Archive of Our Own ^beta

The scent of grass was strong, morbidly so. It didn't smell like growth; like seeds piercing through soil and flourishing into something more beautiful. It smelled like death. Like flowers pelting. Like leaves falling, despite it being well into summer. It smelled like something was decaying, was losing color, losing life. It also smelled like coming home, like what had come out of the earth, was now fading back into it, hiding beneath it, and he wondered if it was how his mother's embrace had felt. He couldn't really remember, felt like it'd been too long since arms had wrapped around him, without stripping him of something he wasn't quite ready to lose.

" Stiles, would you like to say a few words?" He felt a hand on his back, a voice somewhere around him, that didn't sound like breathing coming to a halt, or a steady beep of a machine that never faltered, never let up. He looked to his side, eyes falling onto aged features, kind, sad, eyes that he'd spent his life finding comfort in. He shook his head, trying to will his features into something like a smile, but things were still heavy, still slow, although it felt like everything else was rushing past him, running away from him.

" I'll be right there if you need anything." She whispered, lips falling onto his cheeks, staying there long enough for his skin to take in the feeling of them, to miss them too, after they'd departed. Leaving him with the smell of remains, and the empty space around him, because the world was so big, so ruthless and uncaring, and Stiles had never felt smaller.

There was a hole in the ground, and no matter how hard he tried, to just watch his legs buckle beneath him, he could still see it. Could still feel it, tugging at someone he'd loved probably more than anything. Could hear it, luring him in, telling him about the other hole, and the bones left in it now, that were still familiar, still brutal in their loss, unkind in their goodbye. But this hole was too small, it wouldn't fit, and- he used to get claustrophobic, he would hate this. He deserved better, deserved the earth to throw up its content, and just let him rest.

But then the green was colored in brown, like the box they'd closed on top of his father, like the poisoned piece of wood they'd found inside him, right after it'd killed him, like his mother's hair, or his dad's least favorite blanket. It was a sickening shade of brown, dissolving into the green, that was barely green, was more grey now that they'd put in the gravestone, and Stiles couldn't really breathe, as he pulled at his tie, at the button by the lump in his throat, fingers trembling around the suit that his dad had bought for him, to attend an old friend's wedding. The suit that he wore for every occasion since. That he was now wearing to his dad's funeral.

They were laying flowers around the grey of the stone and the brown of the dirt and the green of the rotting grass and Stiles thought they couldn't pour life into this much death, couldn't beautify something that was so.. horrible, so cruel in its unsightliness. But Stiles remembered blue eyes sparkling with love, and wrinkles of laughter and anger and ache. He remembered guns and badges and nights spent in a car or in a tent or in a place only meant for the two of them. He remembered failed cooking and cautious drinking and pats on backs and hugs that felt like nothing else. And he didn't understand how so much life, could fit into this box. Could be thrown away, disregarded, diminished to skeletons and bones and sentences with past tenses and wounds in chests that would bleed everything out, till there was nothing left.

Stiles didn't know when he'd started walking, running, stripping out of the suit that itched against his skin, rough and unkind and so fucking heavy. But he fell onto the steps of his porch, that his dad had promised to fix, and maybe repaint if he'd felt like it. And Stiles choked on something, that was probably the words he'd failed to tell his dad, the goodbye he hadn't had the time to give, or the cries crawling up his throat, clinging to the top of his mouth, biting into his tongue, hitting against his teeth, but he couldn't. Couldn't let them out, because what if they never stopped? What if every time he opened his mouth, they were all that came out? What if they were all there was to him, what his dad had left him with?

He might have pushed into the door, might have collapsed onto the couch, or somewhere by the coffee table, that had his dad's files spread out, still smelled of his favorite drink, and the breakfast that Stiles never made for him, because it was too greasy, too unhealthy, like that had mattered. Like that had kept him longer, had kept him safe.  

Stiles tried to stand, to not touch anything that might still smell of his dad, to keep him there a while. He held onto the coffee table, moving one of his hands to the nearest side of the couch, as he pushed his almost limp body, standing on unsteady feet, that felt like they could break along with everything else that was in pieces. He stood against the kitchen counter, face buried – or no, not buried, because he couldn't really use that word, not right now- in his hands, that twitched, almost, convulsed, like they were trying to tear apart from his body, wanted nothing to do with the heavy head or the heavy heart or the heavy everything he was trying to cling to, trying to make any of it stay.

" Stiles, we got the Jeep for you. And what we found of your clothes on the road. Are you okay?" Scott sounded sad and weary and Stiles could no longer reassure him of things he didn't know, didn't trust. Like if anything would ever be okay again, or if their friendship could outlast what had happened. So, Stiles nodded, trying to move past him, around him, but he felt his hand, tugging at his wrist, willing him to stay, even after he'd walked away, left him behind, left his dad to die, and-

" Not now. Not yet, Scott." And he let go, watched him climb up the stairs, breath escaping him slightly, when he saw the door to his dad's room, ajar and still so fucking welcoming. But then he went into the bathroom, hot water trying to ease the cold that had set deep into his bones.

