Open Invitation (To My Heart)
Theme: opening a door
Rating:G
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There is a sort of melancholic sadness that, given the opportunity, will begin to consume you. Derek Hale, unfortunately, knows this truth all too well. The problem is, he hasn’t quite figured out how to pull himself out of it.
That’s a lie. The real problem is that he doesn’t know that he wants to. In the years since his family was murdered and he spiraled into an existence fueled by guilt and the fear of fucking everything up again, Derek has gotten very good at being sad. And he’s even better at being angry. Without those two things, he isn’t quite sure what’s left of him anymore.
When Laura is killed, the fire that keeps him going burns brighter than it has in years. The sadness makes Derek feel alive simply because he hasn’t known anything other than that for so long.
That’s why he tries to push Stiles away. Because Stiles is the only person since Laura who won’t let Derek use his weariness as an excuse for bad behavior. He’s the first person who has tried to tell Derek that he is more than what has happened to him. There is a stubbornness in him that refuses to be quieted, and Derek isn’t sure what to do with that.
There’s a part of Derek that wants to listen to him, that’s the thing. But it’s terrifying, facing someone who can see past all the bull shit, being around someone who actually wants to see more than anyone else has cared to see in years.
Running seems like a much safer choice. It seems like the only choice, really. But running away means hurting Stiles, and that’s just not something that Derek is strong enough to do, not anymore. He’s already in too deep.
So, when Stiles shows up at the loft at three in the morning on the anniversary of Laura’s death with two packs of Twizzlers (Laura’s favorite), a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream (Derek’s weakness), and a whole bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (Stiles’ cure for everything), all Derek can do is open the door.
“Hey.” They blink at each other, a war that Derek has no chance of winning. There’s a pillow tucked neatly under Stiles’ arm. “I hope that it’s alright that I’m here.” He shrugs, even though Derek hasn’t said anything. “I couldn’t sleep.”
It isn’t even a lie, and Derek finds himself pushing the door open wider without hesitation, allowing Stiles to duck under his arm and disappear into the loft before locking everything up again.
Yeah, pushing Stiles away probably is for the best, but Derek’s just can’t do it.
Walking into the living room, Derek isn’t necessarily surprised to see that Stiles has welcomed himself into Derek’s bed. The snacks have been haphazardly strewn across the covers.
Derek stares at it all and breaks. “You used to be afraid of me,” he says helplessly. “You used to be afraid.”
Stiles blinks up at him in surprise. Then his mouth quirks up into a small smile. “Dude, I hate to break it to you, but I was never afraid of you.”
Derek snarls, feels vicious and cruel, then deflates when all Stiles does is raise his eyebrows. He says, feeling very small, “You used to be afraid. Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
In an instant, Stiles is off the bed and across the room. He crowds close to where Derek has hunched in on himself, and though his hands hover over his shoulders, Stiles doesn't touch.
“Derek?” There’s a frantic edge to his voice, which is just enough to bring Derek back from the brink of an anxiety attack. By the way that his hands are shaking, Derek guesses that that wasn’t the first time that Stiles has said his name.
But he can’t let it go. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Carefully, Stiles reaches out and cradles Derek’s face, ignoring that they’re damp with tears, not caring that the ice cream is melting on the sheets behind them. “Derek, I’m not afraid of you because there is nothing to be afraid of. You are strong and protective, and you’re hurt and angry. But you’re not a monster. You’re not broken or ruined, or whatever else you could be thinking. You’re just you.” His lips quick up. “And I happen to like you quite a bit, hurt and angry and everything.”
The words sink into Derek’s skin, anchoring him.
With gentle coaching, Stiles leads him over to the bed, Derek allows himself to be led. Laura would laugh at him if she could see him like this, would mock him.
That’s a lie too, and he knows it. Laura wouldn’t tease him, not about this. “Twizzlers were her favorite,” Derek says when they’re both sitting one the edge of the bed, Stiles’ hand still wrapped carefully around Derek’s wrist.
He can hear Stiles’ sad smile when he responds. “I know. You, uh-. You told me once. I mean, you were drunk on some of the wolfsbane punch that Lydia brewed, but I still remember.” He pauses, as if deciding whether or not to keep talking. Then, “It was the first time that you had said anything about her. How could I forget.”
That’s it, right there. That’s what trapped Derek: Stiles and his inability not to care about those he deems worthy. And Derek isn’t sure what twist of fate has led him to this point, but he feels damn lucky that Stiles has picked him to be a part of that group. Because sitting her on this bed, crying about his sister and how out of control his life feels, Derek decides that if he gets to make one more decision, trusting Stiles might just be the most important one he’s made.
“She would have hated this though, the crying.” He smiles. “When I cried, she cried too, and she hated it. Her nose would get all clogged. When I was little I told her that she sounded like a rhinoceros, and I don’t think she ever really got over it.”
Stiles snorts. “My mom loved to cry. She said it was one of the most important things that you could do. Cry it out and then move on, that was her motto.”
Reaching for a pack of Twizzlers, Derek rips it open, holds one out for Stiles, and then offers him another memory. Losing Laura still seems so fresh, but at the same time, talking about her doesn’t rip him to shreds like he thought it would. And listening to Stiles accept his stories and then offer some of his own, it’s nice. Cathartic really. And Claudia was right; crying does help make Derek feel better, even if he sounds a little like an elephant with a head cold.
As the sun creeps across the horizon, lighting the loft in the soft glow of morning, Derek helps Stiles strip the ice creamed sheets off of the bed before they crawl under the covers together. Stiles falls asleep almost immediately, but Derek fights sleep for a while, basking in the chance to watch Stiles relax so completely.. His chest hurts and his head is stuffy, but his heart is warm in a way that it hasn’t been in so long.
And it is scary, realizing that he’s let someone in so completely. Being vulnerable is giving in to the possibility of getting hurt again. And he’s been sad for so long, has felt so much anger, that the hope is startling. But laying here, watching Stiles sleep, Derek thinks that this is worth it. And he thinks that, if he asks nicely, Stiles might like to stay.
In his head he hears a voice whisper, I’m proud of you. It’s Laura’s voice. And even though he knows that it can’t be her, not really, the sentiment sticks with him. Reaching out, Derek takes Stiles’ hand. In turn, Stiles rolls closer to him, curling in closer and closer until their legs are tangled together and he’s using Derek’s chest for a pillow instead of the one that he brought. It feels right. He feels good. Derek closes his eyes.
