Chapter Text
--5 Months before Stiles' Death--
Derek's warm calloused finger dragged around Stiles' rim before his tongue did.
Stiles moaned-okay more like screamed-into the pillow Derek forced him to hold in the hopes of lessening Stiles' screams because his father's a few doors down asleep.
Stiles arched his back trying to get Derek's tongue in him more, trying to ride it like he did Derek's cock not even 20 minutes ago. Derek-the ass (hey you are what ya eat)- leaned back teasing Stiles. Stiles whimpered, a very manly whimper that it, and pushed his ass back. Derek responded by flattening his tongue making Stiles frustrated but also moaning into his Starwars covered pillow. "Derek." He hissed shaking his hips in an obvious-
"Stiles!STILES WAKE UP!"
Stiles jolted awake a wolfsbane knife suddenly underneath Scotts chin. Scott raised both of his hands eyes wide. "Woah."
"Oh Jesus Scott come on I was having the best dream of my life here, this better be important and non-Kira related." Stiles whined, a very manly whine, and put the knife back under his pillow.
"Your dad's missing."
Stiles was up in an instant, throwing on clothes while Scott explained." He never showed up to work today Parrish called me I-this is the weird part-I can't find his scent anywhere not even at his house. It doesn't make sense. How can someone's scent just disappear everywhere?"
"So whoever took him is supernatural-" Stiles took his small knife and tucked it under his shirt so the cool blade rested against his back." And they know about...well you so they erased his scent but who....who has the power to do that and why the sheriff? I need to go down to the station to see what he was working on maybe that'll give us a motive. Ask Danny to track his car, all police cars have GPS's on them. Go ask Deaton what he knows about scents disappearing and ask Derek if he's been dating and or fucked anyone evil lately." Scott snorted. "And does Lydia....has she...."
"No, she hasn't felt any deaths yet."
Stiles let out the breath he was holding. He nodded his head."Good that's uh, good. " Scott looked at Stiles with his 'I am the alpha' face.
"We will find him stiles, I promise."
--Present Time--
Scott left after he almost attacked the Doctor that broke them the news all the werewolf's in the room already knew but didn't believe when hearing the sudden stop of Stiles' heart. Liam followed Scott outside, Scott for the first time in a long time, struggling to find control.
Melissa was sobbing-screaming into an Isaacs shoulder. Lydia was in denial, but slowly her face began to crumble as she curled into Jacksons arms whispering "No no no it can't be, I-I didn't scream-I-I didn't feel it." She kept on repeating that while she cried in Jacksons arms. Jackson was crying too.
Chris stood in the shadows, his arm in a sling, his face pinched in sorrow filled constipation.
Parrish was holding the Sheriff back, the Sheriff who was screaming at Derek. Screaming what Derek was thinking. What Derek is almost always thinking.
It's his fault.
All of it.
And it was his job to take care of his son, to make sure he stayed alive. And he failed.
Just like he failed Erica.
Just like he failed Boyd.
But somethings not fucking right.
Because yes, Stiles' heart has stopped but fuck. The sheriff is screaming at his face, breaking down with sobs before screaming again.
But Derek isn't feeling...grief.
Stiles is Derek's mate. Yes he'll finally fucking admit it, knew is the day he bumped into the fucking kid at their local supermarket when they were kids. Knew it when he smelt him running around in his woods.
His wolf let him forget, let him ignore it because it was too focused on the loss of his pack, but now his wolf is making him remember. Regardless, Derek's wolf SHOULD be howling, should be devastated, should be acting like how it did when his family died.
But his wolf isn't going insane, like Peters, it isn't doing anything.
So while the Sheriff screams at him, while Melissa is sobbing, while Lydia mumbles the same frantic words over and over again, Derek just stands there confused frowning at the floor in the corner of the hospital room after learning about his mates death.
Stiles is a fucking Fish.
He's a fucking FISH.
Swimming around in a tank.
Because he has no fucking feet.
Because he's a FUCKING FISH.
