To Kaseytrue : I hope this OS will cheer you up !

Oh God, he loved the flute. It had such high-pitched notes flying lightly around him, strengthened by the fast part of the fiddle… In the end, it was like he didn't have to force himself to dance. He didn't have to think about the moves, or command his muscles at all. Everything was natural, smooth, as if he was soaring into the air, lifted by the music itself.

It's been three years now that Stiles joined The Triskele, a celtic dance club. He needed something to do on his free time, something that would tire his restless body but also something he need to focus on. He wasn't brawny nor athletic, yet dance seemed to fit him. Plus, folk music, metal or not, was one of Stiles' favorites. Epic win !

Tonight, The Triskele performed in a small pub near Stiles' college, and for the first time, they could afford live music. They had called Loner, a small folk music trio from next town to play for them. The gig wasn't payed, but as both groups weren't professionals, that seemed ok. Members of Loner were all from the same family, if Stiles' memory was correct. Guitars and lutes were Laura's domain, Peter was the fiddler, even if sometimes he played more exotic instruments like hurdy-gurdy, and Derek was the flutist. It was like everything you could blow held no secrets for him : tin whistle, high and low; breton bombarde and of course, bagpipes. That was Stiles favorite instrument to hear. Well, at least, one of his faves. Stiles was the kind of guy to have a lot of favorite things.

The show went great. It was awesome, really. The best Saint Patrick Stiles ever celebrated. People in the pub cheered and laughed, some even danced with them ! They didn't see the time running, and the closing hour came really too soon.

"Are you driving us home tonight?" Scott asked Stiles.

He was his best friend, and as such, he came to watch him dance. Kira, Scott's girlfriend, was here too.

"Of course!"

As a dance group, members of The Triskele didn't really have much gear. Costumes and tap-dancing shoes only, nothing too bulky. Poor Loner trio, with all their instruments and sound gear… Stiles hesitated to offer his help, only to see that other dancers had had the same idea. They more than enough now, and Stiles would just get in the way.

"Ok, let's go then." he said when he noticed his friends were waiting for him.

He didn't know why he wanted to linger a bit. He really liked the flute. Or maybe just the flutist. Anyway, he needed to go.

Scott and Kira lived almost on the other end of the city, so Stiles had to double back to go home, extending his roadtrip to nearly an hour and a half. His own flat wasn't far from the college and the pub he performed that night. But hey, what won't you do for your friends? The sky was dark and this part of the town wasn't well lit, so when his car bumped into something, Stiles immediately assumed it was a cat.

Like, a big cat.

With the shape of a man.

He stopped the car and jumped out of it. Panicked, he still had the reflex to pick up his phone and call 911. The man he hit was lying on the road, badly hurt but still alive, Stiles noticed when he came near him. He also noticed who was the guy he almost killed. The flutist from Loner, Derek.

"You…? Oh my… I'm so sorry!"

Stiles went to park his car correctly, then waited for the ambulance. Derek was unconscious, and his arm made a funny angle. Maybe his fingers were broken too? Stiles felt the guilt and fear taking over him as he just waited by Derek's side, powerless. After what seemed like an eternity - a few minutes, really - the wounded man was taken to the nearest hospital, and Stiles was left alone in the street. The ambulance woman had said that Derek's life wasn't at stake, that it was mostly and only broken bones, but that didn't ease Stiles' panic. In the silence of the sleeping city, he heard Derek's tin whistle again. He just hoped he'd still be able to play it now.

There wasn't much of a mob at the local hospital. It was a small building, and it was packed only when a big car crash happened on the highway nearby. Today, all was quiet, and that's why Stiles' stealth failed him. A nurse saw him, a nurse that he knew very well: Melissa McCall, Scott's mother.

"Oh, Stiles! How are you?"

She looks worried, as if Stiles had come for some injury. He reassured her immediately.

"Fine! Really! I just wanted to see if Derek was ok."

He couldn't get over the fact that he hit him with his car the night before and it took all of his courage to come today and see if he was fine.

"Derek…? Who is he? What's his surname?"

"Er… I don't know." Stiles looked at the floor apologetically.

"You don't know?"

"No I don't… It's a long story. He's a musician and yesterday was St Patrick so my dance club had a gig with his band, and he had an accident."

