41. Atheist. Widow. Bisexual. Feminist. Friend. Jack Drinker. Coffee fiend. Cook. Bookworm. Gamer. Super nerd. Hardcore Sterek Shipper. ALL STEREK ALL THE TIME.
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Stiles looked at the foam container in his hands, to Derek, back to the foam container.
“You brought me chiggen noodde soub.”
Derek scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s homemade.”
Stiles looked like he was still trying to process what was happening.
“You brought me ‘omemade chiggen noodde soub,” he said.
Derek felt his cheeks heating up and he looked to the hallway, longing to flee the awkward situation he had put himself in. He should’ve just left it on the goddamn doorstep.
“Do you wanna gome in?”
Derek was ready to reject the idea, to just say ‘thanks but I’ve got to get going’ or ‘I don’t want to impose’, but then he looked at Stiles’ hopeful—though congested—face and he found himself saying,
“Sure.”
Stiles grinned widely and then immediately sneezed, his whole body convulsing and almost dropping the container of soup. Derek took it out of his hands and entered the apartment.
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@beautyoftheships once said Imagine the Hales leaving Beacon Hills for their various reasons and because of this stiles stays in BH even though the town is killing him so that the Hales will always be able to find him if they need him.
So I wrote that
••••••
Beacon Hills had always been a wound, but without the Hales, it became an infection.
They left slowly, like dying embers giving up their glow. Cora had been the first, Peter eventually disappeared into the wind with his silence and his scars, and Derek…Derek had held on the longest, clinging to the ruins of his family and the nightmare of what Beacon Hills had taken from him.
Then one morning he was simply gone, the loft empty except for dust and an old jacket left draped over the couch like a ghost.
No note.
No goodbye.
Just absence.
The Sheriff asked Stiles if he’d heard something. Scott shrugged and said Derek had always been dramatic anyway. The rest of the pack assumed he’d return when he wanted to.
Stiles didn’t assume anything.
Because he had seen the look on Derek’s face the last time they spoke - this hollow, final sort of stillness, like someone staring at the last doorway out of a burning building.
And Stiles knew. Derek hadn’t left to start over. He’d left so he could finally breathe.
So Stiles stayed.
Not for Beacon Hills. God no. Beacon Hills took from him every day. It drained him - his sleep, his sanity, his health. It gnawed at the edges of his soul with every missing person report, every bump in the night that turned out to be something with teeth.
But Stiles stayed anyway.
Because someone had to be here.
Someone who could be found.
Someone the Hales, Derek, could come back to if they ever needed something, anything.
Beacon Hills was an anchor point. And Stiles became the chain.
••••••
The years chewed the life out of him.
He stopped sleeping. The nightmares got worse. Panic attacks became a part of his routine, something he managed like brushing his teeth. He started losing weight without trying, first a few pounds, then ten, then twenty, until his clothes hung off him like he was fading out of them.
His eyes hollowed. The spark he used to have became a flicker.
Scott drifted in and out of his life, more out than in. Lydia moved away. His father worked long shifts, and Stiles kept telling him he was fine, even as he shook pouring cereal.
And still, he didn’t leave.
Couldn’t leave.
Because what if Derek came back and found nobody?
What if the Hales returned and the town felt like a tomb because even Stiles wasn’t here to hold a light for them?
He waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until one night the loft door, which Stiles had started living in, scraped open, metal groaning like it was waking up after years of sleep. Footsteps echoed - heavy, familiar, sharp intake of breath - and Stiles, curled on the couch because he couldn’t make himself go upstairs anymore, lifted his head.
Derek stood framed in the doorway.
Older. Broader. Eyes as wild and bright as the forest he’d run into and never came back from.
He froze.
“Stiles?"
Stiles tried to sit up, but his body trembled with the effort. Derek crossed the room in three long strides and caught him before he slid off the couch.
“Jesus Stiles, you’re-” Derek choked on the last word, because thin didn’t cover it. Stiles felt delicate in his hands, bones sharp beneath his palms, warmth too faint.
Derek’s heartbeat went violent.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded. “Why would you stay in this fucking town? Why - why would you do this to yourself?”
Stiles blinked slowly, like his eyelids weighed more than the rest of him.
“So you’d know where I was.”
Derek froze, fingers tightening reflexively.
“So the Hales would know. In case you ever needed…” Stiles took a trembling breath. “I didn’t want you coming back to nothing.”
Derek stared at him like the words physically struck him.
Stiles offered a weak smile. “I figured… if I left too, then Beacon Hills would just be another dead place for you. And I didn’t want that. I didn’t want you to feel like everything here abandoned you."
Derek shook his head, jaw shaking, eyes burning with something deep and cracked open.
“Stiles,” he whispered, voice breaking, “you stayed for me?”
