Chapter Text
“What did Erica mean,” Derek asked. “About you dying?”
Shit.
Stiles avoided his gaze and moved over to the couch, picking up cushions and stuffing them back into place. He sat down heavily, burrowing deep into the corner as if that would warm him up. It didn’t really. “You know Erica,” Stiles said. “Nothing she ever says makes sense.”
“You’re lying,” Derek growled. Stiles rolled his eyes.
“So? Token human here, what do you care?” He knew he wasn't being fair, but being back in the loft brought all of Derek’s words from last night come crashing back. Along with the hurt of them. “She’s probably worried you’ll rip my throat out or something.”
“That’s not the current plan,” Derek said haughtily. He lingered in the corner, then moved over, sniffing the air cautiously as he approached. Stiles glanced up his position on the couch, trying not to look as shaky and pitiful as he felt. Derek glared down at him. “You smell bad.”
“Thanks, Sourwolf. I didn’t shower this morning.”
“No, you smell sick.”
“I have a cold.”
Derek’s eyes flashed red. “Lie.”
“What do you care?” Stiles asked. “I thought we weren’t going to talk until the others came back.”
“I’m the Alpha,” Derek growled. “They don’t give me orders.
“Real mature comeback, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said grumpily. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned his face into the couch as his head continued to pound. He felt a little bit like jello. Like he was just oozing everywhere. The very thought grossed him out and he felt even worse.
“Just go away, Derek.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Stiles considered answering honestly. It would probably raise more questions from Derek than it would provide answers, but at least the Alpha couldn’t say he was lying anymore. And the look on his face might be worth it. But Stiles ended up just groaning into the couch cushion. “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re lying,” Derek said, sounding frustrated. “I can hear your heartbeat, Stiles. You’re lying.”
“Then stop listening, asshole.”
Derek suddenly yanked the cushion off the couch and threw it across the room, eyes flashing. Stiles yelped and fell face-first against the now empty back of the couch, scrambling to push himself back. His head pounded. Sitting upright, he glared at Derek.
“Dude, what the hell? I’m in pain here!”
“Why?”
“Because of you!”
Derek drew back like he’d been burned. Stiles clenched his jaw and looked away, clutching his head. He was so cold now, he couldn’t stop shivering. His entire body hurt. Stiles felt like he was dying.
Because he was.
Stiles’s stomach twisted and he closed his eyes, fighting back tears at that realization. He was dying and there wasn’t anything Deaton or the others could do about it. Derek was losing him and Stiles was losing Derek. All because Stiles had been determined to take on the pixie alone.
“It’s not your fault, Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “I know you make everything your fault and you don’t even like me right now, but you don’t have any control over what’s happening.”
“Stiles,” Derek said, sounding strangely choked. “What is happening?”
“Nothing,” Stiles muttered, dropping down against the back of the couch again. He didn’t even care about the lack of cushions right now. “M’ fine. Just sick.”
“You don’t have a cold.”
“I do too.”
“Stiles,” Derek said, reaching out and grabbing his hand. Black lines instantly started up his arm and Derek’s eyes widened in shock as he yanked back. Stiles flinched and looked away. Derek stared at him. “You’re in pain.”
“Headache,” Stiles said with a shiver. “Or at least, that’s what it started out as. It’s more like a full body ache now. I’ll be fine, though. I took a few pain pills before coming here.”
“Lie,” Derek said in a whisper. Stiles glared at him.
“Stop doing that.”
“Then tell me why you’re in pain.”
“Doesn’t matter, Sourwolf. Wanna make me some chicken noodle soup?”
“Stiles, stop being an idiot.”
“I’m not, asshole. God, I hate you.”
Derek froze suddenly, his eyes widening. Confused, Stiles arched a brow, and the Alpha’s eyes stopped flickering red. Derek stared for a long moment before whispering softly, “Lie.”
Stiles’s throat closed. Derek’s fingers made an aborative movement forward, but then the Alpha pulled them back. Stiles didn’t say a word, turning his face away again. Derek sunk down onto the edge of the couch. His claws had retracted.
“Stiles, why are you in pain?”
“Because,” Stiles said. He figured it didn’t matter anymore; he was going to die anyway. “Because I was special to someone, but then something happened, and now I’m not anymore.”
“Dammit, Stiles,” Derek growled. “Stop lying to me!”
Stiles looked in shock at him. “I’m not.”
“You just did.”
“No,” Stiles said, sitting up. “No, I didn’t. That wasn’t a lie.”
Derek stared at him, looking confused. Stiles swallowed hard, searching Derek’s face, and cautiously reached out. Derek didn’t draw back as Stiles took his hand. Little lines of black streaked up the Alpha’s arm and he winced, but didn’t yank away. Stiles’s stomach twisted.
“Derek?”
