Author Notes: I was trying to make this chapter over 3k words, but I couldn't do it. D': I do have some of the next chapter done, but I decided I wanted to post this part now instead of jamming it all together, otherwise I don't know how long it'd take me to finish.
Stiles already has his sneakers back on and is halfway down the stairs before Derek responds. "You live a ways out, don't you?"
Stiles let out a soft scoff, pausing in front of the mirror in the downstairs bathroom to rake a hand through his untidy hair before continuing out the door. "I live in town. You're the one who likes to live like a hermit as far away from civilization as possible. Though I guess being a werewolf you have good reason," he rambles amicably, shrugging his hood closer to his neck to try and stifle the chill that was creeping down his spine.
A light wind has started to pick up since departing from Scott's house earlier, and a glance skywards reveals a darkening sky with the promise of rain on the way. He had maybe an hour before the sun was hidden behind the horizon, and he was hoping to be at Derek's before that.
He was in the process of giving himself a mental pep talk – 'You can beat the rain, the world doesn't hate you that much!' – when the sound of a door shutting catches his attention. "Derek?"
"You don't have a car, right? You can't walk here by yourself."
Stiles stops mid-step to stare incredulously at the row of houses across the street as if he had just been personally victimized by them. He puts on his best affronted look, hoping Derek would somehow sense it with his wolfy powers.
"Derek, I'm not a 7-year-old girl walking through the ghetto. I think I can make it to your loft without the risk of being kidnapped or stabbed to death."
Derek huffs in irritation on the other end. "You're a nerdy white kid with a cell phone and it's almost dark out. Not to mention this is Beacon Hills, so forgive me for being skeptical," Derek replies dryly, and Stiles is too amused by their banter to argue.
"Yeah okay, fine. You're a real knight in shining armor. But seeing as you don't even know where I live, how exactly do you plan to find me? It's not like I have a bat signal over my head."
A heavy sigh greets his ear. "Werewolf, remember? If following your voice wasn't effective enough, then your smell would be."
Stiles takes a moment to ponder over that. "So you memorized my scent?" He wonders if he should be more concerned about that, but an odd feeling of pleasure takes precedence by settling in his chest.
"Hardly. You smell like grass and fast food, and a little like…" Stiles raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to finish but he doesn't. Instead he hears the light puffs of breath and the soft footfalls on gravel.
"What? If you're implying I smell bad, your nose must have been damaged during the transition because I smell awesome."
Stiles was pretending not to sniff at his underarm (if anyone asks, he was totally stretching and nothing more) when a voice sounds from down the street.
"Like medicine."
This time the voice didn't come through the phone but a little ways down the street. Stiles makes an unflattering noise and plays hot potato with his phone until it slips past his fingers and skitters a few inches away from him. "Jeez! Can't you warn a guy before sneaking up?"
He's reaching down to recapture his phone when another hand gets there first, strong fingers wrapping around the device and lifting it easily off the ground. If his hand happens to brush against the warmth of Derek's, he plays it off like he doesn't notice.
"Uh thanks," he says awkwardly as he accepts it back from the other teen. Now that they are face to face without a crowd of onlookers, Stiles takes a few seconds to really look at Derek.
He seems roughly the same except his muscles are less defined and there isn't any noticeable facial hair, though what really captures Stiles' attention are his eyes. Instead of being plagued by the anger and guilt that had accompanied the older Derek around like an abused puppy, these eyes look more concerned than anguished.
It was a nice change, he decides.
Derek's still wearing his signature leather jacket, which Stiles thinks attributed to his stealthy approach going undetected, and his jeans seem to rest loosely at his hips from the change in his body mass. Stiles is briefly reminded of 'Miguel' and bets his shirts would fit him a lot better now. A slight flush creeps across his face as that line of thought leads to the absurd image of Derek tugging off his favorite shirt, smoldering eyes boring into his.
When he finally focuses back on Derek, he has one eyebrow lifted and his mouth is quirked to the side in a smirk.
"Shut up. You have no idea what I was thinking about. God, you're obnoxious," he huffs, striding past him and feeling a tinge of satisfaction for at least being a little taller than the other boy. He adds that to the list of things to rub in Derek's face when he changes back.
Derek just rolls his eyes as he jogs to his side. "So what's with the medicine? …Are you sick?"
Images of his mom, lifeless in a hospital gown, flicker through his mind before he settles his gaze firmly on his shoes. "No, I'm not sick." Anymore, he almost adds, but then he never really was to start with. The Nogitsune had been so much worse.
"It's just Nightquil," He adds evasively, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He suspects Derek knows there's more to it, but he lets the topic drop without complaint.
The older Derek would have flared his nostrils and glared at him until the silence got so uncomfortable that Stiles rambled out the answer Derek wanted. He's grateful that younger Derek has a little more tact.
They continue walking for several minutes in what Stiles hopes is companionable silence and not the awkward kind, but it's hard to tell with Derek. They're only a few blocks away when the first drops of rain start to fall. It feels surprisingly refreshing against his skin, and Stiles doesn't bother to pull his hood up. Instead he tilts his face up towards the downpour, a relaxed smile on his face as the sweat and dirt wash away.
"Stiles, you're getting soaked," Derek half yells over the thunder that resonates around them. He has his jacket pulled rigidly over his head, looking at Stiles like he was insane (and okay, maybe he was a little). Stiles just laughs, shaking his head and watching the water spray threaten Derek who has enough sense to step back before growling.
"C'mon, you idiot," Derek says gruffly, dragging Stiles the rest of the way to the loft with Stiles putting up minimal resistance (which isn't to say he helped either, Derek was on the verge of throwing him over his shoulder before the building finally loomed into view). They stumble through the doorway in a tangle of limbs.
Derek is leveling him with his best bitch face, which Stiles can't help but find hilarious after having faced the fully-grown version. "Dude, you look like you just licked a lemon," Stiles snickers, earning a grunt of annoyance from the ex Alpha.
"Shut up and take your shoes off," Derek grumbles, tossing the wet jacket over the back of the chair as he strides further into the loft. Stiles spares a glance at the carpet, which really doesn't look like it could get much worse, but abides none the less.
He sets the sneakers off to the side of the door, pausing to look around for any changes since he was last here. There weren't any, much to his disappointment.
He follows Derek into the apartment, jerking his head uselessly to try and dislodge the water build-up in his ears when a towel hits him in the face.
"Stop getting water everywhere. You're worse than a dog," Derek remarks from where he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Stiles glares from under the towel.
"Well you would know," He responses automatically, rubbing the towel over his damp hair and face.
"Why did I want you here again?" Derek asks flatly to no one in particular.
"Because of my sparkling personality and my dazzling good looks?" Stiles quips optimistically.
Derek deadpans. "Such a sourwolf," Stiles mutters under his breath.