Hello everyone!

So, I am new to this fandom. I finished watching 5A and I miss Derek, so I started reading fics about Derek and the pack. As it seems I like this pairing. This is the way I wanted season 5A to end.

Hope you like it!

Diclaimer: I don't own the show Teen Wolf or its characters.

Warnings: Panic attacks. A couple of f-words here and there. Near death experience.

Enjoy!

Stiles knew Theo Raeken's reappearance was suspicious. His gut told him not to trust the guy. He had been gone all those years and just like that he comes back with a pair of claws and golden eyes and that was that?! No. Stiles refused to believe that. Especially when most times it seemed as though he knew more than he was letting on. He was supposed to be a newcomer to the crazy life that was Beacon Hills, but the guy took everything in stride. It was as if he already knew what he was getting into. He wanted to be a part of Scott's pack and he didn't blink an eye at what the pack has been facing. If anyone had told Stiles about the Dread Doctors when all he knew was that Scott had been bitten by a werewolf and his inhaler had been dropped somewhere in the Hale territory, he would have freaked. No kidding. He would have freaked out, all blinking eyes and flailing limbs and running mouth reminding you that life was not some crazy fictional book you lately found out about. So, no, forgive him, but he didn't trust Theo. And he had every right not to trust him especially after his latest psychopathic ultimatum.

Roscoe had broken down once again and like the devil himself, Theo had appeared in front of him. At that moment he could see his true colors. The manic glint in his eyes, the barely there self-satisfying smirk on his face, the stance of his body… they were all telling him Theo was enjoying this, his pain, his agony. Maybe a little too much. He admitted to being the monster that started everything, the first chimera. He told him what he was really looking for. Theo told him the real reason he was in Beacon Hills, his ideal pack. How he came for the Werecoyote whose first instinct is to kill. How he's here for the Banshee, the one surrounded by imminent unavoidable death. He came for the Dark Kitsune, the Beta with anger issues. He came for Void Stiles. The one who didn't hesitate to land the final stab to his enemy. The one whose only rule was kill or be killed. Scott was nowhere in the mix. And then he twisted the knife in his heart one last time, "You can't save Scott and your Dad's life."

There was no question about what Stiles' choice was going to be. Scott was his brother, but he was also a True Alpha. He had what it took to go against the supernatural and come out on the winning side. His father didn't and he was all he had left. Theo had gotten inside Scott's head. Scott didn't believe him when he said he had no other choice with Donovan. He didn't trust him anymore. He needed him to be away and he accepted that. It frustrated him and it made him mad that his own best friend didn't trust him, but Theo was probably better than Stiles had originally thought. And his father… His father had always been there. Stiles had not been an easy child to raise, especially for a single dad. But the Sheriff had done the best he could and he could never thank him enough for that. His father was his everything. He was the constant in his life that made him see he wasn't dreaming. He was the only one that mattered now. He would never forgive himself if he didn't save him, if he was too late.

He didn't hesitate as he drove to the address that was sent to his phone immediately after Theo was out of his sight. Theo was cautious, he'd give him that. He was rightly cautious to be far away from Stiles when he confirmed that his best friend and father were both in danger. If Theo had still been near him at the time, Stiles would have…

No. He shook his head violently. No, he wasn't going to think like that. That's what Theo wanted, to see him lose it, to see him let the animalistic homicidal side that was hidden inside every human covered by the right emotions and morals. He wanted to see him become like him, barely human, and that was something he refused to give him.

He didn't waste another thought on him. He drove faster that the speed limit allowed into the night, racing through the empty streets of Beacon Hills to that abandoned building Liam and Hayden had been held in, the one with the enormous hole in the wall as if Hulk had gone right through it.

He took the keys off of the ignition as he stopped in front of the place the address had directed him at. It was dark. It looked as if no one had lived in there for years. Maybe that was true. But it wasn't empty now. Now Stiles' father was inside.

Stiles didn't hesitate; he ran into the house and looked for his dad. He found him in a poorly lit room and… oh God. There was blood. There was so much blood and Stiles had no idea what to do.

"Dad," he whispered as he ran towards him knowing he could hear him. He kneeled by his side clumsily and held his hand. He could see he was trying to keep his eyes open, he was trying to hold on.

