#aredblush

He stopped freezing when his phone ringed or creating excuses for not leaving his house. He found out about his triggers and worked to overcome them. Of course, it wasn’t easy or a perfect and convenient solution, he was probably going to live forever with some of those feelings, but he was trying to get better. It had to count for something.

At least it was what Stiles told him once. That he was trying, and that it was enough.

Surprisingly, Cora had been very supportive of him in the beginning, when he needed the most, making it possible for him to go to therapy without worrying about anything else - bills, housing, food, his sister took care of it all.

Brazil had been a growing experience. Derek liked the rain and how it petted the windows of their apartment in the afternoons, how the sun showed up seconds after the rain was gone, like some kind of weird and cliché metaphor for his life. He took it to heart anyway though. Chuva da tarde it’s how they called it. Sometimes he would go outside and stand in the rain, just feeling the drops touch his body. Derek believed it could clean the darkest soul.

He liked the people, how they would surprise him by going against the stereotypes. He kept to himself, but it didn’t stop him from people watching. Derek also didn’t integrate into the local pack but was welcomed in their residence on full moons or whenever he needed a pack.

If asked, he couldn’t point out what stopped him from settling down there, from accepting the pack completely in his heart. It was just a feeling he couldn’t shake, and after a while, he started to miss certain things.

Maybe it was the culture, he wondered. It goes beyond speaking the language - which he does, Portuguese came easy for him. It’s just that you never realize who you are unless you are speaking with someone who hasn’t watched the same TV shows growing up, who doesn’t know the same lullabies as you, who has different references in life. And it goes both ways. Most of the time it’s amazing to learn about their differences, to see the world through new eyes, and Derek desperately tries to bury the small part of him that demands that he picks up his bags and go home.

Or maybe it was something else.

Like when he makes a dry joke, nobody laughs and he thinks: Stiles would.

That’s when he decides to go back.

*

Needless to say, Cora is not happy with his decision, afraid he will let himself get emotionally vulnerable again, but Derek promises to Skype, visit on the holidays or even come back if things go downhill. The alpha of the pack, a beautiful woman called Catarina, extends their offer: if he so desires, they will be waiting for him.

It doesn’t change his mind, but it’s nice to know that he is not unwelcomed, that he has a place to stay if nothing goes right. So he leaves, his heart light for the first time in a long time.

He doesn’t know what to feel when the plane arrives and he leases a car to get him to Beacon Hills. He doesn’t know if the fluttering in his gut is coming from excitement or fear.

He thinks about calling Scott to let him know about his return but then thinks better of it.

Scott might be the alpha now, but Beacon Hills has been Hale territory for generations. Derek doesn't need permission to come home. And he is not an alpha anymore, neither is he an omega since his ties to his sister keep his wolf at bay, so he doesn't constitute a threat. Scott will just have to deal with it.

And yes, he still is kind of bitter about Scott. Probably always will be. Whatever.

By the time he arrives at the loft, his nerves are drumming with anxiety. He climbs the stairs, struggles just a moment with the keys, opens the door and steps into the apartment. He walks straight to the huge windows and stares at the town beyond the glass.

He doesn’t have the time to deal with the lonely apartment, the open space that brings bad memories instantly, because that’s when Derek hears the unmistakable sound of Stiles’ jeep in the parking lot.

By the time he has turned in the direction of the door, Stiles is already entering the apartment, stopping only when their eyes meet. After a moment of hesitancy, Stiles starts walking again, his rabbit heart matching Derek’s own. Twenty paces, ten paces, five paces until his arms are reaching for Derek and enveloping him into a warm embrace.

Derek doesn’t even think, returning the hug instantly, settling a ball of anxiety he didn’t even know he had. There’s comfort, and warmth, and acceptance in the way Stiles body leans against his own. Like something long lost, found again.

It takes him a long moment to realize that Stiles’ heart is beating the calmest beat he has ever heard.