Scott went into the kitchen, cleaning what he could, till his mother parked the car, and came into the house, with the groceries she'd bought for Stiles. They put things away, moving around one another, trying not to step too close, not to brush too warmly against each other, because then, someone would break, and they couldn't do that yet. Maybe not at all.

Scott heard the water hitting against his friend's frail body, heard his staggered breathing, tripping against itself, like there wasn't enough air, enough time to breathe. Like there wasn't enough of anything. Scott opened one of the cupboards, hands in the air with Stiles' favorite cereal, but the sheriff's hidden unhealthy snacks were there, and he remembered pointed fingers and disregarded empty packages and Stiles yelling with a grin never really leaving his face and the sheriff looking all defeated and annoyed, huffing and puffing as he took what Stiles gave him and, there would be no more of that. No more of anything he'd built his life around. No more of a father figure that felt more like a parent that his actual supposed dad. No more midnight calls from the station or to a crime scene that he never should have known about but he did, because the sheriff told him, trusted him with it, with his son and his life and he- he failed him. Failed all of them.

His hand fell away, recoiling from all the boxes that smelled of the sheriff, almost, felt like him. A trembling breath of air went past his lips, eyes closing onto themselves, before his mother's arms were there; strong and kind and so aware, so knowing. He buried his head into her neck, breathing her in, and letting it cloud the scent of anxiety and grief and rage and loss that was everywhere around him, clinging to his lungs, rubbing against his nose, like he'd never be able to smell anything else.

" Go talk to him, Scott. He's your best friend. You're all he's got now. Go, and whatever it is, fix it." Scott nodded against his mother's arms, standing there for a while, until he felt like he could pull away. He tried to smile, feeling her hands patting against his back, as he walked away, but there was a knock on the door, and when he went to open it, Derek was there, with a bouquet of roses and a sour looking expression on his face, like he was in pain.

Scott had seen him at the funeral, standing alone, leaned against a tree, eyes firm, collected, although, he had smelled something else around him, that he hadn't had the mind to think through, to analyze. Derek had been gone for so long, first they'd thought he was dead, killed when they'd been trying to save Scott from Kate, and it had broken something in Stiles, he'd seen it. But then they'd found out that he was alive, although, not fully himself. They'd found a bitter comfort in that. At least he was out there, somewhere. Even if not with them. That too, had done something to Stiles, that hadn't been undone since.

Scott almost stepped back, almost let Derek into the house, when Stiles appeared on top of the stairs, eyebrows furrowed, water drops still sliding against his skin, like he didn't have enough time to properly dry himself. Stiles went down the stairs, wordlessly, almost, breathlessly, like he didn't want to take in anything that was Derek. He stood in front of the door, Derek opened his mouth, words almost falling out, but Stiles took the bouquet from his barely there grip, closing the door like Derek hadn't been there at all, before turning to throw the roses into the nearest trashcan.

" Stiles, would you like something to eat? I can cook something up for you." Melissa questioned, hesitant, unsure of how to walk around the pieces of Stiles that seemed to be scattering away.

" Not hungry. Thanks." Stiles shook his head, falling onto the couch, in his dad's spot, that was more sunken in than the rest of it. He tried not to trace all the places his dad had touched, tried not to think of him, sitting there, legs on the coffee table, hands drumming against his stomach. Stiles tried not to feel the weight of him, where it no longer was. Where it wouldn't be again.

" Stiles, can, uh, can we talk?" Stiles could feel Melissa nearby, could sense her weariness, her desperation. He didn't want to have to do this in front of her. He didn't want to have to do this at all. Because Scott was still looking at him with something like hope in his eyes and Stiles wanted to tear it right out. Tear right through him, the way he felt everything inside him fall apart, tear and reform only to tear again.

" Talk about what?" Stiles asked, eyes on his fidgeting hands, trying to remember how his dad's hands felt, every time they held onto his own to stop them from shaking.

" I know you're mad at me. I know I screwed up, and I-"

" Mad at you?" Stiles released a breathless chuckle, eyes frantic, wild, accusing. " You think- you think this is me, being mad at you? I- I don't know what I am or am not, but this is well beyond being mad." Scott swallowed, sitting on the couch, as far away from Stiles as he could be.

" Okay. Okay, Stiles. So, if- if you're not mad, then, what is it? And how, how can I fix it? Because I really am sorry. So sorry, Stiles, and," Stiles' eyes softened a little, and he wished he could take his friend as he was, pull him in, and hold him, till both their pieces fell into something that was better than whatever they were now. But the wound on Stiles' shoulder itched almost in remembrance, another water drop fell away from his hair, onto his eyelashes, and it felt too much like rain pouring, hailing, washing them away.

