I shouldn't have been writing. But I did anyways. This story was inspired by the scene where Derek searched Stiles' drawer for a shirt but failed. And I just thought maybe Stiles did something in case. Then, this came out. Hope you'll enjoy /
Bon appetite! *Blame it on Hannibal.*

Derek is dying. It's too late, and there is no turning back. Even if there is, he still wonders whether he'd reconsider the whole thing that he cut out everyone who tried to help and challenged the alpha pack all by himself. Probably not. But whatever it might be, Derek doesn't have to spare his effort to rotate his brain to think about it anymore, not that he's too weak to think, but that he knows it's nearly over and thinking does nothing good. It never did before, actually.

Derek is bleeding. He tastes copper in his mouth. He can feel his blood pumping out of the holes in his chest, the cuts on his arms, and the bites in his neck. Whether it is too quiet or he's delirious himself, Derek does hear the serene gliding sound of his blood, feeling his life flowing out with the red liquid. His super werewolf power is not strong enough to heal him this time. Stiles would definitely laugh at him about this, if only he were here. But he's not. And he doesn't know where the alpha is. Even Derek himself forgets where he is. Somewhere in a deserted factory, he guesses.

Derek is fainting. He is sure there is not much time left, because he no longer feels hurt. Everything around him is spinning, but he doesn't feel dizzy. Instead, he feels light, free, released. The tainted wall he is reclining on doesn't feel hard and rough any more. It's like he is soaring on a fuzzy cloud. Derek believes he must be able to fly if there is nothing grounding him. Somehow, there is. And he's just wearing it.

Out of nowhere, a warm breeze saunters in, stroking Derek around, flapping back and forth, brushing him with invisible tender fingers, and showering him with something that brings him back to consciousness. Derek takes a deep breath, taking in the tale and dusty air that is refreshed by the godsend breeze. And among the disgusting gasoline, sharp steel, and his rich sweet blood, Derek recognizes the tiny proportion of that miracle scent. Its tendrils creep into his nostrils and right up into his brain, gently wiping the mist away, and inevitably splaying its demanding vines within. It is Stiles.

Derek took another deep breath needily, and the fragrance just becomes stronger. He opens his eyes and manages to look down, frowning when he catches an eyeful stain of his blood and five unpatchable holes on his tee. No, correction, it's not his tee. It's Stiles'. Then maybe it makes sense now why he's bathed in the teen's scent, after they had a great fight about some situation like what happened tonight and they haven't seen each other for a week. However, it still makes no sense why Stiles' T-shirt fits Derek perfectly and is in his plain low-profiled style.

It was guaranteed that dying won't be so easy for a supernatural creature. Derek doesn't want to argue about it, and a little reminiscence won't be so bad for him to relish in the last few minutes of his life.

"Stiles," grunted Derek, his face still buried in the pillow; he slid his hand up from Stiles' waist to his chest, tapping softly, "you should probably get up for school."

Instead of answering, Stiles batted his lips, rolled to his side, and clutched Derek's middle with his lean arms, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Derek really wanted to growl at him as an attempt of threat. To the contrary, he involuntarily let out a mumbled laugh. He rolled to face Stiles, enwrapped him in his arms and launched lazy sweet kisses on the teen's slightly-swollen lips. Among them, Derek murmured, "Up, Stiles. I'm not gonna be responsible for your absence of school."

"Oh my god," Stiles groaned with a big yawn, still not intending to get up, "Derek, surely the hebdomad doesn't work as well in werewolves as the menology, huh?" he brushed his nose along Derek's collarbone, "It's Saturday. No school on Saturday, Mr. Sourwolf."

"Oh, right. I lost my track," Derek said, rubbing his eyes with his hand, "What time is it?"

"Eight," Stiles answered, still clinging at Derek like a sloppy octopus. Feeling the sheet ruffling as Derek got up; Stiles got tense.

"Are you leaving?" Stiles asked. He sounded breathless, maybe a little bit desperate too, but he doesn't care now. After what happened last night, he was unloaded a great amount of meaningless caring.

