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When Stiles walks into his room, he gives a small flinch when he sees Derek Hale sitting at his desk. The boy should be used to the werewolf welcoming himself into Stiles’ home whenever he pleased, but it never stopped feeling strange.
Stiles quickly closes the door and stands against it. His father isn’t home. Derek is never around when the Sheriff is. The human just does it because no matter how informal the alpha’s visits are they are private. He secretly clings to these moments, being in an enclosed space with the wolf. He stares at Derek, who gives him no attention. It bothers Stiles for a few seconds. What was Derek doing here if he wasn’t going to demand something from the human? He is always asking for research or where Scott is when he is too lazy to find him himself. However, those feelings disappear once Stiles sees what the werewolf was doing.
In one of Derek’s hands, a picture frame is being held ever so lightly. He is tracing the photograph inside with his finger. He is being more gentle than the human has ever seen him but Stiles understands why. That wooden frame was special. Stiles had purchased it when he was fourteen. He had spent all his birthday money on it and walked to the antique store and looked for the perfect one. However, the truly precious item was the picture inside the wooden case.
The photo was one Stiles’ dad took. He had a small phase when he wanted to learn photography. He used to take pictures of everything. That particular picture was before Claudia got sick— when she was still herself. Her smile was wide and bright. Her hair was curled the way she used to do for special occasions. She was wearing a white dress with large sunflowers printed on the fabric. She was barefoot too. Stiles had always thought she was the most gorgeous person in the world. He still does. That picture just managed to capture her personality along with her looks. Stiles misses her more than anything.
“I never got to say goodbye,” Derek’s voice breaks the silence the two have found themselves in. His face is twisted in a familiar frown, but his eyes are open in a way Stiles’ has not seen in a very long time.
“She wouldn’t have known who you are anyways,” Stiles confesses. He wishes more than anything he was lying. When Derek looks up at him, he thinks the werewolf knows that.
“She won’t be the only one. Noah looks at me like he doesn’t even know who I am anymore. It’s like he can’t even remember.” The wolf sighs. He puts down the picture of Claudia face down. It brings them both some relief, knowing the woman’s knowing eyes aren’t looking at them after so long. She would be ashamed of how far the children she helped raise have fallen.
Stiles looks down to the floor. He stares at his sneakers as if they are the most interesting thing in the world. He just can’t meet the older’s eyes as he says, “He doesn’t like to think about what happened. We don’t talk about it.”
Derek can’t help but raise an eyebrow and deepen his frown at the human’s words. He couldn’t deny that the man he once thought as a second father refusing to acknowledge him hurt like hell. But in reality, it wasn’t any worse than what his son was doing. Stiles was rejecting him. It’s been a while since they first saw each other again in those woods, but the younger man refused to address how much they cared for each other— how Derek still cared and how Stiles didn’t. It made something painful swell in his throat and his gums itch. There is a dam threatening to break inside his chest. He was tired of holding it back, so he drove to Stiles’ home, looking for something he can’t name. After countless nights thinking about what they used to have, Derek was done with the unaddressed tension between them.
“You don’t talk about me.” Derek accuses. The words come out as defensive and demeaning. He doesn’t raise his voice but the hurt is there.
Hints of anger and frustration take over Stiles’ scent at the accusation. Stiles brings a hand up to rub at his temples as he looks up. His foot begins to tap rapidly. It’s an uncontrolled habit he has had since he was a child. Stiles lets out a large sigh, “It’s not like I had anybody to talk to after you left.”
Stiles watched as Derek’s face contorted before his eyes. A series of emotions flash rapidly. It’s out of character for the older wolf, much more reminiscent of his younger self. He was never able to hide things well. He was too expressive back then. It was not in the way Stiles was currently— being exaggerated to distract from what’s hiding underneath. It was raw innocence that was plain for all to see. It was the naive nature of someone who has not yet seen pain. It was void of Derek’s walls that were years into the making. The nostalgia of something Stiles lost long-ago attempts to hit him full force. He uses everything he has to redirect it. He has long since buried his past six feet under. It rested with all those he had lost.
