It's Called Frontotemporal Dementia

“You need to come back to Beacon Hills, dude. It’s important.”

Derek looks up at the starry night that watches him from above. The night sky in the desert is probably his favorite thing about having stayed with Braeden, after Braeden and Cora, of course. There’s some kind of peacefulness to the constant roar of the wind that’s too far away to catch them, as if he finally got the time and space he needed put himself together, to think about how much his life changed during his last stay at Beacon Hills. Some time to finally grieve his loved ones lost during that last year in town.

Scott’s call took him by surprise. He thinks it’s not time for their monthly call to talk about how Malia is doing and if he can help with anything. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he understood that Malia didn’t really know him or trust him so he left the matter at that and left with Cora and Braeden.

He can feel Cora’s uneasiness through their pack bond, straining himself not to go after her so she can take her uneasiness on him. He knows that Cora is still worried when she lets him out of his sight, as if she can’t quite grasp the idea that her brother is right there to protect her. He recognizes the attitude from his time alone with Laura thinking they were the only remnants of the Hale family.

Scott pulls Derek out his reverie by fumbling with the phone enough to catch his attention. He tries to make out what’s happening in the background, but Scott doesn’t give him enough time by speaking over him.

“Derek, believe me. You need to be here. Stiles…” Scott lets out a breath as if he had been holding it too long. At the same time, Derek feels something tremble inside of him. Stiles. Fragile and human Stiles. The only friend that he has that could be easily harmed, easily broken.

“What happened to Stiles?” Derek asks.

“It’s just… he isn’t ok. I don’t think I can tell you over the phone, not really.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

* * *

When Derek found out about the fire in his house he felt the air sucked out of his lungs, the floor opening under his feet and his entire life crumble before him. Laura had been there to hold him, to help him see that they needed to keep going, that they shouldn’t give up. When Laura was killed by his own uncle he thought that was it, he couldn’t keep going after that. Peter could be dead and he could be an alpha but there was nothing he could do to be okay again. Except, there were these two annoying teenagers that wouldn’t stop being in the middle of chaos and he thought that maybe -just maybe- a new pack wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

But life had proved him wrong again.

His pack was either killed on his watch, died by his own hands or moved on to a better life, a better alpha. Against all odds Stiles had been there. He could insist that he hated his guts at the time but Derek knows it’s not true. They are friends. Allies, at the very least and they worried about each other even then.

And after Cora, stubborn-like-every-Hale Cora, came back when he left her safe in South America with her old pack, insisting that someone had to keep Peter’s claws from Derek, he was so grateful to have something, someone that still felt like family that even having to fight for his and his sister’s life while trying to save Stiles from a Japanese trickster spirit had felt like moving on, like growing up, and he knew his mother would be proud.

Derek thought he was finally getting some peace and quiet after the nogitsune incident and he did, he really did. After he recovered his powers and shifted into a wolf, that is.
He spent some time away from Beacon Hills but eventually came back drawn by something here. He kept thinking it was someone threatening what used to be Hale territory but when nothing came up for months, he left again.

He wanted to stay away, helping Braeden find the desert wolf while recovering his relationship with his sister.

In the beginning it turned out to be what he needed, to stay away from Beacon Hills, where he had only known tragic loss and pain, but it was also where he had known family and, lately, friendship and loyalty at the hands of Scott and his pack.

He didn’t run back to beacon Hills though. After all, he knew Scott had things under control and that even when other packs threatened his territory he had been able to drive them away without needing extra help. He kept an eye on Beacon Hills though, wanting to help Malia recover part of her ancestry if she ever decided to, but most importantly because he wanted to take care of Scott, Lydia and Stiles. Only god knew why. Kira too, he adds to himself, she helped rescue my sorry ass in Mexico. I’m in debt with her for life.

So when Derek received a call from Scott saying that he needs him, he doesn’t even wait for him to explain and goes back to Beacon Hills the moment he hangs up.

“Why are we doing this?” Cora asks as they carry their things over the car “I thought you never wanted to go back to that place.”

“I didn’t. But I’ve been thinking about going back. If only, to check on Malia without having to ask Scott how she’s doing” he replies.

“And we’re going back for Stiles” Cora deadpans.

“You can stay here if you want, but I’m sure both of us will feel better if we go together” he answers. “Besides, Scott and Stiles are my friends. I wanna know what’s going on.”

It feels better to admit it out loud. They're his friends and he wants to protect them. He will protect them, damn it, even if they don’t want it.
Braeden doesn’t say anything. She studies him with a fond glance and a warm smile, as if she knew that at some point they’d be doing exactly this.

* * *

Scott isn’t home when they arrive to Beacon Hills almost two days after his call. Derek phones him but no one answers. He frowns and asks Braeden and Cora to check the second floor while he goes through the first one. He tries the phone again. This time Scott answers by the second ring.

“Where are you?” is the first thing that leaves Derek's mouth, though he feels slightly relieved to hear his voice knowing that he’s alive.

“I’m at Stiles’. I’m going home now” Scott answers. As a second thought he adds “are you in town?”

“Yeah. I’m at your place. Cora and Braeden are with me."

Scott doesn’t say anything for a while. Derek can hear Stiles voice in the background as if he’s having a conversation with someone else. “Are you guys ok?” he asks, concerned that something happened and he wasn’t there to help them.

“I’ll be home in 15," is all that Scott says before hanging up. Worry creeps up his spine.

“The second floor is clean,” Braeden states when she comes back in the room.

“Scott will be here soon. We just have to wait," he responds.

It turns out he isn’t as good waiting as he thought he was. Not when he can’t stop imagining all the things that could have gone wrong while he was helping Braeden track someone who seems to have vanished into thin air. Why didn’t I come back before?, he ponders, I should have been here to protect them. Maybe something happened to Stiles, why else would Scott be there?

Maybe because they’re friends? His own mind answers, they’re supposed to spend time together.

Maybe the Sheriff is sick. Maybe he had an accident working and that’s why Scott said he needs me. Maybe something supernatural happened to him and they need my help dealing with it.

“Stop thinking too hard. It’s making me dizzy,” says Cora from the sofa.

Derek tries to ignore her, but a fleeting smile appears in his face. Maybe Cora is right and he’s thinking too much about nothing.

They hear Scott’s bike about a minute before he stops. It’s so stupidly loud. He’ll remember to tell Scott to change that thing before it falls apart during a ride to school.

Scott opens the door and just gapes at them. He wonders if they look too different from the last time they saw each other a little over a year. Scott looks almost the same. His hair is a little shorter and he carries himself a little different, as if a year as an Alpha gave him more confidence. He’s wearing a white and blue baseball shirt and jeans that have obviously seem better days. Derek thinks Scott still has a little of that awkward, asthmatic boy that he met over two years ago, but it’s so little that if he hadn’t met him before he’d think he’s imagining it.

“Dude, how can you be even more muscular than you were before?” Scott blurts out as way of salutation.

“Hello to you too, Scott”, he replies.

A second later they hugging each other as long lost brothers, which, in a way, they are.

After Scott greets the girls, the smile that seems to be pasted into his face falters a little, only to completely disappear over the next seconds.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks.

Scott looks unsure as to how to put whatever is on his mind. He takes a deep breath a then mumbles “It’s Stiles, dude.”

Something inside him freezes. He knows they came back for Stiles, but seeing Scott's face as he struggles to continue is shocking, to say the least. He knows his heart is pounding fast in worry and that Cora and Scott can hear it but he can’t find it in himself to care. He just knows he has to see Stiles to make sure his friend is okay.

“What happened?” he hears Braeden ask. When he looks over, Scott has taken a seat in the sofa next to Cora and Derek's the only one still standing.

“Last year, before we knew he was possessed by the nogitsune, his father took him to get an MRI scan after his nightmares came back and he couldn’t concentrate or know the difference between dreams and reality. We thought it had to do with the sacrifices but when Allison and I didn’t go through the same thing for so long, the Sheriff thought it was better to seek medical attention.”

Scott waits a few seconds before continuing, shaking his head as if he realizes something that seems obvious in hindsight.

“The MRI scan showed signs of atrophy in two regions of Stiles’ brain but since that same day Stiles disappeared, we ended up believing it was the nogitsune’s doing and didn’t think much about it until recently." He looks over at Derek before adding “Stiles sort of got lost a few weeks ago. Looking for your loft.”

Derek knows he shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Why would he even feel guilty about it? And yet guilt overrides the worry he’s been feeling in his chest since the first mention of Stiles.

“He never told me why he was there” Scott continues, “and at first we thought he had been sleepwalking but it happened again at Lydia’s and then in my house. He started doing stuff he wouldn’t have done before like going hiking in the woods alone or driving drunk and he stopped caring about a lot of things he used to love. His panic attacks started happening every time he would realize he was doing something out of place, every time he can’t say for sure what’s so familiar about a place or when he remembers the things he did while he was possessed. So his dad thought it could be depression or bipolar disorder and my mom got him an appointment with a doctor who suggested a new MRI scan since it had been a year and he hadn’t been seeing a doctor.

“The MRI scan showed the damage in his brain had progressed and-”

Derek didn't realize he was out of the house until Scott stopped speaking. By the time he gets in the car and starts it, he can still hear Scott saying that part of Stiles’ brain was shrinking. He doesn't think, he just acts. Stiles is sick and he needs to see it for himself. He needs to have proof because it can't be. Stiles, brave, loyal, stubborn-as-hell Stiles can’t have whatever this is. He can’t.

* * *

Stiles’ hands are shaking slightly. Scott told him that Stiles’ panic attacks increased in frequency -every time Stiles doesn’t find familiar a place he knows he’s been in before is what usually triggers him- and Derek had realized that his hands, tremble for a while after each attack. So he supposes that Stiles is only recovering from one and doesn't really need him near, but he feels something pulling him inside the boy’s room and doesn't want to stop.

Stiles’ eyes are cast down and he doesn't look up when Derek gets closer to greet him.

“Stiles” he calls.

“You’re back”, Stiles replies. Not long after that he adds “for how long?”

Derek wants to say he just came to check on him, to make sure he is alright but he’s pretty sure that Stiles is everything but fine. He notices the way Stiles worries at his bottom lip, the tremor in his hands, the pounding of his heart, the acrid smell of anxiety and the underlying of something else, something that could and could not be hope.

“What’s wrong Stiles?”

Derek watches him intently, expecting the boy to look back at him but he just wriggles his fingers at the end of his t-shirt for a few seconds, mouthing along with it. Derek doesn't dare to pop Stiles’ bubble but he’s becoming increasingly worried. Stiles may have ADHD and be fidgety when he doesn't take his Adderall, however Derek wasn't prepared to see him so nervous. Scott may have tried to prepare him, and if he had stayed and listened to him, he’d probably know how to act.

“It’s called frontotemporal dementia.” Stiles blurts out without any introduction, “It’s what my mother had. And there’s no cure.”

Derek doesn't understand what Stiles is talking about. He doesn't want to understand.

So he stays there, still as a deer in the proverbial headlights, expecting the kick to this elaborated practical joke that’s not so funny anymore. He doesn't want to understand that this is what Scott was talking about. He stands there, waiting for Stiles to tell him something, anything that doesn't include the sentence there’s no cure.

He waits for what seems decades until Stiles speaks again.

“Do you know what that means, Derek?”

Derek keeps quiet. Stiles finally glances at him and he looks scared, so scared that Derek feels scared too.

“It means I’m going to die.”

When Derek doesn't say anything for the longest time, Stiles thinks he broke him. He’s seriously starting to think he short-circuited Derek’s brain or something. Before he has time to think what he’s going to do if he accidentally damaged him, he just speaks.

“Will you please say something? The silence is driving me crazy.”

Derek’s stupid smile starts to bloom on his face and Stiles thinks that he might be having a heart attack because his heart skips a beat and his breath hitches a little and wow that’s not even Derek’s full smile and I’m dying over here, he thinks. Stiles realizes he’s missed him more than he thought he ever would. Maybe it’s true what they say about near-death experiences and bonding. And he looks so damn hot, like 10/10 would bang. He realizes a little too late that he’s thinking about banging his girlfriend’s cousin and that’s just not cool.

He comes back abruptly to the conversation when Derek asks “When is Scott gonna give you the bite?”

What?

Oh.

Derek thinks Scott probably called him to give him advice on how to deal with two betas because he’s turning Stiles, but that’s not what is about to happen. And shouldn't someone have told Derek about him before he came all the way here and he had some explaining to do?

Stiles sighs and blurts out “He’s not gonna bite me.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked him not to.”

“Why?” Derek insists, his tone harsh as if he’s about to snap.

“’Cause I know the bite is not always effective. You should know this better than anyone, Derek.” Stiles snaps at him.

Fuck.

He sees Derek pale at the allusion of Paige and he mentally slaps himself for it. It isn't Derek's fault, and Stiles doesn't want Derek to feel like shit, he’s sure about that, but he just couldn't stop himself from saying it.

“But you’re special Stiles. You have a spark in you, you could be an emissary if you wanted to. The supernatural seems to follow you everywhere. I’m pretty sure the bite would turn you.”

“’Pretty sure’ is not good enough for me,” Stiles replies. “I don’t wanna die and leave Scott blaming himself because I was too weak to take the bite.

“Look, Derek, I’m sorry. I’m not the best company lately and I won’t be it ever again. Things would be better for you if you’d just avoid me from now on. Or if you go back to wherever you were with Braeden.”

Derek frowns, crosses his arms and clenches his jaw, determined.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Well, that’s new.

Why would Derek want to see him wither and die? Does Derek want to see him die to make sure he stays dead? Or is it about something else? He could be worried, he thinks, I mean we’re kinda friends or something. Even when he rode into the sunset with his dame in shining armor, I knew I could call him if I needed his help. Not that I would've, but still. Maybe I should call Isaac, see him again before I stop caring. Not that the werewolf is that important, but you know, near-death experiences and bonding.

Stiles starts making a mental list of the places he’d like to go before he stops caring, but after three places he remembers he’s too poor to actually go anywhere so he might as well suck it up and forget about the idea. Instead, he makes a list about things he’s always wanted to do and that’s a list he might get the chance to go through.

“Stiles?”

He notices he’s drifted off a mental tangent and never responded to what Derek said.

“You know there’s four lobes in the human brain, right?” Stiles gets up from his bed and gets to his desktop, moving some papers around and opening his laptop. It’s not a proper response to Derek’s words, but to be honest, he doesn't know what is. He glances at Derek who looks confused by the sudden change of topic. Stiles opens a new tab, types ‘brain lobes’ and clicks in the first high resolution image that pops up.

“Okay, so this is the frontal lobe” he touches the screen for emphasis “and this is the temporal lobe. Frontotemporal Dementia -or frontotemporal degeneration, whatever makes you feel less uncomfortable- results in progressive damage of these areas. According to my doctor the behavioral variant is the predominant in my case, which means personality changes, apathy and emotional blunting are to be expected. The neurologist said that impairment of language may occur after behavioral changes have become notable.”

Stiles pauses and gives Derek a moment to take this in. He remembers how the doctor had insisted on giving them the talk even when Stiles’ father had heard it before and Stiles had researched the hell out of it when he was old enough to do it, wanting to know so badly what had happened to his mother that he didn't sleep in two days. The talk the doctor gave him was how he explained Scott what was happening to him. There had been a lot of pauses to explain neurological terms he didn't understand and to exemplify how his behavior related to a symptom.

Derek nods as if to tell him to keep going, so he does.

“I don’t know if Scott had the time or the heart to tell you, but yes, behavioral changes have become notable and MRI scans show shrinking in the frontal lobe, which is expected to happen as the disease has progressed the early stage.” Stiles closes his laptop and focuses on Derek. “It’s different for everyone, but the progression of the disease can go anywhere from two to twenty years. Given how last year was the first time my dad noticed changes in my behavior -that we blamed on the nogitsune- my doctor estimates that from the moment of diagnosis I get five to eight years.”

Derek stares blankly at him, lips set in a grim line, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

“Five to eight years? Did he actually give you an estimated time of death?” a combination of worry, anger and defeat fill his voice, as if he isn't sure what emotion wants to take over.

“Well, he didn't want to, but after a few emails and a couple of heated discussions over appointments, he said that it wasn't as if every person followed a rule, blah, blah, blah, and then said that in a case like mine it was possible that yeah, I have five to eight years left.”

Stiles doesn’t mention how he doesn’t plan on getting to that stage, that he isn’t interested in becoming a burden to his father so he will take another way out. There is still the problem of eventual apathy towards Scott or his father but he doesn’t have to consider it, not now.

Derek frowns but leaves it and Stiles doesn't have enough time to analyze it when he sees Derek stand up as if leaving, so he blurts out “do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

Derek turns around and watches him with a raised eyebrow. Stiles opens his mouth just as Malia pushes Derek aside as she gets in the room.

“A movie would be awesome” she cheers, sliding an arm behind his neck and kissing his cheek. “Hi, Derek. Why didn't you mention you were stopping by? I would've stayed home to chat.”

“I came to see Stiles” he replies.

Malia's face falls a little but she puts on a smile as if daring Derek to be sad about anything. “Oh, well I hope he already drove you crazy so you and me can talk about stuff.”

“What do you wanna talk about?”

“Cora and I have been texting the last couple of months and she told be about- about before the fire. And I was hoping you could tell me? I've tried to stay out of it but I wanna know.”

Stiles knows that Malia hasn't tried to stay out of it. Since the first time Cora mentioned a younger brother, Malia has been researching about the Hale family, trying to figure out her place in it, trying to figure out if any of the people that are dead could be like her, trapped in the woods and alive and ready to come back and have a life.

“I- I can try to-” Derek glances at the floor and then to Malia. “Look, can we do this tomorrow? I’ll stay around and there are things I need to figure out”

Malia raises her eyebrows in surprise but doesn't add anything, already getting comfortable in bed. Derek leaves a few seconds later without waiting for an answer.

*  *  *

Stiles’ arm is starting to hurt under Malia’s body, but she’s snuggled in the perfect position where her hair doesn't get in his mouth if he says something and she feels nice and warm against his body. Malia is clearly engaged in the battle happening in the screen but Stiles lost interest after the first 20 minutes. He knows the movie is near the end but he really, really wants to go out and do something else. He's out of his mind having stayed in the same position for over two hours.

So when the credits roll in, he slightly pushes Malia away and gets up, puts on his sneakers and leaves the room.

“Stiles!” she calls from the door frame “where are you going? You told me to never leave before the very end of any marvel movie. What’s wrong?”

“I- I really need to get out of the house” he replies.

“Oh, okay," she turns to go back into the room and adds, "just go. I’ll catch up with you in a second.”

He’s glad that she doesn't ask why, or mentions it's nearly 10 pm on a school night or that tomorrow he has a Spanish test. He’s also absurdly happy when she catches up with him less than a minute later, even when he sprinted out of the house and hasn't stopped to catch a breath yet.

After sprinting for a good three blocks, he comes to a stop and tries to level his breathing. Malia hovers nearby, stretching as if she needs to stop the burn in her muscles. After a minute or so he starts running at a steady pace, Malia keeping up effortlessly, without saying a word or asking if he’s tired already, and he loves her so much for that, for not being patronizing towards the sick, fragile human.

Stiles doesn't know how long they run, but he guesses it isn't as long as his body thinks. He slows down when they get to a small convenience shop.

“Are you carrying any cash? I’d kill for a bottle of water” he tells her. She nods and they walk in.

After a few minutes, they’re sitting on the curb eating brownies and washing them down with a bottle of orange juice. Stiles is thankful for Malia’s mindless talk about school, the yearbook and her favorite senior pictures. Eventually, he stands up and offers her a hand, that she takes smiling, and they start their walk home.

Stiles offers taking Malia home, but she declines saying that her father is still mad about the last time she came back with Stiles. Maria's father doesn't like him. At all

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Malia nods and closes the space between them in a tender, but short-lived kiss. “And thank you”, he adds as a afterthought “for, you know.”

She smiles and kisses him again. Warm lips softly pressed against his, making him forget about how out of place his run feels.

When he goes inside, his dad calls out for him from his office, where he has two piles of work, one significantly bigger than the other. Stiles thinks he’s going to stay up late trying to solve the unsolvable.

“Hi, dad!”

“Good evening, son. Care to tell me where have you been until 11 pm on a school night?”

“Malia and I watched a movie and then I felt like going for a run so she went with me.”

Stiles knows his father is remotely less worried when he goes out with Malia, given the sharp claws and teeth.

“Did you have something to eat?”

“Yeah, we ate while watching the movie”

He seems satisfied with his answer so they chat about work and school for a while. Stiles ends up eating a sandwich while his dad tells him about a kid that has been missing for the last week who seems to have vanished into thin air.

“The kid can’t be more that 13 years old but no one's sure. He's been homeless long enough that he has a street family. They reported him missing when he didn't show up in the shelter for the third night in a row. They're scared his parents took him."

Stiles knows there’s something a little off about this but since it doesn't ring a bell, he shelves it for picking at it later.

“I’ll just go to bed” he says when his dad is mid sentence, describing the kid in case Stiles sees him around.

“Okay.” His father watches him for a second too long but keeps whatever thought crosses his mind to himself. “Goodnight son. Sleep well.”

“’Night, dad!” he yells already from the stairs.

*  *  *

He’s already in bed when he notices the flashing light in the corner of his phone. He unlocks the screen to find a message from an unknown number.

We can watch that movie tomorrow -Derek.

Stiles goes to sleep with an absurd smile on his face at the idea of Derek actually staying. He knows there’s something off about that but since he can’t tell what, he also shelves it for later.

Derek feels hands pulling him down as he tries to climb back to the surface. He does not expect to escape them, but if he’s going to die, he’s going down fighting. Cora’s screams fill his ears and the smell of smoke chokes him. He has to try to save his sister, even if it costs him his life, he’s not letting anyone else die.

He shakes himself free of whoever is pulling him down and starts running. He’s not fast enough. He’s failing again, damn it. He runs faster, until his lungs are burning both from smoke inhalation and exhaustion.

He sees Cora behind a small wall, part of what used to be the Hale house and he realizes something is not right. The house hasn’t been there in over a year, Cora can’t be burning inside of it. But it’s not enough to stop him from getting closer, from trying to save his little sister no matter what.

“Derek, leave!” she screams “For fuck’s sake, please leave it and save yourself!”

He doesn’t want to listen to her, so he ignores that little voice at the back of his head that tells him Cora is right and it’s too late for him to save her, and tries to find a way around the house, around the fire to help her out.

“Derek!” he risks a glance at the spot her sister was just to find Stiles, a very human Stiles, screaming for him.

“Stiles, hold on, I’m getting you out of there!” he yells back at him.

“Please, Derek, just leave” the boy cries “don’t stick around to watch me die. Get out!”

His whole world shakes around the edges and then he’s staring at Braeden, who’s shaking him awake.

“Derek it’s okay. It was just a nightmare” Braeden says. He nods, trying to get his breathing under control when he notices Cora by the stairs, worrying at her bottom lip with a concerned expression. He feels her uneasiness through their pack bond. It might not be a strong bond, but they’re family, so it’s there in the back of his mind all the time.

“You can come here, you know” he tells her.

Derek’s nightmares are not as frequent as they used to be, but when they occur, Cora always wants to be there to comfort him, to give him some sense of reality when things feel out of control. Cora has nightmares too but she doesn’t talk about it. Ever. She just finds her way to Derek’s side and it seems to make her feel better. She sits at the end of the bed, reaching for his hand and Derek pulls her closer to him.

“I’ll give you some space” Braeden remarks. He doesn’t want her to leave, but she’s already at the door.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks.

He doesn’t, but maybe he should. After all, she’s the only person left that can understand. In the end, he says “It was the fire again.”

There’s no point in elaborating or mentioning Stiles. That’s something his sister wouldn’t understand.

Sensing there’s more to it, she fully climbs into the bed and sits next to him with her back against the headboard. “I’m glad you weren’t inside the house that day.”

His throat tightens and a heavy weight settles in his stomach. This is what he didn’t want to think about. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall against the headboard while Cora’s hand holds his a little tighter. Derek wishes he had been inside. Maybe he could’ve helped, maybe Kate wouldn’t have had the time to set everything in motion and kill his family, maybe he could’ve died and he wouldn’t be blaming himself for everything that happened that day. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“Can you tell me how was it inside?” he finds himself asking.

“No. I’m not gonna let you torture yourself even more.”

Cora knows about his part on the fire. She had screamed and cried at the beginning, but none of her words were directed at him. She tried to go find Kate by herself but she didn’t make it a mile before Derek found her and brought her back. A part of him was relieved that she didn’t blame him, but it didn’t mean that he was about to forgive himself for all the people he killed thanks to his stupid infatuation with Kate.

During all this time, she had avoided most of his questions about the fire, but dreaming about Stiles in the fire made him want to know. “I'm thinking about Matt. And Jared.”

Matt had been barely 4 at the time of the fire. He was his aunt Emma’s only kid and he was human. Derek knew that most of the werewolves burnt but he was hoping that at least the kids hadn’t, that if they had to die, they fell asleep, smoke inhalation taking hold of them before the flames claimed them. Jared was his youngest brother. He had been only 7. He could feel guilt creeping up his spine at the thought of his baby brother.

“This is exactly why we don’t do heartfelt talk. I can smell it on you.”

Derek glances at his sister who’s staring off into space, the memories of that night still haunt her as much a they haunt him. He puts an arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair as she leans on him.

“I miss them so much, Derek” her voice shakes by the end of the sentence. He doesn’t have to look at her to feel the overwhelming grief that hides behind her eyes. This is exactly why they keep heartfelt talks to a minimum. It's painful, devastating, soul-crushing. It's an entity of pure, undiluted pain destroying every bit of the facade they’ve managed to build during their time alone.

Before he has time to reply, Cora adds “I can’t remember the sound of Laura’s voice or Joseph’s. I’m scared that someday I won’t remember them at all.”

Derek tightens his hold on Cora’s shoulder but doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he can reply to that. A moment later, he hears Braeden opening the door of the loft.

“I hate this place,” Cora mumbles. She stands up, wiping her eyes and adds “maybe we should get our house back.”

Derek glances at the clock in the nightstand, noticing it’s barely past three. He lies down and tries not to think. A few seconds later, Braeden is by his side. He falls asleep soon after that. He dreams of that time he and Laura had planned to get their house back while still in New York. Almost 3 months later, she traveled alone to their hometown looking for a rogue werewolf. The last thing Laura told him back then was “I’ll be back soon, it won’t be much trouble.”

* * *

Derek was on his way home from the library when the fire in his house started. Laura was driving him because she was the only one willing to do it at 7 pm when his car was dead. She also said that it helped her keep her mind out of Amelia. She hadn’t had the best of times after her girlfriend was killed by hunters. Joseph, their oldest brother and who had the closest room to hers, was constantly checking on her, expecting the moment in which he had to wake her up from her nightmares.

They were barely at the path that lead to the reservation when they heard the screams.

A high-pitched scream that made its way inside him and tore him apart.

“Emma,” he whispered.

Laura hit the pedal with enough force to make the wheels squeak. She made a sharp turn as she said “I smell fire. Derek call 911.”

He knew that his family would be safe, those who were werewolves would heal and those who were humans would be taken out by the others. He knew his parents and Joseph wouldn’t waste time taking the others to safety. He knew Heather would want to help with the kids, if only, to feel a useful, active part of the pack since she wasn’t directly related. He knew his mother would order everyone out as soon as she could, that Audrey would fight any hunter who dared to touch the youngest. However he was worried about Kate. There was a high chance she was already waiting for him in the basement. There was a reason he showed her the tunnels leading out from the basement, and he was late from the library thanks to his sister’s insistence that they grabbed something to eat on their way home.

When they arrived to the house, it was chaos.

Derek assumed that someone alerted the fire department from inside because there was a truck there already, firemen trying to put out the fire with fire extinguishers. He wished he couldn’t hear beyond the firemen screaming instructions or the crackling of the fire, but he can hear his aunt Emma screaming at someone to try to take Matt out. He can hear his little brother Jared screaming for mom. He can hear his mother yell at Laura to get the hell out of there.

That’s when he realized his sister was no longer by his side.

Derek ran toward the house. He could not only hear the house being eaten away by the fire but he could also smell it. It hit his nose like a wave: the coppery smell of blood and pain, the strong odor of burnt plastic and anguish, and the underlying sickly sweet, acrid smell of burnt meat.

He felt sick, his world shaking around the edges. He fell to his knees and threw up until his abdomen hurt, the sounds of fire and screaming all around him. His vision was blurry and he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He choked. He didn’t know if it was the smoke or if it was because all of his family wass inside and they couldn’t get out.

Oh my god, they can’t get out, his mind told him. They can’t get out and I can’t help them. Jesus, Derek get up, get up, get up, they need you. Cora, Jared, mom…

He felt two strong hands shaking him and looked up to find Laura there, her face covered with a thin layer of soot, her hair streaked gray where ash had touched it, her tear-stained face desperate to get a reaction out of him.

“Derek, please look at me” she screamed. “For god’s sake, I need you to look at me, right now”

The urgency in her voice frightened him so much that he felt 10 years old again, seeing his sister freak out when he fell off a tree and broke his arm and it wouldn’t heal because he was having a panic attack. He watched her and tried to focus only in her voice, not in the way Joseph is screaming that the trap door of the tunnel was closed from the outside and he wasn’t strong enough to break whatever they put above it.

“Derek, the house is surrounded by mountain ash. The window frames are lined with it too. We can’t do anything.”

“The trap door,” he mumbled, expecting her to understand. After a few seconds of a lost stare, realization dawned in her face as she takes off to the trap door half a mile from the house. He followed her and helped her move the tree trunks that were thrown over it.
Their efforts were encountered with more mountain ash, but someone was pushing the door from the inside with enough strength that the ash scattered enough for Laura to get the handle and open the trap door.

Peter was the first to get out, carrying an unconscious Cora over his shoulder.

“Where are the others Peter?” Laura shouted “Where are the others?”

Her panic was palpable, so intense that Derek felt paralyzed by it. Peter had a shocked look in his face, as if he couldn’t believe what he just saw or what he can smell from the house. Derek tried to strain his ears to listen to something besides the loud crackling of the fire, however, he couldn't hear much.

Peter laid Cora on the floor and Derek went to her, but he couldn’t feel a pulse. He felt the tears sting his eyes but he couldn’t cry, not now, not here, not with his entire family needing his help.

Derek starts to the trap door but Peter stopped him.

“Half of the first floor gave in, Derek. You can’t go past the tunnel without something falling over you.” That’s when Peter seemef to realize half of his face was melting. He touched the bloody side of his face with an equally bloody hand. Laura told him to stop, that they need to get him medical attention, that he’s lost so much tissue that it will take some time to heal by itself. Derek hears them speak hurriedly about going to get a medic but it seems Peter is not responding anymore. Laura kept asking him about the kids and Joseph who was right here but the lack of answer makes him think they’re dead. Derek didn’t want to believe it, so when he heard someone coming from the tunnel, he knew he could help. He jumped in.

“Derek!” Laura yelled, but he was already inside and walking towards whoever is coming to greet him. It turned out, he never should have entered there, there was too much smoke, his eyes stung and he couldn’t get enough air. He couldn’t get to the basement because part of the ceiling of the tunnels gave in while he was making his way inside. Derek saw someone struggling underneath the weight of it and hurried over there.

“Emma” he whispered when he was close enough that he could pick up her scent below the odor of burnt flesh. He tried to move the chunk of cement that was keeping her down but his knees are weak and he isn’t strong enough. He was lightheaded from the smoke and the intense emotions that have driven him the last minutes.

“Get out of here Derek” his aunt ordered “you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Just give me a few seconds. I can lift this, I know” he replied.

“I can’t feel my body, Derek, there’s nothing to do. Get out for fuck’s sake”

He didn’t believe it, he couldn’t believe it, so he tried one more time.

“Leave it, Derek!” someone screamed from the inside, he believes it’s Joseph, but his voice sounded so hoarse that he could have passed as their father. Derek looked at his aunt and saw she stopped struggling, as if she had nothing else to live for, closing her eyes as if waiting for it to be over.

Derek focused on his aunt for a few seconds when he heard something crumbling a few meters away. He thhinks he heard a surprised, short yell and then just fire eating away every piece of his life. He shot a glance at Emma but she wasn’t moving anymore, he couldn't hear her heartbeat but in the middle of that inferno he can’t hear even his own heart. He ran towards the exit, his throat sore and burnt, his eyes stinging and a huge void inside him that consumes him step after step.

When he was out in the woods again, Derek risked a look at the hole he came from and saw a small current of liquid making its way towards the spot he occupied just seconds ago. He didn’t think much about it at the moment. He walked to his sisters and his uncle, numb to all sensations, frozen in a feeling of hopelessness that would never leave his heart again.

* * *

Derek finds Scott after school the next day. He’s with Liam and Malia playing Lacrosse in his patio. Malia clearly isn’t there to play fair, he notices. She kicks, scratches and trips the guys trying to score the goal. It seems as if she only wants the adrenaline rush that comes with the game more than anything. Derek still doesn’t understand what’s the big deal about lacrosse.

When Scott spots him, he gives Liam a sign to keep playing and comes to meet Derek at the railing where he’s leaning.

“What’s up, Derek?”

“We need to talk about Stiles,” he replies.

Scott frowns but gestures Derek to follow into the house. The back door leads to the kitchen, where Scott helps himself to a glass of water before taking a deep breath and looking at Derek.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Derek. Stiles doesn’t want the bite and I don’t want to do to him what Peter did to me.”

Sometimes Derek wishes Scott was a less noble person, that he was easily corruptible or that he didn’t care about others as much as he does, because he’s sure that that alternative version of Scott would have turned Stiles no matter what and damn the consequences.

Derek glances through the window at Liam and Malia, whose lacrosse game has tuned feral, their eyes shining as they push each other around the patio. Scott seems worried but not enough to intervene. Derek wonders if this is a usual occurrence when it dawns on him that Kira is nowhere to be seen.

“So you and Kira..?”

“No, we’re just friends now.” After a few seconds, he adds with a smile “I think she’s got a crush on Malia, actually.”

Derek raises both of his eyebrows at that. He knew that Scott and Kira hadn’t been dating for almost 5 months now. He didn’t know exactly what happened but he supposes that there’s a reason why wolves and foxes don’t get along. It’s not really his business so he doesn't ask.

