[ Part of putting together alliances often included kids meeting in order to make a match someday when they got older. Currently, Stiles, around eight years old, was supposed to be meeting Prince Hale from a snowy kingdom in the north, in order to start fostering the bonds of a friendship.
Except he was annoying, and grumpy, and irritating, and Stiles pretty much hated him from the minute they met. He would rather be taking a bath, or sleeping, or talking to Scott, or doing anything except spending time with Derek Hale, which is why he's currently rigging up the old bucket on the door trick, filled with ice cold water, and the young prince is hiding behind a bannister, waiting for Derek to come inside. This would show him. ]
ignore me I'm just fixing this since I deleted the bitty icons from triskeles
[ Because Prince Stilinski is any more enthused than he is. Derek doesn't want to be here, but his parents have been talking about a betrothal with the warm kingdom in the south since the other boy was born, and with Laura being heir he doesn't get much say in things like this right now. (Nevermind that he's twelve years old, and twelve year olds don't have sway in such affairs.)
His mother has sent him off, once again, to go find where Stiles-- what kind of name is that?-- has gone off to. He's sullen, because he's never met someone so obnoxious before. Did he even know how to shut up?
Grumbling to himself, he begins pushing on the door. ]
[ Stiles gets called in to the animal clinic on the edge of the Stilinski castle more often than not; his best friend Scott was apprenticing under the master there, and he spent a lot more time being a delinquent about his princely duties than he did actually doing them. But Scott had never called him over so urgently before--he'd said something about a wolf.
Wolves didn't often inhabit this section of the kingdoms; they were highly prized and valuable for their hides when they were found, and so Stiles assumed he found one wounded by a hunter or something. It wouldn't surprise him in the least--if anyone got emotional over hurt animals, it would be Scott, but he still comes with his small dirk at his side, just in case.
Stiles pokes his head into the clinic, looking around. ] Scott?
[ As if literally summoned, Scott bounces out of the back room where Deaton has been assessing the wolf that he called Stiles down to see. Brown eyes wide, he grins big, all jittery excitement mixed with a simple awe of the animal that he'd found. He'd actually had to get help from Deaton and a few of his colleagues around the castle town just to get the thing back to the clinic, and it was amazing that it didn't lash out at them given how badly it'd been injured.
His hands and clothes are covered in soot, which he tries to dust off. It's only half successful. ]
Stiles! You have got to see this, it's like-- [ He bounces, gesturing uselessly as if trying to explain the sheer size of the wolf. ] It's huge.
[ Stiles is never one to deny curiosity. Ever. Scott's enthusiasm is contagious, and Stiles drops his bag at the door, scanning his appearance for a minute. ] Did Deaton make you clean the chimney again? I'm coming, I'm coming.
[ He practically falls over himself getting across the room to follow Scott, even peering over his shoulder when he's walking in front of him. ] Am I gonna puke when I see it? You should really give me warnings for these things.
No-- and don't mention that to him, I got stuck the last time, remember? It's really weird, the wolf is... he's covered in ash and soot? Like it's all the way down to his skin, or something. [ Scott backtracks towards the doorway he stepped through, trying not to stumble in his excitement. He feels so much for the poor animal, but at the same time, it's just... sort of amazing.
He pauses though, with Stiles' question. ] Well, he's kind of bloody, but it's nothing bad? They're really old injuries, I think.
[ Stiles follows after Scott and nearly runs into him as he stops in the doorway--the two boys go tumbling through, and the first thing Stiles is face to face with is the gigantic maw of the biggest creature he's ever seen in his life. He shrieks and leaps backwards, flailing all of his limbs like that'll help him getaway faster. ]
Oh my god!
[ But, when he's backed up against the wall, he stops and stares at it, unbridled curiosity quickly moving past any fear. The wolf is huge, black and white speckled, and with it's eyes closed, it looks just as terrifying as it probably does up and moving around. He looks from it to Scott to the veterinarian. ] It's not dead, is it?
[ Yelping as Stiles sends them through the door, Scott fumbles to keep from landing on his face. Deaton watches them calmly where he's crouched next to the wolf. He's glad it doesn't react to them, though it's fairly worrisome that it doesn't. ]
No, Prince Stiles. It's still very much alive.
