Chapter Text
Derek stared down at the body, disgusted. When Luce, the patient that had found his friend, said that Neil had been murdered, he was only guessing. But it was an easy guess. Neil had been strung up, as if to hang, but now was lying on the ground, stab wounds in his chest and many contusions on his neck. The sheets used to hang him were lying not far from the body. From what Derek could remember about the crime scene photos of previous “suicides,” they looked almost exactly like the one right in front of him, minus the stab wounds. Derek figured that this was another murder-to-look-like-a-suicide, but it had gone wrong.
“Get out of here,” a guard pushed him aside, and Derek complied. He was still undercover, after all. He made his way down the hallway, mind racing. If Peter’s instincts were right, then Brunski had only been the brawn of the operation. That would make sense, then. If the brains behind the operation tried to continue without the brawn, there was a higher possibility of something going wrong. Hence the stab wounds, which kind of took away from the whole suicide thing.
“It’s not over,” Stiles said as he took a seat next to Derek during lunch. “Why the fuck isn’t it over?” Derek spared a glance over at the inmate, chewing on some overdone chicken. He figured the question was rhetorical, so he kept chewing. “This must be why they can’t rest. They know it’s not over.” Derek figured that Stiles was talking about the...voices. “Obviously they only knew about Brunski, which means that he’s the only one they actually saw. So if Brunski actually killed them, does that mean that the person who’s actually behind the deaths is still out there, trying to continue the work even though Brunski usually did that part.” He paused his rambling and looked at Derek. “Do you think this person is another member of the staff, or a patient?”
Derek swallowed his food, impressed that Stiles had come to the same realization that they had back at the office. “There’s a pretty high probability that it’s another staff member. They’d both be able to access the same areas, and it wouldn’t look weird for them to talk like it might with Brunski and a patient.”
“What did Brunski say? About motive, I mean. Why did he do it?”
Derek sighed. “My supervisor says that he thought he was showing them mercy. That they were all so insane that it made him feel like he was doing the right thing. That they all wanted to die anyway, so he took the choice from them and stop their miserable lives from continuing. But….”
“But what?”
“But there’s a chance that both members of the duo don’t have the same motive.”
Stiles looked at him. “Why would that be?”
Derek shrugged. “We find that many partners have different motives, especially if they’re a serial group or if they have different roles. So since there’s a brain person and a brawn person, that means that the brain could easily have been manipulating the brawn into thinking that they want the same thing. More likely than not, the brain has a completely different motive than Brunski.”
“Huh,” Stiles said, seemingly lost in thought. “I’m honestly getting no help here. The ones that usually follow me around only knew about Brunski.”
“Can’t you just....ask Neil if he saw who it was?” Derek asked, feeling silly. By asking that, he was enabling Stiles’s odd ghost claims. But, well...Derek couldn’t deny that Stiles was giving him results.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that, Derek Hale. Not everyone leaves part of themselves behind when they die. Apparently, Neil was ready, even if he did go too soon. He didn’t leave me anything to contact him with.” He grew silent immediately after that, leaving Derek feeling uncomfortable and even sillier. Okay….Derek glanced over at him again to see that his eyes were unfocused as he moved them around their empty table. Derek shivered, thinking about all of the apparitions Stiles was apparently seeing. He subconsciously touched the bible in his pocket. Stiles caught the movement, and his eyes lit up. “Of course! You have a shitload of them following you! Here, give it to me.”
Derek stared at him. “What?”
Stiles held his hand out, exasperated. “Give me the bible, Derek Hale.”
Derek suddenly felt too attached to it. “No,” he said simply.
Stiles sighed and reached into Derek’s pocket himself, despite Derek’s shocked squawks of protest. “Honestly, you’re way too attached to this thing for not being a religious person yourself.”
“Stiles, I don’t know how to tell you this, but do you really think you can communicate with...what are you doing?”
Derek watched with unbridled interest as Stiles flipped through the bible without looking at the pages, just inhaling their scent deeply. When he opened his eyes again, they almost looked like they were glowing. But when Derek blinked again, they were back to normal. Stiles was looking intently at what seemed to be the seat across from them, lips pursed and bible clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were turning white. Derek watched the man’s intense concentration for a few minutes before Stiles broke it, blinking rapidly as if to make up for lost time.
“Derek Hale, something very bad is going on here,” he said, his face pale.
Derek resisted the urge to say “No shit.” Instead, he reminded Stiles that people were dying.
“People always die, Derek Hale, whether it’s their time or not. But we have someone here who is killing people when they purposefully know that it isn’t their time yet.” Stiles looked like he was far away, maybe even another world, as he spoke. “And it seems like they think my time is up.”