Stiles refuses to feel remorse as he analyzes the other man in front of him. “I know you want something. Why are you here?” He demands an answer as calmly as possible. He has no will to fight with Derek. He never has but with almost everything, the alpha pushes him.
“You know exactly what I want, Stiles.” Derek retorts. It pushes all the right buttons for the teen to get upset, but he refuses. He won’t give Derek the reaction he wants. He never does.
“I don’t, so you can either tell me exactly why you snuck into my house at twelve-thirty in the morning on a Saturday or you can leave,” Stiles sasses. He doesn’t say it in a rude tone. He won’t give Derek the satisfaction. Seeing the way the older boy shifts his jaw, Stiles thinks he is winning.
Derek can’t help but grind his teeth. Stiles is smart. He knows exactly how to rile the werewolf up. He has perfected it over the last few years. He knows that Derek craves him. There isn’t any way he can’t, and he refuses to even truly recognize Derek as anything other than Scott’s alpha. He doesn’t entertain the idea of them being any more than allies, their past long since forgotten in Stiles’ eyes. However, Derek couldn’t take it anymore. His pride no longer matters to him. He has done more desperate things for people who matter less to him.
Derek gets up from Stiles’ desk chair, hardly noticing that his claws have elongated. He marches right into the human’s personal space. Stiles still refuses to give him anything of substance. He stays in place and looks back down at his shoes. He isn’t pinned to the door, moving away from it a bit during his past fidgeting, but he doesn't have anywhere to go. Derek uses this to his advantage. He matches into the little space between the two of them and grabs Stiles’ jaw, forcing the human to look at him. Everything about it is rough and bold, but it’s nothing Stiles can’t handle. There is anger behind those whiskey eyes that burn like a flame now. They scorch Derek’s soul. It crackles and warms something in the pit of the werewolf’s stomach. It’s a reminder of how Stiles can both anchor him but also makes him reckless. The human has the beast in the palm of his hand. He always has.
But now that beast threatens to escape, Derek decides he can be a little reckless for the both of them. He lets his eyes bleed red as he rubs his thumb over one of Stiles’ familiar moles. He has more now than he did all those years ago, but this one is old, developed from spending hours in the sun playing at the old Hale house. The memory gives him the final push he needed to confess.
“I want you, Stiles.” Derek whispers. It feels too much to say loudly. He doesn’t have the strength for it. He feels years upon years of build-up seep through his bones. He has finally said that one repetitive thought that raced through his head at night ever since he lost everything. It’s not enough. He begs like the weak man he grew up to be.
“Tell me you remember me, Bambi.”
For several seconds, everything is silent. Not a single thought echoes through Stiles’ head at the childhood nickname. It leaves him feeling blank and confused. It’s as if Derek’s words hit him with the force of a truck. It leaves him in shock. Stiles doesn’t even dare breathe. The thought of taking in Derek’s air leaves him feeling even more choked. He thinks he is drowning for what feels like hours, but that large hand on his jaw and thumb brushing against his cheek keeps him afloat. He doesn’t sink, but he does stutter. Thousands of works rush to Stiles’ head, scrambled letters that loosely cling to one another. It’s hard to talk, but that has never stopped him from doing it before. All that anger Stiles felt whenever he pretended to just be a regular acquaintance in Derek’s life finally came up to the surface.
“Don’t put that on me,” Stiles said as he brought up one of his hands to cling to Derek's wrist that hung in the air between them. He digs his nails into the flesh. He knows the wolf can take it as he hisses, “Don’t you dare put that on me, Derek— not when you know you are just as much at fault as I am. That’s not okay. I won’t accept that.”
Derek pulls his hand away from Stiles’ face like he had been shocked. The human’s hand follows his wrist, grasping onto it still. Derek could’ve easily pulled out of its hold. Stiles was weaker than him. The werewolf could get away, leave, and pretend this night never happened. Stiles would never confront him about it, not after all those years of silence. He won’t have to face Stiles' anger. Derek would only have to question the human’s emotion in silence. It would haunt him late at night like all thoughts of his old friend did. Derek would never understand Stiles’ reaction, why he was blaming Derek for their separation. Surely, Stiles knew that Derek had been reaching out to him for years. Those late nights spent in the teenager's room weren’t without a reason. He wanted to see Stiles. He wanted to talk to him, and he was finally getting what he wanted from Stiles— a reaction. That was good enough for him.