“Tell me more about Stiles,” Derek says out of nowhere.

Scott gives him a strange look, but complies anyway. He’s telling Derek about Stiles’ mood swings and newfound habits such as smoking and reading every book that gets to his hands until page 25, when his phone rings. Scott glances at his phone and frowns before answering “Lydia, are you ok? Is Stiles alright?”

Derek is thankful for werewolf hearing when Lydia mutters at the other end of the line “I don’t know. I, I don’t know where Stiles went.”

Before he knows it or thinks much about it, he snatches the phone from Scott’s hold and growls “where are you?”

“Derek?”

“Lydia, just tell me where you lost him,” he insists.

“That’s the thing, I’m at Stiles’ house, he’s nowhere to be seen and his jeep is still in the driveway.”

Derek notices Liam and Malia coming in as he hangs up. After that, he runs to his car and races to look for Stiles.

Stiles is sitting in the curb, waiting for something to happen. He was with Lydia not too long ago but he was suffocating in her company and didn’t want to hurt his friend telling her that he really needed to be alone for the foreseeable future. Even now he doesn't know what he’s waiting for.

He’s eighteen, on his first semester of senior year and he’s dying. There must be a joke somewhere in there. He wishes the universe enjoys the cruel joke that is his life. All the people he hangs out with are supernatural creatures that could have him killed, he was poisoned by a kanima -twice-, he was freaking possessed for several weeks and he’s dying of terminal illness. Seriously, whoever is writing the script of his life must be having a laugh.

His phone rings again but he can’t be bothered to answer. It must be Lydia again, maybe Scott. Stiles doesn’t want to talk to either of them. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone actually, he’d rather be alone for an hour more. Maybe walk some more. With that thought on mind, he stands up and keeps walking in the direction we was in before he stopped. His hands start twitching and he feels restless, so as soon as he sees a convenience store he buys some cigarettes and a lighter. The clerk gives him a once-over but doesn't say anything as she takes Stiles’ money.

He walks a couple of minutes before lighting up the cigarette, taking a long drag and throwing his head back as he exhales. Instant relief fills him, as if he had done something right for once. His walk slows down as he smokes, more relaxed than he was before and he wonders if it has something to do with the distance he’s put between him and the house. Lighting up another cigarette, he comes to a full stop and sits in the curb once again.

When his phone rings again, he picks up between drags of his cigarette without glancing at the caller.

“What?” he growls.

“Are you ok?” Derek asks. That’s a surprise.

“Yes,” he replies shortly.

“Where are you?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he says as he hangs up.

Why do people insist in finding him? He doesn't want to be found, he just wants to melt against the landscape and disappear, disintegrate slowly without having to worry about what’s eating his brain away until all that makes him Stiles disappears. He also wants to angst by himself, is that so hard to understand?

He puts out the cigarette and looks at the sky. It’s not exactly cloudy but it isn't clear either, it’s more of an in between state that reminds Stiles of himself. He’s in an in between state now, not dead but with a death sentence hanging over his head.

Stiles takes a deep breath, distracted by the blue sky dotted with gray-ish clouds staring at him. He is so out of it that he doesn't notice a car stopping a few meters from him.

When someone sits next to him, he glances at them and sees Derek. Not so surprising anymore. After all, he keeps turning up wherever he is. He takes another cigarette out and lights it as a way to avoid Derek. When he takes a drag of it, his throat burns a little, obviously overworked with the smoke inhalation. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Derek frowning.

Derek just sits there watching him smoke and Stiles doesn't do anything to break the silence. What’s the point, really? He’ll just want to know why Stiles is out there, sitting in the curb, miles from home doing absolutely nothing.

When he puts out this cigarette, he turns to Derek and just looks. He’s not so different from last year, he reasons. Does he look more attractive? Maybe, but maybe yesterday had been the impression of seeing Derek in his room again. Stiles stops that track of thought seeing that the day before he was thinking about banging his girlfriend’s cousin. Not cool, he reminds himself.

Stiles finally stands up and looks down at Derek. “Okaaaay, I'm ready for you to take me back.”

Derek just stares at him, as if he can’t understand Stiles and never will.

“We don’t have to, you know. If you don’t want to go back we can just sit here until you decide you want to leave,” Derek remarks.

Stiles just rises his eyebrows, unsure of how to answer to that.

“It’s… It’s ok to want to be away,” Derek adds. “I kept doing it to Laura when we moved to New York, especially once the panic started to ease the longer we stayed away from Beacon Hills. Wolves don’t do well in big cities, and New York felt… suffocating, to say the least.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to reply to that either. Derek and him have never done this wholehearted talk. Maybe it’s a trap to get him to admit he’s scared shitless about what’s gonna happen to him, maybe Derek has learned to talk about this kind of stuff while he was away, he can’t be sure.

Doubtful about how to proceed, he sits down again. He is about to light another cigarette but thinks better of it and puts it back in the box.

“So, how was the honeymoon?” Stiles asks, feeling like he’s making a fool of himself, but he wants to know. Everything about Derek is always surrounded in mystery, but maybe he gets a chance to see what’s below the surface. Or at least he thinks so, after Derek started sharing about his past voluntarily.

He’s pretty sure he overstepped some kind of boundary when Derek’s posture changes. It is sudden and unexpected so Stiles is a little take aback. He wonders then if Derek and Braeden are still together. People break up and they can still be friends, obviously. But why would they break up? They looked pretty smitten last time he saw them together, they seemed as if they were in it for the long run.

In the end, Derek says “Not that is really any of your business, but we were looking for someone in the dessert. If I were to go on a honeymoon I sure as hell wouldn’t take my little sister.”

Stiles smiles at that.

“Then, how was the hunt? Anything good came out of it?”

“Not much, to be honest. It’s like this desert wolf woman just banished of the face of the Earth,” he answers. Stiles’ head jerks at that.

He had heard it from Malia once. She had been digging around looking for her biological mother with the only clue Peter had given her. The dessert wolf. Needless to say, she hadn’t been successful but Malia kept asking, she kept trying to find out what happened to make her mother disappear. Stiles thinks she resents her a little, that maybe she could have been born in a put together home with her family, grown up with her cousins, maybe a sibling or two. Maybe she wouldn’t have become a killer. But she doesn’t share most of this with Stiles, he just tries to guess from what he can read on her face.

“What did you say? How did you call that woman?”

“The desert wolf. Braeden has been looking for her for-”

“Peter said that was Malia's mother,” he blurts out. “Malia has been looking for her too. As far as I know it’s a dead end.”

“What? No, she can’t be.”

“I don’t know much, maybe you should talk to Malia.” After a beat, he adds “or Peter. After all, he’s the one who put it in Malia’s head.”

Derek shakes his head. Not sure about what to say, Stiles thinks it would be better to just get back. They do so, not longer after that.

* * *

When they get back home, Stiles knows it was a bad idea. Scott pretty much throws himself at Stiles in a tight hug, repeating he’s sorry over and over again. He doesn’t know what Scott is sorry for but it doesn't matter, he could be stabbed and apologize. That's the kind of person Scott is.

Stiles regrets his decision of texting everyone that he was coming back when he spots Lydia. She just looks at him, shakes her head and leaves. Lydia has been there with him every step all the way since Stiles was told he was dying and he repays her by disappearing on her. Great. Now he feels guilty as fuck.

Malia is on his arms not long after that. She’s hugging him and threatening to tie him to his bed if necessary to keep him from running away. He hugs her back and promises that he won’t do it again but he doesn't believe it. Stiles knows that at some point those promises are gong to mean absolutely nothing.

He glances at Derek, remembering their conversation on the curb, notices his frown but shortly after that, Derek leaves, sayinge he needs to be somewhere else.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with Scott and Malia fussing over him while they watch movies. They leave early, promising to find him the next day at school. Stiles has a Government Law essay due in two days that he hasn't started but he finds it hard to concentrate at the moment, especially when he glances at the board by the wall. All those unsolved mysteries he couldn't leave alone: Malia's mother, Meredith, even Braeden, because he’s not about to say that he completely buys the ‘retired mercenary’ thing. Though that’s probably just jealousy talking. Not jealously, he reasons, concern. For his pack… and Derek. Not that he’d ever say that to his face.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears something by the door. Stiles turns around to find Allison smiling at him.

“Are you busy?” she asks.

Before he has time to ask how is she there, he replies “well, there’s the Government essay I’m not writing.”

She laughs as she enters the room and sits by his bed.

“Look, I need your help convincing Lydia that she has to ask Parrish out because he’s obviously not making a move first, he’s too noble for that.”

“Why would I convince Lydia to go out with someone who isn’t me?”

“Because you have a girlfriend?”

Right. Malia is his girlfriend. Allison obviously knows that because she’s his friend and friends know this kind of stuff about each other. A small part of his minds knows that talking to Allison is somewhat unsettling but he can’t remember exactly why.

“So, will you help me?”

Stiles doesn't have time to reply before his phone rings, he makes a gesture to Allison to wait a second and listens to his dad telling him that he’s staying at the station past ten, that the boy he had told him about yesterday had been spotted and he was needed there. Stiles told him not to worry, that he was ok and Allison was keeping him company. That catches the sheriff’s attention.

“Allison?”

“Yeah, she came over to help with my Government essay. We’ll be fine.”

He hears his dad whisper something over the line but doesn't get it.

“Son, are we talking about the Argent girl?”

“I don’t know any other Allison, Dad.”

There’s a long silence after that. For a moment he thinks his father hang up, but no, he realizes as he glances at the phone, he’s still there. “Dad?,” he checks.

“I’m here. I was just… talking to a deputy about the case. Can you tell me what’s Allison like?”

“What do you mean, dad? You’ve met Allison, you know her.” He turns around to see that she’s flipping the pages of his copy of Fahrenheit 451. She looks up to him, smiles and mouths everything ok?. He just nods and tries to listen to what he’s father is saying but he’s already missed half of it. “What? Sorry I didn’t catch that,” he says.

The sheriff sighs loudly and remarks “look, kid, I’m sending Scott over, ok?”

“What? No! Dad, there’s no such thing as a happy-” he cuts himself and walks to the hallway out of his room. “There’s no such thing as a happy break up. I don’t want to deal with all the awkwardness that will ensue if you send Scott here. Besides, I don’t need a babysitter. Allison can literally put an arrow through the eye of any possible threats. We’ll be alright.”

He hangs up without expecting his dad’s answer. When he goes into the room again, however Allison is nowhere to be seen.

“Allison?”

She couldn't have gone anywhere without him noticing, unless she went out the window. Which, knowing Allison, is not really unlikely. Eight years gymnastics, his brain supplies. Stiles is not sure how he knows it, but he does.

Stiles goes over the window to see if she’s outside, when he doesn't see her anywhere he starts to worry. Maybe something happened while he was on the phone, maybe someone took her, maybe-

His mind stops when he hears fighting down the hallway, he gets right on time to see Allison reaching for an arrow before the oni runs a sword through her stomach. Stiles screams louder than he ever thought he could, running towards Allison as her body drops to the floor. When he reaches her, the oni is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, he’s back at Oak Creek, running through the tunnels with Lydia holding him up. They stop abruptly as the banshee screams for Allison. Not long after that, he blacks out. Later, he would wake up and ask for Allison but it was too late.

But not right now, right now it isn't. He could save her, he just needed to keep her alive long enough for Scott to arrive and turn her.

“I’m sorry, Allison. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over as he presses his hands down Allison’s stomach.

“It’s okay, Stiles… It’s gonna be okay.”

Of course Allison would be the one offering comfort because that’s just who she was. He wants to say something but he can’t stop sobbing his apologies to his friend.

“You have- you have to tell my dad, Stiles. You have to tell him,” she frantically repeats. He wants to ask what, that he’d do whatever she wants him to do but she’s no longer moving, her warm blood soaking his clothes, spreading slowly over the floor.

Stiles is trembling, his breathing shallow as he moves away from Allison’s body to lean against the wall. He failed his friend again, he let her die horribly while he watched. Stiles tries to take a deep breath, but the sobs trapped inside him won't allow the release. His vision blurs at the edges, his heart pounding loud in his ears, the shaking getting worse as the anxiety takes hold of him.

Get a fucking grip, Stiles, he berates himself as he attempts to fight the panic back but the harder he tries, the image of Allison’s limp body fills his mind, making him go over the attack again and again.

He startles when someone touches his shoulder. Making an effort to put himself together in front of whoever is there, he tries to stand up on his own, however a wave of nausea knocks him back to the ground where he pulls his knees close to his chest and curls in on himself with his back against the wall and his head resting on his arms. The best solution is to just wait it out, it will pass, they always pass.

But he can’t get a grip on reality because he killed Allison again, he killed his friend again, he killed her when he was the one who deserved to die. Stiles forces himself to take a deep breathe, wincing when a whimper leaves his mouth. He wants this panic attack to just go away so he can stop embarrassing himself. The person that touched him is there, probably staring at him, waiting in silence for him to come out of it. It’s probably Scott, he reasons, his dad mentioned sending him over, but it doesn't make him feel any better this time.

He wants to curl further in on himself, hide from Scott for the rest of time, that way Stiles won’t have to face him and tell him that he killed his first love again.

Slowly, his breathing starts to level and his heart rate becomes steady. Stiles takes a deeper breath before raising his head, running his finger through his sweat soaked hair. In front of him, Scott is examining him as thoroughly as he can from his position. He hears pacing somewhere in the house but doesn’t bother asking. Stiles struggles to a somewhat upright position, rushing towards the bathroom where he leans over the toilet and throws up. He’s still sobbing, snot running down his nose as he waits for the heaves to subside.

When he’s done, Stiles sits next to the toilet and winces as he notices his blood stained hands. He rushes over the sink and scrubs his hands clean with all the strength he can gather. He’s stopped by Scott’s hands over his.

“Hey, it’s okay, Stiles. It’s gonna be okay.”

He slumps over his friend, desperate sobs coming out of his mouth at hearing Allison’s words from Scott. His best friend just holds him until he’s spent, then takes him to his room and sits there with him until he falls asleep.

He dreams of Allison, this time smiling in her silver dress as Scott asks her to dance. Stiles dances with Lydia, and they discuss her Fields medal over a slow beat electronic song.

Derek is sitting in the balcony, taking advantage of the early morning light to sketch. He had been doing it more often lately, but tried to keep it away from Braeden and Cora. Derek isn’t sure why, but it feels like his sketchbook is for his eyes only, not that he is that good at it but right at this moment, he doesn’t want anyone to know what he is sketching. Or who, to be more specific.

In that exact moment, however, he hears Cora getting closer to the balcony. He closes the sketchpad and hides it by sitting on it. Really smart, Derek, he thinks as Cora opens the door and raises an eyebrow indicating that she knows exactly what he was doing.

“Why do you keep pretending I don’t know you’re sketching?” Cora asks, sitting down next to him.

“Why do you keep pretending I don’t know you’re looking at colleges?”

Cora doesn’t reply, just observes him for a few seconds before changing the subject. “Why aren’t you trying to convince Scott to turn Stiles?”

Derek tenses at the question. It’s been almost a week since Stiles got away on Lydia’s watch. That was the last time he saw any of them.

“Whatever Stiles wants, it’s not my place to intervene,” he replies trying for nonchalance. He knows it doesn’t work when his sister just raises her eyebrows.

Cora apparently decides that Stiles is not interesting enough and just sits in silence for a while. It doesn’t last long because his sister likes to prod and jab at any topic she finds. This time is Derek’s life choices.

“You know, we could go back to New York if you want. You could finish your master’s. We don’t need to stay here.”

When he doesn’t reply immediately, Cora keeps talking. “This place is so fucked up, Derek. Staying here is fucked up, and after all that’s happened to us here I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Derek knows that since Cora was just 12 at the time of the fire, she might not remember the same things that he does, how Beacon Hills was not only his family’s territory, but the place they had sworn to protect. Laura and him had a difficult time being away from Beacon Hills because the land called to them and they had wanted to come back more than it was reasonable for two people who lost everything here.

Three months before Laura came back to Beacon Hills, Laura brought up for the first time how they could come back, maybe get their place back. Derek hadn’t listened to her and took off before she could finish calling his name. He stayed away that night and Laura didn’t mention it when he came back.

It had taken almost a week of Laura’s not-so-subtle glances to get him to talk about it.

“We can’t stay here forever, Der. You hate New York, I hate New York. We should at least get out of this place soon.”

They lived in the highest floor of an old building on Hudson Square. Everywhere he looked there were buildings in the horizon. Derek would lie if he said he didn’t miss running through the woods, the sound of their footsteps as they ran together, the smell of the earth and the trees around them.

But if they went back, none of the things he missed would come back to him. His mother wouldn’t be home when he came back from school, Joseph wouldn’t be packing and unpacking everything he owned to move out with his girlfriend, Cora wouldn’t be painting in her room, growling whenever someone came closer to her room, not letting anyone look at her work when it was unfinished.

However, Laura had wanted to come back so bad, and she had found a reason when a rogue werewolf was messing around Beacon Hills. The next time he saw his sister it was to bury her in the family property she missed so much.

Now, Derek looks at Cora and knows that even if she wants to leave, she can feel it too, the pull of the earth, the land calling to them, almost begging them to stay. They might not be the pack they had been before the fire, but the Hale family had always defended this territory and they would keep doing it until there were no more Hales left.

Derek’s phone chimes in his pocket and Cora arches an eyebrow. Aren’t you gonna pick up? It seems to say. He takes it out and frowns when he sees Stiles’ name on the screen.

“Stiles?”

There’s no sound from the other side and Derek’s scowl deepens. Then he hears Stiles’ ragged breathing followed by a whimper.

“Stiles are you okay?”

“Derek” he sobs.

Derek is on his feet before he even thinks about it. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how I got here. I think I was sleepwalking.”

Everything in Derek freezes at that. He can remember the days Stiles was possessed by the nogitsune and this feels a little too similar for his own comfort.

“Stiles, I have to call your dad, I-”

“No! No, no, no, no. Derek, please don’t call my dad,” Stiles interrupts, his uneasiness evident in his shaking voice. “Just- Please promise me you won’t call him.”

“Stiles, I can’t-”

“Please, Derek,” the boy begs from the other side of the line. “Just come find me okay?”

Derek takes a deep breath and glances at Cora, who’s listening with frown.

“Tell me what you see. Street signs, buildings, anything.”

There’s a pause, but Derek can hear Stiles sniffing, probably looking around.

“Just- just buildings,” his voice falters. “I think I’m close to the First National Bank. I’m not sure, I’ve never been here before.”

“Stay right where you are, okay?” When Stiles agrees, he adds, “stay in the phone with Cora.”

“What?” he hears him say and tosses the phone to his sister, gesturing her to follow him. He listens to Cora talking to Stiles about Derek, apparently the only thing they have in common, and asking questions about Derek when she wasn’t around to see him. Stiles’ voice sounds less anxious as he describes their first meeting.

They get into the car and Derek races through the streets of Beacon Hills at warp speed. He knows Stiles is calming down by the way he’s cracking jokes at Cora, shamelessly flirting as he tells her something about Scott. Still, Derek can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong or that Stiles might be hurt and he is worried. God, he would have never imagined this two years ago.

When the First National Bank is on his sight, he slams on the brakes and the car comes to a halt with the loud screech of rubber against asphalt. Cora is glowering at him from the passenger seat. “Was that really necessary?,” she asks.

Probably not. “We’re going to track him by scent,” he says instead.

“I don’t have a scent on him,” his sister replies, as if this was the most obvious thing on the world.

“There’s a hoodie on the floor by the backseat,” Derek doesn’t remember how it got there, probably when he picked up Stiles from the side of the road a week ago.

Cora arches an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on it. On the phone, he hears Stiles saying so that’s where I left it. Derek gets out of the car and scents the air, when he doesn’t get a hold of Stiles he starts running to his right, thinking that it’s a direction as good as any.

Derek is already half a mile away from his starting point when he gets a hint of a trail, probably a few hours old. He starts following it through a labyrinth of narrow streets and dirty alleyways, wondering how Stiles got past some of the garbage cluttered in the small spaces. He notices the trail weakens at some points, to come back much stronger a few meters ahead. He realizes he’s moving in circles right after that.

Oh a hunch, Derek turns left instead of right on a street corner. Stiles’ scent gets stronger around there. His heart is pounding loud in chest, scared of what he might find. About a quarter of a mile in, he hears a steady heartbeat and sprints the few feet between him and the next street corner. Stiles is sitting on the curb less than four feet away.

Stiles, having heard him running stands up. Relief, overwhelming relief washes over him as he takes him in, seemingly unharmed and with a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, he beat you to it, Cora. You owe me twenty.”

Derek can hear Cora’s amused response but it doesn’t register. He only notices Stiles putting away the phone and walking in his direction. When he’s close enough, Derek gives him a once over, trying to assess any injuries. He starts to relax when he doesn’t find any, only to tense at Stiles’ next words.

“Are you liking the view?”

Derek purposefully ignores him. “Are you okay?”

He receives only an eyeroll as a reply.

They are silent during their walk back to the car, where Cora is already expecting for them. His sister and Stiles chat all the way to the Stilinski household about whatever they were talking before. Derek doesn’t pay much attention to them.

Stiles is back at his house in less than half an hour, thanking Derek for coming and not calling his dad. Derek pretends he’s just annoyed, not immensely relieved at seeing him alive, brushes it off and drives away, avoiding the knowing glances Cora is throwing in his direction.

* * *

During the afternoon, Malia finds her way to Derek’s loft and asks a million questions about Peter before the fire. Derek wasn’t sure how to reply first, but Cora started talking saying that he always had seemed a little off. At some point, the conversation drifts to Talia and Cora leaves, still refusing to talk about their mother.

Around ten, Malia goes home and Derek’s phone beeps with an incoming text message.

can i ask 4 a favor?, it reads.

When Derek doesn’t reply after a few minutes, his phone beeps again come on derek. just this once.

What do you want?

The phone chimes less than a minute later, can u keep watch tonight? make sure i don’t sleepwalk out of the county?

He doesn’t think before he sends Why don’t you ask Scott?

scott worries too much, says the text. Derek doesn’t reply.

He puts on a jacket, leaves a message on the desk and heads to Stiles’ place.

* * *

The last time Derek was in Stiles’ room, he smelled of anxiety and fear, his fingers had been constantly moving and he kept muttering under his breath. Derek hated the sight immediately. Now, Stiles is smiling softly at something on his computer screen and, besides the faint smell of meds, he smells happy.

Derek’s worry eases somewhat after that and he can breathe almost normally when Stiles looks at him and his smile becomes brighter, making his insides go warm. Derek tries to ignore it as he leans on the door frame watching Stiles turn off the computer and then get into his bed. Derek lingers there a moment longer than necessary, but eventually goes to a chair and grabs a book from Stiles’ desk. The old copy of Crime and Punishment looks as if it belongs in a museum, almost falling apart as Derek opens it up. He can feel Stiles’ gaze on him but he doesn’t look up.

“It’s starting to happen more often,” Stiles says, “it’s not really that I forget about stuff, like where I’m going or how I got there, it’s that I wasn’t paying attention in the first place. It’s like my ADHD became a hundred times worse without me noticing. I keep noticing after, after I got lost, after I’ve been chewing a pencil for half an hour without writing anything, after I’ve told my best friend to fuck off.”

Derek glances at Stiles, but he’s lying facing the ceiling, his right arm covering his face.

“It won’t be too long before I’m not Stiles anymore,” he whispers, so low that Derek would’ve miss it if he didn’t have enhanced hearing.

Derek’s chest tightens at the implications. It won’t be too long before Stiles is gone for good. And because he’s got a Master’s degree on denial, Derek pretends he’s not feeling his world balancing precariously at the mere idea of losing him. He tells himself that he would feel the same thing if Scott or Cora were dying, but deep inside he knows something is different when Stiles is the one in danger. Derek selfishly thinks that Stiles can’t die until he figures out what’s so important about him. Why he keeps doing the things he does only because Stiles is part of the equation.

Before dwelling on that thought, Derek says “we’ll never let that happen.”

Stiles’ arm moves from his face as he turns to look at Derek. A faint smile crosses his lips. “I suppose I have to stick around for a while. If only to reminisce the good old times when you hated my guts.”

Derek doesn’t reply to that. Instead, he starts reading, the next time he looks up to Stiles’ bed, he is drooling on his pillow and his heartbeat has the slow cadence of sleep.

Stiles stirs slowly, unsure of why he’s lying down and not slumped over his keyboard after staying up too late again. The bright sunlight that’s coming into the room makes him want to bury his head in the pillows and stay there for the foreseeable future, but then the strong smell of coffee hits him and he’s pretty sure he moans at the idea of getting a caffeine hit. Stiles hears a click on the window and the distinct thump of someone falling. He hurriedly scrambles to a sitting position and looks out of the window but doesn’t see anything suspicious. The only sign that something is out of order is the coffee mug placed on his bedside table, still hot to the touch, that someone left there.

His phone chimes with the sound of an incoming text and just a second later, his alarm goes off. When he turns it off, he finds a text from Derek. You drool a lot in your sleep, it says.

Stiles can’t help but smile knowing that Derek had been there all night. That is some hardcore Edward Cullen shit right there, but for once, he doesn't care. Not when he is still at his room, and on time, to face a new week. Which is in itself pretty ridiculous. That life goes on, that’s it. He has spent the last three weeks so caught up in been actually diagnosed with the disease that killed his mother, that he forgets that the average life expectancy of someone with frontotemporal dementia is five years after diagnosis. Five long years in which he can do whatever he wants, he can become whoever he decides, even if sometimes he doesn’t fully understand what is happening to him or how it will change him into someone new.

He sips the hot coffee on his night stand as he turns on his laptop. He picks his backpack from the floor, throwing inside his half finished homework, as idly the thought of skipping school crosses his mind, but it’s suddenly forgotten as he remembers that finishing high school is a more achievable goal for his life than, you know, ruling the world. Then, he takes a long, hot shower and is out to school before he can even think about breakfast.

He sees Liam leaning against a wall, rolling his eyes at something Scott is saying and parks in what has to be the best spot -thank God for senior parking privileges- he has gotten in his entire high school life.

“Yo, Scotty. Baby wolf,” he greets which gets a snort from Scott and a small growl from Liam. They chat about cross-country and the movie Scott watched last night, then Lydia and Malia join them for a while. Stiles gets a long kiss from Malia and gagging noises from Liam. He simply does not care.

He heads to his first class of the day, Government AP, which he shares with Lydia and Kira, who waves at him but sits at the back of the class, as far away from the teacher as she can get.

Stiles realizes about five minutes into the class that he can’t focus on his class as he’d like to. His mind wanders to what he could be doing somewhere else. He starts listing things before he can really notice. I could go down to Los Angeles and go to the beach, maybe even stay there for a while where people don’t know each other and don’t care about me at all. I could start painting, if I wanted. Try to learn something new before the disease leaves me a forgetful, drooling mess.

He starts writing down: the beach, Los Angeles, painting, learn to play a song in guitar, tell Scott and Lydia I’ll always love them- he stops. No sad endings. He draws a line across his last words. Stiles looks to the front of the class to get an idea of what is going on. He continues writing: MDMA, kissing (fucking?) a stranger, fucking in a car, driving trip, shitty motels, the Grand Canyon, Vegas, baby!, live somewhere far away, die-

He stops with a jolt, closing the notebook, as he hears the bell. Did he just spent his entire class daydreaming? It could happen. He doesn’t remember having taken his aderall in the morning. He hopes it’s not the other thing in his head.

Stiles goes to his next classes in a haze. By lunch, he can’t remember any of the classes he took. He sits at the lunch table mindlessly, barely noticing when his friends sit down with him. Malia squishes his shoulder softly when sitting down next to him. Usually he would find it endearing, right now, he just wants to be alone. He needs to get started with his list.

Scott tries to engage with him a few times, before giving up seeing as he was avoiding conversation at all. Malia tries it too but it’s no use. Stiles realizes that this is strange, he usually talks to his friends until someone interrupts him. He wonders if he can even speak at all.

Panic starts to swell on his belly, he feels his hands go clammy, his vision narrowing, his chest tighten. He feels a hand on his left shoulder. Somewhere in his head he knows he’s safe, but he can’t speak, he can’t get the words out, it’s almost as if his mind has forgotten speech and he is dying.

“Stiles, we’re here, you’re okay,” he hears faintly, as if he was far, far away.

“We should get him to the infirmary.”

“No, no, Stiles would rather we kill him first”

“We are going to the infirmary now,” the last one is a decided female voice, maybe Malia, maybe Lydia. Maybe someone else.

He is taken through hallways and a couple of doors. Stiles can’t figure out where he is, he feels dizzy, lost, detached from the whole experience. Next thing he knows, the school nurse is in front of him pointing a light at his eyes.

“I- I’m fi-ine,” he stutters. He knows that the school knows that he’s sick. Apparently his erratic actions mean he’s a “flight risk” and “important to keep watch on.” Stiles hates his dad for how overprotective he can get.

“Maybe we should call your dad, Stiles. Have him pick you up and you get the rest of the day to rest,” the nurse says.

“No, no, I’m okay. It was just-” his words can’t reach his mouth in time, so he just trails off.

“Are you sure, honey? It’s okay to have a sick day.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies. You know, like a liar.

He leaves the infirmary but instead of going to the Study Hall, he leaves school altogether. Once in his jeep his possibilities are endless. Well, as endless as they can be when all the money he’s carrying is a fifty. He downloads tinder once again and starts the car en route to the closest liquor store where they don’t know he’s the son of the sheriff, so a few miles out of town should do the trick.

Stiles drives almost mindlessly, checking his phone once in a while to see if he gets any matches. He just wants to be with someone who doesn’t know he’s dying and won’t pity him every time they talk. He detests the pitiful look he gets from his friends, his girlfriend, his dad, even Derek had it once.

He buys a bottle of vodka and sits down in front of the liquor store to take a few sips. He swipes right, right, right until he finally gets a match. It’s a beautiful girl with deep brown skin and her curly hair up in a ponytail. They talk for a while about where they’re from and how long have they been in California. She has been here two years. Stiles lies and says he just moved to California to start college in San Francisco. About then he drops the whole “I’m only staying here until tonight, do you wanna meet?” And she’s on board.

They arrange to meet in a club later in the day and Stiles wonders what he’ll do with the 6 hours he’s got until 9. He climbs into the jeep and drives to the woods to drink his hard-earned vodka. He uses his phone to play some music and he lays down with his bottle for a while. Alcohol slows him down and that’s useful when all his thoughts do is wander away from him. Stiles finishes the bottle just as twilight is setting in. He remembers his date and starts the walk to his car.

Too drunk to drive, he realizes all he can do is walk to the meeting he arranged. Walking drunk from the middle of nowhere to a club downtown is quite the feat, however, and Stiles gives up not too far away from his jeep. He gets a call from the girl he’s supposed to meet. Aubrey, she said her name was. Stiles slurs it back at her.

“Oh my god, are you drunk already? I thought we were meeting here at nine,” Aubrey says.

“Sorry, change of plans, Aubrey, I was feeling like shit and time got away from me,” he replies.

“It’s fine. If you still can get it up and feel like to, come to my place it’s on Oak and Maine.”

Stiles can’t believe that anyone would want to be with him after been stood up, but he agrees and goes back to his car. He knows, in the back of his mind, that he can’t drive like this, but his dick is taking the reins and has decided that Oak and Maine is his destination.

He arrives, thankfully in one piece, but sure that he broke the speed limit at least once, and that he crossed many red lights on a hunch. There seems to be nothing but street parking, and he does his best to park without hitting anyone.

Stiles glances at his phone and sees the missing calls from his dad and from the pack. He even sees Derek’s name a couple of times. He simply marks them as read and calls Aubrey.

“I’m ringing you in, the door’s by Oak,” she says simply.

The building is a small 3 floor complex, with an old and heavy front door that’s open when he gets to it. It closes firmy behind him. The drive here has sobered him up enough to remember Malia, sweet, beautiful Malia. But he doesn't have time to dwell on it as he hears his name being called up from the second floor.

He goes up and finds that Aubrey is a short-5’2 max- chubby black girl, with beautiful curly hair. She’s in a semi-transparent bathrobe.

“If I gotta be honest with you, I didn’t think you’d show. You’re lucky I like to drink wine half naked too. Come on in.”

Stiles is surprised by how beautiful the apartment is for someone who’s on an internship in a small town in California.

“Pretty nice place you’ve got,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, my parents help me pay it though. This may be Beacon Hills and not San Francisco, but it’s still California and I’m in an internship.”

Stiles is glad that for once he doesn’t have to be the one filling the awkward silences.

“Do you want something to drink? Smoke? Or do you wanna get right into it?” she says confidently. He could get right into it, he thinks, but maybe he should drink something to take the edge of it.

“Let’s smoke and drink something, what do you think?”

“You’ve read my mind, Stiles.”

He doesn’t remember when or if he gave her his name, but realizes that’s not really important. There’s a semi-nude beautiful girl currently rolling two joints who wants to have sex with him! This has to be a dream.

Stiles takes his jacket off and sits down on her sofa. A few minutes later, she joins him with a glass of whiskey for him and a joint. He gets the lighter from her, putting the joint between his lips and lights up. He has smoked before with Scott, but never had the Good Kush himself. He coughs up after the first puff.

“First time?,” she asks.

“With this quality stuff? Yeah. A friend and I used to smoke in the woods sometimes.”

“Ahh, I see. The teenager rebellion part?” she asks. He dizzily remembers he told her he was 20. Aubrey takes big hits from her joint, maybe she’s nervous or she has a tolerance so high, that this is the only way she knows to smoke. Stiles tries to follow her rhythm, matching her puffs and elegant, o-ringed exhales. They smoke mostly in silence, with small remarks thrown in there for good measure. It seems to last forever, or so thinks Stiles, as time stretches before him, each second eternal.

At some point, the weed up in smoke and their glasses empty, Aubrey gets closer to him, untying her robe so that Stiles can get the full view of her pink-laced back bra. She puts a hand on his leg and without thinking any further, he leans down and catches her lips in a kiss.

