When Derek wakes up, the night is bathed by the light of the moon, the sky a deep blue wrapping itself over the terrace. His body feels sore from falling asleep on the concrete floor, after an evening gazing at the stars with Stiles.
It’s a thing they do now, one of the many things actually. Going to movies, sharing popcorn and childhood memories, trying the new donut shop, exchanging Christmas presents. Moments of bliss that Derek keeps close to his heart.
Stiles is still asleep beside Derek, had fallen mid sentence while trying to share a story his mom used to tell before bedtime, about stars forever apart and impossible love stories.
“It made me think about you,” Stiles had said.
“Right,” Derek had sighed. Sad stories about impossible love, that was summing up his life perfectly.
“No no but it ends well,” Stiles had added, “the stars fall in love and they spark the most beautiful constellation of all, because they never give up,” Stiles’ voice had become more sleepyish with each word. “Like you, Der, you never g-.” Silence had taken over, leaving Derek smiling, and falling asleep to Stiles slowing heartbeat.
Derek wonders if he’ll ever be able to figure out if Stiles would like it if they kissed, like the stars of Claudia’s story.
Author: DLanaDHZ
Beta: @jessicamdawn
Rating: M
Warnings: Depictions of post-violence care. Referenced homophobia beating.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Stiles/Derek
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 4,874
Additional Tags: Crayons
Summary:
When Derek was little, a box of crayons only came in eight colors. As he got older, packs got bigger and suddenly there were rainbows within rainbows, but by then he had outgrown crayons. But then he meets someone who makes him think of all the colors. And it all starts with one brown crayon.
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When Derek was little, a box of crayons only came in eight colors. Brown, Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple, Black. As he got older, packs got bigger and bigger, and suddenly there were rainbows within rainbows, but by then he had outgrown crayons.
Brown was the color of tree bark and see-saws and sometimes skin color when you had nothing else and didn’t want to use yellow. Brown was chocolate ice cream and the color of the hair on the little brat who broke the crayons when Derek was helping out at the daycare center for toddlers when he was ten. He remembered being really mad at that two-year-old, and only the supervisor convinced him to stop before he started shouting.
“Sometimes people break things without meaning to,” she said. “He doesn’t know any better. He’s just a toddler. And even if he did break it on purpose, just look. He’s still using it. Some people play with things differently than we do, but that doesn’t make them wrong.”
She promised to buy more crayons, and Derek was appeased. Although he disapproved of breaking crayons for no reason, he continued to watch after the brown haired toddler. Two days later, the little boy tripped and fell and started to work up a good cry, and the supervisor’s consoling words did nothing to ease it. But Derek just brought him the new brown crayon and helped him break it in half, and his tears dissolved into giggles instantly. And that’s when Derek realized, at ten years old, that people cope with life in very different ways.
Red was the color of apples and flowers and hastily drawn mouths. Red was the color of the hoodie of the kid who ran Derek over with his bike when Derek was thirteen. It was such a vibrant color, that it was all Derek could focus on, splayed out on the pavement as he was. He wanted to be mad, but maybe he had a concussion, because mostly he was just dazed.
The poor kid had a scraped knee, much worse than any wound Derek noticed on himself, but he was up and apologizing to Derek before the older kid could even sit up right. Red was the blood that started to show through the new rip on the kid’s jeans, and red was his bike, and Derek must have had a concussion because that was all he could focus on, really.
Even though Derek had been the one bowled over, he took responsibility for patching the kid up, and once Derek was on his feet again, they walked the short driveway up to Derek’s family home and found a bandage for the poor kid’s knee.
As he walked the kid to the door to get his bike, Derek saw his mother pull up in the driveway, and suddenly the kid seemed nervous. He made Derek promise to apologize to his mom for him, for crashing into her son, and then he took off running with his bike, leaving Derek very confused.
As his mom came out and stood by him, both watching the red bike and hoodie far down the street, Derek thought the kid was very strange. But his mom recognized the boy immediately and said she thought it was good that Derek had played with him – and he didn’t correct her assumption. That boy was lonely, his mom said. That boy lost his mother earlier that year.
And then Derek was standing alone in the yard again, torn between continuing his basketball practice and just lying in the grass. People dealt with loss, he thought, in interesting ways. He wanted to find that kid and let him know that just because he’d lost his mom didn’t mean other moms would dislike him. But then what good would that do? That kid wasn’t going to change just because Derek told him to.
Orange was the color of carrots and cool sneakers and cats and the accent to warm cocoa eyes that belonged to the poor 5th grader that had hopped up on a car and set off the alarm. The car wasn’t Derek’s, but it was his uncle’s, and that was worse.
“I didn’t even hurt it,” the middle schooler insisted and offered to wipe the whole hood down to remove any kind of butt mark, but Derek’s uncle Peter was even more angry at the offer.
