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The man opened his eyes.
He was lying on his back on wet grass, staring up at a night sky, the moon and stars partially obscured by clouds. His head was pounding and he pressed his hands to it briefly before he sat up.
After the first few seconds of initial disorientation, the man realized he had no idea who he was.
Absolutely none at all.
The man stood up and took in his surroundings. He appeared to be in the middle of a city park, lit only by weakly sputtering yellow lights. He guessed it was sometime in the middle of the night, judging by it being utterly deserted. But he had no watch or phone to tell the time.
What he did have was his wallet. He pulled it out and rifled through it, finding his driver’s license.
Derek Hale, he read. If the license was current, then he apparently lived somewhere called Beacon Hills in California. There were several credit cards and a decent amount of cash. He supposed his first step would be to figure out just where in the hell he was and find somewhere to crash or get food. Preferably both.
He thought briefly of contacting some type of authority, but dismissed it, an unignorable feeling in his gut telling him that was a bad idea. He wondered if he always had such strong instincts.
A small orb of light fluttered in Derek's peripheral vision before a voice yelled, "Derek!" A young man was sprinting towards him, out of breath. "Oh my god. You're okay!"
Before he could stop himself, Derek backpedaled quickly, keeping his distance. “Who are you?”
The guy stopped, looking confused. "What? Derek, it's me. Stiles." The young man stepped closer again, reaching out towards Derek. "Did you bump your head? I've been trying to find you for hours."
Derek stepped backwards again. “I don’t know you,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything right now.” His head throbbed and he clutched at it. “I don’t…”
Stiles stood there speechless, his face ran a gamut of mixed emotions before it went blank. His hand flexed and closed at his side for several seconds until he spoke again. "Okay," he said quietly. "Um... You can't stay out here alone. Why don't I at least get you home?"
“I don’t know where my home is,” Derek said, his breathing increasing. “I don’t know you, how can I trust you? How can I trust anyone?” He bent over and put his hands on his knees, trying to slow his breathing.
"Do I look like someone that can't be trusted?" At Derek's look Stiles quickly added, "Don't answer that." He smiled then and sighed. "Deep breaths help to not have panic attacks. I kinda have experience with that..."
Derek drew in several shaky breaths, focusing on his own heartbeat. The more he focused, the more he realized he could hear more than one. “Am I...am I hearing your heart beating?” he asked, looking up at the younger man.
Stiles' face scrunched up at that revelation. "Well I could lie to you and tell you no, but I'm gonna stick with the truth here and say yes. If you're hearing mine, it's pretty steady, which means I'm not lying..."
“What?” Derek asked. He had no idea what was going on and could feel the panic starting to well up inside of him again. Besides the heartbeat, he was suddenly assaulted with smells and other sounds. It was rising into a near cacophony and he fell to his knees from it, whining in his throat.
"Okay, okay! I can lie to you if you want me to? You're not hearing my heartbeat. You're just a little out of it right now." Stiles dropped to his knees in front of Derek, reaching out despite Derek's earlier protests. "It's okay, just breathe and focus on something. Just one thing. And stick with that. Deep breaths, Derek."
Derek clutched at his thighs, trying to comply. His mouth fell open as a sudden flare of pain struck him and he noticed his fingernails elongating and piercing his legs. “What?” he whispered, his words slurring, his mouth feeling too full. He raised one bloody hand to his mouth and felt fangs. “What am I? What am I?” he asked, horror struck.
It was almost a relief as his vision went dark and he lost consciousness.
***
Derek blinked awake, unsure of his surroundings. It was like de javu except he was inside this time, in a large, comfortable bed. The smell was familiar, calming him and he just laid there, breathing.
Slowly, he became aware of that second heartbeat again. He was a bit disconcerted to realize that he recognized it right away.
He propped himself upright on his elbows and scanned the room. It was a large open space; a loft. Derek could see the young man, Stiles, sitting on the couch, curled up on one side. He was reading a book propped open on his knees, wearing a t-shirt that looked a little too big for him. There were tattoos snaking up his forearms, disappearing under the sleeves. His hair was dark brown and unruly, his profile showing an upturned nose and a face dotted with moles.
Derek realized he’d been staring and cleared his throat a bit.
Stiles’ brows rose and he looked up, expression blank, before he seemed to recognize Derek was making a sound at him and he smiled. “Hey, you’re awake.” Stiles’ voice was careful and he closed the book, setting it aside on the coffee table in front of him. “How are you feeling?”
"Still freaked out," Derek admitted. "Still memory-less." He gestured to the bed and around the room in general. "But this place smells familiar."
“That’s good, about the smell I mean. It might help jog your memory.” Stiles looked Derek over and glanced down at his hands where his fingers were laced together. “Um. I, uh - I called my dad and told him something happened to your memories so you wont have to go in to work. He said he’s got things covered at the station.”
