Archive of Our Own

The bottom edge of the shirt was almost completely torn off. Stiles had bumped into the table, and went on, chasing after something, or running away, or, something. Derek couldn't remember anymore. Stiles still wore it, told Derek it changed shades of green, depending on the lighting. Told him, it reminded him of Derek's eyes. And suddenly, he didn't know if he wanted to give it back, to send it away, like he was the one with the memory issues. Like he was the one who forgot.

He threw it in anyway. Threw everything he could find in, wishing this would be the last of it, because he didn't know how many times he could find bits of Stiles scattered around his house –home, it had to still be called home even if it no longer felt like it. He didn't know how many times he could will Stiles away, and not feel the loss, like a pit in his stomach, a hole in his chest, that never really closed shut.

" Here." Derek dragged the bag, when he couldn't quite carry it, dropping it somewhere by Scott's feet, turning away before he had to see him take it away, like he'd taken Stiles. No, that wasn't fair, he didn't take Stiles. That wasn't on Scott. Derek was bitter all the same.

" He's doing better. He-"

" I didn't ask."

" I know you didn't. I'm telling you anyway, he's doing better. His ribs are almost completely healed up, the bruises are kind of faded, the stitches in his head stopped itching, it's mostly just the broken nose that's still kind of not quite right, but mum says it should be fine. He's going to be okay." Derek's arms were crossed against his chest, itching to claw him open, and massage his heart into a rhythm that no longer followed Stiles'. Take all the tiny pieces of his heart and throw them out, because they weren't good for anything anymore.

" Good. That's- that's good."

" Deaton says he still might remember. Not everything, probably, but."

" He won't. He doesn't, and that's fine. If he's healthy and safe, then, that's what matters."

" Derek," Scott sighed, and it sounded so tired, almost ancient.

" I said it's fine, Scott. I don't know why we're treating this like some kind of breakup. Stiles and I weren't a thing. We weren't together." Derek turned to look at Scott, and not at the bag wrapped around his hands.

" But you were something. I know how much you meant to him, and," That past tense right there, sounded like loss, left a taste at the back of Derek's throat that he wanted to throw up. He thought he'd throw up anyway.

" You don't need to pretend, okay? I know this whole broody-mysterious-tough-guy act is your thing, but this is Stiles, man. And I get it. I do. I'm not going to stop trying, just so you know, I'll do everything I can, to help him remember."

Derek could see the promise embedded in Scott's features, glistening in his eyes with a misplaced sense of hope, like if he believed it to be true, it would be. But it wasn't. Derek didn't know how to tell him he couldn't believe him, because the last thing he'd believed in, had forgotten all about him. Had carried on with a life that didn't care for him, didn't even attempt to find a place to fit him into. Derek had believed in Stiles so foolishly, so blindly, had believed in taking him to graduation and being so proud to call him as close as anything had ever gotten to being his. Had believed in sleepless nights with talks about the universe and the stars and the moon and how little everything else felt in Stiles' overwhelming presence. Had believed in love and family and life. Had believed in his ability to beat whatever it was that would be coming for them, keep Stiles safe. But it all came back to bite him in the ass, and he was left questioning if any of it had ever been real, had even happened at all. Or maybe, Stiles was right. Maybe they were still recovering after Jackson and Gerard, trying to figure out how to save him without killing him. And Derek was running around, finding teenagers, biting and turning them to have any allies in a world that was out to get him. Maybe Scott still refused to go anywhere near Derek and Allison was still alive. Maybe the past four years had all been a thread of Derek's imagination, another fucked up coping mechanism.

" Isaac didn't remember what he saw in the safe until he did that ice-bath thing, Scott. He was a werewolf too. I'd rather have Stiles alive with no memory, than, just, gone. I'd take this over the alternative, every time."

" I know you will. But it's not our choice to make. It should be his. This is four years of his life we're talking about here. This is, this is him not knowing Liam or Mason or even Malia. There are all these stories, all these people, that he needs to remember, to realize they're his. Good or bad, they're part of him, and we don't get redo's in life, and neither should he. He wouldn't want this, would never want to just, not know." Scott shook his head, appalled and a little miserable.

" He doesn't remember Jennifer, Scott. Or the sacrifices, or even the nogitsune. He- he doesn't know Kate came back, or that I left. Left him."

" You came back, Derek."

" It doesn't matter. When has that ever mattered? I- he didn't deserve this shit, and maybe, this is the universe fixing itself. Maybe this is life balancing things out, making up for what it put him through. Maybe this is his chance, to not, to not feel the way he felt. Not have to live through any of it. Who deserves that more than him? Wh- who are we to take that away from him, drag him down along with us?" Derek felt something sliding against his face, put his hands beneath his eyes, to wipe whatever it was away, but it kept coming, and he realized, he was crying and unable to stop.

" We're his family, the people who were there with him, who went through it too. You're the one who saved his life, got your ass kicked for him, helped save his father, came back to the town that did nothing but ruin your life, when he called you freaking out over accidentally killing someone who was already trying to kill him. You were there when I wasn't. And I'm his best friend, I get to have a say in this too." Derek tried to breathe through a loud cry unwilling to subside, to die down, no matter how hard he tried to suffocate it.

" This is selfish, Scott. He doesn't deserve to be put through all of this again. We're going to open up all his wounds, and that's- that's not fair. I don't want him to remember me like that. And if it's the only way, then, I don't want it at all. Let him live. I'm fine. I don't need this from him."

" He loved you. What part of that don't you get?"

" He didn't. Stop saying that." Derek shook his head, angled away from Scott, closing his eyes around the tears left there, tightening his grip around his surroundings, the hard facts that he knew, had to accept.

" I'm not doing this with you, it's not my place to. But I'm sure you heard my heartbeat, although, I doubt you needed that, to know how he felt about you. I'm going to take this bag to his house, where we'll be having a pack meeting tonight, in case you chose to show up this time. If not, then I'll catch you up later."

And then Scott was gone, and it was odd, how things that left always kind of smelled like Stiles as they did.