Tired from school and already sick of his uncle’s antics, Derek stepped between the kid and Peter. “Just let it go, Uncle Peter. I have homework to do. Take me home.”
But Peter refused. He was determined to stay around until the stupid brat’s parents showed up to pick him up from school so he could give them a piece of his mind. The kid didn’t even look ashamed of what had happened. Mostly he just looked annoyed now, and the sun really highlighted the colors in his young eyes.
“Sorry. Hey, I’m Derek. My uncle is an idiot. I promise you did nothing wrong,” he said, offering his hand to shake.
The kid took it and shook it firmly. “Well yeah, I know that. But now my dad is gonna like ground me or something. And I’m supposed to be hanging out with Scott tonight.”
And Derek missed the days when missing a hang out time was the worst punishment his parents could give him, the most stressful thing he could think of. No, now he was thinking of graduation, about college, about a job, a career. And he had homework for calculus in his backpack. But for a moment he just took a seat on the sidewalk by the put-out ten-year-old and nudged him in the shoulder.
“Come on. I think Scott will forgive you,” he said. “Besides, I bet your dad doesn’t even ground you.”
“My dad grounds for everything… I just usually don’t listen,” the kid admitted. Then he smiled. “And maybe Scott can come to my house instead.”
“That’s the spirit,” Derek agreed just as a police cruiser pulled up to the pick-up area.
“Oh, hey mister!” the kid called to Peter. “My dad’s here.”
Maybe Peter had planned to scold the kid’s parents, but scold a police officer? Peter jerked up at attention and snapped at Derek, ordering him into the car. No, forget about the stupid kid, just get in the car. So Derek waved goodbye to the now confused but also triumphant 5th grader and got into his uncle’s Toyota.
As they drove away, Derek wondered how that meeting would get blown up by a ten-year-old’s mind when he told his friends. And he wondered what part he would get dealt. He also wondered about those creamy looking eyes and hoped he saw some like that again, because they were really beautiful eyes… But that just made him feel awkward, because those were the eyes of a child.
Yellow was the sun and the stars and a sunflower and a taxi. Yellow was the shirt that Derek covered in coffee when he ran into someone at the mall – the shirt that wasn’t his. He’d been in a hurry to meet his girlfriend and was bringing her coffee, and really the high school kid was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now his yellow shirt was not so yellow, and okay, yeah, Derek felt bad about that.
“Dude!” the kid exclaimed as soon as he’d gotten over the shock of being wet and probably a little burnt. “Seriously?”
“I’m sorry. I-,” but what could he say? It was an accident? I didn’t see you there? I was in a hurry? He could already hear the sarcastic ‘No, really?’ he’d undoubtedly receive as a reply.
“Hang on. Are you Cora’s brother?” the teen asked, shaking out his shirt by pulling it away from his chest.
“Yeah. Do you know her?” Derek asked. His sister was a junior, so maybe they went to school together? That could be good or bad.
“I know she’s a firecracker. And I also know she’ll probably kill you if I tell her about this,” the teen said, and he was probably right. Embarrassing Cora at school was like a death sentence.
After that statement it was pretty much a given that Derek had to make amends, so despite Derek being late, they walked into the nearest department store to find the yellow-shirted male a new shirt. It should have been an easy in-and-out exchange, but they disagreed on which shirts looked nice and which were overpriced.
They spent two hours in the store, trying on shirts to prove each other wrong, and by the end, Derek had two shirts for himself along with the one for the teen, when they checked out. No longer in yellow, which was honestly a blessing as far as Derek was concerned, the teen departed on a cheerful note, and Derek walked calmly back to his own car.
Only once he was there did his check his phone and find twelve texts from his girlfriend asking where he was and, well shit. The last three were a definitive essay on how the relationship was over if he couldn’t spend his time with her, and how she hoped he liked his new side girl.
Not that Derek had a side girl. He didn’t have a side boy either. It was just some kid he met at the mall… although it had probably been the most fun he’d had at a mall in years. And it was then that Derek realized something that should have been obvious much sooner. He’d just spent an amusing and fun two hours at a mall with some guy… and he didn’t even know the guy’s name.
Green was grass and trees and the Hulk and the color of the shoes of the guy sleeping in the hospital chairs. His head was bent at an odd angle off the end of the row and his shoes were in the farthest chair down from that, and Derek just wanted to sit down.
But they were nice shoes, at least. There was no dirt caked on the bottom, no horrible wear in the tread, and the white of the soles was so clean that they might have been brand new. In sharpie marker on the side of each shoe was a sharp S.S. Derek was still staring at the letters, intently wondering why feet needed their own chair, when a nurse stopped beside him and smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry. You can just push him out of the way. He won’t mind,” she said. When Derek didn’t look convinced, she scoffed but smiled at the same time and walked over to the chairs.