"Station?" Derek asked. "I work with your father?" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing his hands over his face and feeling the bristle of stubble. "You also seem remarkably unfazed by the fact that I'm some kind of monster." Derek could still feel the threat of panic hovering in the back of his mind, but the familiar smells seemed to be holding it at bay for some reason.
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, looking back up at Derek. “You’re not a monster,” he said, as if they’d had this conversation several times. “You’re a werewolf. And don't give me those judgy eyebrows.” Stiles ran his hand through his hair, only succeeding in making it more tousled. “And yeah. My dad’s the Sheriff. You, uh - well...” Stiles grinned at whatever he was thinking. “You’re a deputy.”
"A... werewolf," Derek said, feeling his eyebrows pull down before he looked at Stiles and forcibly relaxed them. Even though it was absurd, Stiles' voice had the conviction of truth. Not to mention he’d seen his own hands sprout claws and felt the hard reality of fangs in his mouth. And something inside Derek told him this was right. "Are you a werewolf too?"
“Uh, no.” Stiles smiled at that and watched Derek carefully. “I’m something magical. I guess you could say I’m a mage.” Stiles paused, drawing in his bottom lip to teethe. “That’s how I found you last night. You’d been missing for hours and there was no trace of you so I cast a spell and it led me to where you were.”
"Werewolves are real... And magic is real." It was crazy, it had to be. Yet he had seen it with his own eyes. Maybe this was all some kind of crazy, very vivid coma dream. "This is all just a lot to handle."
"I know and I'm sorry... There's just not an easy way to tell you these basic things you need to know. I mean if other people had seen what happened last night things could have been worse. You could be dead..." Stiles voice was small and quiet as he spoke the last part.
Derek hadn't even thought of that. "I suppose I should thank you, then." He stood up and looked around the room. "How did you get in here anyway? Were we friends?"
Stiles looked sad, almost hurt. His face scrunched a bit at whatever was going on inside of him and he looked down at his hands again. "Something like that..."
"What do you mean?" Derek was pretty positive there was something there, he could smell Stiles all over this place. It stood to reason he was here a lot. Derek's gaze shifted to the nightstand, where there was a framed picture of the two of them, Stiles kissing his cheek, a blinding smile on Derek's own face. "...oh."
"Yeah..." Stiles said softly. "I can, um... stay with my dad if you want me too. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know you have to be pretty confused right now." Stiles looked back down at his hands, falling silent.
"No!" Derek burst out with, then blushed. "I just... don't think I should be alone. You're the only one who can try to help me." This all felt awkward, yet familiar. And he really thought leaving an amnesiac werewolf alone was a recipe for disaster. "Maybe we can just talk? You can tell me about my life and what you think might have happened to me."
"Yeah, okay," Stiles said and sighed." Well, whatever it is that happened, it's magical. It's hard to explain, but I can feel the residue radiating off of you. So at least we know that much. I'll have to look into it and see if I can find anything about memory loss and magic."
"Ok," Derek said, drawing the word out. "If it's magical, then it can probably be reversed, right? A counter spell?" He tried to keep the hopefulness out of his voice, but the prospect of life as a blank slate with no history was a frightening one.
"Yeah, but we have to be careful about it. If we do something wrong then it's possible that you may never get them back. So I need to look into it more and see if I can narrow it down. Maybe find the spell that was used on you. I don't want to do anything that will -" Stiles shook his head and glanced at the picture on the nightstand. "That'll erase everything..."
Derek frowned as he watched Stiles. Even though he couldn’t remember him, there was obviously a relationship there. It was hard enough for him not remembering anything, he could imagine it would be just as hard to have someone you care about not remember you at all either. “Are you okay?” Derek asked tentatively.
"No," Stiles said bluntly. He shook his head as he stood. "But I have to be, right? If I fall apart then that won't help either is us." Stiles stretched and sighed again. "You want breakfast?"
“Yeah, that’s sounds good actually.” Derek stretched, groaning as his back popped a bit. “I suppose you know my favorites better than me now.” He made his way to the couch and sat down, watching Stiles move easily around the small kitchen. There was another picture on the coffee table, this one with Derek wearing the uniform of a deputy and with a man that he presumed was Stiles’ father, also in uniform. He had his arms around both Derek and Stiles in the photo and looked both pleased and proud.
Stiles made a quick breakfast of eggs, pancakes and bacon that he nuked in the microwave. He poured coffee and placed two plates on the island in the kitchen. "You want me to bring your food over there?" he asked, looking over at Derek on the couch.
“No, that’s alright,” Derek said, standing up and moving to sit on one of the bar stools. “Smells good,” he observed, pulling one of the plates in front of him. He realized suddenly that he was ravenous and started shoveling large bites of food into his mouth.
Stiles smiled a little, watching Derek, before he started eating his own food.
“So, maybe,” Derek began, cheeks stuffed with eggs, “after we eat you can tell me about my life? Maybe hearing about my past will help jog something loose?”