After that, something seems to unleash from him, his hands find her breasts and her legs, and then she’s straddling his hips, giving Stiles access to her ass and her back. He thinks it’s the weed, but he's never been with someone whose skin was so soft, every curve of her body feels like butter, smooth and delicate. For a second the thought passes his mind that he could hurt her easily. But it goes away as fast as it comes.

She’s kissing his neck and lifting his shirt up, so he helps her out. Soon she’s touching his chest and peppering kisses on his shoulders. He feels his erection strain under his clothes. She stops kissing him for a bit, looks at him directly in the eyes and says “let’s take this to the bed, shall we?” She stands up and grabs his hand, making him follow to the big, lush bed that occupies the center of her room. Aubrey then stands in front of him and unbuttons his pants. Stiles’ mind goes to Malia one last time. Sex with a stranger, he thinks, check.

She goes to her knees and looks up “is this okay?”

“Yes, a thousand times yes.”

Smiling, she takes him into her mouth. Her soft lips and wet mouth doing wonders for him. He realizes he no longer feels guilt as Aubrey takes charge again and pushes him into the bed.

“I’m gonna make you remember Beacon Hills forever, Stiles,” she says, unbuttoning her bra and ditching her undies. Not long after that she’s riding him. She feels heavy on top of him, in a way that brings him back down a little from his high. She’s so beautiful, so soft, so much. Stiles knows he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve Malia either. However, he can’t linger on those thoughts as another girl moans on top of him.

“I’m tired of this position, let’s switch,” she says, apparently aware that his mind is wandering.

Aubrey gets on her hands and knees, and looks at Stiles still lying down. “I could do it myself, but I chose you to.”

Stiles laughs and gets on the bed, entering her from behind. Her moans are louder in this position. Stiles uses one hand for balance and with the other one, he touches her everywhere: her back, her thighs, her belly. Then bending over, he touches her clit with his two fingers in circular motion until she lets a little yelp. He’s not sure if she’s there yet, but he is, so he thrusts hard until he comes. Waves of pleasure riding his entire body. He looses the grip he had on her ass and gets out of her, sliding the condom off as he does.

He sloppily lies next to her.

“Did you come?,” he asks.

“I did but I psyched myself out of enjoying it more,” Aubrey replies

“Was it something I did?”

“Nah, fat girl problems,” she shrugs, “you wouldn’t know, underwear model.”

Stiles laughs out loud “yeah, underwear model in your dreams, probably.”

They both laugh lifting some of the awkwardness of the moment.

“Would you mind spending the night?,” Aubrey asks shyly.

Stiles thinks to his father and friends looking for him.

“I got nowhere else to be,” he says.

They smoke again and lie in their underwear sharing stories made up by his brain in a fog. He’ll never see her again anyways.

She starts to yawn at some point and Stiles suggests sleeping in the couch.

“You came all the way here, just sleep, dummy.”

She falls asleep quickly after that. Stiles can’t sleep. He doesn’t want to wake up haunted by night terrors and nightmares, so he just chills for a while until he gets cold. He goes through the room looking for his clothes and gets dressed. He steals some of the weed she has in a jar and puts it in his pocket.

He finds the control to open the door downstairs next to a light switch by the door. He lets himself out and drives back to his place, a lot more sober than he was when he came downtown. 30.000 people live in Beacon Hills, it’s very unlikely that he’ll ever run into Aubrey again, but he hopes that maybe they will and laugh at the encounter they had. Maybe share another joint. I’d share a joint with Isaac if he ever came back. I’ll add that to the list. Along with scuba diving and a hike of the woods to find the best spot to get high. Scott and I going on a cross-country drive. If we have time.

Stiles’ brain gets back to reality when he sees the lights of a police car lit up outside his house. He parks the car as straight as he can and gets out shakily. He hears his father yell something along the lines of “where the hell have you been?” but he barely notices as Malia is by his side as soon as he leaves the car.

“What the fuck Stiles? We’ve been calling for hours, looking for you and you-” She stops talking, probably catching the scent of someone else on him.

Before she can say anything, he says “look, it was a mistake, it’s never gonna happen again. I was drunk and then high and I needed -”

“Someone to fuck? How could you? Did you think I wouldn’t know? That I couldn’t smell her as soon as you were here? Disgusting,” she sounds hurt like he’s never heard her before.

“It won’t happen again-” he starts saying again.

Malia’s eyes turn blue.

“No it won’t.”

She leaves running, at a speed barely human, lost to Stiles’ vision almost immediately.

He gets to where his dad is, frozen in the spot.

“Dad-” he begins.

“Tomorrow, kid. Now you sleep it off, tomorrow I’ll let you know for how long you’re grounded.”

Stiles goes to his room bouncing a bit. He grabs a towel and heads for the shower. After a long, warm shower, he feels like himself again. Aubrey hidden in a corner of his mind forever. When he enters his room again, Derek is there.

“Are you gonna be a pain in the ass as well or…?” he trails off.

“I came to see if you’re ok.”

“I am. I’d like to sleep now,” he replies.

“Last night you asked me to keep watch,” Derek says.

“I know, but- I feel gross right now. I did something bad.”

“You cheated on Malia.”

“How did-?”

Derek doesn’t let him finish.

“You still smell of her,” his face does something weird that can’t be jealousy because this is Derek and he’s a super model werewolf whose girlfriend is probably a goddess, he doesn’t know. "And weed.”

“I’m not up for a lecture right now. So you either stay silent or you leave.”

Stiles expects him to leave, but instead, Derek closes the door and goes to the same chair where he spent last night. He takes out a book from his jacket and reads.

Stiles turns the light off and lands face first on his bed. He rearranges his limbs and before he knows it, he’s asleep.

The night that Stiles disappeared was one of the most terrifying nights in Derek's life. He couldn’t quite place why, but he feels a connection to Stiles that can’t be explained by supernatural forces or familial bonds. He doesn’t wanna dig too deep in it though, the confusion he used to feel around him can’t come back. He likes their friendship, simple and to the point.

They develop a routine in the next few weeks: Stiles will text when he needs someone to keep watch and Derek will go there with a book and read as Stiles falls asleep. Sometimes they’ll chat about his day at school and Derek will be reminded that he ran away from school to get high with some random stranger and it stings. They don’t talk about Stiles’ illness and sometimes Derek pretends it’s not there. He doesn’t get a break so often though, because Stiles’ changes in personality are starting to be evident: his newfound smoking habit, his unusual sexual behavior, his obsession with reading everything he gets his hands on but only until page 25, how less talkative he is. Scott didn’t say how bad the disease was when they first talked about it, but Derek has noticed.

He’s at the loft, in bed, drawing a face he’s seen a thousand times but that he might never see again if things continue down this path. The shadows under his eyes are not new, he remembers them from the time of the nogitsune. He shudders at the thought.

Braeden left early in the morning to see if the job tip had panned out. Derek didn’t ask what job, he knew that she was a mercenary above all else and that she took jobs sometimes to help with the spending. Derek was still living out of the insurance from his family’s death. It makes him feel dirty, but what else was he gonna do with an English major? He could teach but first he’d have to go back to school and he doesn’t think he can leave the city at this time. Not with Stiles-

He stops that train of thought as Cora enters the room.

“Sketching in secret again?,” she asks, noticing his sketching notebook is still open. He closes it before Cora can reach the bed and see Stiles’ profile.

“You know you can drop the act of the secret tortured artist and just be an artist? Or do you have other life plans you’re not sharing?”

“This sketchbook is different. It’s personal,” Derek replies. He flips a few pages at the beginning and shows it to Cora.

“Mum?” The word comes out small, hesitant and wavering, like she can’t believe this was her mother.

“Yeah, I’ve got a couple more of the family in there. Helps me remember so yeah…” Derek trails off, looking at his sister that looks shaken to the core.

“I have a hard time remembering everyone. I was twelve,” she supplies, as if he didn’t know. Derek lets her go through a couple more sketches he has on the house, Laura, their dad, Aunt Emma and her son Matt. Cora is in tears by the time she sees a sketch of Laura that was clearly from their time in NYC, dressed as a waitress from a small diner and smiling. “Was this a photo?”

“Yeah, it was, but I lost it when I came to California looking for her.” After a short pause he adds, “I miss her a lot.”

“Me too. There isn’t a day I don’t think about everyone and how they’d be doing today,” Cora replies.

There’s a moment of silence where they just bask in the melancholic feelings that their family brings. Cora turns a page and sees a sketch of Stiles and Scott.

“Missed them too?,” she asks.

“Well, they were there for me when no one else was. Even when they thought I was a murder suspect.” Derek smiles fondly. In the next page she finds a sketch of Stiles alone, smiling. It must be a year old, before his illness took hold, or about the time it was just starting. He remembers that he saw Stiles one day drop at his house and just ask him to get high with him. Derek smoked about twice as much what Stiles smoked to get high, and it had been fun. He remembers Stiles laughing unembarrassed, careless, and free. His eyes bright and honest. He looked beautiful that day.

“Pining, much?” Cora asks.

“What? No way.” He takes the sketchbook from the hands of her sister before she sees his latest work, another one depicting Stiles.

“Ok, sure, whatever you say, Derek,” she smiles knowingly, anyway.

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your college entrance exams? Deciding what you’ll major in?” Derek asks, changing the topic.

“Oh, I know what I’m gonna major in already. Administration or something. I’ll open a bar in this shithole town so I don’t have to be away from my brother too long.”

“Oh yeah? Not mixology?”

“Haha, very funny, Derek.”

At that precise moment, Braeden decides to come back with a loud bang to the front door.

She struts inside and leaves a bag in the table by the entry.

“Let’s rebuilt the house in the woods, please, I can’t stand the metallic sound in here.” She says and winks at Derek, nodding in the direction of his sketchbook. Derek remembers the sketches of the house in his notebook. Cora maybe had peaked before.

Braeden gets to the bed and just nods in their direction. She seems colder than usual, but Derek tells himself it’s just the way she is sometimes. She jumps into bed with them. Cora stands up not half a second later

“What are we looking at?”

Derek hides the sketchbook under a pillow.

“Nothing, we were just talking about family. The house. Rebuilding plans,” he replies.

Braeden doesn’t look convinced but drops it.

“Let’s order take out for lunch today. I’m in the mood for kung pao chicken. What do you say?” she gets up from the bed excitedly.

He internally thanks her for not prying and follows her as she goes into the kitchen.

****

“So I know we don’t usually do this but could you come over to my place?” Stiles blurts before he can even say hello.

“How is it unusual? I go there like two nights a week? And hello to you too,” replies.

“No, I don’t want you keeping watch, I want you to help me figure something else. It can’t be Scott because he’ll cry. Fortunately I know a sour wolf whose face is out of marble that can probably stand it. Do you wanna be here in 15 or has your curiosity not yet peaked?”

Stiles’ thoughts are apparently running away from him. He could use the supervision, he tells himself. Honestly, he wants to spends time with Stiles, he’s fun to be around.

“Ok, I’ll help you. What is it?”

“Uh, uh, not until you get here. You’ll see.”

He hangs up before he can say much.

“Everything alright, Derek?” Braeden asks.

“Stiles needs my help with something,” he says, “didn’t say what though, so I’m guessing he’s making it up and needs help. I’ll go check it out anyway.”

She nods.

“I’ll be out two weeks, max. I got a job in San Francisco,” says Braeden rushing through everything so fast that he doesn’t get to react immediately.

“Two weeks?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, it’s usual in these kinds of jobs,” she’s already packing a bag that looks bigger than what he expected.

“Are we breaking up?” He asks.

“Why would we, I’m only out of town two weeks. We’ll be ok, sweetie”

She never calls him that.

“Did something come up with the Desert Wolf?”

Braeden tenses up.

“Maybe,” she lies, her heartbeat jumping slightly with the words.

“You’ll keep me posted if something comes up?” Derek asks.

“Sure,” she lies again.

Derek picks up his keys and his wallet. He picks up his sketchpad as an afterthought.

“See you, then,” he tells Braeden as he leaves the apartment.

It goes unanswered by her.

****

Derek is greeted by Scott when he arrives at Stiles’ place.

“He’s so wired on this thing, it’s insane, dude” he says waving him inside.

Derek looks around. No sheriff in sight. Maybe it’s drugs? He thinks.

When he goes up to Stiles’ room, he smells spray paint and newspaper before he even hears Stiles singing out of tune to a melancholic song.

“Are you leaving?” he asks Scott, half turning around to hear him better from his place at the stairs.

“I have to work in like 20 minutes. His dad is supposed to come home at ten,” Scott replies.

After that, he’s out the door.

He makes his way to Stiles’ room as he yells now everybody’s dead! then slurs quietly and they’re driving past my old school.

The first thing he notices is that his furniture is half outside of the room, his bed turned up to a corner. The closet blocked by part of the mattress. His desk is up against another wall. Stiles is to the right wall, painting it with bright yellow paint.

“This is what you wanted help with?”

“Mmm kinda… This is the excuse so nobody asks about what we did today- Oops I was not supposed to say that yet but…” he trails off, pauses for a second and restarts with “You will make something with the spray once the wall’s dried up.”

Derek takes at look at the wall. Save for the space that Stiles is painting, there’s no other part that needs his help.

“And how do I fit into this?” he asks.

“Now you just stand there looking pretty and help me with my list.”

“Your what?” Derek says.

“My I’m-gonna-die list. My I-don’t-wanna-die-before-I-do-this list.”

Derek is rushing to say you’re not gonna die, Stiles but he’s stopped by Stiles saying “Let a dying man have a dying wish.”

“Why are you so keen on saying you’re gonna die? Like you didn’t say himself you have 7 years on average, etc,” bites Derek.

“On average. Could be less,” Stiles deadpans.

“Anyway, these are some of the things I already have on the list: the beach, Los Angeles, painting, learn to play a song in guitar-” he pauses for a second, as if he doesn’t recall the rest. “I’m gonna need to write them down before it goes down the drain. Get a pen Derek, we’ve got things to brainstorm,” he says, as bright as the yellow paint that covers the walls. Derek finds he likes the color.

He’s glad he left the sketchbook in his car, otherwise it would also be covered in yellow paint by now. Stiles turns around with the paint tray, looking messy in pajama bottoms and a shirt that is now covered in yellow. Even his hair’s got some of the paint. Stiles searches with his eyes over the room and points “there, grab that notebook. There’s a pen somewhere on the desk.”

Derek just accepts that interactions with Stiles are never straight-forward. He picks up the notebook and a pen and starts writing what he remembers: the beach, Los Angeles, painting.

“What came after painting?”

“After what? I’m painting this room, you’re taking notes.”

“Stiles, I’m talking about the list you wanna write.”

“Oh”

“What’s after painting?” he asks softly this time. Stiles hasn’t stopped painting the same spot in the room for the last few seconds.

“The guitar,” he says, eyes far away.

“Scott could teach you, couldn’t he?” Derek asks.

“Scott has only ever played Wonderwall. I want to learn something else. Something I found on the internet the other day. I’d show you but my hands are soaked in paint. MDMA is next on the list, then fucking in a car. I’ll be right back.”

Stiles goes out of the room to clean himself. Derek writes down what Stiles had said, barely stumbling over fucking in a car. Who does Stiles want to fuck in a car with? Malia? I thought they were done, Derek thinks. Maybe some stranger like last time.

Something akin to jealously sparks in him.

Jealousy? For Stiles?, he thinks. He’s attractive but he’s a friend. Uh oh, attractive? Where did that come from.

Stiles interrupts his train of thought, thankfully, by coming back to the room.

“I want a road trip with the whole gang. I’m convincing Lydia somehow. Shitty motels and all or it wouldn’t be a road trip.”

Derek writes that down. Stiles has a far away look on his face now, he’s gazing out the window io the setting sun.

“I wanna go to Vegas, the Grand Canyon, maybe dream big and say Amsterdam, right?” Stiles comes back to himself and looks at Derek. “And I wanna make out with all of my friends. Scott and Lydia are already ahead.”

“Do you have any other friends?” he asks, dreading the question already.

“You,” he murmurs.

Derek hears him but wants to give Stiles room to back out of it if he doesn’t meaning it. When he looks up from the list, Stiles’ eyes are on him. He can’t guess what he’s seeing on him but doesn’t wanna break the moment asking about it. Stiles sighs and says “we can scratch making a fool of myself off the list.”

The air is lighter already. He loves that about Stiles. Even when he thinks he’s the most awkward of them all, he can let things go easily and changes topics like nothing just happened. If Stiles could hear his heartbeat, it would be an entire different story.

Stiles is having a cigarette for breakfast, the waffles his father left him on the kitchen table have gone cold and soggy by now. Usually his father waits until he’s gone to school to leave for work. Not this once, though, something about mysterious fires downtown. Stiles didn’t pay much attention. Besides he has a doctor appointment at 10 and he would’ve had to leave early from school anyway.

Stiles decides to spend the time reading this new book he found about conjoined twins. He’s almost at the end, page 25 coming closer and closer with every word he reads. Stiles doesn’t know why the 25 page rule started, it just feels set in stone now. He thinks it’s probably because the ending is an open as he can hope. Everything can happen as long as he doesn’t finish the book. Characters could die or change forever, or maybe, they get to live a full life.

You could finish your book now if you wanted, a voice in his mind says. You could take some pills, draw himself a bath and slice your veins and no one would save you because no one would know.

He could put an end to this.

The sound of his phone startles him. A text from Scott.

Where are u? It reads.

doc appmnt @ 10, I’ll see @ lunch, he replies. He'll have to ask for a Doctor’s note because the office only knew he was missing two periods, not half the day.

He thinks of smoking weed to pass the time, but he’s all out, so he settles in front of the TV watching mind-numbingly boring morning shows and smoking his cigarettes.

By the time 9:30 comes in, he has smoked all of his cigarettes and his throat is hoarse. Stiles goes to his room to change his clothes quickly. He gets a glimpse of himself from the mirror and he almost doesn’t recognize the face that stares back at him. He’s becoming leaner but not in a good way. His eyes seem sunken and are surrounded by a darkness he remembers from the time of the nogitsune. But this is all him. His shaky hands, his circles under the eyes, his messy hair, his bad posture.

He grabs the bottle of aderall on his desk and chugs about four of them. He puts the bottle on his pocket at the same time he grabs his wallet and keys with his left hand.

The drive to the hospital is short and he’s there at the entrance desk with 10 minutes to spare. He’s given directions he has probably heard a hundred times already and goes to the neurology department. Another desk greets him where he drops his ID and he's told to sign a consent form. He reads MRI on the list and shudders. He shouldn’t have taken so many pills, he’s never gonna hear the end about it from his father.

The lady at the desk asks if he’s got any known illnesses and Stiles starts laughing. First just a snicker, but then a full blown laugh that startles the receptionist.

“I have ADHD and Frontotemporal Dementia. I take aderall and should be on antidepressants according to my psychiatrist but we’re not doing it ‘cause I’m on medical trials, you know, one of the perks of being some of the younger patients who have ever developed FTD.” The receptionist gets that look in her eyes that comes right about when they will feel sorry, so he interrupts. “Can we get to the part where you tell me to sit down and wait for Dr. Davis? I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

She just hands him a form to fill out saying “just fill this out and we’re good to go.”

Stiles does as she says and then sits on the closest chair. It turns out to be most uncomfortable one since one of the legs is too short and he keeps balancing in the chair, getting irritated by the second. Stiles also happens to notice the pattern on the floor is uneven near his chair, which makes him think the chair is perched on top of a higher place than the rest of the floor. If he falls, he’ll fall for a long time before reaching the bottom. You won’t fall, his mind supplies. The chair is on the floor, you’re not floating anywhere.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Allison asks. It comes from the other side of the room. He can not see her yet but she’s about to come into his view. Stiles concentrates looking at the floor, following the uneven zig zag pattern of the light blue tiles.

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Why are you avoiding me?”

Her voice sounds slightly off-key. He’s making it up then, Allison can’t be there.

“Stiles,” she says with a sigh, coming closer. He’s covering his head with both arms, balancing with the chair. She’s not there, she’s not there.

He is startled by someone touching his arm. Stiles lets out a frightened scream and scrambles out of the chair and onto the floor.

The receptionist rushes to help him up. “I’m sorry to startle you. The Doctor just called out your name.”

Stiles gets up on his own, not trusting her for a second. But she’s got no reason to be trying to hurt him. He thanks her anyway when standing up, following her to Dr. Davis’ office.

“Hello, Stiles, how are you doing?” he asks

“I just had a very, very vivid hallucination but other than that, I’m doing great, thanks for asking,” he hurriedly replies.

“Have you gone to your psychiatric appointments, Stiles?”

He responds sitting down in the chair in front of the doctor, mumbling “I’m fine.”

“Except you’re not. I’ve scheduled you an MRI because your father talked to me about how you’re doing. I’ll see you again after that.”

He calls someone using the while phone in his desk. Stiles knew his father called ahead, he always does, even when he comes with him. It still stings of betrayal for some reason.

An orderly enters the room and calls him by his real name, apparently some who has never seen him before. She takes him from Dr. Davies’ office to the MRI room in the 4th floor.

“It’s just a quick 20 minute scan, you’ll be fine.”

She’s too positive for his liking. He hates her already. Stiles follows her a bit behind, and when they enter the room, Stiles sees Allison standing next to the machine.

“I’m gonna need all your electronics, rings, earrings, any metal accessory really,” she lists off. “Here you can stripe off your clothes and wear one of the robes. They’re tied in the back, please don’t come out of there wearing it backwards.”

Stiles follow the instructions as fast as he can, but he can’t stop seeing Allison at the other side of the screen where he currently is. He’s putting the robe on and for a second his mind goes what if I wear it backwards? But he realizes how absurd it would be. He hesitates a second longer but ends up putting the robe the right way.

He goes to the machine where the nurse and Allison are waiting for him.

“I need to inject you this, it won’t hurt but a bit,” the nurse says, prepping his arm.

Allison is there touching his hand in a calming manner, reassuring him after the sting of the needle pierces his skin.

Once the nurse is ready, she tells him ”Now just wait until the technician helps you to the bed.”

The former orderly comes in and helps position him in the machine. Earplugs, neck pillow, alarm in case anything goes wrong.

Then he’s alone, thinking if Allison is a real ghost or not. Could she be though? If ghosts exist then is that what I’m gonna become? Or is that only reserved for people like Allison who died violently? Or those who haven’t killed anyone like I have? It was the nogitsune, he thinks. But it was because of me. Anyway Allison can’t be here and that’s the end of it.

His mind wanders then to other more important mysteries like why Derek’s still in town. Will he stay for real this time? Maybe he will and Stiles will have enough time to get his hopes up before he dies. It would be a blessing though, to have him stay and maybe he could have a chance. To do what? His mind asks. If I’m being honest I only want him to exist in the same plane of existence as me for once.

He remembers how yesterday he asked Derek to kiss him. He didn’t seem offended, just taken by surprise. Do you have any other friends? He asked. You, Stiles replied boldly. He had wanted to kiss him so badly. Not even for the list, he just wanted to know if what he had been curious about during Derek’s months away was true. Stiles wanted to know if Derek’s lips were as soft as he imagined. If his hand would prickle while holding his face covered in stubble. If Derek would respond to his kiss.

He mentally added to the list I wanna kiss Derek.

A sound from the machine startles him and he realizes someone is coming over. They slide him out and he’s greeted by the same technician from before.

“We’re ready. Now you just have to wait for us to process it. It won’t be long since the Doctor said he needs the results soon. So just go back to the waiting room and well… wait.”

Stiles goes back behind the screen and gets dressed. He thinks back to the day he was first diagnosed and Scott’s face. He had never seen such a sad face. That night they went to the preserve to get high.

He leaves the MRI room and goes back to the waiting room, now free of Allison’s presence. He thinks back to that night with Scott.

“We’re still gonna make that road trip the summer before college, dude. You just wait and see, we’ll see so many places.” He said, adding “we’ll have the time of our lives.”

Stiles had changed the subject “I wonder what is it like to kiss someone other than Lydia and Caitlin.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we kissed?” Stiles asked, taking a big hit of the joint he and Scott were sharing.

“I don’t know. We’ve never done that. Do you want to?”

“Do you want to?” says Stiles.

“I don’t know, maybe?”

“I want to know what’s it’s like,” says Stiles.

Scott sits up from where he’s reclining on a tree. Stiles stands up straighter, takes another hit and passes the joint to Scott. Scott takes a puff and comes closer to Stiles. It’s Stiles who finally closes the distance between the two of them and kisses him.

It a soft, innocent kiss, sweet and short. Stiles thinks to himself that Scott’s kisses are exactly like Scott is under all that alpha bullshit. Soft and innocent. He didn't know what he was getting into. It’s Stiles who breaks the kiss as well.

“Was it good?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, we’re just not made for each other, Scott.”

They laugh.

Stiles remembers that laugh so well. It was about the last time they had a normal chat. Why are they fighting so much? He likes Scott. He’s his best friend, the one he always goes to after something happens.

“Stiles Stilinski,” he gets called by the receptionist, “Dr. Davis will see you now.”

Stiles goes back to the office he first came into. Dr. Davis is with another doctor, looking at some images in the screen. Stiles guesses it’s his.

They keep talking until Stiles is next to the chairs. The unknown doctor just nods at Dr. Davis and leaves the room.

“Well, it would’ve been a lot better if you didn't come alone to this appointment,” he starts.

“I’m 18, I am legally an adult since February 9th. I am entitled to be informed about my illness,” he tries to not sound as scared as he is. Because right now, scared shitless doesn’t begin to cover it.

“Well we don’t have good news Stiles. We’re seeing shrinking of the frontal and temporal lobes at an unprecedented pace. The cases of FTD in young people are scarce as you know. You are the first under 21 patient in the clinical literature, so it’s a lot harder to predict. In your case it’s about 40% faster than the normal progression. I hate to ask again but did you have any neurological events during the last 3 years that could’ve set off something like that?” he pauses. Does demonic possession work for you doc?, he thinks. “Anything you can remember would be very useful to us and to you. I’ll speak to your psychiatrist as well and review this together with other specialists but the picture is looking pretty grim.”

The doctor then goes on to tell him that he could lose autonomy is about 2 years, maybe less. They can’t guess when he’s going to die but they think that the deterioration in his brain has reached a point of no return, where it could all go down hill pretty fast. He tells him to prepare for difficulty speaking, memory loss, and more episodes of unusual behavior. “In later stages, patients develop movement disorders such as unsteadiness, rigidity, slowness, twitches, muscle weakness or difficulty swallowing.” Stiles lets out a half a laugh at the last one.

“Anything else, doc? Or am I cleared to go start dying?” Stiles asks.

“We can help you, Stiles. We can make this as comfortable as you wish, but you have to cooperate and follow instructions. We said no more drugs remember? And your dad says he’s been finding more and more. You need to commit to getting better.”

“There’s not getting better for me though.” A pause. “I don’t want you to disclose this information to anyone else, especially not my Dad. I have a right to privacy between my doctor and I and I’m invoking it.”

Stiles leaves the office after that, feeling lightheaded. He gets into his jeep and drives home.

He can’t even think straight. His time is running out. He drives recklessly, getting a few honks here and there. A haze has settled over his thoughts and it’s obscuring the details form his visit to the doctor.

When he parks outside his house, he sees Scott in the steps waiting for him.

Stiles takes a second to breathe in and then out slowly. It’s not a good time for a panic attack.

He gets out of the car.

“What are you doing here, Scott?”

“I knew you wouldn’t go back to school after your doctor’s appointment.” He says by way of greeting.

Stiles gets his house keys

“Are you here to find out what he told me?” he says opening the door and going inside. Scott follows.

“I wanna know if you’re ok” Scott says.

“I’m fine,” Stiles bites. He doesn’t wanna do this now or ever, so the decision is an easy one: he won’t tell anyone how serious it is. He’ll just pretend that everything is fine and then run away when things get ugly.

Scott follows him through the house, making it to the kitchen. Stiles opens the refrigerator to stall. He decides he wants a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. He takes the pickles and the peanut buter out of the fridge. Stiles then gets the sliced bread from the counter and starts putting peanut butter in the halves. His mind wanders a bit into why peanut butter is considered a butter.

“Stiles,” Scott calls, “please say something.”

“Look he said everything's stable. Not that it’s any good when you’ve got an average of 8 years from the onset of the illness.”

“Average doesn’t mean you can’t live more. Some people make it to their 80s!” Scott tells him enthusiastically.

“That person was diagnosed well into their 70s, Scott. Not the same deal here.”

“Stiles, we’ll help you. You’ll get better. There’s gotta be something magic we can do about it.”

“No bite, Scott.”

“But-”

“No bite. End of story.”

“Fine, but if you just listened-”

“Scott, get out! Get out of my house. I wanna be alone.”

Scott slumps a bit, but doesn’t seem to take offense on what Stiles says. Maybe he’s becoming someone who yells at his friends for no reason.

“Well, call me if you need to. I’ll go home,” Scott says.

Stiles can’t look at his friend in the eyes.

He realizes he needs to get out tonight. Nothing will stop him from getting drunk and meeting a stranger today. He goes into the shower thinking of his fake ID and whether or not he would get to use it today.

Once out of the shower, Stiles gets into a pair of tight pants, a green t-shirt and a flannel. His mind flashes briefly to Derek and what he could be doing now. It easily returns to drugs when he gets a text from his dealer telling him he’ll meet him in 15.

This time Stiles doesn’t know what he is getting into, so when the dealer gives him 2 pineapple-shaped pills, he accepts them and gives him the money.

“Drink them with a lot of water,” he says before getting back on his bike and leaving Stiles alone in the parking lot.

He takes them both at once. He wonders if he should be feeling something immediately and quickly googles MDMA onset time.

20 to 30 minutes.

Shit.

He didn’t prepare for this at all. He drives home because he doesn’t know what else to do. He goes into his room feeling anxious. He sits down on his chair and puts his head in his arms.

Who do I call? Scott will probably be pissed. Lydia's still at school.

He dials the only person he knows that isn’t doing much probably.

After two rings he answers, “Stiles?”

“Derek can you come over?

Derek was on his computer doing research on a contractor, even though he had a feeling he found the one. He was looking at his portafolio online and was marveled at the houses he'd seen already. The contractor was from San Francisco, but he thought it was worth the extra money to have his vision embodied.

His phone rings at that moment. Stiles, reads his screen. He hesitates a second too long but still picks up on a hunch.

“Stiles?”

“Derek, can you come over?”

“What happened?” he asks, closing his notebook and getting up.

“I took some pills but I didn’t exactly think this through”

“What did you take?” Derek’s mind inevitably goes to Stiles on the floor, foaming at the mouth. But Derek’s exaggerating, Stiles is well enough to call.

“2 hits of MDMA. Want me to hook you up? You could come over and we could hang.”

Stiles doesn’t say it, but he sounds scared.

“I’m coming over.”

Derek hangs up, grabs his keys and wallet and leaves his apartment hastily.

By the time he’s at Stiles’ place, everything looks normal from outside. Nothing that indicates Stiles is okay or not. He bangs the door three times, but he’s prepared to break it if necessary.

When he’s about to knock again, Stiles opens the door smiling too much.

“Derek, we have to get you some of this. This is like, like a shot of inspiration. I can feel the light telling me to go touch it.”

Stiles moves aside to let Derek in, nothing seems to be happening inside the house, except for Stiles. His eyes look blown and he looks sweaty. That’s when he notices Stiles also smells of anxiety and his heart is beating too quickly.

“Come to my room, there’s weed if you wanna feel like the king of the world,” he extends his hand to Derek and for a second Derek doesn’t know what to do. Is he supposed to act normal like this isn’t a small victory for him? Derek’s thoughts also supply that Stiles is young, too young maybe, to ever have something happen. His thoughts are interrupted by Stiles who just takes his hand and leads him to the room, talking excitedly.

“We’ll have our own rave. Here in this room. I’ll choose the music and you’ll get high with me and we won’t talk about anything. We’ll just dance.”

Stiles goes to his desk letting go of Derek’s hand. Derek flexes his hand a couple of times like he was just disconnected from an electric current that coursed right through him. He doesn’t have time to deal with it because Stiles is already playing music from his computer. Some upbeat EDM about sinking teeth into flesh and Derek is not ready for that.

Stiles starts moving rhythmically but not quite to the beat of the song, looking elated. The music gets faster and Derek can feel his body moving involuntarily to try to match Stiles’ rhythm. Right at this moment, Derek would do absolutely anything to get infinite time to dance to this song, Stiles getting closer to him, one of his hands touching his arm suggestively. But Stiles is not on his right mind and Derek’s supposed to be looking out for him.

Derek takes a step back, then another. Stiles seems not to notice immediately, eyes closed, humming slightly. This is a test on Derek’s strength. Stiles keeps dancing seamlessly to the following song, involving his arms a lot more in his dancing. Derek laughs seeing Stiles' efforts to melt with the music.

Stiles opens his arms and yells “I’m literally never gonna die. Suck it Dr. Davis”

Derek frowns at this. Today was Stiles’ doctor appointment. Maybe he got bad news?

“Stiles, did something happen with Dr. Davis?” he asks.

Stiles doesn’t even notice. He keeps dancing, arms open and face turned up to the ceiling. He’s spinning around too, so Derek gives him 5 minutes or less until Stiles is too dizzy and needs to stop.

“I’ll go get you some water,” he says

Derek goes down to the kitchen and takes a moment to gather himself. He can’t let himself selfishly think that this is the best thing that could’ve happen. He gets to spend the afternoon with Stiles, even if he’s out of his mind with the dancing. He gets to be with Stiles. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He goes back to Stiles room to find him rolling a joint. He leaves the glass of water on the table.

“Stiles, what the hell?”

“I’m helping you see things from up here… kinda?” Stiles immediately starts rolling another joint. Expert fingers spreading the weed, rolling carefully, Stiles' tongue peaking out to close it. It does something to Derek.

When Stiles starts the third joint, he asks “are you inviting someone else?”

“No, silly. You have to smoke twice as much as me to get high. Maybe three times as much given you’re so big and all.” Stiles says gesturing all over Derek.

Derek waits until Stiles is done and lights up his joint and says: “your dad is the Sheriff. He’ll know.”

“Who says I care?” he mocks, blowing out some smoke. He takes one of the joints and gives it to Derek. “Do the honors.”

Derek closes the door of Stiles' room and sits by the edge of the bed.

