Open Invitation (To My Heart)
Theme: opening a door
Rating:G
āāāāā
There is a sort of melancholic sadness that, given the opportunity, will begin to consume you. Derek Hale, unfortunately, knows this truth all too well. The problem is, he hasnāt quite figured out how to pull himself out of it.
Thatās a lie. The real problem is that he doesnāt know that he wants to. In the years since his family was murdered and he spiraled into an existence fueled by guilt and the fear of fucking everything up again, Derek has gotten very good at being sad. And heās even better at being angry. Without those two things, he isnāt quite sure whatās left of him anymore.
When Laura is killed, the fire that keeps him going burns brighter than it has in years. The sadness makes Derek feel alive simply because he hasnāt known anything other than that for so long.
Thatās why he tries to push Stiles away. Because Stiles is the only person since Laura who wonāt let Derek use his weariness as an excuse for bad behavior. Heās the first person who has tried to tell Derek that he is more than what has happened to him. There is a stubbornness in him that refuses to be quieted, and Derek isnāt sure what to do with that.
Thereās a part of Derek that wants to listen to him, thatās the thing. But itās terrifying, facing someone who can see past all the bull shit, being around someone who actually wants to see more than anyone else has cared to see in years.
Running seems like a much safer choice. It seems like the only choice, really. But running away means hurting Stiles, and thatās just not something that Derek is strong enough to do, not anymore. Heās already in too deep.
So, when Stiles shows up at the loft at three in the morning on the anniversary of Lauraās death with two packs of Twizzlers (Lauraās favorite), a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream (Derekās weakness), and a whole bag of Reeseās Peanut Butter Cups (Stilesā cure for everything), all Derek can do is open the door.
āHey.ā They blink at each other, a war that Derek has no chance of winning. Thereās a pillow tucked neatly under Stilesā arm. āI hope that itās alright that Iām here.ā He shrugs, even though Derek hasnāt said anything. āI couldnāt sleep.ā
It isnāt even a lie, and Derek finds himself pushing the door open wider without hesitation, allowing Stiles to duck under his arm and disappear into the loft before locking everything up again.
Yeah, pushing Stiles away probably is for the best, but Derekās just canāt do it.
Walking into the living room, Derek isnāt necessarily surprised to see that Stiles has welcomed himself into Derekās bed. The snacks have been haphazardly strewn across the covers.
Derek stares at it all and breaks. āYou used to be afraid of me,ā he says helplessly. āYou used to be afraid.ā
Stiles blinks up at him in surprise. Then his mouth quirks up into a small smile. āDude, I hate to break it to you, but I was never afraid of you.ā
Derek snarls, feels vicious and cruel, then deflates when all Stiles does is raise his eyebrows. He says, feeling very small, āYou used to be afraid. Why arenāt you afraid of me?ā
In an instant, Stiles is off the bed and across the room. He crowds close to where Derek has hunched in on himself, and though his hands hover over his shoulders, Stiles doesn't touch.
āDerek?ā Thereās a frantic edge to his voice, which is just enough to bring Derek back from the brink of an anxiety attack. By the way that his hands are shaking, Derek guesses that that wasnāt the first time that Stiles has said his name.
But he canāt let it go. āWhy arenāt you afraid of me?ā
Carefully, Stiles reaches out and cradles Derekās face, ignoring that theyāre damp with tears, not caring that the ice cream is melting on the sheets behind them. āDerek, Iām not afraid of you because there is nothing to be afraid of. You are strong and protective, and youāre hurt and angry. But youāre not a monster. Youāre not broken or ruined, or whatever else you could be thinking. Youāre just you.ā His lips quick up. āAnd I happen to like you quite a bit, hurt and angry and everything.ā
The words sink into Derekās skin, anchoring him.
With gentle coaching, Stiles leads him over to the bed, Derek allows himself to be led. Laura would laugh at him if she could see him like this, would mock him.
Thatās a lie too, and he knows it. Laura wouldnāt tease him, not about this. āTwizzlers were her favorite,ā Derek says when theyāre both sitting one the edge of the bed, Stilesā hand still wrapped carefully around Derekās wrist.
He can hear Stilesā sad smile when he responds. āI know. You, uh-. You told me once. I mean, you were drunk on some of the wolfsbane punch that Lydia brewed, but I still remember.ā He pauses, as if deciding whether or not to keep talking. Then, āIt was the first time that you had said anything about her. How could I forget.ā
Thatās it, right there. Thatās what trapped Derek: Stiles and his inability not to care about those he deems worthy. And Derek isnāt sure what twist of fate has led him to this point, but he feels damn lucky that Stiles has picked him to be a part of that group. Because sitting her on this bed, crying about his sister and how out of control his life feels, Derek decides that if he gets to make one more decision, trusting Stiles might just be the most important one heās made.
āShe would have hated this though, the crying.ā He smiles. āWhen I cried, she cried too, and she hated it. Her nose would get all clogged. When I was little I told her that she sounded like a rhinoceros, and I donāt think she ever really got over it.ā
Stiles snorts. āMy mom loved to cry. She said it was one of the most important things that you could do. Cry it out and then move on, that was her motto.ā
Reaching for a pack of Twizzlers, Derek rips it open, holds one out for Stiles, and then offers him another memory. Losing Laura still seems so fresh, but at the same time, talking about her doesnāt rip him to shreds like he thought it would. And listening to Stiles accept his stories and then offer some of his own, itās nice. Cathartic really. And Claudia was right; crying does help make Derek feel better, even if he sounds a little like an elephant with a head cold.
As the sun creeps across the horizon, lighting the loft in the soft glow of morning, Derek helps Stiles strip the ice creamed sheets off of the bed before they crawl under the covers together. Stiles falls asleep almost immediately, but Derek fights sleep for a while, basking in the chance to watch Stiles relax so completely.. His chest hurts and his head is stuffy, but his heart is warm in a way that it hasnāt been in so long.
And it is scary, realizing that heās let someone in so completely. Being vulnerable is giving in to the possibility of getting hurt again. And heās been sad for so long, has felt so much anger, that the hope is startling. But laying here, watching Stiles sleep, Derek thinks that this is worth it. And he thinks that, if he asks nicely, Stiles might like to stay.
In his head he hears a voice whisper, Iām proud of you. Itās Lauraās voice. And even though he knows that it canāt be her, not really, the sentiment sticks with him. Reaching out, Derek takes Stilesā hand. In turn, Stiles rolls closer to him, curling in closer and closer until their legs are tangled together and heās using Derekās chest for a pillow instead of the one that he brought. It feels right. He feels good. Derek closes his eyes.