Stiles looked uncomfortable. "Well what do you want to know specifically? I mean with no memories I'm sure some stuff might be pretty traumatic in general. Blank slates tend to be a pretty shocking thing, I'd imagine."
“Well, where I’m from, my family, friends..” he thought for a moment. “Maybe, how we met?” Derek shook his head, overwhelmed with questions. “I feel like I just want to know everything. Maybe the details will help. I’m guessing you know a lot about me?”
"Yeah, pretty much everything..." Stiles still looked uncomfortable as he ate and kept glancing at Derek. "Well... You're from here. Beacon Hills. Born and raised. Um... one of your sisters, Cora, is somewhere in South America. She doesn't really have a permanent address. You've got an uncle, Peter, that pretty much has the same tendency. He comes around every now and then but he's mostly been out of town for while..."
Derek sat and listened avidly as Stiles went over his life story. It was full of much more horror and darkness than Derek could have anticipated, and he frankly wondered how he had managed to go on in the face of so much tragedy. He had a small inkling that some of that had to do with the young man in front of him, and the others in his pack.
Stiles spoke briefly about their relationship, keeping it vague, but Derek could smell what he thought might be emotions coming off of Stiles. Powerful ones. He couldn’t be sure, barely having a day’s experience with werewolf senses, but he thought he was right.
"So, yeah..." Stiles was curled up on the couch where they'd moved to after eating, carefully watching Derek.
Derek stared down at the floor a bit, his mind whirling. “And I didn’t tell you where I was going yesterday? Before I lost my memories?”
"No. We were supposed to meet up later at the loft. You never brought pizza home and I started getting a bad feeling. And you didn't answer you phone. I tracked it and found it but you weren't there..."
Derek nodded. He’d suspected something along those lines, or he doubted he would’ve ended up in that situation in the first place. He wondered who could have done this to him, how they could have done it. Obviously it was someone who didn’t like him very much. “I know you talked a bit about rivals our pack has had...can you think of anyone who could be capable of doing this to me? Or why?”
Stiles was quiet for a moment. "I mean, I've got an idea. And their emissary would have been the one to do it. But I can't just barge over there and accuse them without starting a war and you're not yourself right now."
“Believe me, I’m not planning of accusing anyone. But it would be good to alert the rest of my,” he cleared his throat, “pack. In case this was done to weaken us.”
"I already informed everyone. They're on alert and Lydia is doing some research for me."
“Lydia,” Derek said, thinking. “She’s the math genius, right?”
"And a Banshee. At least she hasn't gotten any screaming urges lately. So I think right now we are good on the no incoming death front."
He thought he’d been surprised as much as possible, but hearing that banshees were apparently a thing too had Derek’s eyebrows rising again. “Well, that’s good,” he said, not really sure what else to say to that revelation.
Stiles chucked. "Yeah, it takes some time getting used to all the supernatural stuff, but a lifetime of it and you end up talking about it like its normal."
“Makes sense,” Derek said, before lapsing into silence. He felt himself withdrawing, trying to put all the information in his head in order. Despite what he had hoped, none of his own memories had been triggered by learning about his life.
Stiles sat there quietly, drumming his fingers in his thigh. "I'll be right back..." He got up and went to the closet and dug around until he found what he wanted. Stiles returned to the couch with a large book in his hands and offered it to Derek. "Maybe this will help."
Derek reached out and took the book, laying it on his lap. He opened it up, eyes widening at the photos that stared up at him. It was an album, full of photographs. He and Stiles were in a lot of them, along with a multitude of other people he assumed made up his pack.
"That's Lydia," Stiles said, pointing out a gorgeous red head. "And that is Isaac, Boyd and Erica. Umm," Stiles turned the page. "Allison and Scott. Oh, and that's Jackson."
The names were familiar, Stiles having just told Derek about all of them, but there was no recognition when he looked at their faces. “Stiles,” he whispered. “Please tell me you can help me.”
"I'm going to do everything I can," Stiles promised. "I can't lose you..."
“I think I’m going to just lay down for a while,” Derek said, trying not to let fear and hopelessness overwhelm him again. He felt bad about the sad look on Stiles’ face, but he had no idea what to say to make anything about the situation better.
"Okay..." Stiles nodded and carefully took the book back and set it on the coffee table. He sat there quietly, looking unsure of what to do with himself. "I think I'm going to go see Lydia..."
“Will you be gone long?” Derek asked, not too thrilled with the note of uneasiness in his voice.
"Maybe. I wanna see what she's found, if anything and do some research. But, um, I mean I don't think you would be that comfortable with me sitting here and staring at you all day. And I doubt sharing a bed would be comfortable for you either..."
“It’s just. I mean, you don’t think whoever did this to me could get to me here?” He gestured down at himself. “In my present condition, I don’t know how effective I’d be at defending myself, or even knowing who my enemies are.”
