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October 1st, 2016. In hindsight, Derek should have realized something was always off. Stiles never talked about his family or friends back home. Sometimes he'd off-handedly mention how his friend Scott once convinced him that he could fly, or how his father had been shot before, but Derek practically knew nothing about the man he'd been dating for 9 months. Really, it shouldn't surprise him that Stiles wasn't returning his phone calls or long, cut-off voicemails.
He met Stiles at a rally, of all places. It was a rally for arts funding among elementary and high schools. Stiles was wearing nothing but a tight pair of jogging shorts, and his entire body had been painted with small, multicolored handprints. It looked like he had just finished a color run or something, and he looked beautiful. Derek had stuck close to Stiles during the entire rally, inexplicably drawn to the young artist.
Derek himself was a tailor with his own shop, and was only at the rally because Laura was an elementary drama teacher on the side and had dragged him along. Up until Stiles left, she took credit for getting them together.
Their relationship was...fire. Electricity. It was everything Derek had always heard about but never experienced until Stiles. Being with Stiles was like finally taking a breath of oxygen after drowning all his life. And Stiles himself was exhilarating. His mouth was sinful, his skin soft silk, and his long fingers knew just how to drive Derek crazy. Everything he did—cooking, reading, dancing—was made magical just because he was doing it. And the painting...Derek could never forget how Stiles could make a blank canvas and some oils into the world's most perfect masterpiece.
After they had met, they agreed to go out for drinks a few times, and after the first couple of dates it seemed stupid not to be together. The sex was amazing and the connection was awe-filled. They were meant to be. A few months into their relationship, Stiles returned home (California, was all he said) because his father's health had taken a turn for the worse. He came back three weeks later, eyes bright and smile wide, giving Derek the good news that his dad was in tip-top shape. Then that was that.
They had been dating for two months when Stiles met Derek's family. And by met the family, he meant met the family. Everyone, from cousins to aunts to uncles to siblings were there. Laura and Cora threatened him, Derek's mother had coddled him, and Derek's uncle Peter had creeped him out. He had been accepted immediately.
Six months into their relationship, Derek's mother gave him permission to tell Stiles the werewolf secret. They were sitting on the couch in their little apartment (they had moved in on month 4) when Derek broke the news, and instead of Stiles freaking out, he just broke out into a smile. "I totally called it," was what he had said, and Derek had watched in awe and confusion as his boyfriend explained that he had friends that were werewolves and that he had already caught onto the signs. Derek had laughed and kissed him, overjoyed that the biggest secret in his life wouldn't ruin his relationship.
They had been living together since month two (Stiles's contract on his apartment had run out, and they thought, why wait?), and Derek had found himself falling deeper and deeper in (love? like? infatuation?) harmony with the young man with pale skin and numerous beauty marks.
Despite contrary belief, Derek wasn't stupid. Stiles was a mystery, yes, but Derek could infer a few things from his boyfriend. He noticed how Stiles always took care to scent himself after being away from Derek, which meant that he knew how werewolves wanted their own pack to smell like them. He noticed how Stiles always put the toilet seat down, always rinsed his dishes, never left his wet towels on the floor. He noticed how a small strip of skin on his left ring finger was slightly lighter than the rest.
Derek had never been a pusher. Personally, he never talked about Kate or Julia or Paige, and he never expected Stiles to talk about the pack he left behind in California. They loved each other and lived each other and therefore didn't need anybody else. It was a surprise when Derek was awoken by sounds in the small sitting area outside of their bedroom late one night, the footsteps making their way throughout the apartment.
"Stiles?" Derek asked, rubbing his eyes with his palms, and the man poked his head in the bedroom doorway. He immediately sat up.
"Hey, Derek." He walked in, a suitcase trailing behind him. Derek was immediately seized with a panic far beyond himself. Stiles quickly sat down on the side of the bed. "Don't worry. I got a call ten minutes ago that my dad was shot. They don't think it's fatal, but he's in surgery right now. And you know...you know..." Stiles swallowed. "He's the only family I got left." He took Derek's hand in his own and rubbed his palm with his thumb. "I have a ticket, they were able to squeeze me in on the next flight, which leaves in an hour. I'm sorry to leave like this. Once I get there, I'm going straight to the hospital, but I promise that I'll call you immediately after I get there, and we can book you a flight too, if you wanted?"
