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Derek was tracing the veins on Stiles' arms, passing by his pulse point, hearing the beat in his head before feeling it through his fingertips. He'd stopped counting after the two thousand something beat. He was just so tired. He stood to his feet, detaching himself from Stiles, but he was still counting his heartbeats in his head, still waiting for a blip, a sound of something changing, of something returning.
It felt like it'd been days since he'd heard anything other than Stiles' breathing or the machines connected to him or the nurses chattering outside his door about what to have for breakfast. He thought he talked to Cora on the phone the night before. Or was it three days ago? He couldn't tell. Didn't even know what day it was, just that it was another day spent with Stiles so unaware of the crashing halt he'd brought the world to, of how unhinged and wrong everything felt without him.
Derek fell back into his seat, resting his head against his fisted hands, his legs bouncing with fear, the kind that stopped Stiles' breathing in his chest, that made him smell like something right out of a worst nightmare. He felt like he was barely held together, like he was always this close to falling into a spiral of all things horrible. He just needed him to wake up, even if he chose to leave, even if he felt like Derek wasn't what he'd come back to, at least he'd come back, he'd leave him with something else that wasn't blood and bullets and so many I'm sorrys that Derek didn't know what to match them with, didn't know what Stiles could possibly be so sorry for.
" Oh Derek, you're here." Derek lifted his head to find the sheriff, having completely missed his approach. It seemed like he was missing a lot of things lately. Mostly Stiles.
" Yeah, I was just – I wanted to – " Derek was trying to come up with an excuse, anything that would justify him being in Stiles' room, again. But the sheriff waved his hand in the air in disregard, not needing a justification. He'd always known there was something there, it'd just been unspoken, like they didn't know how to say it, didn't really need to, but you could see it, could feel it so achingly obvious, you never would have thought it'd never been told. But the sheriff had seen it on his son, on Derek too. There were all those looks, touches that weren't necessary but were needed, smiles that looked like nothing the sheriff had ever seen on his son before, regardless of how happy he'd been. The Derek smiles were different. They were better.
The sheriff leaned down, whispering something to Stiles, so naturally, like he was certain he'd hear it, before he sat on the couch right behind Derek, and Derek silently joined him.
" Parrish has been trying to find you for that statement."
" Yeah, I – I know. I just – " Derek started moving his hands in the air, trying to find the words, grasp them and give them to the sheriff without having to say them out loud.
" It's okay if you need more time, if you're not ready yet to relive what happened."
" I don't know if I'll ever be able to do it, sheriff. I – I don't even know how I made it through once, I don't – I can't – "
" It's okay, I get it, it's okay, Derek." The sheriff put his hand on Derek's shoulder, squeezed, and when he felt him coiling further beneath his touch, he pulled him into his arms, patting the back of his head.
" We've seen the footage from the surveillance cameras in the shop, but – you were the only one with him there, you – he's my son, and I don't know what's going to happen to him. I don't know what was going through his head, what – he said or tried to say or if he – I don't know anything and it's driving me insane. I mean, I'm not just the sheriff, I'm his father first, and I feel like I've failed in both areas. Like I've let him down, as a sheriff and as a dad, and –"
" No, no, sheriff," Derek pulled away, feeling the familiar weight of regret falling upon the sheriff's shoulders, " Stiles loves you. He – he is so lucky to have you as a parent, to have you in his life at all. He does everything for you, and he never doubts you doing the same for him. Trust me, you could never fail him, or let him down. He loves you."
Derek needed the sheriff to believe, to know that Stiles loved so deeply, so selflessly, and a lot of that love was poured into the sheriff. He didn't deserve to carry that guilt, it wasn't his. It was Derek's. It always had to be. He could get better all he wanted, he could work on thinking outside of himself, on not beating himself down, differentiating between what was in and out of his control, and share the weight of what he carried with those around him, but when it came to Stiles, when he was the one who held his collapsed body, who felt his blood seeping through his fingers, who helplessly watched him fade into unconsciousness, of course he'd have to carry the guilt that came with that. Of course that was on him. He was the only one there, no one else could have stopped it from happening, no one could have saved Stiles. Derek was supposed to do that and he failed. He couldn't do a damn thing to stop it from happening.
The sheriff nodded, pulled Derek back in because he wasn't quite ready to let go yet.
" I – we were at the store to grab a few things because Stiles wanted to invite the pack over for a little get together, and – "
" You don't have to, Derek."
