Stiles sits on the edge of the Nemeton and scratches at the bark with his fingernails, making deep grooves in the ancient tree. He stares at the ground.
A twig breaks and Stiles' head snaps up. "I thought you wolves were supposed to be silent and deadly."
Derek stands between two trees on the edge of the clearing. "We can't always be hunters." He walks towards Stiles and sits down on the Nemeton next to him. A silence follows in which only the birds chirping, and the men's breathing can be heard.
"Where's Scott?" Derek asks.
"With Issac."
"Lydia?"
"Gone to London to see Jackson."
"Paired up and pissed off huh?"
"After…everything, I guess they just needed to find someone who'd understand." Replies Stiles.
"And who do you have?"
"Not many people can relate to being possessed and becoming a psychopathic serial killer. I might as well start hanging out with Peter." Stiles gives a hollow laugh. After a while he asks, "How've you been anyway?"
"You mean aside from the crazy druids, Japanese demons and psychotic ex-girlfriends coming back from the dead? Just fine."
Stiles scoffs. "You're right. What's there to complain about in a life full of beasts and demons?"
Derek begins laughing, a deep gruff sound.
"I guess I should be more selective when dating huh? I'll be running from those memories for a while…What are you running from Stiles?"
Stiles just hums, not paying attention.
"Stiles!" Derek almost yells.
"Sorry what?" His eyes are glassy and focus slowly.
"What are you running from?"
Stiles takes a while to reply, "I don't know. This place, it feels warm. And recently all I've felt is cold." He shivers, "I can put on layers and layers but I'm still sub-zero. It's like a feeling in the pit of my stomach that's frozen. And won't thaw." He looks into the distance, as if he's trying to see something in the trees.
Derek stares at Stiles for a long time. "It won't go away you know. Never."
Stiles feels heat on his shoulder, the grip of a broad hand, and turns to look at Derek, but he is out of reach and his hands are in his lap. "How do you know?"
"Because once you've taken even one life Stiles, there's no going back. You'll never warm up again." After he finishes talking, Derek's eyes turn glacier blue.
And then he's gone. The faint smell of Armani and a flurry of wind are all that remain.
A few hours later, when the sun is an orange slit waiting to disappear, and the fireflies have begun to swarm, Stiles decides it is time to leave.
His feet crunch across the fallen leaves. With each step he takes, the heavy feeling in the depths of himself grows colder and colder.
He slams the door to his Jeep closed and wonders where his day has gone. As he turns the ignition and pulls away from the trees, his thoughts turn to Derek, and their conversation. But mostly the touch he isn't sure he felt.
The idea that he'd imagined it pulls downward at his lips. He thinks he might have hallucinated the whole conversation.
He checks the number of fingers he has, just to make sure.
One…Two…Three…Four…Five.
He relaxes.