#sterekweek

The man came back to himself a bit before he replied, "Yes, of course. I should let you rest. You said one fifty?" 

Stiles nodded and added a tired slow blink as he yawned out, "Tips are always appreciated."

The man looked down at his Versace wallet and pulled out two crisp one hundred dollar bills. "Thank you so much The Magnificent Mieczyslaw." 

Stiles inwardly cringed as the man butchered the name. "Mitch is just fine." 

The man smiled and once again wrestled Stiles' hand into something more akin to someone fighting a snake to the death rather than a hand shake. "Thank you. The Magnificent Mitch. I just needed her to tell me she was okay." The man looked over his shoulder twice and each time Stiles waved vigorously while yawning. 

Finally Stiles let out a sigh after hearing the bell to his shop ring. He reached over to grab his tea from the side table to move it on to the one in front of him. As he took a sip he grimaced at the cold temperature. The man had blathered on endlessly about his ninety-four year old grandmother. Stiles decided to put his cards back in order then go make a fresh cup. He shuffled them mindlessly when two cards fell before him. He picked them up ready to shove them in the pack with the rest when he noticed they were both major arcana. 

The Lovers card was absolutely beautiful. It was drawn in a dreamlike summer haze of a scene. A calm peaceful forest with two sapling trees grew intertwined in front of a calm lake, and in the lake a lover gently held his beloved up letting her float looking at the clouds above. His bright red shirt and her electric blue eyes pulled focus from the other softer elements, but the two running wolf shaped clouds she was staring out could still be discerned if you stared long enough. 

Stiles' eyes barely widened, but the shock still pulled the tender smile from his face as he stared into the steely red gaze of The Devil card. It had gnarled twisted horns and its mouth was open in a scream of anger as the teeth and fangs jutted this way and that.  The card seemed to have a sense of motion from the way its saliva trailed midair all the way back to where its head was thrown back maw open wide. Its throat and jaw was tensed with such a strength Stiles' rubbed his own and he couldn't tell if it was subconsciously because he winced in sympathetic pain, or if he was trying to protect his own skin. The claws on this nightmare seemed more powerful than sharp, they didn't come to a cartoonish point. They did however, remind him of when he'd heard someone say that a sharp knife will cut through skin like butter, but a dull one will tear and gouge out the flesh ripping the sinew out of place instead of snipping. Streets were ablaze behind this behemoth and charred bodies laid all around. 

Stiles jolted out of the world of the card as he felt a sinking in his chest and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He regained himself and breathed in and out to center himself before calling out, "Would you like for me to pull you some cards? See what your fate has for you?" 

There was a silent pause. 

Stiles sighed and muttered under his breath, "Other than skulking around." He increased his volume so the stranger could hear, "And not using my front door, which is quite rude you know." Stiles heard the curtain that separated the waiting area from the back rustle open. 

"We did use the front door. And I wasn't skulking." 

Stiles flung his gaze back up carelessly to where the stranger was entering and his jaw promptly dropped the retort he had prepared rolling out of both his mind and mouth. Standing in front of him was the most gorgeous man Stiles had ever seen. He was sharply dressed in a double breasted black peacoat and tan slacks, but his shoes matched his coat's shiny black buttons. His beard was very well taken care of and short enough it had to be a bitch to maintain. His hair was neatly groomed into a close fade on the sides while the top was a bit longer. Stiles got the sense it was just on that borderline where it was long enough a couple strands would delicately flop down and the man's strong looking fingers would have to comb through it to get it back into place. Stiles wanted to volunteer to help next time it happened, or at the very least feel those fingers himself. His mind flailed for something to say as the man entered his tent. "Actually you can come in my back door." 

The stranger's face scrunched up into some unpleasant emotion that Stiles couldn't figure out as he was busy processing what had come out of his mouth. "Wow I'm glad you try and hit on your clients before they reveal how broken and vulnerable they are and don't just wait until after you take their money." 

"Oh. God. That was out loud. I said that out loud with my mouth hole." Stiles was mortified. 

Stiles was just about to cover his face in shame when a man he did recognize came in right behind the stranger. "Now boys, please at least let me introduce you both before you jump each other. Stiles, this is my nephew Derek. Derek, this charmer is Stiles." 

Peter was often in need of his services and at least a third of the reason he could even afford to get the shop. He didn't need to be offending one of his clients with the deepest pockets. Peter took his family's money and used it to open a casino and happened to hit it big. He also had the most fortunate habit of getting in the sort of trouble Stiles' skills knew how to solve.  "Peter, I told you if you ever need an appointment you can call. I hope you didn't wait long. I would've cleared the day for you." Stiles tried to recollect his composure and professionalism. 

Peter swanned in and plopped gracefully down in a chair like he always did, but this time he chose the one more off to the side instead of directly in front of Stiles before he replied, "Nonsense. Besides, I wanted Derek to see what you can do." 

The stranger, Derek, scoffed, "Right. It was so important for me to see that poor sucker get scammed worse than people taking their pictures with the characters on the strip." 

It was Stiles' turn to scoff. "I helped him." 

Derek raised an eyebrow, "By scamming him using his dead grandmother? That's pretty low if you ask me. If you'd ever lost anyone you'd know what it's like to want to give anything you have just to hear from them one last time." Derek turned towards Peter before speaking again, "This guy? You brought me to this hack for help?" 

Derek went to walk out of the tent but Stiles interrupted his gait with an irritated tone, "I did help him." 

Derek turned around and crossed his arms right in front of the opening. "How do you figure? By taking his money? Fooling him?" 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yes dumbass. Look, that man didn't need me to tell him about how he just needs to move on and not be so desperate. He needed to believe in magic for a moment, to hear from his grandmother. He certainly didn't need the money, but he did need to feel like she was safe and passed on okay. He needed that so he could feel okay. Believe, don't believe it doesn't matter. What matters is that he can sleep at night." 

Derek had softened his posture some, but his arms stayed resolutely crossed. "Can you? Knowing you lie and take their money?" 

This was the easiest question he answered all the time. "Yes. Because if I have the choice between lying to someone about someone who has passed or a decision they had to make to ease their pain a little, or telling them the ugly truth that only hurts I'm going to make them feel better. Besides, only the people that want to feel better come to me." 

Stiles looked at Peter's shit eating grin. Stiles squinted at Peter. There was something in the way Peter was looking at Derek that made Stiles feel like he was missing something. Stiles turned his eyes back to Derek and looked him up and down this time with what Scott and his clients called his 'other gaze', but it was really just him looking for clues. Derek tapped his finger against his bicep while he stared down Stiles' intent searching. 

Stiles finally felt like he grasped what Peter was smirking about. "And where do you work?" 

It was the first time Stiles felt like he caught Derek on the off foot. His eyes went steely and his jaw clenched, it made the muscle in his neck clench. Stiles wanted to lick it. Derek spat out, "I hardly see how that matters." 

Stiles grinned. "Oh what do we have here, hmmm?" Stiles tapped his own cheek, he enjoyed making Derek squirm immensely. "A partner or just a spoiled rich kid living off of family money would make you complicit enough, but no it's deeper than that. Not a bartender, you'd get hit on too much and murder someone." Derek narrowed his eyes, but Peter was gleaming with glee. "You don't seem like the behind the scenes number crunching type, and with a face like that it'd be a crime. No you're up close and dirty." Even with him standing across the room and Peter still there Stiles liked the effect he could barely tell he was having on Derek. "Oh no, please tell me-" Stiles didn't even try to stifle his laugh. "You're trying to lecture me about morals and taking advantage of people when they're down and you're a fucking dealer at your family's casino?" 