Derek stilled for a while, listening to the speeding thrum of Stiles' heart. He sighed and turned around, looking into Stiles' eyes with such a tender look that made Stiles' heart twitch with better and sweet. "I wanna stay, Stiles. But sheriff will be back soon."

Stiles flopped his shoulders and grinned brightly to Derek. "No, dad won't be back from the meeting until 19. Stay," Stiles said as he stretched his hand to Derek, motioning to pull him back to bed.

Derek inexplicably felt released, and he knew Stiles caught it by the way he leaned to him; but he wouldn't give that kid a chance to comment. He kneeled on the bed, grabbed the back of Stiles' head and kissed him intently. Finally he dropped back down with a satisfied sigh and a blushed Stiles.

"I don't need to remind you of what happened last night, right?" after a few seconds' listening to chirps of the birds outside, Stiles asked tentatively.

What happened last night was simple, just not so simple to describe. It was the full moon. The teenagers wolfed out, and they were loud and crawly, and it was nasty. Even with Stiles' help, Derek got exhausted supervising them. Finally it was over. Stiles was supposed to drove him back in the woods. Derek fell asleep in the jeep. Once he woke up, Stiles' ragged car was on the driveway of Stiles' house. He offered Derek to stay for one night. Sheriff was out of town for a meeting, so no worries for a raged cop father with a rifle. Derek suspiciously agreed without a second thought. He blamed it on those shabby teenage wolves that made him so tired. When he shrugged off his jacket in Stiles' bedroom, he was not recovered fully. A handful area of flesh was just able to cover the ribs beneath. Derek looked back at Stiles as he heard him hiss.

"It's okay. I'm fine," he said quietly, trying to soothe the teen with his fake light-hearted voice.

"No, you are not! I have some medicine and bandage downstairs," Stiles said and turned to rush out before Derek grabbed his arm.

"I said I was fine, Stiles. Calm down," Derek said with a growl, feeing on the edge of losing his patience, "why are you so worried about me?" he asked without an expectation for a response.

Stiles looked like he was ignited by what Derek said. He wielded his arm off Derek's grip, stepped frantically in his room, rubbing his buzz-short hair with his hand.

"What?" Derek asked confusedly.

Stiles didn't answer but continued winding. When Derek decided to make him stop, he stopped himself, turned back to look at Derek, and after ten seconds' awkward staring, he stepped forward to Derek and kissed him.

Derek was startled, petrified at first. When he was able to react, he held the nape of Stiles' neck and kissed him back imperiously.

"That's why I'm so worried about you," Stiles whispered.

They didn't talk much afterwards. They'd done that enough. But they did make loud sound, Stiles especially.

"What happened last night." Derek wasn't asking, just repeated Stiles' word meaninglessly as he recalled the last night. However, Stiles mistook it.

"What?" Stiles asked, sounding hurt and unbelieving.

Derek caught the stutter of Stiles' heartbeat and instantly felt guilty when he looked down at him. "I remember what happened last night," he said, leaning down to kiss Stiles, "I gave you a blowing-minded blow job and tried to keep your horny skinny body on board. 'Not until you're 18,' that's what I said. Remember?" he smirked when Stiles' cheeks reddened.

"I do. But I mean…what about now? Do you…" Stiles stammered; "I…" he trailed off.

Derek knew what Stiles meant. Do you mean it? That's what the teen wanted to ask. Of course he did. Derek felt exasperated that Stiles doubted it, but he understood it. If he'd been the one bringing it up first, he'd have asked the same question. Looking into Stiles' eyes, Derek felt compelled to say something profound, something magnificent that would start something completely different to them. But he couldn't. He wasn't ready. He needed time to figure out what it was exactly and what was gonna happened to them after that. He wasn't prepared for it. And from the look on Stiles' face and the racing beat in his chest, Derek knew he wasn't ready either. Maybe for some other reason, but not ready is not ready.

Derek sighed and closed the gap between them which secretly appeared when he didn't notice. He kissed Stiles with the all the tenderness that he'd ever offered in his life. "I know," he said, finally.

