Fic: Occam's Razor (9/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
“We’re going to kill them, Stiles…”
Metallic teeth. Silver bite.
Everyone sitting at a round table. Scott and Allison and Kira and Lydia and Malia and Isaac and Derek. Dressed like they were attending an awards ceremony. Hands perfectly folded atop the table. Staring straight ahead. Expressions empty.
“We’re going to kill them all.”
Bandages. No eyes. Wrapped hands.
“No,” Stiles whimpers, trying to backpedal out of the room. Something holding him in place. A force-field making him watch.
Slowly, in union, everyone at the table turning to look at Stiles.
“We’re going to kill them…”
Gasoline and smoke. Seared skin and leather.
Mouths at the table opening to speak. Blood spilling out instead of words.
“No, no, no!” Stiles tries to turn. Finds himself back at the start. Table in front of him, his friends bleeding out. A freak in a bomber jacket stalking closer.
“You won’t kill them!” Stiles screaming hysterically.
His friends slumping over. Skin parting at necks and wrists and bellies. Blood. So much blood.
“You’re right, Stiles. I won’t kill them. You will.”
Stiles looks down. A bloody knife in his hand. Blood on his clothes. Soaked in it. Sticky with it. Seeping into his soul.
“No!”
Tries to drop the knife. And can’t.
Look up. His friends’ bodies, collapsed over the table in a pattern like flower petals. A bloody rose. Yards of bandages laid over the corpses. A demon with Stiles’ face leering at him.
Stiles flings himself against the barrier trapping him.
And fell off the couch with a thump.
Stiles blinked up at the ceiling from flat on his back, disoriented and panicked. His lungs were gasping for air. His heart was pounding against his ribs. His body was shaking. Blood. He was covered in it.
Stiles scrambled up off the floor and stumbled into the hallway bathroom.
He hit the lights and stared wide-eyed at his reflection. There wasn’t any blood on him. No blood.
But he could feel it. Hot on his hands. Cold in his veins.
“Stiles?” Derek was suddenly in the doorway, looking sleep-mussed and startled.
“Don’t!” Stiles staggered back frantically. “I’ll hurt you!” He had a knife. He couldn’t see it, but he’d had it just a second ago. He might hurt someone. Could. Would.
Had.
Derek gaped, speechless at first. Then he cursed under his breath. “Shit… Stiles…” he stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“No!” Stiles twisted, tried to escape, but there was nowhere to go. No way out.
Arms came around him from behind, and Stiles bucked. “No, don’t! Let me out! Let me out!” He heard the answering refrain in his head.
Let. Me. In.
Words became screams that turned into sobs. He struggled to break free, but Derek’s arms were too strong. No matter how much Stiles fought, Derek held on to him. Held Stiles to his chest and said gently, “Shh... it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe, Stiles.”
Stiles felt his knees give out and braced for the crash. Derek held him tighter so he didn’t fall.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles rambled, not even sure when he’d stopped crying and started apologizing.
“You didn’t do anything. You don’t have to be sorry. It wasn’t you,” Derek soothed behind him.
Stiles struggled again in Derek’s hold. Only this time not to escape. He whimpered until Derek loosened his grip a little, and Stiles turned to face Derek and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck.
Derek hugged him closer. “God, Stiles… you haven’t had one of these in years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please stop saying that,” Derek pleaded.
Stiles clutched Derek tighter. “I’m sorry.”
Derek sighed and tucked his face against Stiles’ neck.
It was a while before Stiles got his breathing under control. Slowly, the fog of the nightmare dissipated and he realized what had happened. He loosened his death-grip on Derek and Derek finally let him go.
Stiles moved a pace away and wiped at his face. “Sorry about that,” he said, embarrassed.
“Seriously, Stiles, stop saying that.” Derek went as if to reach for him again, then stopped and asked instead, “Can I get you something to drink?”
Stiles nodded mutely, then let himself be led back to the couch, where Derek had him sit down before he disappeared into the kitchen.
He was back soon with a mug of hot cocoa he handed to Stiles.
“Thanks.” Stiles took a swallow.
Derek sat down next to him and gave a shaky sigh.
No one seemed to know what to say.
“You used to get those on our road trip,” Derek finally said, breaking the oppressive silence of the house with a cautious voice. “In the beginning.”
