“You can tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to, so put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, [then tag 10 people!] No skipping!”
I broke da rulez. But oh well.
(*NO ONE tagged has to do this but if you’re in the mood listen maybe?)
1. Happy Not Knowing by Carly Rae Jepsen
2. Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier
3. Heads Will Roll by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
4. Baby by Clean Bandit
5. Never Get to Hold You by Carly Rae Jepsen
6. Move Your Body by Sia
7. Blue by MARINA
8. Love Again by Carly Rae Jepsen
9. Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart by Mitski
10. My Eyes by Nero
11. Theme for Scanty & Knee Socks by TeddyLoid
12. Black Sheep by Metric
13. Watercolour by Pendulum
14. Vanilla Twilight by Owl City
15. If We Ever Meet Again by Timbaland
16. Disturbia by Rihanna
17. Break the Ice by Britney Spears
18. Cinnabar Island by Pokémon HeartGold and SoulSilver OST
19. Oakvale by Fable OST
20. Twilight of the Gods by Fire Emblem Echoes Shadows of Valentia OST
Contrary to fanon, Buck knows Spanish more fluently to Eddie who took in high school but has forgotten most of it over the years compared to Buck who was immersed in the language in South America. This equates to Buck and Eddie's grandma talking in Spanish and laughing and Eddie getting slightly uncomfortable because his grandma said his name before they laughed. Then, Buck says, "She said you used to cry when they tried to get you to eat guacamole." Cue Eddie turning 90 shades of red.
oh this is so valid thank you. bucks all surprised to find out that eddie doesnt know too much spanish beyond some basics, but he Loves the look of adoration on eddies face whenever he says anything in spanish. and hes very grateful that eddie doesnt know much because it means he can trade embarrassing stories about eddie to his fam and eddie has no idea unless someone tells him. and every story eddies abuela tells him is better than the last. he cries from laughter when she tells him that eddie puked on santas lap two years in a row. eddie almost screams when he first hears his abuela say “santa”. buck loves it
I enjoyed your requests, dear @wolfspirals, and I really hope you enjoy this story, which was strongly influenced by one of my favourite X-Files episodes ever, How the Ghosts Stole Christmas.
Happy Holidays!
Read on AO3
******
Understanding the Impact of Smoke Damage
//
One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
~ Emily Dickinson
Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that’s what.
~ Salman Rushdie
//
Snow comes early this year. Snow comes early and dark comes fast and Stiles wants nothing more than to curl up in his bed and pull the slightly sour sheets and blankets over his head and sleep until. Well. Until.
Snow comes early and Stiles’ Jeep slides in the slick and the slush but his hands are steady and sure on the wheel, and his heart barely stutters whenever he heads for the ditch. It’s a strange season, this one, the year when everything has changed, with Allison gone and everyone still in mourning and the hearts dark and the pack scattered. It feels fractured and loose and lonely, and Stiles knows he’s pulling back, pulling away, hibernating, he supposes. He thinks he would enjoy hibernation, curling up in his bed for months and months. And then some more.
Snow comes early and Stiles doesn’t see much of anyone, and he’s ok with that. He manages to make it to school and back, but that’s about it. He sees Scott and Kira in passing, Lydia from a distance and his dad at meals. Once he even sees Allison, lurking in the hallway at school, dark-haired and dark-eyed, tall and quiet, smiling at him, head tilted to the right, just slightly. She doesn’t look angry or bitter and she’s just watching him, in that quiet way she had. He stops and he blinks and his heart skips and he blinks again and she’s gone. Of course she’s gone, because she’s dead. He thinks about that, sometimes, in the middle of the night, the fine line, the thin fabric that separates the living from the ghosts.
Sometimes this is what keeps him awake at night, hours and hours of thoughts in the dark. And when he knows sleep is just not coming, he slips out of the house and into his Jeep and heads out, destination unknown, just away, away, away.
Stiles sees Derek at the 24-hour grocery store one night on a 3am ice cream run and surprises himself by smiling at him. It’s tentative and full of nerves and Derek looks at him wide-eyed and equally surprised but he smiles back, small, almost reluctant. He looks tired, Stiles realizes. Tired and thinner, worn out, like they all are, but on Derek it looks awkward, an ill-fitting suit.
And it’s more than just a weariness, a need to catch up on sleep, Stiles thinks as he walks away, leaving Derek to poke listlessly at deli meats. There’s a hollowness to him, a paleness to the point of translucence. There’s a vibration under his skin of nerves or fatigue, and the dark circles under his eyes make him look more than just tired.
He looks haunted.
//
Insomnia has chased Derek all his life, even before tragedy caught him. Lately however, after the Nogitsune and after Allison he averages about three to four hours a night, he figures, if he’s lucky. He dreams when he does sleep but they don’t feel like dreams. He sees his family and jerks awake, tears on his face. He sees living people when he’s awake but they don’t feel real. He runs and runs late at night, exhilarating in the growing dark and cold, runs until his body physically gives out but even then his mind won’t settle. He tosses and turns and thinks and remembers. He’s at the point of asking Deaton for help but no. Then he remembers Stiles has had trouble sleeping in the past, and he could ask Stiles for suggestions, he supposes, on how to sleep, but he hardly ever sees Stiles these days.
Until he does.
//
The snow melts and it starts raining. It rains for days and the whole world is wet and grey. Stiles sees Derek at the shopping mall of all places on a dull, empty, nothing Saturday afternoon and Stiles gives him a small, tentative wave, a slight trembling of fingers and Derek doesn’t look so surprised this time. He nods, once, and smiles. Stiles almost walks into a pole. He hears a quiet snort and turns just in time to see Derek’s wan, drawn face pulled into a sudden, almost genuine smile. Stiles does a small, dramatic bow, gives a little salute, and keeps walking.
After, Stiles thinks about Derek’s sad, still face and smaller frame pulled in on itself and thinks why the hell not and starts texting him randomly throughout the day, just dumb thoughts and observations and sometimes even ridiculous photos of Stiles’ feet or his morning bedhead or a cute dog on the street and Derek replies every time, either with a one-word response or a question mark or even, sometimes, an emoji, which catches Stiles off guard and makes him laugh and makes his face flush and makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in a long time.
