Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stiles stole his name from a dead guy. It wasn't like he needed it.

At first, it was what he used whenever he went topside and decided to fraternize with the mortals, because apparently 'Hades' is only acceptable as another name for Satan or as a code name for a secret society.

But Erica and Isaac heard about his new identity and started calling him 'Stiles' sarcastically around the kingdom, and it stuck. And a normal(er) name seemed to calm people down those few times he Guided them himself.

John raised an eyebrow. “Stiles? That's a... weird name, kid.”

Stiles grinned. “It's a nickname. You don't want to know what my real name is.”

John nodded and looked around at the hospital room. At the bed with a lifeless body covered up by a thin white sheet. “What now?” There were nurses outside the room, talking in hushed whispers about wheeling the body to the morgue.

Stiles readjusted his beanie and scratched at the back of his neck. “You come with me.”

John squinted at him. “Is it too much to ask where we're going?”

“You gotta live a little! Take a risk! The charm is in the mystery, man.”

John huffed a laugh. “I'm dead, Stiles. I can't take anymore risks. Am I going to heaven?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Heaven is boring. Angels suck. No, we're going to the Underworld.”

“Seriously? The Underworld? With the furies and the-” John gestured to his face. “-three-headed dog?”

Stiles stuffed his hands in his pocket, grateful that Boyd had cleared his schedule for the day. “Okay, first of all, Cerby's a big softie. He likes belly-rubs. And secondly, the furies...” He faltered. “Yeah, no, they're just as scary as you'd think.” He offered John a reassuring grin. “But I have a feeling you'll be fine. Unless you've murdered a few nuns or shot the President?”

John's face was pinched, as people's faces always got when they were having trouble processing the fact that they were dead and they weren't going to heaven, but the Underworld. And most of them achieved Asphodel at best.

“Not that I remember,” John replied hesitantly.

Stiles clapped his shoulder with a grin. “You'll make Elysium, John. It's our version of heaven,” he explained, steering them to the door and walking through it. “Do you have someone waiting for you?”

A small smile appeared on John's face as he craned his head back to look at the body on the hospital bed before they passed through the door. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He twisted the ring on his finger.

Stiles loved this moment, when the souls tell him their stories. It distracted him from the suffocating routine of responsibility that being a god entailed. Mortals had a better grasp at things like living, since they didn't have the weight of immortality on their shoulders like Stiles did. They did reckless things in their youth, settled down and had a family, and then did reckless things during their midlife-crisis. It was refreshing.

“Tell me about them.”

So John did, while they made their way out of the hospital. John had entered it on a gunshot wound.

“Her name was Claudia. My wife.” The wistful tone of John's voice bore no fresh hurt or pain, so his wife must have been dead for a while. “She was beautiful. Always snarking at me. It was how we met. She reported a robbery, and I was the lucky deputy that she shouted at.”

Stiles' lips quirked upward. He loved love stories the best. “How long were you married?”

John looked at him, his eyes seeming to soften, as though he had caught something on Stiles' face. “Twenty years. We were going to have kids, a daughter and a son, but then she got sick. Frontotemporal dementia.”

Stiles shrugged as they walked out of the building, ignoring the desperate tug of another soul close to death. One of his Reapers would get it.

“There's a bunch of orphans downstairs. She's probably already bonded with a few.”

John smiled, a hesitant, happy smile. “Yeah, she would've.” His soul was thrumming with excitement over seeing his wife again, and Stiles could see his love just from the slight red tinge on the corner of his aura.

Stiles stopped walking and grabbed John's arm. “I think it's time for you to go now.”

John looked uncertain. “Can I just... There's something I want to do first.”

Stiles shook his head. “Sorry, man. Even if I let you do whatever it is, you can't interact with the physical world now. See?” He waved his hand in front of a mortal walking past them, and they passed right through it. The woman shivered and looked around, but her eyes didn't focus on Stiles or John before she continued walking. “But,” Stiles added, guilt-tripped by the disappointed look on John's face, “I suppose I don't mind running an errand. What is it?”

“She liked jasmines. Claudia, I mean. Every week I buy a jasmine plant and put it by her grave.”

Stiles shrugged. “I'm cool with that.” Though, last Stiles heard, 'jasmine' was a girl's name, but whatever. He held out his arm and John curled his fingers around Stiles' bicep. The ground fell away at their feet.

Stiles was not crying. It's just that touching reunions of soulmates was one of the most beautiful and sacred things that you could ever be lucky enough to witness, and Stiles was pretty sure that he saw Erica rub her eyes, so she couldn't tease him.