That didn’t surprise Stiles. If he was a betting man, he’d wager that he had been having them for a long time before that, too. They’d been a regular thing since the nogitsune for him, in his reality. At least he’d trained himself not to scream himself awake anymore. His dad, at least, got some sleep. John never had to know how bad it still was.
But of course Derek knew. He’d shared a motel room with Stiles. No way to hide it there.
Stiles hummed an acknowledgement and took another sip of cocoa. Honestly, he was surprised he’d been here as long as he had without having one.
“Want to talk about it?” Derek offered.
“Did I ever?” Stiles asked doubtfully.
Derek made a stricken but resigned face. “No. I usually asked, but you never… you never let me in. Not about that.”
Stiles’ gut clenched. “Don’t… don’t use that phrase. Not if we’re talking about that.”
“What phrase?”
Stiles swallowed hard. “Let me in.” Stiles kept his eyes averted as he rubbed his thumb over the rim of the mug, his nail catching on a chip. “That’s what he said. In my head, when he was trying to take over. He said that. Let me in.”
A shocked pause. “I… I never knew that.”
Stiles risked a look up at Derek. The guy looked like he’d been dumped in the middle of a field of landmines and didn’t dare make one misstep. Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek was breathing. His Stiles had never talked about this. Stiles didn’t want to talk about it, either, but if this was something he could give to Derek that the other Stiles hadn’t…
“Everyone was at some kind of party, and the nogitsune was saying they were all going to die. He was toying with me. Then everybody started bleeding. They died. But the demon hadn’t done it. It was me. I had a knife.”
Derek was at a loss for words.
Stiles set the mug down on the coffee table, scooted over, and curled over to lean against Derek’s side. He dropped his head on to Derek’s shoulder.
Instantly, Derek’s arms came up around him. “It was just a nightmare,” he said lowly.
“Not for Allison.”
Derek froze a second. “That wasn’t your fault, Stiles.”
“Yeah,” Stiles scowled. “Doesn’t make her any less dead, though.”
They lapsed into a tense silence, Derek half-holding Stiles to him and Stiles tucked up against his side like a child who had a bad dream and ran to daddy.
Eventually, Derek gave him a squeeze to get his attention. “Do you want to come to bed? Just to… I mean, you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
Stiles shook his head. “You go, though. Sorry I woke you. I’ll be better in the morning.” It usually took hours to shake off the mood that settled over him after one of those nightmares. No reason Derek had to sit around and watch him mope.
“I’m worried about you being better now,” Derek countered. But this must be familiar to him, because he heaved a sigh and moved to get up without putting up more of a fight. Stiles leaned away to give him room.
When Derek was on his feet, he turned to look down at Stiles.
Stiles did his best to muster a smile.
Without a word, Derek cupped Stiles’ face in one hand and leaned over. For a heartbeat, Stiles thought they were going to kiss. He’d really rather it not happen like this - he was off-kilter from the nogitsune nightmare, and that would stain the moment - but he wasn’t going to tell Derek no. If Derek wanted to kiss him, Stiles was going to let him.
But instead of ducking down to capture his mouth, Derek placed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. He pulled back just a couple of inches to whisper, “Come get me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” Stiles answered, even though he knew he wouldn’t.
Derek’s thumb smoothed over his cheekbone, then he dropped his hand and went back to the bedroom.
Stiles grabbed his pillow, stuffed it against the armrest, and settled in for a long wait for dawn.
*****************
Stiles was already awake when Derek got up the next morning, lying on the couch with his eyes shut because he just didn’t want to deal with anything yet.
He listened to Derek walk quietly around the living room, stop a couple of times, pick up the cup of cocoa off the coffee table, then go to the kitchen. Stiles imagined Derek putting on a pot of coffee as he heard the sounds of grounds being poured into the filter and a switch flicked on. He could almost see in his mind’s eye Derek getting a glass from the cupboard, opening the fridge, and pouring himself some orange juice from the faint tell-tale sounds.
It was relaxing. Peacefully domestic.
Stiles lay calm and steady as he heard Derek go to the kitchen table and carefully pull out a chair. Then he heard the click and whir of the laptop powering up.
The next few moments were quiet but for the light peck of keys on the keyboard.
