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they get to a hospital, somehow, derek half-carrying him. the stench of pain is so thick even the nurses must smell it. 

“he’s hurt,” derek says. “he’s been hurt. badly.”

and then he passes out. 

he wakes up with a start, stiles, stiles. he wasn’t supposed to lose track of stiles, he was keeping him safe. 

“easy,” stiles says, and something’s different about him. about everything. “easy, boy. you did it. you saved me.”

rubbing his throat, fingers through his fur, and derek settles, settles down. noses at stiles’ cheek, the new bruising there. stiles cries, a little, hugging him close. 

derek stays with him, stays by him, and stiles says, “yeah, he found me. he saved the day.”

“what’s his name?” says the cool female voice above him, and stiles says, “derek.”

he turns sharply. catches his breath, and breathes. 

“didn’t i tell you to stop doing that?” he says. 

peter looks at him innocently. 

“alpha,” he says. “what do you think that means?” 

“it means stop sneaking up on me,” derek says, and tries to just keep walking home without listening anymore, but peter says, “it means that if you’re not exceedingly careful, the culmination of even the most well-meaning courtship can leave a trusting omega irreparably traumatized.”

“so i’ll be careful,” derek says, and peter says, “of course, even the most delicate approach will be painful for your poor omega.” 

“no it won’t,” derek says. “i’ll—obviously i’ll be careful, the first time. very careful.” 

it feels wrong even talking about stiles like this. even thinking of him like that. your poor omega.  

peter’s obviously never met an omega like stiles. which is probably for the best, the way he’s talking about it. 

derek’s never gonna be that kind of alpha. unless someone like that comes near stiles, maybe. 

but only to protect him from it.

it takes peter a million years to finally say what about alphas is actually so much more dangerous for omegas. and by then, derek’s half-sure peter just means that alphas have stronger hormones. which everyone knows, and which you learn to rein in in like the first year of puberty if you’re not a complete dick, so hopefully it’s obvious that derek doesn’t need an extra warning. 

but then peter’s like, “i’m talking about knotting.”

and that’s something that derek’s never even thought about before. 

“that’s real?” he says, and peter’s immediately too pleased with himself. “i mean, nice try. i know that’s not real.”

“oh, but it is,” peter says. “though there are half a dozen terms for it. the lover’s lock is my favorite, personally.”

“you’re fucking with me,” derek says, and peter says, “i’m warning you.”

but… that can’t just be normal. just because derek’s an alpha, he’s not just gonna, automatically…

“do omegas know?” derek says, and then, “how do i stop it? or control it, or whatever it is. how do i make it not a bad thing?” 

if stiles, if he was with stiles? if everything went right, somehow, leading up to it, if stiles liked him, and trusted him, and then, suddenly—

“so you see why i felt the need to warn you,” peter says, and derek nods, and nods. 

but there has to be a way to stop it. there has to be. 

to—concentrate on something else, until it becomes a muscle he can relax when it happens. or to—take care of it, himself, ahead of time, so when he’s with stiles, he can just be normal. 

but if it really is that dangerous? maybe alphas shouldn’t date omegas at all.

if the risk’s that high? maybe it’s just not worth it.

but there’s no good way to explain it. why he’s suddenly pulling back, when stiles is kissing him, why derek keeps slowing them down. 

“whoa,” stiles says, like there’s already some sign of it on derek’s face. “wait, wait. derek, hey. what just happened?” 

“what?” derek says, and then, “it’s nothing.”

“yeah, i always break away mid-makeout when it’s nothing,” stiles jokes, but derek doesn’t laugh, and stiles’ eyes widen. “no, seriously. do you wanna, like, stop?”

no. but maybe that’s why the answer should be an unequivocal yes. 

or, what do you think about knotting? because i’m starting to think i shouldn’t trust myself. 

but that feels way too forward. 

so really, there’s no good answer.

“break time,” stiles decides, and derek nods. “chill time, bro time.” 

that, derek’s less sure about. but stiles puts an arm around him, and kind of slumps in against derek’s shirt. 

it can’t just be normal. but even if it is, derek’s not gonna be one more asshole alpha.

whatever it takes to keep things safe, he’ll do it. and if there’s really no way around it? then they just won’t.

it’s like jekyll and hyde, it’s crazy. the world-weary fellow bank teller, versus the world-saving superhero who’s clearly in love with his own face. 

the least stiles can do is try to get his moody little alter-ego to lose it, for a second. to get so sick of stiles’ teasing that he finally snaps, do you know who i am?

but no, he’s never been more wrong. 

because the bank gets held up. derek at gunpoint, wide-eyed. 

and, now’s the time, big guy, c’mon. time to show your real face.

but instead, the gun goes off, and derek goes down. 

just in time for superman to swoop in and try to save him. 

it’s a small world! small, tiny, miniscule. 

because it turns out, superman is derek’s literal twin. his fraternal twin, supposedly, not even identical. they look pretty freaking identical to stiles. 

except in the tiniest ways, maybe. their entire personalities, for example.  

but even miguel looks different, now. crouched over his brother, trying to hold back the bleeding, he looks devastated. 

and actually? it must destroy your mind. that level of responsibility. 