He sees Derek and he sees the dead. He sees Allison at the corner and Ethan at the stoplight and Erica and Boyd outside the school. He sees them all, glimpses, flashes of light, peripherally, here and there, now and then, and then he shakes his head to clear it because they’re not there. They’re not really there.
But in the night, the real dead of night when the world around him is asleep and he lies still and steady, Stiles wonders, who sees them?
Who really sees the ghosts?
//
Derek has been aware of his feelings for Stiles for a while, since he went missing and before then probably, little insects under his skin, buzzing and itching at him, making him wonder what it might be like to have more. More than just passing glances and waves of acknowledgement in public spaces.
When Stiles is buying chocolate mint ice cream in the middle of the night or nearly braining himself in the mall because he’s looking at Derek, he allows himself to wonder if it’s possible for broken people to find some happiness, some wholeness.
And when Stiles reaches out, starts texting him, Derek can’t tamp down the swell of dangerous affection.
He knows it’s dangerous. He knows it’s madness.
And he replies, every time.
//
Stiles thinks about things he hasn’t allowed himself to think about before, things like the feel of smooth skin/rough beard under his fingers and the taste of them under his tongue. He thinks about a certain colour of eyes and a certain slant of mouth. He thinks about these things when he takes Derek’s hand one night and Derek doesn’t immediately pull away.
“I don’t know,” is all Derek says. They’re sitting in the Jeep, not looking at each other. Sometimes they do this, now, drive around at night. It helps both of them, when they’re not sleeping.
“Don’t know what?” Stiles says.
“How to do any of this.”
Stiles knows what he means. He usually knows what Derek means, even when he’s speaking code, speaking in his short, declarative sentences.
“I don’t know if I deserve it.” Derek swallows. “To have that kind of life.”
And Stiles understands that, too. The darkness seems to follow them everywhere they go but maybe.
Stiles looks at him then. “Maybe we can try.”
Derek doesn’t answer.
//
But Derek lets himself try, for a little while. Allows himself a brief physical release because yes, ok, it’s more fun with two people. Especially, it turns out, when the second person is Stiles.
There are almost silent hook-ups in Stiles’ bedroom and the floor of Derek’s kitchen, fast and frantic, slick and almost silent. They learn to fit into the crooks and angles of each other’s bodies very quickly. They fit like a puzzle, and it works, it works every time.
They kiss under the glare of fluorescent lights in the grocery store, tongues quick and wet and slick until it’s too much and people are looking and they pull away and fairly race to the exit.
They touch in the backseat of Stiles’ Jeep in the driveway of his childhood home, hands groping and sliding and pinching, nipples and ribs and collarbones and hips.
They fuck in Stiles’ childhood bed, fast and frantic and furious with hips and knees and elbows and collarbones and cries muffled against shoulders, quick and hard and when they’re done they gather scattered clothes, faces averted, sweat cooling on heated skin and they go home.
They don’t talk, they don’t discuss or debate or fight or argue. They have sex. They get each other off. They clean up.
They go home.
//
When Stiles dreams he sees the roots. Tree roots burrowing deep into black soil into earth far below the earth he stands on. He sees roots coiling around the people he loves, around their necks, slowly, steadily strangling them, squeezing the air right out of their lungs their bodies.
When he awakes gasping, hands clutching at his chest, at the steady in and out of his breath. When he startles himself awake, wrenching himself free of the black tar of the dreams, he lets himself think of Derek. Derek’s steady patient gaze, his fatigue, his weariness, his sadness. He lets himself remember Derek completely losing himself to Stiles’ hands and mouth.
Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it scares him even more.
//
When Derek dreams he smells the smoke. They say that smoke damage never really goes away and he knows this because he’s read it and because he’s lived it. He sees blackened and brittle wood. He sees splintered beams and floorboards. He doesn’t quite hear the screams of the dead but he can imagine what they might sound like, if he lets himself. He doesn’t let himself.
When he awakes he thinks of Stiles. He feels this thing with Stiles building. He dreams of Stiles, too, but he doesn’t smell like smoke. He smells like hope.
And that might scare him even more.
//
“So, you’re coming tonight, right?” It’s Christmas Eve and Stiles is bouncing on his feet and looks both hopeful and shy, something Derek is finding harder and harder to resist. They’re standing close together on the front porch of Stiles’ house. It’s raining. Still.
Derek nods. “Yes.”
“Dinner’s at 6, but you can, like come any time. Like. Any time this afternoon. If you, you know, want.”
Derek smiles. He feels his cheeks flush. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Promise?” Stiles keeps bouncing. He looks like he wants to kiss Derek but is holding himself back with great restraint.
“Promise. Yes.” He pauses. “I just have a few things I have to do first.”
“Things like…buy me a present things?” Stiles grins, shy and hopeful again.
“How do you know I didn’t already buy you one?”
Stiles’ mouth falls open a bit. “You bought me a present?”
“Whether I did or didn’t, it doesn’t matter. I finished all my shopping weeks ago and there’s no way I’m braving any mall today. I’m not insane.”
Stiles nods. “Wise decision.” He finally gathers his courage and reaches out to touch Derek’s wrist. He wraps long fingers around and holds him. “So. What. You’re taking a two-hour shower followed by a three-hour nap? Because I can totally get behind that idea.” He blushes. “I don’t mean, like with me or anything. Just as a concept.”
Derek actually laughs. “No. I just have.” He pauses, chews on the inside of his cheek. Stiles thinks he’s almost going to tell him when he shakes his head and looks away. “Just some stuff I need to do. Like holiday things. Traditional things. But I’ll be there.”
“Promise?” Stiles says again. His fingers tighten around Derek’s wrist.
“Promise.”
//
Derek doesn’t show up.
“You told him 6, right?” John asks. It’s half past and dinner is done and warming and John is on his second beer and Stiles is hovering by the front window, watching. Headlights loom and pass in the dark outside and each time Stiles’ heart kicks up then plummets.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, gnawing on a ragged thumbnail. “He promised.”
Stiles sends yet another text and then makes another phone call, only to have it go to voicemail, again. He speaks quietly so his dad won’t hear.