“For all of you,” Stiles murmured. “But… yeah. Mostly you.”
Derek’s breath shuddered out. He sat down heavily beside Stiles, pulling him into his chest like he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t exist without holding him.
“You idiot,” Derek whispered into his hair. “You selfless, reckless, stupid idiot. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve any of this.”
Stiles let his forehead rest against Derek’s shoulder. “I never asked you to stay.”
“That’s the problem,” Derek said, voice shaking enough to splinter. “You stayed while everything was killing you, and I wasn’t here. I didn’t know. I didn’t-” His voice cracked. “I left you.”
Stiles didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength.
And Derek hated himself for that too.
“Why don’t you hate me?” Derek asked, a whisper barely more than breath.
Stiles blinked up at him with exhausted, gentle eyes. “Because you were hurting, Derek. And people who are hurting run.”
That undid Derek.
He pulled Stiles in tighter, arms trembling around him, forehead pressed to Stiles’ temple as if hoping his warmth could spill into him.
“I’m here now,” Derek whispered fiercely. “I’m not leaving again. I’m not…Stiles, I’m not losing you."
Stiles let out a tiny exhale, like relief and resignation blended together.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Derek held him long into the night, feeling every fragile breath, every tremor, every proof that Stiles had stayed alive for a reason Derek hadn’t deserved, and swearing silently, desperately, that he would spend every day from now on becoming someone who did.
••••••
Derek didn’t trust the loft.
Too much echo of old ghosts.
Too many memories soaked into the concrete.
So he took Stiles to his dad's, carefully, like carrying something precious and breakable. Stiles tried to joke that Derek could just throw him over his shoulder like old times, but the words slurred, the grin cracked, and Derek felt something inside him tear clean in half.
“Easy,” Derek murmured, adjusting his hold. “I’ve got you.”
Stiles blinked up at him, dazed and exhausted. “I know.”
It was the “I know” that killed Derek. Not trust. Not relief. Just weary acceptance, like he’d expected this moment eventually - being picked up because he couldn’t stand on his own anymore.
When Derek laid him on his bed at the Stilinski house, Stiles sank into the mattress like someone who hadn’t felt softness in years. Derek’s hand hovered over his cheek.
Too pale. Too hollow. Too much gone.
The Sheriff came in then - still in uniform, eyes red. He stopped in the doorway like he’d been punched.
“Dad,” Stiles whispered.
Noah Stilinski crossed the room in three shuddering steps and sat on the bed, brushing Stiles’ hair back like he had when Stiles was little. “Hey, kiddo.”
Stiles smiled, small and tired.
Derek looked away, throat tight.
He stayed at the foot of the bed until Stiles fell asleep, his breathing soft and uneven.
And only when Noah looked up at him - eyes wet, voice raw - did the truth crash between them.
“I knew,” Noah whispered hoarsely. “I knew he was slipping. I knew he wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t… himself. I took him to doctors. I tried to get him help. But he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave this damn town.” His voice cracked. “He said he had to stay in case you came back.”
Derek shut his eyes. Pain sliced through him like claws.
“And I couldn’t make him go,” Noah whispered. “He’s an adult. And I didn’t know how to save him without dragging him somewhere in chains. And I-” His voice broke entirely. “I failed him.”
Derek’s own voice came out wrecked. “No. You didn’t.”
Noah gave a bitter, heartbroken laugh. “Then why does he look like this?”
Derek didn’t answer.
Because there was only one real answer. Because Derek left. And Stiles had stayed.
After the Sheriff went to his room, Derek just… sat.
At the edge of Stiles’ bed, listening to every breath. Counting them, like he could keep Stiles alive by sheer force of will. His hands shook. His chest clamped tight. His wolf paced frantically beneath his skin, howling that their human was wrong-wrong-wrong.
Stiles stirred once, whispering Derek’s name so softly that Derek wasn’t sure he’d truly heard it.
He folded in on himself.
A quiet sob broke from him that was sharp, painful, unexpected. Then another.
And then they wouldn’t stop.
He pressed both hands over his face, bowing his head as silent, violent sobs shook his shoulders.
I left him. I didn’t know. I didn’t look back. He stayed for me. He stayed for me.
He cried until the guilt felt like drowning.
Until he hated himself so thoroughly he could hardly breathe.
Stiles slept on, unaware.
And Derek hated that too.
••••••
Peter Hale always had impeccable timing, meaning he arrived exactly when Derek least wanted him to.
He walked right into the Stilinski house, ignoring the Sheriff’s “Where the hell do you think you’re going" and made a beeline for Stiles’ room.
He found Derek sitting in the dark, elbows on his knees, eyes red and wild.
Peter exhaled, slow and sharp. “Well,” he said dryly, “you look like you’ve been hit by a truck made of consequences.”
“Get out,” Derek rasped.