"Dad, dad, dad," he said again and again hoping for a reaction but nothing came.

"No, no, no, no," the panic started overwhelming him and he wasn't going to lose it damn it! Not now. Not when his father needed him. He wasn't about to lose him.

"Dad, look at me." He didn't, but Stiles didn't stop trying.

"Dad, please." Tears were blurring his vision and he was fighting to keep them at bay. He needed to focus. "Everything's going to be okay," he said to him afraid that he couldn't hear him. He couldn't help the sob that escaped him when he felt his father's hand go limp in his own.

Stiles was in the waiting room alone in Beacon Hills Memorial. After he found his father mortally wounded, he had called the hospital all the while trying to rein the panic in, the panic at the prospect of losing another parent, the only family he had left. The Sheriff was in surgery right now and no one had let him know anything about it, how he is…nothing. And the only one who would have tried to soothe his anxiety, Melissa, wasn't there either.

His leg was jumping up and down, his hands were shaking. Every now and then he got up to pace. He didn't know how long it's been. Maybe hours. Or minutes. He didn't really keep the time. Moments were flashing before his eyes that drove him insane. He kept on repeating the moment he found his father in a pool of his own blood and how when he was brought in everyone was rushing towards them, the EMT's yelling about a considerable wound on his upper abdomen and tremendous loss of blood. He didn't know what those adjectives meant in the doctors' language. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

His mind kept skipping to the time when he lost his mom. It was at the same hospital. It was right at the same hallway where he broke down. He tried to keep his thoughts from going towards that direction, but it wasn't easy.

He had lost everything.

Scott didn't trust him anymore. Honestly, Stiles didn't really know where they were standing at the moment. The rest of the pack was also annoyed with him and his obsession that Theo's the bad guy when all he had shown was the exact opposite and probably distrustful against him because their Alpha was now. Were they even a pack anymore? Theo had managed to drive them all away from each other with his conniving ways. Stiles had no idea where the rest of them were and if they were okay. And he wasn't about to look for them. Not when… not when his father may leave him forever.

He sighed, feeling the darkness squeezing his heart. He put his hands through his hair in frustration. God, he couldn't lose him. He wasn't ready. He didn't want to be ready.

After what seemed to be eons, an exhausted-looking doctor came through the double doors calling out, "Stillinski?"

"Yes!" Stiles jumped immediately and went to him. "How… How is he?"

The doctor looked at him sadly, but not broken. No pity was in his eyes, so Stiles was hopeful. "The surgery was successful. We managed to close the wound on his abdomen and take care of the internal bleeding. However he lost a lot of blood, so he's not quite out of the woods yet."

"What are you saying?" Stiles interrupted knowing that the doctor was not telling him everything.

The doctor sighed as if he wished he was talking about anything but this, "Whatever your father was stabbed with, it managed to cause a diaphragmatic rupture which led to the herniation of some abdominal organs. Now we repaired the damage, but the blood loss did not help. He has trouble breathing on his own and he's weak and his abdominal organs are not getting the blood they need especially after the herniation. His body is trying to make up for the loss of blood, but after the surgery it's not fast enough. So, we've put him in a medically induced coma and we'll monitor his progress until his body is strong enough to deal on its own."

There were a lot of big difficult words in that speech, phrases he remembered from when he pointlessly surfed the net during sleepless nights and all of them together with some dreading words did not help his mind really grasp the meaning right away. "So is he gonna live?" he asked because that's what he really cared about. That was what he really wanted to know.

"There are a lot of ways this can turn out, son. We'll just have to watch him closely over the next 72 hours. Nothing is certain, though I don't think the odds are against him," the doctor tried to make the bomb he dropped land easier, but there was no way to make it better when you announced that you actually had no idea if the young man's father was going to survive or not. No matter how one dropped a bomb, it was going to explode either way.

"Can I see him?" That was the only thing he could come up with at the moment. That was the only thing he wanted. The doctor's vagueness didn't ease his mind. It made it spin faster and he needed to see his father, to see for himself that he's alive because he couldn't be gone. The doctor said… no, he can't be gone.

