Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Come on," Stiles muttered as he paced anxiously back and forth, sneakers scraping against the pavement and phone pressed against his ear. "Come on, come on. Pick up."

Maybe it was unfair to expect his dad to answer so late at night — when he was working, no less — but Stiles knew that he would. He always did, especially once Stiles had moved away for college and sometimes didn't have time to check in until after he was done with his classes and homework. His dad never missed a call from Stiles if he could help it.

Stiles sighed in relief when his dad picked up.

"Stiles?" There was a mix of confusion and dread in his dad's voice that only made the lump in Stiles' throat grow. He had to close his eyes and swallow harshly to be able to reply.

"Yeah. Hi," he rasped out, knowing that his dad wouldn't like the unmistakable anxiousness that laced those two simple words.

Stiles sounded just about as wrecked as he felt.

The straps of his backpack were digging into his shoulders, stuffed to the brim with his laptop and course books. His free hand was tucked inside the big front pocket of his hoodie, carefully clutching the cracked picture frame he had hidden there.

"Stiles? Is everything alright?" His dad sounded worried now, which Stiles couldn't exactly blame him for.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Stiles paused, squeezing his eyes shut and sucking in a trembling breath, willing the sting behind his eyelids to go away. He felt himself give. "Actually, no, I'm not. It's not— I'm not dying, okay? But I'm not..." Stiles swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. Then he threw caution to the wind and whispered, "Dad, can I come home?"

The pause was brief enough that Stiles could tell that it was from shock, not hesitation.

"Of course you can, Stiles. But don't you have classes tomorrow?"

"No, the teacher's sick," Stiles lied, feeling only slightly guilty for doing so. He only had one lecture on Fridays, and the teacher was practically quoting the book rather than writing his own material. Stiles knew that he wouldn't miss anything that he couldn't catch up on later.

He'd rather leave as soon as possible. Fact was, it was better if he did so; he didn't have anywhere else to go. Lydia was visiting Jackson, Steve had his boyfriend over, and Kyle was out of town. And Stiles couldn't return to his dorm room. He just couldn't.

He wanted to go home.

"What happened, Stiles?" His dad had every reason to ask, but Stiles didn't want to explain — not over the phone.

"It's... complicated. I'll tell you when I get home, okay? I just want to go home." He hadn't intended for the last sentence to end up closer to a whispered plea than a determined declaration, but it did. Stiles heart was beating fast and loud in his chest, the remnants of the adrenaline still pushing through his veins, making his hands tremble.

"Okay, of course," his dad replied, voice soothing. He could clearly tell that Stiles was everything but calm. "You'll take the bus tomorrow? The Jeep is still getting repairs, right?"

Stiles felt a spark of panic at the thought of having to wait until the next morning before leaving for Beacon Hills, but he knew that the buses and trains had stopped running for the night. And he couldn't very well ask his dad to come and get him; not only was he working, but the one-way drive took about eight hours.

"No, I'll— I mean, yeah, the Jeep is still at the workshop, but I want to leave tonight."

"Tonight?" His dad sounded surprised by the urgency, but increasingly concerned as well. He had to have realized that this didn't leave Stiles with a whole lot of options to choose from. "Stiles, it's really late."

"I know. I can't catch a bus or a train, but I can always try to hitchhike—"

"No," his dad said firmly, no doubt hating the risks that could include.

Stiles felt his chest constrict from dread, not wanting to defy his dad, but he couldn't stay, either. He just wanted to go home and hug his dad and forget about the horrible night he'd had.

"Let me make a few calls, okay? I'll see if I can't figure something out," his dad offered, probably sensing that his bluntness had rattled Stiles. "Just give me fifteen minutes."

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, even if his dad wouldn't be able to see it.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," he agreed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. He could wait fifteen minutes. Maybe it would give him time to calm down.

Stiles knew that it was a bad idea to call his dad while he was still reeling from the shock himself — overprotective didn't even begin to cover his dad's reaction whenever something upset Stiles — but that was also why he couldn't help doing it. Hearing his dad's voice over the phone helped ease a lot of the tension in Stiles' shoulder. And sure, it only made him miss home even more, but he was willing to endure that for the sake of the comfort it also offered.

His dad would always do everything within his power to make Stiles feel safe, happy, and content.

"I'll call you again soon, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles whispered, his voice cracking. He knew that he might be overreacting — if he just took a couple of breaths and tried to calm down this might not seem as bad — but he didn't give a damn. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his dad, if only for the weekend.

Stiles would put up with the insane amount of hours he would have to spend travelling, just to see his dad. It would be worth it. He wanted to go home so bad that it was like a physical ache at that point.

"Just a couple of minutes. I'll call you back." His dad seemed reluctant to hang up, clearly worried that something would happen the moment he did.

Stiles felt a trembling smile spread on his lips.

"Yeah, okay. I'm at the bus stop next to campus. I'll just sit here and wait, I promise." He shuffled over to the bench, sinking down onto it with an unsteady, trembling exhale. "I'll be fine, Dad. You make your calls."

"Right." His dad cleared his throat, obviously trying to reel in his concern. "I love you."

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and took a slow, calculated breath.

"I love you too," he croaked. "Talk to you soon."

Stiles felt guilty for hanging up but he knew that if he didn't, they'd find themselves sitting there, waiting for the other to do so. His dad would understand, and no doubt hurry to make those calls of his.

Stiles sighed before tilting his head back, looking up at the dark expanse of midnight blue sky. He kept his phone in his hand, not wasting his energy on putting it away when he knew that his dad would be calling again soon.

As distraught as Stiles was, he was grateful that this happened when it was still relatively warm outside. Had it been during the winter months, he would have been freezing himself half to death. As it were, he found himself quite comfortable with nothing more than his thick hoodie, staring up at the night sky.

It was Stiles' second year at college and they weren't even a month into the semester. Since his previous roommate had dropped out, he had been given a new one once classes picked back up. It hadn't seemed too bad at first. The guy was friendly enough — saying hi to Stiles when they met in the corridors, even if they didn't share classes — and not minding that Stiles was a bit fidgety and restless when he studied, often pacing, gesturing, and fiddling with his pens and papers.

Sure, Stiles didn't like how he got woken up in the middle of the night when his roommate came stumbling in, back from some party — which happened almost alarmingly often, to tell the truth — but each to his own. Stiles took his courses and classes seriously, but he couldn't exactly force others to do the same. Despite their differences, Stiles tried not to complain too much, mostly because he knew that he wasn't exactly easy to put up with either.

But being a bit unbearable on occasion was one thing — completely disregarding your roommate's privacy was another. Stiles hadn't even known how to react when he came back to his room earlier that night, only to find it full of people he didn't recognize and — to be completely frank — didn't want to get to know better, either.

Stiles jumped with fright when his phone started ringing, the shrill tune echoing in the otherwise quiet night. There were next to no cars around, and the area was virtually empty aside from a tired student dragging herself towards the dorms. Campus was never particularly lively after 8 PM on a Thursday night.

It couldn't have been a full fifteen minutes since they hung up, but Stiles was grateful to see his dad's name flash across the screen. He accepted the call and raised the phone to his ear, praying that his dad had found a way for Stiles to get home.

"How did it go?" he asked, knowing that he didn't have to waste time on pleasantries.

"Surprisingly well. If you can get to the gas station on the east side of town, I know a guy who can give you a lift."

Stiles frowned, but not necessarily in dislike — more like confusion.

"You know a guy?"

In Stiles' experience, his dad only knew coworkers and criminals. Stiles doubted that the former were anywhere close to his town at the moment, or that his dad wanted him near the latter.

"Well, one of my deputies knows a guy. He's a local, and she swears that he's good people."

"Did you run a background check?" Stiles asked with a grin, unable to stop himself.

"I don't have to — I know who he is." His dad sounded vaguely insulted, but Stiles wasn't fooled. If his dad had had the time to do so, he would totally have run a background check on the guy.

"So he'll give me a lift?" Stiles decided to stick to the matter at hand rather than tease his dad for being overprotective.

