Work Text:
⟡ blue hour ⟡
♫ 戸惑い (Tomadoi) by Maiko Fujita ♫ || (link to english-translated lyrics if curious)
"Hey. Still here?"
Derek tore his eyes away from the concrete where Aiden had lay dying in his twin's arms earlier that night and glanced over as Stiles sat down on the high school steps with him. "That should be my line."
"Mm, don't feel like it yet."
A comfortable silence, as the few silences with Stiles always were, despite Stiles' usual spastic nature that filled the air with so many words Derek could hardly keep track of them.
Stiles clearly didn't want to drive home yet—Derek figured now was as good a time as any to give it to him.
He stood up. Stiles jolted out of his solemn daze in surprise.
"I'm going on a walk," he said.
Stiles invited himself in his typical Stiles' fashion.
They walked along the side of the road without another word, simply watching the twinkling building lights in the distance past the trees, dim under the smatter of bright, bright stars framing the moon in the night sky.
Or rather, Stiles watched the lights.
Derek watched him. He could still see the dark circles, the deathlike pallor of his skin, the cracked lips—he wondered when Stiles would thaw back into his warm, lively self. Not too long, he hoped. Perhaps his small token would aid in that, even if Stiles couldn't completely go back to how he previously lived.
Possession by a nogitsune. Derek had yet to hear of anyone who survived to tell the tale.
He knew a part of Stiles had cracked. He'd been cracking, slowly but surely, ever since he'd sacrificed himself to the Nemeton to save his father, and now the crack had broken a shard off his soul.
Derek knew.
He knew what that felt like.
But Stiles had always been stronger than him, a fact only proven when he watched Stiles close his eyes, inhale a deep breath of fresh air, and exhale it with a small, tired, but genuine smile.
"Really thought I was a goner there for a second," he told Derek.
Derek watched him, because that was the only thing he knew how to do.
He swallowed and his throat closed. "...I did too," he said.
Stiles stared at him for a long moment, quiet once more—Derek's heart jolted when he felt fingertips brush his cheek.
"A leaf," said Stiles as his breaths came out in puffs amidst the chilly autumn night air.
He rubbed his hands together and blew into them.
Derek clenched his fists—he pushed the urge to warm them in his hands down, far, far down.
Twigs and dead leaves crunched under their shoes as they walked away from the road into the woods. Stiles never once asked where they headed.
Derek didn't ask why Stiles didn't put his chilled hands back in his jacket pockets to keep them warm, instead leaving them dangling at his sides just like Derek, and every time the backs of their hands brushed against each other, a tiny spark of electricity shot through Derek's skin.
He wondered why Stiles had decided to walk with him. He wondered if this was okay.
Most of all, he wondered if Stiles felt it too, the shift of atmosphere around them, or if it was just him.
Frustrating. It was always frustrating around Stiles, and yet, here he was, walking with Stiles to the Nemeton and retrieving something from one of its cracks with a sleight of his hand so Stiles wouldn't notice.
Stiles sat down against a large tree on the edge of the little clearing surrounding the Nemeton, so he sat beside him. They exchanged a few words, whispered conversation in between gaps of silence as Stiles' shoulder leaned against his, but before long, Stiles nodded off right then and there. The skies brightened as the blue hour struck, casting a sliver of light on Stiles' slumbering face now less pale with the flush in his cheeks from the autumn breeze. His head lolled on Derek's shoulder, hair tickling the side of Derek's neck, and Derek opened his hand.
He stared at the tiny gold-plated charm of a raven in flight nestled in his palm, no bigger than a fingernail and lighter than air—nothing special.
But he hoped it would help Stiles.
He watched Stiles for the slightest sign of waking up as he shifted just the slightest to reach for Stiles' wallet in his jacket pocket and slip the little charm deep inside one of the slots, never to be seen again, then sighed—he almost startled when Stiles made a sleepy humming sound from the back of his throat and smacked his lips.
