Chapter Text
When Stiles got the call he couldn’t believe it. Fifteen years ago it probably wouldn’t have come as such a shock, but things were far more settled now. It takes him three days to clear his schedule and get a flight back out home.
It’s four days too many.
Derek is dead and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that.
He doesn’t really recall packing up his office and requesting time off. He doesn’t know how he managed to request an immediate transfer to a desk job between panic attacks - although he supposes that he was granted it with such expediency because he clearly wasn’t fit to be in the field.
He doesn’t recollect checking in at the airport. He doesn’t remember the cross-country flight. He barely remembers picking up his rental car and he’d like to forget seeing the sign for Beacon Hills when he finally arrives back.
He’s not eaten properly since he got the call, it feels like there’s a stone in his stomach. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to do this. He’s completely blindsided.
He doesn’t want to be here.
Not for this.
Not for him.
Not for any of them, honestly. But Derek is the one who has managed to make something of his life. He’d settled down, bought a house, set up a business and had raised a child. He didn’t deserve to die in the same horrible way his family had. He deserved a long life with his son, and grandchildren and puppies and flowers and whatever the fuck else he wanted.
And Stiles - well Stiles has always hoped that would include him at some point. Now it can’t. He’s missed his chance and it’s not fucking fair.
He’s barely concealing his shakes as he enters his dad’s house. It’s been almost a year since he’s been back, ten since he’s lived there but it still feels like home in a way nowhere else has managed to.
And now he’s back. He’s cashing in the personal days he’s never taken and waiting on his job transfer. He walks through the house to the kitchen. His dad is sitting at their table - he looks wrecked. And old. So much older than Stiles remembers.
“Help yourself,” he says gesturing towards the bottle of Jack on the table. He wants to argue, tell his dad that they can't drink their sorrow away, but he’s spent most of the day traveling and guesses he’s exhausted. Mainly, mainly he just feels numb.
He picks up the almost full bottle, and tries to hold it to the awaiting glass but his hands are shaking too much to pour it steady. His father takes the bottle and pours him a healthy measure.
“To Derek,” he says, eyes still red
“Derek,” he echoes back. Hot tears streak their way down his cheeks before he realizes he’s crying.
***
He wakes early the next morning - still on DC time. The sun is almost aggressively bright in the early morning sky. He hates it. There should be rain and thunderclouds. Something, anything , so that everyone would know what they’ve lost.
His father is waiting for him when he drags his body downstairs. His uniform is freshly pressed and his beard trimmed but his eyes still carry a sadness that runs deep.
“Scott is staying at the house,” he says. “We didn’t want to uproot Eli, it didn’t feel fair.” Nothing about this feels fair, Stiles thinks. Eli doesn’t deserve to be alone, he doesn’t deserve to suffer through what Derek did.
Such a stupid decision.
A waste of a life.
A flash of anger courses through his veins. Why the fuck did no one call him?
“You should go and see them.” His father adds when it’s obvious he’s not taking the hint.
“Sure,” he says when what he really wants to do is scream and cry and pretend the whole thing is a nightmare. He doesn’t want to see Eli. He knows all too well the loss of a parent - still feels it deeply more than twenty years later.
He hasn’t seen Eli with any great frequency since he moved to DC but he’s heard all about him. Between his dad and Derek, he knows about his clumsy rebellions. His dad talks about the teenager fondly, detailing how much like Stiles he is. He’s said more than once that Derek’s penance for dragging him into the werewolf life is Eli. Derek mainly talks about how proud he is of everything the teen does.
Stiles knows he should want to comfort Eli, but he’s selfish. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to look at Eli and not see Derek.
“I think… I think Eli would really like to spend some time with you.” The tone is careful. “Derek talked about you a lot.” He doesn’t know if that’s supposed to comfort him, but if it is it fails miserably.
He swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’ll go,” he says quietly.
***
The drive to Derek’s house seems to take an eternity - the sense of dread is gnawing away inside his stomach and makes him feel nauseous. He pulls up onto the driveway that spreads out before Derek’s beautiful family home.
Roscoe is parked in front of the house and Stiles barely manages to park his rental behind her with the way his hands are shaking. He opens the door and collapses to his knees, retching under the weight of his grief, expelling the coffee he’d managed to choke down for breakfast. The gravel of the drive digs into his knees through his jeans and cuts into the palms of his hands but he doesn’t feel it.
When the retching finally subsides he leans back on his heels and takes several deep breaths. Pulling himself to his feet he kicks the gravel over his stomach contents and steels himself to enter the house.