Then there was the familiar bubbly sound of Skype being opened. A call being placed. Derek had the volume turned low - it wasn’t like he needed it to be loud to hear perfectly well - but since Stiles was awake anyway and concentrating he could hear it.
Then he did his damnedest to keep his heartbeat from giving him away when he heard Lydia’s voice on the other end.
“What the hell was that email about, Hale?” she demanded by way of greeting.
“Good morning to you, too, Lydia.”
“Don’t ‘good morning’ me… something’s wrong with Stiles and you wait until now to tell me?”
“I was hoping we could have fixed it before you found out.”
“Really? How’s that working out for you?”
Derek sighed. “Can you not? Please?” He paused. “Do you have any ideas how to help him?”
Lydia muttered something Stiles couldn’t hear, then she said, “I’ll have you know I was up all night looking. My dining room table looks like finals week during law school.”
“And?”
“Sorry…” and she actually sounded like she was. “Nothing so far. I found a few witchcraft spells that can mask a single memory, or alter it like a glamor, but just wiping out years… I don’t know, that could take some time.” She stopped. The silence was weighted. “But that leaves another big problem.”
“Yeah, I know,” Derek answered, and he sounded haggard. “That’s why I didn’t… never mind. Doesn’t matter now.” He stopped. Delayed. “We’ve got to call it off.”
Call off what?
“You might not get another chance,” Lydia said gravely. “And if you do, it could be years.”
“I know. But I can’t… with Stiles the way he is right now… it’s bad timing. I don’t see how we can make it work. And it’s not fair to bring anyone else into this.”
“What do you want me to tell her?” Lydia asked, and she sounded so gentle about it. Like this was heartbreaking for Derek and she knew it.
“I don’t know,” Derek said miserably.
“Have you talked to Stiles about this?”
“No. He doesn’t even know. I wanted… I don’t know… I didn’t want to admit it was this big a problem, maybe? Like he’d just wake up one day and things would be back to normal and we could just… But the last couple of days have been… they’ve been eye-opening. I can’t pretend this doesn’t change everything.” Derek sighed in defeat. “Stiles needs my full attention. I have to focus on him right now.”
Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He got up off the couch and walked into the kitchen to demand answers.
It spoke volumes that he managed to startle the werewolf. He came up behind Derek and asked, “What’s going on?” which made Derek snap his head around toward him.
“I…” he stammered, “I didn’t hear your heartbeat change when you woke up.”
“Because I’ve been awake this whole time. Hi, Lydia.” He waved at her on the computer screen. The resolution wasn’t great, but he could tell that she’d cut her hair in a pixie style. It suited her.
“Hey, Stiles. So Derek tells me you have a hole in your memory?”
“That someone could drive a Mack Truck through.” He came up beside Derek, snagged the nearby table chair, and pushed it flush against Derek’s so they could share the Skype call. “So, want to tell me what this is all about?”
Lydia looked uncertainly at Derek, who was shaking his head at her.
Stiles frowned. “I have a right to know.”
“He’s right,” Lydia agreed.
Derek was tense.
Stiles considered him a moment, thinking. “Lydia, don’t ‘call off’ anything until I’ve had a chance to talk to my husband. Okay?”
Lydia nodded. “Certainly. But… Stiles, I do need to know soon. There is a time limit on this.”
“Okay. We’ll get back with you pdq. And thanks for your help.”
“Take care of yourself.”
Stiles reached over to hang up the call, then he turned a pointed look at Derek. “So?”
“So?” he shot back sourly.
“So you want to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to get it out of Lydia?”
Derek got up and put some distance between them, pacing in front of the back window like a caged animal. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Not now. You’re… you’re in no condition for this.”
“Not helping, man. Just tell me.”
Derek rubbed the back of his neck tensely. “We were making plans before whatever-this-is happened to you. But it’s pretty clear we can’t go through with them now, so just forget it.”
“Like hell. Derek, what plans?”
Derek blurted it out like it was that or wolf out. “We were going to adopt.”
Stiles’ jaw dropped.
With a resigned sigh, Derek pulled out the chair opposite Stiles and sat down. His keyed-up energy had suddenly left him, and now he just looked… dejected. “A pregnant teenager tracked down Lydia three months ago wanting her to help find someone to adopt her baby once it was born.”
“So, uh…. that’s the kind of work Lydia does? Adoptions?”
