1
He’s looking at himself in the mirror. It isn’t something he often does these days.
He generally avoids it. Derek’s looks have done nothing but cause him trouble. Even with the beard and the eyebrows, something about his face always seems to scream ‘vulnerable’ to predatory women.
When he shaves, he looks at his jaw and neck. Same when he buzzes his hair.
He can’t remember the last time he stopped and looked at his reflection.
What Derek sees worries him.
He’s almost fifty and he’s pretty sure his face hasn’t changed. No new lines.
Nothing.
The amount of time he spends frowning, he should have – at the very least – some frown lines.
Werewolves age slower than humans. Satomi had been over a hundred and she’d looked forty or fifty. The lives of werewolves are violent and few manage to survive long enough to reach that age.
Still…
Werewolves do age and Derek is showing no signs of it.
It explains some of the looks he’s been getting when he goes to the nearest small town for supplies. He’s been living on this property, in his tiny cabin, for decades.
Over twenty years since he’d decided he had enough and left Beacon Hills.
He’s been hiding. Marking the days, really, until he dies.
It’s lonely and some days he aches for pack. He’s honestly baffled that he hasn’t gone omega.
Wolves aren’t meant to be alone.
Derek seriously thought it would only take a few years before hunters or something killed him. Kate Argent, probably, rising from the grave a second (or is third?) time to finally put him out of his misery.
This time, though, he has nothing to lose but his life. He’s made sure of it.
Days, years, decades have passed in the blur of a routine that rarely changes. The sort of predictability that can get you killed.
Looking at himself now, he thinks he might have to move. He probably should move. The townsfolk will only think it increasingly strange that he apparently doesn’t age.
Derek isn’t sure he cares enough to move. Inertia weighing him down. Too many years simply not caring.
He gave up on living long ago.
One trauma too many and he’d broken.
Died and evolved and sent away the one person he probably still loved so he could die alone.
He closes his eyes.
Derek shouldn’t think about Stiles.
(Spends too much time thinking about Stiles. Will sometimes blink and realize hours have passed while he was lost in memories.)
His eyes open.
That same unaging face looks back at him.
Perhaps it’s a curse. It would explain his life.
Cursed to lose everything but always survive. A long eternity stretched out in this liminal space between dying and living.
He could reach out and engage the world again.
He still feels too broken. Wouldn’t know how after years of pulling away.
Derek hadn’t been great with human social skills when he’d still been regularly interacting with them. He can’t remember the last time he had a conversation.
He spends a lot of time roaming his land as a wolf.
He’s not confident that he could pass for human these days and he’s too tired to try.
It’s a curse. Or he died outside that church and he’s in hell.
He supposes it doesn’t matter.
The last time he’d seen Stiles, he’d been dying.
Evolving.
He’d wanted nothing more than to keep Stiles close. To be held as he died.
Even Derek wasn’t that cruel or selfish. He’d known Scott was in trouble. So he’d told Stiles to go.
Had expected to die alone. After his family, he’d always assumed that’s how he’d go.
(It’s how he deserves to go.)
Derek remembers the look in Stiles’ eyes as he turned to leave.
Tells himself that the look didn’t mean anything more than one almost friend scared of losing another.
(His heart, his foolish heart, always insists that the look held more than that. That it was full of an emotion Derek can’t bring himself to acknowledge.)
Derek jolts into awareness, he’s been blankly staring at the wall for some indeterminate amount of time. At the edges of his hearing he can hear an approaching heartbeat.
No car. Just the heartbeat coming up the road.
He never gets visitors. Picks up his mail in town.
He wonders if his death has finally come for him (assuming he isn’t already dead and in hell).
The heartbeat gets clearer as it nears and Derek gasps because he’s been holding his breath.
Decades might have past but he could never forget that heartbeat.
It’s impossible.
After a few years without him tracking Derek down, he’d figured that Stiles never would.
Because Stiles is the only person who might’ve. He’d been born loyal and never gave up on people. Not even Derek, even if he had no idea when or how he’d become one of Stiles’ people.
Derek is on his porch now – moving without realizing it.
