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It took well over an hour to track Derek down in the aftermath. It was well past midnight, the stupid egg rolls were cold in the bag, and Stiles was starting to wonder why he was bothering at all. If Derek wanted alone time to re-process everything, who was Stiles to deny him that?
He totally wasn’t looking for an excuse to avoid his own bed. To avoid having to wonder whether Malia would pop in again in the middle of the night unannounced, marking him up, holding him close and biting his skin like he was her property. To wonder whether he was happy about being wanted or freaked out by the whole thing, or whether it was freaking him out (because, ok, it was totally freaking him out) because it was new and different or because he actually didn’t want it… and whether it would be ok to tell her he didn’t want it, or if that would just prompt her to bolt again.
He could put up with a few awkward hickeys and a little discomfort after everything Malia had been through in her life, right? No reason to send her into a potential dark spiral just because he was feeling awkward.
…Ok, so he was probably, definitely avoiding his bed.
But he was also legitimately worried about Derek, because according to Scott the guy had flat-out bolted the second he’d cleared out the Berserkers and battle-morphed his way back into his usual broody-brows self. Which meant that now he was either a very confused grownup Derek with a teen Derek’s brain, or he’d been hit with an insane amount of memories in the course of a few seconds... and either way he probably shouldn’t be alone right now.
Or maybe he should. Who the hell knew what Derek needed? But Stiles was avoiding his bed, so he was finding Derek. So there.
Of course, Derek couldn't make it easy on him. He hadn’t shown up back at the loft, or gone back to Deaton’s or Scott’s house or even the Hale property. That was pretty much it on Stiles’ list of Derek hangouts, but Stiles wasn’t done searching, and he’d already shelled out money for the stupid egg rolls, so he decided to stop by a few more choice dark and broody places before deciding to call it a night.
He’d finally, on the most offhand of whims, ended up at the train depot.
Derek was sitting hunched over at the entrance to a broken-down train car, hands clasped and staring intently at nothing. His shoulders did a tiny little twitch-roll of awareness when Stiles came in, but that was it. So. Ice-breaking up to Stiles then. Fine. Not like he’d just put in hours of worth of effort already, probably used twenty bucks of gas cruising around aimlessly.
And that thought inevitably led Stiles to: “So, apparently you’re a multi-millionaire.”
Maybe not the best opening now that he wasn't actually a multi-millionaire at the moment, but what could you do?
Derek’s gaze shifted a little, flitting to the area somewhere only a foot or three to the side of Stiles’ head before drifting again. It was something. Stiles has taken a lot less as cues to do a lot more, and he stepped further into the open space, skirting broken bits of metal and cement – remnants from Beta training days, probably – and wondered what would possibly prompt Derek to come back to this place.
…Probably the same thing that had brought him here last year, even though he could’ve easily bought out a street full of apartment complexes to live in. And that, by the way, wasn’t going to stop being weird for a long time. He’d known the Hales were prominent in the community, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that the guy who’d hidden out in his bedroom when he was on the LAM could have just gone and bought a private island to hide out on instead. It was Derek. Derek with the hand-me-down leather jacket and the squatting in seriously questionable places and, ok, yeah, a Camaro, but Stiles had always figured the guy had used up his insurance money on it or robbed a dealership on the way back from New York or something.
He was getting off-topic. He dragged himself out of his deep musing; only one of them was allowed to be lost in his head at a time, and Derek definitely had that covered.
“You know, you could probably brood just as easily from a place not screaming ‘tetanus invitation.’ You know, for when us non-superhealing mere mortals want to visit.”
Derek’s tongue flicked out over his lips, his eyes drifting toward Stiles again. This time they made it all the way to his left hand before stopping. His nostrils flared, brows furrowing, like he was trying to remember something he thought should be important.
“You…” He spoke slowly, eyes moving to home in on Stiles’ face for the barest second before drifting again. “Stiles,” he tried, sounding gruff and unsure. It was as though he was slowly remembering how to talk, or…
Shit. Stiles shifted back a step, suddenly unbearably uncomfortable.
“Yeah, um. Stiles. That’s my name, me, right here.”
