It's sixteen miles to the promised land

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((A/N: This chapter features a cameo of my favorite character from the comic/TV show Preacher, but knowledge of the show or said character is entirely unnecessary. Their presence is meant only as a wink-and-nod so to speak, and also laziness because I didn't want to have to create too many OCs lol.))

For years after the fire, Derek never slept deeply enough not to jerk awake at the slightest sound, like his body was stuck in some permanent state of fight or flight without a way for him to turn it off. It's gotten better lying next to Stiles and listening to her quiet snoring, breathing in the soft, floral scent of her mixing with his own. It soothes the restless wolf in him that used to pace around all night in a way nothing has, not in a long, long time. Maybe not ever. There's only been a handful of times that Derek can remember Stiles waking up before him. He loves it, those quiet moments in the morning when his eyelids flicker open and he can just watch her, bathed in the muted glow of the sun trying to peek through the curtains. It's moments like that where he thinks maybe someday he can have it, because of her: peace.

Of course, that's not what happens this morning. Derek can always sense her, even in sleep, so he doesn't jump or flinch when he feels her sudden weight on him, pinning him down. He's getting better at that too, shoving down his instincts that always threaten to prickle when she does things like this.

"Wake up, Sleepywolf!" Stiles says. "It's a very important day and I'm not wasting it waiting for your ancient wolfy ass to get up."

Derek wants to laugh because she's never the one waiting. Half the time Derek has to beg and plead and practically sling Stiles over his shoulder or drag her by the ankles in order to get her out of bed. Not that he minds, because he gets the chance to offer her plenty of incentives, like pancakes, coffee, and sex. His hands fly to her hips like she's drawing him there with magnets, but he keeps his eyes closed in the illusion of sleep. "Yeah, I did hear it was World Oceans Day today."

"I liked you better when you weren't funny," Stiles says.

"Water conservation is important," Derek says, and his eyes don't have to be open to imagine the look on her face, "and the second thing is just untrue." He opens them anyway, and he's grinning automatically when he sees that she's pouting, her bottom lip caught under her teeth. "And how could I possibly forget your birthday's today when you literally wrote it on my hand last night?" he adds, holding up his palm where the words STILES'S BDAY DON'T 4GET, SOURWOLF are etched in smeared blue ink.

"I was just being thorough."

"You referred to all of May as your pre-birthday birthday month."

"Who knows what your geriatric brain might forget," Stiles says, grabbing for his hand and twining their fingers together.

Derek rolls his eyes, but yanks her down so he can kiss her, Stiles melting into him the way she always does. "Not that I don't love morning sex," she purrs, nuzzling into his neck and making him shiver, "but that better not be my only present."

"It isn't," Derek murmurs before kissing her again. "But it's not here. We have to go get it."

"I was wondering how you were going to fit a pony in the loft." Stiles laughs, smiling so wide against his mouth that their teeth clack together. "Where are we going?"

Derek hums, playing with the ends of her hair splayed over his chest. "I have some old family friends in Ashland. It's not that far, and I figured you might want to meet some werewolves that aren't angsty teenagers."

Stiles pulls back and Derek bites down an embarrassingly needy whine. "Road trip?"

"Something like that."

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