Chapter Text
It's weird, but Stiles likes hanging out with Derek.
Sure, the circumstances are less than desirable: they're looking for Boyd and Erica, unable to locate the wayward Betas. And since Scott won't help Derek, Stiles decides he needs to be the one to bridge the gap.
They spend the last few weeks of July driving around and eating fast food in parking lots as they ponder over maps of the area.
Sure, Derek snarls and bitches that Stiles is annoying, touching everything in the car and leaving traces of his scent everywhere. He makes fun of Stiles' choice in music and calls him a monster when he sees how many curly fries he can stuff in his mouth.
But Stiles has fun, watching the lines form between Derek’s eyebrows when he’s mulling over something Stiles says. Like he can't believe Stiles is as ridiculous as he is. But he listens, no matter how much Stiles talks.
Like now, for example. He’s running through a list of things that he needs to get from the grocery store before they head back to the loft and Derek gives what Stiles calls his “Encouraging Caveman” sound. It means he’s listening, but he’s mildly distracted by something.
Stiles, vaguely amused that he's gotten so good at Derek's version of communication, notices immediately when Derek’s eyes glaze over.
“Dude.” He snaps his fingers near Derek’s face. "We need to get some more snacks before we keep researching."
Derek glances at him, his eyes dark and haunted. “Okay.”
Stiles studies him, thinking of all the things that must be lurking in Derek’s mind to make him look like that.
He's not one for empty platitudes, so he just leans forward and turns up the radio a little, lightly scuffing at Derek’s shoulder in a way that he hopes comes off as reassuring.
Derek glances at him again before looking back at the road.
The littlest bit of tension leaves his shoulders and Stiles definitely counts that as a win.
-----
It’s October and it's raining. Like, fucking pouring, and Stiles is debating whether or not he should get out of the Jeep. The parking lot of the library is practically flooded. His shoes are gonna be soaked.
He sighs and leans forward against his steering wheel, thinking he might be able to see something other than gray clouds in the sky, but no dice. When he leans back, he jumps.
Derek is standing next to his window.
Stiles rolls the window down an inch and hollers, “You scared the shit out of me. What the hell is wrong with you? Get in the car!”
Derek rolls his eyes and, a moment later, is pulling open the passenger door before slamming it shut. He doesn’t look at Stiles, just stares straight ahead.
“So…” Stiles drawls, “whatcha doing out in the rain, Big Guy?”
Derek doesn’t say anything for a moment and Stiles is about to roll his eyes or huff or say something sarcastic like good talk as always when Derek says, “I’m leaving.”
Stiles blinks at the side of Derek’s face, mouth moving, but nothing comes out.
At his silence, Derek’s eyes flicker to his face for a second before going back to the windshield.
Stiles turns and looks out the windshield too. “Where are you going?” he asks because he can’t ask the question he really wants to, not yet.
“South America, with Cora,” Derek murmurs.
Stiles hums, picking at a piece of leather that’s peeling off his steering wheel. “Pretty warm there.”
“Still pretty rainy.”
Stiles nods. They sit in silence for a long time, the rain pattering against the Jeep the only sound.
Finally, Stiles whispers, “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing left for me here.”
And he gets it, he does. But it hurts, oh yes it does, it hurts quite a bit because Stiles could have sworn that they were starting to get somewhere, the two of them. Maybe Stiles was reading too much into it, but he wasn't sure he was.
Hell, they'd even hugged the last time they parted ways and, as awkward as it had been, it was nice and he thought... he thought...
“I don’t want you to go,” he confesses in a small voice.
Derek closes his eyes, his hands fisted on his thighs, his face twisted in pain.
Stiles waits, hoping that Derek will say something that means he feels even remotely the same.
A long beat of silence passes, the rain pounding the roof of the Jeep.
Stiles isn’t stupid. He gets the picture. He's seventeen and ridiculous and Derek isn't interested in him like that and god he's such an idiot.
He feels like a fucking joke as he nods, staring down at his hands. “Well,” he finally croaks, “I… I hope you find some place good.”
“Me too.” There’s a beat of silence before he whispers, “Goodbye Stiles.”
There’s the slightest ghost of fingertips against the side of his neck then the door opens and Derek is gone.
And Stiles is alone in his car again, the strong rain-wet scent of Derek making his nose and eyes burn.
-----
The first time Derek reappears in Beacon Hills, Stiles is almost sure he’s hallucinating again. After all, isn’t his brain still a little wonky from the Nogtisune? Derek used to be a frequent star in his visions, after all.
And since he’s in the woods alone at night, looking for a witch’s familiar, of course he’s gonna imagine Derek because why the fuck not?
It’s been two years since Stiles has seen him. More than that.
But, apparently, there Derek stands. His hair is a little longer, he's got the beginnings of a beard, and there are a few more lines around his eyes. He looks so good and what the fuck –
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he almost shouts, the orb of light in his hand flickering.
Derek jerks back, looking vaguely confused. “I had to get something from the vault. I thought I’d check on the house. Then I heard someone out here.”
“The vault? I, what?” Stiles sputters. He’s suddenly so angry, it’s almost blinding. “I thought you were dead!”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you fucking vanished and no one’s heard from you for over two years and your luck is astronomically bad! What else were we supposed to think?!”
“That’s ridiculous, I’m fine.” Derek looks down at the orb in Stiles' hand then back to his face. “What’s going on? Why are you out here?”
