Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            I’m not scared about graduating. Really, I’m not. That’s not what keeps me up until I can hear birds chirping outside my window, signaling the coming sunrise. No, what keeps me up nearly every night is the sense of impending doom when I think about what comes after graduation… College. Several thousands of dollars per term, debt-inducing college. Yes, there is a nearby community college I got accepted at that is significantly cheaper than four-year state universities, but when your dad can barely afford the mortgage, adding even small student loans to that is enough to make your head spin. I’ve applied to endless scholarships, but with everything that has happened the last few years, my grades aren’t nearly as impressive as they could be.

            I throw the blankets off of me, exhausted and frustrated after yet another sleepless night. I trudge downstairs and start the coffee machine. As the machine starts to bubble and spit, the floorboards creak above my head, signaling Dad is awake. I scrub a hand over my face and pull all of my energy to paint on a brave face before my dad enters the kitchen a few minutes later. He has enough to worry about without knowing his son barely sleeps.

            “Morning, son,” the sheriff grumbles, clearly still half asleep.

            “Morning pops,” I reply, handing him his thermos filled with coffee, just like I do every morning. My dad gives me a very thankful smile. “Have a good day at work, dad. We still doing dinner at 6?”

            “Uh, yeah, we might need to eat at the station, if that’s okay.” I return his smile. It’s rare that we ate anywhere besides the station. I nod and my dad heads out the door as I head upstairs to get ready or school.

            “Hey Stiles, dinner for your dad?” Parrish smiles as he buzzes me into the back of the station. I nod a thank you and move to push through the door. “I think he’s in a meeting with someone, but he should be done in like 20 minutes.” I pause, then turn to sit in the chair next to Parrish. Might as well wait out here with some decent company while I wait for my dad to finish up. Hopefully he won’t be too upset about the curly fries getting cold.

            “Hey, are you okay? You look exhausted…” Parrish is looking at me with such genuine concern that I actually consider telling him the truth for a moment. I watch the deputies wander the station, belts clinking with their gear. The station seems somewhat busy for a Tuesday night.

            “Yeah, just haven’t been sleeping all that well. A lot of stress lately.” Parrish still looks genuinely concerned and I wonder when this deputy became such an integral part of our lives. Parrish remains quiet, clearly hoping I will elaborate. I let out a sigh. Screw it. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the next step in my life and it’s… daunting. I’m expected to go to college. I’m expected to get an education, to make a career for myself… but how am I supposed to do that when I can’t even fathom paying for it?” I drop my head into my hands. That’s the first time I’ve voiced my fears out loud to anyone… I haven’t even told Scott, not wanting to add any more weight to the Alpha’s already overloaded shoulders. I hear Parrish sigh beside him.

            “You are too damn young to have that much stress on your shoulders… but I understand where you’re coming from. My dad left when I was 7. Just walked out one day and never came back. It was just my mom and me. She did what she could, but, as you know, a single parent can only do so much.” Parrish sets a hand on my shoulder, and I don’t want to cry. Really, I don’t. “I found a way to get my college completely paid for.” Parrish laughs as my head snaps up to look at him.

            “That sounds too good to be true.”

            “It is and it isn’t,” Parrish chuckles. “I enlisted. I had a recruiter come to my high school and I ended up talking with him. It really didn’t take that much convincing. He made it sound like a pretty sweet deal. A few months of training, then a steady job, a steady paycheck, and a guaranteed place to live. It sounded too good to be true to me, too.“ He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “My mom was furious when I told her, but I could tell she was just scared. We were all each other had…” I feel an all too familiar ache in my chest at the deputy’s words. “And I had scored high enough on the testing to get an EOD job… she really wasn’t happy about that.”

            “EOD is bomb stuff, right?” I can’t imagine anyone willingly deciding that they wanted that as a career. “What made you choose that job?”

            “I’ve always liked puzzles.” Parrish shrugs as I let out an exasperated laugh. “Us EOD boys have a saying… ‘Either you diffuse the bomb or it’s no longer your problem.’ If the bomb goes off in your hands, you’ll be none the wiser. But that’s only one of almost 200 jobs in the Army, so there’s options that aren’t quite that… intense.” I sit back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. Could that really be an option for me? “I’m not saying that just because it was the right choice for me, that it’s the right choice for you. But I’m always here if you want to talk more about it.”  He stands and claps me on the shoulder as the sheriff walks out. “Evening, sheriff.”

            “Evening, Parrish. Stiles behaving?” I scoff and feign offense as my dad reaches to ruffle my hair like I’m still 5 years old.

            “Always, sir. Stiles you know where to find me if you have questions.” Parrish nods at both of us and heads off.

            “What was that all about?”

            “Oh nothing. Just pack stuff.” The sheriff looks doubtful, but he lets it slide.

            “How cold are my curly fries?”

            “Dad, you aren’t even supposed to have curly fries.”

            My hands are shaking so hard I have to tuck them under my legs to keep from fidgeting constantly. I’m starting to regret sending that text to Parrish, asking if he’d go with me to the recruiting office, but I wanted someone who knew the ropes to go in with me. I’d heard the rumors about recruiters lying and telling people what they want to hear to get their enlistment goals met. Parrish sits beside me, looking like it’s just another Tuesday. I glance around the room, noticing just how many Army promotional poster ads are plastered to the walls. Parrish sits in the chair next to me, cool as a cucumber.

            A man in uniform walks out from an office, “THOMAS” stitched on a strip along his right pec, another reading “U.S. ARMY” mirrored on the other side of his chest. There’s also some sort of insignia in the middle of his chest, but I haven’t the slightest clue what it might mean. Maybe I’m out of my depth…

            “So, you’re interested in enlisting. Is the Army the only branch you are considering?” The recruiter takes the seat across the desk from us, leaning forward onto his elbows, steepling his fingers.

            “Um, honestly, I think just the Army. I don’t like that the other branches don’t really let you choose your job. You kind of just get assigned something. I want to make sure I get to do something that actually interests me.” The recruiter nods and I catch Parrish giving an approving nod of his own out of the corner of my eye.

            “That makes sense. We are the only ones who let you choose. Do you have a specific job in mind yet?”

            “I’m really not sure yet. I spent some time looking through the MOS catalog, but there has yet to be anything specific that’s jumped out at me.” The recruiter nods again, but this time, I feel like I gave the wrong answer. “I haven’t really had time to think about it.”

            “Okay well, if you don’t have a specific job in mind yet, we could always have you take the ASVAB. It’s a generalized test we use to help us see where each individual may be best suited. It’s like placement testing. There are sections on different subjects. Your score within each section and your overall score tells us what jobs you’d be best suited to. So, we could start there. See what jobs you’ll qualify for. It might help you start to narrow it down.” I feel anxiety start to prickle at the back of my neck. Parrish had told me about the test already, but I’ve never felt confident when it came to testing. Especially generalized testing. It must be written clearly on my face because the recruiter follows up with, “It can just be a practice run. You can take the test as many times as you want to. Take the test and we can see where you sit right now. If you’re unhappy with your score, you can always study up and retake it.”

            That makes some of the weight sitting on my chest ease up, just a bit. If I bomb it, I can retake it. Easy. I never get to retake tests in school, and I still manage most of the time. If I can take it more than once, there’s no reason to worry.

            “How do I go about taking this test?” Parrish looks surprised from the corner of my eye. The recruiter, however, looks pleased.

            “You can take it today if you want to. You’ll have to come back next week, though, to take the confirmation portion. You can take the main portion of it here in the recruiting office and then I’ll take you to MEPS to do a short confirmation test. It’s so they can confirm you didn’t cheat or have someone else take the test for you.” I nod. I’m actually really interested to see how I do on this test without even knowing I was going to be taking it. I’ve always thought I was smart, but this could be a good way to see if it’s true…

            “Okay, yeah. Let’s do that. No harm, right? Parrish, you don’t have to stay. I imagine the test probably takes a while. I’ll text you later, let you know how it goes?”

            “You sure, Stiles? I have the day off today, so I don’t really have anywhere to be.” Parrish looks worried and I think that he might be concerned the recruiter will try to talk me into something if he leaves.

            “Really. I’m fine. It’s just a test. I’ve done a million of those. How hard could it be?” I smile and hear the recruiter chuckle behind me. “I’ll call you later, promise. It’s not like I’m signing anything today.” Parrish nods and leaves us be. “Let’s do this thing.”

            An hour later, I’m sitting back in the chair in front of the recruiter’s desk. The recruiter looks a bit perplexed. The air in this small room feels a lot stuffier than the air out in the rest of the office. I try my best not to fidget. When I had come out of the small testing room to let him know the test was over, the recruiter was genuinely confused that I was done. The man leans back in his chair and gives me a look I can’t read. Ah shit… I failed this stupid test and now he thinks I’m an idiot, I think.

            “You got through that test faster than I think I’ve ever seen someone finish it…” Based on his tone, I’m really not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “But…” He turns his computer screen toward me. “You scored a 94, Stilinski.” That doesn’t help me in any way. 94 out of what? 200? 500? My confusion must read clear on my face again because the recruiter laughs quietly. “This test has a maximum score of 99. You finished the test in under an hour when you had 2 and a half to finish it and you scored a 94.”

            I’m not sure what to do with that information. I sit back, a bit stunned. I got a 94 without even really trying. I smile a bit. Well all be damned, I’m smart after all.

            “With a score like this and your gen score being a 126… Stilinksi, you point to a job, and I will get that contract for you. Any job. Some of the smaller ones, you might have to wait a bit for, but I’ll get it for you.” His face is serious and I can’t help but laugh a bit. “I mean it, any job you want.”

            “Thank you. I have a lot to think about.” I stand and shake the recruiter’s offered hand. “I’m going to give some more thought about what job I might want. I’ll let you know.”

            “I look forward to it.”

Six Months Later

            I’m trapped under the arms and legs and bodies of my pack, for what I know is going to be the last time for a long time. Tomorrow, I’m heading to the recruiting office so I can go through the final physical and officially sign my Army contract. The day after tomorrow, I’ll board a flight that will change my life forever. A plane that will take me from San Francisco to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. A bus that will take me to Ft. Sill in Lawton, Oklahoma. To the start of my Army training. To the start of my life away from Beacon Hills, away from my dad, away from my pack.

