooner. He opened his mouth to speak, but Derek saw the moment his face relaxed in to an almost unreadable expression.

“We’re a good team,” Stiles said, his voice had an odd, airy quality, as if the statement had come as a revelation.

Derek simply nodded in reply, his mind cast itself back to all the times when that fact had proven itself to be true. Every plan they had hatched, every research session, every time they had almost lost someone and had relied upon the other for support.

The jarring electronic ringing noise splitting through the comfortable silence in the car is what snaps Derek back into the present. It takes him a few seconds to register that the sound must be Stiles’ phone ringing from his backpack that was haphazardly slung on to the back seat some hours ago. It isn’t until he looks over at Stiles that his stomach drops to his feet.

“I meant to turn that off before we left,” Stiles says. Although his voice sounds moderately steady, Derek can hear the quickening of his heartbeat, the shortening of his breaths, can smell the panic souring his scent. The boy is scrambling now, leaning back between the gap in the seats to try and reach his bag, but turns back to Derek empty handed. “Derek, pull over.”

Derek wordlessly complies, swinging the car off the tree-lined road and on to the hard shoulder. He is silently grateful that they are driving the back roads rather than the interstate, there are hardly any other cars on this stretch at all. The car has hardly stopped moving when Stiles gracelessly jumps out of the vehicle, tearing open the back door and ripping open the zip of his backpack with little finesse. Derek rounds the car in time to see the boy pull out his phone, hands shaking, he doesn’t look at the screen, simply opens the back casing of the phone and pulls out the battery, silence once again spreading through the air.

Stiles throws the pieces of his phone on to the back seat, before placing his hands on the roof off the car and dropping his head down on to the sun-warmed metal. Derek can hear the raggedness of Stiles’ breathing, the quick pace of his heart not slowing, and knows that he has to act before Stiles’ panic escalates.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re alright,” Derek says, trying to sound as comforting as possible. He doesn’t want to crowd the boy, or touch him too much when he is this vulnerable, so he stays a few paces back, keeping his senses alert.

“I can’t go back, Der, I can’t even think about that place,” Stiles gasps, breath coming in and out in great uncontrollable gulps, “I left everyone, I left everyone, but I can’t face them yet, Der, I can’t- I can’t go back, I can’t think, I can’t breathe-”

Stiles’ speech is broken by his panicked breaths, but it’s still quick and disjointed like his mouth can’t keep up with his brain. All Derek wants is to help the boy, doesn’t want to do anything that could be unwelcome, but when he sees the shaking in Stiles’ legs he steps towards him and places a large, grounding hand on Stiles’ slim waist, partly for comfort, and partly in case his legs give out and he needs catch the boy. The second that Derek’s hand touches Stiles, the warmth from the boy’s flesh spreads across his skin, working its way up his arm, across his shoulder, spreading through his whole being and- why does this always happen when he touches Stiles?

Derek pushed the thought aside for now, focusing on the boy in front of him. In the weeks before they left town, he had been observing Stiles, checking in on him, watching out for him. After everything, Derek knows that Stiles’ own brain is more of a danger to him than anything else, he’ll work himself up in to a worse panic unless Derek does something, distracts him somehow.

“You know, I always hate the way so many people think that Frodo is the main character in the Lord of the Rings,” Derek begins. Stiles makes a vaguely questioning noise in the back of his throat, his breathing still ragged. “Well, firstly, the characters are in a fellowship, every member of that group was just as integral to the story and everyone else. One member of that group isn’t there, the whole thing falls apart. It isn’t all about Frodo.”

“True,” Stiles says. His breathing is starting to slow and his heartbeat is regulating, but the sour scent of panic and anxiety is still thick in the air. “The story follows everyone from the fellowship, even when they aren’t together. It’s kind of the point.”

“Exactly,” Derek continues, “and, I mean, gun to my head you make me choose someone to be the main character, it’s Samwise, hands down. There’s no way Frodo would have made it out of Hobbiton alive, let alone to Mordor, if it hadn’t been for Sam. Besides, Frodo is pretty cool in the beginning, but by the end he really gets on my nerves.”

Stiles barks out a laugh at that, it sounds a little hysterical, like a laugh made up of nervous energy manifesting itself in to a sound. Derek misses the way Stiles used to laugh, head thrown back, eyes squeezed closed, long neck arching. He promises himself that one day he’ll see that again.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles replies. His breathing and heartbeat have slowed to a less worrying level, his legs are still trembling and he is yet to lift his head from the roof of the car. “I love Sam. The underappreciated sidekick, a man after my own heart.” Stiles’ tone is slightly bitter when he talks and Derek just wants him to understand, to see-

“I appreciate you,” Derek stutters out, only he doesn’t really mean to. Derek has never been very brave with words, always too afraid of saying the wrong thing, when actions are usually so much easier to understand. Words too often mean things that they don’t say, like double entendre and intonation, the way you say something is just as important as what you say and, well, Derek has never been good at that. When it comes down to it, he wants Stiles to know what he means to Derek, even if he does wish he could say it in a less stilted, emotionally constipated way.

At Derek’s words, Stiles finally lifts his head from the roof of the car. In one quick but shaky move, he turns towards Derek and barrels forwards in to him, wrapping his trembling arms around the older man’s waist and burying his head in the muscled chest before him. Derek has never seen Stiles hug like this. With the pack, with Scott or his Dad, Stiles always goes over the shoulder, pat on the back, short squeeze and separate. Never before has he seen Stiles cling to someone like this, wrap himself around a body, bury himself in the person before him and just hold.

“I appreciate you, too,” Stiles chokes out, his voice muffled by Derek’s chest but the words ring out clear in the older man’s head. Derek thinks that maybe this is one of those times when words have more than one meaning, but he doesn’t really know what that could mean.

Instead of thinking about it too hard, Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and pulls the boy even closer to himself, embracing the way the warm tingling that he has come to associate with Stiles’ touch spreads throughout his being. His whole body melts in to the hug, and he idly thinks that this is probably the most physical human contact he has had since Laura died.

The scent of comfort reaches Derek’s nose and he recognises that it is coming from Stiles. Derek preens slightly at having calmed the boy, and takes a few moments to subtly bury his nose in Stiles’ hair and take in his scent. In the beginning, Stiles had smelled to Derek like teenage boy hormones, medication and sugar, not all that bad really, but not very different to most teenaged boys. After spending time with him, being in his space that is saturated with his scent, Derek has realised that Stiles’ scent is much more complex. Underneath, Stiles smells like books, and cinnamon, and chocolate, and coffee, and home. Stiles’ scent is his favourite smell.

Standing on a roadside in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, with Stiles in his arms, Stiles’ scent in his nose, and Stiles’ heartbeat drumming in his ears, Derek Hale falls in love with the same boy all over again. Stiles is definitely the Sam to his Frodo.

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

No Looking Back Or Down Chapter Four

Also on AO3

Rating: Mature (rating subject to change later changes)

Pairing: Stiles/Derek (Sterek)

Words: 1,876

Summary: “Oh, my god,” Derek says suddenly, Stiles’ head snapping up at the abrupt change in tone. “It’s still here.”

OR

Derek revisits a part of his childhood.

Once Upon A Time (Before The Rain Began)

 They had long since crossed the state line in to Oregon when Derek sees a rusted signpost pointing down a seemingly long-forgotten road off the old highway. In that moment, he finally decides where their first destination should be. It’s been a few hours since either of them last spoke, but the silence isn’t as tense as it had been. Stiles is still sat with his eyes closed, breathing deep and even, and more peaceful than Derek has seen him in a long time. His heartbeat is slow and steady, but still as strong as ever, and the sound of it thumps through Derek’s ears as he turns off the interstate on to the dirt-lined road. The feel of the car turning must have alerted Stiles to their change of course, because he opened his eyes for the first time in hours, blinking until they adjust to the light. Derek thought he looked kind of like a cub in that moment, waking from a nap and wanting to hide from the brightness of the sun.

 “Where we headed, big guy?” Stiles asked, his voice soft, likely from being so close to sleep, yet still clinging to the edge of wakefulness.

 “Final destination for the day? No idea. But I- I just had this jolt of memory, you know?” he said back, just as softly, “Something that I’d almost forgotten, but I saw a road sign a few minutes back and I just have to see if the old place is still there.”

 “What place?” Stiles prodded further, turning his whole body to face Derek now, who keeps his eyes resolutely on the road before him.

 “It’s probably not even there anymore. When I was a kid, every summer we used to leave my aunts and uncles in charge of the territory and make the trip as a family up to visit a pack that we had a strong alliance with. They lived somewhere in the woods near Astoria, I think, I was very young at the time. We’d make it a road trip and drive up, always leaving super early in the morning and stopping off at this tiny roadside diner. I just wanna- I wanna see.”

 Derek could feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he spoke, assessing and curious, although when he braved a glance over at Stiles, the expression on the boy’s face was one that Derek had never seen before.

 “Tell me more about it,” Stiles says softly. He makes it sound like a question, the suggestion that Stiles doesn’t want to pry where he would be unwelcome, that he would let Derek back out if he wanted to only makes Derek trust the boy even more.

 “Laura used to get so excited every year,” Derek says, voice quiet and wistful, he ignores the quick intake of breath that he hears from Stiles at the mention or Laura’s name, “that she would wear her clothes to bed so that she could run down to the car as soon as she woke up. She’d always be the first one there.” Derek chuckled sadly, taking a second to breathe deeply, steadying himself before continuing. “She’s always shout at the top of her lungs when we crossed the state line and get everyone in the car to join in with her. From then on, she’d be searching for the sign on the side of the road advertising the breakfast sandwiches. They were as big as your head, she could never finish it but she’d always try her hardest before giving me what was left.”

 As he spoke he felt his throat close, blinking hard against the water welling in his eyes. In that moment, he couldn’t tell what he was reacting to; the fact that he missed Laura so much that it hurt him every single day, that those memories were so long ago, or that he almost let himself forget such happy, good memories.

 “Wow, that sounds amazing,” Stiles says, adopting a similar wistful tone to Derek, “I always wanted to make memories like that. Siblings, family road trips, fun little traditions. Guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”

 Derek opens his mouth to reply, to tell Stiles that this right now is a memory that they are making, that Stiles’ time to have a family and make traditions isn’t over yet, that his life isn’t over yet, but the words get stuck in his throat when he sees a building quickly approaching.

 “Oh, my god,” Derek says suddenly, Stiles’ head snapping up at the abrupt change in tone. “It’s still here.”

 Derek swings the Camaro in to the small gravel parking lot, awed smile gracing his features as he takes in the familiar sight of the diner, so engrossed in the nostalgia that he misses Stiles looking at him, smiling in return.

 ***

 Tom’s Diner is just as Derek remembered. It’s everything that is to be expected from a fifties style roadside diner, just shrunk down. There is a total of six red vinyl booths, three on each wall exposing a strip of black and white chequered tile flooring from the door to the counter where three stools are lined up and a middle-aged man stands smiling behind a retro looking cash register. Derek smiles tightly at the man behind the counter before ushering Stiles sideways in to one of the booths.

 “Anything specific you want, or should I just go ahead and order for both of us?” Derek asks Stiles, who has been sat twiddling his thumbs instead of looking at the menu.

 “You go ahead,” Stiles replies, the sound of Derek’s voice seemingly pulling him out of whatever train of thought was running through his mind, “you know what I like, right?”

 The question shouldn’t sound like a challenge, but to Derek it does. In that moment, Derek feels such an intense need to show Stiles that yes, he knows him, Stiles can trust him, Derek would be so good to him, that he simply nods before going to the counter to order their food. The man behind the counter smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle, and it makes Derek think of the way Stiles used to smile before… before.