Without ceremony, she shoved the green shoes out of the chair, and the young man’s whole body moved with the force of it. He jerked awake and grabbed the arms of the chair that he ended up in, looking wildly around for which jerk had woken him.
“Ms. McCall,” he said with astonishment when he took full notice of the nurse. “Come on.”
“Don’t ‘Ms. McCall’ me, young man. You were taking up all the seats, and some people need to sit down,” she said and motioned with a nod of her head toward Derek. Then she turned and strolled away down the hall.
The young man shifted as though he could make more room for Derek, although he’d already vacated three seats by sitting up. “Oh, dude. I’m sorry. You should have just kicked me.”
Frowning at the suggestion, Derek turned and took a seat in the one that had been home to the shoes. He didn’t speak and the other guy didn’t start up a discussion either, and it wasn’t so much awkward as it was mildly uncomfortable. Sure there was the sound of nurses milling about and wheels on tile in the distance, but in general it was quiet.
After another minute, the other guy couldn’t take it. He’d been drumming his hands on the arms of the chairs but it wasn’t enough. He turned to Derek and asked, “So who are you here to see?”
“My sister,” Derek said.
“Oh man. Is it serious? I hope she’s okay.” And he sounded sincere, so Derek accepted the common term of condolence.
“She broke her arm at school today. They’re doing x-rays and giving her a cast. She’ll be fine. I just couldn’t stand in there anymore,” Derek explained. Or maybe the explanation left something to be desired. Either way, he was done.
There was a comment of “Oh, good.” And then they were back in silence. Silence for a blissful thirty seconds before the guy came out with a very curious, “So your Cora’s brother?”
Now he had Derek’s full attention. Before he was partly wondering how he could scold Cora for being so stupid and reckless in her last year of high school, or maybe how he could use it for teasing material later, whichever presented as the better long-term option, but now his mind was just on the strange guy sleeping in the hospital chairs.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound like a creeper. But that’s who I’m here to see too. I didn’t sleep well last night, so I guess I passed out on the chairs, but yeah, I’m here to see Cora. We went to school together until I graduated last year,” the guy said. Then he grinned. “Now I’m in college, which is like way harder than high school in terms of school work… at least most of the time. But I came back to watch the game tonight and man, Cora was killing it! You know, until she broke her arm.”
Well at least he seemed like a nice creeper.
“I’m Derek,” Derek said and offered his hand.
The young man took it and looked like he wanted to laugh. “Yeah, I know. I mean, I thought I knew, but I just had to double check. We’ve actually met before.” At Derek’s curious frown, he did laugh. “You dumped coffee on me at the mall like a year ago. We had a good time finding me a replacement.”
The yellow shirt kid! No wonder the guy had looked so familiar. And how odd was it that a year ago Derek had thought ‘kid’ and now he thought ‘guy’. It was only one year! Really, he should have recognized him as soon as he’d opened his eyes. They were beautiful eyes, with just a hint of…
The mall wasn’t the first time they’d met, was it? Derek tried not to frown too hard as he attempted to remember if he’d ever seen those eyes before the mall trip a year ago. No distinct memory formed, but he was sure he’d seen eyes like them before, if not those eyes specifically.
“Did we not have a good time?” the guy asked in response to Derek’s deepening frown. “Or do you not remember?”
Derek’s mind jerked back to the present and he shook his head. “Sorry. I was just thinking. Of course I remember. It was… fun, actually. Sorry again for that.”
“No problem. I was kind of over that shirt anyway. Yellow’s not really my color.” Then he laughed. “Which I’m pretty sure I started saying after you told me that day at the mall.”
He looked good when he smiled. Better when he laughed. And Derek found himself admiring his teeth and his eyes and the moles on his cheek, and then he scolded himself for considering flirting with someone in the waiting room of a hospital, especially someone so much younger than him. Eight years, give or take.
A moment later, the young man noticed a baseball game on the waiting room television and then they were discussing their favorite teams – they both liked the Mets, although Derek was far less passionate about the sport. And then they spiraled out into other sports, and then movies about sports, and then just their favorite movies, and then Cora was there, tapping her foot and glaring at her brother for making her wait to go home.
Derek apologized for bothering the young man, who reminded Derek he’d been there to see Cora too, but Cora claimed she’d barely ever spoken two words to the other teen so she didn’t know why he’d come to see her. Derek was curious for a moment too, but then he turned on his new friend.
“You knew we were related,” he said.
“Okay, okay. You caught me.” The other male flailed a little but did not look ashamed. “I was sort of hoping to bump into you again and this seemed like a good bet.”
