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. ]
[ During the entire engagement, maybe he'd been... a little out of line. But before everything went to hell, before his supposed death with the rest of his family, Stiles had been slated to be his betrothed. And maybe they had hated each other when they were younger, but Derek remembers a day where an eight-year-old boy had broken down, and he'd curled around him. He remembers something, then, that was what brought him to the south to seek shelter when every step left behind a trail of soot and ash.
He remembered an anniversary, a death, and curling over a sixteen-year-old instead. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he'd grown to know Stiles since everything happened. There's a part of him that's hoping fairytales are real, even if the spell wasn't broken hundreds of miles in warmer weather.
For him, it's definitely something.
Expression softening as he starts laughing, pushing at his face, Derek butts into him a little with his head, opening his mouth and closing his teeth around the front of his hood so that he can pull it down over his face. He wiggles it around a little, as if trying to wipe Stiles' face dry. Here, sorry, let me fix that. ]
[ Eight years to the death of Stiles' mom had been one of the hardest days for him in a long time, and it was Derek's presence that got him through it. He'd buried his face in his fur and cried into it for hours, feeling stupid and weak and just missing his mom, more than any words could really describe. It didn't matter how long it had been, but that sunny afternoon in June was burned into his memory for the rest of his life, left him withdrawn for a couple weeks of the month. Having Derek was the first time he'd really had comfort--even Scott knew not to talk to him, because it'd never really been any use. Even though Derek was weirdly human (maybe not so weird, now that Stiles is pretty sure his hunch is right), he was a silent comfort, exactly what he needed.
That was why he stayed so close to his wolf, why he pushed away Heather. He'd become such an important, integral part of his life that he almost wanted to drag his feet on this trip, because Stiles was losing more than a companion, he was basically losing his best friend.
For now, he tries to push that thought from his mind and rolls his eyes as Derek tugs the hood of his cape over his head--his arms flail around blindly until he gets a hold of Derek's face and tilts it upwards so he can try and get free, smushing the fur and skin on his snout up. ] You are so rude. That's why you got so huge, your rudeness level shot up.
[ He shakes his hood off and grabs Derek's entire face instead, roughing it back and forth and making a playful noise. At least he's got feeling in his toes now. ]
[ Even with the way Stiles had been so silent-- or maybe because of it, he's not sure yet-- Derek still sought him out. It had felt wrong, to try and leave him alone. Because there were days since he first arrived here, exhausted and alone, that he simply sat with his head on the window and stared outside. And Stiles never left him alone, never let him be in the ache of missing his family, the ache of guilt for having caused it.
So, he would never let Stiles be alone in June again. Even if this works, even if he goes home and Stiles leaves, or doesn't want him to come back, he'll find a way. Because he remembers the warmth of tears pressed into his fur, remembers how so much of the soot had been lost during Stiles' grieving.
Even if he lost this, he wouldn't want Stiles to feel that way alone again.
Lips curling as Stiles smushes at his face, Derek grunts at him with mock-displeasure and bares his teeth at him. But it's more like a wolfish smile than anything else, and he lets him move his face around once his grip shifts. A growl leaves him in response to the noise, and he doesn't even bother to feign insult. Just huffs at him noisily in disbelief, hot air in the chill of winter. And you're an angel. ]
[ Stiles is an angel, thank you very much. He just laughs at his stupid wolf smile, and the growl, which isn't even remotely terrifying, then lets go of his face to smooth his fingers over his head, scratch him behind the ears. Even now, soot comes off on his fingers, although not in sheets like it had before, and he rubs it absently on his pants even though it seems to just magically disappear the moment Stiles gets it off of him.
His look softens a little and a shiver runs through him again--he scoots a little closer to the giant wolf and holds his head behind his ears, toothy, teasing grin going small and warm. ] Look at you, you're almost white. Not much of this stuff left, huh, big guy?
[ And not much of their journey left, either. That's a much more depressing thought, and he gives a little scratch where his hands are situated, not bothering to tug his cloak closer as a chill runs down his spine. ] I think the black pelt fit you better, but...maybe a real one, instead of an ash one. What do you think.