That Fucking WITCH. He should have known, oh god how naive he was. He should have just killed the bitch but noooo, killing's bad.
Fuck.
Stiles swam around the fish equivalent to pacing. He was fuming pissed at the witch.
Stiles doesn't know how much time has passed, but when Derek finally walked in Stiles almost started crying with relief.
But Derek didn't even notice the giant fucking FISH TANK on a MYSTERIOUS TABLE right next to the lofts door. No sir Derek just walked in, sat on his couch and got drunk.
Stiles swam around angrily trying to get his fucking attention do anything when suddenly Derek hunched over and started crying. Stiles swam up to glass and watched with wide eyes his heart beating loudly in his ears as he watched Derek Hale pull at his hair, watched as he took a drink straight from the bottle, a plant rolled up and sitting on the bottom of the glass. His face soft and vulnerable, round but turned down in obvious sadness. His strong shoulders hunched his body curled forward shaking with sobs.
He ran his hands down his face sighing. Then he sat back both arms up on the back of the couch." Jesus Stiles, what have you gotten yourself into now? I know, I KNOW you're not dead. But where the hell are you then." Derek took another drink before shifting his hips on the couch. "Stiles you better not be fucking dead." Derek hissed shifting his hips again. He took another gulp before slamming it down in the floor the liquid sloshing around and dripping on his hand pooling a little on the floor.
Derek lifted his hand stared at it and then licked the liquid off. Derek shifted his hips again and Stiles watched the scene with wide eyes and a fish boner.
"Fuck Stiles you drive me crazy." He said reaching down and un-zipping his pants. Stiles watched as Derek wrapped a drunken hand around himself, his cock hard and leaking. Derek-surprisingly-is a horny drunk.
"Stiles." Derek said voice desperate soft but low s rough. "Please come home, come home to me." Derek flung his head back exposing the long sensitive lines of his neck. His chest was heaving and his hips gradually picked up pace. "You promised." He whined/moaned. Derek wasn't jacking off, he was more like fucking his hand, his hips doing all the work. Tightening, releasing, pushing pulling.
But the strangest thing to Stiles, was just how VOCAL Derek was. Whether it was a growl, a hum, a whine, a moan, a groan, a hiss, a plea Stiles was hooked, completely entranced. And Derek kept on doing this thing where he would bring himself right up to releasing, right up to screaming, right up to cumming filthily over himself and then he would suddenly stop and fuck he would just keep his hands on either sides of his hips palms up and WHINE, his cock red and leaking everywhere hips thrusting into the air, his head flung back shaking side to side his lips puffy from his nibbling on them to stifle his moans.
Stiles somewhere in the back of his mind knows, understands that what Derek is doing is bad. That Derek is punishing himself by holding his release for so long. That his cock must HURT, but fuck.
Derek is a sight to behold and Stiles is hungrily watching every snap of Derek's hips, every bite of his lip, every flick of his wrist.
Eventually-minutes, hours stiles doesn't know- Derek cums, his back arching off of the bed, neck veins bulging, mouth wide open screaming Stiles' name, his cum pulsating out of him in thick stripes falling over his hand.
Derek sat there for a while, eyes blown out chest heaving. He leaned over grabbed his wolfsbane laced whiskey with his dirty hand, took a swig them stood up. He shuffled his way over to the stairs un-gracefully leaning on almost over the railing for support. Stiles caught a glimpse of his face right before it disappeared upstairs.
Derek looked so sad, so devastated, so lost. His eyes-his face was filled with so much open emotion. Stiles knows that technically he's not supposed to see this. That this is Derek's home, Derek's loft where he doesn't have to wear that mask of his because no one's here to judge him. But this time someone is here, Stiles is here to witness a side of Derek no one has seen.
And Stiles learns that there are many different sides to Derek.
