Preface
Love with UrgencyPosted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/1184208.
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Teen Wolf (TV)
Relationship:
Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Character:
Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags:
Red String of Fate, Canonical Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, magical!Stiles, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates
Stats:
Published: 2014-02-14 Words: 5147
Love with Urgency
by SymbioticAntithesis
Summary
The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. Stiles Stilinski can see these threads.
Notes
I really don't know how I feel about this. And I really feel like the ending is abrupt. But . . . yeah.
Happy Valentines Day, I guess.
Title comes from Mumford and Sons' song Not With Haste
See the end of the work for more notes
Love with Urgency
He noticed them when he was six. It had been gradual, faint pink lines weaving between people and objects, but nobody could see them. No one, apparently, but him. Everyone would walk right through them like they weren't even there. He noticed that the red strings – because after a few weeks when they became clearer, he knew that's what they were – were attached to each person's left pinky. Stiles also noticed that there was a red string that connected his parents.
At first he assumed the string connected two people who were married, but then he realized that not all of his friends' parents – not the McCalls, not the Martins, not the Whittemores – were connected.
So he asked his mom about the red string.
And Claudia told him a story.
It took some time for Stiles to get used to seeing hundreds of red threads intersecting his vision, but when he did, he couldn't stop tracking them with his eyes like a bloodhound following a scent.
Some people's strings were fainter than others. Some had two. Some had none.
Once he watched one man's string break and fade away in the grocery store.
Another time he saw two soul mates accept a third.
And yet another time he watched as one person's thread fade only to reconnect with someone else.
He took to watching his parents interact with each other. The corner of John's eyes would crease when Claudia made him smile. Claudia's eyes would follow John's hands when they moved. John would brush his hand against her waist. She would run her fingers down his arm.
And most importantly, a bold red thread trailed between them, connecting them together.
He couldn't help but become infatuated with Lydia Martin. She was beautiful and intelligent. She had a razor sharp wit and didn't tolerate anything but the best. Stiles loved her.
But she wasn't his soul mate.
He didn't care.
Stiles was seven.
He asked his mom once if she believed in the story of the Red String of Fate, in soul mates. She said that she believed that there were many people that one was compatible with, but only a few would truly fit and it was rare to find them.
Stiles asked if she thought John was her One. She smiled and said, "Yes, I do."
And he felt contentment and hope settle in his chest.
Because if Claudia could feel the bond of the red thread, that meant others could too. It meant that those who couldn't see the thread – people who weren't him – would know if they've found their soul mate. It meant that those who haven't found their One yet might still find them one day.
He certainly hoped for it.
Stiles met Scott McCall when he was five, a year before he started seeing the red thread.
They became fast friends – best friends – and they told each other everything.
But when he turned six and saw Scott's thread periodically fade in and out, Stiles decided that this was one thing he wasn't going to tell his friend.
Some things, he thought, were better left unsaid.
Stiles got his first detention when he was ten.
Well, it was more like he got a fist to the face because he tried to push two of his classmates together whose threads led to each other. Neither of them took to it and the boy ended up punching him.
Claudia and John sat him down that night and he ended up revealing his ability to see the red threads. His parents didn't quite know how to respond to his revelation, but then Claudia finally understood Stiles' curiosity regarding the Red String of Fate and soul mates. They accepted his unique gift, but asked him to be more careful with his attempts at matchmaking.
Stiles agreed, and decided that he wouldn't even try to intervene unless it was necessary. When he grew into his teens, he altered his decision to allow himself to match people if the timing was right. Then as a young adult, he altered it again to only those he was close to and cared about.
After all, just because he could see whom everyone should spend the rest of their life with didn't mean it was his responsibility to ensure they found each other.
When he first started seeing the red threads, he refused to look at his own pinky. He didn't want to know who his soul mate was, didn't like the idea of predestination. A few weeks later, however, curiosity got the better of him and he looked.
He broke down crying.
Stiles didn't think that at the age of six he'd be so affected by something as squicky and adult as love.
He was obviously wrong.
Because he didn't have a red thread wrapped around his little finger. There was nothing.
Stiles' mother fell ill when he was eleven and each day she became weaker and weaker, the thread connecting her and his dad grew fainter and fainter. He cried himself to sleep daily and he refused to look at either of his parent's hands.