*

Later, when Derek is seating on the couch with Stiles by his side, he asks “How did you know I would be here?”

“Humm?” Stiles breathes, eyes half-lidded as he tips his head back against the back of the sofa, sleep heavy on his features.

“You knew I was back, right? How did you know?” because he had to know. He had. Derek hadn’t been in the loft for five minutes when Stiles arrived.

“Oh”, Stiles says, and turns to Derek, suddenly more awake. “I thought it was obvious. This is Hale land”.

With a raised eyebrow, Derek silent questions and?

Stiles sits straighter and looks into Derek’s eyes.

“This is your home. The air, the leaves, each drop of water in the river, everything that’s alive calm when you are here. So, of course, I knew you were back.”

But that...that confuses the shit out of Derek. Especially because Beacon Hills belongs to the Mccall Pack now. If the air and whatever felt something, shouldn’t be for them, instead of a random wolf?

Not so random, his mind whispered, and he wants to believe. he really, really does.

“This is Hale land”, Stiles repeats solemnly, and Derek doesn’t know if he is speaking the words for Derek or for himself.

*

That night, he sleeps by himself in the loft.

He wakes up from a nightmare and stares at the place where Boyd had his last breath, tears running down his face.

In the morning, he calls the realtor.

*

He buys a house close to the preserve, away from the traffic and the noises. Stiles helps him choose it and decorate it, claiming he needs a huge bed and the newest TV and every video game available. Derek is not surprised.

*

He can’t get Stiles’ words out of his head. This is Hale land.

So he goes running, readapting to the land that his family grew up in, letting the cold air set his lungs on fire and feeling a wildness in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It’s like his wolf is saying this here, everything in here, only here.

He doesn’t go past his old house, he doesn’t need to. This is a different kind of run, he doesn’t have a destination, letting his intuition guide him through the dark trees and small flashes of light above the green canopy.

He touches everywhere, scent marking the area, the feather-light touch of his fingertips leaving invisible traces on his path. Before he knows it he is grinning, wide, and running faster and faster, his shirt clutching at his sweaty back.

That is when he realizes that the forest is alive, full of sounds. As a predator, the other animals usually know to stay away from him, but not today. He can feel thousands of eyes on him as he races the freedom that the forest is affording him. The eyes are not malicious, just curious, so Derek let them be.

At dusk, he sits at a small clearing to catch his breath and appreciate the view. While he lays on the ground on his back and stares at the dying sun, he thinks that nothing could be better than this, nothing could make him happier than staying forever in this illusion of safety, of nothing to do, nothing to say, no accomplishments or regrets. If he stayed here, he could just be.

Hale territory, he thinks.

*

He goes home and finds Stiles there, not only wearing one of his sweaters but also making dinner.

Stiles looks at Derek as if he knows exactly what he did all day, as if he can see how tired and relaxed the wolf is and shrugs unapologetically. “I hope you don’t mind that I am wearing your clothes. I got cold”.

If Derek notices the blip in his heartbeat, he decides not to make a big deal of it.

Turns out that having Stiles at his house and drenched in his scent gives him a pretty good feeling too.

*

Stiles mixes with Derek's life as if no time had passed, at all.

The man - because he is a man now, isn't he? - is stronger than he used to be, toned muscles and broad shoulders that fit right against Derek when they cuddle while watching tv.

And that becomes a common fixture in his routine. Stiles is just there, helping him pick and assemble new furniture, buy groceries, and even driving him around town because Derek hasn't bought a car yet.  When he isn't studying at the  kitchen table, or at his classes, they are spending time together anyway, watching movies, reading, talking.

Stiles still lives with his dad, and is attending his last semester at the community college, but is counting the days until he can apply to be a deputy.

Another thing about Stiles is that he has a spark, and has been training with Deaton to become an Emissary.

