Chapter Text
When Stiles comes to, it's with a deep, gasping breath. And then another. And another, followed by a series of coughs at the surprisingly cool air. And once he starts to calm - once his body stops shaking with the gasping breaths and coughs - he can feel the hand on his back.
And then he can hear the voice.
"Stiles. Stiles!" It calls his name, but when he opens his eyes, everything is blurry. He can't put a face to the voice and everything is dark and he can't see and he immediately starts to panic. He can feel a second hand on his arm and he can hear the voice again, even though it sounds muffled, as if under water. "I've got you," It says, but it's laced with worry. Stiles can tell that much. "You've got to breathe. Hey. Stay with me, Stiles. No, nonono!"
He passes out again.
The second time Stiles wakes up, he feels like he's floating. He's barely conscious, unaware of what's going on or the fact that he's being cradled, and it feels as if he's floating. He can hear the voice again, but he can't make out what it's saying, and before he knows what's happening, he's slipping out of consciousness again.
"Stiles, come on, don't do this, you can't do this. Not now, come on," The voice is talking to him when he finally comes to the third time, a good five minutes later. "Please," It begs, and even though it still sounds foggy and far away, Stiles can hear it. He latches onto it. "Please stay with me."
Stiles takes in another deep breath and his lungs almost reject the clean air, threatening to throw him into yet another coughing fit before he shakily exhales. After that breath and the sharp, ripping pain of it in his chest, the rest come easier. Within seconds, he's sucking in sharp heaving breaths, panicking because his eyes are open but he still can't see and everything is fuzzy and he doesn't know where he is or what's going on and-
"Hey," The voice breaths out again, and this time it sounds closer. Stiles grabs onto it, willing for the voice to pull him back to consciousness. To make things okay. "Hey, that's it," The voice says soothingly. It's a man and Stiles knows that voice but he can't place a face or a name to it. Not now, when his mind is still a jumbled mess and he can't really see and he can't move.
"I-" He croaks out, and it immediately throws him into another coughing fit. It aches his chest and back and Stiles almost passes out from the pain again, but then the voice is talking, anchoring him to the land of the living.
"You're alright," It soothes and now Stiles can feel the hand on his back again and another on his head, cradling him. "You're okay," It repeats. Stiles opens his mouth to try to talk again, but the voice is shushing him, "Don't talk, not now. You're not strong enough yet."
So instead, Stiles blinks his eyes rapidly, willing the fuzzy outlines of what looks like trees to form into something solid. And when the fog doesn't disappear right away, he begins to panic again. His hands scramble at the ground underneath him and his feet start to kick and he can feel the dirt under his finger nails but he still can't see and it's freaking him out and-
"Shh," The voice is there again, louder, closer. Stiles knows that if he reached out, the person attached to the voice would be right there in front of him, so that's exactly what he does. And if he didn't know any better, he's say that they're smiling when they speak again, Stiles' hand pressed against their chest. He tightens his grip on the shirt, balling his hand into a fist around the fabric, refusing to let go. "That's right. Good," It soothes, "Just take it slow. You're going to be fine."
Stiles tries to calm himself, understanding that he's not going to fix anything if he panics. So instead of worrying about the fact that he still can't talk or see, he tries to remember what happened. He tries to piece together what brought him to this point.
The woods. He remembers walking through the woods. Or he thinks he does. Or was it a dream? Or is this still a dream?
Stiles almost starts to panic again at that, but the hand in his hair strokes him gently and he takes another deep breath, shutting his eyes and trying to remember. He decides that it wasn't a dream. He can feel the dirt on his hands and hear the trees creaking in the wind which means he's still outside, but why? What happened?
He remembers walking through the woods and he remembers the grave and-
"Derek," Stiles manages to grit out without even realizing it. His voice is loud in his ears and it sounds and feels like he's been swallowing broken glass, but he manages to speak the one word. Stiles remembers digging up the grave - or dreaming about digging up the grave - and he remembers looking up at the sky, trying not to cry and then white hot pain and screaming, which probably explains his voice.
"Stiles," The voice returns, and that strikes something deep in his chest because now that he can remember - now that he can think - he can place a face to the voice and-
"You're alright," The voice - Derek - soothes again, fingers softly stroking his hair. "You're okay, I've got you."
Stiles opens his eyes.
It's fuzzy at first, but the lines quickly sharpen out, unlike before. And before he knows it, Stiles is looking up at the tree line, illuminated by the full moon, then at the ground, and then he's lifting his head, just slightly, to look up at the man cradling his body.
"Derek?" Stiles repeats, voice barely above a whisper. It hurts his throat and scratches as he speaks, but he can't keep silent, not when he's looking up at Derek Hale, who's hunched over him and are those tears on his cheeks?
"Yeah," Derek chokes out, actually smiling a small smile down at Stiles.
"Am I dreaming?" Stiles rasps in return, and Derek's little smile turns into a full-out grin at that.
"No."
Stiles lets his eyes rake over Derek's body at that - or at least the bit that he can see without lifting his head because it kills him to try - and his chest tightens. Derek is wearing the same clothes from over a month ago - the clothes that he had died in. When Stiles does sit up a bit more - even though it pains him to do so - he notices that there's dark, dried blood on Derek's shirt. Derek's own blood from the gunshot wound. He swallows hard.