The heartbeat gets closer and the wind shifts just enough that Derek can get hints of Stiles’ scent.
His eyes flutter close and he breathes in that scent.
It tells the story of the life Stiles has been living in Derek’s absence. But the base of it, the core of Stiles is the same. Derek’s never been good with words. Never been good at translating what his nose tells him.
Words always seem so limited compared to scent. Never convey the texture and depth.
The scent grows stronger and his knees feel weak. The chasm of his loneliness feels like a dam about to burst.
It shouldn’t be like this. He and Stiles hadn’t been anything. He’s not even sure they were friends. Allies. Brothers-in-arms, possibly.
(Stiles is still his anchor and Derek’s never denied that. Knows even as he tries not to think about it that he’s the reason why Derek isn’t an omega.)
Heartbeat is deafening now. Pounding. Stationary.
Derek knows if he opens his eyes Stiles will be there. He’s a wolf. Scent has always been his most important sense. Seeing Stiles won’t make a difference. Not when he can smell him and hear his heart.
Still… he doesn’t want to open his eyes. Is too afraid.
It doesn’t stop him from saying, “This is private property,” his voice hoarse and rusty with disuse.
A laugh.
Warm and bright in the way unique to Stiles. It feels like the sun on his skin after days of rain.
“Hi, sourwolf,” voice so warm with affection that it’s almost painful to hear.
Derek finds himself drifting closer without conscious thought. Close enough that he can feel the heat of Stiles’ body.
His eyes are still closed.
“Can I hug you?” Stiles asks.
He nods.
Strong arms encircle his neck and he’s burying his face in Stiles’ neck, taking deep, heaving breaths of that scent.
(That bright, sunshine warm scent that always made his life just a little bit lighter.)
The world beyond his eyelids seems brighter than it should be.
He wonders if he’s actually going into the proverbial light. If he’s dead and this is his idea of heaven.
Stiles pulls back a little, “Open your eyes, big guy.”
Derek listens.
(Even when he pretended not to, he’d always listened to Stiles.)
Eyes slowly open.
Stiles looks radiant.
Beautiful.
Sitting in his cabin, Derek has more time to study Stiles’ face.
Stiles isn’t old. Just in his forties. But he’s human. Or so Derek always thought.
His face is untouched by the decades between them.
Derek thought it was the joy and pleasure of seeing him again that had made Stiles look so radiant and beautiful.
Stiles is shining. Bright and beautiful. But shining.
Warm light emanating from nowhere and everywhere around him.
“Scott died a week ago,” Stiles begins, “he was the last of the pack you remember. Someone after the True Alpha’s spark was finally a little faster. A little stronger. Scott died and so did she,” Stiles eyes are hard and Derek isn’t surprised that Stiles had avenged Scott, “Everyone is gone, except for you. It was time to come home.”
Derek is confused. Nothing makes sense.
“Home.”
A chuckle, “Still haven’t learned to inflect, huh? Yeah, dude, home. I’m sorry it took me so long. But I had responsibilities. Things to do. But I’m here now! And I’m never leaving you again.”
Derek growls because Stiles still isn’t making sense and he can’t find the right words.
A grin flashes on Stiles’ face, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop being a cryptic asshole. I can see that you’ll need some time to get your human social skills back to your normal levels of growly and sass. Did you know that I was adopted? Probably not. No one did, since the circumstances were strange and my mom didn’t tell anyone. Not even my dad. Then she died and I was the only person left to keep the secret. This,” Stiles gestures to the light around him, “is because I’m happy to see you. Because shining is what stars do best,” Stiles pauses to give Derek time to process his words. Let it sink in that Stiles is a star, “Yeah, buddy, I’m a star.”
It isn’t the shining that convinces Derek. Lots of things can shine. It might be what stars do best but it isn’t unique to them.
Derek thinks about how warm Stiles is. It’s an ethereal warmth. Stiles brightens and warms the lives of the people he loves.
Burns away the coldness through his humour, his smile, and his laughing eyes.
Not for everyone.
For some, stars are cold and distant lights in the sky.
For others, a star is the sun you orbit.
So, yes, Derek believes Stiles.