Derek looked at Stiles earnestly. "Of course. Now go, go see your dad." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles's lips. Stiles responded in kind, caressing his face and running his thin fingers through Derek's mussed hair. "Need me to drive you to the airport?"
Stiles shook his head. "I'll take a cab. Love you."
October 1st, 2016. That was the last time Derek had heard from him. He should have known.
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"Hey Stiles, it's Derek. It's been about ten hours, your flight was only five. I actually used Google to find that out. Um, I just wanted to make sure that your flight was okay. You're probably at the hospital with your dad. I don't like the idea of you being alone. Call me back when you can, okay? Love you."
The small bleep of the end call button somehow managed to make Derek sadder.
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"Hi Stiles, Derek again. Um, are you okay? I'm starting to get worried. You haven't called me back and it's been fifteen hours. I...I know being back must be hard for you, but please don't...don't forget about me. I want to hold you again. Love you."
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"It's Derek. It's been a day—well, you know that—and I'm just wondering why you haven't called me back yet? It's fine if you want me to stay here, I don't have to meet your family. I'll stay here, I just have to make sure you're okay. Please just...be okay. I love you."
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"Where are you? Everyone's been asking about you. You've never missed a call of mine, and this is number four. You never met me before I met you, and my family's beginning to see that guy again. I don't want to be that guy, Stiles. That guy...he doesn't feel. He doesn't know how to. I'm able to be someone with you. It's been a week, and I already don't know how to exist. Please, just call me back. I need you."
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"It's Derek. Whenever I hear your voicemail, I always wonder if maybe you don't get back to me because my messages aren't interesting enough. Your definition of interesting is definitely different than mine. When I think of a voicemail, I think of straightforward and getting to the point. I think most people do. But you, you're different. You want something interesting to listen to." He paused. "I haven't watched Criminal Minds since you left. I guess Penelope will always be in the hospital, hanging on for dear life after that asshole shot her. You have to come back, Stiles, so she can get better. So I can get better. Please come soon. Please call. Please just do something. All my love."
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"I...I don't think I should call anymore. You've always made me strong, Stiles, but I think that you've also made me weak. Please...don't call. I don't think I could take it. I've got to learn to live without you. And maybe I don't understand why, but it will make sense. Eventually. I hope that you've found closure with your family and friends. I know how you never liked to talk to them. And if you're happy, I hope you have found closure with me. And I hope you're happy. God, I never wanted anything other than for you to be happy. I want you to know that. I've never felt a love like ours, and I'm glad I got to experience that once in my lifetime. ... I'm sorry I wasn't enough. I wish I could've been everything you ever needed. I'm sorry I never made the bed, and that I always got eggshells in our omelets, and that I missed a lot of spots when I swept. I'm sorry I didn't dance with you every time you asked me to. I'm sorry I never said 'I love you' enough. I can't believe I'm saying so much, you've always known how hard articulation is for me. That's another thing, you always knew me. My moods. You knew the importance of my alone time. And Stiles, I just want you to know that—"
Beep.
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"I just wanted to let you know that I love you. I always will love you. Goodbye, Stiles."
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"What the actual fuck? I thought you were smarter than this? I thought you had a heart? Honestly, Stiles? You're a bigger dick than I ever thought you to be. My brother is nothing without you. I hate to say it, but he's like a shell. Utterly useless. He won't smile, won't laugh, and barely talks at all. He hasn't been in your guys's apartment for the last two weeks, and there's only so many of our father's and uncle's clothes he can fit into before the laundry is too hard to keep up with. Cora and I are starting to worry. You made him this way, and so it's your responsibility to help make him whole again. This is what a relationship is, Stiles. Give and take. Through the good and the bad. If you don't want to be with my brother anymore, man the fuck up and tell him, but you can't just leave him hanging. I swear to god if we never hear from you again I'll hunt you down and disembowel you myself. Get a fucking clue and do your fucking job as his boyfriend. Get back here—or at least call back—and fucking fix him."