“WOW there are so many better ways of flirting,” Cora said and rolled her eyes. “God, just exchange phone numbers and position preferences and let’s get out of here already.”
They assumed she was joking about the position preferences, but they did exchange numbers. Derek gave his number first and got a text in order to save the other’s number, and that’s when he realized –
“Hey, what’s your name anyway?” Derek asked, embarrassed for now having spent over three hours entertained by the other male and not knowing the answer.
But the young man did not look offended. He grinned broadly. “Stiles,” he said. “Stilinski.”
And that was how Derek Hale got his first date in a year.
Blue was the sky and water, the ocean, and little bug cars, and the color of the salvia flowers in Stiles’ hand when he showed up at Derek’s loft a week later. The flower meant ‘Thinking of You’, but Derek didn’t know if Stiles was aware of that or just thought they were simple enough to not be seen as too strange or embarrassing to bring on a first date.
They planned to go to a movie first, but had quickly realized there was no movie in theaters that either of them wanted to see, plus Stiles said a movie date was too basic and cliché. So Stiles came to Derek’s loft, and they played Call of Duty and Halo and passed out on the couch together, and when they woke up the next morning, Stiles was so embarrassed that he tripped over the table and fell backwards onto the hardwood, and then they had to go to the hospital because he’d sprained his wrist.
“God, I’m sorry,” he said as the nurse was wrapping his wrist. “This is a shitty end to a first date.”
“Well technically,” the nurse said with a smile, “a date isn’t over until you part ways. So this date is still going.”
Stiles looked impressed and then glanced at Derek, who said, “Well she’s right.”
And that was how they ended up leaving the hospital and going to Arbys for an early lunch. With his wrist bound, Stiles ended up dropping half his sandwich out the other side of it but together they managed to push it all back together and then Derek started feeding him curly fries and they laughed a lot. When Derek drove Stiles home in the other’s blue Jeep, he wondered if blue was Stiles’ favorite color. He walked Stiles to the door and Stiles apologized for Derek having to walk home, but Derek liked walking, plus he could always call his sister or take a bus.
They kissed softly, neither wanting to rush it and mess it up the first time. But then Stiles grabbed hold of Derek with his good hand and kissed him harder.
“Dude, I have been waiting to do that for so long. You have no idea,” he rushed out after.
When Stiles went inside, Derek walked backwards to the street so he could watch the door as long as possible. Then he slipped his hands in his pockets and walked the whole way home, because it felt nice out and he felt nice inside. He’d never felt that way after his first date or first kiss with anyone else.
Purple was violets and grapes and Barney the dinosaur and the color that was taking over Stiles’ face when he collapsed outside of Derek’s door when he was twenty and supposed to be graduating from college the next morning.
Derek found him when he came to investigate the sound of something hitting his door. He brought him inside and laid him in the bed and gently started to remove the jacket he was wearing. Stiles winced but tried to help Derek when it came time to take the shirt off. His chest was the same brilliant shade of bruising as his face, possibly worse, and Derek glared at the color.
“What happened?” he demanded. “Who did this?”
“I didn’t know them,” Stiles grunted and then tensed as speaking hurt the bruise on his face. When the pain eased, he said, “They came at me when I left the store.”
“They mugged you? They did this much damage for some milk and eggs?” Derek didn’t buy it. He left to grab some ice packs, some pain medication, and a glass of water. When he came back, he got Stiles to take the medicine before he gently pressed him into the mattress, keeping his head high on the pillow, and set the ice packs on the bruising. “Why you?”
“Because I’m gay,” Stiles grunted, and now he was glaring at the wall behind Derek. “They said so. I tried to… but there were too many of them.”
Derek shushed him softly and gently massaged around the bruising, avoiding areas that seemed to cause Stiles more pain. It meant a lot to Derek that Stiles had come to him after the beating, even if he should have gone to the hospital. They hadn’t seen each other in over a month – Stiles was too busy with school and Derek too busy with work. And even before that, their relationship was mostly text messages and Skype calls. To finally see Stiles in person but beaten by homophobic jerks… it was not the reunion he’d been hoping for.
They laid in bed together, Stiles wincing whenever he tried to breathe too deeply and Derek shifting the ice packs every twenty minutes so he wouldn’t damage Stiles more. Stiles asked Derek to distract him from the fact that he was going to be purple and sore when he walked in the morning, so Derek pretended they were having one of their long Skype calls and told Stiles about his stupid coworkers and the clients they helped. He told him about a new video game coming out, Detroit, and how much he was looking forward to it and why, and partway through that he found Stiles had fallen asleep, his head leaning heavily on Derek’s shoulder.