            I’ve already had several anxiety attacks over leaving behind everything I’ve ever known. Parrish has been my saving grace the past four months. He’s trained with me to ensure I will be physically fit enough to survive basic training. He’s made me do more push-ups than I thought was humanly possible. He even took me to the range a few times to make sure I’m as familiar with the guns I’ll be shooting in a few short weeks as I can be. He made me flashcards with little images of all the Army ranks to ensure I learned them before I left. I felt absolutely ridiculous on the days where Parrish decided I needed to learn to march, too. Far too many hours spent out in the Sheriff’s station parking lot learning how to stand at attention and parade rest (I laughed hard enough at that one to earn a rare scowl from Parrish), different marching movements like about face and a dozen others. I’ve never seen Parrish so serious, but I appreciated every second of it, knowing it will pay off when I arrive at basic already able to keep my head above water.

            “Hey, earth to Stiles.” A manicured hand waves in front of my face, snapping me out of my anxious spiral. “We all get together to celebrate you and you won’t even grace us with your full attention,” Lydia huffs from where she’s slotted against my side.

            “Sorry, I’m just…”

            “Anxious,” the entire pack echos.

            “Hey!” I laugh, but I can’t ignore the pain that has sprouted in my chest, knowing this is the last time I’ll be teased by them for months. I rub at the ache, hoping it might dissipate the pain. It doesn’t. It never has, but I’ll keep trying. It’s gotten late, and yet no one has made any move to disrupt our little cuddle sesh. It’s almost as if we are all pretending that if we don’t leave, tomorrow and the plane won’t come. “You know that no matter what, I love you all right? And I don’t know how much free time I’ll have, if any, but I’ll write as much as possible. You’ll see me in a few months when I come home for Christmas. I should probably get home. I’m going to need whatever sleep I can manage tonight.” The whole pack grumbles, but we begin untangling from one another.

            An hour later and too many teary-eyed hugs later, I’m standing alone in the loft of Derek’s kitchen. Saying goodbye to Scottie was nearly impossible, but this goodbye? I’m not sure I’ll make it through. I have half a mind to bolt out the door and avoid it altogether. Derek would never forgive me, though.

            The two of us have settled into a quiet friendship over the last few years. I end up at Derek’s loft most days because I can’t handle the way my dad has been looking at me since I told him I was enlisting. I’m not sure my dad has forgiven me yet.

            “Stiles, how could you even think this is an option?” The sheriff is sitting at our dinner table, his head in his hands. His voice is frighteningly soft and shaking slightly.

            “Because I know I can do this, dad. I need to do this. I’ve always been 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, with sarcasm as my only defense. I need to do this, dad. For me.”

            “Stiles, you don’t need to prove yourself. What the hell am I supposed to do if something happens to you? I already lost your mother… I can’t lose you too…” I feel my heart break wide open at the shake in my father’s voice. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

            “Dad, I’ve told you… This is just… something I need to do. I’m sorry, but my mind is made up.”

            I grip the edge of the counter as the memory of the last fight with my dad washes over me. I hear Derek come into the kitchen and shake my head to clear it.

            “Hey, big guy.” Derek huffs in feigned annoyance, but he’s never once told me off for calling him that. He comes to stand next to me and I try to calm my thundering heart.

            “It’s going to be a lot quieter with you gone.” I chuckle, rubbing at the back of my neck.

            “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

            “I haven’t decided yet.” I punch his shoulder and he chuckles. “The pack is going to miss you, Stiles. You know that.”

            “And what about you?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. A fierce blush creeps over my cheeks as I mentally kick myself for not being able to keep my mouth shut. Derek and I have finally reached a comfortable friendship and here I am, pushing. He lets out a sigh from beside me, but I don’t have the courage to turn and look at him. To find out if it’s a frustrated sigh or a sad one.

            “I’m part of the pack, Stiles,” Derek grumbles. I should take that. I should take that small confession and be happy with it…. But my leaving tomorrow has me feeling very brave and very bold.

            “Aw, you’re gonna miss me so much, big guy. Who will keep you entertained while I’m gone?” Okay, that sigh was definitely an exasperated one. “I really should get going. I need to get as much sleep as possible while I can.” I bump my shoulder against his and head to the door.

I don’t want to leave the loft. Derek and I finally have the kind of friendship I’ve hoped for since he came into our little social circle. Everything has fallen into place and I am terrified that by leaving, I’m going to disrupt everything. Without me being in the loft every day, how will this companionship continue? It doesn’t just feel like saying goodbye to Derek. It feels like saying goodbye to our entire friendship… And that makes me feel like my heart is cracking in half in my chest.

The crush I’ve had on Derek from day one has grown into something so much stronger now that I truly know him. Sure, he’s grumpy and a little rude and a complete sourwolf… but he’s also fiercely loyal and would do anything and everything to ensure the safety of those he cares about. Hell, he gave up his standing as an alpha to save Cora’s life. Derek is still guarded and quiet most days, but there were some days at the loft where he was genuinely more relaxed than I have ever seen him. Seeing him move around the loft in comfy sweats made me swoon even harder. Last winter, he even broke out a charcoal grey hoodie… That image lives permanently in the Stiles Spank Bank.

I reach the loft door and can’t help but pause. I truly have no clue what I want to say, but I feel like I should say something. Anything. Derek is standing near the couch, with his hands in his pockets, looking about as awkward as I feel.

“Um… See you around, Derek.” I turn, my hand on the door handle.

“Stiles…” I whip around to see him rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and looking… nervous? Does he look nervous?

“Yeah, big guy?” He looks at me for a few breaths before crossing the room in a few long strides. My own breath catches in my throat as he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. Derek Hale is… hugging me. Willingly. “Uh, Derek?” He releases me finally and retreats a step, clearing his throat.

“Um… bye, Stiles. Good luck with everything.” And with that, he returns to the couch, flopping down and picking up the nearest book.

“Bye, sourwolf,” I whisper as I slip out the loft door. I don’t know what the hell that hug was about. He has never hugged me or even really initiated physical contact with me before. That means… that means he wanted to hug me, to touch me… No, Stiles. Don’t go there…

            “Stilinksi!” I jolt from my spot on the floor at the drill sergeant’s booming call. After three and a half weeks, we’re finally receiving mail for the first time. As I reach for the envelope, the drill snatches it out of reach again. “Oh, you think you get your mail for free? That’s so cute, trainee. 10 push-ups per piece of mail. 15 for packages. Drop... Make it 20, Stilinski. You’ve got two.” Since I stepped off that plane a month ago, I’ve learned to keep my signature sarcastic comments to myself. It has earned me more push-ups than I care to admit, so I simply keep my mouth shut and do my reps.   I’m expecting the letter from my dad, and I assume the second one is from Scott. I finish my push-ups and returns to my seat. The top letter is indeed from Dad, but the second… I blink a few times as I run my thumb over the name in the top left corner of the envelope.

            It’s from Derek.

            I can’t even picture Derek sitting down to hand-write a letter, especially to me. I tuck that letter into my pocket to open in later. Something about it feels too private to open now, in front of my entire platoon.  A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of Derek’s hug the night before I left. I shake my head and gets an elbow in the rib cage.

            “You good, dude? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” My bunk mate and closest friend, Truett, laughs quietly next to me. “Ooooh, what’s her name?” My heart stutters in my chest as I try to decide how honest with Truett I should be. Don’t ask, don’t tell has been repealed for a few years, but you can never be too sure in this environment. No, Truett isn’t like that. At least I hope he isn’t…

            “Uh…” Truett immediately perks up. “His name is Derek…” I watch the surprise wash over my friend’s face. It fades quickly, replaced by genuine interest. He gives me a quick nod, encouraging me to continue. “Things are a little complicated with us. I’ve been into him for years, but I don’t know. Up until the night before I left, I was 100% certain that it was unrequited. He gave me this hug…”

            “A hug?” Truett looks genuinely confused.

            “He isn’t a very physically affectionate guy, like at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hug anyone else, besides maybe his sister a single time. He’s… been through a lot and he isn’t quick to trust. Him and I have developed a close friendship recently and it was really nice. Then, the night before I left… He hugged me. And not just like a quick, one-armed side hug. It was a long, tight hug. I don’t know what to think of it, honestly. I left and now I have no idea how to talk to him about it without it ending in some big confession from me…” I can feel the blush creeping up my neck as Truett grins at me.

“If you don’t read it, I will.” He snatches the envelope out of my pocket, holding it out of reach.

            “Truett! Give me that, you asshole! I was planning on reading it later. I have no idea what it says.” That earns a sympathetic pat on my shoulder.

            Three days later, I’m sitting on the floor, propped against my bunk, Derek’s letter in my shaking hands. I run my thumb over the name written in the top corner for the thousandth time. I may have signed up to join the Army, but whatever this letter holds, it has me terrified. What if Derek says he wants nothing to do with me? What if the letter is a goodbye? What if—

            “Stilinski, I swear to god if you don’t open that letter, I’m going to pummel you.” Truett pokes his head from over the side of his top bunk, glaring fiercely. “Open. It.” My hand shakes even harder as I slip a finger under the envelope flap.
I’m surprised to find three full handwritten pages inside. A smile plays across my lips at the idea of the wolf sitting down with a pen and paper to handwrite me a letter. Derek tucked a small photo into the envelope, one of the whole pack. I quickly tuck it into my service cap, thankful to have a piece of the pack to carry with me. I take a deep breath and unfold the pages.

Dear Stiles,

            Beacon Hills is a lot quieter without you here to talk my ear off, but I have to say that I do miss the chatter. Life is a little boring without it. The pack misses you a lot, but I’m sure you know that…

            My breath catches in my throat. I do miss the chatter. Derek misses talking to me. Derek misses me. Another smile spreads across my face, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. Most of the letter is just details about daily life with the pack and things going on in Beacon Hills. Thankfully, things have stayed quiet the last few years and the pack hasn’t had to handle any supernatural fiascos lately. I must make some sort of noise because Truett drops off his bunk and snatches the letter out of my hands.

            “Damn, what’s got you grinning like the cat that got the cream?”

            “Truett, I swear to god. Give me that back or I’ll get Taylor and Rodrigues to help me beat the shit out of you.” Truett laughs and drops the letter back into my lap.

            “What did lover boy have to say?”

            “He’s not… lover boy. He just said that he misses me.” I try to rub away the blush I know is crawling up my neck.

            “Bro, you got it bad. He just said he misses you and you’re full-on blushing. How long have you been into this guy anyway?”