He lights up and smokes, inhaling deeply. He hasn’t done it in a while. His lungs a bit rusty on the game make him cough. Stiles laughs. Derek would do it again to hear that laugh a hundred times. He continues to smoke slowly unlike Stiles who is half way done by now, his puffs big, his exhales bigger.

Stiles stands up and changes the music. The same band from the day he was painting. Some of the songs slow and teasing. He is swaying with the music, looking wildly around the room. He keeps smoking his joint.

Before Derek realizes it, it hits him like a widening of his senses. The smell of the weed, of Stiles’ clothes, the underlying smell of paint remaining from the other day.

Stiles seems to notice something in him and says “yes, you’re getting here.”

Derek smokes the second joint, Stiles is drinking some water but still swaying to the music.

Now he’s feeling happy, light, carefree. It makes him laugh to think Stiles is dying. It can’t be true when Stiles and him are feeling happy, unafraid. Derek doesn’t want it to be a sad high, he stops his thoughts from going darker places, he lights up a third joint, this time sharing it with Stiles, which brings them physically closer. Stiles is giving him a Look.

Derek takes a hit, a bigger one than before. He exhales easily and repeats the process, only passing it back to Stiles when he smoked twice.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Stiles.

“How bad is it?” he knows there’s something Stiles is not sharing.

“Bad. I’ve-decided-not-to-tell-anyone-else bad. So you can’t talk to anyone about today. No one else can know,” Stiles says hurriedly.

“How… How long?” he asks next. He’s a masochist.

“Two years of autonomy, give or take.”

Stiles passes the joint back to him. He takes a deep hit and passes it back.

The album Stiles picked ends and the room is quiet. He’s high but he’s also worried. Two years. That’s not enough.

Stiles goes to his computer and puts another album, this one has faster music, suggestive lyrics and deep beats.

Dancing, he says “this is the world in its purest form, everything feels so good!”

Derek can’t stand up to dance with Stiles, so Stiles dances around him for a while. Then he comes to a stop before him. “Come on, didn’t we just say that we’ll never talk about this again? Come dance with me, sourwolf.”

Derek doesn’t move immediately, but Stiles is persistent and a few minutes later they’re both sort of dancing. Stiles seems happy though and that’s enough to give Derek some sort of happiness.

An hour or so passes when Derek hears a car in the driveway. He stops Stiles and says “is your dad supposed to arrive at this time?”

Stiles can’t recall. They turn off the music and open the window. The entire house must stink of weed.

“We’re leaving though the back door. Quick, go down and wait for me in the kitchen,” Stiles says, gathering his weed and rolling papers.

They go down the stairs without even looking if the Sheriff is actually coming home. They pass the kitchen and leave through the back door.

Derek walks with Stiles who insists he has the perfect spot to spend the rest of the day.

They walk a couple of miles into the woods and Derek has to ask “where are we going?”

“About here is ok,” he replies. But there’s not a clearing or anything other than trees.

“Why did we leave your house for the woods?” Derek asks.

“My dad doesn’t exactly approve of the drugs and he already gave me a talk this week about the weed. I insist on its medicinal properties because it’s about the only thing that doesn’t make me want to kill myself.” Stiles stops talking to make himself a joint. He leans on one of the trees as he rolls another one. “They can’t do anything about it though because I can legally buy weed from a dispensary now. But my dad suspects other things and as I told you I’m on some other illegal substance.”

Stiles lights up his new joint. He shares it with Derek who was returning to his normal self already. Derek smokes and passes it back. They smoke in silence now as if things shifted since they were dancing in the room.

“I have a secret,” Stiles says.

“Mmm… what is it?"

“I used to have a crush on you, before you left with Braeden,” he confesses, lowering his gaze.

Derek stays silent. Used to. His heart aches for something he didn’t know he wanted.

“Maybe we should get back,” Derek says.

“Ouch,” Stiles mocks. “Let’s go back”

The walk back to the house is silent. When they get to Stiles’ back porch, Stiles turns around and adds as if not a minute has passed from his previous words. “I still would if you wanted.”

Then he enters the house, leaving Derek more confused than ever.

*****

When Derek gets back to the loft, he’s been turning around his head Stiles’ last words: I still would if you wanted. He doesn’t know what to think of that. He’s still with Braeden, isn't he? Or is he?

Derek goes to the closet he shares with Braeden; there are only two t-shirts and a weapon belt. He opens the drawers for underwear and finds only his. Why didn’t he notice sooner?

He takes his phone out and calls Braeden.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Were you ever gonna tell me that I was being dumped?” Derek asks.
.
“I think it was better for the both of us,” she says. She breathes in, then continues on, “You can focus on your business in Beacon Hills. I can do my thing. I’m not one to stay to be a housewife.”

“So is it because you miss the road? Or was it something else?”

“Well, you already seemed to have moved on to someone else,” she replies.

Derek stays silent. Moving on to whom? Braeden probably read something else into Stiles and him.

“I gotta go now, Derek. Thank you. But I think it'd better for me to move on.”

She hangs up after that. Derek is left speechless. He liked Braeden. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that she felt unwated. They could’ve talked about it. About what? His brain says. You like someone else and you know it.

Derek decides to get on his running gear and run in the preserve. He takes his car to the edge of the woods and then leaves it there. He runs to and back from the shell of his childhood home. He does it a good 20 times until he’s spent. He’s inspecting the house and wondering how it will look when hey start building it. It’ll be smaller, since it’s just Derek and his sister, but he wants a big patio with nice furniture to spend the summers outside.

When he gets to his car, he finds Cora waiting for him.

“I knew you’d be here,” she says by way of greeting.

“Are you following me?”

“Nah, I got worried when there was no one in the house. I figured you'd be here. Is everything okay?"

“Yeah, just doing some leaps around the house. Imagining how it’ll look like.”

“Are we rebuilding then?” she asks excitedly.

“I’m calling the contractor tomorrow,” Derek says with a finality.

He gets into the car and then Cora follows suit.

“What made you decide to stay?”

“I wanna honor their lives, not remember their deaths,” he answers. “And I want a big cookout when it’s finished. Ask Scott, Stiles,” his voice wavers a little, “everyone we know really.”

Cora looks at him funnily. “Sure thing, big brother, all 4 people we know will be there. If Braeden is around.”

“She won’t,” Derek says.

“She won’t? Why not”

“She just won’t.”

Cora mumbles sorry, as they drive to the loft. Derek hopes the house is finished before Stiles-. He wants Stiles to be there.

And if he’s lucky, he’ll be one of the first people he’ll take there.

Stiles looks at his phone. It’s a Saturday. Almost three weeks have passed since Derek came over and they danced in his room. Stiles had the chance and didn’t take it. Just one kiss. Or he could stop pretending and admit he’s starting to have feelings for Derek. Feelings? When you’re dying? His mind supplies.

Well that’s something he can’t do. He can’t fall in love or have anyone fall for him in this state. He’ll be a burden before he knows it and it’d be over. Heartbreak for everyone involved.

So that’s it then? He never gets to fall in love in this lifetime. It seems unfair. Why can everyone experience something real and he can’t? His stupid brain is on the way. No one deserves to have their heart broken by him.

Maybe that’s why he’s only texted Derek to not come over. His mind already conscious on some level that he can never have the romantic story his heart craves. He saw Derek’s looking at him sometimes and he couldn’t handle it. Stiles vows to not be the one who breaks Derek’s heart.

Stiles realizes he needs a shower but can’t be bothered to try. Maybe Scott will come over to take him out of his slump, since he missed the last two days of school. His father believed him when he said “I’m not feeling well” because he probably wasn’t pretending.

He gets up from bed and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s skinnier, his face ashen, and the circles under his eyes making him look older than 18. He wonders if he’ll get to turn 21. Maybe he will but will be baby-like and helpless, not fit for a drunken celebration.

He gets his pack of smokes and lights one up. His hands tremble slightly when he holds the lighter to his face. The warmth startles him. Stiles is not sure why he smokes but it soothes him. Especially when he wakes up like this. Most days have been like this lately. He’s starting to withdraw from activities, like his doctors said he would.

He wants to get out but doesn’t know where he could go. He finishes the cigarette and puts it out directly on his desk. He gets a text he ignores in favor of another cigarette. He’s lighting up when someone raps at his door.

Stiles goes to open it while holding his cigarette on the corner of his lips. It almost falls when he sees Derek on the other side.

“Wha-?”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he says.

Stiles checks and sure enough, 3 missed calls from Derek, 4 from Scott, and a text reading are you ok?.

“Scott was worried and I said I’d check on you. Are you?”

Stiles thinks he could lie but what’s the point with these werewolves even?

“I was feeling trapped. Depressed. Not having a good day… again.”

“Do you wanna go out? Is that why you’re so agitated?” Derek asks without warning.

He can’t say he was just thinking about him and the way they’ve crossed Looks, or how Stiles might be having feelings for him. That would be embarrassing. Instead he says, “yeah, I’m all up in my head today. But do you wanna help me? I’ll paint all the things I’m gonna do before I die in the yellow wall. Or try to, I’ve never used spray paint.”

“Or I could help you with the list?” Derek asks.

Stiles flails for a second tripping on air when Derek says so.

“You said you wanted to go to the beach.”

“In November?” Stiles asks.

“Well, it won’t be crowded. Let’s call Scott and Lydia and Kira, I’ll drive.”

Stiles is half convinced. Then his mind gets an idea.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Wait here,” he says, leaving Derek to wait in his room.

Stiles is in and out of the shower quick as a soldier at their post. He gets back to the room only in a towel. He rummages through his drawers until he finds the right t-shirt. Then he loses the towel and puts on underwear. He hears a small gasp that reminds him Derek is there and he’s entertained. He puts on a pair of cargo pants he almost never wears. He also grabs a hoodie.

“We can go now.”

“We could’ve called Scott and the others so they'd be ready.” Derek says.

“Nuh-uh. We’re going now. You and I. Muir beach.”

Derek seems taken aback by how soon he got on board with the idea.

“Come on, Derek, it was your idea. We’re off to scratch some items off my list. Do you think I can borrow some money to get a guitar? I have a song I need to learn,” Stiles goes on as he goes down the stairs. “Come on, Derek, I’m not going alone.”

They end up going downtown first and buying Stiles a cheap guitar out of a small shop. Neither of them knows how to play it, but it goes in the seat behind them to the beach as well.

Derek lets Stiles pick the music, so he uses his own phone to put an album by Troye Sivan on Spotify. He realizes by the second song that this album is way more suggestive than he wanted. Derek drives silently and lets Stiles sing off-key let’s go for a walk down easy street. The song makes Stiles feels hot all over his body imagining Derek is the one he sings to. That Derek is the one he’s asking to kiss me on the mouth and set me free but please don’t bite.

The album continues youthful and sexy and dark at times. Derek doesn’t say anything during the entire drive. They haven’t even finished the album when they’re arriving to Muir beach. It isn’t the biggest or prettiest beach in California but it is definitely one of the closest. They park a few meters from the beach in a parking lot on an unnamed street.

Stiles gets out of the car, thankful for the hoodie he threw on top of his t-shirt at the last minute. They walk in silence to the beach, stopping only to buy a bottle of water in the only kiosk the beach has.

They end up sitting not too far away from the sea, drinking water, still silent.

“I imagined more words in this trip,” Stiles says.

“What do you wanna talk about?” Derek asks in return.

“What happened to Braeden?”

“She left town.”

“That’s it? When is she coming back?”

“She isn’t.”

“Oh,” Stiles feels bad for asking now. “Now I’m embarrassed to ask more questions,” he says truthfully.

“It wasn’t meant to last, really. We were too different for each other. She’s a wandering soul, I’m connected to Beacon Hills by the magic that runs in my blood, tied to this place by something bigger.”

“That’s the most words you’ve said in the entire trip,” Stiles teases. In that moment Stiles decides to get a blunt out of his hoodie. “Surprise! I brought social lube.”

Derek laugh at his choice of words. Stiles wants to hear it again. Oh, uh.

Stiles passes the blunt to Derek to light it up. It takes a few tries with the wind in the beach but they make it. They pass it around a few times before Derek says, “my aunt Emma used to love this beach.”

“Aunt Emma, huh? How was she?” Stiles doesn’t mean to pry, but he’s always been curious about Derek’s family.

“She was like 25 when the fire happened. She felt more like an older sister. She was my dad’s young sister. She liked to come to the reserve down here too, run for hours with her husband Kyle. I’m guessing that’s where they conceived my cousin Matt,” he huffs a small laugh. Stiles passes the joint back to him.

“Were they-?” Stiles begins, but doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

“All of them died at the fire,” mumbles Derek.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles doesn’t want it to be awkward, so when Derek passes the blunt back to him, he takes a long hit but gives it back quickly, grazing Derek’s fingers a second too long.

“What do you think happens when we die?” Stiles asks.

“It depends on what you believe in, I guess.”

“But what do you think?” Stiles insists.

“I think people just die, Stiles. I wish I could believe in something bigger -anything- to hold onto the idea that my family is happy somewhere. But I don’t think I can believe in a god that lets people die like that.”

Stiles can agree with that sentiment.

“What about you Stiles? Are you making peace with your god?”

“I’m thinking I’ll stick around like a ghost. Haunt some houses. I have no interest in heaven.”

They finish the blunt in silence. This time is not awkward, but at ease.

It’s been a while when Stiles starts to get fidgety and decides he wants a dip in the water. It’s not so cold anyway. He gets up and starts stripping.

“Stiles?,” Derek asks.

“I won’t be long, just a skinny dip and we’re out.”

“A what?”

But it’s too late, Stiles is butt naked running to the beach.

“Whoooo, this is fucking cold!” he yells as he goes in.

Once he’s waist deep he turns around to Derek. Any human couldn’t have made out the words in the wind come on, sourwolf, just this once.

Derek doesn’t think it through and gets out of his jacket and shirt. He loses his pants next. Then shoes and socks. He runs to the beach in his underwear.

“Come on Derek, don’t do me dirty like this!” Stiles exclaims.

Derek loses the underwear to a catcall from Stiles. Then walks the distance until he too is waist deep in the water.

“I knew you had it in you, Derek,” he says before turning around and diving completely.

He comes out to see Derek do the same.

“It’s cold as fuck,” Derek says.

“I know, it’s hell. Just another dip and we’re out.”

Derek splashes water in his direction. “You’re not getting off easily,” he teases.

“Oh, it’s on!” replies Stiles splashing him back.

They play in the water a few minutes. Probably the entire town is out looking at them, but Stiles doesn’t care. He feels careless and free for the first time in days. The serotonin his brain so badly needed.

At some point he missteps on the sand and almost falls to his back. Derek holds him up with and arm around his waist. Stiles flushes at his nakedness when he’s this close to Derek. He looks up and sees Derek looking at him. Not just looking, checking him out, his eyes stopping on Stiles face. My lips, his brain supplies. His tongue darts out to moisten them and he looks back at Derek, intensely. They stay locked for a few seconds, then Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s arm and the moment is broken.

Derek lets him go and starts in direction to their clothes. Stiles gets a good look at his muscular back, the tattoo in the middle of the shoulder blades, his shoulders tense at the cold. Then he gets a whole view to Derek’s ass and he knows that if there’s a heaven, it has Derek’s ass in it.

Stiles starts on the same way Derek goes. They dry themselves off with their shirts, getting dressed silently. Once they’re ready, they walk to the car.

“Don’t you wanna stay longer? We’ve only been here about two hours,” Derek says.

“Let’s go to the trails you said your aunt Emma liked. Just walk for a while”

“Okay, let’s do the trail” he says. Stiles closes up the zip of his hoodie and they start up the trailhead.

They walk silently, the sounds of their feet up the trail is the only thing between them. They walk for long minutes that probably turn into an hour before Stiles asks to stop.

“Can we just-” he waves his hands in the air for demonstration, “just stay put for a second. My lungs are not what they used to be,” he says getting a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up.

“Don’t litter,” says Derek sitting down in front of him.

Stiles is playing in his head one the songs he wants to learn on guitar. He’s trying to remember the words for it but all he can recall is “cause soon enough we’ll die”. And he feels something akin to panic in his stomach because he could die right now, not having said goodbye to anyone he knows. He could get lost here, alone, by himself.

He feels a hand on his arm, grounding him from going overboard.

He looks up and sees Derek with the same Look he had on the beach. Stiles wants to know more about those Looks. He wants to be the object of Derek’s gazes more often.

Derek says softly “we can leave whenever you say so. I know the way back.”

He mentally thanks him for knowing him enough to figure out that he’s freaking out.

“Let me finish this smoke and we’ll leave.”

Derek nods.

Stiles spends the remaining time calming himself. He’s not alone. He can trust Derek to have his back. He closes his eyes and imagines that Derek kisses him to help him get back to himself. A man can dream, can’t he?

Derek stands up first and offers him a hand. Stiles takes it for leverage and stands up, holding the hand for a few more seconds before he has to go back to the reality where they’re just friends.

The drive back is silent, no suggestive albums for them. Derek parks in front of his house a little after 5 pm.

“Thank you for today,” he says.

“No need to. I had a good time,” Derek replies. “Next time we prepare better?”

“Like not going in November?”

“Starting with that. Our friends could come too. There will be other beaches, other driving trips.”

Stiles smiles at the optimism. He opens the door and is preparing to get out when Derek’s hand catches him.

“Skinny dipping again isn’t out of the picture either,” Derek says.

Stiles gets out, opens the passenger back door and picks up his new guitar. He sees a sketchbook in there as well.

“Didn’t peg you as an artist,” Stiles tells him.

“More of a hobby, really. I’ll show you some other day.”

Stiles closes the door and leaves directly from the car to his room, keen to start learning the songs in his head.

If anyone would have told him two years ago he’d go skinny dipping with Derek Hale, he would’ve fainted. He was more scared than attracted back then. He hopes next year with Derek is better than the last without him.

After they went to the beach together, Stiles and Derek get in the routine of texting daily. At all hours. At least from Stiles’ end. Sometimes, like today, Derek wakes up to a column of text of rambling sent at 4 am.

I’m not saying it’s possible, that’s another field of physics entirely, but could two atoms that form at the same exploding star end up forming the iron in a single person’s blood? Now imagine if two of those atoms were in separate people? This could justify the existence of a ‘lost soul’ or ‘half soul’ theory in more than one culture. Because the universe it’s a big place, huge, enormous, in fact. So big that I can’t even wrap my head around it, and there are trillions of trillions of molecules in a galaxy alone. Anyway, the important part is could we determine if two atoms come from the same star? Could we trace data from our cells all the way to the first big explosion that shook things around happened? Maybe I can create the instrument to trace it if I had equipment.

Other times Derek will wake up to a burst of texts like this:

Might fuck around and start a business selling weed

I’d have infinite weed

I could have enough to get my two favorite werewolves high af

And I wouldn’t have to worry if my dad finds out because you’d have it in your apartment

This is me telling you I need your apartment to grow weed

Just say no if you don’t want to

…

Derek?

I’m gonna take this as a yes then

Derek would often read them and reply something like “Stiles, no.” Or “Your dad’s the Sheriff, Stiles.” But Derek hardly initiated the contact. He was afraid of becoming the creepy 20 something guy that hangs around teenagers. Sadly, he is already on his way.

Derek replies to his paragraph about the two atoms with “whatever, Stiles, but I don’t think it’s possible.”

Stiles texts back immediately with what are you doing next friday for Christmas?

I thought you didn’t celebrate Christmas, he replies.

We do, Melissa and Scott are coming over. I want Cora and you to come too, Stiles says.

I don’t know, Stiles

i’m not supposed to take no for an answer on this topic. please say you’ll come to dinner at least.

We’ll let you know, Derek says.

;), it’s all Stiles replies this time.

*****

you’re still coming to dinner this friday, right?

A week had passed and Derek hadn’t even brought it up with Cora.

Why are you so pumped about Christmas?

i want everyone to have a fun time. btw Lyds is coming too

she doesn’t want to spend the day with either of her parents

who happen to be in a fight about Lydia without asking Lydia

we’ll just not talk about parents that are not present

Derek thinks that Stiles adds that to reassure him, making them feel welcomed without flat out exposing Derek’s family. It makes him smile that Stiles thinks that’s what holding him back. He’s about to type something but his phone rings. It’s Stiles.

“I’m not pressuring you into coming or anything but we’ll have the most amazing Christmas feast. No 'wolf will go hungry,” he says before even saying hello.

“I haven’t asked Cora yet,” he replies.

“Why? Do you think she’ll say no?”

“I don’t know if she wants to celebrate anything. She hasn’t had many celebrations since the fire.”

“I’ll ask her,” Stiles says.

“I don’t think that’ll go as well as you think.”

“Then you ask her. Today. Or I’m coming by your place to invite her personally.”

Derek smiles at the idea of Stiles coming over for whatever reason.

“I have to go now, I’m learning to make food for more than 2 people. Text me if anything happens, bye.”

“Bye, Stiles,” Derek says. But he's already hung up.

****

That night when they’re eating their take out, Derek interrupts their silence asking, “Should we do anything for Christmas?”

Cora keeps eating her ramen, unbothered.

“Cora?”

“I heard you. You want to ask me to Stiles’ place for dinner, right?”

“What? He asked you? How?” he asks.

“I heard you talking on the phone Derek,” she laughs. “You should’ve seen your dumb face get all flustered. I’m not sneaking around with Stiles or anything. Why didn’t you ask me before?”

“I thought you wouldn’t be in the mood for celebrations,” Derek shrugs.

“But I get to decide it,” she answers.

They stay silent for a moment. Their silences are rarely uncomfortable anymore. They’re finally at a place where they trust each other and can talk about most things. Derek feels silly for not asking before.

“And?” he asks.

“We can go to the dumb celebration. I wanna mess with Stiles.”

Derek smiles.

“But if anyone tries to get me to do crafts or anything like it, I’m out.”

Derek’s smile widens.

He texts we’re coming on friday

Stiles’ reply is only <3

*****

Derek wakes up to the harsh sound of an incoming call. He glances to the bedside table, where the clock reads 4:37 am. He picks up the phone and picks up.

“Stiles, it’s 4 am, what the hell?”

“I- I sleepwalked again, Derek,” Stiles hesitates. “I’m in the woods, somewhere, but I don’t know where.”

His last words a whimper almost, trembling.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Derek asks, already getting up from his bed, trying to find the t-shirt he had on before falling asleep.

“I don’t know, I was watching a video about orcas and then I woke up screaming, covered in dirt and leaves,” Stiles' voice is more confident but he can hear his teeth clatter every once in a while, meaning Stiles is cold.

Derek puts on his t-shirt and says “I gotta call your Dad, Stiles”

“Derek, you can’t call my dad every time I wake up in the woods. He’s sleeping, he needs to sleep. Don’t you dare call him.”

“Stiles-”

“Derek, please, please, for the love of fuck. Do not tell my dad.”

Derek finds his running shoes and puts them on.

“How am I gonna find you alone in the middle of the night?”

Stiles sends him a location.

“That’s the last point my phone picked up. How far away from that could I have gone? My phone’s battery is dying though.”

Derek finds his keys and leaves the apartment, Stiles still on the phone.

“Stiles if your phone is gonna die, save some battery. Call me again in 15.”

Stiles agrees half-heartedly.

Derek drives the distance to Stiles’ last location in silence, wondering how the hell did Stiles get so far away sleepwalking. He must’ve started walking as soon as he fell asleep.

When he gets to the point Stiles sent him, he calls him.

“I’m at the coordinates you sent me,” he says.

“I’m gonna scream so you can find me,” Stiles proceeds to yell through the phone. Derek’s ears hurt too much to pinpoint if he hears Stiles.

“Don’t yell into the phone, Stiles. My ears.”

“Sorry, I’ll do it again.

This time Derek moves the phone away from his ear and listens. He hears a faint scream to the right.

“I think I hear you, I’m coming.”

Derek leaves his car and runs in the direction of the scream. He holds his phone to the ear hearing Stiles murmur a song to himself. After running somewhere close to a mile, Derek stops and asks Stiles “Do it again, yell something.”

Stiles quickly replies by yelling Derek! And Derek hears him close. He runs in the direction of the screams and less than half a mile in, he smells Stiles’s tracks. Derek starts closing in on his trail, slowly but surely catching the way he came in.

“I really hope you’re making the noises I hear or I’m about to die a horrible death, because I hear steps,” Stiles says.

That’s when Derek sees him, looking wildly around, phone to his ear, all dirty from sitting down on the dirt below him.

“Stiles, I see you,” he says softly, coming closer slowly to avoid frightening him.

Stiles turns around and startles. He hangs up the call and comes running at Derek’s arms, hugging him tightly. Derek’s arms take a second to do the same.

“I’m so happy to see you, I’m crying,” Stiles sobs into his t-shirt.

Derek’s nose gets a whiff of Stiles’ scent holding him so close. His heart starts beating faster, oblivious to he situation at hand.

Stiles seems to have had enough and lets go stiffly. He sniffles as he says “thank you for coming for me.”

Derek mumbles no problem. His heart aches for a few more seconds of touching Stiles.

“So, how is the way back?” Stiles asks aloof.

Derek hesitates for a second, but something in his brain gives him the go ahead. He grabs Stiles’ hand and says “I’ll take you back. We don’t want you falling on that pretty face, do we?”

Stiles’s heartbeat jumps at that. Derek hopes he’s excited and not scared.

They walk hand in hand, slowly through the canopy, mostly in silence until they get to the car. Derek deactivates the alarm and Stiles lets go of his hand, quickly scrambling to the passenger seat. He wealks around the car and sits on the driver side.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Derek asks.

“Not really, but I’ll tell you what I know. I went to sleep and dreamed that I was going to the Nemeton. At some point, I sort of wake up. My maps app was open on that point.  I’m sure glad that phones spy on us so much. I think I was half awake, half sleep and I just started walking. Next thing I know I’m screaming myself awake, both hands deep in the soil, just digging.”

Derek listens intently.

“And this hasn’t happened before? I mean, other than that day you called me.”

“No, but it used to happen before. When the nogitsune was inside me.”

“Maybe we should ask Dr. Deaton. He could tell us if it’s something supernatural.”

Derek hopes in some place in his heart that this is something they can cure with a moon bath and an obscure ritual. But he knows that Stiles’ illness is of this earth, as terrible and relentless as an earthquake.

“Can I talk to you about the orcas?” Stiles mumbles.

Derek nods and lets him speak his mind all the way to Stiles’ house. When they get there, Derek goes inside with Stiles. He goes directly to the kitchen to wash his hands and get a glass of water.

“Will you stay tonight? To keep watch?”

“Sure,” Derek replies.

They go to Stiles room. Stiles changes clothes into another pair of pajama bottoms and a clean t-shirt. Derek settles by the chair next to the desk. Sure enough, Stiles’ computer has a video about orcas paused almost at the end.

Stiles gets in bed and turns off the light. Derek watches him settle down and fall asleep almost as if nothing happened.

******

On Friday, two days after the incident, Derek is coming back home after watching over Stiles the night before.

Cora is already up and teases him about it. As she has the two previous mornings.

“Just marry him already, you’re already spending every night together.”

Derek’s heart skips a beat at that.

“We’re just friends,” he mumbles.

“We’ll see,” she says.

Derek sleeps until 2 pm to compensate for the lost hours the previous night. He wakes up to Cora yelling from the second floor.

“Derek! You need to get ready to see lover boy!”

Derek’s up on his way to the shower shortly after that.

When he’s back at the room he wonders how to get dressed. He’s never spent Christmas with a friend before. He decides to go simple with a long sleeved ocre v-neck, a black jacket and jeans. It’s warmer than usual, a balmy 75°, so he decides to go against a coat.

When Cora comes down, she’s dressed in a similar practical fashion: jeans, a yellow blouse and a black jacket as well.

“You have to change,” Cora says.

“You go change,” he replies.

“Ugh fine, but only because it’s your guy’s party,” she rolls her eyes and makes her way back to her room. She changes her blouse for a white one and the jacket for a blue one.

“I still look better than you,” she says, fixing her hair with her hands.

“Good try. Maybe next year,” he deadpans. Picking his phone and checking the time, he decides they have time for a beer.

“Scared to meet the dad?”

“What? I’ve met Stiles dad before. I’m fine,” he says opening a bottle. Cora follows suit and grabs a beer from the fridge.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” Cora replies. “You can tell me that you like Stiles and I’ll act surprised. How’s this? Oh my god! It’s so much worse than I imagined!” she jokes.

“Ha ha,” Derek says back. “Stiles and I are friends.”

“Like Hephaestion and Alexander the great? Very good friends.”

Derek makes a face at her. She does the same back at him. Cora slams her empty bottle on top of the table.

“Let’s do some Christmas partying. I hope Stiles has that weed he gives you.”

“We’re going to the Sheriff’s house, Cora”

She smiles at him as she makes her way out. Derek throws the bottles on the trash and follows her outside.

*****

When they arrive, the parking spot is busy with a grey honda. They park in front of Stiles’ home. Stiles and Scott are huddled over something in a corner of the entrance.

Derek and Cora make their way to them.

“Can I have some?” Cora asks, as Derek catches a whiff of the weed they’re passing around.

Stiles and Scott both startle when they see them.

“Dude, warn a fella, please,” Stiles says, his heartbeat jumping slightly.

“We’re hiding from Stiles’ dad, getting something from the store,” Scott tells them in a fake mumble. “Stay hidden.”

Stiles quickly passes the remaining of their joint to Cora, motioning her to smoke it all. Stiles gets a blunt out of his pants. “Here’s to the Hales, light it up.”

Stiles himself lights it up and passes it to Derek. Derek tries to refuse, but ends up admitting he needs to relax as well.

The joint is smoked silently, with only the occasional cough coming from Scott or Stiles. The Hales seem immune. Or at least don’t look as high as Scott and Stiles are, whose eyes were almost closed, too puffy to see much.

Eventually they enter the house, with Stiles declaring “the Hales have arrived. I say we get started on that punch.”

Stiles’ house was decorated impeccably, garlands, socks and a tree that’s already lit up. They are redirected to the living room and told to get comfortable. Cora sits down immediately, Derek stays there taking it all in for a few more seconds. Christmas. With a family. With Cora. He is finally not alone anymore.

Stiles comes back with glasses and a pitcher that contains a red punch decorated with a lemon slice. He takes it upon himself to serve the four glasses and passes them around.

“To a nice evening,” Stiles toasts.

Derek gulps about half the punch in one go.

“Thank you, Stiles. For the invitation. We’re glad to be here,” Cora says.

Stiles blushes.

Not long after that, Lydia arrives. She’s dressed in a light pink dress, fishnets, and a pair of high heeled shoes.

Stiles gets busy in the kitchen after that and Derek is left to talk with Scott, Cora and Lydia. They do most of the talking. Derek just intervenes when asked to. He can smell the turkey in the kitchen, roasted potatoes and gravy.

Stiles calls them all to the dining room that’s decorated like the living room. The stuffing, veggies and potatoes are already on the table. Stiles’ dad brings the turkey in a big platter, the gravy next to it. He sees a pasta salad being brought by Scott’s mom. Everything seems so put together. Derek gets emotional thinking about Christmas back with his family. The table would have double the food and his mom would be fussing about every detail. Emma would be in charge of the kids, his youngest brother Jared grabbing food from the table at any chance got.

Derek feels a pressure behind his eyes, he pinches his nose around the eyes. He feels a reassuring shoulder grab and when he puts down his hand, he sees Stiles to his right, giving him silent support.

After they’re all seated, Stiles to his left side, Cora to his right, the Sheriff says a few words and then he’s carving the turkey, leaving pieces to the side for everyone to get.

Derek avoids a lot of the questions thanks to Stiles’ unstoppable babbling about anything. Melissa humors him and asks him questions Stiles is ready to answer.

“So Derek, what are you gonna do now that you’re in town?” Melissa asks, not giving enough time to Stiles to interrupt with his thoughts.

“Well, we are rebuilding the house,” Cora says nonchalantly.

Stiles’ eyes widen.

“You are?”

“Yes, the contractor already came to see the place. They’re starting the work after New Year’s.”

“That’s great, Derek why did you not tell me? Are we going ahead with the business idea?” Stiles asks.

“What business idea?” asks the Sheriff.

“No, Stiles, we are not. I’m going to be busy with a real job if things go well,” Derek says

“Why am I only hearing this now? So much change,” Stiles says, melancholic.

“I was gonna tell you if the job panned out, I still don’t know if it’ll happen,” Derek says turning to Stiles on his left, who seems overwhelmed with the news.

“What job?” he asks.

“Substitute English teacher at the middle school.”

“Oh my god, are you for real?” Stiles says.

“Yeah, why is it so hard to believe?”

Scott laughs. Stiles just mumbles “I thought you trusted me with stuff,” too low to be heard by anyone who’s not a wolf.

“I do,” says Derek under his breath, putting his left hand on Stiles’ right leg. Stiles tenses for a second, then melts under his touch. It’s just there for a second, then Stiles seems put together again.

Things go back to normal almost immediately in the table when Cora says she’ll be applying for a Business Administration degree at a community college in San Francisco. Close enough to be able to come over if anything happens, she says with a glance in Derek’s direction.

They eat, laugh, and talk for what seems hours and as promised, no one’s parents are mentioned if not present. Derek could get used to big family dinners again. As long as Stiles is there, nothing can go wrong.

After dinner, Melissa and the Sheriff go to the living room to watch a movie and the rest of them are left to do as they pleased. So obviously, Stiles suggests getting high.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that!” the Sheriff calls from the living room.

They go to the back patio and sit scattered on the chairs and on the floor. Stiles passes two blunts around, one to Lydia and one to Cora. “Ladies, please do the honors,” he says.

“How are you even getting money for weed?” Derek asks.

“I’ve upgraded my services writing papers for other people. Oh and also, I’ve started getting rid of stuff. Books and games mostly. Stuff I won’t be needing anymore,” Stiles answers.

He gets the blunt from his sister and smokes, taking deep hits to get his werewolf body high. He starts blowing o-rings and passes the blunt to Stiles. Already feeling lighter and relaxed.

“I added an item to the list,” Stiles says getting closer to Derek, blowing smoke almost on his face. “I wanna paint a room in your new house.”

Derek adds that mentally to the list, those are doable.

“I also wanna be on the radio for whatever reason,” he mumbles, getting his lips close to Derek’s ear. “And I want to know how you look like a teacher.”