Hey. Hey Derek. Me again. Just uh checking in to make sure you like. Didn’t forget. Or uh. Changed your mind. If you’re not coming maybe just let me know cuz we’re waiting. No pressure or anything but it would just be nice to know. I mean. I hope everything’s ok. Maybe you fell asleep. Or maybe you’re trapped in a huge lineup at the mall. Or maybe. God maybe you had an accident in which case ignore all this. I hope you didn’t have an accident jesus. Ok. I’m hanging up now. Just. If you changed your mind because of like me. Of us. Of not wanting to hang out together or it’s too much or something just. Let me know ok? It’s fine. I mean it’s not fine but I’d understand. Really.
“Did he say anything the last time you saw him?” John asks from the kitchen. He’s pulled the small turkey out, and is poking at it dispiritedly.
“Just that he had uh things to do. Holiday things.”
“What does that mean?”
Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.” He pauses. “Traditional things.”
John looks over at him. “Well, son, traditional usually means family, so, I can’t imagine what that might mean for Derek.”
But then Stiles knows. Like a sledgehammer to the chest he knows. He knows exactly what it means.
//
The Hale house looms large and dark and silent in the clearing, half burnt, crumbling, quiet.
Derek parks his car and studies the outline from through the windshield, face still and passive, heart steady. He releases the steering wheel and lets his hands rest on thighs briefly before he gets out, slams the door and climbs the steps, like he’s done so many times before.
He made a promise to Stiles and he intends to keep his promise. He also told Stiles he had things to do, holiday things, traditional things, and this is one of them.
Visiting his ghosts.
//
Stiles sees Derek’s car parked in front of the Hale house at the same moment he sees the smoke billowing out of the blackened windows of the already burned out shell of a house. He can’t quite believe what he’s seeing but then, reality is a tricky thing these days.
The Jeep comes to a skidding stop and Stiles is out and running and leaping up the splintered steps and into the house, arm over his face, expecting heat and flames and acrid smoke but there’s nothing. Nothing at all. It’s dark and quiet and still and smells of rot and ruin, mold and sadness. He slides to a stop in the front hall, looking around for any sign of fire. Nothing. He yells Derek’s name, running from room to room, finding him at last, lying on his side on the floor in the dark. Stiles’ heart climbs up his throat as he kneels beside him, hands resting on Derek’s head and arm, then his chest. He’s completely silent and still, but there’s no blood and he’s breathing. He’s breathing.
“Derek, Derek.” Stiles squeezes his cold hands and touches his warm face, feels the steady thud of his heart under the soft fabric of his shirt. Stiles lets his hand linger there. Stiles presses down, lets the familiar and comforting heat and muscle seep into his hand and up his arm. He wants to cry with relief, wants to wrap his arms around Derek and press his face into Derek’s neck. Wants to pick him up and carry him out. Instead he shakes him, hard.
“Stiles,” Derek says at last, turning his head and opening his eyes, his voice thick like it’s filled with cotton. Stiles cups his face, lets his thumbs rub against his cheekbones. Stiles might be crying, his head falling to Derek’s shoulder, taking a huge shuddering breath.
“Are you hurt? What happened?” He keeps moving his hands up and down Derek’s body but there’s nothing, nothing broken nothing bloody. Just Derek, confused, quiet.
“I don’t. I don’t know. I just wanted to be here, for a bit tonight.” Derek closes his eyes again. “Tradition.”
“Ok. Ok. Look.” Stiles is patting his own pockets a bit frantically. “I thought I had my phone. I could have sworn I had my phone.” Derek just blinks at him like he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing.
“You’re. You’re really here, right?”
“Yes.” Stiles laughs. “Just. I’m gonna go grab my phone. Call my dad. He’ll be worrying. Might call an ambulance while I’m at it.”
“I don’t need an ambulance, Stiles.”
“Don’t move, ok? Please.” Stiles swoops in for a quick press of lips to Derek’s forehead, and then he’s up and running again.
//
The front door is locked.
Stiles pulls and jiggles and swears and kicks and sweats and wonders if this is where he’s going to die when he hears a distinct cough behind him. A female cough.
When Stiles spins around he’s face to face with Laura Hale. Who is dead. Oh look. It’s Derek’s dead sister Laura, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, one foot tapping the floor, looking pissed as hell. Pissed at Stiles.
“Hey. Hey. Hi. Hi there,” Stiles says, back pressed hard against the front door, which is still locked. He knows this because he keeps jiggling the doorknob with his sweaty, shaky hand.
Laura nods, face tight, entire body tight. She’s mad, Stiles thinks. Or irritated. She looks so much like Derek he can’t quite wrap his mind around it. Or the fact that she fucking died about five years ago.
“Stiles,” she says.
“Yes,” Stiles says. “You’re a ghost.”
She makes a dismissive noise and moves closer. Stiles tries to push himself through the door.
“We need to talk about Derek,” she says, and Stiles actually laughs. It’s more of a bark but even a ghost could tell the difference he thinks.
“Ok,” he says. Jiggle jiggle.
“He’s a good person, Stiles. He’s miserable, I guess, but he has good reason to be, as you can see. He has a lot of good inside him and he has a lot of love to give and for some unknown reason he loves you.”
Stiles stops. He stops laughing and he stops jiggling. He shakes his head. “Uh. Ok. Look. I know I’m dreaming. Or hallucinating. Or whatever is happening here but I’m not that far gone to ever even imagine that Derek Hale loves me.”
Laura tilts her head and does that smirk, that thing with her mouth that Stiles has seen Derek do so many fucking times the exact same way it’s almost ridiculous. Stiles would start laughing again if he wasn’t so fucking freaked out at the moment.
“Stiles, look. We don’t know each other, clearly. I was ripped to pieces before we ever got a chance to meet properly, but I know my brother. I know him better than anyone, probably.” She stops and Stiles could swear her eyes fill with tears. “I know Derek ok? I love him. And I know what he wants and thinks and more than that, I know what he deserves. And he deserves a little bit of happiness in this stupid fucking fucked up nonsense of a life.”
And Stiles grins because if that doesn’t sound like someone related to Derek then nothing does.
“Both of you have been through hell.” She looks right at Stiles then and Stiles can’t look away. Jesus she looks so much like Derek. Stiles breathes deeply, willing himself to steady and calm himself. “I know this. And I know life and I know what comes after and I know that you both deserve to be happy, even for a little while.”
