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His hands still moved along with his words, trying to reform sounds into shapes, make sense of things he couldn't quite word. Derek still had trouble looking away, still couldn't help but follow all their rises and falls, tracing their ungraceful motion, fascinated, and kind of wishing he could latch on. Wishing he could ever be as expressive, as alive, as everything about Stiles was.
There were wrinkles by his eyes now, too distinct for someone so young, giving him an edge, that was not too harsh, or too lenient. Stiles never really was too much of anything. Had always been just right, for all the wrong people. But the wrinkles were falling around his face like a halo, framing all the shades of brown, glistening against the black of his pupils, that were still, wide and curious and eager, and Derek didn't know what in life could ever be worthy of a look so caring. He didn’t think this world deserved to be looked at like that. He never thought he did either.
His head was thrown back, his lips widening around a soundless laugh, his chest heaving so fiercely, Derek almost thought, something was wrong. But he could smell the lightness on him, could almost taste the happiness at the back of his throat, and he wanted to throw it up, because it wasn't his. He also wanted to move it around his mouth, let all his taste-buds marvel upon what could have been there, washing everything else away, if Derek had let himself stay.
There was someone pointing a hazy finger towards Derek, and Stiles frowned, like he was trying to remember who that was, before he turned his head, his eyes moving between his, before they narrowed. Derek thought he'd yell at him, throw him out, but there was a smile, forming around his aged features, and his hands were in the air, waving. And Derek didn't know, if it was in a belated goodbye, or a hopeful welcoming. He still moved his hands, willed his legs to still, his body to not arch forward and expose the itch he felt almost everywhere, for Stiles. The blind, desperate, craving, for a touch, that he didn't know if it'd even feel anywhere near what he'd imagined it to.
Then there were hands on the wheelchair, and Stiles was rolling his eyes, swatting them away, because years could pass all they wanted, he'd never allow his vulnerable humanity to show, he'd never accept help that he didn't desperately need. Derek didn't know why he found comfort in that. At least that hadn't changed, even if everything else had. Even if nothing else had felt the same. Stiles still did. Even after all those years. There was a sense of familiarity there, a kind of knowing, of trust, that wasn't clawed out of Derek, wasn't faded by the distance and the loneliness and the terror, of this being it.
Lydia was walking down the aisle, one of her arms around the sheriff, the other around Chris. Her mother was standing ahead, next to a man that looked like the embodiment of happiness. Derek could just tell, he was completely in love with her. As was she, with him. Derek was standing by the acquaintances, that were invited for the sake of politeness, and attended probably for the food. His hands were falling into claps, held close to his chest, to overwhelm the sound of his racing heart, to push it back in, every time it tried to fall out, flee to find the pieces of it, that were left somewhere in a chest that was once bleeding out, halting so soundlessly, Derek had thought he'd gone unhearing, unseeing. He'd thought the universe had been thrown away from its axis, had stopped turning all together, had crashed into something, and collapsed onto him.
But Stiles was radiating with happiness and serenity and Derek didn't know how someone could ever come back so gracefully, so honorably, from something like that. He almost couldn't remember all the howls and the tears in his skin that felt all wrong and the blood that he could never really wash away, could still feel sometimes, coating his hands with something like death.
" Stop thinking so loud. He's fine. And you still stink of things that aren't yours to feel." There was a voice beside him, a presence that was so sudden in its appearance, so immediate in its reassurance. Derek looked away from Stiles, and to Ethan, who still looked like he wasn't all there, like there were visible holes, in all the places his brother used to fit.
" Ethan," Derek sounded like he could cry, eyes moving around Ethan, like he was trying to remember how he looked, without all the gore and the blood and the sword that went through someone, but cut through them all.
" Been a while, huh? What, 8 years now?"
" Almost." Derek swallowed, nodded, tried to breathe.
" Man, she always was a beauty." Ethan's eyes were on Lydia, nodding, at the way she was spelling out her vows, so composed, so controlled, for someone who reeked of so many emotions.
" Yeah. She is." Stiles had a hand against his back, keeping him upright, every time a tremor brushed against his limbs, almost undoing him. He looked more in pieces than anything Derek had ever seen before. And Derek hadn't seen, anything that was really whole, in a long, long time.
People started cheering when the couple started kissing, swaying with sheer thrill. Derek smiled, following his row down the aisle, to congratulate the happy, newlyweds. Ethan pulled Lydia into his arms, Derek could see her, over his shoulder, closing her eyes around the images of the ghost that looked so much like the one in her arms. Derek thought he smelled the longing on her. But then, Ethan was pulling away, smiling, falling into an easy conversation with Stiles and Scott and, Derek didn't understand, why he fit so effortlessly, when Derek still felt like he was falling into the picture all wrong. Like things around him were in bright colors and he was in black and white, a smudge of the wrong shade in the right painting, like the brush fell where it wasn't supposed to, or two worlds, crashed into one another, without really meaning to.
" Derek, so glad you could make it." Lydia's arms were around him, her face falling into his chest, because of the height difference between them. Also, he suspected she was trying to wipe away the traces of the tears she was trying not to shed. He held back, whispering how happy he was for her –although, he didn’t know how happy he was in general-. She tightened her grasp on him, before letting go, promising to find him later on, before she was greeted by someone else.
