Derek paused at Stiles' words and the hand rubbing Stiles' back stilled. "What do you mean?" he said with a frown.
Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes again, before moving into a sitting position with his back against the bathroom vanity. "I don't know if I can explain it Derek. I don't even understand what happened myself."
Derek realized his hand was still floating in mid-air from where it had rested on Stiles' back before he moved away. With a jerk, he pulled back his hand and got to his feet. He didn't understand what was going on with Stiles either but what was more upsetting is he didn't understand what was going on with him.
It's just Stiles, a spazzy teenager with a big mouth who annoys the crap out of everyone and is always underfoot. He's stubborn, and self-conscious even he constantly tells everyone how awesome he is and is absolutely infuriating, he thought.
But here he was, reaching out for that same boy, disappointed at the lack of contact and bewildered at what was going on.
The wolf inside whined low at Derek's thoughts. Loyal, it corrected. Strong. Passionate. Caring. Self sacrificing. Challenging.
Derek shook his head. He refused to look at what the wolf was telling him and he snapped back to the immediate situation of Stiles sitting with his back to the vanity and staring at him with a look Derek didn't understand.
He didn't like that look.
"Well, tell me what happened anyway and we can figure it out," he said.
Derek Hale was nothing if not the master of avoidance.
Stiles sighed and slowly rose to his feet as if he were sixty instead of sixteen. He turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on his face before drying it with a towel and heading towards his bedroom. Derek watched him, perplexed, from where he was still kneeling on the bathroom floor. He rose to his feet and stalked towards the bedroom, freezing when he saw Stiles' shirt riding high above his low-slung pajama bottoms, as he stretched on his tip-toes to reach a shoe box stuffed towards the back of the top shelf in his closet. Derek could see Stiles' fingers brushing up against the box and knew that Stiles would be unable to grab it. He straightened his shoulders, walked over the closet and reached up to grab the shoe box, brushing against Stiles as he extended a claw and hooked it under the lid, pulling it forward. The brief brush of contact created a pool of heat in his stomach and he forcefully tried not to focus on it as he realized Stiles was talking.
"But how dude, we're like the same height!" he whined as he took the box from Derek's hands.
Derek's mouth twitched as he bit back a smile and held up his middle finger to Stiles, extending the claw to show him the advantage it gave him. "And don't call me dude," he growled.
Stiles' face flushed and he quickly sat down on the bed and opened the box. "Yeah, well. Whatever, Wolverine," he muttered under his breath, either forgetting Derek could still hear him or just not caring.
Inside the shoe box were dozens of newspaper clippings, letters and pictures and Stiles lifted out the top photo of a beautiful woman with soft brown hair and lush, perfect lips stretched out into a grin as she tilted her head back, clearly laughing at the small child sitting on his bottom with a surprised look on his face. Derek sat down on the bed next to Stiles and ignoring the look of surprise he shot him, took the picture from Stiles' hands to look at it closely. He knew that if the woman's eyes had been open, they would be a warm caramel colour much like the pair that were still trained at his face. The look of surprise on the baby's face was pretty comical especially when he realized he had seen that look himself.
"You still make this face sometimes when you're surprised," Derek said quietly, without making eye contact. As the words left his mouth, he instantly regretted saying anything, but the roiling heat in his belly had returned and he found himself having trouble concentrating on anything more than the beating of the heart next to him and the soft intake of breath from Stiles after he spoke.
"This is my favourite picture of her," Stiles admitted quietly, finally tearing his eyes away from Derek and looking down at the photo in his hands. "It was taken when I first started walking and Dad wanted a picture of me walking to Mom, but I fell down on my butt just as he snapped the picture. I have more pictures of her, pictures of us. And they're more recent. But this one is my favourite because she was always smiling and laughing. I just miss her laugh so much some days, I can't breathe."
Stiles took a shuddering breath before he continued.
"I started getting panic attacks after she died. At first it was whenever I was in a car, but eventually it got so bad that if I hadn't heard from my Dad in a few hours I would begin to panic. That's why I have the police scanner in my bedroom," he said pointing to the black box sitting on the corner of his desk. "I had to know that he was ok, that he wasn't getting sent to dangerous situations, that he hadn't been in an accident. I used to call him at work at two in the morning because I couldn't fall back asleep unless I knew he was ok."
Stiles looked down at the next picture in the box, one that he had obviously taken himself as a kid Derek thought, mostly since it was slightly out of focus and off centre but because it looked like the Sheriff and his wife were completely unaware of their audience as they slow danced together in their living room.