Derek didn't show up to that meeting. He wanted to, tried to be the man they needed him to be, the alpha he was supposed to become, but the itch to cling on, to touch and feel and hold would be too much for him, and he didn't think Stiles would want anything to do with him. Derek had once promised, to never do anything Stiles didn't want, to never force him into anything, or force anything upon him. Whether or not Stiles knew anything about that promise, was irrelevant. He would never turn into Kate, would never help mold Stiles into something like himself, would never want to leave that kind of print on Stiles. And if it meant he wouldn't leave any prints on him at all, then so be it. Derek could handle being forgotten, could handle being uncared for, but not hated. Not again. Not after he'd come so close to loved. So close.

Scott came by two days later, to catch Derek up like he'd promised to, but also, to pressure him some more into telling Stiles the truth. This time, bringing Lydia along, changing things up a bit.

" Peter showed up at that meeting."

" So?"

" He's supposed to be dead? The last Stiles remembers of him is almost killing Lydia? And then, you tearing his throat out?" Derek groaned, rubbing his hands across his face.

" Still standing by that great idea of yours?" Derek stood from the couch, needing to put some kind of distance between them. Needing to get away somehow.

" We're not doing this again."

" He can tell that something is off, Derek. He keeps doing these things, that feel like they're someone else's, and you know him. He's going to drive himself mad trying to make sense of it, if we don't cautiously guide him through it." Derek tried to kill the resurfacing hope before it killed him.

" What things? What does he do?"

" He sleeps on the left side of the bed. He doesn't cover himself with a blanket anymore, and wakes up, freezing cold, and confused. He asks for something green, every single day, before remembering that he doesn't even like greeneries. He keeps telling his dad how weird smelling his aftershave is, because you use a different brand, I'm guessing. And when he's overwhelmed, he puts on that stupid torn shirt, and twist it in all those different angles under the light. I don't know what this is about, but,"

" He'll get over it." Derek wouldn't though. One couldn't just fall in love with Stiles and find a way around it.

" Lydia, tell him something!" Scott groaned, falling back into an almost laid down position, sinking into the couch, with curious eyes following both Derek's and Lydia's motion.

" He can't connect with anyone. He doesn't trust them, doesn't know them. It's taking a toll on everybody, they're demotivated, and distanced, and they don't know how to get through to him, when to him, they're strangers. He just talks to me, Scott, and his dad, and that's it. That's all he knows, Derek. I appreciate the gesture, but you're being selfish here."

" Selfish?" Derek scoffed, hurt, irritated.

" Yes. Selfish. You two had something that no one can deny, okay, fair enough. But he is their friend too. He dated Malia for a while. Basically saved Cora's life. Fostered Isaac when he needed it. He is part of all their lives, and you're keeping him away from them. And taking them away from him."  

" I'm not the one who got into his head and erased the past four years, Lydia, what the fuck are you talking about? I'm trying to protect him here, when everyone else seems to be bitching and whining about his temporary weariness of them." Derek was downright pissed off now. He momentarily wondered if this was the intended reaction all along, then decided that, screw it, he was going to be pissed anyway.

" No, you aren't. You didn't wipe his memories, but you're being dishonest, and you're making everyone else lie to him too."

" I didn't make anyone do anything. They can tell him the stories since the dawn of time for all I care, just keep my name out of it."

" Just telling him the stories will do nothing to bring his memory back, you know that. It's not a medical condition. His memories were taken away from him. Closed off."

" I know that. Fuck, Lydia, I know, okay? What the fuck do you want me to do about it now? I'm dealing with the consequences, aren't I? I'm- he doesn't remember me. And I'm trying to, to not fucking drown us both and see if anything comes out of it. At least give me some credit here, and stop trying to guilt-trip me into something I don't want, okay? I don't want him to remember me. I don't want him to remember the shit that happened for us to become what we- what we almost were. I don't want him to have to die for this. For me. It's not worth it. It's just.. not." 

" But, Derek," Lydia was losing most of her fight. Derek had long lost his.

" Lydia, listen. Thank you, both of you, for trying to keep me in the loop. But if you're going to stay here, then, be done talking about this. Because I am. What Stiles is or isn't to me, is my business. What I am to him, is what I was before; a desperate measure. I'm okay with that, and you need to be too, if we're going to have any sort of conversation here. Otherwise, you should go home. I'm tired anyway." And he was. Down to his bones.

He went to bed, trying to sleep his existence away. Lydia settled beside him. Scott left. And he didn't know why the sound of the door closing, drowned out the creaking of the bed beneath Lydia's weight. Didn't know why he heard the sound of leaving but not staying. Or maybe he did. Because he knew what leaving sounded like, never really heard the sound someone made, when they decided to stay.

One week later, there was another pack meeting. This time, Derek willed himself to go. Thought he could go on an unhealthy run through the woods until he was too worn out to do much about any of it, after. Everyone was there, including the sheriff and Melissa, who mostly spent time in the kitchen, pretending not to eavesdrop. Stiles barely paid Derek any mind, and Derek tried to find some sort of comfort there. At least, he wouldn't have to forcefully push Stiles away. He already was.. away.

" So the omega that attacked Stiles? Apparently, he wasn't so much of an omega. More like a beta, hungry for alpha powers, that he won't get out of his own pack, because he's quite low down the chain of command, and they made sure it would never really go to him. Oh, and they're a family of werewolves, that are also, a pack. He was the alpha's nephew." Isaac explained, pointing a claw at the map Liam had spread out, marking their territory, which was a few towns away from Beacon Hills, but not nearly far enough.

" Do they know what happened? That he was in our territory? Kidnapped and tortured one of our own?" Derek leaned in, searching the map to try to calculate how big of a pack they could be. He missed the slight furrow of Stiles' eyebrows at the thought of him being one of Derek's own.

" Something tells me, they're not going to care. He was killed, on our land, by another Alpha. They're probably coming for blood." Scott shrugged, releasing the map, and letting it fold onto itself.

" I'll handle this. You don't have to worry about it."

" Yeah, you and what army? Seriously, dude, I thought we were past that self-sacrificial I-don't-need-anyone bullshit by now."

" I did this. I killed him. This is my mess, and I'll clean it up." Derek frowned, his jaw clenched, like he was biting down to keep more words from escaping.