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"I don't know what game you're playing at Stiles, but I beg that you stop. I know Laura already sent you a long-winded voicemail, but that was before. Derek...he's not doing well. And not just mentally. Stiles, something is seriously wrong with him. He's breaking out in sweats, and sometimes he can't control the shift. The full moon is in a week and he's already tearing apart rooms in our house. He hasn't done that since he was twelve. Something's happening to him, and even our mom doesn't know what it is. I'm scared, Stiles. You've always been here to anchor him. You're his reason to live, to be good. Now that you're not here, there's noting that he can or cant do. I don't only fear for the city, but for my brother's life." A hard swallow. "My room is right next to his, and I can hear him. Every night, he's trying to keep himself under control. I don't know what you did to him, but I know that he loved you very much. You leaving is tearing him apart in ways that I will never be able to understand, and I'm terrified that we—"
Beep.
"Hey there! You've reached Stiles Stilinski. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, but leave me an interesting message and I'll get back to you! Thanks!"
"I don't know what you did to him, but you need to come back and fix him, Stiles! Something is seriously wrong. I don't... I can't even explain it. He's sick, Stiles. Werewolves can't get sick, but he is. He has an incredible fever, and he makes no sense, and he breathes in short little pants. I think being away from you is killing him. Please...just come."
Once the full moon passed, Derek started to get better. Cora didn't know how or why, but he did. Physically, he was fine. Maybe a little tired, a little lagging, but fine. Mentally, he was struggling. His eyes weren't as bright, his voice not as enthused. He didn't care what his family was doing. And most importantly, he refused to go back to the apartment he shared with Stiles.
It had been two weeks when Cora finally snapped. Derek was sitting at the kitchen island, shoveling soggy pancakes into his mouth and flicking his pen halfheartedly at the morning paper's crossword.
"Why don't you go track him down?" Cora sighed, leaning against the other side of the table. Her brother looked at her, eyebrows raised over his black-rimmed glasses, and sat his pen down.
"There's no need for me to."
"No need?" Cora laughed darkly. "No need. Yeah, well he left you high and dry. You have every right to track him down, march right on up to his doorstep, and kick his ass for leaving without an explanation." Cora bit her lip, taking the pen from Derek and scribbling absentmindedly on the corner of the newspaper. "Derek, you used to finish these things in like five minutes with Stiles every morning. You used to make coffee to him singing that stupid ass Java Jive song while he wiggled his butt like he was having some sort of weird seizure. You used to smile because of those stupid terms he'd come up with to describe you. You used to be able to face your customers in the morning. Don't think I haven't noticed how often you make Jared take care of the front desk." She raised her eyebrows at him while he lowered his head.
She placed her hand over his. "Derek, it's killing you not to know. Please, just go find him."
Derek was silent for a moment. "Cora, I can't. Even if I could, I don't know where he lives. We never talked about his past, he was too uncomfortable with it."
"Well you have a last name. Let's start there."
Derek rubbed his face tiredly and let Cora drag him to a laptop. She pulled up Google and typed in Stilinski California. Five results. One was an article about John Stilinski getting elected Sheriff, another was about his re-election, one was about John and Claudia Stilinski moving into Beacon Hills with their one son, one was about a charity auction being run by the Sheriff's Department for John Stilinski's family, and one was an obituary for Claudia Stilinski.
Derek swallowed hard with a click of his dry throat. "This is him."
"Good," Cora said absentmindedly, not even realizing how important this information was. Not realizing that it meant the world that Stiles's father's name was John, that his mom had died of frontal temporal dementia, that his parents had moved to Beacon Hills when he was an infant. She just refined her search to John Stilinski California and clicked on the address link.
Before Derek knew it, she was booking him a flight to LA and arranging for an über driver to pick him up and take him to the Stilinski household. "You fly out tomorrow morning. Better pack well, big brother, because I sure as hell didn't book you a return flight."
___________________________________
Being with Derek was like living in a domestic bliss. They had met at an arts funding rally of all things, and the last thing Stiles thought he'd do was fall for a modest cobbler. And fall he did, hard and fast, headfirst into the loving dorkpit that was Derek Hale.
Stiles fell in a way that he never had with his previous boyfriends; they went together like pepperoni and cheese on pizza, and he was inclined to tell his father as much.
"He's the best thing that's ever happened to me Dad. Since this whole stupid Alpha Pack thing I've just been so alone in NYC, but when I met Derek it was like everything clicked. Everything feels right."
Stiles could recognize the look in his father's eyes, because it was the same every time: he was thinking about his long-dead wife. The old man shifted in his hospital bed, eyeing the IV with distaste. "I'm happy for you. And I'm glad you've found someone you love."
