Stiles dies on a Tuesday. His body just finally gives out. After months and months of getting weaker and drifting further away from sanity. As he suffered, it seemed like the days dragged on and on, but when it was finally over, everyone realized how quickly his time was up.
Eighteen and still a virgin, but so, so in love. Derek was it for him. If he would have lived to be one hundred, Derek still would have been it for him. Derek loved Stiles, too. And, his heart broke so many times during the long months.
…
"Where's Derek?" Stiles asks his dad one afternoon.
The sheriff looks across the bed at the leather-clad man. "Stiles, do you know who that is?" He points to the man beside the bed.
Stiles turns to look. "No."
"What does Derek look like?" Derek's voice wavers.
Stiles smiles. "He's tall, and he wears leather. His hair is perfect, and his scruff scratches me when we kiss. His eyes are the most beautiful things I've ever seen. His eyebrows are like two big wooly worms staring longingly at each other who only get to kiss when he scrunches his face together." He raises his hands and mimics them kissing each other. He laughs, but when he looks back at Derek he freezes. "Derek?!"
The man smiles sadly. "Hey."
"No!" Stiles shoots out of the bed and into Derek's arms. "No! I don't want to lose you, too!" The young boy sobs for the rest of the day until he falls asleep.
"Where's Derek?" Stiles asks his dad.
The sheriff glances across the bed at Derek, again. "Stiles, do you know who that is?" He points to help Stiles know where to look.
"No."
"Stiles, what does Derek look like?" Derek asks. This has been their routine for the past few weeks.
"I don't know," Stiles shrugs. "But I miss him. He doesn't come see me anymore. Maybe it's because I stink." He looks at his dad. "I'm going to go get a shower, so maybe he'll come back." He starts to get up.
"No, Stiles, you can't." The sheriff pulls the covers back up.
"Why?... Oh yeah." He turns to Derek. "My feet don't work anymore," he explains with a strange smile on his face. But, then he gasps and tears start to pour down his face. "Do you think that's why he doesn't come anymore?!"
"NO," Derek barks. 'I've been here every day' he wants to say. "He's just been busy. He'll be here tomorrow. I promise. He'll be here or else."
"Or else what?" Stiles snarks.
"Or else I'll rip his throat out with my teeth."
Stiles laughs and smiles again. "He'd like you."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I do. I like you, too."
Eventually, he gets to the point that nothing he says makes any sense. No one realizes until it's too late that their last good conversation was their last conversation with him. He still talks of course- a Stiles, no matter what it is, will never be quiet. It's just that he doesn't use real words anymore. Still, he's fairly content to just babble for hours on end. He even writes everyone a letter and proudly yet gravely gives them to them. No one has the heart to point out that the notes are just lines and scribbles. He probably wouldn't understand anyway.
Three days before he dies, he goes to sleep. He doesn't wake up.
…
So, yes, Stiles dies on a Tuesday. His body just finally gives out. The funeral is beautiful- well, as beautiful as a funeral can be. He is buried in a plot overlooking the Preserve. Derek sits by the headstone that Stiles picked out himself and refuses to leave for two days.
That's how the Sheriff finds him- huddled by the stone sobbing into the fresh sod.
"Son, come on home." He kneels beside him and helps him stand.
"I love him."
"I know."
When they get back to the Stilinski house, Derek sees it as both a blessing and a curse because he can still smell Stiles. He tries to keep his emotions in check because he knows everyone else needs support, too. He sits down beside Scott and looks at the Sheriff.
"You already got your letters from Stiles- he hand delivered them to you." He forces a harsh chuckle past his lips. "Let's face it, though, all those were just scribbles. But, he tried, so it counts." He picks up a stack of papers. "I found these stacked under his bed when the hospital came to pick it up. He wrote them quite a while ago."
Each friend gingerly takes the letter from the Sheriff when he passes them out. Jackson. Allison. Lydia. Scott. Derek. The Sheriff has already read his.
Everyone cries when they read them. Well, everyone except Derek. "What the heck is this, Stiles?" Derek is used to anger; it's so much easier than grief.
"What?" the Sheriff asks.
