Scott: That doesn't sound right!

*earlier*

Derek: I'm afraid one day you'll do something so incredibly stupid you'll get us all killed.

Of course he doesn't blame them for it. He kidnapped Lydia and stabbed Scott through the gut.

for @isthatbloodonhisshirt 🖤🖤

has anyone ever taken Derek’s depression seriously?

like, sure, most people are probably aware Derek’s got some unresolved trauma, definitely PTSD. they’re maybe not so aware of his past or present coping skills. totally unaware of what he used to do during the harder moments.

no one truly knows how bad Derek’s suicidal ideations were. how he’d lay up at night, flashes of fire going across his mind, wishing it had been him instead of his loved ones. how sometimes he wished a hunter would finally catch him and just put him down like an unwanted animal.

no one, at first, recognizing that Derek jumped in line for a bullet not because he necessarily wanted to be a hero, but because he thought his life mattered much less than those around him.

his own hands were easy weapons to be used against himself. nights in the train car or the burnt out shell of his home where he’d clench his claws into the palms of his hands, wincing from the pain, feeling the blood drip between his fingers and down his knuckles. it’d only anger him how quickly he’d heal, taking those same claws to his wrists, his arms, his chest. carving and slashing into his own skin because the pain felt deserved.

he’d fall to his knees in exhaustion; covered in literal blood, sweat, and tears as he reminds himself that his self harm was only a scratch compared to the choking and burning his family could not survive.

he’d consider breaking into deaton’s clinic. wondering how much herbs and ash the man had stashed away; how much of it would be enough to kill him.

…

it’d actually take Derek some time to realize that he doesn’t actually want to die. he’ll recount the times he was captured by hunters and how hard he fought to escape. he’ll remember that if he truly wanted to, he could’ve let it be the end of everything the moment he was shot with the silver bullet. could’ve swallowed a whole mug of wolfsbane tea before sleep. could’ve let Peter or gerard simply slash his throat without putting up a fight.

it’d take him even longer to realize the people around him, his pack, not only needed him alive but wanted him alive. where they’d finally recognize his self-sacrificing tendencies and jump in right beside him to protect him. where Derek noticed his pack hung around him moreso to check in on him, ask him what he needed or what was to be done, but mostly pester him until he broke a smile.

Derek knows his pack would probably understand where he’s coming from; they’re broken and wayward just like him. but even then, Derek thought it best not to express himself in front of them. truly taking on his role as alpha and only wanting to be a strong example for them. he’d put on the mask, pretending to be cocky, confident, a fighter…

there’s of course only one person who saw through that bullshit facade.

a scrawny, sarcastic, human teenager. Stiles, who constantly reminded everyone that he was still human in more ways than one. Stiles didn’t shy away from expressing how he felt. he’d have wounds that healed over into scars and still have the gumption to get up and keep moving. he’d look back at Derek with unwavering eye contact, silently reassuring Derek that everything was going to be ok.

Derek would eventually work up the courage to tell Stiles how he gets into these moments of doubting his own self worth. his eyes darting away as he shared with Stiles that sometimes he felt he like he didn’t deserve life. he doesn’t tell Stiles about the self-harm, the nightmares that wake him up at night, the actual attempts he’s made and failed.

the boys eyes are already misty as Derek’s talking. Stiles doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t get up and leave, doesn’t judge. his expression is soft albeit sad and for once, Derek doesn’t flinch when Stiles’ hands reach for his.

when Derek does finish, Stiles rubs at his own eyes before swiping the wetness away from Derek’s cheeks. Stiles tells him understands, “believe me, i get it.” he doesn’t share much of his own experience, is vague in parts of his speech to Derek about wanting him to live but Derek knows..

Derek’s seen the faint symmetrical scars Stiles tries to hide under clothes. he’s seen the days where Stiles isn’t much like himself. he’s heard the self-deprecating and suicidal jokes that fly over everyone else’s heads.

