Fic: Occam's Razor (7/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
They settled into a routine, and it was comfortable. Too comfortable.
It was like they were married.
Of course, Stiles was sleeping on the couch instead of in Derek’s bed. Derek didn’t like that, but Stiles just couldn’t sleep with another man’s husband. Even if that other man was himself. And he didn’t trust himself to just sleep in the bed with Derek without crossing any lines.
Because Derek Hale? Turned out he was a fucking amazing husband. Stiles was starting to get what being a werewolf’s mate meant. It meant attentiveness. Investment. Affection.
Which, that last one, Stiles tried to keep that one out of rotation. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he wanted to too much. He couldn’t open the door to anything remotely intimate, because he wouldn’t be able to stop. Derek scenting him was torture enough, and that was just him smelling Stiles’ neck (although Derek was less aggressive about it now that Stiles was living in the house again).
Before Stiles knew it, he’d been in this strange alternate universe for a week. And he’d gotten into the groove of it. He got his stitches removed, so he looked less like Frankenstein’s monster (though there would definitely be a scar). The last couple of days, because he was bored and wanted to get out of the house, he fixed a couple of lunches and took them to the station for his dad and Derek. Only to find out that was pretty typical of the other Stiles, because he was welcomed by everyone like it was business as usual and even had to explain why he hadn’t been around the last few days. The stitches and fading bruises on his face were a perfect alibi.
One day he noticed a lot of dirty clothes piling up around the house, so he did laundry. The fact they were low on milk and bread came to his attention the next day, so he went grocery shopping. While he was there, he picked up the ingredients to make chicken pot pie and had it made for dinner by the time Derek got home.
Derek never asked him to do any of the housework, but Stiles was there and he was bored and Derek was out working all day. It was actually kind of relaxing. And the more he did it, the more the house started to feel like his. Which might not actually be a good thing, but damnit, he wanted this little piece for himself. If he couldn’t have the husband that came with it, at least give him a sliver of home.
Stiles was standing at the sliding glass door in the dining area, looking shrewdly at the grass in the back yard and thinking it could stand to be mowed, when the front door banged open without warning.
Stiles startled and turned to see Derek, wolfed out and khaki uniform shirt filthy with dark dirt, storm into the house, go straight to the bedroom, and slam the door so hard he heard wood splintering.
Stiles stood stock-still a moment, stunned.
There was no telling how long he might have stood there gawking at the open front door were it not for his cell phone on the end table next to the couch starting to ring.
It was his father.
“Dad?”
“Stiles, is Derek there?” John asked, urgency and concern in his voice.
“Yeah, he got home like six seconds ago. Just barged in here looking scary as fuck.”
There was a resigned sigh on the other end.
“What the hell happened? He looked like he’d rolled in a fireplace.”
John paused, like his heart was caught in his throat, then he said, “There… we got called out to a house fire. The mom and her three-year-old son didn’t make it out.”
“Shit…” Stiles breathed. Then it really sank in. “Shit.”
“He shouldn’t have even gone in there, but I couldn’t stop him. He almost got into a brawl with a fireman, but there… there was nothing anyone could have done. He was losing it. I told him to go home.” John sounded weary. “I wanted to make sure he made it home. And I wanted you to know what’s wrong with him.”
“Yeah… sure… that’s… thanks, Dad.”
“Stiles, listen… I know things are still… just take care of him, okay?”
“I will,” Stiles croaked. He wasn’t sure how, but he would.
When he hung up with his dad, Stiles went to the front door and closed it. There was a divot in the entryway wall where the knob had been slammed too hard against it. Stiles walked across the living room over to the bedroom door.
He took a steadying breath. He had to shoulder the door open where Derek had wedged it into the frame with the force of slamming it shut, but eventually it gave and he stepped into the room he had basically been avoiding.
Derek’s uniform was strewn across the floor in tatters, clearly ripped from Derek’s body by claws. The sooty clothes had filled the room with the smell of fire and smoke that even Stiles, with his puny human nose, could smell. It had to be suffocating for a werewolf.