She studies him. “Do you love him?”
Stiles swallows. “Yes.”
“Yeah. I know you do.” She pauses. “So stop fucking around and just be happy.”
Stiles just stares at her. “We’re trying. I think.”
She snorts. “You’re both fucking idiots. But you deserve each other.” She smiles then, just like Derek, soft and sarcastic but filled with something like love, before she turns and walks away.
//
The house welcomed him, like it always did. He knew it was damaged and dark and mostly dead, but it still felt like home, every time he walked inside and the front door closed behind him. It was his home, still.
He would not cry, he had decided. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted to walk through the rooms and think and remember and say hello, Merry Christmas, and then leave and drive to Stiles’ house and eat and laugh a bit and then kiss Stiles and maybe fuck him in the backseat of Stiles’ Jeep. Then he’d go back to his barren apartment and finally allow himself to cry a little before going to sleep and then run run run all of Christmas Day through the woods, miles and miles.
But then the smoke comes. It comes creeping insidiously from the very walls of the house, under doorways and up from the floorboards. Barely noticeable at first but he smells it. He always smells it, he thinks, and at first he thinks it’s a dream, but then it’s in his nose, in his throat, in his eyes, and he can’t see he can’t breathe he can’t think and he’s flailing and coughing and crying and the last thing he thinks before he passes out and hits the floor is Stiles is gonna be so disappointed.
//
When Derek opens his eyes again, he’s not alone. He’s not alone and he immediately starts crying because his mother is sitting on the floor next to him, holding his hand.
“Hello my beautiful boy,” she says. She’s crying too, Derek sees.
“It’s so very wonderful to see you, my darling, but you shouldn’t be here,” Talia says, her voice low and gentle.
“What do you mean?” Derek looks at her. She’s difficult to see clearly, fading in and out of his vision. “I want to be here. This is where I belong.”
“You don’t belong here. This house is full of the dead, darling,” she says and her eyes are so kind. “There’s nothing here but death and damage and memories. That’s all we are. Memories. And we’re dead, Derek.”
Derek keeps crying. It’s not hard like before, but it’s steady. He doesn’t bother wiping his face anymore. Talia holds his hand and smiles.
“I just miss all of you so much.” And he sees them now, behind his mother, he sees his cousins Rudy and Nada, Georgie and Eleanor and Sam. He sees his Aunt Carol and Uncle Andrew. And he sees his father, over in the corner, watching him and Talia with a kind expression on his face.
“We miss you too, love. You have no idea how much.” Derek can feel her soft, cold fingers squeeze his own. “But you’re alive and you have people out there, in the real world, ready to love you so much, if you let them.”
Derek just closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t.”
Talia, as always, hears everything Derek says and doesn’t say. “You’re not unlovable, Derek. It’s just the opposite dear heart. You have so much love in you and you’re so easy to love. You’ve just forgotten how.”
Derek swipes at his face, impatient, and nods.
“And you can love, too, Derek. I know you can. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen all the love you have to give. Don’t hide all that away because you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Derek says, but it sounds weak, even to his own ears.
Talia smiles again, her cold hand cupping Derek’s damp cheek. “Of course you are, sweetheart. Of course you’re scared. Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve lost so much. So much more than anyone should ever lose. But you’re also stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You have your whole, wonderful life ahead of you.”
Derek looks around the room, remembers what it once was, what it will never be again. He sees the ghosts of his family, people long gone, never to return, thinks of the boy — the man — who came to find him tonight, who touches him and kisses him and maybe, just maybe wants to have something more.
Maybe.
“You love him,” Talia says. She’s starting to fade. She’s fading away and she says it again, more insistent. “You love him.”
Derek nods. “Yes.”
“Good,” his mother says and smiles so big. “Then love him, Derek. And let him love you. And, have a happy birthday, beautiful boy.”
And then she’s gone, and his cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents and father are gone, too.
“I’m ok, Stiles. Yes. I’m fine.” Derek grabs Stiles’ hands to still them, stop their frenetic dance over Derek’s body. Stiles is vibrating as his eyes rake Derek’s body. “Are you ok?” Stiles seems off, rattled, even more than usual, and it makes Derek want to wrap his arms around him, hold him tight and still, slow the thready beat of his heart.
“I’m…uh.” Stiles laughs, a little hysterically. His eyes are wide and flitting back and forth, looking for something. “It’s been. Uh. It’s been a night, yeah?”
Derek laughs. He actually laughs. He can’t help it. It just comes bursting out of him and he’s looking at Stiles standing in front of him, all the love and concern so open in his beautiful face and they’re huddled in the burned out blackened shell of Derek’s childhood home filled with so many ghosts. He wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls him close, pushes his face, stiff with tears, into Stiles’ neck and just breathes. And Stiles hugs him back. It’s probably the most affectionate, least sexual thing they’ve done in weeks and weeks and Derek sags against him, feels the tears building again, blinks hard and furiously as Stiles runs his hands up and down Derek’s back, resting briefly at his hips before starting again.
“You’re here,” Derek says, on an exhale. He lets his hands grab Stiles around the hips. Thumbs pressing hard and making Stiles squirm. “You’re really here. She said you’d be here.”
Stiles laughs. “Who?”
Derek laughs again, and it’s better, it’s almost joyful, and he pushes his face hard into Stiles’ neck and smiles there. He can’t help it.
//
Stiles drives, one hand on the wheel, the other entwined so tightly with Derek’s it hurts. He knows the way by heart but it’s dark and Stiles is having a hard time catching his breath and Derek’s hand keeps twitching in his and every once in a while Stiles can hear Derek’s breath catch in his throat, and there’s a low whine, almost a growl but not quite.
They don’t speak.
It starts snowing.
//
The Sheriff is waiting for them, concerned but not worried, curious but not questioning. He takes in their joined hands as they climb the steps and come inside, their matching expressions, their fatigue and acceptance. He hugs Stiles and claps Derek on the back waves them to the table, where the food is waiting.
“The turkey is dry as hell, but there’s beer at least.”
