They’ve just left Vegas when Stiles
decides he wants to see the Grand Canyon.
(“What? I’ll it’ll be fun,
white-water rafting, mule rides up and down the slopes, all that touristy
shit.”) Derek doesn’t much care for
the “touristy shit”, and he’s already seen the Grand Canyon when he
was a kid, but Stiles hasn’t, so he agrees.
They drive east, the old tapes Stiles
bought from a pawn shop in Vegas, blasting through the powerful speakers on the
‘75 Camaro. Stiles hums along, and Derek
finds his fingers tapping along to the 80’s power ballads Stiles is so in love
The wind skims through Stiles’ short
blue coif. (They had the mutilation
Derek committed fixed a few hundred miles back.) It doesn’t stick up so much anymore, but
sometimes when Stiles falls asleep against the window, it flattens on one side,
making him all the more adorable in the morning; bleary-eyed and grumpy.
When they reach, Derek consults a map, remembering
a route his mom showed him, allowing him to take the car down to the canyon bottom. A calm tributary of the Colorado river
flows only a few feet away. It’s a
relatively well known camping area going by the many tire tracks and the ghosts
of campfires past.
It’s only when they’re unpacking the
car does Derek realize they should have purchased a tent. And unless they manage to locate a motel in
the middle of nowhere, they’re sleeping under the stars. The Camaro is simply too small to fit the
both of them comfortably.
Stiles shrugs and says it’s warm enough
But then the sun falls over the horizon,
the milky way flooding the sky with her billions of stars. With the sun goes the warmth.
Derek insisted Stiles take his leather
jacket after he started complaining about the chill, nose turning blue, finger
numb. Derek has sweaters, and he heats
like a furnace, he’ll be fine in the cold.
They’re sleeping beside each other on a
warm flannel blanket, the only one they have.
It was either put in underneath them, or sleep on sharp rocks, Derek
went with the earlier. Stiles lies on
his side, turned away from Derek, shivering.
His shoulders shake, and teeth chatter hard enough for Derek to hear it.
“Stiles,” Derek touches his best friend, "come closer.“ Stiles whines miserably and shifts until the
line of his body presses all along Derek’s side, but his body still shakes,
cold and stiff. Finally, Derek sighs and
grabs Stiles by the arm, rolling him right onto Derek’s chest. He lands with an oof, and a wide eyed stare,
face only an inch from Derek’s.
Derek smiles, and wraps his arms tight around
Stiles’ cold body, until he sighs, expression going lax as the heat from
Derek’s body seeps into his bones.
“Mmm.” Stiles sleepily mumbles, eyes blinking shut,
resting his head fully on Derek’s chest, lips smacking as fingers tangle in the
fabric of the dark green sweater Derek wears.
Derek smiles, lifting his hand to rest
on the edge of Stiles’ jaw. Slowly, his
shaking ceases as Derek warms him, the stars blinking down upon them.