Potentially spoilers for TW S6B, though not really.
“ I want the cottage. I want the green grass and the tomato plants. I want the peace in you; the front porch rocking chair lullaby; our cricket legs rubbing together under the covers. We can’t have it all. I know that, but humor me. We can’t have it all, but we can have most of it.” Caitlin Siehl, from Apple Pie Life
Scott doesn’t have time to think about it until days later.
There’s too much blood and sweat mixing in with fear and relief and exhaustion. There’s the euphoria that comes after the battle, after winning, after proving that the monsters aren’t the ones doing monstrous things. Exhaustion quickly follows the euphoria, and Scott sleeps for what feels like days. (It’s really only twelve hours, but its more sleep than he’s had in months).
His mom returns home from the hospital and their house magical gets fixed and Stiles goes back to the East Coast and suddenly Scott’s sitting at his kitchen table, staring at a text from Derek Hale on his phone. Derek’s wondering if they can grab lunch before he heads out again, wants to catch up on the past couple of years, as if Scott could possibly cover everything in an hour. He has to forcibly uncurl his fingers from around his phone, dangerously close to crushing it as if it were cardboard. Sucking in a deep breath, Scott realizes with sudden clarity that he’s angry at Derek.
Anger isn’t something he often allows himself to feel, especially towards someone he cares about. But Derek left, and he never called, and he only came back because Argent went and found him and begged. Logically, Scott knows that Derek doesn’t owe anything to him or Beacon Hills and that Derek deserves the right to leave this hellish town behind him. But Scott’s heart hurts, and that makes him irrationally angry. Because he’d tried calling Derek, after Mexico. For weeks, he’d call and leave a voicemail, just to check in. As time stretched on with no response, he stopped calling as frequently, but he doesn’t stop all together. The little sliver of hope in his chest that Derek might answer, that he might hear the sound of his voice once more, kept him from quitting. Eventually, Derek’s voicemail became full, but Scott kept calling on the first Wednesday of every month, just in case. One day, Scott called, and an automated voice informed him that this phone number has been disconnected. Finally, Scott accepted defeat.
But now, after almost two years of no contact, Derek thinks he can come swooping back in to save the day, just to turn around and leave again. Scott wants to punch something, wants to run for miles, wants to bare his teeth and extend his claws and scream. It isn’t fair, the way his heart jumps at the sight of Derek’s name, isn’t fair the way his entire journey will always begin entangled with the middle Derek’s. There’s nothing fair about the fact that he wants to talk to Derek every day, will continue wanting to talk to Derek every day, probably for the rest of his life. He feels bonded to Derek in ways he can’t explain, but apparently is seems like Derek doesn’t experience the same yearning in his chest for Scott.
His phone buzzes on the kitchen table, another message from Derek.
(480)625-9113: I’m coming over right now instead.
Scott hadn’t bothered to save his number, not quite ready to start the cycle of unreturned phone calls all over again. He already has it memorized anyways, preparing for the day when he’s feeling lonely enough to give it a try. It takes him a few more minutes to realize exactly what Derek just said, and then another moment to play out the situation in his head. He considers taking off, slipping out the back door and running through the woods as far as he can go. Derek would track him, of course, but Scott’s faster, and he’s learned a thing or to over the past few years. He could lead Derek in circles, confuse him, cross back and forth across the river until his scent is impossibly diluted. He decides instead to stay right where he is, tense and angry and sad.
Derek knocks on the door, which only serves to infuriate Scott even more.
“Come in,” Scott says from his seat at the table, not getting up out of spite. Derek’s steps are cautious but his heartbeat is disconcertingly steady, which means he’s probably trying to keep up some kind of façade. Scott doesn’t bother hiding the little excited blip of his own heartbeat when Derek steps into the kitchen, much more satisfied with the way Derek smiles quickly in response, only to watch his eye brows climb towards his hairline.
“Scott…” he says, hesitant, hands coming out in front of him almost like a plea. “Scott, what’s going on?”
“You don’t get to-“ Scott stops himself, all too aware of the way his body seems to be attempting to vibrate out of his skin. Derek’s mouth turns down in the corners, and there’s a crease between his brows, and part of Scott revels in the hurt he caused. But a much larger part of Scott shifts completely from angry to sad, because he doesn’t want to hurt Derek. Ever. “Please sit,” he says softly, motioning to the chair across from him.
Derek does as he asks, simultaneously too large for the kitchen and smaller than Scott’s ever seen him look. “Derek,” he sighs and glances down at his hands. “I hope you know how happy I was when you showed up to fight, and I know we could never have made it through without you.” Derek ducks his head slightly, and it’s so endearing Scott kind of wants to cry. “But it kind of really, really sucks to have you back only to have you ghost on me again.”