"Sure. I'll take you to him," the doctor said unaware of the conflict inside Stiles' head. He just put his hand on the young man's shoulder and led him to his father's room. The walk was short. A minute later they were standing outside a white closed door with the number 238 boldly written on it. He didn't stay. He decided to let the younger do this alone, to make a choice on his own. It felt like he would be stepping into a moment he wasn't supposed to be a part of. So the doctor squeezed the young man's shoulder once in comfort and left.

Stiles stood in front of that closed door trying to find the strength he needed to push it open. He just couldn't stop going back to that time when he was only a boy, about half the height he was right now and he had been in the same position. He had been standing behind a closed door back then as well, afraid of what he would find, broken when he eventually opened it. He remembered how his mother's face was too white, her lips almost blue, her eyes closed. He remembered how he couldn't suddenly breathe, how he couldn't stand his father or anybody touching him, how the room started spinning in seconds. That had been his first panic attack.

"It's not the same," he said aloud to himself closing his eyes at the onslaught of memories, though he couldn't believe it yet. Not until he saw it with his own eyes. So, he took a deep breath, and shakily he turned the doorknob and with a click the door opened.

The sight in front of him took his breath away, just like back then, but this was different. His father's body looked lifeless, but the beeping monitor said it wasn't and Stiles believed it. His eyes were closed and the dark circles under them didn't make it any easier. It brought out the exhaustion in him. But somehow, the Sheriff looked at peace, almost relaxed. He looked as if there were no monsters roaming Beacon Hills every day. If Stiles focused enough he could see the slight rise and fall of his chest and that gave him hope. He felt something wet on his face, and as he wiped at it, he realized the tears he had been trying so hard to keep had started already falling.

He stood at the door a moment longer, but he felt the need to touch him, to make sure he's real and this is not some kind of delusion. His past experience told him it was a possibility. So he took a seat quietly by his father's bedside on the chair that was already there. He looked at him and hesitated. If this was a delusion and the reality was worse, he really didn't want to break the spell. But he had to. He had to know. He took his father's hand in his and let it lay limp in his hold. It made his stomach clench. Any other time, he remembered how his hand wrapped around his own slightly bigger than his lean long fingers. But this time… this time it didn't.

The silence in the room was deafening. The steady beep of the monitor filled the room with a strangling hope that Stiles was barely hanging onto. He just wished his father opened his eyes already, even though he knew he wouldn't. Not yet. Stiles was falling apart and the only constant in his life, the only one he knew would always be there no matter what, the only one he could always turn to was now in a coma due to the wounds Theo inflicted on him.

Theo…

He had torn his life into pieces and Stiles had no idea how to put it back together. He was lost.

"I need you, Dad," he said, his voice too loud into the empty room. He watched as a teardrop fell on his father's hand and suddenly the monitor started beeping faster. He glanced at the screen so fast he was surprised he didn't get a whiplash, and stared as his father's heartbeat was rising, climbing slowly through the roof.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, Dad. Don't do this. No," he said to him insanely hoping that his voice could calm him down. He moved frantically around the bed trying to find that red button that would call the nurses. He looked at the screen as it was beeping faster and faster and where was the damn button?! "Someone! Please!" He screamed trying to get anyone to hear him. His shaky hands finally found the button and he pushed it repeatedly as if that would make the nurses come faster.

A second later the door was slammed open by a nurse dragging a machine behind her, "He's going into cardiac arrest, get him out!"

Next thing he knew, a nurse was pushing him out of the way, but he fought her. "No! He's my Dad! You can't-" the words died in his throat as he saw the monitor flat-line. "No!" He yelled again, pushing back against the nurse with the surprisingly strong grip, "Dad!" he shouted, trying to get to his side. He watched as the nurse by his father took the pads, turned them on, shouted "Clear!", and then his father's body convulsed, but he still had no heartbeat. "No, no, no, no…." Stiles said under his breath. "Help him! What are you standing there for?!" he shouted at them trying to move forward again. It was as if the nurse just realized he was still in the room, but she didn't acknowledge him. She just yelled "Get him out of here!" And next thing he knew he was out of the room, watching as the nurse tried again, his father's body convulsed but his pulse still was non-existent. He could only watch as he blinked the tears away, not wanting them to blur his vision, and as the nurse ordered, "Stay," and went back inside.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't stay.

He couldn't stay and watch his father die. He couldn't stay and watch the only person he had in this fucked up world die. He couldn't. He didn't have the strength to.

