I was struck by inspiration for this one on my drive back from the beach today. I went with “Here, take my sweater.”
Derek fished two
bottles of water out of the cooler he’d thrown in the back of the Cruiser
before he’d picked Stiles up that morning (“kidnapped, Derek, kidnapped me from
my own home, nay, my very bed!”) and settled on the bumper as he waited for
Stiles to follow him up from the beach, where he’d lagged behind Derek due to
his inevitable distraction by a rock or a shell or thinking he saw a kelpie in
the waves or who knew what this time. He cracked the top on one bottle of water
and tossed the other at Stiles as soon as he got within range.
Stiles caught it
smoothly, which meant he was only paying a fraction of his attention to his surroundings,
and Derek bit back a smile. “Thanks, man,” Stiles said, tossing his sweatshirt
into the back of the SUV in a shower of sand. “Shit, sorry.”
Derek shrugged,
letting himself lean against the edge of the open rear door and pulling one
foot up onto the bumper with him. “Don’t worry about it.”
Stiles twisted the
top off his water and tilted his head back as he drank. Derek looked away,
studying the grains of sand and shell now scattered across the floor. It was
probably the most innocuous material to have ever made a mess on the rubberized
surface, and Derek found himself wishing, suddenly, fiercely, that he had
actually bought the car for its intended use, that he really was the kind of
guy who needed an off-roading vehicle to strap his surfboards to and still have
room for all his camping equipment. That he needed to be able to easily hose
down the interior because he regularly came home with too much sand covering everything after a weekend adventure to deal
with any other way, instead of the mud, blood, and
mystery fluids that his car ended up covered in entirely too regularly.
Stiles hoisted
himself up to sit fully in the rear storage area, legs still dangling over the
bumper as he looked back over the beach to where the waves crashed on the
shore. The sun was just starting to set, tingeing the undersides of the clouds
peach and gold and pink.
“Thanks for today,”
Stiles said, eyes still glued to the ocean. His cheeks looked a little red as he said it, but that could just as easily have been the sunburn.
Derek nodded, just a
short gesture of his chin, and took another drink of his water before he
ventured, “Thanks for coming.”
There was a lot they
both weren’t saying, and they both knew it.
Stiles snorted. “Like
you gave me a choice.” He picked up his hoodie and shook it vigorously over the
parking lot, making a face as seemingly endless sand showered out of it. He’d
taken it off earlier in the afternoon, when the sun was high and he’d gotten
too hot, and then hadn’t noticed until too late that the tide had come in and a
wave had already soaked half of it where he’d tossed it onto the sand next to
his shoes. “Still wet, ugh.”
Derek took it from
him and draped it over the back of the seats so it’d dry faster, and Stiles
slanted him a crooked half-smile before he turned his attention back to the
sunset. Unable to help himself, Derek glanced down at where Stiles’ hands
gripped the edge of rear compartment, showing off the always surprising cording
of his forearms, so rarely seen out from under all his misleadingly oversized
layers. Goosebumps rose along Stiles’ skin as Derek watched, and he realized
Stiles must have been hoping he could put the sweatshirt back on now that the
temperature was dropping again.
Derek fished under
the seats behind the cooler for a second, then bumped his arm against Stiles’
as he directed his own attention toward the horizon. “Here, take my sweater.”
Casual. It didn’t have to mean anything. Stiles was cold, that was all.
Stiles glanced over
at him in surprise as his hand closed on the sweater, and then he smiled and
grabbed it eagerly, rubbing it against his face. “This one! I’ve always wanted
to know if it was as soft as it looked!”
Now it was Derek’s
turn to blink in surprise, and Stiles’ face definitely turned a red that had
nothing to do with how much sun he’d gotten.
“Um, let’s just
forget I said that,” he mumbled as he tugged the maroon sweater quickly over
his head, hiding his embarrassment as fast as he could. His hair, ridiculously windblown
before, was half-flattened, half-mussed by the time he tugged the sweater down,
and Derek reached over the brush it off his forehead before he even thought.
Stiles’ eyes were
very wide when he finished, and Derek swallowed, wishing he hadn’t done it, but
also not finding it in himself to regret it now that it was done. Finally. He’d
known the unspoken thing growing between them for years was bound to break one
way or another at some point. Brushing Stiles’ hair off his face while watching
sunset over the ocean was certainly nicer than anything he’d let himself
imagine.
