Derek recalls instantly what Malia had said when they'd first got to the loft.
He knows he's getting drawn further away, but it won't matter to him and he won't care because it feels good. Stiles is going to want to go.
"What's happening to him?" he questions quickly.
Malia glances at him with watery eyes and shakes her head in distress. "The longer he stays away from his body, the less of a connection he'll have until he can no longer return."
"Can he hear us? Can you talk to him?!"
Malia stills both hands on Stiles' face and briefly closes her eyes. Her brows furrow as a tear escapes one corner of her eye and rolls down her cheek. When she opens them again, there's a hurt in her gaze that makes him feel desperate.
"He's not blocking me anymore," she murmurs. "He says he's sorry. That it's his fault that they're gone."
Aiden and Allison.
Derek grips Stiles tighter to him, tells himself that he's imagining the lack of colour on Stiles' face.
"Well tell him to stop being an idiot and come back!"
"I'm trying, okay! I don't have that kind of influence on him…" she explains, as she offers him a knowing look.
-x-
Stiles greets the light of star after star with soft brushes of his being. They're warm and comforting and he lets himself drift through them endlessly.
There's a Flash in his consciousness, and it's a vision of Malia's arm and hand reaching out to him from her point of view. The two of them are standing on campus and he's looking at an image of himself, bag slung over his shoulder and reaching out to the hand waiting for him. His mouth moves soundlessly and smiles, it's gonna be okay.
And he remembers that day.
"What is it that I always say?" She coaxes teasingly as she shifts her textbooks with her other arm.
"It's gonna be okay," he recites dutifully as he grins at her, ambles forward and fits his palm into her waiting hand.
His magic whisps freely around him and away from him. They grasp at the warmth of the sun and weave through the stars at the same time. He realises that he doesn't remember when he'd last felt the magnetic pull of the earth's sky. He doesn't know how long he's been drifting so free and unhindered.
Stay.
It's barely a whisper on the wind, a murmur through the sky, but he hears it and it makes him pause because he's never heard this voice in the magic before.
Stay.
The sound is a caress that grasps him in its invisible arms. It swirls around him, travels with him readily but emanates reluctance as well.
Stiles, stay.
And this time his consciousness instinctively pauses as another Flash bursts into his senses. It's Derek on his knees, rocking back and forth with Stiles cradled in his arms. This is the first he's ever seen this Flash and immediately he knows that this is what Malia, his sister witch, is seeing right now. He marvels at how he and Derek seem to fit together. His head is nestled on Derek's shoulder and settled into the crook of sourwolf's neck. Derek's arms are wrapped around him protectively and he likes how safe this makes him feel.
The Flash absorbs all of his attention until his consciousness is no longer reaching forward and outwards into the magic. Instead, it fixes its focus onto the scene Malia is still Flashing to him – studying it, enraptured by it. Stiles isn't bothered by how the body in Derek's arms lies so still, but he notices the trembling in Derek's fingers, the unusual agitation in Derek's movements. The way Derek hoists the body even closer to his own, head bending down so that his mouth is right next to the boy's ear.
You can't go, okay? You can't because I'm here.
Stiles sends a sliver of his spark towards the Derek in the Flash, sees it manifest in a whisp of silver energy swirling around and around until it reaches Derek and dissipates right through him.
Are you really gonna leave me here? After what just started between us?
Stiles feels a stab of remorse when Derek's face crumbles with distress as he grips the boy in his arms even closer to him.
I'm here. I'm the reason you should always come back. You hear me?
I'm right here.
-x-
"Stay," he begs brokenly again, whispering it to Stiles and holding him like he'd never done before.
Derek doesn't feel the panic this time around, doesn't feel unprepared, doesn't feel afraid. He ignores the blue tinge to the kid's dry, cracked lips as he lowers his mouth the rest of the way and finally returns Stiles' kiss.
He waits.
And he waits.
And when he doesn't get a response Derek feels the devastation rip through his chest. He doesn't release the sob stuck in his throat but a primal huff escapes his mouth anyway, and he clutches Stiles to him and buries his face in Stiles' shirt. Keeps rocking him back and forth.
His wolf howls desperately inside him and his gums ache with the need to release his fangs. His fingers, now claws, catch at Stiles' clothes as they continue to clutch at him, and Derek can't help but throw his head back, unable to do anything but let the beta shift happen as grief overtakes him and transforms itself into a long tortured howl.
As he lets it fade off into the darkness, Derek senses movement from Malia and then hears her release a small, surprised gasp.
"Derek!"
There's a slight shift of muscle in his arms and he looks down just in time to see Stiles' eyes open. The kid blinks dazedly a few times, eyes moving back and forth like he's struggling to focus. Derek bursts into action, lowers Stiles to the floor and cups his cheek in one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other.
"Hey, hey, you're back. You're okay, it's okay, you're back," he murmurs.
Stiles lifts a hand up and weakly grips Derek's wrist.
"Did I get her?" he slurs, voice still magic-drunk.
He and Malia both huff a relieved laugh.
"Yeah, you got her."
-x-
Stiles and Malia sleep for days.
