Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Days passed in a lifeless haze.

The Hale Pack left Stiles and Allison to their self-inflicted isolation, giving them their space to grieve and work through whatever conflicting emotions they felt over the death of their aunt.

Stiles couldn’t recall everything that happened once he and his sister left the cooled clinic on some days, yet on other’s he remembered it all so clear it was as those it happened a moment ago.

He took Allison home, allowing her to drive while he sat in silence in the passenger seat, keeping a watchful eye on her and the road. They returned to the Derek’s loft, cleaned themselves of the sweat and grime that coated their skin before relinquishing some control to allow the other to patch wrap their wounds up.

They didn’t sleep.

They couldn’t.

Stiles remembered Allison producing a bottle of whiskey from thin air, muttering something about Dean although Stiles couldn’t for the life of him figure out where she got it from. They shared the bottle, sitting side by side on Derek’s desk as they stared out the large window into the dead of night, passing the whiskey back and forth until their bodies were numb enough for them to call muster up the courage to Sam and Dean.

The conversation was short; the brothers understanding how the twins felt (And wasn’t that just fucking horrible) and didn’t offer any bullshit lines about “it will get better” and “I’m sorry”. They didn’t dwell on the loss either, and instead focused on whether or not Dean and Sam were needed for backup on the off chance the Hunter’s weren’t done with the Hales’ or how things were going on their end. Sam told them to call him the next day with an update and Dean promised to see them soon. After the call, Stiles turned his phone off and buried it beneath his dirty clothes in his duffel bag.

Night turned to morning, with the sun slowly and torturously coloring the world with its red and orange rays, and Stiles and Allison were awake to watch it. His arm had found home around his sister’s shoulders, his hand running up and down her arm at its own accord, his body offering her the comfort his mind was too numb give. Stiles pressed a kiss to his sister’s head every so often when a sniff escaped her and she returned the favor by tightening the arms that were wrapped around his waist whenever Stiles lifted the slowly emptying bottle of whiskey to his lips in hopes that it will burn away the lump in his throat.

When morning came, Stiles and Allison took their respective showers. Stiles went first and while his sister took hers, he called Sam as promised. The conversation was brief, lasting no more than ten minutes. After checking over this bandages, they left the loft and took the Camaro out into the woods.

Neither said anything, knowing their job wasn’t finishing. The bodies were gone, as the twins had suspected, so all that was left was to recover all the casings and all the arrows they could find.

It took a total of six hours, and afterward Stiles and Allison retreated to the loft for a shower, bodies aching and minds exhausted.

Three o’clock that morning, Allison remembered they hadn’t eaten that day and Stiles wordless handed her the keys, giving her a false smile.

When she returned two hours later, Stiles pretended not to see the slight redness rimming her dark eyes. They ate their burgers in mutual silence, forcing down every bite with some water-downed beer before effectively passing out.

They didn’t cry after that.

Allison’s smile slowly returned but only for three seconds. Stiles still found it difficult to sleep for more than two hours: Kate’s cold, lifeless eyes plaguing his thoughts the moment his eyes snapped open, the sound of a gunshot which always startled him awake still ringing in his ears.

A week later, Stiles and Allison took their showers, got dressed and headed for the local Laundromat.

“Why don’t you get us something to eat, and I’ll stay here.” Stiles offered. They hadn’t left each other’s side for the last two weeks unless they had to, and Stiles knew both he and Allison needed to return to normal.

Grief wasn’t a foreign concept to them, and the twins had a habit of latching to the other sibling like a vine. It was comforting yet suffocating all the same.

“What do you want?” Allison asked him. Her curls were messier than usual, the wind outside having whipped her wet hair around as they left the loft and some more when they stepped out the Camaro and made their way to their Laundromat.

“Curly fries, strawberry shake and a cheeseburger.” He listed.

Allison cocked her eyebrow at him. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”

Stiles gave her a grin. “I love you.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t put your red shirt with my white shirt again.”

“Seriously, it was one time. Get over it.”

“Never.”

And with that, she walked away, turning to look over her shoulder for a second when she reached the door to toss him a smile. His lips tugged up naturally and dropped the second she was out of sight.

Methodically, Stiles got to work, pulling out their dirty clothes from the plastic bags Allison had arranged them in, ignoring any eyes that did doubt takes at the sight of his bruised face. He did hers first and when he came across his red shirt, a small part of him was tempted to “accidentally” drop it in the load.

The feeling left a cold imprint when it faded, and Stiles hoped he found it himself to return to the old-Stiles again. He hated this feeling.

He hated that he hated it.

Before, when it had been his mom who was taken from him, Stiles had his dad and their mission to keep him grounded, to anchor him when his emotions got the better of him. When he was left with Alex’s body in his arms and lifeless eyes staring up at him, it had only taken four beers and a call from Dean with the location of his next hunt, for Stiles to feel less cold and empty.

Now, he had nothing. He had a mission; he had a job he had to get back to, but he knew he couldn’t leave Beacon Hills’ without tying up some loose ends. He had to make sure the hunters were taken care of. He had to make sure the Hale’s were safe and had all the information they needed in case that status changed.

With Gerard still out there… Stiles feared they might never be truly safe.

And his dad – Shit, his dad…

Stiles was just about to unload the last of his clothes in the dryer when the doorbell chimed. He looked up, and his stomach twisted at the sight of Lydia Martin stepping in alongside his sister. Allison caught his expression and gave him an apologetic smile, her eyes crinkling in sympathy and mild annoyance.

“Lydia.” Stiles said her name calmly, tone revealing nothing. Allison handed over the car keys and Stiles pocketed it. The redhead met his gaze, her green orbs filled with understanding and softened with comfort. Her swollen eye had healed up nicely, Stiles noted, and her flawless makeup covered up the rest, leaving her appearing uninjured.

“Hey.” Her red lips lifted but the smile barely stretched. “I ran into Allison at the diner, asked if I could tag along. I hope that’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

She pressed her lips together, considering her next words. “We figured we should give you two space. Isaac was worried.” She tossed Allison a look when she said this.

“I know. He called.”

Lie.

Stiles was well aware of Isaac Lahey’s various attempts to get in touch with his sister. He’d been sitting beside her when she’d hit ignore every time. He told her to answer it after call numéro cinq, but she simply shook her head in denial. After call seven, Lahey got the message.

There was a lull in the conversation, and neither Stiles nor Allison attempted to fill the silence. Instead Allison got to work on folding their newly washed clothes and Stiles leaned back against a table, taking a fry every now and then to keep his hands busy.

“Have you guys heard anything?” Lydia asked.

“No.” Stiles answered.

“We’re still looking into it.” Allison continued.

Lydia nodded. “And… will you guys call us if you hear anything?”

“Sure.” Stiles nodded.

“You’ll be first to know.” Allison said.

Her green eyes flickered between the twins, and Stiles watched as the corner of her lip twitched as though fighting a smile. Stiles met Allison’s eyes for a brief moment, pushing his brown paper bag over to her. She popped a fry in her mouth and resumed to her folding.

“I, uh—” Lydia’s voice brought their attention back to her. They watched she looked down at her phone, a frown knitting her brows together. “I gotta go.” She looked up. “I – will we see you, again?”

Stiles met Allison’s eyes, before they turned to the banshee and nodded.

She smiled then, looking just about ready to hug them before she changed her mind and instead opted to take a step away. “See you guys.” With one final smile, she turned and headed for the door.

They watched as she walked out, eyes tracking her as she walked past the window thus vanishing from sight. It was only then that Stiles and Allison exhaled sharply. Stiles felt his chest relax, his heart racing and hammering on within.

“I didn’t know how to get rid of her.” Allison said beside him.

“I don’t think you would have if you could.” Stiles turned to face the table, picking up a pair of Allison’s socks. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him from her corner her eye. “You?”

“Getting there.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

*

They had been in the middle of ending a call from Bobby when Allison got a text.

“Stiles.” She called his name.

The small quiver in her voice had Stiles up from his seat and crossing over to her in the blink of an eye, dropping down beside her on Derek’s old worn out coach. She turned, looking at him with a glimmer of tears gathering below her eyes as she handed over her phone.

He took it without a word, wrapping an arm around in comfort as he read it.

[12:00 PM] Unknown: Can you meet me? I have information.

DAD

Stiles looked over to her, eyes questioning.

“We don’t know if its him.” Allison told him. “You said that they fed him false information to get to us. This could be an ambush.”

“One way to find out.” His voice sounded rough, the emotions grating on his throat, burning with the need to be heard and felt. Unwrapping his arm, Stiles gripped her cell phone in his hands, his fingers flying across the screen, typing out the message.

[12:01 PM]: Happiness can be found in the darkest of times.

He hit send and waited with bated breath. Allison shifted beside him.

Her phone buzzed in his hand.

[12:01 PM] Unknown: if one only remembers to turn on the light.

“It’s him.” Allison sighed but Stiles shook his head.

“Wait.” He said, typing out another message.''

[12:01 PM]: When we were at our lowest, what did I always tell you?

“Stiles?”

Stiles swallowed. This was something only he and his dad knew. Something both of them were too ashamed to admit and something Stiles had never shared with Allison.

There was long pause and then her phone vibrated to life.

[12:02 PM] Unknown: Death only wins if we left it.

“It’s him.” Stiles confirmed, a sour lump growing in his throat as read those words.

He thought back to those dark days, remembering how he hid his dad’s grief from Allison as much as he possibly could. Kate helped him, distracting Allison with her training, while Stiles got to work on their dad. They were both a wreck, and Stiles remembered uttering those words to his dad every time he found him passed out with a bottle of vodka in his hand.

They had been living with Kate at the time, so all Stiles had to do was get him into his room and out of sight and all was forgotten.

Or at least it appeared so.

“Are you gonna explain the text?” Allison’s voice broke the tense silence.

Stiles got up from the couch, heading for his duffle bag. “No.”

“Try again.”

Sighing, Stiles glanced over his shoulder. Dark brown eyes met his, uncertainty swimming with betrayal. They told one another everything, shared with each other their darkest thoughts and most inconceivable wishes.

“It wasn’t my place to tell you, Ally. He wouldn’t have wanted you to know.” Stiles turned to regard her; expression helpless and despondent.

“Yet, you could know?”

Biting down on the tissue of his inner cheek, Stiles contemplated telling her truth. He kept it from her in hopes that her idea of their dad wouldn’t be tainted. She knew about Gerard, not extensively, but she knew enough to hate him. She knew about their mom and Kate. No one in their family were thought of with much love. However, their dad was someone who brought a fleeting sense of happiness into their hearts if ever he crossed their minds.

He made his mistakes, both Stiles and Allison had agreed on that but… he was still the man they knew and loved.

“You really want to know?” Stiles asked.

Allison shot him a hard look and Stiles sighed, running a hand over his mouth as he made his way back to the couch, thinking over those days, wondering what part to leave out and which parts to paraphrase.

“When mom died… dad was a wreck. You know that.” Stiles paused and Allison nodded. “What you don’t know is that dad kind of went dark-side for a while. He drank a lot. He hid it well enough, relied on… on Aunt Kate to distract us. Those days when she trained you all day and kept you out of the house, were the days Dad was at his worse.”

