Derekās mom told him that love is beautiful, with one of those same smiles that everyone got when they talked about Peterās wife. That sort of past-tense sad reserved for loss thatās worth bringing up again.
Because love is beautiful.
He believes it, thatās the problem. He sees it in her eyes when she plays, mixed up in petty anger and dusky browns. He sees it in the way she leans towards him when they talk, and the way his chest opens up when sheās near by. Derek thinks, This is beautiful.
But, itās not. Because his mom saidāshe said love is beautifulāand Paige is vomiting black on to the dirt floor, writhing in pain, babbling out promises and pleas no teenager should ever have to speak. No one should have to ask for help to die, it shouldnāt be this hard. It shouldnāt be this ugly.
He breaks her, and it breaks him.
He believes that for months. Long months of time that crawl by with the ever present memory of black, acrid love in the back of his mind. Derek learns to avoid touching people, learns to filter the guilt-induced hallucinations from reality.
He wakes up to inky black in his bed. Not real. Not real. Not real.
The girl touching his arm after the basketball game has black hairātoo much like his sisters, yuckābut nothing more. Nothing Paige.
Thereās a young boy watching him from the woods. He doesnāt feel real enough for Derek to acknowledge him.
Life goes on like this for a year, and itās fine. He knows people can survive without love, heās watched his uncle happily survive for this long.
Until someone sneaks in. No, Kate pushes her way into his life with groping hands, secrets, and little promises that sound more like demands for love and sex and so many good things. Sheāll make him feel good, make him strong, make him love her.
Derek doesnāt love her, love is a black mess spewed into the dirt. Love is a dead girl under a tree.
But he takes everything else she offers, because heās never lived as easily as Peter has, and heās young. He needs attention, feckless affection with no consequences. Meaningless feel-good. No one will get hurt.
The boy from the woods is back, staring at him across busy police station. Derekās too fucked up to care if heās real or not. The next time he looks up, thereās a KitKat on the floor in front of him, and the boy is gone.
Love is a dead girl under a tree.
Love is a home turned tomb.
Love is a lie told to his last family member.
Laura comforts him in their loss, and Derek loves her too much to tell her the truth. Theyāve run away from the blackened wood and burning flesh to a city that smells just as bad. Itās not home.
Their first night there is spent in a one room apartment, no electricity, and one mattress on the floor that they collapse into, both of them sobbing so hard Derek fears his heart will finally rip free of his chest.
It doesnāt, he survives.
Derekās sister tells him that she needs to go back to Beacon Hills with one of those same smiles that she got when they talked about their family. She tells him she wants to visit Peter, to see how heās doing. Itās a lie, but Derek lets her go.
Because love is beautiful.
Heās there, again. In the woods. He knows itās him, even years later. Scents donāt change much, unless you lose everything that makes you you. Which is why his immovable uncle Peter smells like something different, something more dangerous than the man he once knew. The boy, however, is the same.
KitKats and a sad smile from the woods.
Derek makes him leave before he thinks too much about events leading up to those memories.
The problem is, theyāre persistent. These damn teenagers are everywhere, stepping into his business, getting bit by the rabid alpha, doing stupid, stupid things. A lot of it, in the name of love. Friendship. Family.
Love is a dead girl under a tree, Derek tells himself.
Love is a tomb turned home.
Love is a lie that killed his sister.
He finds himself thinking the words at night, while wounds heal and the dust settles. Peter, Scott, Argents, Alphas. Fight, kill. protect, promises. Screaming and arguing, throwing barbs.
KitKats on the doorstep of his tomb-home.
Stiles remembers. Stiles, somehow, sneaks in. And this time, itās actual sneaking. He moves into Derekās life like a thundercloud. A low, warning rumble as it moves across the sky, a crackle here or there to let you know what youāre getting into.
Stiles is a spark in a bleak world.
Love is a mistake, ill-informed choices taken out of a dead girlās hands.
Love is memorial, no, a memory.
Love is the lie his sister used to save his life.
Sheās a blip in his life, the seconds between one extreme and another. Toxic wasteland meet ice age.
It still hurts, but sheās a blip.
Love never even comes into it.
When he finds Stiles in the dirt, screaming, he knows this is it. Heās invested, heās given away parts of himself again, heās believing again.
So when Stilesāskinny, defenseless Stilesābrings a plague of murderous amusement to Beacon Hills, heās already decided what to do.
And he does everything he can to bring Stiles back from wherever he went. Somewhere in the black, under the roots, is that spark.
It takes some time, but with no hesitation, they drag Stiles, kicking and screaming, back to reality.
And itās not perfect, thatās not how life works. Itās as messy as black rejection spilling into the dirt. Itās as trembling and fragile as the burnt-out-shell of a home in the woods. Itās as many twists and turns as a well told lie to protect someone you love.
But itās too late for Derek, and itās too late for Stiles.
Because Derek will do anything to save that stupid kid frowning at him through the trees. Heāll kill everyone before he hurts that confused boy who leaves KitKats for crying murderers. Heāll die for guy who will die for him, because love isā¦
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