"Yeah, for free, even. He's on his way back to Beacon Hills, with or without you." Stiles could hear his dad shuffling around with some papers, probably some stray reports he had yet to finish. "He works for a delivery company in town — drives trucks for them — so as long as you're willing to put up with him, he'll take you all the way."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Stiles felt almost bewildered by how easy it sounded. "Hey, I mean, I'm not picky considering the circumstances. But shouldn't you be asking him if he'll put up with me rather than the other way around?"

Stiles wasn't known for being particularly tolerable, after all.

"His words, not mine," his dad replied, but there was something akin to a smile in his voice. "Anyway, his schedule has him driving all night, so you'll probably get here sometime in the morning. Is that fast enough?"

"Yeah, totally. That's... it's great, actually. Better than I could have hoped for. Thanks." Stiles could already feel the relief settle in his chest, making him relax and slump lower on the bench.

"You should thank Derek, not me." His dad was definitely smiling now. "Anyway, I gave him your number, just in case, but as long as you're at the gas station in about an hour, he'll pick you up. His name is Derek Hale, and he said to look for a black flat-nosed truck."

"Okay, I have no idea what that means, but I'll keep an eye out for something big and black."

His dad snorted on a laugh. "You do that. He'll call you if he can't find you."

"You really trust this guy with the precious cargo also known as your firstborn and only son?" Stiles felt that he had to ask, teasing as it might be.

"Under the circumstances, I'm willing to trust him a lot more than some random driver who'd pick up a hitchhiker at this time of night."

"I'll have you know that I'm adorable and anyone would want to help me if they saw me stranded by the side of the road."

"Yeah," his dad agreed dryly, "and that's what worries me."

Stiles couldn't help laughing, infinitely grateful that he was still able to do that, even if his night had been anything but pleasant.

"Okay, yeah, I see your point." Stiles grinned, relieved to hear his dad chuckle on the other end.

Things would be okay. Stiles would go home, hug his dad, and put this behind him — at least for the time being. He'd be better prepared to face it again on Monday if he got to relax during the weekend.

"Text me when you're on your way, okay?" his dad urged, smile still evident in his voice.

"Sure, I'll do that," Stiles replied softly. "Thanks for helping out."

"Always, Stiles, you know that."

"Yeah, I know." He smiled, feeling much better than he had ten minutes ago. There was a solution in sight and it did wonders for his state of mind. "See you soon."

"Will do."

Stiles' heart felt surprisingly light when he hung up.

Stiles couldn't say exactly what he had expected this Derek Hale to be like when he went to meet him, but it certainly wasn't what he found himself facing. First of all, Stiles had forgotten to ask how old Derek was, but had automatically assumed that he would be a couple of years ahead of Stiles. And while he was definitely older — mid or late twenties, perhaps — he wasn't too old.

Which could prove to be a bit of an issue, considering how absolutely gorgeous the man was.

Stiles was entirely unprepared for what awaited him as he made his way across the wide expanse of tarmac outside the gas station. He navigated between idling cars and trucks — it was obviously a place where nighttime drivers had a habit of stopping — and finally caught sight of what he assumed was the so-called flat-nosed truck he was supposed to find.

It looked like most other semi-trucks to him.

The man climbing out of it, however, was everything but ordinary. His long legs made the descent seem entirely too easy — not to mention graceful, which Stiles sure as hell knew shouldn't be possible — and the offensively tight, light grey t-shirt he wore gave Stiles a perfect view of what those smooth, well-defines muscles looked like in motion.

Poetry. Absolute fucking poetry.

Derek stopped and turned towards Stiles with a questioning look on his face, one hand still gripping the truck door. His arms — casually on display thanks to the t-shirt and highlighted by the strong lights from the gas station — were ridiculous and Stiles wanted to lick them. Desperately.

"Stiles Stilinski?"

Stiles held back his kneejerk reaction — which would have been a dazed "you can call me anything you want" — and gave himself time to swallow and nod before replying.

"Yeah."

Dear God, his voice barely even managed to remain steady for something as simple as that. It was just that Derek was apparently well-proportioned and stunningly gorgeous no matter which part of him you chose to focus on. Broad shoulders, long legs, arms to die for, and a face that Stiles was pretty sure had to have been created through the use of CGI. No one could possibly be that handsome — all sharp angles, high cheekbones, and bright hazel eyes — without having gotten touched up in Photoshop at some point. Even the man's beard looked perfect.

Stiles wasn't sure if he had ever seen anyone this hot before.

And this was apparently the man he was going to be spending the next eight hours trapped inside an enclosed space with — without options for escape should Stiles screw up. Which he undoubtedly would.

Fucking hell.

"You can climb in if you want." Derek's expression remained almost disturbingly neutral, but at least he didn't look hostile. Yet. Stiles was pretty certain that those eyebrows of his were made for some pretty badass frowns, should the occasion call for it. Derek gestured towards the gas station. "I'm getting coffee."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, I'll— uh... get in." Stiles wanted to smack his own forehead for that incredibly eloquent reply, but Derek didn't seem to notice just how embarrassing it had been. He merely nodded, shut the truck door, and started walking towards the gas station.

Stiles tried and failed to avoid staring.

Holy shit. The guy was absolutely gorgeous. Why couldn't his dad have given him a heads up? Stiles would definitely have appreciated one.

As it were, he was left speechless and maybe a tiny bit aroused on the big parking lot, trying to will himself to move. It took a couple of seconds before he was able to — possibly related to the fact that Derek disappeared out of view inside the gas station — and Stiles hurried to the passenger side of the big, intimidating truck. He'd rather not try to scale it in Derek's presence. Knowing Stiles' luck — and his complete lack of grace and sufficiently functioning motor skills — he'd need one or two attempts before managing.

And, sure enough, Derek had made it look a lot easier to climb the truck than it actually was.

Stiles was grateful that he didn't fall and crack his head on the tarmac, since that would have been both embarrassing and possibly life-threatening. The finer art of where to put his feet and what he could grab a hold of or not took a bit of work. He also realized that he should have tossed his backpack up first, rather than try to slip it off once he had gotten inside the cabin.

Despite the complications, he was eventually able to lean back in the surprisingly comfortable seat with his backpack in his lap. He sighed from relief and gave himself a second to catch his breath, tracing the outline of the picture frame still tucked inside the front pocket of his hoodie, before reaching out to shut the door.

Once that was done, he couldn't help glancing around inside the cabin, understandably curious. To his disappointment, there wasn't much to be revealed about Derek, however, except what might be the edge of a photograph Stiles couldn't see clearly, sticking out from underneath some papers in the overhead compartment on the driver's side. There was a simple, black duffle tucked in the space behind the seats, but apart from that it was practically empty. Stiles couldn't even see as much as a discarded candy wrapper, and he wasn't sure if that meant that the guy was anally tidy, or if he had cleaned up because he knew that he would get company. But Derek — with his deadpan expression and slightly intimidating demeanor — didn't seem like the kind of guy who would care enough about Stiles' opinion to do that.

Derek was apparently as elusive as he was handsome. Not that Stiles minded. If anything, it made him all the more curious since it meant that he would have to figure those things out himself. He had eight hours at his disposal, after all. Sleep was also a good idea, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't be doing a lot of it — for more than one reason.

Stiles wasn't sure how long he sat there, but he jumped in fright when the driver's side door opened. He hadn't seen anyone approach, possibly due to how high up he was. A second later Derek was climbing inside the cab, carrying a disposable coffee cup and a white plastic bag in one hand. How the man managed to make the climb one-handed — and make it look so easy — was a mystery to Stiles. He might have been gawking. Just a little.

Derek seemed barely aware of Stiles' presence while he got settled, placing the coffee in the cup holder and plastic bag on top of his duffle. Only then did he give Stiles a fleeting glance. Stiles got the distinct impression of being carefully ignored.

That had never sat well with him.

"You can put your backpack behind your seat," Derek said, his tone gruff.