Stiles rolls his eyes and god, it’s almost like Derek never left. Like This is private property and the long days and nights they spent looking for Boyd and Erica and – focus Stiles.
He starts walking the way he was going, sure that Derek will follow him since there’s no way he’s real anyways. “We have a very angry witch on our hands. She’s not happy that Scott tried to tell her she wasn’t allowed to use the Nemeton to fuel a revenge spell.”
Derek snorts, drawing up to Stiles’ left side and scanning the trees. “Yeah, because that’s always worked well for spell casters in the past.”
He gives a conceding gesture. “Which he tried to tell her, but she didn’t want to listen, so she tapped into the damn tree anyways. It’s given her hella power and she’s killed three people.”
Derek’s thoughtful hum is familiar enough to make Stiles glance over at him.
He’s got to be a fucking figment of Stiles’ imagination.
He glances down at his fingers. Only ten. But the situation still feels so surreal. He decides for now that he’ll talk to his Fake Derek to abate some of his anxious nerves like he used to and examine his mental health later.
“So, anyways,” he continues, “not only is there a body count, the negative power is starting to seep into the land, so I’m stuck trying to figure out what her tether is and what do I find? Her fucking familiar! Which is great, but can you guess what it is?” He snorts. “Oh my god, it’s so stupid.”
“What is it?”
“A fucking mountain lion. She's been using a mountain lion to kill people!” He lets out a hoarse laugh. “Like, what the actual fuck, right?”
Derek huffs. “The irony isn’t lost on me, Stiles.”
“Oh I know, dude, I know.”
Derek frowns again. “Don’t call me dude.”
Stiles is about to snap back that he can call his Imaginary Friend Derek whatever he wants when he’s shoved to the side all of a sudden.
He sputters, looking up at Derek, who’s wolfed-out and growling at a mountain lion.
Can hallucinations shove people? If Derek just shoved Stiles, then he has to be real, right?
But there were plenty of times Stiles was convinced he was awake when he wasn’t and fuck he really doesn’t need to have an episode or something right now –
“Stiles! Now would be a good time to do something!” Derek snaps, jolting Stiles from his contemplation.
“Fuck,” he hisses, sitting up. His hands are pouring blood from his unceremonious meeting with the forest floor. He figures, waste not want not, and licks one of his palms, the dirt and blood a disgusting mix on his tongue. He rolls it around his mouth, jumping to his feet.
“Get out of the way!” he shouts and Derek dives to the side right as the mountain lion lunges.
Stiles catches the large cat’s face in his hands, grunts at the feeling of claws digging into his thighs, and severs the creature’s connection to the witch with a push of his Spark.
An ear-splitting shriek shakes the woods.
The mountain lion falls to the ground, writhing and contorting for a moment before it stills, clearly unable to live without its connection to the witch.
Stiles takes a deep breath, the pushback from his spell like a punch in the gut as his legs give out, and shoves his hands against the ground. He pushes the extra energy along the nearest ley line and funnels the brightness toward the Nemeton. He snaps the link and almost pukes at the feeling.
He floats in the ether for a moment. The others are sure to be able to handle the witch now. He should probably go find them, help them…
“Stiles, Stiles!”
He jerks, his eyes finding Derek’s. “Oh shit, you’re still here.”
Derek stares at him. “You’ve got blood all over you. Where are you hurt?”
He laughs. He grew up in Beacon Hills. He’s fucking hurt everywhere. Derek should know that firsthand.
“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is careful.
He shakes his head, face still cracked in a smile. “I’m fine, man.” He glances at his palms. “Eh, well, I’ll live this time. Yay me!” He tries to stand but his legs buckle.
Derek snatches him before he can hit the ground.
“I’m good, I just, oohh boy. Too much. Too much.” He sighs, the pounding in his head telling him that he definitely used too much of his Spark with not enough preparation. “I just… need to lie down. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m taking you to the clinic.” He scoops Stiles into a bridal carry and starts back through the woods.
Stiles tries to protest, but he can’t walk, so it seems like he’s along for the ride. He tries to reason, “I need to help the others.”
“You’re in no condition to do that right this second.” Derek tilts his head, listening. “Besides, I think they’ll be fine. It sounds like the fight is winding down.”
"You really look like a puppy when you do that."
Derek's voice is as dry as the desert. "Dog jokes, really? Aren't you a little old for that?"
“Fucking hell, I am so good at imagining things,” he states, closing his eyes. “I even got your Stiles-You’re-So-Dumb voice right.”
Derek doesn’t say anything, just tightens his hold and quickens his pace.
He presses his face to Derek’s chest. Derek smells exactly the same and Stiles can’t help but mutter, “Missed you.”
It’s easy to slip into darkness.
-----
Stiles wakes up at the vet clinic, his hands and thighs bandaged, and feels like someone beat him with a baseball bat.
The witch is gone, the others are fine, and he’s got a migraine from Hell.
He goes back to Scott’s house and checks in with the rest of the pack, allowing them to scold him for being reckless and praising him for helping with the familiar. He leaves before the pizza arrives, not so much for socializing anymore.
He almost wants to ask if anyone saw Derek the night before, but stops himself. Surely someone would have mentioned if Derek was back in town, right?
If he was seeing things, he doesn’t want to worry his friends. It could very well be that he made his own way to the clinic, envisioning Derek as a way to keep him upright and moving.
And if he wasn’t seeing things, if Derek was there and helped him and disappeared again…
Well, Stiles has learned that it doesn’t do to dwell on the past.