So...it is waaay after Christmas,(sorry Ollie! Your gift took on a life of it's own!). I hope you still like this story, dearest readers (and especially Ollie)! Thank you so much for the reviews! =D

We get some more angst and hurt!Derek in this chapter, but it ends here! The question is, will Stiles save him, or will Derek die?

Mistandstorms, you get your first yes in this chapter ;)

Deaton nodded, still not looking up from the paper he was writing on, unaware of the two boys looking at each other in incredulity and awe.

"Yes, it's the main ingredient, along with onions, vinegar-"

-"and rosemary!" Scott breathed slack-jawed, looking at his non-blood brother in disbelief.

The scratching of the pen on the paper stopped mid letter. The vet's head lifted slowly to meet with his favorite employee and friend.

"Yes. How did you know that Scott?"

A small, baffled, yet optimistic grin curved on the young Alpha's face.

"I, uh, think I've actually heard of it before?"

The Alpha turned this look to his best friend, the later still clutching to Derek's hand like a surrogate lifeline.

"That sounds like the stinky cabbage stuff Mrs. S makes! The-uh, Polish Priest Vacation goo, right?!"

When they were little, Stiles would show Scott the translated stories from Mrs. S illustrated book, as well as show off his new Polish speaking/translating skills, (including he and Scott snickering over learned Polish swear-words, and dreams of going to Poland and order a Polish sausage).

Naturally, Scott asked him one day what the name of the paste really meant.

"I think it means…monk retreat? Scotty, that's just weird. I guess the guy who made this really wanted some va-ca time."

The two boys after that made fun of the name privately, (never in front of their parents, or God forbid their babysitter), because, come on, with a name like Monk Retreat, what else could you do?

"Uh oh, Stiles! Mrs. S gave Mom another jar of Polish Priest Vacation. "

"Just smile and nod when she gives the lazy monk stuff to you, and hide in the pantry like my dad and do."

Stiles heard Mrs. S's sing-songy voice from earlier in the day in his ear.

*"Mnich Odwrót, działać działać działać!"*

That means ,'monk retreat, work work work.'Is it possible... was that a friggen spell?!

The honey-eyed young man looked down at his injured finger, innocently clad in a Batman Band-Aid.

Mrs. Sztuczka always said just how amazing the paste was, and how it could save lives.

Could it though?

Wait, didn't she say it was for a smaller part of the population? The hairy type?!

Stiles felt his eyes bug out and breath catch in his throat.

Oh my God!

Had Mrs. S try to give him a clue?

Did he, Mr. Google-Fu, miss something so big and momentous?

Did Ollie Sztuczka know about werewolves, and how to heal them?

What Stiles and Scott had thought was a silly little verse about a monk wanting a vacation because he always had to do chores, took whole new meanings.

Stiles waved his free hand with the Band-Aid in Scott's face in excitement, cogs in his head turning faster and faster.

"What if it isn't just spiced-up boiled cabbage? What if it's something more, something else entirely?"

Monk, as in monkshood, as in wolfsbane. Retreat, as in reversing, instead of a holiday. Oh crap! It's so obvious!

Scott nodded, but still looked muddled and hesitant.

"But that would mean that Mrs. S is, like, some kind of witch? That can't be right."

Deaton's forehead crinkled in confusion.

"Are you talking about Ollie Sztuczka?"

"The old cat lady?" Isaac added skeptically from the corner near the books.

That made Stiles deflate, arm lowering to his side.

Deaton was an expert on mystic things and what goes Grr in the night. He had sensed that he had some magic bit in him, (though the size of that was debatable at the moment). If he didn't think she was on Team Supernatural-

Deaton scratched his chin, deep in thought.

"That would explain why she has been using a shielding spell, and her limit on familiars, I suppose."

-okay, apparently he DID think she was.

Scott and every healthy werewolf turned to Stiles in alarm when they heard how rapid his heart rate ratcheted up.

Holy God. Our babysitter's a witch!

With that thought in mind, a brief flash from his beautiful dream raced to the forefront of his mind.

*"Once again, you obviously do not see yourself clearly, Tech."*

If she's a witch, that could mean the dream was-

Derek, the real Derek, gave a weedy cry of pain from the table, index finger trembling in Stiles hold.

Right. Not the time idiot! FOCUS!

Cora slammed her hands on the table.

"He. Is. DYING. If you have a cure, or a possible one, USE IT, and use it now. I swear, if he dies while you all are 'brainstorming', I will rip you apart. With my teeth."

Yeah, she's is definitely Derek's sister. Also, could not agree with her more.

Before anything could be done, Derek all the sudden went very tense, then startlingly limp.