Scott is waiting at the door when he gets there. Stiles isn’t surprised, he knows that his entrance hadn’t exactly been stealthy, but what does surprise him is the way that Scott looks at him. They haven’t been close in a long time, not since Scott followed Deaton - of all people - to LA twelve years previously. Still, he didn’t expect Scott to be shocked to see him.
As if he wouldn’t come back for something like this.
“Stiles…” Scott breathes out, pulling him into a hug. Stiles allows himself to be drawn in. He’s still shocked to find that he’s bigger than Scott physically, he’s taller and broader. It’s been the case since they were seventeen but Scott has always seemed so much larger in his memories.
“It’s…” he trails off because it’s not good to see Scott. Not under these circumstances.
Scott seems to understand because when he pulls back he places a hand on his shoulder.
“Eli’s gotten so big.” He says as he leads him through the door. A flash of anger flashes through Stiles, bubbling under the surface. Children grow, he thinks bitterly, especially when you don’t see them for twelve years.
The aforementioned teen is sitting on the sofa in the lounge. He looks just about as broken as Stiles feels. His eyes are red rimmed and he looks on the verge of tears. His wolf hearing must have kicked in because he looks up before Stiles can make his presence known.
“Sti..” he trails off.
Stiles moves on instinct, joining the teen on the sofa, and dragging him into his arms. Eli goes willingly, burying his face into Stiles’s neck.
“I’ll, um, leave you to it.” Scott says in the distance. Eli grips him so hard that Stiles can feel the bruises forming but he can’t bring himself to care. If this is all that he can do then he’ll do it. He grips back as hard as he can, feeling the teen shake with the force of his own sobs.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says over the sound of his own tears. It’s not enough.
Derek is gone.
Whatever he says can never be enough.
All he can do is hold the teen through his sobs.
***
Hours later they’ve barely moved. Eli is pressed up against him. Stiles has spent far too long staring at the depressing array of flowers they’ve used as a memorial. Another flash of anger passes through him. Derek has given everything for his pack and they didn’t even spring for a decent flower arrangement. Next to him Eli shifts.
“You hungry?” He asks, it's the first words they’ve spoken since Stiles arrived. The teen nods minutely.
Stiles can’t remember the last time he managed a meal, but he’s not about to let the teenager starve. He makes his way into the kitchen, walking past the childhood photos of Eli he’s never noticed on the walls before. He sees Derek’s happy face staring back at him in some of the father/son pictures and his heart aches anew.
He walks into the kitchen to find Scott and Allison kissing. It’s been all of five fucking days and Scott is already all over his one-true-love. Stiles feels the anger surge once more.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He snaps. It's probably the most words he’s uttered together since he got back. Scott steps away from Allison looking a bit embarrassed. But it’s not enough. It’s not fair that Scott gets Allison back while Derek’s gone.
“Stiles…” Scott starts, an apology on his lips.
“Don’t. Don’t stand there and apologize.” It’s like a dam has been broken inside him, because now he’s forced out those first few words he just wants to say more. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to let him die so that you can have your happy ending.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I don’t care.” He replies. “I don’t care. All I care about is that you get to be happy and Derek’s dead. I don’t… it’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair at all.” He knows it's irrational. He knows it’s spiteful, but he can’t stop himself. He wants everyone to hurt as much as he hurts.
“He sacrificed himself for it. He chose this.”
“You’re the alpha, it was your choice to make. You let him die. You left Eli alone so you could be with Allison. And she’s… she’s been dead for half our lives.” The tears almost string as they run down his face.
“But it’s Allison.” Scott says, and quite frankly Stiles can’t believe he’s not angrier.
“And he’s… he was Derek.” The words spit out of his mouth. He wipes a hand across his nose, trying desperately to staunch the flow of snot and tears. Scott takes a step forward, to comfort him and Stiles lashes out. “I never told him.” Scott lets him hit him several times on the desk. “I never fucking told him.” He sobs, collapsing in Scott’s arms, and allowing himself to be hugged. Scott makes comforting noises and clunches him tightly. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.”
“Eli could come with me,” Scott suggests. It’s like an arrow through Stiles’s heart.
“No,” he says quickly. “It should be me.” Scott makes a move that feels like a nod against his shoulder.
“If it’s too much…” he says.
“It’s not enough.” He replies, because it’s true. Whatever he does now can never be enough because Derek is done, and there wasn’t even enough left to warrant a funeral. He died engulfed in flames, just like the rest of his family. “I wasn’t even there.”
***
He wakes up under a tree. Naked. He doesn’t remember his own name.
***