Derek didn’t remember him. He’d gotten seven years’ worth of memories knocked back into his head all at once, and Stiles only featured in one of them (and “featured” was being generous; he was kind of a background player in all but a few life or death situations) and obviously Derek’s head would be hung up on more important things and people and one of them should probably be here right now, not someone whose name he sounded like he was halfway guessing at.
He’d managed to work himself into feeling completely ridiculous for even showing up by the time he noticed Derek’s quirked brows and pursed lips, so familiar an expression that Stiles couldn’t even manage to feel indignant about being openly mocked. Relief flooded him, he expressed it with a scowl.
“What? You’re the one who asked.”
Derek huffed a breath and nodded toward Stiles’ hand.
“I was just going to say that you… you brought egg rolls.”
Stiles found himself grinning, trying to swallow it and failing miserably.
“Yeah, well I know how you like them. Especially when you’re starving.”
Derek’s brows were furrowing again, and that was ok. Stiles could handle Derek needing a beat to remember the egg rolls.
Then he got it, actually laughed before out loud leaning forward and scrubbing his eyes.
“My god, you called me your cousin. With that ridiculous name. Again.”
Stiles smirked, more than a little pleased that Derek remembered the first time Miguel had come up. Hey, going from possibly not being a blip on the guy’s radar to having your inside jokes remembered was a pretty big step up.
“Ok, so I guess your brain isn’t melted after all. So what’s with revisiting disaster housing choices of years past?”
Derek’s eyes started to drift again, and Stiles immediately regretted the question.
“I mean… you remember that you don’t live here now, right?”
“Everything’s kind of a jumble.” Derek looked like he hated admitting it, but he was admitting it, that was something. “All the memories are there, and with context I can figure out what goes when but… it feels like everything just happened all together.” He winced. “You just held me up in the pool for two hours when I couldn’t move, and we just figured out Peter’s the Alpha and you just snuck into your dad’s police car with that stupid buzzcut and pounding heartbeat, saying you weren’t scared of me.”
Ok, from a nonentity in Derek’s head to someone he could list off multiple significant encounters with without missing a beat. Stiles was going to end up with a complex if his ego kept getting boosted like this.
…And if Derek kept looking at him like that: like he wasn’t totally sure what he was seeing, like he wasn’t totally sure how he felt about it… but he definitely felt something.
“And you just… we just saved you.” He shook his head, sounding pained. “I mean, I didn’t…”
“You did,” Stiles cut in. He was pretty sure he knew which ‘saved’ Derek was talking about, and he still wasn’t sure he could stand to talk about that for long. “You helped. You distracted the Oni, got the triskele box.”
Derek’s tongue flicked to his lips. Stiles noticed suddenly how worn Derek looked, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.
He’s been crying... and the thought should’ve probably surprised Stiles more than it did. …Or maybe not. How could someone remember their family dying, their pack dying, their loved ones betraying them, all in a burst and not break down a little? If Stiles had forgotten his mom was dead and remembered again all of a sudden…
“How are you even this together right now?”
Derek’s eyes slid shut. When they opened again his lips quirked, and for a second, Stiles could see the teen he’d been earlier tonight shining through.
“I’m focusing on the good memories.”
Stiles snorted.
“Right, like us almost drowning in a pool together.” But Derek’s smile had fallen away. He was staring at Stiles openly all of a sudden, his shoulders tightening in surprise, lips parting. “…What?”
“I remember… you didn’t let me drown.” He said it like it was a revelation. Something twisted low in Stiles’ gut.
“Well, yeah.”
“You always…”
Stiles could practically see the memories crushing in on Derek, making his breath quick. He pushed himself to his feet, eyes narrowed and focused and completely unreadable. It left Stiles feeling edgy, restless.
“What are you remembering?”
“You.” It didn’t mean anything. It sounded like it meant way too much. “Every stupid, little…” The fingers of his right hand clenched, rubbing against each other like he was trying to scrub a sensation out of them. And his eyes… his eyes had definitely dropped to Stiles’ mouth. “…Feeling…” Stiles wasn’t sure if that was meant to connect to the last words, but suddenly they were ringing through his brain, a completed phrase, loud and impossible to ignore.
Every stupid little feeling.