[ It's only with a combination of Stiles' voice and his name that the wolf finally moves, ears flicking up. ]
Oh my god. [ He definitely jumps again at the sight of the wolf moving, reaching backwards to clutch at the wall or something, but pauses, staring at it.
Curiously, Stiles takes a step forward, looking over the beast again. As long as it doesn't get up and try to eat him, he's cool with this, curious to try and figure out what the hell's wrong with the thing. It's obviously had one hell of a journey, and he walks up to the head of the table, tentatively putting his hands on the edge of it and staring. ]
It's been traveling quite some ways, that's all I can tell. It has to be from the north, given how thick its fur is. But there's something even stranger...
[ Deaton reaches into the thick fur around its shoulders, and it doesn't move again. But standing close, Stiles is bound to see the slow rise and fall of its chest.
The man pulls his hand away, and it's coated in black. Scott pipes up, trying to dust off more of the soot again. ]
[ Now that he's really curious, Stiles reaches out to replicate them, pressing his hand gently near the wolf's face, almost like he's cradling it for a second, before he pulls his hand away. When he does, not only is it coated in black, but there are four white spots where his fingers were resting.
Blinking, he tries to crane his neck around to look at where Deaton and Scott had been touching. ] Does it always do that? Maybe he just needs a bath like big time.
[ Watching with obvious interest, Deaton straightens as he sees the white spots appear where Stiles' fingers rested. He lets out a soft, thoughtful sound, and it draws his apprentice over, just as curious about the wolf as he is what his friend is talking about. ]
Not once, but that's what I had been-- [ He goes suddenly quiet, spotting a flash of blue.
At Stiles' touch, Derek opens his eyes, looking up at him. Relief settles on him, as it's confirmed that he isn't just hearing things. He really made it to the kingdom, from the far reaches he'd been sent to. But there's a sadness in him, and it almost overpowers the familiarity and relief. ]
[ It's almost entrancing for a minute, to stare at the wolf in front of him. His eyes are so blue, so--ridiculously human for an animal that it makes Stiles shut up for once, his mouth hanging wide open.
There's something off about this thing, something familiar. The jokes about just offing him stop, and his hand, where it's still loosely connected to Derek's neck, scratches idly, ash flaking off under his fingers. ]
[ Shifting his head a little, Derek moves more than either Deaton or Scott have seen since Scott found him collapsed at the edge of the city. It lets him look up at Stiles more readily, watching him with blatantly human intelligence that Deaton notices almost immediately. ]
Unfortunately, I currently don't have the room or the resources required to house such a large animal. My only options would be to release him in the wild, in the hopes that getting him on his feet again would help him, or to... well.
[ He reaches to get a handtowel from the end of the table, working to get soot off his hands in slow, calm motions. ]
As far as I can tell from his dental, paws, and the like, he's not actually fully grown. A wolf of his size would be considered a great risk to the city.
[ Derek is used to the cold. Even before he was cursed, it didn't really bother him all that much. The north is known for cold winters, biting and dangerous to those that aren't familiar with them. The south is known for easier seasons, a brisk autumn if anything. It's been a little disorienting for him to go through the paces there, with lighter and scarcer snowfall. It's been just enough to chase his prince in, kicking up flurries from the ground as he tumbles after Stiles, after Scott.
But he misses the deep snow, that came up to his knees, where he could throw his siblings into the drifts and tumble down hills and steal things from home to use for sleds.
He misses his family. Aches with it, but the guilt's faded a little.
It's due in part to the teenager that's riding on his back, complaining about the cold. They make for an interesting sight whenever they're around other people, the giant wolf nearly rivaling the horses that they pass. He's used to the stares and attempts at whispering by now, and it's not as if there aren't stories about the southern born boy and his great wolf that float around everywhere.
Just like the snow. His attention does turn back to Stiles, ears flicking up and sending a bit of snow off them as bright eyes look at him in askance. You all right? ]
[ The benefits of being from a Southern kingdom include near constant warmth. When it gets chilly on the Stilinski's land, it does get chilly, but this is the first time in the young prince Stiles' life that he's ever even seen so much snow, let alone had to run into it for hours and hours at a time. It's usually just flurries and maybe an inch around Christmas, and Stiles has a feeling that's all enchanted anyway. Here, as he tracks their path on an old map that he borrowed from the library, they're making their way into the highlands of the north, passing through villages and over frozen rivers and lakes as they fend off stares and stop in inns where Stiles can beg them to let Derek sleep in his room instead of out in the stables with a little extra coin. (The strange looks and gossip he's gotten has resulted in them getting out of more than one of them because of Stiles' uh, defensive mouth.)