" My dad is dead, Scott. He's- he's dead. And I don't think I can forgive that." Scott had his hand somewhere between his body and Stiles', and it was closing in on him, almost touching against him, and he couldn't bear it. Stiles flinched away, standing up, and missing how warm the couch felt beneath him, how he could outline where his father's body had once laid, and fall into those lines, like he'd fallen into his arms. He almost hated Scott for taking that away from him too.

" I- I'd like to be left alone for a while. Melissa, I- I'm sorry, I," Stiles almost cried, really wished he could, because his dad deserved to be grieved upon properly, wholeheartedly, and there was nothing about him that was whole anymore.

" It's okay, kiddo. Don't worry about it. You'll call if you need anything, right? Call me, at least?" Stiles wouldn't. Didn't think he'd be able to. But he still nodded, collapsing into Melissa's arms, as soon as they were opened. She held on and he almost wanted to tell her that his dad really came close to love, when it came to her, for the first time since his mother had passed. That Stiles had always seen them, as a family, all four of them, and he wished he'd had the time for it to happen, he wished he'd had it, before losing it, so ruthlessly.

Scott collected what was left of his and his mother's belongings, waiting by the door, until she circled one of her arms around his waist, and leaned in. He didn't look back at Stiles, didn't think he could without breaking something terrible. They were almost by his mother's car, when his eyes fell onto Derek's Camaro, parked right in front of Stiles' door, awaiting something that probably would never really happen. Now after everything.

" You go home. I'll catch up." Melissa nodded, tightening her grip around him momentarily, before getting into her car, and driving away. Scott got into Derek's car, looking as miserable as he smelt. He'd never been exactly close to Derek, they'd barely gotten along, but he always knew he meant well. He knew he could trust him, and when it really mattered, he very rarely let him down. Derek would probably say the same about Scott.

" How is he?" Derek eventually asked, eying Scott curiously, worriedly.

" Not.. well. Not himself, really. I don't think I know." Derek grimaced, feeling his heart give an aching thud.

" Fuck, Scott. I never should have left. Maybe, I don't know, I could have been there, could have done something."

" You shouldn't have left, no, but not because of this. Because, I- I think this would have happened anyway. It would have been nice to have some backup though. Would have been nice for him to have someone."

" He had you, didn't he?" Scott shuddered, the scent of his tears cutting through everything else.

" Not really, no. I- he was attacked, almost gotten killed, and when he- when he tried to get away, he killed someone. But, Theo came to me, before he did, and he- he said some shit about Stiles going after the guy first, and, God, I don't know why I believed him, but,"

" Scott," Derek whined, or groaned, or just did something with his voice, leaning in, and letting his head fall onto the hands that were gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

" I know. I know I fucked up, Derek, but I trusted Theo. I- I thought he was a friend. And what he said, made sense, because why didn't Stiles come to me? Why didn't he tell me, if- if he had done nothing wrong?"

" Because he knows you. He knows how righteous you are, how strongly you believe in what you believe in, and he must have thought he'd disappointed you somehow, he'd broken some sort of code, and,"

" I'd never hold it against him if he did it to save himself, Derek. Fuck the code and fuck what I believe in, if it's going to cost Stiles his life. I- I never would have put that ahead of him. I never would have put anything ahead of him."

" Yeah. I know you wouldn't." Derek nodded, listening in for the faltering of Scott's heartbeat that never came.

" I told him he should leave. And he did. He left and- the sheriff got hurt and I was dead for a few minutes and-"

" Wait. What? What do you mean you were dead?" Scott smiled, all sadly and brokenly, like he kind of wished he stayed that way.

" Long story short; Liam thought his girlfriend was dead, and he attacked me in like blind rage. And when Theo saw that he didn't finish the job, he put his claws through me, and mum found me, without a pulse. Had to revive me basically."

" Holy shit, Scott. I- I didn't know. Any of it. I, I would have come back earlier, if I had known it was this bad. I'm sorry, I just. Does Stiles know?"

" Never got the chance to tell him. His dad was already in the hospital by the time I was somewhat conscious. And then we tried to figure out what was making him sick. And when we did, he was just.. gone." Scott's face crumbled, his body trembling as he tried to cling to the door to Derek's car, like it would keep him from fading away completely, from sinking into his grief and regret. Derek put a hand to Scott's shoulder, testing the waters, and when Scott kind of leaned into it, he angled his body closer to him, pulling him until he crashed into his chest, clinging onto him instead.