Stiles had definitely felt stupid little feelings. Flash in the pan sparks he could snuff out fast and deny afterward. Standing too close feelings and the victorious thrill of a good comeback and the way Derek’s palm felt against his chest… Derek’s hand was still rubbing against some phantom sensation, and Stiles’ throat felt unbearably dry.
“Derek…”
“I don’t have a lot of good in my head, Stiles. New York is… bearable. Sometimes we’re ok. Every once in a while we're happy. I remember being back here, and Jennifer...Julia and… Peter, I can’t trust Peter. Peter’s in a coma and he’s never waking up, and I slashed his throat open but I… feel like he’s still here. I can’t ever get Scott to listen and Boyd and Erica are leaving and Kate—“ He cut off, everything in him going stiff and pained.
“Fuck… Kate. That’s not an old memory, is it? I’m… I was waiting in Scott’s room, and Kate— And I wouldn’t have been in Scott’s room if had happened back… I was waiting for you but…”
His brows were jerking around his face wildly – high and panicked. Narrow, angry. At some other point Stiles might have laughed at the all over the place expressions. But now…
“I remember Kate dying. Being free of her. But Kate’s here again, so she can’t have… She shot me, and you’re in the locker room and you told me… you have six…”
Whatever order his overloaded brain had managed to piece together was falling apart fast. Stiles moved forward, stopping in front of Derek and struggling between the dual urges to clasp his shoulder or slap him like they did in dramatic movies when some shrill woman was getting hysterical.
He settled for something in-between, leaning into Derek’s drifting line of vision.
“Hey, listen to me. Yes, Kate’s alive, and we’re gonna deal with it.”
Stiles could only imagine what the world must look like through Derek’s eyes right now. All at once he remembered being sixteen and his family dying, living across the country with his sister, back here in Beacon and alone, and being an Alpha, and Kate’s prisoner… A normal person might be able to put things in some semblance of order based on basic stuff like “this happened before and after so-and-so died…” but in their world? There was before Kate, after Kate, after Kate came back, and the same thing all over again with Peter. Hell, even Cora, in a way.
“We’re gonna deal with everything, Derek. Just give it a little time, it’ll all sort itself out. And anything you’re not clear on, just ask, ok?”
Derek had closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, but his features smoothed as he let out a tight, barking laugh.
“And I’ll just have to trust whatever you say?”
Stiles grinned, let a laugh out so Derek could catch his amusement despite his still-shut eyes.
“Well, there is that couple million you owe me.”
He’d tell Derek about the whole family fortune being swiped thing once he’d gotten a better handle on everything else. And they'd get it back eventually. They were the big damn heroes, it's what they did.
Derek let out a long breath, shoulders loosening up.
“Sure, no problem. You can use it to replace that deathtrap Jeep of yours.”
On the other hand, he wasn’t sure Derek deserved that kind of consideration.
“Hey, that deathtrap Jeep just got you back from Mexico.”
“And I felt us jolting and heard the engine stuttering when I was halfway catatonic. I thought I was being kidnapped by a herd of dying boars.”
“Boars don’t herd, genius.”
“And that was absolutely the thing to take away from that.”
Stiles punched his arm, only really succeeded in hurting his own fist because dude the guy was like made of steel.
SuperDerek? Pfft, not likely. With the brooding and the underground lair and the secret millionaire status, Derek had pretty much officially won the role of Batman.
Damn him.
There was no way Stiles was finding that ridiculously hot or anything.
Derek’s eyes flicked back open and Stiles didn’t bother fighting the urge to stick his tongue out. Derek just rolled his eyes, smirking, before his expression turned thoughtful. He reached out, pressing his palm carefully against Stiles’ chest. Stiles tracked the movement quietly.
“This is what I mean.” Derek’s voice was strangely gruff. The pressure on Stiles’ chest increased, Derek’s fingers catching in the fabric of the shirt. His head tilted, eyes somehow seeming distant and intensely focused, caught up in some memory… or maybe every memory, since they were apparently all so close to the surface.
Stiles’ own thoughts, meanwhile, had veered out sharply into Random-Land, the place where all the off-kilter thoughts that managed to make it past the great big Adderall net in his head hailed from.