Tonight, though, they're in the middle of nowhere.
Even wrapped in the warmest furs they had at the castle at home, the prince isn't doing so well. He's shivering, clinging to Derek's back for warmth and trying to use the heat of it to keep his core temperature up, face mashed into the thick fur at his ruff. It's getting so snowy it's hard to see, and when Derek flicks his ears and shakes, he holds on for dear life and looks at him.
It's not like he doesn't practically know what he's saying by now. Stiles has become an expert in reading his every movement. ] I'm f-f-ffffff-fine. We gotta keep going, dude.
[ He thinks about the map--they're not nearly as far along as they should be. And there's the potential of dangers or hunters or, god, someone trying to assassinate Stiles or something. He's a little paranoid sometimes. ]
[ Maybe if it had been months ago, back when he'd settled into being what he is now, he might've been all right with just nudging Stiles off to take an inn room and curling up in the stables. He wouldn't have enjoyed it, but Derek would have at least sucked it up and done it to keep them from getting kicked out of the few that they have. But he's not stupid, he knows by this point leaving Stiles' side will actually take away what makes him human. Stiles is his anchor to that, and besides. He's not about to leave his side when he's so far out of his own kingdom.
Stiles is not the only one that's a little paranoid. He has a sharp mouth and blue blood. Smart as he is, he's not really up to par to fight off assassins or hunters. Not yet, anyways.
Narrowing his eyes in response to Stiles' answer, he rumbles obvious discontent at him. His fur almost looks completely white, with the help of the snowfall, and it's a stark contrast to the first day they met when the only white patch on him was five fingerprints pressed into his shoulder. It's getting to the point where he figures they should probably stop traveling, but Stiles of course thinks otherwise because he wants to cover as much ground as possible in one day.
Stiles is also rattling so hard that Derek can practically feel it in his bones.
He lets out a gruff noise, a hard chuff that lacks amusement, and turns his head forward again so that he can lope through the high snow, scanning their surroundings as best he can. When he finally spots something, something that looks like an alcove or-- god, hopefully-- a cave, he moves quickly towards it. ]
Don't get mad at me, I'm a strong, independent prince, I can take care of myself. [ Even the cold doesn't stop him from being sassy, and Stiles just shifts a little on Derek's back and squeezes his sides with his thighs, using him as a point of warmth so he doesn't fall off or die or something. He's gotten used to riding Derek--he's as big as a small horse, and honestly infinitely more preferable, considering.
When he curls his fingers a little tighter, more black comes off at his knuckles, in his gloves, contrary to the thick white snow falling all around them. Stiles figured out a long time ago that it was all him that was making the soot come off, and he had yet to figure out how, just that as they got closer, Derek lost more and more of the soot on his pelt. Now they could practically communicate, and he'd figured out Derek's actual name from careful poring over books and letterings and anything he could use to let Derek spell it out for him. He still called him Faoladh, every now and then, because he'd looked up that legend, too, and that's what Derek was.
That's what he's thinking about, as they make their way towards what is in fact a cave. Derek is his protector. (But for which of the reasons, he's not sure why.)
[ If it weren't probably below freezing and Stiles wasn't shaking out of his skin with the chill, Derek would shake himself out and dump him into a drift. As it is, though, he just makes a grumbling noise in the back of his throat and heads straight for the cave, ears forward and body tense-- both from the cold and from caution. Sniffing, listening, he determines that for now, it seems safe.
So he goes right in without consulting his rider, because Stiles is stubborn as hell and would argue until he actually started to feel his fingers again. He does jostle him a little when they're away from the mouth of the cave, small as it seems, and out of the reach of the snow that blows in. It's not enough to dislodge him, but it is encouragement to get down and take the bag off his withers so that he can actually protect Stiles and keep his stupid prince self warm.