Stiles starts to sense that he is being trapped. He knows that Derek is making him trip over himself, undoing everything he kept a secret for so long. He has already said too much. He knows he did. The boy never meant to play the blame game. He fought hard to push those thoughts away. When they would come rushing at him like a wave, he never let them drag him under. Derek and he were strangers now. Their past was dead and buried with Stiles’ mother and most of the Hales. Derek was just another person that Stiles loves that is out of reach. He accepted that or at least he tried to.
Derek stands in front of him, his pulse thumping against Stiles’ skin, alive and looking more vulnerable than the wolf has in nearly a decade—long before the fire, before Argent poisoned his mind, and even before Paige. It clouds Stiles’ judgment. He can no longer see Derek Hale the alpha. He sees Derek Hale, his best friend. It breaks something Stiles, releases the dam that had been growing cracks in it since that day in the woods looking for that cursed inhaler.
“I know you saw how I looked at you that day in the woods, Derek, and I know you recognized my scent too. I know you heard me tell Scott I knew who you were. I never once hid from you, but you never said anything. You never really talked to me. So I just followed your lead, I never brought up what we had. I refuse to feel bad about that!”
Stiles is passionate as he talks. He is emotional, angry. His voice never raises over a certain tone, but the words have a bite to it. It floods Derek’s veins like a sweet poison. He has waited for so long for Stiles to snap at him, yell at him, even fucking hit. He craved anything he could get from the boy. He needed it like air. But as soon as the new oxygen fills his lung, it is sucked out and replaced with guilt. Derek rushed over to the Stilinski household on impulse. He came here for acknowledgment. He wanted to be recognized by the boy that haunted his dreams. He wanted Stiles to truly see him. He didn’t think about the second part— how he was to blame for pushing Stiles away.
At first, Derek had no intention of staying in Beacon Hills. He wanted to find his sister and run back to New York where it was safe. And when he found his sister’s dead body instead, he decided to stick to his plan. He would bury Laura, mourn her back in their shared apartment, and debate if life was even worth living by himself. He didn’t expect to run into two teenagers that connected him to his past, the two for entirely different reasons. He certainly didn’t expect his uncle to be alive, killing people, and biting people with the feral need to create a new pack and revenge. And with all things in Derek’s life, it escalated further. Kate came back and died. Derek became an alpha, forced to stay and help the bitten beta he felt responsible for. The need to create a pack would then develop as enemies popped up left and right. Everything became too dangerous. He was convinced he was going to lose everything again at any moment. The world would rob him blind as soon as he was naive enough to care again. This fear made him unable to see that he was already losing what he loved. He was practically letting Stiles go, and he prayed it wasn’t too late to get him back.
“I’m sorry, Stiles.” The words are weak to Derek’s ears. They don’t convey enough. They don’t make up for what he did. When Derek sees the fire fade from the boy’s eyes, he knows Stiles feels the same way. Stiles was giving up on him.
“You’re sorry,” Stiles says with a mock laugh before his bottom lip starts to shake. “You came to invade my space, touched my things, brought up my fucking dead mother, demanded yet another thing from me— adding to the list of all the shit you have asked me to do over the years— and all you can say is that you’re sorry!? That’s not going to cut it!”
Derek was never good with words. He never had clever things to say. Stiles was always the wittier out of the two of them, his brain functioning in organized chaos. Derek was prone to staying silent or blurting out his small thoughts awkwardly. He falls back into that habit. He yells his words before even thinking about them.
“You weren’t mine anymore!”
Derek watches Stiles’ face shift multiple times at his words. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his scent taking a sickly sweet smell. His eyes are bright again. They lack that growing hatred that the werewolf was studying mere seconds ago. His mouth then opens a little bit. Derek can’t help but stare too long at his lips before checking the human’s scent again. It’s one of surprise now. Stiles begins to stutter quietly, but Derek cuts him off.