"She used to do the same thing. Listen to the scanner, I mean. Before she and Dad had me they lived close to L.A. and Dad was a rookie cop on the force, patrolling a pretty rough neighbourhood. One night, there was some gang activity and Dad was shot but no one on the force called Mom. She just woke up in the morning and he wasn't home. She started freaking out, because he was supposed to have been home before midnight and that was when she was going to tell him she was pregnant with me. But she fell asleep and he never came home."
He took a deep breath before continuing.
"Dad used to tell me the story when Mom wasn't listening because she hated that day, but the guys that my dad worked with told him how she marched into the precinct like an avenging angel, hair flying behind her and a look that would freeze the sun on her face, demanding to know what had happened to her husband and why no one had called her." Stiles paused and quickly wiped a tear off his cheek. "He was ok, obviously, just a flesh wound to the shoulder, but Mom was so freaked out that she made him move out here where things were quieter and he was less likely to get hurt."
Derek sat in stillness and in silence as Stiles' words washed over him. He didn't understand why the boy was telling him all this, couldn't understand why he didn't stop him and tell him he didn't care. But something inside him wanted to reciprocate, wanted to give back the intimacy that Stiles was so unwittingly giving to him. Wanted to tell him about how his mother would tuck them all into their parents' bed on the nights of the full moon, while she and their father and the other members of their pack went out and ran and howled and played in the moonlight. Wanted to tell him how his dad had taught him to play baseball and taught him how to control his strength so he could still play sports without giving anything away or having an unfair advantage. Wanted to tell him how, after the fire, when it was just him and Laura and their uncle Peter, who would be stuck in the nursing home for the rest of their lives, how they would still curl up in bed together on the nights of the full moon, no matter where they were but it wasn't the same because the bed only had two people instead of six and there were no sounds of wolves howling outside their window and it made them both so sick to their stomachs.
He wanted to, but he couldn't.
It didn't matter because Stiles, never one for silence, had started speaking again but this time the far-away look in his eyes was more haunted and terrified than just nostalgic and sad.
"The night that she died, my dad had been working and she was at home with me. All day she had been really edgy and wired but I just assumed it was because Dad was working a double and hadn't been home in a while. I asked her what was wrong but she just shook her head and smiled a tight smile at me and told me not to worry about it. I had heard her on the phone talking to someone urgently but quietly and I thought it was my dad because she kept telling him to hurry up and get here because something bad was going to happen."
Stiles paused in his story again and looked at Derek. "I used to think it was mother's intuition, how she was always able to tell when something bad was going to happen. She told me that the night Dad got shot, she felt sick and dreamed of the steady beeping of a hospital heart monitor but chalked it up to nerves and just finding out she was pregnant. But after that, she always trusted her instincts and more than once showed up just as I was about to do something potentially dangerous to save my ass."
Derek snorted a bit and Stiles rounded incredulous eyes at him. He lifted his eyebrow. "You? Do something dangerous? Never."
Stiles laughed weakly. "Look at that. Sourwolf's got jokes today." He cleared his throat before continuing.
"So any ways, I just figured she thought something bad was gonna happen and she wanted my dad home before shit hit the fan. But when she hung up she didn't say 'I love you' and she always told my dad that before they were apart, whether it was when Mom had to go out of town or if Dad was leaving for work. She always said it. And by the time I had to go to bed, Dad still hadn't come home and Mom was just sitting at the kitchen table staring at the wall. It was the worst I had ever seen her like that.
"Once, there was an explosion at one of the factories at the edge of town and emergency crews were there for hours trying to rescue survivors and put out the fire. Three hours before the explosion even happened, Mom did the same thing, where she just sat and stared at the wall before suddenly jumping up and making tons and tons of sandwiches and jugs of cold juice and thermoses of coffee and then she packed it all up in a duffle bag stuffed with bandages and antiseptic and other first aid supplies. Then she turned on the scanner and waited. When the call came in about the explosion, she was ready. She bundled me and the duffle of stuff into the car and headed towards the factory. She pulled over once, and waited for about ten minutes before continuing on her way. I only found out later that there had been a secondary explosion at that time and Mom had just been waiting for things to calm down before bringing the emergency crews food and coffee and helping out with minor injuries while I waited in the car. I don't know how she knew it, but I never questioned it. I just knew that she was right. The night that she died was much the same, except she never packed up the duffle bag. She tucked me into bed, and read me my favourite parts of my favourite book before tucking me into bed like a mummy so I couldn't move while she tickled me. She hadn't done that for years because I was convinced I was too old for that stuff."
Derek wanted so much to reach out and touch Stiles, and tell him he had been the same – too old to enjoy the things his parents did when he was a kid. And how now he would give anything in the world just to have his mother tuck him into bed again or hear his father read them all a bedtime story.
