Stiles was a ghost. Or invisible. Or something. No one could see or hear him. He couldn’t interact with the world.
The problem was that he didn’t understand how he’d arrived at his current non-corporeal—or was it intangible?—state.
It was odd. Not to mention somewhat distressing.
He could remember yesterday. He’s pretty sure he went to bed but can’t quite remember. Stiles also doesn’t remember waking up—he’s not dreaming, he totally counted his fingers.
He remembers yesterday and now—today?—he simply is, except for how he isn’t.
Because he’s a ghost. Or something.
Stiles considers his options. While he can’t do anything, not really, that doesn’t mean he’s about to stand around doing nothing. Especially if he isn’t actually dead. Or even if he is.
Maybe he should go to his apartment and see if his corpse is there.
Wait… why is he in Derek’s loft?
This—he realizes with glee—is a golden opportunity to observe the sourwolf in his natural habitat, when no one is around. Stiles can admit that he’s maybe spent too much time thinking about what Derek does with his time.
Stiles usually assumed he spent his time brooding and working out. Or flexing in the mirror. Stiles thought Derek could be the sort of douche who did that.
There were no lights on in Derek’s place. The view and night sky through the massive windows were kind of nice. Stiles guessed that no one was home, until he jolted in surprise when he spotted Derek sitting in an armchair near the windows.
Just… sitting there. In the dark. Doing nothing as far as Stiles could tell.
Welp, Stiles called it. Derek totally spent his time brooding. In the dark, no less. Could he be any more of a cliche?
Stiles hung around for a while. The entire time, Derek didn’t move or do anything. He just sat. Brooding.
He got bored and left. Time to check his place for a corpse.
He was definitely a ghost. Or something.
Not invisible because he couldn’t open doors but he could walk through them. It was how he’d left Derek’s loft. How, exactly, he walked up the stairs but went through the door, Stiles didn’t know.
The problem with trying to leave and check his apartment was that he couldn’t leave. He could walk through the door but returned to the loft. He could walk through whatever in the loft but not out.
So frustrating!
God, he really hoped he wasn’t dead. If he was, this might actually be hell.
Stiles could probably deal if Derek had the TV on. Of course, that would involve owning a TV. The point was, with Derek doing nothing but sitting in the dark Stiles was bored and under-stimulated.
He couldn’t even snoop through Derek’s things! Sure, he could stick his head in a closet but there was no light when he did that.
Boring.
So boring.
Eventually, Derek got up and got ready for bed. His nighttime routine was pretty mundane.
Brush teeth. Use the washroom. Take off clothes–
Stiles’ brain sort of stalled out on that last one. Sure, he’d seen Derek in all states of undress but he’d never actually seen him naked. It was dark and once Stiles realized what was happening, he’d turned away.
Still got a flash of a truly magnificent ass.
He had certain… urges and feelings concerning Derek but he wouldn’t objectify him like that.
Morning came and with it, the exercise Stiles had expected. For the first hour, it’d been really hot.
But as Stiles watched Derek push himself into his fourth consecutive hour of working out—face grimacing in pain—he became concerned.
This… this wasn’t working out. Derek wasn’t doing this for exercise or even vanity.
It was becoming clear that his ‘punishing’ workouts really were about punishing himself. Stiles helplessly watched as Derek pushed himself past his limits over and over again, trying to keep ahead of his healing.
The guy had done so many pull-ups his fingers were bleeding.
It was horrible.
Eventually he stopped. Or… he eventually passed out from pain and exhaustion. Then and only then did he stop.
After, he showered and ate.
Then he settled into the armchair and brooded.
The working out had left Stiles feeling unsettled. Troubled.
But then evening rolled around and it’d gotten dark while Derek sat and brooded.
Stiles had been restlessly moving around the loft, not paying too much attention. When it got worse.
All the other times he’d been around while Derek had been brooding, Stiles had only seen him from behind. The armchair faced the window and Stiles only watched for a few moments before being too bored to do it anymore.
So he’d been pacing around and come abreast of the window, where he could see Derek in profile.
And…
Stiles hadn’t known his heart could ache for Derek. That it could break and yearn to comfort him.
He wasn’t sure if Derek cried the entire time he brooded but he was definitely crying now.
Silently. In the dark. Tears slowly leaving glistening trails down his face.
It was devastating.
