Derek's room is very spartan.
I hesitate at the door, holding back as he walks in and drops his keys on the bare dresser against the wall. It's a small room, but enough for him, I guess. A single bed with a small night stand. A table and a couple chairs. A tv. Not any different than any of the motel rooms I've seen, lacking personality and flair.
"You coming in?" he asks, looking back at me, and I'm tempted to shake my head and run back home. Because it feels wrong, somehow, to intrude on his space, bare and empty as it is. Maybe I could actually make it without falling on my face this time. "Ares," he says, as if he can read my mind, and holds his hand out. "Come on."
So I step in, closing the door behind me, and don't move any further. My ankle doesn't feel like it's going to die anymore, but it's sore so I shift my weight off of it and lean back against the door.
"The room isn't going to come alive and eat you, you know," he says, and he's teasing, the asshole.
"Would you pull a Roland and jump in shooting if it did?" I ask quietly. His brows furrow in confusion. "The Dark Tower books," I clarify. "There's a demon house that tries to eat a kid, and the Gunslinger crosses worlds to save him."
It was a beautiful moment in the series, the reunion of Jake and Roland, if you stand what Susannah had to go through for it to happen.
Derek seems to think it over. "I haven't read them," he admits, and I frown as he goes on. "Never been big on Stephen King."
"We can't be friends anymore."
It surprises a laugh out of him. "Really? This is where you draw the line?" he asks.
"A girl needs standards, Derek Hale." But I can't help the smile that breaks free, and he returns one of his own sunshine smiles. I glance around again, still not moving from my spot. "Is it okay here?" I ask, noting the hamper hidden in the corner and wonder absentmindedly where he goes to wash his clothes. His smile fades, and I internally kick myself for ruining his mood.
"It's fine," he says finally. "It's… it's not home," he goes on. "But it's fine."
"Hard for hunters to come gun blazing in a public place," I remind him. "Especially if you're a paying customer." He doesn't answer, but I like to think he sees the genius in my logic. Neither of us speaks or moves for a moment, not quite sure of what to do.
"Can I shower?" I ask suddenly, and he looks up in surprise. My skin feels gross, and I can feel my shirt sticking to my elbow.
He opens his mouth, closes it, and before I can worry that I asked the wrong thing, he gives a nod. "It's in there." He gestures to the door not far from the bed. I cross the room, only to pause by the door when he speaks up. "What-" He clears his throat. "Are you going to wear that again?" I frown, looking down at my clothes. My shirt is bloody at the elbow, and my pants are torn.
"I mean. I don't have any others." He scowls, and before I can protest, he's digging into his dresser. "Dude, no-"
"Shut up and take them," he orders, crossing the room and holds out a bundle out for me. "What's the point of showering if you're just going to get back into your bloody clothes?" And damn his logic. I look up at him.
"You sure?"
"It's fine," he assures, motioning for me to take them. I hesitate, but nod and take them from him. Afterall, it's not much different than when I would steal Warren's clothes.
Except that Derek isn't Warren. Derek is Derek. And Derek is. Derek is different.
Before I can think too much about it, I croak out a quiet "Thanks" and make my escape into the bathroom.
My knee and elbow start bleeding again when I peel my clothes off of them, and bruises have already started to form around the scrapes. But they aren't as bad as I thought they would be. A bit raw and sore, but not bad.
Soflamera, Elisa would say. Vete correr otra vez.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the water and try to banish her words away. It works as well as one might imagine.
The room is empty when I step out of the bathroom, wearing clothes that aren't mine and holding those that are clutched to my chest. I don't move from the doorway as I process the distinct lack of Derek Hale in the room. I try to think of where he might have gone off to as I make my way to the bed, noting that the blankets are actually really nice for a motel before sitting, moving a pillow so I can lean back against the headboard.
Maybe he went for ice?
He isn't gone long enough for me to start worrying. Not a full minute after I've sat down, there's the jingle of keys at the door, and it swings open, revealing Derek, wrestling the key away from the door. He doesn't notice me until he's finally gets it free, and he stops when he sees me sitting on the bed. His expression goes blank, and I can almost hear his brain frying. I can't imagine why, though. But he shakes his head before it can get weird, and steps in, closing the door behind him.