Why would the fates connect two people only to take one of them away so soon? Stiles didn't understand it.
When Claudia passed away a year later – it was so sudden, the doctor and nurses said she was getting better, but they were wrong – the red string around John's left pinky disappeared all together and Stiles had his first panic attack. His heart clenched painfully in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. His limbs were trembling uncontrollably and tears welled in his eyes. He heard vague voices, he felt hands ghosting over his shoulders, on his arms. His vision was swimming and he sank to the ground in a faint.
When he woke, he was tucked in his bed and John was slumped in a chair next to him. Stiles reached out and gingerly touched his dad's hand, which jolted him awake.
"Stiles," he said, his voice rough with sleep as he rubbed his tired eyes. "You all right, buddy?"
"No," he answered, honest. He let his eyes rove over his dad's face. His eyes were full of grief and they looked almost lifeless. There were bags under John's eyes even though he just woke from slumber and the creases in his face looked deeper. Instead of the laughter lines Claudia used to give him, they were trails of tears and despair. Stiles reached forward again and tugged John's finger; he didn't want to look at his dad's pinky, but he also didn't want to be alone tonight. He didn't want his dad to be alone tonight, either.
John huffed a quiet laugh and stood. "All right." He joined Stiles on the bed, under the covers, and Stiles fell back asleep in the comfort of his dad's warmth.
He met Derek Hale when he was thirteen. John had picked him up after school and taken him grocery shopping and while his father loaded the cart with frozen dinners, Stiles wandered over to the produce to pick out some fruits and vegetables. If he left the cooking completely to his father, they'd only have TV dinners and as much as Stiles liked how easy they were to prepare, Claudia would definitely disapprove.
Stiles turned the corner and saw Laura and Derek Hale. They seemed to be bickering over tomatoes and Stiles couldn't help but smile a little. He's seen Derek around town – Beacon Hills isn't very big – and there were many a girl (and guy) who swooned over him. Admittedly, he was very good looking but never seemed very approachable. Stiles liked to admire from afar. Just because he didn't have a soul mate and fell half in love with Lydia the year after in spite of it, it didn't mean he couldn't look.
He sidled up to them and picked up some tomatoes on the vine. "These are better for you," he said, going for casual. "They don't spray them with chemicals and stuff so they turn red."
The Hales turned, two piercing blue-green eyes suddenly trained on him, and Stiles heart stuttered in his chest.
"Stiles?" Laura said, her expression morphing into vague amusement and concern. Derek didn't say or do anything. Simply stared, brows furrowed, a contemplative and curious look on his face.
He gave them a tentative smile. "Hi," he said lamely, moving the hand that was still holding the tomatoes. His gaze involuntarily dropped to the Hales' hands. Laura's string curved somewhere to the north and Derek . . . Derek didn't have one. Stiles swallowed and glanced to his own bereft finger. He knew that there were others like him, others who didn't have a soul mate – he's seen some of them around town – but they had all eventually formed a connection with someone. Stiles wasn't completely sure how the thread worked, but sometimes the string was fickle, which didn't make any sense to him. "I just – er – my dad's terrible at shopping healthy."
Laura returned his smile. "Is that so?" she said.
"Yeah," he said, relaxing a little. "He's buying TV dinners," he continued in a mock whisper, looking between the siblings. "I mean, even I know that eating that stuff daily isn't good for you. So y'know." He waved the tomatoes around, this time with purpose. "Gotta save ourselves somehow."
Laura laughed. "Well I'm sure the Sheriff will be delighted to know that you're willingly picking up greens to eat."
"Who said I was doing this willingly?" he said, grinning.
"Stiles," his father's voice came from behind him, and Stiles jumped in surprise.
"Dad!" he whirled around. "I was just – uh . . ."
John raised an eyebrow. "I thought I told you to stay with the cart."
"Daaad," he whined. "I'm thirteen! I'm not gonna get lost in the supermarket. Jeez." He heard stifled laughter and he glanced over his shoulder to see Laura hiding a smile behind her hand. Derek had a small smirk on his lips, his eyes bright with amusement. "You guys suck," he said, petulant.
Laura shrugged, grinning. "We have a big family and we take great pleasure in each others' misery." She nudged Derek with her elbow. "Isn't that right, Der?"
