Chapter Text
He was floating.
At least, he thought he was. The heaviness and exhaustion that had weighed him down for so long had disappeared and he felt lighter. Warmer. More alert.
Testing the waters, Stiles tried rolling his wrists and flexing his feet. Which clearly wasn’t an issue since he discovered he could also move his arms and legs freely. Huh. It was nice to not be in pain for a change.
When Stiles glanced around, though, he realized he was surrounded by a murky abyss. Things got even weirder when clumps of moss and an old boot drifted by his head. Then, the air rippled as a golden trout, a reddish frog and a spotted water snake all swam right past him.
Those should have been clues that something was off. It wasn’t until he witnessed a school of salmon fleeing for their lives that he really got the memo.
Underwater. Danger. Predator nearby. Abort!
That was as much as Stiles’ brain could come up with as he whirled around with trepidation. Where was he? And where was he supposed to hide?
Stiles knew he was treading in unknown territory, and it wasn’t like he was small enough to take cover behind a bunch of pickerelweed like other animals could. Though, if something big and scary actually lived in here, would it actually want to eat him? A boring homo sapien?
Like you can’t even imagine, a crisp voice answered back.
Stiles’ eyes grew wide.
“Help!” he tried to yell. But his words were swallowed up and transformed into large air bubbles instead.
Great. Apparently, Stiles couldn’t talk or get help if he even wanted to. That definitely made his current dilemma a little more desperate. Troubling. Real.
Wait, was thiseven real?
Why don’t you find out?
Stiles chewed at his lower lip, propelling forward while debating what he should do next. He knew there were a few ways to break out of a dream. On land, they’d all work just fine. But in water? His loaded d20 could sink down to a bottomless pit, to be lost forever. Stiles thankfully didn’t have a knife on hand to stab himself. And the very thought of looking at his fingers right now made his stomach clench.
He might not be starring in a movie, but he could be hallucinating. Would it matter though? If this was a dream, Stiles would wake up. But if this was reality…he’d have to figure out what that meant for his overall existence and the fate of his Pack.
Or, he could take a page out of his own book and ignore the problem.
Probably not an option Stiles should choose. But if he was stuck in some sort of bardo, he didn’t know if having more answers would actually help. Because here—wherever he was—there weren’t any hunters, Nightmares or anything else to deal with. It was just Stiles and the water. And if he could have a very needed reprieve from making big decisions right now, that would be awesome.
Interesting deduction. Father said you’re quite clever.
Father? Was the creature talking part of a clan? An entire colony? Geez, how many of them were here to devour Stiles alive?
Stiles thrashed his limbs around wildly, only to see the same blue depths surrounding him. Depths that made him sink lower and looked like they were slowly closing in. Or was that just his imagination? Shit, this is bad. So very bad.
Relax. You’ve been acquainted with our kind before. We don’t bite…much.
Was that supposed to be reassuring? Stiles would have scoffed, but his brain was wired in panic mode again.
He was pretty sure the Pack never encountered invisible underwater creatures before. Stiles would have remembered fighting them off. Kappas, sirens and kelpies were recorded in the Bestiary, but none of those species had invisibility or telepathy as a power. Also, none of them were known to be very cooperative and reasonable.
God, how many creatures had the Pack fought over the years anyway? Was it possible that hydras or krakens lived in this place? Would Stiles have to attack those single-handedly?
Stop overthinking. You’re tired, child.
Of course he was fucking tired! Stiles hadn’t stopped doing things since…forever. He was always on the go with so much to do and—okay, maybe this creature had a valid point. Stiles honestly didn’t know when he’d ever gotten an actual break from anything. Even before all the supernatural business, he’d had to grades to maintain while making sure the Stilinski household didn’t fall apart.
Like a good son. Because that was what was expected of him.
You could surrender.
He could. It would be so easy. To let everything go. To sink down, down, down…
But then, Stiles would be leaving everyone he loved. Disappointing them. Breaking their hearts. His dad. Scott.
And Derek.
Oh God! Where the hell was Derek?!
Your wolf is fine.
Stiles balked. His—what now? Derek was a werewolf, an evolved one to be accurate, but he didn’t belong to Stiles. Derek definitely wasn’t his.
Not in this universe anyway. Stiles doubted that would be the case in other universes, but it wasn’t like he could travel through time or different dimensions to prove it. That would be pretty cool though. To see how things could have been. Oh, if only…
He’s yours as much as you are his.