" We're going to get him. He'll pay for what he did. We'll get him, Scott." Derek felt hazy, unsteady, as the news of what had happened to those he cared for continued to hit him, over and over. Every time hurting that much more. But Scott had his arms over his back, fingers holding on so desperately, they felt more like claws, as he breathed in the familiarity that came with Derek, and everything that had happened with him around. All the versions of himself that Scott was, that Derek witnessed, cared for, despite his better judgment.

" I messed Stiles up, Derek. Not him. This is all my fault. And I- I don't know how to make it better. I'd do anything to spare him. To bring the sheriff back for him, and not- not have him feel the way he feels. I can smell it on him and it- it makes me sick. Makes me fucking sick, Derek."

And what could Derek say to that? How could he guide him through his blind remorse, when he'd never been able to shed his own? How could he tell him that it wasn't justified, that it didn't make sense, and that he shouldn't feel it, when it was right fucking there, all the time, taunting Derek every misstep of the way? Derek never managed to find his way around guilt and all that came with it, so he held on, till Scott took his last shaky inhale, pulling away, with his hands wiping under his eyes, in case there was anything left in him that hadn't poured out yet.

" This is.. weird." Scott sounded raw, strained, like his voice didn't really want to come out. But he had something like a smile on his face, and Derek snorted, shaking his head, not bothering to hide his amusement, his relief.

" Yeah, well. I'm going to stay here. I need to talk to him at least. Do you need me to drive you home?"

" No, I think I'd rather walk. I don't know how open he would be to the whole talking thing."

" It's okay. I'm in no rush. I can give him time, if that's what he needs." Derek shrugged, looking away from Scott's wide eyes that were glowing with playful astonishment.

" Did you like, hit your head a bit too hard out there? Or wait, maybe you're possessed? Derek, are you in there? Growl for yes, give me more bullshit about patience for no." Derek rolled his eyes, leaning over Scott to open the door for him, before settling back into his seat, a practiced scowl taking over his features, although, he almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

" Oh man, I pushed it, didn't I? Too much? You don't like it?"

" Out." Derek pointed his finger out the door. Scott put his hands in the air in mock surrender, closing the door as soon as he was out, and leaning against it.

" I, uh, it's good to have you back, Derek." Something snapped in Derek's chest, falling away, releasing, and he tried not to moan in satisfaction, in fulfillment. But before he could think of something to say, Scott had walked away, hands in his pocket, jacket hanging against his shoulder. Derek's eyes fell onto the house instead, seeking Stiles out, but the blinds remained against the windows, and there was barely any signs of movement. Derek almost thought Stiles couldn't move at all. Didn't really want to.

He spent the following week in his car, spending the mornings on the street, stretching his muscles, releasing the tension that lumped up everywhere that a bone met another. And when it started to get darker, he'd get back into his car, lean the seat as far down as it went, and resting there, till sleep took him away, or it didn't. Sometimes, he'd wonder off to the nearest diner to get something to eat or drink, maybe use a proper bathroom, but other than that, all his senses couldn't really drift away from Stiles for long.

Most nights, the stench of anxiety would waken him, would pull him out of his restless sleep and throw him out of the car, until he hit against Stiles' door, begging for him to let him in, to let him help, but he never did. Derek would follow every rise and fall in his heartbeat, until it fell into a somewhat steady rhythm, the smell of anxiety cowering away, hiding amongst all the other dreadful smells that didn't belong on Stiles, never should have been let anywhere near him. But Derek almost couldn't find Stiles' own scent beneath all that. And it always broke his heart, like nothing else ever could.

Then one day, Derek could hear a knock against his window, an almost gentle clipping sound echoing somewhere in his head, he thought he was dreaming it. But it didn't go away. A smell that he knew from somewhere, easing him into awake-ness. He squinted, trying to open his eyes past the blatant sunlight. He blinked a few times, before he could see it. Could see Stiles, standing outside the window of his car, looking blank, expressionless, despite the exhaustion darkening the area beneath his eyes, paling his skin a shade, or three.

Derek startled, leaning to open the window, or the door, or something. Trying to get to Stiles before he shied away, or ran away, or shut down completely. The window slowly slid down, Derek leaning closer in anticipation, hope beating near his heart, along with it. But Stiles took a step back, like he'd gotten too close, fixing the buttons to the shirt that didn't fit him, didn't look like anything he'd normally wear.

" This is stalking. Kind of illegal. Go home." And just like that, he stepped back, and walked away, like he wasn't there at all. He didn't smell of care or longing or worry. Didn't smell of his ADHD medicine or his fruity shampoo or home. Stiles smelled of nothing, of no one. And Derek was starting to wonder if he'd even known his scent at all. If he'd made the right choice by coming back.

That night, Derek was looking through his trunk, mostly trying to find something to do with his hands that wanted to break through the door, and hold onto Stiles and just squeeze the sadness right out of him, shatter the glass around his heart, break something other than his will to live, his love of life. But then, Stiles' phone rang through the quiet of the night, the light turning on in the living room, and Derek thought of Stiles, unable to drag his own weight up the stairs and into his room, too lonely, or too afraid of what it might make him feel.