“Hey, Derek?” Stiles
said, and it was low. Steady. A little nervous, but also a little… playful? Not
scared, definitely, and Derek was grateful, because hearing Stiles say his name
in fear at this moment might have broken him.
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m still
kinda cold.”
Derek knew a cue when
he heard one. He lifted his arm and Stiles slid over to fit himself against
Derek’s side, burrowing into his offered warmth with a murmured, “Mmmmm,
werewolfy space heater,” as Derek settled his arm around him and held on,
smiling into Stiles’ hair. He never wanted to let go.
They stayed there
until the sun had long disappeared over the horizon and the stars appeared to
dance over the water instead.
Stiles’ entire being trembled with fright. How did such a beautiful creature turn so horrid and mad in a matter of seconds? The Phantom’s face was burned and distorted, undoubtedly grotesque, but the terror that gripped his heart was caused by The Phantom’s anger, the wildness of a savage animal that he, for a moment, had become.
“I’m sorry,” a whisper quiet apology.
The Phantom froze, his back to Stiles, hands stretched out in an aborted move to grab the mask. It was silent, save for the gurgling water and Stiles thought the Phantom would never speak again. The prospect of never hearing his Angel Of Music seized at his throat. Stiles said it again, louder.
“I don’t need your pity,” came a reply, gravely and low.
“I do not pity you,” he said and then repeated, this time more heatedly. “I don’t.”
*
“Everyone has agood side and everyone has a bad one, only you have them both on the surface.” Stiles had leaned over and pressed his lips against the left and then, the right side of The Phantom’s face. Both kisses, feathery light and equal in measure were so warm, it sent shivers down The Phantom’s spine. He closed his eyes, half believing this was a dream and half praying it wasn’t.
“But you have been given a gift, Angel of Music, and you had shared it with me when I’ve given you nothing in return. You shine so brightly I cannot see your poor face. And I can’t bring myself to hate it.”
When the Phantom finally opened his eyes, they shone with tears.
Pack bonding at the gym… and thanks for all the nice messages about the other manip, this one was a bit harder to pull off but i tried. We’ll leave the walking dead one for next time 😉
Deaton jumped when the front door of the clinic slammed open and someone started smashing around in the front room. In the same instant he heard his name being called, desperately, frantically, and he opened the door to the back room. Derek stood at the edge of the front railing, unable to pass without permission.
Draped over his arm, listing as he tried to remain upright, was Stiles.
“We need help,” Derek said in a rush as Deaton crossed the space between them. As soon as the railing was unlatched, they stumbled forward. Deaton let them to the table in the back and helped Stiles to sit up on the edge of it.
“Why aren’t you at a hospital?” Deaton asked, tipping Stiles’ head back toward the light and looking at his pupils, nearly dilated to blackness. It was then that he noticed the blood, seeping through the thick cotton shirt over Stiles’ ribs.
“Chimera,” Derek explained. Deaton could see blood on his clothes, and more of it, but the wounds were closed or closing already. When Derek’s breath caught in his throat, Deaton looked up, met his pale gaze. “He took a direct hit from the tail.”
“It was – going – to bite – you,” Stiles bit out, sticky breaths punctuating between his words. Deaton could hear how tight his chest was.
Regret pooled in Deaton’s belly, because he knew what that meant. “It bit you.”
It took Stiles a few halting breaths before he was able to speak. “We killed – it.” He met Deaton’s eyes, brows scrunching in pain. “Now – fix – this.”
Eyes closing, unable to hold his stare, Deaton shook his head. “I can’t.”
Derek was on him in a second, claws out, snarling. “You have to.”
“I can’t!” he shouted back and both boys flinched. He shoved at Derek’s hands, knowing the wolf wouldn’t actually hurt him. “I told you to stay away from it for a reason.”
“It was -” Stiles managed, but the breath caught, stuck for a moment before he coughed. It sounded thick and strained. “Kids-”
“It was stalking kids, Deaton. Two little girls on their way home from the park,” Derek cut in, so that Stiles wouldn’t have to. “What were we supposed to do? Let it?”
Deaton sighed, glancing back to Stiles, who was giving him the same imploring look. Of course they all knew the answer. There was nothing else they could have done. Even if they had full knowledge of the potential cost, he knew they would have stepped in anyway.
“There’s no anti-venom,” he said softly, watching Derek stiffen and Stiles close his eyes like he’s already figured it out. “It’s a paralytic venom that will affect your whole body. It’s already affecting your lungs and eyes; it won’t be long before it affects your heart.”
