Chapter Text
Derek blinks rapidly attempting to make sense of the picture in front of him. He’s clearly got the right room, because that is Stiles standing in the doorway. Yet, not any version of Stiles Derek has ever seen. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweats slung low on his hips. There is a livid hickey on his left pec. His lips are swollen and a little shiny. Over Stiles’ shoulder he can see some...some kid sitting up in bed with nothing but a sheet covering his lower half. If that weren’t enough of an indication, the smell of sex rolling out of the room is almost enough to choke Derek. He blinks again watching Stiles work his jaw as he tries to come up with something to say but Derek’s had plenty of practice shutting Stiles down before he has a chance to pick up speed so he snaps,
“You’re obviously occupied so nevermind.”
He spins on his heel and moves as quickly as he can without running down the dorm hallway. He’s got to maintain some dignity at least since he can hear Stiles sputtering behind him. Stiles calls after him but he doesn’t stop, taking the stairs at the end of the hall three at a time.
What was he thinking? Driving up here unannounced. Showing up at Stiles dorm at 11 o’clock at night on a Saturday. Derek’s been to college; he knows how this goes. Stiles is TWENTY. It’s not like he’s going to suddenly be ready to settle down just because Derek had a moment of uninvited clarity and decided he needed to do something about his feelings for Stiles.
He finally makes it to the bottom of the stairs, crosses the lobby, and slams through the double doors.
--
Stiles stands in the hallway, dumbstruck. What the hell just happened? He shakes his head hoping something will slot into place. He thought they were past this. Before the disaster that was his last summer in Beacon Hills, he and Derek had even established a weird sort of...friendship? He still doesn’t know what to call it but after all the shit that went down with the nogitsune, Derek had been the only one he could go to. Scott was dealing with Alison’s absence and his douchebag of a dad and didn’t need the extra worry. His own father wasn’t an option since Stiles couldn’t stand the worried, frantic look on his dad’s face any time Stiles woke up screaming from one of his less frequent, but still horrible, nightmares.
With Derek, though, it had been easy. He understood. Knew what it was like to try and keep the bad in, stop it from spreading to anyone else. Now Derek just shows up unannounced and snaps at him like he hasn’t since...hell, he can’t even remember. Something has to be wrong. Probably something awful since Derek’s made the two hour drive to campus in the middle of the night. Stiles can feel the panic start to creep up his spine.
Rushing back into his room, Stiles throws on a zip-up hoodie and frantically looks for his shoes. He’s got to catch Derek before he leaves and Derek’s got that freaky fucking werewolf speed. He could be halfway back to Beacon Hills by now. Aha! He finds a shoe underneath his roommate’s bed. Must have kicked it under there when he and Blake-. Shit. Blake. He pauses, balancing on one foot and looks over at his bed. Blake looks a bit dazed just sitting there. Stiles rubs the back of his neck, “So, um, I gotta-”
“Should I leave?” Blake interrupts and starts to pull the sheets off his lap.
“No! No. I just. He’s a friend from back home. I should really go see what’s up but I’ll be back in, like, five minutes? Promise.”
Blake looks skeptical but nods and lays back on Stiles pillow with his arms folded behind his head.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, finally locates his other shoe and stuffs it on his foot as he makes his way out the door.
--
Derek is stalking his way across the quad when he feels a hand grip his elbow and jerk him around.
“What the hell was that about man?!”
Derek turns with a sneer on his face, fangs itching to drop. Stiles reeks of sex and sweat and...someone else. The zipper on his hoodie is open enough that he can still see a good bit of Stiles naked chest and another hickey slowly starting to bloom at the base of his throat. It makes Derek’s stomach churn.
“It’s nothing. I just forgot you’re still a child.”
“Fuck you, Derek. What’s going on?” Stiles presses, fingers still gripping Derek’s bicep.
“I have things to do, Stiles. Let. Go.” Derek does his best to look intimidating, even flashes his eyes. A few years ago that glare would have at least sent Stiles back a step but Stiles isn’t easily intimidated anymore. For a vicious moment Derek wishes he were.
“Things to do. In Berkley. At midnight.” Stiles looks incredibly unimpressed and Derek tries to jerk his arm free again. Stiles just digs in. “You are so full of shit Derek. You wouldn’t be here, knocking on my dorm room door in the middle of the night unless you needed something. Something pretty fucking important I’m guessing since you haven’t texted me back in like two months, asshole.”
“I don’t need anything from you,” Derek snaps.