“Those were a lot of days, Stiles.”

“Yeah… I know.” He gave her a grave smile. “You remember how he couldn’t look at us because we reminded him of mom?”

She nodded, her lips pressing together.

“Well, having us around made things worse. It’s why we slept over at Aunt Kate’s so much. But, some day’s I’d sneak off and head over to our house. I’d, uh, I’d make my way to the couch, where Dad always was. I’d find him passed out, with the empty bottle still in his hand.”

He swallowed, his mind flashing back to those times. Paris’ had been home for him; it had been filled had warm and happy memories, but it held dark ones too.

“I’d take get him to bed, listen to him mutter about Mom and how I had her eyes and how you had her smile. He’d laugh and then he’d start crying, telling me I shouldn’t be here.” Stiles swallowed, inhaling through his nose to gather himself. Shaking his head, he ended it there. “Then I’d tell him he may have nothing to live for, but he had something to fight for. I would promise him that we would get the thing that killed her. Me and him, together.”

“Stiles…” Allison trailed off with a sorrowful voice.

Stiles shook his head, not wanting to hear her say anything about the matter. “I didn’t want to tell you because you always thought of Dad as some superhero. Even after we learned the truth, you still see him as someone who couldn’t be knocked down. Your knowing this would change that.”

“Maybe. But you still should have told me.” Her hand found his and Stiles gripped it. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that on your own. I hate that you always thought you had to protect me from the darkest side of our family. You did it with Gerard, you did it with dad… We are in this together, Stiles.” She said fiercely, her hand clutching him. “Okay?”

Stiles nodded.

“Stiles.”

“Yes, fuck. Okay.” He shot her a smile, rolling his eyes for good measure, doing anything to lighten the mood which had been hovering over them like a dark cloud, promising nothing but misery and tears.

“Don’t get snippy with me.” She reprimanded him in a playful tone.

The momentary lapse from their reality vanished three seconds later and afterward Stiles and Allison were left thinking about their next move.

They could ignore the text, but they needed the intel.

If this was an ambush, they would probably not make it out alive and if it wasn’t, then they would have to face their dad.

Their dad who had lost a sister at his son’s hand.

“He can’t hold it over you.” Allison told him out of the blue.

Honestly, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Allison later revealed she had the ability to read his mind, not people – his.

“Say’s who?”

“Fucking common sense, Sti.” She snapped. At the sound his childhood nickname, Stiles fell silent. She never called him “Sti”, the name slipping out only in moments of pure frustration, as though she was too angry to finish his name.

“Well, grief makes people do stupid things.”

“He’s still our dad.” Allison said defensively. “He knows you had no other choice.”

“Does he? It’s been two week, and in those two weeks, he could have been told a whole different story by those Hunters we let walk away.”

Allison shook her head. “He would never believe it. He knows you, Stiles. He knows you could never do that.”

Stiles swallowed. “But I did. And we need to be prepared for anything.”

There was a pause, with Allison staring at him, contemplating if she should waste her breath and energy trying to convince Stiles that their dad might not hate him. He loved her for trying, he did. But regardless of how she looked at it, she had to acknowledge the fact that they haven’t been around a lot to base their future on their dad’s feelings. They may be his kids, but they had built a reputation for themselves over the months. A reputation that made it clear they’d take down anyone who’d done wrong, human or supernatural.

Their Aunt was one of them.

And Stiles had ended her life.

“Fine.” Allison’s firm voice pulled him away from the dark path down memory lane. “We make a plan and agree to meet him at a remote location.”

“When?”

“Tonight?”

Stiles shook his head. “Too soon.”

“We need that intel. If we wait too long, it might jeopardize the lead.”

“Tomorrow morning. 5?” He asked her. “We should have something by then.”

Allison chewed on her bottom lip; her dark brows pulled together in thought. “Do you think we should call for back up?”

“Like who? Sam and Dean can’t make it –”

“What about the Hale’s?”

“No.” Stiles answered sharply. “No, I am not dragging them into this.”

Allison nodded. “So just us, then?”

“You and I have taken down worse things than our father and a hypothetical ambush.”

A dimple appeared and Stiles smiled in triumph.

*

“You ready?” Allison asked from the passenger side of the car.

“Are you?” Stiles shot back.

They had agreed for a meeting, chose the location and got to work a second later, cleaning out their guns while simultaneously going over their plans. It was agreed that Stiles would go in first, while Allison staked the place, joining them exactly ten minutes later. If she wasn’t there, Stiles would get the message.

The meeting was in a semi-remote area, at precisely 6 am. A local coffee shop that opened its doors at 6 am on the dot. The streets would be clear, save for a few people walking around, enough to ensure they weren’t ambushed and enough for Allison to have a clear eye on their surroundings.

They checked their guns, the loud metallic clicking noise echoing around the silent car. Stiles gave Allison a look of solidarity before he gathered up the courage to open the door and step out. They had parked a good distance away, so Stiles had to walk to the coffee shop.

The morning air was chilly, a light breeze pricking his exposed skin, flushing up his cheeks and ears as blood rushing to those parts. His hand slipped into his leather jacket where his fingers curled into a clenched fist. A few minutes later, the sign of the coffee shop could be seen up ahead and sitting out in plain sight, was the lone form of his father, body hunched over the table with a steaming cup of coffee beside his hand.

Stiles felt his expression shift, hardening into a mask of neutrality. His feet carried him to where he need to be, his mind forging a wall of iron in the event that everything went to shit, and all his fears were proven true.

“Dad.” He spoke with a hard and emotionless voice.

A head of salt and pepper hair snapped up and Stiles stepped forward, turning to look at his father with cool brown eyes.

“Stiles.” His dad said his name softly - sighed it, really. Stiles gave nothing away, moving to claim one of the two chairs opposite him. He watched as his dad looked around, blue eyes scanning the area, looking for a face he won’t be seeing. “Where’s your sister?”

Biting back the accusation that threatened to jump out his throat, Stiles said. “Not here.”

A distressed expression twisted his dad’s features and Stiles blinked indifferently, even though his heart clenched at the sight.

“Of course. I can’t expect you kids to forgive me. Not after what I did.”

Stiles brought his hands out his pockets and laced them together on his lap, leaning back into the chair to feel his gun pressing reassuringly against the small of his back. “And what did you do, exactly?”

“Lead you kids into a trap.” His dad responded immediately. “I didn’t - If I had known it was false intel, I wouldn’t have sent that message.”

Stiles shrugged. “That would defeat the purpose of false intel.”

The greying beard shifted as his dad have a self-deprecating smile. “I guess.”

Stiles clenched his jaw, fighting against his emotions. “You said you had information for me.”

His dad’s dark brows pulled together, his hands shifting forward before stopping, as though he’d wanted to reach over for Stiles. Cold brown eyes flashed to his dad’s hands for a moment, his eyebrow twitching. Looking back up, Stiles cocked a brow and waited.

“I do.” His dad reassured him. “I just hoped you and I could talk for a second, son.”

Stiles gritted his teeth, his chest tightening as his heart hammered nervously on within. “Talk about what? The Hale’s? Gerard? The hunters who are now our enemies?” He paused and forced her name out, “Aunt Kate?"

Blue eyes flickered, sadness swimming within its orbs and Stiles’ heart clenched in pain.

“Kate…” His dad sighed her name, mournfully. “Kate was… Kate was not your fault, Stiles.”

Stiles held onto his mask. “Wasn’t it?” He asked coldly, his voice giving nothing away. “I killed her. Heck, I put a bullet in her head.”

He waited for that hatred he knew his words would trigger. He waited for his dad to stop the charade and just came out and say it, that Stiles was a murdering son of a bitch and he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

He waited.

Three breathes later, his dad shook his head. “You did your job.”

“My job?” Stiles repeated, the words leaving a bitter, sour taste in his mouth.

“I know you had no choice, Stiles. I know because I know you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Maybe not all of you. But I know the important parts of you, son.” His dad’s blue eyes bore into his as he said this, conviction clear in his tone.

Stiles worked his jaw, blinking and praying he didn’t cry. His fingers loosened and Stiles clenched his fists, inhaling slowly, calculating his breaths in hopes that it would calm his racing heart. His eyes left his father when he caught a glimpse of a dark figure across the street. He watched and waited until the man walked away, his head down and his eyes fixed on his phone.

Returning his attention to his father, Stiles saw that his dad had caught his assessment. Chris Argent opened his mouth and his words were cut off as a waiter made his appearance.

“Hey, sorry for the wait. Can I get you anything?”

Stiles looked up, expression dropping in a fraction of a second, eyes softening and dropping to the name tag: James. He glanced up once more.

James met his stare and smiled. “We got freshly baked muffins.”

Stiles shook his head politely. “Coffee, is fine. Cream, two sugars.”

James nodded, the notepad in his hand lifting as he jotted down Stiles’ order. He turned to Stiles’ dad. “Anything for you, sir?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

James nodded and stepped away. He glanced down and his baby blue eyes met Stiles’ gaze for a brief moment just as Stiles shot him a flirty smirk in hopes that it would chase away any suspicions he might have.

Stiles and his dad were alone and while they may not be fighting, the atmosphere surrounding them was hostile. The staff might attempt to interject every few seconds in hopes that things doesn’t escalate.

James blushed and made his way back to inside. When Stiles turned back to his dad his friendly demeanor dropped, his mask falling back into place like visor flipping down. Surprise claimed his anxiety when he noted the soft smile playing on his dad’s lips.

“What?” Stiles asked, though he had an inkling.

His dad shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking back to the time you came out to us.”

“You mean the day when I told you I was gay and you and mom told me that who I loved didn’t matter?” Stiles asked, his voice a touch too biting. His dad’s soft smile dropped. “Yeah, I remember that day. I also remembered mom telling me that who I loved didn’t matter as long as it didn’t affect my training.”

“It didn’t matter to us.” His dad insisted.

Just as long as it didn’t jeopardize my training, Stiles added bitterly.

He knew his mom and dad wouldn’t have care about his sexuality. He knew they could have reacted a whole lot worse to him coming out as gay (Alex had revealed him how his dad had reacted, and how his mom did nothing to stop him). He knew with damn certainty that there were families out there who were just fucking horrible and that his dad or mom could have easily made him regret telling ever opening his mouth. But they didn’t. They didn’t react badly at all because who Stiles loved didn’t matter to them. They only cared about the mission and the legacy Stiles and Allison were expected to carry on.

That was all they ever cared about.

“We didn’t do right by you two. Believe me, I know that and not a second goes by where I don’t regret it.” His dad said after a lengthy pause.

The self-condemnation was clear in his tone, roughed further by his already deep voice.

“You did your best.” Stiles uttered to him. “We don’t resent you.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.” A soft voice answered for Stiles. They both looked up and over. Allison stood just where Stiles had upon arrival, her hair loose and blowing in the wind, her nose a tiny bit pink from the cold weather. Stiles watched, remaining silent as his dad stood up from his seat, the metallic legs scrapping against the ground. He looked two seconds away from gripping Allison and hauling her into a bone crushing hug, but instead he settled for a watery smile.

“Allison. Stiles said you didn’t want to come.”