The scary Cora from a moment before, melted into a scared little girl with tears in her eyes.

"…Derek? Derek?!"

With tear stained eyes, she looked up angrily, yet somehow beseechingly at Deaton.

"His heartbeat is so weak. We have to do something now!"

Lydia grasped Stiles shoulder and turned him away from where he was staring down at the prone werewolf.

"Stiles, this is the only chance we have. That stuff, od-odz-whatever it is, how do you make it? We don't have any time left."

Scott piped up. "Mrs. S always makes it. I think I have some back home-oh no." Scott's face morphed from determined and hopeful to downright panic stricken. "Mom threw ours out last month! I remember, because she had me take out the garbage, and the paste leaked and got all over me."

Isaac nodded in dismay. "You smelled like rotten pickles for a week."

Deaton looked up from Derek's body, shoulders slumped and face a mask of soft sorrow.

"By the time you would have gone and come back from you house Scott, he would be gone. I think our time is up."

Cora growled in dismay over her big brother's shoulder, as Stiles shook his head.

"No. No way, hell no! We've got time! If we don't then I will MAKE time!"

Stiles gripped Derek's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he feared he might break his bones. He knew though, he knew Derek would need that, to know how serious he was. Crouching down by Derek's face, Stiles leaned in close, determined to get the message across.

"Listen here Derek. I have not saved your hot wolfy ass time and time again to watch you die. You hear mean, Big Guy? You've gotta hold on a little bit longer, okay?" Stiles smoothed a hand over the wolf's strong brow. As if gathering all the little bit of strength he had left, Derek cracked his eyes open to slits, but managed to lock eyes with the hyper teen.

Seeing this, that he had Derek's attention, and well as his hand cradled in his, he squared his shoulders, and whispered the rest to the man he loved.

"I swear, if you die, I don't know how I'll cope. I know I will punch your dead nuts so hard you will feel it in the afterlife, though. You hear me? Hold the eff on, because I am going to save you Derek, just like I always do, and always will. Hold on, alright?

It could have just been an exhale, but from the way Scott gasped and shot his eyes towards his best friend, Stiles was pretty sure Derek whispered, "a'ight, Tech."

Tech?! He knows my real name? Just a dream? NOT NOW DAMMIT!

Stiles shook his head, and gave Derek's hand one more squeeze.

"I gotta let go for now, okay? I'm just going to go to my backpack, so don't get any ideas of dying on me. I'm serious about punching your nuts."

With that, Stiles shot up and scrambled to his backpack. Practically ripping the zipper off, he grasped the possible holy grail of werewolf medicine, and presented it to the group.

"No need to go over to my pantry, or get the fairy cat-mother, because I have the other glass slipper! I made this myself at Mrs. S' house a few hours ago!"

"Oh thank God! Use it already, idiot!" Lydia exhaled noisily, a sentiment shared by Cora's affirming sigh.

Stiles ran over and handed the jar to Deaton.

Deaton walked over to the exam table, and handed Stiles a pair of surgical gloved.

Stiles looked at the vet like he handed him a duck, and asked him to turn it into a banana split.

"Uh, whaaat Doc?"

"Stiles, because you were one to make it, and since you made it under the guidance of the possible witch, it should be you that administers the medicine."

The teen shook his head, stomach roiling, as Scott (aka the traitor), gently pushed him toward Derek's body.

"No way Doc, I'm not cut out for this! What if I do it wrong, or make it worse…"

Deaton gave him a reassured smile.

"There is not much you could do to make it worse. Think of it like when I told you how to use the mountain ash. Do you believe this paste you made will heal Derek?"

Stiles looked down at the jar that was placed in his hand, and down at Derek's back.

Could he do it? The truth was that he was not really sure. Derek, as well as the whole Pack, was counting on him to heal their fallen member. His own heart counted on him to save the wolf he loved, at whatever cost.

But could he do it?

Thinking of all the times he had not only saved Derek's life before, and all the times Derek had returned the favor, Stiles knew he had his answer.

This is what we do. It doesn't matter if I'm just 147lbs of sarcasm and brains, or that I'm not as cool as my-maybe- subconscious/future self. This is a Stiles-and-Derek thing. Derek's always got my back…and I save Derek's ass when he gets into stupid situations. I think getting attacked, shot by, and nearly blown up by magical fake elf hunters constitute as a stupid situation.

Stiles took a deep breath, swallowing the rising bile at looking at Derek's icky wound.

"Yeah. Yeah, I got this."

As Stiles opened the lid of the jar and dipped his gloved fingers into the paste, Scott leaned over to Stiles ear.