"Love? Dad, I didn't—"
The Sheriff fixed his son with a gaze. "Son, you are just as transparent as your mother was. Your heart is just as big, and your eyes are just as easy to read. Also, you've been doing nothing but sketching that boy on that napkin since you got here. If you ain't feeling love, we really need to take you to get some help regarding your stalker-like tendencies."
Stiles rolled his eyes at how much of a drama queen his dad was being, but conceded. He was so gone on Derek it was ridiculous. "Hey, are you good for a few more hours? I was planning on stopping at the house to grab a phone charger and a change of clothes. I'll be back soon, though?"
"Sounds just fine. See you soon, son." Stiles beamed at his father and left with a wave.
When he walked into the house he grew up in, he stopped and inhaled, letting out the breath with a sigh of contentment. Nothing smelled better than good memories. He made the trek up the stairs and into his old room, which was immaculately the same way he left it if you didn't look in the corner and see the huge stack of mail his father had obviously been neglecting the last year.
He rolled his eyes and plugged his dead phone in. He figured he had a few hours before he would call Derek back, he didn't want to wake him up again. Knowing Derek, though, he probably hadn't slept since Stiles left. The man was a softie who hated sleeping alone. The thought of him meeting Stiles's family and friends made him slightly nervous, but Stiles was confident in Derek's ability to mold into social situations when necessary.
Speaking of Derek, Stiles was already feeling a little homesick for his boyfriend, and threw open his sketch pad. His pencils and pastels were still in perfect condition, just as he left them, and he semi-sharpened a few and got to work. Coloring with pastels took time and patience, along with an extra change of clothes if you were anything like Stiles, and so when the doorbell rang an hour and a half later, Stiles jumped and almost ruined the sketch with a long stripe of green pastel.
He wiped his hands on his already dirtied—and unfortunately white—shirt, then took the stairs three at a time and opened the front door. Immediately, he was engulfed in a hug, and Stiles melted into it, because he only knew that embrace too well.
"Scotty. I missed you too, man." Stiles was a tad bit embarrassed to say that he had unshed tears shining in his eyes as he and his best friend embraced.
"I'm sorry we haven't been able to fix this stupid alpha problem yet. I've wanted you to come home since you visited us back when your dad was in the hospital." Scott held him, he held Scott, and it wasn't really evident who was holding who up.
Suddenly, Scott stiffened. "The werewolf. Derek, right? He smells stronger."
Stiles blushed. "Yeah, we're kind of a a serious thing. I love him, Scott."
Scott pulled away, the widest smile on his face. "That is the best news ever!" He checked out Stiles's shirt. "You're like an art freak, man! Pastels again?"
"Yeah. Fill me in while I finish?"
"Of course."
And so Scott babbled about the pack, telling Stiles how Boyd and Erica officially admitted that they were a thing, that Kira and Allison were finally getting along, that Isaac was becoming more friendly. Stiles smiled regretfully. "It sucks that I couldn't be here to watch it all. I miss you guys, you're my family."
Scott looked regretful too. "This alpha pack is giving us more trouble than we thought. I want you home so badly, man." He paused. "But now you have your boy toy..." He trailed of with a grin and his wiggling eyebrows.
"Shit, yeah. His entire family and pack are stationed back in NYC. I don't know if he'd ever be able to leave them, the bond they all have is incredibly strong. Hell, their pack is incredibly strong."
He looked over to see Scott watching him carefully. "You love them, too." Stiles was silent, working on his painting. "I can sense it, you know. You're just as much a part of their pack as you are ours." He smiled ruefully. "You grow on people too easily, my friend."
"You're always my number one, buddy."
"I know man." Scott let his smile turn happier when Stiles turned the pastel painting towards him.
"Whattaya think?"
The entire thing was done in pastel pink, blue, green, and yellow, and featured the face of the one and only Derek Hale in his beta form.
"I like the full moon cameo," Scott traced over the pale yellow moon in the background with his finger, and Stiles smirked. Scott would always be his biggest fan.
"Thanks man. What time is it?" Stiles checked the clock and swore. "Shit! I gotta get back to it the hospital!" He shoved his shoes on and grabbed his wallet. "You coming?"
A pained look passed over Scott's face. "Pack meeting. We'll meet you there afterwards?"
