Cry̷ ̵O̕ut W̨o̵l̶f̡.̵

          ❝ And we would have found a way! ❞

    Running had never been an option for him and he still couldn’t believe it’d been one for Derek. They’d endured so much already.. but then again there’s always a straw which breaks the camel’s back. The druids had been Derek’s. And he hated that. Hated that Derek chose to leave instead of staying and letting them find another way.

    He nearly choked back a sob the moment those fingers were wrapping around his wrist. How long had it been since his mate had touched him? The years seemed to blur with the slightest warmth from the other seeping in to his skin, making his heart ache. He wanted to yank his hand away, but couldn’t seem to muster up doing so. 

                ❝ We would’ve found another way.. ❞

    The wolf repeated, his eyes closing a moment and head hanging. Derek being so close, that scent filling his nostrils, was almost too much. He just wanted to collapse against him. 

   "To what end?"

   Chest tight and expression bordering on something wounded, far too vulnerable really, Derek wonders if maybe he should draw back. Perhaps he should run. Perhaps he should ignore the wound. Just as he had for countless years despite the ache in his chest. Because he had been weak and Scott deserved better. The Alpha deserved someone strong, someone who could fight whatever came their way.

   "You know there was no other choice. It would have ended in your death or in mine. Do you think that was what I wanted?"

   It is akin to denying himself air, being so close to his mate now. Where they touch burns and knots twist further within the curve of his gut. How he fights against the pull, yet in the end his head bows in closer. Noses brush and Derek tastes those last three words on the curve of his mouth. Once more he feels conflicted as he stands there breathing in the warmth and taste of his mate.

           ❝ You did what was ‘right’? ❞

    Scott asked and he scoffed at that. Because that statement didn’t feel true to him, because none of this seemed right. Derek had upped and left at a time when the young Alpha had needed him most. Everything had fallen apart around them and no matter Derek’s hand in it, it was like he’d slashed clear though metaphorical open wounds the minute he’d left.

    The thought of that day made Scott growl, lip curled up with a slight snarled effect as he advanced on him. His matured body did much better at conveying that Alpha strength and persona as index finger pushed against the older wolf’s chest.

  Even that little touch was almost too much, but he withstood his urges for his anger.

❝ How is it right, leaving me without my mate?          You justify leaving me broken and feeling          empty, crying myself to sleep every night          as I lay there in my bed, alone.

   "They knew, Scott."

   Even a single touch like a finger to his chest hurts. He's gone years without it. And he has forgotten what the other wolf's anger and rage tasted like, the way it simmers and makes those eyes go white hot. It makes him ache and want to kiss that pain away until they're biting and clawing at one another as if it would change the scars left behind.

   When did his voice sound so broken, so lost?

   "They knew what I was to you."

   Fingers settle over knuckles, skating down skin to curl around Scott's wrist. His throat goes tight as he looks at the younger wolf. It had been a cruelty leaving. Yet it would have been far more unpleasant had he stayed while the druids still held sway over him. Derek knew this, and yet--

   "What choice was there? Ask yourself."

   Leaning in further, the wolf's voice drops.

    Scott is quiet as every muscle in his body tensed up. For a moment, he thinks himself dreaming. It’s not like he hasn’t had this fantasy a million times. Numerous times did he wish for that wolf to walk back in to his life. Yet when he breathed in, he knew it wasn’t a dream. That scent was the same.. but still different. It was bathed in the guilt which seemed to wrack his former lover.

            ❝ What do you expect to change, Hale? ❞

     He asked, voice deeper and rougher with the years. And he knew it was cold, using his last name. But saying Derek - hell even thinking it - hurt too much for him to muster up that one word off his lips. 

       ❝ You taught me that pain is what makes us human. Just how human did you want me? Because your absence has caused me nothing but pain. ❞

            The Alpha breathed out a moment, licking his lips as he turned away. Looking at him too long would cause Scott to break down even more. All he’d ever wanted to do, since the moment Derek left, was fall in to his arms again.

   If he had expected a warm greeting, perhaps Derek would have been naive. Perhaps not all of him had hardened over the years. Perhaps he still believed that things could remain unchanged despite the length of time. Either way, Scott's words still sting and it is instinct that initially causes him to bow his head under the weight of that voice.

   "I don't know."

   Heavy syllables fester in the back of his throat as he dares to draw closer with careful steps. The boy is a man who has no doubt seen far more than any should ever endure. Derek had always been the scapegoat, the coward. It was how life played out.

   Fingers reach to touch warm skin. Brows knit tightly.

   What more did he have to lose now?

   "I did what was right."

