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Stiles is tired. He has been for a while, but this is the first time in a long while that he's letting himself feel it. He feels old, well, older. Calling himself old would be ridiculous, seeing as he's only thirty. But really, who can blame him? He's survived for far longer than he ever thought -hoped- he would.
It's been difficult, to say the least, to stay alive. To stay sane. He nearly didn't. He's almost lost himself a few times, only pulled back from the edge with the sheer force of will. Or stubbornness. It really depends on who you ask.
Now though, it's quiet. It has been for a while, nearly ten years to be exact. It's kind of nice not to be constantly running for his life.
None of them are whole. Not completely anyways. Even Lydia, goddess that she is, shows signs of age sometimes. They're all tired and slightly broken, and that's okay. Because all of those broken pieces fit together just right. They're no longer Scott, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, Isaac, Stiles, and Derek. They're more. They're pack, ridiculously cheesy as that sounds.
He's jolted out of his thoughts by the stirring at his side. The lump next to him in the bed slowly shifts, and becomes Derek. A very sleepy Derek. (Stiles is pretty sure his brain and heart melt at that, because that's just adorable.) Derek scowls at him, turns over onto his stomach, and promptly falls back asleep. Despite all of his hard-assery, Derek Hale has never been a morning person.
Stiles, however, is perfectly content to wake up early; it means he gets to watch as the first rays of sun shine through the window and light up the room. He gets to see Derek, who's almost always tense and growly (albeit less now than fifteen years back), soft and sleep warm. It's probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he never wants to stop looking. No matter how long they have together, it'll never be enough.
He's pretty okay with that, seeing as he doesn't plan on ever letting Derek go; and while forever might not happen, he's content to just lie here and exist. After everything that's happened, he thinks he and Derek deserve this.
And yeah, Stiles is tired. But here, in bed with Derek, tracing patterns into skin and sunlight, he thinks that's okay. Because at least they can be tired together.
He's happy, Derek's happy, and things like 'together' and 'home' and 'happiness' are no longer something to wish for in the middle of the night.
Stiles traces the outline of Derek's triskellion one more time and goes back to sleep, bathed in the glow of dawn and home and together.