Im always cryin

“And so, when the brave FBI intern valiantly fought his way into the building to rescue his long lost love, he had to hope that he was there in time. When he finally found him, the relief was almost enough to make him fall to his knees, but he knew he couldn’t waste time. So, he saved his love from the clutches of his would be captors, and helped to carry him away from the chaos by looping one arm over his own shoulders, and with a strong arm wrapped around his middle, supporting him while they escaped.”

“Did they live happily ever after?” Claude asks at the same time that Lori says “But you saved Papa, right?”

“Wait,” Claude adds, his brow furrowing in a way that reminds Stiles so much of Derek that he has trouble remembering that Claude is adopted, “Is this the same story Papa tells about why your toe looks funny?”

“No, silly,” Lori answers on Stiles’ behalf, her eyes darting to where Derek is leaning against the doorway with an all too amused smirk on his face. “That can’t be the toe story, in the toe story Papa carries Daddy ‘way from the bad guys, ‘cause Daddy’s toe got a boo-boo when he was a-rescuin’ Papa, and Papa was so sorry 'bout it, but they had to be fast, so he scooped Daddy up like a Prince and they runned away together. Right, Daddy? It’s a different story?”

Stiles takes a moment to glare at Derek, who is doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement behind the curl of his fist before looking back at their daughter. “Well, sweetheart,” he begins, trying to avoid letting his mouth gape uselessly while he tries to figure out the best way to answer that doesn’t include mentioning over a decade of bickering about this particular story, or the countless times Stiles had fantasized about his version of the story being real before he’d ever donned an FBI vest, or how in the end it has never mattered that the truth is somewhere in between, and that the only thing that matters is that the rescue happened and that at the end of the day he’d had Derek’s hand in his and they’d been able to get out and move forward. Together.

“The thing about stories-”

“The important thing,” Derek says, taking the few steps needed to cross from the doorway to where Stiles sits in a soft chair next to the twin’s beds. “The best thing,” he says, settling a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, letting his fingers ruffle the hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck and flashing him a genuine grin, “Is that your daddy and I saved each other.”

Stiles reaches a hand up to squeeze Derek’s where it rests on his own shoulder, adding, “Yeah we did. And we always will.”

Derek leans down to give Stiles a warm, chaste kiss, and Stiles lets the peace that that truth gives him settle over him like a blanket. When they both whisper “Always,” into the small space created when they pull apart, it’s followed by matching smiles (and eye rolls, because they are so married it’s ridiculous).

Claude’s “Okay, but I want the toe story tomorrow night, 'kay Papa?” breaks through the moment, but it’s still kinda perfect anyway.

“Toe story it is, kiddo!” Derek assures with a smile as he moves to tuck the kids in.

“But,” Stiles insists, “You have to tell it <i>right </i>, Der. My toe was nearly <i>obliterated</i>!”

Derek snorted, “Or we could tell them the truth, that you called me to warn me that the FBI was on my tail and kept me updated on the progress so I got out before the raid and then you picked me up the next morning in Maryland.”

“What’s the fun of that,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Let me be the hero.”

“If we tell them that anyone saved anyone I’m telling them that I saved you,” Derek flicked Stiles on the arm, “It’s my turn to save you.”

“Hey!” Stiles didn’t take this hands off the wheel, “Don’t hurt the driver.”

Derek rolled his eyes this time, “We’ll tell them the truth if they ask.”

“You’re boring Hale, when did you get so boring.”

“When did you decide to harbor another fugitive, you’re an intern with the FBI,” Derek shot back, but he was smiling.

“Anoth- It’s you! It’s the same damn fugitive every time you asshole,” Stiles said, “And what the FBI doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Idiot,” Derek said fondly, “Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For saving me. Again.”

“Oh well,” Stiles shrugged, his voice a little quieter than usual, “I invested so much time into saving your life in high school I couldn’t just let you waste away in federal prison.”

“You’re too kind,” Derek said with a grin.

The Beacon Hills exit loomed large in front of them and Stiles takes a deep breath before he steers the Jeep off the highway. 

“Ready or not,” Stiles said sardonically, looking at Derek for a moment. 

“We’re ready,” Derek gently squeezes Stiles leg, ignoring the way touching Stiles makes his heart thud, “We’ve got to be.”

Derek’s eyes linger after Stiles looks away, his body shifting restless, fingers clenching and loosing in a twitch across the exam table. The lie hangs bright and obvious in the air –– less in the absent hitch of heartbeat or the burn of nerves that don’t taste quite like embarrassment or like fear. Derek could explain those things away in context if he tried, but he can’t explain the way the words fail to line up with everything he knows he knows about Stiles.

“Becoming blind?”

“Yeah… terrified of it. Always have been.”