Derek shook his head. “Not usually. This was a special case.”
“Special because…?”
“She’s a werewolf.” Derek looked up at Stiles solemnly. “The girl. Annabelle. She’s a werewolf.”
“Oh.”
“She doesn’t have a pack.” Derek frowned. “We don’t know what happened to them. Or to the baby’s father. Annabelle never told us, but I get the feeling it wasn’t pretty. She wouldn’t be the first werewolf to be the last survivor of a decimated pack.” That visibly hit too close to home for Derek. “All we know for sure about her is that she’s alone, she’s pregnant at sixteen, and she isn’t ready to take care of a baby.”
“Were we, uh… had we been thinking of adopting for a while?” Stiles asked, still trying to get his head around this new development.
“We’d talked about it before,” Derek shrugged, “but not seriously. We were open to it, but we weren’t really ready yet. Then Lydia called us and said she needed to find a family for a werewolf newborn.”
“Preferably a werewolf family,” Stiles guessed.
“The child can’t be placed with a human family. We don’t develop the same way you do. There are phases, and shifts, and full moons are tricky even in packs with young. A human couple would think the child was a monster. Our history is full of horror stories about young werewolves who just disappear when humans discover what they are.” Derek sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “So when Lydia asked if we would be interested, we said yes. It was a little sooner than we were planning, but we couldn’t turn Annabelle away.”
Stiles sat there, mind spinning.
“Things happened pretty fast after that. Annabelle was already five months pregnant when she approached Lydia. We went from just kind of thinking about maybe adopting someday to definitely adopting in just a few months. We traded in the Camaro for a more family-friendly car. You quit your job so you’d be able to stay home with the baby. I’ve been working extra days and overtime to try and save up some vacation - when we bring the baby home, I’ll get three weeks paternity leave, but I want to have some more days in the bank in case I need to stay home with you two longer. Oh, and Mrs. McCall is giving us the old baby furniture she has in storage. We were going to turn the office into a nursery.”
“Whoa whoa, okay, stop, my brain’s full,” Stiles made a waving gesture to shut Derek up. Holy shit. “Holy shit.” Stiles put his face in his hands and just grappled with this new information. “Fuck, Derek… you should have told me this. This was important.”
“How was I supposed to do that? You were freaking out about being married to me. How was I supposed to say ‘well, buckle up, because we’re about to add a baby to the mix’?”
Okay, he had a point.
“It’s pointless now anyway,” Derek grumbled, “because we can’t do it.”
Stiles gaped at him. “Wait… what about all that stuff you said about werewolf babies and human parents and some fucking terrifying allusions to infanticide? Does that just stop being true because I’m broken?”
“I’m sure Lydia can find another werewolf family. Or… or a werewolf foster. Maybe an orphanage with a werewolf on staff.”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
Derek growled, frustrated. “It’s rare for a werewolf to be born without a pack. We don’t usually need those services. Children are born into a family unit, which is a part of a larger pack. Support structures are built-in. It’s…” Derek swallowed, “it’s far more common for children to die with their parents when a pack gets wiped out than for them to be born without one.”
Stiles got up from the table and paced around the kitchen island, just to release some of the anxious energy building up in his limbs. “Who knows about this?”
“Lydia, Dad, Mrs. McCall, Scott and Kira… we haven’t told anyone who doesn’t know about me being a werewolf. When we bring…” Derek hesitated, “when we would have brought the baby home, we would have had to make sure you and I were the only ones around it for a few weeks to bond with it. Since we wouldn’t be its pack by birth. Hard to explain to humans why they couldn’t come over to see the new baby because their scent would confuse it.”
“Oh my god.” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face that he then clapped over his mouth.
Derek slowly stood from the table. He moved as if to approach Stiles, but Stiles made a pathetic squeak sound, and Derek froze. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, just staring at each other.
It was a stale-mate that Derek broke. “But like I said, it doesn’t matter now. We can’t bring a baby home to this.”
“You mean to me.”
Derek’s look hardened. “I mean that figuring out what’s happened to you and fixing it is more important to me than having a baby, because you are the most important thing to me.”
Stiles was speechless.
Derek looked over at the clock and sagged. “I have to go to work. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
Stiles nodded mutely.
He was still standing in that same spot in the kitchen by the time Derek went out the front door dressed for work.