There was no reason Derek wanted to get up at that point, except maybe to brush his teeth, but he could skip that in lieu of Stiles’ comfort. And it was nice, just lying beside each other. But he still wanted to find the bastards who’d purpled Stiles’ fair skin and break their fingers.
In the morning, Derek woke Stiles up to get ready for graduation. He drove Stiles home and Laura Hale was there to meet them, surprising Stiles. But he quickly understood. Laura Hale was a make-up artist. The purple was actually worse than the night before, but that could be the brightness of the day making it stand out more. Stiles insisted the ice packs had helped and the bruising didn’t hurt as much, but Derek doubted the sincerity of the words. Stiles was known for hiding pain.
With his sister’s help, Derek got Stiles dressed and presentable to walk, and the only proof of the bruising on his face was a slight swelling, but keeping his head elevated all night had decreased that too. He looked almost normal.
“Damn, I knew coming to you was the right move,” Stiles said, examining himself in the mirror. “I love you so much right now, you have no idea.”
“Well it’s about time one of you said it,” Laura said with a slight groan and finished putting up her cleaned brushes.
Both men blushed and glanced at each other, but neither commented on it. Two years they’d been together and they hadn’t seriously said ‘I love you’ even once. They’d agreed very early on that those words were said too often by people who didn’t really know what they wanted, who didn’t really love the people they were talking about, and they wanted to make sure their relationship was going to last before saying something so serious and yet overused.
Stiles took Derek’s hand in his as they walked to the car and squeezed. “No, but seriously,” he said softly so Laura wouldn’t hear. “You’re the literal best. And I wasn’t joking. I love you.”
Derek squeezed his hand in return and then carefully kissed him as Laura got in the car. “I love you too,” he said. “Now you have to go kill it at graduation.”
And when Stiles walked across the stage, Derek was extremely proud – even with Laura reminding him it was only an Associates and not a Bachelors Degree. He just pushed her over in her chair and then continued to clap for his boyfriend.
Black was the color of the night sky and the asphalt roads of town and the bed frame that Stiles brought when they moved in together. Derek helped him move in to the loft, angling the mattress through the hallways and doorways until it made it into Derek’s spare bedroom. Before then, the spare room had been mostly empty, but now it was a viable space for visitors.
Visitors only because obviously Stiles would not be using it.
Except he did. The first night at least. Because they hadn’t even put the sheets on the mattress before the sight of it within Derek’s walls had them finally rolling in the… non-existent sheets. How they’d held off for three years was amazing, honestly. But they’d said the ‘I love you’s, decided they were serious, moved in together, and now they had consummated the relationship too.
They fell asleep on the unmade bed, enjoying each other’s physical closeness, and when they woke up, they finished unpacking Stiles’ things. In one box, labeled ‘keepsakes’, Derek found photos of the Stilinski family, some notable school awards, and Stiles’ diploma from a year ago. He also found a box of crayons. An eight color set.
Odd. But the weirdest part was that the brown crayon was broken. Derek had a flashback to a crying two-year-old and couldn’t help but ask.
“Stiles,” he said, carrying the box of crayons into the kitchen, where Stiles was sliding a lasagna into the oven to cook while they worked. “Why do you have crayons in your keepsake box? And why is the brown one broken?”
“Oh that. Yeah,” Stiles began absently, setting the timer on the oven. “When I was an itty bitty toddler, I liked to break things. My mother used to say it made me feel strong because at school, even at two, a lot of kids avoided me and didn’t want to make friends. I remember she told me my teacher once tried to pair me with this other kid and he just shoved me down and ran off.” He paused there to laugh as though it was a funny subject.
“And the crayons?” Derek asked, his suspicion becoming more certain.
“Right. So in daycare, there was this older kid. And one day he got mad at me for like destroying an entire box of crayons, right? I was upset. I was crying. And then, to make me feel better, this kid just like… broke a brown crayon right in front of me. I thought it was funny at the time. Now, when I think back, I think little kid me took it as a sign that he forgave me and was telling me it was okay to break things from time to time.” Stiles paused, eyes on the ceiling as he thought. “Come to think of it, I think I stopped breaking things after that. At least on purpose. I keep a set like the one I broke to remind myself that sometimes it’s okay to break on your own or to break things.”
Derek set the crayons down and crossed the kitchen to kiss his boyfriend, thoroughly. As soon as they parted, Stiles grinned stupidly at him.
“What was that for? It’s just crayons,” he said.
“I broke the brown crayon,” Derek said, voice deep.
“What?”
“When I was ten, I broke the brown crayon to make some stupid toddler stop crying,” Derek explained.
Realization dawned quickly on Stiles’ face and then they kissed again. The world was small or fate was strange, but Derek thought he met Stiles when the younger was a junior in high school, and shortly after dating had discovered he’d met him sooner than even that, but now they knew they’d been bumping into each other since Stiles was only two.
