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Derek stares resolutely at Scott, who is beaming at him and gesturing at the coffin on the raised dais.
"This is not a sugar factory," Derek says sternly, gesturing at the empty church. "You promised me we were going to see quality granules that would be excellent in my pies."
"He was murdered, Derek," Scott says, making puppy eyes. "I have a responsibility to his family to see the truth come to light."
"You mean the money come into your pockets," Derek says, rolling his eyes.
"Come on," Scott cajoles. "Don’t you want to get a little justice for the people from your old town of Beacon Hills?" he asks, flipping the coffin open.
Derek stares in shock at the still body, for a moment, then recognizes the smattering of moles on the pale face. Childish thoughts of affection that Derek thought he locked away so many years ago spring into the forefront of his mind.
The facts were these: Derek Hale, aged twenty four years, six months, two days, and three minutes, was in possession of a most unique gift.
He had learned it long ago when he was but thirteen years old, playing a two-man game of baseball with his neighbor and friend, Stiles Stilinski. His mother, Talia Hale, aged forty four, seven months, two minutes and twenty-three seconds, called him inside for dinner, where she pulled out a freshly baked peach pie from the oven, and then promptly had a heart attack and collapsed on the floor.
Young Derek, concerned and afraid, stroked his mother’s cheek, and to his surprise, she awoke and laughed to find herself on the floor, blaming her clumsiness.
One minute later, unbeknownst to Derek, Claudia Stilinski collapsed on her own kitchen floor, and there was nothing a sobbing young Stiles could do to revive her.
Derek’s own short reprieve from his mother’s injury was soon ended when she came into his bedroom to kiss him goodnight and then fell into a cold heap, crumpled by young Derek’s bed.
No matter of face-touching would bring her back, and young Derek was miserable and alone.
The funerals for young Derek and young Stiles’ parents took place on the same day, and while the priests and the elder family members droned on, Derek wandered off in the surreal, bright, day, confused and blaming himself. He found Stiles, kicking at a forlorn old oak tree, and the two friends found comfort in each other, both having lost a parent.
The rawness of the emotion surrounding that day and the surge of not-quite-platonic affection Derek had for his best friend propelled him forward, and in one moment where Derek was wiping a tear off Stiles’ young face, the next moment found them kissing each other and holding on to each other for dear life.
The moment didn’t last long, and Derek barely had time for to share a small smile with Stiles when their guardians had found them. Stiles soon moved away with his grieving father, and Derek never saw him again.
Young Derek soon learned the limits of his gift: he could touch dead things and bring them back to life. Touch them again, and they would be dead forever. A minute past, though, and something else would die to take its place.
Derek knew that his selfishness was the reason Stiles had lost his mother, and he carried that guilt and ache with him everywhere he went.
He vowed never to again use his gift for selfish reasons. Scott McCall, however, who learned of his gift by accident, was trying (and succeeding) to get Derek to help in his detective pursuits.
And now, Derek was standing here, looking at the face of Stiles, who looked so different yet so similar, young and grown up at once. He wondered if Stiles got to see the world like he dreamed of before he died.
"Well?" Scott asks, impatient. "Funeral director is going to catch on soon. Best get on with it."
Derek nods, and ever-so-gently touches Stiles’ cheek with his hand, and then sets the timer on his watch.
Stiles jerks instantly awake, eyes blinking open. Derek is pleased to see they are the same warm amber brown he remembers.
Stiles sits up, looking around curiously, and when his eyes land on Derek, his face breaks open in a warm, happy smile. “Derek? Derek Hale?” Stiles asks.
"Yes," Derek says, shyly ducking his head a little, flattered that Stiles remembers him.
"Oh, so you know each other," Scott says, watching the two of them.
"Wait, what’s going on? Where are we? Why are you here?" Stiles asks, words bubbling out of his mouth like a gurgling spring. "Not that I’m complaining, of course, it’s great to see you again."
Derek winces, then says, “Sorry, you’re dead. We’re here to investigate your murder,” he coughs, pointing at Scott. “Do you know who killed you?”
Stiles frowns. “I’m dead? That sucks. I’m sorry I can’t help you, though. Whoever it was came at me from behind.”
Derek sighs and Scott groans. Derek can hear the seconds ticking away on his watch.
"How have you been?" Stiles says brightly, stepping closer to Derek, who instinctively steps back.
"Fi—food—good," Derek splutters. "I mean good. I make food. I mean I own a pie shop where I bake pies."
There’s a smile on Stiles’ face. “That’s nice, Derek.”
Derek can feel the minute is almost up. “Sorry, I have to… touch you again,” he says, his face heating. “So you can be dead again. I’m sorry. It’s the rules.”
Scott looks from Derek to Stiles, then from Stiles to Derek, and then backs off. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, and slinks out of the room.
"It was good to see you," Stiles says. "So, just one touch, and that’s it?" There’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he tilts his chin. "How about a kiss, then, Derek Hale?"
Derek feels thirteen again, shy, and standing precariously close to his crush under an old tree. He steps forward, and Stiles closes his eyes and his lips part slightly, perfectly pink and in the shape of a cupid’s bow.
The seconds tick, and Derek knows as soon as he kisses Stiles he will be dead again, dead forever, just when Stiles comes back into his life. A faint memory of Stiles and Derek playing ball in the meadow comes to mind, of Stiles laughing and complaining after Derek loses the game, “These rules suck, Derek, why do we use them anyway?”
Five seconds…four…three..two…one…
Stiles opens his eyes. “Derek?”
Derek lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He can hear a soft flump in the distance of what must be a body hitting the floor and cringes, hoping it isn’t—
"DEREK HALE!" Scott’s voice yells from the hall.
Okay. It wasn’t Scott. That’s good.
Derek looks back at Stiles, who has an apprehensive look on his face. It’s unbearably cute.
"Is everything alright?" Stiles asks.
"Yes. I think it will be," Derek says. It’s not a selfish reason, he tells himself. It’s a good reason. Any world with Stiles Stilinski in it is a good, good world.