A/N: Here it is, the reveal scene you've all been waiting for! :) There's some minor angst this chapter, not near on the level you've seen so far.
Derek stared out the window of the car, the Berkeley streets flying by unseen. He wasn't ready for the break to be over, to be back at school and to have to deal with his life again. To have to deal with Stiles again. Honestly, he didn't think he'd ever be ready for that.
Cora heaved an aggrieved sigh, casting him a side-eyed glance. "I'm definitely glad we had this time together," she remarked dryly, and Derek flinched guiltily. "It was a great use of my last weekend before school starts back up."
"I'm sorry, Cora," he apologized, sighing. "I just have too much on my mind."
"Like the fact that you sent Stiles back to school in your Camaro, alone, in favor of road-tripping with your sisters?" she snorted caustically. They'd dropped Laura off at the airport in Sacramento so she could fly back to New York, and Cora had gotten permission to go all the way to Berkeley with Derek as long as she was back by Sunday night so she'd be ready for school to start on Monday.
Derek frowned. "I thought we decided we wanted to spend time together." Despite the issues with Stiles, he'd honestly been looking forward to having a few hours of Hale sibling time again. It had been awhile.
"Yeah, and you've spent the last two hours staring out the window without saying a word," she pointed out. Her smirk gentled into a look of understanding. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two, but we all figured out pretty quickly that you were on the outs again. It was kind of obvious when every time you looked at him you looked like you were in pain."
"He kissed me again." The words tumbled out involuntarily, and Cora gaped at him. "That first night, after dinner. I kicked him out."
"Why did he keep coming back, then?" Cora asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
Derek resumed staring out the window as they got closer to his apartment. "I couldn't handle Mom and Dad hovering over me like they did at Thanksgiving, so I acted like everything was fine. They loved him and kept inviting him over, and I couldn't tell them to stop so I asked him to humor them until break was over."
"Der," she began, but he shook his head wearily.
"Let it go, Cora," he said quietly, and she frowned, but did as he asked.
It wasn't until they pulled into the apartment complex parking lot that she spoke again. "What are you going to do now, Derek?"
He shrugged, pasting a fake smile on his face. "Get through the next few months and graduate."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," she grumbled, and he cast a warning stare at her.
"I don't even know how I'm going to get through being in the same class with him," Derek admitted. "I can't think beyond just getting to graduation. That's my only goal right now."
She looked like she wanted to say something, which was why Derek appreciated it when she bit her lip and then shrugged, tugging the keys from the ignition of her cherry-red Mustang. It was a cliché car and he'd teased her when she got it, but she'd simply raised one eyebrow and stared pointedly at his Camaro, and he'd had to accept defeat.
Derek trudged up the stairs, unlocking the apartment and stepping inside as Cora followed in behind him. He was slightly surprised that the apartment smelled fresh and clean instead of musty after being locked up for three weeks, but when he saw the Obi-Wan mug on the counter he realized Stiles must have dropped by. His heart clenched when the thought followed that Stiles had cleaned up for him, made the place smell welcoming instead of old and stale. Even after everything, Stiles was still thoughtful, still looking out for him.
"What's that?" Cora asked, gesturing at the mug as she dropped her car keys on the table. The place was fairly pristine and the coffee mug was very obviously out of place.
Derek walked over to the counter, his face falling as he realized Stiles had left his car keys in the mug. It felt almost like a slap in the face, to have his keys returned to him in the mug that declared him to be the "Obi-Wan" for Stiles. He'd known exactly what it meant when Stiles gave it to him, but for both of their sakes, they'd pretended it was just for fun.
"It's just a coffee mug," he mumbled, tipping it over and dumping his keys out. She raised an eyebrow at it but he ignored her curiosity, brushing past her to aim his garage door opener out the window. Sure enough, when the door rose high enough he could see the taillights on the Camaro and he angrily hit the button again, causing the door to reverse until it was fully closed.
"Anything I need to know about?" Cora asked, a questioning look on her face, and Derek shook his head silently. She blew out an annoyed breath but then shrugged, clearly dismissing his emotional distress because, as usual, he didn't want to talk about it. Instead, she tugged open the refrigerator door and dipped down to peer inside, scowling when she saw that it was all but empty. "You don't have anything in here but beer."