Derek's face turned sour and Stiles let out a belly laugh. Peter even chuckled slightly. Derek uncrossed his arms and kept his clenched fists by his sides as he stalked closer. He leaned over the table and felt the heat from the candle streaming up to his chin. "I don't use people's dead families to get a buck." 

Stiles sobered at that cutting remark. "No. You use their alive ones." Stiles interrupted Derek's attempt at a rebuttal, "Oh come on, how many 'just one more hand' men walk up to your table leaving behind little girls asking for ponies and wives just begging to not take the money that puts food on the table? How many elderly women are just looking for someone to talk to and something to do and instead gamble away their grandkids college or trusts? I won't pretend like either of us don't take money from vulnerable people, but can we both agree that they're willing to give it. And in a lot of cases they need to give it, even if it only helps temporarily." Stiles tilted his head and raised his eyebrows looking for some form of agreement from the other man. 

Derek merely squinted his eyes and leaned back upright. 

Stiles, ever the bigger person, would accept that. Also he literally couldn't afford to lose Peter as a client. "Now how can I be of service?" He pointedly looked away from Derek and to Peter. 

Peter shrugged and motioned back to Derek. "It's his problem, his story. As much as I love talking with you Stiles." Peter put a hand over his heart. 

That made Stiles smile and roll his eyes considering the first time Peter and him had talked it went much worse than this. Stiles had stabbed him. Stiles looked back at Derek.

A moment of silence later Stiles grabbed for his cards. "How about I give you a free reading to break the ice." 

Derek huffed and crossed his arms again. 

Stiles groaned out, "Oh come on tall, dark, and broody! If Peter brought you here it doesn't matter how much of a hack you think I am, I can help. Sit down and let me read you, then we can move on to giving you the help you so desperately need." 

Derek reluctantly flung the chair back and slammed down into it while making a gesture that Stiles chose to interpret as, 'Oh please help me! Take all the time you need. You're so gracious.' instead of it's more probable meaning of, 'Let's get this over with.'

Stiles began shuffling the cards and took a deep breath to focus and Derek rolled his eyes. 

Stiles huffed out, "Dude, come on. This isn't going to help anyone if you can't even get over the way I breathe." 

Derek started to unbutton his coat. "I just don't think someone holding the key to my future would say dude like a teenager playing Fortnite." 

Stiles got a lot of flack for not being an eighty year old Romani woman so he let it go while doing a couple regular and then reverse shuffles. He slid out the cards in front of Derek in one swift move. 

"I know that trick too." If Derek could look more unimpressed it would surely be record breaking. 

Stiles' head fell to the table and then he whipped it back up to glare at Peter. "God, why did you even bring him here he's such an asshole!" 

Stiles muttered mostly to himself, "That's not even my trick yet." When he turned back to Derek he looked a bit shocked at Stiles' outburst. Almost as if he'd never been called an asshole before, but Stiles knew without a shadow of a doubt that wasn't true. 

"Pick three." Stiles crossed his arms as Derek draped his coat over the back of his chair. 

"Do I have to think about it?" Derek still looked like he'd rather be stepping in dog poop right about now. 

"Nothing so strenuous. Wouldn't want to wrinkle those eyebrows anymore than they already are. Just choose. The cards will call to you." 

Another eyeroll and Derek snatched out three random cards. 

He was about to turn them over when Stiles interjected, "Oh wait, no don't turn them over. That's for me to do." 

Derek stared flatly before setting the card back down.  

"This is just your basic past, present, future spread to get you started." Stiles flipped over the first card. "I'm sure pop culture hasn't failed you so much that you don't know we start with your past." Stiles looked at the card and grimaced. There was a man pierced nine times with swords pinning him down to the ground and another blade jutting up through his heart. The sword blade side pointing to the sky through the body was the only one that had a curved shaft, much like a scimitar. Ten different swords at all angles each causing the anguished look on his face. The battlefield beneath him was more blood than grass, however from the top of the hill his body rested on past all the blazing bodies you could see a vibrant sunrise off in the distance. The man's long limp hand was still gripping the sword stabbed into his heart as if trying to undo the damage done. 

"So do I have to read my own tarot, or are you going to get to it sometime today?" Derek snarked. 

Stiles blew air through his nose at him and started to speak, "Ten of swords. This is a card that shows not just pain, but utter devastation. I'm sorry for all that you've gone through. I can only ima-" 

"You've met Peter before. The family fire was all over the newspapers, only one search away. If you want to use my dead family to trick me you're going to have to try harder." His tone was sharp and cold even as he tried for flippant and his eyes shot icicles directly at him. Derek twitched like he might leave based on Stiles' response. 

Stiles looked to Peter almost as if he was asking permission. Peter nodded. "Do it Stiles." 

Derek hated being looked at with pity, but at least for once he didn't think it was because of his dead family. Stiles almost looked like he was pitying him for what he was about to say. 

"Swords in general mean pain, loss, suffering. The ten in particular means hitting bottom, destruction, failure, feeling stabbed in the back. It can mean betrayal by those closest to you. In your past you were betrayed and it caused the worst day of your life. Your downfall came from your heart and the very one you trusted to safeguard all that was precious to you drove it to ruin instead." Stiles paused to look up at Derek. 

If his earlier demeanor had been chilly icicles now his gaze turned to thawed spring pools. He wasn't on guard anymore, but it was just as dangerous. The vast changing depth of the emotion showed in Derek's eyes made Stiles want to dive in till he drowned. He had never had a reading feel like this before. Something about Derek's eyes felt like he was being read right back, every tell every twitch being examined. Just as easily as the warmth had shown itself it was gone. 

Stiles continued, "But a lot of the swords cards portray loss and defeat. The ten of swords is more specific. It can mean new horizons, it can mean a fresh hope, and the end of a cycle. Ten specifically is the darkest hour before dawn has come. This card tells me you're ready to move on, never forget, but to move forward and truly honor those you've lost by living the way they would want you to." 

Derek had a sharp retort that he wanted to fling back at Stiles but it died on his tongue. No one knew about Kate, except Peter, and he wouldn't be calmly reading a magazine to the side if Stiles had just blurted out that he told him. Maybe a year ago or hell even a few months ago he would've bitten Stiles' head off and stormed out, but he'd been calmer since he moved back to Beacon Hills. The job and being close to Peter and Cora had helped. He knew Laura was just a phone call away and he'd always be grateful for his time with her in New York afterwards, but Beacon Hills was his home. He knew that deep down in his bones even if he didn't quite feel at home just yet. 

"Read the next card." Derek demanded.

Stiles was already flipping it over. There was a group of young saplings in a field. It looked as if a great storm had passed through, branches were strewn about the ground and even some of the trees uprooted.  "Your present. The page of wands, but it was drawn in reverse. This can represent strangers thrust into our lives. Often with the pages cards it has to do with some sort of mentorship or student, learning or growth in some capacity. Drawing it in reverse means something has gone wrong with this apprenticeship. Sometimes a reversed page means foolhardiness, recklessness, or even impulsivity. You're dealing with a situation that is causing you much strife and worry. The trees you've planted have been uprooted or thrashed in some way and you fear it is your fault. This card seeks to tell you it isn't your fault, but still your responsibility. You planted the seeds and tended to them, but you cannot control the storms that come, and even more difficult to accept, you cannot weather them for your pupils." Derek's face was an unreadable wall that made even Stiles question if he was way off. "Do you have anyone you're mentoring right now, or someone who has aligned with your path only to stray." 

Derek replied with no emotion. "You could say that." 