It's amazing how time travels at a different rate in memory and in reality. Derek's mind strays from the course for which he started to recall everything. It seemed he lived through that night and the morning afterwards again which is very long, but the fact is that only a few minutes passed.

Derek breathed sharply, enchanted by that the scent on his T-shirt is so persistent that it still remains, just like Stiles. Then Derek sinks in his memory again, with Stiles' cheerful smile and blabbering flashing in.

Eventually that day, Derek got up from Stiles' bed. But here is one problem. He stared at his ragged T-shirt that was covered with spots and splatters of blood and cuts. He was not going to wear this until he could find something new and dignified to put on. It's unbearably disgusting. But it seemed he was out of choice.

Stiles got out of the shower and saw Derek picking up his trashed clothes from the floor. "You can search through my drawer for whatever you need. I won't mind this time." He didn't mind the last time either, Derek bet.

"No, Stiles. I'm not going to try on any of your ridiculous shirts again. That's pathetic," Derek said. His brows knotted together as he remembered it.

"How do you know you won't love my ridiculous shirts this time if you don't have a look? Everything changes. You never know," Stiles said and ginned to him, opening his closet for something to change with.

Derek wanted to deny and mock him according to his last experience, but the smile on Stiles' face was really persuasive and confident. So Derek just exhaled defeatedly and strolled to the drawer.

Pulling the drawer open, Derek froze at what he saw. It was filled with T-shits of different but similar colors, most of them dark while one or two mildly light among them. All of them were Derek's size. Derek picked one out and felt the soft and comfortable fabric through his fingers.

"What the hell?" Derek snapped.

"You're welcome." Stiles was not bothered by Derek's ungratefulness. Instead, he smiled at him fondly after he shuffled his own plaid shirt on.

Derek looked back on the tee in his hands. He lifted it up to his nose and breathed it in. The smell was mingled with the faint detergent and the wooden drawer and another great part that was Stiles. Derek smiled warmly and felt internally hurt to hold back a laugh when he imagined that Stiles bought the T-shirts furtively by himself and wore them every day in his room when he was alone. He heard Stiles' breath hitched and could almost smell his intensity.

"You've planned me coming the whole time, haven't you?" Derek said as he finally put on that shirt.

"Well, Stiles' gotta to what Stiles' gotta do." Stiles shrugged, pretending to be calm and nonchalant, which he failed for sure. And he might be very grateful that Derek wasn't pushy.

After that, Derek snuck into Stiles' bedroom through his window quite a few times, so many that Stiles was no longer scared whenever he suddenly heard a snap of his window at the middle of the night. Every morning after Derek left in Stiles' shirt, in Stiles' scent. He normally returned the shirt the next time he stole in. But he kept this first one himself, careful that he tried his best to make Stiles stay on it. He won't admit that he even brought it back to Stiles' room sometimes just to refuel. That was perverted and creepy.

And now Derek is wearing it. So maybe he was doomed to die tonight and he prevised it and he wisely chose to wear it before he went. You are not that stupid after all, Derek mocks himself.

Derek's breathing is shallow and raspy. He squeezes his eyes shut as a blinding beam of light shoots direct at his eyes. Then he decides that's it. It's time to draw the curtains. He took another deep breath, which he assumes might well be his last one. And he just holds it, trying to cherish what is everything to him, Stiles, as long as he can manage.

Then Stiles' scent just gets stronger, stronger than he's ever got tonight. Derek is reassured again that the time has come. Then he falls into someone's lean but strong arms, his head bumping into a chest that he's so familiar with that he doesn't recognize it first, for that he blames his blood loss. Then he feels more peaceful than ever when he hears that voice when he is already contended being in Stiles' scent.

"Oh my god!"

If Derek had strength to, he would definitely laugh at his delusion. It is so Stiles. And he's amused by how real his fantasy is.

"Oh my god!"