"I should have known then that something really bad was going to happen," Stiles said with a sniff. "I should have known that would be the last time I saw her, and I would have told her I loved her over and over and over again until I fell asleep." Stiles' breath hitches and he tilts his head toward the ceiling and blinks rapidly. "I would have made sure she didn't leave that night."
The efforts to contain the tears were in vain, as Stiles' shoulders began to shake before his whole body was wracked with sobs. Derek's heart clenched and his wolf whined at the smell of sorrow and grief rolling off of the other man.
Almost like his body was moving on its own volition again, Derek felt his arm wrap around Stiles' shoulder and tug him closer. He felt his body stiffen up and almost released his grip before Stiles melted into the curve of his body and let himself cry. If Derek shed a few tears for his own lost family and the grief of the boy beside him, well. No one needed to know.
After a few minutes, Stiles quieted his sobs and hiccupped a few times before pulling away from Derek slightly, so that they sat with shoulders touching.
"She must have waited for me to fall asleep, or the call – whatever it was – didn't come until then. But she didn't take anything with her, no food, no first aid, nothing. It was like she knew she wouldn't need it, even though this thing had her on edge for days. In the morning, they told me she had been hit by a drunk driver and was killed instantly. Dad was crazy with grief and kept saying that it hadn't been an accident, because the impact points on the car and the tire marks on the road suggested something much more than a simple hit and run. But the entire force was busy with a house fire that killed 15 people out in the woods."
Stiles paused and looked at Derek with red eyes. "The whole house went up in flames and there was nothing left within an hour or two. Eventually it was chalked up to old house and faulty wiring, but we know differently. Don't we?"
Derek startled when he realized the implications of what Stiles was saying. His mother knew about the fire but they all still died. Could she have stopped it, prevented it, or saved anyone if she had acted sooner? Grief and rage boiled in his stomach and he pushed away from the bed and Stiles and stalked across the room before wheeling around and pointing a finger at the boy still seated on the bed.
"Are you saying your mother knewt he fire was going to happen and yet my family still burned?" Derek choked out, hands clenched into fists at his side, claws digging into his palms. His vision was swimming in red and he fought to keep his anger in check.
"What? No!" Stiles said. The shoe box dropped to the floor, scattering memories across the carpet as he stood up. "Are you telling me you think my mother would have known about something like that and kept it to herself? Are you calling my mother an accomplice to a murder?"
Stiles' heart rate had spiked again and Derek could hear his laboured breathing coming in short, tight breaths. He knew Stiles was close to another panic attack and consciously relaxed his stance and unclenched his fists. Stiles' body unconsciously picked up on the cues Derek was sending him and he too relaxed, mirroring Derek's posture.
"She never knew what was going to happen, but sometimes she would suddenly know where she had to be, or what she had to bring," Stiles said after a long moment of silence while they both stared at each other. "She left the house without any of the stuff she normally would have brought to an accident scene and the coroner's report suggests she died about an hour after your house had stopped burning. It was another hour before anyone came across her car and called 9-1-1. The only reason anyone knew about your house burning down at that point was because the area smelled like smoke and my mother's car clearly hadn't been on fire. So they investigated. And found your house. And my mom's death was ruled a hit and run, end of story."
Derek took a deep breath when he realized how much they had both lost that night. He began pacing the room as a means to rid himself of the keyed up energy that was making his hands shake and his stomach turn in knots.
"But that's not how she died," Stiles said softly. So softly that Derek wouldn't have heard him if he hadn't been a werewolf. He stopped pacing and looked at the boy.
Stiles was looking down at the contents of the shoe box that had spilled across the floor.
"I had a dream, only it wasn't a dream, maybe more like a memory? Only it wasn't mine," he began, scowling to himself as he tried to explain it to Derek. "I was my mom, and I was running to my car, away from the smoking ruins of your house. And it smelled like hot, twisted metal, and burning flesh and singed hair and campfire. I was terrified because something was chasing me and I got to the car and started driving home and I felt safe but then suddenly there was an SUV in front of me and I heard a voice taunting my mom and I think I recognized it but I can't remember where I've heard it before."
Stiles' voice was rising and his words were coming out in a rush now.
"And the SUV gunned for my mom and she did this crazy Hollywood stunt driver maneuver and I didn't even know she could drive like that, she was always doing like five under the speed limit and it used to drive me nuts, but she managed to get away from them until they shot out her back window and I jerked the wheel because I was scared and then they shot out the back tire and we crashed and we must have passed out because the next thing I know I'm being blinded by these high beams and this crazy laugh is coming from nowhere."
Derek walked over to where Stiles was standing frozen, staring at a picture of his parent's wedding on the floor, breaths coming shorter and more forced. Another panic attack. "Breathe Stiles, just breathe," he said, rubbing his hands up and down Stiles' arms.
