A hand.

That was all Stiles offered the man stood beside him, a hand.

Standing beside the older males family's grave Stiles had noticed the redness of Derek's eyes, the increase of blinking, the more Stiles stared the more he noticed, the dampness of the man's dark eyelashes, the grim firm thin line of his red lips against his suddenly pale skin.

So he offered him his hand.

A simple gesture.

Very slowly he held it out feeling a mixture of surprise and relief when Derek's larger hand accepted his, their fingers entwining as the dark haired man gripped at the younger boys hand tightly as though their positions had been reversed and Derek Hale was the younger one, squeezing Stiles's hand like it was his only life line to reality.

"You, uhm, you okay?" Stiles asked softly.

Derek just nodded stiffly his eyes not moving from the slabs of stone sticking out of the ground, the cold grey slabs lit up only by a single bunch of pale yellow and white flowers.

The evening's crisp night air began to pinch at the two boys skins but still neither moved. Partly because Derek wasn't sure if he could move, just walk away from where his relatives lay buried under mounds damp earth and partly because, still clutching Stiles hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to.