Then here it is again, even louder than the last time. Derek thinks if he's entering the heaven, he won't expect anything more. This voice is his heaven. But Derek is not so complacent. He'd love his heaven better if another three words can replace these three. Suddenly he realized that he never said that to Stiles, nor did Stiles him. He was always stupidly not prepared for it. And he always thought it was for Stiles' own good when he cut him out where there was peril that the teen was about to say it.

But now, Derek feels he's ridiculously ready for it. Maybe he's lost his chance long ago, and it's too late and not fair to say it now. But he thinks it's better for him to be honest at last. One always has the chance, as long as one is still breathing.

"I love you," Derek breaths them into his much too real fantasy before he passes out.

Derek is lying on the clearing in the woods. This is the place he hasn't been to since Laura is dead, where he and Laura always came after they took a long run. It's like their secret garden. Derek loves to be here, but he knows he is not supposed to. He should be somewhere else. He doesn't know where that is. And the grass and crisp withered leaves beneath his back is more comfortable than any bed he's lied on in his life. So Derek decides to leave it alone, and just lie here for however long it can be.

Then Derek realizes he's not alone. Someone else is lying by his side, but he doesn't feel his personal space offended by the presence of this person. It's rare. And on a whim, Derek says quietly, "Laura."

Laura hums as a response. Derek should be freaked out but he isn't. He feels tranquil and at ease. He hasn't felt this way for a very long time. So long that it makes his eyes sour.

"Am I dead?" Derek asks, his voice not even so loud as a whisper as he is afraid that his husky voice will scare away the twittering birds above his head.

"It depends," Laura says.

"Do I have a saying in this?" Derek inquires, not really as seriously as questioning.

"Well, I don't know," Laura smiles. Derek doesn't turn his head to look at her, but he knows she does.

"I miss you," Derek says after a long pause of silence.

"Me too," Laura says.

Derek finally looks at her, her eyes already waiting to meet his. Laura is beautiful, perfect as she always is in Derek's memory. Derek beams at her, as he always did when he was a child, before the fire. He stretches his hand in the direction where he thinks Laura's hand might be.

"Un-un," Laura shakes her head slightly, and Derek feels she moves her hand away. "Not now, boy."

"Why?" Derek asks. However, he doesn't feel frustrated for not being able to touch her hand. Derek believes in his sis. She would know best.

Laura looks at him indulgently. She sighs and turns back to look at the round well of sky that is as blue as a sapphire. Derek follows her.

"I love the scent of your T-shirt. It's lovely." Laura says finally.

"You do?" Derek asks, cocking his eyebrow, amused at what Laura will say about Stiles if she meets him. Stiles, Derek thinks, maybe he should be with Stiles now. But he can't leave Laura now, not even he knows how to. And Stiles will understand it and forgive him once Derek tells him he's with Laura. The boy always will. He'll wait for him.

"I do. There are a lot of caring and love put in it, Derek," Laura says, sounding more serious and heartfelt.

"I know," Derek answers with a nod, smiling when Stiles' feature shows in his head.

"He can't be always waiting, Derek. Even if he will, it won't be fair. Neither can you. There is no time for beating around the bush, boy. What you have is just what is in front of you. Cherish it. Give him what he deserves. Next time, it can just be too late," Laura says.

"I know. But I'm afraid, Laura," Derek says and closes his eyes, "He's too good for me to have. I'm afraid of what will happen to him if he knows what I feel for him. I'm afraid that I'll lose him."

"So you think it's better pretending you never have him?" Laura says. Derek winches as he thinks Laura might be mad at him. But when he opens his eyes and looks at her, he sees nothing like that. Laura is just smiling at him, benignly and full of love.

"But you already have him, and you know it. Then it'll just be fair to let him know he has you too," Laura says, "Derek, you always think you are responsible for the safety of everyone that you care for. That's not wrong. But it's wrong that you think taking everything all by yourself is the right thing to do. And also, you should know they care about you as much as you care about them, him especially."

Derek is right about that Laura always knows best. And he admits it, so he nods at her.

Laura lets out a great sigh of relief. "Now, time to get back to your boy," she says and stands up. Derek doesn't follow her this time.

"Are you leaving?" Derek asks.