" Hey, Cora." Stiles whispered his sister's name, his voice almost loving, almost needing, as Derek left whatever his hands were clinging to, approaching the house, just really wanting in.

" Stiles, haven't heard from you in a while there. How are you doing?"

" Oh, you know, a bit high, a bit low. Kind of all over the place. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. How are you? You haven't let anyone else give you the kiss of life, have you?" Stiles tried for a joke, and something lifted in Derek's chest, while something else fell. Because he sounded so sad, even in his humor.

" I would never. You're my first and last, Stiles, you know that. No lips are allowed anywhere near my own, especially if it's in a near-death situation." Stiles puffed out a breath, and Derek realized that this was his attempt at laughter. Cora didn't seem to mind though, giggling slightly.

" I knew I could trust you with this, Cora."

Stiles and Cora had been close ever since she'd come back. She's been terrified, untrusting, but Stiles had felt so warm and comforting, and she'd craved something of stability, of safety. And after Stiles had brought her back from almost dying, she'd clung on, promising never to let go. And she didn't. Even after they left, she called, as frequently as she could, giving him updates and waiting for him to talk about what he needed to. She was the one he called one night, having a panic attack because he thought Derek was dead because he'd left him there. And she was the one who told him that Derek wasn't dead, but wasn't all that okay either. She was the one Stiles called, every time he missed Derek a bit too much. Until he made himself stop. Stop calling. Stop missing.

" Stiles, I know this doesn't mean anything. I know the whole town probably told you this by now. But I don't know what else to say, other than I'm sorry. I'm just, so sorry about your dad, Stiles. So sorry." She sounded it too. Derek could hear the quiver in her voice, her tell for almost crying. Stiles sighed, his heart speeding for barely a moment, before it fell to an unhealthily slow pace.

" Yeah. Yeah, I know you are."

" How, how are you holding up? Like, what are you doing nowadays?"

" Well. I should be doing school, but I'm not. I went to the station today, to, collect his things, before the- before they had to give his office to someone else. To the, new- new sheriff."

" Oh, Stiles," Cora sounded like she was crying now. And when Derek saw the window, blurring slightly, he realized that he was too.

" It's okay. I'm okay."

" It's not. I wanted to come see you, I really did, but exams and submissions and shit is happening all at the same time. But I'd drop it, drop the semester even, if you really needed me to. You know that, right?" Stiles almost didn't hear her words, they didn't really register, because something else was chipping away at him, and he let it slip, just this time.

" I can't cry, Cora. I don't know. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me but, I can't cry. I haven't since- since the hospital, I think? I don't know, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For it to feel like, like something. Anything, really. But so far, it's this.. hollowing feeling. Like there's nothing in there. In me. Did, did that happen to you? When, you know, when shit happened?" Derek fell against Stiles' front door, suddenly deflated, so tired that he could sleep his existence away. All of it.

" Not really. But I think, Derek was kind of like that. He just, put this crazy pressure on himself, to be strong and unwavering and just.. stone-hearted. I think he hollowed himself out, without really meaning to. But, loss is crazy, Stiles. It does crazy things to people. And there's no one way of handling it."

" Kind of feels like I'm not though." Stiles snorted, and again, how lifeless it sounded, made Derek's stomach turn a little.

" You will. It's going to hit you, maybe too hard, and you'll have nowhere else to go from it. From yourself. Is that what happened, with, you know, your mum?"

" No. I was really young back then. He, uh, wasn't really coping that well either. Drinking and shit. And kids cry over everything, so I just, kind of did. And then the anxiety came up, and I was either crying from grief or because I couldn't breathe. So, I didn't really have a problem with that. Maybe that's why I don't feel much of anything this time around? Maybe I'm like, used to it now?"

" Stiles, I don't think you ever get used to something like that. I mean, I'm no expert on grief and loss and all that, but, did you get used to your mum not being around? Did it, get to the point of not hurting?" Stiles started to smell of grief again. Waves and waves of grief. Derek almost drowned.

" I think.. when something worse happened. When, uh, there was a worse kind of hurt, it just, started seeming less significant. Or not that, but, less traumatic. I don't know if I'm explaining myself properly."

" I don't know if I'm ever going to get it, maybe because I've lost them both, lost them all actually, at the same time, so it was all just.. one big bundle of pain. But I don't think I'm used to it yet. Don't think Derek is either. Or you. But, Stiles, you have us. All of us. Me and Derek and Scott and his mum. What was the other one's name again? The screamer who almost tore my ear right off."

" Lydia," Stiles breathed out, wanting to laugh, but not having the air for it. Or the chest.

" Yeah, her. Who else is there?"

" I don't know. Haven't been keeping up much."