After everything, after truly getting to know Stiles, to come into his life and find an actual place there, he's not going to let anything happen to him. For as much as he rolls his eyes at the whole Faoladh nickname when Stiles actually has his name to call him by, he takes it seriously. And he knows exactly what reason he protects him for, and it's certainly not one told in the legends. ]
You are too huge for this cave dude. --Oof. [ When Derek jostles him, Stiles slides off of his back and hits the cave floor on his butt. It's not warm in here by any means, but the wind is outside and the snow is blowing off in a different direction, meaning hopefully a night of safe sleep before the next day's journey.
He wants to get Derek home. The Hales--the last vestiges of them anyway--were the only thing that could maybe get him back to normal, permanently, and...Stiles knew. He knew that his wolf who he'd grown to love wasn't really just a wolf after all. But he needed to be with his family, his big sister, the only other known survivor of a fire that had ravaged the kingdom. She didn't know they were coming, but Stiles had murmured their destination to Derek when they left, quietly, on the last night in front of the flickering fireplace in the library, where they'd spent most of their days. I'm gonna take you home, big guy.
As much as it hurt, as much as it freakin' sucked, it was the right thing to do.
For now, though, he uses his trembling figures to get the travel bag off of Derek and open, pulling out a blanket and another thin coat. It's not a lot, but as he pulls his fur lined hood of his red cloak over his ears, and lays the big, thick blanket (one of his mom's, homemade with love before she died) on the ground, he figures they could probably make something okay of this, at least for the night.
Stiles pats the spot beside him on the blanket. ] Done with your precursory there's-nothing-here-to-eat-me-or-for-me-to-provoke-and-or-do-something-really-stupid-with check?
[ Maybe he's too big for this, but Derek figures that'll work well in their favor. So while Stiles gets settled, he sniffs around, head bowed and shoulders hunched as he does. It doesn't seem like anything dangerous has been using this cave recently, but it's better safe than sorry. For a moment, he looks away once Stiles takes the bag down, looking out into the flurry of white beyond the mouth of the cave.
Laura was alive. Someone had made it out of the ruins of that fire. And he wanted to see his sister more than anything, but the idea of leaving Stiles, of being away from him, caused a physical ache that rivaled the one that belonged to his family. Even if they were in ruins, even if it was just the two of them, it didn't matter. Even like this, he wanted to see Laura. The idea that maybe seeing her would return him to normal registered, but it seemed too good to be true.
They would see, he guesses. But the north hasn't been his home in a long time.
His home is behind him, chattering teeth around chattering words.
Swiveling his head around as he pokes fun at him, he flicks his ears sideways in mock-annoyance before he's moving closer to him. His body can block out the chill, maybe generate enough warmth in the cave that Stiles won't freeze to death. But first, cobalt blue scans his face, examining the snow-bitten flush that's spread over his cheeks and nose. Leaning his head in, he licks his cheek tentatively, spreading a little warmth there. ]
[ Stiles grins when his riling up is successful--he could write an entire dictionary on the language that Derek provides him, his loud chuffs, the every which way his ears swivel depending on what he's doing. It's endlessly amusing and something he's liked since he and the wolf became pretty much inseparable months and months ago. The servants and his tutors had given up on telling him he wasn't allowed to have Derek in the room while he studied or worked on things for the kingdom, because they'd just be weirdly communicative in their non spoken bond, anyway.
That or Derek would make a booboo face at the door, and coming from a probably three or four hundred pound hulk of muscle and fur, that can be pretty damn convincing.
Stiles' teeth chatter and he immediately scoots a little closer towards Derek's absurdly warm coat, only to be met with a big long swipe of his tongue. Stiles splutters and laughs, choking out a -- ] Dude! [ Even if it wasn't his usual sarcastic, slobbery kiss, it still came out of nowhere, making his cheeks sting with the force of feeling coming back into them. ] Spit bath, seriously?
[ At least Derek has moved on from destructively rebelling every time he and Stiles are split up. Shedding on things, digging up the garden, trodding mud and dirt everywhere. The worst of it had been when Heather had come to the kingdom, but that was the last sign of it. (To be fair he was also throwing a bit of a fit, but no one had to know that. Just had to think that Stiles' wolf had gone out of control for a little while.) Now, he just follows at Stiles' heels constantly again and makes faces at anyone trying to split them up, butting his head underneath his arm just like he did when he was eye level with Stiles' chest and not... well, eye-level with Stiles.