Derek feels his heart rate spike as he watches the stages of Stiles being too. fucking. astute. He considers Derek a moment, eyes narrowing before he asks, “Then you…want something from me?”
“I didn’t- That’s not what I meant.” Derek shifts on his feet and concentrates on looking anywhere but Stiles’ face.
“Derek,” Stiles sighs, “if you ever said what you meant you would have fought with Scott a lot less when we were in high school. Lucky for you, I am a master at interpreting your eyebrows so, wolfy senses or no, I can tell when you are lying.”
Derek rubs his free hand across his eyes and mutters, “I know.”
“Look, just sit here,” Stiles uses his grip on Derek’s arm to push him onto a stone bench. “I’m gonna go put on some real clothes and tell the professional fratboy upstairs to scram. Then I’ll take you to get something to eat and you can try to tell me what you want, ok?”
Derek slumps over to stare at his hands in his lap, but finally he nods. He manages to sit still for only a few minutes before he starts to get the urge to bolt again. This was a huge mistake. Maybe he can make it to his car before Stiles reappears. They can go back to not talking and pretend this whole thing never happened.
He levers himself off the bench and is about to make for the parking lot when he hears, “Don’t even think about running!” Derek twists around to see Stiles jogging toward him. He’s switched out his ratty sweatpants for jeans and a different hoodie, this time with a t-shirt underneath.
“You showered?” Derek asks, startling himself. He didn’t mean to say anything but the smell of sex is almost entirely gone, replaced with the much lighter scent of Stiles and soap.
A slight pink tinge comes to Stiles cheeks, “Well, ya know, Scott was always complaining about how he could tell when I, well, ya know, from the smell, so I figured it would be more considerate if I didn’t-- Anyway, you ready to go?”
Something in Derek’s chest twists up as he watches Stiles stumble over his words, “Yeah. Fine,” and he follows Stiles to his jeep.
--
Stiles drags him through the door of the tiniest diner Derek’s ever been in. He waves at the woman before he leads them to an open booth near the back. They order coffee and Stiles insists on pie.
“I come here all the time,” he says, “I found out about it from one of my TAs freshman year. I needed somewhere to get work done that wasn’t the library and he accidentally let slip one day that he had the perfect study spot. I had to harass him for almost two months before he finally caved and told me. It’s perfect ‘cause most people are too lazy to leave campus but since I’ve got Roscoe it’s easy. Plus, pie.”
Stiles waggles his eyebrows like pie is something salacious then stabs his fork into the piece sitting in front of him. He keeps talking.
“I don’t really even bring friends out here. Usually, I’m all about the bonding time but this place is exactly the right noise level that it’s easy to get work done. Besides, its really small. I don’t think bringing a bunch of college kids in here would be appreciated. I mean-” Stiles cuts himself off and Derek realizes Stiles is staring at his hand. Ah. Right. Derek’s bent his fork to an almost perfect ninety degree angle. He feels his frustration rising again at his lack of control and looks out the grimy diner window in a useless attempt to get a grip on himself.
"Dude, what's wro-"
"Nothing’s wrong, Stiles,” he grinds out. The sarcasm is thick and ugly even to his own ears. “I'm so glad you were able to find people you actually want to be around, new friends to replace the ones you left."
"Replace? What are you even talking about? I talk to Scott everyday and Lydia was up here last week. Hell, even Isaac called yesterday."
Derek forces himself to turn and study Stiles’ face. His eyes are huge, a concerned crease starting to form between his eyebrows.
“Forget it,” Derek sighs, “How’s your pie?”
Stiles’ gaze sharpens at that.
“Is this about me not calling you? Because you don’t call me either, dude. And after the fiasco that was my last month and a half in town I figured you wanted some space. That was- I know we’ve been through worse and I didn’t mean to freak out on you but my dad was missing and I still…wasn’t entirely convinced of my sanity.”
Derek gives up any pretense of attempting to be an adult about this and his forehead in his hands. He can’t look at Stiles why they have this conversation.
“I wasn’t angry about that, Stiles. I was worried. I was afraid you were going to do something stupid and we wouldn’t be able to save you OR your father. Afterwards, you came here and...I just, didn’t know what to do.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and finally Derek is forced to peek through his hands. Stiles looks a bit pale, and a lot guilty. Actually, he looks a lot like he did back then, still drawn and uncertain in a body only recently back under his own control. Derek hates that look. He drops his hands to the table and takes a deep breath.
“I came for you.”
“Wh-at?” Stiles voice cracks and Derek watches as he starts to blush.