"Hey."
"Hey." I pause, eying the bag in his hands. "You left?"
He nods, and doesn't seem to know where to go, and so stays by the door. "The gas station down the street." He pauses, seems to debate whether it's worth telling me what he has on his mind. "I think Scott called your aunt."
"Why?" I ask, and it gets caught in my throat.
"She called me?" he offers, watching my expression carefully. I swallow hard, because shit. She's gonna call Dad. Shitshitshitshit- "She just wanted to make sure you were okay." Derek says, setting the bag down and crossing the room. His face is blurry again, and God, Ares can't you stop crying? "You're not-" His voice is hard, frustrated, and I can't tell if it's at me or not. He must notice this, because he stops, gathers himself. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. "Ares, you're not in trouble." He rests his hand on my arm. "Alright?"
I nod, wiping at my face, but not trusting myself to speak just yet. His eyes are searching, and he must find what he's looking for, because he steps back and grabs the bag from where he dropped it.
"Here," he says, sitting in front of me, and the bed dips under his weight. He holds the bag out to me, and I'm hit with a sense of deja vu. After he had gotten shot, and "Full Rage Ares" made an appearance. I take the bag and pull it into my lap, on top of my clothes, and furrow my brows as I pull out a plastic wrapped sandwich. "Your aunt said to make sure you eat something," he said in way of explanation when I hold it up in confusion.
I set it aside, because there's more goods in the bag. A bottle of water, a bottle of Tylenol, a purple package of-
"Chokis?" I look up at him, no doubt with the very same Steven Universe eyes Scott does with Allison, and I wonder if he can hear my heart explode. Just. In pieces with shards stabbing my lungs. Because I think I just fell in love. He doesn't bother to answer, but I can see red creeping up from his neck. "I'm marrying you," I blurt out before I can stop myself, and his brows shoot up in surprise.
"I thought we couldn't be friends anymore," he reminds me, and I frown. "We can get married after you've eaten something," he allows, taking the cookies from my hands and replacing them with the sandwich. I don't pout, but it's a close thing. "Your hands okay?" he asks, and I turn them over. They look… not that great, but they don't hurt as much.
"Fine," I assure him, and prove it by unwrapping the sandwich. It's simple, turkey and cheese, cold and a little dry. "Did… did Melissa say anything else?" I ask hesitantly, tearing a corner of the sandwich off. Crumbs fall into my lap, and I brush them away off the bed.
"Wanted to know where you were," he says, reaching over and grabbing the water, the bottle of medicine, and the abandoned bag in front of me. "If you were hurt."
"You told her I fell?"
"I told her you rolled your ankle," he says, not at all concerned with the betrayal in my voice. "She said to make sure it was okay." He opens the medicine bottle, and after tossing away the cotton shakes two pills into his hand. He holds them out to me, prompting me to take them by arching a brow. Setting the sandwich on my lap, I let him drop them into my hand and wait for him to open the water.
"My ankle is fine now," I tell him after taking the pills. I bring my leg up onto the bed, biting back a hiss of pain as I bend my knee, and pull up the pant leg. There isn't any swelling, and only a small bruise has appeared below the ball of my ankle. I poke at it, and Derek catches my hand and pulls it away.
"Stop that," he chides, and I crinkle my nose at him.
"It really is fine. I think I got super lucky." I pause as I munch on the sandwich. And wow, it's a lot better than I thought it would be. Kinda like the ones back at the student union back at school, where I'm still pretty sure they sprinkle cocaine on the bread.
"You think?"
I nod and wipe the crumbs off my face. "One time at a track meet, a guy landed wrong jumping hurdles." It was something from a horror movie, honestly. Derek makes a face, looking away. "I just needed off of it for a bit. I'm good now."
He looks at me, eyes searching. "Are you?" And it isn't my ankle he's talking about. I take a breath, leaning back against the headboard and consider the question.
I've been better, obviously, but it's not the worst I've been. You only have to ask Alicia about the week before Aaron finally let me come out here. And honestly, if Dad had called any other time and still said what he said,
Maybe we can come up and visit you
I probably wouldn't have run. It was just at the wrong time, I think.