"There has to be a missing page or something," Derek hisses. "They all get a full page of heartfelt words and I get one sentence?!"
The Sheriff takes the paper from him and reads it. 'I will haunt your kitchen cabinets til the day you die' is written in Stiles' best handwriting. "Derek, I'm sure there's more. We'll look through his room."
They never find anything.
Eventually, Derek moves on. He loses his anger, gets back to grieving, and tries to live his life again.
…
The first time it happens, Derek is not amused. There's an open can of tuna in the cabinet above his sink.
"Who did it?" he growls at his pack. "Who left tuna in my kitchen? You know I hate it!"
No one admits to it.
The next day, the Cheerios are out of the box and lined up in neat little rows around the canned goods.
On Thursday, he finds that his perfectly alphabetized cans, jars, and boxes are all switched around.
On Friday, his cabinets are completely empty. He's had enough.
"Who is doing this!?" His pack cowers under his roar.
"No one, Derek," Scott whines.
"It's not funny! You know what my letter from Stiles said. Whoever is doing this needs to stop!"
"It's not us!" Scott shouts. "Do you really think we would make fun of his thoughtless ramblings by messing with the stuff in your kitchen?!"
"Someone's doing it!"
"Maybe it's Stiles," Lydia supplies.
"You've got to be kidding me." Derek frowns. "You want me to believe that my dead boyfriend is messing with me?"
"Sounds like Stiles to me," Jackson adds.
Derek huffs and stalks out of the room.
On Saturday, all his food is back.
On Sunday, it's gone again, but his cabinets are re-stocked with plenty of dog food.
One day, all of his jars are turned upside down.
He opens up the doors one morning to make pancakes. There's nothing unusual, so he counts that as a win. He finishes the pancakes and opens the refrigerator to get his syrup. He sighs; warm syrup will have to do this time. He opens up the cabinet… and finds an actual real life birthday cake- with lit candles- sitting where his cereal should be.
"No way." He pokes it and gets icing on his finger. "I was in the kitchen the whole time!" He can almost hear Stiles laughing.
…
Years go by, and each and every day Derek finds something different about the goods inside his cabinets. He's old now and tired. His old werewolf bones creak when he sits down on his sofa. Turning his television on, he sees a show that he forgot even existed. Psych. Oh my gosh, Stiles loved that show.
Deciding to watch it, he settles into the soft cushions. He may or may not pretend that the one and only love of his life is sitting beside him. He's half asleep when he hears it.
"…day you die."
He uses the DVR to rewind the scene. Shawn and Gus are on a boat… or a ship, whatever. Shawn turns to his best friend. "Hey, if I'm gonna die you better be right behind me, or I will haunt your kitchen cabinets til the day you die!"
Derek watches the scene a few more times before he laughs. He turns off the tv, goes into the bedroom, lies down, and finally lets go.
…
He wakes up young again and lying in the forest. He hears laughter and looks around.
"Hey!" Stiles smiles and runs to him. "There you are!" The teen jumps in Derek's lap. "I've been looking for you! What took you so long?"
"I didn't get it. Your message, I mean. I didn't understand what you meant. I forgot that Psych even existed."
"Le gasp!" Stiles covers his chest in fake shock. "Shawn Spencer is my spirit animal, Derek. How could you forget?!" He smiles at his boyfriend and kisses him. "You're here now, that's all that matters.
"Why didn't I get a real letter?"
Stiles cocks his head to the side. "What?"
"Why didn't I get a real letter, like everyone else did?" Derek runs his fingers through Stiles' hair.
"I'm sorry. I was selfish, I guess. But, I wanted to tell you all that stuff myself." Stiles sighs. "Here, let me tell you now." He pulls a small journal out of his pocket. "Derek, Sourwolf, How do I love thee. Let me count the ways. I love you. Every bit of you. I love your bunny teeth. I love your eyes. I love your butt." He laughs and kisses Derek again. "Shall I keep going, or am I finally going to lose my virginity?"
Derek laughs. "I love you, Stiles.
Stiles preens. "Loved you once, love you still."
"Always have and always will."