His indifference pissed Stiles off. He was really trying here and this dude couldn't care less. He was going to have to have a talk with Peter about bringing in hot men that were determined to look at him like the dirt under his shoe. Stiles trudged on, "Okay, final card. The moon. Huh, well that sucks." 

Derek leaned in and asked quickly, "What? Why does that suck?" 

A little part of him felt the victory in that, but he shoved it down knowing Derek would leave if Stiles showed that he thought he had won. 

"It sucks because it's an elusive card. It's hard to get an answer out of a moon card. The future is still fluctuating for you." Stiles picked up the card to study it closer. The most prominent thing in the card was of course the moon, but there was a smaller moon reflected in a river. The flow of the river bisected the card on one side there was a family camping next to a roaring campfire and on the other a solitary wolf with red eyes. There was a harsh breeze blowing through the woods on the side of the wolf, but a raven was gently gliding in the canopy above the joyful family. This card confused him, and that rarely happened when he did an actual reading. 

Stiles attempted to pull it all together. "There are a lot of female moon goddesses, this card can hint at women's health, and cycles. All in all this can be a very feminine card, maybe a mysterious or obscured from you woman is trying to warn you or lie to you. I don't know. This card also represents cycles, what we begin we are doomed to repeat, but also that good and evil, dark and light never truly go away they just have phases. There are dark sides to the moon, but also a brightness that we must remember isn't always the time to grasp for just yet." 

Derek's arms crossed once again. "A woman that is either trying to help me or lie to me? So you're just seeing a woman in my future, you don't know jack shit about what she's actually there to do?" 

Stiles huffed. "Look, it's difficult sometimes." He studied all three cards this time looking to unlock the final one. "It's a major arcana so it's important. Look, see? The ten of swords is an elemental card of air, but the battlefield was covered in fire. The page of wands is an elemental card of fire, but the trees were bashed by wind. That could hint towards the feedback loop of your past and present, your inability to let go. Then the moon card is water based, in this card there remains the elements of wind, moving the trees and fire in the campsite, but water takes up a majority of the space. Water is cleansing, healing, restorative. There is the destruction and pain of the fire present as well as the change and motion of wind, but for your future it's important to stay mailable and looking to where the river takes you, not where it's been. There's two sides to this card one holding elements of your past card and one holding present. This could imply that sooner rather than later you're going to have to make a choice between the two. The lone wolf poses a danger to the family and the family poses a danger to the lone wolf. One must triumph over the other, but the moon does not tell me which choice you make. It only tells me that you and you alone must choose." 

Derek soaked all of the confusing information in. "So I assume the family around the fire represents my past, and the lone wolf my present?" 

Stiles considered it before answering. "Not necessarily, it could mean the opposite. Remember your past card was air element like the wind above the lone wolf, and then your present was fire element. Also there's a raven in the corner above the family. Raven's represent many things across cultures. Absolute power in Nordic traditions due to their allegiance with Odin, they became a very prominent harbinger of death and murder in the victorian era, and in many cultures represent occult and the knowledge it holds." 

"So which is the bird in this case?" Derek asked. 

Stiles looked very somber for a moment before replying in a serious tone. "I've already given you the answer." Stiles dropped the mystic act and cocked a brow at him. "What part of your future is fucking elusive bro and I don't know didn't register with you." 

Derek's mouth gaped in shock. He banged the table and thrust out an open palm towards Stiles. "This is literally your job!" He looked towards Peter. "You're paying him to talk like this to you?!" 

Peter chuckled. "No, right now I'm paying him to talk like this to you."

Derek pulled both of his hands towards his face to cover them with a harsh slap. The moon card had fluttered over onto it's backside with the frenetic movement. 

Stiles quirked his lips at the card and squinted his eyes. He flipped it back over gently.

It was like a completely different card. The moon still hung prominent, but instead of a bright blue river it was stained red. Equally the wolf's previously crimson eyes had turned blue and instead of the pensive look the wolf's maw was lifted in what looked like a baleful howl. The wind was still in the trees. The family was nowhere in sight around the campfire which had turned to just embers. A crossbow bolt held the raven against a great oak tree as its blood seeped down the trunk. The blood trail lead to the river. Stiles didn't know if it was just harder to see the silver against the shiny blue water that was there before, but he hadn't seen the sword at the river bed before. A long curved blade rested at the bottom of the blood stained water taking all of the focus the moon had held before. 

Derek put his palms on the table to push himself up. His chair made an awful noise as it was pushed back. "I'm done with this. You had me for a second, but you lost me." 

Peter started to protest, but before he could get anything out Stiles' hand whipped out and grabbed one of Derek's wrists where it was pulling away from the table. Stiles spoke hoarsely. "Derek. Look at the card." 

Derek's eyes moved in-between Stiles' eyes and where he gripped his wrist. When he saw that he wasn't taking his hand off he huffed and contemplated prying off his fingers. For such a scrawny dude he had quite the grip. Derek bit the bullet and just looked down. He frowned at the changed card. 

Stiles removed his hand to move his past and future cards closer together. He pointed out the heart sword and then the one at the bottom of the river, the same sword. "Derek she's back." 

That seemed to rattle Derek, because the surprise when he looked back up to Stiles was plainly written on his face. Stiles' eyes had glossed over with a milky white moving haze. "She's coming and she will kill them. I sent you the bird. Don't be a featherbrain." 

If surprise was on his face before, now Derek's face showed utter shock. "How did you know that?!" 

Stiles' eyes slowly went from milkshake back to whiskey and with one final blink he was back in control with the moment. "Your mother. She used to call you that sometimes because when you were five you got really angry and called her a feather brain instead of bird brain. It was one of her favorite memories of you." Stiles smiled softly. "She was beautiful." 

Derek looked distrustful even still. "How did you-"

"Do that? Know that? I didn't. When you're as sensitive as I am to divination magic something as simple as telling someone's fortune can bring to life spirits around them that haven't passed on full or are pulled back."

Derek's face showed sorrow. "My mother hasn't passed on fully?" 

There was that pity written all over Stiles' face again. "You think you're the only one that pays the price for the pain you can't let go of? Mercy isn't earned Derek, otherwise your mother would be at rest, it's given. I can tell from not only your past card, but in everything you present to the world your grief defines you. It limits you. It confines you. It is the only thing that holds you here. It is your only anchor in an unsure world, one that holds you back rather than holds you down. The cards tell you you are doomed to repeat the cycle of grief and despair if you cannot let it go." 

Derek looked gutted hearing he'd been the cause of his mother's wakeful sleep. 

"It's not painful." Stiles lied. 

Derek looked at him fully disbelieving. 

Stiles sighed knowing he shouldn't have tried to lie to a werewolf. "Not physically. But if she can sense how lost her son has been without her it can be harmful. I've given her a sort of temporary rest for now." Stiles left out the part about how Peter had been using Talia's spirit for various side projects so he was familiar with putting her on ice. He got the sense this made Derek uncomfortable and he didn't know what to do with the various revelations he'd had. "Now that we've got all of that pesky disbelief out of the way let's get to the meat and potatoes. Why are you here?" 

Derek once again slumped into the chair, but this time with much less irritation and more acceptance. "Two of my pack- err friends are missing." 

Stiles rolled his eyes at the half cocked cover up. "You can say pack I know you're a werewolf. Also dude you just saw my eyes go into twenty seven year old shitzu mode, I think we're passed the me not knowing about the supernatural point." 

"Do you have to be such a smartass? They're not pack." 

"If you want a monotone no nonsense fortune get chinese food or I think the bowling alley might still have a Zoltar machine." Stiles saw the barest hint of a smile after that one and he couldn't help the way his stomach jumped. Stiles continued while trying to repress his glee, "How long ago did they go missing? What do you want to know? Where they are? Who took them? Are they alive?" 