" We were all there together, to get Stiles back. You just happened to be closest to him. Doesn't mean they'll stop when they're done with you. Now, let's think of a rational plan."

" You wouldn't have killed him. If it was you,"

" We don't know that. Stiles was hurt, I don't know what I would have done. Plus, it's not like he made it easier for anybody."

" He was there because of me. He did this to," His tongue was heavy, unwilling, his heart giving a painful thud in his chest, as he tried to breathe, make it seem natural, or easy, or even, possible at all, " He did this to Stiles, to get to me." There. Finally, he pushed the name out.

" I'm confused." Stiles spoke, clearing his throat, to make his voice seem less nasally, clearer.

" Why are you confused?" Lydia asked, inching closer to the table between them, with all the maps and books.

" Why would some random werewolf think to kidnap me to get to Derek?"  

" We're guessing, he wanted to find some kind of a loner alpha, become one of his few, if not his only, beta, and eventually kill him and take his alpha powers."

" Yeah, but what did he want with me? He could have taken any of Derek's betas, or something." Lydia sighed, looked at Derek with a pinched, blaming expression. Derek tried not to let all his features fall at once.

" Isaac is the only beta Derek has. Maybe Peter too, but we don't know if that counts. And it probably would have been easier to extract information from a human than a werewolf."

" Wait, what? But, what about these guys? If they're not Derek's betas, then," Stiles reeked of confusion and frustration and utter helplessness, looking between Liam, Mason, Malia, and Kira. Derek tried not to choke on the unfamiliarity of it all.

" They're mine. My pack." Scott said, a hint of pride coating his voice.

" What the hell? Since when do you have your own pack?"

" Dude, we've been over this. I'm a true Alpha, so I didn't kill anyone to gain my powers. I only bit Liam to save him from a life-threatening fall. Mason came with him. Malia is a werecoyote, and Kira is a kitsune, and they both chose to be part of this pack." Stiles' eyes were wide and curious, before a grin spread across his face. Derek almost wanted to smile too.

" That's so cool. I can't believe you're a badass alpha now." Scott beamed at his friend's praise, looking young and excitable again.

" Back to the issue at hand; what are we going to do about that pack?" Malia asked, un-amused but still eager for the inevitable fight.

" We should probably call Chris. Maybe he knows something about that pack. Even if he doesn't, we could use the back-up anyway." Scott said, all serious again.

" Mr. Argent? You're going to call him to help with something Derek-related? Are you serious?"

" He helps us all the time, man. Him and Derek are buddies now."

" We're not buddies," Derek rolled his eyes, almost hissed out, " We barely tolerate each other to get through whatever we need to get through, and that's it."

" But dude, his dad, and Allison, do I need to remind you how that situation went down?" Scott grimaced, in a kind of pain that was so real, it was almost physical. Kira put her hand on his shoulder, tried not to get too close, to avoid stirring questions from Stiles that they couldn't quite answer.

" I know. Chris is different though."

" What do you mean different? He's still an Argent, Scott. Dude, I know you're in love or whatever, but,"

" It's not that, okay? This is not about that. Can you just, just drop it? For now at least?" Scott yelled out without really meaning to. He was just so, tired, of having to fabricate this version of himself for his friend. He hated lying to Stiles.

" You keep saying that. What am I missing here, huh? Why is Allison not here? Why aren't we out there, looking for Jackson? Where are Erica and Boyd? How much fucking time am I missing, because it kind of feels like it's been a lifetime or two?"

" Stiles, calm down," Derek inched closer, in the most instinctual manner, but Stiles flinched, gasped like he'd been burned, as he threw himself away from the couch, retrieved, despite all his tripping around the spread out legs. Derek's eyes widened, horrified and stunned, before hurt took everything down.

" Jesus Christ, I'm not going to hurt you." The hands that were mistakenly reaching out, stood in the air, announcing their surrender, their defeat. Derek couldn't believe that after all those years, Stiles was scared of him again. After all he'd done to better himself, to morph himself into someone that would be somewhat worthy of Stiles. None of it mattered.

" Derek," Someone sighed out his name. Lydia or Malia, or maybe it was Scott. Stiles' heartbeat was ringing in his ears, still trying to outrun him.

" It's fine. It doesn't matter. I, uh, I'm going to head back. Make a few phone calls, and. I. I'll let you know if I find anything. I- yeah. Okay." It wasn't okay, though. It wasn't fine. And for the first time, Derek was running out of ways, to try to make it so. But he kept his eyes down, away, as he left the house, driving his car back home. He wondered if he left this time, if he just drove until he was out, if he'd ever have a reason to come back, now that he kind of had nothing.

Five days later, Derek was returning from a run, when Stiles' scent hit him so hard, he fell to his knees, aching, panting, dying in ways he hadn't before. He had to limp his way back to his house, feeling Stiles' loss like a missing limb. But when he opened the door, the scent engulfed him, welcoming him home, and he breathed in so deeply, so hungrily, his lungs caved a little, his chest hurt. But Stiles was in the middle of his living room, sprawled out across the ground, surrounded by pictures and letters and things Derek kept from all his past lives, all the versions of himself that he folded, tucked away, forgot all about.

" Stiles," His throat was almost completely blocked, by all the things he shoved down, swallowed away.

" Fuck, they were telling the truth. We really- we were together. You and I, we," Stiles still looked terrified, and it hurt something stupid.

" What did they tell you?" Derek wanted to be in his proximity, to try to comfort him somehow, but he just, really didn't want him to recoil again, didn't want to see that thing in his eyes, that made him feel less like himself, and more like some monster.

" A lot. Too much. How, how did this happen? When? I thought you hated me." Stiles whimpered, like he was about to cry. Derek's control wavered, and he took a few steps towards Stiles, sitting on the floor, and crossing his legs, letting most of his disregarded belongings sit between them.

" Never. I could never hate you, Stiles."

" This is crazy. And my best friend is a fucking werewolf. But, this is.. these things don't just happen. You only talk to me if you're threatening to rip my throat out. And I- I accused you of murder, of your own sister too. How am I supposed to believe that it went from that, to, being in love? What the hell?" Derek tried to smile, to reassure Stiles somehow, but it was kind of hard to find a grip around that, when he felt cracked open, raw.