Derek felt something like a peach pit settling in the bottom of his stomach. Or maybe bigger, like an avocado. “What do you mean? Stiles?”
“The dead are predicting my death, Derek Hale. They see it coming. They know it’s soon.” His eyes looked more haunted than Derek had ever seen them. “And they’re afraid they can’t stop it.”
“No, Stiles, Stiles look at me,” Derek said, trying to get the man’s attention back. He was losing him, and fast. The last thing Derek needed right now was for Stiles to go crazy on him and ignore him for another week. If Derek decided to listen to what the spirits were apparently saying, Stiles might not have that long. Although Derek wasn’t exactly sold on this holy shit Stiles isn’t actually crazy or a murderer he can just see ghosts and so can his son? thing, Stiles had been mostly right throughout the investigation, and Derek wasn’t going to stop listening to him now, especially since he was talking about his own death. “Do they mean that the killer is going to come after you?”
Stiles’s eyes suddenly burst to life, losing their glassy look. “I can’t! I can’t!” He ran his hands over his fuzzy head, mouth opened wide in agony. “I can’t leave Hark an orphan, oh god, Derek Hale, I can’t!” Derek tried to rub his back reassuringly but Stiles threw Derek’s hands off of him. “I deserve to be here, but I don’t deserve to die, not like this, Derek Hale.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Derek said softly, putting his face close to Stiles’s, “I won’t let that happen, okay? You’re going to see Hark again. You’re going to be fine.” He drummed his fingers on the table, mind racing. “I can get some backup in here. Not a lot, since we don’t have solid evidence. But some. And it’s easier, right? Now that we know that you’re the next target? We can protect you. You can be ready. See their face. I’ll stay as close as I possibly can. The killer usually strikes during the day, as not to arouse suspicion! All employees have to swipe their card to get into patient rooms at night, so you’ll be safe until I can stay close to you when it’s daytime. We can do this,” Derek said, trying to be encouraging.
Stiles didn’t looked convinced, but at least he wasn’t inconsolable anymore. “I sure as hell hope that you know what you’re doing, Derek Hale,” he said, completely serious.
Derek didn’t want to worry him, so he said nothing to that. But he sure as hell hoped he did, too.
....
“Derek Hale!” Derek heard the voice during outdoor time, and he turned to see Stiles hurrying towards him. The man looked worried. ”It’s going to happen soon,” he said, looking down at his hands. “And I’m scared.”
Derek opened his mouth to console the man, but Stiles continued before he could.
“I’m afraid of a lot of things. I’m not afraid of dying, but I’m afraid of heights. Of my father not taking care of himself. Of one of my police friends dying on the job. Of leaving my son alone. And, finally, I’m afraid of dying without doing this,” Stiles lunged forward and pressed his lips to Derek’s. At first, Derek made a high-pitched noise of surprise, but he quickly caught up and moved his lips, eyes closing with pleasure. It was needy, convoluted with hands, tongue, and body heat. As he was beginning to feel the end of the kiss, he opened his eyes, and for a moment he could’ve sworn that he saw Laura standing behind Stiles, smiling. But then Stiles broke the kiss and when he blinked she was gone.
“That was a great kiss, Derek Hale. Don’t let me die so we can do it again.”
Derek watched in absolute awe as Stiles walked away, as if he hadn’t just kissed Derek’s brains out right after confessing his absolute fear of being murdered. Kissing a crazy person was a lot more pleasant than Derek had expected. Or maybe it was because kissing Stiles was something he had been fleetingly thinking about for the past few weeks anyways. Wondering how his lips would feel, his tongue would taste, where his hands would travel. It was kind of really pleasant.
Derek hadn’t been with someone since Kate. At least, not emotionally. He was still a person, he had needs. He had had plenty of physical relationships with other people throughout the years. More than he’d care to admit, actually. But thinking of Stiles...of his warm eyes and wide mouth and sloping shoulders...well, it made him want to make sure that he didn't let Stiles die. Ever. And maybe he could hold onto him and keep him for a little while.
Derek imagined a world where Stiles wasn’t in the asylum, where they had met before Kate ruined him, when he would’ve been able to give himself to someone for the sake of trust and happiness. Where he would introduce Stiles to his family, young, naive Derek sweating nervously and Stiles charming his parents with his smile and wit. Someplace and time where nothing would matter but Stiles and him. Where Stiles wasn’t plagued by voices or the demons that came along with Scott’s death. When he didn’t have to medicate to be sane. Where he didn’t have to be scared for his life.