"Two weeks. We got into a fight so I thought they were just cooling off." Derek looked guilty. "I should've known." 

Stiles reached out where Derek had his hand on the table. "I don't even always know, and it's literally my job." 

Derek pulled his hand back. "Yes. To your earlier question. I want to know all of them." 

Stiles shook his head. "You get one." 

Derek waved his hand dismissively. "Money is no object. I need to find them. They're my responsibility." 

Stiles looked regretful. "Amazing I am, all powerful? Sadly no. You get one, not I'm giving you one." 

Derek nodded understanding and then fell silent. He looked to Peter after a moment who seemingly understood his nonverbal request. 

"I'd ask if they were alive. No need looking for a dead racehorse." 

Derek gave Peter a less than thrilled look. While Stiles scoffed and replied, "Peter! That's so rude. Stop pretending to be heartless otherwise one of these days we'll believe you." He turned to Derek. "One question. Take your time." 

The gentle noises of his shop filled the silence as Derek looked deep in thought. Stiles patiently waited. Derek finally spoke, "I want to know where. Where are they, how do I get to them?" 

Stiles shook his head. "Where they are might not necessarily be how you get to them. That's two questions." 

Derek's fists balled and he caught the barest hint of fangs in his snarl. "How is that two! How will I get to them if I don't know where they are?!"

Stiles spent most of his day to day with the supernatural. He was used to supernatural beings asking him for help, used to being around them in desperate times. Although he had magic, it was divination based. More often than he'd like he was at the mercy of raging upset people with the ability to kill him only equipped with answers they came for but still didn't want to hear. Stiles recognized the wild look in Derek's eyes. The desperation, despair, and rage were there, but also an overwhelming guilt. Normally that cocktail had his eyes flashing white hours before so he knew to call Scott to help, but this time he felt something strange. His magic didn't warn him against, it almost thrummed him towards. 

In these situations Stiles had lost count of the times visions had saved his life. However, this flash of his eyes thrust him backwards instead of forward. 

He was in his father's backyard, but not how it is, how it was. Stiles took a step, but stopped to look down. He was barefoot. The warm soft summer grass tickled and pillowed his feet. It was almost dreamlike even though Stiles knew that wasn't how this worked, this was real. He heard a sharp shriek and looked back up towards the yard. 

A little brown haired boy screamed in joy as he ran towards something. His mother. 

Her bright beautiful smile was stretched wide with pure joy. She held her arms wide open from where she was sat on the delicate fluffy grass. It brought tears to his eyes. She was so beautiful. This moment was beautiful, however he knew what happened next. Not because of his abilities, but because he had lived it. 

He heard a growl and even as he tried to turn he only saw a flash of grey. He couldn't see it now, he hadn't seen it the first time. 

Stiles had long since killed the urge to try and call out or change things in his visions, but tears did sting his eyes at the ruined memory. It always hurt to see how much she had loved him before. Once again Stiles' childlike shriek sliced the air, but this time pain filled. The dog had crossed the yard faster than his mother could get up. His jaws sank into Stiles' chubby kid like calf and a sharp stinging had both sets of Stiles' now tear filled eyes looking down at their respective legs. His leg had the marks, blood, and pain but the dog was only attached to his younger self. 

Hearing his mother scream for his father he looked to where she now had them separated and the dog bit at her ankles. Fat tears ran from Stiles' eyes before he buried his pain stricken face into his mother's neck. 

Stiles knew what happened next. His father came barreling out, the owner ran up, his mother yelled, and his father calmed everyone down. He didn't need to see anything else, frankly he didn't remember anything else other than going to the hospital and crying. 

Yet he lingered. 

He saw his father collect information from the man with his hand on Claudia's back. He tuned out of their conversation to look back at her. She wore a look he'd seen many times, but never on his mother. She was terrified. Not of the now calmed dog, or what had just happened. He searched her face, but only came up with fear. 

His mother had always been an avid animal lover, but after this moment she had changed. Something about it had scarred her. He was never allowed to get a dog, not even allowed to bring it up. Why had this moment scared her so much? 

Realization struck him like a ton of bricks as his body exploded in pain. He felt pulled and thrashed as he was assaulted from all angles by phantom fangs. He shouted in pain as the blood ran from the dozens of bite marks menacing his body. He looked at his brutalized limbs and then back up. 

Gone was the scene in front of him. Only pitch black and grass remained along with his mother empty handed. She was staring right at him. She looked at all the blood but this time there was no yell or movement towards him. She had a blank face, she only tilted her head. 

Stiles had figured out why she had been so scared. That moment was the first time she hasn't divined something bad before it had happened to him. It was the first time her magic failed her. 

Stiles looked back to his wounds then to his apathetic mother. 

"Someone has to care Stiles. Tread lightly you know not what the devil will bring to your door if you invite him in." 

Stiles pushed down the frustration at how vague his vision had been as he was thrust back to the current moment. Not a second had passed, Derek was still as irritated as he has been. "I need to know where they are!"

The memory he had just experienced softened him in a way he never was with clients, much less new ones that hated him. He gently placed a hand on Derek's fist. 

"You feel responsible. We can't claim others blame for a harm that if within our power we would've prevented. Blame is a terrible mistress. The longer you blame yourself the more she gets away with. It makes you rash and impulsive. Your friends are not just lost or gone, they are guarded against you. An unsteady hand cannot unlock even with the right key." 

Derek looked taken aback and yet a shutter of calm rattled through his physicality. He took a breath. "I changed my mind. How do I get to them?"

Stiles once again shuffled the deck, but this time arranged five cards with a measured grace. He put the first four in a square formation and then filled the middle with the last card. They looked like the dots on the five face of a die spread out in front of Derek. Stiles flipped the first card in the top left corner of the square from Derek's point of view. 

The magician. Stiles frowned at the card. His tarot deck was magic in more ways than one. Mostly they were just a focus for his divination magic, but they changed to suit the person and what he was divining for them. Sometimes the pictures even moved, or like it had before, changed images mid reading. This had never happened before though. Normally when he pulled the magician card for someone else it looked either like a legendary witch or like his mystic persona. This was an image of him in his kitchen looking down into a mug of tea. The scene was very intimate and domestic. There were swirls of his magic that cleaned his kitchen and he was just in his Batman PJ bottoms. His hair was sleep ruffled. There would be no mistake. 

"It's me?" Stiles sounded puzzled. 

"Well yeah I assume you painted the deck. A bit pretentious to paint yourself. What does it mean?" Derek asked impatiently. 

"It means me." Stiles pushed out even though he still sounded so unsure. "Not just magic or magic user, this card means me."

Peter piped up, "Well that makes sense. We came here, you're the first step on his journey. Yada yada." 

Stiles shook his head filled with unease. "No this means me. Like me, me. Something I do or tell you, not the reading. The reading speaks for itself, and this is saying my name." 

Stiles moved to flip the next card but Derek put his hand over his. "Whoa whoa, what does it mean though? Do the thing like you did with the others." 

Stiles shook both his head and Derek's hand off of his own. "No. I don't know yet." Stiles felt an unease fill his stomach yet he flipped the next card. 

There was a little boy triumphantly holding two identical sticks up in the air in this card. His proud toothy smile was crowned by bright blonde curls and a cozy knit scarf sat snug around his neck. Behind him laid a crossroads. One long winding path lead to a home and the other back to the woods. 

Derek grabbed at the card hurriedly before showing Peter. "Look familiar?" An edge of worry was in his tone. "This looks like my friend Issac. What does that mean?"

