Buried in Dust - Biting-The-Sun
Stiles and Derek both stared at the bed.
All the other rooms were already taken by their friends.
Derek crossed his arms. “You should have it.”
Stiles sputtered. “What? No! You should take it- I mean, it’s your beach house.”
“It was my families. And I don’t mind taking the couch.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t mind taking the couch as well.”
Derek raised his eyebrow, then smirked. “We can’t both take the couch Stiles.”
Stiles almost wanted to say, ‘challenged accepted’, but instead blurted out, “Or we could both sleep on the bed.”
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not a big for me- and I trust you to not kill me in my sleep, so I’m fine with it if you are?” He hadn’t meant for his statement to sound like a high-pitched question.
Derek stared at Stiles, then shrugged. “Okay.”
Stiles let out a held in breath. Yeah, he could pretend it was fine.
The pack sat around the bonfire on the beach, the sunset a burnt orange over the water.
This was their first official pack vacation, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. After a hard college semester, it was good to relax with people Stiles considered his closest friends.
Kira sat on Scott’s lap, both whispering into each other’s ears. Allison and Isaac were laughing with Lydia and Jackson as they watched Erica dump sand down Boyd’s back. Derek looked on with a small, content smile.
Stiles tried not to focus on the fact that he didn’t have anyone pressed closely against him in the same way the others were doing with their significant others.
He looked over at Derek, and watched the way his shoulders weren’t tensed, saw the easy smile which stayed instead of his past scowls.
Everyone had changed over the past years, grown up faster than they were supposed to, but Stiles thought Derek had changed the most.
Derek was a good Alpha now. And it showed.
He took his responsibilities seriously, but allowed himself to rely on his pack. He didn’t keep secrets to himself and always made sure his pack’s needs and wants were met. His guilt and grief had dimmed to a less-destructive level. He’s chosen to heal, to lead and protect his new pack, his new family rather than bury himself with his past mistakes.
Stiles wondered if he would ever stop seeing his own mistakes, all the times he wasn’t quick enough, stop seeing Cora’s dead body in his arms-
Derek looked up at Stiles over the bonfire, picking up on the scent of Stiles’ darker musings.
Then he rummaged through the drink cooler and threw Stiles’ favourite soda to him.
Stiles caught it, then looked back and gave a smile in thanks.
He looked over at everyone again, at how happy they were, and decided he wouldn’t worry them with his own demons.
So he opened his soda and drank it all in one go till his throat burned.
Stiles and Derek found themselves staring at the bed again.
“Any is fine,’ said Derek.
They’d already brushed their teeth and changed into loose shirts and shorts.
Stiles took the left side and Derek took the right side – the side closest to the door. Typical Alpha behaviour.
Moonlight filtered through the thin cotton curtain, carrying sea breeze through the window.
Beside him, Stiles could hear Derek getting comfortable, the rustle of sheets and the dip in the mattress.
Stiles faced the window, and focused on the sound of waves, the billowing of the curtain, anything other than the thoughts which wanted to scream.
You’re unworthy. Cora is dead because of you. You’re a burden to the pack.
His heartbeat pulsed against his ear and the pillow, sweat formed above his brow and he couldn’t hear the waves anymore, couldn’t focus on staying locked tight-
A large, warm hand laid itself against Stiles’ neck.
“Relax Stiles. You’re safe.”
Yeah, but not from his thoughts, from his conscious, from the truth-
Fingers rubbed in circles over his pounding pulse.
So Stiles focused on Derek’s finger pads, how they were rough yet anchoring, big yet not dominating.
Derek’s voice sounded loud in the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Stiles blinked hard, then lied. “No.”
Derek’s fingers continued their gentle presses, almost politely distant, never sending more than comforting signals.
And that gesture, the freely given comfort, soured and clenched in his stomach – like he was worth the care, worth the effort to be comforted, and he wanted to escape in it, feel what being loved felt like-
Cora is dead because of you.
Derek immediately pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry- I can leave it you want.”
Of course Derek would think it was his fault. Of course he’d offer to leave. But he should be leaving because Stiles killed his last living relative.
And all of a sudden, he had to know why Derek didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him, wasn’t disgusted by his mere presence-
Derek winched at the onslaught of emotion tearing off Stiles.
Derek pulled his brows inwards into a confused expression. “What?”
“Why don’t you hate. Why was I invited to this pack vacation? What am I doing here?”
Every word deepened Derek’s expression, as if his words were alien, unfounded truths. “Why would I hate you? You’re pack, of course-”
Stiles cut in, wanting the rip the scab off the wound. “How can you not hate me after Cora! How can you be anywhere near me when she’s dead because of me!?”
Derek’s mouth gaped opened, eyes wide as Stiles’ breath hitched from his outburst, from asking what he’d been afraid to say out loud.
And out of all the things Stiles expected Derek to do, the selfish scenarios where Derek denies it all and comforts him anyway-
Derek moved away and got off the bed.
Something in Stiles twisted, unforgivingly tight and cold.
Derek did hate him. Derek had finally given up pretending everything was fine.
Stiles closed his eyes and curled within himself. He should have known it wouldn’t be any different, that he’d actually be forgiven-
Footsteps approached Stiles.
Derek stood with the curtain behind him, then he dropped to his knees, reached his arms out, and pulled Stiles towards him, holding him tight around the waist into a full body hug.
Derek’s next words rumbled strong against his neck, pressed lips aiming to sink the words into Stiles’ being-
“I don’t hate you Stiles. I could never hate you.”
It was like hearing through a screen. He understood the words, but they didn’t make sense, didn’t add up-
“You tried to save her. You did everything you could- and you almost died Stiles…you almost died too.”
Stiles’ breathing sped up.
It’s not your fault. I could never hate you. You tried to save her.
And just like that, the wall he’d built to shield himself from sinking, from falling, fell piece by piece.
All he remembered after that was crying and crying like his emotions were bleeding, like they couldn’t stay contained in his prison, like he could finally breathe-
Derek held onto him, felt every physical heave and distress finally pour out of Stiles.
And if Stiles thought holding it all in was more painful, he was wrong.
Self-forgiveness felt more painful, like extracting the poison, removing the dust and allowing light to illuminate the places within which had grown dark for too long.
And Derek stayed till the sobs ran their course, till the moon flew away and the early sun returned.
And as first light glowed across the room, Derek’s next words were the soothing balm Stiles’ hadn’t realised he needed to hear.
“The pack is nothing without you Stiles. You’re needed. You’re wanted. And even if you don’t want us, we’ll always want you.”
The brightness of the sun didn’t shine as bright as the conviction in Derek’s voice. It hollowed and buried itself within Stiles, warming him up, enfolding him in acceptance, love-
“You’re pack. You’ve always been, and you always will be.”
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