 After ordering their food, he heads back to their booth, a cup of coffee in each hand, one black, one with cream and two sugars, just the way Stiles likes it. As he’s setting the mugs down on the table, colourful flashing lights from the corner of the room draw his attention. Derek grins slightly to himself when he recognises the source of the flashing, ignoring Stiles’ inquisitive gaze as he holds up his finger in a ‘wait a second’ gesture.

 Derek scans his eyes over the old juke box for a few seconds before he finds the song that he is looking for, pressing the button before going back to sit opposite Stiles as the melodic sound of a soft female voice fills the quiet air.

 I am sitting in the morning at the diner on the corner.

 “What is this?” Stiles asks, brows furrowed in confusion or possible recognition.

 “Tom’s Diner is named after this song, it’s by an artist called-”

 “Suzanne Vega,” Stiles says, cutting Derek off, “my mom used to like her.”

 Derek pauses. In all the time that Derek has known him, Stiles very rarely mentions his mother. He knows the basics, sure, that her name was Claudia and died when Stiles was about eight, but beyond that Derek knows very little about the woman. He waits to see if Stiles will expand on what he has shared, but when the silence stretches on just a little too long, Derek can’t help but try to make Stiles comfortable again in the only way he seems to be able to anymore. Talking.

 “Mine, too,” Derek says, coughing against the lump in his throat, “she used to sing us kids her songs as lullabies when we were pups. My dad always used to read books to us.”

 Stiles opens his mouth to reply, but the man from behind the counter approaches their table and places a breakfast sandwich in front of Derek, and an order of curly fries with a chocolate milkshake in front of Stiles, who smiles slightly at Derek as if to say yeah, you know me. It makes Derek sit a little taller in his seat. They eat in mostly silence, although it isn’t as uncomfortable as Derek had feared. When they’re finished with their food, Stiles excuses himself to the bathroom, and Derek resolutely ignores the half-finished order of fries and focuses on the empty milkshake, because it’s still more that he’s seen Stiles eat in weeks.

 It is in this time, when Derek is alone, that he really thinks about where he is, what he is doing. He’s talking about his family and it doesn’t feel like a knife to the gut every time. It’s hard, and it hurts to think about them, because he’s so guilty deep down, but he thinks about the way that Stiles looks at him when he talks, the way that he asks questions but never pushes and doesn’t seem so caught up in his own head whilst Derek is talking, he thinks about all of these things and he figures yeah, it may hurt him to think about them so much, but if he can help Stiles then it’s worth every second.

 Derek is so deep in thought that he doesn’t even hear Stiles approaching the booth until he is asking Derek if he is okay, his hand resting at the juncture between Derek’s neck and shoulder, warmth coursing through the skin beneath. The warmth continues to spread all through Derek’s body until most of the tension has leaked out of his muscles, and his hearing has fixed on Stiles’ heartbeat, which is slowly quickening the longer Derek stays silent.

 “Yeah, sorry. Talked a lot today. Not used to it,” Derek replies, and he knows he sounds terse but what he said is true, he isn’t used to talking, sharing, opening up. It’s frightening.

 “Oh,” Stiles says, an odd, hesitant quality to his voice, “you know, you don’t have to talk so much if you aren’t comfortable. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

 “I know,” Derek says, voice soft and almost intimate, “that’s why I want to.”

 “Oh,” Stiles repeats, this time with more surprise in his voice, and a slight smile curling his lips which drops quickly before he says, “look, I know I haven’t exactly been sharing as much, but I will, I’ll get there. Listening to you has been really helpful and I-”

 “When I told you we’d get there together, I meant it. You don’t owe me anything, remember that,” Derek says, a slightly serious tone to his voice.

 Stiles pulls his lips tight in a sad smile, eyes dropping to the floor as he mutters a faint “That’s what you think, big guy” under his breath that Derek is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, so he pretends like he didn’t. Instead, he places his hand on top of Stiles’ on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before standing from the booth, and leading Stiles back out to the Camaro and the waiting road.

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

No Looking Back Or Down Chapter Three

Also on AO3

Rating: Mature (rating subject to change later changes)

Pairing: Stiles/Derek (Sterek)

Words: 1,286

Summary: The whole point of this trip in Derek’s mind had been to share and heal with one another. If in order to achieve that, Derek had to be the one to take the first step, then so be it.

OR

Finally driving away from Beacon Hills, Stiles learns a few things about the Hales.

It Started When She Ran Away (Thumbs Out on the Interstate)

 By the time that Stiles starts speaking again, anything more than a few stilted words, they’ve been on the road for a good couple of hours. About ten miles past the Beacon County Line, Stiles had inclined his head towards Derek, eyes avoiding contact like the plague, and had uttered a short ‘sorry’, to which Derek replied with an equally short, albeit soft and knowing ‘don’t be’. Since then, silence.

 He’s been staring out of the passenger’s side window, eyes tracking the scenery flying past as the sun slowly rises in the sky. Every few minutes, Derek glances away from the mostly empty road unfurling before them, and takes in the boy sat next to him. Stiles still looks tired and gaunt, but the warm golden rays of morning sun are illuminating the smooth pallor of his face, shining off of his long eyelashes and further accentuating the warm amber glow of his eyes. He looks so young like this, Derek thinks. Innocent, almost ethereal. Beautiful. Try as he might, Derek cannot stop looking over at him.

 “You know, I’m not about to dive head first out of a moving car, you don’t have to keep watching me like I’m a flight risk,” Stiles eventually pipes up, eyes still fixed on the woodland encompassing the road they are on.

 “I wasn’t,” Derek replies, internally cursing himself for sounding like a petulant child.

 “You were,” Stiles shoots back, a very no duh tone in his voice.

 “Not because I thought you were going to barrel roll in to the road,” Derek says, indignant. “Surely my company isn’t that bad.”

 Stiles huffs at that, and Derek supresses his smile. In lieu of a reply, Stiles turns his head slightly away from the window and flicks his eyes towards Derek.

 “You just looked…” Derek pauses, unsure of how to finish his own sentence. All of the possibilities well up in his throat. He wants to tell Stiles that he looked like an angel, like a dream, but no, Derek can’t do that. Not now, maybe not ever.

“Like shit,” Stiles supplies, snark thick in his voice, “or like death, maybe? Something along those lines, I’m sure.”

 “Tired,” Derek says, cutting Stiles off. “You look tired. And hungry.”

 Stiles hums noncommittally, which Derek knows is his agreement, and stares back out the window at the greenery. Derek begins to worry that he shouldn’t have said that, should have just kept his mouth shut, until Stiles once again breaks the silence.

 “You know, the woods are kind of pretty when you aren’t worried that something is about to jump out of the shadows and maul you to death. Or kidnap you. Or use you as a human sacrifice.”

 Derek huffs a laugh at that. “You know, a lot of the things that make the woods dangerous are also what make it a safe place.”

 “How does that make sense?” Stiles says, turning fully around in his seat now to face Derek, who keeps his eyes resolutely on the road. If he’s going to be the one to start sharing, he doesn’t want to have to look at the pity in Stiles’ eyes.

 “It’s a great place to hide from the outside world, lots of cover and natural barriers. It’s filled with natural resources that are key to survival; clean water, game and other food sources that can sustain life without having to leave the relative safety of the tree line. The main thing about the woods is that there is so much magic there, imbued in to the very soil is the earth magic that druids harness, the ecosystem of the forest is so old and revered that it actively creates its own magic, making it a perfect place for supernatural creatures to use their abilities. All of these things make it a hotspot for dark forces to live and work but it also makes it a place of safety and comfort for people like me.”

 “Is that why your family lived there?” Stiles asks, his voice is hesitant, like he doesn’t want to push too hard, yet all of his attention is on Derek as he awaits a response.

 Derek almost feels like he’s obligated to answer Stiles’ questions, even though they are of a personal nature. He had already told the boy that they would get around to sharing eventually; the whole point of this trip in Derek’s mind had been to share and heal with one another. If in order to achieve that, Derek had to be the one to take the first step, then so be it. He’s mildly uncomfortable under Stiles’ calculating gaze, so he nods sharply, dismissively. It is only when Stiles’ attention turns forward to look out at the road that Derek elaborates.

 “My house was built generations ago by my ancestors. You know, back then my family pretty much owned the whole town, not just the preserve. We were,-“ Derek paused, clearing his throat before continuing, “We were one of the first families to settle in Beacon Hills, we helped build the place. The land there had always had powerful magic, which made it such a comforting place for shifters, it’s kind of why people are drawn there. The problem is, when you’re a shifter in a place with magic like that it feels kind of like… an animal trapped in a cage. You want to let it out so bad, but it’s not safe and the more you suppress it, the worse you feel. So, my great, great grandfather built the house with his bare hands deep in the preserve, so that we could be safe. Free.”

 Derek all but whispers the final word. They’re just facts, really, he hasn’t talked about his feelings or anything like that. Just facts. But still, there is something in talking about his family like this that feels so important to Derek. Remembering them as they were all that time ago, before the world went up in flames along with the house they had built.

 “Wow, man. That is definitely the most I have ever heard you say in one go before,” Stiles jokes, but his voice is slightly husky, a little choked, and betrays the humour the statement suggests.

 “Probably the most I’ve said in a few years,” Derek replies, eyes remaining on the road, although he can see the frown that Stiles sends his way at those words.

 “You mean, since Laura?” Stiles says, his previous hesitance returning with even greater force, and for good reason.

 Derek isn’t ready for this. He needs time, he needs to work his way up to this, because Laura- Laura. “I don’t- I can’t-” He tries.

 “Hey, man, it’s okay,” Stiles reassures, briefly touching Derek’s shoulder and sending sparks down his arm, “I’m sorry, that was too much, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

 “No, it’s stupid. I should be able to hear her name without having a bad reaction. She was my best friend.” With every word he speaks, Derek becomes calmer, like a wave washing over him.

 “It’s not stupid. Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, super smart? ‘Cause you really are.”

 “No,” Derek says bluntly, and breathes heavily for a second, collecting himself before flicking his eyes across to meet Stiles’ for the first time since that morning, drawing in a quick breath and saying, “Thank you.”

 Stiles smiles. Small and warm, but lasting. Derek’s stomach clenches.

 “You’re welcome,” Stiles replies.

 Then, smile still in place, he tips his head back on to the seat and his eyes slide shut, letting the warm morning sun wash over his tired features, and his long eyelashes fan out over his porcelain cheeks and Derek can hardly breathe.

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

No Looking Back Or Down Chapter Two

Also on AO3

Rating: Mature (rating subject to change later changes)

Pairing: Stiles/Derek (Sterek)

Words: 2,207

Summary: Derek pulls up outside the Stilinski house just before 7am, the June morning sun already chasing the chill from the night air. Shutting off the Camaro engine, Derek gets out of the car and makes his way across the driveway towards the house. 

OR

Stiles and Derek leave Beacon Hills.

Warnings: There are some scenes which could be upsetting, specifically the lead up to a panic attack, some blood, dead bodies, mentions of alcoholism and mental illness. Most mentions are brief and not too graphic, but please don't read if you feel this could be triggering for you.

Do You Wanna Share a Ride (And Get the Fuck Out of This Joint)?

By the time he gets back to the loft, most of the party-goers are filtering out of the doors, leaving behind a mess of discarded cups and an exhausted-looking pack. One by one they walk past him on their way out with promises of returning the next day to clean up, grins still plastered on their faces. No mention of Stiles.

 Derek doesn’t sleep that night. He plans.

 It doesn’t take him long to pack. If he’s honest with himself, he never truly unpacked when he moved in to the loft, just slid his bag under his bed and figured that was good enough. Out of sight, out of mind, right? That way, he never had to think about the fact that he was more or less always looking for a good enough reason to run away again.

 He’d never found it, until now.