"No problem! Don't be long." They raced down the stairs together and got into their respective vehicles. "See you soon!" Stiles yelled to his best friend, and watched with a measured amount of sadness in his heart as Scott drove away. Even though he knew he'd see his friend soon, he had missed Scott the way only a brother can be missed. Being away from his pack was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, and that pain was eased by Derek and the rest of the Hales. Stiles wondered what his life would be like if they hadn't welcomed him in with—
...
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...
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...
Mornings were always the best. Stiles would wake up to the smell of warming coffee, the sun just beginning to rise over the trees. He would slide the covers from his body and pull his socks on, padding gently and quietly out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Derek would be sitting at the tiny table they had, blue coffee cup in hand. He would look up and smile mildly, tapping the pencil in his right hand against a red coffee cup on the table in front of him, then return to his own coffee and crossword puzzle.
Stiles always made it his business to sit right on Derek's lap, interrupting his silent concentration, and take sips of coffee from the red mug while he stole the pencil and erased wrong answers he found as he mused over Derek's paper. Together they would silently solve it, stealing morning kisses and lazily tracing patterns into each other's arms.
Then once it was solved, they would celebrate with cereal, or sometimes eggs, and once in a while one of them would drop their pants and they'd both have to just grab a granola bar on their way out of the apartment so they wouldn't be late to work.
Yes, mornings were always the best.
__________________________________
"I can't get this damn thing to shut off!" Scott exclaimed angrily, gripping the ringing phone in his hand.
"Did he not put his fingerprint in it?" The Sheriff asked quietly. He hadn't said his son's name since he was admitted three days ago, as if afraid it would finally make Stiles's heart stop beating.
"No, I've tried it. And I've also tried every password under the sun."
"Turn the volume down," Lydia said tiredly. She was draped carelessly over a barely-padded chair, absentmindedly tracing delicate circles into Stiles's still hand.
Scott glared with little gusto. "Don't you think I've tried? It doesn't work unless it's unlocked. And these numbers won't stop calling." He frowned at the screen. "He doesn't even have his caller ID on!"
"Just let it die, then," Isaac groaned, placing his hands tiredly against his forehead. "If I have to listen to that violin one more time..." He shook his head.
Scott looked tearfully at the phone. "I can't," he whispered. "I just...I can't."
The rest of the pack watched him with measured gazes, listening to the steady beeping of Stiles's heart monitor and wishing both for silence and for the beeping to be all they ever heard again.
________________________________________
There was one time, when Stiles had the flu, when Derek had closed the shoe shop to take care of him. He was out of commission for a whole week, and Derek hadn't left his side once. Honestly, Stiles wasn't even that bad, but Derek insisted on always providing him with tissues and soup and blankets, and had mandatory temperature-checking times. The cuddled for a week straight, and Stiles had been so madly in love.
He returned the favor every full moon. The ones Derek didn't spend with his family he spent with Stiles, enduring the painful full shift in the privacy of a farmland tended to by a farmer who was too old to take care of it all, and who had left half of the land to become wild forest. Stiles would murmur words of encouragement while Derek changed, and then once he was fully wolf they would run, Stiles sometimes on his back, sometimes on his own feet, trying to keep up with the jubilant wolf. He usually couldn't, but if Derek ever got too far ahead he always brought back a rabbit or squirrel as a gift, and Stiles would applaud at each broken animal Derek set gently at his feet.
(Afterwards, when Derek awoke from his wolfly stupor, he would blush from the tips of his ears just hearing about it, but would secretly be pleased when Stiles praised him).
Derek held Stiles on the anniversary of his mom's death as he cried, Stiles worked shifts at the shoe shop whenever Derek was short-staffed, Derek endlessly praised Stiles's art, Stiles held Derek's hand and listened while he weaved stories about how his grandfather taught him the art of cobbling. But most importantly, Derek loved him. And there was no gift greater than that.
___________________________________________
It was three weeks before the Sheriff finally went back to work. Scott, luckily, had as much time off as he wanted (yay, self-employed vet!), and used it to sit by Stiles's bedside, leeching pain from his best friend and talking like he knew Stiles would talk to him if their roles were reversed.
Scott had one hand on Stiles's slightly cold arm, another resting on his own lap. "Hey, buddy. How ya doin' today?" He paused a considerable amount of time. "We miss you. Everyone does. I know you've been gone for a while, but at least you emailed. Called once in a while. It's different knowing you can't come back by plane. It's weird seeing you every day. ... It hurts to see you."