" How come? No pack meetings? No big bad you need to get rid of?"

" No, none of that. I think.. I think I'm done."

" What do you mean?" Derek wondered if his sister's heart was doing the thing that his was.

" I mean, I'm out. I want nothing to do with them. With any of it. I'm going to try to finish school, keep my head down, until I'm out of here. Going to find the furthest college from here, and just, drive. Who knows, maybe I'll drive past that too. Find something else for me."

" Something else? Stiles, you love this. You love these people. You love doing this and saving them and. All of it. Don't let this drive you away from what you love. They're all right there, and they're waiting for you whenever you're ready. To just let them in, you know. Let them help."

" Help with what? He's dead, Cora. They can't help with that. Plus, maybe it's my turn to piss off to God knows where, do my own thing, and just, not give a fuck about whatever I'm leaving behind. How about I leave, before they do, just this once?"

" Stiles," She sighed, like she was growing desperate or exasperated or something.

" You know what, I don't want to fight with you, Cora. I- thank you for calling. For caring. But maybe I should just try to get some sleep."

" Who said anything about fighting? We were having an adult conversation. Wait. Adult kind of sounded wrong. This isn't some phone-sex service. Let me rephrase."

" It's fine, Cora," Stiles' voice sounded like he was smiling, or at least, trying to, " Good luck with exams and submissions. Talk to you soon, hopefully."

" Yeah, okay. Okay, Stiles. Sleep well. Take care. And don't make any decisions without talking to someone, okay? Preferably me."

" Alright. Bye."

The light remained turned on, as Stiles moved into the kitchen, trying to make something to eat, or drink, if only to keep himself upright. But then, the home-line rang, playing their voicemail message through the house, and it was his father's voice, laughing along with Stiles', announcing their names, and Stiles found himself folding in half, hands on his knees, because his dad had sounded so happy, he could feel the walls wrinkling the way his eyes had. And he'd have to change that message now, would have to erase the sound of him telling Stiles to get back in there, and what if he could no longer remember how he sounded? What if he forgot how deep his voice could go when he was ill, or how funny he sounded when he yelled out Stiles name? What if the blue in his eyes faded into something else and most of the pictures he had of him were in black and white and he just couldn't tell what his own father's eyes looked like?

Stiles couldn't forget him. Couldn't let him slip away, let him go. This was the most important person he'd had. The one thing he'd ever thanked the universe for giving him, and now, he was taken away, and Stiles could no longer smell him on all the things he loved, could no longer cook his favorite meal if only just to hear him humming in contentment, he could-

He could no longer breathe, the breathless pants growing silent, strangled, as he fell forward, hitting his head against the floor, feeling it bounce, hurt, then it all went dark. Like how dark it was the night his mother almost pushed herself off the roof, because she thought he was going to kill her. Or how black Scott's eyes looked, when he told him that he didn't believe him, that he couldn't just kill people. Or how black the blood pouring out of Cora was, right before she'd stopped breathing. Or Derek's blood. Or Gerard's. Or his dad's. Oh God. His dad's blood was so black, it could have painted the world in darkness and pain. Stiles felt like it did.

When he came to, blinking what was hitting against his skull away, he felt arms holding his limp figure against a chest. He heard something like "please don't make me leave again, please be okay" and he tried to nod. Tried to breathe, just to see if his lungs could do that again. But that voice was pressing against him, and those hands were holding on, like they feared he'd float away, or go under, if only just to follow his dad. And there was something burning, probably whatever he left on the stove, when he was trying to make something to eat. And he found a strange sense of comfort, in the human touch he'd lacked for a while now, had felt like he didn't deserve. And maybe he didn't. He probably didn't.

Slowly, carefully, he was regaining connection to his surroundings, becoming more aware of the world that continued to turn around him, as he was helped to his feet, by.. Derek. Huh. But Derek kept his bloody knuckles on Stiles' shoulders, his eyebrows furrowed, and eyes looking like they were close to shedding some tears. Stiles looked past Derek, to find a broken window, a slight layer of smoke in the air, though, it wasn't too severe.

" I smelled something burning, and thought-" Derek choked, having to cough out, physically put a hand to his chest, like he was taking resounding pain from there. Stiles nodded, trying to search within himself for something to feel, something to be, or show. Derek helped him to the nearest bathroom, taking the shards of glass from his hands, washing them, and leaving them to heal, before he started working on Stiles' head, that was bruising, not bleeding. Derek breathed out the panic that had been gripping him, ever since he watched Stiles collapse, lost the sound of his heartbeat in the midst of the chaos.

Stiles was sobering up, realizing that Derek was standing right there in front of him, had literally broken into his house to get to him, to help him with a panic attack. He'd been staying outside his house for a week, hadn't rushed him, hadn't pushed him into doing anything he wasn't ready to do, hadn't left, regardless of how many times Stiles had expected him to. Had waited for him to, just to prove to himself that he would. That Derek would always leave.