Stiles had only known the guy for roughly ten minutes and he was already certain that this was going to be a very long and very awkward drive. Derek didn't seem to be the kind of person who liked small talk. Or talk in general, for that matter. Everything he said was curt and precise, as if he thought that speaking in any other way would be to waste words.

Stiles was the complete opposite.

Still, he did as Derek suggested and put his backpack next to the black duffel, trying to ignore how much more naked he felt when he didn't have anything to cling to. He felt awkward and out of place in the truck cabin, no matter how roomy it was.

"Seatbelt."

Stiles looked at Derek, blinking in confusion. "Huh?"

He wasn't following. Derek seemed to hold back an exasperated sigh, his lips pressed together into something close to a frown.

"Put on your seatbelt." Derek obviously wasn't one who liked to repeat himself, judging by the flat tone as he, as if to demonstrate, put on his own seatbelt.

"Oh! Right. Yes." Stiles fumbled to comply. "Sorry."

This was going so well. Not that Stiles usually made a good first impression, but this was catastrophic, even for him.

Derek didn't deign that with response and instead started the engine and got ready to navigate them out from the parking lot. Stiles tried not to fidget or stare, but he was uncharacteristically nervous. It wasn't the fact that Derek was a complete stranger — that had never bothered Stiles to any major degree — but maybe it was a combination of the sucky night he'd had and the prospect of spending the rest of it with a guy who clearly wouldn't be much of a conversationalist.

It made Stiles feel even more out of place.

Still, he managed to occupy himself by looking out the window for a couple of minutes, intrigued by how high up he was sitting. Everything looked different from that angle, and if it had been day instead of in the middle of the night, he would probably have found quite a lot to stare at. Now everything was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, save for the occasional street lights as Derek drove them away from the outskirts of town, towards the interstate.

Stiles pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text to his dad, just to let him know that they were on their way. He was sorely tempted to add something snarky about how his dad should have warned him about Derek's looks, but Stiles figured it was better not to. His dad had said something about knowing who the guy was and Stiles wasn't sure if admitting that he was attracted to him was a good idea. Especially not when they were going to be alone together on a practically deserted road all night.

His dad would only worry.

It didn't take long for an answer to arrive — his dad must have been waiting for Stiles' text — but it didn't say much aside from a wish for a safe trip and a request to call when they were closing in on Beacon Hills. Stiles chewed distractedly on his bottom lip while he typed out a quick confirmation, then pocketed his phone again, letting it rest next to the picture frame.

Derek seemed completely focused on driving — which was probably a good thing, all things considered — but that also meant that Stiles was left to his own devices. The silence in the cab felt suffocating, and Stiles debated whether asking for some music could potentially earn him another one of those epic frowns. Maybe Derek didn't like music. He looked like the kind of guy who might not, what with his stern countenance.

Stiles' fingers started fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie, just to occupy his hands with something. He felt so incredibly awkward and had no idea how to combat it. Derek looked relaxed and confident, though — almost annoyingly so. His movements were calm and controlled, showing that he was an experienced driver and clearly not the least bit concerned about his performance despite his unscheduled passenger.

For a couple of moments Stiles got distracted by the sight of Derek's hands on the steering wheel. He couldn't even explain why, but the way his fingers rested against the curve of the wheel was oddly pleasant. Then again, it was in the middle of the night, and even with Stiles' occasionally unhealthy sleeping habits it was getting late. He might be delusional.

Stiles licked his bottom lip before looking up at Derek's profile, feeling an almost compulsory need to talk. He had to fill the silence somehow. Derek didn't seem put off by it, but Stiles sure was.

"So you're from Beacon Hills too?" According to his dad they had that in common, at least, so maybe it was a good place to start.

Derek gave him a side-eyed look that didn't say much of anything. It looked vaguely suspicious, though, as if he was trying to figure out Stiles' endgame. Had the guy never heard of small talk?

"Yeah."

Okay, not such a good place to start after all. Not even Stiles could interpret that as anything else than an evasive reply. That didn't mean that he had any intention of giving up, however.

"You grew up there?"

Stiles could see Derek's jaw clench and while it might be from annoyance, Stiles felt intrigued rather than scared. He had always been sort of lacking when it came to self-preservation.

"Yes," was the measured and studiously uninformative reply.

"Really? You can't be that much older than me, but I don't remember seeing you around." Stiles refrained from adding that he knew this mostly because he would never have forgotten someone as hot as Derek, if he had seen him before.

Derek did sigh this time, in a rather suffering manner. But he didn't look angry — not exactly. More like pained, as if it was physically straining to form words into a semblance of polite speech.

"I lived in New York for a couple of years." The reply was curt and sharper than the ones before it. Even Stiles could tell that asking about New York was a big no-no.

"Oh. That explains it, I guess," he offered instead, somewhat lamely.

Derek, unsurprisingly, didn't reply. He seemed rather grateful that the conversation withered and died before it even took hold. Instead he took a sip from his coffee with a well-practiced movement, without taking his eyes off the road. Stiles wasn't entirely sure if one should take one of their hands off the wheel when driving something as big as a semi-truck, but he knew better than to question Derek's habits. Stiles wasn't exactly an exemplary driver himself.

The silence was pressing down on him again and Stiles gritted his teeth while staring down at his hands, which were back to fiddling with his sleeve. It wasn't that he had to speak all the time, but Derek's reluctance and short temper made Stiles feel like an inconvenience.

Which he was, all things considered.

The guy surely had his reasons for driving nights — probably related to his somewhat asocial personality. And when he went out of his way to help some kid he didn't even know, purely out of the goodness of his heart, Stiles showed his gratitude by trying to interrogate him. Not to mention that he was invading the guy's space — while Derek was working, no less — and then had the nerve to feel frustrated when it didn't include entertainment.

Stiles sank lower in his seat, feeling something dark and ugly settle in his chest. God, he was so ungrateful. Derek was just trying to be nice.

On any other night, the self-loathing probably wouldn't have hit Stiles as hard as it did. But considering that he had been made to feel unwelcome in his own dorm room, he wasn't exactly thrilled to find that he was a burden here too. And he couldn't even blame Derek for it. Come to think of it, Derek was showing him more kindness than most strangers would, based on nothing but Stiles' dad's word. The guy might be asocial to the point of rudeness and a bit harsh, but he was clearly a good person.

Stiles shouldn't bother him.

Minutes passed like this — maybe even half an hour — where Stiles just sank deeper into his own miserable thoughts, berating himself for being such a needy pain in the ass. Stiles was known for being invasive and inconsiderate, and apparently didn't stop being that even when he was offered help from a selfless, if a bit grumpy, stranger. No wonder Derek didn't want to talk to him.

"You can sleep if you want to." The words were a lot softer than anything Derek had said up until that point, but they still made Stiles flinch. He hadn't expected Derek to speak — least of all on his own accord. "It's late."

Stiles blinked at him, trying to switch from morose, self-depreciating introspection to actual verbal conversation. He had to clear his throat to find his voice.

"No, that's..." He tried to smile, but knew that whatever expression he had on his face could barely be called that. "I mean, yeah, it's late, but I think I'm too keyed up to sleep."

That might have been a lie. The seat was very comfortable and Stiles could probably fall asleep without much effort at all, considering how emotionally exhausted he was. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to. Of course he trusted Derek not to drive them into a ditch just because Stiles closed his eyes, but he felt too uneasy to sleep, his chest clenching at the thought of how much he was asking out of this guy.

Derek threw him a glance in the corner of his eye but Stiles ignored it in favor of turning back towards the window. Since they were out on the highway by then — and away from the city lights — he actually saw quite a few stars dotting the sky. That was an almost depressingly rare sight, considering how beautiful it was.

Stiles was so caught up in his stargazing that he barely took notice of Derek's movements — assuming he was reaching for more coffee — until he heard the plastic bag rustle. Stiles looked over just in time to find a package of Reese's peanut butter cups being held out towards him.

"Here."