Once upon a time, Stiles had obsessively researched the fire and all its details. It was, after all, how he’d been drawn into the supernatural.
So he knew that eleven people were trapped. Peter had been the only survivor. And Cora but they only found that out later.
Final count: nine of his pack members had died.
Stiles remembers how one death had almost destroyed his family.
Derek made it easy to forget. His attitude wasn’t one that engendered sympathy.
Stiles wondered how many birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions haunted Derek’s year. Could he go even a week without being reminded?
How did he keep on going, day after day, year after year?
Fuck, how did he keep going from one hour to the next if this is what his life was like?
It’d been three days of him being intangible or a ghost or something. Three days of watching Derek punish himself through exercise and brood (read: cry alone, in the dark).
He never left the loft.
No one called. He didn’t call anyone.
For the first time since they’d met, Stiles felt sorry for Derek.
Stiles might be dead and a ghost—or something—but he was pretty sure he was still more alive than Derek.
The thing is… while Stiles occasionally thought about Derek and wondered what he did, it was infrequent and mostly fleeting. He, maybe, spent a bit more time daydreaming about the times he’d seen Derek working out wearing nearly nothing.
But that was between him and darkness, late at night.
See… things calmed down after they all graduated high school. They’d all sort of gone to college and left Derek behind. He was still the alpha but—with things calm—most of the pack had stopped attending the meetings. Those that had been friends (or become friends) hung out and socialized with each other. The whole pack only got together a few times a year—usually when Stiles organized something.
Stiles, of course, still attended the weekly meetings (he was too fucking anxious to not attend). A lot of the time, it was just him and Derek. Even after all these years, Stiles still didn’t know how to relate to him.
Derek wasn’t as angry and aggressive as he’d been but… he was still pretty grim and dour. Stiles did his best to add some levity but… those pack meetings were awkward.
He tried his best, though!
He’d ramble for about an hour while Derek just stared. Then the awkwardness would become too much and he’d flee.
They weren’t friends and didn’t see each other or communicate outside of those pack meetings.
It’s been long enough that if Stiles were dead, someone should’ve noticed. And if someone noticed, they’d call Derek, right? Let him know?
He might not be dead. It could be a spell or a curse or something but someone should’ve noticed and told Derek.[afraid]
Because he’s watching Derek wait for him to show up for the weekly pack meeting and it hurts in a way he’d never expected.
Because he’d watched as Derek got himself together. The wolf putting work into cleaning up around the loft. Spent time grooming—something that he hadn’t devoted much time to in the days Stiles had been haunting the loft.
There was almost a… pep in his step. Or, at least, some life and light in his eyes as he moved around.
Derek was looking forward to the pack meeting. The one day he was guaranteed to see someone—usually Stiles.
It occurred to him that Derek was a werewolf and wolves needed packs. Stiles was pretty sure that Derek only had enough pack to prevent him from losing his alpha status and becoming an omega.
Obviously, he’d be excited—or as excited as he could be—to see a beta. Even if that beta was Stiles.
But…
Stiles wasn’t coming. Because he was already here.
And…
Derek sat and waited expectantly. For once, not in the armchair. As minutes ticked by the usual start time, he drooped more and more.
Finally, after the usual hour passed, he dropped his face in his hands and wept. Not the silent crying but… like. Wept. Still silent but… fuck.
Stiles couldn’t watch this. Except he still couldn’t leave.
Derek pulled himself together after a few minutes. Then he pulled out his phone. Probably sending Stiles a rude text demanding to know where he was.
At least he’d know something was up, now. Stiles always answered. He might’ve grown up but anxiety didn’t magically fade away and he always worried that something bad was going to happen. These things frequently started with a text or call from Derek.
After fifteen minutes of no reply passed, Derek frowned at his phone. Stiles would’ve replied by now. In over five years, he’d never gone more than fifteen minutes without replying to Derek.
Derek eventually dialled the phone, “Sheriff Stilinski? Do you know where Stiles is?”
Good first choice, big guy. With Scott out of the picture, his dad was the best bet. Stiles didn’t spend much time with the other betas.
Derek’s eyebrows looked concerned, “You haven’t spoken to him in a few days. He didn’t show up for the pack meeting and he didn’t answer my text,” a pause, “This isn’t like him. I understand that he’s human and an adult but he always comes and answers my texts,” Stiles watched as Derek listened, his eyebrows getting severe, “No, it’s okay. I’ll go check on him.”