Melissa tried to know who this man was - when she really could just enter his given name in the computer and see what would come out of it - but when she saw the shadow on Stiles face, she just stopped.

"If you don't know him, why…?"

"The accident. It was my fault. It was me in the car."

He put up the bouquet he wanted to give Derek, still looking deeply sorry.

"I see."

This time, Melissa gave up and went to the computer to search for Derek's name. Why didn't she do it in the first place, that was pure mystery. Stiles tried to breathe more calmly, fearing the upcoming confrontation.

"Hale. It's Derek Hale. Strange enough, you're the first to come and see him."

The sentence didn't proceed to his brain, at first.

"Wait… I'm the first one?"

"Yep."

"But, what about his family?"

Melissa shrugged and lead Stiles in the corridors. Derek played with his sister and his uncle, they must have been worried not to hear from him, not to see him this morning. And if they knew, why wouldn't they come and check on him? Stiles was completely lost.

"Maybe you'd have the chance to ask him yourself." Melissa ended their conversation. "Room 244."

"Thank you." He whispered when they arrived in front of the right door.

He hesitated for a few seconds before entering the room. Derek was there, lying down on the bed with a cast arm and leg, and bruises on his face. Stiles had hoped he'd be sleeping, but his light green eyes were opened.

"Hi…"

"Who are you?"

The first reaction of the young man was to feel vexed. They perform on the same stage the night before and yet he really didn't recognize him?

"I… I'm part of The Triskele. You know, the dancers. I came to see if you were ok."

"Oh."

That was this kind of 'oh' you say when you actually mean 'I don't fucking care'. Great.

"In fact… I… I'm sorry."

Derek's eyebrows frowned more than humanly possible. Stiles felt intimidated… by a helpless man stuck in a hospital bed. Like, seriously?

"I'm sorry, I'm the one that hit you with a car."

Silence fell, uneasing and heavy. Stiles lifted up the bouquet to ask if it was ok for him to let it somewhere in the room.

"No."

Derek's voice was tense and definitive. His gaze pierced him like ice spikes and if he was able to, he surely would have hit Stiles with a stick. His refusal was so violent, Stiles backed down as if he was physically striken.

"But…"

"I don't want it. I don't want your pity, and I refuse your excuses. I don't want you here. Go away."

A few words like daggers flying in the air, and Stiles felt his heart being crushed until nothing remained. He fought the tears that were coming up, because he wasn't crying for that, surely not. He didn't want to look too emotional or whiny when he wasn't the one badly wounded. In fact, he accepted it. He knew he deserved it, every last word of it.

"I'm really sorry, I…"

"Get out!"

This time, Stiles obeyed and left the room without another word. What else could he do?

On his way back to the parking lot, he hoped not to see Melissa, but it looked like his hopes were mostly vain these days.

"How did it go?"

He shrugged, his eyes sweeping the floor and his bouquet still in his hand.

"I see." Melissa replied to Stiles' eloquent silence. "I'm taking that, ok?" She pointed out the flowers. "I'd give them to him. Maybe he'll be ok with it if it's me…"

There was no reason why Derek would accept them from Melissa and not from Stiles… Except if he was too proud to accept them from the man who put him here in the first place.

The next day, Stiles came back to see Derek, this time with hands full of food. Mrs McCall threw him a dark glare, but that didn't stop him. Anyway, for the best or worse, Derek was asleep when he entered the room. Stiles put what he brought on a small table in the corner of the room, just near the flowers Derek surely accepted from his nurse, then stayed for a couple hours. He wondered why he was so stubborn about all this. He didn't know the man, he'd never talked to him, and now that his life wasn't at stake anymore, there was no use staying around. Stiles repeated himself all this, over and over again, and got to the conclusion that he wasn't doing this for Derek, but for himself. The remorse was eating away at him. Paying a visit to the man he injured was the least he could do. Plus, it wasn't like he wasn't used to visit people at hospitals. He knew how important that could be for them, so he wasn't giving up.

Stiles came back the day after and the day after the day after. Since the annual big performance of The Triskele was over, and summer was coming, he could afford to spend time at the hospital. Though everytime he came, Derek was asleep. Stiles would have wanted a chance to talk and explain. They couldn't part on their first and last, for lack of a better word, discussion.

