Morning always came too soon when your stomach was filled with nervous butterflies. Especially when you knew you had something to look forward to, whether it be good or bad. Doctor's visits, vacations, the body made no distinction between positive or negative emotion when it came to nerves. And that morning, Stiles couldn't even make the decision himself as to which it was. Instead he occupied himself by tapping a rhythm out with his fingertips on the curve of his knee, eyes glued out the passenger window of Derek's camaro as the scenery passed by too fast for his liking. The last few days had been like moving through a dream, watching a life he remembered well slide through his fingers, but he was determined to go back with a new outlook towards the future. After all, his Derek wouldn't want him wallowing. He'd want him to continue their work, to protect their home and their family. It would be difficult but he had his friends and pack and he had his father and together they would all work through what would come. He'd lost sight of that, forgotten the things he had remaining. Things that, despite the loss and pain, could help him to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

The clinic was both ominous and relieving, something that confused Stiles greatly. It took all of his effort to remove his person from the car, but once he did, he kept a strong grip on the back of Derek's leather jacket to keep himself standing. Derek was a solid force and his presence alone made facing the task he before him even the slightest bit easier.

Deaton met them at the entrance to the clinic, nodding them both through the door and turning the sign to 'closed'. The walk to the back room was silent, Stiles' fingers finally untwining from the creaking leather to drop to his side. Instead of sitting, however, he kept on his feet, leaning against the back wall as Deaton eyed him for a long moment. It unnerved him the way the man could take him apart with just a look, as though he could see into his very soul. With a rather unsatisfied frown, the darker man spoke up.

"I can, indeed, get you home. With your help of course." He added, side-glancing at Derek. "Returning home, ironic as it may seem, is actually much easier than getting here was."

"Good that's…that's good. Right?" he offered, wringing his hands together and taking deep breaths to keep calm. A hope blossomed in his chest. There was still time, he could learn to move on from this.

"Taking energy is one thing. Releasing it is another. Not unlike stretching a rubber band, releasing that energy back out should, essentially, snap you back in place. Same time. Same location."

"Sounds easy enough." Stiles breathed, glancing between the two men before settling on Deaton's face when the man spoke no further, instead seeming determined to have him meet his gaze. Sliding away from the wall and towards the two seats against a side wall, the younger of the two Sparks felt his stomach drop. The look he was pinned with was nothing short of a double edged sword and he knew that look well enough. Derek always gave him that look. It was the good/bad look. The one when the dinner was delicious but it was his turn to take out the trash. Or when he would help decorate the tree but the hat would be torn to shreds if Stiles even attempted to place it on his head.

"There's something I feel it invaluable that you know before you leave. Before I explain how this will work, you need to understand what it cost. The price paid for you to come to this point in time." Deaton offered, moving to sit on the edge of the table, even as Stiles sank into a plastic chair against the wall, his own brow furrowing in confusion and anxious anticipation. "You were aware that you drew life energy from those around you. Though a Spark has many abilities, this is something that is rarely taught. It's more a form of magick, something you've no doubt taken upon yourself to learn." He waited for the hesitant nod that came before continuing, linking his hands together carefully. "I believe, however, what you fail to realize is the extent to which your power had drawn from. It's important, Stiles, for you to see what may have…what most likely will have happened when you transferred yourself here."

Stiles' eye widened, his own hands clenching together in worry. True, he'd drawn life energy from the people surrounding him but he'd been in control. At least he had until those last few moments when the magick seemed to spiral away from him. It was only a few seconds and then he'd found himself in the woods. But how much had changed in those few seconds..?

"When you drew the energy from the world around you, I do not think that you understood how much of the surrounding life you were actually drawing from. I've spoken with a colleague of mine regarding the matter and he seems to agree with my theory." Deaton sighed, forcing a strong gaze that locked on Stiles' eyes, drilling his words home. "The amount of energy it would take to send you here would affect every being and creature within a radius of no less than two miles. But it wouldn't have just drawn small portions from each of them, Stiles. That type of jump, something so far and so dangerous, to be done so flawlessly would have taken every ounce of life from any living thing within that circle."

The room was silent, stretching on for long moments. Stiles could feel his limbs shaking, his eyes burning again and it took every ounce of control he had within him not to break into pieces. His pack…his father…everything was gone. "What did I do? What am I going back to?" he whispered, eyes still focused on Deaton's face.

The older man was resilient in his silence, pursing his lips for long minutes before he deemed to respond. "I'm going to help you, Stiles. That is why I am here. That is why all of us, those with gifts, are here. To help, to teach. This is a lesson you need to learn, but I won't send you back knowing you would return to nothing. That would be exceedingly cruel of me, don't you think?"