Okay, now Stiles was pretty sure he was hallucinating. Not only was he listening to absolute nonsense, but he was also talking to himself. And the fact he could breathe underwater like a fish even though he had no gills? Yeah, not possible.
This was totally his brain running wild with all the wishes Stiles had tucked away for safekeeping. Just projections of his heart’s desires.
The young Hale made a promise, did he not?
On second thought, maybe his brain was broken. Stiles didn’t speak in formal talk, and he vaguely remembered Derek arguing with him about not letting go. That he wouldn’t leave Stiles behind. They’d been treading water after the van had driven into a lake and—oh fuck.
Were they still in the lake? What happened to the hunters?
You’re both safe. We only assist those who have returned the favor.
Interesting word choice. Stiles took that as a yes for being submerged in the lake and assumed the hunters were dead. That also confirmed Stiles had helped this creature—this species—before. So had Derek. Merfolk? Something magical? What other creatures lived in fresh water that would need protection?
And if Derek was safe, where was he? Where was the one person Stiles needed the most?
Focus, and you will know.
What kind of shitty advice was that? Focus on what? Stiles obviously didn’t know; that was why he was asking in the first place. He was swimming in never-ending emptiness all by himself like a lost little guppy and—
That was when he felt it.
A light flickered in his chest, then transformed into a thread that extended out like a lifeline. Stiles didn’t know what to expect, but he was shocked when something gently tugged back. As if making it known that someone was on the other side. Waiting for him.
Like a bond. A pack bond?
Not that Stiles had ever felt one before. He knew werewolves could feel pack bonds deep in their very bones. His wolfy packmates had always described them as part of a web. Like an intricate network of woven strands that offered stability. Support. Acceptance.
But the very sensation coursing through Stiles right now? He’d classify it as intimate. Deep. Almost like a living part of him, down to his beating heart. He didn’t know why it chose to spring to life at this particular moment.
Unless this was some unique way of being reincarnated. Maybe Stiles would become an owl or a cat. Maybe a wolf. He would definitely be an epic wolf if that was what fate chose for him.
Go to sleep, idiot.
Stiles swore, letting air bubbles escape from his mouth. What the hell? He whipped his head around and whirled in the water, but he still couldn’t see anything. Derek? Was that really him?
I’m here...in a sense.
Did that mean Derek was stuck in this weird bardo too? Could he not see Stiles either? Would they be trapped here forever?
Stiles heard a heavy sigh, and then…
You need to rest. Close your eyes.
His stomach dropped at the request. Stiles really didn’t want to. Every time he closed his eyes, bad things happened. Dreams morphed into horrors he could never escape. His mind turned into prison where people he knew were tortured, himself included.
If Stiles closed his eyes now, what if he never opened them again? What if he died or—
Dying doesn’t feel like this.
Okay, that was fair. Technically, they both knew from experience. Not that Stiles wanted to think about dying. Like how he lost all consciousness when he’d been submerged in icy mistletoe water while gripping his dad’s badge. Hoping Lydia had the strength to pull him back. Or how the Berserker had stabbed Derek as soon as he’d stepped foot out in the desert. Forcing Stiles to choose between Scott or Derek.
Stiles knew he wouldn’t have been able to do much for Derek back then. With his best friend trapped behind a hideous bear skull and ready to murder the rest of the Pack…the choice had been obvious. Even Derek had told him to save Scott.
But if Stiles ever had to make a difficult choice like that again—in a way, he kind of had to. And soon. Either stay underwater forever or move along. Leave the Pack behind or find his way back to them. Stick with Derek in this disjointed phase or possibly lose him (this time for good).
Stiles was scared. So scared of fucking up. Of making the wrong decision. Or even worse, losing everyone all at once and forever.
I’m scared too. I don’t know what will happen.
The admission was honest and simple, but it seemed more substantial coming from Derek. From someone who had fought and clawed through the worst demons just to see another day. A person who had tried to do what was right, only to be ripped open until he was raw and exposed. Who had no reason to believe in the good when so many terrible things and people existed.
Derek could have—should have—stayed away.
But he was here. Still confronting monsters even if it scared him. Still believing there was some way to defeat them, even if the chances seemed slim. If that wasn’t some major courage right there, Stiles didn’t know what was.
Maybe they could do this. Together. Take a chance and hope they could find their way back to the living world again.
I think we will. We have to try. It’s what we do best.
Stiles couldn’t help but grin at the conviction he heard in that statement.