The fourth day however, Derek eventually grasped the idea that Stiles wasn't giving up so he stopped pretending to sleep.

"You're here again." He said when Stiles set foot in his room.

"Oh hi! I'm fine, thank you and you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking if everything's ok with you, why?"

"I said I don't want you here."

Damn, Stiles was almost afraid but he kind of got used to seeing Derek. He calmed down, and just pointed out the obvious.

"But you can't throw me out either. Just listen to me, ok?"

"I already said that I don't want your lame excuses."

"I know that." Stiles put his hands up to shut Derek up and to his big surprise, it worked. Sitting down in the chair by the bed, he kept on talking. "I didn't came to apologize again. I mean, you've got every right in this world to just push aside my excuses. I made them, you refused, end of discussion. But!" Derek had opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles wasn't finished. He meant to say everything he had to say today. "I can't help but feel deeply concerned by the fact that nobody came to see you, beside me of course. Don't you have a family? Friends? Do they even know about your condition?"

"Why are you asking me all this?"

"Because I care, dumbass!" Saying it made it more real, but it was exactly what Stiles was feeling. He really care about Derek, even if they barely know each other. "I know what it's like to be stuck in a stupid bed all day long, with no one to talk to, feeling like you're meaningless because everyone around you have a job and a school to attend and they don't have any time to spend on you. And when they do have free time, you're feeling guilty because they're spending it on you instead of enjoying their daily life. Like you need their attention and when they give it to you, you can't appreciate it because of the guilt. I know what it's like, ok? Anyway, you need to tell them."

Derek turned away. "They already know."

"Wha… What?" Stiles lips parted with astonishment. "They know and nobody came?"

"They're busy. And… I don't have much of a family to begin with. Anyway, I'm ok with it."

Stiles frowned. "No you're not."

"Are you in my head? Because last time I checked, you weren't."

"How can you be so cold?"

"And how can't you mind your own business?"

Well, Derek had a point here. Now Stiles had all the answers he'd asked for. He should leave. Yet, he still had a question mark running through his mind.

"One more thing, and I promise I'll leave you alone… Will you be able to play again?"

"Why…?"

"Your fingers, your arms… Will you be able to play once you're healed?"

Derek nodded, still perplexed. "Did Peter send you to ask me that?"

It was Stiles' turn to be doubtful. He frowned. "No… I just love the sound of whistles and bagpipes and I wanted to know if I ruined that too. Why would your uncle ask me to ask you?"

"How do you know he's my uncle?"

"I made research…?"

"About me?"

"About Loner!Calm down there, I'm not spying on you. Plus, you have an official website so… Anyway, why would he ask me to?"

Derek didn't answer. He already said too much.

"You're not gonna talk, huh?" Stiles sighed and got up from the chair. "Time to go then. If you need anything from me, just call. I wrote my number on the cast of your arm."

With a mischievous smile, Stiles exited the room waving to him. He was so proud of his little joke, though he didn't actually think Derek would phone him.

A few days later, he knew he'd been wrong. About a lot of things: when he heard Derek's voice at the other end of the line, Stiles was happier than he'd thought he would be.

"Derek? How are you? Everything's fine?"

"Yeah don't worry, I'm just… I'm getting out of the hospital today."

"Oh great! You need help?"

"I think I might need a hand, yeah."

"And a leg. And look, I got two of them! I'm on my way!"

This phonecall really cheered him up more than he could possibly imagine. Part of him was worried about those butterflies in his stomach, and part of him welcomed them with arms wide open. Who doesn't like butterflies, anyway?

Derek didn't have much to carry from the hospital to his flat. It felt weird for Stiles to get to know where he lived. It was a big flat, empty for the most part, with so little decoration and personal touch it was almost sinister. Stiles fought the urge to make some comments that he knew wouldn't be welcomed. When all Derek's stuff had been put away in his room, they sat in the livingroom with coffee. Derek was able to walk around with crutches, only not for a long time.

"Are you sure you're gonna be ok?" Stiles asked him again. The man just nodded. "Are Peter and Laura coming someday?"

He shrugged. "They're still busy."

"Or they just don't care." Stiles immediately regretted what he just said. It was one of his several flaws, to speak without thinking. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to…"

"That's ok." But Derek looked really hurt.

