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It’s overwhelming the first time he sees them. He’s barely gotten the chance to sit up when seven supernaturally hot people plus his dad and Scott swarm the hospital room at once. At first they’re all happy and smiling with relief but when he withdraws into himself, looking at his dad fearfully, they look hurt.
“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” Scott asks, shooting Stiles a confused look.
“Who the hell are all these people?” he croaks, turning to them with a blank expression.
Turns out, his best friend is a werewolf, an Alpha no less. His dad is still the Sheriff – thank God – but he knows all about the werewolf business andhe’s friend with some of the hottest people he’s ever laid his eyes on. If it wasn’t for Scott earnestly telling him they really are all friends and shifting into a wolf in front of him, Stiles would think he’s being pranked in the most elaborate way possible.
He’s lost ten years. The last thing he remembers is him and Scott trying out for the lacrosse team in their freshman year of Beacon Hills High so it comes as a shock when his dad tells him that he’s already graduated from Berkeley. Two years ago.
He doesn’t know anyone’s names except his dad and Scott (obviously) so he gives them all nicknames as Scott fills him in. There’s Princess Dimples, Pretty Curls, Fierce Blonde, Tall, Dark, and Stoic, Fratboy (who manages to look equal parts concerned and annoyed), and Ariel. Oh, and a guy who looks much older than all of them with a weirdly perfect symmetrical face, a pair of dark, thick caterpillar eyebrows, a set of beautiful unicorn eyes, and the kind of stubble that makes Stiles wants to rub his face all over – with his face. So he names him Stubbly McPretty Eyes for obvious reasons.
“Uh, wow, this is a lot to take in,” Stiles mumbles. He tries his best to smile at them but he knows it comes out awkward. They don’t know how to deal with this turn of events, Stiles can tell, because they’re all looking at each other with shifty eyes. He squints at the pretty redhead – Ariel, because she reminds him of the mermaid – standing right behind Scott. “So, um, who are you?”
Her eyes narrow at him and she looks put out at the fact that he doesn’t remember her. On the other hand, the Stubbly McPretty Eyes, who’s been giving him a broody look the entire time, shoots her a smug look but it fades as fast as it appeared.
They take turns introducing themselves, each one hoping that their name will ring a bell but it does nothing for Stiles. When they get to Stubbly McPretty Eyes, he just says, “Derek” before walking out, slamming the door behind him.
Stiles looks at Scott with wide eyes and then at his dad.
“Um, he’s just going through some stuff,” Scott supplies feebly. His dad merely rolls his eyes.
In retrospection, Stiles probably should hunt down the witch that hit him with a memory spell in a huff of anger and—thank her.
In the present, losing his memory is kind of a bitch.
It doesn’t help that he also managed to break a couple of his ribs in the process and has been stuck at home for almost six weeks already.
The pack comes to see him multiple times throughout the day but he’s getting restless. He wants to leave, wants to go on a run, has been itching to stretch out his legs for weeks now. On the plus side, the pain in his chest has dulled significantly every time he takes a deep breath so he knows his ribs have almost healed. Unfortunately, the doctors have no answers on the memory loss.
Fortunately, that’s okay because it’s a witch thing.
Unfortunately, Scott also has no answers on that front.
“This sucks,” he whines when Scott plops down on his bed beside him. It’s barely eleven in the morning but he sees no point in getting out of bed if nobody lets him go outside. Seriously, they don’t even live with him and they’ve managed to keep him prisoner in his own house.
Scott rolls his eyes good-naturedly, holding out a large black photo album. “Be quiet or I won’t share this.”
Over the past few weeks, anytime someone from the pack visits, they always tell him stories about their lives in hopes that it’d job Stiles’s memories. It never does but Stiles always files away everything they say into a treasured part of his mind. Some of it is hard to believe—
“You were in love with me for eight years before you finally got it in your head that I’m in love with Jackson,” Ariel – who’d told him her name was Lydia – informs him succinctly the first time she comes over. “You realized it when he turned into a Kanima and went on a killing spree before he almost died but then was resurrected because of love.”
Behind her, Jackson – Fratboy – looks at them painfully, like he physically wants to be done with this conversation.
“Okay,” Stiles settles to say, because what else is there to say?