            “Longer than I care to admit, honestly. We’ve known each other for several years, but it wasn’t until the last year or so that we actually became friends. He kind of hated me at first… but to be fair, I was annoying as hell when I first met him. I wouldn’t have liked me either.” I laugh, remembering how much of an irritation I was at 16. “Our friend group has been through a lot. Nothing brings people closer like shared trauma, right?”

            “No kidding. That’s why we’re besties! Sounds like there might be promise there, though.” He grins at me, clapping me on the shoulder. A matching grin splits across my face. Yeah… maybe there is some promise.

            Finding time to write letters isn’t quite as hard as I thought it would be. Sunday mornings are typically free time for anyone who doesn’t attend church services, giving me the chance to write to Dad, Scott, and Derek. I’ve received a letter from Derek every single week. They’re filled with updates on the pack and little boring details about his daily life, but I revel in the fact that Derek wants to tell me all of the little unimportant things. The letters are what get me through the hard days. The days when all I can think is What the hell did you get yourself into, Stilinksi? The days when I truly just want to give up and go back home. I keep the most recent letter tucked into one of my uniform pockets, replacing it each week with the newest one. It helps me feel like Derek is right there with me, cheering me on.

            Before I know it, I’m waiting at the Oklahoma City airport to catch my flight home. My company spent the entirety of yesterday on the drill pad, divided up into groups based on when our flights leave. The first group to leave was all of the local kids whose family had driven to pick them up directly. I was wildly jealous of the people who get to make the trip home in only a handful of hours. We all waited around for our group to get called and carted off to wait at yet another building for the buses to take us to the airport. I haven’t even started my travel journey and I’ve already been awake for nearly 24 hours. My flight boards at 5:05am and I’ve been at the airport, with drill sergeants breathing down my neck, since 2:30am.

I stifle a yawn and pull out my phone yet again to check the time. 4:47am. Nearly time to board. It still feels strange to have my phone on my person after two months of only having access to it once a week for 10 minutes. And that’s only when my platoon didn’t royally fuck something up, which had happened a few times. I’ve texted my dad and Scotty, but my nerves have had me writing and then deleting a text to Derek four times already. I know I’ll see him tomorrow evening, along with the rest of the pack, but for whatever reason, sending the text has me more terrified than any drill sergeant could ever manage. I’ve faced alpha packs and nogitsune and dredd doctors… but this? It has me wanting to sink into my chair and never leave.

The Sheriff insisted on taking me out for dinner the second I was off the plane. I pushed to go home first, desperate to be out of the uniform I’ve been in since 6:00am yesterday. My dad wouldn’t take no for an answer, elated to have the chance to show off his son in uniform.

So, now we are sitting at a table in a restaurant near the station. I’m doing my best impression of a seat cushion, knowing any second, someone will notice my uniform and attempt to thank me for my service. Service I haven’t even had the chance to partake in yet. I was stopped by 5 different people between the two airports, all wanting to thank me. It made my skin itch. How could they thank me when I haven’t done anything yet? I’m not even technically a soldier until I graduate basic… It took all of my self-control to simply mutter a thank you and flee. I don’t deserve their thanks. Not yet.

“So, tell me everything. What’s your best story?” The Sheriff is wearing a proud smile I haven’t seen in a while, and it makes the ache in my chest flare back to life.

“Depends on what you mean by best.” I have a lot of stories, but they’re ones my dad might not find nearly as funny as I do. Stories of annoying people finally getting what’s coming to them and being punished with push-ups and squats until they puked. Stories of the stupid shit the drills came up with to punish all of us for one person’s mistake.

“Your favorite story, then.” My eyes travel around the restaurant again, a little overwhelmed by the crowd. I’ve grown so accustomed to every single person I interact with behaving in a very specific manner, every interaction predictable. Civilians don’t have those rules. Everyone is loud and moving around chaotically. I’m used to everyone moving in formations and ranks, every person in their place. “Stiles,” Dad’s voice snaps me out of it.

“Sorry, being back around normal people is a little overwhelming… Um, I don’t know if I have a favorite story. What do you want to hear about?” The Sheriff smiles at me in a way that makes me look away to avoid my eyes misting up.

“Tell me about your best day then.” I easily dive into the story of my favorite range day.

“Dad… I know I haven’t seen you in two months, but I’m home for two weeks and I have slept maybe 2 hours in the last 40… Please let me go to bed and we can catch up tomorrow before I go see the pack.” The Sheriff has been asking nonstop questions since he picked me up from the airport. Through the ride to dinner, through dinner, through the ride home… “I just want a good, long shower and to pass out for however long I want to. Please don’t come wake me up… I’ll get up when my body says it’s okay.” The Sheriff just chuckles and pats me on the shoulder, going to watch whatever he can find on TV.

I drag myself upstairs, heading straight for the bathroom, beyond ready to ditch this uniform and wear some normal clothes. I start the shower, letting the room fill up with steam while I unlace my boots, left first, as always. I’m not even sure when the habit started, but the left boot always goes first. Whether I’m putting them on or taking them off… Left first. It’s become part of my exact routine of putting my uniform together each day. Socks go on first, followed by pants. T-shirt comes next and is followed by my belt. Then, I blouse my pants, lace up my boots, left then right, and finally throw on my top. I’ve done it that way since the first day I was handed a uniform and I have yet to stray from it. The routines of each day have almost become a meditation for me to calm my ADHD-addled brain first thing in the morning.

I fold up my uniform, setting it on the counter. My dad will be impressed at how tidy I’ve been forced to become. Having a single thing out of places now makes me feel like a drill sergeant is lurking just around the corner, waiting for me to fuck up so they can pounce. I suppress a shudder at that idea.  

I stay in the shower as long as I can, simply enjoying the fact that I have longer than five minutes to do so. Shutting off the shower and toweling off once the water is too cold to stand, I head to my room. I am dead on my feet, having nearly fallen asleep in the shower twice. Okay… I did actually fall asleep once, but only for a second! Pushing my door open, I pull open my dresser to retrieve my favorite pair of sweats. I turn toward my bed and—

“Jesus fuck!!” I nearly jump out of my skin, clutching my sweats to my chest. “What the hell, Derek?! How did you get in my room?” Derek’s green eyes twinkle with mischief from where he sits on my bed. I’m so tired I don’t even get distracted by thoughts of Derek being on my bed for other reasons.

“Your dad let me in while you were in the shower for an hour.” I scoff.

“I was not in there for an hour. Our hot water doesn’t last that long.” Derek’s chuckle rumbles across the distance between us. “What the hell are you doing here? The pack is getting together tomorrow night.”

I watch the blush color the tips of Derek’s ears and I remember just how much I love it when Derek blushes. The wolf drops his head and rubs at the back of his neck. Is he… nervous? I know my own heart is betraying how nervous I am, but maybe I can blame that on Derek scaring the shit out of me a few minutes ago. Yeah, I’ll blame it on that.

“You didn’t answer my ques— “

“I just wanted to see you…” Derek cuts me off quietly. Yep, the wolf is definitely nervous.

“You’ll see me tomorrow?” Those beautiful green eyes that I’ve missed so much finally meet my own and it leaves me breathless.

            “Yeah, I know that. I don’t know… I was on a run and my wolf caught your scent after it had faded from town. I didn’t even really think about it. Next thing I knew, I was here.” I feel a big grin spread across my face. Wow, he really did miss me.

            “I’ll be right back.” He looks incredibly confused, but I refuse to go through this already awkward reunion covered by only the towel around my waist. I run back to the bathroom to slip my sweats on, cursing myself for not grabbing a shirt, too. Cool, now I have to greet Derek after not seeing him for 2 months in grey sweatpants and no shirt… This is going to go well…

            I return to my room to find Derek flipping through a comic book he’s pulled from my bookshelf. He turns and I swear I see his eyes catch on my chest. He pauses for just a moment too long before seeming to physically shake himself out of it.

            I’ll admit… Normally, I would shy away from someone looking at me like that. I’ve spent my whole life as the lanky, awkward kid. I’ve never been the “hot guy” at school… but going through my training has helped me pack on some muscle that I, in my opinion, desperately needed. As Derek sweeps his gaze over me, I feel a wave of… wow what is that feeling? Confidence…? Well, I’l be damned. I’m proud of my physique, having worked my ass off the last two months in order to achieve it. Sure, I don’t have a 6-pack, but my chest and stomach are well toned. I even have that little v at my hips that everyone seems to be so crazy about. My arms and thighs are stronger than they’ve ever been and for the first time in recent years, I haven’t been shying away from what I see in mirrors. I’ve been admiring it.

            So, when Derek is sitting here, in my room, on my bed, and looking at me like he wants to eat me? I’m inclined to let him. I tamp down that train of thought the next heartbeat, though. Derek will be able to smell it if I get worked up and truly… All I want to do is sleep. Derek’s eyes finally meet mine and he blinks a few times, as if coming back to himself.

            “Uh… you are probably exhausted. You should get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow with the pack.” Derek rushes the words out all in one breath and stands from my bed. He goes to move past me and to the door, but I stop him with a hand on his chest.

            “I missed you, too, big guy.” I pat his chest twice and release him, relishing in the small smile that plays across his mouth. He heads for the door, but pauses, looking like he wants to say something.

            “Get some sleep,” is all he says before he’s gone.

            The welcome home party with the pack was everything I needed. A huge pile of blankets and pillows covering the floor in front of the couch. The entire pack there.  Even Parrish was there, with Lydia tucked under his arm on the couch, her hand absent-mindedly running through Liam’s hair. I will absolutely be dragging Lydia off at some point to pry about what the hell is going on between her and the deputy. She had looked happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, so maybe I’ll keep the threats toward him to a minimum. I did my best to keep the tears at bay, but being reunited with my family has my emotions feeling raw and strung out.

            As everyone slowly arrived at the loft, each person demanded their own hug. Well, a few did it in their own way, but it felt good to know that everyone was so happy to see me. Scott and Derek both unabashedly shoved their faces into my neck, rumbling happily at having my scent near again. Cora and Isaac gave me much quicker hugs, but still took a moment to drop their heads to my neck. Liam was the most hesitant, looking at me nervously and fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

            “Come here, kid,” I muttered, opening my arms to pull him into a hug. He immediately pushed his nose against me, relaxing into the hug. A small whine only I could hear slipped out of him, so I hugged him a little tighter. “I missed you, too, Liam.” We broke apart, Liam moving to flop down in front of the couch to start the much-needed pack cuddles.