Derek imagined that life for them, and found himself mourning that they never had it. But along with that, he also felt a burning need to achieve as much of it as possible. Exonerate Stiles, have the court look at his case again, have another psychiatrist speak with him to reevaluate his mental state, introduce himself to Stiles’s father, teach Hark how to ride a bike. Maybe all of that would one day be a possibility, but at the moment he needed to focus on the most important thing: keeping Stiles alive.
...
The next day, there was a weird electricity in the air, as if a thunderstorm was brewing inside the asylum. A few fights broke out before breakfast, and Derek could hear numerous inmates screaming in their cells before his guards came to take him to the cafeteria. Today had to be it. The climax of his time here at the asylum. The day he finally caught the guy responsible.
He didn’t see Stiles at breakfast, but that didn’t worry him: it was Tuesday, and Stiles had early morning counseling on Tuesdays. They never ate breakfast together when Stiles had counseling. Plus, Stiles’s dad and son were supposed to visit him later today, so Stiles would have to prepare for that as well. Usually that didn’t happen until after lunch, so Derek would be able to work out a plan with the man then. He had a feeling Stiles was already hyper-aware of the change in the air, and was sure that he would get another ‘Don’t let me die, Derek Hale’ lecture.
Was it weird that he was kind of looking forward to it?
Despite the fact that Derek was a very patient man (he was the king of stakeouts, no one could deny that), he felt like he had ants in his pants by the time lunch rolled around. He had had a group therapy session with Jordan and the rest of the gang, he had shared a secret look with the new undercover agent--Lahey--in passing, and now he was sitting in the cafeteria, a plate of thick mashed potatoes and imitation chicken laid out in front of him as his eyes swept the room for Stiles.
Stiles, who annoyed the living shit out of him. Stiles, who could almost certainly see ghosts. Stiles, who had predicted his own death date with the help of said ghosts. Stiles, who most definitely was not there.
Derek pushed away his plate as he stood up, concerned. Lunch was already coming to an end (they were intentionally short to decrease the possibility of riots and crazy outbreaks), but there had been no sign of the man. Derek took no time to think as he dumped his tray and got his meds, as to not rouse suspicion. He hated to waste the minutes, but if he didn’t get his meds he would have the staff tracking him down. Better to pretend everything was alright...at least for now.
Derek quickly but carefully made his way back to block A, trying not to be seen by an orderly. If he was caught, he would have to go into the yard with almost everyone else. His room was in block C, so he navigated best he could, using the small signs on the walls to guide him to where Stiles’s room was. The man had offhandedly mentioned during one of his tangents that his room was A-14. He let the information slip while complaining about his loud cell neighbor who was a paranoid schizophrenic. Something about aliens and square dancing.
Anyway, Derek finally made it to A block, and his heart was hammering in his chest as he checked room numbers, making his way further into the block. The bible was burning a hole in his pocket. He was only at room A-08 when he heard muffled yells coming from deeper in the cell block. Derek broke into a sprint, not caring who might see him, as long as he could make it to the room in time. Oh god, please let him make it in time.
When he saw the black little lettering of A-14, he saw that the door was flung wide open.
Derek burst through the doorway, breathing erratically, and saw that Stiles was there, but not alone. A figure in the scrubs of an orderly was struggling with the man, and had a bedsheet around Stiles’s neck, choking him.
“Stiles!” The word burst involuntarily from Derek’s mouth, but Stiles’s wide eyes were too focused on his assailant to look at Derek. The assailant, though, turned to face the new person. Derek was a bit surprised to see that it was the pretty face of Nurse Cross that greeted him, but not at all too taken aback. What he knew about Nurse Cross could fill a notecard, but he knew that she was disliked among the patients due to her roughness and impatience. She had given Derek his meds more than a few times.
“Stand back, Derek. You don’t want to be apart of this,” she said, still holding tightly onto the bedsheet. Stiles was turning slightly blue.
“Let him go,” Derek growled, taking a step forward.
“Get back! Get back!” She shrieked, knocking Stiles roughly against the wall. The man made a choked noise, and his eyes closed as he continued his labored breaths.
“Calm down!” Derek said. “Calm down. We know what you did,” Derek said, taking a step back and putting a placating hand out in front of him. “We know that you told Brunski to murder all of those patients. You don’t have to murder another one. It’s over.”
“No it’s not!” She yelled. “It’s not over until all of the scum here in this place are dead!”
“Nurse Cross, it’s over. Let Stiles go. He didn’t do anything.”
“Didn’t do anything!?” She asked hysterically. “You’re all in here because of what you’ve done! You’re all monsters, vermin that need to be exterminated! And he’s next!” She turned to Stiles, her body still open to Derek, and she yanked on the bed sheet, suspending him into the air.