" Yeah. I do. I – this might help. I don't know. Maybe it will." Derek didn't know if it would. Didn't know if anything could. But it seemed like the sheriff needed it and Derek was so tired of letting the Stilinki men down. He didn't want to ever let anyone down again.
" Okay. I am going to record it and attach it to the case file. Take this at your own pace, no rush." The sheriff pressed a little button on his recorder, put it on the couch between them, and went back to holding both of Derek's hands.
" We had a stupid argument before leaving, over who to invite, because I mentioned telling Chris about it and he lost his shit. It was for my own good, I get that, but you know Stiles, he can be a little.. overbearing at times. And I'm not a fucking child, you know."
" Yeah, neither am I, but here we are." The sheriff snorted, and Derek attempted a smile, for his sake.
" So, I was giving him the silent treatment, which is, my usual treatment really, but more.. intense. I don't know. Anyway, of course, that didn't stop him from talking about his favorite chips and all the reasons why we should order fries and not cook them ourselves at home. At, the loft I mean, not – I mean – my place." Derek hadn’t realized he'd started making a home out of the loft. Or was it the people? It could have been just Stiles. Yeah. He'd probably found a home in Stiles.
" I was – I lost focus, for barely a minute, and then we heard the sound of the glass shattering, and two men yelling at the cashier to give them everything he had and not do anything stupid. They – I don't think they knew we were there at first, but Stiles could see the old man struggling, like he was about to do something rash out of fear, so Stiles kicked at the ice dispenser, expecting one of the thieves to come check it out, but they both did, one from each aisle and we – we were cornered. There was nowhere to go, and I – fuck, I kept telling him to run through the back door before they got there, I told him to call for help, that I would handle them and keep the cashier safe, but he wouldn't listen. He kept shaking his head, and he put his hand on my mouth and just – he looked at me. Like he was telling me that I should quit trying, that this was pointless and we were running out of time and there were so many things that we could be doing instead. But then – the fucking guy started waving his gun at us, and I had my arm across Stiles' chest, and – I was moving to stand in front of him, but he pushed against me and – I guess the thief thought he was making a move at him, so he – he shot at us. Once. And – " And he was thrown back there, with the sound of the gunshot ringing in his head, everything blurring a little, until Stiles' body was pushed back with so much force, when he hit against Derek's chest, it felt like they'd morph together, they'd melt into each other. But they didn't, because Stiles' body started sliding to the ground, and Derek had his arms trying to hold as much of him together as possible, trying to catch and hold and protect but nothing was working. Stiles started making those gargling sounds, his eyes dazed and distant, until Derek's head appeared to his side. Derek was saying things, he was almost certain he couldn't stop whatever was pouring out of him, but Stiles was looking at him still, like nothing he was saying mattered.
Derek laid Stiles down, with his head rested against his knee, while his hands tried to push all the blood back into his body, to cover those holes and pretend they were not there. He heard one of the thieves yelling at the other for shooting, for not doing a better job at it, and Derek's eyes started flashing red, as he roared at them, and they scattered. He couldn't be bothered with his identity getting exposed. He didn't care who would know what about him or what they would do with the information. He was well beyond the point of giving a fuck, he just needed Stiles to be okay, he needed to do something to make him okay.
" Derek," The sheriff had a hand on Derek's arm when he started moving, which he hadn't realized he was doing. His body was in survival mode, and he felt like this was killing him. Like he was about to die.
" I – I didn't know what to do. I can't – he doesn't heal. Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to throw himself in front of me? I – bullets can't harm me, but – fuck, even then, with him bleeding out all over the place, I had so much shit to say to him and – I didn't want to say any of it. It didn't fucking matter. He – he told me to call you, so I did, and I called 911 too, but mid-call, his eyes started rolling to the back of his head, and his breathing – God. His breathing sounded like he was drowning, like, there was no air left, and – I threw my phone and just – told him I was sorry. And he said he was sorry too, over and over, and I – I kept asking him, what was he sorry for, why was he sorry, but he – I don’t know, maybe he wasn't coherent enough to even realize he was saying it, because he never said what he was sorry for. I told him that he couldn't die on me, that – I couldn't lose him, sheriff. And I – I can't. Not him. I should have – fuck, why didn't I just say it? Why can't I just tell him how the fuck I feel? What's the worst that could happen? What could be worse than this?"
" What did you want to say? What is it you think you should have said?" Derek inhaled, like he was preparing himself to just – breathe it all out. He stopped to think about it, then decided not to do that. There was nothing to think about anymore, there never should have been.