When he explains it, distracted as he highlights a paragraph on his book and doesn't meet Derek's eyes, the werewolf's chest clenches with something uncomfortably close to jealousy. Because, if nothing else, Stiles must be training to be Scott's emissary, and for a hot second Derek wishes he was still an alpha, so Stiles could be his. Derek is ashamed of it, of these thoughts and feelings, but they exist and never fail to make themselves known in moments such as these.

*

Derek likes the way Stiles’ hair flashes gold in the right light, how his breathing falters slightly when Derek enters the room. He likes the way Stiles’ hand feel against his, and Stiles’ voice sounds like when the man is excited about something.

Derek likes him.

*

The first time Stiles sleeps at the house he crashes on the couch.

The second time, he joins Derek at the bed in the middle of the night, insisting he is cold, hesitatingly wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist.

After that, Stiles doesn’t even pretend anymore.

Stiles says he likes to cuddle, that Derek is the perfect little spoon and Derek - Derek cherishes it, the closeness, the sense of pack, the way Stiles’ body fit against his, the warm feeling of his breath on the back of his neck, how secure his arms make him feel.

Derek tries not to think about it though. He just enjoys it for as long as it lasts.

*

It becomes a thing, then. The sleeping and the - the flirting.

Stiles is daydreaming again about his future deputies days, and Derek snaps.

“So what, will I have to get used to you getting crazy shifts? If I wake up in the middle of the night because you are too damn loud? You will be sleeping on the couch. Forever”, Derek jokes with the best straight face he can manage, but Stiles sees right through him.

“Honey, I didn't know you cared!”, he laughs with his whole body, “I will make sure to not get home too late then”.

Derek rolls his eyes but is secretly pleased.

*

Stiles’ magic hasn’t ever been this calm. Derek remembers in the early days when the tension was high and they didn’t know how to let the walls down and trust each other, the way Stiles’ magic made his skin tingle in something scarily related to fear.

Stiles would be screaming at him and the whole street would go dark, all the lights extinguishing. Or Stiles would be distressed and the walls would tremble, the furniture in his room falling and crashing on the ground.

Now, though, Derek loves the way Stiles uses his magic, how amazing it is.

Spark, Derek, S-P-A-R-K, Stiles always complains when Derek calls it magic. But really, the word spark makes it seem like so much less.

Derek loves how Stiles can change the TV channel with just a twist of his fingers, how he reaches out and warms Derek’s coffee without being prompted. How he turns the lights on after a nightmare, his hands never leaving Derek’s body,  just the click of his fingers heard in the silent bedroom. How he makes a blanket appear out of thin air when Derek shivers on the couch.

All this great power used for the simplest things, generally Derek-related things, and it makes something in Derek’s heart twist. It makes Derek want to do nice things for Stiles in turn.

*

The idea comes after a boring day at home while reading a book about a chef and her struggle to find the perfect recipe.

Derek realizes that Stiles does most of the cooking, and when he isn’t in the mood they order takeout, and the next thing Derek knows he is in the grocery store picking up ingredients.

How hard can it be to cook dinner, right?

Turns out that very, very hard.

He cuts his fingers and burns his hands a little, and there is flour all over his face and chest in the end.

But Stiles delighted face at finding dinner ready, waiting for him? It’s more than worth it.

*

After that, it becomes tradition, and Derek gets better at cooking.

Sometimes Stiles helps, and they move in contentment around the small kitchen.

Derek sends Cora pictures, and for the first time, he feels… proud of something he did.

It makes he feel productive like almost nothing else, and it’s good to have someone to share his creations with. Someone like Stiles.

*

It surprises him how much time Stiles spends with him, though.

Before Derek realizes, half of the wardrobe is full of Stiles’ clothes. He has a toothbrush, and is almost every day at the house, eating his food, wearing his clothes, sharing space with him, leaving his scent everywhere.

He wouldn’t expect a man so full of energy like Stiles to enjoy a life so calm, but that is exactly what happens.

