[ It's weirdly peaceful looking, now that the house is gone. Empty, maybe. Like there's a great big hole left in the middle of the forest. Stiles stays quiet and lets Derek do what he pleases, slowly dropping his hand from his neck only to slide his arm around his hips, fingers curling in the fabric of his used to be too big leather jacket and tilting his head just a little to lean it on his shoulder.
It's gone.
It takes him a while to move. He doesn't want to disturb Derek--he won't judge, won't do anything but be that anchor, the warrior's shield, and when he finally does, he strides forward with purpose and picks up a stick, walking to a little bit of dirt near what he can gauge as the middle of the field, and crouching down, dragging the tip of the stick through the dust in one spiral, then two, then three. ]
[ Head turning the slightest bit, but eyes staying on what remains, Derek tucks his nose in Stiles' thick hair and just stands like that for a while. This was simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing he's ever done-- the house was gone as if it was swept aside, but it took a lot for him to be able to sign it away. Standing there with Stiles, looking at everything, he isn't sure whether the weight from his shoulders is gone or not. But it doesn't hurt, quite so much.
So it's easy to let Stiles move away, fingers loosening as he straightens a little, watches him. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he feels the pull that's between them drawing him forward after him. When his shoes scuff the flattened earth, remains of charred wood and ash, he tries to push aside the thought that he's walking across all that's left of a childhood long gone.
It's easy enough, when he sees what Stiles is doing. ]
Stiles... [ There's something strained but grateful in his voice, like he'd forgotten how to use it since he first told Stiles to meet him at the Hale house and only remembered because of this. Because of a symbol so ingrained in his life, and the boy who runs with wolves. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's gone.
It takes him a while to move. He doesn't want to disturb Derek--he won't judge, won't do anything but be that anchor, the warrior's shield, and when he finally does, he strides forward with purpose and picks up a stick, walking to a little bit of dirt near what he can gauge as the middle of the field, and crouching down, dragging the tip of the stick through the dust in one spiral, then two, then three. ]
no subject
So it's easy to let Stiles move away, fingers loosening as he straightens a little, watches him. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he feels the pull that's between them drawing him forward after him. When his shoes scuff the flattened earth, remains of charred wood and ash, he tries to push aside the thought that he's walking across all that's left of a childhood long gone.
It's easy enough, when he sees what Stiles is doing. ]
Stiles... [ There's something strained but grateful in his voice, like he'd forgotten how to use it since he first told Stiles to meet him at the Hale house and only remembered because of this. Because of a symbol so ingrained in his life, and the boy who runs with wolves. ]