Aah, home at last. It's weird, but in the first day or two after getting off of a plane, everything smells strange. And Stiles doesn't even have a freaky werewolf nose. It's just that every place has this distinct, albeit faint, scent in the air, that nobody who lives there notices. When Stiles had first arrived in Boston, the whole place had smelled ever so slightly like yeast before he got used to it. Now, back in Beacon Hills after two years at Boston University, Stiles realizes that his childhood home had smelled like pine and fresh air his whole life and he had never noticed.

So Stiles drives with the car windows rolled down. It pains his heart that it's a rental, and not his darling jeep, but apparently the poor girl had broken down while he was off at college. She'd collapsed from disuse. When Stiles' dad broke the news over the phone, Stiles had felt like falling onto his knees and shaking his fist at the sky. First order of business now that he's back home: get the Jeep fixed, so he can get rid of the stupid rental he got at the airport as soon as possible. But that's getting off topic. The point is, Stiles has the windows rolled down so he can let the warm, piney summer air blow in. Boston's great, but being in California during summer cannot be beat. Just the warm, dry air has Stiles flashing back to sitting poolside with Scott, then later with the whole pack, chlorine and sunscreen for the humans and freedom. Stiles' hair is flapping in the breeze and this would be the perfect time for a driving montage. Except driving montages are only allowed to cover road trips, and Stiles is just driving home from the airport. Not exactly a "road trip."

Stiles takes the scenic way through town. It's great to see all of the familiar old landmarks again and know that, unlike the time he visited two years ago, he's staying, so he won't have to kiss those landmarks goodbye ever again. God, he had gotten some weird looks for that last time. Things had changed, of course, after four years living across the country. There was the obvious stuff, like the high school's new gym, (put in right after they graduated, of course,) and the empty lot where the town's single Blockbuster had once presided. But there are smaller changes, too. Ones that Stiles, as a native Beacon Hillian, can't help but notice. The statue of Mark Twain in the town center was shined up until it reached what Stiles presumes was its original color from god knows how many millennia ago. Anderson's Bakery has a new logo on its awning. Dozens of tiny little shifts and changes that had happened while Stiles was gone. The base components remained, but he felt a bit like a puzzle piece that was slightly too big for the only open space in the puzzle.

He follows the road all the way through town, to where it hugs the forest border, giving Stiles a beautiful view of tree after tree after tree after tree. As forests go, the Beacon Hills preserve isn't especially pretty, but for Stiles, it's where he's spent countless hours messing around with the pack, leaving scent trails for them to get lost around, camping out unnecessarily, leaping onto Derek's back and making him give Stiles a piggyback ride. It's good to see it again. Stiles keeps glancing out his side window, taking his eyes off the road for dangerous amounts of time, trying to catch a glimpse of that one tree that has a ninety degree bend in its trunk, or that tiny clearing that would fill up with neon orange California poppies in the early sumer. He doesn't find the clearing or the tree, and something limp and disappointed flops around in his stomach. There is a black dog scampering around out there though.

Actually, it's running alongside the car now, fifty or so yards into the forest, it is seriously big, and woah! Are those red eyes?

Oh.

Stiles would smack his face against the steering wheel if he weren't driving. Did it really only take two (really, more like four, who's he kidding,) years away from home for his first thought at seeing a big, hairy black creature running through the woods to be "dog"?

It sort of makes sense, Stiles reasons as he parks the car by the side of the road. All those skype calls and phone conversations don't give me a chance to keep acquainted with the good old wolf form. The pack is too mature by now to accidentally wolf out in front of a webcam.

Instead, he just gets their boring, human faces, talking about how their various, mostly Beacon Hills-centric lives are going. Scott's continuing relationship dramas, Isaac's continuing relationship dramas (the guy had turned out to be quite a player once he graduated,) Erica's pursuit of painting, and so on. Stiles had always found it comforting that the pack wasn't really getting up to anything exciting without him. Freshman year, Derek sent weekly email briefs about hunters that had drifted by, or townsfolk that they suspected were of a supernatural nature, but eventually those emails had devolved into debates about the advantages of one thing over another, or rants about solipsism, or existentialism, or the Socratic method, (Derek and Stiles both took a lot of philosophy classes in college, okay?) Eventually, all of the emailing, then calling, then texting in the middle of the night between Stiles and Derek meant that Stiles is much happier to see Wolf-Derek bounding through the woods towards him than he would have been four years ago. Also that Stiles isn't too up to date on the current supernatural dangers facing the pack, if there are any.