   There is no apology. No, it remains buried under the regret and guilt. Because it was easier dealing with Scott's anger than his pity, than compassion. Somehow the concept of earning forgiveness is as foreign as leaving Beacon Hills for good.

   His hand falls back to his side.

   'I did it to protect you.'

"You’re being creepy." The words are mumbled before he ever opens his eyes, lips twitching up into a smile. After all these years, he’s gotten used to the feel of those heavy eyes on him. It’s a comfort, like an old warm blanket.

   "And you're letting the coffee get cold."

   Slowly his lips twist further in a smile and the wolf settles himself without hesitation beside the sleeping human. Quietly he offers his own cup of coffee, knowing Stiles will likely steal it regardless if he doesn't. A low hum slips free. It's one of the few signs of contentment Derek dares show, though by now if any knew him at all it would be the man who he watched with thinly veiled affection.

   Either way, he's hardly shy in leaning in to steal a kiss.

    There’s no resistance in that hold, nor when he’s pulled closer by it. His face might be older and more worn.. but the eyes, those Scott knows. No matter if they’ve grown dull with what ever the years have put him through.

     ❝ You’re mine. ❞

   How he wishes he could echo the sentiment without the sharp pang of guilt gnawing through the delicate cage of bone and flesh. Brows draw together briefly and he is reminded of the man he'd left. The man who told him to leave. Because Derek had been cruel, he'd been willing to give anything to satiate the anger in his veins. He had been younger then as well.

   Finger tighten their hold.

   Dark eyes watch the boy with guarded emotion. When he speaks, his voice is rough, bordering on a low growl as he makes a simple demand upon the curve of lips.

This casual fondness is like astronomically out of Stiles’ comfort zone, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do or how he’s supposed to react. “Yeah. Yeah, I have a whole lot of questions. Like how you’re here when I saw you…” God, it’s been months. Something tweaks painfully in Stiles’ chest and he looks away, unable to meet that amused gaze. Because this has to be some kind of a dream. Some stupid fairy tale of his own creation.

   "For me it's been years," Derek interrupts without thought, without hesitation. "Since I've seen you like this, like you've yet to see the world." The wolf reminds himself that this isn't the man he's used to that rises to the challenge of his low snarling instead of cowering away. So he keeps his hands to himself now instead of touching, instead of feeling.

   "What I can tell you is that you and I are something of hunters. Scott stays and you leave. I followed by choice. We were going to confront a woman working Bon Temps over as a medium." A shrug is given and he scuffs a shoe against the ground. "You, the man I'm used to, warned me not to go out tonight. Something about the moon. Next thing I know, I'm here."

   A pause---

Oh. Oh that’s a hand right over his mouth and Stiles has literally zero idea how to process any of this. Because Derek is there and he’s Derek, but he’s not Derek but he’s Derek and he’s laughing and jesus christ on a tricycle, he was making his brain hurt with all of this. He does his best to look indignant over the top of the other man’s hand, brows drawn down low and eyes squinted.

   "That's nothing new, Genim."

   Fingers slide free, giving a light pat to the other's cheek. No matter how he tries the smirk won't wipe away from his features. Until he straightens the jacket upon frail looking shoulders and his gaze goes thoughtful. The man he's used to is such a far cry from the boy in front of him. It's like drinking in cold water after being down in Louisiana for too long.

   "You'd have punched me by now-- the you I'm accustomed to."

   Derek allows himself to be wistful for a span of a breath.

Breathe.

   "Shh shh shhh--"

   Another step and he fights the urge to laugh. It's rare seeing Stiles like this, how he was before. When finally he clamps a hand over the boy's mouth, it slips free-- A deep rumbling noise that sounds free and light in a way that Derek had only recently felt comfortable uttering. He'd learnt it breathing in Stiles' breath on a full moon, licking his way pass the humored syllables, and cursing the Southern heat.

   Derek laughs.

   "Breathe Stiles."

   Derek knows the tidal wave of questions that will inevitably follow in the wake of his appearance. It will lead the boy down a path of breathing too little and talking too much. Where lungs will strain and rattle before inevitable anxiety latches it's fangs in deeply. Slowly he pulls his hands from his pockets, holding them as if taming a spooked animal.

   Slowly he takes a step closer.

[text] Where are you? I don’t see you

   The phone chimes quietly in his pocket.

   For him it had been years, countless in their number. All spent in solitude, living with his choices and his decisions. Last he knew he had gone to sleep, sent a text to Stiles about a witch in Louisiana he meant to deal with.

   For Stiles it is mere months.

   The boy stumbles onto the yard and the wolf stands there hands in his pockets.