At the end of it all, after Jennifer had killed Deucalion and Kali and had been taken down herself—they couldn't have done it if the twins hadn't worked with them—after everything, Derek winds up at Stiles'. Both Melissa and Stiles' dad were recovered from the root cellar, and are spending at least one night in the hospital for observation. Chris took both Scott and Isaac back to stay with them—Allison didn't even need to make a fuss. One of the deputies was going to put Stiles up until the Sherriff was released, but Derek told John he'd look out for his son. The loft was too big for him to be left alone with his thoughts anyway. They sat on the kitchen floor, too tired and filthy for the comfort of the living room furniture, eating whatever leftovers they had managed to scrounge from the refrigerator. Exhaustion fell over them like a heavy blanket, making both stare aimlessly at the patterns in the linoleum, neither of them speaking or moving except to take a bite and chew lazily. The silence stretched on between then, both lost in the replay of the horrific night in their own minds.
Derek turned his head against the cupboard door behind him and looked over at the young man. The fear and grief that had been etched on his face for the last two days had been replaced by relief and a bone-weary fatigue. He'd seen a vast span of emotions from Stiles since this, the worst battle he'd involved the teen in, had started. The calm made his heart clench. If Derek were human, he'd think the kid was asleep, but he could tell from his heart and breathing that Stiles was still awake, just still—such an anomaly for him.
"Who told you about Kate?" Derek asked quietly. Out of all the thoughts and questions bouncing around in his mind, Stiles' berating him for his involvement with Jennifer—and worse, with Kate—is what struck him looking at the teenager now. The rage Stiles had displayed at the hospital when he yelled at Derek for his poor life choices—his bad decisions—his constant fucking up—had nearly incapacitated him. The idea of hurting one of the few people he had come to trust was devastating. He trusted Stiles, probably more than anyone. The kid was smart, and despite his human frailty, he was strong and brave; maybe more brave than he really should be sometimes. He was probably the only person Derek could even hope to call a real friend, and he'd nearly lost that.
Stiles cracked one eye to look at Derek. "Nobody," he sighed, closing his eye again. After a long pause, he added "I figured it out," with a shrug of his shoulders.
Of course he had. Derek should have known that if anyone would find out the truth it would be Stiles. His attempt at burying that shameful part of his past, the part that had gotten nearly his entire family murdered, had failed, just like everything else he'd ever done. And yet, Stiles had still come to him to help find his father? He couldn't understand that. Derek felt like he should apologize for his utter incompetence, but couldn't get words to form around the lump of guilt and disgust forming in his throat.
The silence stretched on. Derek could feel sleep weighing down on him. He should make Stiles go upstairs to bed. He should get out of his dirty clothes so he could lay on the couch and get some sleep himself, He should say soothing, anything; try to explain to Stiles—but what was there to explain. There was no excuse. He'd spent the last six years thinking about that terrible day and how he could have, should have, done everything differently.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Stiles murmured, his voice thick and heavy with the sleep threatening to overtake the boy.
"You don't need to be. I deserved it," Derek conceded, thining he deserved so much worse than that.
"I was so fucking scared, Derek." Stiles choked off the sob that spilled from his chest, his face crumpling . He brought his knees to his chest and buried his face in them, embarrassed and trying to hide the overwhelming emotion from the Alpha.
Without a word, Derek slid himself across the floor to sit next to Stiles. Draping his arm across the younger man's shoulders he pulled Stiles into his chest, comforting him as the stress and exhaustion flooded out. Stiles' fingers curled into the torn, bloodied fabric of Derek's shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.
Disclaimer: The preceding is based on the characters, settings, and events from the MTV Teen Wolf series. All recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author, know by the pen name Maddie-the-Muse, is in no way associated with MTV, or the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise related to The Teen Wolf series. Only aspects entirely unique and original to this story are owned by this story's author. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.