Stiles took a deep breath and exhaled noisily in a rush. "Then the SUV was coming towards us and Mom looked into the review mirror and locked eyes with me – herself? I don't know how it worked, but she looked right at me and told me to run. That's when I woke up."
Derek grabbed Stiles' chin and gently forced his head up so that he was looking at Derek instead of his mother's pictures. "It was just a dream Stiles," he said softly.
Stiles shook his head, jerking his chin out of Derek's hands. "No, no it wasn't Derek," he said forcefully. "She looked right at me and said 'Run Stiles.' I woke up with dazzled eyes from the high beams and the taste of blood in my mouth. I threw up blood Derek. That's not a dream. You don't smell burning flesh, or hear the sounds of breaking glass and twisting metal in just a dream."
Stiles looked up at Derek when he didn't reply and noticed the older man had gone stock still and white as a sheet. Realization hit him, and he flushed with guilt and embarrassment. "Well, ok, maybe you do. I'm sorry."
Derek shook his head slowly as if to break out of the daze he was in and locked eyes with Stiles.
"You're right, though," he said. "Those aren't just dreams."
They stood there for a moment, before Stiles dropped down to his knees on the floor in front of Derek. Derek took a hesitant half-step backwards before Stiles started picking up the paper that littered the floor. Blushing slightly, Derek also knelt down and helped him to distract himself from the churning emotions in his stomach. He picked up the wedding picture of the Sheriff and his wife and did a double take at the man with the tight smile standing next to the groom.
"Who's this?" Derek asked, pointing to the man.
Stiles took the picture from Derek and laid it gently in the box. "That's Sam and Dean's dad. He used to work with my dad in L.A., I think. Dad never really told me how he knew him. I never got to meet him until Mom died, he and Dean stopped by for the funeral."
Something cold shot through Derek's chest at the information, but he still couldn't piece everything together after what Stiles had told him about his mom and the night she died. He wanted to tell Stiles what he had found out at the library but couldn't bring himself to say anything. Not until he knew how it all fit together.
Tomorrow he was going to have a chat with the Winchester brothers. He sighed internally, because honestly he'd rather go another round with the Argents than confront a pair of strange Hunters. At least he knew the Argents' brand of crazy and could plan accordingly.
Stiles had finished putting away his mementoes while Derek was lost in thought but instead of putting the box back in his closet, he placed it on his bedside table and sat on the edge of his bed. Derek shifted uncomfortably as Stiles looked at him with another unreadable expression. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and headed for the window. "Well, I uh, I should go then," he said.
He heard Stiles' heart spasm for less than a second before the boy cleared his throat and said shyly, "You could stay, you know. If you wanted to, I mean. I'm sure you have other places to be and don't want to be here any longer than you have to with me, but um…" he broke off awkwardly before ducking his head. "I'd really like to not be alone right now?"
The words came out quick and garbled and almost like a question, but Derek didn't respond. He just stared at the boy until Stiles turned bright red and turned away from him.
"Sorry, never mind, forget I asked," he mumbled as he turned back the sheets on his bed and climbed inside. He laid flat on his back and grabbed the spare pillow and slammed it onto his face. The fabric and stuffing did nothing to conceal his words from Derek's werewolf hearing. "Nice one there Stilinski, smooth, real smooth. Be a bigger girl as you ask the anti-social werewolf to stay and hold your hand against the nightmares. Good job."
Derek felt a tightness in his chest as he processed Stiles' words. Of course Stiles didn't want him to stay because he wanted Derek's company – he only wanted someone, anyone to be there for him so he could sleep without the nightmares. He was glad Stiles' face was covered by the pillow so he couldn't see how his face fell at the realization and he almost climbed out the window before remembering how much he had needed Laura there when he was sleeping and vice versa after the fire.
He checked the time on the clock before slowly removing his shoes and his jacket and laying them on the computer chair before padding over softly to the empty side of Stiles' bed and laying down. Stiles shot straight up in bed as Derek yanked the pillow off his face and stuffed it under his head.
"Wha-?" Stiles said.
Derek simply folded his arms across his stomach and closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight, not after everything that had happened. And especially not laying next the spazzy teenager who was sure to toss and turn in his sleep. But Stiles didn't need to know that.
"Shut up and go to sleep, Stiles," he growled and Stiles grumbled a bit as he punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and lay down to sleep.
Surprisingly, Stiles did not toss and turn in his sleep, but instead fell into a dead sleep and the only sounds Derek heard was the steady beating of Stiles heart and his slow, deep breaths. Derek barely had any time to register surprise that he was falling asleep as he drifted off for a few hours before the sun rose.