And it was obvious that John and Claudia were soulmates, the way their souls tugged at each other and clung on. Stiles was glad that they both made Elysium.

He decided to go buy those flowers, just to clear his head. His... brother had taken to kidnapping souls from the Fields of Punishment again. Just to annoy him. There was seriously no other motive. Stiles was well aware of how dysfunctional his family is.

Stiles stopped a mortal walking past him on the street with a touch to the arm, and he swayed back, as if disorientated, before leaning forward slightly. “Hello,” Stiles said politely, letting go of them and stepping back a proper distance. “I was wondering if you knew where a flower store might be?”

The man blinked, slightly dazed and obviously feeling the pull of death. “Uh... sure,” he replied, licking his lips. “There's one around the corner. Petal Pushers. Girlfriend problems?”

Stiles frowned. “No,” he said slowly. “I find people prefer chocolates as a symbol for forgiveness.”

The guy nodded understandingly. “I feel ya. Do you want to talk about it?”

Stiles shook his head politely, fingering the beanie in his hands. He had never befriended a mortal, because he found that they only liked him because of that pull. The dead didn't feel it, which made dead people and his furies Stiles' only friends. It was kind of sad.

Once Stiles got rid of the stranger, he went looking for the flower place. It was hard to find, a small boxed in store with flowers in the window and hanging baskets bursting with petals that brushed Stiles' head when he walked under them. He let himself smile, brushing the petals with his fingers. They were colors that you seldom saw anywhere in the Underworld except Elysium, purples and yellows and pinks. There was something about the plants though. They hummed with an undercurrent of power, something that complemented them but didn't seem quite separate from the plants' life energy.

Stiles opened the door and took a step inside, looking around. The plants seemed to be not only alive but conscious of his presence, unless Stiles was imagining things, which was plausible.

There were two other souls in the store. The woman had a neutral, boring soul, but Stiles was more focused on the man behind the counter's soul.

It wasn't bright, it wasn't boring, and it wasn't dark. It seemed to be earthly, grounding. It was strong, and if Stiles focused, he could sense the light tones of a child-like curiosity and wonder. Stiles loved finding souls like that, and he found them often, but this soul was different. Stiles wasn't sure if the guy was even mortal.

Stiles' eyes focused on the man, whose light green eyes were staring straight at him. He had a beard and a kind face, though his posture was tense with annoyance.

Stiles grinned, leaning against the door casually, and the guy shifted his weight, unnerved. “Hey,” he greeted. He was pretty sure that people still said 'hey'. They still said 'hey', right? “I heard this place has flowers.” Smooth, Stiles.

“Oh, it's such a shame,” the woman with the boring soul sighed. “A handsome man like you shouldn't be wearing that.”

Stiles glanced at her reluctantly, not sure if he should take that as a compliment. “Uh, why should you care what I wear?” Was it some kind of mortal test? Was it illegal to wear pants or something?

The woman made a weird noise with her tongue and walked out with a “Bye, Derek,” that was definitely not aimed at Stiles.

Stiles looked back at 'Derek', who relaxed as soon as the woman left the store. He walked towards the counter. “So, Derek, do you have any, uh...” Stiles glanced at his hand, “jasmines? Like, flowers? Well, I'm assuming they're flowers. I don't, uh, know much about flowers.”

Derek looked amused at Stiles' babbling, and he could feel heat flood his cheeks. He really needed to get out more. And then Derek smiled, and Stiles almost walked out of the store then and there because the guy had the cutest smile. It was unfair. He was probably Adonis in disguise. If Adonis was pranking Stiles again, Stiles was going to have serious words with Lydia about letting her ex-lovers loose.

“There's jasmine at the front of the store,” Derek said, his voice lighter than Stiles had expected and pleasant to hear. He gestured to a bunch of plants with flowers and Stiles stared at them helplessly.

“I'll show you where it is,” Derek said kindly, leading Stiles through the jungle of leaves. Stiles grinned at him.

“My name's Stiles, by the way.”

“I'm Derek,” Derek said.

“I know,” Stiles replied. Derek picked up a pot with a small plant in it, twining around a stick stuck in the soil. “What's this for?”

Stiles shrugged. “A friend of mine wants me to plant this at his wife's grave so it can grow on it or something.”

“He couldn't do it himself?”

“No, he's kinda dead.” Wait. “I mean, uh... figuratively dead, y'know? Like, uh-”

“It's fine, I get it,” Derek interrupted, though it was obvious he didn't. Stiles relaxed anyway, and smiled at Derek. They walked back to the counter, and Stiles glanced at the cash register before realizing that he had to pay.

