Chapter Text
The envelope was postmarked three days after Derek had found the note on Isaac's bed. Erica's name was on the recipient line - although the address was for Derek's loft - with no return address or any indication as to where it had come from. Inside was a greeting card, a sad-looking golden retriever staring out from the photo on the front where the words “Missing You...” were printed across the bottom in a generic scroll print. It was the kind of card that was left intentionally blank inside, so that the purchaser or giver of the card could write their own message, and this one had been filled from the top left corner to the bottom right.
Erica,
I know you must hate me for leaving without saying goodbye. I'm sorry, I guess I'm still just too much of a coward to look you in the eye sometimes. You're my best friend - hell, you're practically my sister – and I'm going to miss you so much. I already do, honestly, but it's better this way.
Peter and I have gone somewhere safe, where we hopefully won't be bothered. I know you're going to try to look for us, but please don't. I promise we'll be okay. I promise I'll be okay. I don't know when, but I promise to come back and visit everyone again, but not until things are different. Not until we're settled.
I know you can take care of yourself, so I won't remind you. But please...try to be careful. There are still a lot of threats out there, and being a teenaged werewolf is hard enough as it is. Trust Scott and Derek; they're there to help. I know, it's not the same without me. It hasn't been the same without you, and it's only been a few days. I can't imagine how much different we'll both be by the time we see each other again...I hope it's not far off.
Be safe. Be happy. We'll see each other again soon.
Isaac
The card has been sitting on Erica's dresser since the day Derek gave it to her, serving as a constant reminder of the painfully empty seat beside her at the lunch table, the hole where her best friend used to be.
Derek told her that Isaac had left his phone behind, so she sent him emails instead. In the first few weeks, the emails ranged from single sentences (“I hate you,” and “I miss you,” were the most repeated) to letters, most of them asking why Isaac had left and demanding to know where he had gone, where Peter had taken him. She was convinced, for the span of a week, that Peter had actually abducted Isaac and that he hadn't gone willingly, but she knew that it wasn't true and let the idea go when she realized that there really wasn't anyone to blame.
After that, she sent emails every few months with updates of pack activity, occasionally asking if he was going to come back soon. He never replied, but she liked to imagine that he was reading them, thinking about her.
On her birthday, she got an email that contained no message, but had an attached video. The video was of Isaac, hair shorter and cheekbones more defined than when she had last seen him. The video captured him from the shoulders up, sitting in front of a plain, off-white background with nothing else in frame. He sang “You Are My Sunshine” with a smile, then ended the video with a simple, “Happy birthday!”
She cried when she watched it. When it was over, she downloaded it to her computer's desktop so she could watch it over and over again.
That was a year ago. Isaac hadn't sent anything since.
Erica finishes typing the email that she's been working on for the past twenty minutes and hits send before closing her laptop and pushing away from her desk. She does a quick mental checklist – makeup, hair, shoes, phone – before slipping out the window of her bedroom and out into the night. Her parents still don't know about the wolf stuff, but she had already told them that she'd be going out with friends for her birthday, and despite their concern at their daughter's apparently sudden popularity, supernaturally good looks, and lack of medical problems, they were usually too busy to object when she told them she had plans.
'Going out' is actually meeting up at Scott's for a pack meeting and, yes, her birthday celebration. Everyone is already there waiting when she arrives, the door swinging open to reveal Stiles wearing a red party hat and a stupid grin on his face.
“Happy birthday! Finally decided to show up to your own party, huh?” She knows he's teasing, so she tosses her hair and strides past him, elbowing him gently in the side as she enters.
“Yeah, I figured it was time to grace you peasants with my beautiful face,” she taunts back, smirking as Stiles rubs the tender spot in his ribs. He shuts the door and loops his arm through hers when she holds it out expectantly, leading her into the living room where Derek, Scott, Allison, Boyd, and Lydia are already gathered. Her presence triggers a chorus of 'happy birthday's from her gathered friends and she smiles, fitting herself into the empty spot on the loveseat next to Boyd. He takes her hand and laces their fingers together, and she gives his a small squeeze in return. Stiles flings himself into the spot beside Derek on the couch, leaving an oddly exact amount of space between them which everyone seems to notice but no one comments on. Lydia sits primly on the other side of him, one knee crossed over the other. Allison is perched on the armrest beside Lydia, her feet resting in Scott's lap in the armchair.
