Stiles’ heart is racing as he tracks the GPS of Deucalion’s phone to the warehouse district. He can’t believe that the Alpha is still hiding out in that dirty bank, but Stiles assures himself he won’t be there forever. Soon enough, Deucalion will be able to just move in with him—he’s sure his dad will be down with it, once Stiles explains—and then he won’t have to live in such a dump.
Because seriously, there’s no way a building this old and this abandoned is anything close to habitable. As Stiles pulls up to the gross, horror-movie-esque building, a shudder runs down his spine when he considers anyone living here, let alone Deucalion. Nope, Stiles isn’t going to stand around and let this happen anymore, not when he can stop it.
With a nod in the mirror and a deep, fortifying breath—he’s a little nervous, okay?—he climbs out of his jeep and tells himself that everything is going to be okay. Totally fine. The odds are ever in his favour, and all that. He’ll. Be. Fine. He keeps repeating that mantra as he crosses the cracked parking lot and when he finally gets to the bank, he doesn’t bother knocking on the doors considering one of them is just a tarp. As he steps through the front entryway and carefully lets his foot come down on the dust-covered-tile, he realizes, distantly, that perhaps he should be scared.
After all, Stiles is approaching a seriously dangerous Alpha werewolf, one who probably doesn’t know why Stiles is approaching him in the first place, considering he only just got his eyesight back. There totally isn’t anything that can go wrong. Not at all. False enthusiasm is key, right?
Taking another deep breath, Stiles keeps walking through the bank aimlessly. He knows that Deucalion is here—or, at the very least, his phone—so he just needs to find where. He figures that will be easier said than done, but Stiles isn’t one to give up, especially not where his entire future is at stake. Not even five minutes later, it seems that the universe is finally on his side—and about time, too—as he walks up a flight of stairs onto another empty floor, walks down a long hallway with a racing heart, turns a corner and—
Deucalion is standing with his back turned to Stiles in front of a long table that seems to be holding piles of folded clothing. There’s a suitcase on the floor next to his feet that’s half-filled. It’s clear that he’s planning on leaving, and Stiles can only imagine he’s leaving Beacon Hills. A rush of fear that turns his blood cold goes through him when he realizes he could have missed him. Missed Deucalion. If he’d been any later, this may have never happened.
“H-Hi,” he whispers and, embarrassingly, his voice cracks.
“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” Deucalion’s voice rings through the mostly empty room, the faintest impression of an echo ringing in Stiles’ ears as his words bounce off the cement walls and marble flooring. Asides from the table and suitcase, there’s a single mattress a few feet to Deucalion’s left, and nothing else.
“Uhm... a little, yeah,” Stiles says in response, his early suspicions confirmed when he realizes Deucalion must not have seen him yet.
After all, Stiles had only found out that the Alpha of Alphas got his eyesight back, like, an hour ago. Even though according to Scott, the dumbass, it’s been a few hours since Deucalion got his eyesight back, they’d only run into each that one time. While it had been enough for Stiles to know, Deucalion hadn’t been able to see him. He still hasn’t seen him, even though all Stiles wants is for him to turn around.
It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if it takes a few more minutes, not after the sixteen years he’s already been waiting. All that matters is that Deucalion will be able to see him now, and that thought sends his heart racing even as a smile crawls across his face. “What are you packing for?”
“Your Alpha offered me a second chance. Did he not tell you this?” Deucalion’s voice makes it sounds like he’s humouring him by giving him an answer at all, but he doesn’t let it bother him.
“No... I know. That’s why I'm here, kinda” Stiles admits quietly, once again reminding himself that Deucalion still doesn’t know and that’s totally okay.
Really really. Totally a-okay that he still doesn’t know. Besides, Stiles has read stories about situations like these, where people had first spoken to each other over the phone and been so, so terrible only to see each other and realize who the other one is. He’s always found those stories really interesting to read, since they showed the strength of fate. He figures, as he watches Deucalion’s back, that they’re one of those stories, seeing as Deucalion tried to kill him.