Derek was still keeping his eyes firmly on the road, and while Stiles understood what Derek meant he sat frozen in his seat, making no attempt to accept the orange package of candy.

"What?" he asked dumbly, voice almost cracking from confusion and — to his immense horror — sudden vulnerability.

"Your dad didn't say what was wrong and why you're in such a hurry to get home, but he sounded worried." Derek's voice was back to being almost frustratingly neutral. "When I asked, he said this might help."

Stiles didn't know what to say. He might actually have forgotten how to breathe.

It wasn't just the mention of his dad, but the fact that Derek was concerned enough to ask for a way to help cheer Stiles up — before they had even met in person. Derek had no reason whatsoever to do that, and even less to go out of his way to fulfill it.

But he had.

It was such a simple and genuine act of selfless kindness that Stiles couldn't help that his heart seized up. He carefully accepted the peanut butter cups, his hand trembling ever so slightly. His eyes were stinging and he couldn't quite swallow the lump stuck in his throat, but gave it an admirable try.

"T-thanks," he croaked, mortified by how he felt like sobbing from sheer gratefulness.

God, he behaved as if he'd never been shown an act of kindness in his entire life. It was just that this night — more than most — he needed it. And he couldn't believe that he would get it from the silent, broody truck driver who was giving him a lift.

Then again, Derek had already proved that he was a lot nicer than first impressions would suggest.

"What's wrong?" Derek threw him an alarmed glance, sounding tense and uneasy — maybe even a bit panicked — as if it was far beyond his ability to deal with someone who was emotionally unstable. Considering Derek's so far rather lacking social skills, Stiles had no trouble whatsoever to accept this as the truth.

"N-nothing's wrong. I'm fine," Stiles hastened to reassure, wiping away every possible trace of tears with the sleeve of his hoodie. When he chuckled it was closer to a self-depreciating sob than anything else. "Fuck. I'm sorry. It's just that I've had a rough night and that took me by surprise." He looked at Derek, making sure to smile when he caught his gaze, for however short a moment Derek could spare before he had to look back at the road. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate that you did."

Derek looked uncomfortable, twisting a little in his seat, as if being thanked for being an outstanding guy was embarrassing.

His shyness was surprisingly endearing.

"It's no big deal."

But it was. To Stiles it was. It made his chest feel both lighter and heavier at the same time.

He cleared his throat and played with the edges of the orange plastic wrapper, just to keep his fingers occupied.

"Yes, it is," he mumbled, knowing that Derek could hear him even if he didn't seem inclined to reply. For once that didn't matter; Stiles just wanted him to know how grateful he was.

When the silence settled this time, it wasn't all that bad. He could actually appreciate it for how it gave him a second to gather his wits again. Stiles still felt embarrassingly close to crying.

He was even more grateful when Derek reached out and turned on the radio. Stiles had no idea what channel it was, but he'd settle for whatever background noise he could get at that point. It was easier to lean back and relax for a couple of minutes with the low murmur of the music to distract him. He even took the opportunity to eat one of the peanut butter cups, because he had every intention of appreciating Derek's kindness to the fullest.

For some reason the candy tasted better than it usually would.

Minutes drifted by — Derek preoccupied with driving — and for the first time in hours Stiles felt more or less at ease. He was on his way home and could just sit back and relax. Maybe sleeping wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, but at the same time he couldn't help stealing glances at Derek, both due to attraction and genuine intrigue. He was quite a fascinating person, who somehow managed to juggle a very handsome yet hostile exterior with what had to be a soft, warm core. So yeah, Stiles couldn't help staring, just a little.

The man in question didn't seem to notice, or chose not to comment.

For all his gruff replies and attempts to keep a noticeable distance between them, Derek was a good guy. He took responsibility over a random college kid he had never met before, just to be kind, and he went out of his way to make sure that the kid in question wasn't starving.

Well, for food at least. Derek still seemed unwilling to offer any kind of conversation to sate Stiles' curiosity. But Stiles probably wasn't in a position to ask for it. He wanted to talk and to get to know Derek better, but he didn't want to freak the guy out — not when they still had hours left to drive.

Instead Stiles ran his fingers along the cracked photo frame inside his pocket, letting the minutes slip by with the sound of the radio in the background. It was soothing, even if it also gave him far too much time to think about what he was essentially running away from. He tried to focus on the relief he felt now that he was finally going home. The odds of Derek passing through that night of all nights, just in time to pick Stiles up, were almost ludicrously small, but Stiles had no intention of questioning his luck.

He'd settle for being grateful.

Which reminded him of something he actually did want to discuss with Derek, asocial behavior or not.

"So what do I owe you?" Stiles asked, lazily turning his head to look at Derek.

"Nothing," was the simple reply. Derek looked calm and unconcerned, but Stiles couldn't help feeling like he should give the guy something. Granted, Derek would have made the trip with or without Stiles — his dad had said so — but taking on a passenger when you were used to driving alone couldn't be all that fun.

"Come on, you have to let me pay for this," Stiles insisted, even if he made sure to keep his voice gentle rather than reproachful. He had a feeling that Derek would be even less likely to agree if Stiles tried to force him. "You might have offered to do it for free — which I'm grateful for — but considering what a huge favor this is, I would rather pay you."

"It's no big deal."

Derek sounded tense now, as if he had something against gratitude — which was just weird.

"You keep saying that, but it is a big deal to me. I want to." Stiles straightened in his seat, looking at Derek even if he knew that the other had to watch the road. Stiles paused for a second. "It's not because of my dad, is it? I mean, he might be the sheriff, but he's not that scary. He'll probably think it's better if I pay, as a matter of fact."

"I'm not afraid of your dad." Derek sounded amused now, which was a nice change. There might even have been a slight smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, but it was difficult to tell what with that that almost-scowl he seemed to wear more or less permanently.

"Oh yeah? Sure seems like it," Stiles teased, unable to hold back.

"Your dad is a good man. He helped me and my sisters after the fire and—" Derek cut himself off and stiffened noticeably enough that Stiles almost flinched in surprise.

Then the actual words Derek had spoken filtered through, making Stiles' eyes widened in surprise.

"You— wait, fire?" he asked, voice pitched all wrong. Suddenly, without much effort at all on Stiles' part, things slotted into place. Everyone in Beacon Hills knew about the fire that had taken place over ten years ago, killing almost an entire family, but Stiles hadn't exactly connected that Hale to the Hale driving him homeward. "You mean... you're that Derek Hale?"

Derek's jaw clenched and his expression closed off. That was as good as a yes, but Stiles didn't feel the least bit triumphant at having unveiled something about Derek's past. Not when he saw the white-knuckled grip Derek had around the steering wheel, and the alarmingly intense way he was staring at the road.

"Oh. Shit... I'm sorry." Stiles swallowed, feeling a lump of both guilt and sympathy grow in his throat. He was pretty sure that Derek wanted neither. "That... that came out wrong. I'm sorry."

Derek didn't reply and this time Stiles felt like maybe that was for the best.

Crap.

Talk about fucking up. Not that Stiles had said anything rude, per se, but to make Derek seem like a sideshow freak wasn't very nice either. A man could feel insulted for less.

Stiles licked his lips before carefully pulling out the picture frame he had kept hidden inside his front pocket. His heart clenched when he saw the cracks in the glass, the split in the wood of the frame, and a feeling of suffocating panic sneaked up on him. His heart was thundering in his chest, to the point where he wasn't sure if he would be able to hear himself talk over it, but he had to say something.

"This is my mom." Stiles swallowed harshly. "Was my mom."

Stiles stared down at the photo behind the spider web cracks in the glass. She was smiling, carefree and unaware of the state of the frame, looking just as beautiful as he remembered. Stiles didn't angle the frame so that Derek could see better, but he could tell that Derek was looking at him from the driver's seat.