//
After John goes to bed, they sit side by side on the couch and Derek goes through all of Stiles’ text messages, listens to the voicemails as Stiles sits quietly by his side, head resting on his shoulder.
“Stiles,” Derek says at last, eyes wide and luminous in the dark.
Stiles looks at him.
“I wasn’t.” Derek stops. “I would never just not show up. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He swallows. “I want to try, at least. Right? We deserve that. A chance, right?”
Stiles can only nod. He can’t speak. He nods and squeezes Derek’s hand so hard it must hurt. It must. But Derek never flinches.
//
“So. Some really weird shit. Uh. Stuff. Happened tonight.” Stiles speaks into the darkness, hands shoved deep into his pockets. They’re standing on the porch and he doesn’t look at Derek, but he can feel Derek’s eyes on him.
Derek nods. “Yeah.”
Their breath is visible and it’s snowing. It’s snowing and Stiles can’t help but thinking it’s something wonderful, something magical even Maybe. They deserve a bit of magic, don’t they?
He thinks they do.
“So you worried when I didn’t show up,” Derek says, like he’s still trying to understand.
“You promised.”
“And you somehow realized I’d be at my old house.”
Stiles nods.
“And the house was on fire.”
Stiles nods again. Then he stops. “Well. It was and it wasn’t,” he says. “I mean. It looked like it was. From where I was standing.”
“From where you were standing.”
“Yeah. I mean, there was smoke and uh. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I imagined the whole thing now.”
“You didn’t.”
Stiles looks at him. “Ok.”
Derek steels himself for the next part. “And you ran inside to what? Save me?”
Stiles shrugs and swallows. “Yeah.” Then he shrugs again.
“You ran into a burning house to save me.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. The nerves are rolling off him. It almost makes Derek feel ill. “I was…worried, ok, that I’d scared you off and I wanted to apologize and tell you…it’s ok. Whatever you want is ok.”
Derek stares at him like he he’s staring at another ghost.
“Stiles,” he breathes.
Stiles turns and looks at him, right at him, face open and raw and waiting.
Then Derek kisses him them, fully and thoroughly because he can’t believe that Stiles did that for him. He kisses and kisses him on the front porch of Stiles’ childhood home with snow on the ground and stars in the sky and Derek doesn’t stop until he’s pushed Stiles’ back against the faded and slightly peeling paint of the wooden porch wall. Stiles makes a small oomph sound but doesn’t let go.
And the snow keeps falling and Stiles keeps hanging on and Derek keeps hanging on right back.
Hello, thank you for taking questions. May I ask about what becomes of Wakanda and its people? I'm scrolling back in the #endgame-spoilers tag on Tumblr but have come to a point that Tumblr has stalled and haven't seen anything about it, yet.
The fighters of Wakanda make their appearance at the battle by walking through Stephen and Wong’s portals. Nothing much else, I’m afraid.
"I can't believe you stole your own nephew's Christmas present!" Alec hissed at Jace, shoving him hard enough that he lost his balance and bumped into the fridge.
"Woah, chill, man," Jace said, both hands held up in surrender. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The hell you don't! That present sitting right on the top of the stack is Henry's Christmas present! I wrapped it up myself!" Alec fumed.
"I could have bought the same wrapping paper, and wrapped it up really terribly on my own," Jace said defensively.
"You also left the card I wrote for Henry stuck to the wrapper," Alec said flatly.
"Oh fuck!" Jace's eyes widened, trying to manoeuvre around Alec to go back out into the living room. "I have to go get that before Willie starts opening the presents!"
Alec moved to block his way, glowering at his brother.
"Ok, fine! I'm sorry, ok?" Jace said, running a hand through his too-long hair in frustration. "It's just, you know, life has been a bit of a mess around here, with the new baby coming and Willie being more of a brat than usual. I promised Clary I'd handle this whole birthday party and present thing so she wouldn't tire herself out, but I wasn't expecting it to be so much work!"
"Izzy helped you plan this party," Alec pointed out stonily. "If you were too busy to go out to the shops to get Will a present, you could have ordered it online, or just asked one of us to get it for you. Not come over to my place with the spare key I gave you for emergencies and steal the fucking present out of my closet!"
"I was desperate, ok? I only remembered yesterday, and all the nearest shops said they were all sold out. I couldn't let Willie down, and Clary wouldn't have gotten mad, you know, she'd have been disappointed, which is even worse. I knew you'd have bought it for Henry months in advance," Jace said, trying to turn pleading eyes on Alec. "Look, they'll probably still have stock at Roosevelt Field, since that's the biggest mall around here. You could leave Henry here tonight for a sleepover, pop over there in the morning tomorrow, and still be in time to meet us for the Christmas Parade in the afternoon."
Alec sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hate you."
"I owe you one, ok?" Jace said, tension leaving his shoulders now that he knew Alec was probably going to give in. "Now let me just go out there-"
"I've already removed the card. It's in my pocket," Alec said wryly.
Jace heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man. I knew you've always got my back."
"No, fuck you - I was looking out for Will," Alec muttered.
"What are you two doing hiding in the kitchen?" Izzy suddenly said from the doorway, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Nothing. Guy stuff," Jace said quickly.
Izzy rolled her eyes. "I think we're a bit too old for the 'No Girls Allowed' club. Come on, Will's going to start on his presents!"
Alec sighed and followed his siblings out into the living room, already mentally trying to calculate travel times in Christmas Eve traffic and around roadblocks because of the parade. He'd like to think that Henry was well-adjusted enough that the kid would be ok even if he didn't get that particular toy for Christmas, but every boy around Henry's age was probably getting an action figure of the superhero Silver Shot for Christmas this year, and Alec hated the thought of Henry feeling left out. Besides, Henry's smiles on Christmas morning was one of the few things Alec really looked forward to.
Technically, Henry was his godson. Henry's biological parents, John and Lydia Monteverde, had been Alec's best friends in college. When Henry was barely over a year old, his parents had been killed by a drunk driver in a tragic accident, and Alec found out that they had named him as Henry's legal guardian, since they had no other living relatives they were close to. So at the age of 23, Alec had become a single parent. Even with all the Lightwoods chipping in and a more flexible work schedule courtesy of working in the family business, the last four years hadn't been easy. Alec had been the one changing diapers, holding Henry's hand when he'd been taking those first few baby steps, nursing him through cuts and bumps and fevers and colds, reading him bedtime stories, and hugging him close after nightmares and during thunderstorms. And when Henry was learning to talk, Izzy had taught him to call Alec 'Daddy' - and that was that.
