John watched the amber liquid going down the drain.

It felt good.

Decision made, John went through the house and got every bottle he had. Beer, wine, whiskey, it didn't matter, if it contained alcohol it went down the drain. He got every hidden stash, every open bottle. Seeing the whole picture for the first time it was scary where he had a bottle at hand. The kitchen and the living room were a given but he found half-empty bottles in the garage, with the laundry, and even in his bedroom.

In the end, he had a lot of empty bottles on the kitchen counter and the sink smelled like a brewery. John let the water run for a moment to wash away the last traces.

When he tried to shut the water off, the knob didn't budge.

"What the …?" John tried harder but he couldn't shut off the water.

"John," Derek suddenly said behind him. John jumped in surprise and knocked over a few of the bottles. One shattered on the floor but the other one survived the fall. John managed to catch the rest before they went over the edge.

"What are you doing here?" Busy with the bottles John couldn't turn around to face Derek. Maybe he just didn't want to.

"Have you changed your mind?" John asked, fiddling with the bottles longer than necessary.

"About what?" Derek asked. He was a solid presence in his back, John could almost feel him standing right behind him. It would be easy for him to reach around and to close his hand over John's mouth and nose.

"Killing me," John said and braced both arms on the counter.

"No," Derek said simply. "Stiles doesn't want me to kill you either."

"Stiles is dead." John felt fresh tears pricking in his eyes.

"I know, he died the other day."

"Yeah, I was there." What kind of game was Derek playing? His indifference was unnerving. Why didn't he do something already?

"No, you weren't."

"Pretty sure I was." Now John did turn around and narrowed his eyes on the Nöck. "I shot him."

"I drowned him when Johnathan Hale gave him to me," Derek corrected. He met John's gaze openly but John couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Don't try to sugarcoat it for me." John felt the anger building up and he clenched his fists. "I shot him. Right in the face. He went cold and stiff in my arms."

"That doesn't mean that you killed him," Derek had the nerve to say. "But Stiles said that you might think that way."

John opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind but then he closed it without saying anything when the second part of Derek's statement reached his brain. Derek wasn't making any sense.

"When did he say that?" John finally managed to ask.

"Just now," Derek answered. "That's why he asked me to check on you. He fears that you might do something stupid." He let his eyes wander over the parade of bottles and to the shattered glass around John's feet. "Are you doing something stupid?"

"Just pouring a few hundred dollars down the drain," John said absently, he was still trying to make sense out of what Derek was saying. John had held Stiles in his arms for hours. If Derek had come for him right when he'd gotten shot he might have been able to save him. But Stiles had been dead with a bullet in his head long enough for rigor mortis to set in. John had felt his body going stiff in his arms. One couldn't get more dead than that. Even Derek with whatever power he had over Stiles couldn't bring him back from that, could he?

John felt the tiny flutter of hope in his chest. Maybe, just maybe.

"Where is Stiles now?" He asked. If nothing else he deserved a proper funeral and not just a wet grave at the bottom of the lake.

"He's with me," Derek answered. "He might have to stay under for a few days. That's why he wanted me to check on you."

"He's alive?" Blindly John searched for the nearest chair, he had to sit down.

"He hasn't been alive since …"

"Since you drowned him, I get that," John finished the sentence for him.

"Are you alright?" Derek almost sounded concerned. "You're pale all of a sudden."

"It's just … I didn't expect this. I thought that he's gone." The rational part of his brain insisted that he'd held Stiles' corpse in his arms, there was no coming back from that but there was a small part that wanted to believe.

"Stiles already died once, he can't die again," Derek explained, still with a wary eye on him.

"He looked pretty dead."

When Derek reached for him, John flinched back but the Nöck didn't go for his face. Instead, he laid a damp hand on John's shoulder. In seconds the cold water seeped through the fabric but it felt good, grounding. John had seen Stiles leaning into Derek's touch, now he understood. John wasn't like Stiles but Derek was an old presence, offering comfort. They weren't in the water, he couldn't even start to imagine how it would feel like if this being floated around him, embracing him.

"Stiles needs some time to recover," Derek said. "But he's just as before."

Derek stepped closer and drew John into his arms. With a sob, John tilted sideways until his head rested on Derek's chest.

Derek was cold and wet and not exactly good with hugs but John slung his arms around his middle and cried into this chest.

"I thought I killed him." The words broke out of him, his whole body shaking with them. "I thought I would never see him again."

"You will," Derek assured him. He cupped John's head and just held him close. Derek didn't feel quite solid and even sitting more or less upright, John felt like he was drifting, kind of floating. "He wants that driving lesson."

John barked out a bitter laugh at that. The driving lesson had been the last thing on his mind.

Derek held him for as long as he needed it but eventually, John let go of him and straightened up. He wiped his face with his sleeve but he still had the taste of lake water on his lips. Where Derek had touched him his clothes were soaked and he should change into something dry before he caught pneumonia, it was a miracle that he hadn't already caught it after spending the night out in the woods, but John wasn't ready to move.