"She... um... she died. Years ago." Stiles didn't dare to meet Derek's gaze, instead finding comfort in focusing on his mom's familiar features. Stiles rubbed his thumb against the wood of the frame. "When I got back to my dorm earlier tonight, I found that my roommate was throwing a party. Don't ask how he managed in such a small space and where the fuck campus security was, but he did, and, well... whoever these people were, I didn't know them." Stiles swallowed before taking a slow, deep breath. "But they were getting to know me by digging through my stuff."

It was interesting how he could actually feel Derek's surprise, like a shift in the air — quickly followed by something much angrier and darker.

"What?" Derek sounded pissed. Stiles knew it had to be on his behalf. Derek seemed like the kind of person who took matters of privacy very seriously.

"Yeah." Stiles' laugh was more of a croak. "And as much as that pissed me off — which it did — it wasn't until I saw this—" he raised the picture frame slightly, "—cracked on the floor that I just... lost it." Stiles felt the burn of anger return, interlaced with the childish, numbing panic he had experienced when he had seen his mother's picture so carelessly tossed aside. "They were stepping on it," he bit out, his fingers clutching the frame tighter. "I had to get out. I had to get home. I don't— I couldn't stay there, where some drunk idiots had ransacked my room and were laughing at how upset I was about it."

Stiles had felt so incredibly violated, mere seconds away from a panic attack. So he had hastily grabbed what few things he hadn't already had in his backpack from his study session at the library, before fleeing the scene. He hadn't even stopped to yell at his dick of a roommate, since Stiles would probably have started hyperventilating as soon as he tried to open his mouth.

He could deal with that on Monday.

"I didn't tell my dad the details because I knew that he would probably insist on picking me up himself if I did. Or arrest my roommate — never mind that we're way out of my dad's jurisdiction."

"Or both," Derek pointed out.

Stiles found himself smiling, weak as it might be.

"Or both," he agreed.

Stiles took a trembling breath before daring a quick glance up at Derek, who was once again focusing on the road. Some tension seemed to have left him by then, even if he still had a frown on his face. This one looked frustrated rather than defensive, though, possibly because they had left the subject of his family behind in favor of Stiles'. There was a reason for that, however, and Stiles was pretty certain that Derek wouldn't like what he had to say next.

"I'm sorry about your family," Stiles whispered. Even if he liked to talk, he wasn't overly fond of baring his innermost feelings. There was a difference between being social and being an open book — Stiles was the former, not the latter. "And I'm sorry for the way I reacted when hearing about them."

Stiles hadn't meant to make it sound as rude as he accidentally had. He had just been shocked to find that he did know about Derek after all, if only through hearsay. Sharing his own story of loss and grief — not to mention just how raw and vulnerable he had felt earlier that evening — was mostly to make Derek see that Stiles wasn't trying to make a spectacle out of this. He knew all too well how real and earth-shattering it was to lose someone.

He hadn't meant to make it sound as if the fire that had killed Derek's family was some kind of sensational gossip story to him. It was a real life tragedy, and Stiles couldn't even imagine what it had to have been like to live through it.

A movement in his peripheral made him look over at Derek, and Stiles couldn't help blinking in surprise when Derek pulled out the photo that was peeking out from the overhead compartment. Stiles' confusion only grew when Derek held out the picture towards him, without a word or as much as a glance in his direction. Stiles obediently placed his mother's frame in his lap and accepted the photo instead, feeling his heart squeeze when he laid eyes on the gathering of people.

It had to be the Hale family, before the fire.

Stiles automatically sought Derek out first, finding him within seconds. He looked much younger on the picture, but also carefree and happy — his grin wide and confident. It was almost painful to see the difference between the young, smiling teenager and the serious, brooding man sitting next to him in the truck cabin.

Around Derek stood the rest of his family, most of them gravitating towards a woman in their midst, who stood proud and firm with an almost knowing smile on her lips — as if she knew some kind of secret the others didn't. She had to be Derek's mother. Stiles liked her immediately and could see where Derek got his intimidating aura from, even if hers seemed founded in authority while Derek's was born from defensive aggression.

Stiles swallowed and licked his lips.

"How many of them... well..." He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Most of them." The reply was void of any kind of emotion. Mechanical, almost. "Two of my sisters, my uncle, and I were the only survivors." Derek jaw worked. "He got badly burnt and brain damaged from the oxygen deprivation. He'll never recover."

Stiles' throat was so tight that he could barely breathe. All he could do was nod slowly, to show that he had heard. What could he possibly say to something like that? Derek had had such a big, loving family but had lost it overnight.

Stiles couldn't even imagine what that felt like.

"So you went to New York after the fire?" Stiles asked carefully.

"Me and my sisters. We have distant relatives there," Derek replied, somewhat curtly, but not necessarily due to anger.

There were so many other things that Stiles could ask — like why Derek had come back, what he and his sisters were doing now, and what happened to the uncle — but he was pretty certain that Derek wouldn't be willing to discuss it further. The fact that he had said as much as he had was a surprise in itself.

Stiles handed the photo back, trying to keep his hand from shaking.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, catching Derek's gaze during the brief second he glanced to the side to accept the photo. Derek looked alarmingly blank, but that was probably a coping mechanism of his. Maybe it made it easier to bear the grief; Stiles would certainly not hold that against him.

Derek tucked the photo away in the overhead compartment.

"I'm sorry about your mother." There was a brief moment of silence. "And your roommate."

Stiles let out a huff that was closer to a sigh.

"Yeah, he's a dick. I'm going to report him once I get back to campus and all that, but before that I just want to go home and spend some time with my dad." Stiles looked out the window, taking in the dark, silhouetted landscape lit by distant stars. The view was beautiful. "I just need to calm down a little."

Derek didn't reply, as was his habit, and it took a minute or two before Stiles turned back to look at him, allowing his gaze to study Derek's stern profile.

"Hey, I've sort of figured that you don't like to talk," Stiles ventured hesitantly, feeling relieved by the hint of a smile on Derek's lips. At least Derek seemed self-aware enough to know that it was a statement of fact rather than an insult. "But do you mind if I do?"

Derek frowned softly, shooting him a quick, questioning glance. Stiles took that as a request to elaborate.

"Would it bother you if I talked? You don't have to reply or anything," Stiles explained, gesturing with one hand while tucking the picture frame back inside his pocket with the other. "I really don't think I'll be able to sleep yet and I'll probably get bored or restless. You can just zone me out if you have to — I don't mind. But I just... need to keep myself occupied."

He didn't have the driving to focus on, after all.

The look Derek gave him was both dubious — as if Stiles was of some weird species he had never run into before — and mildly concerned. In the end he shrugged, however, if a bit nonchalantly, but Stiles was grateful for the obvious show of consent that it was. He refrained from thanking Derek, though, considering that it seemed to make him decidedly awkward when he was offered gratitude.

Instead Stiles settled back in his seat and took a deep, calming breath. Derek's presence — though intimidating and harsh at first — was beginning to feel more comforting than Stiles thought possible after having known the guy for less than two hours. But maybe a lot of that could be attributed to the heavy subjects they had discussed, or the fact that Derek seemed to be on Stiles' side in the whole conflict with his roommate.

A part of Stiles had honestly feared that Derek would find him silly or weird for reacting so strongly to it, but he was grateful to have been proven wrong. And he was definitely grateful for how nice of a guy Derek had proven to be, despite the somewhat unsettling first impression he had made.

When Stiles started talking it was still a bit awkward since Derek didn't reply, but it didn't take long for Stiles to realize that while he might not answer, Derek was still listening. He could see it on the small shifts in his posture and the flicker of emotions across his face, subtle as they might be. Little by little, Stiles could tell that Derek started to relax as well, the remaining tension from their conversation about their respective losses slowly bleeding out of him. It was a welcome sight, since it left Derek looking much more at ease — not to mention devastatingly attractive.

But that was a completely different matter and one Stiles wasn't quite willing to address at that precise moment. He could settle for knowing that even if he was being a bit of a nuisance with his talking — about his classes, things he liked, and random facts he knew — Derek wasn't shutting him out. He didn't reply, but he certainly responded, and seemed to find Stiles' words soothing rather than annoying.