This was why he had grown to trust Derek. For making an effort. For having miraculously having faith whenever Stiles lost his own. For showing Stiles that anything was possible, even if all the fairytales should stay in movies or books.
But hey, werewolves, kanimas and magic existed. True Alphas could be created. Fae were vicious fuckers. Djinns enjoyed human blood way more than granting wishes. Zombies could actually rise from their graves.
Why couldn’t Stiles and Derek pop out of a lake like champs of a Triwizard Tournament task? They needed to do this. For the Pack. Cora. His dad. Each other.
Stiles experimentally did a flutter kick, pleased that it helped him ascend. He studied the open water and frowned. Would it be enough to close their eyes? Should they try swimming up?
We could try both. As long as I can make sure you’re okay.
Stiles’ mouth would have dropped open, but he really didn’t want to swallow or inhale water.
It almost sounded like Derek missed him. Like he wanted to see Stiles again. Nah, that couldn’t be right.
Derek seemed to have done fine on his own after Mexico. At least Stiles thought so, since all of his texts and voicemails went unanswered. No news meant good news (sometimes), or else it was a hint to back the fuck off. Which was what Stiles eventually did.
He figured Derek wanted a fresh start. A new beginning that allowed him to appreciate simple and good things like Dodgers’ games and Neopolitan pizza. One where he could leave his past a gazillion miles behind.
Stiles included.
And that was what Stiles couldn’t understand. Why would Derek miss him after every shitty thing that had happened since they first met?
You’re important.
The definition of the word ‘important’ meant having value. Value meant being worthy. Significant. Needed.
Was Stiles important because he was part of the Pack or was he important to Derek? Because those two concepts were very distinct.
At least Stiles now knew he wasn’t the weakest link in the chain. He could have easily turned a blind eye the moment Scott had been bitten. But if he had, Beacon Hills would be a very different place or non-existent. If Stiles hadn’t diligently researched or believed in things that went bump in the night, there would be no Pack, friends or family because they would all be dead.
Somehow, Stiles had become the glue that held the Pack together. Their Velma, MacGyver and Donatello all rolled up in one.
But to Derek…well, Stiles didn’t know how his neurodivergent and smartass self mattered to this werewolf. All they did was bicker, save each other’s lives and—
Really, Stiles? I—you’re my anchor.
It took a few seconds for Stiles to realize what Derek said before his brain temporarily short-circuited.
Him? How could Stiles be Derek’s anchor? Since when?!
The last Stiles knew, Derek had found a new anchor once anger stopped working for him. Stiles never asked Derek for details because a. he wasn’t a complete insensitive dick, b. it was none of his business and c. he didn’t want his throat to be ripped out, thank you very much.
Anchors were personal, and for someone to have an anchor that could successfully bring them back to calmness, balance and humanity during a crisis was a big deal. Stiles would know; therapy had taught him the wonders on how to ground himself. He could only imagine how much more it meant to shapeshifters—to have an anchor that was strong enough to keep the animal inside tamed and controlled.
For Derek to trust and believe in Stiles so much…wow. There were times even Scott or his dad lost all hope in him. But Derek thought Stiles was safe. Derek willingly chose Stiles to provide comfort and warmth—the very things he thought he’d never find again.
Holy shit.
Stiles didn’t know whether to feel touched, surprised, betrayed or all of the above. Was Derek ever going to tell him? Was the dude still even here? Hello? Sourwolf?
He tried tapping into the thread held close to his heart and pulled because he could. Stiles suspected this connection was more than just a pack bond. It was a rarity and something to be cherished. A link that truly tied Stiles and Derek together.
As expected, nothing happened. No tug from the bond, and the voice remained silent.
This was Derek being Derek though. Always pulling away as soon as he opened up.
But Stiles wasn’t having anymore of that. He wanted to see this vulnerable side of Derek. He wanted to hear more about Derek’s fears, hopes and dreams. What it was like growing up in a big family. Life in New York. Where Derek had traveled these last five years. Even the small things like his favorite color, foods he despised or if he had ever looked up at the stars. Stiles wanted to know every single thing about Derek, and not from a forced confession or through the grapevine.
Scarily enough, Stiles wanted to share every single thing about himself with Derek. The books he used to read with his mom. His favorite pączki recipe. How the plushie he used to sleep with every night as a kid was a stuff wolf (which he still had in his closet).
At least he knew what he needed to do now.
Stiles nodded to himself, whirling around in the water for the last time. Then, he let his eyes fall shut and started propelling toward the surface.
Up, up and away.