Derek gets the impression that Stiles feels settled here, with the werewolf. And Derek doesn’t want to dismiss the things Stiles says.

Holy shit, I couldn’t wait for that class to end. Want to catch a movie?

Der, I could die right now and I would be happy, and you know why???? Because of your cooking skills, Jesus fucking Christ.

I will never understand how you can wake up so early, really. I thank the gods for your mattress, it’s so much better than mine at Dad’s house. I love sleeping here, you know?

It feels cheap, to not believe in the things Stiles says. And the thing is, Derek doesn’t even need to listen to his heartbeat to know Stiles means every single word.

*

The sheriff is surprisingly good with it. He calls Derek one morning, inviting the wolf and Stiles for dinner. If it’s the only way I can see my son these days, I am more than happy to oblige, he says.

Dinner is good, even if Derek feels awkward at first, previous accusations of murder still hanging over his head. But the sheriff claps his shoulders and smiles at him across the table, Stiles’ tight brushing his own, and his nerves calm after some time.

The Stilinskis moan around the dessert that Derek baked, claiming that his apple pie is a godsend. Derek finds himself smiling at his plate, hoping they will have more evenings like these.

*

One day, Derek wakes up early enough to hear Stiles’ footsteps around the bedroom.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, his fingers in his eyes trying to chase the sleep away.  Stiles is nothing more than a blur, a human figure pacing the front of bedroom, enveloped in a light blue haze.

He blinks, and when his vision adjusts, he is met with Stiles' smiling face.

"Protecting us, sleepy wolf." when met with Derek's raised eyebrow, he sighs and explains as if it's a chore to say the words. "I am reinforcing the wards. Now go back to sleep."

Derek decides it’s better not to question Stiles, and surprisingly, Derek does sleep, feeling completely safe for the first time in a long time.

*

Later, though. “Wards?” Derek asks.

Stiles stares sheepishly at the coffee on his hands.

“I am - sorry”, he speaks as if the words are being tortured out of him, “that I didn’t tell you about them, but I honestly didn’t think much of it. I have put wards all around the loft years ago, it became a habit to renew them from time to time, you know? When you moved here, I just made new wards and kept renewing them.”

For some reason, Derek feels close to tears. “Years?”

“Well, yeah”, Stiles shrugs and glances up at Derek. “I didn’t know when, but I knew you would be back. And then you were here, and I thought why not strengthen the wards? It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or something.”

Derek thinks about a younger Stiles, walking around the empty apartment and using his magic to protect Derek, even if the man in question was in another continent. Never asking for anything in return.

“I just wanted to make sure it was safe. That is all,” Stiles finishes, taking a big gulp of his coffee after.

Derek reaches across the table and squeezes Stiles’ hands, words failing him. Stiles understands though if his small laugh and the way he adjusts his hands more comfortably around Derek’s is something to go by.

“I know, sourwolf,” he whispers, eyes soft in the morning light, and Derek can’t deny it anymore. He never could, really, not even when Stiles was an annoying teenager.

It is like the gate is wide open and all of his feelings are crashing down on him.

Slowly, Derek brings their hands to his mouth, giving it a featherlight kiss.

When their eyes meet, Derek realizes they don’t need words, or promises, or over the top declarations. Stiles’ lips move without a sound. I know, it says.

Derek smiles.

*

Things change, but at the same time, they remain the same.

Derek still cooks, and the still eat on the couch while watching TV series. They still have dinners with the sheriff, and Derek continues to slowly acclimate to his life in Beacon Hills.

The difference it that now Derek discovers the texture of Stiles’ lips, warm and wet against his own, and the smoothness of his body, how those hands feel tightening in the strands of his hair, wrapping around the back of his neck, gently guiding his head. The way Stiles’ fingers caress other parts of his body, exploring, preparing, worshiping him.