"Dude…not the time, I know, but since when does Derek know your real name?"

Stiles shrugged, but felt, for the first time in hours, like smiling. He might hate his first name with a passion, but the idea of Derek knowing it, and making a pet name out of it, made his heart ache in such a good way.

Come on Derek. It might have been a dream, or maybe not, but we won't know if you don't hold the frig on. We could have something like that. You just have to live.

A few minutes later, after nearly gagging more than once while spreading the greenish-yellow paste on Derek's back, Stiles and the rest of the room's occupants waited on bated breath…only to see no change in the injury.

"It's not working." A worried young Alpha said as he looked down at his dying Beta.

"Just, give it more time. Just a little more time." Stiles begged quietly. He was not sure who he was begging to: Scott or himself.

Lydia hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder. "You did what you could, Stiles."

By then, Cora was sitting almost catatonic in the chair next to her brother, Deaton was pacing, and Isaac was whimpering in the corner.

Were they wrong? Was Mrs. S really just a normal cat lady, making some silly old wives tale remedy?

Stiles ripped the gloves from his hands, and threw them angrily across the room, before running his hands through his hair and across his eyes.

Who was he kidding? The paste was a long shot, and so was he. He maybe had a tiny bit of magic in his pinky finger, nothing like his crazy dream. Ollie Sztuczka may be some type of magical being, according to Deaton, but not one that had anything to help a dying werewolf. The paste, just like he, Scott, and their parents thought for years, was just some stinky stuff an old lady thought could cure all ailments.

The truth is that it's a load of crap! It's-WHERE DID MY CUT GO?!

Stiles stared, dumbfounded, and where the Batman Band-Aid had been before. Figuring it was taken away with the glove; Stiles gazed at the perfectly healed, smooth skin of his finger, where the cut had been before.

It's gone! It's gone?! How-

That's when Stiles remembered what Mrs. Sztuczka told him at her kitchen table.

" Really, it's the only way Mnich odwrót works. Without a healing kiss, all it is really is smelly cabbages, vinegar, and herbs."

A kiss. The diffrence was a simple, healing kiss.

"Ooooh man, I know why it didn't work!"

Scott's eager head popped up from looking down at Derek.

"What? Why? What is it Stiles?"

The honey-eyed teen felt his cheek flush when almost all the eyes in the room turned to him.

"Uh…" He showed Scott his finger. "I cut myself earlier, and Mrs. S fixed it. She, ahh…kissed my boo boo."

Isaac gave him sad-stained sarcastic look. "You think kissing Derek will heal him, are you kidding?"

"No, do it!" Lydia exclaim with light in her eyes. "I've seen it work before. Hell, I've made it work before! Do it Stiles!"

Stiles grimaced when he realized he was going to have to put his mouth to a wolfsbane infected abrasion, as well as layers of foul-smelling gunk.

This is for Derek. Do it for the wolf-man you love. You can do it.

Stiles looked down again is disgust.

Oh he is soooo going to owe me for this

Bracing his hands at shoulders width apart on the exam table, Stiles breathed through his mouth as he shakily lowered his lips to Derek's back.

Don't concentrate on the wound. Look at the tattoo, think of what the triskele means.

Stiles' lips hovered over the slightly warm skin of Derek's back.

Think of…gray-green eyes in the sunlight, and red and blue ones at night. Think of dry humor that has been hidden too long behind a serious sour mask. Think of suppressed chuckles when you do manage to make him laugh and leather jackets and banter in cars.

Stiles closed his eyes, and recited the little ditty Mrs. Sztuczka always sang.

"Mnich Odwrót,"

Monk Revearse

"działać,"

Stiles pressed his soft lips to the wolf's back.

Work

"działać", Stiles whispered into the skin, feeling heady and rushing with love and something from deep inside his being, as the paste coated his lips.

Work

Giving one last exhale and forgetting anyone else existed in the room besides himself and his wolf, Stiles rubbed his lips back and forth against the man below him, feeling his tears mix in with the paste.

Even if Derek never loved Stiles like he loved him, he would forever be greatful that he lived. He had lost and sacrificed so much, and Stiles would be damned if the universe decided it was his time to go. No. Love or no love, Stiles was going to make sure he was going to live, and enjoy the life he had.

After all, that's what we do. Stiles and Derek. He has my back, and I save his hot ass. God, let me save him. Let my love be enough.

Letting go and pushing all he was, they were, and the mystery of all they could be, along with his love and that something from deep within into his lips, Stiles gave Derek one last kiss to the wound.

