Of course, this was the way they were going to be reunited.
In the middle of a fight, when there was a really big, fat chance that someone would end up dead.
Fuck his life, seriously.
He lost count of how many times he wished and dreamt of this moment, for then promptly push away all the feelings and hopes that would accompany them, because he had no right to feel like that, because he was happy now. And Derek deserved to be happy, away from the shitshow that had become life in Beacon Hills.
But against all hopes, and wishful thinking, Derek was, finally, really, there. And Stiles had never wanted anything, since he’s whished for his dad to be okay, more than he wished, ironically, that Derek stayed away.
Stiles couldn’t take it if something happened to him. He just couldn’t.
And that’s why he threw himself in front of him, before the pointed end of the cane that one of the dread doctors had thrown could hit Derek.
He went down in a thump, hitting the ground hard. But the pain from the fall was nothing compared to the blinding, wrenching pain in his shoulder.
He passed out when he touched the spot where the spear was still impaling him. The blood rushing in his veins and a loud and angry growl, the last things he heard, before he finally let himself slip into darkness.
The annoying beeping sound coming somewhere too close to him, was the first thing his brain registered. The stomach-churning pain when he tried to move, the second.
His throat was possibly, the driest it had ever been, and water was everything he could think of, in that moment.
He groaned against the inhuman effort that it took him to finally pry open his eyes, and look at the equally worried and relieved expression on his dad’s face. “Water,” he asked, voice scratchy.
His dad jumped into action and poured him a glass from the jar on the bedside table. Ever so gently he helped him sit up and finally, Stiles took a sip.
He sighed, wetting his parched lips. Water had never tasted so good.
“You scared the hell out of me, kid.” His dad said, choking a little. “Never do that to me again.”
Stiles squeezed his hand with the little strength he could muster, “Right back atcha.” Then something jolted him, maybe it was the sudden concentrated pain to his shoulder as he started to lay back on the bed, or maybe it was the both relieved and exasperated look on his father’s face, that made him remember the reason why he was there. “Derek?” he asked, starting to panic as he remembered the growl he heard just before he passed out.
His dad turned to look at the closed door, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he looked back at Stiles, “He’s right outside. He’s okay.” He said and his eyes softened when he probably caught the relief written all over Stiles’ face.
Stiles was well past, feeling self-conscious at having his dad knowing exactly how much he cared about the frowny werewolf.
After all, his dad was the one that held him, when he’d wake up from his nightmares, and sometimes Derek’s name was uttered in the same way he’d just done, and the sheriff would reply in the same “He’s okay” just to ease him back to sleep.
Except that those were dreams, and this was finally reality.
“He’s really okay?” Stiles asked again, his voice cracking a little.
His dad nodded, “Pretty sure, he’s pacing a hole on the floor, too.”
Just then the door opened, and said werewolf poked his head inside, worried frown in place.
The sheriff snorted a little and stood up, from where he was sitting on the chair at Stiles’ bedside, “I’ll give you two a moment.” He said smiling down at his son, and pausing to give a firm squeeze on Derek’s shoulder before he walked out the room.
Derek watched him go, and waited until the door was closed before he finally turned to look at Stiles. The concerned expression on Derek’s face, making something twist inside him. He felt raw and exposed like this, he wasn’t sure he could go through a conversation with the person he’d wished to see again more times than he cared to admit, without breaking down.
“That was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” Derek said suddenly.
Stiles blinked a little in surprise, Derek’s tone was a little harsh, but his eyes betrayed the worry and something that almost looked like awe. He tried to shrug, but the movement caused another jolt of pain going through his shoulder and he flinched.
Derek was immediately at his side, “What is it?”
“Shoulder,” he mumbled and watched Derek frown again. “You should really stop that, you’re gonna have so many lines by the tim-ah. –oh.” He sighed as he felt the pain being leeched away, tanks to Derek’s super amazing wolfie powers.
“That was really stupid, Stiles.” Derek repeated as he sat down, on the chair the sheriff had just vacated, and Stiles would totally roll his eyes if he weren’t feeling amazingly loose limbed and relaxed right now.
“You’re stupider,” he mumbled, “for coming back. The dread doctors-” he started, eyes flying open, “The others, what-”
“It’s over.” Derek said and Stiles gaped, not comprehending.
Derek stroked the inside of his wrist, as he continued to leech the pain away from Stiles’ aching body, “The chimeras, the beast, the doctors, they’re all gone.”
Stiles felt his eyes moisten, suddenly feeling completely overwhelmed by all the emotions he was feeling all at once. He almost couldn’t believe it at first, so much time they had spent trying to stay alive and save people; miserably failing the second part and barely managing the first, and now they had finally done it.
“I thought I’d never see you again.” He said, because in that moment it felt like the most important thing he could say.
The rubbing on his wrist stopped and Derek’s eyes grew sad. “I’m sorry, I left.”
Stiles shook his head, “No, you had to.” He moved his hand so that he could find Derek’s fingers and squeeze a little, “I imagined you living a happy life, away from all the pain here, and I was happy for you.” He said sincerely, “I didn’t want to see you hurt ever again.”
Derek’s eyes moistened and he quickly looked down, rubbing them with his free hand, “That’s why you got yourself impaled?” he asked, his voice rougher than before, “You didn’t want me to get hurt?”
“Yeah.” Stiles said simply.
“Doesn’t mean, you have to get hurt.” Stiles countered, feeling angry. Not at Derek but at everything wrong that had happened in his life. “Just because you can heal faster, doesn’t mean that you can’t get hurt.”
There was a pause, when Derek just looked at Stiles, eyes bright and full of awe. And Stiles felt like crying again. “I tried.” Derek swallowed, “But I couldn’t stay away from you.”
Stiles breath caught, “From the pack?”
Derek shook his head, and stood up. “From you.” He repeated leaning down, to drop a gentle kiss on his forehead.
Stiles closed his eyes and sighed, “What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Derek whispered, his hands raking through Stiles’ hair.
“Will you stay?”
Derek’s hand moved down to stroke his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
And Stiles believed him.
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