“i get it,” Stiles says again to Derek in the quiet of the room. his hand is still atop of Derek’s, now stroking at his knuckles in a soothing, comforting motions.

he suggests to Derek seeing someone, “a professional, maybe? like, i’m glad you trust me enough to tell me this but i don’t think i have all the right words to fully help you.”

Derek quietly nods. he hasn’t considered therapy at first; the thought alone hadn’t even crossed his mind. but after all these years, he figured he needed it more than ever.

“hey,” Stiles said softly, pulling Derek’s attention back. “don’t think just cause i said you should see a therapist that that means you can’t still talk to me. i’ll always listen, i promise.” the corners of Stiles’ lips tugged upwards into a gentle smile, his hand squeezing around Derek’s as even more reassurance.

“i want to hear every thought that runs through that pretty head of yours — if you feel like it obviously; i’m just tryna say that i’m here for you. we’re bonded at this point, so there’s no getting rid of me..”

Derek nodded again, feeling his own mouth curve into a small smile as he replied, “good; i might need you around more than i’d care to admit.”

for the first time in a while, his heart felt warm as he watched Stiles’ face break into a gorgeous grin.

&

Derek would, indeed, eventually take up therapy and in the midst of that find himself around Stiles more.

it becomes a little easier to share around Stiles and Stiles shares back. their stories aren’t too different in the traumas and tragedies they’ve face, how they poorly handled it, and then grew from it.

Derek’s not cured. no one is at a 100%. but Derek walks and talks a little differently now that he knows he deserves better, deserves life.

sorry but this is so Derek coded..

Derek’s maybe attempted to take his own life more than a few times. Most of the times have been failures; either because he’s simply survived or because he just never fully went through with it. But hilariously, the other times have been because he’s just been inconvenienced by something else, which in turn thwarts whatever solid plans he had to end it all. 

A good example being the time he stood at the edge of a roof of the tallest building he could find in beacon hills [which probably isn’t all that tall to begin with]. He knew exactly the way he had to jump to make it effective and he’s got one foot dangling over, ready to leap… when his phone goes off. Derek curses himself for not remembering to turn on the ‘Do Not Disturb’ setting on his phone or just turned it off altogether. And of course it’s Scott pleading for Derek to hurry to the woods to help the pack fight off whatever mess they’d gotten themselves into. And Derek being Derek, he of course, agreed, ending the call and grumbling to himself on the way down the fire escape, “fuck, this is the last time I ever help these idiots!” — but then the fight ends successfully and they get burgers after to celebrate and Derek completely forgets about his earlier attempt. 

Another example — he’d woken up Monday morning with set intentions. Through his emotional exhaustion, he managed to deep clean his loft, packing up belongings in boxes that would be easy for Cora and Peter to sift through when everything was done. In his wallet, he stuffed an old photo of him and Laura as kids before stepping out of the front door and getting into his car. It’s a long and quiet drive to Deaton’s office with the plan to ask the veterinarian for a suspicious amount of dangerous herbs or ash.. enough to take out a werewolf. Only for him to pull up to the clinic and completely forgetting that the office is closed on Mondays. He could just break in but that would only alarm the local police and Derek simply would have no way of explaining this all to the sheriff who’s become like a father to him. So Derek goes back home and takes a nap. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” he says to himself, knowing damn well that he probably won’t. 

He finds Braeden’s gun some weeks later. Derek sits at the edge of the bed with it, contemplating the action. He knows it would be the swiftest and most effective way to take himself out. The gun is picked up then put back down over and over. Derek even paces the loft, staring at the pistol from across the room. After a few minutes, Derek realizes this isn’t exactly how he wants to go; its loud, its messy, and its the last thing Derek wants anybody to ever have to deal with in his aftermath. Plus, how is Cora ever going to manage or sell the building if potential buyers discover he had blown his own brains out on the top floor? It’s a big “hell no,” for Derek as he quickly grabs the gun, shoving it in a discreet box and having Argent ship it off through whatever channels he’s acquainted with. 