He wonders if it’s as obvious to Scott as it is to him, but the rest of the group’s already moved on, not missing a beat, focus shifted back to the problem at hand while Stiles re-centers. His pulse sharpens again and his eyes lift back to Derek, flicking up and away before moving back to Scott again, sliding seamless back into the conversation.

Derek shakes off the strangeness, and follows him.

.-

“Why did you lie in there?”

Stiles’ step falters on the question, and the resigned set of his shoulders tell Derek he’d been expecting this and hoping every bit as much to avoid it. Derek almost wants to take it back, tell Stiles is doesn’t matter, let whatever horror lives in the darkest place of Stiles’ heart lie there undisturbed… but this is too important.

He crosses his arms, keeping his tone and stance indifferent like that might make this conversation any easier.

“We need to know what’s coming, Stiles. When these things manifest, it’s not just going to be your fear anymore. It could threaten everyone.”

He’s not expecting the laugh that punches out of Stiles, harsh and thin and edged bitter enough to make Derek’s unaffected stance falter.

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Dark masks and fireflies float through Derek’s mind. A too-pale stranger with Stiles’ face and cold, ancient eyes. A huge lizard with paralyzing claws, and too-wet breaths as water threatened to pull them downward. A misshapen wolf with crimson eyes and spittle-laced breath, and an image of ghostly horsemen Derek had never seen, only heard of in Peter’s stories.

Derek could stab guesses at Stiles’ worst fears, could conjure up possibilities in Stiles’ quaking hands and nervous eyes as they darted out to the empty parking lot, looking for an escape before moving reluctant back to Derek. But he couldn’t know, and he needed to know, especially if it was something that could hurt the group.

…Especially if there was a way he could help Stiles prepare for it.

When it comes, he’s the one who’s unprepared.

“I can’t lose you again,” punches out rough and shaken, stunning Derek into stillness. Salt stings the air as tears well, and Stiles looks away on a wet breath, hand raking into his hair and tugging. “You were… dying and I walked away. I had to, there was nothing I could–– And then you were just gone afterward and I knew you were fine, I knew it was better that way but… fuck, Derek. It felt like you’d died some days.”

The tear tracks down and Derek feels his head shaking, arms falling from their faux-casual cross. The words are ringing through his mind, rattling around in a way that makes no sense and makes too much sense, echoes something too raw and honest inside him and he steps forward, “Stiles…” falling out soft, but Stiles is rocking a step back, shaking his head and swiping rough at the tear. Derek lets him retreat.

“My mom died in front of me.” This confession falls out soft, and Stiles’ shoulders shrink in against the sting of them. He looks small again, sixteen or years younger, and it takes an effort not to move in and shelter him from the sting of his own words. “And I just… I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t save her. Do you know how that––” He cuts off, because he knows Derek knows. Derek understands that feeling better than anyone. It’s a bond Derek’s always wished they didn’t share.

Stiles shakes his head, blinking quick.

“Fuck, I can’t go through that again, ok? If these things are bringing our worst fears to life then I’m better off away from it, for everyone’s sake. What if it kills you because of me, because–– I can’t watch someone else I love die.”

The words hang. Stiles has gone strangely still suddenly. In the clinic, some young pup sets up howling.

“…You love?” Because Stiles had been talking about his mother, but he’d also been talking about Derek. About losing loved ones, and that…

Stiles’ breath hisses out, body tensing up defensive and challenging. His hands ball up, shoulders setting broad again, and it feels like every argument they’ve ever had when Stiles meets his eyes, daring him to doubt the revelations he’d just laid out.

Derek had learned a long time ago not to doubt Stiles.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it’s some undeniable fact that Stiles loves him, fears losing him, that in all the nightmares of Stiles’ life, losing Derek could rest in anywhere near the same category as possession or dementia, or his mother’s death. But Stiles has always been afraid of losing people he loved, of not being able to save them… and Derek is one of those people. 

Derek is the person Stiles couldn’t look at while thinking about loss.

He moves forward a step, and Stiles doesn’t retreat this time, amber eyes locked with an expression that’s caught somewhere between challenge and pleading.

It’s one of the most terrifying moments of Derek’s life as he lifts his hand to Stiles’ cheek, and the most natural thing in the world once it’s resting there.

“I’ve died before,” he reminds Stiles, softly. “That’s not about to beat me. I’ll always come back… for you.”

“For me?” Stiles sounds breathless, doubt and hope warring as Derek’s thumb brushes over his tear-streaked cheek.

Derek tilts his head, warmth touching his eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

[heavy breathing]

this is one of my favourite things to think about because SO MANY THINGS WOULD BE DIFFERENT. it could have changed the outcome of a sooo many things, soooooo maaaannyyy tthhiiingggsss.

BUCKLE UP, YOU’RE GONNA REGRET ASKING THIS!