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It might not be the most normal of hobbies, but sometimes Derek finds himself atop that hill that Stiles like so much.
He sometimes wonders if it's maybe a bit intrusive of him to visit it as frequently as he does, but at the same time, Stiles has never really minded having him there before. They're always up there together, so why can't Derek be there alone? Maybe it has to do with personal importance associated with the hill itself, but Derek just... can't really resist the urge to see for himself.
Part of him understands Stiles' crazy sentiment toward the hill, because Derek was a lot like that, too, back when it was just him and Laura sweeping up the ashes of their loved ones. There were days when he would find himself sitting in the middle of their charred living room for hours, staring at the front door, half expecting his father or one of his brothers to burst in, laughing about some weird thing they saw in town.
Laura would normally have to drag him out on those days, and try to keep herself from crying, too.
So when Derek goes up to the hill, he can understand why Stiles would be so attached to it. He can almost feel it himself, that heavy sort of aura that weaves through the grass and wraps around the old, twisted tree at the top. If he were to look hard enough, maybe he'd see the soul that so quietly resides there.
Or maybe he'd see nothing at all. He can never be sure.
But he likes to think that he's visiting someone, or something. Maybe he doesn't know exactly how he would speak to her (no part of him knows how he would introduce himself -- Hi, my name's Derek. I'm a werewolf, I've killed people, and I'm sleeping with your son.) but... there are bits and pieces in his conscious, whether he's aware of them or not, of conversations and stories that... well, he wonders what they would be.
Maybe he'd tell her about how bad Stiles is at shadow puppets, or how he still heeds her words when he's finding himself nervous of thunderstorms. Maybe he'd tell her about that one time when Stiles waded in a freezing pool for two straight hours with a hundred and eighty pounds of dead werewolf weight hanging off of his shoulders.
And maybe she'd return the favor. Maybe she'd tell him about Stiles' first words, or about all those incredible firework celebrations that they saw together, when light exploded against the dark navy backdrop of the California sky. Maybe she'd tell him about how she met the sheriff, or... or how she died in the first place.
Maybe she'd even tell him what it was like, so he'd know if he ever felt it. He'd know if that bright light at the bottom of the water was really what he saw, or if his family saw that, too. Maybe she'd know if they were wandering listlessly around the planet, sorrowful and burdened.
Perhaps, Derek likes to entertain, that she'd do him a favor. Perhaps she'd relay a message, or ease his doubts, tell him that they're peaceful and safe and happy. And maybe he'd return the favor. Maybe he'd admit to himself something that's he's known for a while, maybe he'd look past all that distrust and all that broken pattern and all that anxiety.
Maybe he'd finally admit that there was someone falling in love with her son.
See, Derek doesn't know Mrs. Stilinski. It's almost pathetic, how little he knows about her -- he knows she died, and that's about it. He doesn't know why, or when, or how old she was, or what kind of life she led. But he does know that a day or even a minute of talking to her would do him a lot of good.
It would do him a lot of good, indeed.
Derek smiles.
He knows that he's alone.
--
Stiles is kind of disturbed, to say the least, that his own Jeep is almost becoming alien to him. It's not like he rides in the Camaro all that much, but he's with Derek often enough that he sometimes mistakes where his cup holders are as opposed to Derek's or how he likes his mirrors or whatever. He loves his Jeep, but there's really no beating a Chevrolet, and besides, you can't really be a self-respecting individual and make out in the backseat of a Jeep (no offense intended to his baby, of course.)
Still, he's tired and he's sore and he knows he should probably be at home, probably be studying or practicing for lacrosse or something that isn't driving into the outskirts of town to go visit a dinky hill, but he knows when he needs to go there, and he knows that now is one of those times. He doesn't question it, and it's almost like his Jeep just... drives itself all the way there.
The sky is dimming and little holes of light are poking through the heavy blue canopy, and Stiles squints through the windshield of the Jeep. Even here, he can see the sleek silhouette of the Camaro, and he tilts his head, almost in curiosity. Part of him thinks he should feel violated, but it's not like he owns the hill -- and if there's anybody that he wants up there, it's Derek.
Still, deep in his soul, he feels like there's something up there, something on the seam between Heaven and California, that belongs to him and him alone, that's touched him and comforted him when he's needed it the most. Is he ready to let Derek share that with him?
He's surprised by the resounding yes that he hears in his brain.
So he lets his Jeep inch slowly up the side of the hill, the engine growling quietly behind him, and as he gets closer and closer to the Camaro, he catches sight of Derek, who's sitting on the ground, leaning against the old, thin tree at the top of the hill. He stops the Jeep and shuts off the engine, and though Derek's eyes are closed, he's almost certain that he must have heard him from nearly a mile away.
Part of him entertains ideas of trying to sneak up on Derek, but that would be like trying to sneak up on... well, Derek Hale. He knows that it'll never work out, so he just throws subtlety to the wind and gets out of his Jeep, slamming the door behind him. He can practically feel his bones shake at how hard it hits the frame, and he winces.