Allison gave their dad a small smile, moving past him to take a place on Stiles’ left, her arm brushing against his as she does so. Their dad took a moment to gather himself and Stiles and Allison allowed him to do. As he sat down, he ran a shaky hand over his face.

His hand dropped and blue eyes flickered over Stiles and Allison, slowly and deliberately. It occurred to Stiles then and there, that his dad hadn’t seen them together, side by side, for almost a year. Stiles and his dad had left roughly a year after mom’s death, heading back for Beacon Hills.

Stile remembered training to the point of mental and physical exhaustion, burning through and re-fuelling his anger for three months under his dad’s watchful eye until he was ready to infiltrate Derek’s pack. Looking at it like that, it didn’t seem that long ago, yet to Stiles it felt like ages.

His dad felt like a stranger to him, but at the same time he didn’t.

“You look good.” His dad opted to say.

“Thanks.” Allison responded shortly.

There was squeaking sound, and Stiles turn in time to see James walking over with the coffee. The other man paused at the sight of Allison beside Stiles, but it took three seconds before he saw their resemblance.

“Here you go.” He said as way of greeting, gingerly placing the cup of coffee down on the table. Stiles smirked once again, softening it into a grateful smile while he slid the cup closer to Allison.

“Welcome to Sweet Cheeses, can I get you anything?” James reached into his apron and pulled out his small notepad.

“No, my brother already ordered for me.” Allison replied kindly, her cheeks dimpling as she smiles.

“Oh, of course.” James smiled, his hand dropping. “You have a sweet brother.” His eyes found Stiles as he said this.

Allison, not one to miss anything, noticed and grinned up at James “He sure likes to think so.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and James chuckled. “Well, if you two need anything, you let me know.”

He nodded once more to Chris Argent, shot Stiles another smile, before turning and heading back into the Diner. Allison said nothing more on the matter, which Stiles was grateful for. Instead, she lifted the cup, blew the surface and took a tentative sip.

Turning, Stiles regarded their father once again. “You said you had information for us?”

He saw the metaphorical whiplash his dad got from the sudden change in tone and subject. Allison slowly lowered the cup, her eyes fixing themselves on their father. Their elbows bumped and Stiles found comfort in the touch.

Their dad sighed, blue eyes flicking left and right in consideration before he gave in, knowing his time with them was up. It hurt that this was what they have been reduced to due to lies, death and choices.

He didn’t want to have this relationship with his dad, he didn’t want to have to think twice about a simple message or come up with a plan to ensure his own father wasn’t going to kill him.

“I have information about Gerard’s whereabouts.” Chris Argent revealed.

Stiles and Allison remained calm and their eyes fixed as they waited for him to continue. Stiles felt excitement and hope leap around within him, but he tampered it.

“He was last spotted in Wisconsin. Turns out, he wasn’t going to be part of the fight. He left town shortly after the battle started. My contact says he’s planning on heading west.”

Allison took another sip from her coffee.

“And who’s your contact?” Stiles asked, his voice unimpressed.

“Someone I trust.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I can’t tell you, Stiles. If they find out he told me, he could be a traitor.”

Allison lowered her coffee. “So, what does that make you?”

“A father.” He responded without hesitation.

Allison and Stiles shared a glance. They saw the distrust in each other’s eyes. Stiles wanted to believe their dad, more than anything but they weren’t stupid enough for fall for this.

“And why should we trust you?” Allison voiced both their thoughts.

His dad released sad and dejected sigh. “You shouldn’t. I don’t expect you kids to go into this on blind faith, but I needed you to know this. I can do this after my colossal fuck up.”

An unintended snort escaped Stiles and Allison. Their dad perked up at the sound, his blue eyes brightening in shade. The twins both smothered down the urge to laugh, having always found it funny when their dad slipped up and cursed in front of them.

A broken smile touched their dad’s worn and slowly wrinkling face. “I know I screwed up with my last intel. I know I shook your faith in me but believe me when I say that you kids are where I draw the line. I may be a hunter, but I am a father, first and foremost. I hate that it took losing your mother for me to realize that. I know it will take more than this to prove myself to you.” He reached out his hands, palms pressed against the surface of the table. “But I will prove it.”

Neither of them moved.

Stiles turned and Allison met his eyes. He saw the inner turmoil waging on within her. He knew the source of her conflict, and loved her more for fighting against it, but his problems with his dad were his and he wouldn’t allow it to get in between his sister’s relationship with their dad.

With a single smile, Allison’s shoulders dropped an inch. Wordlessly, she turned to their dad, hesitating for a sure moment before she reached out, her small hand finding his.

Stiles watched as their hands joined, turning and wraps around each other, fingertips digging into the others skin. His throat burned, his hand itching to mirror Allison’s actions but he couldn’t… not yet.

As Stiles watched his twin and dad share a small smile, he felt his mask shift, the facade cracking and, cautiously, Stiles allowed a slight smile to bleed through.

*

It took a day to confirm their dad’s lead, Bobby calling them back four hours later with his own contacts verifying that Gerard Argent had indeed been in Wisconsin. Bobby wasn’t sure about his plan, but rumors had been going around that the ‘Patriarch of the Argent Clan’ was gathering hunters of all kind.

The endgame was unknown but Stiles and Allison suspected blood and destruction to be step three. It didn’t take much time or discussion before they were both busy packing their bags.

They were in the process of putting the guns back in their respective duffel bags when there was a knock on the loft doors. It was heavy and powerful, the banging noise echoing eerily.

Stiles and Allison had their guns drawn in a blink with Stiles stepping forward toward the door. He knew the chances of bullet getting through were slim-to-none, but he only needed a gap and a visible body part.

His free hand gripped the metallic handle and he pulled with a throaty grunt.

The door slid open, and Stiles’ eyes widened in shock.

“Derek?” His voice pitched embarrassingly high, hid nothing; disbelief, caution and… love, all interwoven as he said that one name.

“Hey.”

Stiles dropped his arm, his finger flicking on the safe absentmindedly as he tugged the door further open, eyes catching Allison as she waited to see Derek with her own eyes, visibly assessing him for any weapons with sharp tactile eyes. Satisfied the werewolf posed no threat, she dropped her arms and clicked on the safety of her own gun.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask.

It was been two weeks without any contact, aside from Lydia. He’d thought the redhead would have given the Hale pack the update that Stiles and Allison were still breathing and that would suffice. He hadn’t except Derek to stop by.

Having not prepared for this at all, Stiles felt uncomfortably vulnerable in the moment. He felt exposed, even with his sister by his side. His mind raced on, too preoccupied to hide any emotions that may reveal his thoughts, his heart no doubt a drumming Metallica song to Derek’s werewolf ears.

Green eyes danced around the room, stopping and dropping to one of the half-packed duffel bags. “You’re leaving?”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. He knew they’d overstayed their welcome. His moment of weakness and Derek’s act kindness changed nothing, no matter how much Stiles wished it had.

“Yeah.” Stiles cleared his throat. “We were going to stop by and let you guys know. We got intel on Gerard and where he is.” He shot his twin a look, fearing he’d overshared but Allison didn't seemed bothered by it.

In fact, she appeared relieved to see Derek.

The werewolf in question nodded slowly before he turned back to the twins, green-grey eyes kinder and softer than ever before. Stiles felt his throat tighten when those eyes fell on him, but he forced his mind to remain clear, reminded himself of their history like a mantra, and that once again, he had no right to feel this way toward Derek.

“Lydia said she ran into you, but I wanted to see how you two were doing. After everything that happened.”

Stiles glanced over to Allison in surprise, who met his stare briefly before she turned attention back to Derek, eyebrows arched. “You wanted to check in on us?” She stressed sarcastically, making her utter disbelief behind Derek’s intentions clear.

“Yes.” Derek answered her clearly. “My pack and I, we can’t ever repay you for what you did.” He looked at Stiles then. “We can’t every thank you enough for looking out for us, for fighting for us. So, whatever bad blood there is between my pack and your family, it ends with you. You aren’t our enemy and you never will be again.”

Allison shifted from the corner of Stiles’ eyes. She took a step forward and Stiles let her take the lead on this, knowing she had something to say. Knowing what this meant to her.

“Thank you.” She gave Derek a smile. It was distant and not nearly as bright as the one Stiles knew she possessed but it was a smile, nonetheless.

It was a smile of acceptance.

It was a smile of understanding.

In that moment, something passed between Derek and Allison. It was mildly disconcerting given it was between his twin sister and the man who hated Stiles’ guts. He frowned, as something inside him twist. It wasn’t jealously. Far from it. It was something else.

Longing?

“Is your pack home?” Allison asked abruptly.

Stiles’ brows snapped together in a frown and Derek, appearing nonchalant, nodded calmly.

“I’ll go and say goodbye to them.” She turned, looking over her shoulder at Stiles with small encouraging smile. “Give you two time to you talk.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, his mouth opening to tell Allison that fuck no, she was not going to leave him here. Her smile widened a touch as though that made it fucking better. The air within him and around became thicker, as Stiles and Derek, standing a good distance away from one another, both watched as Allison gathered her gun, leather jacket, phone and car keys.

All the essentials for visiting a pack of werewolf.

She walked past them, pausing only to press a kiss to Stiles’ left cheek. “I’ll be back.”

How about don’t fucking leave at all, Terminator. He stared at her, hoping she channeled some of that wonder-twin power and read his mind. But instead, she proved something Stiles had long since suspected.

His sister was an asshole, who only read his mind when she wanted to.

They watched as she made her way out, the door grating and grinding loudly as she pulled it close. Then it slammed shut and Stiles was left alone in the heavy silence. His eyes remained on the door for a beat, hoping and praying Allison popped back up with a cackle, yelling “Just kidding, fuckwat”, but when it became clear that that was just not going to happen, Stiles forced himself to look at Derek.

The Alpha stood calmly before him, dressed in his usual black attire, save for the forest green Henley. Those green eyes, lighter and less burdensome that ever before met his eyes.

After a moment of painfully awkward silence, Derek took a step closer to him, eyes flashing over to the couch. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Stiles swallowed and lifted his eyebrow. “Sorry? For what?” He asked dumbly.

Derek rotated in his head as if to say ‘don’t act dumb, you know what’. He exhaled through his nostril. “For what you had to do for my pack. For how far you had to go.”

“I don’t regret it.”

The corner of Derek’s lift tugged up. “I know. It’s why I didn’t know if I should say thank you or I’m sorry.”

Stiles bit the corner of his lip, his shoulder moving in a helpless one-shoulder shrug. “You don’t have to say anything to me, Derek. I gave you my word.”

“I know.”

There was a pause before Derek sighed softly. He looked lost and Stiles had no way of knowing what to say or do. He wanted to tell Derek to leave, that he didn’t owe Stiles a damn thing.

He wanted to pack a bag and leave himself, to do was he had promised.

Derek seemed to decide for them both as he made his way over to the worn-out couch, dropping down heavily. The piece of furniture whined under the weight but neither Stiles nor Derek paid its complaint any mind.

Not wanting to appear unsure, and frankly disorientated by the whole situation, Stiles walk over to his duffel bag to unburden himself of his gun, before finding the nearest pillar to lean back against, eyes locked on Derek.