Derek was curled naked in bed, his back to the door. Stiles could see him shaking. When he took a few steps closer, he could hear Derek growling. A low, constant sound of pent-up rage. If Stiles had any sense of self-preservation, he would have backed away at the deep rumble escaping from Derek’s throat.
“Derek?” Stiles called softly.
Derek flinched. The growling got louder. Stiles could tell it wasn’t directed at him, though. It was just Derek hurt and in self-defense mode.
Stiles looked down at the clothes reeking of smoke and quickly snatched them all up. He had to get them away from Derek. Out of the bedroom. Out of the house. He threw them in the kitchen trashcan, then he pulled the trash bag out and set it outside the front door.
He slipped back into the bedroom with care and looked toward the bed. Derek was unmoved, still a hard curled shape on the bed, trembling and growling. It reminded Stiles of the dogs Scott would take to the clinic, baring their teeth and growling fiercely, but not because they were dangerous. Because they were in pain. Because they were hurt and they couldn’t imagine anything else that happened to them could ever make it hurt less.
Stiles padded closer to the bed until he could see the profile of Derek’s face. The enlarged brows and elongated canines and additional hair. He was clutching the edge of the mattress with one hand, claws buried in the padding.
Ever so careful, Stiles eased onto one knee on the bed behind Derek. “Derek?”
Derek sucked in a breath. His fingers flexed. The wolf-face receded, but his claws and fangs remained. His eyes snapped open and were glowing bright blue.
Stiles dared to lay his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “What can I do?”
Suddenly, Derek turned and lunged at him. It spoke volumes of Stiles’ trust that he didn’t scramble back at the sudden movement.
Derek grabbed Stiles, hauled him down into the bed, and fucking clung to him. He pulled Stiles tight against him, pressed their bodies together hard, and buried his nose in Stiles’ neck. Breathed him in to overpower the smell of fire with the scent of mate. He was still shaking, muscles locked and jerking beyond his control. It made Stiles’ neck and back hurt just watching. Stiles reached out and curled his hands around Derek’s back to try and ease the ache.
Derek shuddered and the growl faltered at his touch.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. He couldn’t say it was okay. They both knew it wasn’t.
“They died,” Derek said in a hoarse voice. Like he had to say it aloud. Had to make it real.
“I know.” Stiles wrapped his arms more completely around Derek.
Derek burrowed closer to Stiles. Any closer and Stiles would have to rearrange some internal organs. But he let Derek hold him as tightly as he needed to. All day and night if that’s what Derek needed.
*****************
Stiles wasn’t surprised to open the front door the next morning to find his father standing on his doorstep. Sheriff Stilinski was dressed for work, but his face was all the father and not the sheriff.
“How’s he doing?” he asked.
Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair and yawned. “It was a rough night.” Stiles never knew before that Derek had nightmares, too. He did after last night. Stiles spent the whole night either getting the stuffing hugged out of him or trying to shake Derek awake from a nightmare. Their mattress was in tatters. Stiles had a few scratches he would have to hide, because Derek hadn’t known he was doing it.
Stiles stepped aside and invited his father in with a wave.
John shook his head. “I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to see how he was. And to make sure you tell him he’s not coming in today.”
Yeah, no way in hell that was happening.
“Thanks.” Stiles rubbed at one eye sleepily.
“You okay?”
Stiles shook his head. If Derek wasn’t okay, he wasn’t okay.
John seemed to get that. He gave a somber nod, then said, “I’ve got to get going. Call if you need anything.”
After bidding his father goodbye, Stiles went to the kitchen to make coffee. When he was ready, he poured a cup, grabbed a bagel off the counter, and headed back toward the bedroom.
Only Derek wasn’t in the bed.
The master bathroom door was wide open and the shower was running.
Stiles walked over to set the coffee and bagel on Derek’s nightstand when the water shut off and the curtain whipped back. Stiles made a fleeting moment of eye contact with naked Derek Hale before he turned hastily away. “Sorry… just brought you some coffee and something to eat.” Stiles felt a flush creeping up his neck into his ears. “I’ll just…”
He moved to leave, but suddenly a wet hand was clamped around his wrist. He flinched and couldn’t help but look. Derek was standing in front of Stiles, naked and dripping like he didn’t even realize he was wet without a scrap of clothing on. He hadn’t even grabbed a fucking towel.