“It – is,” Stiles said brokenly. “Dizzy.” He took a few breaths, staring at Derek until he found the strength to speak again. “Huh- how – long?”
“An hour,” Deaton said. It felt so final. “Maybe two.”
“Call – everyone,” Stiles pleaded. “Dad. Scott.” His breath dragged in and out, scraping in and out of his throat. Deaton wondered if it would even be an hour. “Please.”
Deaton threw a glance to Derek, but Derek had eyes only for Stiles. He could see the shine of tears in Derek’s eyes, the clean trails down his cheeks. He didn’t need to be a werewolf to hear the soft ‘no’ that whispered out of him.
“I’ll get them all here,” he assured Stiles, backing away to give them room. “I leave you two alone until then.”
Neither of them looked at him as he backed out of the room. The last thing he saw was Derek, pressing close between Stiles’ knees, touching their foreheads together. He stayed just long enough to see Stiles stiffly raise his arms, fingers gliding over the curve of Derek’s jaw, holding him there, holding him steady.
The last thing he heard was Stiles’ quiet it’s going to be okay, puppy before he closed the door and moved toward the phone.
Derek reached up, fingers encircling Stiles’ slender wrists, his eyes closed against reality. Stiles’ hands were cold on his jaw, his reassuring words a warm counterpoint that twisted in Derek’s gut. It’s going to be okay, puppy.
“It’s not,” Derek told him softly, touching his nose to Stiles’. It was cold, too. “It’s not supposed to end like this.” He could barely get the words past the lump in his throat.
A small puff of laughter brushed over Derek’s lips. “Tell me,” Stiles murmured, voice all rasp and gravel. “How it – ends.”
Sliding his hands up Stiles’ arms, then down his sides to rest on his hips, Derek nodded. “It doesn’t, not for a long time,” he said, quiet and wobbly. “Not until after I propose to you, and you say yes.”
“How do you – ask?” Stiles shifted a little, stiff and slow, and Derek moved with him, letting him bury his cold nose in the crook of Derek’s neck.
“Out in the woods where we met,” Derek told him. He’d thought about it. He even had the money set aside in his savings.
“Lame,” Stiles croaked, fingers curling at the nape of Derek’s neck. “I’m gonna – do it first.” He took a moment to breathe and Derek felt like his chest was being crushed as well. “At the – aquarium. — First date.”
A broken laugh escaped Derek, the edge of a sob as he grasped at Stiles a little tighter. “Marry me,” he said in a rush.
“Okay,” Stiles replied, breath stuttering as he chuckled. “And then?”
“And then we’ll get married,” Derek told him, knowing his voice was strained, feeling the tears tracking down his cheeks as he focused on Stiles’ labored heartbeat. The others weren’t going to make it in time. “We’ll get real jobs, and a real house. We’ll get really comfortable couches and the biggest bed that will fit and we’ll paint it whatever colors we want.”
“I lo-” Stiles halted, swallowing to try to clear his throat even though there was no way it could help. “I love…” He pressed his nose against Derek’s skin, slippery with tears. “You.”
“I know,” Derek said, voice catching. He knew why Stiles said it; he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to speak. “I love you too, Stiles.”
“Tell — them?”
“Of course,” Derek assured him, eyes closing tight. “Everyone. I’ll watch your dad, and Scott. I’ll keep them safe for you. I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, too.”
“Not — your —- fault,” Stiles told him. Derek felt his grip tightening just a little, like he needed Derek to believe him.
“Okay,” Derek said, though he knew it would never be the truth. Stiles had taken the attack to save him.
“House,” Stiles prompted, and Derek felt his eyes slide closed against his neck.
Derek wasn’t sure he could find the words to tell Stiles all of the future he wanted. “Yeah, a house,” he agreed, hands trembling as he smoothed them up and then down Stiles’ sides. “And a cat, or a dog, or whatever you want.”
“Kid,” Stiles supplied, a barely scraped out word.
“A kid, okay,” Derek agreed instantly, fresh tears leaping to his eyes, his throat closing up around the thought. “A little girl.”
“Laura,” Stiles said. His chest was heaving stiffly with the effort of drawing breath, his heartbeat so slow in Derek’s ears.
“I was thinking Claudia,” Derek said, the corner of his lip twitching up at the name. He’d been so afraid to tell Stiles any of this. It didn’t seem fair to be telling him now.
“Sof— softie,” Stiles accused on a breath. Derek had time to count between heartbeats now.