"I don't think anyone could get past the wards I put up all over the building and surrounding areas. Well, unless they kill me... but you own the property the building is on too so I decked it out. No one can get in or out unless I let them."
Derek frowned at the easy way Stiles mentioned himself getting killed, but didn’t say anything about it. “Glad to know you’re prepared.” He stood up and crossed his arms, feeling awkward. “I’ll see you later then?”
"Yeah... I'll be back later." Stiles stood and looked around the loft. "I'll just grab some clothes and change in the bathroom. Do you need anything before I leave?"
“I don’t think so,” Derek said.
"Okay." Stiles awkwardly gathered his clothes from the dresser and closet before disappearing into the bathroom. It didn't take long for him to emerge with wet hair and fresh clothes. Stiles seemed to want to touch Derek, but he restrained himself and offered a small wave as he headed towards the door.
Derek waved back and sighed as the large metal door slid shut. He went back to the bed and fell down on it face first, burying his nose in the pillow, and letting the scents relax him and carry him off into sleep.
***
The door of the loft sliding open woke Derek some time later. His head shot up off the pillow, but he relaxed when he saw it was only Stiles, his arms laden with items. I must have been more exhausted than I thought. Derek noticed night had fallen, the large windows making up one side of the loft letting in the light of the moon.
"Sorry..." Stiles said softly as he kicked the door closed. "I didn't mean to wake you. How are you feeling?" He moved to put everything on the coffee table.
“Fine, I guess,” Derek replied, voice rough from sleep. “I’ve been passed out since you left. What time is it?” He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, eyeing the things Stiles had brought with interest.
Stiles pulled out his phone. "Uh, almost midnight. Guess I got distracted with all the research..."
“Did you find anything interesting?” Derek asked, climbing off the bed and heading to the couch. There were books, vials, what looked like herbs and more piled on the coffee table. It certainly looked promising.
"Well I found a couple of things. Lydia and I were thinking about trying a potion and spell to start out with. They're low risk, but effective from what we've put together."
“Do you use them together? Or separately?” He had no idea how any of this was going to work. “You’re not planning on poisoning me are you?” Derek asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Stiles gave Derek an annoyed look, but seemed unphased by the question. "Ha. Ha. No. I'm not going to poison you." Stiles paused and looked at the ingredients. "At least 98% sure." He smirked at that and sighed. "Anyway we‘ll have to do one at a time and take time between them to see if they have any effects."
“Wow. That was a ringing endorsement.” Derek chuckled to himself, and poked at one of the bags of herbs. “I mean, what do I have to lose at this point right? And I’m going to take the evidence that you care about me to heart.”
"You have everything to lose," Stiles murmured softly, looking up at Derek then. "And I don't just care about you. I love you. You're my mate. I'd give anything to make sure that you're okay. So I'm going to figure this out."
“Mate? Mates are a thing?” That was more new information. Looking at the pain on Stiles’ face made Derek wish he could take it away. He may only have ‘met’ Stiles yesterday, but his gut was telling him to try and make it better.
"Yeah. It's a thing." Stiles sighed and gathered up some things, taking them into the kitchen. "I'm gonna get started on the potion."
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Derek asked, his stomach twisting with unease. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he felt responsible for this mess. And he was eager to get it resolved.
"Not really. When I'm done you can take it, but it should really sit overnight before you do." Stiles placed the things on the counter and glanced over at Derek. "Can you put my pillow and a blanket on the couch for me?"
“Um, sure,” Derek said, turning back to the bed. “Which pillow is yours?” His hand hovered over the pillows, waiting.
"That one," Stiles said, pointing.
Derek started a bit when he realized Stiles’ pillow was the one he’d been sleeping with his face in. He could feel himself blushing as he gathered it and a blanket up, bringing them to the couch. “You know, I can sleep here. You’ve had a rough day, you should get the bed.”
"I don't want to sleep in our bed alone. I'll sleep on the couch." Stiles busied himself with the potion ingredients, not looking back towards Derek.
Derek winced, but he supposed that was an understandable response. “Do you mind if I shower? It’s upstairs, right?”
"Yeah. All the towels are clean. And, um, our clothes is mixed in together but obviously yours are bigger."
Derek nodded in thanks and walked to the spiral staircase. Halfway up, he stopped and said over the railing. “Good luck with the potion.”
***
The next morning found Derek sitting at the kitchen island again, but this time instead of pancakes and eggs, there was a cup of bubbly liquid, foul looking and dark. “What are the odds of this working?” Derek asked, as Stiles watched him like a hawk.
"If you don't drink it I'm gonna hold you down and put a tube in your mouth like they do to horses. I stayed up all night making that..."
Derek quirked an eyebrow at Stiles. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to drink it. I’m not sure I can handle not having my memories much longer.” He picked up the glass and held it to his lips, the strong smell making him breathe through his nose. “Here goes,” he muttered, before chugging the potion.