Knowing that made Stiles feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

The journey felt easier after that. Stiles talked while Derek listened, occasionally dropping a comment that was either deliciously sarcastic or shockingly insightful. Derek might not talk often or willingly, but when he did Stiles found that he was paying rapt attention. It was actually quite fun and he even managed to make Derek smile a couple of times. Most of them were crooked and amused — reactions to something snarky Stiles had pointed out — and they were all gorgeous in their own right, but those that were genuine and sweet were the ones that really stuck with Stiles. They seemed to surprise Derek as much as they surprised Stiles.

Derek looked amazing when he smiled.

Still, Stiles made sure not to point that out, having learned that it would only make Derek retreat. As long as one didn't talk about Derek's past or anything too closely related to him, things were fine; it was when you started getting invasive that Derek snapped back.

After some back and forth banter Stiles was allowed to put his feet up on the dash — if he took his shoes off. He sat quite comfortably as he continued to rant and rave, gesturing enthusiastically and grinning like a dork whenever he made Derek choke on a laugh or give one of those smiles of his. Despite the late hour and the exhausting night he'd had, Stiles didn't feel the least bit tired. He sat slumped back in his seat with his legs stretched out in front of him, braced against the dash. Unlike in Stiles' Jeep, he had more than enough room to spread out and still not come even close to disturbing Derek's driving.

Well, except with his jokes and sarcastic remarks.

Derek handed over an unopened water bottle during their brief break at the end of hour three, meant to allow Derek to stretch his legs. Stiles gratefully accepted the offer since he hadn't thought to bring provisions, but was definitely glad that Derek had. Once they were back inside the truck and Derek continued driving, Stiles was also treated to an apple and more peanut butter cups.

If he hadn't known better, this could almost have been something like a picnic date. In a truck. In the middle of the night. Maybe not the most obvious place to get romanced, but Stiles wasn't picky.

Not that Stiles held any illusions about Derek trying to flirt with him. Stiles might want him to, but Derek — even this more relaxed one — was difficult to read and he didn't seem like the kind of guy who would leave himself open enough to flirt with a near stranger. That might have been why Stiles was so eager to talk; a part of him hoped that he'd manage to pinpoint a subject that Derek might like. Stiles wanted Derek to find him worthy of his time.

So far he couldn't tell if he had managed or not, because Derek was infuriatingly good at hiding his inner thoughts, but Stiles was known for being stubborn. And depressingly slow on the uptake when someone didn't actually have an interest in him.

So he kept going.

He talked, gestured, and teased forth more and more of Derek's smiles, one after the other. It took some work — not to mention devotion — but it was worth it. He was hyperaware of everything Derek did, feeling a delighted pull at the bottom of his stomach whenever Derek smiled. Stiles also couldn't help watching the muscles on Derek's arms play as he maneuvered the truck.

Stiles hadn't thought that the hours spent travelling could be as enjoyable as a weekend away from school would be, but with Derek there they certainly were.

And Derek seemed to enjoy himself too, which made it even better.

Derek was still noticeably less talkative than Stiles, but he didn't seem as guarded anymore. The more he smiled the easier it seemed, and he didn't keep his expressions neutral or hid the fact that he found Stiles' comments entertaining. Stiles thrived on that kind of attention — even more so when it was given by someone he was attracted to. And boy, was he attracted to Derek. It was probably impossible not to be — especially when Derek relaxed enough that his smiles looked effortless and innocent.

It stood in stark contrast to his gruff demeanor, but if anything it only made him more attractive. Stiles was a goner, but couldn't find it within himself to worry. They might not have forever since they would reach their destination sooner or later, but Stiles decided to treasure the time he was given.

That was partly why he didn't object to a longer break at the beginning of hour six. Stiles wasn't sure exactly how long it would take for them to reach Beacon Hills. Derek took different roads than Stiles when he made the drive, not to mention that comparing the efficiency of a semi-truck to Stiles' Jeep was a bit beyond his abilities — but he didn't mind if they postponed their arrival for a little while longer. Especially since their break involved stopping at an actual gas station this time, rather than just by the side of the road.

After a visit to the restroom, Stiles drifted aimlessly in the narrow aisles, debating whether he wanted something more to eat or not. There was no use trying to sleep by then, with only two or three hours left to drive, and it was nice to have something to nibble on even if he wasn't outright hungry.

There was always room for more candy.

He could admit that he was beginning to feel tired by then, considering that it was early morning rather than late night. The sun had risen a while before they stopped at the gas station and Stiles had found himself undeniably distracted by how the soft, orange glow had played over Derek's features.

Then again, Derek looked amazing in any kind of light.

"Have you fallen asleep standing?"

Stiles jumped at the teasing comment, looking over his shoulder as Derek passed behind him, eyebrow raised in amusement. Stiles found himself smiling at Derek's surprisingly open expression — as if he felt at ease and content, despite having spent the night driving with a weird, flaky college student as company.

"Not quite," Stiles replied, glancing down at the bottle of water Derek was holding. "Let me pay for that," he offered, "and whatever else you're getting."

Derek pursed his lips, but he didn't look angry — exasperated was a better word.

"I told you that you don't have to repay me." Derek's voice was measured as he kept walking, heading for the small fruit section. Derek seemed to like fruit. That was kind of adorable.

Stiles followed close on his heels, unable to keep himself from drifting after Derek like a lovesick puppy. Derek was glorious and watching him move — how the muscles of his back shifted under the t-shirt he wore — was mesmerizing.

"That was before you fed me," Stiles argued, gesturing towards the items stacked on the shelves around them. "The least I can do is pay for this round."

"No," was Derek's firm reply as he reached for the bananas; they looked least likely to be a health hazard. "You don't have to pay me back."

Stiles groaned and inched closer, as if that would show how sincere he was. He was basically talking to Derek's back, but Stiles figured the man had to be aware of his presence all the same.

Derek, in the meantime, seemed to decide against bananas, putting them back on the shelf.

"Why are you being so difficult about this? I know you say that it's fine — and I believe you — but what I'm trying to tell you is that it's fine for me too."

Was it possible to hear someone roll their eyes? Because Stiles was pretty sure that Derek managed to do it loud enough for him to hear it.

"Look, I—"

Derek's words cut off when he turned and they found themselves standing a lot closer than either of them had anticipated. Stiles hadn't even noticed how far into Derek's personal space he had moved, mostly because Derek hadn't pulled away or shown that he was uncomfortable with the proximity. Stiles had expected Derek to give some kind of signal when Stiles crossed the line, but he hadn't.

And now Stiles found himself standing there, frozen on the spot and eyes possibly a little wider than usual, staring at Derek from a much closer distance than he was entirely prepared to handle.

They were pretty much equally tall but Derek was a lot broader — sharper and firmer, too — and Stiles had never been so aware of the difference as he was then. Derek didn't tower above him, but he was certainly a force to be reckoned with, appearing effortlessly strong and firm without really doing anything.

A slow, subtle burn was building low in Stiles' gut the longer they stood there without Derek backing away. He easily could have, but maybe he felt the same sizzling tension that Stiles did. Maybe Derek felt reluctant to move away because he found himself enjoying the closeness just a little too much.

Maybe the attraction was mutual after all.

Stiles dared to take a slow, deliberate breath before licking his bottom lip — something Derek took notice of, judging by the way his gaze snapped down for a brief second. Stiles made sure to smile when he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the water bottle Derek was holding and, consequentially, Derek's fingers as well. It was thoroughly distracting to have Derek's skin against his own, not to mention to be standing close enough to feel the warmth of Derek's body. Stiles was even able to identify the wide array of colors blending together in Derek's bright eyes.

Derek had beautiful eyes.

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful, and I'm not trying to repay you because of guilt," Stiles began, voice pitched softer and lower than usual. "It's about equality. I'm okay with you treating me to peanut butter cups and all that other stuff, and now I'm asking you to allow me to treat you. Because it's what polite people do."

