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“How did we end up here, Derek?”
The words made the panic churning in his gut ignite and spread through his body. Fine tremors settled into his hands, and he forced his fingers to curl into his palms to hide them.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t. Please, just don’t.”
Derek felt his arms begin to tremble, his heart beat faster than it should be able to handle without giving out. A hole opened in his chest, and a lead weight kept his feet planted. The breath punched out of Derek’s lungs as he watched Stiles sitting at the kitchen table, THEIR kitchen table, face wan and skin pulled too tight, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
His voice though. The flat, broken, resigned tenor of it rang in Derek’s ears. It bounced around in his head, echoing on an endless loop that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“Stiles, please. Tell me what you need. Tell me how to fix this.”
“I can’t, Derek.”
“Please, there has to be something. Give me anything. A hint, a whisper, a fucking sign, please.”
“Derek. I can’t. I don’t have any answers. I wouldn’t know where to go back to, can’t even remember the last time we were honestly happy. I just…I can’t do this anymore.”
Derek looked down at his hands, still curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white from clenching too tightly. Stiles didn't yell, didn't raise his voice. It scared Derek more than the absolute stillness of Stiles' body. This was it, wasn’t it. He forced his fingers to relax, and ran one shaking hand through his hair.
“It’s just me, isn’t it. I held on too tight. Needed too much and gave too little? Didn’t tell you I love you enough?” He flinched when Stiles closed his eyes and turned his face away. God, how could he possibly make things right. “I didn’t tell you anything, did I. You’d think, after all these years, I’d have learned. Stiles, please. Let me fix it. I can do it, I can make it work. Please, give me once more chance.”
He felt something in him break he watched tears slide down Stiles’s face.
“How many more chances can I give you, Derek? How many times will we have to fight about this, how many times will you tell me you’re going to fix it, fix yourself. I can’t give you anymore, Derek. I can’t give you more chances, more time, more of me. I can’t-“ His breath caught on a sob. “I’m afraid I’m not going to have anything left.”
“You have me,” Derek whispered, reaching across the table to grasp Stiles’s hand where it lay upturned in surrender. “You’ve always had me. I don’t…I know I don’t tell you. But I try. I promise you, I try.”
He picked up Stiles hand, chafing his cold fingers between his own hands. “Please, Stiles.”
Derek held his breath, staring into Stiles eyes, his chest tight and hot, his gut roiling, as he watched the golden colors blur behind his tears.
“Please.”