            Now I’m standing in Derek’s living room, folding yet another blanket. I’m positive he bought extras simply for pack nights. I can hear him shuffling things around in the kitchen, tossing stuff in the trash. I have half a mind to go into the kitchen and ask him to lay me out on the counter and have his way with me. Romantic, right? But since the pack left a half hour ago, Derek has distanced himself from me. He’s just been moving around the loft, picking things up and putting away snacks. He somehow found his way next to me the entire night and now he’s outright avoiding me. That keeps my feet firmly planted to the living room floor.

My anxiety flares to life. Did I do something wrong? I don’t know what has him reverting back to being a quiet, broody asshole, fine, but I’m not sticking around for it.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. I’m sure my dad will be waiting up for me.” I move to set the last blanket down on the couch and see Derek come to stand in the kitchen doorway. He looks so damn good. He’s wearing his signature black jeans that hug his muscular thighs in a way that makes me drool. The maroon sweater he’s sporting gives him a much cozier vibe. It’s my favorite sweater of his. It has little holes at the end of each sleeve for his thumbs and it makes him look so comfortable and cute. It makes that ache in my chest flare to life. I rub it away with my knuckles. “Um… have a good night, Derek.”

            He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at me from the threshold. My anxiety slowly dissolves into anger the longer we stand here. He wrote me pages and pages while I was gone, but now that I’m standing in front of him, he has reverted back to being a quiet, broody asshole? That’s great, but I’m not sticking around for it.

I don’t know what else to say, so I turn to leave. I’ve spent enough time at the receiving end of his emotional constipation. I refuse to do it anymore. He can stew in silence alone.

He watches me leave and I barely catch the “Goodnight, Stiles” he mumbles as I slide the door shut.

            Fireworks echo from outside. From the back patio, I can see them lighting up the sky across the water. It’s New Years Eve and the pack is at Lydia’s lake house. The red solo cup in my left hand holds the remnants of a forgotten beer. I’m beyond happy to be home with my pack, celebrating the holiday, ringing in the new year. But there is one pack member who didn’t show tonight.

It’s been a week and a half since my welcome home party, and Derek and I still haven’t spoken to each other. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve written and deleted a text to him every single day. I just can’t work up the courage to send it. I was really really hoping that he would be here tonight so I could corner him and yell at him for being such an asshole. I was really looking forward to spending some much needed quiet time at the loft while I was home, but when all I received from him was radio silence, I took that as a sign he didn’t want me around.

“Hey, party pooper.” Lydia slides up next to me, leaning against the deck railing. It’s like she has a sixth sense for when I’m sulking about a certain dark-haired wolf. “I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to him, Stiles.” I sigh. We’ve had this conversation three times already.

“I told you, Lyds. I’m done dealing with him being emotionally constipated. We wrote each other letters every single week while I was gone and yet, now that I’m here, it’s back to the same shit. I’m leaving again the day after tomorrow and it really just isn’t worth it.” I down the rest of my beer, grimacing at how warm it’s gotten. I drop my head down, wishing the beer would wash away that stupid ache.

“You two are truly exhausting. How much longer are you going to dance around each other?”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Lyds. At this point, I don’t even care if he likes me back… I just miss my friend.” I get the signature Lydia Martin You are so full of shit look. She knows I absolutely care if he likes me back, but she lets it slide. She just hooks her arm under my elbow and tows me back inside for the midnight countdown.

Most of the reason I was out on the patio was to avoid this exact moment. As the pack starts to count down, all I can think about is the one person who I wish was here. The person I spent countless moments thinking about kissing at midnight. The person who I don’t know if I will even have a friendship with after this.

A chorus of “Happy new years” echoes around me, couples kissing each other and smiling like loons. Lydia swoops by and plants a kiss on my cheek, giving me sad eyes. I huff, not needing pity from anyone. In a few days, I’ll be back to my basic training and I’ll be distracted enough that I won’t even have time to think about it. I just have to survive until then…

Chapter Text

           The sky is still dark, even though every single soldier in my company is out on the drill pad. Crickets still sound, but birds have started to chirp, signaling the coming sunrise. There is a sea of army duffle bags scattered across the grass surrounding the pad. The air is crisp and comfortable, but we all know it will melt into sweltering heat when the sun comes up. It’s the end of May, but the Texas heat has already arrived in full force.

            Everyone is dolled up in their dress uniforms. We pace around, attempting to make last minute fixes to our ribbons and name plates, adjusting our berets over and over again. I didn’t get more than maybe 15 minutes of sleep last night; my stupid fucking roommate having waited until the very last second to pack up all of his shit. He was crashing around our barracks room right up until it was time for our platoon sergeant to inspect our room and dismiss us from these barracks for good.

            We graduate today. In just a few short hours, the Army will gain a few hundred more medics.

            The air is practically buzzing with nerves and excitement. Every single one of us has shed blood, sweat, and tears to earn our spots as U.S. Army medics. Tucked away in one of my duffles is the small notebook I kept in my left shoulder pocket, the tallies of how many IVs and tourniquets I got throughout the course of training lining the inside front cover. A grand total of 27 IV sticks and a whopping 32 tourniquets applied to my various limbs over the course of the last two months. One thing people don’t tell you about tourniquets? They fucking hurt. Having a one-inch-thick band of nylon wrapped around your leg so tightly it completely cuts off blood flow? A unique kind of torture. And if we didn’t put them on tight enough when we were training? Our instructors would come around and tighten them more than one would think is physically possible. There were a few times I truly thought my leg was going to pop off from sheer pressure.

            A sad smile spreads across my lips as I realize that I’m done adding tallies to that little notebook. Our last day of official training was one week ago. We had one final weekend to ourselves before diving headfirst into prepping for graduation and moving on to wherever our first duty station might be. I was beyond thrilled to find out that I’m being sent to Fort Lewis up in Washington state. The absolute relief I felt on the day our duty station assignments were released was unmatched. Out of all the Army bases I could be sent to, I’m being sent to the one that is closest to home.

            “Dude, are you nervous? I’m so goddamn nervous,” Truett rambles from the computer chair next to me. My own fingers shake as I retype my password for the fourth time. The whole room is filled with hushed whispers, each person rushing to log in and figure out what their future holds, where the Army is sending each of us.

            “Yeah, I’m fucking nervous.” Another friend of ours is headed to South Korea. He’s thrilled, ready to go see the world and leave his tragic home life behind him. “I almost don’t want to look…”

            “Yeah, no kidding…” Truett laughs. “Let’s do it on the count of three? We can do it together?” I would give him shit for the terrified look on his face if I wasn’t wearing a frightened expression of my own. I give him a nod and click the tab open. Truett gasps from beside me, but I’m too focused on the words on my screen to determine if it’s a happy gasp or a disappointed one.

            “I got… I got Lewis.” His head snaps to me, a wide grin plastered on his face. He claps me on the shoulder. “Where are they sending your useless ass?”

            “Bro… I’m going to Germany. They’re sending me to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. It’s a hospital there, I guess.” Wow. Germany. A wave of relief floods through me at the thought of how close I probably was to being sent overseas. I don’t know if I would have been able to handle being on a different continent than my dad. Being that far from Beacon Hills, Scott and the rest of the pack. Away from Derek…

            A shove at my shoulder pulls me out of my reminiscing. Our platoon sergeants are filing out of the cadre office and heading toward the drill pad. We all patiently wait to call “at ease” one last time. I take a deep breath and get ready to call out as loud as I can. Showtime.

            A few speeches later, half the company is abandoning their parade rest to wipe away tears. The bond between the people standing here on this drill pad is unlike anything I’ve ever known. Sure, I’m incredibly close with the pack and we have been through more shit than anyone should rightly go through in a single lifetime, but this is different. We’ve spent the last four months with one another, and while there were plenty of times when I came close to fully losing my shit on someone, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. The bonds I have with the people here will last a lifetime, as cheesy as that sounds. I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I’m ready to start my career. I’m ready to watch my friends start theirs.

            “I’m so proud of you, Stiles.” I huff, thinking I really should have kept a tally of how many times my dad has said that today. The first couple times, my eyes got all misty and I had to look away, but after the 15th time, its effect has kind of worn off.

            “I know, dad. Thanks.” The old man hasn’t stopped grinning since he showed up at my graduation yesterday. We’re driving back to the Beacon Hills, having just gotten off a flight from San Antonio. I’m fortunate enough to be able to use the “hometown recruiting” program and and am getting a full two weeks of leave before heading up to Washington. Scotty and I are driving the Jeep up there and then he is going to take a flight back home. We’re both looking forward to some time with just the two of us.

            “I’m glad you’re home, kid.”

            “Me too, dad, me too.” We pull into the driveway, and I hop out, slinging one heavy duffle over my shoulder and dragging the other in my opposite hand. “I’m probably going to head to Scott’s here in a minute, if that’s okay.”

            “Go see Scott. I know how much you two boys have missed each other.” With that, I fly inside, throwing my bags haphazardly onto my bedroom floor. I immediately turn around, snagging the Jeep’s keys off of their ring on my wall. My hands are itching to feel its worn leather steering wheel beneath them.

            “Scottyyyy!” I call out, barging in the front door. “Scotty, you here?” Music flows down the stairs from his room. I take the steps two at a time, itching to see my best friend after five months away from him. I call out again as I reach his door and a loud thump sounds from the other side of the door. The music cuts and I distinctly hear more than one voice. Oh great, Allison is here.

            Scott stumbles as he throws the door open and I see Allison, completely naked, slam the bathroom door shut. I throw a hand over my eyes and groan.

            “Dude! Why didn’t you text me that you were heading over?” He tugs on a shirt, raking a hand through his hair and looking sufficiently sheepish.

            “Um… I did. Like an hour ago,” I scoff. His face turns beet red and he scrubs at the back of his neck. “It’s fine, Scotty. I’ll go see Lyds for a while and we can hang out later.” Scott grins and pulls me into a tight hug. “Nice to see you, Allison!” I shout to the bathroom. She pokes her head out of the bathroom door and gives me a shy wave. “Don’t have too much fun while I’m gone, you crazy kids.”

            I head out to the Jeep and pull up Lydia’s contact. I pull out of the driveway and dial her number.

            “Hi, love! Did you and your dad get home okay?” Lydia’s voice rings through the speaker and it makes me smile. I was able to call her a few times during medic training, but I truly missed her voice.