It all started with a broken box of crayons two decades before, and here they were – together. Derek literally couldn’t think of anything more perfect or telling than that.
Razzmatazz is the color of Stiles hoodie when he walks to meet Derek in the woods. So close to red it almost passes. Derek can see the differences though, in the color and the boy. The new slope to his shoulders, the cautious distance in his whiskey eyes. He doesn't overbalance the way he used to at the slightest push.
The color makes his eyes hurt and he scowls by wrote. Falling into an attitude so familiar its like a second skin. Stiles gives him that cocky smile, mostly unchanged by the years, and it all settles back into place the way he knew it would. Derek breathes in for the first time since he left.
Stiles takes him to see the house, returned to its grandeur, but, like his old pack, fundamentally differing from memory. The walls are a soft green grey that makes a hidden part of him shiver, Stiles slyly comments that its Timberwolf. Derek wonders what on earth possessed anyone to let him choose the paint. It’s almost a perfect match to the color of his Henley.
They have dinner with whoever turns up. The pack is spread across the state, Derek can feel the tight threads holding them together like a spot at the corner of his vision, not quite focused, annoyingly uncatchable. Stiles keeps their legs pressed together at the knee under the table and he can smell the loneliness on his skin, see it in the way he keeps a measured distance form the others, hear it in the careful way they address him.
He wants to reach out, to fix this unfathomable brokenness, but it is not his to fix.
They scrub the dishes in mutual silence. Derek choked on insecurity and Stiles isolated by choice.
Scott puts the game on and the others all settle onto the couch, lazing around each other with the easy, unselfconscious, camaraderie a pack should. Stiles stands back, against the wall and Derek with him, not sure if he fits in this newly made family, even in his childhood home.
Stiles watches them for a while, then silently takes Derek by the hand. Leading him out of the building and into the forest.
The crescent moon smiles down on them, brushing stripes across their faces between the trees.
Stiles runs his fingers through the underbrush and sets off a flurry of tiny phosphorescent bugs, the sunglow in their abdomens softening the contrast of shadow under the boughs.
They watch the winking yellow lights create constellations of their own design and Stiles fingers become forever tangled in Derek’s heart.
They wake late, the shadow of the trees keeping the bright sun from their faces. Derek watches Stiles’ umber eyes come open, watches the dappled light reflect off his iris and wonders what the warmth in his chest means, the fuzzy wuzzy feeling, if its just from the sunspot, or if it’s generated there, in the depths of his being.
Stiles retakes his hand, but doesn't lead him, simply stands and waits, ready to go where ever Derek does. A part of him isn’t ready to go back, even though he is back, and knows he will be again eventually. It has a lot to do with the cracks in the tight web of connections between Stiles and his family and a lot to do with not coming back soon enough the first time.
They find a stream. Derek knows it runs into a lake, and they splash through its chilly water, following it’s flow into the open. Derek strips off his shirt and collapses into the polished surface, Stiles watches the ripples rush towards the shoreline before joining him. Letting the crispness cleanse the hollow part in his chest, enjoying the vastness of the blue sky, the feeling of infinity, suspended in the water. He realizes this is his absolute zero, his point of genesis.
Sterek Week - Day Four - A Box of Crayons COLORBLOCKS - Kids have never been his strong point, so when Derek takes the night off from his busy schedule and offers to take his niece Zoe to her Thursday night art class he’s expecting sticky fingers and a noise-induced migraine. He gets the sticky fingers, the migraine and an unexpected surprise when he meets Zoe’s art teacher, Stiles. Life is just a little more colorful after that.
(I used the color names from this palette to prompt today’s fic. I think I managed to use all of them? Thanks to @bleep0bleep for the beta read!)
"Order up!" Stiles yelled, ringing the bell on the counter between the kitchen and the diner.
Allison swept up to the window, loading plates on her arm with practiced ease. "Lumberjack's at table four," she said with a wink. "He wants apple pie."
Stiles only just restrained himself from leaping out of the kitchen to look. "His name is Derek, and he makes furniture," he corrected as calmly as he could.
Allison's eyes sparkled. "Mm-hmm. And he looks like a lumberjack, smells like pine trees, and makes you think of all sorts of places you'd like his beard."
He was never getting drunk with Allison again. Clearly she intended to use all his rambling about Derek against him until the end of time. "You're a terrible human being," Stiles said. "Oh, hey, Scott just walked in!"
"What?" Allison spun around and didn't dislodge a single plate. "Where?"
Stiles used the distraction to duck away from the window and grab his special Granny Smith apple pie out of the fridge. He'd probably have to make another two before the end of the day, but there was still half of this one left.