Like grumpy hang over Derek. That stubs his toe on the table and curses at it for 5 straight minutes, his hair cutely disheveled face pinched adorably in that grumpy cat sourwolf type of way. Like how his dark grey sweats were stained on the bottom left like he splattered bleach over it, his chest was always bare where he often scratches it because-and Stiles is guessing-he shaves. He scratches it while he waits for his coffee to brew, the coffee maker hidden in one of the cupboards. Stiles finds out that Derek drinks his coffee with six, SIX packets of sugar and a crap tone of caramel sugary cream. He learns that Derek sits down and reads the news paper with his coffee in his left hand, newspaper in his right, just like Stiles' dad.
He learns that Derek allows himself to smile at the cheesy jokes in the paper, he learns that Derek skips the sports section but will read his horoscope. He learns that Derek often mumbles what he's reading and that when he disagrees with what he's reading he'll scrunch up his nose and shake his head. He learns that Derek's workout routine is incredibly intense and fitness trainers (and all supermodels for that matter) all suck compared to Derek Hale.
He learns-and this...this is a hurtful surprise-he learns that Derek talks to his mom.
That he'll just look up and start talking to her like she's there, floating around in the sky listening to her son. And when he does it-fuck- he looks like he's 15 again with big ears big eyes puckered lips pared with an innocent childlike demeanor that everyone has when talking to their mother. "Hey mom, uh had a rough day yesterday. I uh did some drinking I-I know it isn't really a great way on how to deal with stuff but uh-I had just found out that someone close to me, very close to me has passed away. But I don't believe that he's gone something...something is not adding up. So that's where I'm as right now mom and I-uh I'm not sure what to do, not sure how to find him-if there is anything to find. I hope everyone up there is doing okay-I gotta go Lydia's coming. Say hi to dad for me, love you bye."
Stiles now knows that fish CAN can cry underwater.
Derek stood up and washed his cup dried it off and put it away along with the coffee maker. After that he ran upstairs and changed so by the time Lydia finally knocked on the door Derek looked like his usual self wearing sinfully tight jeans and a dark blue Henley.
Derek walked over and slid open the lofts door. Lydia looked up at Derek expectantly." Well aren't you going to invite me in?"
Derek rolled his eyes but shifted so there was enough room for Lydia to walk in. She strutted in her heels clicking echoing in the empty loft echoing noisily." So, why exactly are you here Lydia?" Derek asked his arms crossed both eyebrows raised.
"I'm here because Stiles is alive and you're going to help me prove it."
"What do you need from me?"
Lydia pursed her lips before answering." First you're going to help me steal the body, then you're going to steal the Hospitals security tape, oh and I might need some of your blood for a tracing spell. Deaton will help us with that."
Derek blinked at Lydia a few seconds of silence passed between them before Derek solemnly nodded." But...how do you know for sure that st....that he's alive."
"Because I'm a Banshee, and Banshees sense death, and I don't sense-didn't sense his death. I sense that someone is going to die soon, but that's it! I don't know it's just, something is not adding up. And YOU'RE going to help me find out."
--5 Months and 2 1/2 Weeks Before Stiles' Death--
Stiles doesn't smoke, okay well he doesn't smoke often.
But he has the past two weeks.
He's smoked ALOT and yes he fucking knows that's it's bad.
Knows that smoking lowers cholesterol levels and raises blood pressure which can result in arteries stretching-collapsing-filling up with bad cholesterol and then bursting.
In conclusion, Stiles knows that smoking is bad but at this point he doesn't give a flying fuck.
Having supernatural friends is bad, especially when you're not supernatural and your dad's the fucking Sheriff.
Making a deal with a psychotic Uncle is bad-hacking into Eichen House's records and (Stiles learned a lot from Danny but learned a fuck ton more from sketchy foreign websites Stiles found in odd hours of the night/early mornings) erasing all of Peter Hales data and momentarily opening his cell door. That's fucking bad.
And again Stiles doesn't give a flying fuck if it meant saving his dad.
Which Peter fucking Hale did.
But now Stiles is sorta freaking out.
Because he has to leave and never come back. Because if he doesn't the witch will kill Stiles' pack. And the only reason she didn't was because Peter Hale was there as back up.