            “Yeah, we did a little bit ago. I was supposed to go over to Scott’s for tonight, but— “

            “Allison was over, wasn’t she?” Lydia cuts me off and we both laugh. “Honestly, I give it a year before they’re engaged.”

            “Oh man, that will be the day… Hey, are you busy? If I stay home, my dad will just keep telling me he’s proud of me and I can’t handle that for another minute.” She confirms that she’s not busy as I turn onto her street. “Okay, good, cause I’m around the corner.”

            “So… are we going to talk about it? Or are we doing that thing where we pretend it didn’t happen and avoid it in hopes that it will disappear on its own?” Lydia taps her perfectly manicured nails on her leg. I stretch further across the couch, pretending not to hear her. It takes all of two seconds for her to reach across the couch and smack my arm. “Stiles, you can’t keep avoiding this…”

            “Oh, but I can though! I’m only home for a few weeks and I can easily avoid it for that long. And after that, I’ll be up at Lewis and won’t even have to think about it.” I smile, proud of how well I thought through this whole avoiding the problem thing I came up with. She chucks a pillow at my head and gives me a glare that would make lesser men cower. “Ow! I just… I want to enjoy the time I have home without any drama. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come home next and I want to take full advantage of the time I do have.”

            “It’s not drama, Stiles. It’s Derek… You two idiots need to work your shit out while you have the chance.” I let out a big sigh and use the pillow to cover my face. “Stiles, hun, he’s miserable without you in his life. He’s returned to his old self. He’s grumpy and monosyllabic and growls at anyone who gets too close to him… It sucks seeing him revert back to that… Feels like he isn’t part of the pack anymore and we all hate that for him.” I feel that months-old ache crack wide open in my chest. One I haven’t had to try and rub away since I got to medic training. Between being up at 5:30am or earlier for PT or a ruck and the eight-plus hour days of training, I barely had the energy to even think about Derek. “I know that look,” she nudges at my leg. “You need to go talk to him.”

            “Lyds, I want to, I really do, but… we haven’t spoken since I was home for Christmas. I went from getting a letter from him every single week, to not hearing from him for five months. And, when I got to AIT and actually had my phone, still nothing. Not even a single test. I don’t know what to do with that.” She sighs, propping her feet up on my lap.

            “Stiles… You need to talk to him. If you don’t, you will spend the rest of your life with what ifs that will never get answered. Maybe he has a good reason for what happened. You know how emotionally constipated that idiot is and I know how much you miss having him as a friend.” I groan into the pillow on my face, knowing, as always, that Lydia is right.

            “If I promise to talk to him while I’m home, can we stop talking about it?” She grins, looking very happy with herself. “And I promise I’ll do it. I know you’ll bother me every single day until I do…Thanks, Lyds.”

            My fingers tap anxiously on the Jeep’s steering wheel. This is the fourth time I’ve waited in the parking lot of the loft. Each time I’ve chickened out completely and fled before I could work up the courage to go inside. Every time I’ve come by the loft lights have been on, letting me know that Derek is definitely up there.

            Scotty and I head up to Washington in two days, so it’s my last chance to get the closure Lydia talked about. There’s really nothing else I want. I just want answers. I want to know why the letters stopped. I want to know why he’s reverted back to being such an asshole to the pack that loves him. I release a big breath and close my eyes, pulling every ounce of strength I have.

            Let’s do this shit.

            I reach the loft door, raising my hand to knock. I drop my hand and shake it out. A soft light glows from underneath the door and I see the shadow of feet walk past. My breath catches in my throat. Derek. My hand lifts to the door and drops two more times. I turn back around, scrubbing my hands through my hair, trying to steady my nerves.

            “Were you planning on staying in the hall or did you want to come in?”

            “Fuck!” I whip around, the ache in my chest burning worse than it ever has as I take in Derek standing before me. “I forgot how quiet you stupid wolves can be.” It hurts far more than I anticipated to stand in this hallway, but I force my feet to move. He steps out of the way to let me in and I narrowly avoid brushing my shoulder against his chest as I walk past.

            Standing in the middle of the room, I suddenly have no idea what I’m doing here. I didn’t think of what I wanted to say. I said I would get answers, but I’m not even sure what questions I should ask. A million things are flying through my mind. He probably doesn’t even want me here. I just barged in here like I belong here… I guess I used to feel like I did belong here.

            “Stiles, I can hear how fast you’re thinking,” the wolf grumbles from over my shoulder. Running a hand through my hair for the thousandth time tonight, I slowly turn to face him. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” A wave of nervous nausea rolls through me as I realize that I don’t really have an answer for him.

            “I don’t really know…”

            “Stiles…” That tone of voice reignites the anger I felt over Christmas.

            “What the hell is your problem, Derek?” The wolf reels back like I’ve slapped him. I see several emotions flash through his eyes before he locks in his classic brooding glare. Having a werewolf sense of smell would really come in handy right about now. His nostrils flare, clearly smelling my agitation. “You owe me an explanation… for Christmas… What the hell happened, Derek? I was so pleasantly surprised to see you in my room the night I got home. I was so happy to spend time with you and with the pack. And then you just…” My voice wavers and then trails off completely. “You just… pushed me away.” I have to drop my eyes away from the fierce green ones staring back at me. “You stopped writing….” My voice is so quiet, I barely hear it in my own ears. My heart feels like it’s about to beat right out of my chest and there’s an angry blush working its way down my neck. I clench my fists at my sides, willing them to stop shaking.

            He just continues to stand behind me, silent. I whirl around, anger bubbling up, ferocious and ugly. What I don’t expect to see is Derek standing behind me with his head tucked down and his hands shoved low in his pockets. And just when I think my heart truly can’t handle any more pain, he lifts those beautiful green eyes to meet mine.

            There have only been a few times when I’ve seen true pain on Derek Hale’s face.

The first time was the day Boyd died. I had never seen him look so utterly… broken. My heart clenches in my chest whenever I think about it.

That was also the day I realized I loved him. The ankle-deep water seeping into my socks didn’t even register as I watched Derek lower Boyd to the floor. All I could think of was making the hurt painted so clearly across his face stop. My hand shook as I reached out, but resting my hand on his shoulder was the only thing I could think of. I knew nothing would ease the pain he was in, but I needed him to know he wasn’t alone. Needed to know that he at least had me.

The second time was when he found out that Jennifer had used and lied to him. Just like Kate had… That day, the hurt was buried beneath seething anger. I think I was the only one to even notice the hurt in the first place. A hurt you could only see if you knew exactly where to look.

The third time is happening in front of me and my heart is cracking open yet again. My eyes start to burn as the back of my throat gets tight. Oh god… I’m the one who made him hurt like that…

“Whatever I did… I’m so sorry. Derek, I am so sorry.” Confusion washes away the pain in his eyes for just a moment. He finally moves closer, but I move a step away. Guilt rips its way through me, leaving me breathless. I shouldn’t have come to the loft. I shouldn’t have shoved my way back into his life and ripped open whatever wound I’ve caused him. Tears finally break through and spill down my cheeks. The pain in his eyes comes back full force.

“Stiles… What do you have to apologize for?” His voice is heartbreakingly soft. Derek takes another step toward me and I try to slide a step backward, but my calves bump the edge of the couch. He’s close enough that I catch a whiff off his cologne. He reaches out his right hand, as if to touch me, but seems to think better of it and shoves it back into his pocket. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault. I’m the one that should be apologizing.” A breath rushes from my lungs.

“What? You didn’t… you didn’t do anything, Derek.”

“Yes, I did. I gave up. On us… our friendship.” That steals my breath completely. My mouth opens and closes several times before I can push myself to speak.

“What do you mean?” He moves to sit on the couch, scrubbing a hand over his face. I can tell he’s trying to fight those instincts to just shut down and respond with single words.

“I’ not even really sure it makes any sense.” His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. He looks… wounded. Taking a deep breath, he raises his gaze to mine. “I’m not good at… friends.” I have to bite down the chuckle that threatens to rise out of my throat. Derek Hale being bad at friends might be the understatement of the century.

“Okay? You were good at being my friend. For a while, at least.” That earns me a hard glare.

“Stiles… I stopped writing because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to keep writing me. I know you had limited time when you were in basic and I felt guilty taking it. Taking it from Scott and your dad.” I swear I hearmy heart crack open at his admission. He doesn’t think he’s worth my time. My heart well and truly breaks for the wolf sitting on the couch next to me. He looks so defeated and… alone.

“Derek… Did I ever say that I didn’t have time to write to you? In any of my letters?” He slowly shakes his head. “Okay. And did Scott or my dad ever complain about not getting letters or phone calls from me when I was able?” Another head shake. I do my best to tamp down the anger I can feel bubbling up. I didn’t get any more letters from him because he thought that I just wouldn’t have time to be his friend. He thought how I spend my time was his decision to make and it cost me one of my closest friends.

“That’s what I thought. Derek, you don’t get to just decide that we aren’t friends anymore.” Surprise flashes across his face at the bite in my tone. “I thought you and I were pretty close friends when I left… I thought you understood that I would write if and only if I had time to do so. And now you’re sitting here telling me that I had to give up the thing that got me through basic because you thought you weren’t worthy of my time? Do you realize how fucking stupid that sounds?” His gaze softens ever so slightly and I internally wince at the information I just accidentally revealed.

“I got you through basic?”

Letting out a, exasperated sigh, I say “Yes, Derek. Your letters and that picture you sent me of the pack are what got me through the hard days, the days when all I wanted to do was quit. I kept that picture in my PC through the entirety of my training. It made me feel like the pack was right there with me, cheering me on when I needed it most…” I trail off, my face heating at the way my voice is suddenly strained. I rub at that ache in my chest with my knuckles, but it doesn’t let up.

“I…” A quick glance in his direction tells me that Derek is fighting tooth and nail to not flee from this conversation. “Stiles, I’m sorry… My past has messed me up enough that I didn’t know what to do with having an actual friend and having the relationship with that friend be in jeopardy.”

“When was our friendship ever in jeopardy?”

“When you came home for Christmas, you were so… happy. All you could talk about is all of the things you had learned and the new friends you had made. My brain took that as you not having time for your old friends anymore and that was my mistake. I should have known better than to think you would limit the number of friends you have.” He chuckles quietly when my elbow meets his ribs.

“Okay, well now I wish I had gotten up the courage to come yell at you sooner. I leave for Lewis with Scottie in a couple days and we have 5 months' worth of friendship to catch up on.” Derek mumbles something under his breath that sounds quite similar to someone help me which just plants an even bigger smile on my face.