Derek rolled his eyes. "I left for three weeks. It wasn't like I was going to leave a gallon of milk and leftovers in there."
She popped back up and slammed the fridge shut. "Come on, big brother. We're going grocery shopping."
"Cora," he protested, voice verging on whining territory. "We just got home. I'm tired."
"I'm hungry," she retorted. "Get your ass back in the car, Der-Bear."
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he'd learned that it was just as futile to try to thwart Cora's will as it was to try to thwart Laura's. Sighing, he grabbed his keys and fell into step behind her, allowing himself one last glance at the Obi-Wan mug before pushing thoughts of Stiles out of his head. He only had one more day with his little sister before she had to head back to Beacon Hills, and he was determined not to spend the time moping.
It was harder to remind himself of that determination when Tuesday rolled around. He hadn't had the option of focusing on his other classes to avoid thinking about seeing Stiles in class, as he'd managed to avoid scheduling anything for Mondays. Law and Development was his first class of the week, so he'd been dreading it and anticipating it in equal measures.
When he showed up to class he wasn't sure if he was more disappointed or relieved that Stiles wasn't there yet, and he had the luxury of sitting wherever he wanted without having to feel that awkward tug of, "Do I sit beside him like everything is fine, or do I go sit somewhere else and make it painfully obvious that this class is going to kill us both?" He picked a nondescript location in the left of the room about three quarters back, not too close to the front, not too close to the back, not right in the middle. It was a quirk he'd always had, and Stiles had teased him when Derek admitted to it.
He settled into his seat, refusing to look at the door as students straggled in one by one until it got closer to class time, at which point they started flowing in steadily. It didn't stop him from peeking up through lowered lashes, holding his breath every time the door opened until he saw that it wasn't Stiles. The minutes ticked by until it was five to noon and Stiles still wasn't there, and Derek began to wonder if he'd dropped the class. The ache in his chest made it clear that no matter what had happened, the idea of not seeing Stiles was worse than dealing with the frustration, the pain, and the awkwardness of being around him again. It wasn't a surprise; that was the entire reason he'd given Stiles a second chance after Thanksgiving and it was no less true now.
At two minutes until noon Stiles eased inside, and Derek couldn't help it. His gaze lifted immediately and caught on Stiles', causing the younger man to hesitate. Derek kept his look steady, placid instead of expectant, and he saw the moment when Stiles' indecision settled and he made his way over to Derek, slipping into the desk beside him.
"Hey," he mumbled.
"Hey," Stiles returned, drumming his fingers on his desktop anxiously. It was one of his tells, and Derek always used to put his hand on top of Stiles' to settle him. Now, he focused his attention back down at his desk, studying the designs scratched into the top of it as if they were the most fascinating things ever.
"I didn't know if you were going to make it," Derek said, talking to the top of his desk.
He could hear Stiles sigh. "I'm not dropping the class, Der," he muttered, and Derek's heart squeezed at the nickname that had always been used with such affection. "Besides, pretending everything is normal and okay is my default mode now."
"Is that why you sat beside me?" Derek ventured, and Stiles blinked at him.
"You saved me a seat. I thought it would be a dick move to sit someplace else."
Derek frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? I didn't save you a seat."
Stiles poked his toe into the edge of Derek's backpack, which was so far over that it was half-under Stiles' desk. "Why isn't this under your desk, then?"
Derek stared at the backpack. "Huh." Apparently his subconscious had made his decision for him after all.
The room quieted when Professor Decker strode in, dropping his satchel on the table beside the lectern. "I'm Brandon Decker and I will be teaching Law and Development this semester," he announced without preamble. "You have until January 24th to drop the class without being charged tuition. I encourage you to think long and hard about that decision because this is not going to be a cake course, although those of you who choose to remain enrolled in the class will find yourselves more enriched by the end of the semester." He picked up a thick notebook and thumbed through until he came to what was presumably the class roster. "I'm going to call off your names, and I will take attendance for the rest of the month. Not because I care if you show up to class, but I want to put names to the faces of the people who actually do."