 Derek sits in front of his laptop for hours, researching in a way he hopes Stiles would be proud of. He has a plan, of sorts. Well, he has a plan of how to come up with a plan, which is more than he’s had to go on previously. He figures that Stiles will have some of his own ideas, too, as per usual, but even still, he tries to do what he thinks is best.

 It isn’t until the first rays of morning light come spilling through the loft’s windows that it dawns on Derek that, for what could be the first time in his life, he will actually be leaving something behind when he runs. He picks up his keys from where they reside on the table in front of him, toying with them before they land back on the surface with a clatter.

 Lifting his hips up, he pulls his phone out of his front pocket, bringing up Stiles’ name.

 To: Stiles

What are we telling the others?

 Once he hits sent, he worries for a moment, hoping that it’s not too much of a loaded question, but he doesn’t have time to worry for long before his phone is buzzing with a reply.

 From: Stiles

Nothing.

 To: Stiles

Okay.

 Derek had figured as much. Although, truly, there is more to that question that Derek had intended. Before he can think better of it, he has already typed his next question.

 To: Stiles

What about your dad?

 There’s a ball of worry in the pit of Derek’s stomach as he waits for Stiles’ reply. He’s not trying to talk Stiles out of it, honestly, he just needs to know the full extent of what they are leaving behind. Are they coming back soon? Are they cutting all ties to Beacon Hills for now, or… for good?

 From: Stiles

I’ve written him a note.

I tried to explain.

Still kinda feels like a coward’s way out.

 To: Stiles

I’m sure he will understand.

Be there in 20.

 Derek shuts off his phone, pushing back from the table and standing up, looking once more around the trashed loft before nodding to himself. This is the right decision, he’s sure of it. In that moment, Derek’s resolve feels unshakable. He grasps his keys up off the table, deftly unwinding the loft key from the fob and placing it back on the surface, before grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, and scrawling a note for the pack find when they come by.

 ***

 Derek pulls up outside the Stilinski house just before 7am, the June morning sun already chasing the chill from the night air. Shutting off the Camaro engine, Derek gets out of the car and makes his way across the driveway towards the house. The cruiser isn’t there, which comes as no surprise, and the powder blue Jeep stands there alone, somehow still trundling on after everything that has happened inside. If he looks closely enough through the window, Derek can still see a stain on the front seat which he is sure is his own blood. It almost makes him want to laugh. Almost.

 Derek moves on autopilot, across the short lawn and round to the side of the house where Stiles’ bedroom window is. He can already hear Stiles’ heartbeat. Although the boy may be uncharacteristically quite these days, his heart still pounds loud and strong. It may stutter, fast with panic and palpitations but it is always just as powerful, relentless. It’s one of Derek’s favourite sounds, it gives him hope. For what, he’s not sure, but hope is something Derek hasn’t had in a long time, so he clings to it like a lifeline.

 Lost in his own thoughts, it isn’t until he’s about to scale the wall that he looks up to the window and sees that it is already open. Stiles’ head, complete with ridiculous bed hair, is already poking outside and looking down at Derek. The bags under his eyes look even heavier than they had a few hours ago, and Derek doubts that he even tried to sleep at all.

 “You know, my dad’s not here. You could just use the door,” Stiles says, still looking down at Derek. There is light humour in his voice, and for a second, Derek allows himself to hope that Stiles’ lips will twist in to that devilish smirk that he had so hated, and now misses desperately. They don’t.

 “Yeah, well, old habits and all that,” Derek replies, shuffling on his feet and feeling slightly awkward under the teens gaze.

 “Come on up,” Stiles finally relents, stepping back from the window.

 Derek scales the outer wall of the house and slides through Stiles’ open window in five seconds flat, feet landing heavily on the floorboard in Stiles’ room.

 “That will never not be impressive,” Stiles said, voice dripping with mirth.

 Derek huffed in response before glancing around the boy’s room once more. Countless hours have been spent here, researching, planning, on one memorable occasion even hiding from the police. The memory makes Derek huff once more.

 “Remember when you harboured a fugitive in here? Good times,” Derek deadpanned, glaring at Stiles like he hasn’t in a long time.

 Stiles huffed, almost chuckled.  It wasn’t much, it wasn’t a laugh, but it was the closest thing to it that Derek had heard come from the boy in months, and it was beautiful. Derek promises himself in that moment that he will do everything he can to hear it again.

 “Yeah, I never did properly apologise for that. Sorry, man,” Stiles said lightly, fond humour thick in his voice.

 “Eh, I’ll forgive you. Statistically speaking, I probably should have been the number one suspect anyway. Plus, I was kinda creepy back then.”

 Stiles looks up at that, making eye contact with Derek from where he’s hovering near his bed a few feet away. Derek grins, and Stiles huffs again, still looking straight at Derek, lips curling up slightly in to an amused smile. Derek’s traitorous heart beats faster.

 “Hell yeah, you were,” Stiles replies, maintaining eye contact with Derek.

 “Of course, you would think that, there’s still a blood stain on your front seat from when I got shot,” Derek says humorously.

 “Yeah, that’s one thing I’m definitely not going to miss. People bleeding out all over the place, all the time.”

 Stiles’ face drops, breaking off eye contact with Derek and staring at the floor. He looks sad, sadder than usual, Derek can smell it in the air and he hates it. Derek had been worried about leaving something behind, the one thing he had. Stiles has a whole life here, so much that he’s giving up. Derek knows that Stiles needs to get away from this town, knows that he needs to get better, but he doesn’t want to make him do anything he’ll regret.

 He has to ask.

 “You know, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Derek says, voice soft and low as if he were afraid of startling the boy like a wild animal.

 Suddenly, Stiles’ face changes, a mask of stubborn indignation and anger pulled over his tired face, a mirror image of what Derek had seen the night before.

 “I’m leaving. I can’t stay in the god forsaken place a moment longer, it’s tearing me apart. If the only reason you’ve been going along with this is to try and talk me out of it, then you can leave right now, because I’m going with or without you.” Stiles’ voice is low and steady, but holding such concealed anger that it makes Derek’s hackles rise in retaliation.

 “I’m not trying to stop you, Stiles!” Derek began, his voice rising in his indignation, “I’m just trying to make sure that this is what you want, that I’m not going to make you do something that you don’t want to do, is that so wrong?! If we’re going to do this, you need to get it in to your head that I am not going to leave you. I’m not, do you hear me? If you’re going, then I’m going to be there beside you, okay?” Derek finishes, looking up at a rather shell-shocked Stiles before softening his voice and repeating, “Okay?”

 “Okay,” Stiles says quietly, nodding his head softly.

 “Have you got everything you need?” Derek asks, trying to shake off the tense atmosphere that had been created.

 “Uh,” Stiles shakes his head slightly before turning to the open duffle bag on his bed, “Laptop and phone with chargers, clothes, underwear, drivers licence… think that’s pretty much it?”

 “Pillow, Adderall, passport,” Derek says quickly, “those are important things, Stiles.”

 “Shit…” Stiles says to himself, pottering around his room to grab his medication and his passport, “how did you know all that?”

 “Just do,” Derek said shortly, “know you can’t sleep without your pillow, and that you’ll annoy the hell out of me in the car if you don’t have your pills.”

 “Damn right,” Stiles agrees, huffing slightly, looking up at Derek with an unexpected softness in his eyes whilst he puts the things in his bag and plops his pillow on top, “wait. Passport? Why do I need my passport?”

 Derek simply shrugs in response before grabbing the duffel bag off the bed and heading towards the window.

 “I’ll meet you in the car in a minute. If you take too long I’m leaving without you,” Derek says before jumping out of the window.

 “Dramatic,” Stiles mutters to himself before walking over to close the window.

 Turning around, Stiles takes one more glance around his room before walking out of the door and closing it behind him. He doesn’t look back. Walking down the stairs and in to the entryway, Stiles takes one last moment to look around his childhood home. This used to be a place filled with happy memories, of his mom, of laughter and sunshine. It is no longer that place.

 Looking to the kitchen, all Stiles can see is the memory of his father, drunk off his ass and crying, not even able to look as Stiles because it was his fault, all his fault. He sees the memory of his mother, screaming at him, throwing things at him because he’s evil, he’s wrong, he’s trying to kill her. He looks away from the kitchen quickly, tears stinging his eyes, heart in his throat.

 He looks towards the living room and all he can see are the countless times he’s stitched someone up on his couch, nights spent wondering if someone else he cared about was going to die right in front of his eyes. He would tend to their wounds as often as he would tend to his own, the memory plays out before him, the night spent on the couch after being kidnapped by Gerard, trying not to scream every time he breathed. A ghost of the feeling is gripping his chest and he struggles to catch his breath.

 Finally, he looks along the hallway, and all he can see is the phantom memory of blood streaking the floorboards, a pile of faceless corpses heaped at the foot of a man with his own face, staring back at him. His eyes are black, and his mouth is contorted in to a vile grin, so pleased, so happy about the chaos and sadness he has caused.

 Stiles turns his back on the horrifying illusion, his chest tight and tears now running freely down his face. He opens the door, slamming it closed behind him and running for the Camaro, not stopping until he is firmly in his seat, door shut behind him. He’s still panting and crying, but he doesn’t look at Derek, just focuses on what he has to say.

 “You get me out of this town. You get me the fuck out of this town and you do it as fast as you can,” he forces out before focusing more on his breathing, trying to stave off the impending panic attack.

 The car is moving before Stiles even finished talking. Derek puts his foot to the floor, breaking a dozen speed limits and not caring for a second, he doesn’t ease up on the gas for a moment, not until he sees those beautiful words:

 You are now leaving

Beacon Hills

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

No Looking Back Or Down Chapter One

Hello! So I’m currently working on this fic and posting to AO3, so I really want to use this as a place to get feedback/ keep people updated on when to expect new parts, so please give this a look! I’ll be posting the first 4 chapters today, and then keeping y’all informed until the next part which should be pretty soon :)

Also on AO3

Rating: Mature (rating subject to change later changes)

Pairing: Stiles/Derek (Sterek)

Words: 1,324

Summary: Derek looks around himself and all he can see is happy faces, smiling, laughing, carefree. He wants to be happy for them, wants to be proud, but he can’t. He can’t, because they haven’t been paying attention. And Derek is just so angry.

OR

Stiles is really not okay and Derek is the only one who notices.

Chapter One: I Can’t Take This Place (I’m Leaving It Behind)

They’re alive.

They’re not okay, not by any stretch of the imagination, but they are alive.

That’s more than Derek ever thought they would have.

They’re…happy, for the most part. Junior year has just ended for the pack, and they wanted to throw a party to celebrate. So much has happened to them in the past year, so many people have died, they decided that they wanted to enjoy themselves whilst they still could.

Derek even let them use the loft. He thought that it could be good for them. He had thought that if they were all in one place, all together and celebrating, not talking or thinking about all that they had lost, maybe then they would see, they would understand.

Evidently, they did not.

Derek looks around himself and all he can see is happy faces, smiling, laughing, carefree. He wants to be happy for them, wants to be proud, but he can’t. He can’t, because they haven’t been paying attention.

And Derek is just so angry.

 There is a face missing from the crowd of teenagers, but Derek can hear him. His heartbeat is rabbit-quick, panicked, and headed towards the parking lot outside. Derek knows where the boy is going, knows what he’s going to do, because he’s done the same countless times before.

 Slipping unnoticed in to the shadows, Derek follows.

 ***

 When Derek arrives at the boy’s house, the light blue Jeep is already standing in the driveway, motor still running. The doors to both the car and the house are thrown wide open, although Derek can see no signs of movement.

 Listening more closely, he hears the familiar heartbeat, still rabbit-quick and panicked, worryingly so. He hears little else. No wardrobe doors banging, no drawers sliding open-shut-open-shut, no sounds of a rush.

 Instead, he hears measured footsteps, the soft impact of a bag being slung over someone’s shoulder, the creaking of old floorboards.

