Work Text:
Derek looks at the boy peering through the railing to the lit-up streets below, his feet dangling and swinging like a child’s. They sit up on the roof of his loft often, in silence, since Scott died.
Derek catches a glimpse of the slight smile playing on the boy’s lips, illuminated by a streetlight below.
“Stiles, what are you smiling about?” Derek asks, surprised he is smiling at all after the torment he has been through.
Stiles’ voice sounds strange, distant. “Just imagining what it would be like to fall”, he replies.
“Wh... what?” Derek’s voice catches. The sentence didn’t make any sense.
Stiles sighs, as if it’s obvious. “You know, like if I just fell. Off this building, right this second. If I didn’t even think, and I hit the ground. Dead. Wouldn’t have to think anymore, huh.” He makes a sweeping motion with his sock-covered feet. “Splat”. He’s still smiling, and it puts Derek on edge.
“Stiles, what in the-“
“And blood would coat my lips, probably. You know, the whole dyin’ thing. But it wouldn’t matter. No one would care about the blood. They’d just say, ‘he’s dead’, you know? And it wouldn’t matter if it were blood, or sand, or even woodchips. They wouldn’t notice, probably. Just say, ‘he’s dead’.”
Derek is taken aback by how mad this all sounded. Where is all of this coming from? Is he going crazy from losing Scott? “Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?”
Stiles releases a breathy laugh, surprisingly calm and careless throughout his rambling of nonsense. “Funny you should mention hell. It’s hilarious, how, like, you can fall off a building, fall down. And then you get buried, so you’re deeper still, even further down. And then in hell, so you’re the deepest you can get. Once you jump, you never stop falling.” Stiles’ legs keep swinging.
Before Derek can say another word, Stiles goes on.
“Or if you go to heaven. Boy, is that ironic. You jump off the building, expecting to fall down. But you end up in the sky! Or, if there isn’t a heaven or hell. Then you’re bleeding woodchips on the pavement. He’s dead.” Stiles repeats those two words with gleaming eyes.
Derek can’t take it anymore. “Stiles, stop”, he says, getting up and wrapping his arms around Stiles’ torso and dragging him away from the edge of the roof. Stiles was scaring him, and nothing scares Derek. He was limp in his arms, but he kept rambling, now looking at the stars.
“You know, it’s not fair for the stars. I mean, when we look up, yeah, we see darkness, but at least we see little sparkles in the night. But when they look down at us? All they see is us. Our dark little lives. ‘Cause we don’t shine like they do.” His face looks blank, numb.
“Stiles, shut up. Stop talking like a suicidal maniac. Something’s off with you... you need help or something. I’m calling Sco-“ he momentarily forgets and stops himself before he finishes the name, but Stiles catches it. His sparkling, whiskey eyes falter as his face falls.
“He’s dead, Derek. Dead. Can’t you get that into your thick skull!” He screams at Derek with a broken, hurt voice. He seems upset now, but to Derek, that seems better than the crazed, eerie and ghostly boy who was rambling earlier.
Derek’s voice was so at a loss and soft that it was almost a whimper. “I know, Stiles. And I’m sorry... I... just let me help you. He never would have wanted you to live like this.”
Stiles’ face weakened as he gave up on everything and just fell into Derek’s arms. Wracking sobs jolted through his body like electricity, and Derek just held him, rocking back and forth.
“I just feel like... like I’m falling”, he mumbles, defeated into Derek’s soft shirt.
Suddenly Derek feels so angry, so angry at the world for targeting Stiles. For throwing hell and torture and destruction his way. He feels like he can’t do anything about it, and he feels so helpless. But for now, he just has to hold the broken boy.
“I know, and you know what? I’ll always be here to catch you.”