Derek didn't know what to do with himself. Didn't know how to be around these people, how to co-exist in a place that had done everything to make him feel like he didn't deserve to. People were moving around him, dispersing into their own groups, and he was tripping on the pace of their motion, dizzied by all the sounds and touches and scents. He tried to find Stiles, but Scott was easing him back into his chair, guiding him away from the crowd, and to where the reception would be. And Stiles was speaking to Isaac and Kira and Melissa, who Derek also hadn't seen in years. In lifetimes. And he didn't know, if he made the right choice by accepting the invitation, yielding to the ache to go home, and find some kind of closure there. A proper ending to the things Stiles was trying to tell him, before their lives went to shit. Or at least, Derek's.
" Come on, Derek. The reception is that way." The sheriff's eyes still looked the same. Exactly the same. He had a hand on Derek's back, so careful, and kind, and Derek wanted to wrap himself around him, and just, disappear. But he didn't. He let the sheriff steer him through the crowd, words tumbling out of his mouth, like he was trying to squeeze all those years in just a few minutes, in only a few breaths.
" How long are you staying? You don't still own that loft, do you? Do you need a place to stay?"
" Sheriff,"
" It's John, Derek. It's still John to you." The sheriff looked between Derek's eyes, mouth opening, like things were lingering by his lips, contemplating the air in his lungs, if it'd be enough to get them out, or if it'd kill them, before the sheriff could ever speak them.
" I- I'm sorry." He was. He has been. He thought he always would be.
" I don't know what this one is for, but,"
" For all of it. For, for not doing better, and- letting this happen to him. And, leaving. Not coming back sooner. I'm just. I'm so sorry." There was something layering around his eyes, it felt like a dam was breaking, and things were seeping through. The sheriff sighed, seemingly drained. He put a hand on Derek's shoulder, the other running down his face.
" He's okay. He's safe and, and happy. He takes his meds more times than not, and he doesn't even argue over the check-ups, or the tests, or any of it. I've never wanted anything else for him, Derek. And I don't care about the wheelchairs, or the tremors, or the occasional mood swings. Because he doesn't. It's his life, and if he's happy with it, then who the hell am I to feel sorry for him?" Derek looked down at the hands that were trembling, and he swore, there was still blood seeping through his pores and resting beneath his skin.
" Yeah. Yeah, I just- yeah, you're right." Derek nodded, feeling like the toy wolf in Stiles' Jeep, jerking its head with the motion. Stiles used to love hitting all the bumps in the road, just to see the haphazard movement of its spineless head. Stiles used to love a lot of things. Derek used to love him. The sheriff patted Derek's shoulder, squeezing against the clinched muscles. He almost walked away, almost left him with just that, but then, his arms circled around Derek, and he didn't mean to crash into him the way he did. He didn’t mean to put his head on his neck and breathe in all the things that had burned down when his house had. He didn't mean to let out that pathetic sound, kind of like a whine, but probably a lot more desperate. The sheriff moved his hands till they were against Derek's head, running through his hair, feeling all the ways it had grown out, had fallen into a style that he'd never really pictured on Derek.
" Let me know if you need a place to stay. Or just, step by. You can help me cook that chicken with the white sauce and the vegetables that I love, and Stiles actually approves of. And by help me cook, I mean,"
" I cook, and you supervise and pretend to listen to the recipe. I remember, John." The sheriff's body shook with laughter against Derek's, and something eased in his chest, snapped back into place, or just.. snapped.
" Alright, kid, have fun. Come find me if you need anything." Derek nodded, watched as the sheriff walked away, and tried not to think of hospitals and blood and hearts no longer beating and his legs, leaving it all behind, knowing that Stiles' no longer could.
Derek's eyes moved across the somewhat crowded surroundings, trying to remember if he'd ever fit in there at all. But they were all so comfortable, so content, and whole in a way that Derek had never really been. He had barely understood that someone could be so wholesome, so full and complete, with no holes where claws had once pierced through, no cracks where they'd once loved and held on so long, until they'd broke.
He had to look away, when his eyes steered too close to where Stiles sat, on a regular chair now, with no wheels, yet he was still, overflowing with life and motion. Derek was kind of lightheaded. Probably envious and still so in love, it hurt something terrible. He moved towards the bar, where Danny was serving drinks to someone, smiling down at Ethan, like it hadn't been years since he'd lost and left. Derek wondered if Stiles would smile at him the same too. He wondered if anything would be the same again.
Danny put a drink in front of him, knowing that he couldn't get drunk, but at least there was the illusion of drunkenness, of letting loose, easing all the knots between his bones, and that suffocating grip around his heart, that felt like Stiles' fingers going limp between his own.
" Told you I was going to find you later, what are you having? Is our bartender here any good?" Derek moved towards Lydia, carrying all the longs bits of her dress, as she tried to balance herself onto a stool.
" He's alright, a bit distracted though." Derek shrugged a shoulder to where Danny was leaned across the counter, stirring Ethan's drink, like he couldn't do it himself. Lydia shook her head, laughed breathlessly, but Derek swore, he heard an ache somewhere in there. He smiled anyway, sitting back down once she was settled, sipping at his drink, and humming in contentment.
" So, where have you been? What are you doing these days? Tell me everything." Lydia put the drink down, leaning forward, a frown etched between her eyebrows. Derek suddenly felt cornered, trapped, yet not nearly as threatened as he should have been. He was just, really, really tired.
" I take some building jobs, sometimes, editing jobs, mostly online though. Didn't really know that's a thing till a year ago or something. But, yeah. It's been.. fun. New. I like it." Lydia bit down on her painted lips, her frown deepening, as she pulled back, like she had all she needed from him.
