arei

Tony loves rain. Which is a surprise after Afghanistan and the whole waterboarding thing. Or after he almost drowned in the Pacific, buried under the rubble of his own place. But yeah, Tony loves rain and the way it offers little bits of happiness. A rainbow. A flash of pretty lightening bolt. A relief after a hot day. A free shower (don't laugh). A free wash service for the armor (do NOT laugh).

So when they're all stuck in the middle of nowhere, inside a dusty old safehouse and it starts to pour down on the place, he is amused to see the others so disgruntled at the weather. In a fit of childish wanting, he steps out into the porch, just to show them up and smiles when stray droplets hit his face. When Romanoff asks, a bit of smile hinting at her voice (they're friends now, who would've thought) he tells her ", I just like rain". He doesn't tell her the petty side of the story. How in the worst days of his life he could've used some.

It was snowing when his parents were buried. Rain would've been great during his wandering through the desert. And the sky was just so clear blue when he carried the nuke to the wormhole.

So... Rain. Yes.

Everyone is pouting when he steps outside. Steve, always the motherhen, squawks ", Stark, come back inside, you'll catch pneumonia this way". Tony just laughs and yells ", free shower", before smiling at the sky. The rain slows to a gentler beat and feeling the God's eyes on him, he turns to see him grinning.

It becomes a thing.

Thor would announce his presence with thunder and rain. And Tony would wait for him at the deck or anywhere outside. The days he would feel terrible, it would rain and lightening would streak across the sky, basking everything in bright, electric blue or purple.

They all pretend it doesn't happen for him. But it does.

Tony still loves the rain.

Only now, he loves the God who would make it happen just to see him smile.

“Do you have a passport?”

Of all the things Stiles thought Derek might say after knocking on his door unannounced in the middle of the night, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

Get your bat and gun, there’s goblins. 

The Nemeton’s active again, we’re all demons now.

Hey, so it turns out leprechauns are real.

Everything’s on fire, I give up.

Honestly, pretty much anything other than asking if he’s legally able to cross international borders would have made more sense. 

For the briefest of moments, in his heart of hearts, he wishes that Derek is here to declare is desperate, undying love for him – and also an insatiable sexual attraction. Ha, Stiles thinks ruefully. That makes even less sense. 

But despite his confusion and sleepiness – he had been passed out on the couch in a puddle of bongwater when Derek’s knock awoke him – Stiles manages to answer his question. “Yeah,” he nods. “Got one for study abroad.”

Derek nods. “Good. Go get it, and some clothes. Let’s go,” he jerks his chin toward the driveway, where the Camaro is idling. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket and he’s hunched over a bit, and if it weren’t for the beard, he’d look just as he did when they first met. It’s only been seven years, but so much has happened since, they’ve both been through and lost so much, it feels like a lifetime.

Stiles has always trusted Derek, and he learned a long time ago not to question his plans, even if they come out of nowhere and don’t seem to make any sense. So when Derek turns and walks back to his car, clearly indicating that Stiles should hurry the hell up, he does. 

He turns off the TV and goes up to his bedroom. There’s a basket of clothes on the floor from the last time he did laundry, and he digs through it for a couple pairs of pants, some underwear, socks, and t-shirts, which he tosses into a Beacon Hills PD tactical duffel. Unsure of what Derek needs him for, he grabs his laptop and research journal too.

His passport is in the gun safe in the hall closet; he opens the digital combination lock with the code his father set years ago, his parents’ wedding anniversary. He knows he should change it – it’s too easy to guess, and each time he opens the thing he feels the grief of his father’s death all over again – but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to do it.

Stiles pushes the pain from his mind and grabs the passport, along with the stacks of emergency cash Derek gave him a few years ago after he was outed as a secret rich, and tosses them into the duffel. Derek didn’t give any clue about what they were doing or where they were going, but Stiles sure as hell isn’t going anywhere unarmed, so his H.K. and a box of .45 ammo go into the bag too. In the living room, he tosses his phone charger into the duffel, along with his stashbox and a couple lighters.

Stiles barely takes the time to lock the front door behind him before sliding into the Camaro’s passenger seat.  

He doesn’t give the house a second glance as Derek speeds away.

~*~

They’re well out of town, weaving through the night on a mountain road towards the coast, when Stiles finally asks where they’re going. 

Derek answers after a moment. “I don’t know. I just…need to get away for awhile. I was staring at the walls in the loft, pacing like crazy and…I was starting to feel like I couldn’t breathe there…I just wanted to escape,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s crazy. Maybe I’m crazy.”

Stiles snorts a laugh. “Wanting to escape makes perfect sense. The crazy part is you wanting me to come with you for some reason.”

“Well then what does that make you for saying yes?”

“Even crazier than you, apparently,” Stiles says with a smirk.

“What a pair we make,” Derek says wryly, and they both laugh. 

“But seriously though, why did you ask me to come with you?”

Derek looks over at him again, and Stiles has to ball his hand into a fist in his lap to keep from reaching out to touch him, to take his hand and hold on for dear life and never let go.

“I thought you’d might want to escape too,” Derek explains. 

Stiles gets the distinct impression that there’s more to it than that, but he decides not to push it, for now.

They don’t speak for awhile, letting the quiet music from the stereo dance between them among the pleasantly cool rush of crisp night air from the open windows. Through the open moonroof, bits and pieces of constellations are visible through the treetops. Derek is definitely on to something, because for the first time in years, Stiles feels like can breathe freely.

“So,” he says eventually. “We’re just gonna, like, drive until we don’t want to anymore, and then see where we feel like going after that?”

Derek nods. “That’s pretty much what I was thinking. Maybe make our way down to Argentina to see Cora for a bit? Sound good to you?”

Stiles looks over at him. His eyes are reflecting slightly in the glow of the dash lights, making them glitter, making Stiles’ heart flutter even more. 

“Hell yeah, Sourwolf.”

Derek growls and his eyes flash red, but it’s all bark, no bite. 

Then he smiles, and reaches for Stiles’ hand.