—but some stories make sense—
“You think you’re Scott’s Robin but you’re actually my Batman and I’m your Catwoman so Scott can suck it,” Erica – Fierce Blonde – tells him easily, popping a bubblegum.
In the end, he asks Scott to bring him pictures because he’s always been a visual person and he wants to see pictures of them being friends, of them being a pack. Because truth be told, there are still times when Stiles seriously questions if they’re actually his friends or if they’re just humoring him because Scott’s their Alpha. He doesn’t say it outright but Scott can see it in his eyes so he agrees immediately.
Scott passes the heavy album to him and Stiles props it open over his lap. There are several pictures in the album. Many of the pictures are of everyone in the pack together but—
“Oh yeah, our eyes beam like the freaking lighthouse lanterns if cameras flash so we usually look away or keep our eyes closed,” Scott says helpfully.
“Right.”
Stiles keeps flipping through and slowly, pictures of the whole pack turn into pictures of two or three of together usually falling over each other, eyes squinting, heads thrown back, laughing. But the more pictures he sees, he sees a disturbing pattern and he looks up at Scott, horrified.
“What the fuck is this?” he whispers frantically. Scott furrows his brows at him, looks between him and the album, bemused.
“What?”
“This?” Stiles shoves the album in front of Scott’s face. He points to three pictures on the current page, turns over a couple of pages, and does the same. They’re all pictures of him and Derek. Him and Derek surrounded by the rest of the pack in his backyard, him and Derek lounging at a beach, him and Derek cooking food together.
“That’s you and Derek,” Scott says, giving him a weird look.
“Will you look at how I’m looking at Derek? I’m giving him heart eyes, Scott! Those are heart eyes! They’re so fucking obvious, don’t you dare say otherwise. Seriously, what the fuck, Scott? Why am I giving Derek heart eyes like this? Do I not realize other people can see this too? Oh my God, everyone else knows, don’t they? He knows too, right. He has to, Scott! Look at me!” Stiles whisper-wails, tugging harder and harder at Scott’s sleeve.
Scott laughs because he’s a dick.
“Stop laughing, you dick! This is not helping! Please tell me Derek hasn’t seen these!”
“This is his album,” Scott grins. Stiles stares at him for a beat before shoving him off the bed – well, he tries to shove him but he fails epically because hello, werewolf.
“Right, go away. I’m just going to crawl in bed and never come out,” he mumbles, face flushing crimson, as he slides into bed and pulls his blanket over his head, curling into a fetal position.
“Stiles,” Scott pokes at him. “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Sti—” Stiles tries to shake him off but Scott is relentless in his pursuit so he whips the blanket off and gives Scott a stink-eye.
“Look, it’s nothing major,” Scott says but it’s a stupid attempt at making Stiles feel better. Stiles glares at his best friend—wait, ex-best friend. They fall quiet for all of five seconds before Scott erupts in laughter once again.
“I hate you,” Stiles grouses, turning away from him again. He looks at the wall in front of him pitifully before turns back around and sitting up in one fluid motion, looking at Scott with determination. “Okay, tell me about myself. Tell me about it.”
Scott raises a brow at him as if to ask, are you sure you want to get into this?but Stiles doesn’t flinch, only narrows his eyes even more.
“You’re in love with him,” Scott starts, point blank. “It’s ridiculously obvious – at least to me and Lydia but that’s only because we know you best – and you’ve been in love with him for two years now. Lydia and I both have theories that it started back when you and Derek were stuck in the pool in junior year and you held him up for two hours in the deep end. It only got worse after he got screwed over by our old English teacher. Then you got super protective. And then Kate happened. Again. So you got even more protective and he tried to leave us in Mexico with his mercenary girlfriend but then you kept moping around so he came back.
“You started reeking of happiness again, thank god, but then he started moping when it was time for you to leave for Berkeley. It’s kind of gross how much you both pine for each other actually. Or at least I think he’s pining,” Scott frowns, ignoring Stiles’s face burning up by the second. “I don’t know actually. Lydia says he is and so does Allison but you’re totally gone on him. One time you got drunk at Berkeley and spent three hours waxing poetic about his eyes.”
“He has unicorn eyes,” Stiles mumbles, hiding his face behind his hands.