"No it's not…"

"You're right." He had to admit it. "You're just right, they don't care. Laura is helping us with the band only because Peter wants her to, and he doesn't care about anything else that this stupid musical formation."

"Why don't you just quit?"

"He'll never forgive me."

"Then don't ask for forgiveness." Sometimes, things with Stiles were simple. Too simple. Derek couldn't help but laugh sourly.

"You wanna know why Peter didn't come and see me? It's because he still haven't forgiven me for not visiting him enough when he was at the hospital. There was a fire in our house and… and he barely made it out alive. Anyway, he spent an awfully long time recovering. I bet you're wondering why you didn't see any scars… It's just that, fortunately, his face and hands were spared, though he still wears long sleeves all year round."

"And you're still feeling guilty about it?"

"Yes. I should have cared more, or at least showed it to him."

"Still, he didn't came for you. He's the one that should feel bad."

"Trust me, Peter never feels bad." He sighed. "It's just how it is."

"I think that one shouldn't care for people that don't care about them. It's like you're giving and aren't given back. That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair."

"I know. But there's a difference between things you can't change, and that. When my mom died, that was life not being fair. She had this rare disease, and nothing could be done about it. Nothing. We were completely powerless, my dad and I, and I was still a young boy. I learnt that some things are just out of our reach. Life's a bitch, yeah." It seemed like it was confession time, and since Derek had been keen enough to talk about his family, Stiles was feeling the same way about his. "But this? Torturing yourself about an uncle that clearly doesn't give a shit about you, that's not something you can't control. It's easier said than done, but just stop caring. Why should you feel guilty when he doesn't?"

"You really don't know how to mind your own business, huh?"

"You're right, I don't. This is just my opinion, though. Do whatever you want now."

Derek sighed, but didn't say anything. What Stiles said made sense, even if it'll be difficult for him to go from theory to practice. Especially when it meant the end of his only hobby: playing Irish music. He needed to think about this.

"Thank you, Stiles."

The words came up from nowhere, breaking a silence that had discreetly settled.

"Don't thank me, I hit you with my car. We're quits now."

Derek couldn't help but laugh lightly.

The school-year had begun two weeks ago, and it was the time for The Triskele to practice again. They used one of the smallest locals in the gymnasium, so when Stiles came up with the idea, he knew there would be problems.

"A bagpipe and flute player? Full time?"

Bobby Finstock, the leader of their dance group, sounded surprised. Thrilled, and in the mean time, concerned.

"That's awfully noisy, we'd have to search for another place to rehearse…"

"Um…" Derek stepped forward and explained why the idea wasn't a bad one. "Actually, tin whistle shouldn't be loud enough to cause trouble, and for bagpipes pieces, we could just use my flat."

If Bobby didn't say anything, his face answered for him.

"He's serious." Stiles intervened. "His flat is huge, probably twice our place here."

"And my neighbors are used to hearing strange sounds." He cleared his throat. "I mean, bagpipes, bombarde and all this stuff."

"Well… Ok. We shall see." Bobby agreed, before he went to see other dancers. Stiles then turned to Derek.

"I knew he would say yes!"

"Is it really ok if I solo?"

"Yeah, still better than recorded music, trust me."

"So I get to see you dance every week now?"

Even if he wasn't quite smiling, his hazel eyes were glowing with joy.

"Yep! And I get to hear you blow every week." Stiles laughed, proud of his little joke.

"Every week? You perfectly know that's not quite true."

Stiles made a face, half laughing half teasing. "I also perfectly know how good a blower you are."

As he knew what was coming after such a line. Derek didn't answer, at least not with words, but since everybody else was busy getting ready and waiting for latecomers, he seized the opportunity and kissed him.

It's been a month or two now, and he still wasn't tired of it. He hoped he wouldn't ever get tired of it.

"STILINSKI! You're here to dance, not to make out!"

They pulled away from each other under the surprise, then smiled.

"I'm pretty sure he really wanted to do that joke about pipe blowing or fingers or…" Stiles commented.

"Just go." Derek replied, getting his hand on his tin whistle. He didn't know what he'd play, and guessed he'd just do whatever their leader asked. Even if he wasn't dancer, he was part of the group now. A real one.