“take your shirt off,” stiles says, and miguel stares at him. “it’s that or a towel, do you see a towel around here? no, exactly.” 

he adds his hoodie, too, tries to just apply pressure, if that’s even the right thing. wishing he had powers, and could turn back time. do it all over, make up for everything. for forgetting that despite the billion barely-disguised superheroes in this town, regular twins still exist.

and for a human, derek’s lost way too much blood already.

“he needs a hospital,” stiles says, and derek’s brother nods, and starts trying to gather him. “in an ambulance, are you kidding? have you tried mixing blood loss with superspeed? i’m not like a physics expert, or anything, but i’ve stuck my head out of a speeding car before, and i’m guessing that if i added superspeed and a gunshot wound to the equation—”

“okay,” miguel says, pulling back again, and stiles says, “and that’s if you don’t dive down and catch him, and shatter his entire spine.” 

that’s a little too far, maybe. a little too… much too graphic. there are tears in miguel’s eyes. 

but hey, better that than finding out in real time, right? if you think just picturing it is horrifying. 

but it is. looking back at derek, it doesn’t feel remotely hypothetical. 

stiles’ stomach swoops, and his eyes sting, and, yeah. he’s definitely not… the guy you want to hear from, in this situation. 

“sorry,” he says, and then, “keep pressure on the wound, okay? i’m gonna… go call for an ambulance.” 

but it feels insane to stand back up, or turn away from him. stiles takes a sharp breath, and regrets it in a second, swipes at his eyes.

“you should stay with him,” miguel says, and stiles nods. “i can go get help a lot faster.”

even now, he can’t help but brag.

“sorry about… pretty much everything i ever said,” stiles tells derek, as miguel streaks out of sight. “i might’ve… very wrong-ly thought you were that guy. no offense to him.”

“some offense,” derek says, and stiles slumps with relief.

“oh my god. derek, hey! stay with me.”

“our healing is similar,” derek says. “in a way. not exactly.”

“yeah?” stiles says. “good, that’s… what does that mean, healing?”

is the wound already closing somehow? it’s hard to tell. what with derek’s blood still soaking through three layers.

but maybe the bleeding’s starting to slow, at least.

“well, i can’t fly,” derek says. “i might as well get that out of the way quickly. or… do most of my brother’s most famous things.”

“healing,” stiles says. “i couldn’t care less about the other stuff, literally. just, please tell me you have, like, super-healing. that’d be… a massive relief.”

“something like that,” derek says, and stiles lets out a shaky breath.

“it’s complicated,” derek says. “what i am. it’s not really as straightforward as the superhero thing.”

“so mysterious,” stiles says, and derek laughs, shakes his head.

in which argent kidnaps stiles again. beats him again.

but this time, derek finds them, and stops it. 

it hurts stiles to breathe. and derek doesn’t think.

he just puts an arm around him. 

“hey, it’s okay,” he says. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.” 

like that means anything, like he’s anyone remotely comforting, but stiles breathes out shakily, and nods, and swipes at his eyes.

he’s still badly hurt, wincing. barely able to hide it anymore.

“hospital,” derek says. “right now.”

but he pulls stiles’ pain as much as possible as he drives.

stiles sits up straighter once they get closer to the hospital. tries to fix his face more casual.

it makes sense. they’re not—and stiles doesn’t need scott’s mom seeing them, and assuming something. telling stiles’ dad, you’ll never believe who brought stiles in for treatment. 

and that’s if she doesn’t just assume that derek did this. that he’s just staying here to silence him. 

“what does argent even want with you?” derek says. “you’re human.” 

stiles’ cheek is still swelling. his eyelid is almost sealed shut. 

and argent’s gonna be sorry. he’s gonna be. when derek finally hunts his family. hurts everyone he cares about.

let him know how it feels for once. just once, let him be the one watching his whole life burn. and know, deep down, that he’s the reason that it happened. the real reason, for all of it. not a hunter, not scott—

derek bites his tongue to keep his wolf from keening.

they won’t let derek stay in the room while they treat him. time moves in slow motion for a while. 

stiles is quiet, and shaky, but he’s breathing easier. and he relaxes when he sees derek in the door.

“you’re still here?”

“i didn’t leave,” derek says, and stiles shudders. “i won’t.”

he’s never been more sure of anything. 

“why not?” stiles says. “it’s kind of over, you know? the whole big… hero showdown moment. the bad guy’s been beaten, you know? or at least beaten back for a while. so, yeah. you should go, like, celebrate.” 

derek looks at him, and stiles says, “i’m not suddenly your problem, okay? just because i like, got hit in front of you, or whatever’s putting that look on your face, i’m fine. you don’t have to, like, stick around just to make, just to make sure i...”

but he covers his eyes, and derek’s staying. he’s staying. 

in the hospital gown, there are even more visible bruises. and the old ones look worse than before. 

but that’s a part of healing. it has to be. 