" That the only reason I wanted to invite Chris was to get over that last bit of resentment and fear I have every time anyone mentions an Argent coming into my safe space, because I want to be a better man for him. For Stiles. Because he deserves someone who isn't fucking scared all the time, who can hold a conversation and be a host and not drive people away. I wanted to tell him that I didn't hear those fucking thieves approaching because everything goes haywire when he's around, and I was too busy daydreaming about waking up to his voice and spending nights talking about things as simple as curly fries or as major as the afterlife and – I missed it, because I – I don't know how not to be stupidly in love with him. I don't know how many more ways I can stop myself from saying it midsentence. I don't – I don't know how to say anything else, anymore. And if – if he'd just stayed conscious a little while longer, I think – I really think I would have said it, sheriff. I would have told him. And now – " Derek shrugged, everything about him screaming in defeat.
" Now, he's going to wake up and you're going to tell him all about it, and you won't be scared anymore, because you almost lost him, and that is scarier than anything. Trust me, nothing beats losing someone you love like that. And – you won't. He'll be back, eventually, and when he is, make sure to never stop telling him all about how much you love him. Never stop yourself from saying it, he'd love to hear it, and – for what it's worth, I think he'll say it back, no problem." Derek looked at the sheriff, heard his heart not miss a beat, and smiled. He liked thinking about that. About them making it.
" Yeah?"
" Yeah. No doubt about it." The sheriff stood, preparing to leave now that he had the answers he needed.
" Oh shit. The recorder."
" Don't worry about it, I turned it off when you started spiraling."
" I kind of did, didn't I?" Derek snorted, relief washing over him now that he'd spoken the words out loud.
" Yeah, you did, big time." The sheriff chuckled, pulled Derek in for a quick hug. There was something different about this hug. A good kind of different.
" Thank you for listening. For not judging me. And for having my back."
" Thank you for having his."
" I didn't – " Derek went to deny the sheriff's support, the utter sense of failure still heavy on his soul, when the sheriff shook his head, started patting his cheeks like he was half-punishing-half-loving him, and Derek nodded instead. Satisfied, the sheriff started collecting his belongings, prepared to leave.
" I am going to write the report myself and attach it to the case file. I'll make sure no one bothers you about it anymore."
" Thanks. I – I feel like there's more I should be doing. I mean, I should be out there, looking for those assholes, or, I don't know, helping. Doing something."
" You're keeping watch here, aren't you?"
" Yeah, but, we both know they didn't intentionally come after Stiles. It was a random robbery and we just happened to be there for it. So, it's very unlikely that they'd come here."
" True, but you never know. What if they want to finish the job? What if they want to get rid of all witnesses?"
" Then, isn't the cashier in danger too?"
" He is. But you can't be here and there at the same time, and we have enough officers to spare to keep watch over there."
" But – "
" Derek." And Derek started to understand what the sheriff was doing; he was unraveling the internal argument that he knew Derek would have with himself, he was silencing doubts, chipping at that guilt until a little bit of it fell away, or at least nothing more piled up on top of all that. Derek kind of wanted to start crying.
" Right. Thank you. Again."
" You can stay here for as long as you want to, if anything, you're helping me out because I know I'm not leaving him alone while I'm out there. But if in an hour you decide you want to go home and not spend another minute here, that's fine too. Do whatever makes you comfortable, okay?"
" Comfortable. Yeah. Working on it." The sheriff nodded, a smile of understanding across his face, as he slowed by Stiles' bed, patted his leg and just – stayed like that a while. Then, he walked out, leaving behind a smell of something sad and haunted.
" Come on, Stiles, please just – don't leave me hanging like this. Come back. You're the one who told me to ease back into holding onto things and I – I am trying. I am holding onto you. It's taking everything in me to not completely lose my shit right now and just – despair. So you have to come back. I need you to come back."