" Are you feeling okay? Do I need to take you to the hospital?" Stiles felt something pushing onto his chest again, gripping onto his throat, and squeezing, till something gave.

" Shit, I'm sorry. I- I'm sorry, Stiles." Derek was on his knees, hands somewhere on Stiles, as he nodded, wanting to push past him, to get away from him, but he felt boneless and the least together he'd ever felt.

" Do you need anything? Some of that food you were trying to make? Or a drink or something?" Stiles shook his head, his voice still lost within him, as he stood up, felt the ground shifting beneath his feet, but he walked anyway, until he was back in the living room, sitting when he couldn't stand for much longer.

" Stiles, we need to talk. Please. Say anything. Whatever you have to say. Just talk to me." Derek was pacing, hands completely healed now, as they clenched and released by his side.

" I've got nothing to say to you. You wanted to talk. So talk."

" I didn't leave for the hell of it. I wouldn't just leave you like that. I was injured, and bleeding, and I was losing my powers so I couldn't even heal. I passed out after you all went in for Scott, and-"

" After you told us to get in for Scott. Told me, to leave you, and go save him. You told me to."

" Of course I did, Kate was never meant to be your problem. She was always coming for me. And she would have killed him, and all of you next, what was I supposed to do? Tell you to stay with me, and watch me die, while your best friend gets killed in there?" Derek didn't mean to yell, he really didn't, but the nonchalance that Stiles was portraying was so odd, so unlike him, it gave Derek a headache.

" No, no, definitely. I went in there, and your girlfriend stayed with you, and then took you with her, where you both had some self-exploring to do together. Great plan, dude. Really impeccable."

" Don’t call me, dude. I thought we were past that." Derek groaned, rolling his eyes.

" Oh were we? Because I must have missed it between you pissing off with another girl and not contacting any of us for months. My bad for not realizing that we were past that, Derek." There was venom in Stiles' voice, every time he said Derek's name, and he never thought he could hold something so toxic, for someone he'd once cared for.

" I didn't piss off with another girl. She had to get me out of there, and when I came to, we were already out of Beacon Hills, and trying to find someone who could help with the wound, could make me, me again."

" And it had to be her? Couldn't have been any of your pack? Your supposed family?"

" Scott was-"

" I would have stayed. You fucking asshole, I would have stayed with you, if you'd asked me to. If you'd let me. I thought you died. I thought I left you behind to fucking die, Derek. Don't try to fucking justify this to me. Don't try to excuse how this shit went down. It happened the way it did because you wanted it to. Because you wanted her. Wanted out. And you got out. So what the hell do you want from me now?" Stiles moved his head away from the couch, leaned forward so aggressively, he almost lost his balance, almost fell. It was the first time he allowed himself to look at Derek, really look at him, and he looked like everything he'd missed, a bit more dialed down, a bit faded.

" I didn't want her. Yes, I wanted to get out of Beacon Hills. I've always wanted that. But I wasn't in love with her. How can you not see that?" Derek's eyes looked raw, honest, desperate for Stiles to believe him, to see the truth, without him ever having to word it, to say it out loud, because he didn’t think he would be able to.

" Why are you back then? What do you want?"

" For you. I came back for you, Stiles. When I heard about what happened, I just- I wanted to be there."  

" Well, shitty timing on your part, really. Next time, maybe try to come back a bit earlier. Too bad I've run out of parents to try it out with you, though. So, terribly sorry." Stiles shrugged, needing to breathe air that didn't stink of Derek, of everything he'd lost, that day he'd turned his back, and went to save his best friend. But Derek took his arm, trying to draw him closer, to pull him in, missing the scent of rage, of loss of control, as Stiles pushed against him so fiercely, Derek staggered away with the impact.

" Stiles,"

" No, Derek. You don't get to leave and decide what you come back to. You- you don't get to walk all over me, shove every single insecurity I've ever had down my throat, and then whine about how long I've choked on it, or how many pieces I've broken into. That's not how it fucking works. You left. You made that choice. Now be a man and fucking deal with it. God knows I am. Have been, even if it wasn't my decision. Never would have been my decision." Stiles shook his head, his features falling into something like disgust, like disappointment. Derek felt a crack inside him, widening slightly, tearing him further apart.

Without thinking, without meaning to, Derek took Stiles' arm again, and this time, Stiles' free hand formed into a fist, that hit right into Derek's cheek, healing almost instantly, infuriating him further. He hit Derek, over and over again, eyes unable to see past the hot, red, rage, mouth releasing breaths that reformed into strangled cries. Tears fell against Stiles' face, flying away with the force of his momentum, dissolving as they hit against Derek's warm body. Stiles' legs kept wanting to give out, kept buckling beneath him, but every time, Derek held him, before his body collapsed onto the ground.