Scott swallowed hard. "Man, we made you stay away because we thought the alpha pack would hurt you, but after all this time..." Scott broke off into a choked breath. "We miss you so much, Stiles. Your phone won't stop ringing, I can't even imagine who it is. Please...come back. You have so much to live for. We started life together, and I can't finish this without you. You've gotta...you've gotta be the best man at my wedding. You've got to introduce me to Derek. You still have to open at least one gallery of your own.
"You have so much to live for. Please wake up."
__________________________________________
Derek arrived in Beacon Hills on October 29th. 29 days without Stiles was just like 29 days without the sun, 29 days without air, 29 days....
He was determined now. Scared, but determined. Seeing Stiles was all he wanted to do. He needed closure, needed to move on like Stiles probably had. He needed to be angry. He needed Stiles to tell him to learn to live without him.
Derek took a cab from the airport and fingered the paper in his pocket. He didn't really want to plan on staying, so he capped the idea of renting a hotel room. Once he was in the cab, he pulled out the address and read it to the driver.
The man turned slightly to look back at him. "The Sheriff's house, eh?" Derek glanced down at his paper, panic striking him. Had Cora found the wrong address? But no...Stiles's dad was the Sheriff, it was right. He looked back up and nodded. "Okie dokie, boss," he said, and pulled away from the curb. Derek had a sleek carry-on with him, just enough in there for a change of clothes and a toothbrush in case he needed to stay longer. He hoped he wouldn't have to use them, or maybe he hoped he did. He honestly wasn't sure what he wanted anymore, or what this confrontation would bring.
It only took ten minutes for the cab driver to pull up in front of the Stilinski house. It wasn't nearly enough time for Derek to calm down. He thanked and paid the man, and then exited the car on shaky legs. His sweaty palm tightened on the handle of his case, and the sound of his shoes hitting the wooden steps that led to their doorway echoed loudly in his ears.
He stopped and listened, and heard a heartbeat from inside. It wasn't Stiles's. Derek debated coming back later, but he was already this far and decided against it. Three, two, one...
Ding dong!
He rocked back and forth on his feet, the ball of twine at the pit of his stomach growing larger with each second that passed. He could hear the footsteps from inside, hear the heartbeat getting louder. He imagined the person opening the door and saying "Stiles doesn't want you to come around." He suddenly felt like this was a bad, bad idea, and he tried to think of ways to back out and—
The door opened to reveal a tired-looking man in a Sheriff's uniform. His badge stated "Sheriff," and his golden name tag said "Stilinski." So this was Stiles's father.
Derek could see some of the resemblance. They both held themselves the same way, had similar structure in their stance and face, both carried emotion in the same features.
"Who are you?" The Sheriff asked, looking a little stunned, as if Derek showing up on his doorstep was a reoccurring dream of his and now that it was finally happening, he forgot the script.
Derek wordlessly mouthed the air for a second, then finally got sound to come out. "I'm Derek Hale. Is...can I talk to Stiles?"
Immediately, the Sheriff's face crumpled and he looked at Derek with the same look his parents got when they told Derek about his grandfather dying. "No," Derek said, taking a step away. "Please tell me he's okay." Suddenly the last month didn't matter. It was like it had always been: nothing mattered except Stiles.
The Sheriff put a hand on Derek's shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. "There's been an accident, son."
And if those weren't the worst words Derek ever heard, he doesn't know what was.
________________________________________
Derek was so indulgent. That was something that was so wonderful about him. Stiles always made the most ridiculous requests, and all Derek did was sigh and nod and brave himself for the ridiculousness that ensued.
Once, Stiles asked him if he would pose naked on top of their apartment building, once in the daylight and once in the middle of the night, so that he could work on the way sunlight and moonlight bounced off of human skin. Derek had reading,y reminded him that he wasn't, in fact, human, and Stiles had lit up in an entirely different way.
Needless to say, the paintings were a series of 6, in which there were three daylight and three nighttime ones, each featuring Derek in his human, beta, and finally total shift wolf forms. And all completely naked.
There was another times in which Derek let Stiles totally deck out his cobbling place with stupid shoes puns and balloons to celebrate National Shoe Repair Awareness Week (October 9th—15th) before promptly switching it to Halloween.
The puns were awfully good, and Stiles had proudly displayed his favorites in neon, big and bright: "We will heel you," "We will save your sole," and "We will even dye for you," being the best among the ten he hung around the shop. Derek had just shook his head and helped Stiles hang the homemade signs around the shop, and always felt a pang of pride whenever someone commented on them.