Stiles shrugged. "Two of wands definitely pertains to your question, it's a card of where do I go next. Sometimes the deck draws on what is familiar to you, but it could be a warning. Since we asked such a pointed question I would caution just disregarding it wholly. Maybe bring him with to find your friends." 

Derek looked apprehensive. "I haven't talked to Issac in years. He's in France now." 

Stiles continued, "Maybe it's nothing. The message in this card could be for you. You stand at a crossroad between home and familiar and returning to the woods, the more wild side. Either way this card often has to do with the sadness and loss of having to give something up to pursue a goal or vision. It has to do with dominion over people and the power to control things, but in the same vein an indecision and hesitation." 

Stiles fingers floated over the middle card and went right for the bottom left. They danced for a moment there. "The first two cards were about preparation. What you did do to find them. This, this is how you find them. Where your journey leads." Stiles flipped the card. 

The card was a frenetic animated mess of roots and weaving waving branches. Leaves were fluttering and scattering haphazardly. It was just an ordinary windy forest except for eight thick trunks intricately carved with runic symbols. 

"Eight of wands, haste makes waste, but delay is in poor taste. Timing is everything. This card shows that you need to hurry, but poor planning is the fool's folly. Once you find your confidence to strike there can be no delay, but a fight with mind, body and spirit in tune is necessary as well. This card also can mean being smitten with love due to early depictions of the eight wands looking like cupid's flying arrows. Somehow I doubt that's happening here." Stiles looked up to Derek's face and he was still looking at the cards deep in thought. 

"Oh I don't know, we've got wolf and witch how far stretched is a baby with aim in this moment. After all, unlikely places." Peter teased. 

Stiles flipped the last corner card. 

Similarly to the last card Stiles spotted the runes right away this time and noted they were divining runes on both cards. This time they were carved into branches stuck into the ground like a palisade. All eight of them had the runes, but so did the walking stick the man leaned on. The branches cut off the man from his warring past, and even though there was more carnage ahead of him this was usually a hopeful card. He was bandaged and bleeding, but there was a glint of determination burning in his eyes. Eyes that looked straight at Stiles. 

He had pulled the card in reverse. 

Stiles sucked in a breath and tried to think. 

"Just say it." Derek cut in. 

"Yet another wand card. Wands are cards of action, fire, and decision. It's an urging card. You must do, experience, embody. You've also pulled a lot of cards related to journeys and hard decisions. This one though is usually a very positive card. In reverse it means triumph comes at a great cost if you insist on doing it before you're ready or alone. No warrior alone wins a war and no pain is lessened by feeling it in solitude. This card warns of losing this fight. Of losing what could be precious to you. Of the future you could lose." 

"These aren't helping me figure out where they are." 

Stiles shook his head. "You chose how to get to them." 

Derek huffed in annoyance. "Show me the last one."

Stiles flipped the last card. 

A clearing in the woods created space for the only thing of note in the card. A woman in a cloak with kind whiskey eyes and chestnut hair sat on the ground with an outstretched hand resting on a wolf skull. Small bluebell flowers grew from the eye sockets. 

Once again the overly personal nature of his card's portrayal caused him to pause. Stiles found his words, "This is the death card. Do not judge it. It doesn't represent death itself, it represents the transition to a new phase of life. It's a hard road with one final battle before... Something. I feel a culmination. An answer to the question you've spent a lifetime seeking. How do I get there is your question, but the cards wish to tell you a different answer. The cards say this road leads to pain and loss, but there are two sides of it. Two paths to take. Do you dwell and go back to the pain or do you forge ahead and choose a new beginning? Your choices and actions matter. You alone can choose the future or the past, but your choices have consequences for you and those around you." 

"How is this the way I get to them?" Derek asked.

Stiles sighed. "Unfortunately the cards are not call and answer. They're more ask and the mystical random dude you came to will maybe slightly point you the right way in the dark." 

Derek's annoyance spiked as his patience waned. 

"Hey look dude I gave you the way it's up to you to find it. That's what I got for you take it or leave it man." Stiles set the deck to the side but left the spread. 

Derek stared at all of the cards intensely. "What if I don't figure out what they mean?" 

Peter piped up, "You already know what they mean." 

Stiles pointed a finger over to Peter. "Ding ding. Bingo. Someone's been paying attention on his visits. You win a prize tall, dark, and creepy uncle."

"Is it more time with you, because I already pay your rate for what I want. Well, what I can get from this shop." Peter winked at him. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Your prize is don't get coffee tomorrow morning." 

Peter squinted his eyes. "Noted." 

Stiles turned back to Derek. "Follow your gut. Listen to the cards. Oh also for the love of Weiner dogs, have a plan. But definitely act! Don't wait too long. Oh and unless you..." Stiles trailed off after he realized he wasn't helping. 

Derek stabbed a finger into the cards. "These mean fuck all!" 

"Focus. This isn't where they are. You didn't ask that. This is how you'll get there, the journey. Look at the cards, really look. Not for what you see, but what they could be telling you. We have multiple senses, but our most powerful is our inner sense. What pulls you, what draws your eye." 

"The woods. They seem familiar." 

Stiles nodded. "Good. Familiar how? Have you been there before? Do they feel like home?"

Derek tilted his head. "Like I've been there before." He tapped on the card with the curly haired boy. "Okay say Issac has something to do with this, why is he a kid though?" 

"Did you meet him as a young boy?" Stiles asked. 

Derek shook his head. "I met him about five years ago when he was sixteen. His dad was... Not the best. He needed a safe place and I could help him." 

Stiles studied him as he spoke. "That's not the only reason. I can tell you're a good person, but I can also tell there was something about this boy. Just now you looked sad for him, but not in a sympathetic way. You looked genuinely empathetic. I won't ask what or who, but I just ask that you consider this with an open mind. Maybe he represents something childlike in you. A time you had been lead astray from your path, taken advantage of. A time you needed protection." Stiles could tell from the steely jaw and hard eyes he had made a correct assessment. "Don't linger on those moments, but unfortunately I think something about that situation will point you in the right direction."

Derek gave a curt nod and cleared his throat. "Can I take a picture of these?"

"Of course." 

Peter and Derek both stood up. "We've taken enough of your magnificent time." Peter mocked a bow. 

"Always a pleasure Mr. Hale." Stiles bowed his head back. 

"Um, thanks." Derek stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. "Oh, how do I pay you?" 

"Your second born and a year's subscription to divination doodads magazine." Stiles said.

"Funny." Derek said with a deadpan tone. 

"I know I am, it's my best quality. Dude you just pay me like anyone else credit, debit, cash, I even take Paypal." 

"Debit is fine." Derek took out his wallet as Stiles stepped behind the counter. He punched a few things and Derek swiped his card. Before putting it back he hesitated before speaking,  "You really don't feel bad about this? Charging people to help them?" 

Stiles shrugged. "I gotta eat. Do you feel bad asking poor suckers betting their mortgage payment, black or red?" 

"Yes." Derek confessed. 

"Then of the two of us the one out of balance with their life isn't me. Would you like your receipt?" 

A laugh shocked him as it made it's way out. Derek agreed. "Maybe you're right. No thanks."

"I hope you find them." Stiles said earnestly. 

"Don't you already know?" Derek asked walking to the door. 

"Not how it works. But I do have a feeling you will." Derek seemed the determined type to Stiles. 

"Do I have to pay extra for feelings?" Derek's hand rested on the doorknob, but he waited for Stiles' reply. 

"Nah, I'll give those to you on the house." Stiles smirked at him. 