Stiles sure as hell noticed though. He’d been able to block out the excess of naked Derek skin last night because Derek needed him. There was nothing sexual about the broken sounds Derek had made in his nightmares or the way he held on to Stiles like he would lose his mind if he lost his grip. Then it didn’t matter.
But Stiles couldn’t just be okay with Derek naked as a matter of course. He had a wall to maintain, a barrier between the other life he knew was rightly his and this one he wanted. Derek in the buff would tear it all down.
Stiles exerted every ounce of self-control he had to make sure he looked nowhere but right into Derek’s face.
Derek was looking at him intently. His eyes were back to normal, there were no claws at Stiles’ wrist, but there was something more wolf than man in the way Derek studied Stiles. It was disarming. It felt like the forest at night on a full moon, running with wolves.
For a moment, Stiles kind of felt like his heart stopped.
Whatever was going on with Derek stopped and he blinked and let go of Stiles’ wrist. “Sorry.” He looked down at the coffee like it was the first time he’d ever seen coffee before. “Thanks,” he muttered, though he made no move to take it.
“Can I… maybe get you a towel?” Stiles offered in a strained voice.
Derek growled, went back to the bathroom, then he emerged again with a towel wrapped around his hips.
Stiles sent up a thanks for the sake of his sanity.
“You don’t have to go in to work today. My dad stopped by.”
Derek nodded absently.
“Are you… is there anything else I can do?”
“You’ve done enough,” Derek snarled.
Stiles blinked, taken aback by the venom in his voice.
Derek clearly heard it, too. He closed his eyes and winced. “That’s not… what I meant was…”
“You’re welcome. And it’s okay.”
They stood in awkward silence a moment, then Derek was in motion, digging through the dresser for clothes. He pulled out underwear, track pants, and a t-shirt. To Stiles, he said, “I need to get out of a while. Go for a run.”
“Okay.” Stiles left the bedroom so he could dress in privacy. He was in the kitchen pouring himself some coffee when Derek came out, tennis shoes laced up and car keys in hand. Stiles knew he’d go to the preserve. This wasn’t a human run.
“Have a good time,” Stiles offered kindly.
Derek paused a moment, torn between Stiles and the door.
Stiles shooed him toward the door with his free hand.
Before Stiles could mount a protest, Derek marched up to Stiles, slipped a hand behind his neck, and kissed him. Just a press of mouths, chaste and tame, but Stiles felt like his knees might buckle.
Derek took a step back and looked at him carefully. “I’ll be back.”
Stiles couldn’t speak, so he nodded and set his coffee down before he spilled it.
When Derek closed the front door behind him, Stiles braced himself against the island and tried to get his racing heart under control. “Oh, fuck.”
He’d enjoyed that just as much as he feared he would.
******************
Stiles could swear his heart started beating faster the second he heard a key in the front door lock. He was all the way in the kitchen making dinner, but he’d swear that for that minute he had werewolf hearing, because the tumblers turned over loud enough to echo in the entire house.
It was nearly six o’clock. Derek had been gone all day. Stiles was actually glad for it, because he needed some time to get his act together.
But when he heard Derek come in the front door, he knew that for all the time he’d had to himself today, it hadn’t been enough. Derek was home and Stiles went on hyper-alert. He might fly apart at any moment.
His hands froze in the process of making a sandwich as Derek came around the corner and stopped at the sight of him.
They both acted like the presence of the other was surprising.
His nerves aside, Stiles gave Derek an assessing look. His hair was an unkempt wreck and Stiles could swear he smelled Derek’s clothes from the kitchen entryway, but he didn’t look as tightly-wound as he had that morning. Not relaxed or peaceful. More like… decompressed. He’d run the edge off whatever had been eating at him.
“Hey,” Stiles cleared his throat.
“Hi.”
Stiles resumed his meal preparation, stacking a piece of lettuce atop his turkey and cheese sandwich. “I didn’t know when you’d be back, so whatever you can rustle up for dinner is fair game.”