Nervous laughter rippled around the classroom and Derek caught the bemused glance Stiles cast his way out of the corner of his eye. He listened attentively until he heard Decker call out "Derek Hale," and he half-raised his hand to get Decker's attention. Decker's sharp gaze landed on him, studied him for a moment, and then nodded before looked back down at his roster, and Derek relaxed. He focused on breathing in and out, trying not to look at Stiles too often, but allowing himself to be comforted by the scents he'd always associated with him-an unobtrusive cologne, coffee, and cinnamon toothpaste.
He came out of his own thoughts when he heard Decker stumble over a name for the first time. "Mist-. Miss-."
Beside him, Stiles sighed. "Just call me Stiles, it's easier," he called out, and Decker nodded in apparent relief.
"Mr. Stilinski, I presume?" he clarified, and Stiles nodded. Decker inclined his head in acknowledgment and scrawled something in the notebook.
Derek twisted in his seat, swallowing past a lump in his throat. "'Just call you Stiles'?" he echoed, feeling strangely detached from his body. "'It's easier'?"
Stiles was watching him warily. "Yeah."
"I thought your name was Stiles," he said faintly, and Stiles grimaced.
"Stiles is a nickname, I've been called that since I was six," he explained quietly, eyes not leaving Derek's. "My real name is Polish, but nobody could ever pronounce Mstislav, so it was just easier to start going by Stiles."
Derek stared at him dumbly for a few moments before slowly lifting his hand and rubbing it over the nape of his neck, right where the edge of his hair covered his soul mark. Stiles' eyes followed the motion and he paled, grimacing guiltily. Something twisted in his chest. "You knew." It wasn't a question, but an acknowledgment. Stiles nodded, his expression anxious.
The world tilted on its axis and Derek lurched to his feet, stumbling away from his desk. He felt like he was on one of those carnival rides that had him spinning around until he couldn't tell up from down as he made his way toward the classroom door, toward escape. He knew.
He barely heard the surprised murmurs from his classmates, the sound of Stiles desperately calling his name, of Decker addressing him with concern, as he all but flung himself out the door. Bending, he braced his palms against his knees and inhaled raggedly several times until his head began to clear. He knew. He fucking knew and he didn't tell me.
There was no way he could go back into class. He couldn't face Decker, and he certainly couldn't face Stiles. He didn't want to go back home, either, because the entire apartment was just a series of Stiles-centric memories. Without a conscious thought of where he was going to go, he made his way out of the building and into the blindingly bright sunlight.
It wasn't long before he found himself at Bean Scene, biting the inside of his cheek when he saw Lydia behind the counter. He liked the redhead, but the last thing he wanted was to have to talk to one of Stiles' best friends right now. Keeping his chin dipped to his chest, he handed over his debit card and mumbled his request for a simple Café Americano.
Lydia scoffed and handed his card back to him. "Your money isn't any good here, Derek," she reminded him, shoving a cup at her barista. It had been five months and she was still just as abrasive with her coworkers as she'd ever been. "Now tell me why you look like your world just came to an end," she demanded.
He lifted his eyes and stared at her brokenly. "He's my soulmate," he choked out, and she softened, unsurprised. So she knew too, apparently.
When the barista handed over his coffee, Lydia tugged off her apron and walked out from behind the counter. "I'm going on break," she told him, and when he protested, her eyes hardened while her smile sweetened. "I'm. Going. On. Break," she repeated, and kept walking.
Despite the multitude of emotions tumbling around in his head like clothes in a dryer, Derek couldn't help but feel his lips curve in amusement. Lydia was still terrifying sometimes, but in a way that he'd grown fond of. She gestured for him to join her on the couch that he and Stiles took over every time they came in, settling down onto it and pulling her skirt primly over the edge of her knees. She clasped her hands in her lap and tipped her head, watching him with a look that seemed to encourage him to start talking.
He did. "He knew, Lydia," he whispered. "He knew I'm his soulmate and he kept it from me."
She snorted delicately. "Of course he did, you idiot," she responded, and he blinked in shock. "You freaked out when he kissed you and told him you didn't want him."
Derek's eyebrows drew together in pain as the memory of that night rushed back. "I couldn't deal with him continuing to torture me. Every time he does something like that it feels like he's running me through with a damn sword."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "You know how impulsive he is. If you'd given him half a chance to explain, this all could have been resolved three weeks ago and you would have had the happiest New Year's of your life."