For a few seconds, nothing happened, then his stomach felt like it was stuffed full of writhing snakes. He curled over the counter and groaned, clutching at it.
Stiles made a face that looked pretty grossed out. "Yeah that was nasty watching you drink that." Stiles gripped the counter. "Are you getting anything?"
Derek breathed heavily, his head resting on the counter. He licked his lips and croaked, “Nothing.” He tried not to feel crushed. He knew Stiles had other ideas, but Derek had been so hopeful this was easily fixed. “I still don’t remember anything.”
Stiles looked disappointed as he slouched back against the counter and ran his hands over his face. "It might be delayed... but I'll keep looking."
Scrubbing his hands over his own face, Derek nodded. “I suppose, I should just rest here for a while. But I was thinking that maybe I should get out of the loft today. Visit familiar places?”
"Well you're not going alone. I can get the pack to come by and take you out if you want while I work on things."
“I was hoping you’d stay with me,” Derek said quietly. “I don’t know any of them. I’ve at least got some knowledge of you. And...I think my instincts want you around.” He had to acknowledge these feelings in his gut, that he supposed were a result of being a werewolf. Which was still weird to even think inside his own head.
"Where do you want to go?" Stiles asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He seemed to just shut down, looking at the kitchen floor.
“Maybe… the police station? To someone’s house?” Derek shook his head. “Maybe I'm just talking out of my ass and I should stay here until we get this solved.”
"I'm not taking you to the police station. Everyone will start asking questions if you act strange. I guess I can take you to see Scott and Allison."
“As good a place as any to start,” Derek mused. He could only hope it helped.
***
It was a disaster. Derek had felt nothing but awkward and guilty. Allison hadn’t know what to say to him, and Scott had been overly excitable and eager to try to jog Derek’s memory, hounding him with information and asking him questions that Derek had no answer to.
Stiles had seen how uncomfortable Derek was and had managed to get him out of there in less than two hours. He tried not to show it, but Derek was pretty sure he was disappointed.
After that, their days had a pattern. Stiles went to work, researched spells and possibilities on how to cure Derek, they tried something new, and it didn’t work. Derek became a recluse, rarely leaving the loft for fear of someone trying to talk to him, or the helplessness of not knowing where he was going to strike him.
As the days and then weeks wore on, Derek started to fear that this was the way he was going to be forever. He almost couldn’t bear to look Stiles in the eye anymore, as he became more and more desperate with each failed attempt to retrieve Derek’s memory.
They’d gotten to know each other better, but Derek still felt like a fraud, a shadow of the person that Stiles had clearly loved so much.
After a week with no new leads on a possible solution, Stiles had received a phone call from Lydia several hours earlier and he had left the apartment like a bat out of hell. By now, Derek had learned to not get his hopes up in the slightest, and he sat quietly on the couch, reading one of the many books lining the shelves in the loft.
Sometime later, Stiles let himself into the apartment, careful not to make noise. It had become part of the routine, as if Stiles was tiptoeing around Derek, trying to make sure to let him have his space. Stiles made his way to the couch and threw himself down onto it with a dramatic sigh.
“You were gone a long time,” Derek observed, closing the book and setting it on his lap. “And you were in quite a hurry to leave. Is there anything I should know?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said softly, running a hand over his face. “But you’re not going to like it. Well, at least the old-you wouldn't anyway.”
Derek’s stomach dropped, his instincts starting to rile him. “That sounds ominous.” He shook his head and sighed. “Might as well tell me and get it over with.”
Stiles was quiet for several moments, just staring at the ceiling. “There’s a spell that we can try. It’ll let me travel into your mind to see if there’s anything I can do in there to get back your memories.. but it has a high risk. For me. If something goes wrong, I can die.”
“What?” Derek asked, snapping upright. “What are the odds that something can go wrong?” He knew Stiles was getting desperate and so was he, but this?
“Pretty good odds,” Stiles said, sitting up and turning towards Derek. “But we’re out of options…”
“I don’t know how to feel about this…” Derek began, wringing his hands a bit. God knows he wanted his memories back. He couldn’t go through life adrift like this… but to risk Stiles’ life?
“Well I’m going to do it anyways regardless if you like it or not,” Stiles said, completely serious. “I can't go through life like this. Without my mate. You barely talk to me and you don't even look me. I can't do this without you. I miss you. I miss touching you and kissing you and holding you… I need you back.”
“I’m so sorry,” Derek whispered. “I wish I could be what you need, even without my old memories. I can only imagine how hard this has been for you.” He looked Stiles in the eye. “And judging by your tenacity over the past weeks, I doubt I’d be able to talk you out of doing what you set your mind to.”