Derek heard the bell chime and wondered if Stiles had enchanted it. Things long dormant in him fluttered to the surface as he left. 

He would find his friends. Maybe afterwards he could come back to the shop to thank Stiles for his help. Maybe. 

***

Stiles juggled some of the grocery bags to the other hand to knock. It was a long day, a taxing one with the Hale's visit. He was glad it was over. It had been strange having such a personal vision in the middle of a reading. It had thrown off the rest of his day till he decided to close up early and hit the grocery store. Seeing his mom's face filled with such joy had been like a balm on a wound long closed. It didn't heal anything, but it helped the scar stretch. He missed her so much he wished he could revisit that moment when he wanted to, but it was a vision not a mercy. 

The door finally opened and the dagger struck his heart like it always did. A woman with warm whiskey eyes and chestnut hair opened the door surprised. "Stiles, what are you doing here?" 

Stiles took a deep breath in for when his throat inevitability caught. "Hey Ms. Gajos." 

She smiled. "I told you, you can call me Claudia." 

Stiles forced a smile and pushed on. "I really can't, you know that." 

She took some of the bags from him. "Ever the respectful young man. The sheriff sure raised you right. And I told you you don't have to keep bringing me groceries. You and your father have been like mother hens since I fell doing the gutters. It wasn't even that bad and it was months ago." Claudia gestured wildly as she spoke. 

Stiles turned away from her and placed them on the counter. "My mother did a really good job too." Stiles' eyes went glossy but he willed down his emotions. 

He turned back after a moment and she looked lost in thought. "Right of course I'm sure." She looked around confused. "Were we having dinner? You brought over stuff for meatloaf? Are we having meatloaf?" 

Stiles pulled himself together. "No Ms. Gajos. I should go. I'm sorry." Stiles felt the familiar spiral of pain, indulgence, and then finally guilt. 

She looked so upset. "No no, you can stay. I just can't remember. I can't remember something?" She looked at him with lost pleading eyes. "Are we supposed to eat together? Just let me remember what I-what I... Stiles I'm forgetting." 

Stiles started to panic. He grabbed her glasses. "Here. Calm down Ms. Gajos. You're just forgetting your glasses." He held them out hoping he hadn't sent his mom into a spiral. 

Her face got wiped of concern and panic and she smiled. "You're such a sweet boy. You better head home. How silly of me and I'm not even sixty yet. Forgetting my glasses what an old lady thing. I thought I'd be all old and wrinkly and covered in baby powder by that time you know." She snorted. 

"No you're not old. Everybody forgets little things every now and again." He reasoned. 

She turned and cupped his cheek and smiled. "It's good I have a little mischief maker like you around to help me remember." 

"Yeah." His voice croaked. "Bye." He turned and walked to the door without looking back. 

"Drive safe. That jeep is a death trap!" 

Stiles only waved behind. 

He made it to the jeep and threw it into reverse as the tears fell. Seeing her was always hard, but today he'd pushed too much. He wished he could stop visiting, it only upset her. But how do you greive someone who's still there? Neither of them could let her go. The town and doctors thought it was just a bad case of amnesia, but his dad and him both knew. They knew this was a curse. A nasty one, one that Stiles had been trying to figure out for over a decade. 

The curse had made her forget, but the real curse was that they remembered. Knowing didn't make it easier, in fact he so often wished he was the one that forgot. But that wouldn't piece their family together. 

He couldn't help that right now. He could pour over tomes like he did every night, but right now his mind pulled to Derek. That was a unique reading. He didn't feel as in control as he normally did. He wasn't guiding Derek though the cards, the cards guided both of them. Thinking about the strange gruff man brought a smile to his face. He had liked him a lot more than he expected. Derek was as unique as his tarot cards were. Something about him was magnetic and repelling in equal measures. Although he was pretty sure he was rude on purpose. 

Stiles figured it was probably because that was the last thing he’d seen of the man. It had been dark when Derek had rung the doorbell— and that was a first in itself. Stiles thought that was when he first realized something was wrong. 

Derek never rang his doorbell.

The second thing was a lot more obvious. Stiles barely had a chance to say ‘it’s two am, what the hell?’ before Derek was pushing a bundle into his arms. And that in itself was also the strangest thing because Derek, as constantly confusing as he was, had never really given Stiles much of anything. A few heart attacks here and there, yeah, but Stiles didn’t think those counted. 

He’d never seen the man without his leather jacket before. 

That night had been the first.

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do when Derek pushed it into his arms, but one look at the man’s face and he’d been empty for words. Because… what the hell? There were times when Stiles couldn’t stop speaking, couldn’t stop reacting to things. It was rare that he was the one without words.

It was funny, Stiles thought. Derek had always been able to make him speechless when words really mattered the most.

fast forward to a few confusing minutes of silence later, and Derek was already halfway down his driveway. Stiles had just trailed after him, lost for words and confused beyond measure and then he’d just… he’d just watched.

The last real thing he’d seen of Derek Hale was a pair of glowing blue eyes glancing back over his shoulder in the dark. Blue eyes; and Stiles had seen them all before. Red, green, gold.

Blue eyes in the darkness. That’s the last thing he saw before the man was gone.

When Stiles thought of Derek, he thought of blue.

Five months ended up passing and Stiles hadn’t been able to shake that realization from his mind. When the words ‘Derek Hale’ were spoken, his first memory was blue eyes, blue string, and the leather jacket that was still hanging up in his closet, not worn once.

Blue was just pretty, he thought. 

(so maybe the special thing about derek hale was that he was blue)

 ii.

 When he went off to a summer internship for college, Stiles didn’t look back.

He was pretty sure his dad wanted him as far away from Beacon Hills as possible, with every good intention possible. Sometimes, the man looked at him like he was seeing a ghost, and Stiles figured that was fair. There were a lot of things that he still was, but the boy who had entered the woods with Scott three years ago was not one of them.

He got accepted into an FBI program the summer after Derek had left and figured at that point, why not? Stiles had seen a lot of terrifying things over his high school career and honestly, he felt like he was practically invincible at this point.

Or maybe he was just an idiot who was really good at testing fate. 

Whatever.

There weren’t a lot of things that Stiles took with him from home. A few pictures of his dad, a few of him, Scott, Lydia, and the few of them in the pack that were still surviving.

He’d looked at Derek Hale’s mugshot for a long time before sticking it back into his desk drawer with a sigh. Because he wasn’t pathetic, alright? Stiles had one picture of the man and he wasn’t going to hang a framed mugshot of an ex-(alleged) con on his dorm wall for his possible roommate to judge.

He’d looked at the man’s leather jacket for even longer, though. It still smelled like pine and aftershave, and dammit if that didn’t send Stiles back in time to that one stupid night.

He’d hung it back up in his closet with the determination to never look at the thing again. 

The morning he left, he’d shoved it into the back of his car.

Before his mom died when Stiles had been a kid, he’d wanted to grow up to be exactly like his dad. Law enforcement, big and cool with an awesome uniform and his own gun. He liked all of his dad’s coworkers; they always gave him snacks when he visited the office and let him look at non-scarring crime scene photos, so yeah. Stiles had wanted to be like him.

But then one night, he found himself alone at the hospital. 

Stiles didn’t remember a lot vividly from that night, but the sound of beeping and the slapping nurses’ footsteps as they raced past him into his mom’s hospital room was something that he’d never forget. His dad had been on a call, that night. He couldn’t get away from work and he didn’t make it to the hospital until much later in the morning.

Long after Stiles’s mom had passed.

Stiles had decided he wanted to grow up and be something else, then. Something much different. And the FBI, well. That was different, right?

Maybe not so much.