Next
“We’re going to kill them, Stiles…”
Metallic teeth. Silver bite.
Everyone sitting at a round table. Scott and Allison and Kira and Lydia and Malia and Isaac and Derek. Dressed like they were attending an awards ceremony. Hands perfectly folded atop the table. Staring straight ahead. Expressions empty.
“We’re going to kill them all.”
Bandages. No eyes. Wrapped hands.
“No,” Stiles whimpers, trying to backpedal out of the room. Something holding him in place. A force-field making him watch.
Slowly, in union, everyone at the table turning to look at Stiles.
“We’re going to kill them…”
Gasoline and smoke. Seared skin and leather.
Mouths at the table opening to speak. Blood spilling out instead of words.
“No, no, no!” Stiles tries to turn. Finds himself back at the start. Table in front of him, his friends bleeding out. A freak in a bomber jacket stalking closer.
“You won’t kill them!” Stiles screaming hysterically.
His friends slumping over. Skin parting at necks and wrists and bellies. Blood. So much blood.
“You’re right, Stiles. I won’t kill them. You will.”
Stiles looks down. A bloody knife in his hand. Blood on his clothes. Soaked in it. Sticky with it. Seeping into his soul.
“No!”
Tries to drop the knife. And can’t.
Look up. His friends’ bodies, collapsed over the table in a pattern like flower petals. A bloody rose. Yards of bandages laid over the corpses. A demon with Stiles’ face leering at him.
Stiles flings himself against the barrier trapping him.
And fell off the couch with a thump.
Stiles blinked up at the ceiling from flat on his back, disoriented and panicked. His lungs were gasping for air. His heart was pounding against his ribs. His body was shaking. Blood. He was covered in it.
Stiles scrambled up off the floor and stumbled into the hallway bathroom.
He hit the lights and stared wide-eyed at his reflection. There wasn’t any blood on him. No blood.
But he could feel it. Hot on his hands. Cold in his veins.
“Stiles?” Derek was suddenly in the doorway, looking sleep-mussed and startled.
“Don’t!” Stiles staggered back frantically. “I’ll hurt you!” He had a knife. He couldn’t see it, but he’d had it just a second ago. He might hurt someone. Could. Would.
Had.
Derek gaped, speechless at first. Then he cursed under his breath. “Shit… Stiles…” he stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“No!” Stiles twisted, tried to escape, but there was nowhere to go. No way out.
Arms came around him from behind, and Stiles bucked. “No, don’t! Let me out! Let me out!” He heard the answering refrain in his head.
Let. Me. In.
Words became screams that turned into sobs. He struggled to break free, but Derek’s arms were too strong. No matter how much Stiles fought, Derek held on to him. Held Stiles to his chest and said gently, “Shh... it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe, Stiles.”
Stiles felt his knees give out and braced for the crash. Derek held him tighter so he didn’t fall.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles rambled, not even sure when he’d stopped crying and started apologizing.
“You didn’t do anything. You don’t have to be sorry. It wasn’t you,” Derek soothed behind him.
Stiles struggled again in Derek’s hold. Only this time not to escape. He whimpered until Derek loosened his grip a little, and Stiles turned to face Derek and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck.
Derek hugged him closer. “God, Stiles… you haven’t had one of these in years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please stop saying that,” Derek pleaded.
Stiles clutched Derek tighter. “I’m sorry.”
Derek sighed and tucked his face against Stiles’ neck.
It was a while before Stiles got his breathing under control. Slowly, the fog of the nightmare dissipated and he realized what had happened. He loosened his death-grip on Derek and Derek finally let him go.
Stiles moved a pace away and wiped at his face. “Sorry about that,” he said, embarrassed.
“Seriously, Stiles, stop saying that.” Derek went as if to reach for him again, then stopped and asked instead, “Can I get you something to drink?”
Stiles nodded mutely, then let himself be led back to the couch, where Derek had him sit down before he disappeared into the kitchen.
He was back soon with a mug of hot cocoa he handed to Stiles.
“Thanks.” Stiles took a swallow.
Derek sat down next to him and gave a shaky sigh.
No one seemed to know what to say.
“You used to get those on our road trip,” Derek finally said, breaking the oppressive silence of the house with a cautious voice. “In the beginning.”