Cora passes him the second blunt, making Stiles go back to his position. Derek smokes, slightly annoyed to be taken out of the reverie. He takes bigger hits, getting lightheaded with the smoke.

He blows the smoke and passes the blunt to Stiles. Stiles takes it and his hand lingers for a few seconds.

Derek decides to start his own list, his gaze fixed on the way Stiles blows smoke and laughs at himself. One kiss. His heart jumps a beat. He gets odds looks from both Cora and Scott. Stiles is none the wiser.

It’s the night before new year’s eve, when Stiles does it again. Stiles spent the afternoon texting back and forth with a tinder stranger. He'd gotten some money out of very desperate students who needed their homework done during Christmas break, and now he is going to spend it with some college guy visiting from Sacramento whose parents won’t be home for the night.

They agree to meet up at 9 pm at the Rave House, a night club close to Derek’s loft in the industrial district. Stiles wears what he thinks is rave appropriate in the winter: a long sleeved graphic t-shirt, his signature plaid shirt and jeans. He’s slightly cold, but he knows that he won’t be once they go inside.

Andrew looks a lot like his tinder profile: tall, blond and handsome. He spots Stiles to the side of the building, not yet at the queue.

“Hi. Stiles, right?”

“You bet. How are you?” he asks out of common courtesy. He doesn’t care enough to pay attention to his answer.

“Hey, what do you say we spice this rave up a little?” Andrew asks reaching into his pocket. A small bag with white powder greets him.

“Sure, why not?”

They move out of the view of the people at the queue and Stiles reaches into his pocket, lighting up without asking. He’s saving his best stuff for tomorrow with the wolves, but he could spare enough for a blunt before a rave.

Andrew gets some of the powder with his pinky finger, lifts it up to his nose and inhales. It looks easy enough for Stiles who has never done it. Andrew repeats the process twice more. Stiles passes him the joint.

“Thanks. Good call,” he says. Then he takes the little bag from Andrew. He imitates his pinky finger approach and gets some of the powder in his nose and some falls to the ground. So he tries again and gets more of the powder inside. He doesn’t feel any different immediately, so he dips his finger in the bag again and puts it on his gums. He had seen someone do it in a video.

They smoke the rest of the blunt doing small talk about the unsual good weather Beacon Hills had seen.

They walk up to the queue and Stiles finally feels something, his gums are numb and tingly. He notices his vision is sharper too. Maybe Stiles needs a lot more of the drug to see an effect.

“You feeling okay?,” Andrew asks.

“Yeah, just wished I was more buzzed.”

“We’ve got all night,” he says smiling, he looks down at Stiles and his smile widens.

When they get to the entrance Stiles’ nerves are getting the best of him. He hopes his fake ID is good enough, he hopes he looks good enough to pass for a 21 year old.

The guard asks for their IDs. He barely glances and says “Go. The ticket’s 20, cash only.”

They pay the cashier at the door and go inside a narrow corridor that feels too small for Stiles’ liking. Andrew is a few paces ahead of him. Stiles feels stiff, alone, closed in by the darkness and the low rumble that comes from inside.

Andrew seems to notice something is off and gets closer to Stiles, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer to him. Stiles feels incredibly grateful.

Just as suddenly as his wave of panic came, they end up at a wide dance floor, a long, LED-framed bar to the right, people already hitting the dance floor, the music dark and sexy.

“Let’s get something to drink,” Andrew says. Stiles nods.

They each get a gin tonic and drink it by the bar. Stiles feels a small tension between them, so he starts talking, lying his ass out about studying in San Francisco -where he has only been once-, and Andrew follows suit, telling him about his major in Biology, his roommate at the dorms, his best friend who flies to Kentucky for the holidays.

“I’m so glad this is not Kentucky,” Stiles says. Andrew laughs. Stiles fells confident enough to ask him to dance and Andrew lights up, like this is the one thing he wanted to do tonight.

They walk to the already packed dance floor. Stiles starts moving to the beat, catching some of Andrew’s moves.

Andrew looks like another person altogether, moving his body slowly and then faster to match the beat. He’s got a huge grin on his face and he’s moving freely, unafraid to bump into someone.

Stiles likes that look on him, so he moves closer to him, copying his body moving in the crowd. He’s enjoying himself just as much as Andrew in no time. The beats get slower and so does Andrew’s body, Stiles tries to keep up with the slow cadence when the beat drops and everyone’s jumping, dancing, bumping into him. Stiles is consumed by the energy of the room and starts dancing more loosely, his body sweating as if he’d been to a marathon.

They’re dancing when Andrew says, yelling in the crowd to be heard, leaning in the direction Stiles is dancing, “do you wanna make out?”

Stiles replies by dancing closer to him and putting his arms around his neck and they’re kissing. The kiss is slow and deep and it leaves Stiles wanting for more. He keeps dancing when they break the kiss, but now Stiles is dancing for that something else. Their hips grind together more often, Stiles' arms touch his chest, his shoulders, his back, and Andrew just dances into it, eating Stiles’ hunger up, like he could dance until Stiles goes crazy.

Minutes pass, feeling longer than usual. For Stiles there’s only one price tonight and he’ll earn it.

The beat of the music has found a pattern: slow, provocative beats will come before a big bass drop and everyone will go insane for it, the beats will mellow and another drop that makes everyone lose it again.

Stiles is getting tired of the cycle when Andrew takes his hand and pulls him closer. “Do you wanna go somewhere else?,” he fake whispers, loud enough to be heard by Stiles. He nods, unable to find his voice.

Somewhere else turns out to be the restrooms. They go in hand in hand, walk to the last one and get inside. They’re kissing as soon as the door is closed. Andrew’s hands reach under Stiles’ t-shirt and touch his abdomen, breathing heavy.

Stiles reaches for Andrew’s fly. “Is this okay?,” he asks breaking them apart for a second. He can hear the music get heavier at the dance floor, darker. It sounds muffled to Stiles’ ears, but he can still feel it vibrating on him.

“Yeah,” Andrew replies getting his hands on Stiles’ pants.

Stiles opens Andrew’s pants and gets his hands on him, hard and velvet-soft. Stiles thinks he could use his mouth, so he goes to his knees and gets his mouth on Andrew’s dick. He sucks him off like he’s seen only in movies, the way he likes it and sees if Andrew likes it too.

He opens his eyes and looks up to see Andrew snorting coke.

“Don’t stop,” he says in between sniffles.

So Stiles doesn’t stop, he keep his mouth open widely and his jaw unhinged, bobbing his head up and down, kinda to the rhythm of the music coming from the dance floor. Andrew grabs his head and turns it a bit to an angle, Stiles moves with him, letting him guide his mouth. Andrew thrusts forward and Stiles gags a little, spit running down his chin.

When Andrew does it again, he’s ready and doesn’t gag. He continues thrusting at that slow rhythm until he stops short from coming inside Stiles’ mouth. His shirt is now stained by a white sticky line. Stiles stands up. Andrew seems already back to himself and buttons his pants. He takes Stiles’ face and kisses him deeply, clearly not caring he just had a dick in his mouth.

Stiles startles when Andrew’s cold hands find him inside his unbuttoned pants. He’s hard and his dick is already dripping, Andrew seems to find that as an invitation to go down. Stiles is glad he takes it when he sees tall and handsome Andrew on his knees for him. Derek’s face flashes in Stiles’ mind, but he’s quickly brought back to earth by the tongue on his dick.

His head touches the cold tile behind him. He can hear someone entering the bathroom. This only seems to make Andrew more diligent in getting him off. Stiles has to bite his hand to stop himself from moaning. Andrew’s head bobs up and down, sucking his sanity off of him.

Stiles can hear the two dudes talk about their trip, something about too sensitive to the white light in the restroom or along those lines. He can feel the pool of pleasure building at the bottom of his stomach, he wants the strangers to go away before coming.

However they keep talking and it’s psyching Stiles’ out. Andrew realizes something is off and looks up. Stiles gestures at the people outside. Andrew realizes they’re still there. He yells “I’m about to get the shits, please leave.”

Stiles starts laughing then as the people outside laugh too. After a few seconds, they leave and Andrew asks “are we still doing this or do we get out of here?”

“Agreed. Let’s leave.”

They get busy tiding themselves up and exit the stall just as another couple comes in.

Stiles washes his hands and tries to wash the t-shit to no avail. Andrew splashes some water on his face, then dries off with a towel.

“Wanna go to my place tonight?” Andrew asks.

“We might as well,” he replies.

They leave each on their own car. Stiles is supposed to follow Andrew on the way. Instead, at the first turn they reach, Stiles keeps going ahead, then does a left then another right, and keeps driving, getting away from the club and Andrew at a steady speed.

His phone rings. Stiles lets it go to mailbox and drives home, tired from all the dancing and jumping.

When he gets home, he takes a shower and goes to bed, texting Derek not to come over tonight.

*****

happy birthday btw, he texted Derek, first thing in the morning after the Christmas dinner.

how did you know?

i know everything, he replied.

any birthday wishes?

Derek didn’t reply for a while.

if you don’t tell me, fine

i’ll just throw u a surprise party

No surprise parties, Derek replied, finally.

ok

Can we hang out anyway today?

Sure, Derek replied.

*****

Stiles stirs awake on his bed, feeling a bit lightheaded. He remembers the previous night in a haze, but remembers clearly that he didn’t even said goodbye to Andrew. He feels a pang of guilt, then remembers Beacon Hills has 30,000 people, Stiles probably won’t see Andrew ever again.

He gets up and gets his phone from under the pillow.

good morning, sourwolf

it’s New Year’s eve, the happiest night of them all

you and Cora coming to Lydia’s tonight, right?

A few seconds pass before he gets a reply from Derek: yeah we might

might?, Stiles writes back.

We’re not too big on fireworks at this house, Stiles

Stiles looks at the time. 11:20. Lydia is awake by now, so he calls her.

“Hello, Stiles, be quick I have a party that needs to be looked after.”

“Will there be any kind of pyrotechnics tonight?” he asks.

“Not here, but we’ve got neighbors who might or might not do it,” she replies. “But I’ve taken it into account. I’m giving the wolves earplugs, I know they work to muffle my parents' arguing.”

“Oh, Lydia, you are an angel,” he says.

“I know. Anything else?”

“Running shoes still a no?”

“Stiles, I know you own a pair of dress shoes and you will wear them because otherwise I’m not letting you in.”

“Fine, love you, Lyds, bye,” he hangs up.

Then he texts Derek Lydia says no fireworks are her place

neighbors might or might not light up

Lyds has earplugs covered

He waits before bombing Derek with texts. His patience pays about two minutes later.

Ok, we’ll be there, says Derek.

Cool, you need dress shoes. Tell Cora.

Fine, he texts back.

Stiles feels like he’s just won a small blessing. He goes eat his late breakfast with a smile on his face.

*****

Stiles is currently only wearing a towel and looking at the clothes spread at his bed. He wants to look good tonight. He wants tonight to feel better than the night before. He has a plan to scratch something off his list. He had jokingly said he wanted to kiss all his friends to Derek that one time, but he was starting to consider it a vital part of the list, one that should be cleared out soon.

He ends up going for a black shirt and dark jeans. At least, he’ll wear the dress shoes as Lydia warned him. He adds at the end a dark jacket thinking it’ll be chilly outside.

Stiles takes some time to fix his hair for once, grabs his weed parafernalia, and heads down.

“I don’t want complaints from the neighbors, Stiles,” his dad says.

“We’ll be on our best behavior, Dad. We always are,” Stiles replies, already heading out.

“Take a cab home!,” his dad yells.

“We’re staying at Lydia’s. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Stiles’ dad says something else, but he doesn’t hear it as the door closes. Stiles drives to pick up Scott, who’s already outside of his home.

“Did you get kicked out?”

“My mom said your dad is coming over after his shift. They are 100% doing it and I’m not okay knowing this.”

“Ew, Scott, I don’t wanna think about our parents before a party where I might hook up with someone! Now we have to get high to forget this.”

“Oh, who do you wanna hook up with?” Scott asks.

“Not you, so don’t get your hopes up,” Stiles replies.

Scott feigns being shot at the heart.

“Now I’ll die before knowing if you’re a good lay,” he says, still clutching a his shirt in fake dismay.

“I am a good lay, ask anyone I’ve ever slept with,” Stiles says, cocky.

“Yeah, I’d rather not have Malia break my fingers,” he answers. “Malia is invited to the party too.”

“Well, fuck,” Stiles says, just as they’re driving into Lydia’s street. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to flee New Year’s Eve with the pack.”

Stiles thinks back to all the times he’s run away without notice and how it’s impacted his friends. He didn’t want to run away from them, he sometimes needed the space, without anyone pitying him because of his illness.

“Let’s just go inside,” he says parking across the street from Lydia’s packed entrance.

The door is open and Lydia is welcoming people in. They stand a few meters behind them.

“So you can dress yourselves,” Lydia says by way of greeting, half hugging Scott and then Stiles. “Come on in, everyone is at the back.”

They go directly to the back, where they see a long table set with snacks and appetizers. A second table has been set with drinks. Stiles goes directly to that one.

“Liquid courage,” he says to Scott.

Stiles is serving himself punch when he hears Liam somewhere in the party yelling to Scott. He comes over and says hello, immediately stating how awesome it is that they’re all there.

Scott and Liam are chatting mindlessly when Stiles sees Derek coming in dressed like a biker god or something. He’s dressed more casual, with a blue t-shirt and his signature leather jacket. Cora is right behind him, wearing a short, burgundy, long-sleeved dress with high black socks that reach above her knees and some short black boots. Stiles thinks to himself if I didn’t have it for her brother, I would 100% no joke be flirting my ass off with her.

The Hales make it to the table where they are. When they say hello, Stiles’ brain goes into flirt mode by default.

“You look great, Cora. Too hot for this party even,” he spills.

“I did it to mess with you specifically, thank you,” she says brightly, jokingly.

“Derek you look… wow,” he says “Sorry, you left me kinda speechless.”

Everyone is looking at him now, Liam with the most surprised wide grin.

“Are you playing with me or is everyone a target on your to do list?” Derek asks amused.

“I just can’t help it when you’re looking so fine.”

Scott and Liam go “ooooh,” their eyes immediately shift to Derek to see if he keeps playing with Stiles, but Derek is having a low chuckle, shaking his head.

This round goes to Stiles, he thinks.

Stiles sees Lydia popping up with a flute on her hand.

“Boys and Cora -you look amazing, babe- please help yourselves to drinks. And Stiles, if you could be so kind to do the honors? I want to be fucked up by midnight,” she says, leaving Liam with a shocked expression, as if he has never heard her swear before. Maybe he hasn’t.

Stiles worked hard for tonight, he brought his weight on weed, already rolled up, ready to smoke. He also brought a couple of hits of E at Lydia’s request. He passes her the pills then produces a rolled joint and invites her to light up. She does so gladly.

Stiles passes joints around for the werewolves, except Liam who decides to abstain from the fun, apparently. Derek takes 2 joints and lights up just after Lydia. He gives himself a blunt, thick as a cigar.

“Oh come on,” says Scott, blowing smoke already.

“Might be my last year conscious, I’m making it count, buddy,” he replies lighting up.

Lydia looks like she’s going to cry for a second, then takes another hit of her joint. By the time she exhales, you would think nothing happened.

Stiles goes to her and puts his arm around her, “come on, Lyds, you’re supposed to be emotional after midnight.”

She smiles her sincere smile, then jokingly says “For you? As if!”

They talk and smoke, the wolves putting in the effort, for minutes that seem to stretch for hours. Stiles' mind is light and fuzzy. He’s not even halfway with his blunt. Stiles feels slightly detached from the conversation, even when he replies to little jokes and banter in general. Instead of stopping, he takes a big hit from the blunt, big enough to make him cough and make his friends laugh.

Lydia suddenly says “Riley! Shit- I forgot I invited my DJ friend to play tonight.” She finishes her joint and gulps down the sparkling wine she was holding. Then excuses herself and goes to find the friend.

This is the first time he notices the music comes from the house and it’s kept at a reasonable volume. He also notices the small space for a DJ next to the pool.

Kira walks up to Scott -who was still smoking- startling him.

Stiles can’t hear what they’re saying because they’re half whispering hellos. She shyly greets everyone else with a hand salute.

Stiles doesn’t want to spend all the night in this weird position where he’s away from Derek but feeling the glances he throws at him when he thinks Stiles isn’t looking. He wants to talk to Derek, but not this half-assed group chat thing. So when the song changes he says “I’m going to dance and no one is stopping me.”

He moves away from the table and into the open patio, moving his body to the soft beats. Everyone is just watching Stiles, whose quirky dancing mixed with the smoke from his giant joint made him look like an older, more experienced version of himself.

He could remember how Andrew moved last night and he was copying him to the best of his abilities. Legs slightly bent, moving to the beat, right arm raised high, feeling the flow of energy inside his body. Some people start dancing to the other side of the patio, motivated by Stiles.

Lydia walks with a blonde girl to the DJ setup. The girl connects her own notebook and says something to Lydia pointing at the mic.

Stiles is starting to have fun with the dancing. He finishes his blunt and saves the filter on his back pocket. Both of his arms are now engaged with the rhythm. He moves his hips like he saw Andrew the night before. He wants to feel desirable.

The music is turned out and he stops abruptly, tripping on the air.

“Dear friends, tonight is with us a very special guest. All the way from the London scene, the amazing Riley Sorenson,” Lydia says on the mic, then passes it to the blonde girl, Riley.

“This is a special set inspired by small towns,” she says. Then music starts playing loudly from the speakers in the patio. Stiles’ energy surges back up.

The mix is dark and hungry, a cyberpunk aesthetic made into EDM beats. The music is coming out loud enough to make the ground vibrate. Stiles feels wired on it, moving to the beats with more and more accuracy as they progress.

Soon he sees his friends making it to the dance floor, even Liam. They start dancing almost as a joke. Derek is the last one to come to the dance floor. When he does, he’s right next to Stiles, close enough to touch casually as they dance. Stiles’ face gets close to Derek’s.

“Remember that time at my room? I’ve learned new tricks,” he mumbles, hoping that only Derek listens.

He keeps dancing, moving to the beats Riley is mixing, transitioning seamlessly from song to song. They get more sensual and Stiles gets very close to Derek. He moves to have his body closer to Stiles and says leaning into his ear, “Well, you’re not the only one who’s got moves.”

At some point, the rest of the group dissolves in the background with everyone else, and it’s only the two of them, dancing around each other, touching not-so-accidentally every once in a while, Stiles’ skin on fire after each stolen touch.

Time passes. How? Stiles doesn’t know, but he knows that he starts coming down from the high and dancing is becoming more trouble than what is worth. He’s getting thirsty. So without much ceremony, he starts walking to the drinks table. He serves himself a glass of punch and downs it in a few seconds. He pours another one, this time he’s taking a small sip when a voice surprises him.

“Are you ok? You disappeared,” Derek says.

“Yeah, I was getting tired and we have all night.” He takes a sip from his drink.

“Hey, Stiles, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Stiles tenses, waiting for the punch.

“I used to have a crush on you too,” he says, echoing his words from that time he had done MDMA.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do. The same guy he kinda has a crush on just told him he liked him too. Used to. Ouch.

“Would you still want it if I wanted?” Stiles says echoing himself.

Derek doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he gets close to Stiles, close enough that they’re touching. His eyes are fixated on his lips. Then Stiles gets it and goes in for the kiss.

Derek’s mind, still high from the weed takes a second to realize that Stiles has his lips on him. He’s taken aback, thinking he’s probably hallucinating. And because there’s no harm in following along with a hallucination, he kisses Stiles back, his hands reaching to grab him at the hips, pushing them closer to each other.

Their kiss is soft and open, vulnerable and honest like a sigh at the sight of something beautiful. It’s rooting him to the ground while his insides feel like they’ll float right out of him.

As sudden as his lips came, they leave him, but his own lips chase back at Stiles, catching him just in time. And Stiles kisses him back with that same hunger, as if he’s having a hard time believing they would ever lock lips.

This time, both of them pull apart. Derek knows he’s wearing a surprised grin.

Stiles is looking at him with both eyes wide open, taking a hand to his lips in shock.

“I thought that was supposed to be at 12,” Derek says.

“Is it?… Oh look at the time, how it flies, right?” he says gesturing to his empty wrist, as if he was wearing a watch.

Derek sees Stiles throw worried glances around.

“Are you okay? Do you wanna get out for a second?”

Stiles nods.

Derek takes him by the arm and they go from the patio through a fence, to what he assumes is the neighbor’s back yard. It’s not so far away but the music is a bit muffled by the plants that surround the fence.

Stiles gets free from Derek’s hold and walks around. He puts his hands on his hair and then runs them over his face.

“Oh my god, we really did that,” he says.

“Do you regret it?”

“Haha, good one. As if!”, Stiles replies, hurriedly. “I’ve been thinking about it in some way or another for years. I had a massive crush on you. Have. Been having.”

Stiles' legs fold under himself, sitting on the ground without warning. His hands are back at his hair. Derek lowers himself to a squat before sitting.

“May I?,” he asks, not wanting to crowd Stiles.

“Yeah, help yourself.”

Derek sits down in front of him and waits. Stiles takes a few seconds to come down to himself, seconds he spends running his hands through his hair.

“So that happened.” Stiles says concisely.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Did you mean it? Kissing me back? Or was it just a reflex? Was it a pity thing? I’m thinking out loud over here, help me.”

“Yeah, Stiles, I meant it. I like you, why is it so hard to believe? Cora has believed it for months.”

“Cora? Why? Did you like… talk to each other about boys and stuff?”

“No, but she’s got a good ear and I can’t control my heartbeat.”

“Your heart-? Oh, like Scott was with Allison…” he trails off, Allison’s name barely audible.

“Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to go there,” Derek starts.

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable, it’s that I’m going to die. Sooner rather than later. It would be cruel to ask you to stay and watch this rollercoaster crash.”

“Stiles-” he begins, but he doesn’t have reassuring words to say, only hopes that Stiles will see that he needs the bite to get better. He doesn’t say so though, that would be incredibly selfish.

“I’m a fucking time-bomb and people will get hurt if they’re with or around me. I know I can’t stop you from staying in Beacon Hills, but if there’s anything I can do so you won’t suffer, I’ll do it, even if it means we have to stop seeing each other.”

Derek doesn’t want that, so before Stiles decides to cut him off altogether, he says, “can’t we stay friends as we were just twenty minutes ago? Pretend this never happened if you want.”

Stiles looks up, tears swelling in his eyes.

“I’d love to be just friends, but don’t ask me to not brag about kissing the hottest person in this party, even if I’ll just brag to Scott.”

Derek feels the knot in his stomach get tighter. Now that he knows what he’s missing when he’s not kissing Stiles, he wishes something would happen between them. Screw getting hurt. He’s been there, done that. But he respects Stiles’ wishes so he won’t push it.

Stiles sniffles and gets up.

“We’ll miss the countdown if we stay here,” he says.

Derek stands up and follows him back to the patio.

Lydia’s DJ friend is now mingling, the music coming from the computers left unattended at the side of the pool. Derek sees Cora talking to Lydia, looking starstruck. He sees Scott talking to Kira and some other people, he assumes are classmates. Stiles goes to them, bouncing excitedly.

Derek goes to the drinks table and takes a flute of sparkling wine. He’s drinking when someone’s voice startles him.

“I saw you two. Is Stiles okay?” Lydia asks.

“Yeah, I think.”

“So you’re not doing this?” she asks, her mind quickly catching on.

“No, we’re not,” he replies.

“Stiles won’t shut up about it,” she says, picking up a flute of sparkling wine of her own.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll be fine, Derek. Stiles will only be mad at himself, not anyone else.”

She then leaves him alone at the table.

After he’s drunk two glasses of the sparkling wine, Stiles appears on his side.

“Wonderful night we’ve got here, am I right?”

“I guess,” he replies, unconvinced. It would be a better night if they were making out far away from anyone else.

Stiles takes this as an invitation to get high, as he’s getting a couple of blunt from his jacket.

“What is it with you and weed?” he finds himself asking.

“It’s medicinal,” Stiles answers.

He sees Scott and Liam coming over. Scott gestures to Stiles and gets a blunt of his own.

“It’s almost 12,” Scott says, as if Derek hadn’t been looking at the clock over the snacks table.

“Another year without anyone to kiss,” Liam says.

Derek doesn’t think they saw them earlier.

“We’re here to celebrate friendship,” Stiles says.

“We are?” Scott asks.

“We’re here to celebrate me then,” Stiles jokes.

Scott pushes Stiles with a little more force than necessary and Stiles is coughing hard. Liam laughs.

“Ten, nine, eight,” the crowd around the pool starts.

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand.

“Seven, six, five,” Scott yells.

Stiles fingers interlock with him.

“Four thee, two, one. Happy New Year!”

Everyone jumps or hugs someone. Stiles gets closer to him, his lips almost touching his ear.

“Happy new year, Derek,” he mumbles. “I hope this year is better than the last.”

Then he’s gone, jumping to hug Scott tightly.

****

About a week after new year’s eve, Derek wakes up to a chain of texts.

what do u think about a week away from Beacon Hills?

the internet says LA is a 6 and a half hour drive

are u up for it?

Scott is up for it

Lydia says she’s only coming if Cora comes

is Cora up to for a road trip?

we can either drive directly or make it over the course of 2 days, maybe use Fresno as a stop

Or maybe use Monterrey as a night’s stop and we can go to the aquarium

Scott says he wants to go to the aquarium and i agree

Lydia too wants to go to the aquarium

Derek would love to go to the aquarium… with Stiles. He’s not too keen on a whole road trip with Scott and Lydia and his sister. But he remembers what he told Stiles. He can be just a friend.

“Cora, are you awake?” he yells, knowing she’s asleep.

“Fuck off,” he hears muffled by a pillow.

“Do you wanna go on a roadtrip to LA?”

“Fuck off, I said,” she replies.

“Lydia says she’ll only go if you go.”

A few seconds later he hears steps on the second floor.

“Why are you talking to Lydia?” she asks, looking at him weirdly.

“I’m talking to Stiles who is talking to Lydia. They want to take the scenic route and go to the Monterrey Aquarium,” he says.

“I’ve never heard of it,” she answers.

“It’s this huge thing that gets millions of visits every year. It has great exhibits.”

“Mmm… I don’t know. How long will this trip be? I don’t know if I want to spend a week with Stiles.”

“Funny how you mention a week…”

“Oh come on, Derek, really?”

“That’s what the texts say.”

“Fine, but I want the record to say that I’m only going for Lydia.”

Derek texts Stiles, Cora says she’s only going for Lydia, but she’s going

Stiles replies immediately.

YESSSSS!!!!!!

Scott and I tinkered with the itinerary though

What does that mean? Derek asks.

Monterrey > Santa Barbara > LA Stiles replies.

they’ve got great beaches at Santa Barbara.

It’s fine Stiles, we’re already in, Derek writes.

We leave tomorrow. Pack light, Stiles says.

*****

Derek wakes up early and takes a long shower. He knows that whatever motel they pass the night in won’t have any pressure in their shower and he’ll have crappy showers for a week.

Stiles had not disclosed anything about where they’re staying, so he has a suspicion it’s either covered or completely forgotten.

He has already packed a duffel bag with enough clothes to last him the week and a jacket. It might be California, but the weather is still chilly in January.

Derek makes breakfast for him and his sister, whose activity he can already hear from upstairs. He gets busy cooking a big batch of eggs with bacon, hash browns and homemade juice.

“Did I wake up at the Ritz?,” Cora says coming down the stairs with her bag.

“You should be thankful. We don’t know where we’ll be having breakfast tomorrow,” he jokes.

They eat in companionable silence, the same way they eat breakfast most of the time.

“Do you like Lydia?” he asks suddenly.

Cora chokes on the piece of bread she is chewing.

“What? Why?”

“No reason. I just wanted to remind you she’s a banshee and one of Stiles’ friends.”

“Stiles sure gets along with a strange bunch, doesn’t he?”

Derek doesn’t reply.

“Are you ready?” he asks instead. She gulps down the juice and leaves him to do the clean up while she takes their bags to the car.

When they drive to Stiles’ place they pick up Lydia on the way as they’re told to. The three of them arrive to Stiles’ and see Scott already seated at Stiles’ car on the driver’s seat, but Stiles nowhere in sight.

Derek gets out of the car and walks to Scott.

“Is everything alright?”

“Stiles found a book that he could read past page 25 and stayed up all night and the morning reading. He’s packing his bag last minute,” Scott replies.

“Oh, what book?”

“I don’t know something about Achilles. He cried this morning at breakfast. I guess it doesn’t end well.”

Just as Scott is saying that, Stiles gets out of the door carrying a big backpack.

“I thought we were supposed to pack light,” Derek jokes.

“That was you, I have to be prepared,” he says, folding the seat to fit his backpack in the back.

“Lyds ok riding with you?”

“Yeah. You’re not driving, right?”

“No way, I haven’t slept a minute. I’ll be napping, Scott already knows the way to Monterey. We studied last night.”

“I’ll just use the GPS,” Scott chimes in.

“Alright then, we’re set! See you in Monterey, babe!” Stiles says getting in the car. Derek does the same and starts following Scott down the road.

The first part of the trip is quiet on Derek’s car. Lydia is reading from a tablet and Cora looking out the window, so he can concentrate on the road.

About the time they reach the San Rafael bridge, Lydia looks up and says “My dad used to take us on trips to Point Isabel, he used to take this route.”

No one says anything for the longest time after that. Lydia isn’t one to share to anyone.

“Our family took trips all around the national parks,” Cora says.

“You remember?” Derek asks.

“Sometimes, small things. I remember once we went to Sequoia National Park and I was scared the trees would get up and walk all over us.”

Lydia chuckles.

“In my defense, I was like eleven,” Cora adds.

“She was. She was also scared at Six Rivers,” he tells Lydia, teasing his sister.

“Hey!” she protests.

They continue talking at intervals all the way to San José. Lydia has received a text from Stiles saying they’re stopping at San José for lunch. They don’t say where, so once they leave the 101, they follow Stiles’ car closely.

They end up parking across a college campus, going to some Taqueria. Stiles asks for a table for five.

“I looked this place up. Supposedly they have the best meat tacos in town. We’re about to see I guess.”

They eat chatting about the drive so far. Lydia says she’s not giving up her space in Derek’s car when Stiles asks if he can nap there.

Stiles eats way more than they do and almost makes himself sick on the spicy sauce. Scott tries to talk sense into Stiles but he can’t be bothered.

When they finish, they pay and go sit on the sidewalk for a while. Stiles suggests lighting up some joints before they continue their hour-long drive to Monterey. Derek accepts when Cora offers to drive the rest of the way. The smokers, Lydia, Derek and Stiles, stand up and smoke to the side of their friends, to avoid secondhand smoking.

When Derek lights up, he relaxes into it with ease.

“What was the book about?” Derek asks blowing smoke.

“It was a retelling of the Illiad, from Patroclus' point of view. Beautiful, remarkable, genius. Achilles’ foretold death always looming, only for Patroclus to be the end of him.”

“Anyone who’s been to highschool knows how The Illiad ends Stiles,” Lydia says inhaling smoke.

“Just like everyone knows the end to Romeo and Juliet, yet we watch remake after remake anyway. This book was different. The way the characters could just accept death as something foretold by the gods, but try to steal time from the fates anyway,” Stiles imitates a chef’s kiss, “buenísimo!”

“That’s Spanish not Italian, Stiles,” Lydia says, her voice raspier than usual.

“El libro estaba bueno. Fin de la discusión,” he says with his thick accent.

“El libro no es tan bueno, pero no estás listo para tener esa conversación,” Lydia replies, way smoother than Stiles.

“Podemos fumar tranquilos sin la discusión literaria?” Derek asked, accent and all, but proud of his outstanding grammar.

Lydia looks at him proudly, as if he just earned some points on her book.

When they’re done, they go back to their cars and drive back into 101 and keep going down that road for a while. Derek decides to have fun looking up the small towns they pass by and read them information from his quick googling before they see a new town sign.

They enter 156 after passing one of those small towns. At least Stiles didn’t have a romanticized dream about hitting every small town in California. They looked to be a dime a dozen.

Lydia is now involved in the game with him, competing to tell Cora facts about whatever town they pass on their way to Monterey.

They take the 401A exit and keep driving down. At some point during Cabrillo Highway, Lydia receives a text and she reads, “Stiles wants us to stop ahead at Marina. He says he needs to stop at the beach for reasons”

When they reach their exit, they follow Stiles’ jeep directly to a beach. When they stop, Stiles is out in a second. They park behind them and Derek is out of the car in a second.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m just- Too much time sitting down.”

“We’ve got a long way to go to LA.”

“Yeah, but just 15 minutes to get to Monterrey. I’ll be okay, I just wanted to breathe for a second, I’ll be fine.”

Derek relies the information to the people in the car. Lydia says “he’s probably just realizing he’s on a long road trip. It probably scared him.”

Derek thinks Stiles is just tired and will be much better after he sleeps, so he gets in the car, not wanting to be in the way.

Scott is out of the jeep now, talking to Stiles. He wishes he could understand what they’re saying but the wind is strong and loud in his ears.

Stiles goes back into the jeep and Scott starts driving again. Cora starts the car and follows Stiles’ jeep.

I wish it had been just the two of us, Stiles texts him.

Why? He asks

I just wanted to hold you for a while, he replies

Why didn’t you?

Group trip, it’s all he gets as a response.

Not too long after that they’re entering Monterrey. Scott drives them through the streets until they’re in Motel 6, a low cost motel close to the beach. They check themselves in 3 rooms, one for Cora and Lydia, one for Stiles and Scott, and one for Derek.

Before going into his room, next to Stiles and Scott’s, he stops Stiles to ask him if he’s okay.

“I’m perfect, I’ll just sleep the rest of the day and be done with it. You guys go check out the views.”

Then he enters his room leaving Derek looking at his empty spot. Derek follows suit and closes the door behind him. His phone beeps.

wish u were here by avril lavigne is playing on my head rn

Later, he texts back.

is that a promise or a threat?

:) is all Derek replies.

“Why didn’t you bunk with Derek as you were saying all the way from Beacon Hills?” Scott asks.