“Stiles, for the love of all things good, please don’t make me watch The Devil Wears Prada…” Derek grumbled from the other end of the couch. This will be movie number three and I can’t see myself heading home anytime soon.

Derek and I fell back into our easy friendship much quicker than I had expected. After we talked our shit out, he asked if I wanted to stay for a movie. I had responded probably faster than I should have. He had chuckled a bit and then rose off the couch, heading to the kitchen.

“You can pick the movie. I’m going to make some popcorn,” he’d said over his shoulder. I had chosen Thor for our first movie and Derek had grumbled about it, but I know he secretly enjoys the Avengers.

When that movie ended, Derek had looked over at me, uncertainty lining his forehead. I had quickly snapped up the remote and tossed it to him, telling him it was his turn to pick. The shit-eating grin plastered across his face while choosing the goddamn Da Vinci Code was a look I had never seen on him before. He had gotten up and made another bag of popcorn for each of us. I’ll admit, that had softened the blow of one of the most boring movies of all time. Yes, The Da Vinci Code is boring. Sue me. I’m ninety percent sure that Derek put it on simply to bug me because he looks just as bored as me.

Now, it’s my turn again to choose the movie and maybe I’m picking The Devil Wears Prada as payback for his choice… But I also love any movie with Stanley Tucci. The Devil Wears Prada, Easy A, Burlesque. I watch them on repeat. That man is a gift to humanity.

“You made me watch The Da Vinci code. I’m making you watch The Devil Wears Prada.” He lets out a very dramatic sigh, making me chuckle. “Oh, come on. You know you love this movie. Meryl Streep was robbed of an Oscar for this movie. Plus, Anne Hathaway and Stanley Tucci? How can you go wrong?”

“Stiles… Watch the movie.” Derek sounds annoyed, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitching up. I’m not sure if it’s that slight smile that gives me courage or if it’s a sense of complete delusion that has me shifting to lay on the couch, propping my feet across Derek’s thighs. My breath stalls in my lungs when he stiffens, but he quickly recovers and rests a hand on one of my ankles.

It takes every ounce of concentration and discipline I possess to focus on the movie and not on his hand against my skin. For fucks sake, Derek is touching my ankle… and yet, it has me fully flustered. What am I? Some Victorian lady getting all hot and heavy over an ankle? I haven’t had any contact with anyone that could be even remotely classified as romantic since I left for basic training in the fall and it is really showing. My heart is betraying me with every frantic beat that I know Derek can hear. A wave of embarrassment rushes through me when I remember that he can also probably smell how wound up I’m currently feeling. I carefully pull my legs out of his reach and make a quick claim of having to use the restroom before fleeing the room.

Once I’m alone in the bathroom, I stop and contemplate my reflection. My hands are shaking slightly and my pupils are blown wide. What are you doing, Stilinski? You know he doesn’t feel that way about you. I flush the toilet to maintain my lie and splash some cold water on my face. Steeling myself, I walk back to the living room. Derek is still sitting on the couch, intently watching Anne Hathaway running around New York trying to find a copy of an unpublished Harry Potter book.

            The ache that has taken up permanent residence in my chest flares to life. My knuckles find their way to my sternum to rub it away. As usual, it doesn’t help. I missed this loft more than I realized. The old brick walls. The unfinished floors that add to the industrial charm of the place. The really cozy couch Derek purchased when we all decided pack nights were taking place at the loft. There’s even a coffee table with a couple books on forests stacked with a candle on top. A candle. Derek Hale owns a candle. A chuckle escapes before I can tamp it down, causing him to turn and look at me.

            “Um…” I rub at the back of my neck. “I think I’m going to head home. My dad will probably be mad if I don’t give him a little more time with me before I leave for Washington.” Something I can’t read flashes across his face before he nods. I head for the door, but pause before I walk into the hall. “Hey, Derek?”

            “Yeah, Stiles?” He sounds as uncertain as I feel.

            “I’m glad we’re friends again.” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

            “Me too, Stiles.” A grin splits my face as I finally move to leave.

            “Bye, sourwolf.” I’m fairly sure that I hear a growl as the loft door slides shut.

Chapter Text

Birds chirp cheerfully, directly in contrast to how I am currently feeling. The sun is barely peaking over the horizon. The grass field is coated in a layer of sparkling dew, slowly soaking through my sneakers. It is too damn early for all of us to be out here in this stupid field. You’d think I would have gotten used to being up for PT at ridiculous hours by now… but I have never been, nor will I ever be, a morning person.

My platoon sergeant is calling out our stretching sequences before we go for a stupidly long run. Stupid is my favorite word while doing PT, if you haven’t noticed. Lacrosse practice prepared me for the actual physical activity, but that practice wasn’t at 6:00am. I stifle a yawn and move into the rear lunge.

It’s been just short of six months since Scotty and I carted the Jeep up to Lewis. I ended up being thrown into the 7th Infantry Brigade, a true line unit. I had hoped that I would be able to put my medic training to use, but the most I typically do is deal with the idiots in my platoon hurting themselves during the day. Not three days ago, a buddy of mine, Johnson, completely sliced his hand open while fucking with the radiator on his LMTV. Don’t asked me how he managed it because I still haven’t figured it out. I’ve learned to love these guys like family, but infantry guys are truly something else. I thought the pack was reckless, but these idiots are dedicated to upstaging their own stupidity on a weekly basis.

My most coveted skill amongst my grunts is my ability to place IVs. I can almost guarantee that on any given Friday or Saturday night, one of my people will come knocking on my barracks room door to ask me for an IV. Why control your level of drinking to avoid a hangover when you can just have your medic pump you full of fluids instead? Simple infantry math. I never complain, though, because it keeps me from getting rusty. I can throw in an IV in a dark room with a drunk patient that won’t sit still as easily as I can in a brightly lit room with a patient holding perfectly still.

“Alright, gents. Six miles today.” A collective groan sounds throughout the formation. Johnson gives me a completely fake look of excitement from his spot next to me in formation, making me snort a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. The faster you run, the faster it’ll be over. Any more groans, and we’ll be running in formation with me setting the pace.” Every single one of us knows perfectly well just how damn fast Sergeant Peterson will make us run if he’s leading us, so we all zip it and set off to complete our six miles.

Slamming the door of my Bradley, I recheck my list for what feels like the seven hundredth time. Everything is fully accounted for, as usual. My platoon has spent the entire day in the motor pool, inventorying our vehicles and making sure they are up and running efficiently. Well… efficiently for Army vehicles. Half of them are waiting on parts or new tires or some other random thing they need. They all technically start, though, which is good enough for command, apparently. There are rumors flying around our unit lately that we’ll be receiving orders for mobilization any day because leadership has really been on us about having all of our shit in order.

“Oi, Stilinski!” Johnson come trotting up, a grin on his face that can only mean trouble.

“Johnson, I swear to all that is fucking good in this world, if you hurt yourself again, I’m not helping you.” I glare at him, even though I can’t help but chuckle. He knows I’m lying. I’d do anything and everything for these idiots.

“Nope, hand is healing up great Doc!” His shit-eating grin isn’t going away, and it has me nervous. “A bunch of us are going over to Bryant’s place tonight for a party. Everyone is invited. You coming along?” Ah, that’s what the grin is about… I’ve learned over the last six months that if this platoon’s lower enlisted is going to be anywhere on a Friday night, it’s Bryant’s house. He’s a Specialist who married his high school sweetheart this last spring. They live on base and it’s even near the barracks, so it’s easy for everyone else to find their way home without driving.

There is usually more booze than any reasonable person would think is necessary, but that’s another thing I’ve learned. These guys drink like fish. It’s more impressive than anything I’ve seen at The Jungle back home. Boardgames get turned into drinking games. The dining room table morphs into a beer pong table. Bryant even invested in a decent sound system, so good music can always be counted on.

“Yeah, most likely. Not much else to do around here on a Friday night.” Johnson grins knowingly before clapping me on the shoulder and moving back to do his own final checks for the day.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I retrieve it faster than I’m willing to admit, excitement and hope shooting through me that it’s a text from him.

Derek: You busy tomorrow night? The pack is coming over for movie night and we wanted to FaceTime you so you could hang out with us.

A grin splits across my face and I am powerless to stop it. Derek and I text daily nowadays. It’s not like we ever really talk about anything important, but that makes it feel more important to me. He wants to share the random little details about his daily life with me. It sets the butterflies in my chest into a frenzy if I think about it for too long. I figured that putting this much distance between us would begin to chip away at my feelings for him, but much to my surprise, they’ve only grown. Exponentially so. My chest is starting to feel like the great Monarch Butterfly migration down in Mexico.

Stiles: I’ve always got time for my pack. Just tell me what time to hop on. What are we watching?

Derek: Horror movies, apparently. It was Lydia’s week to pick. Pack will be here at 6.

A slight shudder runs down my spine at what terrifying movies Lydia has been thinking up. I slip my phone back into my pocket, shaking my head. My knuckles rub at the ache behind my sternum. The same one that crops up any time I think about the pack or home for too long. I thought it would take me a little longer to start feeling homesick, but it crept in about a month ago, all at once.

I miss movie nights and pack cuddles. I miss dinners at the station with dad. I miss pick-up lacrosse scrimmages with Scott and Isaac. I miss going over to the loft to get some peace and quiet. I miss the broody wolf that resides in said loft more than anything. The absolute relief that had flooded through my veins every single time he had texted me the first couple weeks I was up here was a little shocking. I was so worried that even though he said we could go back to being friends again that the distance would fuck it up. Then, my first day up here, while unpacking a couple boxes in my new barracks room, my phone had rung. I had answered without looking, assuming it was my dad checking to see how I was settling in.

Hearing Derek’s voice come through the speaker had sent my heart into palpitations. He made up some excuse about calling because pack wanted to make sure that I would do my best to still come to pack nights, but I know he called to check on me. The butterflies once again rattle in their cage as I remember him saying he’d call the following week. That one phone call turned into a call every single week since I’ve been here, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Johnson and I make our way over to Bryant’s place, just a short walk from our barracks building. Johnson has slowly become my rock here. He’s the one I know I can go to when I’m feeling really homesick, and he won’t give me shit for it. He misses home just as much as I do. As one of the few people like me, who didn’t join to get away from a bad situation, we have found common ground. He’s an Army brat who grew up on a different base every two to three years. His dad had done his full 20 years and Johnson dreamed of following in his footsteps since he was a kid.