Deaton reassures them that this behaviour is completely normal, especially after using so much magic all at once, but when Malia wakes up after two days with an appetite big enough to eat him out of his own kitchen and Stiles stays asleep, Derek can't help but worry a little.
"He's fine, I promise, he just needs another day or two," Malia reports around a mouthful of food as he and Kira sit at the dining table with her and watch her eat.
"How do you even know that?" Kira asks curiously.
Malia taps a finger to her head and swallows her mouthful. "It's a subconscious thing. Stiles is still learning so…let's just say he needs some more practice on keeping his thoughts to himself," she explains cryptically.
There's a sound at the door and Malia and Kira both turn to watch Scott come through it and join them at the table.
"How's Lydia, and Isaac?" Derek asks the young alpha.
"Sad," Scott responds quietly. "Isaac's gonna need a little time and Ethan and Danny left for Santa Cruz this morning with Aiden's ashes. How's Stiles?"
"Still sleeping," Kira answers her boyfriend sending him a supportive smile as she rubs his arm soothingly. Scott nods.
Malia rises out of her seat, walks into the kitchen and starts washing her plate.
"You don't need to do that," Derek calls after her.
"Dude," she retorts, sounding unnervingly like Stiles. "It is the least I can do after taking me in for the past few days, seriously. I would still be crashed out in the woods if it weren't for you carrying me half the time on the way back here."
Derek trades a look with Stiles' friend, senses the undercurrent of sincerity masked by her lighthearted tone.
"Any time," he replies. And he means it, because he knows she'd given almost everything she had – and more – to help him bring Stiles back from the ether that night, and then jump them back to the vicinity of the house.
Malia finishes drying her plate and walks back past them, headed for the front door. "Right now though, I have to get back. My mom's probably going crazy."
Scott turns to look at her. "Uh, do you need a ride or something?" he asks with a baffled tone.
Malia pulls something out of her back pocket and waves her mother's amulet at them from where she's standing. "Nope," she exclaims as she proceeds to draw a symbol into the air in front of her and promptly disappears from sight.
Scott shakes his head after her. "Still cool," he mumbles.
-x-
Awareness comes back to him in phases.
The first time Stiles comes to, it's only for a few seconds and it's with Scott looking at him from the armchair beside the bed, leaning forward with elbows resting on his knees.
"That's it dude, you can do it," his best friend coaxes softly.
Stiles feels like his head is full of cotton but it doesn't take him long to remember why he feels so sad.
"I'm sorry, bro," he murmurs quietly.
"Hey, it's not your…" Scott replies, but Stiles doesn't hear the rest of it, already falling back into slumber with the vision of his best friend shaking his head at him.
-x-
The next time he comes to, it's Lydia sitting by his bedside. She's staring blankly out the window on the other side of the room and doesn't notice. Stiles feels like maybe there's less cotton in his brain this time around because he's able to move his arm and touch the feminine fingers resting beside his hand.
Lydia turns to him and offers him a sad, thoughtful smile.
"Show me," he tells her. Because if there's one thing he could do for his friend, it's to share with her the visions that make a banshee feel the most isolated, and the grief that comes with them.
A tear escapes the corner of Lydia's eye and she takes his hand in hers and lifts it to her face, rubbing her cheek against the backs of his fingers once, twice.
"When you're better," she murmurs softly.
He doesn't like her answer but can't do more than frown as he feels the pull of sleep once more. Before he lets it take him all the way under, he gives Lydia's hand a small, gentle squeeze.
-x-
Stay.
The voice in the magic fades into the wind as Stiles drifts back into consciousness. He's on his side this time and the first thing he notices from the window he's facing is that it's dark. Late evening. The time of night when everything is still, even the wind. He takes a second to breathe a little, takes inventory of his body. His vessel.
It doesn't take him long to feel the weakness in his limbs and the heaviness in his heart. His spark is but a little flicker, still dangerously small, but it's there and he can't help but sigh with relief. He shifts onto his back and doesn't have enough energy to be surprised when he finally lays eyes on who's occupying the armchair where Scott and Lydia had been.
"You're here," he murmurs with a small smile.
"I'm here," Derek replies, watching him with a soft, tender expression.
"I thought I dreamt—I was dreaming…" Stiles stutters sleepily.
"No," Derek whispers, leaning forward and taking his hand. "You weren't dreaming."
Stiles nods at him, gladder than the gladdest of them all but still too tired for anything. He moves to smother a wide yawn but aborts the motion halfway, grabs the comforter and lifts it instead.
"Then come," he mumbles, gesturing with his other hand for Derek to join him. "Think I've kicked you out of your own bed long enough."
"Stiles," Derek protests slowly, hesitation thick in his tone.
"Talk later, promise. Sleep first, now," he answers disjointedly.
Derek exhales softly before finally reaching down and pulling off his boots. He takes the comforter from Stiles' still raised (and now trembling) arm, and slips into the bed beside him.
Stiles doesn't wait for him to settle and instead rolls back onto his side, facing the window once more. When he finally lets himself sink back into the abyss of deep, healing sleep, there's a small content smile on his face because it's with the feeling of Derek's warmth against his back and Derek's arms wrapped tightly around him.