“You don’t smell right,” Derek said. His eyes flickered red again, but it looked purposeful this time. Like he was distressed. “Stiles, you smell like you’re dying.”
Stiles felt his heart crack. His vision blurred and he blinked hard, looking away. The black lines had stopped moving up Derek’s arm, but Stiles was still in pain. Even more so now, if that was possible. Because now his heart was shattered. And that was something even the curse couldn’t control.
“You’re dying,” Derek said. “Aren’t you?”
“Don’t take it personally, big guy,” Stiles murmured. “It’s nothing against you. Trust me, I’d rather not die today. Or any day, really. But life sucks sometimes, you know? In fact, I should probably call my dad. He’d be pissed if I died without asking permission first.”
“Stiles—”
“He always told me I wasn’t allowed to die on the job,” Stiles continued, rambling now. His head felt weird. Like he wasn’t completely in it. “He said I could keep running, keep fighting, but I wasn’t allowed to die. He forbade it.”
Stiles realized tears were streaking down his face now. He’d thought he would’ve had longer. A couple of days, maybe, to make peace with everything. But of course, this was a forty-eight-hour kind of curse. Like having a stomach bug or something shitty like that.
Stupid pixies.
“God, Derek,” Stiles whispered. “It’s not even fair. I had it under control and everything was going to be fine. I’d even trained you how to smile without frowning right afterward. Do you remember that?”
Derek looked at him in silence. Stiles choked on a bitter laugh.
“Guess not. Or maybe it’s just a tainted memory. I don’t know how pixie curses work,” Stiles said. “But it’s not even that. It’s not even that I’m dying. It’s— it’s that we’re—” He broke off, unable to finish his sentence. Until Derek placed a hand on his knee and squeezed gently.
“Stiles, what is it?”
“It’s you,” Stiles said brokenly. “You were finally happy, Derek. Finally whole. You cherished something and it wasn’t your Camaro. You were anchored and strong and content…”
Stiles swallowed, wiping tears from his face. He felt like an idiot, crying like this. But he couldn’t stop. Not even with the realization that saying all this wouldn’t accomplish anything other than throw Derek into a spiral of guilt again. And this time, it would be Stiles’s fault.
“But the pixie took it all away,” Stiles said. “Because I tried to be a hero.”
“It was you,” Derek said. “You’re what the pixie took away.”
Stiles swallowed, averting his eyes. Derek was looking at him like Stiles had just torn out his heart and maybe he had. Because how could Stiles even answer a question like that?
“I thought I was missing something,” Derek murmured. “But I didn’t know what.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered.
“You’re dying.”
“Only a little bit.”
Derek looked at him again, sharp and pained. “Can I stop it?”
Stiles closed his eyes, willing away more tears. Derek was number one for blaming himself for things. Stiles should’ve kept his mouth shut, should've suffered in silence. Because Derek was going to try and do something, even though nothing could be done. And then, when he failed, Derek would take on the guilt of it all. And Stiles had just made sure of that.
He was an asshole.
“The pack is trying to help,” Stiles said. “Deaton’s coming.”
“Can Deaton stop it?”
Silence reigned for a moment. Stiles lowered his eyes.
“Can we just sit?” he asked. “Just sit and if the pack takes too long, I’ll call my dad. He’s at work but I think I’ll be able to get through. He’s on lunch soon anyway.”
Derek looked like he wanted to argue. But Stiles must’ve looked pretty pitiful because he moved closer instead, one arm wrapping around his shoulder and pulling him close. Stiles closed his eyes and melted into the embrace. He probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. Derek’s body was like a furnace and Stiles couldn’t stop shivering.
“You’re freezing,” Derek said. Stiles chuckled.
“I know.”
“I can’t take any more pain.”
“I know.”
“Stiles… I’m sorry.”
Stiles swallowed hard. “I know.”
Derek shifted so Stiles’s face was buried in the crook of his neck and a little bit of stubble rubbed against his forehead. He could hear the werewolf’s heartbeats through his shirt; stuttering every second or two. Stiles breathed in shakily, the scent of pine and aftershave filling his nose. Derek held him tighter and Stiles glanced up, meeting red eyes.
“Derek?”
“Can I…?” Derek trailed off, leaning forward. Stiles froze, only a second before Derek’s lips touched against his own. It was a cautious kiss; maybe an apologetic one. Stiles wanted to draw back and break what wasn’t real, but he couldn’t make himself move. If this was the last experience he got to have, then maybe it would be enough. Did Stiles have a right to be that selfish?
Derek’s lips were warm and his breath smelled like mint. His tongue traced along Stiles’s lips, carefully seeking something out. Acknowledgement, maybe. Or permission. Stiles made a low noise in the back of his throat and kissed the man back.