" Have you talked to anyone while you were away? Do you have any friends? Neighbors? Co-workers? Anything?"
" I talk to Cora. Sometimes. I have a neighbor, this old lady, called Mrs. Rodriguez. She has a kid, that got married and moved away, when she started showing signs of old age, really. So, she cooks for me, when she's too lonely to have dinner by herself. I read to her, when she asks me to."
" Really? Your sister, and an elderly lady? That's it?"
" This is kind of what I was trying to avoid, Lydia. People. Friends. Kind of why I left." Derek sighed, irritated, and so wide-open, he wondered if she could see into all the empty spaces where they'd all once fit.
" Kind of why it took you 7 years to come back too?" Derek looked up, startled, something like guilt swimming in his eyes, that tried to blink past the bitterness in Lydia's voice, and the anger across her features. She sighed, deflated or disappointed or just.. defeated. Derek could almost see surrender settling between her ribs, and he wanted to claw it right out, before it made a home of her too.
" Look, Derek, I know this probably isn't my place. I know, it's been so long, and you're probably over it by now, and,"
" I'm not," He whispered, ashamed and weary and so fucking frustrated, " I'm not." She nodded, like she believed him.
" Stiles didn't deserve what happened to him. Nobody really does, but especially him. He's a good man. Always has been. And always will be. So, I was a bit pissed off for a while too. I don't like feeling helpless or, you know, out of control. And I was. I was so angry, all the time. Sometimes, even at Stiles. And he'd try to calm me down and it'd piss me off even more because he isn't supposed to do that. He isn't supposed to be the one keeping everyone together, when his own body was falling apart. And then, one night, I was driving him home after one of his physiotherapy sessions, and he asked me to pull over. So I did." Her mouth was left agape, lips minutely trembling around the words she couldn't manner, couldn't order them in a way that would make them sound anything but miserable. He waited, feeling unprepared and kind of terrified.
" It was the first time he'd, reacted in any way to that night. To, you, leaving, like you did. And. Stiles and I have been friends for ten, maybe, twelve years, but that day, he was turned inside out, and I-" She shuddered, a single tear sliding against her pale skin, before his hands were on her shoulders, shaking too, but she didn't seem to mind. She barely registered it at all.
" He didn't cry, but he folded onto himself, and.. those sounds, Derek. I don't know what to call them, or, how to explain them. But, I'm going to be honest with you, they kind of broke my heart." She breathed out, trying to mold it into some sort of a laugh, but it didn't sound quite right. Derek nodded, because, yeah, he knew a thing or two about breaking and hearts and all the bits of himself that laid in between.
" He screamed for six minutes straight, before he collapsed. I called Melissa, because he, he wouldn't stop moving. Convulsing. I think I knew what it was, but I couldn't relate it to Stiles. I couldn't, couldn't understand, how this could happen to someone like him. When it- when it stopped, I put him in the car, and drove back to the hospital. They said he had a seizure. A delayed effect of the head trauma." Derek tried to think of Erica, her figure beating into the ground, like it was digging its own grave, trying to put holes into something other than itself. Then he thought of Stiles and graves and he started standing, moving, needing to get out, as far away from all these ghosts from his past, all the remains of the people he knew that were decayed, but not all gone yet. But Lydia's hands tightened around his, and he looked down upon them, and they were still trembling, but so strong, so determined. So he sat down again, breathed, and nodded. And she carried on.
" When he came to, he was exhausted, obviously. So out of it. But he told his dad to go home, kicked everyone out, and told them, to leave us alone. He- I think he thought he owed me an explanation or something. I don't even know how his mind works, to be honest, I just wanted him to be okay, you know. But Stiles is.. he's Stiles, and he cares, and he never wants to be unfair, or mean, in any way. So he spent about an hour, telling me about what happened between you two. How it started, how it was, how it felt, how he, felt about you. I don't think I've ever had a conversation this honest with him. Don't think he'd ever let himself be that vulnerable again, if he can help it. He told me about that night, every detail, all the things he was trying to piece together, to make sense of it. Of why you had to leave. Then, he went to sleep, and never spoke of it again. Ever." Derek was trying to grasp at all the things he'd missed, but there was too much of it. Piles and piles of scattered pieces of the people he loved most. The people that counted on him to do the thing he was never taught how to do; stay.
" Then why did you.. why did you send me that invitation?" Lydia smiled then, taking one of her hands away from Derek, to drink what was left of her –his- drink, before putting it back between his unstable limbs.
" Everyone was weary at first, cautious, and he didn't really like it. He was just so.. hurt, so faded, but he hated how careful we were with him, how some of us just eliminated your name from all our stories. Acted like you've never been there at all. Which, you know, was a bit of a dick move, but not all that unreasonable." She didn't really look apologetic. He didn't expect her to. He nodded, amusement glistening somewhere in his eyes, behind all the other shit.
