Stiles knows his mom is an evil genius, but the timing works out way too well.
Or maybe the Hales really have been trailing him. Stiles won't pretend to understand.
Derek is sitting on the same bench Stiles was only a few hours ago, thumbs moving rapidly over the scrunched keypad of his flip phone. Stiles is sympathetic to those thumbs, recalling when he became a latchkey kid who had the mature responsibility of walking all the way home from work and thus needing a cellphone for emergencies. The only emergency that ever erupted was the time it went off in class because his dad accidentally butt dialed him and when Jackson decided it would be fun to throw it off of the tallest slide on the playground.
But, that's a story for another day. And different company, because Stiles has somehow sat down right next to Derek without him even blinking. It's like he's in another world, hitting key after key to compose a- Stiles peeks over his shoulder, instantly regretting being nosy because he definitely didn't need to see Derek Hale sexting with Kate Argent.
Stiles gulps down whatever bile had been climbing its way up his throat and places a hand on Derek's shoulder.
He practically jumps at the touch, phone snapping shut almost guiltily, Stiles fights the urge to tell him it was too late and that, yes, he had read exactly what Derek wanted to do to Crazy Kate's nipples. Nah, he much prefers to ignore the glare Derek is sending him and raises an eyebrow, "Dude, are you okay? Last time I tried to sneak up on you, you showed up behind me and knocked me to the ground."
Derek's nose twitches, which Stiles finds adorable because his Derek had managed to perfect the neutral bitch face and his nose would never think to do such a vile thing as twitching, and he squints his eyes. "I sound like a douche bag."
Stiles pats his shoulder sympathetically, belatedly realizing he hadn't moved it in the first place, "That you are. But I once saw you holding a door open for an old lady and then proceed to carry all of her groceries into her house and help her put them away though. So."
Derek doesn't look impressed by his future self helping old ladies. Stiles is offended on future Derek's behalf.
"You looked really annoyed the entire time though," Stiles assures. "You should have seen your face when she asked you to mix cookie dough for her because her blender broke. It was like you thought the chocolate chips were gonna eat you."
And there's the bitch face. Stiles was starting to think this kid was an alien or something. A happy alien, sure, but an alien none the less.
"Just how close are we in the future?" Derek asks suddenly.
Stiles shrugs, finally moving his hand from Derek's shoulder and looking at the expanse of the hospital. He can still remember making pancakes and eggs and forcing Derek out of bed on each of his fallen family members birthdays, remembers Derek doing the same for him when his own mom's birthday came around. They had lots of talks about family, trading morose stories and letting out bitter, broken laughs at each one. Derek told him almost everything, because once Stiles earned that trust from Derek, he never betrayed it.
It wasn't all secret sharing and happy fun times, though, and Stiles can still see that closed off expression anytime he tried to bring up Paige, the way his hands would twitch into claws whenever he brought up his doubts about Peter, how he still cringed away from the name Argent and hesitated with Chris' firm handshakes. Stiles got past the first layer, sure; farther than Scott or Isaac or anyone else had, but Derek refused to let him closer, refused to let anyone closer.
When someone has been bitten enough times, it's not surprising that they'd shy away from a dog.
But Stiles doesn't say that. This Derek is too young, too undamaged by life and its sick plans for him. So Stiles just shrugs and simply says, "As close as you'd let yourself be to someone, I think."
Derek looks like he wants to reply but then his phone vibrates. Stiles always thought Peter was lying when he said Derek was like Scott, never thought the creepy uncle could possibly be telling the truth, but the way Derek's eyes light up when he reads whatever Kate sent, Stiles is sonot making that mistake again, thank you, makes him think that maybe he never gave Peter enough credit.
Then he remembers that Laura said that Peter wants to torture information out of him and quickly retracts that thought.
And that reminds Stiles.
"Hey," He knocks his shoulder into Derek's, "How's your mom?" Derek doesn't respond, still typing away. Stiles rolls his eyes and juts his chin in the direction of the hospital, smirking, "Mine's dying, if you're curious."
His fingers still, expression dropping, and Stiles doesn't feel an ounce of guilt. He's not above shaming Derek away from Kate, he tells himself. It's just a means to an end, he quietly assures. It's not like his throat feels tight at the mention of his mom dying again. It's not like it hurts him to know that, even if he saves Derek's family, his will still be broken. Stiles has always been a big fan of avoidance.
"So is mine, if what Laura says is true," Derek bites out, eyes flashing blue before fading slowly, so slow that Stiles knows it's on purpose, back to hazel.
If he looks a bit put out at Stiles not being shocked or afraid of his super-scary-and-obviously-intimidating eyes, Stiles doesn't mention it.
"Like you're so worried about it," Stiles snorts, shrugging lightly, "Laura tells me you're almost never home anymore."