" You don't have to. Believe it, I mean. I didn't want them to tell you. I didn't.. I didn't want this, Stiles. And I know you didn't either. I'm sorry." Stiles stared at him like he was a madman, like if he blinked, the masks would fall, and he'd go back to being the dickhead he knew him to be.

" You do realize how trippy this is, right? Like, my dad likes you. He scolded me, for disregarding your feelings. That's fucking nuts." This time, Derek did laugh, because it seemed like it was what Stiles wanted out of this.

" Yeah, John and I bonded. We're kind of tight."

" You are not on first-name basis with my dad, oh my God." Derek laughed and laughed, his body angling towards Stiles, until they were almost shoulder to shoulder. Stiles shook his head, his lips curved into a smile that was something right out of Derek's dreams.

" I can't believe Derek Hale likes me. I mean, people like you don't just end up with people like me."  Derek Hale loved him. But he couldn't tell him that, so he let him skim through the pictures he had of them –yeah, okay, maybe he lied, maybe he didn't throw away everything, sue him, he missed Stiles, okay? He needed to have at least something to prove that it had happened, that it wasn't all in his head.

" I can't believe I'm re-falling in love with you, when I can't even get you to fall for me once." And things just.. stopped. Stiles' hands stopped reaching for new pictures. Derek's chest stopped rising and falling and- then Stiles was moving, crashing against Derek, his lips falling onto his like they were tumbling, collapsing, tripping into something kind of like love.

But it didn't feel the same, because Stiles couldn't remember that Derek liked to be held when he was being kissed. Stiles didn't know the sound that Derek sometimes made, high on love and joy and wholesomeness. Stiles didn't know how their first kiss went, didn't know what they said after, didn't know how he said it'd made him feel, because Stiles – Stiles didn't know Derek. Not really. Not like he'd bared himself to him, willed him to take what he needed, take it all.

So Derek pulled away. Stiles didn't dive in for more, had two fingers on his lip, pinching it, like he was trying to regain feeling. Derek wished he could have just let him kiss him until he forgot too. But Stiles was still so vibrant in Derek's mind, so clear, and Derek would have hated him for it, if he didn't love him something silly.

" I'm sorry. I- that was stupid. I shouldn't have done that."

" It's okay." Derek shook his head, denying the apology, his eyes falling away from Stiles, not wanting to see any more of him, that he'd have to lose again.

" It's not. Shit, I know it's not. But I- I don't know you like that. I don't know this version of you. And I feel like I'm letting you down, all the fucking time. I don't know how to be what you expect me to be." Stiles was standing, pacing, eyes pleading as they took Derek in. And Derek was infuriated by it all; because after everything, Stiles was still seeking more out of him, still looking at him for more. And Derek didn't know what the hell he wanted from him, didn't know what else he was supposed to give, to lose.

" I don't expect you to be anything, Stiles. I didn't ask you for anything."

" You don't have to, that's the thing. If you know me as well as you say you do, then you would know that, that I know what loss looks like. And you're always looking at me like- like I took someone from you, and God. I hate that. I lost a lot of things when that asshole came for me too, Derek. I don't need this, on top of everything else."

" Oh, I'm sorry, Stiles. I'm sorry that my misery is of inconvenience to you. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're the one who came into my house, I get to mope whichever way I want to, it has nothing to do with you. God, I forgot how much of a dick you can actually be, if you try hard enough." Derek was standing too, moving away from Stiles, wondering if the looming loss was his or Stiles'.

" What, the new and improved version of me didn't come with an asshole option?"

" Oh you did. I don't think there's a version of you that isn't sometimes an asshole. But you made it tolerable, and endearing, and. You made it suck less. And I knew I could fight you for the rest of my life, but you'd still crawl into my bed, every night, and just, make everything matter less. I knew I'd always have you. For the first time in- in so long, I was so sure of someone. Of this. Of you. And." Derek sighed, deflated, shrunk a little, like he was trying to hide within himself.

" It doesn't matter. You don't want to hear this. I need to shower anyway, but,"

" I'm sorry, Derek. I don't- I can't help this. I'm not doing it to hurt you, I just, I don't know how to make it better. I don't know how to be what everyone seems to be missing. I can't and I'm sorry." Derek didn't know how valid an apology could be, if it was for not loving someone, for losing all traces of them, erasing their mere existence. But he appreciated it all the same.

" I know you are. I am too." And he was. For not loving him earlier, or harder, or just.. better.

Derek heard the key Stiles put down on his table. He heard the door closing behind him. Heard the thing his heart did, spelling out another goodbye.

Heard nothing else, putting his head beneath the water, staying there till his own body stopped smelling like Stiles. Like it was still, Stiles'.

Derek fell against the door to Deaton's clinic, breathless and aching, almost all over. That dull pain was almost always there, only, now there seemed to be more of it. Derek kind of felt like crumbling, as he staggered into the back room, pushing through the crowd, finding Stiles sitting on the metal table, leaving his arm for Deaton, to recheck his vitals.

" I had to tell him, Stiles. I'm sorry, but," Scott said, eyes guilty and kind of terrified.

" You didn't want them to tell me? You didn't think I deserved at least that? To know?" Derek hated the break in his voice, the hurt clouding all the anger.

" I figured it was going to happen, if all goes well, then we'll be too busy celebrating to be pissed about anything, and if not, then.." Stiles shrugged, nonchalant, exhausted.

" Then what? Huh? If this all goes wrong, then what, Stiles?"

" Well, I wouldn't be here to handle the wrath, now, would I?"

" You have got to be fucking kidding me." Derek was pacing, hands in his hair, pulling and tugging and willing some of the pressure to release.

" Alright, Stiles, we can proceed, if you're ready." Stiles nodded, pushed himself off the metal table, always so willing, so prepared to go.

" Sheriff, aren't you going to say something to him? You're going to let him do this?" Derek was desperate. He knew he sounded it, probably, looked it too, but he thought the helplessness would kill him, long before Stiles' loss ever did.

" He never needed me to let him do anything, he just did it." The sheriff looked apologetic, regretful, almost, sad. Derek thought his fury could probably damn them all to hell, end a world or two, start something else anew.