" But he always spoke of you with so much pride, so much love, Derek. I didn't get it at first. None of us really did. Scott had this.. meltdown, one day. He was supposed to be helping him up the stairs and to his room, because Stiles refused to stay in the guest room, despite how agonizing it was for him to climb up and down those stairs, but anyway, there was a lot of yelling and eventually, the sheriff had to pull Stiles' body off Scott's. They didn't speak for three whole days after that, and you know how these two are, they never shut up about one another. But Scott was confused, and angry, and protective, and he didn't think you deserved to be talked about like that. He didn't understand why Stiles wasn't just, trembling with fury, when he was already trembling, with the tremors and the anxiety and all that. I kind of agree with him. I still, to this day, don't get it. But I'm not Stiles. I can never be anything like him. I don't have a heart like his. So I just stopped trying to understand, and started rolling with whatever he threw at us. If he felt like talking about you like you put the moon in the sky, we did that. If he felt like picturing all the different scenarios to your comeback, we did that too. And when we were making the guest list, I had your name, with a question mark beside it, and he didn't say a word. Didn't acknowledge it at all. He just took the eraser, wiped the question mark, and started looking through the seating, to find a place for you."
The breath falling past Derek's mouth, cracked, fell apart before it sounded anything like an exhale. His features folded upon themselves, head falling against his chest, shame weighing him down so viciously, it kind of felt like drowning. Kind of felt like being in that pool and losing all the grips he tried to have on his surroundings. He thought of Stiles, never regaining that grip at all. Living with that haphazard sense of lost control and chaos. He didn't know what his mouth was moving around, but things were pouring out of him and Lydia was moving, circling her arms around him, unable to contain him or fit him in or surround him, but she was trying. Stiles tried too. And Derek didn't know why it didn't matter to him. Didn't know why he was always walking away from things that stayed with him, long after they were gone. Didn't know why his feet wouldn't dig into the ground, and keep him there, why they were always so careless in their departure, so rushed and panicked, like things were chasing after them, when it'd been years since he'd had a reason to run. He didn't know why he still ran, why it felt like he was running, even with Lydia's scent enveloping him with familiarity, her voice echoing in his head, like it was trying to remind him, of how it sounded before. How everything there used to feel.
" Hey, missus, your husband is looking for you. I think some lady is eating his ears off with pet stories and tales of your great grandfather; Richard. Wasn't your great grandfather called James?" Lydia laughed, or something like that, as she pulled away from Derek's embrace, wiping at her face, and making it seem like she was fixing her makeup.
" He was, Stiles."
" Oh. Then, I'd definitely go find him if I were you." Something fluttered in Derek's chest, started beating against the ribs of its cage, like it wanted out. Derek thought it could be a cry, but when he opened his mouth, he laughed. Because with his head turned away, without having to see him, witness all the things about him that he couldn't recognize, Stiles' heart still beat with a rhythm that occasionally pounded against Derek's head, leaving an ache in its wake that was more in the heart than in the head. Stiles still sounded the same too, and Derek found an odd reassurance in that. He could always find a reassurance in Stiles. Lydia patted his shoulder, leaning down to whisper to Stiles, leaving a kiss on his cheek, before brushing past him. Derek waited for him to follow, to leave, escape the suffocating tension in the air, the strange sense of recognition, like they each didn't know the other, but had seen them somewhere, in some alternative universe, or a lifetime that neither of them could quite remember.
" Scott is staring at me all weird."
" Yup, he'll do that. Hey, buddy, I appreciate the concern, but if you could be a little more subtle about it, that'd be great. Thanks." Stiles waved a hand in the air, watching as Scott's eyes widened, like he'd been exposed, which, for a werewolf, how did he ever think he wouldn't be? He nodded, taking Kira's hand, and scurrying away. When Derek turned away from the crowd he'd faded into, Stiles was shaking his head, a grin around his features that were so much older now, but no amount of facial hair or healed scratches could ever hide what Derek knew of him, all the curves he used to trace, when he thought Stiles couldn't tell.
" He's still there." Derek noted, but there was no real bite behind it. No hard feelings. He knew Scott would do anything to protect Stiles. It just kind of hurt, to think that he needed protection from him. That he thought that Derek would ever hurt Stiles. Then again, he already had.
" Yeah, he probably won't stray too far. Seems like the tables have turned, huh?"
Stiles had always been weary and hesitant when it came to people, always doubtful of intentions, too protective that he'd drive himself mad, thinking of possibilities and scenarios and ways to stop them from happening. But he seemed so.. certain now. So upfront and honest and out there. Derek wondered if it had anything to do with his lack of self-preservation. He didn't want to think of himself as a threat to his preservation. Didn't want to think of himself as means of destruction. Even with all the ruins around him, looking like nothing, feeling like everything that had ever mattered.
" I guess so." Derek nodded, eyes falling past the wheels of Stiles' chair, and his unmoving legs, touching the ground.
" Want to go for a walk? Or, a ride? I don't know what to call it, but want to move away from here, and go out there?" Stiles' arm pointed at Derek, then out the door, and he was so fucking confused, but he stood by Stiles, until he started pushing his chair through the dispersing crowds, struggling with the step by the door for barely a minute, before he pushed past that too. He'd pushed through so much, Derek was tired for him. He was tired for himself too.
" Cora wanted to come tonight, but she's on this skiing trip with her friends, and it's storming, so she couldn't find a flight out." Derek spoke, kicking at a pebble on the ground, to overshadow the sound the wheels made, every time Stiles' fingers pushed them forward.
" Yeah, I know. I was just sending her pictures that she requested, less than kindly, might I add."
" You talk to Cora?" Derek stopped. Stiles didn't. Derek would probably catch up anyway.
" Sure, I do. Why is that surprising?"
" She's just.. she's been gone for a long time, and."
" So have you."
" We haven't talked in years, Stiles."
" And whose fault is that? You're the one who changed your number, and wouldn't check your voicemail when you had it."