But maybe he just wanted to test things out. Stiles was good with computers and research and shit., so maybe he could find a future in that. He was good at finding stuff and finding people and… dammit. Finding people.

There was some part of him that thought, maybe, one day, he’d see Derek Hale again. Maybe the man would come back to Beacon Hills or Stiles would somehow stumble across him some time, somewhere.

Or maybe, one day, he’d track the asshole down. Track him down and just yell for a little— about how unfair it all was. How unfair it was that the last time Stiles had seen him, it had been in the silent darkness in the middle of the night, standing like an idiot with nothing but a head full of questions and an armful of a leather jacket.

Yeah, he’d like to do that. He’d like to chew Derek Hale out.

Stiles would like to, but he wasn’t sure if he ever would.

The internship itself was pretty uneventful. Stiles hadn’t really known what he was going to do with his summer in the first place, so going all the way out to Washington and spending his days listening to lectures or ‘professional’ people talk was something, at least. 

It took his mind off things. It took his mind off people.

And it had all been going really well until this one random day when Stiles got to watch a video of a half-naked man running through the woods, the only half-glance that was thrown over his shoulder showing him the quickest flash of blue eyes.

Stiles promptly spat out his water all over the girl in front of him. As one should.

Because Derek Hale— fucking Derek Hale.

The FBI was hunting Derek.

(and maybe another special thing about him was that he was a fucking blue-eyed idiot)

 iii. 

 They shot his toe.

They shot his fucking toe, which was the exact moment when Stiles decided he no longer wanted to be a part of the FBI.

He was good at a very small number of things, okay? Having ADHD, annoying the shit out of anyone within a ten-foot radius, and managing to talk his way into or out of the most ridiculous situations possible.

That might of been how Stiles found himself being a part of the team hunting Derek, which was never something he’d imagined in his wildest dreams. Sixteen-year-old him would have taken one look at Derek Hale, with flashing blue eyes and pointy bared teeth, and said ‘no thank you, I’d prefer to live”. 

And he would have been all the wiser for it.

It was easy enough to track down Derek, but it was a lot harder to actually save the man without becoming a criminal wanted by the FBI himself. Though, he supposed that somehow— in between the gunfire, flashing lights, and loud yelling— Stiles had managed to pull it off.

They shot his fucking toe. His memory of whatever the hell happened was a little fuzzy with all the pain he had experienced.

Stiles was pretty sure he saved the day though.

Derek didn’t seem to agree with that.

Remember that time when Stiles had decided when he next saw Derek Hale, he was going to scream in the man’s face? Well, Stiles felt like technically, he had lived up to that promise. Because in Derek’s words of “I carried you”, Stiles had definitely been doing a lot of screaming.

But he’d also been in pain, okay?

It was kind of funny how fast Stiles had gone from pretending that Derek didn’t exist to sharing a hotel room together. Because Derek was technically still a fugitive and Stiles definitely wasn’t going back to his internship. His dad probably wasn’t going to be very happy when Stiles returned to Beacon Hills, but Stiles figured he’d take supernatural craziness over getting toe-shot again.

Being around Derek again after so long was awkward as hell.

Stiles sat on the opposite side of the room, watching as Derek moved around unpacking things from his duffle bag. That one bag he’d been holding the night he left, the image permanently ingrained into Stiles’s brain.

He didn’t know what to say or if he should even say anything. Stiles was pretty sure if he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and he was kind of terrified of what would come out then.

Derek must have felt him staring, though, because the man finally glanced over. And Stiles automatically frowned, pulling his knees even further into his chest.

Derek raised a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Stiles, I can hear you lying.”

And he always could, couldn’t he? Stiles set his jaw and glared, and Derek continued to watch him, expression displaying nothing. 

“Stiles.”

“It’s just not fair, Derek!”

The man’s other eyebrow raised and Stiles let out a loud noise of anger, pushing himself up and storming across the room. Derek didn’t move as Stiles approached him and didn’t even react when Stiles jabbed a finger into his chest. He just looked at Stiles, glanced down at the finger, and then raised his eyes back up.

Stiles hated him sometimes. “It’s not fair, you asshole.”

“What’s not fair?”

“What’s not— what’s not— are you freaking kidding me?”

Derek held his gaze for a moment longer and then reached up, taking Stiles’s hand and removing the finger from his chest. Stiles felt like he was thrumming with anger, now, but he didn’t try to pull away. Derek didn’t let go either, lowering his hand but still gently holding on.

Stiles felt like he could burst. “You know what I mean.”

“Stiles—”

“No, you know exactly what I’m talking about, you furry ass! How long ago has it been since that night, now, huh? Seven months? Eight?”

And finally, finally, Derek reacted. There was a flicker of blue in his eyes as he let Stiles’s hand go, arms going up to fold across his chest instead. It forced an extra few inches between them and Stiles stepped back, searching Derek’s face for something, anything, more.

“How long has it been, Derek? Do you ever think about it? How crappy of a way it was for you to leave?”

“And what kind of way would’ve been better?”

Stiles bit down hard on his tongue and stared. He had an answer for that— he thought he had an answer for that, didn’t he? How Derek could've possibly said goodbye in a better way. Because there had to have been one, right? One that didn’t make Stiles want to go into the preserve and scream at the sky.

There had to have been a better way.

He couldn’t think of one in the moment. But he still had a million things to say.

“Will you come back?”

Derek blinked. He actually looked a little surprised for a moment and his tense position wavered. Stiles studied the man. 

“Would you come back to Beacon Hills with me?”

The silence that stretched on for a long moment after Stiles asked that question seemed like a lot longer than a few seconds. He hadn’t realized before, but Stiles was so desperate to hear anything but a no. He wanted, no, he needed to hear something that resulted in Derek dragging his little werewolf ass back to Beacon Hills in the passenger seat of Stiles’s car.

He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Derek’s hands had fallen back down to his sides at some point and honestly, Stiles wanted nothing more than to close that small space now between them.

He didn’t, though. He stayed rooted to the spot and Derek stayed quiet.

“Derek?”

“I’ve already left once, Stiles.”

Stiles blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that answer, and it did nothing more than raise a thousand more questions. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The man looked physically constipated now and frustration rose in Stiles’s throat again. For so long, so long, he’d imagined what it would be like to see Derek Hale again. He’d imagined the things he’d say and the points he’d make. 

Every single reason that Derek should have come back and every single reason why he should stay.

Stiles was slowly realizing he desperately wanted to be one of those reasons.

“I don’t understand you,” he said, stepping forward. And there it was, that little space between them closed. “I don’t understand you, Derek! I’ve remembered that night like it’s been on replay ever since you left. Since the last thing I saw was blue— and blue is so damn pretty, you know that? So it’s not fair that it’s all I get to remember! Who cares if you've already left once? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because if I came back, I don’t think I could leave again!”

Stiles faltered in his anger. He stared at the man, mind spinning. “What?”

Derek glared, stayed silent for a moment, and then fixed his gaze on the wall beyond Stiles's shoulder. When he spoke again, his words almost seemed to be gritted out. “I left once and it was hard enough. If I went back to Beacon Hills, I couldn't leave again.” Derek hesitated for a moment, then met Stiles's gaze again. His expression was softer this time. “And I can’t stay, Stiles.”

There it was. The words that Stiles hadn’t been so terrified to hear.

The man glanced down at the floor for a long moment before taking a deep breath, shoulders tensing again as he raised his eyes once more. “Do you still have it?”

Stiles didn’t say a word. He didn’t really have any at the moment.

“Stiles? The jacket?”