“You know, I keep thinking about what I’m going to do if you never get your memories back…” Stiles said quietly. “I don't even know what to do with myself most of the time. I know you’re only tolerating me because I’m the only one that can help you. But if you never get them back? Then what? You don't know me… and there’s no way that you can want me. If this doesn't work, I’m not even sure what I’m going to do. I can't sleep on the couch forever and I’m sure you want your space if this doesn't work out…”
Derek reached out and put his hand over Stiles’. “I’m not just tolerating you. I like being with you, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive. It’s just...I’m not the man you love and it seems not right to pretend I am. If this doesn’t work out, maybe we can just… see how it goes?” Even as he spoke, there was a tightening of nerves in his gut, a worry on how he could face the rest of his life if they failed.
Stiles seemed to start breaking at the seams at Derek’s touch, like he wanted to reach out and touch in return, to pull Derek closer. Something. “And then what? How long do we just see how it goes before you decide you want something else? I made a life commitment when I became your mate and that means you’re it for me. Forever.” Stiles looked down at Derek’s hand over his, despair wafting off of him. “I’m sure there’s a way to break the mate bond if that’s what you want, but it’ll probably destroy me…”
“Stiles, Stiles, stop,” Derek said, putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. We don’t even know if it’s permanent.” He squeezed his hands slightly. “I think we need to try the spell.”
Stiles visibly relaxed into Derek’s touch, leaning into it. “Yeah…” Stiles nodded, sighing and burying his face into his hands.”Tomorrow, I guess. It’s late.”
Derek sat there awkwardly for a moment, before he pulled his hands off Stiles’ shoulders, the palms tingling. “Tomorrow.”
***
The wind whistled, rattling the shutters on Derek’s family home. He sat on the couch staring into the middle distance. A crash of thunder made him jump and he looked around, dazed.
He thought his house had burned down, but everything looked fine. And how long had he been sitting here?
Derek shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness. He felt like there was something niggling in the back of his mind; something important. But after a moment he drifted again, unfocused and uncaring.
Time passed. Derek didn’t know how long. There was just the house, the storm outside and the wind.
Derek’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate or drank. When had he last seen someone? Why was he sitting here, alone? He shook his head and rubbed at his temple. There was something he was forgetting, he knew it.
He jerked his head upright suddenly. Was that a yell? Who could be out in this storm? He stood up off the couch and walked to the large windows in the living room, staring out at the lashing rain. Derek could see little more than flashes of light and trees.
The sound came again. He was sure of it. And it was… his name? Whose voice was that?
Derek pressed his palms to the glass, straining his eyes. A dark form darted between the trees, but it was indistinct. As he stared, the glass fogged up and he wiped it clean with a hand. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he knew who was out there. And that it was crucial that he see them.
The shape drew nearer until Derek could make it out. He saw sodden clothes, dark hair plastered to a pale forehead and large amber eyes. “Stiles?” Derek gasped, pressing harder against the glass. Their eyes met and a wave of memories crashed over him.
He remembered going to investigate reports of a territory violation. He remembered the rival pack’s emissary cursing him, planning to use his incapacitation to make his pack weak. He remembered the fear and panic as the darkness had plucked at his mind, memories slipping away from him like sand through an hourglass before engulfing him completely.
And then the bizarre purgatory, drifting without perception and being stuck here, alone.
“Stiles!” he yelled again.
“Derek!” Stiles ran up onto the porch, the rain and wind whipping around him. “Derek! Oh my god, you’re here!” Stiles pressed against the glass, moving his hand to match Derek’s on the window. “I’ve been trying to get you out, but I can't get your memories back.”
“What do you mean?” Derek asked, yelling above the sound of the howling wind. “Where am I? What’s going on, am I in a coma or something?” It was probably his imagination, but the glass where their hands were touching felt warm.
“No… you’re awake. Well, part of you is. Right now I’m in your mind, but your body is okay. You’re walking around without your memories. I guess because you’re locked in here. I’ve been trying for weeks to get your memories back.” Stiles started to break, breath coming fast. “I have to get you out of here. Can you leave the house?”
“Weeks?” Derek gasped, mind reeling. “I haven’t tried to leave the house, I haven’t realized how much time has passed at all.” He pointed to the right, “Go to the front door!” He ran out to the foyer, reaching for the large doorknob and pulling.
It wouldn’t budge.
“Stiles!” he yelled, pounding on the door. “Can you open it?”
On the other side of the door Stiles was kicking and punching the door, then there were loud, angry explosive sounds that followed. “I can't get in!” Stiles shouted from the other side. “The door hasn’t even splintered!”
Derek backed away and threw himself at the door, crashing into it. The impact didn’t even leave a dent. “Try the glass! The windows!” he yelled, running back to the living room. The noise level of the storm had intensified. Flashes of lightning and thunder rattled the house, causing the lights to flicker, before they died entirely.