Stiles loved how Derek let him do ridiculous things, and that was something he made sure he never took for granted.
Derek would never admit it, but if it wasn't Stiles asking, he wouldn't indulge so easily.
_______________________________________
Stiles looked so pale against the white sheets. He looked so thin. When Scott had found him, he had at first flashed his eyes alpha red, then pulled Derek into a hug before leading him up to Stiles's room. The Sheriff must have called him. If not, Derek wouldn't doubt if Scott could sense the bond between himself and Stiles, or recognize the scent of him all over his best friend's body.
"It's nice to finally meet you," Scott had said quietly as they walked to the room.
"You too," Derek had murmured, and then he hadn't been able to speak since seeing Stiles.
He walked slowly, cautiously, to ethebedside, taking in the healing scrapes on Stiles's perfect cheeks and a slightly bigger gash on his forehead. He must have hit his head pretty hard. Derek instinctively placed a hand on Stiles's to asses his pain, and found that it wasn't much more than a dull throb. He glanced up at Scott, and confirmed that he was the reason why. He brought his gaze back to Stiles, drinking in every beautiful feature.
"You were the one calling him all this time, weren't you?" Scott asked.
Derek swallowed and nodded. "I...he...he never talked about where he lived. At first I thought he was too busy with his father, which was fine. And then I thought that maybe he was gone forever...he was just too bright in my life, I thought it would only take something small to lose him. I...we...my sister finally tracked him down. Took some googling, but we got the Sheriff's address and I flew out here for some closure." He squeezed Stiles's hand. "I think...I think this is worse."
Scott put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Come with me."
Derek left the hospital with Scott, only to find them back at the Sheriff's house. Scott cut the ignition and beckoned Derek to follow him. They walked into the now empty house, and Derek was overwhelmed with the feeling of melancholy, the smell of Stiles throughout the years of his life.
They walked into what must have been Stiles's room, and Derek almost collapsed as he held in a sob. The room was decorated with what must have been hundreds of paintings and drawings, some oil, some chalk, some acrylic, some just pencil, others pen. And they were all of Derek.
Derek at their lame-ass card dinner table, drinking coffee; Derek sitting in their musty-smelling chair, reading; Derek laughing; Derek smiling; Derek scowling. There were a few explicit ones, too, ones drawn from above, with Derek splayed beneath whoever was looking at him; and others with Derek drawn from above, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Derek was astounded. They were all of him, and they were all beautiful.
"Whenever he came back here, all he did was draw you," Scott said softly, tracing some of them. "He loves you so much."
Derek swallowed the thick emotion caught in his throat. "I love him so much too."
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Stiles never had great impulse control, and that's why every time he passed a jewelry shop he stopped at the windows to look at the wedding rings on display. He would bite the insides of his cheeks, imagining himself and Derek picking the perfect ones, and then planning their wedding like little girls, fighting over color schemes and throwing their hands up and screaming, "I don't care if we do daisies or daffodils!" He would imagine walking down the aisle, or watching Derek walk down the aisle, and hearing the words of their marriage and kissing Derek filthily in front of their family and friends.
Their reception would be full of silly dancing, and Stiles would do a whole strip show for Derek on their wedding night. Derek would shuffle awkwardly from side to side while Stiles and his bridesmaids and groomsmen would perform a dirty dance to show how sexy he thought Derek was. He would convince all of his friends to dip their hands in baby powder when they danced with Derek and then leave their handprints all over his black tux. Stiles imagined the look in Derek's eyes the whole night, the way his perfect green eyes would be laughing with mirth while his mouth would just be slightly turned up in a satisfied grin. Stiles would be laughing like he always was, leaning in to let Derek whisper a gossipy comment into his ear or something flirty and mean.
Stiles imagined how making love would be as married men, knowing that they would have the rest of their lives together and a family to build soon.
Yeah, Stiles never really had great impulse control.
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Derek was alone with Stiles for the first time. Stiles's pack decided that they trusted Derek: whether it was the obvious bond they shared or Scott's instruction or the way Derek smelled of absolute misery, it didn't matter because they left him alone with Stiles all the same. He focused on his lover's steady heartbeats, wishing he knew what to say. He'd heard somewhere that coma patients can hear what you're saying to them, and he wanted to make sure he said the right things.