" Stiles," Derek stepped into Stiles' personal space, his hands around his arms, settling the flinch before it came over him.

" Why are you doing this? What can I do, to," Stop this. Take it all back. Make you okay again.

" Nothing, Derek," Stiles tried to chuckle, loosening Derek's grip around his arms, until he was out, far away, still smelling of weariness and fear. But the stink wasn't as pungent. Derek didn't find comfort in that.

" I need to feel like myself again. I need to remember, whatever it is, I need to know about it, so that we can all move on."

" We've moved on. We can tell you whatever you need to know, okay? We'll tell you everything, just, don't do this."

" And then what? How am I supposed to feel those things, or relate to them? I need them to be mine, Derek. I need to make it feel real." Derek groaned, looked away from Stiles, to keep from shifting, losing all sense of control.

" They're memories, Stiles. They already happened. You already lived them. They don't affect what's happening now, and they don't need to affect what happens next. They don't matter."

" You don't honestly believe that. I'm not the same person because of what I can't remember. We are these people because of what we lived through, what we lost, what we felt. And I'm missing four years of that. I can't not know."

" Stiles, Derek, maybe we should,"

" And I can't let this happen because of me again!" Derek roared, throwing his arms away, seeking something other than all the empty space around him, all the holes that were no longer filled with Stiles.

" What are you talking about?"

" Derek." It sounded like Scott. Or Isaac. Or someone that could hear Derek's heart beating against his chest, like an animal locked in a cage, like it was trying to break through him, or just, break him.

" Three years ago, you had to go through this. To save your dad and Melissa and Chris. You, Scott, and Allison, you went under, and- you almost- you weren't the same after, and it was because of me. Because I trusted someone I shouldn't have, again, and- now- if I had kept you safe, if I had just- fuck, Stiles." Derek whined, whimpered, folded in half, with a hand on his chest. He couldn't breathe. Everything was spiraling, and he couldn't find his footing. Couldn't make it stop.

" What the fuck, Derek, are you okay? What's going on?"

Derek was back by his family home again, screaming and yelling and begging - for someone to make it stop, to get them out, to take him instead. Wolfsbane was keeping him away, holding him back. Or maybe those were his sister's arms. It all blurred into the smoke that reeked of searing flush and peeling skin. He was watching his family burn and he was watching Stiles drown and he wondered if he could drown out the fire and let that fucking tub burn instead.

" I- I can't. Please, just. I can't watch someone else- I can't watch you die too. I can't- I can't breathe." Derek's face was crumbled onto itself, his breaths sounding like they hurt. He fell to his knees, and Stiles' fell with him. Although, there were more arms around him than Stiles', Derek felt the print of his, against his chest. Felt them crack him wide open. And he let them. He'd let him do anything, just not leave.

Stiles' hands hovered around him, needy and panicked, until they circled around his face, latched on. His forehead fell onto Derek's, and he didn't know why his body knew more than he did. Why it reacted to Derek so effortlessly, so knowingly. Like his body still knew him, still remembered what to do with him, for him, even if Stiles didn't.

" Okay. Okay, slow down. Just breathe, alright? We'll talk about it later. For now, focus on your breathing. You're okay - I can't believe this is happening right now, Jesus Christ - but, it doesn't matter. We'll deal with it. Come on, calm down, in and out, you can do it." Derek thought of Stiles telling him about his first panic attack, how his dad held him kind of the same, whispered almost the exact words that Stiles was mumbling now. He wondered if Stiles remembered Derek wrapping around him that one night, when he was wet and cold and so incredibly alone. Derek didn't know if he ever forgave Scott for that night. If he'd ever be able to.

" There we go, nice and easy, fuck, I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm normally on the other side of those things, but, it's helping right? It's hurting less, huh? You don't have to respond, Jesus, you probably can't anyway, but I'm kind of freaking out here. That isn't helping, right? Shit, of course, I should be calm. How do I do that? You know what, whatever, we don't have to go anywhere, just breathe, come on, Derek." Derek tried to nod, wished he could laugh, but he felt loose and dazed, letting the rest of his weight go, sinking into Stiles, almost pushing him into a horizontal position, but he took it, took it all and bared it for him.

It took Derek a while, to feel somewhat coherent, composed enough to open his eyes, resurface, after he'd sunk, drowned. Hit rock bottom and bounced, only to hit it again.

" Well, this is awkward. Did that happen often? Was this a thing for us?" Stiles was smiling, his mouth slowly, almost, painfully so, finding its way around it, and Derek swore, he was growing breathless again.

" Only if we're feeling particularly lucky. Who wouldn't want to remember this, huh?" Derek smiled too, feeling the crowd dispersing around them, Scott and Isaac falling away from their crouches, relieved and worn out, like they were going through it along with Derek.

" Yeah, if that's what's waiting for me, I should probably rethink this whole thing. I mean, I don't have to know everything about four years of my life, right? Who needs memories anyway?" Stiles snorted, kind of chuckled, releasing Derek's head, and running his hands through his hair.

" I don't want anything to happen to you, Stiles." Derek was somber, dimmed out, as he looked between Stiles' eyes, allowing himself to miss him, for all that he was.

" I can't keep living like this, Derek. And. My dad. I can't do this to him again. I can't, turn into my mum; someone else who'd forget him, look at him like- like they can't recognize him, don't know who he is. I can't put him through this again." Stiles shook his head, looking resigned, haunted. Derek felt like crying again, it was all so pathetic, really.

" But you know who he is. You know all those things about him, about everyone else too."

" Not like that. I know who he was four years ago. I don't know how he got those wrinkles by the corners of his eyes, or that limp that comes out when he's unwell. I don't- I don't know who told him about all of this, or how he reacted, or, anything. I know nothing about him, or about you. And. I feel like I'm living someone else's life. Like all of this, isn't mine, was never meant for me. I feel wrong, and I don't want to. I want to know how this all started. Who told who first, if we even said it at all. Where we had our first kiss. Who did we tell, how did they react. I want- I want to remember how it all felt, how you felt, how I felt with you. I want to have all that, and then do with it what feels right. But I can't do that, if- if we're universes apart. If your Stiles and my Derek are in separate lifetimes, being other people. I'm sorry, but, I can't just let this go. If there was any other way, anything safer, or, easier, I would have done it, but there's nothing, and that pack is going to come, and I can't be defenseless. I can't. Okay? Do you get that?" Derek sighed, his chest still tight, like it was about to cave, collapse into him, or onto him, or, just collapse.