“Okay, presents!” Lydia announces, gesturing to the small pile of gifts stacked on one end of Scott's coffee table. Erica's slightly startled, not really having registered that they were there, or that they were for her.
“You guys got me presents?” She tries not to, but she definitely sounds touched by the thought. “You didn't have to do that.”
“You're our friend,” Scott says, sounding almost offended that she would ever not expect gifts from them.
“Danny wanted to be here, but he's still in London,” visiting Jackson, is the unspoken end of that sentence, but if it bothers her, Lydia's smile doesn't reflect it. She hands Erica a small square box, wrapped neatly in gold wrapping paper with a small card on top. The message is hand-written in Danny's looping print,
Happy birthday! Sorry I couldn't be there. I hope you like your gift (Lydia helped pick it out).
Much love,
Danny
Erica slides one polished fingernail under the edge of the paper and gently tears it open, peeling it off of the small black box. She lifts the lid and lets out a startled laugh when she sees the small silver wolf earrings nestled into the satin lining. The little wolf statues are seated and frozen in a howl, but are finely detailed. A small tag hanging from one of them tells her that they aren't silver, but are in fact white gold.
She's already taking her plain silver hoops out as she flashes Lydia a bright, genuine smile. “These are great, Lydia. Thanks.”
As soon as the little wolves are dangling from her ears, another gift appears within her line of vision, this one significantly larger and held by Stiles. Stiles' gift turns out to be a pair of pumps dark red with gold chains draped over the closed toes and spikes on the heels, also picked out by Lydia.
After all of her gifts have been unwrapped and re-piled on the table – several gift cards, a CD she had been wanting for months, a new leather jacket, a bottle of her favorite perfume, the red heels, and the earrings – they order pizza, settle in, and put on a movie. Halfway through The Craft – Erica's choice, since it's her birthday – Stiles produces a Cards Against Humanity box, and they play through the rest of the movie.
When the festivities are starting to die down, Erica decides it's time to go home and asks Boyd to walk her. Scott finds an empty shopping bag for her to carry her gifts in and they say their goodbyes not long before Lydia announces that she, too, must get home to get her beauty sleep. She offers Allison a ride home and only rolls her eyes once when she and Scott take a little longer saying goodnight than necessary.
Stiles and Derek are the last to leave, Stiles giving the excuse that he has reading for school to get done. Scott doesn't protest, although he knows it's not exactly the truth. It had become clear to everyone over the past year that Stiles and Derek were, if not dating, at least dancing around the possibility of it. He knew it wasn't his business, so he tried not to pry, trusting that Stiles would tell him if anything actually developed.
They leave together, Stiles offering Derek a ride home which he seems grateful for. Scott waves from the door, an action which Stiles repeats as he slides into the driver's seat and kicks the engine to life. He and Derek sit in amiable silence through most of the drive, although he finds himself wishing some jackass hadn't stolen his radio last month.
When they pull up outside of the loft, Stiles parks and leans back, turning his upper body to face Derek.
“So,” he starts, but realizes he doesn't really know what to say, so he half-shrugs when Derek looks at him expectantly. The older man rolls his eyes, but there's no real irritation behind the gesture, just mild exasperation.
“Have you talked to Deaton about the emissary training?” Derek asks out of nowhere, and Stiles balks for a minute, not expecting the question.
“Uh, I mean, not since he told me about it,” he rubs the back of his neck and glances away from Derek, who nods but keeps his face carefully neutral otherwise.
“Have you thought about it, at least?” This time there's more gentleness to his tone, but a seriousness under that which draws Stiles' gaze back to him. The teen chews his lip as he considers Derek and the question both, then he nods.
“Yeah, I think I'm gonna take him up on it,” he says, tapping his foot against the floorboard of his car, an outlet for his energy. Derek nods again, and the gesture is less tense now.
