A sudden shift in his bed awoke him.
Stiles had never been a light sleeper, but going by recent events, his life in general posed some serious doubts about the level of security he'd enjoyed previously. With his head still buried in the same odd angle he was sleeping and the terror pounding in his heart, his hand reached under the pillow for his dad's spare gun he'd recently started keeping there. But before he could secure a grasp, someone else's hand clasped his arm firmly, a familiar grasp that...
"…Stiles" he said, barely above a whisper. He opened his eyes and looked up, his heart doing that dead lurch it always seem to do, together with a healthy dose of fear, guilt and another emotion he was too afraid to admit. It wasn't a smile that he got from Derek, neither was it a smile that Stiles gave back. The perfect sarcastic words had formed in his mind, but he really wondered what was the point of it-Derek would just threaten his life again and then they'll just-anyway, he marveled at how masculine and well groomed he looked even though Derek seemed to be in the same clothing he was last seen in three days ago, clothing that seemed awfully too tight even by the usual snug clothing Derek would wear; maybe it was because he was an 'alpha' now.
There he was, seated on his bed again. Whether he walked in through the front door or through the window a few feet away was a mystery to Stiles, but each time he found him in his room, it was like meeting a different person. This was a wholly a different man again, Stiles could tell by just looking into his eyes in the dim light of this night; or in his case a different werewolf than he was used to. He looked away when he remembered the eerie red glow he last saw in them only a few nights ago. He almost missed the pale blue they would be if he hadn't…
Derek let go of his hand, as if he'd read his mind. The only sounds between them for the next few minutes were their steady breaths and the deafening quietness of this late night. Stiles sat back against the headboard finally fully awake, his hands wrapping around his knees.
'Why was he here…' he thought, 'why come here again…if all you're going to do is just sit silently and wait'. Derek seemed to be comfortable in the silence among them, he chose to just sit there staring out the window, saying or doing absolutely nothing.
Here they were again, assailed by their own reality. Away from the eyes and responsibilities of their individual lives, the murderous glares, the smart quips and death threats. Here they were again, just man and werewolf in the confines of their own private universe. Free of any responsibility to play the parts assigned to them, but even still neither of them were willing to make the first move. Again.
Stiles wondered who was this person who wondered into his room night after night, starting with that night..
A gulf of silence passed again before Derek spoke. "I'm still the same person…" he said looking back at the open window, his hands now carefully resting on his legs.
"That's what you thought about your uncle…" Stiles mused out loud, and immediately regretted it.
Derek sighed and looked back at the window, lifting himself off the bed. But before he could fully get up, stiles found his hand grasping Derek's before he could stop himself. Derek paused, and then they shared one of those looks. An entire conversation played out within those mere seconds they looked into each other's eyes. How they managed to converse without talking seemed to surpass all understanding, but that's how they did it; in action rather than in word.
Stiles lightly pulled him back to the bed, not letting go of Derek's hand. Against his better judgment, he found him pulling Derek closer, till he enveloped him in a tight embrace. Whatever the color of his eyes were now, they didn't matter as they shed tears that had been a long time coming. Stiles leant back into the bed with Derek in his arms, a hand carefully rubbing his neck in a comforting way for a while.
"I killed him Stiles…I killed the last of my family" he managed to squeeze through in between those sobs. "I'm the last one…" he sighed rather sadly, "the last hale…", "They're all dead stiles, every last one of them Stiles…all because…" Derek managed. Stiles knew how that sentence was going to end...
"No.." he said, before his hands grabbed Derek Hale's tear tracked face close and covered his soft lips with his own for as long as he could, his breath permitting.
Derek shifted in his sleep, his lean yet built left arm across Stiles' bare mid-riff, his slightly warm breath falling across his chest with a slight snore you had to be this close to register. Unfortunately, at this close proximity, the shifting nudged Stiles awake again, especially as Derek's stubble tickled whatever sleep he had left out of him for now.
He held back a slight giggle especially since he was snoring. That's how Stiles knew he was truly sleeping. Usually Derek meditated or preferred to be on alert with his eyes closed, both seemingly showing him as sleeping when he really wasn't; sneaky little devil he was, a devil with the body of a God, a real violent caveman of a God.
A cretin he maybe, but Derek was more of a Greek God than a mythical feral creature, especially at this angle. He'd even bet he'd look hot in a toga judging how the crumpled cotton sheet flowed between their bodies. Stiles was drawn to trace the Triskele tattooed in between his shoulders. It caused Derek to sigh and rub Stiles with his foot slightly.
Amidst an amused chuckle, he tried to remind himself again to ask Derek the story of his tattoo, but then again there were better things they should talk about as they always did; Scott, the alpha and different bits of information on werewolves shared as and when required it seemed. Stiles couldn't deny the insulated comfort of their dealings both in the days and the nights separate, but what was going on here. Was it going to continue this way, or was it just as is.
And now he was an Alpha, not to mention undefined on his relationship with Scott. He tried to tell himself that Scott was his priority, but…
He sighed.
At first, his only problem was their nightly dealings that seemed to have no effect or relation to their outward relationship. And now the complication that was Derek seemed to have exponentially multiplied since a few days ago, and with him in his bed, that multiplied by the n'th degree; a fact that caused him to close his eyes and sigh again rather dramatically. He seemed to do that a lot as of recently. Never a good sign he thought.
"How do I let things get so fucked up… that's scott's job!" Stiles thought as he turned into sleep again with Derek still wrapped around him. "…hopefully with Derek still here for once…".
And with the horrible timing of fate, he felt Derek shift… and get up, shift around the bed to pick up his clothes from wherever they were strewn. Something a werewolf could possibly manage with the uthmost stealth he presumed, if Stiles were asleep, but he wasn't was he.
Stiles lay there in bed as he heard Derek pull yet another extremely stretched Henley over himself again, he could almost hear the fabric stretch. Here he was, leaving again. And so, he would be the emotional booty call, probably in a day or a week again. He wanted to say or do something, but he was…
he was afraid. What would happen if for once, he actually tried to…No, he was going to let him leave. He settled into let him leave because it was easier than what the opposite required; Conversation.
It was 4am and Stiles Stalinski, for once in his life, chose to keep his mouth shut. Again. He didn't want to acknowledge the need to cry about it either as he buried his head deep into his pillow. He waited till he heard the gentle tap of Derek's feet on his window sill one last time to finally know he'd left. Again.
