He was a little surprised when his phone rang, and when he looked away from the book he was currently nose deep in (Latin could be difficult to read, so sue him for trying to decipher it with his face) he had to read the caller ID twice: Scott "Wolf Boy" McCall.
It had been three years.
A new year was rolling around, a year to mark the five that he and the rest of the McCall pack had been apart, going their separate ways for separate careers, losing contact after two years of phone calls and arrangements and meetings that never went to plan and then just forgetting to call until now, when Stiles hadn't heard word from anyone for three years.
He was in college, taking random courses that lasted a year or so and taking several at once. He still had no idea what he wanted to do with his career, and what his career would be. As a kid, he had wanted to be the president: ambitious, but Stiles was not the kind of person for office work. He was still, however, practising the skills he had acquired in his last years of high school: hunting.
Though he had yet to kill anything supernatural, Stiles now knew the ins and outs of hunting and courtesy of Deaton knew about five old languages and all about the witch-like stuff that Deaton did.
And now his best friend, who had played fake Quidditch with him in his backyard and had helped him blow up one of the chemistry labs in their high school, was calling him. Not that they'd had any falling out or had completely abandoned one another but… he hadn't expected to hear from the Alpha in a long time.
Gently putting the old book in his hands down, Stiles climbed off of his bed and picked up the phone from his bedside table. He had requested a single dorm in his second year, paying the extra fee in order to cake his walls in things that were either relevant or irrelevant. On one wall there was nothing but four yarns of string sitting on a shelf and about a dozen pin holes in the wall. He was helping his dad to solve cases in his spare time, calling up his father as a fresher mind, and as a better researcher than the police department combined.
He pulled himself from his introversion and tentatively picked up the phone "Hi Scott"
/
A social call.
For the New Year.
With the pack.
He should have said no.
But he couldn't, not while Scott had pleaded with him and Stiles could just imagine those big puppy dog eyes and his resolve simply had to break because this was Scott – his best friend and partner in crime. He couldn't say no… not ever.
His Jeep pulled into the driveway of Scott's old house, the fond memories of long nights of horror movies or game nights coming to surface and bringing a smile to his features. He was the first to arrive (An obligation, as the best friend he had to arrive first) and stepping out of his Jeep and, essentially, back into Beacon Hills, felt good.
He was home.
He knew that Scott had probably heard his approach from miles out of town and when his best friend basically tore down his own door to greet him, he guessed that he was definitely right. The embrace he was pulled into was tight around his shoulders, splayed hands across his shoulders and Stiles could practically feel the power shift beneath Scott's skin in waves of Alpha Wolf.
He was glad he was still human otherwise he'd be buckling under the weight of the feeling.
"You're here" Scott announced, as if they were both unaware of Stiles' presence until Scott spoke.
Stiles smiled toothlessly and nodded "I am"
They spent a full hour catching up, hugging, punching, joking and laughing: like they'd never been away and they were still concerned with grades and inviting girls to formals. The cruel reality was ignored for an hour, and then Stiles' curiosity got the better of him: he asked who was able to come.
He got the predicted answer:
"Cora, Malia, Kira, Isaac, Jackson, you know, the pack?" Scott answered, with a smile that said: sometimes my best friend can be so weird.
"That's it?" Stiles asked "I'm not going to meet anyone new or creepy am I? Because I don't really want another Peter or anything like that… is Peter coming? No, don't tell me, he probably is… why are you looking at me like that?"
Scott had this face, it looked like he was scared of Stiles… that he was preparing for some kind of speech and then he answered "Derek's coming too"
/
Everyone started arriving as the sun became low in the sky, and Scott seemed better as more and more cars started pooling into his driveway and onto the nature strip.
Stiles was equally as happy: he had formed a sort of bond with the pack, and they had done the same with him, even if he was the only human: he was pack… he mattered.
Lydia had arrived close to last, and their reunion wasn't as awkward as he had thought it would be. They had hugged, and she had smiled and pinched his cheek gently, telling him he looked good. Stiles had responded with his usual intellect with "I… you… You look good too…"
Peter and Cora were right behind Lydia, Cora with a friendly punch to Stiles' arm which hurt (he thought he hid it well) and Peter with a clap to his shoulder before the ex-alpha psychopath turned advisor moved on to Scott.
Then he heard the familiar purring of the Camaro, the sound of loose gravel stones crunching beneath its wheels, and the sight of the black, sleek car gliding to a stop behind Kira's adorable little car (It really was, especially compared to Stiles' Jeep, which looked like a giant to the smaller car). And then a familiar (painfully so) figure stepped out of the car and was swarmed by the entire pack. There was an uncharacteristic smile on Derek's face and the older man looked good. Somehow, he had become better looking during his time away.
Stiles was torn, a tirade of emotions flowing through him as he stood rooted to the spot. Derek had left them after the pack had dealt with Deucalion without a word or warning, left Scott with Alpha Power and left his family to fend for themselves. He had also left Stiles.
They had been getting along really well, walking in the preserve, watching movies and spending nights on top of a cliff looking up at the stars or out at the city, not a word spoken between them. During the supernatural shit-storm after Derek had left Stiles had never felt so helpless, so unable to help with everything and anything. Scott had been great, his guardian, strong and defiant to defeat, but he didn't quite feel safe. That was when he had taken up training with Chris Argent and Deaton: because he had needed to be stronger for his pack.
When the entirety of the pack started to dissipate, and Scott had had his brotherly moment, where he placed a hand on Derek's shoulder and pulled the still taller man to him in a manly sort of hug thing. Stiles stood, still and unsure, as Derek met his gaze carefully and with a slight smile tugging at his lips. Scott was making his way inside when Stiles' feet began to work and he met Derek halfway across the front lawn and they stood there for the longest time, the setting sun highlighting one side of each of their faces.
Stiles launched himself at Derek, chest colliding with Derek's as he threw his arms around the werewolves' neck, burying his nose in Derek's neck and pressing their bodies together tightly. The tirade of emotions had been shoved aside by the one he felt with the most strength: relief. Relief that Derek was alive and well, that he was tangible and warm and embracing him tightly, his own nose buried in Stiles' neck and breathing deeply.
"Hi Stiles"