His ears swivel forward as he comes closer to him, and he drops down onto his haunches at a bit of an angle, blocking off the chill as best he can. It sort of casts a darkness in the cave, but he can still find Stiles. He'd find Stiles anywhere.
A small chuff of amusement leaves him at the response, and he just licks his other cheek, less tentative this time. Seriously. ]
[ Stiles could tell you about when Derek pretty much threw a fit when a girl was brought to the castle to be his betrothed. Stiles had liked her well enough--she was nice, and pretty, a princess who was a friend of the family. But Derek? Derek had not liked her. And when Stiles went to his dad about it, told him that he liked her but he just couldn't if Derek didn't, because Derek was a lot more than a wolf, he was his confidante and his friend and his dad had been, as usual, the absolute best and allowed the engagement period to be called off.
Derek perked up a lot more after that.
He likes to think it might be something, secretly. That maybe he'll have his own Beauty and the Beast moment, that when the spell's broken, they'll have a happily ever after. But that's stupid--fairy tales aren't real, and there's no way in hell Stiles'd be that lucky. For now, he's content with his best friend, even if the fact that he's about to lose him for good is weighing on his shoulders with every step they take towards the North.
Another laugh startles out of him and he shoves at Derek's face, cracking up laughing because that one was slobbery and complaining immediately. ] Ugh--dude, gross! Ew! I thought we talked about the slobbering!
[ He is feeling warmer, though, and all this flailing around is getting his blood moving again. ]
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STARTIN WITH THE BITTIES
Except he was annoying, and grumpy, and irritating, and Stiles pretty much hated him from the minute they met. He would rather be taking a bath, or sleeping, or talking to Scott, or doing anything except spending time with Derek Hale, which is why he's currently rigging up the old bucket on the door trick, filled with ice cold water, and the young prince is hiding behind a bannister, waiting for Derek to come inside. This would show him. ]
ignore me I'm just fixing this since I deleted the bitty icons from triskeles
His mother has sent him off, once again, to go find where Stiles-- what kind of name is that?-- has gone off to. He's sullen, because he's never met someone so obnoxious before. Did he even know how to shut up?
Grumbling to himself, he begins pushing on the door. ]
but then there was a wolf
Wolves didn't often inhabit this section of the kingdoms; they were highly prized and valuable for their hides when they were found, and so Stiles assumed he found one wounded by a hunter or something. It wouldn't surprise him in the least--if anyone got emotional over hurt animals, it would be Scott, but he still comes with his small dirk at his side, just in case.
Stiles pokes his head into the clinic, looking around. ] Scott?
there was.
His hands and clothes are covered in soot, which he tries to dust off. It's only half successful. ]
Stiles! You have got to see this, it's like-- [ He bounces, gesturing uselessly as if trying to explain the sheer size of the wolf. ] It's huge.
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[ He practically falls over himself getting across the room to follow Scott, even peering over his shoulder when he's walking in front of him. ] Am I gonna puke when I see it? You should really give me warnings for these things.
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He pauses though, with Stiles' question. ] Well, he's kind of bloody, but it's nothing bad? They're really old injuries, I think.
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Oh my god!
[ But, when he's backed up against the wall, he stops and stares at it, unbridled curiosity quickly moving past any fear. The wolf is huge, black and white speckled, and with it's eyes closed, it looks just as terrifying as it probably does up and moving around. He looks from it to Scott to the veterinarian. ] It's not dead, is it?
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No, Prince Stiles. It's still very much alive.
[ It's only with a combination of Stiles' voice and his name that the wolf finally moves, ears flicking up. ]
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Curiously, Stiles takes a step forward, looking over the beast again. As long as it doesn't get up and try to eat him, he's cool with this, curious to try and figure out what the hell's wrong with the thing. It's obviously had one hell of a journey, and he walks up to the head of the table, tentatively putting his hands on the edge of it and staring. ]
Then what the hell is it doing down here?
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[ Deaton reaches into the thick fur around its shoulders, and it doesn't move again. But standing close, Stiles is bound to see the slow rise and fall of its chest.
The man pulls his hand away, and it's coated in black. Scott pipes up, trying to dust off more of the soot again. ]
He's covered to the undercoat in soot.