" I get it. I knew you were going to do it anyway. I just figured, it was worth a shot." Stiles grinned, eyes glistening with something or the other. Derek thought he wanted to ask how he knew, how he could be so sure that Stiles would do it, but Stiles never said it, so Derek didn't dwell on it.

" Oh, and, we didn't say it yet. We didn't really have to. We just knew." Derek was dusting his pants, looking down at his disheveled appearance. He was so used to the concept of being in love with Stiles, that he barely noticed his stunned hesitance, or how bewildered he was, like it still made no sense to him.

Derek leaned against the furthest wall from Stiles, unsteady, so tired, he could lay down and just, never wake again. Deaton was situated back by the tub, making sure it was cold enough to kill. Melissa was there too, aware and worried all the same, as they all moved around Stiles, every touch feeling like a goodbye, every word almost breaking and reforming to spell it out. The sheriff hugged him, everything about him closing around the grief and the terror and the plea. Derek saw his lips before he heard the words, whispered and not at all as humorous as he wanted them to be, fathers should never bury their sons Stiles, I'm not going to be the exception here, it's not going to work like that. Stiles was a lot sadder, young looking and scared, when his father finally let him go. Scott hugged him too, and the years that Stiles had lost, he'd gained, aging a lifetime on top of his. Then, everyone else was rushing through their holds, laughing about how dramatic this whole thing was, how unnecessary it was to say goodbye, because Stiles wasn't going anywhere. Right? Yeah. He was going to come back. And when he did – when he did, Derek was going to love him so hard, he'd be drowning in that instead.

Stiles had his fingers gripping the sides of the tub, his shoulder blades clenching and releasing every time he tried to move, but froze – wow, how ironic. He tilted his head back, just barely, his eyes finding Derek, and maybe Derek wasn't so tired after all. Maybe he had some energy left in him, just enough to get him across the room, until he was surrounding Stiles and Stiles was buried so deeply within him, he started feeling like a grave. He hoped he'd be kinder than the one that threw his sister up, after chewing on her a bit.

" Will you stay close? I- in case something happens, or, I don't know, just,"

" Yeah. I'll be here. I love you." Stiles choked on the breath he was trying to let out, his eyes so big and wide, it was almost comical. Except, it was pretty fucking adorable. Derek couldn't believe that was an actual thought running through his head.

" Holy shit. Wait. Are you just saying that to get me to change my mind? Because it's not going to work. I'm very determined, right now. Extremely. There's no backing down here. Not a chance. Never,"

" I know," Derek interrupted, smiling, " And I love you. I just wanted you to know that. Do with it what you will. I love you." And then, Stiles was smiling too, almost jumping between his feet, beaming. They heard someone sniffing, found Mason wiping beneath his eyes, crying rather achingly.

" Oh no, oh shit, are you crying? Is he- is he crying?"

" I'm sorry, okay? It's just so awesome, and they're so in love, and,"

" Aren't you and Corey supposed to be on guard duty with Liam?" Scott squinted his eyes, accusingly, but his failed attempts at hiding his smile, kind of ruined the whole thing.

" Yeah, yeah, we are. We're on it."

" Wait, Corey? I don't think we've seen him today, maybe he,"

" Right here." Corey said, seemingly materializing out of thin air, arms already circling around Mason.

" Jesus Christ, what the- is that- how can he do that?" Stiles was inching closer, wanting to explore. But Scott's hands stopped him, a "right, okay, later" whispered, before Stiles was putting one leg over the tub, then the other, his body barely breaking the surface, before he was thrashing and kicking and fighting for his life, like he'd only now realized, he was so close to losing it. He was giving it away. Derek's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down, down – he felt like he was killing that omega again. A bubble of un-breathed air for every moment he'd taken away from Stiles. And then Stiles stilled, and Derek didn't know how to untangle his hands, how to let go, how to stop killing him.

There was a hand on his shoulder, Scott's, he thought. It's okay, you can let go now. He breathed, released, and Stiles was floating, so blue, he looked like the night, just as quiet, as vast looking. Isaac started timing it. Deaton called for him, once, twice, and then, without ever meaning to, an agonized Stiles fell past Derek's lips, and Stiles' chapped, ashy lips started pushing out shivered responses. Derek wondered if he heard him, if that was his way of reassuring him, that he was still there.

Deaton followed the events of the last four years of their lives like he'd written it all down. He asked the questions, giving Stiles the time to retrieve the memories, open the chambers of his mind, and let it all back in. Sometimes, Stiles' voice would hesitate, waver, like he was feeling it again, aching and breaking and hating. Derek hated it too. Hated every single thing about this.

" I know you're pissed at me, for telling him, Derek, but you didn't see him back there. It was driving him insane. He had nightmares about his mum, and, the questions, man. I didn't know what else to do." Scott spoke, cautious, unsure. It sounded like he needed one thing to be okay, to be how it was supposed to be. And Derek was never supposed to be this hurt, this betrayed.

" It's fine."

" Again, werewolf, I can tell when you're lying."

" Good thing I'm not."

" You are."

" Scott,"

" No, no, I couldn't keep doing this to him. He was looking at me like he thought I was someone else, like he didn't trust me, didn't know if he could, and,"

" No, seriously, Scott,"

" I have things that I wish I could take back too. I was a shitty friend to him, and he's going to remember that about me, remember how I let him down, and how, how much it had hurt, and maybe he won't ever want to talk to me again, maybe he,"

" Fucking hell, Scott, shut up and listen. I- I think there's something wrong."

