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Somehow it becomes a thing--sitting around Derek’s loft, drinking cheap wine from a box, and talking about the future. At first it’s just about school, and school plans. Prom is discussed at length, with the girls talking about what kind of dresses they want to wear, and the styles they think suit their bodies. Sitles learns enough about fashion to hold his own, to comment on colors and coloring and what’s in style versus what’s considered timeless, all while drinking wine and sitting indian style on the hardwood.
It changes so slowly he doesn’t even notice, not at first. College discussion give way to thoughts about babies and careers and just--life. Until it’s late one Tuesday, and Stiles knows he should be heading home but his breath smells like alcohol and he wants to wait until he his dad is asleep before having one of the wolves drive him back, and Allison says ‘What about you?’ because they’ve talked about Lydia and MIT and math and the Field’s Medal; they’ve talked about Scott becoming a vet’s assistant and buying a house and filing it with children; they skirt around the idea of Allison being the one to give birth--the relationship is still in the on-again-off-again phase and none of them want to tempt fate.
And Stiles--he hasn’t considered it, not really. He’s been so busy living in the moment, trying to survive the monster of the week, trying to survive the drama that werewolves have brought into his life, that somehow he forgot that he would have a future. Forgot that there would be an ‘after college’ and that he would need to fill that time and space with something that he considers worthwhile.
So he shrugs a little at Allison’s question and tries to play it off, like there’s still time, but he can feel Allison’s eyes on him and they feel heavy; he can hear Scott scoff because even Scott has a general plan, something to build off of; even Derek is looking at him, and Stiles can feel their thoughts, feel the slight judgement and tiny bit of pity because of course Stiles doesn’t have a plan. Stiles with the ADHD and the inescapable curiosity for everything. He’s too scattered to settle on one thing, to make a decision.
And he knows that most of this judgement is just in his own head, that the pack doesn’t really feel that way about him, but he can sense it, the judgement, even if it’s only coming from his imagination, so he says the first thing that pops into his head. “I want a family,” because, yeah. He does. After his mom died, it’d been just him and his dad, and it’s fine. They make it work, the two of them. They join forces with Scott and his mom for Thanksgiving, do a quiet Christmas that involves cinnamon rolls and presents in the morning before his dad goes to work because that way some of the other police officers can spend the day with their families.
But he wants more, even if he didn’t realize he wanted more until this very moment, sitting around on the dusty floor, drinking really bad wine because it makes them feel a little more grown-up, really bad wine that doesn’t do anything for anyone but still feels like it could. He feels just a little heady, a little dizzy, and Stiles is pretty sure that’s a grown-up feeling to have.
“Oh,” Scott says. And that’s it, nobody else comments, and Stiles feels weird. Like he said something that he shouldn’t have said, tossed out an idea that isn’t right, isn’t acceptable. Which is ridiculous, because hello, that’s the whole point of these evenings. Saying things that need to be said, that would otherwise go unsaid and unthought, things that would gather dust in the corner of their minds.
Stiles takes the silence as a sign that maybe he should leave, that its time to be home in his own bed, with his own thoughts, in a space where nobody can judge them except himself, and he stopped censoring his own thoughts years ago.
“I’ll drive you,” Derek says. “You’ve had too much to drive yourself.”
“Thanks,” Stiles mutters. The room is a little fuzzy which means he probably did have too much wine. He’s glad to be leaving, though, because he can still feel everyone’s eyes on him, still feel their thoughts being sent his way, and he doesn’t want to know what they’re going to say when he leaves. Instead he’ll imagine it as he lies in bed tonight, and his imagination is always worse than reality, so tomorrow he’ll be able to face them with a smile and a sarcastic comment and his dream about having a family will be left on the wooden floor, on the Tuesday night, chalked up to too much wine and not enough wits to keep his tongue silent.
“Get your coat,” Derek says, and he’s been oddly quiet, oddly nice, which means the ride home is going to be awkward and they aren’t going to talk and Stiles will have more time left alone to his thoughts.
He grabs his coat and makes his way out of the industrial loft, not saying bye. Then he’s downstairs and waiting at his jeep. Derek will drive it and then run back--that’s always what happens. He’s staring off into space when Derek gets there, and it takes a second for Stiles to realize that Derek is holding his car door open for him and he should probably climb inside and buckle up. It seems like the smart move.
So he does, not saying anything because the silence isn’t as awkward as he thought it would be. It feels okay, like both of them are thinking and that doesn’t mean anything except both of them are thinking. It’s a quiet he could get used to, actually.
They ride to Stiles’ house in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It’s only when Derek is pulling into Stiles’ driveway that he speaks.
“You have one.” Derek keeps his eyes forward and Stiles looks at him but doesn’t now what Derek is talking about, so he kind of waits for Derek to keep going. “You’re pack.”
Derek doesn’t offer anything else, just turns the car off and hands Stiles the keys. “Thanks for the ride,” Stiles says, more because he wants to fill the silence that is now awkward and heavy than out of any desire to actually thank Derek. Not that he doesn’t want to thank him, but--it’s weird. His thoughts are jumbled and it’s probably a sign that he had more of the not-so-good wine then he thought he’d had, and he needs to go up to his room and sleep it off.
“Night,” Stiles says as they both climb out the jeep. Derek nods before turning back towards his loft and running off. Stiles knows he’ll make it in just a few minutes, it’s dark enough out to hide how fast he’s running.
Later, when Stiles is in bed and his thoughts are wandering to what he said and how the pack reacted, that it hits him. He’s pack.
Derek doesn’t really have any family left, neither do Erika or Scott or Allison or Isaac. None of them really had a lot of family to begin with. Erika’s parents were jerks, and Stiles doesn’t even want to think about Isaac’s dad. Allison’s parents were--well--her mom. He doesn’t like thinking about that, either. But Derek brought them all together, made them pack.
And that’s when it hits him, laying in his dark bedroom, alone, waiting for the alcohol from the wine to wear off. He’s pack, and pack is family. Somehow he’s managed to find the large family he’s always dreamed of. He feels a lump in his throat and he wants to swallow to get rid of it, and he kind of wants to cry a little, because he found something he didn’t even know he wanted, not until tonight, but he doesn’t do either.
Instead he reaches towards his bedside table and pulls his phone out, and without thinking about it sends a group text to the rest of the pack.
Need a new dream--mine’s already come true.
And it feels cheesy, but he knows they’ll get it. He falls asleep to the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand table. He’ll check what his family has to say in the morning.