      It is entirely beside the point that I go to him for everything because I may or may not have a crush on him. I knew I was screwed when, a few months back, I started looking for him at every formation. Started looking forward to seeing him at work every day. Started smiling at my phone when he texted me.

            He is in a particularly good mood today, skipping forward a few steps to then turn around and grin at me like a fool. There’s a hint of a blush from his pregaming coloring his cheeks and it makes me want to kiss him stupid. Easy, Stiles… Don’t creep on your straight best friend.

            “Bro, do you wear anything other than flannels?” I laugh and give myself a quick once-over. I’ve thrown on my favorite green and brown flannel with some black jeans and my sneakers.

            “I do, but you’d miss my flannels if I started wearing something else. I know you love them, boo.” That earns me a saucy wink from Johnson, before he nearly trips over himself trying to walk backwards again. I try to ignore the flutter of butterflies that kick up in my stomach at our flirting. Another thing about military guys? They could be as straight as they come, but they will still flirt with their boys better than they could ever flirt with any girl. It had completely thrown me for a loop when I first got here, not understanding it was a joke and thinking someone was actually hitting on me. That day was awkward for everyone involved…

            “You know I would, babe!” Johnson’s words snap me out of my trip down memory lane, my cheeks heating at the pet-name. He is cackling to himself, already having a great time, even as we walk up to Bryant’s front door. I knock and wait with Johnson who is wiggling like a golden retriever who just got told it’s going on a walk. This guy is even more of an extrovert than I am and completely lights up any time we go to a party. Crowds are his jam, and I can feel that part of him waking up as Bryant opens the door and steps aside to let us in. “Bryant! My man!” Johnson claps him on the shoulder and immediately beelines for the kitchen to grab a drink.

            All of the regular people are here. Most of the lower enlisted from our platoon, as well as a few other people from other platoons. It’s still relatively early in the night, so everyone is standing around with drinks in their hands. There’s some Ke$ha song blaring through the speaker system in the living room. I join Johnson and Bryant in the kitchen, knowing a shot is probably waiting for me, as usual.

            “Stilinski! Get your ass over here and catch up! Bottoms up, asshole.” A shot of something clear is shoved into my hand and I know better than to give it a test sniff. Throwing it back, I let the vodka burn its way down my throat. At least he didn’t give me tequila… One bad night with a Mr. Jose Cuervo about two months ago and I can’t even look at tequila anymore. 

            Three hours later, I am thoroughly drunk and standing next to the beer pong table, watching Johnson and Bryant absolutely destroy two other guys. Watching Johnson in his element has all of the butterflies in my stomach fluttering aggressively. Some brunette girl I’ve never seen before slides up next to me and literally bats her eyelashes at me.  Don’t get me wrong, she’s gorgeous. Long, dark hair that she curled and pinned back behind one ear. Smooth olive skin and gorgeous curves she’s showing off in a black crop top and ripped jeans. Beautiful bright green eyes. Overall, a ten out of ten by anyone’s standards.

            She leans up on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear, asking if I want to dance. Johnson smirks at me from his spot at the end of the table. My heart clenches in my chest as he notices her next to me. In all honesty, I’d much rather pull him onto the dance floor. I haven’t been with any guys since before I enlisted, and it’s got me feeling a little feral in my skin.

I have half a mind to say no, until Johnson is shoving me in her direction and muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to “get some.” She bats her eyelashes at me again and grabs my hand to pull me onto the improvised dance floor.  Fuck it, she’ll be a good distraction.

            We dance for a while, and I actually start to have fun with her. She’s a great dancer and I can’t deny that having her curves pressed up against me feels pretty damn nice. Dancing with guys is absolutely a great time, but there is just something about having a soft feminine body pulled against you. Crap, now I’m thinking about dancing with a guy… and that leads me to thinking about Johnson again, before a certain dark-haired, green-eyed wolf creeps in.

            I wonder what it would feel like to have Derek pressed up against me the way this girl is. Or even my back pressed up against his chest, those gorgeous arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer. Maybe his lips would find their way to my neck… and he’d leave behind a bit of beard burn from that perfect stubble. God, how great would it be to feel him pressed against my a—

            Don’t go there, Stiles.

            The girl turns in my arms and wraps hers around my neck. Her fingers gently card through my hair as she gives me the most obvious Fuck Me eyes I’ve ever seen. Half of me considers it for just a moment. But most of me knows I won’t take her up on her offer. I should be thrilled that a girl as pretty as her is trying to pull me away to one of the spare rooms. But all I can think about every time I look into those jade green eyes… is how much I miss Derek. Her eyes are nearly the same shade as his, minus the caramel brown that surrounds his pupils. The resident ache in my chest flares bright and sharp as she lifts up on her toes and presses her mouth to my neck.

            “Hey, do you want to get out of here?” She breathes hotly in my ear as she whispers to me. Not with you is the only thought that crosses my mind. I gently disentangle her limbs from around my neck and give her a smile. She grins back at me, clearly too drunk to read how uncomfortable I am right now.

            “Sorry, sweetheart. Not planning on taking anyone home tonight. Thanks for the dances though.” I can tell she’s about to get loud and throw a fit, so I shove her toward some other drunk private, who she immediately wraps her arms around. My head is starting to spin just slightly and I’m honestly just too drunk to deal with her. The ache is growing in my chest, my knuckles subconsciously rubbing at my sternum to ease it.

            I’m not one to make an Irish goodbye at parties, but I can feel the alcohol starting to turn on me. Most nights, I’m the happy-go-lucky drunk who dances and flirts and becomes friends with everyone. Every once in a while, though… The alcohol works its way into the crack in my heart and wrenches it even wider. The crack that is distinctly Beacon Hills shaped. It’s Derek-shaped and you know it, my drunk brain so helpfully supplies. The fierce ache makes my breath catch in my throat.

            I need to get the hell out of here. Now.

            I duck out the front door, thankfully, without anyone seeing me.  My friends don’t need me harshing their buzz when I’m feeling like a downer. The air is cool enough to send goosebumps over my hot skin. It makes me feel like I can breathe again but does nothing to soothe the ache. My feet start the route home without me having to tell them to.

            As I walk, I feel the crack in my chest split open even wider. I always miss Derek, but it hits me harder after a night at Bryant’s. Watching him and his wife together never fails to make me think of the wolf and how much I want that with him. I know it’s ridiculous to imagine something like that when I don’t even know if he cares about me in that way, but a guy’s gotta dream, right? I want that house with the picket fence and the 2.5 kids who are grossed out by how much their parents love each other. It’s cheesy and stupid, but you know what? I want cheesy. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. I’m ready for my own person Hallmark movie. Maybe I should tell him. How can I know if he feels the same if I don’t tell him? He’ll never tell me first…

            Before I can lose my courage, I slip my phone out of my pocket and pull up his contact, pressing the call button. For a moment, I think he won’t answer. It is nearly 2:00am, after all. Then, after the third ring, I hear his voice rumble through my phone’s speaker. Oh god. I wasn’t counting on his sleepy voice being so… hot. It’s deep and sounds like it was drug through gravel, whipping the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.

            “Stiles? Is everything okay?” Oh shit, I woke him up. Drunk Stiles did not think about the fact that he would be asleep. The guilt rips through me, snagging and tearing all kinds of holes in my confidence sails. The courage whooshes out of me with my breath. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

            “Oh, um… hi. I didn’t really think about the fact that you would be sleeping ‘cause it’s 2:00am… Sorry. Um… I’ll, I’ll let you go.”

            “Stiles, talk to me.” Derek’s voice is so gentle that I have to swallow a few times before I answer, my throat going tight with emotion. “You called me in the middle of the night, so obviously something is wrong. Talk to me.” I take a few more settling breaths, hoping my voice doesn’t shake.

            “Uh, I just…” Fuck, do I say it?

            “Stiles.” Okay, Derek’s voice is a little less gentle now. That commanding tone threatens to make my knees weak. A startled snort escapes me as the image of Derek on his knees in front of me flashes through my mind, courtesy of the booze flooding my veins. Get it together, Stilinski. “Are… are you drunk, Stiles?” The snort turns into a flat-out giggle and that earns me a loud huff from the wolf.

            “And what if I am, sourwolf? What’re you gonna do about it?” Derek sighs again and I can just see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

            “Where are you, Stiles?” The genuine concern in his words has me blushing and smiling at the ground like an absolute idiot.

            “I’m almost back to my barracks room, big guy. I walked home. I’m safe.” I am half sure I hear a soft sigh come through the speaker, but I also might have imagined it. I smile at the poor bastard on CQ duty and head down the hallway to my room.

            “Make sure you get some water when you get back.”

            “Aw, takin’ care of me?” He grumbles and huffs, making me laugh again. “Don’t worry, Derek. I’ve got water in my fridge waiting for me. And I’m hoping I can talk one of my guys through doing an IV for me tomorrow. So, hydrating tonight is really just overkill if you think about it.”

            “You are an idiot.” To someone who don’t know him, he would sound annoyed, but I can hear the slight undertone of fondness in his voice.

            “Yeah, but an idiot you miss.” It takes a moment for my drunk brain to catch up with what my mouth just said. Make that Stiles zero, alcohol one. I make it to my door and fish my keys out of my pocket, mentally berating myself for letting that slip up happen. Bad drunk Stiles.

            “I do miss you, Stiles.” Derek’s quiet admission has my keys slipping out of my hand and onto the tile floor of the hallway.

            “Shit… Damn it,” I mumble under my breath, dropping down to grab them and having to throw a hand out to steady myself. I nearly topple over, my head spinning with the booze from earlier. “Ooo-ho-ho, that’s not good.”

            “What? What’s wrong, Stiles?”

            “Oh, nothin. I’m just a little drunk and you made me drop my keys. I bent down to get them, and my brain went woooo.”  Derek huffs loudly. “Aw, am I annoying the sourwolf?” I’m finally able to get my door open and move into my room. I switch my phone to speaker and kick my Vans off. Grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge, I snag my phone and head over to my bed. “Water obtained, ya big grump.”

            “You should get some rest.” A flair of panic flashes through my chest at the idea of him hanging up.

            “Wait… I… I don’t want to hang up, yet.”