 The boy had planned this.

 Derek knew it.

 He waits in the shadows, listening as footsteps come clambering down the staircase ever closer, as the front door slams to a close, as the boy comes in to view, opening the passenger side door and throwing his pre-packed duffel bag on to the seat.

 That is when Derek chooses to make his appearance. Silent as ever, he steps out of the shadow of the warn wooden porch and into the eye line of the boy as he is rounding the car to reach the driver’s side.

 A multitude of emotions play out on Stiles’ face as he lays eyes on Derek. He stops still in front of the open driver’s side door, mouth slightly agape, staring. He doesn’t look angry, like Derek thought he would. He doesn’t even look sad, which would have been Derek’s second guess.

 He looks like a lot of things, things that Stiles always looks like, these days. He looks tired, and thin, gaunt, like the shadow of a person, like he hasn’t eaten or slept in days, which, Derek knows, he hasn’t. He looks small, fragile, beaten.

 Weak.

 He looks like a hundred things that Stiles should never, ever look like. Not Stiles, who is always so full of life, of movement and energy. Stiles, who stares in the face of the biggest bad around and tells it where to go. Stiles, who has always been so breathtakingly beautiful that Derek could hardly bare looking, for the fear that he would dirty the boy with the ash that rains over everything he cares about.

 The emotion that wins the war for Stiles’ features is resigned confusion. The boy has sadness and exhaustion written across every line of his face, but his brows are drawn together and his mouth is still agape, his hands fluttering and twitching by his sides before he takes a deep breath-

 “How did you know?”

 The words are naught but a whisper, although Derek hears them as clearly as his own stuttering heartbeat.

 How did Derek know? Derek knows because he watches over his pack. Sometimes he may be misguided in his methods, but he tries so hard to look after everybody, just like Scott and the others do. Like Derek thought they did.

 Derek knows because he cares. But, most of all, Derek knows-

 “Because I understand.”

 What Derek doesn’t understand is how any of the others can live with themselves, having ignored what was blatantly right in front of them the whole time. They’re all partying and smiling and happy, not even noticing that Stiles has gone, once again ignoring the dark circles under his eyes that never really left.

 That’s when the anger finally twists Stiles’ features in to an ugly sneer. He turns his head away from Derek, before closing his eyes and huffing a breath out of his nose, the fight dropping out of his body.

 “I want to say that you don’t understand, that nobody does. But, I guess, out of everyone, you’re probably the only one who would kind of get it.”

 Stiles raises his head once again to meet Derek’s gaze, raising his chin and pulling back his shoulders, straightening his posture to become firm and unshakable.

 “Even still. You can’t stop me.” He finishes.

 “I’m not going to stop you,” Derek replies, before walking past Stiles, brushing up against the boy as he walks towards the porch and sits gently on the step, hands clasped between his knees and eyes firmly on Stiles’. “I’m coming with you.”

 Stiles opens his mouth to say something, probably to protest, but Derek cuts him off with a soft, simple, “Wasn’t a question.”

 At that, all of the indignation that was fuelling the boy is suddenly expelled, leaving his stature deflating until he, too, has dropped down on to the step of the porch, next to Derek, facing outwards into the street.

 “Why?” Stiles whispers.

 “Don’t ask questions that you don’t want to be asked in return,” Derek replies.

 “Okay.” Stiles says, cringing at the thought of talking about his feelings.

 “You’ll- We’ll get there eventually. Talking about things. When we’re…”

 “Far enough away that it no longer feels like this town will drag us back again?” Stiles supplies.

 “Yeah,” Derek agrees, pausing for a moment to think of how to raise the question, “So where were you planning to go?”

 “Anywhere. I didn’t really have a plan. I have my college savings, my car and that’s about it. I was thinking maybe a road trip, but then I kinda wanted more, you know? I’ve almost died more times than I can count and I’ve barely even lived. I’ve never even left the states other than those trips down to Mexico. There’s no way I could afford to go abroad, though. Figured I’d take Roscoe and drive as far away from here as she would take me.”

 “So, probably as far as the next street, then?” Derek joked.

 “Don’t talk smack about my baby, Hale,” Stiles quipped back, a small smile gracing his features for a second, the first Derek has seen on the boy in far too long, and it makes him feel a little lighter inside.

 “I’ll be here at 7am sharp, we’re taking my car. Bring everything you’ve packed but your college savings, this is on me,” Derek says as he stands from his spot on the porch, looking down at Stiles.

 “Man, I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t make you-”

 “You’re not making me do anything. I’m paying. I want to.”

 Stiles can tell that there is more to that than Derek is saying, but he won’t push. Not yet. Not until they are ready.

 “Okay.”

 Derek nods at Stiles before turning and walking down the driveway. Stiles stands from his seat to go and turn off Roscoe’s engine, taking his duffel bag out of the car before locking her up, heading inside and spending another sleepless night sat in his room waiting for morning to come.

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

A Literary Love

Yo! So this is the first fic I ever wrote. Yeah, scary! I posted it online in January and it got some pretty overwhelming feedback so I figured I would share it here with all of you! Please like and reblog and share and do all the fun things if you like it! I’ll be posting the parts to my current fic soon :)

Also on AO3

Rating: Teen & up

Pairing: Stiles/Derek (Sterek)

Words: 11,143

Summary: "Walking down a foreign street in an unfamiliar city, Stiles searches for refuge from the bitter November cold. He’s not quite sure how he ended up here, stumbling through the streets of New York City at 5am before the sun has even risen, when less than a week ago he was still back home in Beacon Hills just waiting for his real life to begin."

OR

Stiles is an aspiring writer trying to find his way in the world (and New York City), and Derek is the proud owner of a bookshop cafe who just wants to be as happy as his parents were.

Warnings: Description of a panic attack, and the Hale parents die in a car crash. Please, if you think any of this may trigger you, do not read

The bookstore sat in between the bank and the pharmacy; short, squat and out of place. From the outside looking in, it was a very ordinary sort of place on a very ordinary sort of street. An ageing red brick building with a wide store front window that was half covered by a bookshelf, and a very grand-looking black door with a well-used brass knob placed in the middle. It is outside this bookstore where we meet our fearless hero. Alright, maybe not fearless. Okay, maybe he’s a little less than heroic, but he is the centre of our story so we should be nice to him, shouldn’t we? Anyway.

Walking down a foreign street in an unfamiliar city, Stiles searches for refuge from the bitter November cold. He’s not quite sure how he ended up here, stumbling through the streets of New York City at 5am before the sun has even risen, when less than a week ago he was still back home in Beacon Hills just waiting for his real life to begin. Fresh out of college at BHU, Stiles always dreamed of moving to the big city and making a life for himself. Sure, leaving his dad wasn’t easy, but the Sheriff had Melissa now, and it wasn’t like they didn’t talk on the phone at every spare moment anyway.

Stiles knows that he was lucky, he had worked like a dog through college, enduring the most degrading of jobs in order to make just enough money to scrape by until he caught his big break. His big break which was going to begin in a matter of hours. Shit.

Stiles abruptly realises that as this barrage of overwhelming thoughts had hit him, he has stopped walking, his feet coming to a standstill on the uneven pavement. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to block out the panic that is tightening his chest before exhaling in a long, slow breath. Calm down, he thinks to himself, this could be the start of something amazing. This could be the beginning of the rest of your life.

“Are you alright?” A voice sounds from in front of Stiles, startling him from his thoughts. His eyes shoot open in shock before settling upon the figure in front of him.

Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat as his bleary eyes rake up the body of the man in front of him. Dark jeans. Black leather jacket. The man is built like Adonis, all lean muscle, pulling tight the fabric of his forest green Henley, and then there’s his face. High, chiselled cheek bones and a sharp, beautifully sculpted jaw dusted with dark stubble to match the thick, dark eyebrows which are currently drawn together in obvious concern for Stiles’ wellbeing. But, however stunning these features are, they’re not what causes the tightness in Stiles’ chest to reappear tenfold. It’s the eyes. An impossible colour, Stiles thinks. They’re breath taking, deep and clear, a beautiful vibrant green only made brighter by the man’s dark appearance.

“Uhh…” Stiles drawls unintelligibly, feeling his jaw drop in to its default gawp before he remembers his training. By training, he means the years he has spent as a close friend of the stunning Lydia Martin, conditioning himself not to turn in to a drooling idiot when faced with beautiful people. Stiles clears his throat, willing his voice to hold.

“Yeah,” he says, the calmness of his voice surprising him, “Sorry, I’m not quite with it yet. Actually, I’m not sure I even know where I am. I only just moved here.”

Considering how utterly beautiful the man is, Stiles is quite taken aback when he is offered a sheepish, almost shy half-smile.

“Ah, well, I was just about to start my shift at the bookstore,” the man begins before gesturing with his hand towards the red brick building, “There’s a 24-hour café inside if you wanted a coffee to, uh, make you a little more ‘with it’?” The half-smile is still adorning those perfectly full lips, and Stiles can’t help but think that it is so unfair that this guy can pull off drop dead gorgeous and sickeningly adorable at the same time. Stiles grins back at the man, hoping to convey the intense happiness that the words “coffee” and “bookstore” had brought him.

“No. Way. A 24-hour bookstore? With coffee? I think I just discovered heaven on earth in New York,” he gushes before having to stifle a large yawn, “also, do you have the wherewithal to inject the caffeine straight in to my bloodstream? Like an IV line or something? Because, technically I haven’t slept yet and, well, if it hasn’t happened yet I don’t see it happening any time in the near future, I can never sleep in the day time. It just won’t happen; I get distracted too easily.”

The man seems slightly taken aback by the litany of words that had just come from Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles begins bracing himself for the usual “Wow, you talk a lot,” or, “Why are you so hyperactive?” that he gets from people who don’t know him. Stiles, himself, is slightly taken aback when instead of this reaction, the man’s lips quirk up at the corner into an absolutely devastating smirk, which has Stiles’ breath catching in his throat for the second time in as many minutes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the man quips, smirk transforming back in to the same shy half-smile as if he had suddenly realised that his expression had changed, “you’d better follow me then.”

With that, the man moves to walk past Stiles before entering the bookstore and Stiles definitely does not stare at his butt as he walks away. How dare you even suggest such a thing, you heathen. He does, however, glance up at the sign hanging outside the store. A large black paw print is painted upon a white surface, and a human hand print formed in negative white space within the paw, and the words “Brew Bear Books” arching over the claws at the top. Stiles smiled to himself, taking one final long breath before walking to the large black door and pushing it open with a faint *ding* overhead.

***

The sight that greets Stiles when he enters the bookstore is not what he expected from its outward appearance. The door is on the left side of the storefront, and from the moment Stiles steps through it all he can see was…well, books. To his left the whole wall of the store is made up of one large floor-to-ceiling bookcase and to his right shorter, shoulder-high bookcases make up a walkway that leads to a door on the far wall of the store. On the right side, a few metres in, there is a gap between the bookcases, and through it Stiles can see a few tables and chairs. The gap opens in to a large room, its walls lined with bookcases and Stiles steps into it, trying to take in his surroundings. Along the back wall stands the counter, a long bar with a few stools, a pastry display case and a large silver coffee machine. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see a coffee machine in his life.

Just as Stiles opens his mouth to call out and see where the beautiful man has gone to, a head pops up from behind the counter. The woman who stands before him is terrifying. Beautiful, but terrifying. Her long, dark hair is scraped back in to a ponytail which only accentuates her high cheekbones and strong jawline. Even from where Stiles stands half way across the room he can easily see the mischief in her clear hazel eyes. Her full, red-painted lips are curled in to an almost predatory smile and Stiles can’t help but feel like a rabbit being watched by a wolf; wide-eyed and terrified.