A moment of dead silence hovered them, with nothing but the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and their gentle breathing to liven it up. Stiles’ fingers curled in and relaxed as the seconds ticked by. His eyes traced and assessed Derek’s frame, from the arms that were perched on his knees, elbows digging into his thighs. His hands hanged limply between his parted legs, his head bowed down, eyelids fluttering as he blinked.

He didn’t appear hostile.

He didn’t appear angry.

Instead he looked to be contemplating his next words.

It felt like an eternity when Derek’s voice cut through the silence. “That night when you told me you’d be nothing but a bad memory... what did you mean by that?”

The question threw him off guard, but Stiles’ training kicked in a second later, smoothing out his features to resemble of mask of calmness. “I meant exactly what I said.” He looked at Derek, brown eyes cool as his mind flashed back that night.

Derek’s body twisted to look at him, green-grey eyes searching. “Lydia said you stayed the night your dad ambushed us. She said you were there when I had my ni—my hallucination.”

Stiles swallowed, ears catching Derek’s hesitation and his mind filling in the rest of the word: My nightmare. “Yeah.” He swallowed once again. “Yeah, I was there.”

Derek nodded, his eyes dropping for a moment in thought. When his gaze returned to Stiles, his once hesitating expression was replaced with one burning with intensity. Stiles’ arms flexed, tightening against his chest as he met Derek’s penetrative stare.

“It’s a recurring dream.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and listened.

Derek continued. “I am in this room. It can’t really describe it other than it’s like a white abyss. There is no end or beginning. There is just me and… you. It happened so often, that after while I’d just stand there and wait because I knew you were going to show up.”

An icy hand wrapped around Stiles’ heart and squeezed.

His eyes never left Derek, his ears forcing him to listen to the story as Derek went on. “It’s always the same thing. I’d be there and then you’d show up. You’d – You’d taunt me, mock me for…” Derek stopped, lips moving yet no words were formed. Stiles inhaled and Derek shifted on the couch, turning to face Stiles. “You’d mock me for my feelings for you. You’d remind of how fucking pathetic I am, holding onto the guy who had wanted to kill me.”

Stiles memory took him back to the night Derek found out was an Argent. The night Stiles stood outside his house, listening to Derek spew every hateful thing he had every right to say and think, and how Stiles didn’t deny anything.

“Then you’d turned me around, to show what I know stands behind you.” Derek blinked, his throat working as he forced the words out. “My family. Dead.”

Derek’s gaze shifted back and forth, as though seeing it before his every eyes. Stiles’ body lifted off the pillar, but his mind forced him to remain in place.

“Except, that night it wasn’t my family that was dead.” Green eyes shot up and bore into Stiles. “It was you. The Stiles I thought--- that night you reached for me and I couldn’t do anything because the script had been changed. I didn’t know what to do. You were there bleeding and the Stiles I always dreamed about kept mocking me. You were there and then so was my family, bleeding and dying. And you kept – Stiles kept reminding me that this was because of me, their deaths as because I couldn’t let you go.”

Stiles wanted to speak. He wanted to ask Derek why he was doing this? Why was he telling Stiles this story?

He felt numb to the core as all the life which had found some way to resurface in last couple of days drained away once more, leaving him frozen without the will to do much of anything.

Then, as though a spell had been broken, Derek blinked and cleared his throat, shaking his head. With his eyes fixed on Stiles’ form, Derek stood up the couch and Stiles thought: this was it.

He waited with bated breath for Derek to turn and leave… except he didn’t.

Instead, the werewolf took a step toward Stiles and said, “That night instead of me killing you like I always do, something else happened. I heard your voice in the distance calling my name. I turned and there you were, running to me. You kept screaming at me to run and get away. I turned around, away from Stiles because I couldn’t believe it.” Derek took another step forward. Stiles’ spine shifted, straightening him and preparing him. “But it was you. The you I think I know…. I turned back to the other Stiles, only for him to look me dead in the eyes with this sick sadistic look on his face as he drove a dagger into my gut.”

Stiles’ vision was blurring and then he felt something wet slide down his cheek. His arms had dropped, though he doesn’t remember when. He was left open for attack. His mind pieced together the fragmented nightmare Derek had described to him.

All he saw, however, was Derek dead at Stiles’ hand, a room dripping with blood, air thick with the scent of hatred and betrayal

“I woke up the next morning.” Derek finished, his voice back to normal, an undercurrent of a withheld emotion Stiles didn’t have the energy to uncover. “With your voice in my head saying: you killed them all.”

Something snapped in Stiles. He blinked and his body and arms were revived, emotions rushing through him as he forced out. “You came all this way to tell me that?”

Derek’s expression shifted, tightening in frustration. “Fuck… No, I – I mean, yeah. I wanted you to know that I get it. It took fucking Lydia and Malia to beat it into me, but I finally get it.”

Muddled by confusion, Stiles shook his head, frowning. “Get what, Derek? I feel like we are repeating the same destructive shit to each other. I fucking know all this—”

“But you don’t!” Derek cut him sharply. “You think you do but you don’t. Yeah, I hate you, I hate the very thought of you, but it wasn’t you who I hated.”

Stiles froze for a beat, mouth dropping incredulously. “Derek, what the fuck does that mean?” The frustration and pain from this entire situation merged within his chest, creating a destructive beast which sneered and slammed against its cage, forcing itself out through Stiles as he yelled, “You are talking in fucking circles and I have had a clusterfuck of a month, so please just fucking say what you want to say and stop beating around the bu—”

“I hated Stiles Argent!” The harsh words sliced through the air, Derek’s voice louder and rougher than his own. “I hated the man I thought you were. I hated the man I thought I should hate. That’s the Stiles who kills me. That’s the Stiles who killed you.” Derek exhaled sharply, his nostril flaring as he stepped forward, closer to Stiles. “I hated who I thought you were. I hated you because I couldn’t stand loving you.”

Stiles’ insides hardened into a frozen mass and his feet shifted, taking him a step back. “You… you what?”

Derek swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his eyes remaining fixed on Stiles. His shoulders dropped, and a hand lifted, fingers running through those spiked up strands before it ran over his face as though to wipe away the anger and the frustration the moment had caused.

“I --- I wanted to deny it. I want to get over it, but I can’t. I hate Stiles Argent but that’s not who you are. You’re not him. I know it, I always knew it, but I didn’t want to admit it in fear that my trust in you would result in the deaths of my family. I couldn’t lose my family, again.”

Derek stepped into Stiles’ space, the distance finally nonexistent. Stiles wanted to move, to breath and to think about what the fuck was happening. Instead, he found his head lifting back, the small barely-there height difference making him appear smaller than he actually was. Derek’s natural musk of pine reached his nose and the knot in Stiles’ gut loosened.

“I just… I just want to stop fighting this.” Derek uttered softly.

“What the hell are you talking about, Derek?” He asked dumbly, frustration and confusion weakening his tone.

Everything happened so fast. One moment they were fighting, the next Derek was calling him ‘Stiles Argent’ and then he was there, right before Stiles. The last time they had been this close, Stiles had stepped between Derek and Allison, glaring and angry but now… everything felt misty.

Derek swallowed. “You kept running to me in my dream. You came when Kate took me. You came when your father was getting ready to kill me. You came when I was about to be shot in the fight. You’ve always protected me, and I am sorry I never saw that.”

With his throat burning, his eyes searing from unshed tears, Stiles blinked. Green eyes met his, hesitant and uncertain. Stiles knew he should say something. He knew he should react, push or pull, but he couldn’t find solid ground.

His mind was a messy, his heart leaping with joy only to clench with anxiety.

“Stiles…” Derek whispered his name. Was it a plea or a prompt?

I hated Stiles ARGENT.

You’re not HIM.

You came for Me.

Derek blinked and his expression shifted. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Stiles’ hands moved at the own accord, reaching up until his skin burned at the touch Derek’s jaw cradled in his palms. His fingers brushed against the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck. It was a reflex, an action done without thought.

He didn’t know what to think. Fuck, he couldn’t get his thought and emotions to make sense, but he knew he didn’t want Derek to leave. He didn’t want—

“Stop.” He finally said, finding his voice in a moment of panic. “Just – don’t move.”

Stiles bowed his head, closing his eyes for moment. His fingers twitched, his mind warning him that too much touching will scare Derek away while his body locked onto the hold, not wanting Stiles to let go, pleading and threatening him with every fucked-up emotion if Stiles listened to his head.

Something soft brushed against his forehead and Stiles exhaled shakily. The pressure increased until Stiles had something to lean against. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushed his mind to come to a stop. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached and then finally, finally, all could feel was the gentle caress of a warm breath against his hairline.

He pressed on, focusing on the prickly sensation against his palm: Derek’s stubble.

He inhaled: Pine, gunpowder, Allison’s lavender body perfume.

He swallowed. Stiles opened his eyes, his eyelashes wet from the tears he’d been forcing back. His heart slowed down graciously, his mind rebooting, processing all that just happened. He took measured breaths, until his head had the strength to lift itself up. It felt heavy and Stiles knew from past experience that the weight would soon cease, all he had to do was push on.

Looking up, he met those soft green-greys. They were so close that Stiles could see the specks of gold in them, the hint of blue. He shifted and moved to take a step back but not too far. The feeling of Derek’s heated skin anchored him to the now.

“Sorry, that was too much.” He found himself revealing.

“It’s okay.” Derek’s soft voice replied.

Stiles scoffed weakly. “It’s okay? Really?” He sounded drained even to his own ears.

“I pushed a lot of information onto you and given what you went through… It was stupid of me to shove all that onto you so soon after…” He trailed off.

“You can say it. I’m not gonna break down again.”

Derek pressed his lips together, choosing to say nothing for a while. The silence felt light with no unsaid words hanging over their heads, no emotions hidden behind cold exteriors. It was all out in the open now, just like before.

Except, the empty feeling that had once plagued Stiles’ mind and soul after Derek had cleared the air between them almost a month ago was not what Stiles felt in this moment. He felt warm and he felt light.

He felt exhausted, but not fatigued.

“I meant everything I said.”

Stiles met Derek’s eyes once again, hearing the earnest tone but no believing it to be true. “That you dreamed I’d kill you?” His brain shuffled through what have happened, latching onto this one sure fact.

Derek shook his head, his stubble rubbing against Stiles’ palms as he does so. He has yet to remove Stiles’ hands from his face and Stiles’ stomach twisted with anxiety at the thought.

“No, I meant that I was tired of fighting what I feel for you.” Derek nodded as though to reaffirm this notion to himself. “I just want to feel what I know I feel for you without having to justify it to myself.”

Stiles’ bottom lip slipped between his teeth and he bit down hard. Pain shot through his lips and he released it with a soothing lick, before asking. “You sure you want to do this, Derek?”

He needed to know. Evidence contradicted the idea that this should be happened, so he went on, adding. “I know you feel grateful for what I did. I know you feel guilty for having to put me in that position, but you don’t have to feel guilty about it. I made the choice and you don’t need—”

“I’m not saying any of this because of what you did for Malia. I am not here right now because I feel guilty that I was a fucking asshole to you when you deserved better. I am here because I am done fighting my feelings for you.”

“You don’t have feelings for me, Derek.” Stiles insisted, trying to make him see what Stiles knew.

