The majority of the weeks passed were spent in front of the fireplace, reading books, and eating the various snacks Stiles picked from the grocery store. Cupcakes that come in boxes, chips of every flavor, and he even brought back a frozen pizza, which he was very proud to have cooked over the fire. It was quiet and peaceful most of the time. We had even gotten out into the yard and cleaned the place up a bit, making it feel more welcoming and comfortable. Living so many years in the burnt remains of my family home had left me... immune... to the dust and decay that surrounded me. But Stiles seemed happier with the minor improvements, so it was fine.
I had also spent many hours over the last weeks watching him. No longer his breathing at night, but now his day to day habits. The way he crinkles his nose when he reads something interesting. How his lips twitch when he's thinking of something smart-assy to say. The way his hands swing at his sides when he's walking up and down the paths. Its all so simple. So easy. Like there's nothing in the world that could make life not worth every breath. The sun rises and sets for him and him only.
I catch him sneaking subtle glances at me too. Mostly when I'm cutting more wood for the fireplace, but also when I'm going about my own day. When he thinks I'm not looking. But I'm always looking, in some way. We catch eyes for brief moments at a time, and there's an energy in the air that feels like touching the screen of an old TV, but in a good way. And then its gone, just as fast as it was there. I'll give him a brooding look and he'll fumble with something in his pockets. Somehow there's always something in those things. Maybe he keeps stuff there for that purpose. Laundry must be a nightmare at his house.
The air is getting colder, and some mornings we wake up to little patches of snow along the grass, glossy and glimmering in the early sunrise. Its beautiful. It catches the light and delicately lays upon the earth, completely untouched and clean. Soon the pond will freeze, and there will be no evenings spent listening to the water lap along the edges of the bank. For months, it will be still, and so I will I.
This is the longest I've ever been still.
"I'm going for a walk. Its a little cold outside but you can come if you think you won't freeze to death."
Stiles looked up at me from over his book. "Pride and Prejudice". Laura kept shelves stocked for the summer days we spent here. Must be one of the ones she left when she...
"Yeah, uh, let me throw my shoes on really quick."
He slid his bookmark carefully between the pages. Already half way through. Impressive. I never had the attention span to read a full book in no less than a month, but this one is about to join the pile that he's already read through. He's smart. Way, way too smart.
"Alright, I'm going towards the back of the property today. Be ready for a long day. Bring a snack."
With that, I left him to his devices and stepped out the back door. My breath fogs out in front of me in waths of warmth, lingering for just a moment before dissipating into the air. The leaves are all but dead now, leaving little color to be seen. The trees seem to be sleeping, no birds or squirrels bustling around in them.
"Lets hit the road, Joe."
Stiles appeared behind me, wearing a heavy coat we pulled out of the closet. It had holes in the pockets and it smells like moth balls, but he managed to pull it off. I'd like to pull it off too, but that's why I try not to look at him for too long.
"Joe?"
...
The walk was long, as I warned, but Stiles had somehow made it through the whole thing without one complaint. I think the great outdoors is starting to grow on him. Good thing too, considering that we'll probably be out here for a while.
Rounding the path, the pond came into full view. It was completely still, no rippes or splashes from any corner. It looked like glass, reflecting the sun off its face and beaming light all around the trees.
"This is uh... I'm the only person that knows about this."
Stiles looked ahead, contemplating the view. He stood for a long time, just staring, grazing his eyes along the egdes of the pool, the shortl dock that led just over the edge of the water, the rope swing that hung upon an old branch that had been used for many summers, worn down to threads. I'm staring at him, and I don't look away this time. I openly, daringly watch him, all while he's taking it in. I feels like I'm giving him something big. Like I'm giving him a piece of myself.
Finally, he spoke.
"This is where you come all the time, isn't it?"
My eyes fall down to his shoulder, and I wait a moment before I answer. This feels intimate.
"Yeah. I come here as often as I can. Its mine. No one else comes here, so I get to just sit and think and brew. But most of the time, I watch the toads leap."
He chuckles, his breath coming out in short bursts of fog. I swear they make the air sweeter.
"Don't think we'll find any of those today. Why did you want me to come out here?"
I pause, not knowing what to say. I don't know why I brought him out here. Why I wanted him to see this.
"I just thought you'd like to get out of the cabin."
A lie.
He looked at me from the sides of his eyes, knowing damn well I was lying too. Too damn smart.
We walked over to the dock, sitting down on the damp wood. He pulled a granola bar out of his pocket, tearing it open and taking a huge bite. Crumbs fell down his shirt and I looked away quickly, restraining myself from reaching under it to grab them.
"Want some?"