(There's a story behind that, really, and it has to do with his dad having owned a truck that actually required that much force to shut the doors, but that's probably a story for another day. Stiles chuckles a bit to himself -- Derek once told him that if he ever tried the same with the Camaro, his intestines would be on the ground faster than he could blink, and it's really not a threat that he's quite ready to toy with.)
He yawns and digs his hands deep into his pockets, shuffling through the grass, tinted a dark turquoise in the evening dim, and he makes it over to the tree. He plops himself down next to Derek, who's opened his eyes by now, staring up through the dark leaves at the top of the tree to the inky black above.
Stiles looks up with him. "What are you doing here?" He knows that Derek has every right to be here, so he's not surprised when Derek chuckles dryly.
"This is a public hill, you know." he replies quietly, and a dark gray mass of cloud floats over a bright cluster of stars, snuffing out their light almost immediately. "Why do I need a reason to be here?"
It's a good enough answer, though a tad vague, and Stiles figures it's really all the answer that he deserves. To be fair, this hill isn't his, and nobody should really bother associating it with him -- especially not Derek. Stiles doesn't feel like he's earned the right to be associated with anything in Derek's eyes, to be frank.
But Derek's voice is without venom, regardless, almost as if it's a question and answer they've gone through before. They're both hopelessly vague, and could probably do with a bit more practice in the area of communications, but if there's a class for that at the local community college, they can take it a later date.
The breeze picks up, just the slightest bit.
"You really think she's here, don't you?" Stiles doesn't start at the idea, and he doesn't even feel any kind of... leap of his heart or whatever at the question, because he knows the answer, and it's not an answer that surprises him at all, either. So he just shrugs.
"I like to think so. Yeah." He cracks his neck before looking back up -- one of the clouds is shaped like a key, and he smiles wryly to himself. He sees Derek look down from the corner of his eye and can feel Derek's gaze on him as he speaks. "The thing is, though, the house still has people in it, and her grave is just a slab of rock, really. I guess it would probably be easy to find parts of her anywhere, but... not like here."
It's true, of course. There's no way her soul could be resting in their house, because his dad and he are moving around so much and are pretty damn obnoxious that she would probably never be able to find any peace. And her grave? Well... it's just so impersonal, so not... her. There's no decorations, no flowers, just a smooth slab of gray rock that doesn't remind him of her at all.
But the hill is different. The hill is beautiful and vibrant in its own way, just like she was. The hill is adventurous and courageous, and the hill is where he's the most comfortable, the hill is brilliant. The hill is close to her, but the hill is still reality, and the hill is just --
The hill... Stiles is surprised to hear Derek speak. "You can practically touch the stars from here."
That's something that he's not expecting, and he looks down, his expression open, a bit stunned. Derek almost seems just as staggered as he is, just as surprised that something came out of his mouth and sounded so... well, right. Sounded like it really had its place there, and Stiles finds himself unable to hold back a grin.
"Nobody else really gets that, I guess."
And there he has it. Something tugs at the corner of Derek's mouth, something like relief or even happiness, maybe, because there's an odd sense of... gratefulness suddenly bubbling up in Stiles' stomach. He knows how Derek is, though, how werewolves are in general, really (they're all bitter jackasses who hate happiness, apparently) so he saves Derek the trouble and leans over. The kiss is soft and gentle, something without a lot of force behind it, but definitely something that sparks, just like it always does -- it sparks from that odd sense of faith between them, that odd sense of faith that transcends even their distrust and their dysfunction and all the problems they could face in the world.
Perhaps, then, that odd sense of faith is what drives Stiles to pull back, to murmur, almost against Derek's lips, "What was your family like?"
He wonders, for a brief moment, if he should have asked that. He's wondered if he should be allowed to ask a question like that, or if he has any right to know anything about Derek, anything at all. Of course Derek should know his mom, because his mom was great and taught Stiles pretty much everything he knows, but Stiles isn't the kind of person who deserves to know all the pain that Derek harbors, all the guilt and all the shame he carries on his shoulders.
Stiles doesn't have the right to put him through the trouble.
But even before Stiles pulls away, he can feel Derek's smile against his own lips, and he pulls away, puzzled. Derek shrugs, and he turns his body a bit so that he's facing Stiles more properly. "You asked." he replies, and Stiles widens his eyes a bit. He's actually... answering? He actually wants to tell Stiles?
It's then, Stiles knows, that things are looking up, even more so than they were. He's not sure how his mom would think about him dating a werewolf (because, who is he kidding anymore?) but he knows that where he is, he's happy, wherever it is. He somehow thinks that his mom would be content with that.
Derek looks away with him a takes a deep breath, almost as if he's about to tell some long, complicated story. He stares at the ground for a while as he digs up the memories. "Well, it was a... really big family. We were a family, and a pack, and we all moved together, between here and Seattle and Oregon, back and forth. My immediate family lived in that old house, for the most part, but we sometimes had visitors."
