So, this took four months to write, and I am so sorry. If any of you follow me on tumblr (aconitum-palmatum) you will know I have been recently diagnosed with a chronic illness and I've been finding it difficult to cope. I lost my muse, and this is the first thing for this I've been able to write in a long time.
I only hope it doesn't suck too much.
It's like fresh air, listening to Stiles laugh. Sometimes, it's hidden behind a hand, or muffled as she turns her head towards her shoulder. Sometimes, when Jackson makes sarcastic comments at episodes of Supernatural or re-enacts scenes from New Girl her laughter will be a loud burst from somewhere inside of her chest that has them all pause and listen just for a second. Because it's been so long. So fucking long since Stiles has been free enough, happy enough, alive enough to laugh at all. It feels like something new, something amazing that you kind of want to believe in, want to hope that it won't shatter because all you want to do is cling to it and hold on to it and pray that it's there for good.
The ratio of days inside of the bedroom to days outside of the bedroom still lean heavily in favour of the first, but every time Stiles wakes up on a morning and tells them that she wants to help make breakfast that morning is like sweet relief all over again.
Derek still hasn't told her about Scott and Allison, but he just wants to treasure this feeling for a little bit longer, because he knows that one thing or another is going to push them back two steps even though they've only just taken one forward, and he will do anything to put that kind of pain and disappointment away for as long as possible.
So it's just his luck that Deaton turns up at the house looking faintly flustered five days after Stiles made her first venture out of the bedroom, since she laughed at Danny juggling fruit and leaned into Isaac to eat a sandwich. He paces through the house like he owns it, finds Stiles looking faintly nauseated, clinging to the edge of the kitchen sink like it's the only thing holding her up. Derek had left her alone for maybe two minutes, tops. She was fine just moments ago.
"Stiles?" Deaton uses the voice that Derek recognises as the 'victim voice'. Soft, gentle and inquiring. Derek pauses beside him, watches Stiles back as she refuses to turn to them, heaving in breaths like it's painful.
"You said i had more time!" Stiles wheezes out. Derek can see her trembling. "You said it wouldn't come back this quickly."
"Untamed magic is unreliable at best, Stiles. Please, come sit down so that we can talk about this." Deaton takes a step towards her, even though she can't see him, but even Derek can feel in the tickle of energy in the room that she felt it, that it's a bad idea to get any closer.
"I don't want to talk." Stiles whimpers. There is ringing in Derek's ears, the smell of ozone similar to after a strike of lightening, like a storm building right in the middle of his kitchen. "I don't want to talk. I want you to make it go away." He can smell her tears just underneath all of the other confusing smells coming from her, the scent of magic masking what he usually associates with Stiles.
"Stiles-" The victim voice is still strong, as Deaton takes another step towards her, one hand half way outstretched as if to touch her. Derek knows how she'll react to that, the flinch, the momentary terror, the possible flashback. He doesn't want that, but he knows that if anyone, Deaton needs to be the one to get close to her right now. As much as it pains him, he knows little to nothing about mage's, sparks, or their brand of magic.
"Stiles, i know it feels overwhelming, but i can't help you unless you let me, okay? Tell me how you're feeling right now?"
"Sick." Stiles sobs out. "Sick, and strong, and full, and so cold. It's so cold." He wants to lift her hand to his chest, press her palm over his heart and let her slow down to its steady beat, feel his preternatural warmth from beneath his shirt. But he can't, and she's still trembling, and things are spiralling once again into something he doesn't know how to make better or fix.
"The spark is a manifestation of yourself, Stiles. It's only so cold and overpowering because you're looking at it like something you can't control, something foreign inside of you. Stop looking at it that way."
Stiles turns unexpectedly, face drawn and pale. There is something in her eyes that is not her, like fork lightening and dangerous power and she doesn't even register as Stiles like this. Derek's head is swimming, trying to find his Stiles inside of this sudden, new version. This wasn't supposed to happen, the magic wasn't supposed to come back yet, and definitely not like this. He can see terror warring with power in the lines of her face, the set of her shoulders, and he's scared. It's not something he's going to admit, but he recalls the way Stiles' pulse had dropped and her breathing became laboured the last time Stiles' magic kicked in without warning, when she had argued with Scott. The night they found out about the baby growing inside of her.