Derek was looking into Stiles' eyes with the kind of intensity that could have been intimidating if the situation had been different. Now it sent a shiver of anticipation down Stiles' spine, even if he knew that inside a gas station wasn't exactly ideal for something like this. Still, the tension and attraction was there — it would have been impossible to deny.

It took a second before Derek relented and Stiles couldn't help wondering if that meant that Derek also accepted them as equals.

"Fair enough." Derek allowed Stiles to take the water bottle from him but made no move to step away. It looked like he wasn't the least bit interested in increasing the distance between them.

Stiles was beginning to feel lightheaded from the tension, his heart thrumming excitedly inside his ribcage. They weren't even doing anything, but considering Derek's obvious dislike when it came to closeness, it almost felt like second base already.

Derek wanted Stiles to be exactly where he was — otherwise he would have taken a step back. He wanted to stand so close that they were almost touching. The thought was intoxicating, even if Stiles knew that they had to be pretty transparent to whoever happened to be watching.

It was Derek who eventually broke the moment, but not by retreating or suddenly realizing that he had been staring quite blatantly at Stiles for the past couple of moments. No, he merely glanced towards the cash register, before giving a slight nod in its general direction.

"We should get going."

He was right, of course. They couldn't very well stay there for the rest of the morning. Derek had a timetable he needed to follow and Stiles had a dad waiting eagerly — and probably worriedly — for him to get home.

Still, Stiles felt that he couldn't be blamed for how dry his throat was, or how he didn't manage more than a mute nod in reply.

Holy shit. Derek was actually responding to whatever disorganized, flirtatious signals Stiles had been sending out. He didn't seem prepared to act on them yet, but the interest was certainly there — which was a lot more than Stiles had ever dared to hope for. It was blatantly obvious that Derek was way out of Stiles' league.

So if he looked a bit dazed when Derek walked past — close enough that they brushed against each other — Stiles felt that he had the right to. And if he stared after Derek, letting his gaze linger over those broad shoulders, well, who could blame him?

Despite the rocky start and Stiles' generally lousy evening, things were definitely looking up.

In more than one way.

Stiles was admittedly disappointed to find that once they got back inside the truck, the majority of the tension between them seemed to end up on the backburner. It didn't vanish completely, but it was difficult to maintain the same level of excitement when they sat so far apart and were back to the slightly awkward silence, unless Stiles took it upon himself to talk.

Not to mention that driving past a road sign telling them just how close they were to Beacon Hills left Stiles feeling strangely miserable. Who knew spending the night talking at a complete stranger could be so much fun that he didn't want it to end? He knew that once they reached their destination, it wasn't likely that he'd hear from Derek again. Sure, Derek had his number — courtesy of Stiles' dad — but they lived in different cities and Derek, once again, didn't seem like the kind of guy to take a lot of risks when it came to socializing and putting himself out there. He would probably never use Stiles' phone number, even if he had it.

"Do your sisters live in Beacon Hills too?" Stiles found himself asking, even if he knew not to discuss Derek's family.

The shift in Derek was noticeable, but it wasn't as violent or cautious as last time. He looked uncertain rather than outright hostile — as if he simply wasn't sure what Stiles was getting at.

"Laura does, but Cora moved away to go to college."

Like Stiles, then. He briefly wondered what the age difference between him and Derek's sister was, but quickly batted the thought away.

He bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to ask more, but Stiles knew that it would probably be too invasive. Things like how the siblings got by, and what it had been like growing up without their parents. While Derek was clearly old enough to take care of himself now, he couldn't have been at the time of the fire. Even if they got insurance money it couldn't have been easy, suddenly being forced to face the world without the security of their previously big family.

But that was definitely none of Stiles' business.

"Do you always drive such long distances?" was what slipped out instead, partly aided by Stiles' growing desperation at the thought of never seeing Derek again. Maybe he did this on a regular basis?

Stiles heart sank when Derek shook his head.

"It's usually just to nearby cities. These longer trips only happen about once every third month." Derek kept his eyes on the road, either oblivious to Stiles' ulterior motives or not concerned by them.

Stiles hoped it wasn't the latter. God, he hoped it wasn't. He wanted desperately for Derek to be as invested in this as Stiles was, but it was beginning to seem like he wasn't. A flare of attraction probably didn't mean much to someone like Derek, who had to be flirted with on a daily basis what with how good he looked.

Stiles placed his socked feet on the dashboard and looked down into his lap, trying to smother his disappointment. Offering to meet up if Derek happened to pass by again clearly wasn't an option, or at least not one that would make sure that they met as often as Stiles wanted. Maybe he should just flat out ask Derek if he wanted to date him? But odds were that it would scare Derek off. He seemed terrified of emotions and anything even remotely related to them.

Then again, what did Stiles have to lose? If he didn't say anything, Derek might very well disappear out of his life before they had an opportunity to explore exactly what this attraction could lead to.

Despite Stiles' reluctance to reach Beacon Hills, he found himself being awfully quiet during the last two hours of the drive. That was partly because he had so much to think about, and partly because he was beginning to feel the exhaustion of having stayed up all night. Aside from sending the promised text to his dad to let him know that they were closing in, Stiles didn't have much to do. The radio was still playing in the background and despite his best attempts not to, Stiles felt himself drift in and out of sleep during the last hour. He tried to stay awake, he really did, but once he had started nodding off he found it almost impossible to keep his eyes open.

He guessed he couldn't be blamed for being tired.

The relief of opening his eyes and seeing familiar streets and houses outside the window was diminished by the sadness he felt at knowing that he probably wouldn't see Derek again — unless he did something drastic. Like ask Derek out on a date. But it was difficult to know just what Stiles could expect if he did, and he could admit that for all of his seemingly brazen confidence, Stiles wasn't all good with rejection.

He was used to being rejected, sure, but that didn't mean that he wanted to set himself up for it. Derek had seemed interested back at the gas station, lingering closer than necessary and not pulling away when Stiles touched him so blatantly, but that didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't imply that Derek was willing to make this into something permanent.

"Where should I drop you off?" Derek asked when Stiles straightened in his seat, rubbing a hand over his eyes to wake himself up. Derek's voice was softer than usual, as if he wanted to be considerate of Stiles' slightly sleep-drunk state.

Stiles yawned and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up beyond recognition.

"Uh, somewhere close to the station. My dad said he'd wait to go home from his shift until I arrived, so I'll hitch a ride with him back to our house."

It would also save Derek the trouble of navigating the narrower roads with a semi-truck.

Derek nodded to show that he had heard, but didn't reply. A part of Stiles wanted to take Derek's reluctance to talk as confirmation that he wasn't happy about the journey being over — that maybe he would miss Stiles too — but fact was that Derek not speaking was more like the norm rather than the exception.

He probably didn't care.

Stiles stared out the window, trying not to look like a miserable wreck, but after staying up pretty much all night he didn't exactly have a lot to work with. God, he felt pathetic.

Should he ask? Would Derek be willing to date a spastic college student who had talked his ear off for an entire night? That didn't seem likely. As much as Stiles wanted to throw caution to the wind and just ask — he didn't usually let hesitation and regret stop him — the longer he waited, the more difficult it became. He wasn't eager to get shot down by a guy he was so completely and utterly captivated by, no matter how unlikely and bizarre their situation was.

He really liked Derek.

Stiles held back a dejected sigh when Derek drove the truck to one of the big parking lots within eyesight of the station. There were a few people milling about, having started their day already, but Stiles didn't exactly care. He was too busy feeling depressed.

He swallowed down his disappointment with some difficulty and fished out his backpack from behind the seats. He could help stopping once he had it in his lap, trying desperately to stall.

"Thanks for letting me ride with you." Stiles' voice was surprisingly raw — not only because he had been nodding off just fifteen minutes ago. His hand absently traced the outline of the frame in his pocket, a feeble attempt at finding comfort. "You're a lifesaver."

Derek didn't smile. It looked like he might want to, but for some reason couldn't.

Or maybe that was just Stiles' wishful thinking.