“Well, hello there.” She speaks in a flirtatious, saccharine voice which Stiles can tell is not her usual tone. She rests her elbow on the counter, setting her head in the palm of her hand and leaning forward almost provocatively as she drags her eyes appraisingly up Stiles’ body, before narrowing her eyes slightly as if she were trying to figure something out. Stiles definitely feels like prey. He is abruptly ripped from his thoughts by a hurried thud-thud-thud, the unmistakable sound of someone running down stairs. The door in the back-right corner of the shop next to the counter swings open revealing a flight of stairs and the beautiful man from the street at the bottom of them looking just as terrified as Stiles feels. He gives Stiles a quick glance before turning to the woman behind the counter, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Laura,” the man exclaims with an air of nonchalance that Stiles can see straight through. His voice sounds strained, as if he were just as nervous as he looked; which, in the presence of the feral/beautiful woman – Laura – would not surprise Stiles in the slightest. “Thank you so much for covering for Erica. I can take over from here if you want to clock out, I’m sure you’re tired.” The man seems to be well practiced in avoiding Laura’s searching gaze. Her predatory smile only grows larger and toothier as she takes in the avoidant man in front of her, her eyes flicking momentarily towards Stiles before settling back on her co-worker.

“Wow, Derek! Speaking in whole sentences, not glaring, being pleasant, what’s gotten in to you I wonder?” As she speaks, her eyes flick once again towards Stiles, her stare lingering a little longer before looking back at her co-worker who is now, indeed, scowling angrily at her. The expression was gone almost as quickly as it appeared as the man’s eyes mirror the movement of Laura’s, his face softening whilst his eyes linger on Stiles.

Derek. Stiles juggles the name around in his mind for a moment before deciding that he likes the way that it sounded; he can definitely imagine moaning that loud and unashamedly. Wait, what? A blush begins to spread up Stiles’ neck and over his face at the thought he’d just had. Derek, however, takes in Stiles’ embarrassed expression and furrows his brow apologetically.

“Sorry,” he speaks so softly that Stiles is straining to hear him, “I’m Derek, and this is my sister, Laura. We own this place together.” Pride is rolling off Derek in waves, not smug or self-important, he just seems so pleased with this little slice of Stiles’ own personal heaven which he owned. Derek turns to his sister, saying, “Laura, this is –” he pauses, realising that he hasn’t actually asked the smaller man for his name yet.

“Stiles,” he supplies helpfully, offering a smirk at Laura’s slightly confused yet inquisitive expression. “It’s a nickname I got when I was a kid, my actual first name is Polish and it’s a mouthful. Kind of impossible to pronounce. Honestly, it’s my name and I’m not even sure I can say it right. Nobody uses it, not even my dad. Everybody calls me Stiles because my last name is Stilinski. Hell, every August since my freshman year of junior high I would hack in to the school’s registration system and change my name to Stiles.” He chuckles to himself at the memories, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Good times.” Stiles looks up to find Derek staring at him slightly slack-jawed, and Laura glancing at her brother with an amused smirk on her lips. He clears his throat roughly, his face dropping entirely and giving way to a sheepish, self-deprecating smile. “Uh – sorry. I tend to talk a lot. Bad habit,” he says, raising his hand to scratch the back of his neck nervously.

“Uh, n-no! No,” Derek flounders, eyes going wide, as if suddenly realising that he had been staring. “I didn’t mean to- I mean you just- Uhh…” Laura’s snort of laughter breaks both Stiles and Derek from their embarrassed musings.

“Derek isn’t really a talker,” Laura says, ignoring Derek’s embarrassed noise of protest, “he’s a growl-er. And a listener. You talk a lot. Derek likes people who talk a lot. It means he doesn’t have to talk as much,” she spoke in short, sharp sentences, as if he would be easily confused, before a wolfish smile spread across her red lips. “-and you, damn, you talk with your whole body, don’t you, honey?” She croons, giving Stiles another appreciative once-over.

“Laura,” Derek warns in a stern voice which totally did not turn Stiles on, not at all. “Don’t objectify the customers, its rude, creepy and unprofessional.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, sounding very much like she had heard this speech before, “but just you wait until Erica meets him. There are going to be fights over this one,” she winks at Stiles who simply raises an eyebrow at her, but before Derek could protest, she speaks again, “anyway, I’m out. See you later baby brother. And Stiles, dear, feel free to drop by any time at all, like in the evenings when I’ll be here, alone.” With that, she grabs her jacket from behind the counter, breezing past Stiles and out the door.

Stiles is still staring at the space behind the counter where Laura had once stood. He knows that his mouth is slightly agape, and that his eyebrows are probably furrowed in to an expression of confusion mixed with fear. The sound of Derek awkwardly clearing his throat breaks Stiles from his stupor. He turns to see Derek awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, a blush tinting the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks with the most beautiful pink colour that Stiles has ever seen. Derek opens his mouth to speak and Stiles knows – he just knows – that he is about to apologise, but Stiles doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Derek to be sorry for anything.

“Why do I get the feeling that I don’t really want to meet Erica?” Stiles says in a jovial tone. Derek’s eyes snap up to Stiles, who shoots him a coy grin in return. And then something beautiful happens. Derek laughs. His laugh doesn’t bark out like Stiles’ own does. It doesn’t continuously bubble away like his dad’s does. No. It’s a laugh like rain. It starts as a quiet huff of air that escalates to a warm, throaty chuckle before finally the heavens open and Derek is laughing loudly and with complete abandon. His head thrown back, his hand covering his eyes, and Stiles is drowning. He knows his own grin is probably manic-looking, but in that moment, he can’t really give a damn.

“So, how do you take your coffee?”

***

After Derek makes him a cup of (frankly, pretty amazing) coffee, Stiles slowly begins to feel more like a human being, and less like a zombie. With this newfound energy comes words, and lots of them. Stiles can’t help but feel relaxed around Derek, like he isn’t being judged for being nosey or loud or hyperactive. Stiles can’t help but feel like he wants to know all that he can about Derek.

“So, a coffee shop bookstore, huh? How’d you come in to owning a place like this, man, it’s awesome!” Stiles asks, eyes scanning the shelves around the room, one hand clutching his coffee and the other tracing over the spines of the books lining the case closest to the counter, a private smile adorning his face. If he were looking, Stiles would see Derek’s own lips curve in to a reverent smile as he watches Stiles.

“Thanks,” Derek huffs a laugh and Stiles turns away from the books to face him. “Uh, well, I got a degree in English Literature from NYU a few years back and I sorta freaked out when I left because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I moved in with Laura, who was working as a lawyer at the time and got a job in the NYU library.”

“Oh my god I can’t imagine you as a librarian!” Stiles laughs out, “Please tell me you wore slacks and a cardigan. Oh, my god, do you wear glasses? That would be so adorable!” He rambles, watching as that beautiful blush once again works its way up Derek’s neck and on to his ears and cheeks. Stiles decides to change the subject. “Also, Laura as a lawyer? She seems like a sexual harassment lawsuit just waiting to happen.”

“Yeah, she’s loosened up a lot in the last few years. Sometimes I think a little too much.” Derek says, huffing that small laugh which has Stiles grinning. “Laura hated her job, always felt that she’d made a mistake, and I wasn’t much better, wallowing in my own misery with no idea what to do with my life.

“One day about three years ago we both had a day off at the same time, we got in to Laura’s car and just drove out of the city until we ran out of gas. Broke down in a small town outside the city limits and stopped in a little coffee shop there to wait for a tow truck, just people watching. It was a kinda beat up place, you know, mismatching furniture and old equipment, but everyone in there looked so happy. All the workers knew the clients by name, they were all regulars and everyone was smiling, like it was a home away from home. That’s when Laura and I decided to open a café.” Derek speaks softly, a wistful smile on his lips and Stiles finds that once again he cannot help but stare.

“Wow, man. That’s such a beautiful story, it sounds like something from a movie. Doesn’t explain the books, though.” Stiles knows there probably wasn’t more to it than just Derek having a love of books, having already said he worked in a library, but Stiles just doesn’t want Derek to stop talking.

“Ah, well, that’s a much longer story.” Derek still speaks softly, but his smile is now tinged with a sadness that Stiles can hardly bare. He decides that he never want to see Derek sad again. Nope, never.

“Hey, it’s okay, man. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, I’m pretty sure I can talk enough for the both of us. But, you know, I’ll definitely listen, if you want me to. Your sister said you’re a listener but, I’m sure that sometimes even listeners need someone to talk to. You know, someone who will, uh, listen.” Stiles knows he’s rambling again, but honestly, Derek gaping at him as he had the last time Stiles rambled would be a billion times better than Derek looking sad.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Derek says, his eyes flitting over Stiles’ face and his smile brightening slightly. “Laura’s always saying that I need to talk about it more.”

So, Derek talks, and Stiles listens.

***

Okay, so, Derek talks for a while and Stiles does listen, but once Derek is done with his story it turns in to more of a conversation. As it turns out, Derek and Laura’s parents died in a car accident when they were teenagers. Coming from a wealthy family, they inherited a bunch of money from insurance, as well as their family home which contained an extensive private library. When he and Laura decided to open the café, Derek concluded that embracing his love of literature and selling books from the private library would be a great way to attract more customers, and also to stay close to his parents who both loved books. So, they sorted through the collection and removed anything of sentimental value (story books their parents used to read them as kids, a first edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy that their mother had bought their father for an anniversary) before moving it all to their new café. Stiles thinks it’s beautiful, romantic and definitely does not sigh dreamily throughout Derek’s story.

Stiles can tell that talking about his parents is not easy for Derek, so he decides that the best thing would be to talk animatedly about himself, his friends and family until Derek forgets about his sadness and maybe smiles that beautiful smile again. So, Stiles talks. He talks about his dad the Sheriff, he talks about his best friend Scott, who’s mum Melissa is now with Stiles’ dad which is just so cool, Derek, it’s like were real brothers. He talks about his home town of Beacon Hills, and about his major in Criminal Justice and about his minor in Mythological Studies. He even talks about his own mom, who died when he was a kid. And Derek listens. Derek listens to every word, smiling, nodding and asking the occasional question, not at all looking at Stiles like he’s crazy or like he should shut up. Derek is unlike anyone Stiles has ever met before.

***

In theory, Stiles knows that he and Derek have been talking for quite a while. Their conversation has progressed from their favourite books to their favourite music and through some very odd transition on to their childhood pets. However, it still catches Stiles by surprise when he feels the warm rays of the morning sun warming the back of his neck through the café windows.

“Woah, dude, when did the sun come up?” Stiles says, bewildered after an anecdote about his childhood cat, Whiskers. Derek chuckles before answering.

“Over an hour ago, it’s almost 8am.” Derek says after checking the time, eyes wide in surprise as if he, too, had thought it was still much earlier.

“8am? Really? Already?” Stiles stammers out, because 8am seriously, he only had 4 hours before it was time, before his fate was decided and he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t, he wasn’t. Stiles can feel his chest tightening, his breath coming shallower and the lightheaded feeling he dreads seeping in.

“Stiles? Stiles!” He can vaguely hear Derek calling his name, but the sound was being drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest. Stiles can feel the tell-tale shaking in his hands, and then in his knees and oh, since when is he on the floor.

Before he can register what is happening, large, strong hands are manoeuvring him so that his back is propped up against a bookshelf. His head is swimming, large black spots dancing across his vision as he desperately tries to control his frantic breathing.

“Stiles. Hey, Stiles, you’re okay. That’s it, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe, everything is fine. Everything is okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Derek. Stiles can hear Derek’s voice breaking through the rushing, can almost make out his blurry shape over him. He just keeps talking and talking, reassuring words in Stiles’ ears. Derek takes Stiles’ hand and presses the palm to his chest.