He's scared because he could lose her, and he's terrified of all the things he hasn't gotten to tell her and show her, because she's young and she has people that love her and somewhere deep inside of himself he knows that this moment is her make or break. Either she changes the magic or the magic changes her.
"I don't know how! It's never been anything but overwhelming for me. I don't know, please." He can scent her fear, feels like he could drag his hand through the tangible feel of it in the air around them.
"I need you to concentrate for me, okay?" Deaton asks, repeats once, twice, until Stiles nods her agreement. "Okay, i can feel you pulling at me, your desire right now is for help, for it to stop, and you think i'm the one to do that. I want you to feel that connection you're trying to form with me. Can you feel it?"
Derek watches as she struggles, eyes clenched closed, fists pressed tightly to her sides, her body is folded in pain and in fear.
"I can feel it." Stiles whispers. "What are you? Its- you're different. Different from me?"
"Yes." Deaton nods even though she can't see him. "I'm not what you are, but i'll tell you about that later. What i need you to do right now is stop pulling at me. Feel along that line of connection and pull it back, snap it, picture a pair of scissors and cut it if you have to."
"I don't want to. You're calm, please, don't make me. You're so calm." Derek watches warily as Deaton closes the space between them, reaches out even though she can't see him. It's like driving past a car accident, you don't want to look but you feel drawn to it, you have to. The reaction is instant once Deaton gets a hand on Stiles' shoulder. She pushes him away with her hands until he's forced to pull back, stumbles back a step herself until she hits the bottom of her back against the kitchen counter, and then the screaming starts. Loud and piercing, the scent of ozone increasing with the fear of whatever flashback she's having, whatever she is seeing, it's building in power surrounding her.
"Deaton!" Derek snaps, he wants to go to her, find a way to bring her back, but there is something else happening, the thick, heavy feeling of magic is almost suffocating. The other man spares Derek a glance, but doesn't look worried. He never looks worried, but there isn't even a flicker of panic this time.
"She's got to get rid of this extra build up, Derek. Don't worry, give her a minute."
"Stiles is having a flashback right now! How do we just stand here and watch that?" Deaton shakes his head.
"That isn't a flashback. Stiles wouldn't break her attachment to me by herself, she was pulling at a part of me that is very controlled, so i broke it myself when i touched her. It was a moment of being too overwhelmed, but it's good. If she pulls back from this, i can get her to feel it differently."
Derek is frozen, waiting, faintly hopeful and a lot more worried as the pressure reaches its crescendo. Stiles has stopped screaming, eyes opening wider and wider as she struggles to draw her breath, and it's suddenly like the moment before a symphony starts, the anticipation, that loaded moment of silence.
And then she lets it go.
It doesn't hurt the humans in the room, the wave of magic so much stronger than the first time this happened, but it feels like something tangible as the shock of it washes over him. Like cold water and pin pricks covering his body for a moment. Faintly, on the edge of his periphery, he thinks he hears the sound of glass splintering, of car alarms outside, there is the sense of the lights flickering overhead and all he can concentrate on is the way Stiles is suddenly more.
Derek thinks that this is something that shouldn't be able to lay dormant inside of someone. It's too big a power, too much, to hide inside of a human who up to now has used wit and sarcasm as their only defence. He also thinks that, of course this was inside of her all along. He knew, the moment he met her really, that she was more than people saw, of course she was, who else fights side by side with wolves and survives the way she has.
The power builds and builds and builds in the room, the scent of ozone growing until it's all he can smell, and then suddenly it's gone. He can breathe again, he can concentrate again, and Stiles is on her knees and panting heavily before them.
"Stiles-" Derek ventures forward a little. "How do you feel?" A hysterical giggle bursts forth from Stiles, her head lifting until she meets his eyes. There's still something behind them, something other, something new, but it's not as it was before, like an extension of her, not something foreign inside of her.