“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Anything for you. That’s how it’s supposed to go, Stiles. We’re supposed to get jobs and a house and a family, and watch terrible movies and have Sunday brunch and take summer vacations.” He knew he was rambling now, pouring out the things Stiles should have heard from him all along. “We’re supposed to grow old together, to yell at kids to get off our lawn and hold hands on the front porch and fall asleep next to each other every night forever. Stiles, please,” Derek mumbled brokenly against him.
But Stiles’ grip had gone slack around Derek’s neck, his heart no longer beating beneath Derek’s palms.
Stiles blinked open dry eyes to a pale white ceiling, marred only by blurry yellow light. Low voices filtered in from the hall, and electronic noises beeped somewhere Stiles could not see.
Something whirred, and Stiles felt his chest move, felt air flood his lungs. He did not fight it, did not pull the tube from his throat, just let the machine breathe for him.
He shifted his head as much as he could, a tiny fraction to his right, and caught sight of Scott curled up in a chair by the door, asleep.
Somewhere, a machine started to scream, and darkness swallowed Stiles whole.
————
When he next struggled back to consciousness, it was dark. A sliver of light cut the room, falling over the lumpy form slouched in the chair. His dad, he thought.
The machine whirred, still breathing for Stiles. Maybe it still had to. Maybe it always would. He surrendered his tenuous hold on consciousness before he could worry too much about it.
————
Stiles’ body ached the third time he woke, but at least the tube had gone. An invisible anvil rested on his chest, each breath a struggle, but at least he was breathing of his own accord. He rasped in once, twice, three slow times before he realized there was something in his hand.
Fighting the lethargy pulling him down, he turned his head to the left and found he was not alone. Derek sat with his head on the edge of the bed, his hand curled into Stiles’.
“Derek,” Stiles managed, voice like scratching sandpaper over raw granite.
Derek stirred and then startled, his hand tightening reflexively. “Stiles,” he breathed out, looking like he might just climb right into the bed. His eyes were human red, the sort that told Stiles he’d been crying enough even werewolf healing had gotten tired of fixing it.
“I’m alive?” he asked. It hurt to talk even that much.
A small, broken laugh puffed out of Derek. “You’re alive,” he said, like maybe he hadn’t been sure until that moment either.
“How?” Stiles asked, confused. He’d felt his heart stop. He’d had a moment after that, listening to Derek call his name, unable to respond. He’d died listening to Derek beg him not to go.
Apparently, he’d listened for once.
“Scott,” Derek told him, glancing toward the empty doorway. Stiles guessed his best friend wasn’t far, probably taking care of his dad for him. “He found a way to counteract the venom’s effects, a little. Enough.”
“I died,” Stiles said, voice shaking. Surreal did not begin to cover the way saying that aloud felt.
“Yes,” Derek said, choking on the word. His hand squeezed tighter and he leaned in to press his forehead to Stiles’. “You died. Alan brought you back and kept your heart going until Melissa got here with the drug and they brought you here.”
“Hurts,” Stiles managed. He could barely keep his eyes open.
Derek huffed another relieved laugh, and stroked a hand over Stiles clammy hair. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Cracked your sternum while Deaton found a human defibrillator.”
“Then he defillibrated me,” Stiles said, slurring and fuzzy, and he knew that wasn’t the right word. “Iluv you,” he slurred. That was important. It was important Derek knew that. “Love…”
“I know. I love you too, Stiles,” Derek said, kissing his forehead. It felt like floating. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re going to be fine.”
Creature of change it’s me who unveins, choking on tethers and weather, no Invading my veins, replacing my name, ’til I become you, and I’m shapeshifting.
Stiles disturbs an abandoned temple and catches the attention of a goddess of time and fate. When he starts time-traveling involuntarily through the past, he’s not sure if she means it as a curse or a lesson–but no matter when he travels to, he always seems to end up at Derek’s side.
Made for the @sterekreversebang – check out the other art and stories being posted, too!
Dad!Sterek- I don’t know about you, but one of my all-time
favorite things is Derek and Stiles as parents! Be they single parents,
just meeting for the first time, have been married for twenty-five years
and already seven kids, or fall somewhere in between, I just love these
two as dads, and I hope you do too! The only requirement for this one
is that one or both of the pair have atleast one child, let your
imagination go all soft and fluffy for this adorable theme!
Don’t forget to tag with sterekbingo2018 and sbdads !
theproblemwithstardust 