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He doesn’t know how long he’s up there before Peter comes to get him. Yeah, Peter Hale is the one to pull him back from the edge. That is his where his life has gone. And that point is the literal edge, somehow he’d taken the few steps to the side of the roof and was looking down at the damage.
“If you’re thinking of jumping,” Peter says from the doorway, “I would highly suggest not. Death isn’t nearly as pleasant as one would assume.”
“I’m not going to jump,” Stiles says, but he can hear the tremor in his voice. He hears Peter walk over, feet crunching on the debris, and stop beside him. “Scott left with the Alpha Pack.”
Peter makes a noncommittal sound and pulls Stiles by the shoulder, his fingers squeezing and thumb rubbing circles on Stiles’s shoulder. He’s looking over the edge, has yet to actually look at Stiles, but when he speaks it’s irritatingly calm, “We all do crazy things for family.”
Stiles looks over, sees the tears in Peter’s shirt and the dried blood stains. “I thought you left.”
“Clearly, I came back.”
“Cora?”
Peter nods, still looking at the fallen trees and wrecked cars. “Isaac took her to the Argent’s,” he looks over then, raises an eyebrow and Stiles gets the message: crazy things for family. He walks back to the door, taking Stiles with him. And what does it say that he just goes where instructed?
Peter leads him back inside the hospital, down the stairwell, until they are stopped in front of Derek; Derek who is still unconscious and sprawled on the elevator floor. Peter crouches down beside him and looks up, “We need to wake him up.”
“We need a plan,” Stiles says, even as he’s kneeling beside them. He takes Derek’s head in his hands and traces the line of his jaw with his thumb. He just needs the contact, and if Peter sees or notices he doesn’t react.
“Yes,” Peter agrees. “We also need an alpha.” Before Stiles can open his mouth Peter grabs his wrist, squeezes until Stiles looks down. “We need an alpha. And a hunter. And someone who can think of a plan. We need a new kind of a pack.”
Stiles pulls free, pushes himself until his back hits the elevator wall then drops his head into his hands. “I don’t--”
“Stiles,” Peter snaps and the shock of it makes him stop, look up. “You figured out Kate Argent, her involvement in my family’s murder. You stopped Jackson. You got Derek and Scott into the bank.” He leans over Derek, cups Stiles’s chin. “You have to have something rolling around in that exceptional brain of yours.”
Stiles swallows and can hear his heart pounding, wonders briefly what Peter hears; and when Peter flicks a glance down to his chest something cracks inside of him. He nods, pushes forward. “Yeah,” he says and swipes at Peter’s hand, “Yeah. We’ll think--”
“No, Stiles. Now. We need a plan now.”
Stiles looks down at Derek and crawls over, brackets his legs around Derek’s torso and looks over at Peter. “Get Isaac and Chris Argent, meet me at Derek.”
Peter nods once, stands, and watches as Stiles slaps Derek’s face. “Wake up!” He slaps again, “Derek!” Again.
He doesn’t hear Peter leave but when Derek moans Stiles feels something shake in his chest. He blinks the tears away when Derek’s legs bend beneath him. Derek groans, grabs Stiles’s wrist, and opens his eyes. And Stiles feels a flutter of hope and clings to it; he wraps his fingers around Derek’s hand and clings to him.
“We have to go. I have a plan.”