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[ Now that he's really curious, Stiles reaches out to replicate them, pressing his hand gently near the wolf's face, almost like he's cradling it for a second, before he pulls his hand away. When he does, not only is it coated in black, but there are four white spots where his fingers were resting.
Blinking, he tries to crane his neck around to look at where Deaton and Scott had been touching. ] Does it always do that? Maybe he just needs a bath like big time.
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Not once, but that's what I had been-- [ He goes suddenly quiet, spotting a flash of blue.
At Stiles' touch, Derek opens his eyes, looking up at him. Relief settles on him, as it's confirmed that he isn't just hearing things. He really made it to the kingdom, from the far reaches he'd been sent to. But there's a sadness in him, and it almost overpowers the familiarity and relief. ]
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There's something off about this thing, something familiar. The jokes about just offing him stop, and his hand, where it's still loosely connected to Derek's neck, scratches idly, ash flaking off under his fingers. ]
...we can't just leave him here.
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Unfortunately, I currently don't have the room or the resources required to house such a large animal. My only options would be to release him in the wild, in the hopes that getting him on his feet again would help him, or to... well.
[ He reaches to get a handtowel from the end of the table, working to get soot off his hands in slow, calm motions. ]
As far as I can tell from his dental, paws, and the like, he's not actually fully grown. A wolf of his size would be considered a great risk to the city.
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traveling to the north let's do iiiittt
skips 69079172397 things to jump right into this tbh
But he misses the deep snow, that came up to his knees, where he could throw his siblings into the drifts and tumble down hills and steal things from home to use for sleds.
He misses his family. Aches with it, but the guilt's faded a little.
It's due in part to the teenager that's riding on his back, complaining about the cold. They make for an interesting sight whenever they're around other people, the giant wolf nearly rivaling the horses that they pass. He's used to the stares and attempts at whispering by now, and it's not as if there aren't stories about the southern born boy and his great wolf that float around everywhere.
Just like the snow. His attention does turn back to Stiles, ears flicking up and sending a bit of snow off them as bright eyes look at him in askance. You all right? ]
WHO NEEDS A TIMELINE
Tonight, though, they're in the middle of nowhere.
Even wrapped in the warmest furs they had at the castle at home, the prince isn't doing so well. He's shivering, clinging to Derek's back for warmth and trying to use the heat of it to keep his core temperature up, face mashed into the thick fur at his ruff. It's getting so snowy it's hard to see, and when Derek flicks his ears and shakes, he holds on for dear life and looks at him.
It's not like he doesn't practically know what he's saying by now. Stiles has become an expert in reading his every movement. ] I'm f-f-ffffff-fine. We gotta keep going, dude.
[ He thinks about the map--they're not nearly as far along as they should be. And there's the potential of dangers or hunters or, god, someone trying to assassinate Stiles or something. He's a little paranoid sometimes. ]
NOT US.
Stiles is not the only one that's a little paranoid. He has a sharp mouth and blue blood. Smart as he is, he's not really up to par to fight off assassins or hunters. Not yet, anyways.
Narrowing his eyes in response to Stiles' answer, he rumbles obvious discontent at him. His fur almost looks completely white, with the help of the snowfall, and it's a stark contrast to the first day they met when the only white patch on him was five fingerprints pressed into his shoulder. It's getting to the point where he figures they should probably stop traveling, but Stiles of course thinks otherwise because he wants to cover as much ground as possible in one day.
Stiles is also rattling so hard that Derek can practically feel it in his bones.
He lets out a gruff noise, a hard chuff that lacks amusement, and turns his head forward again so that he can lope through the high snow, scanning their surroundings as best he can. When he finally spots something, something that looks like an alcove or-- god, hopefully-- a cave, he moves quickly towards it. ]
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When he curls his fingers a little tighter, more black comes off at his knuckles, in his gloves, contrary to the thick white snow falling all around them. Stiles figured out a long time ago that it was all him that was making the soot come off, and he had yet to figure out how, just that as they got closer, Derek lost more and more of the soot on his pelt. Now they could practically communicate, and he'd figured out Derek's actual name from careful poring over books and letterings and anything he could use to let Derek spell it out for him. He still called him Faoladh, every now and then, because he'd looked up that legend, too, and that's what Derek was.