Scott swallows past the lump in his throat, staring down at his folded hands. He hooks his thumbs together in an attempt to hide the shaking, blinking rapidly hoping to keep the hot tears forming behind his eyes at bay.
“Scott,” Derek whispers, a big, warm hand curling over Scott’s own. “I wasn’t trying to leave you. I needed to get away from this place.”
“I know that!” Scott huffs, yanking his hands out from underneath Derek’s. “Of course I know that! The worst things imaginable have happened to you here, but pretty shitty things have happened to me to! And I thought you understood that, I thought you were the one person who could understand exactly what I’m going through. I needed you, Derek.” He sucks in a shuddering breath, holding up a hand to keep Derek from speaking just yet. “You deserve to escape Beacons Hills, and the reason I’m upset is because I just wanted you to miss me the way I missed you, okay? And I don’t know if I can handle doing this to myself again. You don’t have to feel any particular way, and this definitely isn’t your fault, but I love myself too much to break my own heart again.”
Derek’s moving around the table quicker than Scott expects him too, turning Scott’s chair to the side with an effortlessness that Scott would probably find really hot at any other time. At the moment, he’s still trying not to cry, feeling vaguely overwhelmed by the sight of Derek kneeling before him. “There were some things I needed to work through,” Derek starts, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Scott’s wrist. “I had unfinished business related to my family, and some internal things I needed to come to terms with. But even through all of that, I was always thinking about you.” He pauses and looks up at Scott, eyes that clear blue-green-gray that’s always been slightly annoying. “I didn’t come back because I wanted you to succeed as an alpha on your own, I wanted you to prove to everyone else that you didn’t need me here, guiding you.”
“Well that’s stupid,” Scott huffs, trying halfheartedly to pull his wrist out of Derek’s grip.
“Obviously.” Derek’s lips lift into a half smile. “I’ve never claimed to be anything else.” Scott rolls his eyes and bites down on a smile, all too aware of the hurt and anger slowly dissipating with the sound of Derek’s soft voice. “And if you want me here, I’ll stay… for as long as you’ll have me.”
Scott stares down at him, at the slight pinkness to his cheeks and the vulnerability in his eyes. The overwhelming urge to curl his fingers around Derek’s jaw and pull him up into a kiss bubbles up inside him, and he urgently tries to tamp it down. “What about Brazil?”
“I’m done in Brazil. I know Cora is still safe. Kate’s dead, Gerard’s dead. I don’t have any more loose ends.” Derek tilts his head slightly, absurdly long eyelashes fluttering. “‘Cept you.”
Scott can’t stop himself from reaching out, curling his fist in the front of Derek’s stupidly soft shirt. Derek doesn’t resist when he pulls him forward, eyes and mouth going soft as he reads the blatant intent on Scott’s face.
He’s imagined kissing Derek many times over the past four years, but never like this. Scott always thought it would be heated, in the middle of an argument or after some big battle, covered in blood and sweat and eyes glowing unnaturally bright. But this, this is soft, a gentle press of lips contrasting against the rough catch of Derek’s beard against Scott’s stubbled chin. When he opens his eyes, Derek’s smiling at him, like maybe this is something they could let themselves have.
“So there’s that,” Scott says finally, cringing at the words. “Which means that like, I want you to stay.”
“Thanks for the clarification,” Derek says, straight faced, and Scott hates him so much he can’t help but want to kiss him again.
“You’re literally the worst,” he mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, this time sliding one hand around the back of Derek’s neck, fingers pushing through his hair. Derek sighs against his lips, turning the kiss into something slow and wet and dirty.
“Literally?” He asks as Scott trails kisses down his jaw, stopping to nip at his ear. Scott just laughs against Derek’s throat, high on the sound of Derek’s heart pumping blood hot and fast through his veins. He’s overcome with the sudden realization that he wants this forever, wants to have Derek’s scent in his house and his voice in his ear, wants to be friends and lovers and something more, without a foreseeable end.
“I’ll want you to stay here forever,” he whispers, pulling back from Derek’s arms. He wiggles awkwardly out of the chair, settling down on the kitchen floor in front of Derek. “But you should stay as long as you want.”
Derek smiles and slips his hand into Scott’s, locking their fingers together. He looks at him like Scott saved him, though Scott thinks it might be the other way around. But he’ll save that argument for another day, for now content to let his heart flutter when Derek sighs and says, “Forever sounds good to me.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Written for Scerek Week 2017
Scott was pressed against the wall, Derek's body crushed against him, pinning him there. They'd been in this position before but this time everything was different.