" Does that mean you've tried? To call? To.. to talk?"
" I've tried. I've been trying, Derek." Derek didn't want to listen in to all the undertones of his voice. He didn't want to think of all the things this could mean.
" So, how is this going for you? What are the updates?" He pointed blindly to the area around the wheels and the chair and the twitching limbs.
" You don't really want to talk about that, Derek." Stiles sighed, shaking his head, stopping somewhere by a fountain that looked like a mermaid or some old greek God grieving a loss of something dear. Derek wasn't really sure, could never understand statues or things that remained still.
" Why not?" He tried to make it humorous, tried to act offended, or something. He didn't think he succeeded.
" Don't patronize me. I'm okay with a lot of things, but not this. Don't look down on me, Derek. Head trauma didn't make me stupid. Twitchy, yes, but not stupid." Stiles' neck moved like it was cracking, but it didn't quite make it through. His hands were in his lap, trembling so profusely, despite how he was trying to wrap them around one another, to find a stillness in all this crumbling.
" I know you're not stupid. I.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
" Would you stop? God, I'm not a child. You didn't upset me, I just don't really like your babying tendencies. I'm not going to break if you talk about shit that actually matters. I won't throw a fit or cry out if you treat me like I'm not made of glass. Hell, I don't even need this thing. I am perfectly capable of walking beside you, if you weren't so bothered by a few tremors here and there. Dammit, Derek." Stiles hit his hands against his chair, his fingers tensing with the sudden flare of ache, before they hit into each other again, like they couldn't all fit around his palms, like they needed more space. There was a frown between his eyebrows, his chest was rising and falling kind of messily, like it didn't care for paces or patterns or things that Derek could follow.
" I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, okay? I just, I don't know what I'm doing, Stiles. I don't know what I'm supposed to do here." Derek was on his knees, his hands hovering around Stiles, like they wanted to touch, wanted to latch on and rediscover how it felt, to have him so close.
" It.. it doesn't matter. It's okay. You're okay." Stiles nodded, tried to smile, with his eyes around Derek, but not really on him. Derek hated how even they, were twitching behind his eyelids. The closer he looked, the further away he felt from this Stiles, that wore a face he kind of knew, barely as a concept, a thread of a dream that felt like a déjà vu he couldn't quite place.
" I'm really fucking this up, aren't I?" Stiles snorted, patting Derek's hands in a silent consolation, which, what? Why was Stiles the one consoling him?
" That's one thing you can still do right, dude." Derek puffed out a breath, rolled his eyes, before standing up, looking back at the hall, watching all those lives tangle with one another, moving right past his own.
" Is, uh, did I miss something, with John and Melissa?" Derek watched as their bodies moved along to whatever song was playing in the background, her head falling onto his chest, his arms burying into her back, an aura of something surrounding them. They were almost radiant.
" Oh, yeah, can you believe my dad and Scott's mum are dating now? They have been kind of all over each other for a while, probably a year after my.. thing. Then they went on a proper date, and have been inseparable since. I think if it wasn't for Scott and I, they probably would have eloped or something. They seem to be so in love, it would be disgusting, if it wasn't so goddamn adorable. It's nice to see them so happy, you know." Derek didn't really know how someone looked when they were so happy and in love. Didn't know how it felt to see someone be in love. Could barely remember the feeling of nice things, beneath all the other stuff.
" Yeah. I get it. They deserve this, though. I'm glad it happened for them." Stiles nodded, a smile like nothing else curved around his lips. Derek wanted to say nothing else, and watch that sparkle stay across his features. He could watch him like this forever.
" Yeah. Me too. So, what about you? What's been happening with you?" Stiles was trying to move out of the chair, but the brakes weren't working all the way through, and it was trembling every time his body did, which was all the time, and every time he tried to stand, he'd fall back. Derek didn't know what he could do to help, didn't know where to put his hands, if at all, or whether he should be on his knees, or upright. He didn't know what to do, and he remembered, why he left in the first place.
" So? Derek?" Stiles was standing now, by the fountain, his hands moving through the water, forming waves that crashed on Derek the way Stiles had crashed through that window, fell to his almost death. Derek was drowning again, hands around his tie trying to rip it off, or rip himself open, buttons falling apart around his fidgeting fingers, air cowering away every time he hungrily tried to inhale.
" Hey, hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
" I- I never should have left. I never should have left you. I'm sorry. Stiles. I."
" Derek, it's okay. You're okay, just breathe, come on, man, don't do this." There were hands around his face, and they were shaking. Always fucking shaking. Derek wanted them to be certain in the way they touched him again. He wanted Stiles to move like he used to, and not like this.
" Fuck, I'm sorry, Stiles. I didn't- I didn't know what to do and, the blood, and your heartbeat. It- it stopped and. I thought you died. You were dead, Stiles. Dead." He hadn't allowed himself to think of this. Of Stiles bleeding and dying and coming back to a life that Derek stripped away from him. He had stitched himself right up and let all the bleeding be into the cavity of his chest, and not out, onto the world, or those that the world revolved around. And now, it was all resurfacing, and he was sinking, and he'd forgotten how to swim through those waves. Had forgotten how to breathe past the crashing scents of death.
" I'm okay. I promise. I'm here, and I'm okay. Just, breathe, Derek. I'm not mad. It's okay. It's okay, Derek."
" But why? Why aren't you mad? You- you should be mad. Fuck, Stiles. It's not okay. It never was okay. Why are you not mad at me?"