Yeah, Peter Hale was Stiles' fucking back up.
And it fucking worked.
But a deal is a deal and Stiles was given 24 hours to get the fuck out of dodge before the witch starts killing again-yes she killed his dad. God that's going to haunt him for years, haunts Stiles now. Every time he blinks he sees a flash of his fathers pale lips bloody sliced neck but worst of all, those dead lifeless eyes.
He doesn't remember a thing-which works in Stiles' favor.
Point is, Stiles is smoking the last of his pack sitting on the edge of his window and the cancer causing thing that's in between his dry lips is the only fucking thing that is keeping Stiles together.
Because Stiles saw his dad die AND saw him come back to life.
Because Stiles has to leave Beacon Hills forever or the most powerful witch in the world will kill his friends-his PACK.
Because her power derives from grief.
And she said that he reeks of it so yeah he sold his soul to her-and so his soul is hers. It's simple really, when he dies his soul is hers to feed off of until it dies of energy. And if he sets foot back in Beacon Hills she has the right to kill him, but she will not-WILL NOT attack or kill any of his pack.
Unless it's to protect herself.
So stiles needs to keep this between him, Peter, and that fucking witch or they'll try to kill her and that'll result in the bitch killing everyone and feeding off of their devastated souls.
Shit the cigarette is almost out.
Fuck.
Stiles looks down at his phone. He has 9 hours to say goodbye to everyone without making it sound like he's saying goodbye.
Fuck.
Stiles took a long inhale squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes of ignoring the nagging, the shouting going on in his head.
It doesn't shut them up, but it burrs them so he can't quite make the words out. And that's the most silence he's had in his head since before his mother died.
Fuck Stiles is going to become addicted to these chemically filled things. He's never really tried them, never had a legit reason to. But the muffled silence however short it may last feels fucking fantastic. The only thing that comes close to this blissed out muffled silence is that moment right after Sex, when you're lying there all languid and solely in that moment. But Stiles doesn't have the time for sex, so he'll settle for his last-probably of many- cigarette.
Stiles sits on the window ledge early early in the day. Stiles loves this hour, loves sitting on his roof at this hour, when no one dares to be awake unless they absolutely have to be. Stiles fucking loves this hour, this opposite of the violet hour so to speak, where the sky is filled with the colors of dark dark blue, light blue, and yellow, the same colors of a bruise.
This bruising hour is so fucking nostalgic for Stiles. The one thing in his world that's constant. The world, HIS world might be on the brink of ending but the sun will still rise and fall no matter what's happening in Stiles' small world.
Stiles takes another drag kicking his feet in an almost childlike manner.
She gave his four years.
Stiles has four years before she'll kill him officially. If he doesn't die or come close to death, then she won't take his soul. That's manageable right? If he leaves Beacon Hills he should be supernatural free, right? He'll live till he's 24. That's an okay age to die, right?
"Shit." Stiles sighed out his sad looking cigarette about to be done for. He takes another drag holding it in. He smashes it on the roof before leaning back and tilting his head back letting the rising sun hit his throat before letting the smoke out and watching it battle with the air before disappearing-just like Stiles will.
"You know smoking is bad for you."
Stiles snorted." No, It's not. It relives the body's stress by providing it with some good o'le organic nicotine. Therefore, nicotine is good and healthy for the body and soul.
"Stiles?"
Stiles laughs, a crazy hysterical like laugh at Derek's soft concerned voice.
"You've been there for a while haven't you Derek? You know after all these years I've learned to listen for you wolves. You guys are so fucking quiet you know that? But you're also so fucking primal. You have this instinct to brush up against the entrance of every door to leave your scent and THAT, that's how I can hear you guys. How I know when you're around. And different wolves do it differently. For instance, Scott usually just brushes his shoulder against it when walking in unknowingly. But you, I'm guessing it's a born wolf thing because Peter does it too, you are aware of the need to scent to entranceway so you purposely run your hand over the doorframe before you even fully walk in, usually you scent the left and Scott the right side. But today you scented both sides.....why?"