Scott snorts. “Well, that one’s new. Back then you called them ‘pretty kaleidoscope eyes full of greens and blues and browns and basically just full of prettiness’. Oh, and then you started talking about how you wanted to rub your face all up in his face because apparently Derek Hale has stubble down to a science and an art.” Scott turns to him, giving him a mock-serious look. “That’s really hard to do, by the way. People can have it down to an art or a science but never both but Derek does. Derek also has the cutest dimples you’ve ever seen and when he smiles, your heart begins to thump faster and faster and you know he can tell but you don’t think he realizes it’s for him. Of course, that makes him such a doofus because seriously, why wouldn’t he think that you’re so stupid over him but you are and you wish you could just—“
“Oh, God,” Stiles chokes, mortified. “Please stop telling me about myself!”
“No, but—“
“Seriously, get out, Scott. Leave me to my ruins right now. I need to process all this,” Stiles whines, pressing a pillow to his face. He feels Scott moving off the bed, hears that stupid obnoxious laugh before the door closes quietly behind him.
Dear God. What the hell is he thinking?
He doesn’t do anything for full minute, stays motionless in bed and tries to process the information Scott just dumped on him. But then he startles, reaching for his laptop. Surely, there must be something on his laptop! From what his dad has told him, Stiles seems like the kind of guy who would have made contingency plans for his contingency plans. So maybe he’s written a letter or note for himself in the event of memory loss!
Thankfully, his laptop isn’t password-protected. Stiles frowns; that’s clearly stupid, he thinks. What if it got into the wrong hands? He should put a password on it the second his memory comes back, he decides. There’s a million files and folders littering his desktop and he’s about to double-click on one that says It’s a Pack Life (at least he has humor, Stiles thinks) but he’s distracted by a folder that says Life.
Intrigued, he clicks on it. It opens to another folder, this one labeledOrnpay. Jesus Christ, he flushes with embarrassment because for some reason, his former self came up with the bright idea to name his porn folder in pig Latin. Because that’s not obvious at all. Still, Stiles clicks on the folder.
This time, it opens to a whole mess of different files. A few of them are video files but as Stiles opens them all, he realizes that all of the videos are of the same porn star. He doesn’t know the name but the second he sees him, he knows who he resembles. For fuck’s sake, he thinks. Stiles closes them immediately, too curious to see what the other files are.
Many of them are short six-second clips of Derek either sleeping or making a judge-y, grumpy face at the camera with Stiles laughing in the background but there’s one of Derek looking at the camera through his lashes, soft smile on his face. He looks at the camera only for a second before looking down, shuffling his feet like he’s nervous about something. Stiles’s heart starts to jackrabbit in his chest – Derek Hale smiling should come with a warning sign.
Warning: your heart might implode with happiness at the sight. Tread carefully.
Okay, seriously, why the fuck are these six-second clips in his porn folder?! Does he have a reaction boner to Derek or something? He pauses; does he really want to open that can of worms? Sighing loudly, he moves on, scrolling down in the folder. More actual porn videos, more short clips. Weird, but okay. Whatever.
He stops when he sees a lone audio file in a mess of video files. Stiles hovers over the file for a few seconds before he clicks on it, curiosity getting the best of him. The file begins to play immediately.
“Hey, I know you’re super nervous about the exam today but you got this, okay, Stiles? I believe in you. You know your stuff and you’re doing to do really well. Don’t forget that this is just one test taken on one day. It’s not an accurate representation of your true abilities. I believe in you, Stiles. You’re going to be amazing.”
It’s short and sweet and it’s from Derek. Stiles stares at his laptop, appalled. He actually transferred a recording of Derek leaving him a sweet messageinto his porn folder—
Sweet Jesus. His past self has lost it. Stiles fumbles out of the folder and shuts his laptop with a bang. He’s never thinking of this moment again.
This never happened. Nope. He absolutely did not find a voice recording of Derek in his porn folder. Nope. Never happened. Stiles slides the laptop under his bed so it’s out of reach and crawls underneath his blankets again. He’s also never coming out of bed again.