"Laura hasn't even talked to you in weeks," Derek shoots back, looking away and down to his screen again. Stiles quickly shoves off how much that reminder hurt. He wants to say it's only been two weeks, but it sounds pathetic even to him so he stays quiet. "And dad says you've already made your choice not to do anything. What's the point anymore?"
Stiles blanks at the mention of Rand, and suddenly he's overcome by the feeling of being pressed into a wall, Rand's face in his, shouting at him and blaming him for something he didn't even do.
"Exactly!" He remembers the timekeep hissing at him, "You've done nothing!"
Stiles hates everything, he decides.
He shakes his head, trying to clear out the memories of last night that seem to want to suffocate him, and looks at Derek.
"If you're done being an angsty teenager...?" Stiles smirks as Derek just glares at him, and he wonders if Derek thinks he's above angsty teenagery things because he's dating an older woman. The thought makes him sick. Knowing that his Derek wouldn't hesitate to punch him in the face for making that comment only makes him more sick. "I actually need to talk to Talia. Call a pack meeting. Sound the alarms. Howl to the moon and all that."
Stiles was one of the few pack members to actually like pack meetings. He loved the excuse to hang out with all of them, even if they usually had to talk about whatever life threatening, power hungry asshole they had to deal with. Mostly because it resolved into a royal bitch fest of complaining that ended up with them watching some crap television and ordering ten boxes of pizza.
Derek's debit card had truly been a treasure. Since Stiles has been borrowing Deaton's clothes since he got here, Stiles really doesn't think he appreciated the pack funds as much as he could have in his time.
He really doubts the Hales pack meetings will be anything like that, though. Talia seems to have more of a hold on her betas. Not that Derek was a bad alpha, once he got over a few of his issues upon issues, just that he thinks being the mom and the alpha gave her words more weight.
The fact that he didn't have Hales bothering him about the state of the future for the past three weeks is more than proof of that. Scott would have broken down within three hours. Erica probably would have knifed the bastard as soon as they admitted to having knowledge of futurey death things.
Stiles ignores the dull ache in chest. He has to remind himself that they're gone, that he's mourning the loss of people who don't even exist anymore. The timekeep told him that 2013 isn't anything like he left it, even said it was changing with every decision Stiles made. Like that wasn't a lot of pressure, or anything.
Derek doesn't look ready to sound any alarms, much less howl to the moon. Stiles is disappointed and he decides that he doesn't like this Derek at all. This Derek is an asshole, no matter how innocent and happy he looks. He wonders if it's just Kate's influence on him making him act like this, or if Derek is always just this much of a teenager. This Derek is really lame and apparently self absorbed and Stiles kinda just wants to kick him off of the bench.
He doesn't, though, because that would be undignified of a time traveler of his stature. Instead, he sniffs, resolving to get Deaton to set up a meeting with Talia or something, since that's his job, and nudges Derek with his shoulder again, "What are you doing here anyways? Is Laura around? Did she send you to stalk me while she humps her boyfriend?"
Derek snorts, "No, she kinda gave up on you," Stiles flinches back like Derek just stabbed him in the heart with a claw. Derek doesn't look guilty at all about the reaction, that bastard, "I'm actually waiting on someone and not being creepy."
Stiles is very proud of himself for not breaking down in hysterical laughter. He deserves a medal, he decides, a big shiny one that says "Worlds Best Time Traveler". Honestly. Look at the shit he has to put up with.
"You say that like I'll actually believe it," Stiles says. Derek rolls his eyes like he would rather saw off his own arm than be here. Oh, does Stiles have a story for him. "Whatever. Is it someone I know?"
"Well you seem to know everything about me so, probably."
"You make it sound so stalkery," Stiles narrows his eyes, "Sorry, buddy, I'm just a simple man forced through time to fix everything wrong in the world."
Derek looks up quickly, almost knocking his head into Stiles', "Wait, what? I thought you weren't going to do anything?"
"I had a sudden... revelation of sorts."
Derek doesn't look at all convinced, but he hasn't gone back to texting so Stiles considers it a win. "A revelation."
"A revelation." Stiles confirms. "One that I'll be more than happy to share with you at this pack meeting that you still haven't called for somereason."
Derek looks between his phone, the door of the hospital, and Stiles' face. Sties doesn't really like how expressive this Derek is. Well, of course he likes it, it's cool to not have to become fluent in eyebrows, but it's just so different. Those bushy brows have hardly had an action. Stiles can't tell if he's disappointed or not.
He types out a quick message on his phone, sighing like the world is out to get him. Stiles doesn't bother a sympathetic pat. His Derek would take a lot of pleasure in beating the crap out of this one, Stiles decides. He can't hold off his curiosity and is happy to see that it isn't a sext, but some crappy explanation about having to leave suddenly. Seriously. 'I left the shower on- gtg'. So unimpressive.