He had no idea how mortal currency worked. Or currency in general. But diamonds were valuable, weren't they? Scott said they were back when he was alive.

Stiles closed his fist and formed a diamond, holding it out at Derek. “So, uh, will this be enough?”

Derek's eyes widened. “Uh... that's a diamond,” he said.

It was too small, wasn't it? “Is it... I mean, I can get a ruby or something. Or, like, an emerald? I don't know how much these things cost.” He was just making a fool of himself now, wasn't he?

But Derek took the diamond hesitantly, giving Stiles a small quirk of his lips even though he looked confused as hell. “It's fine,” he said faintly.

“So, uh, I guess I'll see you around? Maybe? I mean, not that I'll, like, you know... I'm just going to go, now.” Stiles backed towards the door, Derek's amused expression following him out. “Bye, Derek.”

The door swung shut and Stiles leaned against it, closing his eyes in embarrassment because he was thousands of years old and he couldn't even complete a sentence around some guy.

But despite the humiliation, Stiles couldn't wipe the smile off his face. When he got back to the Underworld, sitting on that damn throne listening to the souls moan about lack of food even though they don't even need to eat and propose baseball teams, he was still smiling softly.

Isaac, stood to the right of his throne and narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “I know that look.”

“What look?” Stiles asked, sitting sideways in his throne with his legs overhanging the side and his head almost touching the ground, watching an upside-down Isaac frown at him.

“I had to endure a millennia of Erica and Boyd dancing around each other, I know what that smile is. Who are they?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Who are what?”

“The person who's making you smile like that.”

Stiles straightened. “Maybe I'm just happy to see you, Isaac.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Sure. Just remember that you still have a kingdom to run, Stiles. You've got to look serious and imposing.”

“I am serious and imposing!” Stiles protested. He waved his hand and the next dead person stepped forward.

“If this is about food or baseball, you can leave.”

The man opened his mouth, closed it again, and stayed standing where he was, his eyes wide with fear, his face pale and his body shaking with it.

Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Next,” he called out.

“Stiles, where in the Hades is your beanie?”

Stiles shrugged from where he was lying on the couch, his eyes closed and his arms crossed behind his head.

Erica sighed. “I'm not a fucking slave, my lord, and I'm not your mother.”

Stiles grinned. “Hey, do you think mom will visit this year?”

There was a short pause. “No,” Erica replied. “She never does.”

Stiles sighed wistfully. “I remember when she loved me. For those whole two seconds. It was great.” He opened his eyes. “What's for dinner?”

Erica tossed a pillow and it hit Stiles in the face. “Make your own goddamn dinner. Boyd and I are having a sex marathon tonight.”

Stiles pulled a face and hugged the pillow. “Why do you guys get a night off and I don't?”

“Stiles, you are literally the god of the Underworld, you could have all the nights off that you wanted, but it means shit all unless you have a life.”

Stiles sat up, glaring at Erica, who was leaning against the wall. “I have a life,” he replied defensively. “I made a friend the other day. He was a sheriff.” He doubted Erica had any sheriff friends. Stiles: 1, Erica: 0.

“Get friends that aren't dead and I'll pity you less.” Erica clicked her fingers and frowned, lowering her hand when nothing happened. “Did you leave your beanie upstairs?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nope. I haven't actually been home in over a week.”

“No, I mean, upstairs.”

“Oh.” Stiles thought for a minute, before the memory of flowers and smiles and diamonds came to mind. “Yeah?”

Erica sighed heavily. “Where? I'll get it before Boyd takes me to Paris.”

Stiles stiffened. He didn't want Erica meeting Derek, hell no, she'd find some way to embarrass Stiles. “No,” he answered, his voice too high for his liking. “No, I can do it.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Fine. Don't call me unless Tartarus busts open.” She disappeared in a dramatic puff of smoke, and Stiles sighed, dragging a hand down his face. It was probably still daytime in America. Stiles could just walk in, take the beanie, and walk out. Minimal humiliation.

As soon as Stiles walked in, the air in the store shifted slightly, and then the counter was full of beautiful white flowers, sprouting from Derek's hands.

Derek was standing there, his face blank but his soul panicked, his green eyes wide with surprise as they found Stiles'.

“Derek! Hey! You have flowers!”

“This is a flower shop,” Derek replied, his cheeks tinged pink. All of the plants in the room seemed to reach out to Stiles, one of them brushing at his elbow.