Just as his hands made move to slip from his face, warm palms covered the back of his hands, pressing them into Derek’s jaw. Stiles swallowed, his body shifting, cautious and preparing for an escape.

“I know you don’t have any reason to believe me. I know you and I have a long way to go before we ever trust one another the way we should but, if you’d… if you’d be willing to stay and just talk with me about it, then I can prove to you what I feel is not fleeting or based on guilt.” Derek’s green eyes glimmered with hope.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Stiles voiced.

Derek’s brows twitched, his nose shifting. “I know.”

Stiles’ thoughts drifted back to Allison, and then to Derek, and what this meant for him. He had a job, he had a mission that was yet to be completed, but a part him wanted to leave it all behind. Just to have this conversation with Derek.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles said. “I can’t leave my sister, Derek. And I can’t stop until I know Gerard is taken out.”

“I know that, too.”

“Then what do you want?”

Everything was a mess. He had what he wanted right here, in this moment. He had Derek’s forgiveness. He had Derek’s…

“You leave tomorrow? So let’s talk until tomorrow.”

Derek hand’s left his and mirrored Stiles hold on him. The heat of his palms sunk into Stiles’ flesh, soothingly and gentle. He wanted to close his eyes at the touch but forced himself not.

“And then after?” He dared to ask.

The pad of Derek’s thumb stroked his cheek. “We’ll deal with the ‘after’ tomorrow.” It was a stupid idea. It was insane, really. “I just want to stop fighting. Can we do that?”

The words left his lips before he could stop himself. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that.” He nodded to Derek, feeling the love and happiness he’d forced into the depth of his mind resurfacing, slowly breaking free from the chains which imprisoned it, reaching for the surface that was his heart.

At his confirmation, a huff escaped Derek’s parted lips, a breath of laugh that left its imprint on Stiles’ lip which reflected the smiling growing on Derek’s. He stepped forward, boldly, his left hand running from Derek’s jaw to the nape of his neck. A firm chest pressed against his and Stiles closed his eyes, dropping his arm to slip it around Derek’s waist, drawing him in for an embrace he’d never thought he’d ever get the fortune of experiencing again.

A strong arm wrapped around him, and the other hand remained pressed against his cheek, holding him close. Soft strands of hair slipped through his fingers and Stiles clutched the ends, inhaling Derek’s pine scent, closing his eyes.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted to voice his deepest darkest secret, but he didn’t.

Instead, he held on for as long as he could.

*

The mattress felt soft under his body. Having spent weeks sleeping on a hard floor, with nothing but his sleeping bag as a cushion his body practically purred from the marshmallow mattress beneath him. Stiles made a mental note to apologize to his sister for forcing her to sleep here instead of at a motel.

His eyes flickered up to the open windows, brown orbs tracing the large silver moon high above the sky, with the stars as its only companion. Stiles could relate to that. The night was a cold and lonely time; and often the company of family and friends, namely his sister and later Dean and Sam, weren’t always enough to chase away the emptiness in his chest.

Now he knew why. That hole was a space someone specific had left. He could never get his mom back and the emptiness within his heart would forever be there for as long as he lived but he got someone else back.

He had Derek back. At least for a little while.

“You’re quiet, again.”

Stiles’ eyes left the moon and dropped to the face before him. His green eyes were hooded from exhaustion and his hair a mess from all the tossing and turning. The fingers laced with his squeezed and Stiles returned the pressure, shifting their hands, lifting it so it hovered over and between them.

He traced the contrasting complexions with his eyes. Where his hands were pale and veiny, Derek’s held a natural tan and was much hairier than Stiles.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“Tomorrow.”

Their voices were soft, barely above a whisper, both exhausted from their talk. They spend hours talking, having migrated to the couch first to talk about what Derek’s dream really meant, what Malia and Lydia had been telling him.

They shared watered-down beer, the last two from Stiles and Allison’s stash as they spoke about Kate and his dad. They didn’t go into much detail, only brushing the surface before Stiles asked if they could talk about something else.

Derek spoke about his mom. He talked about Laura and why he felt so guilty about his feelings for Stiles (They had confirmed that there were indeed feelings, neither of them brave enough, nor stupid enough to drop the L-word).

Stiles confessed to knowing he deserved Derek’s hatred, to Derek apologizing for making Stiles feel like shit. They went back and forth on that for a good whole hour, ending with Stiles exclaiming that Derek had every right to hate him and they were not going to brush that shit under the rug now that they were on speaking terms. Derek had agreed, acknowledging the dangers of that.

So, they left it for now.

Allison had sent a text just as the sun was about to set, needing confirmation that he was okay. After a three-minute call, his sister decided she’d be staying at the Hale’s for the night to give Derek and Stiles “more time”.

A thumb ran across his knuckles, pulling Stiles back to the present.

“We still got time.” Derek comforted him.

Stiles couldn’t help but scoff. “Time is never on our side, Derek.” He said with resentment. “I hate that we’re finally -- whatever we are, and I have to leave again.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “At least this time around, it’s not with you telling me to rot in hell.”

Regret flashed across Derek’s feature and before Derek could even think of apologizing, Stiles cut him off with a shake of the head. “It’s a joke.”

“It’s not very funny.”

“I’m tired as fuck, lay off me.” Stiles grumbled, earning a small laugh from Derek.

Their hands moved and Stiles watched with soft eyes as Derek pulled joined hands toward his face, turning it as so to press his lips against Stiles’ still healing knuckles. Something warmth twisted within Stiles’ at the touch of Derek’s lips against his skin. He had held off any forms of intimacy, limiting their expression of affection to hand holding and the occasional arm around the shoulder. Derek’s hand often drifted over Stiles’ anti-possession tattoo, fingers tracing the sun’s patter.

He didn’t want to start something in fear that’d have to eventually stop or that he wouldn’t be able to stop. His tongue ran across his bottom lips unknowingly, and Derek’s eyes flashed down, tracking the act with heated eyes. Stiles stopped, pressing his lips together in hopes that it would stave off anything they’d later regret.

But would they?

Derek’s eyes lifted once again, and Stiles felt his heart stutter and his insides flutter nervously. In a need to distract himself from any dangerous thoughts, Stiles found himself counting all the color in Derek’s eyes. Every blinked seemed to reveal more, although Stiles suspected his feelings for Derek might be affecting his opinion.

His bed companion didn’t seem to mind the attention, seeming to find it comforting given he sighed every so often, his nostril flaring whenever he did. Stiles shifted his legs, and his socked foot rubbed against Derek’s calf. Derek moved his legs willingly, and soon their legs were tangled together.

“I’m scared to close my eyes.” Stiles found himself whispering into the night, exhaustion lowering his walls.

Derek’s thick brows twitched into a resemblance of his patented frown. “Why?”

Stiles’ bit down on his cheek, cautious. He didn’t know what he felt comfortable sharing with Derek yet, having grown used to holding all his cards close to his chest when it came to the Alpha. He wanted to share more with Derek, but the fear of vulnerability staved off those urges.

Fingers squeezed his hand and Stiles closed off his mind, forcing the next words out. “I keep thinking this is some dream and I am gonna wake up and feel that—” He stopped, lips pressing together. Inhaling slowly, Stiles looked down at their intertwined hands, before continuing, “Feel that emptiness again.”

Silence greeted him, but Stiles refused to meet Derek’s eyes.

Instead he played with Derek’s fingers, loosening his grip, spreading his fingers and watching as Derek repeated the action after a beat. Stiles turned his hand over, his palm touching the back of Derek’s hand before he laced their fingers together once more.

“Would it help it I proved this wasn’t a dream?”

Scoffing, Stiles looked up, amusement lighting his eyes as he leaned back into the pillow to get a better look at Derek. “How would you do that, exactly?”

Derek paused, regarding him with those intense green-grey orbs as he said, “I could kiss you.”

Stiles’ fingers flexed, hand tightening its hold on Derek’s. His entire body soon followed, his insides tensing at the thought. Swallowing thickly, Stiles felt his heartbeat pickup speed until it was hammering against his chest. All the while, Derek appeared the picture of composed, save for the nervous shift in his expression.

“Derek…” Stiles started to say, only to trail off with the shake of the head. He was scared. He didn’t want to push things, start something that would ruin this perfect harmony they had found themselves in.

Derek seemed to have read his thoughts and shifted an inch closer, his fingers loosening its hold on Stiles’ hand, letting it go in favor of moving it to cup Stiles’ right cheek, thumb caressing the flushed skin. Stiles’ froze, his eyes fixed on Derek.

“Just a kiss. Nothing more.” Derek reassured him.

“Says who? You don’t know how great of a kisser I am, Hale.” Stiles quipped sarcastically, his mind needing to ease the tension within his body.

“I do.” Derek shot back. “I was there that night too, remember?”

“I’ve improved.”

“So have I.”

Jealously slithered into his heart, wrapping around the nervousness that encased it, feeding off it like a little green parasite. Stiles pressed his lips together and told himself to fuck off. Now was not the time to get jealous over stupid shit.

His body, exhausted from today, attempted to fight back against his emotions but Stiles found he had barely enough energy to get his reactions under control much less his emotions. So, he reached over, trying to appear as confident and in control as can possibly be, grasping the material of Derek’s Henley. He hesitated for moment, eyes flickering back and forth, trying to get a read on Derek.

He saw how nervous the other man was. He felt it in the way his fingertips added a touch more pressure as it pressed into Stiles’ jaw, tugging just a bit to draw in him. With a lick of the lips, Stiles lifted his head off the pillow and leaned over, eyes never leaving Derek’s, watching and waiting for any sign that he should stop. When the hot breath of Derek’s exhalation touched his lips, Stiles paused.

Derek looked down at his lips and after a beat, lifted his head from the pillow to bridge the distance between them. Stiles’ breath hitched as their parted lips touched and folded together, lingering as the warmth from Derek’s mouth shot through Stiles’ body, leaving an echoing tingling in its wake. Stiles held the touch for an eternal moment, and together they drew away, their lips dragging over the other’s, ending the kiss with a soft pop. Stiles exhaled; his eyes remaining close as he branded this moment into his memory.

A pressure rested against his forehead, the hand on his jaw tightening a bit before Derek leaned back, pulling Stiles down with him. Stiles moved and shifted his arm, lifting it so it landed beside Derek’s head, his fingers curling into a fist.

Derek’s chest expanded as he inhaled, and Stiles felt it move against his when the wolf let go of his breath. The tips of their noses brushed, and Stiles shifted involuntarily, forehead moving with Derek’s until their lips found one another once more, opening for a kiss they both wanted and longed for. Stiles sighed, lowering himself down just a bit onto Derek’s chest, kissing him as slowly and gentle as he could. He tilted his head to get a better angle, his body singing, recalling the pleasantness of kissing Derek. Stiles kept his tongue in his mouth, not wanting this to move further than it already has.

He just wanted to feel Derek, be close to Derek in a way he hadn’t been before, in a manner he didn’t think he’d get to experience. Teeth grazed his bottom lip teasingly, and Stiles grasped the tuft of Derek’s hair, fingers gripping onto a few strands. A heavy hand landed on the small of his back, fingers dancing over the dip of his spine and Stiles forced himself not to buck down.

