Chapter Text
Epilogue
Six years later.
An upbeat melody rips Derek out of his stupor and he rights himself from where he was slumped on the couch. His phone is vibrating across the coffee table, spewing the lyrics of Kelis’ Milkshake as it goes.
My milkshake brings all the boy’s to the yard-
Derek rolls his eyes, reaching out for the damn thing. He knows who the culprit is, because Stiles sees it as a special challenge to find a new song to set as the ringtone on Derek’s phone every time it’s left unattended. He always chooses annoying, peppy songs, often with slightly offensive or provocative lyrics, that are sure to attract the attention of anyone within a half mile radius of wherever Derek’s at when his phone goes off.
And they’re like, it’s better than yours. Damn right, it’s better than-
Derek grabs the phone and jabs the accept call button,“Yeah?”
“Hi, Derek, Matthews here,” the tinny voice on the other end of the line states. “Can you tell me where you left the files for the Keller case? Boss wants them done today after all.”
When Derek had gone home at four when his shift ended, John had told him the Keller case was in no rush, so he’d left it on his own desk, intending to continue working on it the next day. He had left Stiles at the station, buried in a case of his own. The boy had joined the staff at the station as soon as he was qualified, fresh from the Academy, and had a running start, being thrown into an ongoing investigation of a shady dry cleaning business on the edge of town. Everybody knew something extra was going on behind the front there, but so far, they’d had no luck uncovering the truth.
Since he seemed so consumed with the work, Derek hadn’t asked Stiles to go home at the time, but now it’s nearing six o’clock and they are supposed to have dinner.
“Left the case files on my desk. Oh, and Matthews? Can you tell Stiles to get off his ass and go home?”
There’s silence at the other end for a few beats and then a hesitant voice replies, “He, uh... he raced off like a bat outta Hell ten minutes after you left. We figured he wanted some lovin’ tonight! He’s not home yet?”
“No,” Derek mutters, fighting his instinctual urge to jump to the worst conclusion right away. What if Stiles got hurt on the way home? What if something happened to him? No need to drag Matthews into it though, so he continues, “He probably stopped over at Scott’s and forgot the time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.”
After he’s hung up, Derek can feel the worry starting to creep up on him. After he’s called both John and Scott and confirmed that Stiles is neither at his father’s nor his friend’s place and no one has heard from him, the worry begins morphing into panic.
Trying to think back over the last few weeks, looking for any inconsistencies or weird occurrences, Derek realizes something. Stiles has been acting suspiciously on several occasions. It’s never been enough so Derek had been disturbed by the individual incident, but if he looks at things from a bigger perspective, it paints another picture. Stiles has been nervous and jittery, more secretive than usual and a few times, he’s been going outside for phone calls, even though he used to let Derek in on every little thing he as much as contemplated.
Feeling his stomach sinking, he attempts to not connect the dots here. He’s read enough sad, authentic sob stories to know what these behaviors are usually a sign of. Derek just never thought it’d happen to him and Stiles. Despite having been together for close to seven years, their spark is as fierce and as passionate as it was in the beginning. Granted, they might have settled into an everyday life instead of the raging fire of new love, but there’s been nothing to indicate to Derek that Stiles was growing unhappy with their life together. He kind of thought it was the opposite, in fact.
Perhaps he should have kept the boy from committing himself so fast, should have encouraged Stiles to go off to a big city, trying the real college life. Forced him to live a little more before deciding to grow old with his first boyfriend.
With the realization he was Stiles’ first in everything, comes a horrible thought: Did I unwittingly make Stiles give up on a better, bigger future? All of a sudden, Derek feels sick and he tumbles into the hallway, grabs his running shoes and bolts out the door and into the woods.
The awful doubt of whether or not Stiles is happy with his life haunts Derek. He sprints along the paths, his pulse thundering, sweat running down his back as his burning muscles strain with the effort. His usual route of five miles fly by in a blur and he’s only used half the time he normally would, when he breaks free of the trees and into the yard. When he rounds the house, he sees the familiar Jeep in the open garage. This one is a charcoal grey; the old, blue rust pile died in Stiles’ final year of college.
Relief wells up in Derek and he bursts through the door. He finds Stiles in the kitchen, cooking something that smells an awful lot like enchiladas, humming along to the radio. As the door slams, Stiles’ head snaps up and he beams at Derek.