Stiles grinned anyway. “Yeah, and you're a nymph!” Stiles did not see that one coming. “I knew it! I could feel it. Well, I mean, like, because I'm... I'm clairvoyant, you know?” Was that still the word for it?

Derek blinked at him, disbelief evident on his face. “No, you're not.”

Stiles leaned against the door, smirking at Derek. A small part of him wanted Derek to find out who he really was, but mainly he was just enjoying having the upper hand. “What makes you say that?”

“Uh, just...nope.”

Stiles' smile widened, but before he could reply, someone snorted, and a woman's voice called out, “Eloquent, Der.” A woman, another nymph, poked her head out of the room behind the counter, her dark hair resembling Derek's. “You must be Stiles.” Her name-tag read Laura.

“Another one! This is so cool. I haven't met many of you guys before.” Mainly because nymphs partied too much, and Stiles wasn't really invited to parties.

Derek ducked his head, sweeping the flowers into a bin. Laura grabbed Stiles' beanie and threw it at him. When Stiles caught it, the power in the threads buzzed with energy and a kind of disgruntled exasperation that Stiles had left it behind. Someone had worn it, and Stiles didn't mind nearly as much as he should've. There was a time he would've smote someone for touching it. His teenage years were intense.

“What are you really?”

Stiles shrugged. “Nothing important.”

“That's a lie,” she accused. “You have to be important for every single one of Derek's flowers to lose the plot like this.” She touched the leaf of a flower and it seemed to draw away from Stiles slightly.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek. “So, uh, is it just your flowers, then?”

The blush on Derek's cheeks was adorable, but Stiles hardly had time to appreciate it before a telltale tingle in his tattoo alerted him to the fact that his furies were on their way, and a second later they appeared in the middle of the flower shop.

Stiles sighed and crossed his arms. “What's happened?” he asked Erica. They only interrupted his visits upstairs on important business.

“Another one has escaped, my lord,” Erica replied, studying her fingernails and dropping the title casually, like she did whenever they were all topside.

Stiles needed to get rid of them. Especially if they were throwing about titles. “Uh, cool, that's cool, thanks, Erica.”

Erica raised an eyebrow. “That's 'cool'?” She focused on Derek. “Why are you here, anyway?”

Stiles raised his beanie up, and Erica nodded, gesturing to Boyd and Isaac. “We can deal with the runaway, but you may need to interrogate him. It stank of ozone in his cell.”

Ugh. Stiles was sick of Zeus' games, seriously. Little brothers were a bad idea, don't get them, kids.

Stiles waved a hand dismissively, and Erica, Isaac, and Boyd disappeared. Unfortunately, Derek and Laura didn't as well. They were standing there, looking at Stiles as if her were an alien.

“My lord?” Derek repeated, his voice gruff and confused.

Stiles scuffled his feet awkwardly and tried to think of ways that he could explain without freaking the nymphs out. “Well, yeah, I mean... I-”

“You're the lord of the dead,” his sister interrupted. “You.”

Stiles wasn't sure if her tone was insulting or not. Did he not look like a lord of the dead?

Derek made a weird noise, an almost strangled cough, and Stiles glanced at him. Derek lowered his eyes. “Oh, um, Your-”

Ha, no. “ Don't ,” Stiles snapped. That was something he didn't want to hear, not from Derek. Derek was a cool guy, he was normal, he treated Stiles like he was normal. He dragged a hand down his face, peering at Derek. “Nobody is throwing around any titles. At all. None. Just Stiles.” Stiles softened his tone. “Call me Stiles. Please?”

Derek nodded, but it still felt like he was shocked into doing it, like he was only agreeing because a god had asked him to. Goddamn Stiles hated being a god sometimes. “You're freaking out. Great. This is not what I wanted to happen.” Derek was still looking at him like he wanted to bolt, and Stiles thought he saw his eyes flicker to the door briefly. “First of all, I'd like to point out that I'm not evil. Or, at least, I don't think I'm evil, but evil people think they're good, so I don't know.”

It sucked that he had to actually defend his good-ness. Goddamn Olympians and their fancy palaces spreading lies and slander and dirtying Stiles' good name. That's family for you.

“Also, I don't just go around killing people. That's a gross misconception. People die, and I guide the special ones to the Underworld myself.” Like John. Stiles liked John. John wouldn't freak out if he knew who Stiles was. Hopefully.

“Oh my god,” Laura muttered.

“And I'm just a dude. A normal guy,” Stiles told them, maybe a little desperately.

“You are not a normal guy.” Stiles flinched back at the words. “You're the king of the underworld!”