Thinks about how he became Derek’s anchor – even though it made no sense. Thinks about the people who orbited Stiles, drawn in by his warmth and pulled in by his gravity.
The ageing thing confuses him and he feels his brows crinkle.
“Ah, now you’re thinking about why I haven’t aged. Or why you haven’t aged. Stars aren’t immortal – nothing is. Even stars die… We live very long lives, though. We’re coveted by witches and others who practise dark magic. It’s said that the person who possesses the heart of a star will have eternal life. Most interpret this as literally possessing the heart. Carving it out of our chests. But… I gave you my heart years ago, Derek.
“I’m sorry that the last few decades have been hard. That you’ve been alone. Being so far away from my heart hurt, you know? But… you know me. I couldn’t abandon my dad. My friends. Scott. I hoped… I wished upon the stars that you’d survive. You’ve always been good at that. Knowing you were alive was a comfort when things were hard – you have my heart, after all. If you die, I do as well. I figured, what’s a few decades when we’ll have hundreds or thousands of years together? I’m sorry. I know it’s been hard. I hope you’ll forgive me.
“I’m here now. I’d apologize for not visiting or keeping in touch but seeing you again… I wouldn’t have been able to leave. And I won’t be parted from you again. God, I’ve missed you so much,” Stiles has bright, shining tears trailing down his face.
Derek can smell the salt tang of his own tears. Feel the wetness on his cheeks.
He still doesn’t understand. Not really.
But… he trusts Stiles. If he says they’ll have years together, that they won’t be apart again… there’s time enough for understanding later.
He reaches for Stiles. Finally believes that this is happening and it’s real.
(Not caring if it’s not.)
Hauls him into his lap and buries his hands in Stiles’ hair. Pulls him down for a gentle kiss.
Their first.
The flare of light leaves sunspots in his eyes.
2
Stiles remembers his mom telling him about how she found him. How she’d been looking at the sky and wished upon a falling star for a child.
How she’d followed the glowing streak to a clearing in the preserve. How she’d found a shining baby boy.
How she’d taken that boy home, named him Mieczyslaw.
She’d come from a family who believed a lot of the old tales.
She’d told him two important things:
- The thing stars do best is shine.
- Anyone who had his heart would live forever.
She told him that he needed to be careful about his shine, so that people looking for eternal life didn’t take his heart.
Stiles remembers this.
Then his mother died and he hadn’t felt like shining anymore.
His mom hadn’t told anyone about his origins.
He knew that the best way to keep a secret was to never tell.
So he didn’t.
Stiles remembers meeting Derek Hale.
They met in a clearing and he’d said, “This is private property.”
He’d glared and been intense. Stiles had been fascinated.
Scott hadn’t liked him, though; so neither did Stiles.
Remembers being in his room, Derek trying to intimidate him.
Remembers looking in Derek’s eyes – close enough for once to really look.
Remembers looking into them and seeing the starburst gold/brown around the pupil, surrounded by a field of green.
Remembers thinking how pretty they were.
Stiles remembers all the fleeting, seemingly innocuous moments he’d shared with Derek.
How they kept getting thrown together.
Remembers holding Derek up for hours in a pool, desperately trying to keep them both alive.
Remembers how moments before, Derek had pushed him back to save him.
So many memories of saving Derek. Being saved by Derek.
Remembers most of all gripping Derek’s shoulder as he wept over Boyd.
It had been the turning point.
Derek had always been hard. Full of anger and so easy to dislike.
Abrasive and rude, so it was easy to forget all that he’d lost.
Watching him crack open…
Then the shit with Jennifer Blake.
Remembers realizing that Derek had to be hard because too many people could see how soft and vulnerable he really was.
Stiles remembers the solace and comfort Derek offered after the nogistune.
It wasn’t much. It didn’t seem like much.
(It had been everything.)
Stiles remembers Derek being shot and dying.
Remembers Derek telling him to go to Scott, to save him.
Remembers thinking, at that moment, just how selfless Derek really was. How well he understood Stiles.
As much as he wanted to stay with Derek, Stiles would’ve never forgiven himself if Scott had gotten hurt or died.