Derek nodded and took a tentative step into the kitchen. Still standing at the center island, Stiles took a bite of his sandwich, watching Derek out of the corner of his eye. Which was only fair… Derek was totally watching him, too.
Stiles hastily got out of the way, plate in hand, as Derek moved toward the fridge. Derek fetched a bottle of water then moved to stand at the side of the island to Stiles’ left. There they both just watched the other, never going as far as to meet the other’s eyes.
It was the most uncomfortable, awkward moment of Stiles’ life, and he had some real contenders.
“Feeling better?” Stiles finally asked to break the silence.
“Yeah,” Derek twisted the water bottle around the Formica but didn’t drink from it. “How was your day?”
“All right. I Skyped with Scott and Kira.”
Derek glanced over at the laptop on the island to Stiles’ right. “Did they have any leads on the…”
“No.” But Stiles had been really, really hoping they would. He’d been kind of desperately hoping, actually. Because after what happened that morning… Stiles needed an out. Now. He was getting into this way too deep. He was going to end up doing something he would regret.
Not because he would regret it - in fact, he was pretty sure it would be the best thing he’d ever experienced in his life - but because he didn’t want to ruin Other Stiles’ life. Other Stiles had it good. He’d worked hard to get this life with Derek, and he deserved all of it. He certainly didn’t deserve to have some imposter like Stiles waltz in and take it.
And he didn’t want to have Derek for his own sake. He didn’t want to touch him and taste him and love him, just to have him ripped away when they finally got Stiles back where he belonged.
“Listen, Stiles…” Derek stammered. “About this morning…”
“It’s fine. Really. It… happened. Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
That was not the right thing to say. Derek’s chin came up and he looked hard at Stiles. “It is a big deal. I miss my husband.”
Stiles cringed. “Trust me, I know you do. I wish I could…” He wished he could be him. Or pretend. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to either version of Stiles. “I want to fix this as much as you do.”
“I understand that you don’t remember how we got here,” Derek said sullenly, “but I don’t get why you won’t at least try with me now. Do you even want me?”
Oh, hell. “I do. I do a lot. And that’s the problem.”
“What if we can never get your memories back? Will you just… will you leave me?”
Stiles’ heart dropped. “No! No… I’d never…” He didn’t think he was physically capable. But Derek had a point… if they never found a way to send him home, how long would he keep Derek at arm’s length? At what point could he say he’d done all he could and let this be his? He didn’t know. But he knew leaving Derek wasn’t an option. “I could never do that, Derek.”
“Then what do you want from me, Stiles?” he asked in frustration. Derek sounded stripped bare, emotionally raw. This was the opposite of what Stiles wanted.
“I want to not hurt you,” Stiles answered.
“Well, you’re sucking at it.”
Stiles drew back his shoulders and looked Derek square in the eye. “I’m trying to do the right thing! But I don’t even know what that is. The right thing for whom? You? Me? Your Stiles? And if the same thing isn’t the right thing for all of them, well, then who the fuck do I put first? No matter what I do, someone gets hurt!”
Derek was tense, jaw clenched and hands closed into fists so tight his knuckles were white. Stiles was standing stiffly a pace back from the island, like he might need room to… something.
It was too intense, and Stiles broke first. “My turn,” he announced, turning and walking into the living room.
“Your what?” Derek asked, following Stiles.
“My turn to get out of here.” Stiles fished the Honda keys out of the bowl, pocketed his cell phone, and found his shoes.
When he looked up, Derek was standing in the space between the living room and kitchen, watching Stiles and looking like he was about to throw up. Shit, Derek thought Stiles was walking out.
“Hey, hey… Derek. Derek!”
Derek blinked at him, shell-shocked and sick to his stomach and taken out at the knees.
“I’m coming back,” Stiles promised.
Derek swallowed.
“I. Am. Coming. Back,” Stiles repeated. He looked closely at Derek. “Do you believe me?”
Faintly, Derek nodded.
“Good… because that’s a promise. I’ll be back.”
Then he walked out the door.