Yeah, this was a mistake. Stiles should leave before they start bowing down or something. That was always awkward. It was definitely wrong to think that he might be able to have some friends that a) weren't dead and, b) not Erica, Isaac, or Boyd. “I think I'm going to go.”

Just as Stiles was about to open the door, Laura stepped forward. “Wait!”

“Yeah?” Please don't bow down, don't bow down.

Laura smirked, but it was directed at her brother. “So, how often do you get away from that kingdom of yours?”

There was a reason Boyd was Stiles' favorite. It was because the guy didn't stoop so low as to sing childish songs about how Stiles wants “the flower dick”. Stiles may have incinerated Isaac for that comment.

Stiles was sitting in his garden, though ever since he started hanging around Petal Pushers, it had started to look less beautiful. More of a mockery, a crude copy of the real thing.

“We can handle things down here,” Boyd said from behind him. It took all Stiles had not to jump. “You can go see them.”

Stiles turned around and gave Boyd a smile. “Thanks, buddy,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder. “As usual, you're in charge.”

He moved to walk past Boyd but Boyd stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Stiles,” he said, his voice full of warning. “This cult is starting to worry me. Don't be long.”

Stiles nodded. “I won't.” Goddamn that cult. Stiles was going to find the leader and throw him into Tartarus. Let Dad take care of him.

When Stiles walked into the store, Cora was behind the counter, reading a book and blooming tiny roses in her hand. “Hey, Stiles,” she said, turning a page.

Stiles leaned against the counter. “Is Derek here?”

Cora peered over the book at him. “He's just gone to get groceries. And to clear his head. Some chick came in and yelled at him.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

Cora shrugged. “She was one of those “flower-kin”people. Told him he was a monster and he was fueling a slave trade.”

Stiles laughed, imagining the scowl on Derek's face as he listened to this woman rant at him. “Did you video it?”

Cora shook her head. “No, I was too busy laughing. What's happening downstairs?”

Stiles sighed and closed his eyes, stifling a groan. “Wanna swap jobs?”

She snorted. “No thanks. Power corrupts. I don't want to know what I would do with the Underworld at my disposal.”

Stiles hummed. “I'm not corrupt, am I?”

“You can't say you've never gone a little crazy.”

Stiles tilted his head, thinking about it. “Well, I mean, Theseus pissed me off once so I glued his ass to a chair.”

“You what?” Derek's voice cut in as he walked through the door.

Stiles grinned at him, stroking the leaf of a lily as it brushed his shoulder. “I thought you were getting groceries,” he said, taking in Derek's empty hands.

Derek scowled. “There were people in the store.”

Cora sighed. “You're so dysfunctional, Derek. In case you didn't realize, there are people everywhere.”

“Even in the afterlife,” Stiles added. “Which reminds me – I can't stay long. Things are getting crazy down there.”

Derek's disappointed face warmed Stiles, and the lily started twirling up his arm. “You can stay for a coffee,” Derek said, making his way into the back, where the kitchen was.

Cora rolled her eyes. “I'm going to get out of here before I witness your death by strangulation of Derek's desperate plants. Are we still going to that party on Sunday?”

Stiles frowned. “I don't know. Hopefully. But, unfortunately, death doesn't take a holiday. It's like the Black Plague all over again.”

Cora sighed. “If you don't go I will punch you, Stiles. Don't think I won't.”

“Cora,” Derek warned. “Don't antagonize the god of the dead.”

Stiles smirked at her. “Yeah, Cora. Don't antagonize me.”

Cora poked her tongue out at Stiles and walked out of the door, her book in her hand.

“Can I meet him?” Scott asked eagerly, pulling a squealing three-year old off him. The girl laughed and started climbing up Stiles' leg. “I need to make sure his intentions are pure.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and patted the girl's head. “Buddy, you couldn't intimidate him if you tried.”

Scott fake-growled, and his eyes flashed red. The girl giggled and ran off, growling and chasing the other kids. Scott was like a kindergarten teacher in Elysium, which came in handy since they had no one to watch the children before he died.

Stiles scoffed, and the red eyes melted into friendly brown. “Stiles, you talk about him all the time. I don't mind, but it's starting to sound like you care for him.”

Stiles crossed his arms as his legs were tackled by another little kid. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he lied.

Scott gave him a flat look, raising an eyebrow, and Stiles broke. “Okay, fine, maybe, maybe I have feelings. Feelings that indicate that I might want more than just his friendship. But,” he added, interrupted Scott as he opened his mouth, “before you say anything, I'm taking it slow. Making sure it's not just all in my mind.”