Derek's smirk disappeared and he shot his sister a warning look. "Only you do," he said.
Stiles shivered at the honey-smooth voice that washed over him and trickled down his spine. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks and he ducked his head to hide it.
And he saw a faint pink line linking his and Derek's pinky together that wasn't there before.
Oh.
Stiles tuned out his father and Laura's conversation – Derek mostly remained silent – as he stared in awe and apprehension at his little finger. He heard John apologize for his antics and Laura brushing it aside. He heard them laugh and exchange pleasantries.
But Stiles continued to stare at the red thread. It faded in and out – much like how Scott's did when he was six – and Stiles found himself willing it to solidify.
It didn't.
When they left the store, the string had disappeared.
Stiles started to run into Derek more often after the supermarket incident and he didn't know what to make of it.
Because each time they interacted, the string would reappear and become a little more solid.
Stiles didn't want to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help but be drawn to the older boy. Derek didn't seem to mind his company too much, either. Well, he rolled his eyes at his stupid jokes and raised his eyebrows when he said something completely out-of-the-blue, but Stiles never felt that they were judgmental. It was more like . . . Derek was amused and didn't quite know how to react to him.
Which was how a lot of people acted around Stiles, and more often than not they'd give up trying to tolerate him.
But Derek never did.
It felt nice having someone else to talk to besides Scott – who was still his best friend, of course; no one could ever usurp Scott – someone who just . . . accepted him.
A few months later, Stiles met Derek's parents, who were the only other married couple in Beacon Hills besides his own parents who were connected with the red thread. He idly toyed with the idea of asking Derek if he believed in soul mates. He wondered if Talia and Liam felt the connection.
Stiles never got the chance to ask.
After several months of acquaintanceship with Derek and the Hales, tragedy struck.
Kate and Gerard Argent were arrested for arson and first-degree murder. Only Laura and Derek survived the fire.
Stiles just turned fourteen.
The red thread disappeared completely and Derek and Laura left Beacon Hills without saying goodbye.
Stiles was hurt. Bitter.
But he couldn't blame them for leaving.
Life went on. High school went on. Lydia was dating Jackson again, though their strings went in opposite directions. They didn't belong together. Even if they were "the" couple of the school, Stiles couldn't help but feel sorry.
Scott met Allison when they were sixteen, and Stiles, for the first time in his short life, saw a red string burst from their entire being. He had to stifle a shout of surprise as he watched the string tangle between Scott and Allison, weaving them together intricately, intimately, and Stiles couldn't help but feel just a little bit jealous.
"Marry that girl, Scott," he told him one day, several months after Scott and Allison started dating.
Scott beamed.
Stiles graduated second in his class just after Lydia.
He went to college. He partied, he made friends, he lost his virginity. And he matched people up when he could, when he was lucky enough to find two ends of the string.
And his pinky remained steadfastly unadorned with a red thread.
He absolutely did not think of Derek Hale.
(He did.)
It was Stiles' last semester of college when he ran into him again.
Almost literally.
He was twenty-one.
"Watch it!" a familiar voice growled.
"Sorry!" he flailed, trying to find his balance on the stairs without face planting. "I'm just – " his voice stopped in his throat when he caught sight of the stranger's left pinky.
And his.
They were connected.
With a red string.
It was faint, but it was there.
Stiles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
Not a stranger, then.
It was Derek Hale. Derek, who Stiles hasn't seen since he was fourteen.
His heart hammered in his chest and he bit his lip. He almost didn't want to look up so he kept staring at Derek's hand instead.
"Just?" Derek said, and Stiles shivered at the smooth tenor. His voice had deepened a little more since the last time Stiles heard him. It sounded nice.
Stiles breathed in and lifted his gaze, and Jesus Christ, he didn't prepare himself enough. "Late," he finished, his voice weak.
Recognition and surprise crossed Derek's face, and those green-blue eyes widened, his mouth opening in awe, and Stiles blatantly stared. "Stiles?"
"Hi," he said, feeling awkward. He licked his lips and darted his eyes away. Derek had aged gorgeously. His cheeks and chin dusted with light stubble, his shoulders broad and muscled. Stiles felt his heart clench at the memory of Derek and Laura leaving without saying goodbye. After all these years, it still hurt. "Sorry," he mumbled, sidestepping Derek. "I need to get to class," he said, darting up the stairs and leaving Derek behind.