"Derek," he mumbled before burying his face even further on Derek's shoulder in deep slumber.
Into the crook of his neck.
Derek's heart pounded. He stared at Stiles' face. He stared at the two moles above his brow bone and those chilled, pink lips.
Stiles was so close, too close—when had the distance between them closed this much?
Time stopped, just for that moment, and Derek's chest ached as he watched Stiles sleep.
He wondered and wondered—
'Is it okay for me to fall in love with you?'
~🐺・・🌟・・🐺~
⟡ for you ⟡
Derek had heard of the saying, 'walking on pins and needles.' He'd heard of the saying, 'walking on eggshells'.
But neither applied just right.
No, sometimes he felt as if every step he took was laced with trip wires, while laced with black tar. Sometimes to new problems, sometimes to severe injury, sometimes to the past that would forever drag at the cracks in his soul.
He'd left Beacon Hills after dying and evolving—which he still didn't completely understand, because Laura hadn't gone through anything like that when she evolved—but it felt like nothing had changed.
No, in fact, most days, he just felt worse.
He'd thought getting away from it all would clear his thoughts up, and besides, Scott and them seemed able to take care of themselves for the most part. They had Chris, the sheriff, not to mention Scott's strength as a true alpha—they didn't need him.
They didn't need him, but....
All Derek could see in his mind's eye each night before he slept was Stiles' expression when he'd lay on that dusty ground, pretending he'd be fine as he could feel his life bleed out of him in cold wracks of pain.
All he could see was Stiles' ashen face, dark circles still prominent, smiling at him as the night air brought warmth to his cheeks. When he closed his eyes, he saw those autumn canopies they'd sat under that late night, that sliver of light shining across Stiles' sleeping face, and the way Stiles' earth brown eyes and dark hair gleamed with molten flecks of amber when he woke with a yawn as the golden hour seeped into the forest.
And Derek couldn't help but wonder—
'Do you remember me?'
'Do you remember me when you see the autumn leaves fall? Do you remember me when the sun rises?'
The more time passed, Derek began to think that rather than leaving Beacon Hills to clear his thoughts, he'd run away—or maybe he thought that way because his thoughts had cleared.
Stiles probably didn't need him, but he needed him.
He needed to see Stiles' wings soar heavens high, and if they didn't, then he'd bring the heavens down to meet Stiles.
So he returned.
He hadn't expected such a strange mess, with all kinds of unfamiliar and strange supernatural smells in the air, but he followed Stiles' warm ozone and smoked sugar scent like going home, just in time to snap the neck of an exceedingly odd shifter that reeked of anger and hatred trying to kill Stiles in the school library in the middle of the night.
Shocked silence.
He belatedly realized that Scott and them didn't approve of killing living beings—he supposed he'd have to stay more conscious of that fact now that he'd returned, though he stood firm in the fact that he wouldn't pull his punches when things looked too dangerous.
Like just now.
Stiles gaped at him, eyes wide—Derek scrutinized his expression for any changes, though he didn't expect any. Stiles had been doing fine, after all. It seemed that his latent powers had activated at last, judging by the way that shifter had kept attacking Stiles, only to get knocked back by some sort of forcefield, invisible save for flashes of electricity everytime the shifter had collided with it.
Or whatever it was.
No natural living being should bleed... mercury, of all things.
Before he could ponder over it, though, he nearly missed Stiles running and launching at him in a hug so tight his lungs ached.
"You're back," breathed Stiles in disbelief, in wonder. "Why? Did Scott call you?"
"No," said Derek.
"What, did you hit your head and lose most of your braincells then?" Stiles laughed—he looked tired, but relieved. Happy, even. "I missed you," he blurted, then corrected himself. "I mean, we all missed you. But who in their right mind would come back here without a good reason? Plus, well"—he gestured at the shifter with a faltering breath—"yeah. It's kinda a shitstorm around here right now."