Derek felt himself scream as he reached out towards Nurse Cross, but before he could do anything she was already on the ground, shrieking at something that wasn’t there. “No, no! You’re all dead! I killed you! I killed you!” Derek watched in unabashed horror as bloody scratches appeared on her chest, face, and neck, blood pouring from the new wounds. He didn’t ponder it long as he ran to where Stiles was hanging, grasping frantically at his neck. Derek stood on the bed and reached over to where Stiles was, easing the tightness on the sheet, and Stiles fell out of its death grip, gasping for air. He clung to Derek, tears pouring down his cheeks, and for a moment Derek could see at least five people tearing Nurse Cross apart where she lay on the floor, screaming bloody murder. When he blinked, they disappeared, but the nurse was still sustaining injuries beyond repair.
“Come on, Stiles, we have to get out of here,” Derek carried the man out of room A-14. Once they were at the edge of the A block, he set Stiles down on unsteady feet. The man still clung to Derek’s arm, grounding himself.
“Thank you, Derek Hale,” he whispered, still sucking in copious amounts of air. “Hark is four today. Would’ve been a real drag to die on his birthday.”
Derek almost collapsed with relief, and he started laughing. Stiles joined him until they were on the floor, holding each other as they laughed and cried.
.....
“I guess this is it,” Derek said, looking at the other man. Stiles was in civilian clothes for the first time in almost 8 years, and they looked good on him in Derek’s opinion.
After the incident, Derek called his superiors and reported Nurse Cross. When the FBI had arrived, they had found Nurse Cross ripped to shreds, seemingly by her own fingernails, and ruled it a suicide. Derek thought it was a bit of a stretch, but the recovered video footage showed that no one else was in the room but her. It had taken a few weeks, but they eventually blamed all of the deaths on her. Eichen was safe again, or at least as safe as an asylum for the criminally insane could be.
“Is it now?” Stiles asked, smiling at the ground. With his testimony and help from both the FBI and the local police force, Stiles was finally free of all charges concerning the murder of Scott McCall, and Scott’s death was ruled as a suicide. It had taken a while to convince Stiles that he deserved to walk free, and Derek had finally gotten through to him with the help of a perky therapist named Erica and the promise of seeing his child grow up right beside him. Stiles was able to walk free from Eichen and his nine years of imprisonment. As they stood outside of the gates of Eichen, Derek waiting for Stiles’s family to pick him up from the asylum, Derek realized he might miss the man.
Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “About Nurse Cross’s death...was it actually…?”
“The ghosts of the people she’d ordered killed? Yes,” Stiles said simply, turning to look at the road in front of them. “They finally got to deliver justice as they saw fit.”
“You know, when you were touching me, I saw them. And the day before, when we kissed, I thought I saw….” Derek trailed off, his voice cracking. He swallowed. “But not since then.”
“They’re not gone, you know,” Stiles said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.
“I can’t feel them,” Derek responded.
“You can’t? You can’t feel your mother’s hand guiding you when you tie your shoes, or hear your sister’s voice in your ear when you order a pizza with your favorite toppings?” Stiles smiled lazily at him, and Derek felt that weird energy crackling in the air again. “You’ve never let them stray from your heart, Derek Hale. Because of that, they walk by your side in whatever you do.” Derek felt emotion welling up inside of him, and tried to hide from it, but Stiles wasn’t done. “You carry their hopes and dreams with you. Everything they ever wanted to be, to accomplish. You are their dreams, now. It’s not a burden, Derek Hale. It’s a gift from those that loved you as dearly as you loved them.”
Derek choked back most of the tears, and wiped the one that escaped. “I can’t believe all this shit is real,” he said instead of something else.
“You mean, you can’t believe I’m actually not crazy,” Stiles said easily, a smile playing at his lips.
“Yeah, that too.” They stood in silence for a while. “You know,” Derek started, but was interrupted by the sound of a car motor.
“That’s my dad,” Stiles said, a real smile gracing his face. “Thanks for waiting with me.” Stiles hesitated as he clutched his suitcase handle, unsure. “You know, this doesn’t have to be it.”
Derek’s heart stopped in his chest for a millisecond. “It should be. I’m due back in DC within the week.”
“Now, is that really what you want, Derek Hale?” Derek could hear the teasing undertone in Stiles’s voice, the one that he heard in his dreams all the time these days.
He turned to look at Stiles, who had the ghost of a smirk on his face. Stiles was right: he could hear the voice of Laura in the back of his head, whispering at him. “No,” Derek said roughly, and Stiles dropped his suitcase with a loud thud and threw his arms around Derek’s neck, kissing him just like the first time.
“Stay?” Stiles asked.
Derek didn’t even need to be touching Stiles to see his own family egging him on, telling him how much he would regret this if he didn’t say his next words very carefully.
“Okay.”