"No, I'm always with you, Derek. But you should go back now," Laura looks back at him, still smiling at him.

"I love you, Laura." Derek says.

"I love you too, Derek. See, not too hard saying it," Laura laughs encouragingly. "Now, breathe."

Breathing is painful, like hell. But Derek feels nice for doing what Laura tells him to do, even though he knows that was just a dream and breathing is but his instinct for being alive. Derek doesn't know how it is possible, but somehow he is not dead. He's saved by someone. No, not someone. According to the fantasy he had before he blacked out, it was Stiles that saved him, once again.

Derek knows he's recovering visually. Soon enough, he'll be as good as new. For this, he knows he has Deaton to thank. Although being completely conscious, Derek refused to open his eyes. There is so much to deal with, and Derek is not ready for that. This time, Derek decides he's allowed to not be prepared.

"Derek, I know you are awake."

Especially for this one.

Derek exhales and opens his eyes, as slowly as he can. When his vision becomes clean, he notices that he is in Stiles' bedroom. Probably the pack helped to bring him here after Deaton fixed him. The light in the room is dim. It might be either dawn or twilight. There is no other sound apart from Stiles' racing heartbeat and the huff of his breath and his own heartbeat, so sheriff is not home. For any reason that he's absent is, Derek doesn't worry about it. One fuming Stiles is quite enough.

"Stiles," Derek says weakly.

Stiles raises his hand to shush him. "Not one word…"

"Like what, thank you for saving my life one more time, I'm sorry for being an ass all along, and I love you?" Derek cuts him off in return and feels so much better when he realizes he's just used Stiles' sassy punch line.

"What?" Stiles blinks a few times and consumes a few more to take in what Derek just said.

When Derek evaluates that about sixty percent of his strength comes back, he braces himself up with his elbows, and takes a slow and long breath, taking in Stiles' scent that gave him strength back in the factory and now is more demanded to help him again, before he starts. "Alright. The first time I said it, it might be too shallow just you didn't catch up. Just now, too quick you might think I was kidding you. So I'm gonna humor you to say it again. I love you, Stiles." Derek stares at Stiles, with such determination and persistence that every part of his body is conveying what he just said to Stiles if possible.

Stiles shouldn't be so caught off guard, if Laura was right about what she said that he already knew. But the teen is just frozen.

As Derek thinks whether it was his fault that he said it too light-heartedly and whether he should try again with a more hard core manner, Stiles seems to get back to earth. The boy starts to shiver, as tears sliding along his face.

Derek leaps off the bed, which he is literally not ready to do, sways a little as a result and holds Stiles in his arms before Stiles reaches out to catch him.

"Why are you such a dumbass, douchebag? I almost lost you, you asshole! Being a badass and cutting me out are your only expertise, Sourwolf? Do you know how much I worried about you, you jerk? Do you know how devastated I'd be if you died, dick?" Stiles chokes on his tears as his curse goes more and more incoherent. Derek interrupts him with a desperate kiss before Stiles' vocabulary extends to the "F" word.

"I'm sorry." Derek said in Stiles' neck, his hand caressing the teen's back. Stiles is unable to talk for a few seconds and Derek hideously feels gratified for that.

"I…I'm…I'm not…not finished." Stiles hiccups as he pants.

Derek sighs and pulls back to look at him. "Okay, take your time. You can think up something better to accuse me with. I won't rush you," he says and frowns as Stiles closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You know I won't give you a second chance to do this again."

Stiles glares at him and takes a deep breath. When Derek is sure he has something to say, he just looks down at his shoes and goes dead silent. Then when it seems long enough that the universe is about to explode for Derek, Stiles looks up at him, reminding Derek once again that what he should really hold to his life is what is in front of him. Finally, Derek's life begins to speak.

"I love you."

He is not done with the alpha pack. They are still in great danger. But Derek feels his life complete and immaculate for now. With his pack, with Stiles, Derek is pretty confident he'll figure everything out this time. In Stiles' scent, Derek feels invincible.

Thank you very much for reading it! this story is also on AO3!