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Derek woke up trembling, jaw locked tight against a scream and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His fists were clenched in the sheets, and it was only a sheer miracle his claws weren’t out.
It had been nearly ten years since Laura’s death, but the nightmare made it feel like it had only happened yesterday.
“Hey,” Stiles’s soft voice said beside him, and his hand slid across Derek’s chest. “Hey, big guy, c’mere.”
Derek swallowed until he thought he could speak without his voice quivering. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s okay,” Stiles whispered.
He tugged on Derek a little more insistently, and Derek went, letting himself roll over into Stiles’s chest. He buried his nose in Stiles’s neck, breathing in the scent there, the one that said mate and home and safe. The ironclad hold he’d had on his body started to crack, and Derek felt the tears leak from his eyes.
He took a shuddering breath.
Stiles rubbed his back, a slow, soothing pattern. “It’s okay, Derek. Let it out. You know I’ve got you.”
That did it. His resolve cracked the rest of the way, and Derek broke, sobbing into Stiles’s neck. The grief rolled over him like a wave, pushing at him, and he missed his sister so much it was like a physical ache.
Stiles held him tight and pressed gentle kisses to his forehead, one hand stroking up and down his back. “I’ve got you, big guy. You know I always will.”
Derek knew that. It was one of the precious few certainties in his life: his hair was dark, his wolf was black, and Stiles would stay steadfastly beside him.
And so he pressed himself closer to Stiles, and let himself grieve.