Some of the tension leaked from his chest. Derek pressed him against the back of the couch and carded his fingers through Stiles’s hair, tugging lightly. Stiles groaned and Derek’s grip tightened. The man nipped at his lower lip and his breaths trembled against his skin.
“Stiles—”
Shit. Stiles suddenly forced himself to pull back. Derek’s eyes were unfocused and the man stayed still, breathing out through slightly parted lips. Stiles turned his head slightly. “Sorry.”
“Stiles, I—”
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what?”
Let myself hope. “Kissed you back.”
Derek drew back, looking horrified. His fingers left Stiles’s hair and lingered in the air, twitching slightly. His eyes flickered. “What I felt… What the pixie took away. You didn’t?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “No, Derek, it’s not like that.”
“But I—”
“Derek,” Stiles said. “I loved you. Love you. Don’t you realize that?”
Derek’s eyes cleared. “You love me.”
“It was an observation,” Stiles whispered. “An experiment, an investigation, an evaluation, whatever. But I had it under contro—”
Derek kissed him again. It was full and real this time, and the man’s fingers threaded through Stiles’s own. Stiles felt the result almost instantly. Pain drained from his body in a rush and Derek made a soft whimpering noise, but didn’t draw back, holding on like a drowning man. Warmth crept back into Stiles’s bones. The ache left his head. Stiles breathed in sharply and Derek drew back. “Stiles?”
“D-Derek.”
“... An observation?”
Stiles stared at him. There was something akin to a constipated look of exasperation in the Alpha’s eyes and Stiles’s mouth dropped as he realized he recognized that look. Not from a time when they’d first met, but from Wednesday night. When Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed lobbing balls of paper at his head and threatening to disembowel Stiles if he dared risk his life against the pixie.
“Derek, oh my god.”
Derek smiled, real and true. It was just like the picture on Stiles’s phone, except brighter. Stiles’s heart stuttered and he could only stare.
“But the curse...?”
“You’re never going after a pixie alone again.”
Stiles laughed, the sound bursting from his lips. He moved forward and buried his face in Derek’s neck, breathing in the smell of him again. Tears burned at his eyes, but they were different this time. Derek’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him close. “Derek.”
“I’m here.”
“God, I hate you.”
“Because I left you on the side of the road?”
“Yeah, well, non-cherishing you is kind of an asshole,” Stiles muttered.
“Non-cherishing me doesn’t have a good anchor.”
Stiles looked up at Derek, meeting his grey-green eyes. “So it’s back then?”
Derek smiled. “You are.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, turning his face into Derek’s neck again. His movements still felt a little tight and achy, but it was like the aftermath of going on a long run. He just felt exhausted. “You’re never allowed to save me again.”
“Good luck with that.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and opened his mouth again, but the loft door slid open right at that moment. They both drew apart and Stiles leaped off the couch as the pack moved to stand in the doorway. His face turned hot and they all stared, eyes wide and shocked. Deaton raised a brow.
“So I assume that’s taken care of?”
Stiles winced. Erica smirked. “Holy shit, you guys kiss and break the curse?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered. Jackson rolled his eyes, looking thoroughly unamused.
“That is some Sleeping Beauty bullshit.”
“Derek wasn’t asleep,” Isaac pointed out. Scott screwed up his face.
“What about the Princess and the Frog?”
“Derek’s not a frog.”
Derek growled lowly. Then Boyd, of all people, grinned. “It’s Snow White.”
“The cursed apple, of course!”
Stiles groaned, burying his face in his hands, and Derek moved to his side, one arm snaking around his waist protectively.
“Out,” Derek growled, flashing his eyes. “All of you.”
Deaton didn’t need to be told twice, turning away. But the other betas all muttered among each other, despite flashing their necks to Derek’s order. One by one, though, they left and Erica was the last to remain again. She smiled a little, eyes flitting between the two of them. That slightly vulnerable expression was back again. Along with a mischievous one.
“Good job, Stiles. Just don’t tell Derek what a good kisser I am, yeah?”
Derek growled lowly. Erica smirked and left.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, the moment the loft door slid closed. “Can you believe those guys? I mean a guy nearly dies for the millionth time and suddenly…” He trailed off as Derek turned, giving him a tilted brow and unamused look. “Derek?”
“Erica? Really?”
“Um.”
Derek’s eyes turned red and Stiles took a nervous step back. But the shifting color was accompanied by a wolfish smirk spreading across the Alpha’s lips. “Do you know what fairy tale I like, Stiles?”
“The Three Little Pigs?”
Derek’s gaze was absolutely predatory. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
Stiles yelped and turned, scrambling toward the nearest open door. His heart did a little twist and leap as he heard Derek giving chase, growling lowly. But something about that was okay.
Because Stiles? Stiles felt like this summarized his existence pretty well. And he totally had everything under control.
(He totally didn’t).