Derek’s mind goes through many other ideas. Like maybe just driving off a cliff would be simple enough… but then he does the math and he’s at least 96.7% sure he’d survive; it’d take months for every bone in his body to heal but he he’d survive, unfortunately. He then thinks maybe just letting whatever monster tearing through town on a biweekly basis have their way with him. But he knows his reflexes and instincts would probably stop himself before letting some creature rip him to shreds. Derek even considers antagonizing a gang of hunters, but with him and Argent’s alliance, Derek really hasn’t come across a vengeful hunter in almost a whole year. 

And maybe one day Derek finally has it all perfectly planned out. He knows exactly what has to be done, how the timing has to be right so there’s no interruptions or any way for him to back out. He thinks about all the messages he’ll have to leave. One for Cora, telling her that he loves her and that he’s sorry, one to Peter for him to go fuck himself, for Scott and how sorry he is that they didn’t start off on a good foot but glad that they’ve become like brothers over time. Derek even writes out a list of what he’s leaving for the pack; Isaac gets the loft, Liam the Camaro, Stiles gets every book Derek’s ever owned.. speaking of, Derek then realizes he should maybe have something written for Stiles. He knows even in death, Stiles would somehow still find him and rant about not being given the courtesy of a goodbye letter like everyone else. 

Just as Derek’s about to sit down and write a text out to Stiles, the loft doors slide open with Stiles barging right in balancing boxes of pizzas in one hand and a case of beer in the other. Derek quickly erases the text, turning his phone off and asking Stiles what he’s doing here. Stiles looks back at him just as confused, “is it not.. pack night?”

Derek shuts his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh, completely forgetting to cancel pack night. He’s only lucky that its actually the next day, which he reminds Stiles, “..today’s Thursday..” 

Stiles rolls his own eyes, muttering “of course,” under his breath before sauntering down the steps to the living room. “I was so excited for today to be Friday, I didn’t realize it’s only Thursday,” he tells Derek. “Well, I’m already here and we’re not wasting this pizza and beer — I even got the disgusting kind you like; meatlovers with extra mushrooms, olives, and artichokes.”

“Stiles, I’m kinda busy tonight,” Derek says, trying to find an out.

“Doing what?,” Stiles snorts, already pulling a slice of pepperoni from one of the boxes and falling against the couch. His eyes scan around the loft, noticing the moving boxes stacked in different corners of each room. “Oh shit, are you moving? Not that I hate this loft, lots of great memories, but dude, about time.. its so depressing here, I’d blow my own brains out if I lived in a dark, dusty apartment for years on end. I don’t know how you haven’t yet!”

That gets a chuckle out of Derek and he decides his plans can wait. He grabs his own serving of pizza and sits beside Stiles, letting the kid ramble about his day before he makes Derek plug his tv back in to watch some superhero movie. 

It’s just them for the whole night, watching bad action films, Stiles sitting comfortably pressed against Derek whilst getting buzzed on cheap beer and laughing at corny one-liners from Chris Evans and Ryan Gosling. Its maybe the first time in a long while Derek feels at ease, his mind isn’t clouded with how much dread he carries on a day to day basis, the tensions in his shoulders drop with every giggle that escapes Stiles’ lips. For once, in a long while, he feels good. 

And maybe it’s not the last time it occurs. Just when Derek’s gearing up to go with his plan of ending his own life, somehow Stiles pops up at just the right moment. Always with some kind of errand for them to run with the excuse of “it’s a two person job,” or simply wanting to hang out with Derek. 

Derek would probably find this annoying had it been anyone else but when it’s Stiles, for some reason, he doesn’t. He finds himself loving Stiles dragging him to the grocery store on a random Tuesday night, calling him up and asking him to help him study for finals of whatever college course, coming over with dvds of niche films he rented from the library, the late night visits that turn into long walks in the preserves where Stiles rambles on about his fears of the future or how he couldn’t sleep because he had another nightmare about the nogitsune. And Derek reassures him of everything — that stiles has a great future ahead of him, that the nogitsune is behind them, that every emotion, every instinct that Stiles is feeling is valid. “You just have to keep going,” Derek finds himself advising Stiles, though he’d never give himself the same sage advice. 