He thought he heard Derek call after him, but he ignored it.
He couldn't focus for the rest of the day.
"I didn't know you attended Berkley."
Stiles flinched at the voice and he pursed his lips, brows furrowed, and looked up from his book. At Derek. "I didn't know you cared," he retorted coldly.
Derek frowned. "What – "
"What do you want, Derek?" Stiles asked, fingers running across the pages of his textbook, a nervous tick.
"To make friendly conversation," he said, confused. "Stiles – "
"You never said goodbye," Stiles blurted. "If we were friends at all," he stared hard into Derek's eyes. "You could have at least given me that."
Derek looked taken aback, then he pulled out the chair across from Stiles and sat. "I thought it'd be easier," he said, looking abashed.
"Of course you did," he said drily. "I'd've thought, that after what happened," Stiles swallowed and Derek stiffened. "You'd understand the most what it's like not being able to say goodbye to someone you cared about."
Derek took in a deep breath, let it out slow. He idly tapped his fingertips on the table, distracted. "I know. I didn't – " He pursed his lips, then looked up to meet Stiles' eyes. "I was ashamed."
Stiles frowned. "Why?"
"It was my fault."
"How – "
"Kate Argent," he growled out, and Stiles shuddered involuntarily. "She used me."
Stiles opened his mouth. Closed it. "Oh," he said, his heart sinking into his chest. He drew random circles on the page of his book. "You never mentioned her."
"I know."
Stiles let his eyes rove over Derek's face. He looked uncomfortable, defensive, and Stiles knew that he's already forgiven him. Stiles wanted to know more – he always wanted to know more – yet he didn't want to push Derek away, didn't want to lose what could be. So instead he asked, "What're you doing in Berkley?"
Derek's shoulders relaxed and Stiles felt relief flood his veins. "Laura started her Doctorate here, and I'm going for my Masters."
Stiles smiled, "Cool."
They fell into easy conversation after that, like seven years hadn't passed between them.
And in his periphery, Stiles watched the red string between them darken.
As the semester wore on, the more he saw of Derek and Laura. And the more he saw Derek, the clearer the thread between them grew. Stiles relearned all of Derek's quirks and discovered new ones. They joked and laughed and he enjoyed Derek's company.
Derek was studying European history and Laura was delving into myths and mythology. They rented a two-bedroom apartment together just off campus like they had in New York. Stiles learned that Derek got his undergrad at NYU while Laura got her Masters. They both worked odd jobs around the city to supplement their inheritance from the fire.
As far as Stiles could glean from the siblings' body language, neither liked the idea of living off of their dead family's insurance money and they wanted to make it on their own. Stiles could definitely understand their need to distance themselves from the incident. He's avoided hospitals like the plague ever since Claudia passed away.
Derek and Stiles traded stories of college, Stiles filled him in on what happened in Beacon Hills after he and Laura left, and Derek told him of the life he had in New York. He had a weakness for bacon and could smell them a mile off – and that really wasn't exaggeration; sometimes Stiles wondered how Derek just knew which restaurants had the best meats (braised, roasted, grilled, smoked, and everything in between) – and he had developed a weakness for sweets. Stiles liked to watch Derek's face when he talked about his interests and hobbies; the creases between his brow would smooth out, his eyes would brighten, he'd smile. Moving away, Stiles knew, was the best thing for Derek after the fire. He needed to get away from the town, the memories of his family, and to start anew.
Stiles still would have appreciated a goodbye, though.
Even if he's forgiven Derek for the sudden abandonment, it didn't hurt any less.
And the abrupt disappearance of the thread had been terrifying, and Stiles had a panic attack almost as bad as the first one after his mom died.
Now that Derek was here with him, Stiles knew – even if he didn't have the ability to see the stupid red threads – he was falling in love and he wanted to be with Derek. He wanted Derek for the rest of their lives, if Derek would have him. And even though Stiles knew that red strings were forged out of nothing meant that the two persons were incredibly compatible, it didn't mean anything more than that.
He's seen threads fade, he's seen some shatter. Threads that blossomed out of nothing were bold and bright, but they were breakable. They weren't malleable like predestined ones. They were both stronger yet more fragile than predetermined threads, because building and maintaining a relationship, creating something from nothing took more effort. And how much effort one put in determined whether the string stayed or disappeared.