Stiles tried hitting the glass with hands, feet, body, rocks and his powers, but nothing damaged the house. The storm was getting worse outside and Stiles was soaked, little cuts and bruises appearing on his body from the debris that was getting flung around in the storm. “Derek! I can't get in!” Stiles clung to the window, pressing himself against it. “Derek,” Stiles sobbed. “I love you. Please… come back. I can't live without you.”
Derek shifted, his claws lengthening as he scratched frantically at the glass, but it remained completely, damnably unmarred. “Stiles,” he whined through his fangs, before he roared and punched the glass with his fist.
Nothing happened.
Derek dropped his forehead against the glass, that hateful centimeter separating him from the person he loved most in the world. “I need to get out of here,” he whispered. “Stiles, please, you can’t give up, you have to find a way!”
Stiles pressed himself to the glass as if he could be absorbed into it. “I won't,” he promised. “I can't. I need you, Derek.” Tears were rolling down Stiles’ face. “I love you.” Stiles said the words as if he would never get to tell them to Derek again.
“I love you, Stiles, I love you!” Derek said, breathing hard. The wind picked up more, the trees bending and swaying ominously. “Stiles! It’s not safe out there!”
“I’m not leaving!” Stiles protested, clinging to the house and clawing at the window. “I’m not leaving you! I can't!”
“Stiles, please, I can’t have you hurt!” Derek watched in horror as several trees worked loose from the ground and disappeared. The wind shrieked, Stiles’ clothes flapped, his eyes filled with horror as he realized he was getting sucked away from Derek. “Stiles!” Derek screamed, terrified. “No!” He watched helplessly as Stiles was yanked from the window and went flying back, into the darkness of the woods. Hot tears burned as they rolled down his cheeks. “Stiles,” he whispered, hands still pressed to the cold, unfeeling glass.
***
Stiles gasped awake, then rolled over and started sobbing freely against his own arm. “Derek,” he breathed, body shaking from the emotion pouring out of him.
“Stiles,” Derek said, panicked. “What the hell happened? I could’ve sworn you stopped breathing at one point.”
“I couldn't get you out,” he cried. “I saw you and talked to you and I couldn't - I couldn't get you out.”
“Stiles, breathe,” Derek said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” Stiles just cried harder and Derek held out a hand, hovering above his back. “What do you mean, you saw me? I’m trapped in my own head?”
“Yes,” Stiles panted through his tears. “You’re trapped in your house in the preserve. We tried getting you out but we couldn't break through. I don't know what to do.” Stiles buried his face into his arms and continued to cry, devastating emotions wafting off of him.
Derek couldn’t take it anymore, the pure misery coming off of Stiles sending his protective instincts crazy. He dropped his hand to Stiles’ back and rubbed it, before reaching under Stiles’ arm and pulling him upright and folding him into his arms. “Stiles, we’ll figure it out. We will. At least we know my memories are still in my head. That means they’re not permanently erased.”
Stiles tucked himself against Derek, pressing his face against Derek’s neck, tears still flowing freely. “I love you, Derek. I love you so much. I need you. Please, don't ever leave me. I need to get you back.”
Stiles’ pain cut straight to Derek’s heart and he felt his face crumpling, clinging to Stiles harder.
***
Inside his house, Derek had his hands clamped firmly over his ears as tears streamed down his cheeks. The noise of the storm had ramped up to a cacophony. His head was pounding and he had no idea if Stiles was safe. He was on the brink of losing everything.
His heart pounded, blood rushing through his body.
This could not happen. He was not letting this happen, he was not losing the love of his life.
Hitting him like a lightning bolt, he felt a tugging, a connection. He could feel Stiles’ utter misery, his despair, his fear. Standing up, Derek fully shifted into his beta form and rushed the door, slamming into it with his hands. He planted his feet, and started to push. Derek’s heart pounded harder, the muscles in his arms bulged. Every second that passed by, Stiles’ emotions felt stronger and stronger. There was a sensation of something bending, and Derek pushed harder.
He was close; he could feel it. He wasn’t going to quit.
***
Derek held Stiles, feeling his body shake, when his mind was eclipsed by what felt like an explosion. He groaned as everything came rushing back to him, an overwhelming flood of memories, including those from being trapped in his own mind, creating a duplicity that he couldn’t reconcile. “Stiles,” he whispered.
Stiles held Derek tighter, still buried against his neck. He had to pull back to look at him, confusion on his face. “Derek? Are you okay?” Stiles sniffled and hiccupped, wiping at his own face. Stiles’ face was worried, especially because the side-effects the spell could have.
“Stiles,” Derek said again, his voice choking up. He lifted one hand shakily, bringing it to Stiles’ cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb. “Stiles, it’s me.”
It took Stiles all of five seconds to comprehend what Derek was saying before the look on his face became hopeful. “Derek?” he asked desperately, leaning more against him and bringing his hand up to cup Derek’s face. “How did you -”
“I’m not sure,” Derek said, leaning into Stiles’ palm. “I could just...feel you, and I made it happen.” Unable to hold back any longer, Derek pulled Stiles close and crushed their lips together, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes.
