Daybreak

Chapter Eight

Stiles was happy.

No 'if's 'and's or 'but's. He's genuinely happy. That was something he hadn't been able to say honestly for a long time now.

Derek was goofy and young and perhaps had a lot to learn about the world, but he was Stiles'. He was Stiles' soft spot, always. He wouldn't want it any other way.

Immediately following the Spring Union, the news had already reached the furthest reaches of the pack before daybreak. They came down to breakfast that morning and were greeted with congratulations, sly smiles, and mild ribbing from the rest of the pack.

Laura snarked that Stiles was 'way too cool for her dorky little brother' but the twist of her lips told them she was happy.

Cora promptly warned Derek that she'd break his hands in his sleep if he ever hurt Stiles. They both knew she wasn't joking and Stiles was a little touched.

They went about breakfast as usual, though Derek never went long without a brief touch as if to reassure himself that Stiles was really there. It was sweet and Stiles welcomed the contact. It filed him with warmth and a swooping in his gut that he decidedly enjoyed.

Days floated away like wispy clouds in the cerulean sky. The fresh heat of spring washed over them in saccharine waves. Stiles did his best to keep up with his duties, but the moment Derek could get his hands on him, he was tugging the human away from his task with a blinding smile and all but dragging him out onto the preserve.

Under the shade of the trees' thick verdant plumage, cut through by golden banners of sunlight, the two boys wandered and explored the forest like it was their kingdom. Running over uneven ground and walking careful lines across the trunks of fallen trees with arms spread for balance. Climbing trees, pointing out odd looking plants and insects, wading through the lax currents of a river. Like shedding skin, Stiles slowly found himself opening up, his smiles came easier and laughter only something Derek could coax out of him.

And sometimes they stopped under the green canopy, already reaching for each other, and kissed until they were breathless. Derek's hands usually found their way under his shirt by the time they pulled apart, brushing over his spine or trailing up to grip the curve of his ribcage or settled low on his hip with his thump soothing over the sensitive stretch of skin. Derek's touches always set his body alight. The gesture itself might not be meant to affect him so much but the way he touched Stiles always curled deep hooks in his gut and pulled.

The wolf always touched him with reverence. Like he had all the time in the world but didn't dare waste a single moment of it. It was a soft glide against him that ran through him in currents of electricity and icy rain, pulling up goose bumps all over.

They often got caught up in their own world and sometimes that got them in trouble with the rest of the pack, but other than a few grumbled complaints from the others, no one really got on their case. After all, Stiles was still Stiles. He might blush when Derek caught him off guard with a kiss on the cheek, he might knit their fingers together under the table at dinner, he even like it best when Derek pulled him back against his broad chest when they slept, but none of that negated the fact that was still a quiet, looming, and sometimes unsettling figure to be around—especially when he wasn't with Derek.

Stiles wasn't fixed. He'd lived through years of hell and no matter how many times he caught himself thinking that he might much more than 'like' the younger boy who had taken over his life, that couldn't just be erased over night. He still had night terrors, panic attacks, nightmares, and 'bad days.' He still had many things to work on and work through before he could consider himself normal again.