That didn’t surprise Stiles. If he was a betting man, he’d wager that he had been having them for a long time before that, too. They’d been a regular thing since the nogitsune for him, in his reality. At least he’d trained himself not to scream himself awake anymore. His dad, at least, got some sleep. John never had to know how bad it still was.
But of course Derek knew. He’d shared a motel room with Stiles. No way to hide it there.
Stiles hummed an acknowledgement and took another sip of cocoa. Honestly, he was surprised he’d been here as long as he had without having one.
“Want to talk about it?” Derek offered.
“Did I ever?” Stiles asked doubtfully.
Derek made a stricken but resigned face. “No. I usually asked, but you never… you never let me in. Not about that.”
Stiles’ gut clenched. “Don’t… don’t use that phrase. Not if we’re talking about that.”
“What phrase?”
Stiles swallowed hard. “Let me in.” Stiles kept his eyes averted as he rubbed his thumb over the rim of the mug, his nail catching on a chip. “That’s what he said. In my head, when he was trying to take over. He said that. Let me in.”
A shocked pause. “I… I never knew that.”
Stiles risked a look up at Derek. The guy looked like he’d been dumped in the middle of a field of landmines and didn’t dare make one misstep. Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek was breathing. His Stiles had never talked about this. Stiles didn’t want to talk about it, either, but if this was something he could give to Derek that the other Stiles hadn’t…
“Everyone was at some kind of party, and the nogitsune was saying they were all going to die. He was toying with me. Then everybody started bleeding. They died. But the demon hadn’t done it. It was me. I had a knife.”
Derek was at a loss for words.
Stiles set the mug down on the coffee table, scooted over, and curled over to lean against Derek’s side. He dropped his head on to Derek’s shoulder.
Instantly, Derek’s arms came up around him. “It was just a nightmare,” he said lowly.
“Not for Allison.”
Derek froze a second. “That wasn’t your fault, Stiles.”
“Yeah,” Stiles scowled. “Doesn’t make her any less dead, though.”
They lapsed into a tense silence, Derek half-holding Stiles to him and Stiles tucked up against his side like a child who had a bad dream and ran to daddy.
Eventually, Derek gave him a squeeze to get his attention. “Do you want to come to bed? Just to… I mean, you don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
Stiles shook his head. “You go, though. Sorry I woke you. I’ll be better in the morning.” It usually took hours to shake off the mood that settled over him after one of those nightmares. No reason Derek had to sit around and watch him mope.
“I’m worried about you being better now,” Derek countered. But this must be familiar to him, because he heaved a sigh and moved to get up without putting up more of a fight. Stiles leaned away to give him room.
When Derek was on his feet, he turned to look down at Stiles.
Stiles did his best to muster a smile.
Without a word, Derek cupped Stiles’ face in one hand and leaned over. For a heartbeat, Stiles thought they were going to kiss. He’d really rather it not happen like this - he was off-kilter from the nogitsune nightmare, and that would stain the moment - but he wasn’t going to tell Derek no. If Derek wanted to kiss him, Stiles was going to let him.
But instead of ducking down to capture his mouth, Derek placed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. He pulled back just a couple of inches to whisper, “Come get me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” Stiles answered, even though he knew he wouldn’t.
Derek’s thumb smoothed over his cheekbone, then he dropped his hand and went back to the bedroom.
Stiles grabbed his pillow, stuffed it against the armrest, and settled in for a long wait for dawn.
*****************
Stiles was already awake when Derek got up the next morning, lying on the couch with his eyes shut because he just didn’t want to deal with anything yet.
He listened to Derek walk quietly around the living room, stop a couple of times, pick up the cup of cocoa off the coffee table, then go to the kitchen. Stiles imagined Derek putting on a pot of coffee as he heard the sounds of grounds being poured into the filter and a switch flicked on. He could almost see in his mind’s eye Derek getting a glass from the cupboard, opening the fridge, and pouring himself some orange juice from the faint tell-tale sounds.
It was relaxing. Peacefully domestic.
Stiles lay calm and steady as he heard Derek go to the kitchen table and carefully pull out a chair. Then he heard the click and whir of the laptop powering up.
The next few moments were quiet but for the light peck of keys on the keyboard.