Next
They settled into a routine, and it was comfortable. Too comfortable.
It was like they were married.
Of course, Stiles was sleeping on the couch instead of in Derek’s bed. Derek didn’t like that, but Stiles just couldn’t sleep with another man’s husband. Even if that other man was himself. And he didn’t trust himself to just sleep in the bed with Derek without crossing any lines.
Because Derek Hale? Turned out he was a fucking amazing husband. Stiles was starting to get what being a werewolf’s mate meant. It meant attentiveness. Investment. Affection.
Which, that last one, Stiles tried to keep that one out of rotation. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he wanted to too much. He couldn’t open the door to anything remotely intimate, because he wouldn’t be able to stop. Derek scenting him was torture enough, and that was just him smelling Stiles’ neck (although Derek was less aggressive about it now that Stiles was living in the house again).
Before Stiles knew it, he’d been in this strange alternate universe for a week. And he’d gotten into the groove of it. He got his stitches removed, so he looked less like Frankenstein’s monster (though there would definitely be a scar). The last couple of days, because he was bored and wanted to get out of the house, he fixed a couple of lunches and took them to the station for his dad and Derek. Only to find out that was pretty typical of the other Stiles, because he was welcomed by everyone like it was business as usual and even had to explain why he hadn’t been around the last few days. The stitches and fading bruises on his face were a perfect alibi.
One day he noticed a lot of dirty clothes piling up around the house, so he did laundry. The fact they were low on milk and bread came to his attention the next day, so he went grocery shopping. While he was there, he picked up the ingredients to make chicken pot pie and had it made for dinner by the time Derek got home.
Derek never asked him to do any of the housework, but Stiles was there and he was bored and Derek was out working all day. It was actually kind of relaxing. And the more he did it, the more the house started to feel like his. Which might not actually be a good thing, but damnit, he wanted this little piece for himself. If he couldn’t have the husband that came with it, at least give him a sliver of home.
Stiles was standing at the sliding glass door in the dining area, looking shrewdly at the grass in the back yard and thinking it could stand to be mowed, when the front door banged open without warning.
Stiles startled and turned to see Derek, wolfed out and khaki uniform shirt filthy with dark dirt, storm into the house, go straight to the bedroom, and slam the door so hard he heard wood splintering.
Stiles stood stock-still a moment, stunned.
There was no telling how long he might have stood there gawking at the open front door were it not for his cell phone on the end table next to the couch starting to ring.
It was his father.
“Dad?”
“Stiles, is Derek there?” John asked, urgency and concern in his voice.
“Yeah, he got home like six seconds ago. Just barged in here looking scary as fuck.”
There was a resigned sigh on the other end.
“What the hell happened? He looked like he’d rolled in a fireplace.”
John paused, like his heart was caught in his throat, then he said, “There… we got called out to a house fire. The mom and her three-year-old son didn’t make it out.”
“Shit…” Stiles breathed. Then it really sank in. “Shit.”
“He shouldn’t have even gone in there, but I couldn’t stop him. He almost got into a brawl with a fireman, but there… there was nothing anyone could have done. He was losing it. I told him to go home.” John sounded weary. “I wanted to make sure he made it home. And I wanted you to know what’s wrong with him.”
“Yeah… sure… that’s… thanks, Dad.”
“Stiles, listen… I know things are still… just take care of him, okay?”
“I will,” Stiles croaked. He wasn’t sure how, but he would.
When he hung up with his dad, Stiles went to the front door and closed it. There was a divot in the entryway wall where the knob had been slammed too hard against it. Stiles walked across the living room over to the bedroom door.
He took a steadying breath. He had to shoulder the door open where Derek had wedged it into the frame with the force of slamming it shut, but eventually it gave and he stepped into the room he had basically been avoiding.
Derek’s uniform was strewn across the floor in tatters, clearly ripped from Derek’s body by claws. The sooty clothes had filled the room with the smell of fire and smoke that even Stiles, with his puny human nose, could smell. It had to be suffocating for a werewolf.
