Chapter Text
Because the page before him read,
Kate Argent: guilty for first-degree murder, arson, and statutory rape.
Stiles’ heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat, and he hastily flipped to Kate’s statement. His stomach dropped when Stiles’ suspicions were confirmed and the room suddenly felt much too cold.
Derek Hale, seventeen years old.
“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed.
Was this what Laura meant, that she hoped that his regard for Derek wouldn’t change when he discovered the truth? How could he even think about doing something like that?
I don’t want to see him hurt again.
Stiles scanned Kate’s statement further and felt anger roil in chest. Though this woman was now behind bars, a burning hatred rose within him at how cruel Kate was, how much pain and suffering she had caused. And, according to the files, she hadn’t seemed to show a shred of remorse. Maybe a little for getting caught, but none for manipulating a teenager and killing Derek and Laura’s family in cold blood.
But was it in cold blood? Stiles winced at the thought, immediately feeling guilty for assuming that there had to be a reason for Kate and Gerard to kill the Hales. But Stiles remembered the Hales as upstanding citizens of the town, if a bit secretive in their secluded house in the woods. They were good people; his father had said as much. So what could have possibly possessed someone – two people from the same family, no less – to burn a family alive?
There was something missing. John’s reports stated Kate and Gerard’s psychosis as their reasoning with no further claim whatsoever on why. It bothered him, it wasn’t right. Sure, the general public could believe an act of insanity caused them to lose touch with humanity and reality, leading them to commit arson, but Stiles didn’t believe it. There had to be more.
He sighed and closed the files, stacked them on his bedside table. He stared at them speculatively, a deep empathy for Laura and Derek settling in his chest. Stiles may not know what it’s like to lose his entire family, but losing his mother felt like the end of the world. For Laura and Derek, the feeling must have been tenfold.
But Laura’s fear of Stiles’ opinion on Derek changing after discovering the truth was unfounded. Stiles wasn’t going to push Derek away. He may see Derek in a different light, but it wasn’t negatively. Who was he to judge someone on their past mistakes? Certainly not him.
Derek was Derek. Derek, who Stiles would’ve never guessed had a guilt and pain deeper than just losing his family. Derek, who Stiles has seen smile and laugh with only mere traces of a hidden secret. Derek, who managed to rise and overcome his past hurts. Derek, who Stiles is in love with. He shuddered, his heart fluttering in his chest.
Love.
Stiles loved Derek.
He loves Derek.
Stiles crawled under his blankets and curled into a fetal position. His heart hammered in his chest, but he felt a sense of calm wash over him. It was still terrifying, he didn’t know the first thing about love, didn’t know what to do.
He closed his eyes, huddled under the blankets, a small, vulnerable smile tugging at his lips.
I love him.
That night, he dreamed of his mother, how she used to smile and flick stray strands of hair out of Stiles’ eyes, how she used to trace the moles on the side of Stiles’ face. He dreamed that Claudia wasn’t diagnosed with spinocerebellar ataxia and that she knew Stiles didn’t feel right in her own skin when she caught her crying in the bathroom when she had her first period. He dreamed that she cradled Stiles close and apologized for the times she had pushed femininity on her when she clearly didn’t identify herself as ‘she’. He dreamed that Claudia and John got Stiles started on hormone therapy a few months later.
He also dreamed about the Hales. He dreamed that the fire didn’t happen. He dreamed that he and Laura became fast friends when they stumbled into each other in the tiny LGBT section of the Beacon Hills library. He dreamed that he got to know that Hales and they adored him. He dreamed that he and Derek slowly became friends, too. He dreamed that Derek wanted him. He dreamed of gentle kisses and soft caresses and Derek breathing his name in reverence.
If he woke up the next morning with tear tracks on his cheeks, no one needed to know.
^
Christmas came and went, the McCalls and the Stilinskis gathered around the table. They ate a massive amount of food, they exchanged presents, they drank mulled wine and apple cider, and they enjoyed each other’s company.
Stiles texted Derek a short message, but it was left unanswered throughout the day, and Stiles wondered if he’d said something wrong or somehow offended Derek. He was good at that. Sometimes unintentionally, and this time was definitely unintentional, but he couldn’t think of anything that might have caused Derek’s silence. The last text he got from Derek was when he was in the antique store, and that had been a few days ago. He contemplated for a moment texting Laura but he decided against it.
Just when he did, though, he received two messages from Laura. One was a picture of her and Derek – Laura with a large Santa hat sitting jauntily on her head as she grinned at the camera, and Derek with a green elf hat with an expression of extreme discontent – and a simple Merry Christmas! underneath. The second text read, btw, Derek’s being an ass. Don’t take what he says (or rather, doesn’t say) personally. He’ll come around.
Laura’s reassurance made Stiles feel marginally better about Derek’s sudden cold shoulder, but it still begged the question why.
He did his best to not think about it for he rest of the break and instead kept himself busy at the sheriff’s department. Everything from filing to reorganizing to taking calls to harassing the newbies. John didn’t ask about Stiles’ sudden frenzy to bury himself in work; just let Stiles have free reign since majority of the department knew Stiles and were more or less used to his antics.
It helped a little, but there was still a burning ache in his chest