Scott grinned happily for his friend. “This is great. The last time you had a lover, she tried to steal your throne.”

Stiles scowled. “She did not. You just didn't like her.”

“She called me a dog!” Scott protested.

“Yeah, and I left her because of that. You're my best friend, Scott. Only I get to call you a dog. And Erica.”

Scott pulled him in for a hug, but unfortunately, all the children seemed to take it as a green light for a puppy pile and jumped on them all. It was ten minutes before Stiles could untangle himself from them and actually go do godly things like sit on a throne and listen to people moan about baseball teams.

“I have a best friend,” Stiles told Derek that day, thinking back to the conversation. “His name's Scott. But I don't see him much. He died from a werewolf attack.”

“Werewolves have been extinct for centuries,” Derek mumbled, looking over some boring money logs or whatever.

Stiles leaned over the counter, meeting Derek's eyes and making sure he had his attention. “Yeah, he's centuries old. Scotty's like a brother to me. Probably my favorite dead person.” He went on to tell Derek about the levels of the Underworld, feeling kind of smug when his eyes stayed attentive and interested.

“I wouldn't worry,” Stiles told him. “You'll make Elysium at least.” Even if Derek became a total asshole and stole candy from babies, he'd make Elysium.

“Why would I make Elysium?”

Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, trying to keep the indignation out of his voice when he replied with, “Because you're my friend.” Way to friend-zone the guy . “At least,” Stiles blurted. Good save , his mind supplied sarcastically.

“At least?” Derek repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles had a game plan, which involved casually – casually – asking Derek out to dinner (people still did that, right?), with candles. Candles were romantic. You didn't have candles at dinner with friends.

But instead, his brain-to-mouth filter broke, and he mumbled, “Yeah, I mean, you're... uh, you're really cool. You're all surly and sarcastic and pretty.”

“Pretty?” Derek echoed, indignant. “I'm not pretty .”

Stiles grinned, relieved that maybe Stiles' feelings had gone over Derek's head and he'd have a second chance at asking him to dinner, next time more eloquently. “You're the prettiest, Derek.”

Stiles didn't see Derek for a while. The tension in his kingdom was building, and Stiles was just about ready to get into fisticuffs with Zeus. He plucked Bin Laden from his cell in the Fields of Punishment and let him loose on Hawaii. Stiles was just lucky that Isaac had managed to retrieve him before the news spread. And the worst part was that he had no retaliation.

Until Lydia came over once, interrupting Stiles' nap time with a sharp backhand slap to the ribs.

Stiles yelped and sat up, glaring at her. “What do you want?”

Lydia sniffed, looking around disdainfully at her surroundings. “I want you to stop that idiot. He won't stop gloating and it's getting insufferable.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, life must be so miserable on Olympus, on your golden thrones and with your cup-bearers,” Stiles replied sarcastically.

“Don't be bitter, it doesn't suit you,” Lydia snapped. “What is your game plan?”

Stiles shrugged, yawning. “I don't know. I'm kind of busy. There's a cult-”

“Do I look like I care?”

Stiles squinted at her. She looked perfect, like usual. Stiles fancied himself in love with her for a century or two, but that was back when she couldn't control her powers and made everyone fall in love with her. “What do you have? You wouldn't have come all this way just to order me about.”

Lydia leaned forward, her eyes glinting as she smiled predatorily. “Zeus has a daughter.”

“Seriously? Ew, he's whoring around again? What does the missus think of it?”

Lydia shrugged. “This girl, Kira, she's likable. Not even Hera would touch a hair on her head.”

Stiles straightened. “And you want me to? No way. I'm not like that.”

Lydia tossed her hair. “No. I just want you to take her for a bit. Make Zeus freak out. That smarmy asshole deserves a scare. Tell her you're her uncle and you want to prank her dad.”

“She'll go for it?”

“She doesn't really like him.” Lydia's eyes sparkled green, and there's the fun-loving girl who still went by Aphrodite and ran around forests with Stiles and made fun of mortals with Stiles and wore his gems around her neck. “It'll be fun. I'll video his reaction.”

Stiles sighed. “Fine. But I want a live feed.”

Kira was actually really cool about it. She had a kind, innocent face, and she gushed about how she totally got to see the Underworld and she wasn't even dead .

She patted Cerberus and scratched his stomach, she make Charon blush by telling him his hat was badass like Indiana Jones (whoever that was), and she hit it off with Scott so well that Stiles gave them some privacy after a few moments. The Elysium children tugged at his hair and pulled his beanie on, even though it didn't work in the Underworld, as Stiles tried to keep them entertained by making ruby-flowers and pulling diamonds from behind their ears.