Stiles doesn't have to turn his head and cram his neck up to see Derek's sourwolf face but it might be the last time he does to he turns and looks. Derek is standing in the middle of his room, hands clenching and unclenching leather jacket on and has a few droplets of water on it letting Stiles know that Derek walked/ran here, the low bruising hour fog brushing up against the leather leaving water as its foot print. Derek's eyes were turned down in sadness-no- in sympathy which is a rare look for Derek but it's been a re-occurring look these past two weeks. His eyebrows are pinched together forming what Stiles calls the Caterpillar of Doom. Derek's mouth is slightly turned down hardly noticeable unless looking for it, his beard is a little gown out which is strange because he usually takes such good care of it. Suppose Peters disappearance is affecting Derek a little stronger than he thought, which shows in the light wrinkle in the corner of Derek's dark red Henley. Derek's Henley's are NEVER wrinkled, Derek loves his Henley's.
Stiles turned around completely so his feet are dangling inside and his back is toward the bruising sky, the sun warming up his back. He crams his neck up to look at Derek arms ready to flail when speaking taking Derek's frowny face as the answer to his question and already moving on from it.
"I'm fine Derek. Go back home, get some sleep. And take better care of yourself okay? Buy some furniture for god's sake, more than just the bare minimum, and get a fucking coffee maker! oh and invest in a better alarm system. One of them things that connects to your phone, oh yeah and get a better phone. And for Jesus sakes Derek buy a book shelve, you can't keep all of your books in your room. No one is going to make fun of you because you read boring ass books. And for Marry's sake please I beg of you go on a date. I'm sure someone can help you set up a dating profile on Tinder. And for Allah's sake Derek promise me you'll eat actual meals? Not just take out and protein shakes or bars what ever. I get that you're a wolf and all but you need your greens. Promise me you'll eat better? "
"Stiles! What's going on?"
"What? I-nothing-I mean there's nothing. Dads out and safe at the hospital resting with Melissa, Scott, and Lydia. Everyone's alive everyone's good, I-I'm good. "
"Then why are you smoking, why are you saying goodbye?"
"What!! Psh-no! I-I'm not saying goodbye I'm just saying goodbye ya know....for nnnnnnooowww. Because-"
"You know I can tell when you're lying right?
"Alright look Derek." Stiles said looking down at his toes shoulders hunched, slowly he brought his head up to look at Derek keeping his heart rate calm and collected." Thank you. " The surprise on Derek's face was expected but still shocking because it's an emotion that isn't something Derek usually lets show on his face." Thank you for that night, the night you helped me not freak out so much. I-if, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't have found my dad. That being said I just-I need some time to...well to get my shit together. This time, this was different from all the other times. I just need some time alone...to think."
"To think about what?"
"I-I don't think I can do THIS anymore Derek? I can't LIVE this way, I can hardly breathe these days with out feeling like I'm choking. I-I can't this is just too much for me. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't even shit with out worrying that someone I love is dying this very moment. Even now I need a fucking cigarette to keep me from running back to the hospital-"
"Stiles."
"-I need a pill to go to sleep at night because I am TERRIFIED at what nightmares I'm going to remember when I sleep-"
"Stiles?"
"-I need addrall and some vodka in my coffee to keep me focused because my thoughts are so scattered are so focused on what can I do to protect my friends rather than learning the calculus I'm supposed too, I'm failing my classes, barley keeping up with my student loans, keep on getting fired from jobs because I miss days from being kidnapped or someone else being kidnapped and or fucking tortured!"
"Stiles!"
"WHAT DEREK! What do you WANT! What are you doing here! What!"
"Promise me you'll come back."
Stiles eyes snapped up to look at Derek. He was looking at the ground avoiding stiles' gaze making him look as vulnerable as his voice.
Stiles swallowed hard took a steady breath calmed his mind and heart.
"I would never leave you." He lied.