" Because I'm tired of being mad. I don't want to be mad any more. Not at you. Not at this. I want to be so much more than just mad. I want to be something else. Okay? You get that? I'm not mad at you for pushing me through that window. I'm not mad at you for leaving. I'm not mad at you, at all. How could I be?" Stiles sounded like he was crying. Or maybe it was Derek. He could barely make the broken sounds apart now. But there was a delicate weight against his forehead, something like water wiped against it, a steady warmth breaking through the cold of the night.
" I saw your blood, and- the doctors were saying all those- those things that sounded all wrong and so fucking scary. So scary, Stiles, and I- I couldn't handle it. I left you, left everything, for years, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Stiles."
He remembered Stiles' room, him on the bed, throwing a ball to the ceiling, and catching it again. Stiles was on his laptop, trying to identify the big bad, but then, there was a scent that made Derek almost want to throw up. The front door crashed and Kate was tearing through him and tearing through Stiles and he didn't know what to do, or how to get him away from this, so he pushed him, when he was jumping in front of Kate, and he tripped and fell through the window. Derek could still hear the exact sound he made, when he crashed into the ground, pierced through by shards of glass. Derek didn't really know what happened, but Kate was gone, or dead, and he was trying to move Stiles, trying to wake him, when he saw the massive, broken, piece of glass, going through the back of his neck, right where his spine started. Then, there were ambulances and hospitals and so much noise, so much fucking chaos. Scott was yelling and the sheriff was too and then Derek couldn't find Stiles' heartbeat. They told him it stopped. Right before they told him about the head trauma and the permanent tremors that might lead to a general weakness in his muscles but not really paralysis. Almost paralysis though. And no one came after him, when he turned and left. So he kept walking, then driving, until he landed in a river, and almost drowned, trying to wipe away Stiles' blood. It took him a week, until, he was driving again. And his phone was gone and his house was gone and Stiles was gone and everything was just.. gone.
But Stiles didn't smell of blood now. He didn't feel cold and motionless. He was warm with the constant motion of his body, he was spread out so wide, Derek was enveloped in his shaky limbs, sinking into the chest and the shoulders and the body that didn't have holes anymore, that wasn't bleeding and stopping and dying. Stiles wasn't dying, but Derek kind of felt like he was. Like his heart stopped along with Stiles', only his, didn't really start back up. Until now. As he peeled his eyes opened –when did they close anyway?- and Stiles was there. So close. So reassuring. So grounding that Derek was certain, if gravity let up, he still wouldn't float away.
" You okay?" Stiles' voice sounded raw, like he'd been speaking for a long, long time. Derek was sorry that he couldn't hear him earlier.
" I'm sorry."
" Are you okay?" Stiles shook his head, disregarding the loaded apology, eyes searching, kind and worried and loving. Derek nodded, moving his arms around Stiles' waist, pulling him in, when he thought he was going to pull away.
" I have a check-up every 6 months. Less if anything comes up. To make sure the muscles aren't rapidly deteriorating. A monthly physiotherapy session, to maintain the supposed improvement and try to steady that tremble. The doctors think it can get better with time, but probably won't go away. There is a possibility of seizures, if I hit my head again, which is why, I went to school for psychology, and only help Scott with cases as a consultant. No field work. Same for his dad. And mine."
" What?"
" You asked me how this was going. I'm telling you. It's going okay. I'm okay." Derek breathed out, and it was shaky, before it reformed into a cry, then another, and Stiles' forehead fell away, because Derek's head was in his shoulder, so close to his heart, it felt like Stiles had cracked his ribcage open, and put him somewhere in there.
Then, there was a door opening somewhere behind them, noise tearing at the deceiving calm, the quiet that almost helped them forget about the world still turning, and all the steps they had to take, to not trip around the motion, to be as kept up as they could possibly be. The music was still playing, but they could still hear, Isaac's arms around Scott, their agitated conversation, and all the reason Scott refused to pour into whatever he was whisper-yelling at Isaac. He tore his arm away, said something like I'm not going to do anything, before his eyes fell on Derek's retrieving figure, standing close to Stiles, like he still had the right to the proximity.
" Jesus Christ, you think you get to come back here, and have him, take care of you? When you've left the way you did, when you did? You guilt-trip him into somehow consoling you, like he still owes you shit? What the fuck, Derek?" Isaac still had a hand around Scott's arm, but his legs did little to keep up with his enraged pace. No amount of digging and pulling could stop him, or even slow him down.
" Scott," Stiles sighed, walking ahead of Derek, like he was still trying to shield him.
" No, no. I'm talking to him now." Scott put a clawed finger against Derek's chest, and Derek would have pushed it away, would have fought back, if Scott didn't have every right to be this angry at him. " Seriously, Derek, you're kind of blowing my mind here. He's the one you left for years, after nearly killing him, after your fucking ex-girlfriend, permanently disabled him. He was in a medically induced coma, when you walked right out of there, and never looked back. You didn't call. You didn't bother asking about him or any of us. Hell, you didn't even answer his fucking phone calls. So tell me, what could possibly make you think you can waltz around here, like you're still fucking welcomed? Like there's still a place for you in any of our lives?" Scott's eyes were burning red, and he kept pushing and pushing, like it would drive him away, back to wherever he was, for all those years. Even Stiles was intimidated, almost, stunned, by the unfamiliar fury, the bitterness lacing everything about Scott.