So the tone to his voice doesn’t hurt, per se. It doesn’t feel great that Deucalion is just humouring him, but it's okay. He doesn’t mean it.
“If you must know, I’m getting ready to move on from this dreadful town,” Deucalion tells him, sounding bored.
“You can’t leave!” Stiles says quickly, without thinking, suddenly caught up in imagining leaving his dad behind to deal with the supernatural alone and him getting himself killed all because Stiles wasn’t here to keep him safe. His thoughts are racing and he can tell that panic is climbing up his throat but he almost lost him once and he can’t go through that again.
Deucalion turns around with an eyebrow raised, but... Stiles stumbles a step backward when he still has his dark, heavily-tinted sunglasses on. He catches sight of the walking cane folded up in his front pocket, and his breath rushes out of him as a terrible, heart-stopping realization takes root in his mind.
“You’re still blind,” Stiles whispers, and he can hear the accusation in his own voice.
Deucalion’s face does something complex, slipping into an expression he doesn't know well enough to read, before he says, “How astute of you, Stiles. You are quite correct: I cannot see you.”
“What... what about your soulmate?” he asks breathlessly, before he can stop himself, feeling foolishly like his heart is breaking apart in his chest even though it shouldn’t be.
Deucalion hasn’t rejected him. This isn’t what that is. Stiles just hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him and so he didn’t know. He can want to move when he doesn’t even know. And seeing how Deucalion still doesn’t know, Stiles realizes how rude he just asked was at the same time as Deucalion’s shoulders tense. Stiles wants to step forward and pull him into his arms. Tuck his face against his throat. Never let him go. He has to hold himself back from reaching out, even when something a lot like anger settles across the wolf’s face.
“I don’t have one.”
Which, huh? “W-What do you mean?”
Deucalion raises an eyebrow, and Stiles can see it even from behind his thickly rimmed glasses. “I believe what I said was quite simple,” Deucalion tells, talking down like one would if they were explaining something to a child. It stings. “I do not have a soulmate.”
“How do you know?” Stiles asks even as his eyes fall closed, remembering what it had been like to feel Deucalion, that very first time.
Stiles didn’t even need to see his face before his feet were going numb with anticipation. He’d seen Deucalion’s cane, first, and his eyes had travelled to his claw-tipped hand and then up his arm, over his broad shoulders and in towards the most handsome face he’d ever seen, even with the dark, large glasses. The second Stiles had laid eyes on him, though, he knew.
It felt like everything his dad had ever told him it would and so much more at once. It felt like everything , like so much more than he ever could have imagined for himself. All of a sudden it felt like he’d been living life as half a person, always missing something, needing something, yearning for something that he’d never known was lost. The minute his eyes took in Deucalion’s handsome face, he knew, somewhere deep in his soul, that he’d just found his other half.
Deucalion is never going to know that. Sure, over the years Stiles has read reports about blind people finding their soulmate because their other half saw them, but everything he’s ever read... one partner is never able to feel the bond. It’s always one-sided, and the partner who can’t see will never know what it feels like to look at your soulmate and know that they are meant for you. Knowing that Deucalion isn’t ever going to know what it feels like to look at Stiles and know, well it makes something painful well up in his chest as his mind starts whirling.
What if... what if Deucalion decides he doesn’t want him? What if he realizes, without the soul bond, that Stiles is just a stupid teenager who talks too much, too fast and doesn’t have all that much to offer? What if he thinks he can do better and doesn’t settle for some spastic teen, and Stiles is left all alone?
“Well I went thirty-five years without ever meeting them, and then spent six knowing I never would,” Deucalion tells him with a twist to his lips that doesn’t look very much like a smile and mostly just makes Stiles’ heart hurt. “I would say I waited plenty of time, don’t you?”
Stiles shakes his head, and tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say to that. Stiles knows that soulmates almost always find each other before their thirties. Especially lately, with the way the internet has made it so much easier. Because you can see a clear photo of someone and know, even if they’re across the world from you, social media has connected people with their soulmates younger than ever. Of course when Deucalion was growing up the internet wouldn’t have been what it was now, seeing as Deucalion is in his very-early forties, but...