“Hi, did you have a good run?”
Ignoring the question, Derek grunts, “Where were you?”
“I was at work.”
“Until now?” Derek inquires, tone carefully neutral.
“Yeah, of course!”
The sick feeling returns with a vengeance and Derek has to swallow to ensure he won’t puke on the floor.
Managing to keep his features blank, he sneers, “Funny, because Matthews said you left right after I did when he called an hour ago to ask for the Keller file.”
Not even wanting to hear any excuses or explanations right now, Derek spins on his heels and marched up the stairs towards the bedroom. He hears Stiles yelping and calling out after him, but he chooses to ignore it, grabbing a towel and heading for a shower.
As he yanks his clothes off, uncaring about tearing the shirt, which is one Stiles gave him a few years back, he hears what sounds like ten elephants trampling up the stairs. He almost lets out an amused snort before he remembers that he absolutely does not find Stiles adorable at the moment. He steps under the spray, his chest aching and his lungs feeling like there’s a steel band tightening around them.
“Derek!” Stiles calls through the door. “Please, can I come in? I’m sorry I lied, you’re right, I wasn’t at work... I just wanted... Ugh, I’m coming in!”
Derek doesn’t get a chance to protest, because Stiles charges into the bathroom and yanks the shower curtain open. He has an unhappy, intense expression but he doesn’t seem guilty, per se. This revelation makes Derek pause. Is he overreacting? Why would Stiles lie if it wasn’t a bad thing, though?
In the end, he growls, “Why did you lie? You know I can’t stand that shit!”
Right away, Stiles looks absolutely crestfallen.
“I’m so sorry, it wasn’t even a big deal, I just wanted it to be a surprise. How was I to know stupid fucking Matthews would ruin it?” Stiles exclaims, his voice wobbling. Alarm bells start going off in Derek’s head. Stiles never cries - apart from at movies, which is a never-ending source of embarrassment to him - and Derek has no clue about how to handle it. Also, it tells him he should stop and listen right about now.
When Stiles doesn’t say anything, Derek repeats, “You wanted to surprise me?”
In response, Stiles huffs a humorless laugh.
“Yeah, which is, in hindsight, the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but you know,” Stiles says, shrugging, “I get a lot of those.”
Derek raises his eyebrows, one corner of his mouth twitching up in a sort of crooked smile. About two minutes pass in silence, before Stiles seems to pull himself together. Out of nowhere, the kid steps under the spray, fully clothed, and drops down on one knee in front of Derek.
“Derek Hale, I love you with all my heart and I can’t imagine spending even a single day without seeing your grumpy, gorgeous face. So... will you marry me?”
Gaping isn’t attractive, Derek knows this, yet he can’t stop! This was not even close to what he might have imagined, even if he’d been listing positive reasons for the mysterious behavior. He’s flailing and choking, accidentally inhales some water, which makes him cough and sputter. Stiles stays on his knee on the floor, the spray gradually soaking his clothes and plastering his hair to his skull, dragging it into his eyes.
His brain is struggling to adjust to the fact Stiles is asking for further commitment instead of looking for a way out. Stiles actually wants to marry him! Holy shit! He can feel the knot of tension in his stomach dissolve, a warmth spreading through his chest in its place.
He smiles at Stiles, his face practically split in half by his huge grin.
“You’re such an idiot.”
Stiles frowns from his position on the floor.
“Was that a yes or a no?”
Ignoring the fact he’s a big, old cliché, Derek throws himself into Stiles’ arms and mashes their lips together. While continuously diving back in for kisses, Derek murmurs a string of exuberant yeses.
Derek isn’t ashamed to admit they end up soaking his bed. First with water from the shower he didn’t finish and later with disgusting amounts of sweat and come. There’s a certain intensity about their movements, the way Stiles refuses to break eye contact and the way Derek holds him close as he thrusts with long, deep strokes. They retain almost full body contact, fingers clutching and digging into skin, all the way through. They come almost simultaneously, muffling their cries into heated kisses.
When they lie sated and boneless, enjoying the afterglow, Derek contemplates the days’ events and he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.
“You refuse to make it easy for yourself, huh?”
After rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion, Stiles retaliates by biting Derek’s nipple. He swears and swats the boy’s head. The idiot merely laughs and licks the same spot before declaring, “At least we’ll have something to tell the grandkids.”
~ The End ~