And Stiles was terrified.
He didn't know what to do.
It was easier to match other people with their soul mate than it was to match himself with . . . what? His potential soul mate? Perhaps this was what Claudia meant all those years ago. There were some people he'd meet that he'd be compatible with but only a few that would truly fit. Derek, he thought (hoped), was one of the latter.
Laura slyly mentioned once that Derek was smiling a lot more ever since they stumbled back into each other's lives, and Stiles would be lying if he didn't preen a little at the implication. Stiles made Derek laugh, he made Derek's face brighten, and he made Derek's eyes flash with amusement and fondness. But despite their mutual affection, Stiles was still unsure.
He ended up doing nothing.
It was the week of finals when something finally happened.
Friday night was the last of Stiles' tests and his fellow classmates had planned a huge party to celebrate the end of the semester and their undergrad career. Stiles had been invited, but he never gave an affirmative answer that he'd go. Usually he would, but something was needling in the back of his mind, a mild annoyance that Stiles couldn't quite shake.
He tried to ignore it by infiltrating Derek and Laura's apartment only to find it empty. He frowned, confused. He could see Laura going out tonight after completing her first semester of her Doctorate, but Stiles was so sure that Derek would be lounging on the sofa or on his bed reading a book. Or something.
Stiles kicked the front door closed, and threw his bag into the living room, feeling disappointed and disheartened. Now he really didn't want to go out, even if he just graduated with a Bachelor's. He sighed and wandered into Derek's room. He kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the mattress, drinking in Derek's scent.
The first couple of times he crashed at Derek and Laura's, he'd always insisted on sleeping on the couch, but neither Derek nor Laura would allow it. Derek would offer his bed and Stiles disliked kicking his friend out of its comfort, so after the second time they'd wordlessly agreed to share the bed. Once, Stiles swore he saw Laura give them both a fond yet exasperated smile.
Now, with the familiar smell of Derek in his nose and the warmth of Derek's blanket surrounding him, Stiles sighed in contentment and couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be. He drifted off quickly and didn't wake until morning.
And what a morning it turned out to be.
There was a warm body behind him, fingers carding through his hair, an arm slung around his waist, and Stiles cuddled in deeper into the comfort of the bed and the blankets. Derek – because it could only be Derek – huffed and snugged Stiles closer, nosed the back of his neck, nipped at his nape.
Stiles immediately stiffened. That was new. He felt Derek freeze, too. Then Derek's body heat was gone and Stiles was scrambling around to . . . what? To grab Derek's wrist before he bolted out the door.
"Derek?" Stiles said, his voice soft and questioning.
The older man refused to look at him, a light flush on his cheeks that reached his ears. He looked uneasy and embarrassed, like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole to avoid the awkward conversation that was about to follow. Stiles could sympathize.
"Talk to me." He tugged gently on Derek's wrist, but he kept his grip loose enough for Derek to pull away if he wished. He really hoped he didn't.
"I – " he started, swallowed. "I'm sorry. It was a rough night."
Stiles frowned. "Where were you? Laura wasn't home, either."
"I was with her," he said, and Stiles knew that he was hiding something.
"Derek." He tugged on Derek's wrist again and Derek sighed, finally focusing his gaze on Stiles, and Stiles gasped at the electric blue eyes that flashed back at him. "Oh my god." Derek blinked and his eyes returned to their usual green-blue color and Stiles could do nothing but gape at him in shock.
"The moon's still out," Derek said, as if it was supposed to explain everything.
"The moon?" Stiles asked stupidly. He turned to the window as if he could see it even with the curtains covering the panes. It took only a few more seconds for Stiles' brain to shift into gear and he whipped his attention back to Derek. "Werewolf?"
Derek nodded, tense.
Stiles blinked once. Twice. "I didn't notice," he said.
"You weren't supposed to notice," Derek replied, his tone dry. They stared at each other, the silence hanging between them like a thick veil. "You're taking this well," Derek said after long moments.
"I – Well, I didn't think there was anything more supernatural in the world than the threads, but yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." A beat of silence. "So that's how you always knew which restaurant to go to!"
Derek huffed, "I feel like you're about to make a dog joke."