Stiles was happy that Scott was getting some female attention. He had pined hopelessly after Allison for too long, and she broke his heart after revealing that they couldn't be more than friends since she was sort-of Artemis, the goddess of the hunter and sworn off men. But Stiles didn't think Kira would hold the same values, from the way she giggled at something Scott said and leaned closer to him.

“Look, you little gorgon, if you don't stop pulling my hair I'm going to pull yours,” Stiles snapped at the girl who had her fingers buried in his hair.

She grinned. She must have died missing a few teeth, since that kind of thing didn't happen after death. “It's soft.”

Stiles glowered at her. “I'm not soft.”

Someone started kicking him in the back. “Stiiiiiles,” he whined. “I want a cuddle.”

Stiles sighed and turned around, holding out his arms. “Fine,” he said. “But I'm not happy about this. Jeez, kid, you're a little heavy, aren't you?” he grunted.

And then a thought entered his mind, a sort of daydream, before he could stop it: Derek, sitting cross-legged on the floor, making daisy chains for the kids and giving Stiles a soft smile.

“Dammit,” Stiles muttered. He was so gone on Derek it was pathetic.

“You said a swears,” one of the kids said, lying on his legs.

So it turns out “kidnapping” Zeus' daughter was a terrible idea, and Stiles was never listening to Lydia again. Because when Zeus found out that Kira was bonding with her uncle, he came down full force. Five mass murderers were let out before Stiles could even contemplate throwing up the wards.

Warding the Underworld required almost all of Stiles' power and concentration. He was keeping Zeus out of his kingdom from pure strength of will, and while Stiles was strong-willed, he wasn't sure exactly how long it would take before he could actually function again. Warding meant patching up holes in the kingdom, reinforcing every inch with shadow, and staying in a meditative state that wasn't as restful as it seemed. But Stiles would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

Zeus got bored quickly, and after about a week, he let up. And Stiles opened his eyes, waking from his “meditation”, to find Erica, Isaac, and Boyd staring down at him with annoyed faces.

“What?” he asked. His mouth felt dry and unused.

“While you were off provoking your brother, we had to deal with that cult. They've caused riots in Asphodel. Stiles, you have to deal with it. Now,” Isaac demanded.

Stiles stood up, his legs cramped from sitting cross-legged, and flashed them a shaky smile. “Sure.”

So it turns out he can't deal with suicidal cults rioting just after he had to ward his kingdom against his little brother's hissy fit. Who would've thought.

Stiles gave it his best shot, though, interrogating cult members and throwing a few of the rioters into the Fields of Punishment. But he was set to collapse at any minute because he may be immortal but he wasn't invincible , and Erica was five steps behind him wherever he went. So Stiles just popped up in the middle of a street in California, and bolted to Petal Pushers , irrationally paranoid that Erica would follow him.

He locked the door behind him and ignored the mortals in the store.

“Stiles?” Derek called out hesitantly.

Stiles met his eyes with a small smile, and something in his stomach unclenched from not seeing him for so long. “I need a place to crash.” The ground pulled at him and he almost reached it before Derek caught him and held him up. He has nice arms. They're strong , he noted dully.

Derek and Laura dragged him into the back room and sat him on a chair. Someone brushed his hair away from his forehead gently, and Stiles relaxed a little bit more.

“Stiles, are you okay? What happened?”

Stiles blinked open his eyes, because Derek sounded worried and Stiles really liked seeing that crease between his brows, it was cute. “Oh, nothing. No danger. Um, not anymore.” He just really wanted to sleep.

But there was a tiny slap to his cheek, and Derek was growling at him again. “Stiles, are you hurt? Stiles , goddammit!”

Stiles scowled at him. “No, jeez. Just drained. I, uh... I had a rough week.” The sweet smell of flowers swirled around Stiles' senses.

Derek laughed, but it sounded wrong, and Stiles was pretty sure if he had a heart it would've skipped a beat when Derek dropped his head on Stiles' shoulder. “Don't scare me like that.”

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulder. “Dude, I'm not that easy to kill. I just...” He fought off a yawn. “I had to deal with this suicidal cult downstairs, and they kept stirring trouble. I finally, finally got away, and I think Erica, Boyd, and Isaac are trying to find me and drag me back.”

Stiles' eyes had closed before he heard Derek's reply.

When Stiles emerged from the back room, he had a headache and his bones felt heavy, but he felt better. Derek and Cora were playing card at the counter, and it looked like Cora was winning.

