Seated in the passenger seat of Jackson's vehicle, Stiles silently watched the yellow line dividing the lanes of Interstate 5 roll beneath the car.
Occasionally he would glance out the open window, acres of pine trees and monoculture fields a steady blur surrounding them.
Jackson hadn't bothered to ask whether or not Stiles was okay since leaving the burger shack, and Stiles hadn't asked where they were going, even though they had been driving for several hours now.
Theirs was turning into one of those beautiful and rare friendships built on a no-bullshit foundation. And silence. Stiles appreciated silence.
Kind of like his friendship with Isaac, except Isaac made him talk about–
Isaac. He never called Isaac back.
"Fuck," Stiles said, raising a hand to rest against his temple.
Jackson simply started laughing, pulling off the road and driving toward an empty gravel parking lot overlooking an even emptier strip of shore.
Derek studied John's steeled face, deep lines made darker by the slanted rays of the fading sun. He contorted his face into what he hoped was an emotionless slate, attempting to match the other man's.
Internally, he huffed, realize that it was probably a waste of time, since that removed collectedness was clearly a family trait. God damn, infuriating Stilinskis.
"Do you love him?" John asked, blank face slowly giving way to a more tired one.
Derek glanced around the darkening walls of John's bedroom, attempting to put some space between himself and the question, even if it was only mental.
Unfortunately, the attempt was a poor one considering he now sat where Stiles had laid sleeping hours before. An earthy spice rising above the otherwise cloying scent of death in the room.
"Christ," John said, looking down at the empty pill tray between them.
"We've only just met," Derek said, shrugging his shoulders, "It's difficult to say."
"The fact that you've only known one another for two days doesn't seem to have stopped you from taking other liberties," John said, pausing to release a series of deep coughs.
Derek stared down at the pill tray while he waited for the fit to pass.
"Could you love him?" John asked, voice finally found.
Derek remained silent while he considered the new question. He didn't really know what he felt.
Stiles had changed the game in a matter of hours. Minutes probably – the one minute it took for him to set his foot inside the house.
It almost felt like Derek had grown up his whole life believing that the sky was blue, and then Stiles came crashing in to make him see that it was really purple, or green, or some other damn color.
"You need to ask him," John said, eyes closing as he was interrupted by another deep cough, "Ask him about Ethan."
Something buzzed in the back of his mind at the name, like a red flag signifying something important.
He knew that Stiles had bitterly mentioned the name a few times to his father in the last few days, so it was clearly an ex relationship, but Derek didn't know exactly how significant it had been.
Enough for John to want him to know about it.
Derek turned back to the other man only to find his eyes still closed, head fully rested on the pillows stacked behind him.
Derek moved quietly to leave the bed, but paused at John's voice.
"Stiles is a good boy," John said, eyes still shut and voice thinning, "When he gets back from school, I'll tell him so. He doesn't hear that enough."
Derek moved away from the bed, but paused for a few minutes to watch the man fall into sleep, the remaining sunlight fading quickly from the room.
These last few days were not going to be easy. Not for any of them.
Stiles let the crash of the waves roll over his back as he clung onto Jackson's bare shoulders.
As the tide broke, Stiles felt himself flung backward by Jackson, the air hurtling and whizzing all around him.
Just before his body met the waves, he heard himself laugh for the first time in a long time. A really long time.