Stiles kissed Derek fiercely, teeth clacking against Derek’s as he clung to him. He pulled Derek closer, needing the contact as he tried to melt Derek into his body. “Derek, Derek,” he breathed. “God, I missed you.”
“I’m never leaving you again, I swear,” Derek vowed. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with you always.” Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck, taking in great lungfuls of his scent. “Everything was so gray without you, so lifeless. Never again.” He ran his mouth down Stiles’ neck, his nerves singing as Stiles’ taste exploded on his tongue.
Stiles’ fingers dug into Derek’s shoulders, turning his face into Derek’s neck again to take in his scent. “You better not,” Stiles breathed, pressing a kiss to Derek’s neck in return. “I can't live without you. My mate.”
Derek groaned against Stiles' temple, sliding his arms around his waist. He pulled Stiles into his lap, letting his hands slide up under the back of stiles' shirt, feeling the heat of his skin.
Stiles molded easily to Derek, wrapping arms and legs around him to keep him from escaping. Stiles just held him, squeezing him tight with his face pressed against Derek's neck. "Derek."
“I hope you don’t have any plans for the next few days,” Derek murmured. “Because I’m not going to be loosening my grip anytime soon.” After the fear and loneliness, Derek could only take comfort in the warm weight of Stiles in his lap, the feel of his heartbeat, pressing against Derek’s chest.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles promised. “I’m not leaving the loft for at least a week, if not longer. I’ll become a certifiable hermit if I get to stay here with you.”
“Small price to pay,” Derek said, stroking his hand over Stiles’ back. “We can be hermits together.” He tightened his grip on Stiles and let his eyes fall closed, taking in his mate’s scent. However long Stiles wanted to stay locked in the loft together was just fine with him.
***
Epilogue
Derek got off the elevator and headed to the door of the loft, his nostrils flaring as he picked up a delicious smell wafting towards him. Stiles must have been cooking something, he thought, as he unlocked the door and slid it open. His mouth watered as the smell of homemade spaghetti sauce assaulted his sensitive nose.
“Can I just say, this is a wonderful thing to walk into after a long day,” Derek said, taking off his leather jacket and tossing it onto the couch.
Stiles chuckled and grinned. “Rough first day back?” he asked, raising a spoon and blowing before offering Derek a taste of sauce.
Derek sipped the sauce and moaned as the warmth and explosion of flavor coated his tongue. “Well, your dad was really just catching me up on what’s been going on the last few weeks. And he yelled at a few other deputies for talking about me… not too nicely.” Derek smiled in remembrance at how the Sheriff had smacked them down, brooking no arguments when it came to talking about Derek’s mental state. “I’d say your protectiveness is most definitely genetic.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, watching Stiles putter around the kitchen.
“Yeah, well, what can I say? You’re family. Of course we’re protective.” Stiles put the lid on the sauce and checked the noodles before walking over and leaning against Derek, giving him a kiss. “But things will get back to normal soon enough.”
“Let’s hope,” Derek said, kissing Stiles back and coaxing his mouth open with his tongue. The kiss turned deep and wet, Derek keeping it slow and leisurely, enjoying the soft sounds Stiles made. He finally pulled back and nuzzled at Stiles’ neck. “You know,” he mumbled into Stiles’ skin. “I’m aware that I have quite the appetite, but you seem to making a lot more food than we need. Is there something I should know?” He smiled into Stiles’ neck and nipped at it, breathing in his scent.
Stiles tilted his head back, giving Derek better access to his neck. “Well… I was thinking that we could invite the pack over for dinner and maybe binge watch some shows on Netflix. I know you guys haven't really had a chance to get your wolf-comfort since you’ve been back.”
Derek growled faintly at Stiles’ neck tilt, running his teeth along the taut muscle. “So… pack night.” He huffed with amusement, kissing Stiles’ neck again before pulling back to look in his eyes. “Sounds great,” he said sincerely. The pack as a whole had given the two of them their space in the past few days, seeing the importance of letting them settle back into their lives and work past the awfulness of the weeks when Derek had been… absent. But he couldn’t deny he missed them all and was glad that Stiles was giving them a gentle nudge. “Are you sure you’re ready to have the horde descending on the loft again?”
“Absolutely not.” Stiles laughed. “But they’re our family too and they miss you.” He smiled and kissed Derek again, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck. “Dinner’s finished,” Stiles said with another peck. “How about I turn off the stove and you put those handcuffs to use before they get here in a few hours?”
Derek burst out laughing and looped his arms around Stiles. “I can’t think of anything I would enjoy more.” He hoisted Stiles up, letting him wrap his legs around Derek’s waist. For the first time since he’d gotten his memory back, he felt like things were getting back to normal. “Let’s hope no one walks in. I have big plans.” He swallowed Stiles’ laughter with a kiss, before carrying him off to their bed.