Derek finds out how it feels like to become one with Stiles, to belong to him in every possible way. To have teeth biting at his shoulders, the pain stinging but also leaving a mark, for however fleeting it is. But Derek will know it was there. He will remember.

Stiles leans his sweaty forehead against Derek’s, brushing soaked wet hair out of his lovers face, grasping his hands in a tight squeeze, dark eyes seeking his. In this moment, they share more than air between them, feelings bursting out of them in the powerful beating of their hearts, in the way their bodies move against each other, in the awkward moments, the flailing, the imperfection.

Derek feels complete.

*

Derek doesn’t go out of his way to seek a job. For the first time in a long time’ he can think clearly, well, clearer than before, and he enjoys the quiet, the slow motion of his new life in Beacon Hills.

He likes making grocery store, making small talk with the other customers that are warming up to him. His neighbors even nod and give him waves and smiles when he passes them on the street. Derek likes cleaning the house, having time to think and read. Loves jogging up in the preserve without being scared shitless for his life. Loves creating new recipes and showing them to Stiles and the sheriff, watching their faces contorting in pleasure at something made with his own hands.

He starts learning a new language too. He has a lot of spare time.

He continues his therapy with a new doctor, meetings once a month now, and he feels afraid of going back to a place full of pressure, drama and deadlines, triggering things that might be bad for his mental health. He doesn’t want to feel like the early days, never again.

When he shares this with Stiles, the man nods like he was expecting it, smiling and affirming that he is fine with whatever Derek chooses to do. That staying at home, doing house chores is not embarrassing or humiliating. I would rather see you happy and well than seeing you with a job and miserable, Der. If you change your mind and decide to get a job someday, yeah, that’s fine too. But for now, I am good with whatever you want.

Derek gets the feeling that he might become a househusband.

He does not hate the idea in principle, and that’s something.

*

One night, Stiles claims he is sick of his study assignments and drags Derek to the closest pizza place. Derek, who had been slowly making his way through one of Stiles’ books about magic, just raises an eyebrow and lets Stiles pull him from the sofa and push him out of the door.

While they walk, he notices that Stiles’ hand never really left his body, migrating to his waist instead. It’s not the first time it happened, and Derek doesn’t mind the contact, appreciates it even if he is being honest with himself. However,  the tender touches usually stay hidden by the walls of the house. Derek is suddenly wondering what their neighbors are going to say. Does Stiles even know what he is doing? What it looks like? Does Stiles care?

Derek looks at Stiles, who seems content and at ease, and the werewolf feels his shoulders relaxing, his body melting into Stiles’ side as they walk.

They enter the small place, the door jingling with their presence, and Derek goes straight to the counter to check the types of pizza they offer. It’s not that he doesn’t know the flavors by heart, it’s just something he does without much thought, just going with the flow.

He is so relaxed that he doesn’t even smell the other wolves in the room, just realizes that something is not entirely right when Stiles’ scent goes slight anxious. He turns to Stiles, who is giving him an apologetic smile. “I think we will have to sit with them” he barely whispers. “Is that ok with you?”

Derek is confused for a second, until he sees Scott and his pack sitting in one corner, looking surprised and - maybe expectant?

Derek hasn’t talked with Scott yet. They just coexist in Beacon Hills, and truth be told, Derek had been kind of busy putting his life together to worry about the other man. But here, now, he understands that going there and being civil is the right thing to do. After all, this is Stiles’ pack. He chooses to make the effort, and smiles a little at Stiles, letting him know that it’s ok.

Stiles’ fingers circle his wrist in a light grip, and they walk towards the table together after ordering their pizza.

They all say their hello's and how have you been’s, patting backs or giving tight hugs, and Stiles sits by his side, letting his arm rest on the back of Derek's chair all through dinner. Sometimes the pad of his fingers absently-mind touches his neck, his shoulders, his ears, his hair.

Derek notices Lydia staring at them a few times, her eyes zeroing on the places where he and Stiles meet, but she says nothing.