"Stiles, I made it." He said first. "I made it. I...it doesn't matter anymore, because now I'm here, and you're here, but you're not, and Stiles please we need you to wake up." He let his head fall into the sleeping man's neck and he snuffled into it like he did whenever they went to bed. "I need you to wake up. I miss you so much it hurts. I thought you left me, and then I found you, and now you might actually leave me. The doctors aren't hopeful. I'm scared."
He pulled back, then positioned himself so that his head was lying next to Stiles's. "I always imagined this wonderful life with you. We would get engaged, and get married somewhere wonderful, and maybe go somewhere fantastic for our honeymoon, or even go on a road trip where you could paint, and we could see museums and stupid national attractions like the world's deepest pit. We would buy a house, and maybe have kids, and our do fence wouldn't be white it'd be painted with your beautiful visions on it, and our kids would grow up beautiful because you are, and together we'd grow old..." Derek's throat was closing up as he fought to get the words out and hold the tears in at the same time.
"I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here to help me finish the morning crossword. Or if you didn't drag me to the newest marvel movie. Or argue with me about organic foods. I didn't even know what organic foods were until you started living with me. Trying to live without you singing in the shower and knowing exactly what I want from the takeout menu under the computer desk or screaming at the oven whenever it burns your baked potatoes or doing the popcorn dance every time we make popcorn in the microwave..." Derek laughed wetly. "I couldn't. I just couldn't."
He sat up and grabbed Stiles's hand tightly. "I want to live forever with you, Stiles. I can't live if you don't. If I could take your place I would, because I'm selfish and awful. Please, please wake up."
Derek watched the monitor stay the same for three minutes, then lowered his head and cried over his one love.
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{A/N-how awful would it be if I ended it right here????? Lol too bad I'm a sucker for a happy ending}
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There was something wrong about the darkness. It was inviting, yes. But it was also...catatonic. Still. It forced you to walk as if you were walking through mousse. Like you were falling through honey and somehow you got stuck in an amber prison like those prehistoric bugs.
Stiles found that it was becoming increasingly easier to fight the darkness. Time didn't exist, but his progress did.
And one day, he opened his eyes to light.
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Derek, Scott, and Allison were all at the hospital. Derek hadn't left since he got to Beacon Hills three days before, and Scott wasn't planning on going back to work for another few days yet. The doctor had come in and was discussing things with Scott.
"I'm not sure there's much else we can do. His injuries are fixed up and mostly healed, and here all he's doing is using up a much-needed room. I suggest we transfer him to a care facility."
Scott was looking wistfully at his best friend, who could just barely breathe on his own, who was connected to three different machines, who would die without an IV drip. "I..." He flashed to Stiles's laugh, Stiles's jokes. The way Stiles would shove him anytime he got in another Allison daze. Stiles. His best friend. His supposed-to-be best man. The supposed future godfather of all of his children. Stiles. "I...I'm not his father, I think that's something—"
"Something's changing!" Allison said suddenly, her voice getting caught in a gasp. The doctor's head whipped to the bed, and sure enough the heart monitor was changing its rhythm. Derek stood, eyes wide with fear. The look was mirrored on Scott's face.
"I need a nurse!" The doctor yelled out the doorway, and immediately a nurse was running in. The two professionals crowded the bed, ready to administer whatever they needed, when Stiles began to cough. Derek pushed forward to see the man's eyes flutter open, and the looked up wonderingly at the people crowding his bed. He opened his mouth to speak, but see,Ed to find it too dry and he coughed again, looking annoyed.
"Stiles," the doctor said cautiously. "Can you hear me?" The man have the doctor a look that quite obviously said, "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? Of course I can hear you." The doc looked pleased. "Can you talk?"
Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, then opened again. "Yeah," he croaked. He turned his head slowly and carefully. "Scott? Ally?...Derek? What...?" Tears of confusion and happiness shined in his eyes.
"Shh, I'm here and everything's going to be alright now," Derek said softly, reaching a hand out to brush away one of Stiles's tears. A single tear ran down his own face.
Stiles nodded, eyes big and hopeful. "I felt you. I knew you were here." Stiles said. "I love you." They'd said it to each other countless times before, but this time was exceptionally special.
"I love you too," Derek replied, and Stiles smiled. Yeah, everything was going to be alright.