Then there was the familiar bubbly sound of Skype being opened. A call being placed. Derek had the volume turned low - it wasn’t like he needed it to be loud to hear perfectly well - but since Stiles was awake anyway and concentrating he could hear it.
Then he did his damnedest to keep his heartbeat from giving him away when he heard Lydia’s voice on the other end.
“What the hell was that email about, Hale?” she demanded by way of greeting.
“Good morning to you, too, Lydia.”
“Don’t ‘good morning’ me… something’s wrong with Stiles and you wait until now to tell me?”
“I was hoping we could have fixed it before you found out.”
“Really? How’s that working out for you?”
Derek sighed. “Can you not? Please?” He paused. “Do you have any ideas how to help him?”
Lydia muttered something Stiles couldn’t hear, then she said, “I’ll have you know I was up all night looking. My dining room table looks like finals week during law school.”
“And?”
“Sorry…” and she actually sounded like she was. “Nothing so far. I found a few witchcraft spells that can mask a single memory, or alter it like a glamor, but just wiping out years… I don’t know, that could take some time.” She stopped. The silence was weighted. “But that leaves another big problem.”
“Yeah, I know,” Derek answered, and he sounded haggard. “That’s why I didn’t… never mind. Doesn’t matter now.” He stopped. Delayed. “We’ve got to call it off.”
Call off what?
“You might not get another chance,” Lydia said gravely. “And if you do, it could be years.”
“I know. But I can’t… with Stiles the way he is right now… it’s bad timing. I don’t see how we can make it work. And it’s not fair to bring anyone else into this.”
“What do you want me to tell her?” Lydia asked, and she sounded so gentle about it. Like this was heartbreaking for Derek and she knew it.
“I don’t know,” Derek said miserably.
“Have you talked to Stiles about this?”
“No. He doesn’t even know. I wanted… I don’t know… I didn’t want to admit it was this big a problem, maybe? Like he’d just wake up one day and things would be back to normal and we could just… But the last couple of days have been… they’ve been eye-opening. I can’t pretend this doesn’t change everything.” Derek sighed in defeat. “Stiles needs my full attention. I have to focus on him right now.”
Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He got up off the couch and walked into the kitchen to demand answers.
It spoke volumes that he managed to startle the werewolf. He came up behind Derek and asked, “What’s going on?” which made Derek snap his head around toward him.
“I…” he stammered, “I didn’t hear your heartbeat change when you woke up.”
“Because I’ve been awake this whole time. Hi, Lydia.” He waved at her on the computer screen. The resolution wasn’t great, but he could tell that she’d cut her hair in a pixie style. It suited her.
“Hey, Stiles. So Derek tells me you have a hole in your memory?”
“That someone could drive a Mack Truck through.” He came up beside Derek, snagged the nearby table chair, and pushed it flush against Derek’s so they could share the Skype call. “So, want to tell me what this is all about?”
Lydia looked uncertainly at Derek, who was shaking his head at her.
Stiles frowned. “I have a right to know.”
“He’s right,” Lydia agreed.
Derek was tense.
Stiles considered him a moment, thinking. “Lydia, don’t ‘call off’ anything until I’ve had a chance to talk to my husband. Okay?”
Lydia nodded. “Certainly. But… Stiles, I do need to know soon. There is a time limit on this.”
“Okay. We’ll get back with you pdq. And thanks for your help.”
“Take care of yourself.”
Stiles reached over to hang up the call, then he turned a pointed look at Derek. “So?”
“So?” he shot back sourly.
“So you want to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to get it out of Lydia?”
Derek got up and put some distance between them, pacing in front of the back window like a caged animal. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Not now. You’re… you’re in no condition for this.”
“Not helping, man. Just tell me.”
Derek rubbed the back of his neck tensely. “We were making plans before whatever-this-is happened to you. But it’s pretty clear we can’t go through with them now, so just forget it.”
“Like hell. Derek, what plans?”
Derek blurted it out like it was that or wolf out. “We were going to adopt.”
Stiles’ jaw dropped.
With a resigned sigh, Derek pulled out the chair opposite Stiles and sat down. His keyed-up energy had suddenly left him, and now he just looked… dejected. “A pregnant teenager tracked down Lydia three months ago wanting her to help find someone to adopt her baby once it was born.”
“So, uh…. that’s the kind of work Lydia does? Adoptions?”
Derek shook his head. “Not usually. This was a special case.”