Derek watched Stiles.
Stiles licked his lips as he waited for Derek to respond, eyes bright and curious, hair tousled and fingers jittery as usual, staring right back, and Derek fidgeted.
He shifted his weight onto his other foot, but nothing could save him from Stiles' shrewd gaze.
"Did something happen?" asked Stiles.
Derek watched Stiles' adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
"Are you okay?" asked Stiles. "Do you need help? It's a friggin' mess here, but not so much of a mess that I can't—"
"I came back for you," breathed Derek like taking in his last gasp of fresh air.
Stiles' eyes widened. His lips parted.
Derek watched them, tried to read them and see what syllables they were about to form to better brace himself, but then they just moved closer—
A brush at first, soft as gossamer.
Then again.
Lips entwined, tongues tangled—Derek kept his eyes cracked open, tracking the way Stiles' face flushed in mottled patches of harvest red until Stiles' lids flickered open as well to watch him. He froze, feeling a bit caught red-handed, and Stiles huffed a laugh into their kiss, a divine sort of sensation.
"I take it back," whispered Stiles. "I missed you. Not 'we'."
His eyes glittered like dewdrops under a golden fall sunset, and Derek's breath caught in his throat as a small smile of his own crinkled his cheeks, unfamiliar but not unpleasant—Stiles' eyes seemed to widen and sparkle even more.
"I'm glad," Derek whispered back.
'You did remember me.'
~🐺・・🍁・・🐺~
⟡ golden hour ⟡
♫ golden hour - Fujii Kaze Remix by Fujii Kaze, JVKE ♫
"Hm, you've always had latent powers, so I'm not too surprised about that." Deaton studied Stiles, hand over Stiles' as he had Stiles try to release his magic through his fingers and only his fingers. "But I don't think that's the only reason why the Dread Doctors and Valack seem focused on you. Your magic feels a little different from the force field that protects you from attacks—the same, yet, hm, warmer? Steadier? That forcefield you release contains your magic, but something else as well that balances it into such an impenetrable power, and dare I say, seems to have helped draw out your potential and amplify it."
Malia grimaced. "He's not possessed again, is he?"
"Yeah, another nogitsune's possessing me and helping draw my powers out, how'd ya know?" muttered Stiles, sarcasm dripping off his voice.
Derek's heartrate began to increase—Scott and Malia glanced his direction.
"...Your wallet," he said as he tried to think up a reason or excuse—
Stiles whipped his head towards him with a wide-eyed look, startled but....
Not surprised.
Everyone glanced at them.
"Your wallet...?" prompted Deaton. "What about it?"
Stiles licked his lips. "Uh, nothing. But I think I know what Derek's talking about. Just a sec."
And with that, he headed off to the bathroom, leaving Derek both confused and at the mercy of many, many curious looks.
"What's going on between you two?" asked Malia. Ever the blunt one, she was—Peter could learn a thing or two from her if he ever got out of Eichen. "Stiles has been...weirdly happy."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "And it's a problem that he's happy?"
"No, I'm saying it's weird that he's happy ever since you came back." Malia crossed her arms. "Are you two coming up with some secret plan to solve all this?"
Lydia's brows furrowed, as did Derek's. "'A secret plan'?" echoed Lydia. "A secret plan to do what?"
"I dunno, to fix this mess," said Malia.
Scott blinked. "Why would it need to be secret, then? We all wanna fix this mess."
Malia rolled her eyes and threw her arms up. "Then you come up with a better reason. No one else finds it weird that Stiles was all paranoid and... angry and anxious until Derek rolled into town?"
Liam raised his hand. "I think it's weird."
Malia gestured at him as proof.
"Well, Stiles was upset about Derek leaving, so it makes sense," said Scott. "He's probably relieved. Plus, he was right about Theo, so."
"And the guy threatening to kill his dad is dead," added Kira.