He exchanged a few more kisses with Derek, switching between gentle presses and soft suctions of his bottom and top lip, loving the prickly sensation of Derek’s stubble on his chin. With one last lingering kiss, Derek tightened his hold on Stiles’ jaw and Stiles got the message. He leaned back, brushing his lips against Derek as if to say good-bye before stopping all together.

He blinked and opened his eyes, waiting as he panted softly for the wolf beneath him to open his own eyes so that Stiles can see what was going on in that head of his. Dark lashes fluttered and eyelids lifted, revealing soft glimmering grey-green orbs. The moonlight from the open window above shone down on Derek, making his eyes appear luminescent.

His heart skipped a beat and the corner of Derek’s lips tucked up.

“Ignore that.” Stiles said, his voice nothing above a whisper.

“Okay.” Derek replied, humoring him.

Stiles scoffed, trying to appear annoyed but the small smile growing on his lips made it impossible. He bit down on his bottom lip, hoping to hide the smile but Derek’s eyes dropped and a smile of his own stretched his mouth.

Neither of them said anything after the kiss and Stiles found that he was okay with that. There wasn’t really anything that could be said, and often words weren’t necessary for communication. He shifted off Derek, and dropped down, returning to his side of the bed, only this time there was barely any space left between Derek and himself. He sighed and closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth that has blanketing his entire being; his mind, body and soul. His lips were warm and tingly, and a smile continued to dance across his face as though his lips couldn’t help but express its joy over the kiss.

Derek rolled onto his side, his arm slipping around Stiles’ waist. Lips pressed against his hairline and Derek inhaled. A distance part of his mind perked up, wondering if Derek was smelling him but Stiles shushed that part. He reached up without thinking, his head shifting a bit to get more comfortable as Stiles cupped Derek’s jaw, thumb moving back and forth over stubble skin soothingly.

“Go to sleep, Stiles.” Derek whispered to him.

“No.” Stiles forced his eyes open, triumphant for two blinks before they dropped down heavily. “Fuck… okay…”

He got a light chuckle, feeling rather than hearing the act in Derek’s rumbling chest. He tried with all his might to fight against the sleep, but soon exhaustion won over and Stiles slipped into darkness, fingers pressing into Derek’s jaw fearfully, wanting to hold on and never let go.

He fell asleep.

*

When he came to, it was to his alarm loudly playing the beginning intro to Back in Black. He groaned, his head aching at the annoying sound and Stiles send a silent ‘fuck you’ to his past self who decided to make that his alarm after watching Iron Man. (He sent a silent thank you to RDJ, though).

It was as he shifted, that his surrounding became clear. His mind latched onto the heat radiating against his chest, to the soft fabric that was so not his pillow rubbing against his cheek. His fingers flexed and Stiles grasped onto something firm and warm.

And then he remembered, and his eyes snapped open, head lifting so fast he experienced a dizzy spell. Looking down at the man beneath, he eyed Derek’s back as the werewolf was sprawled out on his stomach, head pillowed by his arm while Stiles had somehow found a way to half drape himself over the wolf.

“You gonna put that off?”

Stiles jerked back at the sound of the gruff, deep sleepy over. The words registered a moment later as Angus Young’s voice screamed and echoed around the silent loft. “Fuck, fuck, sorry.”

Stumbling, Stiles scrambled off the bed and rushed over to his phone, pulling it out from where it was stashed in his jacket. He blinked and swiped across the screen, his headache easing when silence greeted him in comfort. Sighing, Stiles unlocked his phone to check the time only to see three missed calls from Dean and two texts from Allison.

Opening the texts, he read through the messages.

 11:00 PM [ALLY]: Let me know when its safe to return.

07: 00 am [ALLY]:  You doing okay?

Hurriedly, Stiles shot a text back.

09:00 am: Hey. Gimme 30. I’m okay. Luv u.

He opened a text for Dean and typed:

09:00 am: We’re okay. Tying up some loose ends. Call Allison.

“Everything okay?”

Stiles turned, his eyes moving until they fell on Derek who he sat on the edge of his bed, hair ruffled from sleep and shirt all wrinkled. His sock covered feet were crossed at the ankles, heels resting on the ground.

“Uh, yeah. I was just texting Allison. Letting her know when to come back.”

Derek’s hands rubbed against one another. “When did you say?”

Stiles looked at Derek, brown eyes soft and regretful. “30 minutes. We have to hit the road as soon as we can. Bobby said we needed to be there by a day, or the lead will be cold.”

Derek frowned. “Bobby?”

Shifting, Stiles rubbed a hand over his hair, tugging at the strands, making it stand up wilder than before. Dropping the phone on the top of his duffel back, Stiles slowly made his way back to Derek saying, “Bobby’s kind of like Google for hunters. You need any information on lore and he’s your guy. He’s like the father figure everyone needs, I guess. Or least that’s how Sam puts it.”

He was rambling. He wanted to say more but he didn’t know what to touch on first, and he didn’t want silence to fall over them, making things stilted and awkward. Doubt had a way of rearing its ugly head during times of awkwardness for Stiles.

Or well, during anytime for Stiles, really.

He came to a stop a good distance away from Derek, unsure what was appropriate or what would be welcomed in that moment.

Catching his hesitation, Derek huffed and held out a hand, fingers reaching. “C’mere.”

Stiles paused in consideration, looking at the hand before he reached over to take it, curling his fingers to tighten his hold, easily moving toward Derek. His body gave nothing away, save for the slight hesitation. He waited for Derek’s lead, and a small parted himself hated it, yet another understood. It was an internal conflict, one Stiles have yet to resolve.

Once close enough, Derek brought Stiles’ hand to his lips, and dropped a kiss on his bruised knuckles. Stiles gave him a broken smile, feeling the sadness in the gentle act. As Derek lifted his hand to grasp Stiles’ hip, Stiles caught the hint and took another step forward, holding his breath as Derek leaned in, head dropped against Stiles’ abdomen. Unable to help himself and needing to do something, Stiles left his free hand and threaded his fingers through Derek’s jet-black strands.

Risking it, he leaned down, spine straining at the action, to press a kiss on the top of Derek’s head in comfort.

The other man exhaled shakily, fingers digging into the meat at Stiles’ hip.

Stiles said nothing, not wanting to fill the silent with nonsense or open his mouth and say the wrong thing. His fingers moved absentmindedly, nails scratching soothingly against Derek’s sculp. The wolf lifted his head to bury his face in Stiles’ torso, hot breath seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt, leaving his skin feeling warm for a nanosecond before a chilling coolness replaced it.

Time passes and neither of them said anything for a while.

It was Derek who broke the silence.

“Will you ever return?”

Stiles' heart cracked. “I don’t know, Derek.”

The face buried in his shirt lifted, green-grey eyes ascending to stare up at him. Stiles saw the conflict waging on within Derek and he moved to cup his face, thumb brushing back and forth against his cheek. He felt Derek’s jaw flex against his palm.

“Will you try?”

Stiles exhaled sharply, the question punching him in the gut. He swallowed back his emotions. “You want me too?” He asked warily.

Derek frowned, his eyes dancing to and fro as though following an invisible train of thought. Stiles gave him the time to think it through, heart hardening for an answer he was seventy percent sure would wreck him.

“I don’t know what’s going to happened. All I know is that since you left and my mom and Laura were killed, I haven’t felt any peace. My wolf… I can’t explain it because it is not just my wolf but its mostly my wolf but also me…” Derek shook his head, frustration tightening his features. “All I know is you being here, right here with me, it’s how it ought to be. I don’t know how. I don’t know why, but I just--- I know I want you here.” He looked up at Stiles, Adam’s apple lifting and dropping as he swallowed thickly. “So, yeah, Stiles. I want you here. I want you to come back.”

Stiles blinked back a storm of emotions that threatened to break-free in the form of a liquid flood. He moved, leaning down without thought and Derek willingly tipped his head back further, meeting Stiles for a soft, comforting kiss.

Stiles’ brows knitted together in pain and he hardened the kiss for a moment, brushing his tongue daringly against Derek’s lips. The wolf opened his mouth, and Stiles slipped his tongue in, a groan vibrating deep in his throat at the warmth. They hadn’t been sleeping for long, so their morning breath wasn’t that bad, but Stiles knew he couldn’t have given two fucks either way. After a few tentative licks and purposeful strokes, Stiles withdrew, dropping three lingering pecks on Derek’s lips before straightening up.

“I’ll try my best.” He promised.

Derek gave him a weak smile, nodding. Looking away, he turned his head toward the bed, eyes lifting to meet Stiles’ a second later. “Can we lay here for a bit?”

A moment later both Stiles and Derek were wrapped around each other, hands stroking and lips meeting only twice. Stiles closed his eyes, counting the minutes and memorizing every passing second.

He wanted to remember this day. He wanted to remember last night.

In a few minutes, he would be gone. Leaving Derek behind once more.

Only this time he’d be leaving his heart in Derek’s hands with the knowledge that’d given up something invaluable.

He had a job to do.

He knew he had no other choice in the matter, but a small selfish part deep within himself hated him for not giving in to this desire.

To do something brave for himself for once in his life.

Whenever he heard that little voice in his head telling him to forget the job, Stiles tightened his hold on Derek.

*

The duffle bag felt heavier than ever, weighing him down as Stiles made his way to the blue Camaro parked outside. The other members of the Hale Pack had returned with Allison to say their goodbye No one said anything about Stiles or Derek and Allison acted as though nothing was amiss, giving Stiles his moment.

Scott, who’d been helping them for some reason, handed over the last of their duffel bags, stepping back as Stiles made room for it in the back of the car. As the metal of the Camaro burned against his palms, Stiles slammed the trunk shut and locked it.

“You ever gonna come back?” A sweet voice asked, and Stiles turned, eyes brows lifting in shock to see Erica standing beside Scott, her face composed save for the glimmer of sadness in her big brown eyes.

“Why? You gonna miss me?” Stiles shot back, smirking.

The act felt forced, and it took more energy than he’d thought to hold the expression.

“You’re not so bad.” She said flippantly, shrugging her shoulders. Her eyes flickered to the right for a fleeting moment before they snapped back to Stiles. “I know I won’t be only one to hate it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, his smirk turning a touch genuine. A hand dropped on his shoulder and he looked to his left, meeting Scott’s crooked smile. “She’s not lying.”

From the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of his sister and turned in time to see her say something to Isaac that had him flustered for a moment as he gave her a nervous nod. Eyes narrowed, he took in Isaac and Allison, assessing the space between them, the way she dropped a hand on his forearm, the way the touch lasted for a moment, but a moment too look in Stiles’ totally honest and completely unbiased opinion. There was a snort beside which he actively chose to ignore as Isaac’s attention shifted off his sister and onto Stiles who hardened his glare.

The blond’s blue eyes widened, and Allison caught to action immediately, turning to see what had caused it only to roll her eyes when she saw the look Stiles was giving the werewolf. She said something to Isaac and humor replaced the mildly terrified look on Isaac’s face.

“What did she say?” Stiles asked the two wolfs beside him.

Erica snorted and Scott chuckled, saying, “Something about you having no place to say anything and that you were – a uh, hypocrite.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at his sister, “She didn’t say hypocrite, did she?”

“She meant to.” Scott supplied.