"I feel-" Stiles gasps, eyes wide, hands pressed against the space between her little bump and her chest like she can feel something new there. "I feel...No, i don't feel anything new. I feel like, this is it. This is the part that i never knew i was missing. Like i'm not vulnerable anymore."
Derek crouches beside her, letting relief mingle with his disbelief and his residual fear of what had happened, and smiles softly at her. He's trying to ignore Deaton behind him, silent and confusing as usual, because he needs to get Stiles up off this floor. She's still healing, from broken ribs, stab wounds, the life that was taken from her. He needs to make sure she's okay this time, at least, that he didn't let anything bad happen to her under his direct watch.
"That's really good. How about we go into the sitting room so that we can figure this out, alright?" Stiles nods, lets Derek wrap an arm around her and lift her gently, Deaton following behind them quietly. He's thankful at least that the pack are out, Isaac and Danny with the Sheriff, the others taking a well deserved break at the pond out in the preserve.
They settle into the sofa, Stiles pulling her usual blanket down and over herself, wrapping it around like a protective cocoon, Derek settling in beside her and laying out his arm so that his wrist is available for the familiar feeling of Stiles' fingers resting against it, measuring herself to time with him. Deaton takes the seat to the left of them, the same Scott had taken the last time he was in the house, and Derek is momentarily reminded that he still hasn't asked Stiles about Scott and Allison's reinstatements to the pack. It'll have to wait for a while longer now.
"You." Stiles tilts her head to the side to look at Derek, eyes widening, and then narrowing, gripping his wrist tighter. "I can feel- do you- is there something you haven't told me?" Derek feels himself stiffen, his own eyes widening, and wonders how the hell Stiles knew that. A glance at Deaton shows his usual annoyingly blank stare, but Derek can hear a slight uptick in the man's heart rate that is unusual. Stiles doesn't even wait for him to answer, squeezing his wrist and looking at him imploringly.
"You are." She accuses. "Tell me. Whatever it is, you need to tell me." Derek clears his throat, tries to take stock of her heart rate and finds it unusually stable for Stiles. The fact that she is still holding his wrist even with it no longer in use has something inside of him grow warm for a second.
"It's about Scott and Allison, a decision that was made at the meeting the other day. We didn't want to upset you, or trigger another magical episode." Stiles snorts lightly, but her grip on him loosens until she's just holding him again.
"What about Scott and Allison?" Stiles still looks fairly calm, if somewhat dishevelled and suspicious, but Derek hears the way her voice tightens over their names, feels the tension in her muscles next to him.
"They've been- not reinstated- but they're back in the pack." Stiles sucks in a breath, pulls her hand away from him and Derek feels the loss keenly. "They won't come here until you're ready. You never have to see them again if you don't want, but it's the only way to keep them safe. Without pack Scott's an omega, and i know you don't trust him, them, but he would be in danger if we hadn't brought them back." Stiles sinks back against the chair and Derek knows he can relax a little.
"Okay." Stiles whispers almost to herself, nodding along, before she turns her attentions back to Deaton.
"How did i know what he was thinking? Well, not thinking, but feeling at least." Deaton leans forward, elbows balanced on his knees as he looks at Stiles.
"Your magic develops and adapts to what you require most at the moment of its use. I would think that, after the attacks, some of your base desires would be to know how others feel around or towards you. To ward off people who would wish to cause you harm."
"Will she develop other abilities to protect herself too?" Stiles glanced between Derek and Deaton, glad that she had someone here who she knew, even without this new ability, had her best interests at heart. Deaton just shrugged without any emotion as per usual.
"It's possible, if it's an actual base desire. Usually, they're unconscious thoughts, and if one of her unconscious thoughts is to have a physical way to protect herself, then yes it will develop. However, once the base desire leaves, it may take the ability with it." They sat in silence for a while, Stiles letting her hand hover lightly over the small swell of her stomach. Derek took a moment to hone his senses, listen a little closer, searching for that tiny fast thrum of her child's heartbeat and let the scent of new life flow over him. Maybe, the little flicker of hope inside of him let him think, this will be the new start they've been looking for. If Stiles can learn to control this, can feel protected and strong and herself, maybe they'll get past this. Maybe Stiles will smile real smiles again. Maybe she will stop doubting herself, the baby, the people around her, the love she isn't sure she deserves.