Malia sighed—Derek ignored her, Lydia, and Deaton's stares. He and Stiles hadn't told anyone about their relationship yet and he'd be damned if he let it slip out when he wasn't sure how Stiles felt about the others knowing.
Personally, he didn't mind either way. All he wanted was Stiles. With the Dread Doctors and Valack running loose, they hadn't had much time to themselves, but what time he did steal from Stiles was worth everything in the world. Early mornings worked best, as the sun rose. Time stopped every time he somehow made Stiles laugh, and the way the golden hours seemed to seep into the skies just to serve as a backdrop for Stiles never failed to take his breath away every time. Those hues of red and gold after the sunrise, oh-so-soft, forming a warm halo around Stiles, as if painting the skies with Stiles' colors like a beam of light closing the night and opening the way through the harsh day, clutched at Derek's soul each and every time.
Stiles was his golden hour. He'd been his golden hour for a long, long time, whether he'd known it or not.
A beam of light, a flutter of wings—ah, his magical raven, always so observant with a foot in the human world and the other in the surpernatural world, so loyal and intelligent and strong.
Stiles was both his anchor and his light, grounding him and freeing him at the same time, and with each passing second that he spent with Stiles, the more he soared.
He hoped Stiles soared too.
"Here," said Stiles as he came out of the bathroom and handed what else but the tiny raven charm to Deaton—Derek found himself even more perplexed, because one, how did Stiles find it, and two, why did he need to go the bathroom to hand it over?
He wondered how much Stiles knew about it, if he knew that Derek had been the one to slip it in his wallet to begin with.
Deaton held it up to the light—everyone besides Stiles and Derek moved in closer to get a better look. "This is.... It looks like a normal gold-plated raven charm, but it's too light and—"
His sharp gaze flicked to Derek all of a sudden.
"This is gold-plated wood," said Deaton, no question in his tone. "Nemeton wood."
All eyes whipped towards Derek, Stiles' included, and Derek rubbed the back of his neck as he avoided everyone's gazes.
"But it's not just Nemeton wood," continued Deaton. "That wouldn't explain the amount of power this contains."
Derek glanced at Deaton. "...I left it embedded in the Nemeton for a while after I made it," he said. "To absorb more power. I—" He cut off—the more he talked, the more profoundly embarrassed he grew. "Stiles smells like ozone and charred sugar," he ended up muttering vaguely, "and earth balances lightni—"
He stumbled back into a shelf with the force of the warm, warm tackle, knocking over a few books, and froze when he found both his arms and mouth full of Stiles, tongue crackling with the surge of Stiles' magic, sweet and smoky. His shock had barely worn off enough for him to kiss Stiles back before Stiles drew back a hair's breadth, a wide, teary grin trembling on his lips and gentle hands caressing Derek's face.
"I love you," breathed Stiles in a whisper that echoed through the room.
Derek blinked.
His throat closed and his lungs stopped.
Blurry. Wet.
Stiles' eyes widened, but then he leaned in and kissed the droplets off his face, and Derek realized in such an overwhelming rise of emotion that his mind went into blank shock as it tried to register what Stiles had just said—
'Ah, when was the last time I cried?'
~🐺・・⚡️・・🐺~
⟡ kintsugi ⟡
♫ Until Morning by James Vickery ♫
Derek never did ask Stiles how he'd known about the small raven charm or why he'd had to go to the bathroom to procure it. His mind had wiped blank after Stiles had tackled him in a kiss and— and—
Christ, his heart pounded just remembering it.
And afterwards, so many events had happened that he'd barely had the chance to dwell on it, but now that everything was over, Stiles had come over for a movie and dinner, and Derek still hadn't remembered his questions about the raven charm.
Until now.
He'd kissed Stiles silly in the middle of the movie, so they'd moved to the bed, and when Derek lifted Stiles' shirt—
Delicate gold body chain jewelry, dainty links draping over his torso and connecting into a gorgeous web with what else but his small raven charm dangling in the center of it all.