When he sees Kate's name in the top corner of the screen, well, Stiles is less happy.
His back goes straight, head on a swivel to look for hide or hair of that she-devil. Why is she at the hospital? Why is Derek waiting for her at the hospital? His heart pounds quickly, causing Derek to look at the general area of his chest intensely with confusion.
"We gotta go," Stiles says distractedly, still watching the doors with laser like focus, "Come on."
Derek follows him up and leads him back to his car, the same one Laura was driving the day Stiles showed up in the past. It feels wrong to see Derek drive something that isn't the Camero, to see him in some hand me down car that probably can't get over eighty.
Stiles doesn't comment though, still looking for Kate. He doesn't know what he'll do if he sees her. Stiles always hated Kate, was always happy that Peter slit her throat, until Derek told him exactly what his relationship with Kate was. Her death was too quick, he decided. Peter agreed with him. Stiles used to have to leave the room anytime she was brought up, so furious that he couldn't control his magic and short circuited the TV and half the lights in the house.
He bought Derek a new TV, but no one brought up Kate around him again.
"We need to make a stop at my house," Stiles says as he bites away all of his warnings of staying away from Kate. He needs to make a plan. He needs to talk to Talia. He needs to know what the fuck he's doing but he has no clue.
Derek starts the car and backs out of the parking lot, "Deaton's is twenty minutes away from my house. Can't you just go there after?"
"No, I mean my house house. The Stilinski house. It's like five minutes away, okay? It won't take long."
"Am I helping you break into the Deputy's house, Stiles?"
"Depends on how you define breaking in," Stiles shrugs, because he knows where his dad keeps the spare key and he knows the kitchen window is always unlocked and he knows that the garage door opens if you jimmy the handle a few times.
Is it breaking in if it's your own house? Stiles decides it's not.
"Besides," Stiles soothes, because Derek looks ready to call off the whole endeavor and go sit and wait for Kate again, "He's visiting my mom. He won't be home for hours." Derek still doesn't look convinced, so he adds, "Just trust me, okay?"
And feels like he's just been hit upside the head with a wrench when Derek still looks unsure.
Derek opens his mouth to speak but Stiles doesn't give him the chance, can't hear Derek's voice tell him that he doesn't trust him. He reaches over and clicks on the turn signal and then presses down on Derek's leg- hard. The car lurches forward, making him unsteady and he his his head on the window.
Derek growls at him over Stiles' groan of pain, like he would have at Isaac for saying something stupid during a pack meeting, but Stiles only rolls his eyes.
Thankfully, Derek doesn't kick him out of the car and tell him to go die in a ditch and dutifully drives to Stiles' house.
It doesn't look any different. Like, at all actually. It's painstakingly the same. If Derek wasn't sitting next to him, all baby faced and annoyed, then Stiles wouldn't even know he was six years in the past.
He tells Derek to wait in the car, because he should only be like two minutes, and Derek just takes out his phone. Again. Stiles wonders if he'll murder him if he throws his phone away. Maybe he can get away with deleting Kate's number. It's something to think about, certainly.
He doesn't feel like shimmying through the window, so he gets the key out from the fake slat above the door. It slides in easily.
The first thing he notices is that there are dishes in the sink. Dishes. With food still on them. Stiles' fingers itch to clean them. He remembers that it takes him a few months to grow into the hollow roll his mom left when she went to the hospital, that it took him a while before he learned that his dad didn't know how to do laundry and that he never bought in bulk at the grocery store and left the coupons in the morning paper like an idiot.
He does pick up the bowl of cereal and put it atop the steadily growing pile and roll up a bag of opened chips on the coffee table, though. He may also move a pillow and fold the blanket on the end of the couch, remembering how his dad slept downstairs for months after his mom died. He couldn't handle sleeping in his bed alone. Stiles would sometimes crawl downstairs and sleep in the arm chair or on the floor, but when he woke up he would always be back in his bed again.
Stiles leaves the basket of laundry alone though. Little him will have to learn the hard way to not let his dad mix colors and whites. The struggle will give him character.
There's an opened bottle of Jack on the coffee table. The lid is nowhere to be found, but the bottle is almost empty anyway. He remembers his mom's face when he blurted out about his dad's drinking, and something in him flares up. Before he can even think, he's lifting up the bottle and draining it in the sink. He very deliberately puts it back exactly where he found it. He does the same with the four bottles under the sink, carefully screwing the tops back on and putting them back.
This Stiles won't grow up with his dad drowning his sorrows in alcohol. No. This Stiles won't use alcohol to get information out of his dad. Not if Stiles can help it. They'll actually talk about his mom. If he's changing the time line he's doing this right.
