Stiles can't remember when he last slept longer than three hours.
They've been running for so long now that it seems his body just survives on adrenaline and nothing else, a few stolen bites of food here and there, a couple of snatched hours of sleep then they're off again.
Stiles cant really remember when it happened, ihow/i it happened. All he knows is one morning he woke up and the world had gone to hell. One morning he woke up and everyone else was gone, apart from Derek, and a few handfuls of people. They've gone now though.
Derek's quieter than normal, silent in his stoic way, jaw muscles twitching as he hotwires yet another abandoned car, drives it until the gas runs out and then finds another.
They buried the Sheriff two weeks down the road, he died for some small scrap of food and Stiles can't bring himself to mourn, not yet, not when they still have so far to go. They left a makeshift cross on top of a pile of stones and just carried on driving. Towards where they have no idea. They never do.
Stiles gave up talking a long time ago. At first he would just talk, spill words like that would bring everyone back and that would turn the world back to normal. Derek never replies, the Sheriff occasionally did when he was alive, answering one out of ten questions like that would placate Stiles into silence. It never worked. But he's given up now, stopped, words dried up in his throat as they just fucking drive, and when they cant do that they walk.
Sometimes the silence gets too much though, and Stiles will tell a story. He'll tell Derek how Scott saved his ass from bullies back in the 3rd grade, or how his mom used to teach him to bake when she was feeling up to it. How Derek first kissed Stiles before the world went to shit. Derek hates that story, flinches whenever Stiles tells it and he stalks off, doesn't come back till morning.
Stiles misses that. Well he misses everything with an ache that can't be lessened, but he misses Derek. Derek who sits next to him in the stolen cars, Derek who's killed to save his life (Stiles gave up counting the number of lives they've both taken). That Derek's not the one that Stiles remembers. Stiles remembers the Derek that used to smile occasionally, that used to look at Stiles gently, run his fingers down Stiles's face and kiss Stiles like he was precious. That Derek is the one Stiles misses.
They come across a mostly ignored Walgreens about two months after they bury the Sheriff. He's cried once, let tears fall when they got a flat and Stiles had bent a finger back trying to fit the jack. Derek had pulled him close without a word and held him until the tears stopped then let him go and put enough distance between them that Stiles got the message. But they come across a Walgreens and Derek makes the executive decision to stop. They ran out of painkillers and bandages a few hundred miles back and Stiles has been harbouring a headache for the past week.
It's blissfully empty, but Stiles still gets a frisson of fear up his spine at the oddity of it all. How, in all this shit, is this place ok? Derek heads down one aisle, backpack open in readiness to grab and run. Stiles meanders, passed the things he used to love. Most places have rotten fruits and curdled milk now. They survive off canned good and dried products. Stiles snags a packet of Lucky charms from a shelf and rips it open. It's still good, for the most part and he pops a green clover into his mouth and chews. He wanders and finds himself staring at a shelf full of condoms and lube and almost laughs at the irony of it all. His mouth waters uncontrollably. It's been too long since Derek touched him with anything other than efficiency, to set broken fingers or disinfect a cut. Stiles feels the lack of it like an ache in his belly. The condoms seem to be taunting him, brightly coloured packets that laugh in his face as his skin burns with the memory of Derek's touch.
"Stiles…come on," Derek touches his arm, but it's through three layers of clothes and Stiles barely feels it.
"Derek."
"Not now," Derek bites out, shaking his head and dragging his eyes away from the planned parenthood display.
"Why not now?" Stiles asks, because he's pissed and tired and just so fucking weary of everything and he wants answers dammit.
"I'm not fucking you in the condom aisle of Walgreens," Derek says and turns away.
"You're not fucking me at all though are you?" Stiles calls after him and sees Derek's shoulder tense as he stops mid step.
"Stiles."
"Dad's gone," Stiles takes a step towards him, "Scott too. Erica and Boyd, Isaac. Jackson and fucking Lydia, hell Chris and Allison are gone too. All gone. We've got nothing else to lose Derek," Stiles says, his voice rising in desperation. Derek rolls his shoulders and turns back to him. His face is impassive.