“do you want me to call someone?” derek says.“like… scott, or your dad.”

stiles scrubs at his eye, and derek’s almost sorry he said anything. 

“i’m still gonna be here,” he says. “even if... scott comes by, or something.” 

stiles’ eyes flicker over his face.

the bruise on his cheek is turning awful colors. there’s too much fire in derek’s throat. 

it feels insane to ever let go of him. but he has to, eventually. when a nurse comes by, when he’s in the way again.

but he moves in close as soon as he can. and this time, stiles' arms lock around him.

his breaths catch, for a while.

it feels wrong ever not being this close to him. not taking as much pain as he can. not keeping his hand there, even once stiles’ heart settles, and his breaths go easy.

slow, and steady.

and maybe that should be weird. or is weird. maybe, maybe.

“only two possible answers,” stiles says, when derek demands, what’s going on. “either i’m pregnant, or i’ve been poisoned. there can be no other logical conclusion drawn from these…”

stiles stops, vomits, heaving and heaving, using half a box of tissues to wipe his mouth, eyes, nose, all while curled in a fetal postion and moaning miserably. “symptoms,” he croaks, pressing his face into the tiles before lunging upright for his second round.

any reasonable person would call melissa mccall, and they wouldn’t be perfectly calm, either. stiles shrugging derek’s hand off when he tries to take the pain, “dude i’m sorry but i can’t be sick with you gripping my shoulder, and if i don’t empty the chute soon i’ll probably…” there’s another chaotic burst. “choke on it. thanks though buddy.” his eyes streaming, he’s barely gasping. “appreciate it.”

how can that possibly be normal for humans?

derek’s looked like that, felt like that—because he’d been near death. and he’s still alive because he’s stronger, because werewolves can heal from almost anything. in what logical world was he supposed to expect stiles to survive this?

it’s completely reasonable. derek really doesn’t appreciate everyone finding it so amusing.

remain indoors au. in which derek does everything, everything, everything to prevent it, and it happens anyway. 

and now stiles can’t breathe right. derek can always hear it, how he’s struggling. see the panic on his face. 

“i’ll bite you,” he says. “i’ll do it. if that’s what you want.”

“you’re not an alpha,” stiles says, and derek’s jaw tightens.

“i will be.”

and normally, stiles would laugh at him for that. oh my god. you’re always so dramatic. we’re gonna have the most dramatic kids in the world. 

these days, it hurts stiles to laugh. there are tears in his eyes before derek can even find the pain that caused it, wrestle it away from him for a while. 

he knows it’s better when stiles sinks against him. 

when it’s a lot better, he tries to talk again. 

“so dramatic.”

derek huffs out a laugh. but he says, “i mean it.” 

“what, are you gonna—” stiles’ breath catches again. “—kill somebody?”

maybe. it almost doesn’t feel hard. just doing it. 

making someone pay for this. 

“i don’t know,” derek says. 

the laugh dies in stiles’ throat. “you can’t kill somebody.”

“can’t i?” derek says. 

he can. he could. 

he’s done it before. 

more than once. 

“shut up,” stiles says. looking almost scared now. derek feels sick. “i don’t want you to do that.”

“there are people,” derek says, and shrugs. like it’s nothing. maybe it is. “people who deserve it.”

stiles’ eyes wide. “you’re serious.”

“it would protect other people,” derek says. “them not—being around.”

“shut up,” stiles says. but derek can see his mind working. “like who?”

derek forces a shrug. “murderous alphas?”

“oh, mur—murderous ones,” stiles says. too hoarsely, eyes watering when the words catch. 

“or scott will do it,” derek says. forget it, of course he won’t. stiles would never look at him the same.

and scott’s his best friend. it would be easy. 

“he’s in—in new york,” stiles says, after a sharp gasp. derek puts a hand to his ribs, pulls pain.

it’s always there, now. 

“so we’ll go to new york,” derek says. 

“can’t—leave my dad—”

“he’ll feel better,” derek says. “knowing you’re better.”

wants to take it back, watching stiles’ face fall. 

“forget it,” he says. “i didn’t—that’s not what i meant.”

“no, no,” stiles says. “he’s freaking out. like you are.”

“i’m fine,” derek says, and stiles scoffs so hard he chokes, coughs three deep, rattling coughs in a row. “i’m—don’t worry.”

“you want me to go all wolfy,” stiles says. 

“no,” derek says. and that’s true. “whatever you want.”

it’s no less terrifying, what could happen. if it doesn’t work.

he’ll listen to stiles cough for the rest of his life, if it doesn’t mean…

“does it hurt you?” stiles says. touching his hands, now, tracing derek’s palm on his chest. “all my rib stuff.”

“no,” derek says, but stiles’ anxious gaze stays on him. “i don’t mind,” he says. “i like—being able to do something.”

both of them do. 