So he ran. He took one last look in the room as the nurses tried again but failed to revive his father and he ran as far away as he could. He didn't turn to look back.

If he had though, he would have seen the straight line jump on the next try. If he was a werewolf, he would have heard the beep as his father's heart started again.

But he didn't.

He just got into his jeep and ran, breaking every speed limit there ever was with no final destination.

He didn't know how he got where he did. At first, he didn't even know where he was. It had been a long time since he had been there last, so it took him a while before he recognized the place.

The loft. The one Derek had left for the teenagers to use but none of them did, because it felt wrong without Derek in it. It felt empty. At least, that's how it felt for Stiles.

The drive here was panic-induced, so it made sense that Stiles would look for a sanctuary, a safe haven. Stiles didn't know why his subconscious would choose Derek's loft of all places to hide in. Sure, he had a connection with the werewolf, an understanding of sorts. They both lived in similar wave lengths. They… It wasn't easy to explain what they had. Stiles never wanted to find that explanation. The man was gone, so it didn't even matter anymore.

What mattered was that Derek once understood him. He was once there for him when he hadn't even asked him to. He calmed him down. So maybe the loft still smelled like him. Maybe the loft could do the same and calm the storm that was being riled up inside him.

But it didn't.

It actually acted in a completely opposite way.

It was as if stepping into the loft was the catalyst that gave the final push to his spiral down.

It didn't smell like him anymore. It smelled like dust and cement. It felt lonely. It felt empty. It felt… dead.

The thought brought a lump to his throat. It closed his airway making him choke repeatedly. He remembered. He was remembering again and it was suffocating.

His father was dead. His father just died and he couldn't breathe. He fell to his knees right there in the entrance to the loft, unable to lift his own weight any more. He tried to focus, but the thoughts were taking over his head and he couldn't… He couldn't…

He was alone. Everyone had left him. His mother. Erica. Boyd. Allison. Derek. Scott. And now his father.

He had no one to live for.

He had no one to keep him afloat in the sea of his haunting nightmares.

He tried to focus on what was in front of him, but the room was blurry and was it… spinning? He wasn't moving though. No, it was just the world moving forward as he tried to cling onto the stillness.

He took deeper breaths, trying to keep them long enough inside, but they only made his lungs burn worse than they already did. He was choking. He was sobbing. It felt like he was drowning.

They were gone.

All of them.

And he couldn't let go.

It felt as if bombs were going off in his head. It hurt. Loneliness hurt. He could feel something inside pull at him. Something was fighting to break free, but Stiles couldn't let it go. He wasn't going to let it go.

He grabbed his head instinctually and squeezed, maybe so that the pain could distract him, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough anymore.

He couldn't let go.

Thoughts and memories of his father haunted him. All the lies, all the hiding, all the attempts at protecting him had been pointless. He failed either way.

It was his fault.

He killed him. He killed his father.

The realization cut every circuit of oxygen going to his brain, his lungs. It felt like the end and in his panic Stiles welcomed it.

He didn't hear the door to the loft being dragged open, or see the furrowed eyebrows drop in concern. He didn't hear the soft steps behind him. He didn't hear the other panicked heartbeat in the room. He didn't feel the other presence. Not until two hands dropped gently on his shoulders, engulfing him in a tight embrace.

"Stiles?" he heard, but it was as if someone was calling him from far away. The voice was familiar, but it was like he was underwater and the sound didn't quite reach him. He couldn't tell who it was. Maybe his imagination. Maybe the end was nearer than he thought.

The touch on his shoulder was burning him. He wanted to shake it off, but somehow he was convinced there was nothing to push away.

"Breathe, Stiles. Breathe." This one was whispered in his ear and … no. No, it couldn't be. He knew that voice. He had missed that voice for so long. This couldn't be the voice to end it all. His mind was playing tricks on him.

"Breathe with me, Stiles." The voice wouldn't stop talking. Why wouldn't it stop talking?! It wasn't real. Not of it was. "You're not here," he whispered brokenly into the emptiness. "You're not real," he said his voice breaking as the sobs kept coming out of him. "You're in my head."

He can't be real.

He can't be. Derek left him. It was his mind torturing him. Nothing more. Nothing real.

"I'm not. I'm real, Stiles. Breathe," Derek said trying to bring him back.