" I don't think any of you owe me anything. That's not why I'm here. That-"
" Then, why are you here? Why weren't you here earlier? You had so many chances, there was so much shit that we were all drowning in, so why now, huh? What do you expect to get out of this? Out of him? Because I'll be damned if I let you mess with him again."
" Scott, stop. This isn't helping anyone. Calm down, okay?" Stiles was stepping between them, his chest brushing against Scott's, when he felt Derek's pushing against his back, beating with a flaring sense of rage, of blind, misguided, regret.
" I never messed with him. Is that what you think this is? You think I left, because I could no longer fool around with him, or- or play a stupid fucking game? You think I didn't want to come back? Or try to?" Stiles had a hand on Derek's chest, the other on Scott's, but they were both so unsteady, spastic in a way that was ironic really, because everything else seemed to be shaking, coming apart.
" How the fuck would I know? I don't know you. You don't know me. Why should I have any expectations of you? What standards do I have to compare them to, when you've given me nothing? You've done nothing for me, not when it really mattered, Derek."
Then arms were breaking through bones and claws were tearing through flush, and there were roars breaking through the night, howls at the moon, declarations of the agony they both carried around their hearts, the betrayal, the disappointment, the absurd fear of it all happening again. Of Derek leaving and Scott not caring and Stiles almost dying and- loss. They'd lost so much, the mere thought of more of that, sent them into a relentless panic. But then there was a voice calling out a name, so familiar, so heavy in the way that it mattered, in what it counted for. Scott had his claws around Derek's neck, and Derek had his around the fabric of his no longer white shirt, and they were both looking away, looking down, at the collapsed wheel chair, and the heap that was Stiles, tangled somewhere around it.
" Oh God, Stiles, is he- is he okay?" Scott was human again. Young and terrified and helpless, as he fell somewhere behind Kira, whose hands were around Stiles, along with the sheriff's and Melissa's. Scott didn't even register them ever coming out, didn't know that the party had stopped, when their voices had drowned out all the happiness in the atmosphere, had slaughtered the peacefulness, the blissful calm.
" He hit his head on the fall. Shit." Melissa spoke, not nearly as professional or as collected as she normally was. Derek fell to the ground too, so close to Scott, like he needed it, like he needed him. But also, like he wanted to be there this time. Scott didn't lean any closer, but he didn't fight back. Derek thought of it was as close to a win as he'd get.
Lydia was running out of the hall, crying out Stiles' name, and it sounded like some sort of plea, like a prayer. Isaac was by the doors, taming the crowds, guiding them back to their places, so that they wouldn't surround Stiles, embarrass him, or slow down what needed to be done to help. Ethan was helping too, listening in for updates, to give to the seemingly distressed Danny. Maybe to reassure himself as well, but no one needed to know that.
" Stiles, honey, can you hear me?" Melissa had her fingers at the back of his neck, touching for anything misplaced, or cracked open. The sheriff didn't know what to do with his hands, so he put them on Melissa's back, and told himself it was for her own comfort.
" I'm okay." Stiles nodded, groaned, blinked the darkness around the edges of his vision away. Kira breathed out, crashing against Scott's chest, as his arms circled around her, burying his head between her hair, like he was trying to hide. Trying to go away and see if it'd feel like it had for Derek. If maybe, it would help him understand.
The sheriff was easing Stiles' weight to a sitting position, his hands on his back, across his shoulder, tugging at him, till he was in his chest, and the sheriff's arms were all around him. Stiles patted his father's arms reassuringly, letting him leave a kiss above his ear, inhaling, like he wanted another bit of his son, before it changed too. Or went away. Melissa was pushing the wheel chair to an upright position, her eyes falling onto Lydia's smudged face, and how it looked like she wanted to get closer to Stiles, to latch onto him and probably cry some more.
" Holy shit, Lydia, what kind of bride are you? The grass will ruin your dress. Move along, go back to your husband. This is your night, I'm fine, now go." Stiles moved an already moving hand, swaying it in the general direction of the hall. Lydia whimpered like she was about to start crying, but then Melissa was turning her away, whispering things about fixing makeup and redoing hair and so many superficial things that were meant to crowd Lydia's head and distract her from her emotional turmoil.
Scott released Kira, threw himself around Stiles, all over him, they could barely be told apart. Stiles was trying to laugh, but the wind was literally knocked out of him, and all sounds were muffled by Scott's shoulders anyway.
" You asshole," Stiles breathed, but there was nothing to it. It was more endearing than anything. Scott held on tighter, despite Derek's scent that he probably reeked of. And oh, Derek was holding onto the hand left against his thigh, trying to take some of his pain, but it had been accumulating for years now, and he could only handle so much pain, that wasn't his own.
" I'm sorry, I don't even know how it happened, I was just trying to get you away and get to him, and I must have pushed you too hard onto that stupid chair and it tipped and oh my God, I could have seriously hurt you, Stiles."
" Hey, dude, relax, nothing happened. I'm fine. But you seriously need to work on those anger issues." Scott opened his mouth to argue, to talk some more trash about Derek, but he nodded, his eyes remorseful and sad and ashamed, everything else about him, still shaken up and scared.
Isaac was there now too, cautious and weary, but he smiled when his eyes met Stiles', and that was that. The sheriff was almost walking away, taking Kira and Scott along, wanting to end the night on a high-note if it killed him. And it looked like it would kill someone, like one of them would end up murdering the other, and he hoped his son wouldn't be there for any of it.