“yeah,” stiles says, and his eyes well. “i really fucked up.”

“what?” derek says. “stiles. no.” 

“if i didn’t, like, go out—”

“no,” derek says. “stiles. it wasn’t your fault.”

“thinking, like, i could fix everything,” stiles says. “save everybody.” 

derek breathing him in, wrapping him up.

“you did what you had to do,” he says. “that’s all.” 

stiles shuts his eyes. “i don’t wanna be a werewolf.”

“you don’t have to,” derek says. “there have to be… medications. and doctors.”

stiles covers his eyes. “oh my god.”

“or we’ll stay here,” derek says. “and i’ll help you.” reaching for the pain again. 

“you’re always gonna worry about me,” stiles says.

derek shrugs. “nothing new.”

“and my dad is,” stiles says, and then he’s fighting tears. derek holding him steady, soothing his side. 

“he’ll get used to it,” derek says, and stiles scrubs at his eyes. “we all will. you don’t have to change anything.”

but stiles looks exhausted, suddenly. and they don’t have to talk about this now. 

“get some sleep,” derek says, and stiles says, “i’m not tired.”

but he knows that’s a lie. and he lets derek hold him, carry him to bed.

“already giving in to it,” stiles says. “milking it. ‘m so weak, hold me.”

“i’d hold you anyway,” derek says, and stiles makes a face somewhere between blushing and disgust. 

“so romantic,” he says. “so sappy. you love me.”

finds out, after a while of near-constant panic attacks, that they’re fans of his.

“of my death,” he says, somehow coming off casual. “of my murder, that’s, wow! neat.”

“not of your murder,” one girl says earnestly. “it’s about what it means. you sacrificed yourself.”

“right, yeah,” stiles says. “that, definitely. and the stakes—it has to be stakes? not, like, hey, stiles liked, uh, star wars—”

“it was torture for you,” she says, eyes wide. “a slow, painful death.”

“that’s... uh, yep,” stiles says, wincing. “i’m actually, actually not the biggest fan of the memory, so—”

“but you did it for us,” she says. “for beacon hills.”

“i guess,” stiles says. “more like, my dad, at the time, but in a broader, more general—uhhh, yeah,” he adds quickly. her eyes are starting to narrow. “beacon hills, you know, where the hills are beakin’. the beacon-est of hills. so, it worked, then?”

“you don’t know?” she says, frowning, and her stake pendant catches the light again. stiles winces.

“look, hey, can you, uh... i don’t know, can you tuck that under your shirt?”

“closer to my heart,” she says, eyes widening. “of course!”

“yeah,” stiles says faintly. “...yeah, that’s the reason. listen, i appreciate the... enthusiasm, you know, it’s very flattering, but i, uh...”

he shakes his head. there’s no good way to say this.

“there was someone with me,” he says. “someone, uh, maybe he died, right after, i mean, he got pretty close, but—derek hale? he might’ve been, uh, howling.”

“derek hale,” she says. “who’s he?”

“right,” stiles says, heart sinking. “so... but you’d know him, if he was dead. if he died with me. because of me.”

“a lot of people die,” she says. “who was he?”

“oh, just this guy i knew,” stiles says. “just... he would’ve been really angry about the whole my death thing. making a scene, like. it’d be memorable.”

“it was 2000 years ago,” she says.

“right, yeah,” stiles says. “but you still know who i am.”

“you were our sacrifice,” she says.

it’s miserable searching for derek, half-knowing already, scaring himself, but finding his body is just a horror show. derek really did die with him. the stake that did it is still lodged in his chest, and stiles can almost laugh. can almost scream, or go on a rampage. derek wasn’t even a vampire.

but no one’s heart likes being punctured.

he just hates it. stiles just hates it, he hates the freaking sight of it. derek pierced through like that.

he almost grabs at the stake, just tugs at it. he wants to just get it out of him. but he can’t risk doing worse damage. even if it doesn’t really make sense that there’s so much left of derek after so long. the thought of his still-too-familiar body crumbling into dust with one sudden move is horrifying.

he kind of rubs at the spot, warms it up. works the stake out slow.

“sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he says. he can barely even look at what he’s doing, his hands are going numb just hovering over where derek’s body is. he’s lightheaded, he’s gonna be sick. “i just have to, i’m sorry, i just can’t…”

and derek gasps.

stiles freezes.

stares at him.

“how,” and then he doesn’t care. “i, holy shit.” leaning over him, feeling it, derek warm again, his chest rising and falling, and stiles drops his head against it, tears-blind. “oh my god, you’re really breathing.”

“is that surprising?” derek says hoarsely, and stiles pulls back enough to watch him cough up dust.

“not to really spring this on you, but you’ve been not breathing for kind of a long time,” stiles says. it’s a relief to go back to rambling at him. “two thousand years long, actually, and you should’ve seen what you looked like when i found you. you were mummified. fermented, you were kimchi.”