-
Of course, the universe is twisted and his life obviously sucks because two days later, he comes home to Derek Hale leaning against his bedroom window, clad in his beautiful well-fitted leather jacket that does all the wonderful things to Stiles’s dick. He looks closed off, shoulders hunching, eyes dull, like he wants to be nowhere near Stiles right now. It hurts Stiles because he knows the Derek with the old Stiles was probably never this way but maybe this is just Derek treating Stiles distantly because of the memory loss.
“Can I help you?” he asks, brows furrowed, trying to go for cool and collected. His heart thudding away in his chest totally gives him away though. Traitor.
Derek looks at him weirdly but shakes it off. “We found the witch.”
“Um, okay?” Stiles blinks owlishly. A beat, and then: “Did she say anything about my memories?” God, this is so freaking awkward. Derek’s hair looks freakishly soft today. His dick is already straining against his pants and he breathes slowly, in and out, in and out. His dick really needs to get its shit together and prioritize things in life.
“Yeah, we shook her up and she said she put a spell on you because you kept bothering her about finding your true love or something,” Derek mumbles, looking away. “Apparently, you were at a bar or something just outside of Beacon Hills, somewhere near Redding, and you approached her. She thought you two were going to hook up but you kept talking about someone else. You kept whining about how the person you love didn’t love you back and she got mad and put a spell on you and left you there.”
Stiles frowns.
“That’s…interesting,” he says, slowly inching towards the bed. He discretely tries to shove the laptop further under the bed because the last thing he needs is Derek wanting to see something on his laptop and seeing theornpay folder. From the way Derek tracks his movements and narrows his eyes at him, Stiles knows he didn’t miss a thing.
Subtlety, thy name is obviously not Stiles.
Derek coughs, giving him a stiff nod.
“So how do I get my memories back?” Stiles asks, hurriedly, and then pauses, frowning. “Will I ever get them back?”
“Yes,” Derek says, after a lengthy pause. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here but fuck it, he’s the one who showed up to Stiles’s bedroom in the first place so he can suck it.
“Well?”
Derek shifts uncomfortably. “She erased your memories so you’d follow your instincts.”
“What.”
“Intonation,” Derek says immediately. At Stiles’s confused expression, he elaborates, “You’re always saying that to me so I just—never mind.”
“Okay?” This is so confusing and Stiles is not prepared for all this brain work. At least his dick seemed to be getting the message though but then Derek glares at him and—never mind. “Motherfucker,” he mumbles under his breath. “Follow my instincts?”
Derek gives under stiff nod. “She said if you don’t remember anything then you’d be more likely to approach this person—“ Derek says, like the word is poisonous. “And tell them how you feel.”
“A true love’s kiss,” Stiles says flatly. “Are you fucking serious? Does she not realize that by erasing my memories she probably also erased the memory of the person I’m supposed to be in love with?”
This time, Derek glares at the floor, mutinous. “She said you’d know when you see them. She felt the way you feel about this person. It’s stitched into your heart, something that couldn’t be pulled apart at the seams no matter what anyone tries. So she decided to just make you forget about all the reasons why it couldn’t happen so that you’d just go for it when you see them.”
They fall silent for a long minute.
“Have—have you seen them yet?” Derek asks quietly, not looking up from the floor littered with week-old laundry.
“I don’t think so,” Stiles replies, just a quiet.
There’s an odd feeling in his chest, something that tells him this is too odd, too out-of-place. This isn’t how a conversation between Derek and him is supposed to go. Sure Derek’s come to visit him in the past few weeks but he’s always come with another pack member and he always seemed content in sitting in the background and letting whomever he was with dominate the conversation with Stiles. Now that he thinks about it, this is probably the first time he and Derek are talking one-on-one.
“Um, she said—“
“I want to talk to her,” Stiles interrupts, eyes fierce and determined. “She’s got something wrong. She fucked up the spell. It didn’t work the way it was supposed to.”
Derek frowns. “How do you know?”
Stiles opens his mouth and closes it. “I just know,” he settles on saying.
“Witches like her don’t make mistakes,” Derek replies, a hard edge to his voice. “She was powerful, even I felt it. She knew what she was doing and it worked. You just think it didn’t work because you obviously haven’t come across the person you lo—,” he breaks off, looking away.
“Because I just know, okay?” Stiles exclaims, throwing his arms up into the air. He doesn’t say it’s because he never got the urge to confess as soon as he saw Derek in the hospital, worried and wild-eyed, six weeks ago. So the witch got it wrong.