"You're-" He starts to ask, but he can't bring himself to finish it.
"Yeah," Derek chokes out in return.
"Really?" Stiles asks, sitting up a bit more. Derek shifts underneath him to accommodate the new position and to steady Stiles, should he need it. Thankfully, he regains more control of his body and mind the longer that he's awake. "This isn't going to disappear?"
Derek smiles again, "No."
Stiles manages to look around at that, quickly realizing that they're sitting on the front porch of the Hale household. If he looks off into the distance - though he really doesn't want to - he can see the shovel still sticking out of the ground where he remembers planting it. He swallows hard, turning back to Derek. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Derek manages to replies, voice hard, strained.
"You mean you didn't-"
"I didn't want you to do this," Derek answers honestly, and Stiles isn't surprised at the pang in his chest at that. "I knew it would hurt you, if not worse."
"I didn't have any control of it," Stiles explains, voice stronger with every word he speaks, "I thought it was a dream. I tried to stop but I couldn't. You don't think-"
"I do," Derek replies before Stiles even has a chance to finish his thought, "Maybe it's how you thought it was. If you wanted it enough, it could happen."
"But you didn't want it," Stiles croaks, looking down.
Derek's hand is suddenly under his chin at that, cupping it and pulling his face back up, "I didn't want you to get hurt. I never said I didn't want this."
"We'll I'm alright now," Stiles manages to return, smiling and trying to mask the way that his body still hurts and the way that his heart spikes. He also tries not to think about how it's becoming normal for things like this to happen to him. As if bringing someone back to life is an everyday experience.
"You weren't," Derek replies, teeth clenched.
Stiles narrows his eyes in confusion, "Well I mean it knocked me out, but-"
"You were dying," Derek replies, eyes hard when he looks at Stiles, "When I came to, you were on the ground dying."
"But-"
"Now you're alright," Derek agrees, reading Stiles' thoughts, "But I thought I was losing you. I brought you here, and I was getting ready to call for Scott."
"But he'd-"
"Kill me, I'm aware of that," Derek replies, voice hard, "It was reckless, Stiles."
"I didn't have any control of it!" Stiles argues, trying to sit up, but stops short when a sharp pain shoots down his spine. Derek is suddenly very close to him, cradling him again and helping him sit up slowly.
"I know," Derek replies, smiling tightly, "I'm just glad you're alright." Stiles should find it odd how easy it is for them to act normal around one another, like they used to when they first met, but that's the furthest thing from his mind right now, especially when Derek is looking at him like that. And when Stiles tries to sit up again at that, his cries out in pain and falls backwards.
"Easy," Derek whispers, breath soft against Stiles ear when he pulls him gently back up into sitting position, "It's going to be a bit before you can stand again." He goes to pull back at that, to make sure that Stiles is okay - that he's not in pain anymore - but as he does, Stiles reaches forward with one hand, grasping at the nape of Derek's neck and pulling him forward again. Before Derek even has a chance to react – or before Stiles has a chance to think about what he's doing – he's pressing their lips together, rough and demanding, and the kiss is full of pent up emotions and longing and hatred and pain and it's beautiful.
Derek is still for only a moment before he's practically whimpering and leaning into the kiss, hand finding its way from Stiles shoulder up into his hair. And when Stiles opens his mouth and Derek's taste floods in, it's everything that he needed it to be - dangerous and harsh, but also soft and careful - and above all, real. The kisses in his dreams - the quick, fleeting pecks, testing the water - are nothing compared to a real, wanted kiss.
Stiles gasps for a deep breath once they're pulling apart and without warning, Derek pulls him in tight, wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist protectively. And Stiles can feel Derek's body shaking against his own his deep heaving breaths and sobs, and he knows that he made the right choice. Derek's just as broken and confused and scared as he is, and maybe that means that they need each other. And as they grip tightly onto one another Stiles realizes that no matter how wrong or scary or stupid it felt it the beginning, all of the second thoughts are worth it when Derek takes a deep breath and mutters out, "Thank you."
"For what?" Stiles whispers in return.
Derek separates them at that, looking Stiles straight in the eyes and smiling a small but genuine smile. "For forgiving me," He replies simply.
And though they're only three words, they say everything. Stiles had forgiven him. He had forgiven Derek for stringing him on for months, manipulating him and scaring him into cooperation. He had forgiven Derek for panicking when things went wrong and taking his best friend hostage. And he had forgiven him a month ago - as he sat on the cool floor of Derek's house, watching him die - for that night, over a year ago when Derek made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.
When Stiles said goodbye to Derek in his own bedroom over a month ago and told him that he could let him go, but he'd never be able to trust him - never be able to forgive him - he had never been more wrong. They'll figure it out. They'll find a way for Derek to get better, to start over. Though it's going to be hard - Stiles' life is rarely easy - he's not going to let him go. Not again. And when he allows Derek to lean in again, pressing their lips together for a second time, he knows why letting him go back then felt so wrong.
Of course he'd fall for the man who tried to kill him. Typical Stiles.