Derek was curled naked in bed, his back to the door. Stiles could see him shaking. When he took a few steps closer, he could hear Derek growling. A low, constant sound of pent-up rage. If Stiles had any sense of self-preservation, he would have backed away at the deep rumble escaping from Derek’s throat.
“Derek?” Stiles called softly.
Derek flinched. The growling got louder. Stiles could tell it wasn’t directed at him, though. It was just Derek hurt and in self-defense mode.
Stiles looked down at the clothes reeking of smoke and quickly snatched them all up. He had to get them away from Derek. Out of the bedroom. Out of the house. He threw them in the kitchen trashcan, then he pulled the trash bag out and set it outside the front door.
He slipped back into the bedroom with care and looked toward the bed. Derek was unmoved, still a hard curled shape on the bed, trembling and growling. It reminded Stiles of the dogs Scott would take to the clinic, baring their teeth and growling fiercely, but not because they were dangerous. Because they were in pain. Because they were hurt and they couldn’t imagine anything else that happened to them could ever make it hurt less.
Stiles padded closer to the bed until he could see the profile of Derek’s face. The enlarged brows and elongated canines and additional hair. He was clutching the edge of the mattress with one hand, claws buried in the padding.
Ever so careful, Stiles eased onto one knee on the bed behind Derek. “Derek?”
Derek sucked in a breath. His fingers flexed. The wolf-face receded, but his claws and fangs remained. His eyes snapped open and were glowing bright blue.
Stiles dared to lay his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “What can I do?”
Suddenly, Derek turned and lunged at him. It spoke volumes of Stiles’ trust that he didn’t scramble back at the sudden movement.
Derek grabbed Stiles, hauled him down into the bed, and fucking clung to him. He pulled Stiles tight against him, pressed their bodies together hard, and buried his nose in Stiles’ neck. Breathed him in to overpower the smell of fire with the scent of mate. He was still shaking, muscles locked and jerking beyond his control. It made Stiles’ neck and back hurt just watching. Stiles reached out and curled his hands around Derek’s back to try and ease the ache.
Derek shuddered and the growl faltered at his touch.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered. He couldn’t say it was okay. They both knew it wasn’t.
“They died,” Derek said in a hoarse voice. Like he had to say it aloud. Had to make it real.
“I know.” Stiles wrapped his arms more completely around Derek.
Derek burrowed closer to Stiles. Any closer and Stiles would have to rearrange some internal organs. But he let Derek hold him as tightly as he needed to. All day and night if that’s what Derek needed.
*****************
Stiles wasn’t surprised to open the front door the next morning to find his father standing on his doorstep. Sheriff Stilinski was dressed for work, but his face was all the father and not the sheriff.
“How’s he doing?” he asked.
Stiles scrubbed a hand through his hair and yawned. “It was a rough night.” Stiles never knew before that Derek had nightmares, too. He did after last night. Stiles spent the whole night either getting the stuffing hugged out of him or trying to shake Derek awake from a nightmare. Their mattress was in tatters. Stiles had a few scratches he would have to hide, because Derek hadn’t known he was doing it.
Stiles stepped aside and invited his father in with a wave.
John shook his head. “I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to see how he was. And to make sure you tell him he’s not coming in today.”
Yeah, no way in hell that was happening.
“Thanks.” Stiles rubbed at one eye sleepily.
“You okay?”
Stiles shook his head. If Derek wasn’t okay, he wasn’t okay.
John seemed to get that. He gave a somber nod, then said, “I’ve got to get going. Call if you need anything.”
After bidding his father goodbye, Stiles went to the kitchen to make coffee. When he was ready, he poured a cup, grabbed a bagel off the counter, and headed back toward the bedroom.
Only Derek wasn’t in the bed.
The master bathroom door was wide open and the shower was running.
Stiles walked over to set the coffee and bagel on Derek’s nightstand when the water shut off and the curtain whipped back. Stiles made a fleeting moment of eye contact with naked Derek Hale before he turned hastily away. “Sorry… just brought you some coffee and something to eat.” Stiles felt a flush creeping up his neck into his ears. “I’ll just…”
He moved to leave, but suddenly a wet hand was clamped around his wrist. He flinched and couldn’t help but look. Derek was standing in front of Stiles, naked and dripping like he didn’t even realize he was wet without a scrap of clothing on. He hadn’t even grabbed a fucking towel.