This particular thought was sharply Malia-centric, a stifling echo of well you’re important to me and teeth against his flesh and I would never leave you and not sure how to think about saying no when her hold on this life was so fragile, when she hadn’t ever asked him to say yes.
He was standing in front of Derek and still thinking about his relationship with Malia. That had to be a good sign, right? …Except the thoughts were so heavy.
Derek’s fingers smoothed across the loose fabric, short nails grazing Stiles’ skin... and then his hand dropped. Stiles sucked in a long breath, skin tingling, feeling way too on-board with all the stray touching. Wanting it back.
“Wh… uh. What’s what you mean?”
Derek had drifted closer, and Stiles was buzzing all over because there was intent in Derek now.
And Stiles was nervous. His breaths were shuddering in loud and he couldn’t get in enough air and he was thinking about Malia again, of all things…
And how he’d never felt anything close to this when he was standing in front of her.
There was no confusion, no stray notion that ‘oh, I guess I should let Derek have this.’ And Derek wasn’t taking anything.
It left Stiles feeling warm and safe and beyond frustrated.
Derek’s eyes were doing that fast flutter-confused thing again, going to Stiles’ mouth, his hairline, the lines of his chest, like he was trying to line up events in his head based on Stiles’ body alone. ...Which meant he'd paid enough attention to Stiles' body for it to be any kind of guide. Stiles would kill to see what things looked like inside Derek's head right now. Did he feel sixteen? Twenty-three? Some strange, in-between jumble?
“Cause and effect…” Derek murmured, seeming to follow Stiles’ thoughts. “It’s all…”
His head tilted a little, and Stiles’ heart jumped, and then Derek was falling back, looking like he was trying to get control of himself before he did something Stiles couldn’t imagine either one of them regretting. Except that maybe Derek would. After all, his head right now…
“It’s confusing for you.”
But Derek shook his head.
“I’m seeing things more clearly. I feel like… the timeline’s all a mess but somehow I’ve got more perspective.”
And a smile touched his lips. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
Gold.
Oh.
It was kind of beautiful, actually. Or maybe that had something to do with the relaxed look on Derek’s face.
“I understand how things fit better, when it’s all pooled together like this. When I'm not weighed down with the guilt of one thing, looking at the next. I’ve been... stupid a lot. Wasted time on things that don’t matter. Or things I can’t fix." He blinked, the glow in his eyes fading. "So much in my head’s wasted time.”
“So why the hell are you wasting more?”
He felt wild and reckless and so sure that he hadn’t even thought before saying it… and the second it was out he wished he could swallow it. Derek had been murmuring half-phrases this whole conversation, his brain jumping from memory to memory. Who knew if Stiles had interpreted any of this right, if that had been what Derek meant at all?
And a second later Derek was against him, arm sliding around his back, fingers dragging at his shirt, breath dancing across his neck as he breathed in Stiles' scent, and the embarrassed tension was replaced by a totally different kind. The egg rolls fell to the floor, his hands going eagerly to catch Derek’s hips.
Derek pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him.
“We’ve never done this before.”
The words didn't go high at the end, but they held the weight of a question. Stiles licked his lips, breath catching at the way Derek’s eyes went openly to follow the movement, not even trying to be subtle.
…Though they were sort of wrapped up in each other’s arms right now – the time for subtlety was probably past. Good, Stiles had always sucked at that, anyway.
“I thought all your memories were so clear. You tell me.”
Derek’s lips tilted, eyes dancing a little. He looked… not sixteen again, but young for a second. Light. Like the world might’ve crashed down (repeatedly) on his shoulders, but he’d been able to shift the weight around somehow, brace it and dig his way out of the rubble with the help of a better perspective.
“There’s still a lot floating around in here, vying for attention. Maybe it wasn’t all that memorable.”
Stiles scoffed, comforted somehow by the sniping. Whatever was happening here, they weren’t slipping away into the same awkward, tip-toeing kind of intimate the idea of relationships had been taking on in his head recently.
Whatever this was, Stiles didn’t have to shrink around Derek. And Derek definitely didn’t want him to.
“Oh,” he smirked, leaning closer. “It’ll be memorable.”