Stiles was whispering things under his breath. Things that sounded like leaving and heart and breaking and alone and pain. So much fucking pain, Derek could almost taste it. He was losing stamina, his body not having the time to heal, before Stiles hit again, his own knuckles tearing open, his blood dissolving into Derek's, that he didn't know where his wounds ended, and Stiles' began. Didn't care, because they all hurt the same.

Stiles had his knees on both sides of Derek, punching and kicking and fighting with all his might, wanting to feel something breaking beneath his touch, that wasn't hearts, or bones of those he loved, or lives, that he never meant to ruin, by barely being near them. He tasted blood against his tongue, and almost spat, but it was so familiar in its bitterness, so comforting, that he could still bleed, still had something in him.

Derek sensed the moment Stiles realized what was happening, found Derek past what was roaming inside him, what was beating against his insides, needing an out, before piercing right through him. His arm trembled in the air, fingers recoiling away from the fist they'd formed into, chest stopping in the middle of a breath, as he pushed himself off, pushed himself away. Something rattled in his chest, crawled up his throat, and fell right out. Eyes now letting the tears go, letting it all go, like a dam shattered, right where his core was, his very essence.

" Oh God. Oh my God."

" It's okay. Stiles, I'm okay." Derek fell onto his knees, spitting blood out to his side, before he dragged his aching body towards Stiles.

" I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I- oh my God, I didn't mean to. Derek, I." Derek fell somewhere near his legs, putting his hands around Stiles' shirt, and pulling him down, as they both came undone, cracked right open, and just let the pieces of them blanket their fall, ease how apart they were falling.

" It's okay. It's going to be okay, Stiles. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

" He- he's dead, Derek. Dad is. Dad is gone."

" Shh. It's okay, Stiles. You're going to be okay."

It was odd, how things seemed to be healing on Derek's body, yet, he'd never felt more broken up, more raw, and exposed.

They spent the night on the couch, tangled onto one another, limbs and chests and hearts and so much shit, weighing on them both. When Stiles woke up, he put his head between Derek's neck and his shoulder, whispering an apology into his skin, planting a few kisses, where there'd been holes earlier. Derek held onto him, disregarding the apology that he didn't care for, didn't need.

" I should probably call Scott."

" You probably should."

" You're not going to leave, are you?"

" Never again, Stiles."

" Okay. Yeah, okay." Stiles nodded, pulling himself away from Derek, trusting the distant not to take him away too far this time. He dialed Scott's number, suddenly aware of all that had happened, how this kind of tired had seeped through his bones, building a nest, and simply making a home of him.

" Stiles?"

" Hey, Scott."

" You okay? Did something happen?"

" No, no. I, uh, I just wanted to hear your voice. Talk to you."

" You did?"

" Yeah, I've been kind of a dick to you lately. You don't deserve that from me."

" Stiles, you had every right to be a dick. Permanently even, if you feel like you need to. I don't care. You're my best friend. And I wasn't treating you like you were."

" I said what I said because, well, because I was mad. And hurt. And really fucking lonely."

" I'm right here, Stiles. We're all here for you. We just want you to be okay."

" Yeah. But I'm not. I'm probably not going to be, for a really long time. If ever."

" Fine by me. I told you, I don't care what state you're in, Stiles. I'm there."

" I just- I need you to know that I don't blame you. For, for dad. This wasn't on you. I was deflecting, because I'm the one who let him into that world, and it ended up killing him, and, I'm having trouble with pretty much handling this whole thing. But I know you loved him, and I know he loved you, and I know that- that you would have done anything, to have it go down some other way."

" Anything, Stiles. I would have given anything for him to be here. For you to not have to lose him." Scott sounded like he was crying. Stiles kind of was too. He looked back at Derek, every time he felt like he was going under. And Derek would smile, all certain and hopeful and present, and it would ease something in Stiles.

" I know. But I don't want to lose you either, okay? You're my brother, and we can't let someone like that asshole, take that away from us."

" I love you so much, Stiles. Oh my God." Yeah, Scott was definitely crying. But Derek stood from the couch, circled his arms around Stiles' waist, rested him against his pulsing chest.

" I love you too, Scott. You- uh, can you grab Melissa and come over after her shift? I could use some help around here. Maybe with school work too."

" School work? How about I call Lydia for that one? That is, of course, if you want to graduate within the next decade."

" Yeah, smart decision, Scott. See you then."

" See you soon, Stiles. Also, tell Derek to not breathe down your neck because the visuals are kind of traumatizing, with how vivid werewolf senses are, you know."

Stiles laughed then, and Derek drank up how familiar it sounded, how it was the first thing to come out of his mouth, to sound anything like what he'd remembered Stiles' laughter to be, to feel like.