" Wait, I. I need to say something, and I don't know if I'm going to be able to repeat it, so just, everybody, stay. Please." Derek spoke, standing on slightly shaky legs, pulling his hand away from Stiles, because he didn't think he should have his safety blanket if he wanted to do this right. Stiles held himself up, denying the sheriff's aid, falling back onto his chair, and making sure the brakes were all the way up this time.
" I should have done better. I know. That night, I- I didn't know how to keep him away from her. Her attacks kept coming, and I told him to get the hell out of that room, to go find some help, or just- just stay away. But he didn't listen, and she seemed to be going after him, more than me, and I just, I pushed him away, without thinking of his landing, and. I messed up. If I had known he was so close to the window, if I had just taken the time to look, to take in our surroundings, to think this through, then maybe he wouldn't have gotten this badly injured. I know that, okay? I know this is all my fault. I would do anything, God, anything, to take it all back. To just, not go to his house that night, or to throw myself out of there, and take Kate with me, or just. Something. Do anything, different. I didn't mean to, Stiles. I never meant to hurt you. I need you to know that." There was something sparkling in Derek's eyes and it was the saddest, most dimmed out kind of light Stiles had ever seen. He nodded, breathless, and for the first time, probably ever, speechless.
" She would have killed me. Killed us both. You saved my life." Derek shook his head, wiped at his face because things wouldn't stop pouring out of him, and he was so tired of feeling like he was drowning into himself, and taking them all with him.
" When I left, I never intended on going away forever. I wasn't even thinking. I just, I heard the diagnosis, and Stiles' blood was everywhere, and I needed out. I needed to move and just, never stop, because it felt like I'd collapse, I'd fall apart, and I couldn't do that. Not with Stiles so badly hurt. Not with everything so, so messed up. So fucking on me. Do you get that? I was losing my mind there, Scott. I wasn't right in the head, or anywhere. Nothing felt right. And I know I was a selfish fucking coward, and I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." There was nothing in Derek's heartbeat, but the chase it was always in, like it was trying to outrun him and all the misery he held in there. Scott deflated, sighed, like he could no longer remember why he was ever angry at him, why he'd yelled out for him to leave, when really, he'd just wanted him to want to stay this time.
" I know you are. I was.. angry. And stupidly protective. I know you'd never hurt him. But I still can't completely forgive what happened, Derek. It took you 7 years to come back. 7 years. You have to know this isn't something I can just forgive and forget. Especially when it did to Stiles what it did. Even if I forgive my part, I can't forgive his. You didn't see it. Didn't see him. It was awful. And I know you didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. It's going to take some time, I guess. Some getting used to." Kira's arms tightened around him, her eyes dancing with something like pride, like awe, like she could barely believe this man was her fiancé, soon to be husband.
" I get that. And if you still want me to leave, I will. There's nothing for me here, but you. Every single one of you. And I'd never want to discomfort you in any way." Scott groaned then, pushing past the hands that were immediately around him, to protect Derek, and keep them apart. But he wrapped his arms around Derek, pulling him into a hug, so sudden, so unexpected, that Derek just stood there, wide-eyed, and motionless, until Scott tugged at the back of his neck, brushing against his head, like he wanted to hit it, but didn't have the energy to. It was like a switch in Derek's head flicked. And he remembered how to do this, as he sank into Scott, put his own arms around his waist, and squeezed.
" You're a fucking idiot if you still think this is what I want. I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay. Really be there, for all of it, for all of us. Okay? Can you do that?" Scott pulled away enough for Derek's head to move into something of a nod, before they were hugging again. When there was a bit of distance between them, but they weren't completely detached, they both looked like they were crying. Scott shoved at Derek's chest, chuckling, as he ran his hands across his face, seemingly embarrassed. Derek smiled, laughing, kind of breathlessly, because wow, he could do that now. Could do that again, and have it actually feel how it was supposed to.
Isaac was staring at Derek like he was awaiting permission, his features older now, but still as uncomfortable, as hesitant as he'd remembered them to be. Derek nodded, easing Isaac into a hug, holding his head to his shoulder, and breathing in the instantaneous scent of pack. It was like he mattered again. Isaac pulled away, when the sheriff started pushing everyone towards the hall, probably missing Melissa, or trying to act all tough and nonchalant, despite the resurfacing tears in his eyes. Stiles pushed his own wheel chair, until Derek did it for him. And he figured, he'd let him, if it'd make him feel better about himself, if it'd make him feel useful and important. Even if only remotely so.
Danny was dancing with Lydia and Ethan was watching with genuine joy across his features. Derek thought it looked good on him. He wondered if it looked as good on him too. Stiles stood when Lydia approached him, with a caring smile, and a hint of happiness pretty much everywhere else on her. He started dancing with her, jumping around, and all the tremors faded into the effortless movement of his body, and how radiant he was, like he'd just come to life. Derek kind of felt like that too. And then Stiles was twirling into his arms, crashing against his chest, shaking with laughter instead of tremors, and Derek leaned down, while he stood on his tiptoes and Derek had an aha moment. Deciding that he could taste it all across his lips, could feel the brush of life against him, easing fresh air into his lungs, messaging his heart into a rhythm of Stiles, and he wondered if he'd been dead all along, if he'd only been reborn now, opened his eyes to everything that life was supposed to be, when he opened his eyes and Stiles was there, so close, so comforting, the welcome home curled around his tongue, before he kissed him again.