Thirty-five years is a long time to wait. Stiles thinks about his measly sixteen and how inconsequential they feel now that he’s seen Deucalion and his heart has been made whole. Thirty-five years is just... it’s so many. No wonder Deucalion gave up.
“You do have a soulmate,” Stiles whispers, before he can think better of it, and he knows his heart rate remains steady even though it’s still racing away.
Deucalion’s head snaps up, and his eyes glow brightly behind his glasses as he starts to growl.
“What are you talking about?” Deucalion asks fiercely, his top lip curling back in a snarl.
“You’re my... we’re soulmates,” Stiles whispers again, not bothering to talk any louder when he knows Deucalion will be able to hear him anyway. “Surprise,” he adds, with jazz hands Deucalion can't see.
“I’m not j-joking.” His voice breaks, again, and Stiles hates how weak he feels. “I knew on the roof. When you took Scott? I looked at you and I knew and I came to you as soon as Scott told me you were alive because... well, because you’re my soulmate.”
Deucalion’s nostrils are flaring and his eyes are glowing impossibly brighter behind his glasses. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine at the power in the glow. He suddenly feels ridiculous. Why did he think that coming to Deucalion would be a good idea? With all the research he’s done about blind soulmates—he wanted to be prepared for everything and everyone, and besides, he loves doing research—he didn’t see anything about the seeing partner being rejected, but... Stiles figures that’s just his luck. Of course Deucalion wouldn’t want him.
“I... if you don’t w-want me, that’s—”
Deucalion is in front of him before Stiles even stops speaking. He makes a noise in the back of his throat that’s too close to a whimper for his liking. His heart rate kicks up, and when Deucalion raises his hands and holds them, palms up, in the small space between them, Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.
“You aren’t lying,” Deucalion says calmly, so calmly it sounds forced.
Stiles nods, but then says, “N-No, I’m not. You’re my soulmate.”
Slowly, with his heart racing impossibly faster, Stiles raises his hands until his fingers are hovering only centimetres from Deucalion’s open palms. He wants to reach out and draw Deucalion in, never let go, but he’s terrified Deucalion isn't going to want him back.
“I’m your soulmate,” Deucalion says quietly, slowly, like he’s trying to sound the words out as he’s saying them. He sounds overwhelmed and breathless and Stiles understands, perfectly, exactly what that’s like.
“Yeah, you are,” Stiles whispers, and laughs a little.
He lifts his hands up and tells himself Deucalion is going to want him, and that they aren’t soulmates for no reason. It’s still so, so much harder than he ever could have imagined to push his shaking hands just inches forward to finally, finally touch Deucalion. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, Stilles himself can smell the spicy hint of Deucalion’s cologne, and finally lays his hands over his soulmate’s.
“Oh, Gods,” Deucalion gasps as a bond flares to life between them, cementing itself in Stiles’ chest like nothing he’s ever felt.
Stiles' spark, whatever the hell it is, isn’t enough for him to feel bonds, not yet, but he can feel this and it’s filling him up and up until he’s perfectly full and nothing is missing and everything feels so right.
So, so right.
“I’ve waited for you for so long,” Deucalion tells him, and he lets go of Stiles’ hand to draw him into his body.
His hands fit perfectly against his hips. Stiles goes readily, slipping his own hands around Deucalion’s back to draw him even closer. His fingers twist around the fabric of the dress-shirt he’s wearing, holding on so tightly his fingers ache. He’s terrified of letting go and having it all slip away into nothing. Deucalion makes a low, rumbling sort of noise that sounds like it comes from deep within his chest. It sends a shiver up his spine that only makes it louder, and then, almost like he’s read Stiles’ mind, Deucalion tucks his face against his throat and breathes deeply.
“I’m so sorry it took me so long,” Stiles whispers against the stubble lining the edge of his jaw, liking the way it feels against his lips. “I’m here now.”
Deucalion nods and holds him tighter. “Yes, yes you are.”