“good thing you were here,” derek says dryly.

“you say that sarcastically,” stiles says. “but yeah, it was! you have no idea what a pain in the ass it was to find you.”

“sorry to inconvenience you,” derek says.

“shut up, i’ve never been more relieved,” stiles says. “i—derek, i swear to god. i’m going crazy here. i’m scared of everybody. especially my fans,” he adds. “they think i’m, like... all-knowing. and purposeful.”

“sounds perfect for you,” derek says.

“ha, you’d think,” stiles says. “never leave me. you’re the only one who knows how full of shit i am.”

“always so flattering,” derek says.

“sarcasm,” stiles says. “i’ve missed that so much. you know how straightforward people are with me? they think i grant wishes. they take all my jokes literally!”

“nightmare,” derek says, shaking his head, and then stiles says, “i missed you.”

voice low, close to breaking.

“stiles,” derek says.

“i thought you were dead,” stiles says. “like really dead, like never—”

and derek’s hugging him, he’s struggling to breathe.

“you brought me back,” derek says. “you did that.”

and stiles’ hands are shaking.

“i thought i was,” he says, “two thousand years away from you. i thought i needed a time machine, if i wanted to see you again.”

“werewolves live for a long time,” derek says, and stiles takes a shuddering breath, yeah.

so do vampires, apparently.

“good,” derek says. “good.”

“who is he?” that first follower says, when she finds them. derek sleeping, stiles just watching him.

“the most important guy in the world?” stiles says, he is. the actually most important one.

she’s listening, because of course she’s listening. somehow, he has devotees.

“his name’s derek,” stiles tells her. “and if anything happens to him, it’ll kill me.”

he sleeps in his car, gets a gym membership so he can shower. he’s left alone. he’s starting to not shake as much. 

until he comes back to the car, one night, where the car always is. there’s an empty spot. 

he walks in circles, and then he runs. retraces his steps, again, a thousand times. until everywhere he’s been just tastes like the same stale defeatedness. 

he’s nearly run over. stiles stumbles out of his jeep, scared to death. 

“oh my god. i didn’t even see you. i swear, it’s like you came out of… are you okay?”

“i’m not hurt,” derek says. “i promise.”

he never is.

“no, wait,” stiles says. “what happened?”

the shortest version is easiest. his car’s missing. he’s kind of… been using it as a place to keep things. and sleeping in it, sometimes, because—

but he doesn’t tell stiles that.

because it’s the only place that still smells like his family. like laura, looking over at him as she’s driving.

eyes on the road. laura! eyes on the road!

but of course, when she died, it wasn’t an accident.

“you know what?” stiles says. “i’ve been looking for a roommate.”

and he’s gonna call his dad in the morning. he’s a PI, he can help track things down.

“this isn’t,” derek says, and then, “you don’t even know me.”

“not at all,” stiles says. “but i’m sensing… is there a derek here?“

grinning at him, and derek goes too warm.

he should know better than this. anyone can smile when they want something.

but it doesn’t feel like a lie. or like—anything that happened.

it just feels—new, and already familiar.

“yeah,” stiles says. “and, i’m sensing… that you’re looking for a lost car.”

“uncanny,” derek says, and stiles grins again.

“yeah, i have boundless talents. this isn’t even, like, the most… spoon bending! yeah, with plastic spoons. the top part, you know? like, turning it inside out, and back, it’s soothing. yeah. i’m more of a… self-soothing psychic.”

it’s fine. if eli sees stiles as his family. if he’s already breathing in stiles’ scent to calm himself down, that’s great. if he sees him, and blurs across the room until he’s back at stiles’ side, or in stiles’ arms. derek’s glad that someone can be that for him right now. that somehow, in some small way, eli’s starting to feel safe here. 

and if that someone he feels safe with is firmly part of scott’s pack, and seventeen, and human?

that’s fine, too. 

it makes sense. without stiles? derek never would’ve known of eli. even if he should’ve sensed him. even if, now, he can’t imagine not picking him out of a crowd in an instant, and apologizing for not knowing, and getting him far away.

far away from all of this.

is that kidnapping? can you kidnap your own son? whose mom hid him from you, for four years, and who shot you recently. 

but of course, once it heals, it’s like it never happened.

eli isn’t safe with her. she could be incredibly physically abusive to him, and once he heals… 

no, no. no, that’s not gonna happen. derek’s gonna make sure of it. 

and stiles would never let it happen, either. 

but once derek’s mind even starts heading in that direction, he has to know. 

“eli,” he says, and eli starts. right, right. they’ve never actually… derek’s never asked him what his name was. 

it’s an unusual conversation to have, as a dad. but three days ago? derek didn’t even know he was one. 

“i’m derek,” he says. he doesn’t have to iron out the dad thing right now. eli’s got enough to try and process as it is. “i’m sorry. i probably should’ve started with that.”

eli shrugs. the stiles-sized hoodie almost swallows the movement entirely, but derek catches it.

and if eli trusted derek to be holding him right now? that’s all derek would be doing. 