"Then how-"

"While we will be able to block Derek's memories of the time you have remained here, mine will be harder to block. Instead, I offer a proposition, as I will need my memories as well to help you return to your time. We will leave my memories intact and I will remember these last few days, keep them away at the back of my mind until such a time comes as they are necessary. I will always know what will happen, but you must understand that beyond stopping you from returning here again, I will not interfere in anything else."

Derek frowned, crossing his arms and glancing towards an unnervingly quiet Stiles. "How do you know that will work? Wouldn't the you that he took the energy from in the future have known as well?"

Deaton returned the expression, shaking his head. "No. I don't think that time is the continuous loop that most assume it is. I believe that time is malleable. Through careful shaping, certain events both large and small can be changed. But in doing so, we risk much more than just the event itself that changed. If I were to stop Derek's death, who is to say that they would not come and kill the rest of the pack? If they were to be destroyed before the gathering, who is to say another pack would not avenge them. There is too much riding on each event, but I believe that what you did was unnatural. It was not meant to happen and in that way I may be able to change it without consequence." He shrugged, dropping his hands against his sides and standing from the table. "Then again, there can be no definitive. It's all speculation, for any documentation I've found of time travel has no comparison save the traveler's word that they did indeed change history by reversing or altering an event that took place in the past. However, none of this can be proven since the only history we will remember will be the one that we are either told, or, as travelers ourselves, see. Do you understand what I am saying, Stiles?"

"You'll.." the younger man swallowed hard, dragging a shaking hand through his hair, "you'll change things so that I don't do that. So that…when I return it was like I never left?" at the other man's nod, he felt a coil of tension release in his shoulders. "What ab-"

"I will not change anything other than the fact that you returned, Stiles. You need to understand why I cannot."

Derek felt completely out of his element watching the two men communicate. There was nothing he could do, once they wiped his memory, to change what would come. He would still be with Stiles, they would still rebuild and he would still die protecting his pack. His mate. Though that thought should bring him the pride it deserved, he found it only clenched at his heart, the beginnings of remorse for a gift he had yet to begin experiencing. Stiles seemed to understand, in his silence. He would return and face the world that he'd left, but he would not be as alone as he had felt. Deaton would make certain of that.

Before he could even finish thinking them, the words had tumbled from his mouth. "What if I remember? I know why I shouldn't, I get that." He huffed, tightening his arms across the broad stretch of his chest. "But what if I did?"

Stiles shook his head, eyes finally turning to the dark haired wolf, sad. "You can't. There's too much riding on it, too much of what I told you could affect more than just a few things in the future and could alter everything. Even us. Things bigger than us, it's too much to bank on Derek and I'd-" he took a deep breath, clenching his eyes closed to rid himself of the burn of salt, "I'd rather have all of those memories of our life and lose you than to have to face one day of our lives differently. And I know you Derek, you are stubborn. If you remembered for one moment you would change things. It would be in good intentions, sure, but we don't have any idea what it would do to the rest of our lives or the lives around us."

He couldn't argue the point and Deaton's gaze seemed to suggest he felt the same. Though he could change things here and there, who was to say that it wouldn't cause everything they had to fall apart, or invite in more trouble than they could handle. In the end, the safest course was the only real course before them. "Fine. Then do it because the longer we stand here, the harder it's going to be to know that I finally had the chance to fucking change something and didn't." he hissed, teeth grinding together on the last of his syllables.

Abruptly, Stiles stood, moving towards him with a force he'd not realized the man had and just as the softness of his fingertips brushed against Derek's temples, the world went dark.

It was rather cruel of the sun to shine so brightly through the trees as though nothing had happened. True to his word, Deaton had helped send him back, his grip tight on Stiles as the younger man remembered each detail of the moment he left. When he opened his eyes, however, he stood alone, once again in the forest listening to the sounds of the wind through the trees, the birds chirping in the distance and the sun beating down on his face, alone. Rather...anticlimactic.

That had to be a sign at least. If he returned and no one was there trying to stop him, then perhaps he hadn't tried to leave in the first place. Or they hadn't tried to stop him. Either way, the world looked just the same as it had before he'd begun his terrifying journey. As though the entire world continued moving on without Derek.

A forlorn sigh escaped his lungs and with a strength he didn't know he still possessed, Stiles forced himself to move, trekking on automatic to tyhe place he knew too well.

When the house came into sight, the shudders and curtains the same as they had always been, he didn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or not. Instead, he continued moving, up the porch stairs, now sturdy and painted white, over the threshold into the unlocked door of his home. Inside the air smelled just the slightest bit stale, a few particles of dust floating across his vision in the light of the waning afternoon sun. The only sign of life in the home was the discarded mail that sat on the tall stool next to the entryway and the pair of lone keys atop them.