"I came for you," Derek says again "I hate this. I hate being away from you, and I dont want to be any more."
“I...I didn’t...I had no idea. And then you show up here and see-”
“Stiles.” Derek interrupts when he can see Stiles starting to panic. “It’s fine. Okay? You’re fine. I get it. I just…” He takes a deep breath and releases it before continuing, “I couldn’t leave it alone anymore.”
Across the table, Stiles is silent. His brow is furrowed and he’s worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. The longer the silence drags on, the more certain Derek becomes that he should just go. It’s hard though. He’s gone so long without seeing him, and knows that this will probably be the last time he even hears from him for who knows how long. He wants just a little bit more time.
He finally steels himself to move when Stiles’ hand shoots out and slams on top of Derek’s.
--
Derek is across the table from him looking stunned, cornered. His eyes keep darting toward the exit like he’s still planning his escape. Stiles doesn’t really know where to go from here. He only knows that it’s suddenly very important that Derek doesn’t leave. He grips Derek’s hand a little tighter.
“Stiles, you really don’t have to do this. I’ll just go home and you can go back to school and we’ll pretend this never happened.”
Stiles can’t help the way his grip ratchets even further, he’s pretty sure he can feel the leather of Derek’s jacket wedging under his fingernails. He shakes his head frantically and manages to croak out, “Don’t.”
Breathing. Right. He needs to remember to breathe. His vision is tunneling a little bit and Stiles shakes his head again, this time in an attempt to clear it. How the hell had he missed this?
He...the last time he really gave any real consideration to the state of his and Derek’s relationship, Stiles was sitting on Derek’s couch, willing his hands to stop shaking after his latest panic attack. It had been half an hour and his heart rate still wasn’t quite back to normal. Derek moved around in the kitchen making tea while Stiles lay there curled stiff under one of Derek’s ugly plaid throws. Stiles felt one crystalline moment of perfect security. While it was short lived at the time, the sense of safety had never left. Before it had just been “I trust you not to let me die” but then it grew more into “I trust you not to mock me for my crippling back story.”
Stiles chances a look at Derek’s face. He looks almost as panicked as Stiles feels, but there’s also concern and damned if Stiles isn’t going to take advantage of it while he tries to get his head back on straight. Stiles twists his grip until he’s clinging to Derek’s strong fingers. Derek instinctively squeezes back.
“It’s ok. Just breathe,” Derek murmurs.
They sit there quiet for another few moments as Stiles slowly relaxes under the rhythmic brushing of Derek’s thumb over the back of his wrist. He takes a deep breath.
“I’m not...I don’t want you to leave. I didn’t know you...you felt this way.”
Stiles swallows thickly. He wishes he could look away from Derek’s face but he needs Derek to understand.
“You were one of the only thing,” he whispers, “The only thing I could tell was real when things got…” he waves his free hand around his head. “It’s not always easy when I’m freaked out or I haven’t slept or something is trying to eat us or we’re getting shot at or, or-”
Derek’s grip tightens and Stiles mentally jerks himself back on course.
“You were saving my ass and keeping me sane. It was too much to think about anything else. Also, generally, people find me annoying. I couldn’t risk wearing out my welcome.”
The grin Stiles plasters on his face feels brittle and Derek is staring at him rather more intently than he’s sure he can handle.
“So you, avoided me?” Derek asks.
“No! At least, that’s not what I meant to do. I just wanted you to have options. You do this thing where you kind of take things on like they’re a responsibility and I didn’t want to be that. A responsibility, I mean. I just...didn’t want to make you feel like you had to stay around me.”
“You know, I am an adult, Stiles. I can make those choices for myself.”
“But yo-” Stiles cuts off as Derek leans well over the table and into Stiles’ space. His other hand comes up to just barely touch at the collar of Stiles t-shirt. The tiny point of warmth sending a shiver through Stiles and he feels his face heat up.
“Stiles,” Derek says softly, “It wasn’t too much.”
It feels like his stomach and heart have switched places. He’s not sure if he’s equipped to deal with confessions of this magnitude from Derek Hale. But damned if he’s not gonna try.
“Right,” Stiles snaps, “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
He uses his grip on Derek’s hand to drag them both out of the booth and performs what he knows to be a staggeringly unattractive move to dig money out of his wallet one handed. The edge of the leather is clamped between his teeth as a counterpoint and he makes a noise of triumph as he manages to shake loose a few fives and tosses them on the table. He then stuffs the wallet unceremoniously back in his pocket while dragging Derek behind him out the door.