He makes a mental note to come back next week and check again and starts heading up stairs, fighting the urge to sort out even more things that current him will be too young to process.
The guestroom is about as boring and plain as it always is. White walls. White bedspread. No personal touches. Stiles' mom wasn't much of a decorator. She hated Ikea with a passion and anytime spent there was considered wasted time.
It's common knowledge in the Stilinski household that if you want to get rid of something but don't want to throw it away, you put it in the guestroom closet. It's a huge walk in that makes Stiles annoyed that it wasn't given to him as his room, since his own closet is a measly sliding door one, but, whatever. The attic is already filled with enough crap, and his pack rat parents really didn't need the extra space. Stiles just considers them all lucky that no one got the bright idea to just turn the guest room into a storage room.
The box is exactly where his mom said it would be. It coughs up dust when Stiles moves it and it reeks of his grandma's perfume. It's taped shut so Stiles can't look through it, which is probably for the best since he'd probably just end up sitting there all day and end up getting caught by the Sheri- Deputy.
Time travel sucks.
On his way out, he steals two of his dad's shirts from the laundry room. They're ones from a marathon and the academy, ones he only uses on laundry day or when he's just running to the convenience store. Stiles steals them in the future anyways and his dad doesn't notice, so he just throws them over his shoulder. He's so tired of wearing Deaton's clothes and he smiles to himself, excited to have something that's so normalfor once.
He makes sure to lock the door behind him and puts the key exactly where he found it. He's confident that his dad will blame the moved blankets and dishes and bottles of alcohol on his younger self since he was home alone all day. He also probably won't yell at Stiles for dumping out the Jack.
Oh well. It's not his problem, right?
Derek is exactly where he left him, frowning down at his self phone. Trouble in paradise? He wonders. What exactly was Kate doing at the hospital? There's nothing evil or villainy at the hospital, right? He shakes his head, thinking that it's irrelevant.
Stiles taps on the drivers side window and Derek bolts upright, phone snapping shut with an audible snap. Stiles thinks it's broken, but Derek doesn't look too concerned with it. He rolls down his window, glaring at him.
"You're an asshole," Derek seethes.
"It's part of my charm," Stiles shrugs, opening the back door to put his box and shirts in."That's like the second time I've snuck up on you dude," Stiles says, squinting his eyes at Derek, "You okay? Everything alright with the old werewolf powers?"
Derek manages to look annoyed and confused at the same time. It's a great combination, "I'm fine, Stiles. We don't actually use our abilities all the time. We can tone them down. You know that, right?"
Stiles just stares at him, "What are you talking about? It's like a born wolf thing."
Derek, his Derek, would suddenly jump out of the window if his dad was so much as two streets away. He could tell if they won lacrosse games just by how they smelled the next time he saw them. He could smell when cookies were perfect to take out of the oven, for fucks sake. Why would Derek be that on all the time if he could control it?
But Derek just stares at him like he's speaking nonsense and shakes his head slowly, "We can control it. How do you think we can all live in the same house without dying of embarrassment?"
The answer hits him suddenly. It makes him take a step back with the force of his realization, because he fucking understands and he knows first hand. Derek was hyperventilate. He had PTSD. Which, really, it all makes so much sense. Stiles runs a hand through his hair, pissed off beyond recognition because how could he not have noticed? How had Derek hidden it so well from him? Why hadn't he ever considered it?
Stiles is truck by the sudden sense of protectiveness he feels for Derek. He feels like he's been set afire with his rage, burning form the inside out. He wants to find them. Everyone. Kate, Jennifer, Peter. Everyone who has ever taken or stolen or lied or wronged that man. He can't even look at Derek's face without wanting to break into the Argent house and smother Kate with a pillow in her sleep or track down Kali's pack just to bury Jennifer alive and he wants to tear Peter limb from limb and scatter him across the globe and wrap him in twelve different types of wolfsbane and mountain ash.
He looks away from Derek's baby soft, confused face, hating the way his gut clenches as he thinks of Derek sobbing over Cora's dead body, the way he looked when Scott threw mistletoe on Jennifer, the haunted, distant expression anytime Stiles had to cook meat for dinner in his kitchen. He wants to take it all away, wrap Derek in an assortment of blankets and tie him to a couch and never let him watch anything but happy cartoons and eat ice cream, because the world is nothing but unfair and traumatizing to Derek, and Stiles will do anything he can to make sure that he never has to see him look anything less than ecstatic again.
Even if it means he has to light a few fires of his own, first.
He throws open the side door and gets in, slamming it shut behind him. Derek winces at the sharp slap of metal on metal.
"Drive." He demands, not looking at Derek.
Derek, seeming to pick up on his fury, quickly puts his phone away and starts the car without comment.