[ Furthest thing from an angel. He gives him a little look, but there's nothing but affection there as he tilts his head into his touch. He's white now, mostly along his underside, with grey where it's still holding onto him. It's strange to look at himself like this now in reflections, but he knows it's because of Stiles. Part of him will miss it, miss being the dark shape that moves through the grounds and scares the hell out of anyone that shouldn't be there. (Anyone that knows him now is only startled, Stiles included, but he's such a norm there that they don't really bat an eye at nearly 400 pounds of wolf.)
Catching that shiver, Derek shifts closer to him a little more in return, watching his face and meeting those amber eyes of his. He doesn't bother looking down at himself, and instead tracks the flush of Stiles' face, categorizes every mark on smooth skin, the fall of his lashes now that they're not clouded with snow.
Before he does anything about the cold, he simply ducks his in towards him, pressing a more human-like kiss to his cheek. It's just the front of his muzzle against skin, close-mouthed with the faintest brush of a chilly nose, but soft regardless. I'd like that. ]
It's very you. Much more creepy and dark over innocent and naive. [ There's something weirdly affectionate when Derek does that, like Stiles just--okay, well, he wants to think that it means something more than him just nosing at his face. It makes something in him twist up in affection, and he gives a little scratch where his hands are still anchored behind his head. His wolf has changed a ridiculous amount since they met--his dad joked that Stiles was overfeeding him--and it seemed like the further they went on this journey, the more Derek seemed to just blend in with the snow.
He was happy, really. Glad for Derek, who might be coming back to his real colors. Stiles thinks the black suited him better--for 400 pounds, he made a fantastic lurker and scared the shit out of Stiles and new staff on a day to day basis, particularly the gardeners, who were terrified of him after he tore up the gardens during the Heather Incident.
His mouth quirks up in a small, lopsided smile, a little sad, and he uses where he's holding his face to kiss his nose, once, gently. ] You're lucky that didn't go all Christmas Story.
[ With that said, he fidgets in a little more towards him, pulling his cloak around his body. ]
[ An amused yet agreeable noise leaves him at that, and Derek twitches his brow at him a little. He sort of misses emoting with his face more, but it's still something. And he wants to press an actual kiss to the skin that he's pressed his nose to for months now, rubbed his cheek on, nudged his head into. It's left soot everywhere, only to disappear at Stiles' touch. Others have touched him, with what seemed like residual soot coming off but staining them and not coming free of his fur. Only Stiles has managed to change him.
And that's how they're able to go up to the north, find Laura. Maybe the spell will break-- and he hopes so, in his way-- but he doesn't... For as much as he's missed her, he'll miss following on Stiles' heels, bumping into his back as they sneak around the castle. He'll miss scaring the maids as they work through the halls. He hasn't even gotten the chance to apologize fully to the gardeners, though he hopes maybe he'll get the chance.
He'll miss Stiles.
Nuzzling his nose against his temple through the cloak hood, a little sad himself, he lowers to his belly and wraps himself around the shape of Stiles' body. ]
[ That's kind of nice. Stiles makes a low comment about "I'll be sure to tell my future spouse that I've only ever spooned with a wolf" and snuggles in close. There's soot on his cloak, little gray speckles that seem to follow him everywhere, but they dissolve just as soon as they've gotten into the fabric of his cloak.
(It's when they're on his fingers, on his face, sometimes when Derek's muzzle presses up against his face that they stay. Stiles has found a couple new moles since he met the huge wolf, little stars that transfer from his wolf to him. He's not sure what they mean, but there's something special about it, magical even. )
Sighing a little heavily, he turns around again, facing him and reaching one hand up to scratch behind one of his huge ears. ] I'm...gonna miss you, you know that, right? Like, really bad. And not just for your spooning abilities.
[ At first, Derek just snorts and rolls his head a little as if rolling his eyes. It's a common response to Stiles' commentary, but this one's at least amused. He looks at him as he gets settled, shifting so that Stiles can fit into his side comfortably. He rests against him completely, hoping to keep him warm.