“Just breathe with me. That’s it. Good, come on, Stiles. You’re fine, I’ve got you, just breathe.” Stiles can hear the worry in Derek’s voice and wants so desperately to tell him that’s he would be fine, that he’s used to this, but he can’t find it in him to speak. In an attempt to communicate, he curls his trembling fingers in to Derek’s shirt, fisting it and squeezing tight to try and quell the shaking. Somehow, Derek seems to understand the signal.

“That’s it, good, good. Just breathe, Stiles. Please, please, just breathe.” Derek whispers, sounding rather breathless himself. He raises his hand and slides it along Stiles’ cheek, cupping his jaw and stroking with his thumb, attempting to calm the younger man. As soon as Stiles feels the warm, callused palm on his face he leans in to the comfort, closing his eyes and instantly feeling better. He’s still trembling like a leaf, but his breath is beginning to come easier. They stay like that for what could have been minutes or hours before Stiles feels able to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles says, taking a breath, eyes still closed. “That must have been so-” Gasp. “-strange to see me just-” Pant. “-go off like that at nothing.” Swallow.

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek speaks softly, using the hand what was still on Stiles’ jaw to turn his face towards him, “Don’t you ever apologise for something like that. Ever. It’s not your fault, okay?” He waits for Stiles’ feeble nod before continuing. “I just wish that I could have been of more help. Let me go get you a glass of water.”

The moment Derek stands to go behind the counter Stiles misses his warmth. He takes a few moments to collect himself, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with still-trembling fingers, trying to breathe as steadily as possible to prevent a relapse. When Derek returns, he holds a tall glass of water, and it is only now that Stiles can truly make out Derek’s face. His chiselled features are contorted with concern, his brows pulled together in a distressed frown and his beautiful, captivating eyes are filled with so much worry that Stiles’ heart could break.

“Thanks,” Stiles says when Derek hands him the water, his voice rough and dry from his gasping breaths. “Thanks for everything. What you did right then – talking me down – that’s not an easy thing to do. Scotty and I have been best friends for two decades and even he struggles.” He continues, not quite finding it in himself to meet Derek’s worry-filled eyes again. “Uh, so, yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says softly, “any time.” And Stiles believes him. “Do you- Uh. Do you mind if I asked what triggered it? Did I say something wrong?” If Stiles thought that Derek’s voice was soft before, it was nothing compared to the way he speaks that final question. It is so soft that Stiles can barely register what it was Derek is saying, but when he does, his head shoots up to meet Derek’s apologetic gaze.

“NO! No, no, not at all, you’re amazing!” Stiles blurts in his hurry to reassure Derek. Stiles doesn’t wait to catalogue Derek’s reaction before attempting to distract him with more words. “I just didn’t realise that it was so late already and today is a really big day for me. Like, crazy big. I’ve been freaking out about it for weeks, hence the no sleep and the walking through an unfamiliar neighbourhood before sunrise. I guess when we were talking I actually relaxed for a while and kinda forgot all about it until I realised the time and then all the panic hit me at once. It happens, man, totally not your fault.”

“Oh…” Derek is silent for a moment. Stiles knows he’s probably just digesting the masses of information that had just been thrown at him, but the silence puts him on edge right up until he can visibly see the creases of worry smoothing from Derek’s face. The man smiles at Stiles, but the worry is still evident in his eyes as he offers Stiles his hand to help him stand. “What’s so important about today? Uh, if you don’t mind me asking.”

The expression on Derek’s face is so open, genuinely intrigued but still full of concern, and Stiles kind of wants to write poems about it. He takes Derek’s hand, using it to haul himself to his feet before plopping on to a stool by the counter. He valiantly ignores the hand that Derek places on the small of his back to help steady him and the waves of warmth that it sends spreading through his body.

“Well, I probably should have led with this really but, uh…” Stiles laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an author. More accurately, I’m trying to become an author. In case you didn’t notice I have some serious ADHD going on which, you know, can make concentrating in lectures pretty hard. I had a pretty bad habit of daydreaming in class because most of the time I’d already read the material and I didn’t need to hear the same thing again.

“One day I just decided to write it down, like, whatever my brain would dream up to occupy me. By the time I completed my degree I had finished drafts for 3 novels in a series and had 2 plots for sequels. I moved to NYC hoping to catch a break, sent my first book draft in to a publisher and they want to meet me today at 11 o’clock. Man, I’m terrified.”

Derek stands behind the counter patiently listening to Stiles recount the steps which brought him to where he is today. He nods, his eyes following the movement of Stiles’ hands as he speaks, a grin breaking out on his face when Stiles tells of the publishers’ interest in his book. Stiles himself still isn’t entirely sure that this is not a daydream itself. Publishers are interested in his writing. He has his own place in New York (granted, it was tiny and he can only afford it for another couple months if he doesn’t get this gig, but it’s still his). He met Derek. Derek who is beautiful, kind, intelligent, and just about everything Stiles had always wanted but had never dared to hope for.

“Stiles, that’s amazing!” Derek exclaims, grinning at Stiles. “The fact that they’ve even asked to meet with you shows that they’re really interested in your work, you should be proud of yourself.” He says, his voice and expression softening towards the end. “I’ve always wanted to write a book, but I don’t think I have the imagination for it. I love reading, though, more than anything. I always feel a bit sad saying ‘books are my life’, but it’s the truth.”

“Wow. Thanks, Derek. That really means a lot.” Stiles replies with a shy smile, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I know how you feel, though, about books being your life. I swear more often than not I speak using quotes from my favourite books, just hoping that someone will understand the reference and we can be instant best friends.”

“’Friendship is born at the moment when one man says to another ‘What! You too? I thought that no one but myself’’.” Derek speaks with conviction, although his brow is furrowed as he tried to recollect the exact wording of the quote he once read.

“C. S. Lewis?” Stiles asks unsurely, although he is certain that he has read that before. Derek looks in to Stiles’ eyes across the counter, a wide grin breaking out on his face as he nods, and Stiles can’t help but grin equally wide in answer. They stand there for a fair few moments grinning at each other before Stiles remembers the time.

“Listen, Derek, thank you for everything. It’s been amazing meeting you and getting to know you but I think I really should be going. I need to try and find my way back to my apartment to get ready for my meeting, but I’ll definitely be back soon.” Stiles says, trying to convey his gratefulness to Derek, and get across the fact that he really wants to see Derek again soon. Derek’s smile begins to fall from his face as Stiles speaks, but he catches himself before it was gone.

“Where do you live? I could easily close up the shop for a little while to give you a ride home, especially seeing as you don’t know where you’re going.” Derek says with a hopeful tone to his voice, and Stiles simply won’t let himself try to analyse what that might mean. “I wouldn’t want you getting lost and being late for your meeting.”

“Yeah, man, that would be awesome! But only if you’re sure about closing the shop, I wouldn’t want you to lose any business.”

Derek waves Stiles off before coming out from behind the counter and heading back up the stairs, which Stiles assumes lead to his apartment. When Derek came back down he is clutching a set of keys and wearing the most sinful black leather jacket. Stiles has never thought himself much in to the whole black-leather-beardy-biker look but dang does Derek rock it.

“Ready?” Derek grins, and Stiles is helpless to do anything but nod and grin in return.

***

Derek leads Stiles out of the store and towards his car, locking the door behind him. The ride to Stiles’ apartment can’t have been much more than 10 minutes or so, and the silence is filled as Derek excitedly asks Stiles questions about the plot of his novel. Stiles tells Derek how almost all of the characters in the book are based upon his friends from his home town, with the main character being based upon Scott. He tells him how he once went searching for a dead body in the woods with Scott after hearing about it on his police scanner, yes, Derek, I have one, I like to know what’s going on, okay. He tells Derek how that night he had a really weird dream about Scotty being bitten in the woods and turning into a werewolf, then for some reason his brain decided that his Criminal Psych lecture would be the perfect time to remind him of this. Stiles rambles about how he basically rewrote his and Scott’s high school experience but with supernatural creatures and crazy bad guys.

Before Stiles knows it, they are outside his building, sat in the stationary car as he rants to Derek about how the first two books are really intense but they’re nothing, Derek, nothing compared to book three. Man, if it ever gets published the readers are going to hate me. I even hate myself a little, damn.

“I’m telling you, this meeting is going to be the start of really big things for you. I just know it.” Derek sounds so sincere when he speaks that Stiles can feel the blush creeping up his neck in response.

“Thank you, so much. And, thank you for the ride.” Stiles smiles at Derek from his seat in the car. Derek has a soft, genuine smile tugging at his lips and God, does Stiles want to kiss him. But, Stiles also feels that this, whatever this is he felt with Derek, is real, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to rush it. Stiles climbs out of the car, then leans back through the open door. “How about I come back to the store tomorrow? I’ll tell you all about how my meeting went, and you can make me some more of that life-saving coffee.”

The transformation in the expression on Derek’s face in that moment is something that Stiles thinks he has only ever read about in cheesy romance novels. Derek’s smile, once soft and small, breaks out in to a full grin, and Stiles is sure that the world just got 3 shades brighter.

“Promise?” Derek says, his voice lightly teasing, but his face still showing such unadulterated joy that Stiles can’t really care.

“Promise.”

***

Stiles keeps his promise. It’s almost midday before Stiles is able to drag himself out of his bed to shower, change and head to the bookstore. Don’t judge him, he had been awake for a seriously long time. The meeting had been amazing, and Stiles can’t wait to share it with Derek. After calling his dad and Scott the day before, Stiles had all but passed out from exhaustion, but from the moment he woke up all he could think about was going to see Derek.

The bell above the door sounds a now-familiar ding when Stiles enters the bookstore. He rounds the corner in to the café with an open grin on his face, he feels like he is practically buzzing with anticipation. His smile falls slightly when he looks towards the counter to see a pretty woman with long blonde curls. Definitely not Derek.

“Well, look what we have here,” she says as she unabashedly runs her eyes all over Stiles’ body, flicking her tongue across her teeth as she does so, looking as if she were going to eat him whole, “a new customer. I’m sure I would have remembered someone like you in a dump like this.”

She drags out her words in a sweet, seductive tone which kind of makes Stiles’ skin crawl. Her wolfish smile very much reminds him of Laura’s from the previous day, the same red-lipped grin with far too many teeth to be considered entirely non-threatening. Although, none of that really compares to the sting of righteous anger he feels at her final words.

“This place is not a dump!” Stiles hisses angrily. After hearing Derek speak yesterday, telling him the beautiful story of how this place came to be, of the love he has for the books and the happiness he has found in doing something he really loves, Stiles truly feels that comfort and hope exude from the shelves themselves. How dare she call this place a dump.

“I don’t mean to offend, sweet cheeks,” she says in that same saccharine voice, although Stiles got the impression that she doesn’t feel particularly sorry, “I’m obviously just not as in to books as you are. Although, if you like, I could tell you all about some other things I’m in to.”

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles blurts. He can tell he looks like a tomato and, honestly, he’s absolutely terrified of this woman. He just wants to see Derek and he does not want to know what she’s in to. Stiles looks at her, waiting for her reply before he sees a small flash of – recognition? Realisation? – cross her face.

“Derek, huh?” she says, her eyes once again running over Stiles’ form. “I’ll get right on that for you.” She opens the door leading to the staircase, but before she ascends she turned to face Stiles once again. “What did you say your name was, sweet cheeks?”

“I didn’t. It’s Stiles.” he says sheepishly. She gives him another frightening grin before bounding up the stairs.

***

“Stiles!” Derek exclaims when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, a grin tugging at his lips. The blonde girl follows him in shortly after, a smug expression on her face as her eyes flick between the two of them with obvious interest.

“Well, Der, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here? He really is just as delicious as Laura told me.” That feral grin once again spreads across her lips, and Stiles once again finds himself feeling like prey.