Alec tried not to grind his teeth when Jace's son opened the present he'd bought months ago for Henry, and clenched his jaw when Will threw a tantrum and wouldn't allow Henry to even take a closer look at the action figure.
"Hey. You alright?" he asked his son, drawing him to a quiet corner after all the presents had been opened. "Uncle Jace said you could sleep over if you wanted, but we could go home instead."
Henry shrugged. "It's ok. I know Will wasn't being mean on purpose. Aunt Izzy said it's because he's worried about the new baby coming, that Uncle Jace and Aunt Clary will love him less, which is dumb because it doesn't work that way."
"You've got it all figured out, huh?" Alec said, trying to hide his grin.
Henry nodded solemnly. "Yeah, plus the special extra-long Silver Shot show is on tomorrow morning, and I wanna watch it with Will. It's going to be so cool! I think Silver Shot is going to find out who The Shaman is!"
"The Shaman is the bad guy, right?" Alec asked, having only the vaguest idea what the cartoon was about.
"Only sometimes. But he's also actually Silver Shot's boyfriend. You know, when they're not in their costumes."
Alec blinked. "His what?"
"His boyfriend," Henry repeated patiently. "Silver Shot kisses other boys - like you, Daddy. Can I go tell Will that I'm staying over tonight?"
"Yeah, ok," Alec replied, still slightly flummoxed. A gay superhero on mainstream media? Who would've thought?
Then he registered the rest of what Henry had said, and realised that Henry must have been up awake past his bedtime with Will, watching from Jace's house across the street on the rare occasions that Alec had actually been out on dates and the even rarer occasions when he had invited his date home for... "coffee".
"...Crap."
Magnus reflected that not that long ago, he'd probably have been nursing a hangover on the morning of Christmas Eve, preparing to go out and drink some more that night. That Magnus would never have imagined getting up at eight in the morning to cook waffles and scrambled eggs while his son sat with eyes glued to the screen watching some cartoon where a guy in a silver half-mask was fighting someone who was throwing fireballs from his hands. But some changes in life were for the better, and Magnus didn't regret a thing - not the sleepless nights he'd spent rocking and singing to a colicky baby, not the expensive silk shirts Rafael had ruined with spit-up, not the ugly rubber bumpers he'd had to fix to the corners of all his lovely teak furniture when his son had started toddling around. In fact, he didn't even regret the two years he'd spent married to Camille.
He'd caught her having an affair with her colleague and filed for divorce before Rafael turned two, citing irreconcilable differences and demanding full custody of Rafael, which Camille had been only too happy to give up. She still visited Rafael at least twice a year though - once on his birthday, and once on Christmas Eve.
Just as Magnus was placing the plates and cups on a tray, as if thinking about her had somehow summoned her, someone jabbed the doorbell several times in rapid succession. Magnus rolled his eyes and put the tray on the coffee table.
"Eat, Rafe. I know you hate your eggs cold," he told his son, then went to get the door.
Camille was standing outside the door of his penthouse apartment, dressed to the nines, with a parcel clutched to her chest and an expression of impatient disdain on her face. She pushed him out of the way, heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor as she walked towards the living room.
"You're early," Magnus observed. Unlike him, Camille hadn't changed her habits much over the years - he didn't think she usually got up before noon.
"Louis is taking me on a luxury cruise down the East River," she replied.
"Because sailing down a river of stinky, polluted water is the very height of romance, I'm sure," Magnus said snidely.
Camille shot him a nasty look over her shoulder, gaze flicking to his appropriately festive apron, which had a picture of a candy cane and the words 'It's not going to lick itself' printed on it. "Yes, you always were a great romantic. Too bad the only hot dates you've been getting these days have been with your right hand."
"Nonsense. I occasionally date my left hand instead. Sometimes both, at the same time," Magnus said cheerfully.
Camille snorted inelegantly, then crouched down to hug Rafael and plant a kiss on his cheek. "Merry Christmas, sweetie!"
"Hi Mama. Merry Christmas," Rafael replied a little distractedly, wiping lipstick off his cheek with the sleeve of his pajamas.
Camille pushed the parcel into his arms. "Open it!"
"Um, ok," Rafael said, tearing his eyes away from the screen with effort to peel open the wrapping. She'd given him a toy puppy with body parts labelled in large black lettering - ear, hand, tummy, foot. There was a heart-shaped button in its chest, and when pressed, it lit up and played the ABC song.
"Yes, perfect - if Rafe was five months old, instead of five years old," Magnus said, and Camille glared at him.
"Um, it's ok. I love it. Thanks, Mama," Rafe said quickly, giving her a hug and a small smile before turning back to the screen.
Camille stood up slowly, then flashed a smile at Magnus that was all teeth. "May I use your bathroom?"
Magnus swept his arm in a grand gesture. "Be my guest," he said, frowning as she stalked down the hallway towards the bedrooms.
He was just about to follow her to make sure that she was going into the common bathroom, when Rafael said very softly, "Papa, my eggs have gone cold. Could you...?"
"Of course," Magnus said, whisking the plate off to the kitchen to give the eggs another quick stir in the pan.
He was just setting the plate down in front of Rafael when he thought he heard the sound of a window being opened. Walking quickly towards his bedroom, he was just in time to see Camille flinging the present he'd bought for Rafael out of the window - seven storeys down, straight into the busy morning traffic.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" he snarled in a low voice.
"Oops. Guess Papa doesn't even have a present for his darling little boy - how disappointing," she replied sweetly, before sauntering out of the room.
Magnus had to take a few deep breaths before he'd calmed down enough to kick Camille out of his house as civilly as he could manage in front of their son. He'd bought that Silver Shot action figure a month ago, and even then he'd had to try a few places before he'd managed to get his hands on one. Rafe was a sweet kid and wouldn't mind receiving something else, but for this to happen because of fucking Camille...
Checking to make sure that Rafael's attention was still on the television and he wouldn't overhear the conversation, Magnus grabbed his phone and hit Ragnor's number on the speed-dial.