He warmed the pie in the oven and cut an extra-large slice, then topped it with the biggest scoop of vanilla ice cream he could get. Derek didn't want to admit it, but everybody in town knew he had a gigantic sweet tooth. Maggie and Parker down at the Beacon Daily Roast said it took him two months of coming in regularly before he quit ordering black coffee and started getting a caramel latte.
Stiles debated putting a flower on the plate, but decided that would be too on-the-nose. He and Derek had been dancing around each other for months now—at least, Stiles chose to assume it was awkward flirting they were engaging in—and Stiles didn't want to make it too obvious. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure Derek liked guys.
He bumped the kitchen door with his hip and sauntered down the aisle to table four. Derek was wearing a plaid flannel shirt that hugged his shoulders and biceps deliciously and made Stiles want to Do Things. Sexy Things.
Stiles slid the plate in front of him. "Hey, Ally A told me you were looking for some apple pie."
Derek looked up with a small smile, his cheeks flushing adorably under his beard. "Smells delicious. Thank you, Stiles."
Stiles was torn between taking him home and cuddling with him and taking him home and ripping all his clothes off. "Just let me know if you need anything else."
Derek clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "Well, actually, I was wondering—"
"Oh, thank God, a server, finally."
Stiles spun to see a well-dressed woman with dark hair and piercing green eyes standing behind him. Her makeup was impeccable and she looked outstandingly out of place.
"Uh, can I help you?" he asked.
Derek scrambled to his feet. "Mom, this is Stiles Stilinski. He's the owner of the Timberwolf Diner. Stiles, my mother, Talia Hale."
Stiles plastered a smile on his face and held out his hand. "Ms. Hale, nice to meet you."
Talia's eyes flicked from Stiles's hand to his face and back again, and then she slid into the booth across from Derek without even attempting to shake. "Mr. Stilinski, perhaps you can help me. Why does my son persist in staying out here in this God-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere when he has a perfectly good job and a fiancée waiting for him back in New York?"
Stiles felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. "A what?"
"Mom!" Derek sounded horrified. "Paige and I broke the engagement six months ago. You know that."
Talia scoffed. "Please, the Krasikevas are a very influential family. I'm sure if you went and talked to her, you could fix whatever problem you had."
"I'm gay," Derek said through gritted teeth.
Talia waved her hand. "She would make a lovely wife, regardless. Oh, her brother David's available too, I believe. Would that be more appealing to you?"
Derek buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God, Mom."
Stiles was torn between celebrating—Derek did like guys!—and being shocked speechless. He'd known Derek had had a life before he'd come to Beacon Hills, but Derek had kept to himself on that account and no one had tried terribly hard to unearth the information.
"Really, Derek." Talia set her purse on the table. "I don't know why you ran all the way across the country and set up shop in this dirty old town."
"Because I wasn't happy," Derek said, his face entirely red now. "I wasn't happy working with upscale galleries and selling sculptures to rich people who didn't care about the art, just my name. I wasn't happy with Paige, we were always better as friends."
"Oh, now that's just ridiculous. People cared plenty for your art." Talia turned to Stiles. "Now, Mr. Stilinski, tell me. Would you give up an extremely successful art career in New York for a life," she flicked her hand around the diner, "someplace like this?"
Stiles had no idea why he was getting pulled into this family squabble, but he didn't even have to think about his answer. "Hell yeah I would. In a fucking heartbeat."
Talia's eyes widened, and she couldn't have looked more surprised if he'd slapped her.
"Well, it wasn't New York," Stiles admitted. "And it wasn't an art career. It was Los Angeles, and a restaurant. But I hated it. I missed my hometown. I missed my mom's restaurant—and that's what this is, by the way." He gestured around the interior of the well-loved Timberwolf Diner. "My mother started it when she first moved to Beacon Hills. So I know the answer to your question, because that's what I did. It's scary as shit to give up a successful job and follow your heart, and if Derek did that, then it makes him one of the bravest men I know."
Talia and Derek both gaped at him, and for the first time, Stiles noticed the diner was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
Heat started to creep up the back of his neck, but Stiles held his head high and cleared his throat. "Now if you'll excuse me, Ms. Hale, I need to get back to my kitchen. Allison will be with you shortly."
He spun on his heel and stalked away, both because he didn't want to wait for a response and because his anger on Derek's behalf was bleeding out into embarrassment at having caused a scene in front of the entire restaurant. He didn't regret what he'd said, but he kind of wished it had been somewhere more private.
At least he could spend the rest of the day holed up in his kitchen and talking only to Allison and Scott. And making pies. Making pies was a fantastic way to work off embarrassment, Stiles had found.
That happy thought lasted all of ten minutes, when someone rapped lightly on the kitchen door and Derek poked his head in. "Hey."
Stiles dropped his rolling pin on his foot and cursed.