That's what he's thinking about, as they make their way towards what is in fact a cave. Derek is his protector. (But for which of the reasons, he's not sure why.)
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So he goes right in without consulting his rider, because Stiles is stubborn as hell and would argue until he actually started to feel his fingers again. He does jostle him a little when they're away from the mouth of the cave, small as it seems, and out of the reach of the snow that blows in. It's not enough to dislodge him, but it is encouragement to get down and take the bag off his withers so that he can actually protect Stiles and keep his stupid prince self warm.
After everything, after truly getting to know Stiles, to come into his life and find an actual place there, he's not going to let anything happen to him. For as much as he rolls his eyes at the whole Faoladh nickname when Stiles actually has his name to call him by, he takes it seriously. And he knows exactly what reason he protects him for, and it's certainly not one told in the legends. ]
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He wants to get Derek home. The Hales--the last vestiges of them anyway--were the only thing that could maybe get him back to normal, permanently, and...Stiles knew. He knew that his wolf who he'd grown to love wasn't really just a wolf after all. But he needed to be with his family, his big sister, the only other known survivor of a fire that had ravaged the kingdom. She didn't know they were coming, but Stiles had murmured their destination to Derek when they left, quietly, on the last night in front of the flickering fireplace in the library, where they'd spent most of their days. I'm gonna take you home, big guy.
As much as it hurt, as much as it freakin' sucked, it was the right thing to do.
For now, though, he uses his trembling figures to get the travel bag off of Derek and open, pulling out a blanket and another thin coat. It's not a lot, but as he pulls his fur lined hood of his red cloak over his ears, and lays the big, thick blanket (one of his mom's, homemade with love before she died) on the ground, he figures they could probably make something okay of this, at least for the night.
Stiles pats the spot beside him on the blanket. ] Done with your precursory there's-nothing-here-to-eat-me-or-for-me-to-provoke-and-or-do-something-really-stupid-with check?
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Laura was alive. Someone had made it out of the ruins of that fire. And he wanted to see his sister more than anything, but the idea of leaving Stiles, of being away from him, caused a physical ache that rivaled the one that belonged to his family. Even if they were in ruins, even if it was just the two of them, it didn't matter. Even like this, he wanted to see Laura. The idea that maybe seeing her would return him to normal registered, but it seemed too good to be true.
They would see, he guesses. But the north hasn't been his home in a long time.
His home is behind him, chattering teeth around chattering words.
Swiveling his head around as he pokes fun at him, he flicks his ears sideways in mock-annoyance before he's moving closer to him. His body can block out the chill, maybe generate enough warmth in the cave that Stiles won't freeze to death. But first, cobalt blue scans his face, examining the snow-bitten flush that's spread over his cheeks and nose. Leaning his head in, he licks his cheek tentatively, spreading a little warmth there. ]
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That or Derek would make a booboo face at the door, and coming from a probably three or four hundred pound hulk of muscle and fur, that can be pretty damn convincing.
Stiles' teeth chatter and he immediately scoots a little closer towards Derek's absurdly warm coat, only to be met with a big long swipe of his tongue. Stiles splutters and laughs, choking out a -- ] Dude! [ Even if it wasn't his usual sarcastic, slobbery kiss, it still came out of nowhere, making his cheeks sting with the force of feeling coming back into them. ] Spit bath, seriously?
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His ears swivel forward as he comes closer to him, and he drops down onto his haunches at a bit of an angle, blocking off the chill as best he can. It sort of casts a darkness in the cave, but he can still find Stiles. He'd find Stiles anywhere.
A small chuff of amusement leaves him at the response, and he just licks his other cheek, less tentative this time. Seriously. ]
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Derek perked up a lot more after that.
He likes to think it might be something, secretly. That maybe he'll have his own Beauty and the Beast moment, that when the spell's broken, they'll have a happily ever after. But that's stupid--fairy tales aren't real, and there's no way in hell Stiles'd be that lucky. For now, he's content with his best friend, even if the fact that he's about to lose him for good is weighing on his shoulders with every step they take towards the North.
Another laugh startles out of him and he shoves at Derek's face, cracking up laughing because that one was slobbery and complaining immediately. ] Ugh--dude, gross! Ew! I thought we talked about the slobbering!
[ He is feeling warmer, though, and all this flailing around is getting his blood moving again. ]
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