Boots crunched against the gravel of the ground and they turned to see Lydia and Malia making their way toward them, apple green eyes fixed on Stiles before they slid over to Allison and Isaac. Stiles turned, uncertain, to see Isaac drawing his sister’s attention toward them, pointing to the gathering group. Boyd appeared a moment later, coming up to stand behind Erica, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“The pack made you something.”

Allison made her way over to Stiles’ left and the twins shared a look of caution. Simultaneously, they turned and crossed their arms over their chest, staring at Lydia, waiting for her.

“No, please. Contain the excitement.” Erica shot at them dryly, her lips tucking up into a teasing grin.

“Well, to be fair they have the right to be suspicious.” Scott defended them.

“Against what? We have literally nothing more to fight about.” Isaac commented helpfully, eyes daring Scott to find something. Malia pressed her lips together in annoyance.

“Guys!” Lydia sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Now is not the time.” She gave them both a stern look and Stiles felt his lips naturally lift into a soft grin when the two wolves pressed their lips together, looking positively reprimanded. Once she was sure no one would interrupt her, the banshee turned, lifting a fisted hand and rotated it before opening her hand, revealing two leather cords.

Allison inched forward; her eyes fixed on the two charms attached to each cord. Both necklaces had a pair of matching small silver howling wolf’s, with one sharing the cord with a small arrow and the other a gun. Something pricked against his eyes and Stiles swallowed, feeling the lump forming in his throat.

“We were hoping you two could wear this, to know that you always have a place with us.” Lydia told them gently, her sweet voice hesitant and vulnerable.

Isaac moved, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. He shifted around and pulled Malia against his other side. Baby blues met dark brown eyes respectively, punctuating the gaze with an encouraging grin.

“We just figured this way you’ll remember you have a pack of supernatural’s if you ever need backup in your fight with Gerard.” Isaac offered kindly, his eyes flashing to reveal genuine concern. Malia shuffled closer.

Gingerly, Stiles lifted a hand and plucked his necklace from Lydia’s hand, ducking his head as he slipped it over, eyes dropping as he watched the two charms clink and bump against one another before coming to rest against his chest. Allison’s arm brushed against his as she moved to tug her hair out from under the chord, and Stiles watched with light emotional eyes as a dimpled grin spread across his sister’s face.

“Thank you, guys.” She looked at Lydia first, expressing with her eyes and smile what inadequate words could not.

“Can we hug you?” Scott asked, puppy eyes earnest and eager.

At the twins’ nod, the group moved without hesitation, Stiles felt Lydia and Erica’s arms wrap around him and his heart shuttered, overloaded by the explosion of emotions their embrace ignited. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing their hugs to remedy a small self-loathing part himself, the part who’d always tormented him, who always reminded him of his mistake with them.

When he opened his eyes, they gravitated to the lone figure standing a good distance away from them all. His grey-green eyes bore into Stiles, and the hunter saw the longing, regret and sadness swimming in those orbs, knowing his revealed the same. They had said their goodbye in the sanctuary of the loft, holding onto one another until Derek heard Allison pull up outside the loft.

Stiles didn’t say the words that sat heavy on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he moved to press a lingering kiss against Derek rough cheek. They broke apart and got to working on packing what little stuff Stiles still had lying around. Allison and the pack joined not a moment later and everyone else turned a blind eye on Stiles and Derek as the two actively avoided eye contact.

Lips tugged into a weak smile and Stiles returned it, winking for good measure.

The action felt empty.

Sniffing, the two women move away, giving Stiles variations of emotional smiles before stepping back. Stiles had a moment to gather his wits before three body’s gathered around him. Stiles gave Isaac and Boyd a bro-hug, leaving the embrace with heavy pats on the back just as Scott stepped forward, and slide past Stiles’ outstretched hand, wrapping both his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. His arms touched empty air for a moment, awkwardly sprawled out before him until his mind registered the hug and his body reacted accordingly. Huffing out a weak laugh, Stiles patted Scott’s back, body tensing just bit, waiting for the hug to end.

“Scott.” Malia said behind him and the werewolf equivalent of a toy poodle pulled back, clearly his throat.

“Sorry.” A puppy grin met him.

Stiles smirked flirtingly, “Do I look like I was complaining?”

“God, Stiles, just don’t.” His sister groaned next to him. It was said as divergent, and everyone jumped on it. Stiles grinned at Allison as the Hale Pack, minus their Alpha moved around the car.

The light mood fell as a gloomy presence made itself known once again as Stiles and Allison turned, their brown eyes locking on Derek as he stepped forward, eyes fixed on Allison.

“You’re not going to hug me, are you?” Allison asked teasingly with a hint of seriousness.

Derek scoffed. “Not a chance.” He gave Allison a small smile, barely flashing those pearly whites. “I just wanted to thank you, again. Both of you.” Green-grey eyes momentarily locked with his and a beat later they returned to his sister. “You guys have our number, and I hope you know you can all us for help, any time. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”

Allison’s once humorous expression morphed into the professional hunter they’d all come to know her as. She nodded firmly to Derek, “Same goes with you guys. We’ll always be there to help.”

Stiles caught Lydia and Scott’s expression and gave them both a comforting, reassuring nod.

Reaching out hand, Allison offered it to Derek who grasped it firmly. The pair pumped it their joined hands twice, before dropping it.

His sister turned to him then, her brown eyes regretful as she said. “Time to go.”

A sour taste filled his mouth and a painful stab gutted his heart. Stiles nodded, turned to Derek, giving him a final smile that the wolf attempted to return as warmly and joyously as he could. The desire to surge forward, to close the space between himself and Derek filled him, but Stiles fought the urge.

They had said their goodbye. It was perfect and bitter-sweet, but it was theirs. Derek, as though reading his mind gave Stiles a soft smile and nodded.

Inhaling, Stiles cataloged everything about Derek, sorting everything into a tiny box which held every moment they’d ever shared, the good and the bad. Stiles turned to the Hale Pack where they stood with their arms wrapped around one another.

They were a family, and with the Argent’s no longer there to destroy the happiness they’d build for themselves, Stiles hoped nothing came along that would take this away from them.

He heard the car door open and took that as a sign, lifting a hand to wave as he turned and walked the short distance to the passenger side door. Sliding in, he closed the door without thought, feeling his expression harden and form into something resembling composure.

The Camaro rumbled to life, and Stiles rolled the window down. The Hale Pack all waved their hands while their Alpha stood back, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

Allison shifted the gear and slowly drove away, hooting as she did so. Stiles lifted a hand in good-bye, forcing his eyes to remain locked on the pack and not Derek. His heart clenched and squeezed as though angry at Stiles for taking that away from it.

As he dropped his hand, elbow coming to rest on the door, Allison picked up speed. Stiles allowed his eyes to gravitate to the side mirror, his mask shattering as Derek tall stature grew smaller and smaller, his features being indiscernible in the distance. Malia appeared by her cousin’s side, silently offering her comfort and support.

Pausing, Allison pretended to look left and right and then, after one lingering moment, she turned, and the sight vanished all together.

The wind whipped against his face, cooling the burning emotions and Stiles wordless reached out to turn on the music.

The first song that came on was Eminem’s Venom, and Allison slapped his hand away before he could change it. Turning it up, Stiles leaned back against the leather seat, closing his eyes, trying to gather himself and compartmentalizing as best he could. He forced himself to find some comfort in the fact that he did what he came to.

He saved Derek.

That was all that matter.

The song ended and another came on.

This time it was Fall Out Boy, (one of Stiles’ childhood favorite).

When Immortals came to end, Allison’s voice broke the silence.

“You sure about this?”

Stiles’ kept his eyes fixed on the blurred images of trees as they raced bay.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Just drive.”

*

They stopped a motel and Stiles stumbled out of the car; his mind still hazy from having passed out once they’d raced passed the Beacon Hills sign.

The sun was sinking as it said goodnight to world for the day, taking its warmth with it. Allison got to working on taking their bags out of the trunk while Stiles left to get the room keys. He repeated the routine of ordering the room, insisting he wanted two beds and then paying with cash.

Soon, they were inside, with the door slamming shut being them as they dropped their bags in the foot of their beds.

“Want to shower?” Allison asked as she wondered around, lining up the windows and doors with salt.

Stiles dropped down on the edge of the lumpy bed; his body still exhausted as though he hadn’t just slept for a fucking hour. Lowering his heavy head in waiting palms, Stiles sunk his fingers into his hair, gripping onto the ends almost painfully. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth in hopes that it would dull the throbbing pain in his chest.

“Stiles?” The mattress sunk in beside him and an arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Stiles, look at me.”

He didn’t. Instead he closed his eyes, squeezing them shut just as the the tears slowly began pooling behind his lids. He clenched his jaw and continued to breathe, counting his breaths as he did so.

The hand on his shoulder rubbed up and down and Stiles shifted forward, putting his elbows on his knees as his head started getting heavier.

“Stiles.” He heard Allison say. “Do you want to go back?”

His neck ached from the whiplash as his head snapped up. “What?” His voice was rough, and Stiles blinked and looked through the tears.

“If you could, would you go back?”

The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them. “No, I won’t. I can’t. I have to - we have to find Gerard. That’s our job, I can’t just---”

“And if the job wasn’t there?” She cut him off, gently.

“But it is.” He snapped, angry at her for even talking about this. “We can’t always get what we want. I am not - I am not going to leave you. And I can’t stay there and be with him or try to be with him. I can’t do that, I won’t.”

Allison swallowed, her eyebrows drawing together in a soft ‘Oh, Stiles’ kind of way. He bit back the burning words that threatened to come out and instead opted to glare at her.

“I know you love me, Stiles. I know you’d always have my back. But,” She looked at him as though imploring him to understand. “I also know that you love him. That you miss him, even though you barely had time with him, time that you and he both deserve to figure this whole thing out.”

“Allison, don’t…” He shook his head, trailing off yet silently begging her to not continue.

But she did.

“I called Dean.”

Shock struck his expression. “You what? Why?”

Her feature smoothed and the hand on his shoulder moved to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through the strands while she stroked his sculp in comfort. “So, he can come pick me up in case something I knew to be true was confirmed.”

“Knew to be true, really?” Stiles mocked her, his throat closing up, causing him to have to force out the last word.

His sister shot him a look. “Yes, knew to be true. Fuck you, I can be sophisticated.”

She said, as she cursed vulgarly.

Before he could voice his remark, Allison continued. “I called Dean. I told him to meet me on the off chance I might need backup in Wisconsin.”

Stiles inhaled. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because had you known, you could have tried to hide your true feelings. You would have smirked and flirted your way through every hunt until we found Gerard. I needed to know that I was doing the right thing, and I am.”

Stiles shifted then, moving to stand up. He took a couple of steps away from Allison. “The right thing, huh? And what, dear sister, is the right fucking thing? I thought I was doing the right thing. You saying I’m not?” His voice raised with each question he flung his sister’s way.

She remained seated, calmly meeting his anger. “You are doing the right thing. But for once, I want you to do the right thing for you. And I know you aren’t going to do it, so I am doing it for you.” She looked up at him. “Please, Stiles. Just take a few days, a week if you have to. Go back to Derek, talk or fuck or do whatever you have to do to figure out this thing between you two.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”

“And you’re not. I am going on a solo hunt, with Dean and Sam as backup. I’ll be fine, you know I will be.” She pushed herself off the bed, moving over to him slowly. “Take the time, Stiles. Please.”