"Ragnor, I need you to do me a favour - could you and Raphael watch Rafe for a while? I've got some emergency Christmas shopping to do."
The Christmas Parade was at three in the afternoon, so Alec was at the mall by 10am, figuring that it would give him ample time to buy the toy, get it wrapped, and maybe run some errands if he had the time. He'd expected parking to be a nightmare and insane crowds at the malls - but he hadn't expected to walk into the toy store and find the shelves for the Silver Shot toys completely empty. There wasn't a scrap of merchandise left, not even an overpriced water bottle, much less an action figure of Silver Shot.
"Erm, excuse me..." he said, trying to get the attention of a harried store worker. "What happened to all the Silver Shot stuff?"
The guy frowned at him. "Whaddya think? All sold out of course!"
"Everything? Isn't there even like stationery, or a lunchbox?"
"Yes, everything," the guy snapped. "Sold out a week ago."
"Could you please check the back room? Maybe something fell behind a shelf?" Alec asked a little desperately. "I just need to get something for my son - anything."
"Look, buddy-" the irrate store worker began to say.
"Hi, sorry - I couldn't help overhearing the conversation, and I'm looking for something for my son as well," someone interrupted them smoothly.
Alec half-turned and froze - the speaker was a very handsome man wearing a well-fitted grey topcoat that showed off broad shoulders and biceps to die for. Alec tried not to stare.
"I know you're busy, but it would really make the day of two kids - and two very desperate fathers," he continued, looking over at Alec with his beautiful brown eyes to include him in the conversation - and fuck, it was just Alec's luck that this guy was probably happily married.
"I'm sure with how well-organised this place is, a quick check of the system will show if there's supposed to be anything in stock, but that was misplaced. That's all we're asking for," he said, but the store worker just frowned. "We'll be sure to call up the store and tell them how you went above and beyond in your service - Raj," the guy added, after a quick glance at his name tag.
The store worker heaved a loud sigh and stomped over to the nearest register and typed in the search terms. Alec sneaked a peek at the other father's left hand resting on the countertop - he was wearing a couple of rings, but his ring finger was bare, though that didn't necessarily mean that he was single.
Their not-so-friendly service staff, Raj, shook his head. "Nope, not even a pencil."
"How about the other one? The Shaman?" Alec asked.
Raj let out a short bark of laughter. "Where have you been? The Shaman is just as popular, plus with that Christmas special this morning - I promise you, everything is gone," he said, but humoured them and typed in a new search, then hit 'enter' and frowned. "Wait - there's one Shaman action figure left. But it's reserved."
"So they'll be coming here to get it today?" Alec asked. He supposed he could try his luck and hang around to wait for the person who'd reserved the toy and see if he could convince them to sell it to him instead.
"I suppose so. Collection of reserved stuff is at the main counter at level one."
"And there's just one?" the other father asked, and Alec saw the mischievous gleam in his eye a split second before the guy turned and dashed towards the escalators.
"Hey! Remember that call you promised, my Christmas bonus is depending on it!" Raj called out after them, but Alec was already hot on the heels of the other guy, dodging shoppers left and right and mumbling apologies.
For once, Alec was thankful for all the times Jace had dragged him to the gym, but the other guy was pretty fit as well, nimbly slipping between people on the narrow escalator faster than Alec would have expected from a guy that broad. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for Alec when he reached the bottom of the escalator, and flashed Alec a grin when he saw that Alec still stuck at the top, before making a beeline for the next escalator. By the time Alec reached the front counter two floors down, he was only in time to catch the tail end of the conversation - the other guy asking the counter staff, "What was she wearing?"
"Uh, a red parka," the flustered girl replied.
Alec scanned the crowd quickly, using his height to his advantage, and spotted a woman in a red coat carrying a shopping bag that was about the right size, heading for the exit. He ran after her and caught up with her just outside, tapping her on the shoulder.
"Hey, sorry, I really need to talk to you," he said, panting from the unexpected exercise.
She turned around in surprise, then smiled at him. "Hi!" she said in a flirty tone, very blatantly checking him out, and Alec's only excuse was that he panicked.
"I'm gay, I just wanted to ask if you would sell me the Shaman toy," he blurted out.
Her face turned stormy immediately. "Fuck off," she snapped, and stomped off.
Alec heard a snort of laughter behind him, and turned to find the other guy leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath as well.
"Are you always that straightforward?" he asked, then laughed again when Alec shrugged helplessly. He stuck out a hand. "I'm Magnus."
"Alec," Alec replied, shaking the proffered hand.
"Well, I hope your better half isn't going to hold it against you," Magnus said.
"Um, there's no better half. It's just me and the kid," Alec said.
"Ah, that's tough. As a single parent myself, I understand completely," Magnus said.
"Yeah. Guess we'll just have to think of something else to get for our kids," Alec said gloomily.
Magnus groaned. "God, I think I need a martini - or two - before I can even start to think about that," he said, then looked up at Alec slightly coyly. "Care to join me?"
"At 11.30 in the morning?" Alec asked.
"It's always happy hour somewhere," Magnus said airily.
Alec huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, what the hell, why not?"
"You see, it wasn't even my fault. And it wasn't your fault, either. We've just got the worst luck," Alec complained, taking another gulp of his beer. "But it still feels like we're the ones who let our kids down."
"It does," Magnus agreed. "Even though Rafael wouldn't say anything. He'd be disappointed, but he's not the type to throw a tantrum about things like that."
"Yeah, Henry wouldn't, either," Alec said morosely.
"Sounds like we're doing something right, then," Magnus said with a smile.
Alec let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, I hope so."
"I guess that makes my sad date-less social life worth it," Magnus said musingly.
"Seriously? You, too?" Alec asked in surprise. "I mean... You're you."
Magnus laughed lightly. "I could say the same for you," he told Alec with a wink, and was amused when a slight colour rose in Alec's cheeks.
Alec cleared his throat and checked his watch. "Crap. It's already one o'clock, and we still need to get presents."
"I suppose we can't go wrong with a nice book?" Magnus suggested, half trying to convince himself.
The bartender had put the radio on for some Christmasy tunes, and just as Magnus was trying to catch his attention to call for the bill, an announcement came on the radio.