"I'm…" I close my eyes and shake my head. "I will be. I've just been…" I struggle for words, and when none of my own come out, I default to Scott's. "Stressed?" Derek arches a brow at the lack of surety in my voice.
"With what happened Wednesday." It isn't a question. A confirmation, maybe.
I nod. "And the alpha, and the Argents, the full moon Monday. And I was okay."
"Ares, you weren't okay-"
"I was!" I argue, and my voice rises. "I was," I repeat, quieter this time. "I mean, I was dealing." Dealing poorly, according to Scott and Melissa, but hey, they got a clean house out of it and a fridge full of food, so they really can't complain all that much.
"What happened then?"
Maybe we can come up and visit you
I look up at him. His expression is patient, far more patient than I've ever seen him have with Scott. There's concern there, too, in his eyes. I look up at him, and remember that he doesn't really have anyone left. His tio, maybe, but his tio can't be there for him in the state that he's in. And for me to explain that it was a call from my dad that sent me into a panic, that it was an offer to visit… It feels selfish, almost.
I drop my gaze and pick at the sandwich in my lap. "I… I don't really wanna talk about it," I tell him quietly, and I half expect him to argue. Instead he sighs - and not that judgmental sigh Dad does.
"Alright."
I look up at him. "Alright?"
He nods, and offers the beginning of a reassuring smile. "Alright. Finish your sandwich."
I crinkle my nose at him and take a bite out of the sandwich dramatically. As it turns out, I apparently lose the ability to properly eat food when emotionally compromised, and I almost end up choking on the bread. But then there's Derek holding out the water bottle, already opened. He looks exasperated, but amused.
"Impossible human," he says as I drink.
"I am the best human," I tell him once I can breathe again. "I mean. Most of the time," I correct. "When I'm not out ruining everyone's night." I sigh, no longer in the mood for the cocaine sprinkled sandwich. Derek frowns as I wrap it back up and set it aside on the night stand.
We sit in silence for a moment, before Derek breaks it, and he sounds oddly… cheerful?
"You wanna do something?"
I look up in confusion. "Do something?"
He nods. "Go somewhere."
Not entirely sure what to make of this, I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what the seven hells brought this about. "Go where?"
"Holy shit, dude."
I don't have to look at Derek to know he's just beaming. He sets me down carefully - because a fifteen minute hike had to happen for us to get here, and we pulled a Twilight again because he didn't want my ankle to fuck up anymore - and I still manage to stumble. Not because of my ankle (maybe because of my ankle) but because I'm too busy looking up, looking around.
"Dude, holy shit."
"You mentioned," he says as he steadies me, and he's smiling like he just discovered Eldorado. Or just walked into a panaderia and they just set out fresh conchas and marranitos.
We stand at the edge of a clearing somewhere deep in the Preserve. The moonlight fills the area, illuminating it as almost as bright as it would be during the day. It catches on the dew on the grass, on the very few flowers that managed to survive the cold. But the clearing isn't all grass. It gives way to a rocky shore after about six feet, and there's a river that cuts through the clearing. Flowing steadily, and it's maybe a little lower than it should be, if the line on the rocks is anything to go by.
It's… It's…
"Holy shit." I take a step forward, only to stop short and look up again. Bright, twinkling lights stare back down. "You can see the stars."
"Light pollution isn't as bad out here," he says, dropping the gym bag he had been carrying and opening it to reveal the blankets he had brought. They're the ones the motel provided, which are not the ones that had been on the bed. Because "I'm a werewolf, Ares. I'm not about to sleep in motel blankets." But apparently they're good enough for out here.
He brought three, and lays out two to protect us from the dew. He kicks off his shoes, setting them at the edge of the makeshift bedding, and holds a hand out to me. I take it, and let him steady me as I do the same. My ankle protests a bit, but I ignore it, and we sit in the center of the blanket, looking out to the river. Derek holds the third blanket out to me, despite the fact that I'm already wearing his jacket.
Still, the cold settles around us, and I wrap it around myself, before pausing to offer half of it to Derek. He shakes his head.
"I'm fine. Temperature doesn't bother me."