They hold each other until Stiles feels able to pull back. The new-found bond sitting inside his chest is pulsing with warmth that’s seeping into his entire body and warming him from the inside out. He’s never felt anything like this. He’s never even been able to imagine anything like this, and he knows it isn’t just their soulmate connection. He’s never heard of anything like this, which means the bond must be supernatural.
Whatever the bond is, it’s the greatest thing that Stiles has ever felt. He is so overwhelmingly glad that it’s there, that Deucalion is able to feel something and that he knows, just like Stiles does, that they’re meant to be together. It seems to... calm down, as time goes on and the minutes tick by with them holding each other, feeling as though it’s settling down. Once it has, once Stiles’ heart isn’t racing so fast he’s scared of having a damn heart attack from it, he manages to pull back enough to look at Deucalion’s face. The scarring that Stiles knows used to surround his eyes is gone, from what he can see.
He wonders what Deucalion’s eyes look like.
He hopes he’ll get to find out.
“May I... may I see you?” Deucalion asks, his hand leaving Stiles’ back to hover beside his face, knuckles brushing his cheek in a way that steals his breath.
“Of course,” Stiles whispers, even though a flush burns at his face. “Y-you can touch me anytime.”
“That’s a lot to offer, darling,” Deucalion warns, but his smile is soft. His palm, when it cups his cheek, is softer.
“Well you are the other half of my soul,” Stiles points out with a grin.
Deucalion snorts, but he doesn’t comment further. He notices, just from the corner of his eye, that Deucalion’s hand is shaking where it’s resting beside his face and it... knowing that he isn’t the only one who’s so nervous eases the fluttering in his belly.
Stiles grabs his wrist in both of his hands, gently, and he rubs his fingers across his racing pulse as he whispers, “It’s okay.”
Deucalion nods. Stiles lets his hands trail down his forearm to rest at his elbow, hooking his fingers together and holding on. Deucalion smiles at him, so handsome it steals Stiles’ breath, and then so gently his fingertips move to rest against the hollow of his cheek. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, and Deucalion’s smile twists up into something bigger.
His fingertips are so warm against Stiles’ skin, it’s like he can feel the heat spreading through his entire body, just from the small point of contact. He knows it’s probably in his head, but as Deucalion’s fingers trail up over the ridge of his cheekbone and across his eyebrow, sliding up into his hairline, it’s like liquid warmth seeps into his skin.
Stiles’ eyes flutter shut as Deucalion’s fingers trail down the bridge of his nose. They follow the curve of his nostril and then ghost, feather-light, across his cupid's bow. A finger traces his lips so slowly it tugs at the skin, and Stiles’ smile stretches even wide. A thumb presses into the point of his chin before it brushes over the length of his jaw. Time seems to stand still, stretching endlessly between them until they exist in a forever, together, with the world silent around them but their bond roaring in his chest.
Deucalion’s hand falls away, and a whine slips past his lips before Stiles can bite it down.
Stiles snorts and flutters his eyes open to see nothing but honesty on the wolf’s face, and when Deucalion frowns at him, he says, “No one’s ever thought that before.”
“Idiots, everyone you’ve ever met,” Deucalion tells him firmly. The pad of his thumb brushes over Stiles’ lips again, and he purses them to give it a sweet little kiss before he drops his mouth open to breathe wetly against his skin. “Oh, you’re a teasing little thing, aren’t you?”
“O-Only with you,” Stiles stutters, but by the pleased, possessive growl he lets out, Deucalion certainly isn’t upset about that. “I... I want to take you home.”
“Of course,” Deucalion tells him immediately, drawing him in with an arm that snakes around his waist. “I know you’re close with your father. I’d like to meet him.”
Stiles doesn’t want to think about how he knows that. It doesn’t matter that they were on different sides. “He’d love to meet you,” Stiles tells him instead, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh my god, he’s going to be so excited!”
“Excellent,” Deucalion tells him, with a smile of his own that looks sweet enough to kiss.
So Stiles does. They’re soulmates, after all.