“Thanks,” Stiles smiles softly back at him when they walk back to their cars. “Y’know, you deserve a good life too, Derek. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve good things.”

Those parting words give Derek pause. They ring in his head the entire drive back to the loft. He hadn’t thought his life was worth anything after the fire. Continuously viewed himself as flawed, as a fuck up, everything he’s ever done wrong haunting him until he could finally meet his end. He's surprised that it takes Stiles of all people to make him reconsider. That maybe, just maybe, he should actually give life a chance. 

And Stiles will continue to pop up at Derek’s worst mental moments. When Derek thinks this should be it, he should just end it once and for all, is when Stiless voice leaks into the loft before he even makes it to the door. When just as Derek wishes he could sleep forever, he hears Stiles’ steady heartbeat miles away inching closer. When he wants to dig his claws into his own veins but the mere sight of Stiles bouncing up to him calms whatever terrors ran through his mind. 

It’s all as if Stiles knows somehow when Derek’s at his lowest. Knows somehow that Derek needs something more that he’s not entirely sure he can ask for or even how to. That Derek needs reassurance himself, some form of proof, some kind of reason to stay alive instead of leaving it all, any semblance of hope, really. Derek wonders if Stiles somehow being some kind of spark gives him the powers of reading minds or just having a strong intuition. Where Derek’s never been great with words, always better with actions and yet Stiles is constantly one step ahead, always knowing the next move, always knowing Derek’s next thought.

Derek can tell by the way Stiles looks at him, practically reading Derek like a book that Stiles never wants to put down. He can see in Stiles’ eyes, hear it in Stiles’ steady heartbeat, through the confidence of his voice that he cares for Derek in ways Derek maybe hasn’t felt in years from anyone else. That he wants Derek around, wants him to stay, how excited he gets just from being around Derek. It’s something that leaves a twist in his chest, in a good way, as if his heart is remembering to pump again, shocking him back into a life that he’s been begging for. Because it’s not that Derek wants to go, he’s said goodbye enough times, but because he just wants things to get better. 

It took him some time to realize that Stiles is that “better”. Stiles is that reminder for Derek to just breathe, it’ll get better. That he can have love and loss, but it’s not the end. It takes him even some more time to express this to Stiles; that with all his bravery, his strength, his everything, Stiles is all that Derek hopes to be.

“I’m not ready to go yet,” Derek says, wiping away at the tears falling against his cheeks. 

has anyone ever taken Derek’s depression seriously?

like, sure, most people are probably aware Derek’s got some unresolved trauma, definitely PTSD. they’re maybe not so aware of his past or present coping skills. totally unaware of what he used to do during the harder moments.

no one truly knows how bad Derek’s suicidal ideations were. how he’d lay up at night, flashes of fire going across his mind, wishing it had been him instead of his loved ones. how sometimes he wished a hunter would finally catch him and just put him down like an unwanted animal.

no one, at first, recognizing that Derek jumped in line for a bullet not because he necessarily wanted to be a hero, but because he thought his life mattered much less than those around him.

his own hands were easy weapons to be used against himself. nights in the train car or the burnt out shell of his home where he’d clench his claws into the palms of his hands, wincing from the pain, feeling the blood drip between his fingers and down his knuckles. it’d only anger him how quickly he’d heal, taking those same claws to his wrists, his arms, his chest. carving and slashing into his own skin because the pain felt deserved.

he’d fall to his knees in exhaustion; covered in literal blood, sweat, and tears as he reminds himself that his self harm was only a scratch compared to the choking and burning his family could not survive.

he’d consider breaking into deaton’s clinic. wondering how much herbs and ash the man had stashed away; how much of it would be enough to kill him.