No. You're not. Stiles shook his head vehemently at that. He closed his eyes tight and his ears, trying to get away from that stupid voice. The one that made him hope when there was nothing to hope for.

"Stiles look at me." No. He wouldn't. He refused to do so. But gentle hands touched his face and he couldn't be imagining that, could he? Even if he was, was it so wrong that he wanted to be imagining that even though it was going to hurt like a bitch when reality kicked in?

"Count my fingers," the voice said again and Stiles froze at that. He still couldn't breathe, but now there was another reason for that. Scientists said that when you dream, the person's fingers are not the right number. And right now he was terrified of the number he would find. He really didn't want to find nine, or eleven, or anything other than ten.

"Count," the voice demanded. The tone was familiar to him. It had been directed at him so many times after all. But the feeling that came with it as familiar as it was, he didn't want it. He wanted to crash that hope and throw it out the window. But the tone made him open his eyes. It made him want this to be real, it made him want to find out if it was real or not.

As he did, he could barely concentrate on what was in front of him. His vision was blurry, unfocused. His breaths were still coming out ragged; the choked sobs were still wrecking his body. But he tried to pay attention. Two hands were right in front of him, hands he had seen before and had itched o hard to hold.

He counted, and as the one hand's fingers added up to five, that spark of hope made its appearance again. This time he didn't push it away.

The other hand came into focus and he tried to count. 6,7..

"…8, 9, 10." He heard the voice count with him. No. Not the voice. Derek. Derek was there. "That's it. Breathe Stiles."

He saw the rise and fall of the man's chest in front of him and tried to match its rhythm with his own. He didn't know how much time passed before he was able to breathe again. His vision came into focus and he took in the picture in front of him. Derek was really there. He was crouched right in front of him, his hands unconsciously rubbing Stiles' arms. His big black duffel bag was thrown into the room. The first thing Stiles said was the only word that was flashing in his mind as his panic receded. "D-Derek?" It came out as a question and the wonder was audible in his voice.

Derek didn't really reply. Instead he kept on looking at him, and by the eyebrows going back into the straight lines that they were supposed to be, Stiles knew the werewolf heard him. He could see how his shoulders relaxed a bit, how relief flooded in him. He looked good. Not handsome-wise. He had always been handsome. But he looked… less emotionally constipated. He looked settled inside his own skin. Which begged the question… "What are you doing here?"

Derek raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm home. What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice still gentle. He felt more than saw Stiles get tense. His scent was one of sadness and grief and after his question, it became way more prominent. His heartbeat started speeding up and he knew it was only a matter of time before the kid got lost in his head again. So he shook him slightly and asked, "What happened, Stiles?"

Stiles looked at the ground as the reason he came here was flashing behind his eyes. He hadn't forgotten, no but he hoped… he hoped it would be a nightmare he would eventually wake up from. But it wasn't. It wasn't and he had to face reality. He blinked back the tears, but they wouldn't stop coming. They just. They wouldn't stop. "My dad," he said and looked up. He couldn't stop his voice from breaking as he went on. "He's… gone." He felt Derek freeze, but his own body started shaking. It shook with anger, rage, despair, grief. It shook with every emotion he wanted to let upon Theo Raeken, the one responsible for all of this. He couldn't keep it in any more. He wanted to let it out. He wanted to tell Derek how much he hated him, how much he loathed, how if he ever saw him again he would make him pay for every single drop of sadness he had ever made them feel. He wanted to tell him everything. So he did.

"Theo Raeken. That chimera-were-coyote-supernatural-whatever bastard. The lost friend who was gone as suddenly as he was back," he said sarcastically. "He… It wasn't always Scott and Stiles, you know," he said brokenly, his voice gaining in steadiness as the anger inside him rose with every word. "It used to be Scott, Stiles and Theo. But then he pulled a freaking disappearing act on us and we never heard from him or his family ever again. And now he… He killed my dad, Derek." It was all his fault. He should have stopped Scott from trusting him. He should have worked harder at proving him the psychopath he really is. He should have done something sooner, before it got to this. "It's my fault," he said, as the tears came out once again. He wondered if they were ever going to stop.