Once Derek reaches Stiles, a few yards before the treeline, his little wolfy brain apparently decides that the best thing to do would be to pounce, which he does, with back-breaking vigor. Okay, so it's more of a hearty push with his head, but Wolf-Derek's skull is big and hard and now Stiles' mind is going to very inappropriate places. Or maybe appropriate. Derek has been saying some things lately that has Stiles thinking that Derek might not mind one bit if Stiles starts thinking inappropriate things about him. Who is Stiles kidding, "starts," he means, "continues."

Well, they're probably inappropriate thoughts while Derek is nuzzling at him in animal form, because Stiles feels kind of like he's skirting the edge of bestiality, and that's just weird. Luckily, Derek's wolf nuzzles are never really sexual. It's kind of like being greeted by a giant puppy. Derek is snuffling and snorting around Stiles' neck and shoulders, exhaling big wet gusts of air over Stiles' ears, making him giggle and squirm and Derek just press his furry body closer, rubbing his leaf-ridden fur all over Stiles' clothes. A big paw lightly bats at his shoulder, and Derek is letting out these little happy whines that Stiles just can't handle.

"Okay, fine, big guy," Stiles relents, and starts scratching Derek's head vigorously.

Derek lets out a more complex mixture of whines and growls, pressing his head further into Stiles' hands, tail wagging and feet thumping. If Derek were human right now, he'd probably be embarrassed at his enthusiasm, but Stiles likes it. Mostly because he's kind of on exactly the same wavelength here.

-There he is!- Stiles crowed when Derek's face appeared in the chat window.

Derek rolled his eyes. -That's the last time I'm going to mess with any kind of video settings.-

-Whatever Derek m'dear, I'm just glad you finally showed up-

Stiles was pretty sure Derek was blushing ever so slightly, but it could have been the lighting. Or the pixellation. Or something weird with his computer screen. Videochatting was really hard to do well.

Apparently while Stiles had been gone, Derek had really come into his own with the Alpha form thing. Derek is flickering in between human and wolf, and it looks like he's switching between two TV channels, it's so easy. To Stiles' delight, Derek loses no gusto when he only has two legs, just keeps pressing and hugging and smiling and laughing. While naked. Because nudity is a thing that happens when you run around as a wolf.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' shoulders and head, then squeezes in the strangliest, most wonderful hug ever. Stiles ends up with a very muscley pillow keeping his hair out of the pine needles, and no complaints.

-Stiles, you're falling asleep, I can tell.-

-N... keep talking. What happ'nd with the park service?-

-I'll bet you have the phone trapped between your head and the pillow and you don't even have your eyes open- Derek's voice was oddly breathless as he said it.

-N...-

-Yeah you do. What time is it there? One? Go to bed. I'll explain it all tomorrow morning.-

-Kay...-

Okay, so maybe Derek's head is still in wolf mode, because he's kind of biting at Stiles' neck. And Stiles should probably stop him. In a second. Maybe once the feeling of being cradled in a cloud of bliss where everything smells like chocolate wears off. Also, he'd noticed that Derek had started shaving more, but it was one thing to see it from three thousand miles away and another to notice it as Derek's surprisingly smooth chin slid up and down his neck. Stiles sort of wishes that he could get stubbly nuzzles too, for comparison purposes.

Okay, this has probably gone on too long. Stiles pulls slightly on Derek's hair. Derek just groans and keeps biting at a spot underneath Stiles' ear. "Derek. Human Derek. Buddy, come back to me."

Derek makes an irritated noise and pulls back, panting slightly. "What?"

Stiles looks at him like he's crazy. "Well, you were kind of giving me a hickey that'll be pretty difficult to explain."

Derek stares at him blankly for a minute, then shrugs. "Sorry." He returns to the hickey.

Well. You can't say Stiles didn't try.

-Wait, so Erica got a tattoo? Of an airplane? What?-

Derek shrugged into the camera. -We found out that if you add a tiny amount of a certain strand of wolfsbane to white wine, we can get drunk. The kids got out of control.-

Stiles snorted. -But an airplane? Not even a butterfly tramp stamp? I always thought Erica would get one of those.-

Giving Stiles an 'are you kidding me' expression, Derek replied, -I'll tell her you said that.-

-What? No!-

-And besides, so what? You got that neck tattoo. You never struck me as the neck tattoo type.-

-Really?- Stiles leaned back in his desk chair. -And what type did I strike you as?-

Derek ran a hand through his hair, thinking seriously. -You'd keep it somewhere hidden, so people would really have to- Derek exhaled shakily -work to find it. And it would have some kind of obscure special meaning.-

So, Derek had totally been undressing Stiles in his mind just then. But because Stiles was a good conversationalist, he wasn't going to mention it.