He flinched; his New Year's had been miserable. He'd gone to a house party with Cora and Laura just to get away from his own house, and he'd spent nearly the entire time upstairs in the parents' room with the TV on Property Brothers even though he hadn't watched it at all. Instead, he'd spent the time wishing Stiles was there and that he could kiss him when the ball dropped at midnight. He'd resisted the impulse to call and invite him over, though when the clock ticked over to 12:00 am, he'd gotten a text from Stiles that simply said, "Happy New Year's, Der." He hadn't responded.
"You're telling me that was the night he found out," Derek realized, voice hollow and throat aching, and Lydia nodded.
"He called me when he got home. Quite honestly, I don't know how he made it because he was having a panic attack when I answered and he told me he was still sitting in the front yard. It took five solid minutes to talk him down to the point where he could breathe steadily."
The image of Stiles having a panic attack-something he'd witnessed only once in their friendship and something he prayed he would never have to see again-tore at him. Especially because it had been over him. "It was that bad?" he asked quietly, and she shrugged.
"He's had worse," she admitted. "Although for a few minutes there I thought I was going to need to call 911. He couldn't breathe, he was freaking out and all he could say, over and over again, was that he'd ruined everything," and every word out of her mouth felt like thorns ripping at his skin.
"I don't understand how he could have done this," Derek muttered, and Lydia's eyes flashed.
"You think he did this on fucking purpose?" she snapped.
Derek flinched away. "Of course not," he replied defensively. "But he knew and he didn't tell me."
"How could he have?" she retorted, impatience in her tone. "You told him you didn't want him! He thought he'd destroyed any feelings you had for him and any chance you had of being happy together. I told him to try again, but he was convinced if he pushed then you'd never speak to him again."
Grief welled in his throat because he hadn't been wrong. If Stiles had tried to force the issue, Derek would have blown up at him and tried his hardest to cut him out of his life. "How come it only came up now?" he tried again. "It's not like he doesn't know Stiles isn't his real first name. Why didn't he think to mention it months ago?"
Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes so hard Derek wasn't sure how she managed to keep them in her skull. "Derek, you know how small Beacon Hills is. Everyone's known him since we were in kindergarten, and he had this horrid Polish first name that none of us could say at the age of six, so when Scott called him Mistiles instead, it stuck. We were all raised together and we didn't really get new kids. Everyone's always known his first name even though no one ever used it, so he never had to think about clarifying his initials for any potential soulmates. When he came here, he never thought about the fact that back home everyone knew, but here no one does."
She took a breath. "I know it seems impossible that he wouldn't have mentioned at some point that his initials aren't SS, despite evidence to the contrary, but it legitimately never occurred to him. Trust me, he beat himself up about that nonstop. He couldn't believe how stupid he was-his words-and that he'd put you both through utter hell for something so easily fixed. Derek, he's miserable. He loves you so much and he's scared that you've broken each other so badly that you won't be able to come back from it."
"I don't know how to deal with any of this," Derek groaned, and Lydia gaped at him.
"Jesus, Derek, I had no idea you were this stupid," she scoffed, eyes widening in disbelief when he frowned at her. "Are you really not thinking this through at all? Are you not listening to the words we're saying?"
Derek growled in frustration. "What the hell are you talking about, Lydia?"
"How has it not knocked you on your perfect ass yet? The fact that Stiles is your soulmate?" When she practically yelled the words in his face it finally hit him, for the first time, what it all meant. Not just the heartache or the feeling of betrayal, the weariness of having to battle everything with Stiles, every minute of every day.
As the awareness bloomed in his eyes, Lydia nodded. "That's right. He's your soulmate, Derek. What does the rest of it matter? You've survived everything that's been thrown your way because you love each other too much to let the other go. Figure your shit out and go find him, you idiot."
Stiles was his soulmate. A brilliant smile spread across his face until he was sure he looked almost diabolical. Stiles was his soulmate.
A/N: I promise, it all goes up from here. Stiles has a couple of anxiety-ridden and guilty moments in the next chapter, but that's the end of the angst and the pain. :)