"Do you want me to make a dog joke?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Then I won't."
Derek eyed him, disbelieving and Stiles took mild offense that Derek didn't think he could be mature. . . . Okay, so maybe he was right to be skeptical.
"You mentioned threads. What threads?" Derek asked.
"I – er – this is gonna sound crazy but – " Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine," he amended. "Maybe not so crazy 'cause I just found out one of my best friends is a werewolf, but I can see these red threads that connect people together. Soul mates, if you wanna call them that. Or the Red String of Fate." His eyes darted down to his hand, then to Derek's. Their thread was still there and it looked bolder than the last time he remembered. It was comforting.
"The Red String of Fate," Derek said, a hint of awe and reverence in his voice. "I've heard of it. You can see them?"
"Yeah," Stiles said, wrenching his eyes back to Derek's. "Ever since I was a kid."
"And – " This time, Derek's gaze dropped to stare pointedly between his and Stiles' hand.
Stiles swallowed. "We kind of – created ours?" he said. Stiles winced at how stupid and awkward that sounded. This was not a topic he thought he'd be having with Derek on the morning after finals, after the night of a full moon. Speaking of which . . . "Why was this moon different than the others?" he asked. "You were never this," he waved vaguely with his other hand; he was still holding Derek's wrist and Stiles wasn't sure if he should release him or not.
Derek snapped his attention back to Stiles, then frowned, the blush reappearing on his cheeks. "Wolves need anchors to help control their base instincts. My anchor changed this month, and I didn't realize it until . . . " he trailed off, then took a step forward to join Stiles on the bed again. "Until Laura and I were under the full light of the moon."
"Oh. And – "
"And I came back because it was easier to be closer to you."
Stiles stared at him for several moments then broke into a brilliant grin. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Derek's and Stiles felt the tension seep out of him. "I can deal with that." Derek huffed and extricated his wrist that Stiles was still holding so he could wrap his arm around Stiles' waist. Stiles scooted closer, Derek's warmth melting into his bones.
"So if you're a werewolf and you have enhanced senses – you do have enhanced senses, right?" Stiles started, and Derek pulled away just enough to eye him dubiously, a brow raised. "Why were you so surprised when we ran into each other on the stairs?"
Derek blinked and a light dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. Again. Stiles held in a smile.
"I was distracted," he huffed. "Your scent had changed and I didn't recognize it."
"Changed? Like how?"
"Like puberty," Derek deadpanned. This time, Stiles blushed and Derek smirked. Stiles scowled and gave Derek's leg a half-hearted shove. Derek laughed and tipped them backwards, taking Stiles with him. Stiles squeaked and flailed and ended up sprawled across Derek's chest. He glared petulantly down at soul mate – because that's what he supposed they were now – and poked him in the chest.
"Tell me more about werewolves."
"If you tell me more about the Red String."
"Okay."
Derek's smile turned soft and he brought a hand up to cup Stiles' cheek. "Okay."
He leaned in for a kiss.
Their lives didn't change as much as Stiles thought it would. Sure, there was the making out and the sex and ensuring the door was locked ('cause Laura accidentally walking in on them during foreplay really killed a boner and the embarrassment was something Stiles never wanted to experience again) and their monthly sojourn into a nearby forest preserve, but nothing really changed.
They still bickered and they still got on each other's nerves, but Derek also made Stiles happy. Those were the times Stiles liked to thread their fingers together, liking the sight of the red string connecting them.
But when they seriously fought, the string would waver, and the first time it happened Stiles had a panic attack. Derek had stopped mid-rant and enveloped him in his arms, calmed him with his voice and his warmth, and Stiles hadn't stopped shaking for hours. The second and third time it happened, Stiles learned that the thread wasn't so much as faltering but more like . . . reinforcing itself. It didn't make the sight any easier to accept, though, because a part of him always feared that he'll see the thread fade or worse, shatter.
Derek was always there to allay his thoughts when his mind would spiral out of control, and Stiles eventually realized that Derek was as much an anchor to him as he was to the werewolf. It made him feel a lot better about himself and his anxiety lessened each time Derek grounded him.
They were an unconventional pair, but he and Derek were different. And he was okay with that. Because sometimes, some people chose their own destines.
Afterword
End Notes
Edited 09-21-2014
Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!