Derek hung up and Stiles hoped that his problem would be fixed soon.
It turned out that Stiles wasn’t trapped in the loft. Instead, he seemed to be tethered to Derek. When Derek left, Stiles got pulled along.
He was grateful since waiting alone would’ve been agonizing.
Eventually, Derek reached his apartment and climbed in through the window. His place was on the third floor. Stiles was mostly happy that he apparently floated along like a balloon and didn’t have to climb.
They didn’t find his bloated and decomposing corpse. That was good. Unless he’d died somewhere else.
He watched as Derek sniffed around. Opening the fridge and looking at some food beginning to spoil. A half-finished cup of coffee.
Clear signs that Stiles had been there but like he’d left suddenly. Almost like he’d vanished to become Derek’s ghost balloon.
Derek searched. As it got later, the searching became frantic. Almost surprisingly so.
Stiles knew that Derek would die to protect his pack. He was the alpha, after all. But Stiles had always assumed it was out of duty more than anything else. And if there had been something else, he never thought Derek truly cared about Stiles.
Derek started calling the other betas. Only Boyd answered and he immediately came to help. Also very surprising.
They didn’t find him and it gave Stiles hope that he wasn’t dead.
Not a ghost but something.
As much as Stiles had been stunned to realize how… empty Derek’s life was, it also wasn’t that surprising. That it impacted Derek so much? Yes, that was surprising. That wolf who’d lost everything had an empty life? Not all that surprising, really.
Stiles was surprised to realize that his life was just as empty.
It took Derek two days to convince his dad—much less the rest of the pack—that something was wrong.
Derek had been the first to notice and the first to be alarmed.
It made Stiles angry. Because he might have ADHD and get distracted but he was fucking reliable and they should all know it. When he didn’t show up for things, it was because there was a good fucking reason.
And yet…
Everyone seemed to think he was flaky and nothing was out of the ordinary.
Once everyone was convinced… they searched. And found nothing.
His dad was upset but could only leverage police resources for so long. He also had his regular job to do. Everyone else had lives too.
So after a week… he was reported missing and only Derek was still searching.
At least he wasn’t spending hours every day crying alone and in the dark.
Stiles wasn’t sure this was any healthier, even if he appreciated it.
A week turned into a month. Derek was paying his rent and taking care of other details.
He was also still searching. Not as frantically but with as much dedication. Stiles was fucking touched.
But he could also tell that it was having a really negative effect on Derek, who seemed to be sinking into despair.
It was like he’d been treading water before. Barely staying afloat in his ocean of grief and sorrow but still pushing onwards.
He had more reason to push these days but… every day he couldn’t find Stiles seemed to pull him under just a bit more.
“Stiles,” Derek said, tears sliding down his cheeks, “Where are you? I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer. That I never told you that I looked forward to seeing you every week. That I kept my distance because I was afraid that another person I loved would die. Fuck. I wasted so much time. I don’t think I can do this again.”
Stiles heard Derek and, no, he refused to be the reason why Derek Hale finally gave up. Not after all he’s been through and survived.
He fucking refused.
Stiles screamed in his rage and frustration. It wasn’t the first time. But…
It was the first time he wasn’t doing it for himself. This time, it was all for Derek.
And if there was one thing the universe needed to fucking understand about Stiles Stilinski, it was that he didn’t give up on the people he loved.
(Stiles challenges anyone to spend months watching Derek fight for them and not fall in love.)
He didn’t give up and he wasn’t going to start now. Not when Derek needed him more than anyone ever had.
Stiles screamed and he pushed and pushed and pushed.
The world… exploded.
“I swear to god, sourwolf, you better not fucking think about giving up!” Stiles shouted.
Derek spun at his voice, eyes wide, inhaling deeply, “Stiles!”
Stiles was having real trouble breathing, with how tightly Derek was hugging him. Taking big, gulping breaths like he needed Stiles’ scent to live. Stiles didn’t care because he was clutching just as tightly.
He was never letting go.
AfraidA part of him is afraid no one has noticed. He has a bit more going on with his life than Derek but… not that much more. There’s a bunch of reasons for that… Scott moving away to be with Allison. His general inability to make friends. Having a more grown-up and balanced relationship with his dad. Still, his work would’ve noticed by now.[return to text]