A week later found Stiles pushing his way into the clinic, bell over the door chiming in warning. He didn't have the chance to speak before Deaton himself had poked his head around from the backroom, eyeing Stiles carefully before nodding him back further inside the clinic.

"Come on back, Stiles." He offered kindly, moving back to the table where a small dog stood shaking uncertainly. Stiles felt for the poor puppy at that moment. He'd been in his position not long ago. Or very long ago, depending on how you looked at the situation. Speaking of, Stiles opened his mouth but was cut off once more before he could start.

"I suppose I should welcome you back, then, if I'm correct in assuming that you've just returned." The darker man stated, glancing up from under his brows to settle his gaze on Stiles' face, searching.

Stiles could only nod shortly, crossing his arms and staying quiet for a long moment as Deaton finished checking the dog's temperature. That was definitely a feat he was grateful he'd never had to endure. Once the other man had pat the dog on the head gently and turned to grab some gloves, however, Stiles could no longer be silent.

"I returned expecting to find my home still empty, to find my husband missing but there he was, Doctor. As if nothing had ever gone wrong, right there in front of me." He paused, taking a shaking breath, "He's still there. At the house. He's doing laundry." The sentence was followed by incredulous laughter. For the last few days, it was all Stiles could do to not touch Derek at every opportunity. Not that the man ever rejected the contact, but he knew his husband was growing more and more confused. He'd asked him multiple times to tell him what was wrong, but Stiles just couldn't bring himself to say anything. Partially because he had no idea what had happened. He knew Derek trusted him though, knew he wouldn't push until Stiles was ready to talk, and in the end he always did. Which brought him to where he was.

When Deaton hadn't responded, only going about his checkup of the puppy, Stiles barreled on, tightening the grip of his arms over his chest in seeking an invisible comfort. "When I was there, when I spoke to the you, then, you said something. You said that big things couldn't be changed. You…you said that you couldn't stop it from happening and that making any sort of big difference, something that would change the course of what happened would have terrible consequences. So then…how? What happened to the pack this time around? What changed everything?"

For a long moment, Deaton stilled and it looked as though he would protest involvement, eyeing Stiles carefully before placing the instrument in his hands on the table. "I said, Stiles, that I believe it could do irreparable damage to the future. That I thought it might change too much." He paused, turning his gaze fully to meet the younger man's, his eyes full of intent. "What I came to realize over the years, however, was that believing and being are two separate entities. Once you left, I consulted with my friend once more on the affects of each change. But I also had the chance to observe your lives more."

Stiles frowned, moving to lean against the table, glancing down at the dog, who was now taking the chance to curl up against Deaton's side as the other man spoke. "I could go into detail about your lives, Stiles. I could tell you ever factor that did and did not change the past. But I won't. Instead I'll only tell you that the simplest answer was the hardest decision to make, but also, I believe, the wisest."

Understanding flooded his mind, replaying memories of him and Derek over the last few years. There were a few new memories, some a tiny bit different, but all in all, just the same. "What did you do?"

Deaton, for his part, didn't seem too fazed by the question, instead offering Stiles a very familiar half-smirk. "I did what had to be done. Just know that, no, I did not harm anyone. Simply…created a distraction that lead them away to settle in a more permanent location. There are many factors to a werewolf pack Stiles and that one was no different. Some run on instinct more than others and a sprawling unclaimed piece of land filled with wildlife can sometimes be more precious than money." He shrugged, eyes sparkling in amusement at Stiles' disbelieving face.

"You are telling me that all you had to do was drive them in a different direction and show them territory that wasn't claimed and that was that? That we could have avoided all of this in the first place by-"

"No." he interrupted, ignoring the sputtering from across the table. "What I am saying that the first time was necessary, but, as I stated before, time is not linear. It is interchangeable. In another place, Stiles, I believe that world still goes on. And in another one where you never returned, one where you never left, there are infinite possibilities, but it is my belief that there are more realities than we can grasp and this is simply the one that you happen to exist as yourself in."

That was a headache. That was definitely a headache coming on. More like a migraine growing inside of his head ready to burst out. Of all the…he knew it was complicated but somehow Deaton had managed to make it sound both complicated and simple and that was going to be the largest headache of his life coming on. And the other man just stood there with that half-smile, knowing and certain of himself. Stiles could definitely punch him if he wasn't so damn grateful.

"So you gave me this whole huge speech about not changing anything and how it could alter the fabric of reality-"

"I didn't-"

"Artistic license! Same difference, dude! You basically told me I could do nothing but come back and face reality because it couldn't be changed and then…and then!"

"And then I changed it, correct."

Stiles huffed, crossing and uncrossing his arms before dragging a hand through his hair. "Okay you know what, gift horse." He choked out, tossing his hands up in the air. "I could argue with you till I'm blue, but point taken. So what do I tell Derek then because he knows something is different, he knows something is wrong and I can't lie to him forever, I can't keep things from him."

"It's not impossible to keep things from Derek, Stiles, if necessary." Deaton argued lightly, picking up the puppy and sliding him into a small crate in the corner for transport.

"He's my husband. It's not that I can't, it's that I won't."

"Stiles, I'm not going to tell you that you can't tell him. It may confuse and complicate things, yes, but I have no control over the decisions you make. I'm simply suggesting that it may be a smarter route to let sleeping dogs lie, if you will pardon the terrible pun."

Stiles frowned far too much like Derek at the comment, feeling the slightest bit offended for him. He hadn't lied to Derek in years. Certainly keeping something from him was one thing, but lying flat out was another and he felt his heart clench at the thought of hurting the trust he'd so carefully gained and then lost. Sighing heavily, he turned back towards the darker man, meeting his gaze once more. "I can't keep this from him. No matter how he reacts, I'll have to tell him. At least he's still alive and if he gets angry or can't forgive me for what I did, then that's his decision, but I'll know that he's still breathing and that's enough."

They both knew that was a lie, that Stiles' rash decision had been born out of the loss of his husband, knowing that he could not touch or kiss him again and though Derek would still live, it would break his heart completely to lose him again in such a tangible way.

Deaton was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. "Then may I offer some advice, Stiles. Tell him the truth if you must, but do not go into the conversation expecting him to feel disgust towards what you did. I think you underestimate Derek and the trust that he holds in you. I knew the Hales and have known Derek his entire life and seeing him marry you will never cease to surprise me. Not-" he started, giving Stiles a sharp look when he glared over at him,"because it is you, but because I honestly never expected him to trust or love someone so deeply. But he did and still does. Do not forget that, Stiles."

In the end, talking to Derek hadn't been nearly as painful or concerning as he'd nearly driven himself to anxiety thinking it would be. For a week or so, Derek had simply reiterated that he trusted him and when he was ready he would be there. The next week, Stiles sat him down and spoke. He talked and talked for nearly two hours, all the while Derek's eyes and ears completed focused on his every word until his husband had finished speaking, wringing his hands together.

Derek had then proven just how perfect of a husband he was by kissing the other man, asking him a few scant questions and explaining to him in as few words as possible and quite a lot more in the way of actions, just how grateful he was to have someone who would give up and risk so much for him.

Stiles never told another soul besides Deaton and Derek what had happened. It was for them to keep, a knowledge that, should he have the chance, Stiles would gladly pass on to any practicing spark or mage. A warning that not all power brings good no matter how the intention may lean. But for then, he would simply be grateful he'd been given another chance at life with Derek.