“Special because…?”
“She’s a werewolf.” Derek looked up at Stiles solemnly. “The girl. Annabelle. She’s a werewolf.”
“Oh.”
“She doesn’t have a pack.” Derek frowned. “We don’t know what happened to them. Or to the baby’s father. Annabelle never told us, but I get the feeling it wasn’t pretty. She wouldn’t be the first werewolf to be the last survivor of a decimated pack.” That visibly hit too close to home for Derek. “All we know for sure about her is that she’s alone, she’s pregnant at sixteen, and she isn’t ready to take care of a baby.”
“Were we, uh… had we been thinking of adopting for a while?” Stiles asked, still trying to get his head around this new development.
“We’d talked about it before,” Derek shrugged, “but not seriously. We were open to it, but we weren’t really ready yet. Then Lydia called us and said she needed to find a family for a werewolf newborn.”
“Preferably a werewolf family,” Stiles guessed.
“The child can’t be placed with a human family. We don’t develop the same way you do. There are phases, and shifts, and full moons are tricky even in packs with young. A human couple would think the child was a monster. Our history is full of horror stories about young werewolves who just disappear when humans discover what they are.” Derek sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “So when Lydia asked if we would be interested, we said yes. It was a little sooner than we were planning, but we couldn’t turn Annabelle away.”
Stiles sat there, mind spinning.
“Things happened pretty fast after that. Annabelle was already five months pregnant when she approached Lydia. We went from just kind of thinking about maybe adopting someday to definitely adopting in just a few months. We traded in the Camaro for a more family-friendly car. You quit your job so you’d be able to stay home with the baby. I’ve been working extra days and overtime to try and save up some vacation - when we bring the baby home, I’ll get three weeks paternity leave, but I want to have some more days in the bank in case I need to stay home with you two longer. Oh, and Mrs. McCall is giving us the old baby furniture she has in storage. We were going to turn the office into a nursery.”
“Whoa whoa, okay, stop, my brain’s full,” Stiles made a waving gesture to shut Derek up. Holy shit. “Holy shit.” Stiles put his face in his hands and just grappled with this new information. “Fuck, Derek… you should have told me this. This was important.”
“How was I supposed to do that? You were freaking out about being married to me. How was I supposed to say ‘well, buckle up, because we’re about to add a baby to the mix’?”
Okay, he had a point.
“It’s pointless now anyway,” Derek grumbled, “because we can’t do it.”
Stiles gaped at him. “Wait… what about all that stuff you said about werewolf babies and human parents and some fucking terrifying allusions to infanticide? Does that just stop being true because I’m broken?”
“I’m sure Lydia can find another werewolf family. Or… or a werewolf foster. Maybe an orphanage with a werewolf on staff.”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
Derek growled, frustrated. “It’s rare for a werewolf to be born without a pack. We don’t usually need those services. Children are born into a family unit, which is a part of a larger pack. Support structures are built-in. It’s…” Derek swallowed, “it’s far more common for children to die with their parents when a pack gets wiped out than for them to be born without one.”
Stiles got up from the table and paced around the kitchen island, just to release some of the anxious energy building up in his limbs. “Who knows about this?”
“Lydia, Dad, Mrs. McCall, Scott and Kira… we haven’t told anyone who doesn’t know about me being a werewolf. When we bring…” Derek hesitated, “when we would have brought the baby home, we would have had to make sure you and I were the only ones around it for a few weeks to bond with it. Since we wouldn’t be its pack by birth. Hard to explain to humans why they couldn’t come over to see the new baby because their scent would confuse it.”
“Oh my god.” Stiles rubbed a hand over his face that he then clapped over his mouth.
Derek slowly stood from the table. He moved as if to approach Stiles, but Stiles made a pathetic squeak sound, and Derek froze. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, just staring at each other.
It was a stale-mate that Derek broke. “But like I said, it doesn’t matter now. We can’t bring a baby home to this.”
“You mean to me.”
Derek’s look hardened. “I mean that figuring out what’s happened to you and fixing it is more important to me than having a baby, because you are the most important thing to me.”
Stiles was speechless.
Derek looked over at the clock and sagged. “I have to go to work. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
Stiles nodded mutely.
He was still standing in that same spot in the kitchen by the time Derek went out the front door dressed for work.
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