“I got scared. What if we kiss again? It’s a bad idea that will ruin everything,” Stiles replies combing his hair with one hand.

wish u were here by avril lavigne is playing on my head rn, he writes to Derek.

Later, he texts back.

is that a promise or a threat?

:) he replies.

“Fuck I need to sleep for like 20 hours straight,” he says, opening his backpack and looking for his earbuds.

“Here,” Scott says, handing him the earphones, “you left them in the car.”

He puts down his bag on the floor. “I’ll ask Lydia if she’s up for a walk,” Scott adds.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. She’s probably making out with Cora by now.”

“What? Cora and Lydia?”

“Scott, man, it’s right in front of you. You had this reaction at me kissing Derek and I’ve been talking about him for years.”

“Yeah but I thought it was more of a one-sided affair.”

“I thought so too, right up until- nevermind. Sleep now, talk about Derek later.”

He lies down on the bed furthest away from the door, puts on his earbuds already playing white noise and before he knows it, he’s out like a light.

Stiles wakes up to the sound of Scott laughing as he enters the room. He feels lost for a second, in a bed slightly larger than his own. It takes him a full minute to open his eyes and look around, the motel room coming together around him. The road trip, it happened, he didn’t just dream it.

“Hey, just in time! We’re going to hit the beach. Wanna come over?” Scott says.

“What were you laughing about?” he asks back.

“Cora said something funny about you being Sleeping Beauty. But you’re awake now, you can join the fun.”

Stiles sits up, the world a bit shaky around him still.

“What time is it?”

“8:30. It’s already dark outside, we can party at the beach.”

Stiles gets up and goes to the bathroom, when he comes out, he sees Scott has put on a jacket and he’s digging around Stiles’ pack, probably looking for weed.

“Stiles all of your stuff smells like weed, I can’t find it by scent.”

“Outside pocket, get double what you thought was enough, we’ve got three werewolves and a Stiles to get high.”

He changes his t-shirt and finds the bomber jacket he brought along specifically in case they wanted to hit the beach at night.

A quick rasp to the door and then the door is open, Lydia is standing there in an old hoodie of Stiles' that she acquired some time last year.

“You should really close your door boys. That’s what keys are for,” she says.

“You went to the liquor store already?” Scott asks.

“We’re drinking vodka tonight, guys. Brace for the possible hangover, we bought a bottle each.”

Stiles is looking at the mirror. There’s nothing to do about the dark circles around his eyes or about his bed hair, so he decides to own it. He gets his grinder and starts working the weed Scott got. Lydia decides to help, rolling gracefully what Stiles grinds up. When he’s done with the grinder, he starts rolling joints with Lydia.

“What are you doing about the Derek situation?” Lydia asks him. She doesn’t remember telling her about the kiss.

“What situation?” he says, feigning ignorance.

“Oh, cut the crap, Stiles. I saw you two. It’s not like no one was going to see you next to the drinks table,” Lydia replies. “And by the way, I’m pissed you only told Scott and not me.”

“Sorry, Lyds. I just didn’t want to see you sad if I told you why it can’t happen.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Make the most out of the time you have left?”

“We are right now making the most out of the time I’ve got left, rolling weed to go get high by the sea. Not breaking someone’s heart with my impending death,” Stiles echoes from his talk with Derek.

“You can’t stop people from loving you, you dummy,” Lydia says before licking the paper of the joint she’s rolling. In another time, that small gesture would have driven him crazy. Now it’s just another of Lydia’s things he just accepts.

“Are you guys ready?” Scott asks.

“Yeah, just a sec,” says Stiles, rolling the last joint. They put them in Stiles’ cigarette case, filling it up enough to still close it. Stiles saves the rest on his pocket.

When they go out, Derek and Cora are waiting for them. Derek nods in his direction and asks “everything ok?”

Stiles nods back.

They walk to down to Del Monte beach following Scott, who spent the afternoon swimming there. They take a left and then a right down a small street. Scott is walking on front, Lydia and Cora behind him, then Stiles and Derek lagging behind a few paces.

“Is this what you meant by ‘later’?” Stiles asks.

“The wind is pretty strong down the beach, you should’ve worn something warmer,” he replies.

“It doesn’t matter how cold it is, we’re still going in the water,” Stiles says. “Maybe.”

Derek laughs, his beautiful, open laugh that could make the world stop.

They reach a small side street and start going down. To Stiles’ surprise, people seem to live on this street full of modern seaside apartments. He thought it would be mostly empty, as people usually go to their beach houses during the summer months, not the middle of January.

Stiles feels the wind getting stronger as they get to the beach itself.

Without thinking much about it, he pulls out a joint and lights it up. He passes it to Derek and gets another one, lighting up just as his feet touch the sand. They walk past a sign that reads No Alcohol, No Fires, No Smoking, No Glass Containers.

“Well this beach doesn’t want us to have fun,” Stiles pouts.

“Just don’t litter and we can do whatever we want,” Lydia warns.

They have walked enough to not be seen easily from the streets, so they decide to sit down and drink.

Stiles grabs a bottle of vodka and starts drinking without any chasers.

“Now this is what being young is about!” he yells.

Scott is lighting up a joint of his own, as he opens his backpack revealing orange juice. Everyone cheers. They drink and talk and Stiles starts feeling a bit detached. He still chimes in, but his mind is somewhere else. How are they gonna remember this? Human memory is flawed and notoriously unreliable. He wants to remember this in 2 years when all of his executive functions are in decline.

He gets his phone out and starts filming Cora doing shots of vodka and Lydia and Scott cheering. Derek looks amused, his cheeks with a bit of color due to all he has drunk so far.

Stiles takes a big drink of his vodka, his phone falling from his hand. Derek picks it up and notices he’s filming, so he points to Stiles who smiles to the flashlight and takes another drink of vodka. Derek passes the phone back to him.

“I have a project,” he says in Derek’s direction, in a loud, slurred voice.

“What is it?” Derek asks.

“I’m filming everything I don’t want to forget, so everybody say hi!” he says to his friends who were arguing about something. They all say hello to the camera and go back to their conversation.

Stiles stops filming an puts the phone on his pocket. A thought occurs to him.

“Oh well, it’s time,” he says standing up.

“Time for what?” Scott asks exhaling smoke.

Stiles replies taking off his jacket, his shoes and socks, then his t-shirt.

“Oh. This again,” Derek says defeated. He stands up as well.

“What’s going on?” Cora asks.

Stiles is already on his undies only.

“You only live once, am I right?” he says walking towards the shore.

Derek is taking off his pants when Stiles yells “last one in the water is a chicken shit!” And sprints to the water. Derek follows him. Both keeping their underwear. Stiles reaches the water and lets out a fuck me! This shit is cold.

Stiles looks back and sees Cora and Lydia quickly shedding their clothes. Scott is the slowest to realize what is happening. Stiles walks until he’s waist deep. Derek follows him. He can see the girls competing to get first, both reaching the water at the same time. Last but not least, Scott too enters the water.

“Stiles, you got an early start, you cheater shit,” Lydia says, splashing the water in his direction.

They play in the water for a while until Stiles and Lydia get too cold and can't stop shivering. They all leave the water and go back to their clothes to dry themselves with their t-shirts and socks. Then they smoke and laugh at Stiles hair sticking out in all directions.

They drink until Stiles says “we should go back, we have to get up early to go to the aquarium.”

They save the rest of the booze for when they go back to the hotel. Lydia is tired of walking, so Scott offers to give her a piggyback ride. They walk all the way back to the motel, talking and laughing loudly.

When they get to the motel, they all go into Stiles’ room to keep drinking.

At some point, Lydia falls asleep on Scott’s bed and Cora lies down with her. Scott, Stiles and Derek all end up on Stiles’ bed, curled up together, falling asleep not too long after them.

They wake up to Stiles’ alarm. Lydia is up like she didn’t stay up drinking last night. She wakes Cora up gently and they leave to their room.

Stiles gets up and goes to take a shower. The water pressure is decent, but he has to wait for it to heat up every few minutes. When he goes out, Derek is nowhere to be seen and Scott is rummaging through his own bag to get a fresh t-shirt.

Scott goes to the bathroom to shower and he’s left to dress himself. When he’s ready, he starts packing his stuff back on his backpack. He gets the charger from the outlet and puts it away.

He’s all done when Scott comes out of the shower saying “I think I’ll get another tattoo, what do you think?”

“I’m thinking that I’m stealing that for my list.”

“Is there really a list?”

“Oh, there is. This trip was on it, so hurry up and get dressed so we can enjoy it. I’m not letting the list become a depressing mess.”

Scott dresses quickly, packing along as he does. By the time they’re done, they hear a knock on the door.

When Stiles gets it, Derek is standing outside.

“Are you ready? We need to get tickets.”

They don’t get to respond, as Lydia and Cora come out of their room right then. They go back to their cars and drive in direction to the aquarium.

By the time they get there, there’s already a short queue of people waiting to buy tickets. Derek and Stiles get assigned with buying the tickets.

“I hope I didn’t talk much in my sleep last night,” Stiles says as they’re moving up the queue.

“No, but you did snore and woke me up twice,” Derek replies.

“Sorry, man, I can’t help it,” he apologizes.

“It’s adorable though, drool and all.”

When they get the tickets, they walk to the spot in the entrance queue where Scott, Lydia and Cora are.

“We meet back here for lunch?”

“Stiles, we’re staying until 5, I’ve got a lot of exhibits to see,” says Lydia, “Cora, are you coming?”

Cora just walks to her and they’re off to their devices.

“I could go with you?” Scott asks, “I mean, I agree with Lydia, this is a hell of an experience and-”

“Go, Scott. You don’t have to nanny me all the time.”

“Thank you,” he says, already walking ahead.

“I guess it’s just the two of us,” Stiles says, already walking.

“I told you there’d be a later,” he replies.

They walk inside and are greeted by an open space with a giant orca statue floating above their heads. They walk the corridors and reach the Open Sea exhibit. Stiles is thankful that they’ve come on January and there are less people than usual. The quiet corridors become a lot more silent when they reach the big tank where they can see the hammerhead sharks.

“These animals are crazy. Did you know the ancestor of the hammerheads probably lived in the Miocene epoch about 20 million years ago? But there’s studies that put their ancestor all the way back in the Paleocene.”

Derek seems fascinated by what he's saying, so he doesn’t stop there.

“Not to sound like Lydia but they’re my favorite type of shark. The positioning of the eyes, mounted on the sides of the shark's distinctive hammer head, allows 360° of vision in the vertical plane so they can see above and below them at all times. What a great evolutionary advantage. I love them.”

When they see a green turtle, Stiles gets his phone out and films himself imitating giving him a high-five. The turtle is none the wiser and swims along.

They move along the exhibit and find the fish. Dolphinfish swim in a school, their iridescent bodies catching the light.

Stiles moves to another exhibit soon after that, Derek trailing back, listening to his quick facts about whatever animal they encounter.

“Nautiluses have been around over 480 million years,” he says when they encounter the chambered nautilus.

“Flamboyant cuttlefish are the only cuttlefish known to be toxic.”

“A full-grown giant Pacific octopus can weigh more than 50 pounds.”

“You’re like a walking wikipedia,” Derek jokes after that one.

“Well, I’ve written many papers so that we can get high on a regular basis. It’s difficult to provide for this many wolves,” Stiles replies.

“Who’s your dealer? Maybe I’ll buy them a gift for you.”

“Derek, I appreciate it but to give up my dealer’s info? No, thanks. Besides it’s temporary until I convince my dad to let me grow my own. I’m really close, just any day now.”

Derek laughs at Stiles.

“I love that laugh,” Stiles says without prompting. “Did I say that out loud or did I just think it?”

Derek just smiles at him, his real, genuine smile.

“I wanna make out so bad right now, but I’m pretty sure I see Lydia entering the Tentacles exhibition. Do you want to take this to the kelp forest?” he asks extending his hand. Derek takes it.

“Take me to the kelp, Stiles.”

They walk the corridors of the first floor hand in hand until they get to the kelp forest habitat.

Stiles is looking up the tank that spans three floors, feeling so tiny the air seems to leave his lungs. Derek turns to him and asks “are you okay?”

He tightens his hold on Derek’s hand.

“There’s just so much,” he says pointing to the blue fish and horn sharks swimming around. “They have no idea.”

“About what?”

“Us looking at them, life outside the tanks, the economic state of America.”

Derek is looking at him with a weird look.

“I would die for you,” Derek says.

“Now where’s the fun in that? You’d die.”

“I would kill for you then,” he corrects.

“Why does anyone have to die? I’d rather we just held hands and look at the pretty fish.”

And so, they spend the rest of the afternoon watching the exhibits. They finish around 4 and go to the cafe to eat lunch. They reunite with Scott not too long after that. They eat chatting about the animals they’ve seen, Scott with a fascination Stiles has only seen when he talked about Allison. When they announce the Aquarium is closing, Stiles makes a run to the gift shop and buys Derek a stuffed hammerhead shark and a black Monterrey Aquarium hoodie for himself.

They meet Cora and Lydia outside, Cora wearing a silver hoodie with the Aquarium logo and a stingray.

“Was it as good as you expected?” he asks Lydia.

“Better,” she says looking at Cora.

So they totally made out, Stiles thinks.

Cora wants to drive, so Derek lets her and changes places with Scott in Stiles’ car.

Once they’re driving, Stiles asks “did you mean it?”

“Huh?”

“What you said, about dying for me.”

“I was trying to be romantic for once,” says Derek.

“I would die for you too,” Stiles mumbles.

Derek smiles.

“God, I would kill for you too, if it meant I get to see you smile.”

Derek doesn’t reply, instead, he gets busy playing music.

Wish you were here by Avril Lavigne plays. Stiles laughs and turns it up.

They arrive at Santa Barbara around 9 pm. Stiles drives them to the Castillo Inn, a motel that’s close to the beach. They end up booking just two rooms since last night everyone had slept at Stiles’ anyway. Derek can’t help but be a little excited that he maybe gets to sleep next to Stiles once again.

Lydia suggests a do-over of last night’s partying, this time with tequila. Derek is glad that werewolves don’t get drunk or get hangover the way humans do because Stiles and his friends drink at an alarming rate. This can’t possibly be good for Stiles’ health, but he’s not Stiles’ dad to be on his neck about it.

Once they’ve dropped their bags, they go down to the beach and drink like the night before. There’s more laughter today, everyone is feeling wild and carefree. This time Lydia initiates the run to the beach, Scott once again reaching the water last.

“It’s not fair, Lydia was wearing a dress!” he yells entering the water. They play and swim for a while, Stiles with a goofy grin, smiling as if this is the last chance he’s got. Derek could get used to trips like this if it meant Stiles would smile this way forever.

When they get back to the motel, they go into Stiles’ room to smoke and drink the minibar liquor. It’s half past twelve when Scott loudly announces he’s not sleeping with Stiles’ snoring and flops down in the bed further from the door. Lydia and Cora leave shortly after and Stiles and Derek are left to decide how to sleep.

“You don’t have to sleep next to the snoring if you don’t want to, I can sleep on the floor-”

“Just get into the bed, Stiles,” Derek interrupts.

Stiles takes his shoes off and gets in the bed, Derek follows suit.

He’s starting to fall asleep when Stiles asks “is anyone awake?”

Scott doesn’t reply.

“What’s wrong?” asks Derek.

“I’m thinking,” Stiles says.

“About the trip?”

“Life and death,” he replies.

“What about it?”

“I’m glad I didn’t kill myself before this.”

Silence fills the room like a living presence.

“Is killing yourself on the list?” Derek finally asks, scared of the answer.

“It was,” Stiles replies.

Derek uses his left arm to hug Stiles, holding him as if he would slip away without someone to hold on to. Stiles leans into the embrace and sighs.

“Will you come with me when I get my tattoo?”

“Sure.”

“Will you hold my hand?”

“If you want to.”

Stiles seems content enough with this and shifts on the bed, holding Derek’s arm. A few minutes later he can hear his heartbeat slow down and his breathing even with the cadence of sleep. Derek falls asleep shortly after.

Derek wakes up when Stiles loudly gets up and says “we’re LA-bound, baby!”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Scott says covering his head with a pillow.

Stiles is up and in the bathroom in seconds. Derek tries to sleep for a few minutes but can’t get the idea of Stiles in the shower out of his head.

“Are you having a heart attack or is it just Stiles?” Scott asks. “God, was I like this with Alison?”

Derek takes a deep breath and gets his heartbeat back in control. He breathes in again and gets a whiff of Stiles’ scent from the bed. His heart beats jumps.

“Oh my god, I want the San Andreas rift to open right now and swallow me whole,” Scott jokes.

Derek gets his breathing and his heartbeat back in control, he feels his eyes turning blue for a second. When Stiles gets back, he stands up and makes his way to the bathroom. He gets a towel and underwear from his duffel bag and walks, trying his best not to stare at Stiles’ naked torso.

He hears Scott telling Stiles “I see it now.”

Derek takes a quick shower careful not to linger on thoughts about Stiles, knowing that Scott would hear him if he rubbed one out. Derek strains to hear what Scott and Stiles are talking about.

“God, it’s so annoying seeing you two. Was it like this when Allison and I-?” Scott asks.

“You were far worse, everyone knows that,” Stiles replies.

“He is totally into you,” Scott says.

“Not helping, Scott.”

“But-”

“Don’t say it. I know,” Stiles interrupts. “I don’t wanna hear it again.”

Derek wonders if Stiles and Scott have talked about him before. Apparently enough times that the conversation doesn’t need to be had again.

He finishes off and dries off with the towel. He slips on his underwear and leaves for the room. He can feel Stiles’ eyes on him, so he dresses quickly. Scott mumbles oh my god as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“Scott thinks we’re obnoxious.”

“Why is that?”

“You know,” Stiles says.

Derek looks directly into Stiles’ eyes, he know he looks hopeful and sad at the same time.

“I know, it’s my fault. But we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” Derek replies.

They start packing their stuff. The drive to LA is about two hours if the traffic is good.

“Are we driving now or after lunch?”

“After lunch, the guys are waiting for us tonight.”

“What guys?” Derek asks.

“Friends,” Stiles supplies.

“What friends? I thought all your friends were in this trip already?”

“You think you’re so funny, right? I have friends.”

Scott comes out of the shower then and starts getting dressed. “What were you talking about?”

“Stiles’ mystery friends,” Derek answers.

“Oh, Miles and Lana?”

“They have names,” he deadpans.

“Why wouldn’t they, Derek? I’m-” Stiles pauses. He looks to be looking for something. “How is it called when you, you know, pain… you know the word.”

“Hurt?” Scott supplies.

“Yeah, that. I’m it, Derek.”

They could have continued bickering if Lydia didn’t knock on the door and then opened it.

“Keys, guys. Use them,” Lydia greets. “Are you ready? Stiles’ promised breakfast at the Wharf.”

Later, they’re eating at the wharf and talking about their plans for LA that Stiles mentions his tattoo again.

“I still haven’t decided, but I got us an appointment at this place in downtown LA.”

“Us?” Cora asks.

“Yeah, I’m getting a tattoo too,” replies Scott.

Stiles gets his phone out and starts filming.

“What’s been your favorite part so far, Scotty?”

“The penguins at the aquarium,” he replies.

“Lydia?”

“The giant pacific octopus,” she says.

“Cora?”

“Lydia,” she says smiling at her. Scott and Stiles boo at them.

“Derek what’s been your favorite part?”

“The kelp forest,” he replies. “And your favorite part?”

“The beaches, the driving, the weed.”

Scott cheers after that. They get shushed by other restaurant goers, so they finish up and leave for the beach.

They get to LA after 2 hours of driving the 101. They first see the big houses leading up to the city. They keep driving until their exit, where they enter the street of their accommodations for the night.

“This is awesome,” Stiles says entering the room. There is a queen size bed and a bunk bed. A futon and a large mirror complete the room. The bathroom door is to the right next to the entrance. Big windows that look down on N Fairfax Ave.

“Lydia and I get the big bed,” says Cora.

“I’ll take the futon and avoid the awkwardness.”

Lydia nods as if she had seen the awkward moment Scott is referring to. Derek just walks to the bottom bunk and places his bag there. Stiles leaves his backpack by the foot of the bed. He starts rummaging through his stuff, finding a t-shirt.

“We’re meeting the guys at 7, what should we do until then?” Stiles asks.

“I’ll sleep,” says Scott.

“There’s enough weed to last us a week, we could just do that,” suggests Stiles.

“I’m awake,” says Scott.

They go down to the patio and smoke like they haven’t spent the last few days high as a kite. Lydia tells them that they have to go to Venice beach or coming all the way down was for nothing. Scott agrees, he wants to try surfing. Derek feels light and breezy, like he could float away. He takes another puff.

When they’re high, time seems to stretch as if this moment could last forever. Stiles getting his phone and taking group selfies, Scott’s amazed remark that they’re in LA, Cora’s bubbly laugh when Lydia says something funny. Derek takes it all in and he misses it already, like the moment is being pulled away by some strange force of nature.

At some point, Stiles receives a text and he’s hurrying everyone out to take a cab and get to the pub his friends chose to meet at. Stiles and Derek are sitting in the back, Scott sitting next to the driver. Its twists and turns get them to downtown LA, where they’re supposed to meet at El Tejano bar.

They get out of the cab, Scott paying the driver. Less than a minute later, Cora and Lydia get out of a cab. They have been standing there for a couple of minutes when someone cries “Oh my god, Stiles?! Is it you? Yes, it is you!”

Stiles is hugging a short boy with curly black hair and a taller blonde girl. Scott is filming, he notices, with Stiles’ phone.

After hugging and crying, Stiles introduces the young boy wearing jeans dungarees as Miles and the girl with the yellow dress as Lana. Derek can sense they’re human, unaware of the literal wolves surrounding them. Once introductions are done, they walk into the bar, grabbing one of the bigger tables by the side. Derek tries to sit next to Stiles but Miles and Lana both sit before he can sit down.

Derek orders himself a tequila mojito and expects the waiter to say something about the age of the rest of the table, but he’s too busy writing down the orders to care.

Miles is talking to Scott like he can’t believe Scott is a real person. Stiles is chatting with Lana and the girls. Derek feels weirdly excluded, like he can’t ever fit in with the rest of Stiles’ friends. Scott includes him as much as he can, but Miles is not even trying to talk to Derek.

Stiles apparently senses that something is going on and shifts the conversation to a group exchange. He gets to talk to Stiles’ friends in a way. He learns Stiles met Lana and Miles online through something called tumblr. They’re nice enough but Derek still feels the conversation is a little stilted.

When Miles goes to the bathroom, he asks Scott “am I crazy or something is going on with Stiles’ friends?”

“I noticed. It’s like you’re on trial or something,” Scott whispers.

They order a second round of drinks. Stiles jokes they should make a pub crawl out of the evening. Lana lights up and tells them her girlfriend works in a bar just a few blocks away. Scott immediately agrees. It doesn’t take much convincing to get the group on board. Derek is swept up by their energy, he’s going wherever Stiles goes anyways.

They scramble to pay and walk following Lana who leads them to the bar. They don’t get carded because they enter through the back, Lana introducing them to a brunette girl behind the bar as her girlfriend. They get a round of drinks on the house.

Stiles leaves for the bathroom and Stiles’ friends turn to him.

“So, Derek… what are your intentions with our Stiles?” Lana asks.

“What?”

Lydia is looking at him, amused. Scott is watching the exchange with some confusion.

“We just want to know if you have Stiles’ best intentions at heart,” says Miles.

“Is this happening or did I hit my head?”

“Oh, it is happening,” Lana remarks.

“He’s smitten for your Stiles,” Cora says.

“A hundred percent true, I can testify,” Scott adds.

“Is that so?” Lana asks him.

Derek looks down to the table. He wishes it was that easy for him to speak about it.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel, Stiles doesn’t want to pursue it. We’re just friends and that’s it,” he admits.

“Oh come on, Derek, I was rooting for you. I don’t want you to give up” Miles says.

“Stiles is the happiest he’s been since we met. And he talks about you,” says Lana. “Oh god, how he talks about you! Like you hung up the moon and stars or something.”

Derek’s heartbeat jumps at that. He’s thankful for the loud music, Cora and Scott can’t hear him become hopeful.

Stiles comes back after that, none the wiser.

They stay at this bar for two more rounds and then they leave. Stiles says goodbye to his friends and agrees to meet once more before he has to leave. They take a cab back to their hostel, all five of them bundled up in the same car.

When they’re in their room, Stiles feigns he’s unable to get up on his bunk.

“So much effort, so tired…” he says.

“Just come here,” Derek says from his spot on the bottom bed.

Stiles smiles and carefully lies on the bed with Derek, who covers them both with the blankets. He hears Cora say “sickening, these two.” Stiles doesn’t seem to hear or care, he just cuddles closer to Derek. Derek feels at home with Stiles’ breathing next to him. He takes a breath and gets a nose full of Stiles. He wishes this moment would last forever, but before he knows it, he’s asleep.

The next day, Lydia and Cora leave early to go shopping at the Sunset Strip. Scott and Stiles get ready for their appointment at the tattoo parlor.

“Are you coming?” Stiles asks him.

“Sure, I wanna see if you or Scott cry,” he replies.

“I’ll be fine until we get to the torching part of the tattoo,” Scott says.

They drive to the tattoo parlor in Stiles’ car, as Lydia and Cora took Derek’s car. Stiles is listening to music in Spanish, singing along off-key and with a thick American accent. Derek catches a bit about not having anything else but to love you, and his heart skips a bit.

When they get there, Scott is taken to a room first. Stiles is breathing heavily, nervous.

“Did you decide what to get?”

“Uh? Yeah, kinda, and my dad will not be happy about it.”

“Big?”

“And visible,” Stiles says gesturing to his right arm.

“Stiles Stilinski?” calls a woman with her arms and neck completely tattoed black .

“Can he come in?” Stiles asks.

“Sure but he needs to keep distance. You can’t hold his hand if it interferes,” she answers.

“I’ll sit opposite to the tattoo artist, it’s ok,” Derek adds.

She nods and walks them to a door.

“No phones inside, sorry.”

Stiles lies down putting his right arm on a surface. The tattoo artist puts the stencil down on him. Derek sees it’s a landscape that looks like the Beacon Hills forest complete with a big full moon and a black bird soaring the skies wrapping around Stiles’ arm. Derek likes it. Stiles’ breathing is labored, nervous as he hears the tattoo machine start. Derek grabs Stiles’ other hand and tangles their fingers together. Stiles holds tightly.

“The first tattoo is always the hardest, you’ll be fine,” the tattoo artist says holding the machine just above the spot she’ll start tattooing.

When the tattoo machine touches Stiles’ skin, his heartbeat jumps. His grip tightens and then relaxes. Derek without noticing starts taking his pain away. Stiles relaxes under his touch.

During the session, Derek keeps taking the pain for Stiles, who moves periodically, unable to sit still.

When the tattoo is done, about three hours after, Stiles is high on the analgesic werewolf healing, getting up a bit dizzy.

“Thank you, kind lady, this is freaking awesome,” he says going outside.

They meet Scott, who lifts his t-shirt up and shows them the two masks he got on his ribs.

“Dude, did you actually get it?” Scott asks, wonder lacing his words.

“Yeah, look at this thing” he slurs. Scott's brow furrows, concerned.

“I took his pain away. I may have gone a bit overboard,” Derek says.

“I didn’t faint this time, Scotty.”

“Sure thing, Stiles,” he replies, then adding to Derek “how long is he going to be out of it?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t used it this much since Cora almost died.”

Scott drives them back to the hostel. When they arrive, they see Derek’s car already parked. They go up to their room and find Lydia sitting on top of Cora, making out.

“Oh my god, Lydia. Keys, use them,” Scott says feigning shock.

“We thought you were away,” she replies, gracefully standing up and going to the mirror, fixing her makeup and hair.

Derek winks at his sister and she makes a face back at him.

“Let us all celebrate this joyous occasion by going to the beach to get high,” says Stiles.

“You can’t submerge the tattoo underwater,” Scott tells him.

“Who said anything about going into the water?”

Later when they’re at Venice beach smoking, Stiles is the first to get up and say “last one in the water is a chicken shit.”

This time, Derek is the last to get in the water. Stiles is splashing like he doesn’t have a fresh tattoo on his arm, his joyous laughter infectious, and Derek doesn’t want to be anywhere else where he might not hear that laugh again.

Stiles wakes up to his alarm clock beeping. It’s the first day of his last semester of school and he already wants to skip it. He turns off the alarm and sighs. He doesn’t want to be at school where he has to pretend he still has an interest for graduation or anything like that. He doesn’t want to pretend everything is okay.

He hears a quick rasp to the door.

“Stiles, you’re gonna be late for school,” his father says.

“I know,” he replies.

“Get ready,” is all his father replies. He's been weird with Stiles since they came back from LA a few days ago. Stiles thinks it’s the tattoo, but he can’t say for sure.

He takes a quick shower and dresses in his white ringer t-shirt and a flannel, his everyday jeans and sneakers. His phone beeps.

Good luck today, Derek writes.

if there’s a god, the san andreas rift will open and a huge earthquake will kill us all, he texts back.

Drama queen, he sends back.

He takes his backpack and his phone and goes down to the kitchen, where the coffee maker is currently brewing some delicious coffee.

He sees a bunch of police files on top of the table and pauses to read. Apparently a woman has been found dead in the woods near the nemeton. Before he can read much, his father enters the kitchen already dressed in his uniform.

“What happened to the woman in the woods?”

“Animal attack, says the coroner. I’m looking into it, but please stay away from the woods until we know what’s going on.”

“Scott could help,” he says.

“But we’re not consulting with teenagers, Stiles. If it’s another pack, we’ll let you know.”

Stiles goes to school not long after that exchange. He parks in the best spot he’s had all year, thanking the powers that be for senior parking privileges.

“Looking good, Stiles,” Liam says coming up to him.

“Is it the hair?” jokes Stiles, feigning ignorance.

“You know it’s the dope tattoo,” he says.

Stiles smiles and lets him get a closer look. Scott parks his bike next to him.

“Scott, can I see the tattoo?”

Scott lifts up his shirt. Some people passing by get a full look and catcall him. Scott is smiling his big, goofy grin.

“Last semester, baby!” he yells.

Some people passing by cheer.

“We’re gonna be late,” Stiles says, walking to the entrance. Scott and Liam follow him.

Later that day, Stiles is leaving early thanks to his doctor’s note. He drives to his therapist appointment without much joy. Dr. Olson is an older woman, in her fifties, Stiles guesses. She always asks Stiles the uncomfortable questions and seems unfazed by his mentions of drugs and alcohol. When she calls him inside she greets him saying “I guess a lot has happened since we last saw each other.”

“You have no idea,” Stiles says. He starts recounting his trip to LA, trying to sound casual.

“This is the same Derek you’ve mentioned before?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“Does he not have other things to do?”

“Well, he’s starting this semester as a sub in middle school.”

“What does your father think of your friendship with him?” she asks.

“We don’t talk much about it. Or anything, lately.”

“And why do you think is that?”

“Because I left for LA with less than a night’s notice, maybe? I don’t know maybe he doesn’t want to accept that I’m an adult and I can do whatever.”

“Right. And you don’t think that maybe your father misses you? That maybe he’s seeing his only child’s illness progress the same way he saw his wife?”

“Ouch, no, uh, band-aid as usual, I see,” he replies.

“Stiles, as your illness progresses, your behavioral issues will become much more accentuated. You need to have an honest conversation with your father about it and be ready to make compromises. Your dad is affected by your illness as well.”

“I don’t need a reminder of that, thank you,” Stiles says, fidgeting with the hem of his flannel.

“Are you taking the pills Dr. Davis prescribed?”

Dr. Davis, his neurologist, prescribed him antidepressants as a way to keep his behavioral symptoms in check. Stiles has not even taken one, not after reading trazodone can cause nightmares or disturbing dreams. He already has plenty of those.

“Medicine that can give you nightmares doesn’t agree with me so well.”

“But this medicine can help you with the depressive symptoms too.”

“I’m not depressed, I’m fine.”

Dr Olson reads through the pages of the moleskine notebook she’s holding and reads: “'I don’t have any hobbies anymore, it doesn’t makes sense to have them,’ that’s from July last year.” She then flips the notebook again “or how about November 8th when you said ‘I’m ready to kill myself any second.’ That looks like depressive symptoms to me.”

“Depression is a side effect of dying, I read somewhere. And we’re all dying, Doc.”

“Still, you should be following your doctor’s orders. Let’s move to that, now that we’re here, do you still have thoughts about dying?”

“Of course I think about dying, I’m only human. But if you’re asking if I want to kill myself, then no. I have things to do.”

“Like a bucket list?”

“Yeah, only swimming with sharks is not in it,” Stiles replies.

“What is on it?”

“Stuff. Things I’ve done already, like this,” he says showing his tattoo. “Making it to my birthday, which I’ll probably get to since it’s in two weeks, that kind of stuff.”

“I expected something riskier,” she says impressed.

“I already did the swimming naked in the ocean. I’m not going to Belize and swim with actual sharks.”

She laughs her polite laugh, the one that means she didn’t really find you funny.

“What about your relationship with Derek?”

Stiles sits straight at that.

“What about it?” he asks.

“You two are in a relationship, right?”

“No! Why is it that everyone thinks we’re doing it. We’re just friends. I’m not making anyone else suffer.”

“Is that what you think, Stiles? That you’re hurting the people who love you?” she asks. Direct to the jugular.

Stiles eyes water. He looks up to the ceiling and holds it in.

“People are already hurt by my illness. It’s, uh, it’s already happening.”

“You can’t go through life being afraid, Stiles. No matter how long you’ve got, you’re still a person. You’re still you.”

Stiles doesn’t talk much for the rest of the session, as he listens to her say “grief is a natural response and feelings of loss may come in waves. The best possible outcome might be that you learn to live as fully as possible while accepting the presence of a terminal illness."

He leaves feeling as lonely as ever, so he decides to take lunch to his father to have someone to talk to.

When he arrives at the station, everyone greets him with kindness, which pisses him off. He’s dying but he’s still not dead. He makes his way to his father’s office and finds him reading over some documents.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school for the lacrosse tryouts?”

“I just came to drop this by. A peace offering, if you will.”

“What did you do this time?”