“Erica,” Derek admonishes sternly, his eyebrows dropped in to an angry-looking glare, “why don’t you take your break now? I don’t need you accosting my customers, it’s bad for business, not to mention rude as hell.”

“Yes, Boss.” She speaks cheerfully as she grabbed her jacket from behind the counter. “See you soon, sweet cheeks.”

The use of the nickname makes Stiles shudder as she breezes past him and out of the store. Stiles looks at Derek, who’s expression has dramatically softened. He looks just as breathtakingly beautiful as he had the day before in a soft looking maroon sweater and blue jeans.

“How did I know I wasn’t going to enjoy meeting Erica?” Stiles says with a cheeky smirk. Derek laughed in reply, just as open and unabashed as he had the day before causing Stiles to smile wider. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Derek says softly, almost reverently as he grins at Stiles. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Derek turns to the coffee maker and starts preparing Stiles’ drink. Stiles can’t help but watch the play of muscles in Derek’s arms and back as me moves, the concentration on his face, the way the artificial light in the store illuminates his kaleidoscope eyes. In those minutes of awed silence, filled only by the noise of the coffee machine, Stiles could easily believe that they are the only people on the planet. He is broken from his reverie when Derek places his coffee on the counter before him.

“So, how was your meeting? Sit, tell me all about it. I’ve been dying to know how it went as soon as I dropped you off yesterday.” The excitement in Derek’s voice is palpable and Stiles has practically forgotten why he had come today other than to see Derek. It seems that Stiles being distracted by Derek may become a regular occurrence.

“Oh, yes! Derek, it was amazing!” Stiles tells Derek how the publisher was this crazy looking guy with dark hair which stood on end, sticking in every direction. His name was Finstock, and he gushed about how much he just loved Stiles’ book. Stiles tells Derek how they had given him a cheque just to “help with his creative process”, which was enough money to cover his rent for over a year.

“They’ve given me back a copy of the transcript with the editors’ notes, so I need to go back through and make some changes, but they want it to be ready for publication soon so that they can have it ready for a Christmas release. How crazy is that, Derek? Me, an actual published author? Things are really starting to go my way,” Stiles says, his long fingers curled around his coffee mug. His eyes sparkle and a more private smile tugs at his lips as he looks into his cup.

“Congratulations, Stiles, that’s fantastic! Your friends and family must be so proud. Hell, I know I’m proud of you,” Derek replies. The joy on Derek’s face and the elation in his voice send a tingle shooting down Stiles’ spine. It isn’t arousal, or anything close, but the unadulterated feeling of being truly appreciated by someone you care about.

“You talk about them as if you aren’t already one of them,” Stiles says softly, a crooked smile on his lips.

“I am?” Derek practically whispers, his soft voice breathy and quiet.

“Of course,” Stiles replies, looking up through his lashes to meet Derek’s gaze, “I’m pretty sure that if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have even made it to that meeting yesterday. Hell, you talked me down from a panic attack, I’ve known people my whole life who can’t do that.”

Derek’s smile only grows. “'It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone- '”

“’Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others’,” Stiles finishes. “Jane Austen, one of my favourites.”

“Mine, too,” Derek grins.

***

Stiles ends up going to the bookstore a lot in the next few weeks. The way he sees it, sitting alone in his apartment trying to edit this manuscript is not going to be productive. He’ll work in a haze of sub-par instant coffee, Reese’s peanut butter cups and minimal human interaction until either the manuscript is finished, or he passes out from exhaustion. Unhealthy. Going to the bookshop, he can get good coffee, more substantial food, and human interaction. Oh, and the staff won’t let him pass out on their floor. And, maybe, if he visits every day, and the visits have less to do with his health and more to do with the absolutely stunning man who owns the place, well, he can deny that’s why he’s there because he has real reasons, too, goddamn it.

Every single morning, Stiles turns up at the shop, tired and in need of caffeine, to see a smiling Derek behind the counter already making his coffee just the way he likes it. Some part of him thinks that life can’t really get much better than it is at the moment.

“So, when can I read it?” Derek asks as he leans over the counter to place Stiles’ coffee next to his open laptop.

“When it’s finished,” Stiles replies, a teasing smirk on his lips and his eyes trained stubbornly on his screen.

“You always say that,” Derek huffs, turning his back to make Stiles’ breakfast pancakes.

“That’s because you always ask. Like, every day,” Stiles grinned, looking up to watch Derek work. Yes, he thinks, life can’t get much better than this.

***

“Dereeeeekkkkk,” Stiles whines.

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek replies, looking up from his book to glance at Stiles over the rims of his glasses. The image totally doesn’t make Stiles want to kiss him stupid.

“I’m huuungrrrrry, make me some foooood, pleeeeease,” Stiles continues to whine, leaning his head on the counter next to his laptop and looking up at Derek sideways.

“I swear there is a black hole in your stomach,” Laura titters from somewhere behind him where she is organising a shelf of new arrivals.

“I made you breakfast not two hours ago. How the hell are you hungry? It’s not even lunchtime,” Derek laughs to himself, putting his bookmark in place so he can start making Stiles food.

“Please, Derek. ‘Time is an illusion. Lunchtime, doubly so’,” Stiles replies, watching Derek’s face with keen eyes for any sign of recognition. What he receives is even more than he had hoped for.

Derek looks up at him slightly startled, before that beautiful huff of air passes through his lips as he starts to laugh. After learning it was Derek’s father’s favourite book, Stiles got himself a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy so that they could talk about it together. It was one of those terrifying moments of clarity, when Stiles realised just how gone he is on this gorgeous man who likes books better than people, (wrongly) thinks that the Dodgers are better than the Mets, and has a laugh like rain.

“Oh, God,” Laura bemoans, “Der, you can stop laughing now, just imagine what it’s doing to his ego.”

“Hey!” Stiles protests, smiling wickedly to himself before continuing, “’If there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.’”

Derek’s laughter only increases, his chuckles getting louder until he’s laughing loudly, head tilted back. Stiles mentally pats himself on the back for making Derek laugh like this once again. He feels just as awe struck as the first time, his insides lighting up at the sight of Derek looking so happy.

“Oh, jeez, have you broken him?” Laura questions, a smile on her lips as she watches Derek laugh, “Der, are you okay?”

“’Don’t Panic’, Laura,” Stiles says, eyes still on Derek despite addressing Laura, “He looks pretty happy to me.”

Derek’s laughter has evolved one again. He is clutching his stomach, one hand supporting himself on the counter, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to breathe between chuckles.

“Yeah, he does,” Laura replies, eyeing Stiles, although he does not see it.

***

“Don’t forget the whole milk!” Laura calls to Derek as he pulls on his leather jacket.

“I won’t,” he replies, “be back in 20!”

“’So long, and thanks for all the fish!’,” Stiles shouts, and is rewarded with the sound of Derek’s laughter before the bell signals his exit from the shop.

“So, mind telling me what the hell that was all about?” Laura said, her tone inquisitive but not angry.

“Oh, uh,” Stiles began, “They were quotes from the book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy-”

“I know what they were,” Laura interrupts, “how did you know?”

“Uh, I know that it was your dad’s favourite, and that he used to make jokes from it all the time, so I got a copy and-”

“You read it so that you could make Derek laugh,” Laura finishes for him, a sad smile curving her always-red lips, “how did you know about Dad?”

“Derek told me, once,” Stiles replies, voice low, feeling the grief Laura is exuding.

“What?” Laura says, her voice getting louder and he lifts her head to look at Stiles, eyes wide when she continues, “Wait, Derek told you? He talked to you about our parents? When?”

“Uh, he told me the hitchhikers thing a few weeks ago, not long after we met. But, yeah, he talks about them every so often. Why? Should he- uh, is that not something he should have told me about?” Stiles asks tentatively, worried that Laura is upset, that maybe he’s done something wrong, shouldn’t have tried to bring up the lost memories of their parents.

“No! No, no, Stiles, you’ve got it all wrong,” Laura rambles excitedly, a joyful smile gracing her lips, looking much more puppy than hungry wolf, “this is brilliant! Derek, he doesn’t… He doesn’t talk about our parents, has never been able to, ever since…”

The accident, Stiles’ brain supplies.

“It hit him really hard when we lost Mom and Dad,” Laura sighs, before continuing, “He was getting help for a really long time, but in the end, he just sort of… withdrew in to his books. In stories, good always triumphs over evil, love conquers all, and there is always a happy ending.”

“I wish life were like that,” Stiles mutters to himself, thinking somewhat of his own mother, as well as the tragedies that have befallen Derek and his family.

“So does Derek,” Laura replies. At that, Stiles looks up at her, seeing the conflict of her face before it settles in to something like determination.

“You know, Derek doesn’t talk to people, he’s a very lonely person. He has me, because I’m his sister, he has Erica, because she works here and now, he has you. Derek doesn’t date, either. Never has,” she says, looking up briefly to see Stiles’ fallen face before quickly beginning again, “What I mean to say is, when it comes to matters of the heart, Derek has very high expectations.”

“What does that mean?” Stiles asks, brow furrowed, attention solely on Laura and not on the words lining the screen in front of him.

“All Derek has ever wanted is to be as happy as our parents were,” Laura speaks softly now, Stiles straining to hear her words, “when we opened this place, he was so much better, brighter, I thought that we had finally done it. But, Derek has still been waiting for what our parents had, for the one thing every good story has. True love. I don’t think he’ll ever really be happy until he thinks he’s found it.”

Stiles’ breath hitches at that. Derek believes in true love. Every dream Stiles has ever had for his future contained an unknown someone who he would spend the rest of his days with, happy, together. Now, all Stiles can think of is Derek.

“’You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life’,” Stiles quotes.

“What?” Laura says, tilting her head in confusion.

“It’s Camus,” Stiles replies.

“Oh, God, you are perfect for him,” Laura moans, before her voice softens once again, “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is when you are around. So, I have one final question for you, Stiles. What do you think of true love?”

Silence.

“I think it might look like Derek.”

***

With the new knowledge that he’s kind of in love with Derek, Stiles spends the next couple of weeks sat in the store editing his manuscript, and trying to psych himself up enough to ask Derek out, or make a move. Something. Anything.

Before he knows it, his manuscript is complete. Done, finished, sent off to be printed and sold in bookshops across the world. Huh. Funny, how quickly you can finish something when you use it as a means to procrastinate doing something else. The first thing Stiles does, once he has sent the manuscript to Finstock, is print off a copy and head straight to the store for breakfast.

As soon as he steps inside, he knows that something is wrong. The air feels wrong, thick and cloying. When he opens the door, the sound of the bell does not sound as joyful as it usually does, but instead it cuts through the eerie silence like a knife, jarring and harsh.

When he gets to the counter, he is met by a sullen-faced Laura, devoid of her ever-present crimson snarl, looking tired and haggard, dark rings circling her eyes. Stiles opens his mouth to ask one of the many questions on the tip of his tongue, like what happened or are you okay or where is Derek. But, before he has the chance to say anything, Laura has already rounded the counter and wrapped her thin arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

Stiles stills for a moment, before circling her small frame and rubbing his hand up and down the length of her back soothingly.

“It’s the anniversary today,” she says in a small voice, “of the accident.”

Oh.

Once again, before Stiles has a chance to form any words, Laura is pulling away from him and heading towards to door beside the counter. She opens it to reveal the staircase behind, before turning back to face Stiles.

“Second door on the right,” she says, gesturing to the staircase, “Go to him. Please.”

All Stiles can do is spare her a sympathetic smile and a brief nod before he is all but sprinting up the steps towards Derek.

***

The door to the room is closed when Stiles reaches it, the warm wooden panels blocking him from where he truly wants- no, needs to be. He raises his fist to knock, pausing for a moment to collect himself before rapping his knuckles against the wood.

Silence is all that meets him.