…

it’d actually take Derek some time to realize that he doesn’t actually want to die. he’ll recount the times he was captured by hunters and how hard he fought to escape. he’ll remember that if he truly wanted to, he could’ve let it be the end of everything the moment he was shot with the silver bullet. could’ve swallowed a whole mug of wolfsbane tea before sleep. could’ve let Peter or gerard simply slash his throat without putting up a fight.

it’d take him even longer to realize the people around him, his pack, not only needed him alive but wanted him alive. where they’d finally recognize his self-sacrificing tendencies and jump in right beside him to protect him. where Derek noticed his pack hung around him moreso to check in on him, ask him what he needed or what was to be done, but mostly pester him until he broke a smile.

Derek knows his pack would probably understand where he’s coming from; they’re broken and wayward just like him. but even then, Derek thought it best not to express himself in front of them. truly taking on his role as alpha and only wanting to be a strong example for them. he’d put on the mask, pretending to be cocky, confident, a fighter…

there’s of course only one person who saw through that bullshit facade.

a scrawny, sarcastic, human teenager. Stiles, who constantly reminded everyone that he was still human in more ways than one. Stiles didn’t shy away from expressing how he felt. he’d have wounds that healed over into scars and still have the gumption to get up and keep moving. he’d look back at Derek with unwavering eye contact, silently reassuring Derek that everything was going to be ok.

Derek would eventually work up the courage to tell Stiles how he gets into these moments of doubting his own self worth. his eyes darting away as he shared with Stiles that sometimes he felt he like he didn’t deserve life. he doesn’t tell Stiles about the self-harm, the nightmares that wake him up at night, the actual attempts he’s made and failed.

the boys eyes are already misty as Derek’s talking. Stiles doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t get up and leave, doesn’t judge. his expression is soft albeit sad and for once, Derek doesn’t flinch when Stiles’ hands reach for his.

when Derek does finish, Stiles rubs at his own eyes before swiping the wetness away from Derek’s cheeks. Stiles tells him understands, “believe me, i get it.” he doesn’t share much of his own experience, is vague in parts of his speech to Derek about wanting him to live but Derek knows..

Derek’s seen the faint symmetrical scars Stiles tries to hide under clothes. he’s seen the days where Stiles isn’t much like himself. he’s heard the self-deprecating and suicidal jokes that fly over everyone else’s heads.

“i get it,” Stiles says again to Derek in the quiet of the room. his hand is still atop of Derek’s, now stroking at his knuckles in a soothing, comforting motions.

he suggests to Derek seeing someone, “a professional, maybe? like, i’m glad you trust me enough to tell me this but i don’t think i have all the right words to fully help you.”

Derek quietly nods. he hasn’t considered therapy at first; the thought alone hadn’t even crossed his mind. but after all these years, he figured he needed it more than ever.

“hey,” Stiles said softly, pulling Derek’s attention back. “don’t think just cause i said you should see a therapist that that means you can’t still talk to me. i’ll always listen, i promise.” the corners of Stiles’ lips tugged upwards into a gentle smile, his hand squeezing around Derek’s as even more reassurance.

“i want to hear every thought that runs through that pretty head of yours — if you feel like it obviously; i’m just tryna say that i’m here for you. we’re bonded at this point, so there’s no getting rid of me..”

Derek nodded again, feeling his own mouth curve into a small smile as he replied, “good; i might need you around more than i’d care to admit.”

for the first time in a while, his heart felt warm as he watched Stiles’ face break into a gorgeous grin.

&

Derek would, indeed, eventually take up therapy and in the midst of that find himself around Stiles more.

it becomes a little easier to share around Stiles and Stiles shares back. their stories aren’t too different in the traumas and tragedies they’ve face, how they poorly handled it, and then grew from it.

Derek’s not cured. no one is at a 100%. but Derek walks and talks a little differently now that he knows he deserves better, deserves life.