“i know that… i’m not stiles,” he says, and eli looks up at him. “and i didn’t start this right, or maybe i just don’t seem—comforting, in the same way…”

it’s too much talking. if he was four years old, and some stranger came up to him… 

if he was four years old, and his werewolf dad had just found out he was his dad… 

“i know i’m not stiles,” he says again. “but… i could try to be similar. because i, i really wanna be someone you can come to for that. and for anything, anything you ever need, from now on. i’m gonna be here.” 

it’s too much talking, again. and it’s not, really… eli’s four. somehow, stiles already knows how to talk to him, but eli’s own dad is woefully inadequate. 

he gives up on talking for a while. lays a hand on eli’s shoulder. that, at least, he’s already done before.

and eli looks at it again, and up at him.

“we can try some more backflips, if you want,” derek offers. for a minute there, it almost felt easy. 

teaching his son something, and laughing with him.

eli shrugs again. and, maybe he just needs some encouragement.

derek did a kind of ad-libbed routine for him, before. 

he can try that again, definitely. go with what works, and stop getting in his head about the rest of it. 

and of course stiles is involved in this. of course he is. 

but derek’s heart drops as eli stops the car outside the hospital. 

eli wants to go in first, make sure stiles is up for having visitors. he tells derek to stay in the car.

and nothing’s ever felt less real, nothing. but derek can’t exactly breathe. 

not until he’s picking stiles’ scent out from the rest of it, listening for his heartbeat. and finding it, and shuddering. 

focusing on it, and on eli’s, as stiles’ door opens.

but there’s something wrong with eli’s scent. as his voice goes quiet, as he takes stiles in. 

“it’s not that bad,” stiles tries, but derek’s already stumbling from the car. 

and of course stiles is involved in this. of course he is. 

but derek’s heart drops as eli stops the car outside the hospital. 

eli wants to go in first, make sure stiles is up for having visitors. he tells derek to stay in the car.

and nothing’s ever felt less real, nothing. but derek can’t exactly breathe. 

not until he’s picking stiles’ scent out from the rest of it, listening for his heartbeat. and finding it, and shuddering. 

focusing on it, and on eli’s, as stiles’ door opens.

but there’s something wrong with eli’s scent. as his voice goes quiet, as he takes stiles in. 

“it’s not that bad,” stiles tries, but derek’s already stumbling from the car. 

it kind of freezes stiles when he realizes. when he realizes the insane risk derek took, even thinking of helping him. 

when emory could’ve, if he knew… 

it’s kind of… unbelievably horrifying. and stiles had derek going on snack runs. 

unprotected, alone.

well, that’s over now. 

they’ll go together, from now on. keeping close, no one’ll question it. everyone knows omegas don’t date other omegas. 

and derek has the red eyes, and the growl. for most people, it’s a good trick. 

from the outside, it’ll look like derek owns him. 

the mark on stiles’ wrist is still stinging. but that’s good, it’s good.

it’s good to have the reminder. to not glance down, and panic trying to find it. 

as long as he has it, derek doesn’t. and that’s more than worth it. 

he breathes in sharp, and derek reaches for him drowsily. 

the shock always sticks around longer than the relief. the buzzing in stiles’ head, no, no, this is a trick. we didn’t get this lucky.

that’s what happens. lydia saw it. this is just like, crazy vivid denial. 

but derek’s still right here, and unburned, and he never was. he’s half-asleep, resting easy. 

and slowly, stiles looks at his hands, and counts to ten. 

derek sleeps in stiles’ hoodie, now. wears it all the time. 

stiles can’t explain how warm that makes him.

Did you stop taking your meds? scott sends, and stiles sees it but doesn’t respond. doesn’t make food, or go outside, or do anything. he’s a zombie now, he’s lifeless. sapped of motivation. 

and derek isn’t texting. and stiles can just imagine what he’s thinking, how he’s gonna be. when he finds out stiles isn’t the reliable obsessive little nerd he thinks he is. the three AM research guy.

he is. he is that. a lot of the time. even when there’s no threat of dying. 

but he’s also this. 

low-grade dread. he’s a little bit used to it. it can motivate him, sometimes.

right now? no, nope. 

he would text derek, like one line. but then he’d have to have a conversation with him. derek would be like, What? and have a million questions. and stiles would feel like shit for ignoring him. 

or he wouldn’t ignore him, and he’d burn out worse. end up on the phone with him for four hours, end up scaring his dad with how much of a zombie he can be. zombie stiles, the real monster of the week. every week. every other one. 

the low-grade dread switches to high-grade dread, high grade anxiety. his body just does not care. 

“stiles,” derek says, four days later. “i’m outside.”

four days, and he can kind of almost fake human again. open the door, say, “derek. you look... miserable as always.”

banter. he’s almost got the banter back. wow, good job. good job on bare minimum. 