“Nothing, I just, uh, I thought it would be a good time as any to apologize.”

“What for?” his father replies.

“I’ve just been so wrapped up on my head about the list and not living my life to the fullest, that I forgot you’re caught in it as well.” He pauses and then adds, “I’m sorry Dad.”

The sheriff is using Stiles’ strategy to not cry, pursing his lips and staring at the ceiling. Stiles can still tell he’s about to cry.

“Dad, I don’t want you to be worried about me all the time. I’ll be fine. So, are we good?”

“We’re good, kid. Now you better get a spot in that team because I’m not watching you get benched on your senior year.”

Stiles leaves in the direction to the school, parks and goes to the field where some teenagers are already listening to the coach. He gets just in time for the coach to yell at him.

“Stilinski! You missed the pep talk. Now you and Scott will do suicide laps when he gets here. Get started while I brief the new ones.”

Stiles starts running and damns his luck for getting a second too late. He’s tired by the second lap, but then Scott appears by his side.

“What… happened… to you?” Stiles asks in between breaths.

“Someone supposedly saw a wolf from another pack near the nemeton. I think she was a sacrifice,” he replies barely out of breath.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“I’m going over with Derek tonight, to see if we can find out what happened,” Scott replies.

“Stilinski! McCall! If you’re talking, you’ll be doing suicide runs until one of you dies!”

They run in silence for a while, until Coach Finstock begrudgingly tells them to stop and join the practice. Then they’re stuck shooting free throws until Finstock blows his whistle and sends then to the showers.

“How can you possibly stand the whistle?”

“You get used to it,” a voice send from the lockers behind. They both turn around and see Isaac changing.

“You’re back!” Scott says, going to hug him.

“I didn’t wanna miss the opportunity to see Stiles in his graduation gown,” he replies.

“Where are you staying?”

“Your mom seemed pretty supportive to the idea of me staying with you."

“My mom?” asks Scott. “You went to my mom first?”

“Well, she’s the one that pays for everything, right?”

Whispering, Scott says, “as the alpha, I should be pissed,” then adds out loud, “but I’m glad to see you again.”

“Isaac wanna come over to the woods later? We’ll smoke weed and maybe find a dead body.”

“Huh, not much has changed,” says Isaac. “I’m not even sure wolves can get high.”

“Isaac, Isaac,” Stiles makes a disappointed face, shaking his head, “haven’t you ever tried to just keep smoking? Scott’ll teach you.”

Later when he’s at home alone, he starts filming.

“My name is Stiles Stilinski, I’m 18 at the moment this was filmed. I like lacrosse and video games. My first favorite video game is- was GTA San Andreas. I just got back from a trip to LA where I could’ve kissed the hottest guy in the world in multiple occasions but I chickened out. I have frontotemporal dementia. It’s what my mom had. It’s the only kind of dementia that young people can get. I’m the youngest documented case.”

He stops talking for a second, looking down to gather his thoughts.

“I’m pissed. A friend came back to town and now it feels like another person to disappoint. I’m, uh,” Stiles gesticulates at him, “this, you know. A train wreck. I wanted to film this to know what I was like when I’m a forgetful, dribbling mess. Maybe I won’t remember everything, but I’ll remember I was young. That’s all that matters anyway.”

He stops filming and puts the camera away. He starts doing his Econ homework when he hears someone at the window. He turns around just in time to see Derek entering the room.

“You know my dad knows you, right? You can use the main door,” Stiles says.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he replies.

“Isaac is back in town,” he announces.

“Yeah, he came to see me yesterday. We even hugged.”

“And no warning to your friends?”

Derek looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine, be like that,” Stiles says.

Derek laughs, his genuine, open laugh. Stiles feels doomed by the universe. It’s giving him so much, even a terminal illness, and he can’t do nothing when it comes to Derek. Handsome, kind, respectful Derek who will not make a move after what Stiles told him.

“Why are you freaking out? Your heartbeat spiked,” Derek asks.

“I have a song. For you.” He rambles, “not my song actually, but a song I found out thanks to my Spanish class and I’m gonna play it to you because who else will understand it? Lydia? She already said she hates my singing.”

Stiles picks up the guitar Derek gave him and fumbles with the strings for a bit. He starts playing slowly, building the song with care as if a little bird was hidden inside the guitar and he didn’t want to disturb it.

“Tus ojos hacen magia, son magos, los abriste,” he sings, a little off-key but singing nonetheless.

Derek looks at him like he’s never seen him before and when Stiles sings “cuando naciste tú a los árboles les salieron frutas” he smiles.

Stiles tries to follow the singers’ lead but he’s a little late to “despertaste y le diste vuelta a mi universo.”

Stiles' heart beats faster after that. He knows that Derek hears it and he wants to. He wants to make it obvious, so obvious no werewolf could miss it. But at the same time his nerves are getting the best of him, he wants to finish the song.

“Ahora los sueños son reales porque se sueña despierto,” he sings, looking at his guitar, and then looks at Derek. “y en la tierra parece que comienza la vida.”

Then he sings the chorus for the last time, looking at Derek, expectantly.

“What did you think?” he asks when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“It’s a beautiful song, for sure.”

“But did you get it?”

“Get what?”

“The song. It’s your eyes that make the sun stop painting the sky. Your eyes do magic, they’re magic.”

Derek and Stiles look at each other intently, neither following the pulse of electricity that settles around them when they’re together.

“Well, you owe me for the kelp tank fiasco,” Derek says, getting close the Stiles.

“You might be right,” he mumbles, Derek is already closer than he had been since the trip. Stiles is the one who reaches out to him and gives him a peck on the lips. “The rest when, uh, the, mmmm… the house is ready.”

Then he goes to bed, ushering a dumbstruck Derek out of the window he climbed before.

He takes his camera out and starts filming.

“My name is Stiles Stilinski and I’m a stupid piece of shit.”

Derek is in Beacon Hills High school, not remembering how he got there. He hears Stiles yell his name, but he can’t make out the direction. Then he hears a scream, an ear-piercing, glass-shattering scream coming from the other corridor.

He runs to see Peter running away, Stiles crumpled on the floor, bleeding. He rushes to him.

He holds him like he once held Paige.

“It’s okay, Stiles, we can fix this. Scott will fix this-”

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Stiles asks.

“No, you won’t,” replies Derek.

“I can’t- I can’t take this anymore,” says Stiles. “Please, Derek.”

Derek refuses to believe it. He hold Stiles tighter. He’s crying and doesn’t know what to do or who to call. He’s just a beta.

“I think I knew it would happen like this.”

“And you still liked me?”

“I loved you.”

As Stiles closes his eyes, a scream bubbles in his throat. When he can’t longer hear his heartbeat. He lets Stiles go, howling in pain.

Derek wakes up to Cora shaking him awake.

“What the fuck Derek, you're waking up the whole neighborhood. What happened?”

Derek fumbles around his pillows and finds his phone. He dials Stiles, Paige's last words ringing in Stiles' voice inside his head.

“Hello?,” he says sleepily.

“Are you okay?” 

“I was just sleeping. You can’t babysit me every night, Derek,” he sounds mildly annoyed.

“Thank god, you’re okay,” his relief is palpable. Cora raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, thank your god, I’m going back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning,” he says hanging up.

Cora is looking at him like she can read his mind.

“Nightmare about Stiles?” she asks.

Derek nods.

“Like the ones about the fire?”

He nods again.

“You can talk to me about this, you know? I’m not gonna run away,” her voice is steady, her tone serious.

“It’s just… there’s not much to talk about. I’m 25, Stiles turns 19 in a couple of weeks. He’s dying. There’s no way this is going to work out without anyone getting hurt,” Derek replies.

“But where’s the fun in playing it safe?"

“The thing between you and Lydia is something else entirely. She doesn’t have a timer over her head.”

“Everyone does, Derek. Some are just invisible to the naked eye.”

Cora goes back to her room after that. Derek stays awake for a while not wanting to relive the nightmare, but ends up falling asleep anyway.

*****

A couple of days later, he’s at the construction site, where they’ve demolished the burned house and are starting with the foundation for the basement. Derek wanted to leave it out, but Cora wanted a room where she could punch stuff, so they’ll have a mini gym, Derek guesses.

Cora’s was talking to the crew, telling them stories she remembered about the house. The guys, all barely older than Derek were fascinated with Cora.

He just wanted to be near the house before nothing was left, to see if he could feel something. His mom, his aunt, his brothers. But because he isn’t a medium or a witch or an emissary, he feels nothing.

When Cora comes back, she tells him that the crew says they can push the finish to 5 months if they work longer hours.

“What do you say?” Cora asks.

“That we’re not exploitative capitalists pigs. The house will take as long as the house takes.”

“But they want extra hours for extra pay,” Cora says.

“I’ll talk to their boss, but about raising their hourly rate. They deserve to see their families as well.”

Cora bounces back to talk to them. A small cheer is heard from the workers.

He thinks to himself how Stiles is doing. Will he be okay in six months to see the house finished? He has to be. He promised he’d paint a wall. In a hunch, he texts him.

Did you know it takes 6 whole months to build a house?, says Derek.

you just earned me a 15 minute detention, but wow

Don’t tell Cora but I miss you

we haven’t seen each other in a whole week. years.

eons, he texts back.

wanna come over to the apartment after lacrosse? Cora and Lydia are ‘studying’, Derek texts.

sure thing, see you then.

*****

Later when he’s drawing Stiles profile in his sketchpad, he hears the jeep park outside. He quickly hides the sketchbook under a throw blanket in the sofa. He opens the door to Stiles carrying his backpack, lacrosse stick and all.

“I’m guessing you made it into the team,” he greets.

“Yeah, but it was a close call.”

Stiles its down at the sofa.

“What do you keep- oh! Your sketchbook.”

“Yeah, give me that, let’s watch a movie instead.”

“A secret sketchbook,” Stiles adds, mischief sipping into his tone.

Derek feels his cheeks blush.

“Come on, Stiles,” he says.

“You told me you’d show me some time. Can’t it be now?"

Defeated, Derek sits next to Stiles and watches him look at the sketches. At the beginning most are from Cora, Braeden or what he remembers from his house before the fire. There’s one where Scott and Stiles are drawn together.

“I like this one. We look like we’re having fun,” says Stiles.

Then he turns the page around and finds the first sketch of Stiles in a number of angles.

“Mmm… obsessing much?”

“I enjoy drawing beautiful things,” he replies.

Stiles seems speechless for the first time in forever. He blushes and his heartbeat jumps.

“Well they’re good, but I don’t look really like that,” he says.

“You are the most beautiful person I know Stiles, of course no drawing could make you justice.”

They stay in silence for a moment.

“I looked up the song,” Derek says, trying to fill the silence.

“And?”

“Do you really think that when I wake up I turn your universe around?”

Stiles looks down, hiding his eyes from Derek.

“I do. I like you the way the song says. It’s almost as if your existence made me aware of the Earth and everything in it. I like you as if you made dreams come true, because being with you, even as a friend is fucking magical.”

“Then why-?” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Because my days are numbered. And I don’t want you counting down the seconds.”

After that, they watch a movie in Derek's laptop. Stiles leaning more than necessary on him. He doesn’t pay much attention to the movie either because Stiles is there, looking beautiful and tragic as they watch someone kick the living shit out of another fighter. Derek doesn’t even know who’s he’s supposed to be rooting for, all he knows is Stiles. Stiles is here, warm and content. And for now, that’s enough.

*****

Next time Derek sees Stiles is a day before his birthday, when he visits after a text that just said “come over”.

He finds Stiles in his room, which is filled of canvases drying on the floor, on the bed, one even hanging from the closet door.

“Paint with me,” he says, holding a couple of brushes to him. Derek takes off his jacket and leaves it in the hallway as he enters Stiles’ room.

He’s playing music in Spanish. Derek recognizes the same voice from the song Stiles sang to him days before.

His bright yellow wall has a lot of scrawls by different people, no longer empty and shiny. He moves around the room to get closer to Stiles.

“What is this?” he asks.

“I’m Van Gogh during his yellow period.”

Derek sees a lot of color in the paintings Stiles has around the room.

“I think you’ve got enough canvases by now,” Derek says.

“But none by master portraitist Derek Hale. Come on, at least leave me a message on the wall of sorrows,” he says nonchalantly.

Derek reads some of the inscriptions in the wall. I’ll miss you, you bastard, wrote Scott. A smaller note reads you got this, Stiles. Kira.

It’s statistically impossible that other lives exist, but if they do, I hope we’ll meet in the next one, reads Lydia’s beautiful cursive.

Derek feels a hole open up in his stomach. This is actually happening, Stiles will be gone someday. His friends are already preparing for it. Derek’s not ready. Not when Stiles says stuff like your eyes are magical. He wants to storm out, leave Stiles live his angst dream alone, but he realizes that Stiles is happy. He smells content and whatever fruity shampoo he’s using now.

Derek recognizes the song Stiles sang to him playing in the background. He plays special attention when he catches the chorus la luna sale a caminar siguiendo tus pupilas. The moon goes for a walk following your pupils.

He feels it’s that way for Derek. When Stiles is looking so bright and happy, he’s the Sun and Derek is a planets around him, following him in search of a bit of his energy.

Derek takes a look at the paintings in Stiles room. They’re good. Most of them a mixture of post-impressionist techniques with abstract motifs. Some of them depict wolves and mystery, some depict hospitals and dying. He remembers reading after Stiles told him about the disease, that some patients become particularly creative as they start to lose some elements of speech.

Has something else changed? Is Stiles losing himself at a more rapid rate than other patients?

“If you like one, we could frame it and put it up in your new home.”

“I’d rather have you than a reminder of good days gone by.”

Stiles smiles sadly at that. He pushes a brush on his face and orders him to paint a canvas.

Derek picks one of the last empty canvases and uses the brush to paint the features that have become familiar by now. He sketches the turn of Stiles’ nose and his cupid bow, the way his hair spikes in all directions. He uses a second brush to delineate his features and his birth marks. It’s a simple portrait but he’s content with it.

“What did you do?” Stiles asks cheerfully.

“You,” he whispers, but Stiles hears anyway and he blushes, turning the other way.

“I have another song for you,” Stiles says.

“Will you play it for me?”

“Just on Spotify, I’m not that good yet.”

A synthesizer slowly builds up to the song, slow, soft but sure. They listen in silence as the music builds to a crescendo and then goes back to a more quiet ambiance.

Just as the song is ending, Stiles sings along to the song, “god I hope this year is better than… the last.”

“What do you think?” says Stiles turning to him.

“That I’ve never wanted to kiss you so badly. Not even in the aquarium,” Derek replies honestly.

“Well, that can be fixed,” he says leaning towards Derek.

Derek can’t hear anything past his own heartbeat,so he doesn’t hear when Scott comes up until he’s at the door and Stiles is getting up like nothing happened.

They chat about the paintings and school and Derek feels out of place. He looks around Stiles room and finds a black sharpie. He writes in the wall you owe me, Stiles. DH.

When Derek gets to the loft, he does so carrying a 36x48 canvas. He starts painting without any direction and the picture starts to look like a photo when he adds the girls. He remembers that Stiles took a lot of pictures of the trip but only some of them were good due to the werewolf flare. One of the good ones is in LA, the last day they were there, meeting with Stiles’ friends at the beach. The sun had been too hard in the eyes and all the werewolves had been smiling with closed eyes.

He paints them all, even Miles and Lana and their LA aura, whatever it is. He leaves Stiles, who was in the middle, for the end. Stiles eyes looked stoned as hell, red veins running around the brown pupils. Stiles looks elated, as if he had found the place he wanted to be. He had one arm up behind his head showing his tattoo and looking fit as hell.

When Cora arrives, she finds him delineating Lydia’s hair.

“Why are you painting? You haven’t done this since forever.”

“I’m going back to school, Cora. If things go right.”

“Wow, is that a plan, Derek?” her eyes are searching for something on Derek's face.

“All I know is that writing and drawing and painting feel good to me.”

“And looking by what you did in your free time, you’re good at it, as well,” she says.

“Do you think it’s a mistake?” he asks hurriedly.

“Nah, we’ll still see each other at parties and such. Do you have any idea where you’d like to go?”

“Not yet. You?” Derek asks

“Santa Clara University. Not only because they’re the #1 university in the field in California, but also because it is 20.2 miles or 20 minutes away from Stanford University, where Lydia is going.”

“You really like Lydia, don’t you?” Derek says smiling.

“Shut up,” she replies with no heat.

He keeps painting without thinking about much, except about Stiles who keeps crossing his mind with each brush stroke.

In his search to broaden his experiences before he hits the bucket, Stiles finds himself at a dark alley waiting for someone recommended by his dealer. He’s got the good stuff, he said. Stiles is already regretting his decision as each minute passes by. He doesn’t need to do it, but he feels like he can’t die not knowing how it feels.

The guy arrives in a motorcycle, he doesn’t even take off his helmet when he asks “Are you Stiles?”

Stiles nods. The guy gets two small bags from his jacket and says, “don’t do it alone, if it’s your first time. This is the real deal, not some diluted street shit.”

Stiles thanks the guy and pays him. He had planned to do it in the woods but now that the dealer said it could be dangerous, he decides to stay at home. No one will come if he doesn’t call them anyway.

When he arrives home, he checks that every room is empty and goes to his room. He gets from under the bed the small cookie box filled with drug parafernalia and gets the syringe he bought the day before. He cooks it in a spoon he took from the kitchen. He isn’t sure about how to inject anything, so he channels his knowledge of Trainspotting and puts pressure over his arm with a belt. He sees the blue veins pop in stark contrast against his pale skin. He prepares the needle and injects it directly on the vein, releasing the liquid into his bloodstream.

Stiles lets the needle fall to the floor and unties the belt. He had never, ever felt pleasure so strongly. It comes as a tsunami, a great big wave of relief he didn’t know he needed. He feels as if he’s falling, backing up into the floor that wants to absorb him. It really does feel like the best orgasm he’s ever had.

He feels euphoric, free, like he broke the chains that stopped him from knowing the world truly. He doesn’t know if it’s because is his first time or because the stuff is really strong, but he can’t move. He wants to reach for a joint.

“Happy birthday to me,” he mumbles.

He spends some time there, lying down on the floor without moving, just enjoying the waves of relief that heroin brings. Just as sudden as it hit him, he starts feeling his legs and arms again. Stiles stands up cautiously, legs wobbly. He looks at the time and sees that 3 hours have passed. He’s slightly disappointed that it didn't feel like 3 hours but it still beats any sex he’s had so far.

He starts getting ready to go to Scott’s, where the pack will gather and they’ll drink while Mrs McCall is on shift. He chooses a long sleeved t-shirt so no one will see the marks left by the needle.

“You’d look so hot in a leather jacket,” Erica says, leaning on the door frame.

“I don’t own any,” he replies.

“Then go shopping with Lydia for once, Stiles. I’m not welcoming you into my house looking like that.”

“I’m going to Scott’s but thanks for the invitation,” he says putting away the drugs.

“Oh, but Stiles, you are coming home sooner than later. It’s the way things are,” she adds leaving the room.

“What does that even mean? Erica!”

He goes to the hallway looking for her, panicked that maybe he imagined her.

“Erica!”

When he receives no response, he punches a wall, leaving small blood strains behind. He goes back to the room and dresses himself. No hallucination is ruining his birthday. He rolls some blunts to take with him and leaves on his way to Scott’s.

By the time he gets there most of the effects of the heroin have passed. He wants another hit, something stronger, something longer, something that makes him feel alive.

He knocks the door out of pure courtesy, then lets himself in with his key.

“Surprise!” his friends yell. How can it be a surprise if he already knew they’d be cooking some party for him? That’s when he notices Miles and Lana in the middle of the group. Stiles runs to hug them. Then he hugs Scott. He lifts Lydia in the air as a greeting. He hugs Kira and Liam and Cora and Isaac. He hugs Derek briefly, not wanting to linger on the smell of his aftershave and leather. The house if so full of love and companionship that he feels bad for doing smack just minutes before.

“You’re sweating cold, sweetie. Are you sure you’re ok?” Lana asks.

“Yeah, just the meds I’m taking.”

Derek looks at him across the room, serious. He knows. Stiles doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows.

Lydia announces that because the cake has cannabis in it, they’re singing first, doing whatever else second. Stiles is asked to cut the cake. He does so, unevenly, but everyone cheers anyways. They hand out cake for everyone and Stiles lights up a smoke.

At some point, Stiles find himself alone with Derek for a moment.

“Seriously, Stiles? Heroin?” he whispers angrily.

“What? It’s my birthday, my rules, buddy,” he says slapping him slightly on the chest.

“I thought we had an agreement,” he says.

“We do?” Stiles tries to remember what's the last thing they talked about but his mind hits a wall.

“You said you’d paint a room in my house,” he replies.

“I’ve said a lot of stuff, Derek,” he says smoking his cigarette, “not everything is set on stone.”

Derek looks hurt at that. Stiles realizes what he said a second too late. Derek doesn’t reply, he leaves to mingle with Scott and Lydia, who seem to be making a big deal of hugs and stuff like that.

Stiles talks to Miles about his new tattoo, about trying MDMA, about the time he hooked up with a guy in the restrooms of a club, and they laugh and smoke like they’ve been friends forever. In a way, it feels like that. Lana joins them at some point and they discuss college options and scholarships. Stiles realizes he’s late to most applications to college. And so it hits him: he is not going to college. He’s staying here to rot and decay and become a drooling, mumbling mess.

At some point, alcohol is brought up and Stiles goes to town with the vodka, taking sips straight from the bottle. He walks to the stereo that’s playing the music and turns it up.

“Let’s celebrate as if I was turning 21, cause we all know that ain’t happening!”

Lydia looks at him with pity, so does Kira and Scott and Miles. Everyone pities him and he’s so done with that. He wants to be remembered alive, not half-dead.

He takes a swig of his bottle of vodka and hollers. He lights up another cigarette and starts dancing in the middle of the living room. Everyone else be damned. He’s surprised when the first person he finds dancing with him is Derek. Oh, Derek, with his snug shirt and ripped arms and bright green eyes following his lead and dancing like this is the last time he’ll ever dance. Eventually, everyone dances and smokes and they stop looking at him like a time-bomb and he feels happy.

****

Some days after the birthday party, he finds himself in his room alone with his paintings. They don’t look so great anymore. They feel like bad copies made by a depressed teenager. He feels angry at them. Like they’re mocking him for his lack of natural talent, his lack of life.

He’s so angry and he can’t find a way to let it out so he punches the wall. Then he lifts his mattress and turns it over. He throws the contents from his desk to the floor, his books, his albums. He takes the pictures off the wall. He’s tearing up a canvas when his father comes in.

“Stiles?”

Stiles dumps the canvas to the floor and sits on the base of his bed, hands running through his hair, crying.

“You monster. You want to leave me with nothing, eh?”

Then looking at the words written in a wall that was covered with photographs his father adds, “this is your famous list, huh? Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve-” his voice breaks, “I could’ve helped you.”.

His father sits down next to him and cries.

“I can’t help you. I don’t want you to go,” he covers his eyes with his hand, “I can’t bear it.”

Stiles had never seen his dad cry like that. Well, not since his mother died. He puts a hand over his dads shoulders as they shake with his crying. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he just holds him until the sobs subside and his father squares his shoulders up, leaving him alone in his thrashed room.

****

Stiles goes over to Scott’s after dinner. His father didn’t even acknowledge him when he went out. He uses his key to go in and yells Scott's name.

“Don’t come in! Don’t come in!”

“Why? Are you naked in there? Come on, Scott.”

He hears angry whispering and then the sound of someone jumping on one foot, as if to get dressed (or undressed, he doesn't know).

“Oh my god, Scott, you have a girl in here? I’ll see myself out,” he says, turning around the way he came.

He leaves Scott’s house but sits on the curb for a while. If he had the heroine on him, he’d do it now. Lay here until the trash does away with him in the morning. He remembers his joint though and lights it up.

After a few puffs, Scott is by his side sitting down.

“I’m not gonna judge you or anything,” Stiles says, “you could give me a heads up that the plans are cancelled so I don’t go through all this trouble.”

“I’m sorry, buddy. We got a little caught up in there. But we can go hiking now, we could get high from the highest point in Beacon Hills. Is that alright?”

“It’s fine, Scott. You need to get a life that doesn’t revolve around protecting the defenseless human. My days of personhood are numbered, anyway.”

“Stiles, you know that we can fix this, right? It would go away. The doctor’s appointments, the MRIs, the hallucinations. You don’t even have to stay here as a beta, you can go anywhere,” Scott blurts out.

After a long silence, a thought occurs to him. It's very unlikely that things will go down that path, so he loses nothing by giving Scott some peace of mind.

“Promise me something, Scott, if my illness is taking me out, don’t do anything. But if some bastard witch carves me up as a sacrifice or some other supernatural bullshit, you’ll help me be back on my feet, whatever it takes to get my revenge.”

Stiles holds his hand out, Scott takes it and shakes on it.

“And if an accident, that’s not technically supernatural were to happen-”

“Scott!," Stiles interrupts, “if something supernatural happens only. I swear to god if you save me from myself, I’ll kill you.”

*****

Stiles is meeting with his dealer to score some fentanyl. He had read online that it was 100 times stronger than heroin, and his last hit had been a week ago already. He doesn’t feel like he needs it, but wants to try something different.

“This is some strong stuff, kid, be careful,” said the dealer as he passed him the stuff.

“It won’t trace back to you if I bite it though, so we’re good,” Stiles replied.

He drives home and waits until his father leaves for his late night shift. He tidied up the place and recovered some of the pictures he had ripped from the wall. Stiles supposes he’ll have to print more.

He takes a bunch of klonopin to relax, knowing that it’ll take about 30 minutes to hit him. In the meantime, he prepares the room, moving cups and books around until he's satisfied. He closes the door and takes a note out of his backpack. He wrote a short letter in case things go sideways, not wanting to leave without saying goodbye. But if he’s careful with the dose -taking the patch out in time- everything will be ok, he reminds himself.

After about 20 minutes have passed, he puts the fentanyl patch on his bicep. He lies down on his bed during the boring time between intake and effects, watching videos on his laptop. After about an hour, the opioids start to hit him with a small buzz and an extreme relaxation. He lies back on the bed for a while, letting the room spin around him. He feels happy but not euphoric as he did with the heroin.

He knows he should take the path off, but the minutes seem to stretch into eternity and he isn’t sure how much time has actually passed.

Stiles decides to get up. It’s a terrible mistake, his limbs barely respond and he stumbles, supporting himself in the closet. He drags his feet to the desk where he left his phone. He makes a grab for it but can’t hold on to it and it falls to the ground. Stiles, not able to hold himself up any longer, collapses on the floor. He tries to reach his phone but it’s far away. He manages to take his pulse but that can't be it, 40 beats per minute is not good.

But he did his homework, this should not be happening. He can’t feel his legs and the room won't stop spinning. Stiles feels cold all over, the edges of his vision blackening.

He crawls on his belly to get his phone. When he reaches it, he doesn’t know who to call. Scott? His dad? Lydia? He has trouble unlocking the screen, but eventually scrolls down to Derek, hoping he’ll answer.

“Stiles?”

“I did- I did something-” he slurs, “I think I overdid it. I can’t feel my legs.”

“Where are you?” Derek asks, concern lacing his tone.

“Home.”

“I’ll be there in 10,” he says.

Stiles think this is it. His body feels beyond relaxed, like a weight has been lifted from his chest. Maybe it was the right call and this is the way to go. The minutes feel longer when his entire body is buzzing from the dose. He regrets not having the opportunity to smoke a last joint. Derek is taking too long, he’ll only find him dead.

He wishes it happened faster. His breathing becomes slowed and labored, burning in his lungs. He thinks it will be quick since Stiles has no tolerance for opioids. Just as he closes his eyes and silently prays that his father forgives him, he hears someone running up the stairs.

“Stiles!” he doesn’t recognize the voice. He’s slipping, a sliver of consciousness noticing he’s being lifted and carried somewhere else.

“I told you I’d see you soon, Stiles,” Erica says.

“You’re not real,” he mumbles.

“Stiles, don’t talk, just don’t fall asleep, will you?” he hears a panicked voice tell him.

Before he falls asleep, a hand touches his forehead. He doesn’t feel any pain at all, but every second feels shorter than the one before. At least, he’ll be at peace now.

“Stiles, don’t you dare die on me, you hear me?” he listens faintly. “God, Stiles, please, what am I gonna do without you?”

He knows he’s in a car but not where they’re heading. He feels sick, but he also feels light. The last thing he hears is he called me, I found him like this.

Then he’s off to wherever people go when they die.

Derek is pacing around the hallway. Family only, they had said. He’s waiting for the sheriff to arrive, for him to do something and let him know how Stiles is.

His pulse had been so weak, his cold sweat stained his shirt. He was trembling when he found him, on the floor with his eyes closed. He was panicked and drove recklessly to the hospital. Stiles was taken from his arms into a white stretcher where he was swept away.

The sheriff arrives to the desk and asks for Stiles. When he sees him, he goes to him, angry.

“You did this, didn’t you? Where else could Stiles be getting the drugs? I swear to god, if anything happens to him-”

“He called me and I found him like this. I have no idea where he gets his drugs, he’s never said.”

Derek thinks back to the note he saw on top of the desk It was my fault, I fucked it up. I’m good. He wonders if his dad saw the note.

Was Stiles committing suicide or was it really a mistake? Maybe this is what he meant when he said he wouldn’t make it to 21. Maybe he had planned this and they were supposed to be good with it.

Stiles, goddammit, he thinks.

Hours pass before the doctor comes out to talk to the Sheriff, Derek doesn’t get up but uses his hearing to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Is he gonna be okay?” asks the sheriff.

“Well, he was brought just in time,” says the doctor. “We’ve administered naloxone and he’s recovering now. He’ll probably sleep the whole night, you can come back in the morning.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” the sheriff says.

Less than a minute later, the sheriff is standing in front of Derek. He looks exhausted.

“He’s good. You can go now,” he says to Derek.

“It’s ok, I have nothing else to do.”

They sit in silence for a while until the sheriff realizes Derek is not going to move and goes to get coffee.

Maybe if he had paid more attention, this wouldn’t have happened. Always reaching for a better high. Maybe, that’s all it is, he couldn’t have predicted this.

Later, a nurse comes in and tells Sheriff Stilinski that he can see Stiles if he wants to, but that he has to be silent because most patients are asleep at this time. He leaves for a corridor to the right. Derek pays attention to the steps and where they stop, guessing that Stiles’ room should be somewhere there. He stashes that information for later.

He calls Scott and tells him what happened. Scott curses and says he’s coming over. Derek stops him telling him they’ve not let anyone else in but his dad. Scott makes him promise to call sooner if something happens and hangs up.

When Stiles’ dad comes back, his eyes are red and puffy. He sits a few chairs away.

Around 4 am, the sheriff’s radio sounds with a code. Apparently a couple hiking found a body. Derek can’t pay attention to more details because an alarms blares outside the waiting room. They’re bringing in one of the hikers who was apparently attacked by an animal. Derek texts Scott: someone is doing something in the woods 1 dead, 1 hurt.

Dude, it’s 4 am. Why everything has to happen at night, Scott texts back.

After that, he’s all alone with his thoughts about Stiles. He thinks of the song he sang and blushes. The world revolves around you. Stiles, damn it, that’s you, he thinks.

Around 8, he’s starting to feel sleepy, when someone waves a coffee in front of him.

“I heard you spent the night guarding the door, wouldn’t you like to come see him?” Melissa asks.

Derek receives the coffee and nods. He follows her through the same corridor Stiles’ dad had taken and they stop in a light blue door.

“15 minutes, ok?”

She lets him in and Derek walks to the chair next to Stiles’ bed.

Stiles looks fragile, pale, with dark circles around his eyes. His breathing is slow and steady, signaling he’s asleep.

“Derek?”

Derek startles and looks back at his face.

“You’re awake.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Not now, Stiles. Just sleep and get better okay?”

Stiles closes his eyes but holds his hand out to Derek. Derek takes it and it feels smaller than usual, maybe because Stiles himself is looking small.

“Stay,” is all he says.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replies.

Stiles falls asleep with a tiny smile on his face.

****

A couple of days later, Stiles is out of the hospital and under the careful watch of his father. Stiles is not allowed to come over to Derek’s house, so Derek has taken to climbing through his window more and more often.

They usually just talk or Derek listens as Stiles goes on a rambling spree while writing a paper. Derek had tried to bring up university, but Stiles had shut him down.

“I can barely finish high school, college is out of the question,” he replied that time.

Derek is sitting on Stiles' bed, his back to the wall, watching Stiles type furiously on his laptop. Something about The Strickland Press and its contemporary leftist newspapers.

“Have you found anything else from your father about the murders?” Derek asks.

“Not much, but they have been in threes, so it makes me think we’ve got ourselves a witch hunt in the future.”

“We’ll see,” says Derek back. Truthfully he had thought the same thing. This looks a lot like when Jennifer was making the sacrifices. The difference is that this time there are no other connections or clues becaue Stiles’ father is handling the case and didn’t see fit to share the info with the pack.

“He’s working with Mr. Argent, can you blame him?” says Stiles.

Stiles closes the door and opens the last drawer of his desk, where he’s got weed stashed.

“Stiles,” Derek says.

“Yeah, yeah, no drugs, but a) weed is legal, and b) I’m not spending my last days sober. That would be akin to torture, I’m sure.”

He rolls two joints, one for each and they smoke next to the window, as if the sheriff won’t catch the smell lingering on Stiles’ clothes and room.

“Did I ever tell you that I wanted to be FBI?” Stiles asks.

“No, you didn’t. Why FBI?”

“To handle the big cases, to be assigned to New York or LA or somewhere sunnier like the Bahamas.”

“To go away?” Derek asks.

“Temporarily. But not anymore.”

“Why not?” Derek asks fearing he’s talking about dying.

“I don’t wanna give up the weed,” he replies.

Derek jokingly pushes him slightly on the shoulder, when Stiles does the same, his hand stays in his chest, close to his heart.

“Tell me a lie,” he says, his voice lower.

“I’m wearing a bra,” he replies.

Stiles laughs but keeps his hand to his heart. “Now tell me a truth,” he says.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” his heartbeat is steady and he wonders if Stiles can feel the difference.