The jacket. God, the jacket. The one Stiles never wore. He finally came back to himself and nodded, and something flickered across Derek’s face that he couldn’t quite place. 

“Good.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Good.”

He’d been wanting to say so much for so long— and most of it had just been said— that he kind of felt empty, now. Stiles had told himself since Derek left that when he saw the man again, he’d get everything off his chest that had been keeping him up at night. And he’d done that.

Hadn’t he?

It still hadn’t really changed one thing.

They were supposed to leave the next morning, but Stiles wasn’t sure he could stay in the room for a minute longer before bursting. And there was a good chance that in bursting, more would be said that he really didn’t mean, and Derek probably didn’t want to hear.

“I’m starving,” Stiles said, stepping back. Derek gave him a startled look and Stiles tried to ignore it. “I’m going to go pick up some food.”

“I’ll come—”

“No,” Stiles said, cutting the man off. He instantly regretted how sharp the one word sounded and tried to play it off with a small grin. “Your furry ass is still a wanted fugitive, remember, Sourwolf? I’ll grab burgers or something. Gotta preference?”

Derek looked at him for a long moment before answering, “No onions.”

Stiles managed a laugh. “Not an onion guy. Got it.”

Derek stepped aside as Stiles ducked around him. And he could feel the man staring into his back. Stiles tried to ignore it, but he still ended up glancing back before stepping out of the room, meeting the man’s eyes for the briefest of seconds.

There wasn’t a hint of blue in them.

Stiles swallowed and left.

(maybe the special thing about derek hale was that he could take stiles apart with one glance)

 + i.

 It was funny, Stiles thought. It was absolutely hilarious.

How hard he had to be lying when he told himself watching Derek Hale leave again wouldn’t hurt one bit, that is. 

Stiles was pretty sure that since he did it once, he could do it again. He tried to tell himself that the first time was like a practice round and he’d survived that, hadn’t he? Eventually, Stiles had started to move on. Eventually, he’d been able to move the man into the back of his mind.

Derek didn’t talk a lot as they drove. He’d left his car off an abandoned road a couple of cities over before the FBI had caught his trail and apparently preferred going on the run on foot instead of driving. Which totally made sense.

Though, Stiles supposed he was literally a man who ran around the forest shirtless, so…

“Stiles.”

Stiles snapped back to reality and slowed down as Derek pointed him over to the side of the road. He blinked, unsure of how long he’d been lost in his own head. Because Stiles was pretty sure the last time he’d been paying attention, they’d been in the city.

Sure enough, though, there was a black Camaro parked off the side of the road. Stiles automatically felt his chest tighten and the sight hit him hard, along with the reality that this was it.

This was the part where Derek left him again.

The man didn’t say anything as he climbed out of the car and Stiles found himself doing the same. He wondered silently if it was going to be anything like last time. Would it be quick and quiet? Maybe he’d shake the man’s hand— except no, that was stupid. And Stiles couldn’t hug him because they didn’t do that.

Would he just stand and do nothing, then?

Stiles watched as Derek started to pull his duffle bag from the back of the jeep, only to pause. The man’s eyes were fixed on a plastic bag half-stuffed half under the back seat and Stiles blinked in confusion as he pulled it out.

Then his heart stopped as he remembered what it was.

Derek pulled his leather jacket out of the bag and studied it for a moment, before turning back toward Stiles. There was confusion written all across the man’s face and Stiles wondered faintly if he could recognize that it hadn’t been worn once.

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, told you I still had it.”

Derek glanced down at the jacket again before giving Stiles another confused look. “It doesn’t smell anything like you.”

Stiles shrugged. Derek frowned.

“You never wore it?”

“I mean, leather's not really my style, you know? I’m all about the plaid jackets and graphic t-shirts, big guy.”

And Derek almost looked… hurt by that. But what was Stiles supposed to say? That back home, he would sometimes open up his closet just to look at the jacket and remember Derek Hale? That he was terrified, downright terrified that he’d wear it one day and something bad would happen. Maybe he'd tear a hole in a pocket, or spill a drink down the front, or the leather would scuff or fade. 

Or even worse, that the smell of pine and aftershave would be replaced by curly fries and cheap cologne.

“Stiles, I don’t—”

“Just put it back, Derek.”

Derek gave him another quiet look and Stiles could barely meet his eyes. But the man nodded all the same, folding the jacket back into the bag and placing it back in the car. 

Stiles kind of hated himself.

He trailed a few steps after Derek as the man moved around the jeep, bag in hand, heading toward the Camaro. And maybe this would be it. Just like last time— silent, emotionless, and quick.

Just like last time.

And... what had been that irrational fear that had plagued Stiles after the last goodbye? Something about changing the man's mind. Something along the lines of; maybe Derek would have stayed if Stiles had told him too. Maybe letting him leave had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. One that all those months ago, he’d been so sure could never be reversed.

Derek had always listened to him when it mattered, hadn't he? Stiles wondered how much of this, now, he mattered.

What was so special about Derek Hale?

Stiles slowed to a stop as a sudden thought hit. One that nearly sent him reeling, the realization hitting like a brick as both question and answer whirled over and over again through his mind.

He was pretty sure he was in love with the man.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Stiles said, voice barely a whisper. Because he was in love with Derek Hale. He was so fucking in love with Derek Hale and if the man left again, Stiles might never forgive himself.

Something about Stiles stopping must have caught Derek's attention because the man gave him a confused look over his shoulder. And Stiles just stared at him for a long moment, heart thudding against his chest, before moving forward.

God, he hoped he wouldn’t live to regret this.

“You’re not leaving,” Stiles said. “Not again.”

Derek’s face did a few strange things. One after another, as if Stiles's words were in another language and complete gibberish. But then, just like back at the hotel room, his expression settled into something akin to sadness. This time, though, Stiles only felt his resolve strengthen.

The moment he was close enough, he grabbed Derek's duffle bag and pulled it out of his hand, dropping it into the dirt behind him.

“You’re not leaving, asshole. Do you understand that?”

“Stiles—”

“No, no! Derek, I need you, do you understand that? I need you to be around, I need you to stay, I need you to not leave me. But you have to know that, don’t you? You know I need you. You know I need you and you know I can’t let go. Remember?”

There was a flicker of blue behind the man’s eyes. Stiles was pretty sure his heart was about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m telling you to stay,” he said, quieter this time. “Because you’re special to me, Derek Hale.”

Stiles wondered if he’d known that back when Scott had asked "w hat’s so special about Derek Hale?" and the first word that had formed on his tongue was everything. Everything, nothing, and the entirely of the man standing in front of him, a shocked expression on his face.

When Stiles looked at him, he saw blue. And blue was so fucking pretty.

“Derek, will you sta—”

Stiles didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before there were hands cupping his face and soft lips pressed against his own.

Three years ago, if someone had told him that he’d become so damn attached to Derek Hale, Stiles would have laughed. Because he’d always remember how Derek used to scare the shit out of him. With the fangs, the glowing eyes, and the growls that made him shiver. Stiles probably would have laughed, right?

Derek Hale scared the shit out of him.

He also smelled exactly like his leather jacket; pine, aftershave, and the faintest hint of mint. Stiles was surprised he didn’t do something stupid like squeak and ruin the entire thing. But at one moment, Derek was kissing him and Stiles was freezing up in surprise. And then at another, he was kissing the man back, hard and hungry, so desperate for something he hadn’t let himself realize until a second ago.

Derek kissed him soft, Stiles pressed forward for more, and all he could think was this.

This was special. This was right and new; a memory beyond that night of standing on his front porch, catching the sight of sad eyes before they were gone for months.

This.

(and everything around them was blue)

~ ~