Derek had another look at him, making sure that he wouldn't just fall out of the chair most likely, before he took a seat across from John.

"Better?" He asked to which John nodded, he didn't trust his voice just yet.

Derek just sat there and waited him out. John wasn't sure why he was still here, he'd delivered the message Stiles had sent him to deliver. John didn't question it, though, he was just glad to not be alone right now.

"Does that mean that he wants to see me again?" John finally asked. His voice was still hoarse and he had to clear his throat but he needed to know.

"Yes."

"Why?" John couldn't help but wonder. "He doesn't want anything to do with Mark and he'd hurt him less." Might have died for a second there, Stiles' words echoed in his mind. He hadn't meant it metaphorical that much was clear now. But a second was nothing compared to the hours John had held his dead body.

"Why are you so calm?" John asked. "Even if it doesn't stick, Stiles was gone. For hours."

"Our relationship with the Hales is … difficult."

"Understatement."

Derek ignored his comment and continued: "As long as they stay on their side of town, I don't care about the pack but Stiles hates them."

"Yeah, he didn't like Mark even before he attacked him."

"Mark lost control," Derek said. "That's unacceptable for a werewolf. Especially, since Stiles was trying to help."

"I wasn't exactly in control either," John admitted quietly. He didn't even remember Stiles being there, the real one and not the hallucination hurling insults at him.

"Stiles says that you were under the influence of the Nemeton," Derek said. "That you were seeing things."

"That damn tree." John rubbed his still damp face. "I didn't even see Stiles."

"The Nemeton isn't evil," Derek said. "But it's not good either. It just is."

"It amplifies what's already there," John repeated Stiles' words. "There's a lot of dark stuff in there." He tapped his temple.

"I know," Derek said simply.

John didn't remember much of his trip out to the lake after Claudia's funeral but he'd hit rock bottom that night. He did remember the shadow in the water, calling for him. It had been Derek, he knew that now, and he'd been more than willing to dive into the wet grave. It was only thanks to Stiles that he'd survived that night.

John had thought that he couldn't get any lower than that. The Nemeton had proven him wrong.

"Yeah, you seem to be always there when I hit another low." John chuckled but it got stuck in his throat.

"This time I'm here as a friend," Derek said.

John didn't know how to deal with that. It was too much.

"I should get back to Stiles, he needs me." Derek got up but instead of just vanishing he gave John a considering look. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, thank you." John nodded. Suddenly he felt tired. "I think I can sleep now. Tell Stiles that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to …"

"He knows that."

"I would like to see him as soon as he's up for it," John dared to say. Derek had said that Stiles still wanted the driving lesson but John was not convinced that he actually wanted to see him.

"You will." With that, Derek disappeared. Like always John missed the exact moment, he blinked and Derek was just gone. The only proof that he'd been there was the water on the floor. Since Derek had stayed a while, it had formed puddles. John mopped them up before he slipped by accident. While he was at it, he took care of the shattered bottle as well.

With that taken care of John went upstairs, stripped out of his wet clothes, and crawled into bed.

The image of Stiles' dead eyes haunted his dreams but when he woke up in the evening he felt rested. And hungry. By now his stomach was gnawing on its own intestines. Aside from the apple juice he hadn't gotten any calories into himself in way too long.

John ordered enough pizza to feed two people but Stiles didn't show up. Not that John expected him to. But one could hope, right?

John ate the pizza in front of the TV for some distraction and in the end, he demolished Stiles' share as well.

"That was good." With a sigh, John leaned back and patted his stomach. He could go for a drink now, just to finish off a good meal, but he didn't have anything at hand.

"You quit," John reminded himself but full and satisfied as he was, he was too lazy to get up anyway.

The night was hard, though. Since he'd slept all day, he wasn't tired at all so he sat in Claudia's chair with the cardigan over his knee and tried to focus on what was going on on TV. A few times he caught himself reaching for a glass that wasn't there. Each time he deliberately put his hand back on the cardigan and traced along the pattern until the urge eased off.

Around midnight his hands started to shake. Not that badly but noticeable. He made it until two in the morning before he started to reason with himself why one bottle wouldn't hurt. There was a gas station not far away, he could walk there and get a bottle of Jack. Just to take off the edge.

John was already halfway out of his seat when the image of Stiles flashed in his mind. He could almost feel the weight of his dead body in his arms. John dropped back into his seat with a strangled noise. He clutched Claudia's cardigan with both hands and buried his face in the fabric. Rocking back and forth, he made it through another hour. And through the one after that. Every time he was about to give in, he forced himself to remember Stiles.

Somehow John made it through the night. In the morning he took another long shower to wash off the layer of bitter sweat. He shaved and brushed his teeth and then he was ready to face the day.