"działać"

Work

Unbeknownst to the teen, the rest of the room watched in awe as a light seemed to glow from where Stiles lips and Derek's injury met. With the last kiss Stiles placed on Derek's back, they were shocked and amazed to see that the werewolf was completely healed.

Lydia, standing next to Scott, covered her heart as she smiled at the two, mascara rolling down her rouged cheeks.

"Well look at that. The power of true love wins again."

Scott looked over at the strawberry blonde.

"The power of-Lydia, do you think they-"

She shook her head at her friend and whacked the Alpha on the shoulder.

"Stiles just kissed Derek better from the brink of death, and Derek knows Stiles real name. What does that tell you?"

Scott's jaw dropped.

"Oh man." He looked back to his best friend/brother, who still had his eyes closed, and his Beta, who was beginning to stir.

Looking back at Lydia, he knew what she meant.

"But they're not even together."

"Not yet, Scott. Not yet. Don't you think we should give them a helping hand?"

Scott looked back over at Stiles and Derek, as the two both opened their eyes, and locked them on each other. He grinned.

"You're right. Christmas is a time for miracles. Who's to say that we can't help with one more?"

Meanwhile, light brown and gray-green bloodshot eyes were gazing at each other.

In moments like those, like in one of Lydia's favorite movies, the two would profess their undying love to each other.

However, things were not ever that simple with Derek and Stiles.

"Where the hell have you been Stiles, and why do I smell like rotten pickles?" Derek gruffly whispered.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles and Cora helped Derek sit up.

"Oh, that's gratitude for you. I just saved your life dumb ass, with that "rotten pickle" stuff, and my own magic might I add."

Cora, with suspiciously wet eyes, poked Stiles in the arm.

"Right. Your 'magic', which consists of making out with my brother's infected wounds. That was really gross, by the way."

Stiles sputtered as he wiped the paste from his lips.

"It wasn't exactly pleasant for me, you know."

He shot Derek a look.

"But hey! It brought you back, so it was worth it, right? You so owe me though man!"

Things were a blur of catching Derek up on the hunters situation, and Deaton checking his vitals.

Remembering that his Dad had dropped him off, and his Jeep was still in the shop, he was about to ask if he could catch a ride with Lydia, or ride behind on Scott's bike, when Derek offered to take Stiles home.

With Cora waiting in the car, Derek insisted on walking Stiles to his door.

"Whoa, what a day, right? My Jeeps gets tampered with by magical hunters, and you almost die. Speaking of, you should probably down a bottle of water and gets some rest Derek."

When Stiles was about to put his key in the door, Derek turned Stiles back around.

"Wait. Look…thank you, for what you did."

Stiles knew he could have teased Derek for actually apologizing for once, but with the soft, exposed, genuine look on his handsome face, and the connection between them, Stiles found that he didn't want to ruin the moment.

Oh wow, we're so having a moment here!

"Dude, Derek, anytime man. Anytime, whenever you need me."

Derek grunted in affirmation and nodded his head.

Seeing it as the end of the conversation, Stiles turned again, and opened the door.

"Stiles," Derek called from behind him. Turning his body back towards the werewolf, he noticed Derek was looking at his feet.

"I heard what you said, when you held my hand."

Stiles felt his throat close up.

"You mean the punching you in the nuts thing?"

A surprised bark of laughter broke free from Derek's mouth.

"That too, but I was actually talking about something else."

"Oh. Well now I feel stupid. What did you want to talk about?"

What else did I say?

Derek cleared his throat.

"The things about not being able to cope if I died, and how you always will save me?"

Stiles felt the color drain from his face.

"Oh. Right, those, well…"

"Stiles," Derek said as he placed his hand out to stop Stiles' words.

Finally looking up into honey colored eyes, Stiles saw something in Derek's eyes that he had only seen once before. In his dream.

"Just know Stiles…it's the same. For me. Every bit of it."

Trying to lighten the mood, Stiles smirked.

"Even the punching the nuts part?"

Derek smiled right back.

"Especially that part."

With that, Derek nodded his goodbye, and got in his car.

Inside on his bed, Stiles flopped backwards, trying to make sense of his day, and the days to come.

Getting up and walking to his window, he saw the light go out in Mrs. Sztuczka's living room.

There were so many things that were confusing and jumbled in his brain. However, he did know that he used his freakin' magic to save a life. A werewolf's life. The man he loved's life.

He also knew that he managed to that, only with her paste and her words.

He and Scott were planning to visit their old babysitter the next morning. As much as he was greatful for her, they were going to get some answers.

Until then, he thought as sleep overtook him, he was going to dream of hot werewolf husbands, fat cats, kisses, and adorable children.

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