“stiles,” derek says. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” stiles says. “i mean, something’s trying to kill us, generally, but i’m kinda used to that by now. you... are bleeding.”

“it’s not mine,” derek says, and stiles nods, nods.

“well that’s... reassuring. is it reassuring? did you kill someone?”

almost, he almost has his mojo back. derek, and his weird miserable face, and chaos, it’s refueling him. 

“i didn’t kill someone,” derek says, and stiles says, “i don’t know, it looks like there was bloodshed.”

derek shrugs. “it’s an old shirt.”

“it’s an old...” stiles nods, nods. “it’s an old shirt. of course it is. laundry day?”

leaning closer, feeling at it.

“you liar, you are bleeding.” lifting it now, and look at that: derek’s got a new giant mortal wound. a less insane supernatural being would be hyperventilating. stiles is slightly hyperventilating. 

“dude, are you serious?” dropping the edge of his shirt, grabbing his shoulder. “get in here! you weren’t gonna tell me?”

“you’re busy,” derek says. 

“i’m busy?!” stiles says. “you’re bleeding out. i think i can pencil you in somewhere.” 

dragging him into the bathroom, pushing a towel against his chest. “shut up and hold that.”

“it’s white,” derek says. 

“well, it’ll be pink now. a nice rusty maroon.” stiles presses it a little harder against him, and derek shudder-gasps. “oh my god. hold that.” that’s like, the scariest sound in the world, him breathing so sharply for a second. “you can, it’ll be your dedicated bleeding towel. ‘til the color’s consistent. who’s trying to kill you?”

“this time?” derek says.

“yeah, try to be specific. narrow it down to the last, like, two or three attempts on your life.״

“i don’t know,” derek says. “it was dark.”

“‘it was dark,’” stiles says. “do you not have super-senses? what’d it feel like?” it didn’t look like claws. no, it was weirdly rounded. “what, so something just stabbed you out of the blue? you weren’t, like, talking—or chasing—”

“no,” derek says, and stiles is like—rage. he’s just rage, for a second. 

taking over him. 

“right,” he says. “where—where were you? you can stay here,” he says, and derek looks at him, and stares.

“to be safe,” stiles says. “what? so you don’t get stabbed to death sometimes.”

derek says, “why’d you stop texting me?”

“that,” stiles says. “that, right. so... the thing is, about that...”

“don’t worry,” derek says, but there’s something wrong with his face, and stiles feels—and this is why he didn’t wanna do this. 

“i just thought i’d—that you were alright,” derek says, and then, “and you are. so—”

not quite looking at him, still holding the towel too loosely. heading for the door.

“hold on,” stiles says. “you got stabbed to death, and you came here to make sure that i—”

that he’s okay. because he stopped responding, and derek started, derek thought—

“i’ll be fine,” derek says, and stiles says, “yeah you will, you’re not leaving.” grabbing his shoulder again. easing his grip, when derek lets out a shaky little shudder. looking down at the towel, how derek’s barely even holding it anymore. “you understand the concept, right? keeping the blood inside of you.”

somehow, now, his blood pumping, he has all the energy in the world. which is great, because he needs to kill someone. 

or something. whatever did this, whatever just went ahead and stabbed him. even if it’s healing by now. 

he feels a little stupid, once the bleeding stops, once it’s just derek in an incredibly bloodstained shirt, holding an incredibly bloodstained towel, back to being hale and whole and healthy as normal. 

his hands can’t exactly believe it. they keep going back, checking. patting the spot where there’s nothing, where the blood’s already starting to dry. 

“sorry,” he says, when he does it again, reaches and kind of grazes the place where it was. before derek looks at him, and he realizes. “um, sorry. nervous habit.”

he shouldn’t feel so stupid about it. in the real world, or what you’d think was the real world, massive blood loss doesn’t just heal and vanish in three minutes. so if anything, he’d be weird for not checking on it. he’d be, that whole bloodline would like, die of darwin’s law. of like, a total lack of inquisitiveness. 

and maybe he’s still touching derek’s shirt, maybe. there’s still something wrong with his breathing. 

he always heals quickly. a few days, maximum.

and it takes about five minutes for him and stiles to get back to bantering. 

but this time, he’s just… really, really out of it. stumbling back in terror of anyone who isn’t stiles. 

“whoa, hey, hey, it’s okay! it’s okay, it’s just scott.” 

there’s maybe a half-second of recognition. of forced-exhaled breath, and clarity. 

in which scott meets laura in college and becomes her beta by choice, so naturally derek gets the absolutely essential job of shadowing his human best friend and figuring out if he’s trustworthy. honestly? derek’s pretty sure this is just laura’s lame attempt at trying to make him feel included in all of this. 