“Stiles, you can argue all you want. Fact is, there’s someone out there that you’re head over heels for, someone you haven’t seen yet,” Derek throws back, narrowing his eyes. “And you know what? This person clearly doesn’t feel the same way about you because it’s been six weeks since you got hurt and lost your memories, Stiles! How could this person not come to visit you? Not come to check up on you? How are you so in love with someone who doesn’t even care if you’re alive or not?”
Derek’s eyes are wild, just as they were at the hospital, but Stiles is entranced at the sight of Derek so passionate about this. He doesn’t understand it. Why would Derek care so much?
“You’re special, Stiles! You’re so special but you always, always have this habit of falling for the wrong person. First Lydia and then Heather and then Danny. And now, you’re in love with this person,” Derek spits, heatedly. “Who doesn’t care about you. Why do you always fall in love with the wrong person?”
“I didn’t. Not this time,” Stiles barely mumbles but Derek doesn’t hear him. He shakes his head, gives Stiles a wan smile.
“I guess the heart wants what the heart wants, right? Not that I have any right to say anything on the matter. Everyone in my dating history clearly deserves a place in prison, at the minimum, if not on death row,” Derek says and Stiles’s heart breaks all over again. He’s desperately aching to reach out to Derek but he doesn’t.
“It’s just – Stiles, you deserve someone perfect for you. You deserve someone who appreciates you and who treasures you. You deserve someone who will hang on to you with everything they’ve got because they know deep down that they’re never going to do better. You’re amazing, Stiles, and I know you don’t see it all the time because you still feel like that self-conscious fifteen year-old who trespassed on my property years ago but you’re just amazing. You’re—“
“The witch got it wrong,” Stiles says, eyes wide. He stalks up to Derek, standing as close as he can get before his newfound bravado slinks away into the night. “She got it wrong.”
There’s a fire in his eyes that Derek can’t ignore. Stiles knows it by the way Derek stares at him.
“You don’t know that,” Derek tries again but Stiles shakes his head with determination. “Witches don’t get things like this wrong.”
“I opened my laptop two days ago because I thought I might find something that would help me get my memories back. Instead, I stumbled into my porn folder and I found five porn videos of some dude that looks freakishly like you. I also found all these short clips of you making judge-y faces at the camera and one clip of you smiling,” Stiles starts, counting everything with his fingers. He raises a third finger, jaw set. “I also found an audio clip of you telling me you believe in me. Do you realize what that means? Past me put an audio clip of you telling me you believe in me in my porn folder. Does that sound like someone who’s in love with someone else?
Stiles relishes the look of astonishment on Derek’s face but doesn’t stop. “Because if that’s the case, past me was a pretty shitty person, I’ve got to say.”
“Past you was wonderful,” Derek corrects, like it’s instinct. “Present you is pretty amazing too.”
They stare at each other and when Stiles finally can’t take it anymore, he steps forward until his fingers curl tightly around Derek’s hips and kisses him. Derek’s lips are softer than what he’d imagined and it takes Derek a moment to get to the program but when he does, he pulls Stiles even closer, tilting his head just slightly to deepen the kiss.
As far as kisses go, there’s no doubt in Stiles’s mind that this is the best kiss he’s ever had and he doesn’t need memories of all his other kisses to tell him any differently. The way Derek feels is indescribable. It’s all the clichés that he’s always read about, always heard ballads about. It’s his legs weakening at the feel of Derek’s steady presence around him, it’s his heart going a million beats per minute, it’s his head swimming in all the emotions he feels from just this one kiss, and he realizes that he would happily drown in Derek if it ever came to that.
Rough, calloused hands run up his back, cupping the back of his head, almost like they’re preventing him from ever stepping away but he never wants to. Stiles never wants to step away from Derek, not after this.
But he’s not a werewolf and he needs air so he pulls away, breathing heavily, just enough so they’re not more than a hair’s width apart.
“Still think witches don’t make mistakes?” Stiles asks, because he can’t resist, lips curling into a smile.
“Maybe she made a mistake after all,” Derek concurs softly, easily returning the smile with one of his own and for probably the first time, he doesn’t hide away it away.