That was probably the moment he gave his heart to Derek Hale.
It wasn’t something he’d realized until later.
The love had been a slow blooming thing.
Remembers the sorites paradox.
How many grains of sand are in a heap?
If you add them, one by one, when does it become a heap? A pile?
How many small, shared moments are needed before you’ve given your heart away?
Stiles doesn’t know. Hadn’t even realized that he’d been giving Derek pieces of his heart.
Not until Derek was gone.
Stiles remembers feeling more hollow (void) after Derek’s departure than after the nogitsune.
Remembers how worried everyone had been, since it was almost like he faded away.
Just a little.
Remembers how he’d been on the verge of going after Derek.
Needing to see him again, when another crisis had arisen.
It had taken a witch who’d caught him alone to make him realize.
Remembers that she’d somehow known he was a star and wanted his heart.
Remembers that she’d had him bound and helpless, dagger poised over his chest. Only for her to spit in disgust.
She’d left him there, grumbling about wasted time and how his heart was already gone.
Remembers feeling stupid for not realizing that he’d given his heart away.
It could only be Derek.
(Who else?)
Stiles remembers how it never stopped hurting, having his heart so far away.
He’d trusted Derek to keep it safe. To keep himself safe and alive.
If Derek had one, true talent: it was surviving.
Remembers how he’d given up on romance. How much it had worried everyone.
(He’d given his heart away. There’d been no point.)
Remembers how it’d been a constant ache. How lonely it’d been. How desperately he’d wanted to find Derek and be with his heart again.
He hadn’t known where Derek was. Never searched.
If he’d known… he wouldn’t have been able to stay away.
He still had people he loved. People he needed to protect.
Stars weren’t immortal but they had long lives.
He had more time than most.
Remembers looking at the stars; wishing wishing wishing that he’d have enough time to reunite with Derek.
(With his heart.)
Wishing Derek would forgive their lost years, in the decades or centuries or millennia they’d have together.
Stiles was loyal, he couldn’t stop.
Remembers hoping that Derek would understand.
Stiles remembers watching his father die.
Remembers watching as his friends died, one by one.
Remembers the guilt. Each one that died brought him closer to Derek.
It’d been the only way he’d kept going. The only way he hadn’t drowned in grief and sorrow.
He felt a kinship with Derek, who’d also watched as almost everyone he loved died.
Understood why Derek couldn’t do it anymore.
So many times he thought he couldn’t either. Couldn’t watch one more person he loved die.
Remembers knowing that he’d hate himself if he left. He might have time but they didn’t.
He wanted to cherish what little time he’d have with them.
For all the sorrow of their loss, the joy of knowing them was greater.
Stiles remembers the day Scott died. His best friend and brother.
The very last of his loved ones.
Remembers how crushing the grief had been.
Doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that brief moment of relief.
Relief at finally being done. At finally being able to track down his heart and see Derek again.
It had been so long.
Remembers that it was terrible how young all his friends had died.
He’d tried his best, though. To extend their years. To give them the best lives they could have.
It was enough that he could finally come home to Derek.
Heart filled with sorrow but without regret.
Stiles remembers seeing Derek for the first time in decades.
Standing on his porch, bathed in sunlight. Eyes closed and beautiful.
Face untouched by time or age.
Remembers how he’d started shining for the first time since his mom died.
The sheer relief and joy of doing what stars do best after so many years.
Remembers hugging Derek. Finally getting to feel that warm, solid body pressed against his.
Derek’s shuddering, greedy inhales of his scent.
Telling Derek to open his eyes and losing himself in their starburst beauty.
Remembers explaining to Derek that he was a star.
How, a long time ago, he’d given his heart to Derek.
Telling him about the pain of separation and the sorrow of loss.
Remembers, most of all, the joy and relief on Derek’s face as Stiles promised that they’d never be apart again.
Seeing his shine reflected in Derek’s joyful tears.
Being pulled into Derek’s lap.
Their first kiss.
The burst of light he hoped would start healing them both.
Stiles remembers.
Days. Years. Decades. Centuries. Millenia.
Derek at his side.
He at Derek’s.
Keeping his promise.