Stiles looks up at him, his brown eyes wide and hopeful.

“What stops you?”

Derek closes the distance between them and their lips touch, sweet and innocent. Derek’s heartbeat jumps, his palms start to sweat, his head feels lighter. Seconds later the kiss turns hungry, feral, a tongue inside his mouth and he’s kissing Stiles like there is no tomorrow. He playfully bites his lower lip, making Stiles moan into his mouth as he kisses him more, wanting to quell the hunger inside.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, Stiles hands reaching for his neck and guiding him closer to him. Derek’s hand fall on Stiles’ hips, holding him closer. Stiles stops kissing his mouth and starts kissing his neck, nibbling at the soft spot between his neck and his shoulder, Derek makes a sound he’s never made before and his legs shake. He holds onto Stiles strongly as if the world will dissolve around them. Derek guides Stiles face back to his mouth and kisses him, thirsty for him.

Times seems to pass slowly then, both of them holding into each other as if to keep from floating away. He remembers a song he heard on the car with Stiles when they went to Muir beach. Kiss me in the mouth and set me free, sing me like a choir. In that second, Stiles’ teeth hold his lower lip, sucking on it. They kiss like it’s the first and last kiss on Earth, like the world depends on it, and right now, so much depends on this kiss, this one kiss.

Derek hears a car pull up downstairs. He pulls away from Stiles slightly.

“Stiles, does your dad come for home for lunch on any given day?”

“Fuck! Get in the closet, I’ll distract him. To be continued,” he says, then he leaves the room in a hurry.

Instead of hiding, Derek writes a note on one of Stiles’ notebooks on his desk. To be continued, he writes, and jumps out the window as he hears steps from the stairs.

****

A few weeks pass before they can continue anything, since Derek is needed at the school for another class. It took him a full month to get used to be called Mr. Hale. Stiles had laughed when he said it. Stiles had been busy as well, lagging a bit behind on his homework already for all the lack of sleep he’s got lately.

As if that wasn’t stressing enough, Argent had set up a meeting with him and Scott to tell them about the sacrifices. It turns out whoever is doing this is targeting supernatural creatures for now. Three banshees and three wolves have been killed. They guess they still haven’t gotten around to choose a third creature but they’re in high alert. One of Argent’s men has gone missing and they fear the witch will make do with any human if she needs to complete the three sacrifices.

He sometimes misses the times when things like this wouldn’t even come close to Beacon Hills, his mother’s presence enough to keep people away. He might be able to turn into a wolf now but he’s no leader. Scott on the other hand could do it, protect the whole territory if his pack was stronger. He wonders if Scott could still adopt him and Cora into his pack even if Isaac is back.

He’s pulling up to his apartment when he hears something in the back ally. He follows the noise and whatever it was scurries away. When he turns around a woman is standing there with an open coat and a knee-long dress.

“Did you miss me Derek?” it says. He can’t say for sure what is talking back at him.

The voice is raspy and distorted. It grates on his ears like sandpaper on his skin.

“Oh, can’t recognize me without my pretty face?,” her voice higher, familiar. She gets closer to Derek, who instinctively starts transforming into a werewolf. Once she’s close enough, he can see her.

“You died,” he says to her.

“But I was still close enough to the nemeton to cut a deal,” replies Jennifer.

She swipes her hands in an upward motion and the air lifts him up, throwing him into the trash bags. He stands up quickly. He rushes into the attack without thinking much, he goes right through her.

“This isn’t even my final form,” she taunts.

When Derek is up on his feet again, she’s gone, no scent to track. He calls Argent.

“You wouldn’t believe who decided to visit,” he says.

*****

That night when he goes to Stiles' place, he tells him about Jennifer.

“Julia, if I remember correctly,” Stiles replies.

“Yes, she was near the loft. Maybe she was looking for me. Maybe it’s a coincidence and she was after someone else, I don’t know.”

Stiles lights up a joint.

“Your dad is home, Stiles,” he says, throwing a glance at the corridor.

“Well, he needs to know about this Julia business too, doesn’t he?” he says sarcastically. Then he yells, “Dad! You might want to come join us!”

He hears the footsteps of Stiles' father coming up the stairs.

“Again with the pot, Stiles? I’m gonna have to throw it away!” he starts saying, then he notices Derek leaning on the window.

“Oh, crap! What is this? You coming out? I already know Stiles, you’re not too subtle.”

“Dad! No! I told you I'm bi, that day at the club!" Stiles says.

"You didn't."

"I did! Anyway, it’s to let you know Derek saw the witch behind the attacks today,” he spills.

“What?” he turns to Derek with a serious look on his face.

“It’s Jennifer Blake, the darach,” says Derek. “She didn’t die when Deucalion killed her, apparently.”

“Well, fuck,” the sheriff swears. “I need a drink with this.”

“Dad, you shouldn’t be drinking-”

“And you should put out that joint of yours and come tell me everything.”

Once in the living room, Derek tells him all he knows, which is not much, but it's useful to the sheriff anyway.

“I didn’t get a full view of her and I went right through her, I don’t think she can be killed.”

“Argent will know more, probably. But you guys should be careful, not going out at night and such.”

The sheriff is looking at Stiles specifically. Stiles seems to get that he’s been put in curfew when he stops nodding.

“Oh, come on! I can help,” says Stiles getting a bit of ashy powder from his pocket. “I always carry this stuff, in case I need it.”

The sheriff rubs his forehead and takes another sip.

“Please don’t do anything stupid," he says, dismissing them with a hand. He gets his phone out and puts it to his ear, dialing Argent.

They go back to Stiles room and chat for a bit about work and how’s school going. Eventually, they can’t avoid the kiss any longer.

“Derek, that night-”

“It was great.”

“I was looking for the word sublime, but yeah, great works.”

“I don’t know if we can be just friends, Stiles. There’s something else, something bigger pulling us together through this all. And I’m not a great believer, but I believe in us,” Derek rushes.

Stiles gets closer to Derek, close enough to grab his hand. “Maybe special friends?” he supplies, a bit shaky.

“I still would, if you wanna,” Derek said, echoing Stiles’ words back at him.

They kiss again, this time as if they’re two souls meeting again after a lengthy absence. It feels warm, homely, sublime, as Stiles put it.

They kiss slowly then hungrily, sometimes grotesquely so. Stiles’ lips sucking his tongue, his tongue licking Stiles’ bottom lip. And as they kiss, he can heart Stiles heartbeat, strong and rapid, beating at the rhythm of his own heart.

Derek feels happy and free.

Stiles’ days become a haze of classes, lunches, lacrosse practices, and Derek. Meeting up to go grocery shopping with Derek, walking to the building site of his new home with Derek, talking about his family with Derek.

It is as if all the chaos and unrest they feel for Jennifer being back is pushing them closer together. They get time to be alone and to talk an talk and talk. They even talk about his death sometimes. Derek wants to hear it all.

One night when he’s standing guard at the Stilinski home, Stiles sits down with him in the backyard to smoke.

“I like it that we’re not awkward. I felt awkward at times with Malia, like she saw the world from a perspective too different from mine,” Stiles says, lighting up a blunt. “It felt... safe but also very wild.”

Stiles imagines that Derek doesn’t want the details of his and Malia’s love life. Instead he tells her about the friendship moments, like watching movies together and her interest in learning about pop culture. Derek listens as if he was filing it for later.

“Do you miss Braeden?” Stiles asks, insecurity seeping into his tone.

“I did a few months ago, but not anymore,” he answers sincerely.

Stiles feels relief course right through him. These moments are theirs only, no exes hiding in the corners waiting to come back swinging.

Looking at Derek under the moonlight, he understands why people write love poems, because there’s no other way to describe him, leaning on the rail on the back porch, receiving a lit blunt from Stiles. Maybe other languages have a word to express what he feels then, but English is not one of them.

They smoke mostly in silence as they often do. Stiles likes their silence, he doesn’t feel the pressure to fill in the blanks while they’re together. He lifts a weight off of Stiles.

After they smoke, they kiss outside for a while. There’s this electricity that seems to light him up when they kiss, either slow and steady or hungry and passionate. He feels alive in a way nothing else makes him feel.

Stiles suggests they take it upstairs and Derek agrees. They kiss against the kitchen door, hands fumbling to touch more skin. It feels different from other times, more desperate as if they're running out of time. Stiles doesn't want this to stop.

When they reach the stairs, still kissing, Derek lifts him up, wrapping both of his legs around him. Stiles moans at the contact. Derek walks them up the stairs, as if lifting Stiles was the easiest thing in the world.

When they get to Stiles room, Stiles climbs down and closes the door with his key. As he turns around to face Derek, he notices Derek is next to him, without his jacket and looking at him as if he hung the moon up in the sky. Stiles can’t take it, so he pushes him against the foot of the bed and grabs his neck, pulling his face close to kiss him.

Derek manages to get Stiles’ flannel off, while still managing to touch him everywhere. Stiles is breathing rapidly already and gently pushes Derek to the bed. Stiles takes off his pants and crawls to climb over Derek, taking with him the t-shirt that Derek is wearing, pulling it up his head. Then he kisses him again, touching his chest, his shoulders, the sides of his neck.

This is how far they’ve always managed to get, always interrupted by someone or something else. Stiles is worried that something might stop them now, but can’t give much thought to it because Derek’s hands are on his ass, holding on to dear life. Stiles kisses his neck, his pecs, his shoulders, anything he can reach. Derek then flips them dexterously and he can feel his weight on him, every point in which they’re touching he’s on fire.

“Fuck me,” Stiles finds himself saying.

Derek grinds against him almost involuntarily, making him moan.

“Stiles, I don’t know if-” he cuts himself, biting his lower lip.

“There, in that drawer,” Stiles points. Derek reaches into it and fumbles until he finds a small half full bottle of lube. Derek swallows, and Stiles can see he’s hungry for it.

Derek stands up and takes off his pants and underwear. He’s already looking swollen and wet. Stiles takes his own boxers off with some effort, and throws them out with his feet. Derek kneels by the side of the bed then, looking up at Stiles.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

Stiles can't think of anything that's not Derek's face so close to his crotch. In lieu of answering, he nods.

The moment Derek's lips touch his dick, Stiles almost loses it. He can feel his wet and warm mouth taking him in, sucking him slowly, until Stiles is all the way inside. He grasps the sheets and moans loudly, he’s never gotten head so good. Stiles throws his head back and lets the pleasure build up within him.

Just as he feels coming closer to the edge, Derek moves his mouth to his balls and then places a finger on his butthole. His tongue darts around his perineum, making his toes curl. The feeling of his mouth on him is making him dizzy. They're really doing this. They're really doing this. Oh my god, he thinks.

He's almost forgotten about Derek’s finger, when he stops mouthing at Stiles' balls to lube his fingertips, the cold liquid flowing from Derek's hand onto his thighs.

“Are you sure you want this?” Derek asks, breathless.

“Yes, yes, goddammit. Derek, please,” Stiles begs.

Derek’s finger slips inside then and Stiles sees white. He’s fingering him slowly, but Stiles, never having done this in his life, is already high on it. He likes the way Derek’s finger seems to curl at some point and he feels an electric shock go through him. Derek’s left hand is giving him a handjob and Stiles is closer and closer to cum when Derek stops once more.

Stiles risks a glance at Derek and almost comes undone at the sight. His eyes are bright and wild, the slightest hint of blue giving him an edge Stiles didn't know he needed, but Jesus Christ, if it wasn't doing it for him.

He moans when Derek takes his cock in his hand, full and hard, and lines it up at his entrance. Suddenly he feels his hole on fire as Derek pushes his dick into him. Stiles feels weird at first because he never played like this with anyone, but the feeling is fleeting. And when Derek starts moving, his arms holding him up at the legs, moving him so delicately, so intimately, he lets go of his remaining worry.

He feels so full and open that the moans become wilder, louder, Derek moans above him too, as if holding out. Stiles has never spent so long without speaking and he’s almost convinced he’s dreaming, if it wasn’t for the pleasure bulding in his belly, growing until he can't hold it in any longer.

He cries out as he comes, waves of pleasure making him shake all over. Derek keeps fucking him, but not too long after, he’s coming too with a gutural moan that makes his dick interested.

Derek collapses next to him.

“I never thought we’d do that,” Stiles says, staring up the ceiling.

“Me neither,” confesses Derek.

They stay there, both naked and getting cold on top of the blankets. When Stiles begins to shiver, Derek stands up.

“Get inside," he orders.

“You too,” Stiles replies and Derek complies.

When Derek gets into bed, Stiles turns toward him.

“I can scratch that off the list,” he jokes.

“Was it?” Derek asks his brow furrowing.

Stiles laughs and shakes his head no.

“God, I never thought we would. But I’m glad we did. You?”

“I could do it for the rest of my life,” Derek replies.

“Just for the rest of mine,” Stiles adds.

Derek opens his arms and Stiles goes right into it, cuddling between those strong arms. Stiles falls asleep before he can enjoy it.

He wakes up to the sound of a chair being moved.. For a second he’s lost, not sure where he is. Then he sees Derek’s butt naked picking up the clothes and the whole night is back at him like someone slapped him with it. He notices the alarm clock reads 6 am.

“Your Dad just parked outside,” Derek whispers.

“He won’t come in, the door is closed.”

“Stiles, he has a gun. I’d rather not get shot today,” he says putting on his underwear and then his pants. He tosses Stiles’ clothes to the bed. He turns around and puts on his t-shirt and finally his jacket.

He walks to Stiles and kisses him goodbye.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promises.

Stiles smiles as he watches Derek slip out of his window. He hears him fall to the ground, seamlessly.

He feels alone for the first time in a long time, as if Derek had been always sleeping next to him.

I’ll add sleeping together to the list, he thinks, then goes back to sleep smelling Derek’s faint scent on his pillow.

****

Stiles’ day at school had been a pretty normal day until Scott grabbed him between periods and took him to an empty restroom.

“Dr. Deaton is missing,” Scott jumps right at it.

“How do you know?”

“Yesterday, when I went in for my shift, he wasn’t there. Told the secretary he had a house call but never came back to the office. I had to close down.”

“Maybe he went home and skipped on work, he’s the boss, he can do it,” Stiles reasons.

“But I had a feeling something was wrong and went by his place before school. The mountain ash barrier was disturbed. I went in and it smelled like no one had been home for days.”

“And that’s bad?”

“It was clinical, Stiles. Like someone took care of not leaving any scent. Could be Jennifer.”

A shiver goes through him. Stiles’ gut tells him this is bad.

“Scott, this is bad." A half-formed thought slips out of his mouth. "What if she’s going after humans? Emissaries? Witches or whatever other kind of magical humans are out there. How would we know who to ask? What packs even have an emissary? We don’t know.”

“I still have contact with Satomi’s pack, or what’s left of it,” says Scott.

“But then what? We place protective details on them?” It dawns on him then. "Maybe Jennifer’s been quiet because she’s all set, she’s just waiting for the moon to be full again.”

“Well, then we’re fucked, because the full moon’s tomorrow,” Scott says with a finality that scares him.

They decide Scott will call his contacts and Stiles is to gather the pack and leave the school to a safe place. 

When he tells Lydia, she rolls her eyes, “a safe place would be whatever universe she’s actually dead in.”

Once they’re all together, Scott says, “You’re all going to Derek’s, I’m going over to Dr. Deaton’s place again to see if there’s anything I missed.”

"I'm coming with you," says Isaac, putting his hand on Scott's shoulder. Scott smiles.

"Maybe you should stay with the guys, keep them safe."

"Scott-"

"No, I mean it. I'll call you if anything happens."

It looks like Isaac is about to protest, but Scott shakes his head at him.

i’m coming over with the guys, Stiles texts Derek.

Scott told me. Be safe, he replies.

He thinks back to the night before and he smiles.

“Ugh, you have one of your Derek smiles,” Liam says.

“Hey! I’m not even talking about him,” he answers. Still, Liam teases him and Stiles tells him off, but the truth is he does have his Derek smile on.

He’s driving to see Derek for the first time since they spent the night together. Will he be any different? Maybe he should kiss him hello. Maybe Derek will hate it. Maybe he’ll call him baby. Maybe he’ll kiss him and call him baby. Derek will definitely hate that.

Maybe it was the thoughts of Derek that distracted him enough that he didn’t see the deer in front of him until it was too late. He crashes against it at full speed, its body so heavy it breaks the windshield glass immediately. Stiles' foot presses on the brakes. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees as Liam’s body is stopped by the belt at the same time he feels his own almost slash his chest open.

“What the fuck!” Stiles yells, at no one in particular, once the car has come to a full stop.

“We’re not even out of the city!” he adds, looking around. Lydia and Isaac in the back appear to be just fine, if a bit shaken. Liam seems out of himself. Stiles feels a bit dizzy, but he still gets out of the car to investigate. They’re close to a service station, he thinks. The dead deer is staring at him, looking through him at something beyond Stiles’ gaze. He’s never been in this situation so he calls 911.

“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”

“I hit a deer,” he deadpans.

“Is anyone hurt?” the operator asks, her voice muddled by the static on the line.

“I don’t know. Liam is awake but I really don’t know. The deer is dead though,” he offers.

“Where are you, honey?” Stiles can hear typing in the back, it sounds distant.

“We’re past the Chevron service station, we were going to the industrial district.”

He sees something in the corner of his eye and turns around, but the street is deserted.

“A deer so close to the city?”

“I know, right?” he says. “What do we do now?”

“Just wait, honey. Go check on your friend now and see how he’s doing,” her voice sounds off to his ears but he can't pinpoint why.

Stiles looks at the car and sees it’s empty.

“Oh my god, no. Liam is gone. Liam is gone!” he yells, dropping his phone to the floor. "Isaac! Lydia!"

He fumbles for the phone and hears the dispatcher saying, I’m sending the police.

Stiles walks around and tries to find tracks, but there's nothing. The 911 dispatcher is trying to get his attention but Stiles can't think straight right now. He hangs up and dials Scott, telling him what happened. Scott curses when Stiles finishes, saying he should have been there.

“I found nothing in Deaton’s house, except a big staff made of mountain ash by the door. I'm heading your way.”

“No, don’t bother. The police are coming over. You try to find Deaton, meet Derek-”

He stops talking abruptly, making a mental recap. His friends wouldn't have left him there. There should be some sign that they left the car. There should be something, anything.

Then it clicks.

“Scott, I think it’s a trap.”

“What? What are you talking about?” he sounds confused.

“Someone’s here to get me, not Liam,” Stiles stands still, watching as a hooded figure that came out of nowhere comes closer into view. “It’s her, Scott.”

Scott starts talking, telling him to run, but Stiles stops him saying “I’m the one with the pocket full of mountain ash."

Stiles gets it now. She already had two emissaries, she was missing the one. And what better than a makeshift emissary that can’t defend himself and comes from a weak pack? No one would fight for him. He takes a last look to his car covered in the deer’s blood. He can hear the sirens closing in on him.

Stiles puts his phone in his pocket and turns around. Jennifer is standing a couple of feet away from him.

“I don’t wanna fight you, Stiles,” she begins.

“You don’t have to, I’m coming with you.”

“Well, that’s new, Stiles,” Jennifer says, fake surprise lacing her tone. “What are you up to?”

Stiles doesn’t say anything and follows her when she starts to walk. They walk for what feel like hours in silence. Stiles hopes Scott is already onto them, that Liam is alive and well and Derek stays out of danger. That last one might be a wish too many.

They arrive to the nemeton all at once and he’s greeted by Deaton who’s tied to a tree with a mouthful of what might be a handkerchief. Stiles doesn’t know who the second person is but he knows she’s the third emissary. She’s got ashy blonde hair and fearful blue eyes. She too is gagged and tied.

Jennifer pushes him to the floor where some lines have already been drawn. She takes out a knife and cuts her hand, letting the blood drip inside the circle. She then proceeds to cut Deaton’s wrist and do the same to the other woman. Stiles is the last to be submitted to the bloodletting. Instead of just cutting him, she drives the knife into his stomach and twists it.

“Just to make sure you don’t interrupt anything,” she says, smiling as Stiles crumbles to the floor, the hand on his wound doing nothing to stop the bleeding.

Jennifer is distracted chanting and Stiles takes the opportunity to get his phone out and text Derek, the last person he texted, @ the nemeton. blood sacrifice happngng

He doesn’t get to fix his mistake, he just sends it and his phone falls from his shaking hands into the floor.

Stiles gets into fetal position, as the pain begins to make him aware of his surroundings. This is not how it was supposed to go. Scott is supposed to be here already, maybe he is there, somewhere, waiting, not knowing that Stiles is bleeding to death.

Oh my god, I’m never gonna finish the list, he thinks. I’m never gonna see Derek again. Scott will never make me laugh again.

He writhes in pain and sees white behind his eyes. He doesn’t want to go. Not like this. Not for Jennifer. Somewhere inside him, something builds, something big and out of reach, but it wakes him up and helps him stand up, shakily. He only has one shot at this. Stiles reaches for the mountain ash in his pocket and without saying a word he throws it at Jennifer, encircling her perfectly.

Now, how did I do that? he thinks distractedly.

“This ends now,” he says.

They say you never forget your first kill, but when Stiles did it, he had been possesed by the nogitsune, so this feels new. It seems pretty ordinary, forgettable. He reaches into the mountain ash circle and pushes Jennifer to the ground. He steps on her neck with all his strength, which isn’t much as he is bleeding out, but she stops moving.

“Stiles!” he hears, Scott calling him from far away. “Get away from her.”

It had been too easy.

Her body slithers from underneath him and the next thing he knows, she's grabbing him by the neck, moving faster than humanly possible. His body feels pressed from all directions by some force he can't see. It's suffocating him, his vision blurrying at the edges.

“You little-” she doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

A wooden spear goes through her heart cleanly and the pressure surrounding him stops. She lets him go as her body dissolves into ash. Stiles stares at Lydia, a wild look on her eyes as she lets go of the spear.

Stiles can no longer stay upright, so he falls to his knees. The ground rushes to meet him and his head hurts as it hits the earth below.

He hears his name being called out, but it's too far away from him. He’s slipping.

This is it, the final moment, he thinks. At least Jennifer is dead.

Just as he’s starting to fade away, he feels a bite on his arm, painful and hot. A shiver goes through him.

“It might not take, it could be too late,” he hears a woman say.

Someone drops next to him and cradles his head. He can feel the pain being taken away by one of the wolves. A tear falls down his cheek.

“It’s okay, Stiles, you’ll be alright,” Scott, he thinks, says.

“I’m fine, guys. It’s okay,” he slurs, he doesn't want them to be sad for him, he needs to tell them, to reassure them. “It’s- It's peaceful.”

“Stiles, please,” Derek says. He could recognize his voice anywhere, he’d known him even in death. He feels him press his forehead to his and whisper, “I love you, you reckless idiot. You're going to be okay.”

Stiles wants to say something back but he can’t. He swallows a sob. His friends can't see him be sad.

The seconds stretch, as the heat in his arm spreads up his shoulder and into his chest. It hurts but at the moment, everything hurts, so it barely registers. Then he feels a pull, something, taking him back into the earth.

He is going home.

Derek thinks nothing has ever hurt him this much. To see Stiles restless, tossing and turning in his bed, haunted by nightmares he never fully wakes up from. He’s so out of himself, so full of pain, and Derek can’t do anything to ease it, not really. He can take his physical pain away, but most things are out of his hands now.

Stiles’ skin looks pale against the light blue sheets of the bed, Derek grasps Stiles’ hands tightly, afraid of letting him go even for the shortest moment. He can hear Cora somewhere talking quietly to Scott, probably about Stiles. At this point he doesn’t care.

Derek hears Stiles take a breath, his heart beating a bit faster, as he wakes up slowly.

“Hey, you.”

Stiles looks confused for a moment, but then something seems to click in his mind and he replies “Hi, um, Derek.”

He tries not to let it show how much it stung to hear him doubt like that.

“How are you feeling?”

“High,” Stiles slurs. Derek thinks he could ease on the healing but he’s not very inclined to do so. “How long- how long was I out? Am I dead?”

“Just a few hours,” Derek soothes him, rubbing his thumb against the back of Stiles hand.

“What happened?” Stiles asks, he looks around the hospital room wildly, as if it can give him clues.

Derek swallows.

“Well, for starters, you died.”

“I- what?”

“You died for a few minutes out there in the nemeton, even with Scott’s bite. When you got to the hospital you were dead. They reanimated you and you woke up screaming. The doctors didn’t find it funny and sent you out for some MRIs and such, I really didn’t understand much when it was happening. You’ve only been back at your room recently.”

“I think I heard Lydia scream,” Stiles says.

“She did, she said you weren’t meant to die yet. She said she saw your life beyond Beacon Hills,” he replies. “She’s sleeping outside, still can’t believe you didn’t bite it.”

Stiles takes a moment to process what’s going on.

“So I’m a wolf now?”

“We don’t know,” Derek says, “we’ll see if you turn tonight because what happened to you was, well, unique.”

“Am I cured?” he asks next.

“Stiles, I know nothing about MRIs or how the human brain works. You’ll have to ask your doctor, you look fine to me, but I don’t know what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

He doesn't smell or look any different than the night before. Except for the knife woud, Stiles looks the same to Derek. He doesn't want to feel hopeful just yet.

“I’m thinking I remember Jennifer dying. Is she dead?”

“She became ash when she touched the floor, so we think so.”

Derek doesn't say that he'd never seen something like that happen and it might mean nothing. He wants Stiles to feel safe.

Stiles looks like he wants to make sure, like he wants to go to the nemeton and ask it directly. Instead he sighs, closing his eyes.

“I thought I’d die before seeing your face again,” Stiles confesses.

“Stiles, I saw you die," and even if Derek can see Stiles, even if he can hear his heart beating, it hurts. It's another wound that he'll carry in his soul for the rest of his life. "You said it felt peaceful and I wanted to die right then and there with you.”

“Now where’s the fun in that? You’d die,” he says, recalling a conversation they had. “I told you I would die for you.”

Derek can't fight the smile forming in his face..

“God, I’m glad I can see that big, goofy smile of yours again.”

Derek takes Stiles hand and kisses it.

“Did you mean it?” Stiles asks. “What you told me as I was slipping away?”

“Every word,” he deadpans.

“I love you too, Derek,” his pulse is steady, and the truth of it makes Derek's own heartbeat speed up.

Derek stands up and kisses Stiles on the lips shortly.

“I thank whatever god is up there for these minutes, but I gotta get a nurse and tell them you woke up," Derek says.

“Just go,” replies Stiles.

When he leaves the room, he glances back at Stiles, he’s smiling like he just won the lottery.

****

Stiles manages to get discharged early the next day, the doctor is fascinated with his healing ability. Stiles thinks this is what Scott felt like, not needing his inhaler anymore. He feels free, lighter than ever. He goes home in his dad’s car and gets told to stay in bed, healing.

When his dad is not around, he lifts off the bandages in his abdomen and sees the would has healed over completely. So he is turning into something.

Scott stays with him as his dad goes back to the station, there’s a lot of paperwork to be done about Jennifer’s deeds.

“Dude, you will be so much stronger, you have no idea. Specially because you already have a well formed pack. We’re stronger than ever.”

“I don’t want to be divided between packs if I’m with Derek, though,” he says. Not that Derek and Stiles had had time to talk about anything, but they're something. They just haven't figured it out yet.

“Stiles, if you haven’t noticed the Hales are already on board then you’re dumber than everyone else knows.”

Stiles feels content with that. He can finally be on the same level as everyone else. It’s not like he felt left out before, but he wants to know what’s so good about the werewolf business.

That night, Scott stays over in case he turns. Stiles on the other hand is doing research, looking for any reference of someone being healed by the bite for something as terrible as his FTD. He remembers it healed Erica of her epilepsy and it gives him hope, even if he doesn't find any mention of it in the books Lydia lent him. Maybe he won’t have to wither away and die of dementia at 24.

When the moon rises in the sky, Stiles feels the hairs on the back of his arms stand up. He breathes in and can smell more than just his room, he can smell Scott coming back up to his room, he can hear his heartbeat if he focuses. He finds his pillow from the day before and he sniffs it. It smells of Derek so strongly he could trace him back to his loft. No one had told him it would feel like that, so physical.

“Hey, you’re shifting, did you mean to do it or it just happened?”

“Scott, what the fuck is going on,” he slurs through the canines. He doesn’t know how to talk without his teeth getting in the way.

“You’ll get used to it,” Scott replies, shrugging.

Stiles looks down at his hands and sees the new set of claws in there, the new hair growing thickly on his arms. He can feel his face distorted by the change.

Scott howls then, a happy howl that’s replied by two sets of wolves coming from different directions. Stiles can’t help it, he tries howling and it sounds like Scott’s first howl. Scott laughs and tells him to go deeper, to reach for the wolf inside.

Stiles closes his eyes and thinks. He thinks of Derek and Cora in the loft answering to Scott. He thinks of Liam and Isaac following suit. He thinks somehow, Lydia is howling to herself as well. He breathes in, then howls. Scott stops snickering about his previous howl. He’s got a proud face on.

“I have no more to teach you, young Padawan,” Scott says.

“Oh god, you watched the movies,” he says through his teeth. “How do I un-shift?”

“You don’t un-shift, you shift back and forth,” Scott says, “it’s all part of you now.”

“But how do I go back to my normal voice without the teeth,” he insists.

“When the moon goes down it’ll be easier. Now you just let it be and try not to become homicidal. I have chains to tie you up if necessary.”

Stiles laughs, remembering the time he offered the same to Scott. He goes lie down on the bed and he can’t help but roll around the smell of Derek and him together.

“Oh my god, you gotta stop frolicking around the bed. You’ll get better at tuning out smells and sounds.”

“But I don’t want to? I mean, I may want to at some point but right now I feel so much… everything, all at once.”

They keep talking about the change and how well he’s handling it but Stiles’ mind goes only one way and that’s Derek. He can’t stop thinking about the next time he sees him, how he will look and smell and feel with all these new amplified senses.

Eventually, Scott gets bored of the werewolf talk and drops on the sleeping bag he brought, tired of Stiles’ questions. Stiles goes to bed after but can’t fall asleep until 6 am. He discovers it’s the time the moon sets on the horizon. Only then Stiles falls asleep and dreams of Derek, as if he had anything else to dream about.

*****

Derek wakes up to a text saying might fuck around and go see you today.

Stiles, rest now, everything else can wait, he responds, putting his head on the pillow again.

Too late, I’m outside, open up, he gets back immediately.

Derek doesn’t bother with a t-shirt and walks barefoot and on his underwear to the door. He opens the door and finds Stiles outside looking a little out of it.

“Stiles?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Oh yeah, I’m back,” he says, his eyes lingering on Derek's torso.

Derek just shakes his head and goes back to bed.

“Are you grumpy in the mornings, Derek?”

“It’s the weekend, I’m not getting up before 12,” he replies. “And if you don’t stop making noise, Cora will wake up and murder you.”

Derek lies down an pulls the blankets back on. Stiles’ smile wavers.

“Stiles, just get in the bed,” he says.

Stiles is already taking his shoes off. Derek just looks at him, hurrying him up. Stiles gets on the bed and immediately gets his head on one of the pillows. He sniffs and moans. It does something to Derek to see him wild like this.

“God, you smell like God herself made you delicious,” Stiles says, getting into the circle of Derek’s arms.

“You are out of control, like a cub,” he says.

“Hey!” Stiles protests, but then proceeds to rub his cheek on Derek’s cheek, Derek wants to kiss the ever-loving fuck out of him.

“I wanna kiss the ever-loving fuck out of you,” Derek tells him.

“Good, that was my purpose all along,” Stiles says, flailing around.

Derek takes Stiles’ face on his hands and kisses him like there’s no tomorrow. Stiles seems consumed by the kiss, kissing him back just as passionately. They kiss like the first time they kissed on Stiles’ room, like the night they spent together, like this is the only thing to ever matter.

They kiss and the world stops turning so the universe can watch for itself. Two souls finally coming together after a lengthy absence. They kiss and the world is better for it.

*****

Stiles’ graduation wouldn’t be such a big deal, if his father hadn’t cried months prior that he might never get the chance to see his kid up the stage. Stiles is looking like all but a kid, his 19 years visible in the way he stands, in the way he carries himself. Or maybe it’s the wolf talking.

Lydia’s house was the preferred place for parties because they have such a big space in the back. Right now, Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom coming together and saying hello to Lydia’s mom, he can only hope it doesn’t turn embarrassing. Lydia had been greeting everyone until Cora arrived, who swept her up and took her inside the house. Now it was Lydia’s mom, apologizing for her daughter’s absence.

Derek arrived with Cora and came to sit with him by the pool.

“Not feeling so great?” Derek asks.

“I’m feeling amazing actually. The neurologist saw me yesterday. Said he’s never seen something like it, that I should go on further trials to help other people suffering from FTD, but I can’t. I can’t flaunt the miracle cure because it’s not for everybody.”

“Oh, I see.” Derek says.

“This disease ruins people’s lives so bad. I’m officially in remission from something that’s supposed to be lethal. I feel like the miracle cancer kid.”

“Don’t put it that way,” Derek says frowning.

“Then help me forget about it,” he says suggestively.

Derek takes his phone and earbuds out, offering one to Stiles, “I have a song for you.”

He passes one earbud to Stiles and puts on the other. He scrolls down then plays a slow song in Spanish. Te amaré, te amaré como al mundo, te amaré aunque tenga final, it starts. I will love you, I will love you like I love the world, I will love you even if it ends.

The song plays on, mournful but joyful at the same time. Its slow tempo rushing as the song goes by. Then it ends: te amaré hasta el fin de los tiempos, te amaré y después te amaré. I will love you until the end of times, I will love you, and then I will love you.

Stiles looks into Derek’s eyes at the last words. Derek is looking at him like he holds the world in his hands. Stiles takes his face with both of his hands and puts their foreheads together.

“I will love you too,” he says.

They kiss once again after that, Scott and Isaac catcalling them from across the pool.

For once, Stiles doesn’t have a timer attached to him. He’s not a time-bomb and he’s happier than he’s ever been. He feels alive. In that moment, his friends around him, his dumb graduation cape behind him, kissing Derek, it feels like a coming of age movie ending, the music swells, the characters are seen one last time together, the credits roll in. What a ride.