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Things changed after that, not with Stiles, his condition remained stable and unchanged. But something shifted within Derek, he found it easier to talk, to touch and hold and just – be there. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't being called out for it, that it was just him and Stiles, and no one else had to know or see or question. He found comfort in the silence, found the years pouring out of him, stories of things he didn't think he'd still remember, feelings that he could never place before, fears so deeply rooted within him, he thought of them as part of his norm, as nothing worthy of being addressed. Little by little, Stiles cracked Derek wide open, without having to do anything at all, but just lay there. Derek thought of the first time he saw Stiles; lost and curious and stinking of fear but looking like nothing could faze him. He thought of the last time he saw Stiles, and how he was always so close to telling him he loved him. Always just about to say it. Always wanting to say it. Always wanting it to matter, to count for something. He started saying it as casual parts of his one-way conversations with Stiles, before going home one night, while laughing at Stiles' favorite episode of How I Met Your Mother, when he was crying after that particularly rough day; when he went to the supermarket for the first time since the shooting and thought he was going to die right then and there. It wasn't as thought out as Derek always assumed it would have to be, it wasn't loaded with any expectations or fears or doubts. He just said it. It was probably because he knew it wouldn't pressure Stiles into reacting to it, since he was asleep anyway, and most likely didn't know anything about what was happening outside of whatever he was seeing in his dreams. Derek liked to think he would have said it anyway. Eventually. It would have just come out and it would have been beautiful.
It was three weeks after the accident, when Derek found himself in the middle of a fight with some witches. It wasn't anything too big, they were amateurs who thought too highly of themselves. He just wanted it to be over so that he could go back to Stiles and tell him all about it. He stopped by his house to shower though, deciding that going to Stiles covered in dirt and gore, probably wouldn't be ideal. Even if Stiles couldn't see him, would have no regard to how Derek looked or smelled, Derek still wanted to clean up for him. He grabbed something to spray in Stiles' room because hospital rooms smelled too much like.. well, hospitals, and he knew how much Stiles hated that smell, hated having to visit Melissa at the hospital because that smell always carried with him for days after, hated the days Scott had surgeries at the vet clinic because the sedatives and disinfectants all smelled the same, even hated the time the sheriff picked up some clothes from the hospital's lost and found because his were covered in blood. Once he had that air freshener and an energy bar for himself, he was pushing his way into Stiles' room, opening the curtains to let some light in, to not make it look like there was no one there anymore.
" You wouldn't believe the day we've had, Stiles. There were those witches and – "
" Yeah, I've been waiting to hear all about it." Derek screamed and then Stiles kind of did too but ended up coughing mid-scream, chest heaving like it wasn't used to all the action just yet.
" What the – how are you – you were – Stiles." Derek whined, like he was so close to crying. So close. Stiles put his hand in the air in a kind of waving motion, like he'd just come home, to Derek.
" I should – I need to call the nurses in here and – your dad!" Derek rushed towards the call button, one of his hands trying to grasp at it, while the other tried to fetch for his phone and find a grip around it.
" We've been through this. They tried calling you to tell you but you weren't answering your phone, no surprise there."
" What?" Derek found his phone, found 8 missed calls from the sheriff, 13 from Scott, 2 from Lydia, and a few texts from Malia.
" Shit, I missed it. How long have you been awake?"
" You're asking the dude that's been in a coma for weeks about the time, Derek, are you okay?" Derek thought he heard the humor in there, the mockery dancing around Stiles' hushed voice, like it was trying to bring something of life and pour it into him.
" No, not at all." Derek shook his head, wide-eyed and still totally caught off guard, as he fell into a chair by Stiles' bed, and continued to try not to blink too much because what if it all just went away?
" Those witches really messed with you, huh?"
" No, fuck them, who cares. I – I can't believe this is happening. I never – I thought I'd never get to talk to you again."
" You're not getting rid of me that easy."
" How are you.. not losing your shit right now?"
" Probably the drugs, I'm loopy as hell still."
" No, but Stiles, you were – you were more dead than alive when you got here. I – I was basically holding you together until the paramedics got there. You – I thought this was it, I was going to spend the rest of my life just talking to you, like this, without it ever counting for anything. I don't – I am not even sure you're actually here right now or if I am seeing things again but – how do you come back from that?"
" Slow down, this is too much for my medicated brain. I – "
" What were you apologizing for?"
" What?"
" You kept saying you were sorry."
" Now?"
" No, Stiles, not now. Back then. When it happened. Before you lost consciousness."
" I was saying I was sorry?"
" I am sorry, I am sorry, you kept saying it, over and over, and I – I kept asking what you had to be sorry for, telling you that you didn't need to apologize, but – you wouldn't stop. You wouldn't say anything else. Just that."
" Oh, now I remember what you're talking about. Come sit back down, you're too far." Stiles started moving his hands in grabbing motions like a child, and Derek really just wanted to cry, as he sat himself back down on the chair, not even recalling ever having the energy to stand, to put any distance between him and Stiles after he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't do that again.