Stiles sure as hell noticed though. He’d been able to block out the excess of naked Derek skin last night because Derek needed him. There was nothing sexual about the broken sounds Derek had made in his nightmares or the way he held on to Stiles like he would lose his mind if he lost his grip. Then it didn’t matter.
But Stiles couldn’t just be okay with Derek naked as a matter of course. He had a wall to maintain, a barrier between the other life he knew was rightly his and this one he wanted. Derek in the buff would tear it all down.
Stiles exerted every ounce of self-control he had to make sure he looked nowhere but right into Derek’s face.
Derek was looking at him intently. His eyes were back to normal, there were no claws at Stiles’ wrist, but there was something more wolf than man in the way Derek studied Stiles. It was disarming. It felt like the forest at night on a full moon, running with wolves.
For a moment, Stiles kind of felt like his heart stopped.
Whatever was going on with Derek stopped and he blinked and let go of Stiles’ wrist. “Sorry.” He looked down at the coffee like it was the first time he’d ever seen coffee before. “Thanks,” he muttered, though he made no move to take it.
“Can I… maybe get you a towel?” Stiles offered in a strained voice.
Derek growled, went back to the bathroom, then he emerged again with a towel wrapped around his hips.
Stiles sent up a thanks for the sake of his sanity.
“You don’t have to go in to work today. My dad stopped by.”
Derek nodded absently.
“Are you… is there anything else I can do?”
“You’ve done enough,” Derek snarled.
Stiles blinked, taken aback by the venom in his voice.
Derek clearly heard it, too. He closed his eyes and winced. “That’s not… what I meant was…”
“You’re welcome. And it’s okay.”
They stood in awkward silence a moment, then Derek was in motion, digging through the dresser for clothes. He pulled out underwear, track pants, and a t-shirt. To Stiles, he said, “I need to get out of a while. Go for a run.”
“Okay.” Stiles left the bedroom so he could dress in privacy. He was in the kitchen pouring himself some coffee when Derek came out, tennis shoes laced up and car keys in hand. Stiles knew he’d go to the preserve. This wasn’t a human run.
“Have a good time,” Stiles offered kindly.
Derek paused a moment, torn between Stiles and the door.
Stiles shooed him toward the door with his free hand.
Before Stiles could mount a protest, Derek marched up to Stiles, slipped a hand behind his neck, and kissed him. Just a press of mouths, chaste and tame, but Stiles felt like his knees might buckle.
Derek took a step back and looked at him carefully. “I’ll be back.”
Stiles couldn’t speak, so he nodded and set his coffee down before he spilled it.
When Derek closed the front door behind him, Stiles braced himself against the island and tried to get his racing heart under control. “Oh, fuck.”
He’d enjoyed that just as much as he feared he would.
******************
Stiles could swear his heart started beating faster the second he heard a key in the front door lock. He was all the way in the kitchen making dinner, but he’d swear that for that minute he had werewolf hearing, because the tumblers turned over loud enough to echo in the entire house.
It was nearly six o’clock. Derek had been gone all day. Stiles was actually glad for it, because he needed some time to get his act together.
But when he heard Derek come in the front door, he knew that for all the time he’d had to himself today, it hadn’t been enough. Derek was home and Stiles went on hyper-alert. He might fly apart at any moment.
His hands froze in the process of making a sandwich as Derek came around the corner and stopped at the sight of him.
They both acted like the presence of the other was surprising.
His nerves aside, Stiles gave Derek an assessing look. His hair was an unkempt wreck and Stiles could swear he smelled Derek’s clothes from the kitchen entryway, but he didn’t look as tightly-wound as he had that morning. Not relaxed or peaceful. More like… decompressed. He’d run the edge off whatever had been eating at him.
“Hey,” Stiles cleared his throat.
“Hi.”
Stiles resumed his meal preparation, stacking a piece of lettuce atop his turkey and cheese sandwich. “I didn’t know when you’d be back, so whatever you can rustle up for dinner is fair game.”