Sluggish and drone-like, Stiles moved up the stairs, hand brushing absently over the grooves in the wood of the railing, the familiarity of the claw marks almost soothing in their wake. The room came upon him almost too soon, still half strewn about, ridiculous articles of clothing and personal items tossed about. The familiarity didn't burn as deeply this time, however, instead filled with a resignation. Slowly, he began picking up the pieces. Laundry goes in the basket, towels on top. The bed gets remade and straightened, tucking the top of the covers down over the pillows just the way they liked.

The chores seemed almost enigmatically therapeutic. Doing the loads of laundry; tossing out old food; sweeping out the dirt and dust from the floor and beating it out of the rug; taking the large bag of trash awkwardly down to the far corner of the drive. Before he realized it, the house was clean again, fans spinning high on the ceilings. And laying on the couch, Stiles let the exhausted thoughts take him, 'Maybe I can do this. Tomorrow I'll call Scott and my dad. Tomorrow I'll call Deaton and thank him for everything he did. Tomorrow I'll sleep in our bed. '


His father had keys to their house and he'd been gone at least day in this time, so it didn't surprise Stiles to hear the jangling of keys in the door or the open and close of the wood and metal against the outside of the house.

"I thought you were staying at your dad's until I got home."

His body jack-knifed so hard that the flailing of limbs hit the wood floor with a resounding thud heard throughout the house. Stiles' eyes snapped open from his place on the floor in front of the couch, sprawled out and breathing hard. That voice he would know anywhere, that shape, complete with suitcase standing in the living room entry way with a gruff brow raised in surprise and a bit of amusement.

"Derek…" he breathed, struggling to stumble to his feet, feeling like a newborn calf. His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest as he stared in disbelief at the man before him. There he was, as though nothing were wrong, as though everything had just kept on the same and Stiles hadn't gone through hell and back over him. Wait, suitcase?

"Are you alright? Your heart is going a mile a minute. I know I startled you, but Jesus Stiles, it sounds like you are about to have a panic attack." The taller man's brow furrowed in worry, his tone slow as he took a step forward. He didn't move far, however, before his arms were filled with his mate, heaving sobs against his shoulder. Derek dropped the bar of the suitcase, wrapping the younger man up against him tightly. "Stiles, what the hell happened? Are you alright? Did something happen to your dad?"

Stiles shook his head hard, pulling back after scrubbing his tears away on the strong curve of Derek's neck, a blinding grin spreading over his lips. "No, no I'm fine, he's fine, we're all fine, we're all perfect I just…..I just missed you." He choked out a laugh, hands raising to brush over the spikes of his husband's hair.

Again a sardonic eyebrow raised, but the hesitant smile that followed it was teasing and less frantic. "All this over a couple of weeks in New York?" he chuckled. "If I had known you would have been this upset, I would have forced you to go with me, but you were so insistent on staying…" Derek commented, eyeing Stiles again.

"Sorry I just…New York? Yeah, New York, no, no I remember. Peter, right? He called you out to come help him deal with some distant cousins or something, right?" he breathed, confused but grateful for the sudden memory that flashed across his thoughts. Peter had called him almost three weeks ago, asking his nephew to come help settle a family dispute that had turned into an impromptu reunion. Stiles had insisted on staying to continue his work and keep up the house but then had given in two nights in and went to stay with his father, unable to stand sleeping in their bed alone.

"…yeah…exactly. Are you sure you are okay? You are acting really weird and that takes a lot to accomplish considering it's you."

The light smack on his arm was reflex after all their years of teasing and Stiles found his laughter bubbling up again. "Yeah I'm great. Really, I'm…I'm perfect. I just missed you was all. Came back to clean before you got home." He lied, obviously catching Derek's attention, who noticed with a twitch in his brow but said nothing. Then an almost afterthought occurred to him, "But…wait, what about the pack? The one from the north that wanted the alliance?"

Derek's frown met his own on equal ground. "The one that never showed? What about them?"

Stiles shook his head in disbelief, another jolt of laughter shaking through his body as he hugged his husband to him. "Nothing, nothing. Just…didn't know if you heard anymore but it's not important. It's not important at all. In fact, forget I said anything about it and instead just cuddle the fuck out of me because I really, really need that right now, okay man? You just…you need to like, never let me go, okay? This is extremely important information here." He breathed, enjoying the teasing and still slightly confused laughter that followed the arms wrapping tighter around him.

"I think you should know, if you didn't know years ago, that saying 'I do' implies that you are stuck with me forever. " Derek chuckled, pressing warm kisses along the side of his head.

"Damn right I am. And you're not going anywhere. Promise."

The grin against his neck was unmistakable, the warmth in it familiar and calming as all the pieces clicked back into place. "Promise."

FIN.


Ug I really don't like the spacing on ff but oh well. There you have it guys! Hope you enjoyed and I look forward to poking you guys with more fic soon, now that I'm back up on my feet!

Reviews are love and you guys all rock. Sterek yay