-You did get it half right. The ship on the sea thing wasn't an accident.- Rubbing a finger idly against the tiny tattoo just under his ear, where a small ship floating atop a black wavy line was etched, Stiles continued, -My mom would sing "My Bonny Lies Over The Ocean" to me every night, then kiss me right here- he taps the tattoo. -It was the easiest spot for her to reach when I was sitting on her lap.-

Derek finishes his work over Stiles' tattoo, and works to bite a matching one underneath Stiles' other ear.

Derek flopped down in front of the video camera, blatantly shirtless.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. -Hi there.-

-What?-

-Don't "what' me, Mr. Casually Shirtless.-

-Renovations get hot,- Derek waved a hand at the bare timber and wheelbarrow barely visible in the corner of the screen. -Why? Would you honestly prefer I put on a shirt?-

-No!- Stiles almost shouted. Subtle.

-Good,- Derek smirked.

Jesus.

Stiles looks up at the hot blue sky, fractured by interweaving tree branches. The last time he'd had this view, Isaac had just play-tackled him in a training exercise. Everything had been so different then. College barely halfway done, Erica tattoo-less, and Scott and Allison had only been engaged once at that point. The times they are a-changing, Stiles thinks wryly. The idea of being pinned to the ground while Derek nibbled at his neck was an unattainable fantasy back then. Nothing ever stays the same.

-So your plane tickets are booked?-

-Yeah,- Stiles muttered while he rummaged through one of his suitcases. -Any idea where I put my Eastern Mythology book?-

-Well, considering that I'm on the opposite side of the country, and am also on the phone with no way of seeing your apartment, I'd say no.-

-So sassy, Derek. You were never so sassy back in high school.-

-I've grown older and wiser.-

Stiles laughed. - To the horror of everyone around you. I'll bet the first thing you do when I get home tomorrow will be snap your fingers in a Z shape and go 'mmm giiirrl, that outfit does NOT work.'-

-That wasn't my plan.-

-Yeah?- Stiles' breath quickened. He had a feeling that he was pushing a boundary, but after a mental "fuck it," he went for it. -What were you planning?-

-Come on, Stiles. You know what I'm talking about, and the first time I say it won't be over the phone.-

Stiles sat down on the edge of his bed. -What if it's just really awkward once we actually see eachother in person? Everything's always different when you come home after a long time.-

-It won't be awkward.-

"Derek," Stiles says, (or maybe moans, don't judge,) "This is awkward."

Derek's head jerks up. His mouth is... really red. "Dammit."

"Yeah," Stiles twists his face in false regret, "you've been sucking on my neck for a good five minutes but you haven't given me a proper kiss yet."

That red mouth twists into a broad, bucktoothed smile. Derek surges forward and presses kiss after kiss onto Stiles' lips. Stiles feels like the meat in a delicious Derek sandwich, with Derek's arm pressing into the back of his head, and Derek's face all over his face. Stiles would have that sandwich any day of the week. Derek is all melty and warm, sprawled all over Stiles and just kissing him like he can't get enough, but he doesn't have the time to really break out the ardent tongues and pressing hands.

Except then he does, and it's awesome.

XXXXX

The refurbished Hale House looks so much different than how Stiles remembers it being last. From Derek's bed, he can look out a straight up wall of windows facing towards the forest. It's a great view, and fortunately passersby can't look into the bedroom, because if they did, they'd be treated to a great view of their own, and for now, this is all for Stiles' eyes.

He isn't sure he's ever seen Derek sleeping before. Or noticed how loud the wind is when it washes over the house. There are pictures of the pack, often minus Stiles, on the dresser -which, Stiles noted, now contains more colors than black and gray. So much has changed since he left. Beacon Hills is never going to be quite the same as it was when Stiles was young. It's changed physically, and, now Stiles has grown, it just feels different.

Derek mumbles in his sleep and slings a second arm across Stiles' belly. He ends up with his nose in Stiles' armpit and one of his shoulders strangely twisted. It really can't be comfortable for the guy.

Stiles smiles up at the ceiling. Okay, so Beacon Hills circa 2020 is different. Maybe a little strange. And maybe it makes him feel sort of strange. But, he thinks as he shifts Derek into a more comfortable position, Stiles wouldn't trade it in for anything.