And there was. Everything was wrong, because Stiles was going under again, sinking like a stone in an ocean of raging waves. They pulled him out, throwing him to the floor, shaking and prodding and awakening, but Melissa put her ear to his chest, and there was nothing there. She started on compressions, Derek breathing into his mouth, hating how dead his lips felt against his, how there was no breath moving past them, no words falling into his mouth. But his chest was barely healed, his bones only a touch welded, before Melissa was breaking them apart again. Derek could hear the sound of them cracking beneath the pressure, could see Stiles coming apart, and - there was nothing happening. The sheriff was yelling about defibrillators and shocking his heart back to life and doing something. Melissa yelled too, more frantic than she'd ever allowed herself to be, screaming things like electrocution and water and burning and – no. Derek couldn't associate Stiles with burning. Or drowning. Or dying, at all.

Stiles started breathing when Derek started hitting against his chest, out of control and probably a little crazed - I told you, I told you this was going to happen, come on, Stiles, wake up, wake up, breathe, Stiles, breathe. Derek buried the breath into his shoulder, before it ever came out. He clung to Stiles, fell around him, crawled until his back rested against the metal table, and Stiles' back left a wet smudge across his chest, carved Stiles' frame into him. Deaton tried to check him over, Melissa did too, but Derek groaned, swatted their hands away, took Stiles' arms and crossed them, almost ready to die too, if Stiles ever did. He'd be buried beneath Stiles, covered by earth that would smell too much of home and family and things he'd had and lost. And he'd start decaying, and Stiles would too, both into themselves, then each other, then the ground. It would have been beautiful, if it wasn't so fucking morbid. But death was morbid, and how it continued to brush against Stiles, touch him closely enough to leave real damage behind, well, that was fucking unbearable.

Derek was tracing the paled distance between Stiles' moles, trying to feel the pulsing of the blood in his veins, the rise and fall of his skin, just trying to feel something of life, something that wasn't so close to death, when the clinic's door was torn off its hinges, and everyone was throwing themselves onto the invading pack. He watched the shadow casted by his eyelashes, against his cheek, waited for it to flutter, to widen and cover them all in darkness, but things about Stiles still weren't moving the same. Derek buried his nose into Stiles' neck, breathed him in, the sound of Scott's roars somewhere far away. He laid Stiles down onto his side, brushed the hairs away from his forehead, before leaving the room, putting a line of wolfsbane by the door, to keep everything out, let him have his rest.

Derek shifted, moved around the pack, pushing the sheriff and Melissa behind the wolfsbane line. It was odd, how disconnected he felt, like those were his claws, pushing into someone's chest, those were his teeth, biting into someone's neck, those were his legs, taking him away from this to that, but it wasn't him. He was probably still laying somewhere with Stiles, drawing things into his skin, drawing him into his.

They got some of them, the rest scurried. Scott called Chris anyway, leaving it to him. Derek waited by the room, until Melissa broke the wolfsbane line, and he eased himself onto the floor, wrapped around Stiles, and let the sound of his heartbeat drown everything else out. The sheriff put a blanket over them, running his hand through his son's drying hair, unbothered by how it kind of brushed against Derek's too. Derek didn't seem to mind either, barely registered it at all.

It took them maybe six hours to regroup. Scott, and Malia stayed behind, while everyone else either went home, or was on watch. The sheriff stayed too, of course, but Melissa had a shift at the hospital. They managed to shuffle Derek and Stiles around enough to get them on a couch instead of the floor. Derek didn't know how to stop tangling around Stiles, wrapping and knotting and tightening. He thought if he held on the right way, then maybe Stiles would dissolve into him, morph him into something that would make sense, kind of matter.

Deaton wanted to re-open the clinic the next day, and everyone was completely burned out, so they tried to carry Stiles, almost had to carry Derek too, before the sheriff drove them home. He helped change Stiles into clothes that didn't smell like mucky water and barely anything else. Derek stayed in the bathroom long enough for the sheriff to do it, he had a feeling Stiles wouldn't want him to see him like that. He didn't want to see Stiles naked either, not unconscious and pale and unwilling. He wouldn't invade his privacy like that, wouldn't wound his dignity.

" Crazy few days," The sheriff tried to smile, tried to put anything behind his hollowed out humor, but his eyes were so sad, still, so scared, Derek didn't know what to do with it. He couldn't bother with steadying the voice he didn't think he'd find, so he nodded, putting one of Stiles' shirts over his head, because his own started to not smell of anything either, and he was kind of losing it.

" You're okay, son? You took a few hits from that pack." Again, Derek nodded. He was just.. worn out. A kind of tired that spread through him, made everything feel heavy and slow and just, wrong. Everything was all wrong.

" I never did thank you for getting him out, did I? For, saving him from that omega?"

" I love him." And wasn't that just the simplest explanation to everything, the most diluted version of the truth, of all that Stiles made him feel and how intense and overwhelming everything seemed to be around him?

" Yeah, I know you do. Makes you go a little nuts sometimes, huh? When you think of all you're willing to do, the lengths you'll go to, for that kind of love?" Derek realized the sheriff was no longer speaking of him, or even to him. He started smelling of a painful kind of longing, his hands moving across the length of his son's arm, almost unknowingly.

" Well, I'm going to bed, call for me if anything changes, or, I don't know, if you need to." The sheriff winced weakly, pushing himself off Stiles' bed. He tightened the blankets around him, needing to feel like he was of use to him, like he wasn't completely inadequate. So, Derek let him, because he knew how helplessness seeped through bones, and he didn't want the sheriff to have to bare the weight of that too.

" Get some rest, kid." He didn't. He sat by the window, elbows digging into his knees, palms clenched into fists, pressed against his trembling lips. He followed the flow of air through his lungs, tried to follow it, but it kind of felt like a panic attack that would never go away, like he would always be somewhat breathless, aching all over, and on the verge of tears, or – something.

Two full days. That was how long it took, before Stiles' breathing shifted, his eyes squinting, like he was trying to blink the darkness away. Derek rushed forward, lightheaded, deranged. He wanted to force Stiles' eyes opened himself, wanted to shake his body back into motion, but he waited, tried to breathe, as Stiles opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling with a slow frown across his features. He tilted his head to the side, saw Derek, and then, really saw Derek, as if for the first time. And Derek wasn't ready, wasn't prepared, didn't want this, because what if he didn't remember him, still? What if he forgot more of his life? What if he wanted to do it again? What if –

" I love you."

" What?"