He heard the small tremor in her voice, saw the storming emotions she was so desperately trying to keep under control. Without a word, Stiles closed the distance between them and gathered his sister in his arms. She wrapped hers around him, nails digging into his shoulder blades as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

“Why are you so insistent on this?” He whispered.

Allison sniffed. “Because you’re my brother, my twin, and I love you. You’re always taking care of everyone else but yourself. I just want you to take care of yourself.” Her voice broke at the end and Stiles tightened his hold on her.

He held her in his arms for a while, not knowing what else to say. His heart still yearned for Derek, only now it was roaring with the hope that this might not be the end for them. His heart ached for his sister, at the idea of leaving her to go back to Beacon Hills, to willingly walk away from her.

“Please, Stiles?”

He clenched his jaw, turned and buried his face in her curls.

He exhaled.

*

The car came to rambling stop and Stiles turned, brown eyes seeking out his sister’s. Dark chocolate orbs met his, and a dimpled smiled followed. She reached out, and Stiles fell forward, wrapping his arm around her as tightly as he could. She laughed, letting out a little groan of pain.

“Too hard, Stiles.”

But she didn’t move to break the embrace.

He took his time, letting the warmth and love he felt for his sister and she him, to encompass him in that moment. He missed her already and she wasn’t event gone. A big part of him was yelling to him not to this, reminding him of Gerard and what the bastard was capable of. It was screaming at Stiles, accusing him of being a selfish fucker who was letting his sister walk into a trap, alone.

His sister shifted and she leaned back a little. “Stiles.”

Stiles moved to look at her only to see her attention was not on him. Turning, he followed her gaze and this sights fell on the tall, dark figure standing at the entrance of the loft. Stiles hadn’t thought he’d be here, was hoping to maybe gather his wits before calling Derek to tell him he’d decided to stay after all.

Instead, that plan was shot to hell by the gaping man standing in shock outside the car.

“Go get him.”

Stiles inhaled nervously. He stared at Derek, knowing the werewolf could hear him. He turned to Allison. “Help me with the bags?”

A teasing grin grew on her lips, but she nonetheless nodded and together they stepped out of the car. Stiles looked at Derek for a brief moment, unsure for new reasons as his heart hammered on to its own beat in his chest. All those years of training to be in control of himself was blown away by how inconceivable this entire moment was.

The trunk opened and Allison and Stiles each pulled out a bag, one with his clothes and the other with his weapons. They lowered it onto the ground and Stiles watched and waited as Allison locked the trunk.

The moment she was no longer distracted, he gathered her up once more in a bone-crushing hug, closing his eyes. “Thank you.” He whispered to her.

She sighed happily and tightened her arms around him, returning the embrace just as fiercely. “Do want you gotta go. I’ll be back within a week.”

He nodded. “Text me when you get the motel and have Dean text me when he gets there.”

Allison nodded against his shoulder.

Neither moved, both of them holding onto one another for a little longer. Then, Allison shifted, and Stiles reluctantly forced his arms to loosen and himself to pull away. His sister reached up and cupped his face in her hands affectionately, leaning forward to drop a kiss on his forehead. She had to lower his head and push up on her toes to reach his forward, but Stiles happily kept his head bowed.

Stiles felt the coldness envelope him the second she stepped away. He felt in within him, a shiver inducing chill running its icy talons down his spine before spreading all over the farther she got. Stopping just outside the car door, she turned and looked over the roof to Derek, who had yet to move.

“Take care of him.” She said and threatened all in one gentle tone. Stiles didn’t hear Derek, nor did he see his respond, he simply kept his eyes on his sister, watching as she smiled at the werewolf for a second before turning to him.

Her eyes were encouraging and her smile reassuring. With a final nod, she opened the door to their car and slide in.

Once again, Stiles watched as the Camaro drove away from the loft, only this time he was standing on the outside, with his sister’s face and eyes locked on him in the review mirror. He watched as the blue car cruised away from him, the red light flashing as though a beacon for him to follow if need be.

His feet remained rooted in place, his eyes fixed on the car as it winked a red eye before turning and vanishing from sight. Silence greeted him, the sound louder than anything he’d ever heard.

With his heart as his only companion in this new and quiet world, Stiles exhaled anxiously, taking in a deep cool breath which filled and chilled his lungs. Gathering the strength in that one inhalation, Stiles turned, only to find Derek standing much, much closer than before.

“Hey.” His brain stupidly supplied.

Derek’s dark thick eyebrows shifted at the sound of his voice, his mouth opening to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, he responded. “Hi.”

Cautiously, Stiles took a daring step closer. “I, uh, Allison worked out something with Sam and Dean, made it so I had one more week here.” He took another step closer. “If, if you still want that.”

Derek blinked; his expression frozen in astonishment.

Stiles pushed on. “Look, I know it’s a surprise. I didn’t think I’d could— this wasn’t the plan. And if you need time, but like I said, I’m here a week so take all the time—"

Large warm hands grabbed his face, and Derek drew him in, pausing a moment to see Stiles approval before pressing his lips against Stiles’. Stiles sighed, tasting the peppermint flavour of whatever Derek had been eating. His hands moved at their own accord, grabbing onto the soft hoodie shrouding Derek’s form, arm curling around his back to draw in closer. His body sunk into the warmth as Derek stepped closer, chest against chest. A tongue ran over his bottom lip and Stiles, tilting his head to the side, allowed him in. Their tongues met and Stiles’ fingertips dug into Derek’s side at the sensation that erupted throughout his entire body. His knees went weak, his head felt light, his chest hummed with love and his mind was finally silent.

Drawing back, Derek dropped random kisses on Stiles’ cheek, moving down to his jaw, under his jawline to his neck before burrowing into the curve where he remained as he wrapped Stiles up in his arms.

Ducking his head, Stiles pressed his forehead into Derek’s shoulder, turning just a bit to curl further into him.

“That an okay?” He whispered into Derek’s skin.

There was huff, and Derek nodded. “More than an okay.”

Stiles smiled, his cheek burning with tenderness and joy. He felt his happiness seep into his very bones and couldn’t help but curl more into the Derek. They stood there for a while, holding each other, breathing in the moment. Derek kept rubbing his face into Stiles’ neck and Stiles’ hand had wormed itself way under Derek’s hood, pressing, with finger spread, over the heated surface of his back.

“You want to go in?” Derek asked after a while.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I could use some sleep.”

They broke apart and moved for Stiles’ bags with Stiles hurriedly snatching the ones contained his guns. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, he walked a little behind Derek, letting the werewolf lead the way.

“Me too. I didn’t think I was going to sleep tonight.” There was a noticeable pause. “Didn’t plan to sleep either.”

“Same.”

Derek looked over his shoulder and Stiles gave him a sad smile. They reached the old elevator and together they stepped inside. Derek pressed the button of his floor and Stiles stood beside him, too scared to lean against the walls of the elevator in fear that his weight will be the feather that broke the camel’s back. Or in this case, the feather than finally snapped the cables.

“It won’t break.” Derek said out of the blue.

“Says you. Who does maintenance on this building?”

The werewolf shrugged. “I hired a guy. He comes in every month to check that everything is in order.”

Stiles looked at his side profile, baffled by the normality of this entire conversation and how comforting it felt to just talk. Derek turned, green-grey eyes meeting him. A small, tired smile fitted itself on the wolf’s weary expression. Stiles was sure he didn’t look any better, what with the emotional roller coaster the past few hours have been, adding in the crying he’d been too exhausted to get under control.

Derek shifted the bag, lifting an arm and, it took Stiles much longer than he’d care to admit, to notice that Derek was offering him his hand. The Alpha, bless his soul, waited patiently for Stiles’ brain to catch up and when he did, the smile that blossomed on Stiles’ face was answer enough for how he felt as he reached out, took hold of Derek’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

The elevator came to halt and the doors opened smoothly.

They had to drop each other’s hands for Derek to open the door of the loft.

Once inside, Stiles gently lowered his bag by the foot of the couch, watching as Derek did the same before the wolf turned to face him.

Regarding one another, Stiles took a step toward and hesitantly slide his arms around Derek’s waist. “Can we sleep first and talk tomorrow?”

Warm hand cupped his cheeks and a gentle kiss answered him. Stiles smiled against Derek’s lips, moving to exchange three soft pecks.

“C’mon.”

As Stiles shrugged off his clothes, jeans and shirt and button down joining each other over his duffel bag, he felt that warm fuzzy feeling return. It grew from a tiny bean in his stomach into a freaking vine, stems spreading until his arms felt light and his legs could barely hold his weight. He drowsily slipped on his sweats, leaving in his pants, a black under vest and white socks. Stiles turned, eyes searching for Derek to find him already in the bed, sitting up against the headboard.

Stiles made his way over, knees sinking into the soft mattress as he claimed the side he’d previously slept on. Derek opened the blankets for him, and Stiles crawled underneath just as Derek’s phone lit up and vibrated to life.

Frowning, he watched as Derek ignored it. Catching his expression, the other man rolled his eyes and sighed. “I told the pack you came back.” He paused and then turned over, grabbing his phone. A second and a few taps later the vibration stopped, and the phone was placed back on the nightstand. “They might show up here tomorrow early.”

Stiles shrugged, not caring. “It’s okay. That’s tomorrow-Stiles’ problem. Present-Stiles just wants to pass out.”

Derek huffed out a laugh, shuffled further down the bed until the thick warm blankets covered his bare shoulders. Stiles’, though tired, suddenly felt hyper aware that Derek was in the same bed as him. His body slowly tightened and coiled until a warm arm draped over his waist and a knee bumped against his as though asking for permission just as Stiles allowed the one leg to slide between his.

Stiles sunk into the bed, eyes dropping as Derek’s presence slowly soothed him into a slumber.

“Thanks for coming back.” Derek whispered.

Stiles swallowed, feeling that fucking lump returning. The arm around his waist tightened and Derek’s nose brushed against his in comfort.

“I’m glad I did.” Stiles replied.

“Me too.”

Before he allowed sleep to claim him, Stiles shifted his face and pressed an awkward kiss against Derek’s lips, a kiss that was returned sweeter and softer, and considerably less awkward when Derek lifted his head to accommodate his lips.

“Night, Derek.” He said, voice almost inaudible.

“See you tomorrow, Stiles…”

*

They had a long way to go.

Their journey had been rough, with the roads winding into dark, uncharted paths. They’d eventually find the right route, following it unknowingly back to one another.

Stiles and Derek knew everything would not be all sunshine and roses, and they feared the thorns and storms which awaited would be end of them. But they trusted themselves and trusted what they felt for one another.

Stiles had a week with Derek.

A week to find out what it is they are, if they can work, if they wanted to work, if what they felt was real and not something born of chaos.

They had 7 days to find out of their love for one another could stand the road the head.

One week.

Seven days.

168 hours.

10080 minutes.

604800 seconds.

It was short in retrospect, but it was more than they’d ever hope for.

And neither of them was going to let any second go to waste.

Not now.

Not ever.

[THE END...]