“it’s not like that,” scott says. “me and stiles, we grew up together. we’re more like brothers, you know? like… found family.”

and derek just breathes out slow, and walks away. 

the argents are still out there. and if derek had just told her what he did from the beginning? laura would know that already.

that they’re not gonna be safe. not if kate’s still planning something.

and the last thing they need right now is two more easy targets.

and stiles is over all of this before it even starts. kid-him heard a creepy tape about shedim and spent every night since then half-sure there was a demon dog hiding in the gap between his bed and the wall. classic fear of the dark, with a little added nightmare fuel, plus a fun recurring prickly something’s-right-behind-me feeling he definitely doesn’t still get just thinking about it.

his current bed’s in the very center of his otherwise completely furniture-less apartment, so, hey! problem solved. with a little ingenuity, you can do anything.

no control futuredraft. in which stiles has been missing for months. and derek’s sick, and empty, and guilty, and furious. stalking through every bar stiles has been in, and every alley, and every apartment. he pins some guy up against a wall for moving in too close to some drunk kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. for following him home, and the kid stares at derek, and back at the guy who’s still bleeding. says, “what the fuck? did you follow me?”

“he followed your car,” derek says, and the kid says, “not him. you! who the hell are you?”

the guy touches his bleeding lip, and the kid moves closer to him. “holy shit. what a psychopath.”

too quiet, he didn’t mean derek to hear. touching the guy’s cheek, saying, “come inside.”

derek gets in his car, waits for a reason to do something. 

they find a body. some hikers, some deputies. there’s a john doe in the hospital, an OD in an alley. another suicide. 

derek goes, because—derek goes. even if it isn’t, he wants to know about it. every bad night, every corner something’s hiding in. 

and he doesn’t want the sheriff finding it first.

“no, it wasn’t,” he says, and noah says nothing. breathes out, breathes in.

“i’ll tell you,” derek says. “the second i know something.”

“yeah,” noah says. “i know you will.”

they traced his phone. early on, in the beginning. the signal in too many dangerous places, constantly moved around.

they found it in derek’s car, with a near-dead battery. and noah shut his eyes. 

they plugged it in, listened to their own mounting panic.

there wasn’t a clue. in his texts, in his messages. derek’s called every unknown number, tracked down apartments and cars. 

he’s said, “i know he was here.” a thousand times. 

and they said, “who?” and then they were surprised, or cagey, or concerned. wanting to know who he was, showing up, interrogating them. are you a cop? are you his boyfriend? are you his brother?

“i,” derek said, and then, “his dad’s looking for him. he’s not gonna stop looking.”

“okay,” said someone. “well, good luck. tell me if you hear anything.”

derek staring at him, but he didn’t smell guilty. just a little anxious, and curious, and worried. 

“stiles, right?” he said. “we went to high school together.”

stiles, right? 

“you don’t know his name,” derek said, and the guy said, “it wasn’t really... that kind of thing.”

squinting at him. “do i know you? wait. you’re derek hale.” 

“i’m nobody,” derek said. 

“he talked about you,” the guy said, and derek went still. “or... some derek. how you’re a superhero. saving people.” 

and derek grimaced. “must be someone else.”

“you’re derek,” their newest lead says. “oh. that makes sense.”

derek says nothing, and the guy says, “thought you’d be taller, though.” 

looking at him appraisingly.

“stiles,” derek says tightly. “i know he was here.”

“of course he was, sweetie,” the guy says. “look at me.” 

“i know he was here,” derek says. “and i’m gonna find him.” 

“he’s not caged in my basement,” the guy says. too lightly, too amused. “he’ll come home when he wants to.”

derek stiffening, staring at him. 

“to be honest?” the guy says. “i think he can do better.”

“you know, that’s just offensive,” stiles says, when derek’s gone. “playing, like, a gay caricature, so he won’t recognize you.”

“worked on you, didn’t it?” adam says. “and he’d rush in and rescue you.”

stroking the bars softly, touching stiles’ cheek. stiles looks down.

“he doesn’t know you wanna be here.”

on a tuesday, adam lets stiles out of the cage.

out of the cage, and it’s terrifying. and adam says, “you’re gonna prove it to me. prove i can trust you.”

and stiles is cold, trembling all over. adam says, “settle down. deep breaths.”

he sounds like dad. it’s been forever since stiles has heard from his dad.

but he can’t risk it. dad seeing him, and trusting him, and stiles waking up to him bloodless, or bleeding. 

he has to figure out control.

“i know you love exploring,” adam says. “but you’re not going to do that. you’re going to sit right here, all night.”

stiles shivers, and adam says, “you need to learn to hold yourself back.”

“okay,” stiles says. “okay, yeah. i can do it.”

“imagine the cage around you,” adam says. “imagine it iron, and unflinching.”

stiles shuts his eyes, and sees it, and nods. “okay.”

“you can be stronger than this,” adam says. “you need to be strong.”

with his eyes shut, it’s almost easy. it’s just remembering a too-familiar feeling. the cage closing in around him, he’s used to that already. the bars kind of cutting into you, the metal heavy and rigid and cold. 

and there’s no point pushing back against it. or kicking, or fighting, or making a sound. 

it’s keeping him safe. keeping dad safe.