But then he feels the fingers behind his ear, and he lifts his head, looks at him. His eyes scan his face, tracking across the new patterns that've developed across pale skin since they first met, dusted across him just like his own soot was.
His heart sinks a little in his chest, and he tips forward, mock kissing his forehead and lingering there for a moment. Something small leaves him, practically a whine as his ears swivel back. Derek isn't really known for whining, but there's no other way he can communicate how much he feels the same. ]
[ It leaves another little spot, a mole near his hairline, and Stiles gives him a little smile in return, lopsided and bittersweet. ] Dude, that's the first time I've ever heard you make that one. Usually it's the puppy face.
[ He digs his nails into the fur behind his ears, just a little bit, trying to get the good spots for him, focusing all of his attention on the wolf in front of him, who's been to all of his lessons, sat by him when he was upset, wrestled with him when he was angry and restless. It's more than just letting go of the family pet, because Derek is so beyond human there aren't any words for it--he's just a couple of vocabulary phrases short of being basically human.
Still. Laura'll be happy to have him back. Stiles knows it. Derek'll be happy to be home, with the vestiges of a family he thought he'd lost completely. Stiles would be too. It's the nice thing to do, the selfless thing to do--as much as he wants to get them lost for days, so he has just a little more time. ] It'll be okay. Going back home, right? Big deal, dude.
[ Rather than be offended, Derek lets out a little rumble at him, angling his head down so that he can meet his eyes. He looks at him, quietly human but trapped, kept from truly communicating with him. Stiles might be able to understand him pretty damn easily by this point, but there are still things that he needs to say. Wants to say.
Slowly, his eyes fall half-closed as Stiles digs into the fur behind his ears, never quite closing so that he can keep them on Stiles' face. He sees the new mark that he's left behind, and there's soft affection in his face. Stiles is his prince, the one person that he never thought he'd care about but does, more than he could ever actually describe with or without words. The time with him is time he'd never give up for anything, never ask to do over.
He wants to see his sister again, but he doesn't want to leave Stiles. A grudging noise leaves him, pushing on agreeable but still hesitant. ]
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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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He remembered an anniversary, a death, and curling over a sixteen-year-old instead. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he'd grown to know Stiles since everything happened. There's a part of him that's hoping fairytales are real, even if the spell wasn't broken hundreds of miles in warmer weather.
For him, it's definitely something.
Expression softening as he starts laughing, pushing at his face, Derek butts into him a little with his head, opening his mouth and closing his teeth around the front of his hood so that he can pull it down over his face. He wiggles it around a little, as if trying to wipe Stiles' face dry. Here, sorry, let me fix that. ]
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That was why he stayed so close to his wolf, why he pushed away Heather. He'd become such an important, integral part of his life that he almost wanted to drag his feet on this trip, because Stiles was losing more than a companion, he was basically losing his best friend.
For now, he tries to push that thought from his mind and rolls his eyes as Derek tugs the hood of his cape over his head--his arms flail around blindly until he gets a hold of Derek's face and tilts it upwards so he can try and get free, smushing the fur and skin on his snout up. ] You are so rude. That's why you got so huge, your rudeness level shot up.
[ He shakes his hood off and grabs Derek's entire face instead, roughing it back and forth and making a playful noise. At least he's got feeling in his toes now. ]
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So, he would never let Stiles be alone in June again. Even if this works, even if he goes home and Stiles leaves, or doesn't want him to come back, he'll find a way. Because he remembers the warmth of tears pressed into his fur, remembers how so much of the soot had been lost during Stiles' grieving.
Even if he lost this, he wouldn't want Stiles to feel that way alone again.
Lips curling as Stiles smushes at his face, Derek grunts at him with mock-displeasure and bares his teeth at him. But it's more like a wolfish smile than anything else, and he lets him move his face around once his grip shifts. A growl leaves him in response to the noise, and he doesn't even bother to feign insult. Just huffs at him noisily in disbelief, hot air in the chill of winter. And you're an angel. ]
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His look softens a little and a shiver runs through him again--he scoots a little closer to the giant wolf and holds his head behind his ears, toothy, teasing grin going small and warm. ] Look at you, you're almost white. Not much of this stuff left, huh, big guy?