"It's not," Derek croaked, throat tight with emotion at seeing Stiles, the sarcastic and ever-talkative teenager that managed to break his walls and get under his skin, broken like that in front of him. It hurt. No one deserved to feel this way, this… broken. Especially not Stiles.

Stiles shook his head. "It is. I should have stopped him." Derek obviously didn't know the whole story, so he told him. He told him how Theo had showed up out of fucking nowhere and had helped Scott in a fight, practically saved his life. He told him how he said he wanted to be a part of Scott's pack and about all the silly excuses he gave them about his reappearance and his goal, which for Stiles they fell on deaf ears. He told him how he wasn't careful as he should have been and how Stiles found that Theo's father's signature on a school form was forged. He told him about the Dread Doctors and how Theo was there for every one of the pack when they needed someone and how he always seemed to point them to the direction they needed to go. He told him about Donovan and Josh and Theo's blackmail to keep him quiet about those events. He told him about the fire Parrish set and Theo got him out of, and how he helped them, but at the same time pushed Scott and Stiles as further apart as they could ever possibly be. Lastly, he told him about his final move. About how he made Stiles choose; Scott or his Dad. And Stiles no matter the circumstances he would always choose his Dad, like he did this time as well. But this time he failed. It was over.

Derek looked at him with so many emotions it was hard to say which came first. He hurt for the teenager – no, not teenager anymore, the young man - in front of him. He hated that he had gone through all that alone. He hated that through all this he didn't demand he comes back. Only sent the eventual text "Things hectic as usual in supernatural freaky town" or something else along those lines and Derek never saw his distress. He never tried to read between the lines. "I'm sorry," he said, voice heavy with emotion as he put a hand on Stiles' shoulder in comfort, like the young man had done for him all this time ago when had had to kill Boyd. He felt relieved when the touch was not rejected, instead Stiles leaned his head against it, closing his eyes as he did so.

Derek knew that 'I'm sorry' didn't do much. He had heard it himself countless times in his life. However most of those had been meaningless. Just something that people said. A spontaneous response at the delivery of bad news or a bad event of the past. It was something they used to show sympathy even though they held none for the other party. But Derek meant it. He felt his pain. Not because of his heightened werewolf senses. But because his family had been murdered too and no matter how long it's been, he never stopped hurting about it.

A stretching silence settled between them for a while. Stiles reached his had upon Derek's and the older man feared that he was going to push him away, but Stiles didn't. Instead he took it inside his own and kept it there. He was in so much pain, Derek had no idea how to deal with that. But he knew what he had wanted people to do when he was sixteen and lost. He knew how Laura had treated him at a time when she had been all he had left. So he moved to sit next to Stiles, grabbing his hand in his own bringing it between their thighs as they slightly touched and wrapped his free arm around his back. At first Stiles was confused by the movement, and he tensed when Derek wrapped his arm around him, but soon enough he settled into the embrace and buried his head in Derek's neck as he let the most violent sobs take over.

It was a while till Stiles' emotions receded back into simple grief and sadness, the tear tracks still fresh on his face. But time didn't matter right now. How much time had passed since his dad died didn't matter. He was gone. Stiles was alone. Those were the facts that mattered at the moment. He found comfort in Derek's arms. Now they had one more thing in common to add in their short list. It felt better to have him here. He had missed him. But that wasn't enough to fill the black hole inside his chest.

Derek was the first to break the silence. Any other moment Stiles would have been amused that the werewolf was actually starting a conversation voluntarily, but not this time, not about this. "Do you want to see him? Say goodbye?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Stiles shook his head repeatedly. He didn't have to elaborate on who 'he' was. He knew and at the same time he kind of wished he didn't. He didn't think he could bear to see his father like he had seen his mother. He didn't think he could take it. Maybe now he could pretend that his dad was okay. That he would walk in anymore and squint his eyes at their position. He could pretend that he would ask them a smart question that Stiles would reply to with a sarcastic comment. He could pretend.

Derek could understand how he was feeling. But he couldn't let him make the same mistake he did all those years ago. He couldn't let Stiles turn into this bitter angry person that he had become when his family was murdered. Stiles was different. He was better than that. "It's been years since the fire," he paused, trying to pick the right words to convey accurately what he wanted to say, "but I'd give anything to have the chance to see them one last time, you know." He didn't look at him as he spoke. He looked at the floor beneath his feet as he said, "I don't want you to feel that way."