Derek's eyes went wide. "Are you—I'm sorry, Allison said it was okay—"
"No!" Stiles grabbed the rolling pin and took it over to the sink to wash. "I mean yes, it's okay. It's fine. Just stay over there, out of the food area."
Derek slid into the kitchen and closed the door. He might have been smiling, but it was difficult for Stiles to tell with his beard. "Did you know Allison has a minor in sociology and gender studies?"
"I did." Stiles looked up from his rolling pin. "Did you?"
"No." Derek full-out grinned. "My mom didn't, either."
Stiles snorted. "How's that going?"
"As entertainingly as you'd think," Derek said. His smile faded. "I don't think she's had this many people stand up to her since my dad died."
The pain in Derek's voice made Stiles ache. He set the rolling pin aside and dried his hands on his apron. "Look, if I was out of line, I'll apologize. Not for what I said, because that was all true, but for the way I said it." He looked down at his stained apron and chuckled. "I'm not good with diplomacy."
"No," Derek said firmly. "Don't apologize. It...I've been trying to have that conversation with her for months, but she just doesn't listen. She wants..." He trailed off and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I just wanted to say thank you. For standing up for me."
A thousand things flitted through Stiles's mind in response, but they came across as too flippant or too...too something. "Any time, big guy," he finally said. "Seriously, she ever tries that kind of stuff again, come find me. I'll put her in her place. Anybody in this town would. We lo—like you. We like you a lot." He spun back to the sink, his face burning. "You should stick around."
Derek didn't say anything for the longest time, and Stiles felt like he'd revealed way too much about his own thoughts and feelings. Time to busy his hands, and fast.
Apples. He needed to chop apples.
He'd moved to another counter and had just started peeling his next batch when he heard Derek clear his throat. "The town wants me to stick around, or...or you do?"
Stiles focused very, very hard on the peeler in his hands. "The town, definitely. And, you know...me too. Maybe."
"Maybe?"
Holy shit, Derek's voice was way closer than it had been before. Stiles snapped his head up to see Derek right there, barely a foot away from him, his pale, multi-colored eyes wide and earnest.
Stiles swallowed hard. "Um. Yeah. Definitely maybe. Or maybe definitely?"
Derek inched closer, and Stiles swore he could feel the heat of his body all along his side. "She was half-right," Derek said quietly. "I was running away, when I first came here. It was just...too much, after my dad died."
Stiles's heart pounded faster. He was dimly aware that he needed to be cooking, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Derek.
"And then." Derek cleared his throat. "Then I found something—someone—I didn't know I needed. And I realized maybe I wasn't just running. Maybe I'd been searching for something, and it took my dad to wake me up and tell me to go look for it."
"What did you find?" Stiles asked, his voice breathless.
"I—"
The bell on the counter rang, breaking the moment and making Stiles jump half a mile in the air. He spun to see Allison leaning against the window. "Oh my God, Allison!"
She looked distinctly unimpressed. "Can you two get your shit together after the lunch rush is over? Because I've got tables waiting for orders now."
Stiles hissed and waved her away. "Go flirt with Scott! I'll be thirty seconds!"
Allison rolled her eyes, but she left the window.
Stiles turned back to Derek, but Derek had moved a little further away, a small smile still playing on his face. "I meant you," he said, so quick Stiles almost missed it.
His heart seized with joy at the thought, and Stiles had to clench his fists to keep from jumping up and down. "Oh? So, if I asked if you were free on Friday night, for a date-type thing, what would you say?"
Derek's white smile split his beard. "For a date-type thing with you? I'd say yes."
"Okay." Stiles was pretty sure his own smile rivaled Derek's. "Then, want to have a date-type thing on Friday? Say, dinner? I know this great restaurant that is, surprisingly, not the diner."
Derek actually laughed. It was beautiful. "Yeah. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."
"Good. Great." Stiles's cheeks were hurting, he was smiling so much. "I'll pick you up at seven?"
"Sounds perfect. I'll see you then." Derek backed his way out of the kitchen. "I, um, I have a piece of apple pie to finish off."
"Share some with your mom." Stiles turned back to his pile of apples. "I have it on good authority that my apple pie is the most persuasive argument anyone can make."
Derek laughed and ducked his head. "I'll keep that in mind."
The door swung shut behind him, leaving Stiles alone in the kitchen with his pies once more. Holy shit. He had a date. He had a date with Derek. This was actually happening. Holy shit, this was actually happening.
He did a little shimmy in the middle of the kitchen.
"Stiles!" Allison barked from the window.
He jumped again and darted for the tickets hanging in the window. "Sorry, sorry! I'm cooking, I swear."
"Thank you," Allison said gratefully, and then she winked. "And I hope you tell me about that date."