" Thought I should wait till I'm actually me, to say it back to you. I love you." And his voice was absolutely wrecked, and Derek wasn't even sure he was aware enough to say it, but it was perfect. He, he was perfect. Derek's exhale was so unsteady, it grew into a choked sob, as he put his head to Stiles' shoulder, cried into him instead.

" You're back?"

" I'm back. I told you, didn't I?"

" Don't you dare, oh my God, you almost died. You were, and your heartbeat, and I – "

" Shh. I know. It's okay. We're okay. I love you." Derek threw his arm over Stiles' chest – that still crackled like it was on fire -  tilted his head upwards just enough, for his lips to fall onto Stiles', for his cries to echo against his lips, die onto his tongue. He had to wipe away the numbness of Stiles' unresponsive lips, had to surround the taste of water and nothingness with something alive and comforting and there.

" Again."

" I love you."

" Say it again, Stiles."

" Love you. I love you, Derek. Love you so fucking much."

Derek kind of couldn't stop crying. Stiles didn't try to stop him either. He knew it was a lot. Derek always had the habit of repressing his emotions, letting them hatch things out inside him, leaving him a little less, or not leaving him at all, continuing to chip at him, and he let them, because he always thought he deserved it. Which, bullshit, really, but they were both so withered, tired more than anyone their age should ever be, so Stiles tugged at Derek's arm, until he stood, fell into his side of the bed, his head on Stiles' chest, all his limbs scattered around Stiles. He needed the comfort of the sound of his heartbeat to chase away the vicious quiet. He just needed him.

" When was the last time you slept?" Derek shook his head, tightened his arm around Stiles' waist.

" Yeah, I thought so too. Go on, then, get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

" Don't jinx it, every time you say this, something bad happens." Derek groaned, feeling the shake of Stiles' chest beneath him, as he laughed. So ungracefully in love.

" Touche. But just close your eyes and go to sleep, come on."

Derek sighed, heard Stiles say something like I can't believe you beat me to the I love you's too, you never let me have anything, before he started drifting. When the sheriff came into the room, a few hours later, expecting to have to coax Derek into eating something again, he found Stiles instead, eyes opened, fingers rested against Derek's head, like they were just done touching, moving. The sheriff's breath was startled, like he was breaking surface, no longer holding his breath for death to grip his son by the arms and refuse to let go this time. He crossed the room in a blink, throwing himself onto his son, and Derek barely stirred at all.

" Oh no, not you too, you can't start crying, dad, come on!" Stiles mumbled into his father's shoulder, patting his back with the hand that wasn't holding onto Derek.

" I won't, I won't. I'm not crying, I'm just, so relieved you're back."

" Love you, pops."

" Love you too, kiddo. Oh man. Okay, okay, that's enough. I'm going down to the station, I'll be back for dinner, though, so I'll see you then. Please try not to go bumping the night, at least till I'm back." Stiles snorted, tried not to laugh too hard, to not alert Derek. The sheriff planted a kiss into his hair, smiling down at him with so much love, Stiles thought he'd be the one to start crying.

The sheriff left, and Stiles watched Derek for a while, until he was almost falling asleep too, but then Derek gasped, woke up with a start, eyes immediately frantic as they seeked him out.

" Wh- what? What is it? Holy shit, Derek, you scared me." As soon as Derek found Stiles, felt him with all his senses, he crashed back into bed, groaning. He felt the fear slowly dispersing away, panic losing grip around his heart, as he hungrily breathed in Stiles' scent, let it win over everything else, every time.

" Did you sleep well at least?" Stiles shuffled onto his side, hissing when the burn in his chest flared, but he breathed through it, smiling at Derek anyway.

" Not enough." Derek whined, snuggled closer into Stiles, " You okay?" He whispered sleepily.

" I'm fine. Sleep some more."

" Missed you."

" Yeah?"

" Yeah. Love you so much, it hurts." Derek only allowed himself to be that person with Stiles, only trusted him with his most raw, vulnerable, bare self.

" It's not supposed to. This one thing, just let it not hurt. I don't want to hurt you."

" You don't. God. You don't. You make it all tolerable. Make me want to keep going. You just make me want." Derek peeled his eyes open, looked between Stiles' eyes, willing him to understand. To believe. And he did. Stiles always did believe Derek, even when he didn't know this version of him, didn't understand the shift in character, he still let the truth of his words, resonate. He didn't doubt a word he said.

" Good. I want you to get it all. Everything you've ever wanted. You deserve it."

" I don – "

" Yeah, yeah, yeah, some things never change. Will you just go to sleep already?" Stiles rolled his eyes, but he wasn't all that irritated, simply, expectant, knowing.

" You need to get on your back, so that I can put my head on your chest. I can't sleep otherwise."

" Such a baby, oh my God, all these demands, come here." Stiles laid on his back, pulled Derek, laying most of his weight on his torso, circling his arms around him, like he needed it too.

" Stiles?"

" What now?"

" If I had known, I- I would have given him the powers, or, or whatever it was he wanted. I- I would never put that ahead of you, and,"

" Hey, I know that. I know. This wasn't your fault, Derek. You found me. I didn't remember you, and you still stayed. Do you realize how incredible that is?"

" I would never leave you. Not again. I promised you that."

" I know, and that means the fucking world to me."

It did. Derek could hear it in his heartbeat, could smell it all over him. So he nodded against his chest, closed his eyes and fell asleep. Stiles did too, and that night, they all came over for dinner. Melissa and the sheriff were weary at first, stiff in ways they hadn't been before. But the sheriff apologized and Melissa cut him off, disregarded it, because it was her son too, and she knew how it felt to almost lose him. And then, it was all laughter and stories and lingering touches and there was so much of Stiles again. His presence was bright and lively and fascinating and Derek fell more in love, every time he thought it couldn't possibly happen. It could probably kill him, if Stiles wasn't filled with life, pouring more of it into Derek's mouth, every time they kissed. Which happened a lot. Until they were pushing into Stiles' room, unable to disconnect, touching and feeling and sounding of love. Then, they were all yelling things out about werewolf super senses and the sheriff was making a sound of utter horror and Stiles was laughing and Derek was falling, falling, falling, and that was okay. It was perfect, because Stiles fell too.