I'll always feel that way, Stiles wanted to say, but he kept it in. It was easy to forget someone else's pain, but not your own. So maybe Derek knew what he was talking about. There was something more in that statement that made him think the werewolf was speaking out of personal experience. So maybe Derek was right. Maybe he needed to say goodbye. He needed to apologize.

Sooner than Stiles liked they were at the hospital's entrance. At first Stiles had thought that he would have to do this alone. That Derek wouldn't come along for whatever reason. But he did without Stiles having to ask and that made it walking into this place easier. The white walls made him claustrophobic, which he never was, and the stench of clean alcohol made his body shiver in an unpleasant way. He kept on walking however until he reached the nurse's station knowing Derek was close behind. When he stopped at the white desk, he could feel the werewolf's warmth as he stood a little behind him, almost next to him, with a hand on Stiles' back giving him courage to go through with this. He must have been staring for a while nowhere in particular, because the pressure on his back increased and he realized he hadn't said anything. Not that it made a difference since the nurse hadn't really registered their presence yet, engrossed in whatever files she was looking at. He tapped his fingers on the countertop nervously to catch her attention and said "Uh, excuse me, I'm here to see Sheriff Stillinski?"

"And who are you?" She didn't look at him as she asked, obviously having asked that question countless times already.

"I'm his son." He was. He is. He always will be. "He went," Stiles gulped, the words stuck in his throat, but he had to say it, "into cardiac arrest earlier and he…" that he couldn't say and thankfully nobody asked him to.

Her eyes snapped up at him and shone with recognition. Everyone knew who the Sheriff's kid was. It was a small town after all. "Ah, yes," she said as she started typing something into the computer in front of her. When whatever she was looking for came up on the screen she turned to him and announced with a small smile, "His vitals are now stable and you can see him. Room 238."

He felt Derek tense behind him, while Stiles didn't know if he should laugh or cry or both. Someone must be playing a joke one him. Someone with really, really, really bad humor. He had seen his father died. He had stood outside his room as he flat-lined, as the nurses' attempts to revive him failed one after the other and he couldn't stand to watch anymore and he had ran away. They didn't revive him. They failed. Didn't they? "He what?"

The nurse went on unaware of the turmoil inside his mind. "The doctors are very hopeful about his recovery."

He gaped like a fish for a moment not knowing what to say. This couldn't be right. No. They had it wrong. His father was… He was… alive? There were no words to express how much he hoped that was true and if it wasn't… Stiles didn't want to think about that.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek tugged at his hand trying to make him move. He tried to find the Sheriff's heartbeat in the hospital, but it's been so long since he last heard it and there were so many heartbeats in this place, that he couldn't say for sure if the Sheriff's was there.

Stiles turned to look at him. He tried to keep the hope out of his voice, though Derek could see right through it. "But, Derek, he… I watched him... I was there." He had been. Maybe he didn't see everything though.

Derek didn't say anything to that. He just pushed him gently and led him through the hallway until they found the right room.

This walk felt too familiar to Stiles. This was how the doctor had led him through to see his father earlier. It was similar, and yet different. Because Derek was not the doctor. He was not a stranger he'd probably never see again, he'd probably never know. He was Derek. And he was here. He was the one Stiles had wished to show up all this time but always chickened out of telling him to come back. He was grateful he had a shoulder to lean on for this. He was grateful he was not alone.

When they reached the door, Derek didn't open it for him. He knew that was Stiles' choice. He didn't leave him either like the doctor had done. Instead he waited patiently. He was willing to wait for hours just standing there right outside if Stiles wanted him to.

Stiles didn't dare close his eyes this time though. He wanted to make sure he saw everything. He wanted to make sure that it was real. So he took a deep breath, and tentatively raised his hand to grab the door knob. He felt Derek's hand wrap around his free one and it was as if the last piece clicked and he could do this. He wanted to do this. He pushed the handle and a second later the door opened slowly.