Derek jumped from his seat, staring at Stiles, and Stiles hoped he wasn't imagining the heat in his gaze.

“Uh, are you okay?” Derek asked him, his voice soft and calm and just what Stiles needed to hear this whole time.

Stiles groaned, rubbing his head. “No. There are limits to what gods can do. One of them is that using your powers for ten days straight drains you. Completely.” He was never talking to Lydia again.

Cora stood up, and Stiles caught the movement in his peripheral vision, still staring at Derek. “I'm going to get a coffee. Do either of you guys want one?”

Derek and Stiles both shook their heads, and Cora left with a sigh.

Stiles gave in to that pull, the life vs death pull, stumbling to the counter and leaning heavily on it. “I'm sorry for passing out on you.”

Derek smiled at him, though his eyes were still tight with worry. “It's fine, Stiles.”

“Are you sure? Because it was really uncool-”

“Stiles, if I minded, I would've chucked you out on the street.”

Stiles grinned happily. That's what he liked about Derek: his honesty, his take-no-shit attitude. “I have to ask you something,” Stiles blurted. Which he wasn't meant to do.

“What is it?”

Stiles bit his lip and looked up at Derek, deciding to bite the bullet and ask him what had been on his mind for the past month or so. “Could you... Um, do you think you could, like, grow me a garden? I mean, you don't have to, no one likes visiting my place, it's like apparently all dead  people which I thought was a given but-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted firmly. He's going to say no, that's weird, why would he want to go to the Underworld anyway, it's all dead people and shit.

“I'll make you a fucking garden, okay?”

Stiles could've hugged him then and there, but he settled for a smile.

They arrived at Stiles' house, not his palace (he hated that place), and Stiles scratched at the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. What if it didn't meet Derek's expectations? What if he was disappointed in the lack of skulls and wailing and fire? “Yeah, it's probably not what you expected, but uh... I hated the stereotypes. Hades lives in an obsidian palace, the Underworld is consumed by fire and heat, Hades is a reclusive dickhole. ” Okay, maybe that last one was true, but he was working on it.

“You sure showed them,” Derek replied faintly, looking up at Stiles' house with wide eyes. Stiles wasn't sure if he liked it or not. It could do with a repaint. Stiles should've repainted it last week.

“Where do you want it?” Derek asked Stiles, looking back at him.

Stiles got a thousand times more nervous. “I, uh, around the back. There's a backyard.” He'll think it's stupid. He'll think it looks horrible and that Stiles is a sad loser.

“Do you also have a dog named Fido and a neighbor named Mrs Rogers?”

Stiles threw his head back and laughed, a little nervously, thankful that Derek wasn't acting any weirder, being in the land of the dead and everything. He led Derek around the house, and they stopped at his garden.

The silver trees shined too bright, Stiles though. They were too bland. The gems were tacky, and Stiles' face heated up at the thought that Derek probably pitied Stiles' attempt at gardening. “It's silly, I know. I tried , you know, but it's not the same. I can't create life. Only some cruel mockery of it. It's just-”

“Beautiful,” Derek breathed. Stiles glanced at him, startled at his words, and Derek's eyes met him, dark and heavy with something akin to the heated look he gave Stiles earlier. “ Beautiful .”

Stiles had a brief second of happiness, because Derek wasn't lying, he thought it was beautiful , when Derek leaned forward and then they were kissing.

Stiles made a surprised noise before pressing back, leaning into Derek's arms. He tasted like faint coffee and felt like a dozen tiny electric shocks on Stiles' lips. He felt like life .

Derek pulled away, and Stiles looked behind him, at the flash of green that stole his attention.

Derek had done it. Vines covered the leafless trees, wooden trunks twined with silver ones, and there were bushes on the ground, each one sporting a different flower. There was jasmine , so much jasmine, and Stiles breathed it in, stepping away from Derek and exploring with his fingertips, feeling the life buzzing through the leaves.

Derek did this for Stiles , and it was beautiful. Stiles ran back and leaped into his arms, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist and stealing sweet kisses from him, laughing in between them.

“I didn't think it would work,” Stiles told him, his voice awed and disbelieving. “I didn't think anything could grow here. Not anything this beautiful.”

Derek's fingers laced with his, squeezing his hand, and Stiles turned to look at him. “We should do more of that .”

Derek raised his eyes, and he was beautiful, everything was beautiful. “Don't get too carried away. I might decorate the whole forest.”

Stiles took it as a challenge more than a warning.