"Thanks for tuning in to Power NY FM, and pssst, we've got a little surprise for our listeners! Come on down to our booth at the Christmas Parade this afternoon, answer one simple question, and you could stand to win a limited-edition Silver Shot figurine!"
Magnus exchanged a look with Alec and quickly threw down a handful of bills. Alec grabbed both their coats off the back of their chairs and held Magnus' out for him.
"Keep the change, Merry Christmas!" Magnus called out to the bartender as he slipped into his coat, and both of them hurried out into the cold.
It had made more sense for them to share one car, so they'd taken Alec's practical Honda instead of Magnus' flashy Jaguar, but with all the roadblocks and Christmas Eve traffic, they honestly might have had better luck just jogging there. They reached the booth set up by the radio station with only half an hour to spare before the start of the parade, but when they finally reached the head of the queue, they were in for more disappointment - the radio contest was just for a lucky draw. It would be weeks before the winners were announced.
"Looks like we might have to do our shopping after the parade," Magnus sighed, checking his phone. "My friends were helping me watch Rafael this morning, and I need to go find them."
"Yeah, Henry is with my siblings and their families. I need to go find them too," Alec admitted, skimming through the messages from Jace and Izzy. He really had to go, they were already waiting for him, but he didn't want to leave just yet.
"Do you want to continue our shopping together later?" he blurted out.
"Yes, of course," Magnus replied quickly. "I would love that."
Alec was just about to suggest that they exchange numbers when someone grabbed both of them by their arms.
"Oh thank god, I thought you guys weren't going to show!" she exclaimed, pulling them towards a tent marked 'staff only'.
"What? What's going on?" Alec asked. Magnus looked just as confused.
"You're the actors playing Silver Shot and The Shaman, right?" she asked impatiently, and Alec noticed that she had a pass hanging from a lanyard around her neck that said 'parade manager'.
"No!" Alec yelped.
"Oh shit. I'm so sorry!" the flustered parade manager gasped, letting go of them. "It's just that we've got ten minutes before the parade starts, and the guys who were supposed to dress up as Silver Shot and The Shaman for the parade never showed up. I thought it was you two - you kind of look perfect for the parts."
"No, we're not actors. But what happens if the actual actors don't turn up?" Magnus asked.
"Well, there're going to be lots of disappointed kids for sure," she replied, running a hand through her hair in frustration.
"What would we have to do? Just stand on the parade float and wave?" Magnus asked.
"Pretty much, yeah."
"I think we could do it - don't you agree, Alexander?" Magnus said brightly.
Alec's eyes widened in horror. "Wait-"
"Really?! Oh my god, you're lifesavers! I'll be sure to get one of those special-edition action figures for the both of you as a thank you," she gushed.
"That would be perfect! You're our lifesaver," Magnus said, beaming, then turned to Alec. "Were you about to say something?"
"No, it's nothing," Alec said, licking his lips nervously. "Let's do this."
Magnus had to say that he looked pretty good in The Shaman's costume: dark red flowy pants embroidered with gold thread and heavy with beads, a matching crop top and armbands, and a burnished gold cloak that billowed behind him in a way that satisfied the 8-year-old in him. There was a feathered and beaded half-mask as well, but he left that off for now, and went round the privacy curtain to find Alec fidgeting with his costume: skin-tight militaristic black clothes that clung in all the right places, silver cuffs on his wrists, fingerless gloves, and a silver half-mask. Alec glanced up, his gaze lingering on Magnus' exposed abs and bare arms, and swallowed hard.
"You're going to catch a cold in that," he said a little gruffly.
"It's only for half an hour, I'll be fine," Magnus assured him. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah, it's just... I've never worn so much spandex in my life," Alec grumbled, then dropped his head and groaned. "I can't believe I agreed to do this."
Magnus laughed and adjusted Alec's mask for him. "You look fine. More than fine."
Alec blushed charmingly, but before he could reply, there was a knock on the door.
"Everything alright in there?" the parade manager called out, sounding a little panicky. Alec went to open the door for her, and Magnus put on his mask.
They were whisked away to the parade float and briefed on what to expect, and before they knew it, they were standing on the float waving at the crowds and trying their best to look the part. Magnus scanned the crowd, trying to spot Rafael with Ragnor and Raphael, but all he saw was a blur of excited children and adults.
The float came to a stop in front of the ice skating ring at Rockefeller Plaza, which was the midpoint of the parade, and the theme song from the cartoon began to play over the speakers. They were supposed to do a short skit here, pretending to fight each other; Magnus got into the swing of things immediately, pretending to throw fireballs from his hands, but it was hard keeping a straight face with how earnest Alec looked trying to stay in character while firing imaginary arrows from his plastic silver bow and dodging Magnus' attacks.
At the end of the skit, Magnus and Alec moved to the front of the float and held hands, to show that Silver Shot and The Shaman had made up. And when the music stopped, Magnus heard a loud cry - "That's Papa!"
He turned and finally spotted Rafael, who was sitting on the shoulders of his namesake, Magnus' adopted brother. He blew a kiss at his delighted son, and noticed that a little blond boy sitting on the shoulders of a bespectacled guy standing just next to Raphael was also grinning from ear-to-ear, waving madly and shouting, "Daddy! My Daddy is Silver Shot!"
"Is that Henry?" he asked Alec, and Alec nodded, waving and grinning at his son.
As they stood there laughing and waving at their surprised families, a chant started up in the crowd, mostly from the teenagers and adults: "Kiss! Kiss!"
Alec looked a little wild-eyed, but he licked his own lips self-consciously and Magnus saw his eyes dart lower to Magnus' lips.
"It's Christmas, after all. We should give the crowd what they want - that is, if you don't mind," Magnus murmured, stepping a little closer.
"Yeah, we should," Alec agreed. He ducked his head and kissed Magnus gently, to a resounding roar of approval from the crowd.
"I know we don't need to do any more Christmas shopping after this, but I'm gonna be needing your number," Alec told Magnus, his arms still resting lightly around Magnus' waist, and Magnus laughed.
"I have a feeling it's going to be a very Merry Christmas for the both of us," Magnus joked cheekily.
