It starts with a single text from Scott. They found Derek.
Or, well, okay, it honestly starts a hell of a lot further back. Before he even left, probably, but that's a good place to consider the start. It was certainly the start of Stiles realizing he missed the hell out of Derek Hale. Except, well, it didn't actually start until a little after that, a week maybe? God, this is all so confusing.
Stiles is used to saying "Derek" and "confusing" in the same sentence.
What it boils down to is Stiles realizing, only after Derek left, exactly how strong his feelings for the wolf ran. Realizing how fucking much he missed him, anticipating him showing up in some creepy, stalker-y manner, only to realize he never would. Feeling the instinctual pull to stop by the loft, wondering if he'd be there, hating himself for being disappointed when he swung the door open to reveal a barren space that even his human nose could smell was musty from disuse.
If he ranted at Derek through pages of texts and then deleted them, well, he figured he'd earned that right. If he placed his thumb over the call icon on his phone screen, right beside Derek's name, and glared at it with tears dripping down his face, wanting nothing more than to yell at him for abandoning them again, to beg him to come home, to whisper that he had never truly understood how much he needed Derek in his life, that was natural, too.
He's never mentioned a word of his internal struggles to Scott. He'd like to think he doesn't need to, that Scott knows him too well, but honestly, he's too wrapped up in Kira to realize that Stiles is curling in on himself in his grief over losing what he never knew he could have, or even wanted, until the cliché happened. "Until it was too late."
And then the text comes, and Stiles has this instant flash of hope. "Maybe it's not."
The text that follows takes him to Deaton's, and when he arrives, skidding in the front door and banging his hip on the swinging one that separates the waiting room from the back of the clinic, his heart is pounding furiously, in a thoroughly embarrassing way. Way to say, 'hi, welcome back, you're my moon and stars and the breath that I breathe and I was only half-alive while you were gone' before you even lay eyes on the dude, he chastises himself.
Then he does lay eyes on him, and the first thing he blurts is, "That's not Derek."
Deaton and Scott both look up at him curiously from where they're crouched over Derek's shuddering wolf form. Sadly, this is only a semi-unusual sight; Derek curled into the fetal position made up half of his sophomore and junior years. "Of course it's Derek," Deaton contradicts him calmly, reaching out to place a hand on the wolf's shoulder. The enormous black wolf roars, snapping and growling at him, and Deaton doesn't even look perturbed as he backs away. Scott follows, brow furrowing in concern.
"What the hell happened?" Stiles demands, and Scott shrugs.
"Some clan from New Mexico found him in his beta form, recognized him. They remembered Deaton was the Hale Pack emissary and waited until he went full wolf, trapped him, and brought him back, figuring we'd want to know how bad off he is," Scott explains somberly.
Deaton nods. "They were concerned about his regression. He's nearly feral now, and left without a pack, he could become disconnected from his human side permanently."
"Fuck that." Stiles is halfway across the room before even Scott can blink, sinking down onto his knees in front of the wolfed-out form of the man he never thought he'd get a chance to see again.
"Stiles," Scott warns, but Stiles waves him off.
He's far enough away that Derek would have to actually move to get a bite in, but close enough that he can just stretch the tips of his fingers to touch the line of Derek's hip, the thick black fur spiking up from it. He's nearly there, fingers just a breath away, when Derek growls at him, blue eyes glowing.
"Shh," Stiles soothes, pulling back for a moment until Derek seems to settle. "It's just me, Sourwolf." Derek growls again at that, and Stiles breaks out in a grin. "Remember that one? You still hate it, don't you?" and Derek snaps at him weakly. "You know you secretly love it," Stiles teases softly, and Derek just looks at him, panting quietly, chest heaving, until Stiles sinks in closer. His knees are nearly touching Derek's belly, and by now he's running his hands over Derek's back and down over his flank, and the wolf's breathing quiets, becomes easier, and his eyes dim until they're that kaleidoscopic blend of green and gray and hazel and a little touch of gold, sometimes.
Before anyone is aware it's happening, Stiles is staring into human Derek's face. He's still disoriented, and instinctively he curls tighter around Stiles' lower half, the tops of his thighs pressed tight against the side of Stiles', Stiles' knees jabbing into his chest and abs. Stiles doesn't stop petting him, and half of his brain is screaming in shock that he's getting to touch NAKE D DEREK HALE, while the other half focuses on soothing him. "You still with us, big guy?" he asks after several minutes, when Derek's breathing has finally evened out and he's stopped clutching at Stiles like he's a life line.
"Stiles," he croaks out, and Stiles stops running his hand over the slope of Derek's back and instead slides his fingers through Derek's snarled, inky mass of hair, creating tunnel tracks that he continues to stroke through repeatedly, soothingly. "What am I doing here?"
"Life kicked your ass, apparently. Again," he adds, smiling crookedly. "But then it made up for it by making sure you got back home to us."
"Home." He tries the word out on his tongue, making a cautious face, like he doesn't know what it really means or how it sounds or how it tastes in his mouth. "Beacon Hills?"
Stiles grins. "That's right. This hellmouth is home, whether you like it or not, and you'll never get rid of us."
Derek shifts, sits up a little, and presses his face into Stiles' stomach. "You're home."
Blinking rapidly, Stiles peers down at him. Not that Derek can see him, of course, he's busy trying to set Stiles on fire with his face. "Yes, I'm home, you're home, we're all home," he replies cautiously, and he can feel Derek shake his head in the negative against his stomach.
"You're home," he whispers. "Always were. Just didn't know, not until I left."
Bewildered, Stiles can do nothing more than tighten his grip around Derek, who returns the favor. Grunting, he taps Derek on the (still naked) shoulder. "Dude. Need to breathe," he mutters, and Derek's grip loosens. "You know I'm always here for you, right, buddy?" he asks awkwardly, and he can feel the imperceptible curve of Derek's lips against his shirt.
"I know," he mumbles back. "Never leaving you again."
Stiles gapes down at him. "So are we, like, what? Werewolf married now?" he jokes, even though it's uncomfortable and mostly inappropriate, but Stiles honestly still has yet to master "right time, right place" as his guideline for when he should open his mouth.
Derek's body shakes and he finally pulls away, and wow, Stiles feels really cold all of a sudden. He knew Derek was hot, but not on a literally-laying-over-a-blast-furnace kind of level. When Stiles focuses enough to take in the sight of Derek's familiar, much-beloved face, tentatively smiling up at him with a warm, fond expression, he nearly melts. "I missed you."
"Me too, Der." He wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, hunched over to hold him close. "More than I ever realized was possible."
lllll
Scott looks up at Deaton, who's watching the reunion with a half-resigned, half-pleased look on his face. "Do you think they even remember we're here?" he mutters, and Deaton turns to him, his expression melting back into his usual stoic, mysterious gaze.
"Let's hope they do before the mating rituals commence," he remarks, and Scott makes a face.
"Is that really a thing?"
Deaton returns his attention to the human and his wolf, wrapped around each other and lost in their own little world, and allows himself a small smile. "Go home, Scott. We're no longer needed here."