"I've got you," he says simply and Stiles blinks.
"So you push me away because you're scared to lose me? I might as well be on my fucking own for all the company you are right now," Stiles throws the packet of Lucky Charms on the floor. The marshmallows skitter across the dirty linoleum.
"Well go then," Derek watches the marshmallows and Stiles sighs heavily.
"I don't want to you, you fucking idiot. I miss you, which is ridiculous because you're next to me all day, but I miss you," Derek shakes his head almost sadly.
"Stiles."
"Don't give me shit Derek ok, I don't want excuses. We'll find other people, in this shit hole of a world, we will, so don't give me crappy excuses about it's just you and me left and if we're together you'll lose focus, I don't wanna hear it," Stiles turns and runs a hand through his hair, so much longer now, stiff with dirt. He hears Derek sigh.
"Stiles…I…"
"Why wont you touch me?" Stiles questions quietly, turning back to him and Derek closes his mouth, his jaw twitches as he just stares at Stiles.
And then he's moving, the backpack hits the floor, and he's stalking towards Stiles with purpose. Stiles meets him halfway and whines as Derek grasps at his face and pulls him close, kissing him like it's the best thing in the world, like he's never going to get to do it again. "I miss you too," murmurs against Stiles's lips, the words vibrating against his skin. Stiles presses his hands flat to Derek's back, pulls him close, breathes in dirt and sweat and Derek and he's never smelled better to Stiles than right now, pressed up close standing in the middle of an aisle in a deserted Walgreens in the middle of a world gone mad. Derek's hands tighten, fingers curling into Stiles's hair and he tugs, bites Stiles's chin, teeth scraping over stubble that Stiles would have been proud of before everything went to shit. His mouth moves over his throat, across his Adam's apple and Stiles swallows. "I miss you too," Derek says again and his hands loosen like he's going to step away and Stiles bites down on his lower lip.
"Don't you leave now," he mutters and Derek draws a sharp breath in, "not now…" Stiles pulls them together again, his hand flat against the worn leather of Derek's jacket, their hips fitting together like they used to, "not now I have you again."
"I'm not," Derek mutters, and Stiles feels the exact moment when he gives him, almost sighs into Stiles' mouth and pushes him hard against the shelf. It rattles, like Stiles's teeth as Derek growls low in his throat against the thudding pulse in Stiles's neck. Stiles wants nothing more than Derek to hitch him up, press him hard into the shelves and fuck him hard and fast, but they don't have time for that, it's too dangerous and Stiles at least gets that. "I want…" Derek grunts as Stiles pushes his hand into the front of his pants.
"I know…" Stiles replies, curling his fingers around Derek's hard dick. Stiles draws his hand up, runs his thumb over the tip and smears precome. Derek presses his forehead into Stiles's shoulder and fucks himself into Stiles's hand. "Me too."
Stiles groans when Derek's hand wraps around his own dick, and it's everything that Stiles can remember, hard and sure and Stiles let's his hips move as Derek strokes him.
"I'm sorry…" Derek mutters, teeth scraping along the skin of Stiles's shoulder, where he's pushed Stiles's shirt to the side, "fuck Stiles…so sorry." Derek lets out a broken half sob as he comes over Stiles's hand, head pressed back to his shoulder and his free hand plays against the edge of Stiles's shirt until it finds skin and just holds on. He strokes Stiles once more, twice, and the feel of Derek spilling hot over his hand is enough for Stiles to come too.
"It's ok," Stiles touches Derek where he can, the back of his neck, his cheeks, the curve of his neck, the line between his jeans and shirt, "it's ok," he mutters, fingers kneading at the back of his neck, "we'll be ok…we'll find…others, I promise, we'll be ok," Derek doesn't move, just stays where he is and Stiles tugs him closer. "We'll be ok."
With Derek back where he belongs, he can almost allow himself to believe it.