Peter didn’t. He stepped closer, looking down at his nephew, then at the sleeping boy on the bed.
“You didn’t know he was this bad,” Peter said quietly, not mocking, not cruel. Just stating fact. “You couldn’t have known.”
Derek’s laugh was hollow. “I should’ve.”
Peter tilted his head. “You left for very good reasons. Reasons involving your sanity.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Derek snapped. “He stayed for us. For me.”
Peter’s expression softened, something rare and unsettling. “Yes. And it was foolish. Noble, but foolish.”
Derek’s breath snarled out of him. “You don’t get to judge him.”
“I’m not judging him,” Peter said calmly. “I’m judging you.”
Something in Derek snapped.
“YOU LEFT TOO!” Derek roared, surging to his feet. “YOU LEFT JUST LIKE I DID! YOU RAN FROM THIS TOWN AND FROM THE PACK AND FROM ME, SO DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE PRETEND YOU’RE BLAMELESS!”
Peter didn’t flinch.
For a moment, the two of them just stood there, Derek shaking with fury and self loathing, Peter watching him with something carved out of regret.
“You’re right,” Peter said finally, voice low. “I left too. I abandoned him too. I abandoned you. And I’m not blameless.”
He stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest.
“But Derek… if you keep tearing yourself apart like this, you won’t be able to help him. And that boy needs you. Right now. More than either of us want to admit."
Derek’s throat closed.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t talk like you care.”
Peter looked at Stiles, sleeping and brittle as paper.
“Derek,” he murmured, “I care more than you’ll ever give me credit for.”
For once, Derek had no retort.
••••••
It took two days before Stiles woke fully, blinking up at Derek, dazed and dry lipped.
“Hey,” Stiles rasped.
Derek leaned forward. “Hey. How do you feel?”
“Like I lost a fight with a lawnmower.” A small, wobbly smile. “Didn’t even get a cool scar out of it.”
Derek huffed a laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob.
Stiles’ eyes softened. “Hey, no. None of that.”
“You almost died,” Derek whispered. “Because you stayed in a town that was killing you.”
Stiles swallowed. “I stayed so you wouldn’t be alone if you came back.”
Derek closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve that.”
Stiles reached out, a weak, shaking hand brushing Derek’s knee. “I didn’t stay just because you deserved it. I stayed because I wanted to.”
“And I hate that,” Derek whispered.
Stiles blinked at him. “Why?”
“Because you don't hate me,” Derek said. “And maybe you should.”
Stiles’ voice was barely more than breath. “I’ve never hated you.”
The words hit Derek like a blow.
He leaned his head down, pressing his forehead gently to Stiles’ hand. “I’m here now. I swear I’m not leaving you again.”
Stiles let out a long, trembling sigh. “Okay.”
••••••
Recovery isn't pretty.
Stiles couldn’t climb stairs for weeks. Derek carried him.
Stiles couldn’t eat full meals. Derek made soup and coaxed him through spoonful after spoonful.
Stiles woke from nightmares shaking and crying, and Derek held him until the worst passed.
Whenever Derek tried to leave the room - just to shower, to step outside, to breathe - Stiles’ heart rate spiked in panic.
So Derek stayed.
Sat in the chair beside his bed. Slept on the floor. Held Stiles’ hand when he thought Stiles wouldn’t notice.
Peter visited often, pretending annoyance but bringing books and snacks and sarcastic commentary that made Stiles smile faintly.
The Sheriff thanked Derek one night, voice tight with held back grief. “He listens to you. He heals with you here. I… couldn’t give him that.”
Derek shook his head. “You gave him everything. I took it.”
Noah gripped Derek’s shoulder. “Then give it back.”
Derek did.
Piece by piece.
Until Stiles could stand without shaking.
Until he gained weight.
Until the spark returned to his eyes - dim, but present.
Until the shadows under his skin began to recede.
And one evening, as they sat on the porch watching the sunset bleed over Beacon Hills, Stiles leaned gently against Derek’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For coming back.”
Derek closed his eyes.
“I should’ve stayed.”
Stiles nudged him weakly. “You’re here now. That’s enough.”
I found my drafts! This was for an account that no longer exists. I think it’s cute so thought I’d post! Hope you like it.
****************************************
Stiles does up the last button on his shirt, then smooths the fabric down with shaking hands. Derek comes up from behind and wraps his arms around his husband.
“You’ll be ok babe. No need to be nervous.”
Stiles turns towards Derek who has perched his bearded face on Stiles’ shoulder.
“I know Der, but this is my first day as a detective in our hometown. The first detective in Beacon Hills in years. I know dad’s the Sheriff and all, but still. I want to do good.”
Derek nuzzles under Stiles’ ear. “You’ll do great. I know you will. But I have something that will help you today.”