[ And not much of their journey left, either. That's a much more depressing thought, and he gives a little scratch where his hands are situated, not bothering to tug his cloak closer as a chill runs down his spine. ] I think the black pelt fit you better, but...maybe a real one, instead of an ash one. What do you think.
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Catching that shiver, Derek shifts closer to him a little more in return, watching his face and meeting those amber eyes of his. He doesn't bother looking down at himself, and instead tracks the flush of Stiles' face, categorizes every mark on smooth skin, the fall of his lashes now that they're not clouded with snow.
Before he does anything about the cold, he simply ducks his in towards him, pressing a more human-like kiss to his cheek. It's just the front of his muzzle against skin, close-mouthed with the faintest brush of a chilly nose, but soft regardless. I'd like that. ]
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He was happy, really. Glad for Derek, who might be coming back to his real colors. Stiles thinks the black suited him better--for 400 pounds, he made a fantastic lurker and scared the shit out of Stiles and new staff on a day to day basis, particularly the gardeners, who were terrified of him after he tore up the gardens during the Heather Incident.
His mouth quirks up in a small, lopsided smile, a little sad, and he uses where he's holding his face to kiss his nose, once, gently. ] You're lucky that didn't go all Christmas Story.
[ With that said, he fidgets in a little more towards him, pulling his cloak around his body. ]
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And that's how they're able to go up to the north, find Laura. Maybe the spell will break-- and he hopes so, in his way-- but he doesn't... For as much as he's missed her, he'll miss following on Stiles' heels, bumping into his back as they sneak around the castle. He'll miss scaring the maids as they work through the halls. He hasn't even gotten the chance to apologize fully to the gardeners, though he hopes maybe he'll get the chance.
He'll miss Stiles.
Nuzzling his nose against his temple through the cloak hood, a little sad himself, he lowers to his belly and wraps himself around the shape of Stiles' body. ]
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(It's when they're on his fingers, on his face, sometimes when Derek's muzzle presses up against his face that they stay. Stiles has found a couple new moles since he met the huge wolf, little stars that transfer from his wolf to him. He's not sure what they mean, but there's something special about it, magical even. )
Sighing a little heavily, he turns around again, facing him and reaching one hand up to scratch behind one of his huge ears. ] I'm...gonna miss you, you know that, right? Like, really bad. And not just for your spooning abilities.
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But then he feels the fingers behind his ear, and he lifts his head, looks at him. His eyes scan his face, tracking across the new patterns that've developed across pale skin since they first met, dusted across him just like his own soot was.
His heart sinks a little in his chest, and he tips forward, mock kissing his forehead and lingering there for a moment. Something small leaves him, practically a whine as his ears swivel back. Derek isn't really known for whining, but there's no other way he can communicate how much he feels the same. ]
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[ He digs his nails into the fur behind his ears, just a little bit, trying to get the good spots for him, focusing all of his attention on the wolf in front of him, who's been to all of his lessons, sat by him when he was upset, wrestled with him when he was angry and restless. It's more than just letting go of the family pet, because Derek is so beyond human there aren't any words for it--he's just a couple of vocabulary phrases short of being basically human.
Still. Laura'll be happy to have him back. Stiles knows it. Derek'll be happy to be home, with the vestiges of a family he thought he'd lost completely. Stiles would be too. It's the nice thing to do, the selfless thing to do--as much as he wants to get them lost for days, so he has just a little more time. ] It'll be okay. Going back home, right? Big deal, dude.
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Slowly, his eyes fall half-closed as Stiles digs into the fur behind his ears, never quite closing so that he can keep them on Stiles' face. He sees the new mark that he's left behind, and there's soft affection in his face. Stiles is his prince, the one person that he never thought he'd care about but does, more than he could ever actually describe with or without words. The time with him is time he'd never give up for anything, never ask to do over.
He wants to see his sister again, but he doesn't want to leave Stiles. A grudging noise leaves him, pushing on agreeable but still hesitant. ]