"You're welcome," Derek replied with a brief nod.

Stiles' heart clenched.

Was that a dismissal? The words were curt — almost like they had been when they had just met — and Derek's expression was closing off again. His spine was stiff and he looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Was that Stiles' fault?

Stiles' fingers clenched around his backpack, almost to the point of pain. He wanted to ask if he could see Derek again, but that didn't seem like something Derek would be willing to agree to — not when he had that look on his face. They might be attracted to each other, but if Derek's standoffish attitude was anything to go by, he had decided that Stiles wasn't worth it.

It felt like a punch in the gut.

"Well... yeah. I had a great time," Stiles squeezed out, despite how tight his chest felt. That wasn't even a lie. He would never have guessed it when they first started their journey, but he really had enjoyed himself. Stiles managed a weak smile before he reached out and opened the door. But, being the idiot that he was, he couldn't help glancing back at Derek. "Bye."

The blankness he was met with was disheartening and burned like the rejection it obviously was.

Stiles felt his face fall at Derek's wordless nod. He didn't even seem to find Stiles worthy of a proper goodbye. That hurt a lot more than Stiles thought possible, considering how they didn't even know each other.

He had been foolish to hope for something more.

Stiles hastily scrambled out of the truck, ungraceful both due to the sleep deprivation and his inherent lack of coordination. Still, he made it to the ground without major incidents and slammed the door before slipping his backpack on, ignoring how his hands were shaking.

His heart felt heavy.

It shouldn't — Stiles was where he wanted to be. But, for some reason, that didn't feel half as good as it had earlier that night, now that Derek had more or less dismissed him entirely.

Stiles took a deep breath before walking around the front of the truck, heading for the station. He refused to look back in hope of catching a last glimpse of Derek. Stiles wasn't that pathetic and he wasn't going to make this any more difficult than it already was.

A clean break. Yes, that sounded good. He'd forget about Derek eventually. It wasn't like they had shared anything monumental.

Well, aside from the fact that Stiles hadn't talked about his mom with anyone in years. Except with Derek. Or had felt as instantly attracted to anyone in his entire life, barring Lydia — and that had turned out to be worship of a surprisingly platonic kind in the end. Except Derek. Or been treated as kindly by someone who was virtually a stranger, with great care for Stiles' likes and dislikes. Except by Derek.

God, he was never going to forget about Derek, was he?

The thought was alarmingly depressing and Stiles rubbed his eye before scratching a hand through his hair. He longed for his bed. God, he wanted to sleep for hours and wallow in how pathetically miserable he felt. He didn't even manage to straighten his hunched shoulders, wanting to curl in on himself and just forget about this whole thing.

The sound of the truck door opening made Stiles look over his shoulder, a defiant flare of hope bursting to life in his chest despite his best attempts to smother it. Surprisingly enough, Stiles was greeted to the sight of Derek climbing down from the truck, swift and smooth like before, but with an unmistakable edge of urgency. He didn't seem to get further than that, though, stopping the instant his feet hit the asphalt — as if he was hesitant on how to proceed.

Derek didn't say anything. It looked like he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to convey with his actions, but was trying desperately to figure it out.

Stiles held his breath and met Derek's gaze, feeling hope coil tighter into a warm, hot ball of delight. The look in Derek's eyes couldn't be called pleading — not by a long shot — but it was imploring. Urging.

As if Derek hoped that Stiles could figure out what the heck they were doing.

Stiles had no fucking clue, but he knew what he wanted to do. And he figured that if Derek disliked it, he could just punch him afterwards. Stiles was going to make damn sure that Derek understood his intentions even if he might not find the words to say it out loud.

He didn't have time for regrets.

It only took him four quick strides to reach Derek. He didn't waste time on warnings or politeness. Instead he reached out, his fingers sliding through Derek's hair and curling around the back of his head. When Stiles pulled Derek in for a kiss, he didn't resist. Fact was, Derek had to have been ready for it given how quickly he responded, his arms wrapping around Stiles' waist in order to hold him closer — as fluently as if he had initiated the embrace himself.

It was more of a clash than a kiss the first couple of seconds — before the desperation settled into more manageable urgency — but that didn't in any way decrease the intensity. Stiles arched closer, making sure that the kiss was as deep and toe-curling as he could possibly make it, not able to hold back a pleased, trembling moan. Derek might have been more silent but he was no less affected by the sizzling heat. His hands closed around the fabric of Stiles' hoodie and his strong arms didn't budge an inch from where they were wrapped securely around Stiles' back.

God, it felt amazing.

The literal hours spent wanting Derek came rushing to the forefront and Stiles poured it all into the kiss, feeling the desire burn through his veins. Derek met it without hesitation, as if he had been waiting for this just as long as Stiles had. The thought was intoxicating and left Stiles feeling both breathless and lightheaded.

Derek wanted him. Derek kissed him like he had never wanted anything more in his entire life. Like the taste of Stiles was something he wasn't sure if he could live without, chasing after it with a relentless determination that made Stiles weak in the knees.

Good Lord, Derek could kiss.

He made Stiles feel like the most important person in the entire world, cradling him close in that warm, secure embrace of his. It was almost surreal considering how they had only just met a couple of hours earlier, but Stiles wasn't going to complain. Not when he could barely think beyond how good Derek tasted.

Stiles loved it.

He had no idea if it took seconds or minutes, but it felt like a long time before the kiss actually ended, and then only because Stiles was gasping for breath and his head was slightly dizzy from all the sensations rushing through him. Stiles' heart was beating out a rapid tattoo in his chest — to the point where Derek could probably feel it, pressed up against each other as they were — and his hands might be trembling just a bit. Stiles didn't care.

He only had eyes for Derek, who looked uncharacteristically dazed — in the best way possible. Stiles had put that look on his face. Stiles had kissed Derek to the point that neither of them seemed able to pull away from the other. They just stayed there, practically sharing the same air.

Stiles let out a trembling exhale against Derek's lips, thrilled to feel the slight shiver it caused in Derek. He couldn't help grinning, wide and perhaps a bit dorky, but Derek didn't seem to mind.

"You have my number, right?" Stiles whispered, looking into Derek's bright, beautiful eyes.

He could feel the steady rise of elation in his chest.

This was undoubtedly one of the last things he had expected when his dad had arranged for him to hitch a ride with some trucker Stiles didn't know, but he was infinitely grateful that it had.

Derek nodded, one of his hands following the curve of Stiles' back — or as much as he could with the thick hoodie in the way. Neither of them seemed to care about Stiles phone and the picture frame being squished between them.

"Yeah."

Stiles smiled and leaned in for another kiss, this one slow and patient to the point where it set Stiles' entire being alight. Derek was amazing. Stiles couldn't believe that he of all people got to kiss Derek like this. He felt practically euphoric.

And increasingly turned on.

The desire whispered under Stiles' skin, hot and burning, but he refused to rush things, instead savoring the feeling with the kind of greed that came from not having had the opportunity to feel this all that often. Stiles was no virgin, sure, but this was special. Better. Absolutely fucking mind-blowing.

Derek responded in kind, obviously just as eager to draw this out as Stiles was.

It took a while before Stiles inched back enough to catch his breath, the distance between them still minimal — as if he just couldn't help wanting to be as close as physically possible. Derek didn't seem to have any objections.

Both of them wanted this so badly.

"I'm free tonight. Or during the day tomorrow. Whichever," Stiles mumbled breathlessly against Derek's lips. "My dad has to work so he won't mind."

Stiles met Derek's gaze, smiling crookedly.

"If you want to, that is?" he asked, whispered intimately between them, his lips brushing against Derek's. Stiles would have kissed him again if he hadn't been waiting for a reply. It was incredibly difficult to resist but somehow he managed.

God, kissing Derek was so addicting.

As was the smile on Derek's lips when let out a quiet chuckle before nodding.

"Sounds good." His voice was warm with promise and anticipation, making Stiles shiver.

Actually, it sounded fucking awesome.

Stiles couldn't be happier.