Derek nodded and took a tentative step into the kitchen. Still standing at the center island, Stiles took a bite of his sandwich, watching Derek out of the corner of his eye. Which was only fair… Derek was totally watching him, too.
Stiles hastily got out of the way, plate in hand, as Derek moved toward the fridge. Derek fetched a bottle of water then moved to stand at the side of the island to Stiles’ left. There they both just watched the other, never going as far as to meet the other’s eyes.
It was the most uncomfortable, awkward moment of Stiles’ life, and he had some real contenders.
“Feeling better?” Stiles finally asked to break the silence.
“Yeah,” Derek twisted the water bottle around the Formica but didn’t drink from it. “How was your day?”
“All right. I Skyped with Scott and Kira.”
Derek glanced over at the laptop on the island to Stiles’ right. “Did they have any leads on the…”
“No.” But Stiles had been really, really hoping they would. He’d been kind of desperately hoping, actually. Because after what happened that morning… Stiles needed an out. Now. He was getting into this way too deep. He was going to end up doing something he would regret.
Not because he would regret it - in fact, he was pretty sure it would be the best thing he’d ever experienced in his life - but because he didn’t want to ruin Other Stiles’ life. Other Stiles had it good. He’d worked hard to get this life with Derek, and he deserved all of it. He certainly didn’t deserve to have some imposter like Stiles waltz in and take it.
And he didn’t want to have Derek for his own sake. He didn’t want to touch him and taste him and love him, just to have him ripped away when they finally got Stiles back where he belonged.
“Listen, Stiles…” Derek stammered. “About this morning…”
“It’s fine. Really. It… happened. Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
That was not the right thing to say. Derek’s chin came up and he looked hard at Stiles. “It is a big deal. I miss my husband.”
Stiles cringed. “Trust me, I know you do. I wish I could…” He wished he could be him. Or pretend. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to either version of Stiles. “I want to fix this as much as you do.”
“I understand that you don’t remember how we got here,” Derek said sullenly, “but I don’t get why you won’t at least try with me now. Do you even want me?”
Oh, hell. “I do. I do a lot. And that’s the problem.”
“What if we can never get your memories back? Will you just… will you leave me?”
Stiles’ heart dropped. “No! No… I’d never…” He didn’t think he was physically capable. But Derek had a point… if they never found a way to send him home, how long would he keep Derek at arm’s length? At what point could he say he’d done all he could and let this be his? He didn’t know. But he knew leaving Derek wasn’t an option. “I could never do that, Derek.”
“Then what do you want from me, Stiles?” he asked in frustration. Derek sounded stripped bare, emotionally raw. This was the opposite of what Stiles wanted.
“I want to not hurt you,” Stiles answered.
“Well, you’re sucking at it.”
Stiles drew back his shoulders and looked Derek square in the eye. “I’m trying to do the right thing! But I don’t even know what that is. The right thing for whom? You? Me? Your Stiles? And if the same thing isn’t the right thing for all of them, well, then who the fuck do I put first? No matter what I do, someone gets hurt!”
Derek was tense, jaw clenched and hands closed into fists so tight his knuckles were white. Stiles was standing stiffly a pace back from the island, like he might need room to… something.
It was too intense, and Stiles broke first. “My turn,” he announced, turning and walking into the living room.
“Your what?” Derek asked, following Stiles.
“My turn to get out of here.” Stiles fished the Honda keys out of the bowl, pocketed his cell phone, and found his shoes.
When he looked up, Derek was standing in the space between the living room and kitchen, watching Stiles and looking like he was about to throw up. Shit, Derek thought Stiles was walking out.
“Hey, hey… Derek. Derek!”
Derek blinked at him, shell-shocked and sick to his stomach and taken out at the knees.
“I’m coming back,” Stiles promised.
Derek swallowed.
“I. Am. Coming. Back,” Stiles repeated. He looked closely at Derek. “Do you believe me?”
Faintly, Derek nodded.
“Good… because that’s a promise. I’ll be back.”
Then he walked out the door.
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