Derek stopped breathing.
"I found it in my wallet when I noticed one of the dollar bills a little out of place," said Stiles with a flushed smile as he bit his lip, watching Derek's reaction. "And then I kinda remembered you doing something with my pocket when I fell asleep that one morning. I didn't know—" He cleared his throat. "I didn't know it was— I thought you'd just given me a little charm and I wanted to wear it, but I was paranoid that I'd lose it if I wore it on a bracelet or necklace or keychain since, y'know, there's always some shit happening here, so I—" He swallowed. "Yeah. Plus," he added on a mumble, "I thought you might like this if, y'know, you ever— if we ever—"
Derek cut him off with a growling kiss. Unadulterated need crashed over him, for Stiles' everything, and Stiles opened up for him.
God, how he suffered.
He loved how the dainty chains jingled with how completely he took Stiles and how much the bed frame shook. How the flickers of delicate gold almost seem to bring a warm glow to Stiles’ pale, mole-scattered skin as they settled in the gentle divots and curves of his slender body, so slender that Derek felt Stiles might break with how his hands dwarfed Stiles’ waist like they swallowed it whole even though he knew Stiles was stronger than silk.
But he hated them at the same time. He hated that they were in the way, and he hated that he couldn't caress Stiles’ body as he pleased without them in the way, and he hated that something other than him was touching his Stiles, because Stiles was ' mineminemine'—
And it only grew worse when he saw how the chains draped over the slight bulge in Stiles’ abdomen as he claimed and marked Stiles as his, because fuck, Stiles looked so pretty like this, so perfect and tempting and good with his cock stuffing Stiles' insides even though his fangs itched with so much possessive jealousy that his claws snapped out, and somehow that just made Stiles tighten around him and pull him in more, and—
Ah, how he'd do anything for Stiles. How Stiles consumed him, lifted him, until the breeze against his skin blew so strong that he felt like he was flying with him.
His golden hour, his anchor, his raven—he still couldn't quite register that he lived his fantasies that he'd never dared thought of in real life now, so until morning....
Until morning, he would give Stiles his everything.
And if it all turned out to be a dream of a hallucination, then at least Stiles wouldn't soon forget him.
But the sunrise came and went, and of course when the golden hour rays of warm, red-gold light spread through the skies, Stiles just had to take his soul all over again.
"You mentioned something about cracks before," Stiles had brought up as he snuggled against Derek, finger tracing the lines of Derek's collarbones. "About how you have a lot of cracks."
"Mm," Derek hummed in agreement. He remembered that conversation one early morning before they had to deal with Theo and a missing chimera—he'd felt like he should at least try to warn Stiles that he was, well, damaged, because Stiles deserved someone whole who would make him more than whole.
"I have a few cracks too," said Stiles, and even though a shadow passed over his eyes, his eyes gleamed amber. "But, y'know, they can be healed."
Derek rubbed his thumb along Stiles' cheekbone—his heart warmed. "Yeah? Are yours healing?"
"More than," murmured Stiles. "They're healing into something even more beautiful than before, like kintsugi. With gold." He touched the raven charm on his body, an almost subconscious movement, and an impossibly soft smile spread across his face like rays of sun, so fond that the backs of Derek's eyes stung. "I hope—" His voice wavered, quieted even more if that was possible, like a confession. "I hope I can do that for you like you are for me."
And as if he hadn't blown life into Derek, he kissed Derek, gentle and tender.
"Wolves mate for life, right?" he whispered.
Ah.
Until morning—no.
Every morning, for the rest of their lives.
Stiles' molten light had long begun healing his cracks into lighter-than-air shades of vibrant autumn red-golds, and he told him so.
'My golden hour,' he whispered, voice cracking, and Stiles' eyes widened, glistening with a moist sheen, and then he laughed, bright and radiant, as he peppered kisses all over Derek's face.