A Jumble Of Oxymorons

Stiles and Derek were driving back in the jeep from visiting a neighbor pack. Their only job was to help create connections among the McCall’s pack and the river pack. It was supposed to be fast and easy. Safe...

On their way back a huge storm poured the road, the fog painting the windows white; so terrible that not even Derek with his wolf senses was able to see and hear in the rainfall.

-"ehh..there are no hurricanes on this side of this country, right?"- was the last thing Derek heard before the Jeep crushed against a fallen trunk, the Jeep spun out of control for some meters before rolling over and stoping aside the road.

It was a horrible crash, sudden, aggressive, mortal.

By the time Derek regained conscious Stiles had already been bleeding for long minutes. The red and metal smell filled the remains of the Jeep along with breathless gasps and painful moans.

Stiles was crying, dying. Heavy tears covering his cheeks, shattered pieces of glass lodged in his throat, a metal stabing his side. Derek didn't know what to do. He couldn't do anything, not as a beta-omega. Stiles was dying on his arms and he was nothing but useless.

Derek cried, roared, trembled while trying to reach Stiles, his packmate, his friend, his crush, his chosen mate. The one who was going to die before hearing Derek's confession, before rejecting or accepting him, before finishing his FBI internship, before traveling to Poland to try his mother's favorite dish. He was dying, so so young, and Derek could only cry as his soul crumbled to dust.

His heart was failing, doubting, stopping. It was a shot in the dark, a lost cause, but if there was the minimal possibility... Derek crawled to an unmoving Stiles and bit his neck right above his shoulder wishing that only this once the universe would work on his favor.

Stiles' heart stopped.

Derek seased to breath.

The world became colorless.

The rainfall turned silent.

And then the mate-bond formed, first a weak sparkling line, then an incandescent glow that bind Derek's and Stiles' hearts.

It was a long process that consumed all of Derek's energy and power, but the lullaby of his mate's heartbeat was enough to get him to sleep. His arms cradling a sleeping Stiles as their wounds slowly closed.

How about we talk about Derek being the king in the chess board, Stiles. How come you got so obsessed with not losing anyone right after Derek left in s4? Do u want to talk about that pause when Caitlin asked you if you liked guys?

Let's unpack those complicated feelings towards the jeep, Derek. Or do you prefer to talk about your anchor? Tell me, why is sharing your vulnerability with Stiles so natural to you, you didn't even realize you were not awake? We could also talk about the mini-Stiles you have for a son if u want to

What's up with that? Something u two want to share with the rest of the class? Like what did u guys talk in the pool for 2 hours? Or the FBI mission and the trip back to BH? We have time

Derek decides not to refuse his instincts and stalks towards Stiles, staring intently at him.

He watches Stiles's eyes dilate as his hand goes to the back of Stiles's head.

Derek uses Stiles's newly grown-out hair to pull his head back, tongue licking the juice from Stiles's throat.

Derek only stops when he hears a car engine turn off just outside—more of the pack arriving.

He smirks when Stiles stays still, head tilted, pungently aroused.

Derek pulls a little more.

And the wolf is always there.

Big. Black. Slower than he used to be, muzzle silvering, red eyes softer than they ever were when they were young. He never corrals Stiles, never blocks him outright, just walks slightly ahead, or slightly to the side. A presence and a boundary, letting him wander, but never letting him be lost.

Sometimes Stiles talks to him about nonsense and things that didn’t happen and things that did, but wrong.

The wolf listens. Always.

Sometimes, on bad days, Stiles looks at the man he married and feels nothing. No recognition. Just a polite distance. A stranger with kind eyes who seems to know him a little too well.

That hurts. Derek never corrects him, never forces it.

But the wolf?

The wolf is familiar in a way that doesn’t need language.

Stiles will reach out, fingers sinking into fur, and smile like something inside him has clicked into place.

“There you are,” he’ll say, every time. Like he was worried the wolf might not come.

And Derek will lean into the touch, grounding himself in that one unbreakable truth:

Even when Stiles forgets their life.

Even when he forgets him

Finally, an explanation for where they go.