He pushed the bar towards my face, offering the now slobbery snack to me. It was halfway gone with the size of the bite he just took, but damn. Why the hell not.
In a moment of bravery, I leaned down and took a much smaller bite. He was still holding it, and as I leaned back up, I glimpsed his now shaking hand.
Maybe that wasn't a great idea.
"They're good granola bars. Good choice..."
He cleared his throat and adjusted on the dock just a little bit, scooching his butt around just a bit. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was adjusting something else.
"The lake is really pretty. No wonder you come out here so often."
"Yeah. Its the only place where I can just sit and feel like I'm not rushing to get from one problem to the next."
He looked at me curiously. I think that's the first time I've ever spoken to him and said something thoughtful. Usually I'm threatening him or telling him to shut the fuck up. But today I feel like talking.
"It really has to be exhausting Derek. You are a huge dick and all, but there's good reason for it. Sometimes. I feel like you just need a couple years or whatever to breathe. Relax. Maybe you could get an office job at some boring tech company or start a blog or something. Ya know, once this whole 'manhunt for America's Most Wanted Werewolf' shit is over."
I chuckle, feeling the amusement in my chest. It feels like I never laugh anymore. In high school, things were different. There was laughter often. Joy. But it left me a long time ago, and rarely shows its face now.
"Yeah, definitely. Corporate jobs are totally my thing. Slacks are way better than jeans." I say sarcastically. This time, he's laughing.
It sings through the air, warming me up and lifting the weight of the world just a bit.
"Yeah... I mean, the last couple weeks... they haven't been terrible, ya know? Its been kinda nice not worrying about anyone. I feel like the last few years have been a tornado of constant battles. Running. Fear. Constant fear. But this place feels... safe."
I look at him for a long moment after that, taking in the words he just shared with me. Its tender, intimate to be sitting here with him like this. That static is back, thick and heavy. After a long moment, he looks at me, his eyes deep in some kind of thought.
The space between us starts to shorten, our breath starting to mingle. I can smell the mint of his toothpaste floating up to my nose, his exhales becoming shoter and quicker. His heart is pounding. Werewolf senses leave little room for secrets.
Our lips brush. I can feel the heat of his skin. It radiates off of him like a heater.
And then, rustling. Over his shoulder, across the dock, there's rustling coming from the edge of the trees poking out just along the banks of the pond. Quiet, but not quiet enough.
I stand up, immediately feeling the cold seep back into my face and hands and chest.
"There's something in the bushes." I tell Stiles.
He shoots up next to me, searching the trees in a frenzy. His eyes are wide and darting left to right, up and down, trying to figure out what I sense that he can't.
Just then, a squirrel darts out from the low branches of a bush. It has a nut gripped tightly in its paws, shoving an acorn neatly into its cheeks. It must be stocking up any last nuts and seeds it can find.
Stiles sighs, a large fog surrounding his face like a cloud.
"Jesus Christ Derek, you really gotta get out more."
I look behind my shoulder, giving hime a short glance before turning back to the trees. Walking over a few steps ahead, I see it. Another foot print. This one is fresher, cleaner. It hasn't been down long enough to be filled with debris or covered by mud.
Someone is here.
...
The walk back to the cabin felt much longer than the walk to the pond. Again, complete silence for the whole journey. Stiles walked slightly behind me, careful not to be too close. I'm not sure if it was because of the fact that he thinks I'm terrified of woodland animals, or if...
I don't know. Its better not to ask.
I would have done it. If that stupid fucking squirrel hadn't interrupted me.
Stiles took up his usual spot at the fireplace once again, putting his feet towards the warm stones and his head to the side of the couch, rested while he read his book. He hadn't so much as looked at me since we got back.
"I'm going to bed. Make sure not to let any hot coals hit he ground."
Without waiting for his answer, I headed to the room, stripped out of my clothes, and buried myself under the covers. They no longer had the stale odor to them from when we first arrived. Now they smelled like... us.
"Us". As if there would ever be such a fucking thing.
Pushing that to the side, my mind leapt back to the foot print. It had been directed towards the forest, like someone was walking into it, not out of it. Like someone was trying to stay concealed.
This changes things. This changes everything. There's someone watching us. Waiting. Plotting.
I can't tell Stiles. He'll worry himself sick, maybe wander out by himself and get into trouble. The woods are huge, and even sometimes I don't know where I'm at, walking around for hours. The terrain is different out here than it is in Beacon Hills. It could be a disaster.
He can't know yet. Its his turn to be taken care of. Protected. And I'll make sure of it, at every cost. Even if it hates me for hiding it from him.
I'll protect him.