" I didn't want this to.. hurt you. On the long run, I mean."
" I am confused."
" I mean, you've seen people die before, you've seen people you cared for so deeply, just fade away, and I've seen you through it, and – I knew this was going to suck, but I didn't want it to be another thing to haunt you forever. I didn't want you to wake up to new nightmares that involve me instead of them. I was saying I was sorry you had to be there, I was sorry that it would be the last thing you'd ever see of me. I was sorry I was leaving, basically." Stiles had a sad looking smile on his face, like he was still kind of feeling sorry for Derek, sorry to him. Derek's hands shook until Stiles took them between his, started tangling their fingers so effortlessly, so thoughtlessly, and Derek just.. came undone. Stiles didn't know what to do, didn't know how to contain this, so he started to fidget, try to get closer, but he was barely bandaged together and every movement sounded of pain and smelled of exhaustion, and then Derek was shaking his head, trying – and failing – to keep his cries at bay, as he put both his hands to Stiles' shoulders and willed him to settle.
" Fuck, I just – I'm sorry, I don't – I guess I just realized all the little things you gave me, all that you added to my life, and when I – I started thinking of maybe having to live without that, without you, and it felt like the kind of loss that you never come back from, that felt like it left nothing behind, and – I am just so fucking happy that you're back, Stiles, that you came back, because – "
" Because the pack would crumble without my wits and extremely beneficial facts spoken at magnificent speed when needed most."
" No, I mean, that too, but that's not it."
" Is it because my dad would have gone all revengeful on you and probably shot through at least a third of you?"
" No, Stiles," Derek groaned, wiping at his face, so grateful for the distraction from his wavering control, but so annoyed by his lack of ability to just spit it out.
" Then what is it?"
" What?"
" Why were you so desperate for me to come back? I mean, is it just the usual human compassion? Is it cause you're used to me being around? Is it because other people being sad will affect the pack dynamic?"
" Because I – "
" Because you.. what?"
" Because I love you." Derek could have sworn, he heard the exact breath that halted in Stiles' throat, a weak gasp falling past his lips with the little air he could exhale.
" W – what?"
" You can't tell me you don't know. You're the smartest person I know. You had to have known. You – you had a feeling, didn't you?" Derek was suddenly insecure, unsure, not knowing if Stiles' reaction was one of surprise or pure horror, not knowing if the stink in the air was of pity or exhilaration, not knowing if it was too late to maybe blame it on Stiles' drugs and pretend it never happened. But he wasn't even sure he wanted that anymore, he didn't know if he'd ever be able to go back to loving him from afar and pretending not to.
" I – you're serious? You're not – this isn't because you feel sorry for me or you feel guilty or some bullshit like that? Because, I swear to God, if – "
" No, it isn't that, Stiles. It's never been that. You really didn't know?"
" I mean, I thought there was something there, but I didn't know what it was. I didn't – I thought we'd always do this thing, where we'd just rotate around one another, and never quite link up, and I – I didn't know if you'd ever want to change that, to be honest. You seemed so.. comfortable, and I know how resistant you are to change, so I just – I thought we would always have a little fun with each other, but that was pretty much it. Now, you're talking love, and – "
" You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel the same way. We can pretend it never happened, I can do that for you, if that's what you want."
" What do you want?" Derek stopped, looked up, tilted his head to the side in wonderment. He'd never been asked that before.
" I – I don't know."
" Then.. what?"
" I don't know exactly what I want, but I know that whatever it is, I want it with you. I want anything with you. Everything." The confused, uncertain, blaming look across Stiles' face, started morphing into the kind of smile they wrote songs about.
" Come here then, I want to hear more about those witches." Derek nodded, sat on the chair and took Stiles' hand in his and nothing about him was careful or weary or doubtful. He didn't think he'd ever been so certain of something, of someone. Derek told Stiles everything about the witches, then everything he missed during those weeks he spent in the hospital, didn't push for the I love you too, although he got it, mumbled and almost incoherent like a fragment of a hallucination but it filled Derek all the way up. Stiles would slip in and out of sleep, but Derek never stopped talking anyway. The sheriff and Scott came somewhere around Stiles' second weekend in the hospital, and Derek allowed them the space to comfort and be present, but he didn’t stray too far. And every time Stiles' eyes opened, they were looking for him first, with a flicker of something behind them, as if making sure Derek hadn't left yet. And although he no longer needed a reason to stay, that, just gave him more reason to.