Derek doesn’t know the story there - if there’s any - but he thinks that the less he knows, the better. Less jealousy that way. For his part, at least.

He isn’t that selfless though, he can’t gather the energy to feel sorry for her. The fact that Stiles is by his side, touching him, making him feel cherished? Derek is into it. So into it. He is fucking glowing with it.

The meeting is not as awkward as it could be. But he is immensely glad when the night is over.

The Mccall pack invites them to go watch movies with them, apparently tonight is pack night, but Stiles glances at Derek and declines, they all saying their goodbye’s.

Derek is confused by why Stiles is picking a boring night with him instead of being with his pack, and by the easy acceptance displayed by Scott as if this is normal behavior.

Derek doesn’t understand, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t happy when, fifteen minutes later, Stiles crashes on his sofa, already choosing a TV show that Derek just has to watch, oh my god. Derek makes popcorn, sits on the couch and leans on Stiles side, getting comfortable.

It’s pretty good.

*

Later that night, Derek’s curiosity wins over his hesitation, and he blurts out, “Why do you never spend time with your pack?”

Stiles freezes then put his cell phone back on the nightstand. “They are not my pack”, he says softly, eyeing Derek from the corner of his eyes.

For his part, Derek doesn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean they are not your pack? Scott -”

“Is not my alpha”, Stiles explains, shaking his head. He turns his body towards Derek, touching his face. “You are.”

Derek can’t help his small frown. It feels as if all of the things he believed his whole life are lies, like this is the same as saying that cows can fly, or that Santa is real. It’s not that Derek wants to defend Scott of all people, he just wants to understand. “But, he is your best friend.”

Stiles shrugs and turns his eyes back to the ceiling.

“Scott will always be important to me, but he has always known that he could never be my alpha. And he is ok with it. My magic,” he puts his hands in front of his face, studying his fingers, “has always been connected to you somehow.”

Derek doesn’t know why, but his mouth seems to have a life of its own, speaking idiotic things, like “But I am not an alpha”. For good measure, he flashes his bright blue beta eyes, the very embodiment of his mistakes, the color representing how much he wasn’t made to be an alpha.

Stiles surprises him once again, of course, he does. Without breaking eye contact, Stiles moves his palm, producing a beacon of light that shines in the same color of Derek’s wolf eyes. And startled, Derek realizes he has seen that shade of color before around Stiles, diluted in the small acts of magic he indulges in. It’s a “blink and you missed” kind of thing, but Derek knows now.

Derek looks at Stiles with awe in the blue irises, and Stiles smiles. “You don’t need to have red eyes for us to belong together, Derek. When I met you, you were a Beta, and my magic still connected to you, clinging like a fucking monkey. When you were gone,” he swallows before continuing, the light dimming in his eyes, “It was hard to keep my magic from going crazy, wanting to follow you. It was hard to give you the space I knew that you needed.”

Slowly, he closes his palm, ending the magic and turning the room dark once more.

There is a pause, and then Stiles reaches out, touching Derek’s cheek with the tip of his fingertips. “I never feel as settled in my own skin as when I am with you.” Brown eyes shine gold in the low light. “Are you freaked out?”

That is not how Derek would choose to word this, but no, Stiles could never freak him out.

Not even in his darkest moments, Derek feared the man before him.

To prove his point, he wraps himself around his boyfriend, putting his head on his shoulders, breathing in their mixed scents. “No, I am... happy.” That is the word, but it doesn’t feel like enough to describe his feelings. “I have always wanted you to choose me. I just didn’t think it would happen”, he shrugs.

“I chose you, Der. A lifetime ago.” Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, scratching his neck slightly.

Derek puts his weight on his elbow, looking down at Stiles. He kisses the man slowly, savoring it, and then grins wide at him. “I chose you right back.”

Stiles laughs, pulling his boyfriend, his lover, his fucking mate back towards him.

And life goes on.