Before he could see the bed, Stiles heard the beeping sound of the monitor, the same sound he heard last time he stepped into this room. He held his breath as the foot of the bed was revealed and someone was in it. When the door opened fully, Stiles stood in shock as he took in the scene in front of him. Hid dad was lying in the hospital bed, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slightly, and the machine beeping continuously. He walked hesitantly closer, blinking, thinking that whatever he was seeing would change to what was really happening. But nothing changed. His father was still there breathing. He stood by his side and reached out to grab his limp hand, but he hesitated. Derek hadn't followed him in. He was standing at the doorway and he could see what he was seeing. Right? "Could you maybe pinch me?" He asked in a small voice, unable to take his eyes off of his father, not for a second.

Derek was standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway wanting to give Stiles his space. He could hear the Sheriff's heartbeat. It was steady and it was very much existent. "I don't have to. It's real."

Stiles chose to believe him, so he slowly took his father's hand in his. A shudder went through him at the feeling. It was cold. But not dead cold. Not as cold as his mother's had been. He stared in front of him in shock, and he couldn't keep the small hesitant smile from his face. "He's really here," he said as he felt the first tear escape his eye. He didn't try to stop them, or keep them in. These weren't tears of sadness and grief. They were tears of happiness and relief. His dad was alive.

"He is," Derek agreed.

Stiles threw his arms around his dad, knowing he wasn't able to reciprocate the hug, but he still needed the closeness. "Don't ever do that to me again," he said his voice muffled by his dad's shoulder. There was a skip in the heartbeat after that. It made Stiles hope his father heard him. It made him hope that he would get through this. He heard something banging against the door momentarily, and he turned around to see Derek struggling to get a double seat from the hallway inside the room. He sat up and raised his eyebrow at him, which Derek pointedly ignored. He chuckled at the wolf's frustration and went to help him with his task. The smile Derek directed at him when he looked up made his heart skip a beat.

The both of them managed to get the seat in and once they settled it next to the hospital bed, close enough so that if Stiles wanted to reach for his father he could do so easily, Derek plopped down onto it. "So, what's this?" Stiles asked.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him and simply said "I'm getting the feeling we might be here for a while. We might as well get comfortable."

Stiles rolled his eyes at the werewolf and instead of sitting down next to him, he said, "You need to go home. Get some rest." He realized that Derek had just gotten back to Beacon Hills when he found him in his loft and he had to deal with Stiles. He was probably tired already by the drive wherever he came from and Stiles only added up to it. It was only fair if he let him go. He had done so much for him already.

"Sit down, Stiles," Derek growled at him, much like he used to do before he left.

Stiles smirked at him, remembering how Derek always used to growl at him demands, and Stiles never listened. Except this time. This time he sat next to him and immediately he felt arms wrap around him. He leaned on Derek's chest more, comfortable with the warmth the man was emitting. If you told him two years ago he would be cuddling with Derek Hale, he would have laughed at you. Sure, it was one of his dreams, but now it was his reality. He couldn't help but feel lighter here. He felt safe. He felt as if there was tomorrow. And if he sighed contentedly, neither of them said anything about it.

"How was your impromptu road trip?" Stiles asked when he couldn't bear the silence any longer. Not that it was uncomfortable. It was just that Derek was there after so long, he needed to talk to him like he had hesitated to all those times before.

"Cathartic," Derek said with one word, always the laconic one.

"Where did you go?"

"Places," Derek shrugged.

"Anything awesome worth mentioning going over there?" Stiles hoped he went through infinite adventures, but none that would take him away from here. It must have shown in his voice, the fear of Derek leaving, of Beacon Hills not being enough, because the next thing he knew Derek was pushing his head to look into his eyes, and once blue-green locked onto brown ones, Derek said softly, looking at Stiles meaningfully, "No. They were just places."

Stiles heard what Derek didn't say. They were just places, nothing special, nothing permanent. Only temporary. No people important enough to stay in those places. No people he wanted to be close to. There was no home. Which made Stiles remember something, "Wait did you say you're home?" he asked still looking into his eyes.

"I did," he said softly, letting his forehead lean against Stiles'. He took a breath, took in Stiles' scent and said feeling settled after a long time, "I'm home."

A few days later, when the doctors brought him out of the coma, the Sheriff opened his eyes only to close them right away as he saw his son comfortable in the arms of the man he had accused of being a criminal long ago, the older man's arms. "Please, tell me I'm dreaming," he groaned.

He wasn't. None of them were.

So... first Sterek fanfic. What did you think?

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