The worry that has been building in the pit of Stiles’ stomach since he noticed Derek’s absence begins building further. Is he okay? Please say he’s okay. He knocks again, much more frantically than before.

“Go away, Laura,” comes a quiet voice from inside the room. Derek sounds so small and tired; Stiles just wants to hold him and take it all away.

“Der?” Stiles calls, surprised at how choked up and horse his voice sounds to his own ears. Although, considering how worried and tense he feels right now, he probably shouldn’t be so surprised.

A shuffling sound can be heard from inside the room before the door creaks open. “Stiles?”

The Derek stood before him is unlike any Derek that Stiles has ever seen. He’s barefooted, wearing loose basketball shorts and a white vest underneath a fluffy grey bathrobe. His hair is sticking up at odd angles and Stiles really wants to run his fingers through it. He looks kind of adorable. But, as always, it’s not Derek’s appearance which causes a tightness in Stiles’ chest. It’s his eyes. Bloodshot, red and swollen. The beautiful, impossible colour of Derek’s eyes looks almost dull and lifeless, and Stiles just can’t let that happen, nope, no way.

“Stiles, I’m sorry, you can’t be here, you can’t see me like this. You weren’t supposed to- I didn’t want to look like-” Derek rambles, looking tired, and almost scared, as if he were worried that Stiles would ever want to leave him. He begins back-stepping as he talks, trying to hide himself behind the door and out of Stiles’ view.

Stiles watches Derek stumble over his words, holding his breath, holding himself back until Derek’s words run out and he slumps behind the door, looking so small and weak, almost out of view. It doesn’t take much for Stiles to pitch forwards into the room, push the door open and engulf Derek in his arms, squeezing the other man tightly around the shoulders.

Derek’s breathing is shaky, and Stiles knows the beginning of a panic attack when he hears one. He holds still with his arms around Derek, and decides to do what he does best. He talks.

“Hey,” Stiles begins, “I’m not going anywhere. I know what today is, Derek, I’m up here because I want to be. I don’t care what you look like, I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me, what I do care about is you.”

Derek stills for a moment in the embrace, before wrapping his strong arms around Stiles’ waist and turning his head to press his face in to the crook of Stiles’ neck. He feels Derek sobbing before he hears it, small, sad huffs of air as Derek cries in to the skin of Stiles’ throat. He can feel the tears soaking the neck of his shirt, but he can’t find it in himself to care even a little.

“Shhh,” Stiles coos softly, “It’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you. You don’t ever have to hide yourself from me, Der, not ever. Just let it out, big guy. That’s it, you’re doing so good. You’re okay, everything’s okay.”

Stiles keeps muttering encouragements softly in to Derek’s hair until the sobbing subsides. Stiles can feel the weight of Derek in his arms getting heavier as exhaustion starts to take hold of the bigger man.

“Hey, Der, do you wanna lie down, maybe?” Stiles says softly, pulling back from the embrace slightly so that he can see Derek properly.

Derek avoids Stiles’ eyes, opting to look down at where their torsos are still touching before nodding slowly and turning to flop down on the bed, curling himself up in to the foetal position but not yet pulling up the blankets.

“Uh.. Did you wanna- Did you want me to leave?” Stiles stumbles, stood at the side of the bed throwing his hands around. He doesn’t want to leave Derek, but he doesn’t want to make Derek uncomfortable, either.

Rather than responding, Derek looks up at Stiles very briefly, still managing to pull off his are you stupid look through the swollen, red eyes. He reaches for Stiles’ hand before pulling him down on to the mattress behind him. Stiles flails gracelessly as he lands on the mattress before strong hands are pulling him up by his arm and folding him around Derek’s back.

Stiles is spooning Derek. He takes a moment to let that sink in, the warmth of Derek pushed against him, before the silence becomes too much for him and he has to break it.

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do whatever you think will make you feel better,” Stiles whispers, and he means every word of it.

“Talk,” Derek replies, his is voice rough and quiet, but Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to hear one word.

***

Stiles talks. No change there. For the next few hours, he talks about the news, and the book that he just finished which you should really read, Der, it’s got dragons and everything. He eventually gets around to telling Derek that he finished his manuscript, and obliges to read the first few chapters aloud but no, Der, you’re not keeping this copy, you get the first edition instead. Promise.

Derek remains silent throughout, although he listens. Stiles is sure of this, because whenever he looks to Derek for a response, he nods, and he pulls on Stiles arm when he wants him to carry on reading, and, well, that’s more than enough for Stiles to understand he should keep talking.

***

After a few hours, despite Derek’s head shaking that no, he’s not hungry, Stiles goes down and gets a couple of sandwiches from Laura, who looked surprised in a pleased sort of way.

Stiles is propped up with his back against the headboard whilst he eats, and is quite happy when Derek makes it half way through his sandwich before he stops. Derek slides down the mattress and curls back up in to his little ball, before resting his head on Stiles’ thigh. Stiles resists the urge to card his fingers through Derek’s hair, but only barely.

“I miss them,” Derek says after a little while, so quietly that Stiles almost misses it.

“I know,” he replies, giving in to temptation and pushing his fingers through the wayward locks of Derek’s hair.

“Why did you stay? I’m such a cold person, and you’re so, so warm.” Derek mumbles, pushing his cheek further in to Stiles’ thigh.

“You know, it was once written that ‘Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad’. I don’t think you’re cold, Derek. I think you’ve been through a lot, and you’re sad, and I’d really like to change that.”

“I’m not just sad, Stiles. I’m broken.” Derek says, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

“We’re all a little broken, Der. But that's okay. It doesn’t make me care about you any less.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, Stiles softly carding his fingers through Derek’s hair until Derek speaks up.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Was that Emerson?”

“Longfellow.”

“Damn.”

***

Stiles eventually gets kicked out of the apartment by Laura after her shift has ended, saying that she needs some family time with her little brother which, okay, fair enough. Derek doesn’t seem very happy to see Stiles go, and holds him for a full five minutes, pouting in the doorway of the apartment until Stiles promises to come back tomorrow.

Erica seems surprised when she sees Stiles leaving the apartment, but it says a lot that she neglects to comment on the situation any more than to bid Stiles farewell on his way out of the store.

***

When Stiles returns the next day, everything feels relatively normal again. He walks in to the main café and Derek is behind the counter, looking better, if not a little tired. He smiles warmly at Stiles before turning his back and starting to make Stiles’ coffee, just the way he likes it, just like normal. It feels strange, almost surreal, that Stiles is able to walk in here today and resume the same easy banter that he and Derek have always had. For all intents and purposes, the day is entirely normal (bar the extra shot of syrup in Stiles’ coffee) right up until the point the Stiles leaves.

Derek comes jogging out of the store behind Stiles, who stops on the pavement waiting for Derek to catch up. It occurs to Stiles that this is the spot where they first met.

“Hey, Stiles, um, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday. You really helped me a lot and you’re- Um, it was really- Uh, yeah. Thanks,” Derek stutters out, rubbing the back of his neck shyly and looking all together quite nervous.

Stiles takes in his disheveled expression for a moment, before saying “Always,” and kissing Derek lightly on the cheek.

Stiles watches for a moment as a blush spreads beautifully across Derek’s cheekbones to his ears, before turning on his heel and making to walk away.

“Was that a Harry Potter reference?” he hears from behind him.

“Obviously,” Stiles responds, laughing to himself as he continues to walk home.

***

The days pass quickly. Stiles still goes to the store every day, even though he no longer has any work to do, and the days are still as perfect as ever. With every visit that passes, Stiles falls more in love with Derek, until it finally arrives, what he’s been waiting for. Weeks before it will hit the shelves, the first edition of Stiles’ novel arrives in the post.

Stiles’ first reaction is to sprint to the store. He rips open the door, sending the bell in to a frenzy of clanging, surely alerting anyone in the store to his presence. He bursts in to the main café to see Laura behind the counter cleaning mugs, and Derek facing him, clutching a rag between his fingers from where he’d been wiping down the tables.

“Stiles! Is everything okay?” Derek asks, the worry evident on his face, making his brow furrow.

“Yes, yeah, everything is fine! Uh, the first edition of my book arrived, and I promised I’d give it to you so, uh, I want you to look at it, but first I’ve got a few things that I really want to say to you,” Stiles pauses, taking a deep breath and trying not to panic, before looking up to meet Derek’s eyes before speaking once more.

“Before we met, I’d never read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. When you talked about how much you love it, I bought a copy from Erica, and read it so that I could talk to you about it. Neither my best friend, nor my own father are able to talk me down from a panic attack, which is something that you managed to master on the first day we met. I’ve never been able to sleep anywhere without my pillow before, until I fell asleep in your bed, with you in my arms. Um, you once told me that you’re broken, and, well, ‘It is only with true love and compassion that we can begin to mend what is broken in the world. It is these two blessed things that can begin to heal all broken hearts.’ God knows, I’m never going to stop trying.”

Stiles breaks his gaze from Derek’s now-watery eyes to turn to the first page of his book, and holds it out to Derek, who takes it from Stiles with shaking hands. Derek’s eyes skim the text quickly, before flicking up to Stiles, and then back down to the book. What happens next is a flurry of movement as the first tear rolls down Derek’s cheek, he drops the book to the ground, stepping over the discarded novel to cradle Stiles’ face between his large hands and pull him in to the best kiss of his life.

Derek’s lips are soft and warm, and better than Stiles could have ever imagined. Derek’s arms curl around his neck as his own snake around Derek’s waist, holding them together until he has to pull back for breath, but not far, still close enough to rest his forehead against Derek’s.

“God, I love you,” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ lips before capturing them again.

“OH MY GOD, DID HE JUST SAY THAT,” Laura squeals excitedly from behind the counter, “what the hell did it say?!”

“In case it wasn’t clear, the feeling is very much mutual, big guy,” Stiles speaks in to Derek’s cheek, surrounded by their own little bubble of StilesandDerek, oblivious to Laura scurrying around behind them.

Picking the book up from the floor, Laura turns to the first page and reads;

For my mom, may she rest in peace.

For my dad, for never giving up on me.

For Derek, for teaching me that it’s okay to be

a little broken, that it’s okay to be different.

Mostly, for showing me that true love

does exist outside of story books.

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

Seeing Hoechlin with his salt and pepper beard got me thinking about Derek Hale with beard mascara (That’s a thing, look it up) and then…

Like, Derek turns 30 and the pack is off doing god knows what at college, when one day he finds a grey hair in his beard and he gets so fucking insecure so he buys the beard mascara and he covers it all up.

Then one day, suddenly, Stiles is in his loft after he’s taken a shower and he walks out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and Stiles says, “Are those grey hairs?”

And Derek’s heart starts pounding because it’s Stiles and he didn’t want Stiles to see that, not just because Stiles likes to make jokes and poke fun at him but also because Derek might like Stiles a little. Or a lot.

And he says, “Let it go, Stiles.”

But Stiles, being Stiles, doesn’t listen and gets all up in his space and cups Derek’s face and tilts it and Derek knows what he’s seeing, grey hairs glinting in the light. He has to concentrate to hold his claws back and he’s so ready for Stiles to make a joke about becoming an old man, fucking tensed for it when Stiles says, “Oh my god, that is both hot and adorable.”

Which, what. What. That hadn’t been at all what Derek had been expecting, but now Stiles is staring at him, mouth open and pupils blown and Derek wants to kiss him so bad. So he does, and again, and again, and he laughs when Stiles runs his fingers through his beard, trying to find the grey hairs by touch, and Stiles laughs with him.

- the end -

[thewolfwiththeredrose]

Hello! I’m pretty new to this whole tumblr thing, if you hadn't noticed, but I’ve been writing fanfic on AO3 for a while now and I really wanted this platform to maybe talk to some of my readers about my work and keep people posted on when I will be uploading new works etc. So, welcome!