It’s his turn to speak. He has already revealed one of his deepest secrets, one that he thought every time he saw those familiar brown eyes or moles that he saw as stars. It nagged him every time he saw Stiles talk to Scott or Lydia, wishing that was him by Stiles’ side as his most trusted friend. It kept him up at night when he wished Stiles was more than his friend. It especially plagues Derek when he thinks about how much he loves Stiles.
“I did see you in the woods that day. You were older and different. You had a new best friend, played lacrosse, and were an honor student. Your dad was even the Sheriff. I recognized you, of course, I did. But I was nothing but a broken man, the only family I had left was dead because of my fucking idiotic choices. I didn’t want to bring you into that, but you ended up in my mess anyway. I hate myself for that. You are so successful. You are just as amazing as I knew you would be, and you did all that without me. You have a life without me in it, and I don’t want to find your body burnt or slaughtered like everyone else I love. I wouldn’t survive it. I can’t let you die because I was too selfish to let you go.”
Derek pants after his confession. He feels unable to catch his breath. There is a familiar ache in his chest and lungs that are normally only present after a long run that spans hours. There is also a slight strain in the muscles behind the wolf’s eyes. He is unable to tell if it is part of his shift or the urge to cry. When Derek sees the signature red reflected in Stiles’ own glassy eyes and when the boy’s hand raises to his face to wipe away a tear, the wolf gets his answer. He leans into the gentle hold shamelessly. It’s been so long since he has been held. It’s been even longer since he has felt the human’s touch. There were always things that Derek took for granted when they were smaller: little handholds, hugs, or even a kiss on a cheek. He often dreams about them now, but the dreams were nothing compared to the real thing.
Derek can breathe again.
“I was always yours, Der,” Stiles whispers. His eyes roam the boy in front of him. Those hazel eyes are vulnerable and open. It makes Derek look so much younger. The stress that aged him melts in Stiles’ hand. It’s precious and soft. “I always remembered you. I never once forgot about you.”
Derek shudders at the boy’s words before taking Stiles’ hand in his. The skin is wet with his tears, but the alpha can’t find it within himself to care.
“I thought about you every day. You have to know that.” Derek begs even though he knows Stiles has already forgiven him.
“I know,” Stiles promises while squeezing the werewolf’s hand, “I thought about you too. I miss you every day. All I thought about was you coming back home— coming back to me. It was everything I wanted. I didn’t think I would ever get it though. It’s hard to believe this is even real now.”
That was all Derek needed to move. He had let Stiles down one too many times. If Stiles needed something to believe in now, the wolf was more than happy to supply. He lets go of the boy’s hand and brings it back up to the human’s face just like Stiles did to him minutes ago. He rubs at that same mole from earlier as he stares obviously at the younger’s lips. It’s a clear sign. Derek doesn’t attempt to hide his intentions. If Stiles didn’t want this, Derek would let him go and back away. He would take his old place as Stiles' friend and be content, but Stiles is the one that closes the distance between.
The kiss is slow but lacks hesitation. They are so familiar with one another even after so many years apart or dancing around one another. Stiles’ body feels like an extension of Derek’s own. Its pulse is loud and thumping in the wolf’s ear, but the sound of the human’s heartbeat is nearly identical to his own. It makes Derek feel more loved and alive than he has been since he was sixteen. The comfort reminds him of those days surrounded not only by his family but the Stilinskis as well. Stiles warms him like the sun did during those peaceful days the two families would spend at the park or the beach or the woods.
As the two pull back from one another, Derek realizes the memories hurt a little less. They sting still. They probably always will. He has lost so many people, but he doesn’t feel as alone anymore. One of the aches that Derek once thought of as permanent has been filled with Stiles back by his side. Derek is back home. He is with Stiles, and he will never leave or push himself away again.
“There will never be a world where this isn’t exactly where I belong,” Derek swears. The smile that stretches on Stiles' face is brighter and more beautiful than any moon or star. Derek can’t help but return it with one of his own and vows that he will never live without this again.
He is finally exactly where he is supposed to be.