"You missed a perfectly good opportunity for a Frozen pun and I am severely disappointed in you." He snorts, shaking his head. "Der, take the blanket." I hold out an arm, the blanket in my hand. He seems to think it over for a second before shifting a bit closer and taking the blanket from my hand and pulling it over his shoulder. I press against his side, looping my arm through his, and lean my head on his shoulder.
"You good?" he asks, his voice amused. I nod.
"This place is great," I say. "Kinda scary to get to, but great."
He huffs. "I knew what I was doing."
"Derek Hale, there is a reason the Preserve prohibits night hiking. Especially when there isn't a trail to follow." I look up at him and crinkle my nose at him. "But still. I'm glad you brought me out here."
He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant about it. "I haven't been here in years. I thought… it'd be nice to come back." He has a far away look in his eyes as he stares out to the river, and I realize that this place must be really personal. "Laura and I would come out here to hide from our little sister Cora."
I look up at him. "You have a little sister?" Derek as an older brother is something I want to see. Is he like Aaron? Man, that'd be something. But he doesn't answer. When he does, he looks away.
"She was home when the fire happened."
I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow hard. Congratulations on ruining yet another thing in your life. "Sorry," I say quietly. He doesn't answer, but catches my hand in his.
We sit in silence. Watch the river. It laps at the shore, slaps against the rocks. Nothing like the San Antonio River, and much cleaner than the Rio Grande. But it's sentimental all the same and I half expect to see a figure in white to emerge from the moonlight to lament the disappearance of her children.
"You're humming."
I blink in surprise and look up at Derek. "Sorry." I look out again, and can all but see her wading through the shadows, can all but hear her wails. "Place kinda gives a Llorona vibe." As if to maximize the spook of my statement, a cold gust of wind crosses the clearing, and I pull my half of the blanket around me tighter. I close my eyes and know there's no stopping what's about to come out. "After my mom died, my dad didn't really know what to do with us. Aaron was fifteen, Alicia was ten, I was five. Dad got… kinda distant. He drives a rig, and he was gone a lot, so we practically lived with my Tia Lettie. But then he remarried when I was thirteen, and by the time I was fifteen I wasn't allowed to go see her anymore."
I scratch at my nose as I go on. "But I remember she had a Chavela Vargas record, and she'd play it all the time. Her favorite song was La LLorona." I can't help but smile at the memory. Tia in her little house, wrapped in her shawl and dancing around the kitchen dramatically as I sat at the table.
"Ay de mí, llorona; llorona, llévame al río.
Ay de mí, llorona; llorona, llévame al río."
It comes out before I can stop it. Softly, and I think if Derek wasn't a werewolf he'd have trouble hearing it But I can feel him staring down at me, and my face goes warm with embarrassment. "My Tia is better," I admit, because let's be real. I might have been in choir in high school - Warren's doing - but I was never more than a background alto.
Derek clears his throat. "You're… you're not too bad," he says and it surprises a laugh out of me.
"Should I try out for The Voice?"
The beginning of a smile plays at his lips. "I'd vote for you."
"You better vote for me. I make you food."
So. That was 21.
A shout out to the new follows/favs, welcome to KH! I'm glad you're enjoying it! Reviews, again, have been super sweet and I really appreciate them, and am forever open to them - including criticisms. Let me know how you liked it, if there were any issues, so on and so forth ~
ALSO. A huge shout out to kkiyomizo and hufflepuff-true over on tumblr for lowkey being my betas for the future chapters (can you believe I'm already working on 27?). And let me tell you, they're just as horrible as me, and we intend to make you suffer.
One more thing. The first 200~ words of 22 have been posted to thegalanerd, so if you're interested in a little sneak peek, it is there.
Okie doke, that's all I got. Stay schway, my dudes, until next time!
Translations:
Soflamera - melodramatic
Vete correr otra vez - Go running again
panadaria - bakery
Conchas - pan dulce, sweet bread
Marranitos - pig shaped ginger bread. A personal favorite
Llorona - Weeping Woman
Ay de mí, llorona; llorona, llévame al río. - Woe is me/poor me/oh my (etc) Llorona, Llorona, take me to the river.