Stiles turns around in Derek’s arms to face him. “You do?”
Derek nods. “Be right back.”
Derek pulls away from Stiles and leaves the bathroom. Stiles can hear Derek taking off his clothes.
“Der, I don’t have time for sexy shenanigans! Put your clothes back on!”
There’s no response from Derek, so Stiles walks into the bedroom. Derek is sitting on the bed in his full shift.
“Puppy mode engaged huh. Why the fluff?”
Wolf Derek rolls his eyes and jumps off the bed. He gently takes Stiles’ hand in his mouth and drags Stiles out toward the front door.
“You’re coming to work with me today?”
Derek ruffs and headbutts Stiles in the knee. Stiles laughs, reaching over to grab his wallet and keys before opening the door, locking up and walking to the car.
Silence reigns until they are about two minutes away from the station.
“I know what you’re doing Der, and I love you for it.”
Derek tilts his head to the side.
“You know that I’m always calm when you’re fully shifted. You’re really prepared to spend all day as Floofy Wolf?”
Derek chuffs at Stiles.
“Best husband ever.”
Once they arrive at the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, Stiles looks at Derek one more time before reaching behind him and grabbing the “Service Dog” harness that he puts on Derek if he’s in wolf mode in public.
“Ready?”
Derek barks in answer.
“Ok Der, I’m going to put your harness on when we get out of the car and remember to answer when I call you Wolfie, ok?”
Derek growls.
“I know you hate being called Wolfie, but I can’t exactly call you Derek can I?”
Derek turns to look out the window, effectively turning his back on Stiles.
“Rude puppy! Now stop pouting, I need to get to work. Remember I need to put on your harness.”
Flailing out of the car, Stiles shuts his door and makes his way to the passenger side. He lets Derek out of the car, who patiently waits for his husband to put the harness on him. Once it’s on, and the car is locked, Stiles and Derek walk side by side into the Sheriff’s department.
Stiles greets Tara at the front desk, and then each of the deputies as he makes his way to the Sheriff’s office. Derek resolutely ignores everyone and walks into John’s office, headbutting him on the knee.
John chuckles. “Good to see you, Wolfie. Stiles anxious today?”
Derek wuffs at the Sheriff, walking around to sit on one of the chairs in front of the Sheriff’s desk. John chuckles and goes back his paperwork until Stiles is finished socialising with the deputies.
Stiles finally makes his way into his dad’s office, shutting the door behind him and making sitting in the chair next to Derek. The Sheriff puts down the file and takes off his glasses.
“How are you today son?”
Stiles quirks a brow. “Are you asking as my dad or as my boss?”
“Your dad. You have your husband in service dog form, so I’m guessing you’re a bit anxious?”
“Yeah, you could say that. It’s just .... I mean, this is the first time everyone out there sees me as a colleague. And a detective no less. It’s kinda intimidating.”
Stiles' leg is bouncing up and down, and his hands are clenching on the arms of the chair. Derek places a paw on Stiles’ knee, and the bouncing stops. John looks at Derek gratefully.
“Stiles, they all know your work history. Every time you closed a case or did something noteworthy, I told everyone about it. The best thing you could have done was start your career off in San Francisco. It meant that I could poach you once you made detective. There’s no need to be nervous son.”
Stiles smiles at the Sheriff. “Thanks, dad. So what have you got for me?”
John puts his glasses on, and picks up three files and hands them to Stiles.
“The first file is the most urgent, so if you can have a look at that straight away that would be preferable. The other can be done once the first one is complete, or knowing you, all three at once.”
Derek huffs, and Stiles flicks his ear. “Ok sure. Got a desk for me?”
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Stiles: I'm going to stop you right there. If I'm his mate, and you've just kidnapped me, then are you what the young people call "royally fucked."
Gerard: You think that Hale boy can take me? I helped take down his entire family.
Stiles: Not his entire family. His uncle is still around, you know, the former left-hand to Talia Hale with an enormous ego and just as massive anger issues? He may be a giant asshole, but he is strict when it comes to wolfliness, and taking the mate of the alpha? That's just unforgiveable.
my favorite concept is if stiles were to be sick and goes to Scott to get the bite but Scott has some self righteous reason to say no, so stiles turns to Derek. Could you write something like that?
You can find the story HERE.
I cheated a little and it's a story I wrote last year and just tweaked it up a bit
Hopefully you enjoy!
'Room 318' - 9,269 words
Derek pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, eyes scanning every detail like he couldn’t decide what to focus on. “What’s going on?”
Stiles didn’t answer right away. He looked out the window for a second, his expression tightening, and when he turned back, his voice was quiet.
“Bone cancer,” he said. “Osteosarcoma, to be specific. I’m on my first round of chemo. They started it last week.”
~~~~
Derek returns from Mexico and realizes things have gotten much worse since he left.
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