Maybe, magic will be on their side for once.
"I'm tired." Stiles say's suddenly, turning to face Derek. She does look tired, but he's not sure if it's more so than usual or he'd just stopped looking at the signs. Dark purple bruising circles under her eyes, tight lines around her mouth, body help with a cower rather than the confidence he had first seen in her.
"Okay." It's like they've forgotten Deaton is even in the room, the man sat back in his chair watching them so quietly. Derek shifts the blankets from over her lap to the back of the chair, helps her stand like always, because never mind this new sense of invulnerability she claims to feel, Stiles is still hurt, still recovering, still scared of her own shadow. He won't let her fall again.
"Tomorrow i'll come and we'll start on training, Stiles." Deaton calls as they make it to the doorway. Stiles turns to look over her shoulder, throws the man an unconvincing smile in which Deaton returns without hesitation.
"And you'll need a pack member with you at all times until we have it under control, especially during training."
"I'll be with her." Derek mutters back, wrapping himself more securely around Stiles when Deaton nods and they begin to make their way to the bedroom. Deaton is gone by the time Stiles has settled into the bed in her pajama's, and Derek takes it as opportunity to climb in beside her even though it's only five in the afternoon.
Stiles dozes against his chest for a couple of hours, tossing a little, waking whenever the pain got worse or before Derek could siphon it away into himself.
Sometimes, he thinks, it's his own personal punishment. To feel the pain Stiles feels, to take it and hold it inside of himself, to let it wash over his very being for just that second before his body makes it go away. Thinks it's punishment because if he had been the one hurt, used, violated, it wouldn't have been anything new, anything he couldn't have healed from and pushed down into that vault where Kate lays, where Peter lays, where the death of his family lays.
Other times, he counts it as a blessing, that Stiles is still here. Stiles still wants him to touch her, a blessing in the way that he could have lost her in the way that she could have died, her very being could have been taken from him, but this way proof that she wasn't. A blessing in the way that even if she survived, she could have left him, alone. He would have had pack, but what's pack when what hold's it together leaves them for good. This way, he thinks, he can see her, touch her, smell her. He can pay her back her sacrifice in these moments when he takes that pain and makes it less, makes it his.
When Stiles finally wakes up for real, the pack is home and watching movies quietly downstairs. Isaac and Lydia had come up to ask about the mess Stiles' magic had caused, but he had shushed them and sent them away with promises to explain when Stiles was ready. He thinks they already know, the scent of ozone still lingers in the air.
She curls into his side, soft and warm but not content. Traces shapes over the prominent veins in his wrist so lightly that it makes him want to shiver.
"You're so hard to read." Stiles murmurs into his chest, mouth brushing over his shirt in the same whisper soft way her fingers are on his skin.
"What do you mean?" His voice is low and gentle, never harsh. Not anymore. Not with her.
"Before, you were hard to read anyway. You never really said what you mean, never really showed what you were feeling. It was hard back then, frustrating really, but now. It's different, difficult."Derek waits, because she has more to say. It's something new with Stiles, as new as bringing her home anyway, the way she thinks before she speaks, before she moves, before she breathes deep and lets it out soft and low.
"Before, without this magic, inside of me, it was just body language, the way you spoke, the way your face would blank out whenever emotions came into play, but now. Now that i can feel you. Those emotions running underneath, inside." She taps at his wrist, harder than tracing shapes but hardly a register on what it could have been, what it used to be.
"You're so conflicted." Stiles finally concludes, tilting her head up to look at him just as he has been looking down to her all this time.
"Does it not get tiring, hiding who you are, what you feel, all of the time?"
"Emotions get you killed." Derek tells her, softly serious.
"Emotions save our lives. Emotions saved mine. Love, and safety, and pack. That doesn't feel constant to you. Are you always lonely, always this conflicted?"
"For as long as i can remember."
"Even about me?" Derek nods. Turns to his side so her arm is laid over his waist, one of his beneath her head and the other brushing fingers along the soft bruised skin of her cheek.
"Always about you."