“Good,” he says, which startles Stiles a little, he didn't think it was going to be that easy.
“Yeah?” Stiles can't help but ask, a little confused. When Deaton had first offered to train Stiles as an emissary to Scott's developing pack just a few months ago, Derek hadn't seemed keen on the idea. Stiles had brought it up to Derek simply because he had known the man longer than anyone else – longer than Scott, even – and he thought Derek might be able to give him some insight.
Derek rolls his neck and looks out the window at his building, instead of looking at Stiles when he speaks next.
“Yeah,” his tone is quiet, and Stiles reaches over on impulse and takes Derek's hand in his, squeezing it. Derek smiles, a small thing, and gives Stiles' hand a gentle squeeze in reply. “You'd be good at it.”
That's all he says for a long time, and they sit in comfortable silence, Stiles' thumb brushing over the back of Derek's hand, fingers twined together.
“The alpha pack could have been a lot worse,” Derek sighs after a minute, and Stiles snorts and rolls his eyes, knowing what's coming next. They'd had this conversation a lot over the last year, so much so that he was starting to wonder if they could ever talk about anything else. Every time Stiles even tried to bring up their relationship, and how it had suddenly stopped developing a few months ago, they ended up having this conversation instead.
“...And you want me to be able to protect myself if something happens to you, I get it,” Stiles grumbles in response, attempting to draw his hand back. Derek holds fast, however, and finally turns his gaze back on Stiles, mouth a hard line.
“I'm serious, Stiles.”
“Yeah? Well, so am I, Derek. I'm seriously fed up with hearing about it.”
They glare at each other for a long minute before Derek finally releases his hand, sighing. He throws his own in the air, letting them fall limply into his lap as he glares out the window, not looking at Stiles anymore.
“Seriously, I want to talk about this. What are we doing? I know we decided not to do anything until I turn eighteen, but we haven't talked about it all, and I'm turning eighteen in a few months,” Stiles rushes the words out, needing Derek to talk to him or to at least listen to him for once instead of deflecting or running off into the night at every damn turn. “Will you just talk to me? About something other than this supernatural bullshit, for once?”
“Fine,” Derek sighs, and that is not what Stiles expects. He does a double-take.
“What?”
“I said, 'fine',” Derek grumbles, turning to look at him. It's clear from his face that he's not happy about it, but Stiles is beaming on the inside, finally getting the conversation he's been after for almost a year now. “You're right, we need to talk about it. We're waiting until you turn eighteen.”
“And then?” Stiles prompts after a long pause in which Derek doesn't say anything else. The wolf rolls his eyes, obviously ready to be done with the conversation already.
“And then,” Derek purses his lips and looks at Stiles, who definitely does not shiver. “Whatever you want.”
Stiles practically leaps across the space between them and presses a quick kiss to Derek's mouth before the man can protest. His face is red when he pulls away, but he's grinning, and Derek can't help but smile a little in response. The teen sits back in his seat and bounces his leg, taps his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Promise?” He asks, as Derek jiggles the door handle on the passenger side, the only way to get it to open from the inside. It pops open gently after a moment and he slides out, shuts the door, and leans on the frame of the open window.
“Talk to Deaton,” is what he says instead, and Stiles can live with this. He can definitely live with this.
“I will,” he means it, and Derek knows it, because he smiles one more time before turning and heading into the building. Stiles waits until he's inside before he turns the key in the ignition, the Jeep's old engine rumbling to life, and drives home with a smile on his face the whole time.
At home, Erica checks her email one more time before bed. There's nothing waiting for her, no birthday message from Isaac this year. She's disappointed, but she can't say she was really expecting one. A lot can change in one year. She still thinks about him every day, but her thoughts are a lot less bitter now, more controlled, more understanding.
In a way, she's jealous that he got the chance to get out of Beacon Hills, the one thing she always wanted to do.
She opens a new email and writes,
Isaac,
Missing you, as always. The pack threw me a great birthday party tonight. It would have been better if you were there, though.
I hope you're not dead in ditch somewhere.
She doesn't sign it, simply hits send and goes to bed, feeling like maybe, sometime soon, life might return to normal.