Stiles starts picking idly at the grass between his crossed legs. "You mean, like... like when Kate --"
But Derek only nods. "We were being threatened by hunters back then, so we held a pack meeting in the house. She cornered us, all at once." He frowns, his brow creasing. "My mom and my dad were both werewolves, and Laura and I were both products of genetic lycanthropy. Still, I had two little sisters and a little brother who weren't werewolves, and they were loved just like we were."
"Really?" Stiles asks, and he blinks. "How big was your family?"
Derek shrugs. "Other than Laura, I had five siblings. Two little sisters -- twins, actually -- a younger brother, another older sister and an older brother. Everybody younger than me was human." He looks up at the darkening sky again. "Uncle Peter tended to stay with us, mostly because my granddad gave him a hard time about staying with him. He was my dad's older brother.
"My granddad -- he was my mom's father, also a human. He lived with my aunt, who was my mom's younger sister, who was human, too, but her husband was a werewolf. We had three cousins -- two werewolves, a boy and a girl, and one human, a girl." Derek shrugs. "That's the extent of the Hale family."
Stiles tries to take in all the information at once, and he chuckles dryly. "Man, that must have been one hell of a family reunion." Derek honestly, truly grins at that, and Stiles considers it a victory on his part, so he leans up again and kisses Derek briefly, just to ease him along.
Derek nods. "The day that Kate burned the house down," he says it so candidly that Stiles is a bit taken aback, and he wonders how much thinking Derek has done since he last saw him, "my mom and dad, my aunt and uncle, my granddad, and Peter were all in the kitchen, discussing where we were going to move to stay safe. Our two werewolf cousins were in the attic with my older brother and sister -- I think they were playing rummy or something -- and my younger siblings and our human cousin were downstairs in the living room watching TV. Laura and I were at school." Stiles watches as Derek's expression softens, and something tugs painfully at his heart. "When we caught wind of what happened, we ran, and I tried to push my way in, but Laura pulled me out. I still don't know how Peter got out, but everybody else..."
At that point, he somewhat trails off, and he almost zones out as he stares at the ground, and Stiles frowns.
He's not exactly sure how he's supposed to help, but he wonders if his empathy for Derek can do anything for him. "You know," he starts quietly, "my mom died of lung cancer." Derek looks up, almost like he's confused, but Stiles just nods and continues. "I helped her shave her head and I sat with her when she was sick from all the chemotherapy. I helped her carry around her oxygen tank when she was too weak."
Derek watches him steadily, and he looks away. The light from the stars is shining off the hood of the Camaro, gleaming and pretty. "I visited her everyday when she was in the hospital, and I'd always tell her when I walked in that she looked beautiful." He smiles a bit to himself. "Because I thought she did, you know. Look beautiful."
He looks Derek in the eye, and he smiles softly. "I don't want to try to minimize your experience, or try to say that I know at all how you feel," he tells Derek, "but I watched her get thinner and thinner, you know. I watched her get sick, and I was sitting with her when she died."
"What did you do?" Derek murmurs, almost like it isn't a conscious decision.
Stiles shrugs, still smiling. "I just... got up, and I kissed her forehead. I told her that she'd never looked prettier, and that I loved her. And then I left."
Derek stares for a moment or two, and Stiles just laughs wryly. "The point is, you jackass," he says lightly, "no matter what kind of hell your family goes through, or puts you through, they're your family. Nothing they could ever do could ever make them hate you, or blame you. I never blamed her for dying, or my dad, or anybody else." He shrugs. "And I don't want to assume that you blame yourself for what happened with Kate. But I do know one thing, and that's that they don't."
He doesn't know if he's getting preachy, and he really hopes that he's not, because something tells him that getting preachy with Derek Hale will only earn him a fist to the jaw. But Derek uncrosses his legs suddenly, and he leans forward, and he kisses Stiles hard on the mouth, with a lot of meaning and a whole lot of heart behind it, and Stiles doesn't fight the force of gravity pulling him back to lay against the grass.
They stay like that for a while, and Stiles is glad that nobody else visits that stupid hill, because Derek kisses him, hot and wet like he means it, and it feels like it's years before he finally rolls off, landing on his back next to Stiles, staring up at the sky.
The clouds are gone, all of a sudden. There's nothing but stars.
"There's a lot I would have told your mom."
Stiles looks at Derek. "Like what?" He's honestly curious, and Derek turns his head to look back. He studies Stiles' face for a minute before leaning in and kissing him softly.
When he pulls back, his grin is gentle. "I probably would have told her that she was beautiful." he murmurs. "She had to have been."
Stiles doesn't let himself think about it for too long, because he doesn't want to muse on the fact that Derek might have just called him attractive, so he just smiles and kisses softly back, tries to forget everything before his heart bursts from happiness.
And maybe, just maybe, there's one single star hanging just a bit lower in the sky.