            “Okay. Um… I can stay on the line while you fall asleep… if you want me to.” He sounds almost as unsure as I feel. The butterflies flare up against my ribs at the fact that he is willing to stay on the phone with me. He wants to stay on the phone while we both go to sleep. God, that sounds nice.

            “That would be really nice, big guy.”

            We’re both quiet as I strip down to my boxers, trying not to blush at the fact that Derek is on the other end of the phone, because that is just ridiculous. I brush my teeth and slide into bed, suddenly feeling the silence press against my skin. I click my lamp off and tap my phone screen, making sure the call is still active.

            “Goodnight, Stiles.” Derek’s deep rumble washes over me and I can’t help but smile. He really is going to stay on the phone with me while I fall asleep. That might be the sweetest thing anything has ever done for me. The crack in my chest pulls itself together just the slightest amount with the knowledge that he at least cares about me some base amount. Derek doesn’t seem like the kind of person to fall asleep on the phone. With anyone.

            “Goodnight, sourwolf,” I mumble as I drift off to sleep. As I’m in the stage halfway between awake and asleep, I hear Derek mutter something else, but I’m too close to sleep to actually hear what he said.

            Pack nights now that I’m up here in Washington is infinitely more complicated. Thankfully, we’ve finally ironed out all the kinks and have a routine that allows me to feel like I’m still there with them. Derek will set up his laptop on a little stand near the couch so I can video call and see everyone. Then, we’ll settle on a movie and use an internet extension to watch the movie together. The only reason I remember I’m not actually there with them is the fact that I can’t throw myself in the middle of the pack cuddles.

            Pack nights have become so bittersweet. I love that I can see everyone and chat with them, but the ache in my chest always comes back full force seeing how life in Beacon Hills is just… moving on without me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I expected everything to freeze and wait for me to return, but it still sucks to know that so much is happening when I’m not there.

            One major thing that changed since I left is Lydia. She’s still the perfect genius she’s always been, but there’s something… softer about her now that she’s with Parrish. I think his good nature is rubbing off on her and the pack doesn’t really seem to know what to do with a sweet Lydia. Watching her tuck under Parrish’s arm and smile up at him, my brain flashes back to me interrogating her on what was going on between the two of them all those months ago.

            Lydia is sprawled out on her back, taking up nearly my entire bed. I catch her smiling at her phone for the millionth time since she got her an hour ago.

            “Alright, Lyds, what the hell has you smiling like that?” I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for Lydia Martin to blush and tuck her head. In all my years of knowing her, I have never seen her look so… bashful. “Out with it, Lyds.”

            “Okay… um… well,” she starts. I’ve also never heard her stumble over her words like this before. Whoever is on the other end of that phone, they must be pretty damn important to her. She looks up at me and I can see the nervousness flash across her face.

            “Lydia, you can tell me anything. I’m not going to judge you or anything,” I say gently, resting my hand on her shoulder.

            “No, I know that… It’s just… I don’t know. This feels so different, and I’m worried talking about it is going to burst the little bubble I’ve been in.” She moves to sit criss-cross, taking a deep breath. “So, I’m sure you’ve noticed that Jordan and I have gotten… closer lately.”

            “Lydia Martin. Are you sleeping with a hell hound?” She smacks my shoulder, but the blush on her cheeks flushes brighter. Holy shit.

            “It’s not like that. About a month and a half ago, he had asked me for some help doing more research on hell hounds. He knows you and I are the research people, but you weren’t here to ask, so he asked me. You know how much I love researching stuff, so of course I said yes.” She pauses and I swear her eyes get glassy for a second before she blinks it away.

            “It really was just doing research at first, but we started spending more time together because of it. It let me get to know him and he was just… so sweet. He’d bring me coffee every time. He was constantly thanking me for helping him even though I told him he didn’t need to, that I enjoyed doing it.

            “Next thing I knew, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I was finding every excuse to text him or to meet up with him and talk about some new research I found. I’ve never felt like that with anyone…” Lydia looks as shocked as I feel. I’ve never heard her talk about anyone like this, even Jackson. “After a couple weeks, he asked me if I wanted to grab dinner while we researched. I didn’t really think anything of it, figured he just wanted food. But then, he paid for dinner and brought me to his apartment. He had put out a tablecloth and candles… Candles, Stiles. A full candlelit dinner. In all honesty… I panicked. I had Allison call me for a 911 to get me out of there.”

            “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t stop thinking about him and wanting to spend time with him and then he took you on a date and you… ran.” Lydia drops her head into her hands, sighing loudly.

            “When you say it like that, it sounds awful. But I was just… scared. After everything that happened with Jackson, I wasn’t really thrilled about jumping into something. Allison laid into me the way you would have, which I obviously needed. She told me I needed to tell him what was going through my head. So I did. I gathered up my courage and called him.” That soft smile reappears on her face, and I can’t fight my own at how happy she looks.

            “He was totally understanding, wasn’t he?”

            “Ugh, yes!” She flops back onto her back, throwing her arms over her face. “He was so sweet about it and even apologized for not making it clear that he wanted it to be a date. Stiles, he sent me apology flowers. And not just flowers. He sent me lilies.” I can’t keep my gasp from escaping me.

            “How did he know lilies are your favorite?”

            “I’m pretty damn sure that he asked Allison, but he won’t tell me. He just tells me that he had his ways. I don’t know, Stiles. He’s so different than any other guy I’ve gone for. He’s so sweet and he always finds something to compliment me on. And not like… superficial compliments. He’ll compliment me on how smart I am and how he wishes that he could keep up with my brain. I wake up to a good morning text from him literally every single morning!”

            “Wow… sounds like you’re pretty head over heels for him, Lyds.”

            “Yeah… I think I am,” she mumbles softly.

            “Have you told him? Or asked him out?”

            “Do you think I should?” I move to lay down next to her and grab her hand in mine.

            “Lydia, you are waking up to a good morning text every single day. You wake up at 6:00am… The fact that he makes sure to text you that early when he probably doesn’t get up that early means he’s crazy about you and wants you to know he’s thinking about you. A good morning text means you’re the first thing he thinks about in the morning.” A small gasp escapes her and I can tell she just had an epiphany.

            “I need to call him! Oh my god!” She scrambles off my bed, grabbing her purse and running to the door. She runs back to my bed, kissing me on the cheek and then flying out the door, shouting a thank you as she leaves.

            The two of them danced around each other for longer than any sane person could tolerate, but it’s Lydia… She is stubborn beyond belief. I’m just glad that she finally gave in four months ago and agreed to be his girlfriend. She deserves to be treated like the queen she is, and Parrish does just that. I get regular updates on the cutesy, sweet thing he’s done, and it takes everything I have not to be jealous of how happy they seem. I’m happy for Lydia, really, I am, but it wakes the crack in my chest flare to life every time. What I wouldn’t give to wake up to a good morning text from Derek…

            My stomach has fallen out of my ass. I’m sure of it. Nausea is rolling through me and I’m trying to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Panic is rearing its ugly head, but I can’t let it break the surface. Not in formation. Not in front of my platoon.

            We were called to formation first thing this morning, as soon as we got to the motor pool. Everyone was mumbling and muttering, trying to figure out why we were called for a formal formation when we are usually just dismissed to attend to our workday responsibilities. Today, our platoon sergeant walked up in front of the formation and dropped a bomb on all of us.

            We’re deploying to Afghanistan. In two months.

            Anything after that, the panic blocked out of my brain. I haven’t heard a single word out of his mouth since that first sentence. What am I going to tell my dad? What am I going to tell the pack? A full-blown panic attack is threatening to rear its ugly head. Clenching my hands into fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms, I try to use the pain to center myself. It works just enough to keep my breathing even enough to convince anyone around me that I’m okay.

            “Stilinski, you good, dude?” Of course, Johnson sees right through me. I just give him a nod because I truly don’t trust my voice right now. He’ll call me out on it later, but all I can focus on right now is not panicking. My attention snaps back to the sergeant as he mentions that we’ll be heading to the field in one week in order to run some exercises and prepare for the deployment.

            Stilinksi, get your shit together. You knew this was a possibility. You’re trained for this. It will be fine. It will all be fine.

            We’re released from formation and I beeline to my rig, needing to hide away from my platoon. I don’t need shit from the guys for freaking out when I know half of them are feeling the exact same way. My hands shake as I pull my phone out of my uniform pocket. There’s only one person I want to talk to right now. Only one person who I can be sure won’t make the panic threaten to drown me.

            “Hey, Stiles. Shouldn’t you be working right now?” Derek’s voice is fond and teasing and the tight panic in my chest eases just slightly. A shuddering breath slips out of me, and he catches it immediately. “Hey, is everything okay?”

            “Um… yeah, sorry. I’m fine.” I smack myself in the forehead. Obviously, things aren’t fine if I’m calling him out of nowhere in the middle of the workday. “Actually… no, I’m not really okay. Uh, my unit just got orders for mobilization and I’m trying my best not to freak out.”

            “Mobilization? Are you going to a different base?”

            “Um… we’re getting deployed. In two months. To Afghanistan.” Derek swears under his breath. “Derek… what am I going to do?” My voice is nothing but a whisper.

            “Stiles, listen to me. Take a couple deep breaths. You’re trained for this. I know how good you are at your job. You love being a medic and I know that you will do just fine. You’ll be okay.” His soft, but firm tone eases a little more of the tension in my shoulders. He’s right. I am trained for this, and I am fucking great at my job. A deep breath finally makes its way into my lungs. “You’ll be okay, Stiles,” he repeats.

            “Derek, how the hell do I tell my dad?”

            “I can’t say I envy you on that…” he laughs. Leave it to Derek to make a joke at a time like this. “You’ll figure it out.”

            “Thank you, Derek.” Him and I both know I’m not thanking him for telling me I’ll figure it out. The line is quiet for a few moments. He clears his throat at the same time I say “Well, I should get back to work.”

            “It will be okay, Stiles. I promise.” The only thing I can think to say is Don’t make promises you can’t keep, so I settle for a goodbye and an agreement to text him later. As I hang up, the passenger door of my rig opens, Johnson sliding into the seat. He doesn’t look at me, but I know that he’s feeling exactly as I am. We’re both newbies in our careers and have yet to see anything remotely close to combat.

            “So, who’d you call to talk you off the ledge?” He’s joking, but I can hear the unease hiding behind it. His deep, slightly shaky breath betrays his otherwise calm appearance. “We’ll get through this, kid.”

            “Dude, you aren’t even a year older than me. Don’t call me kid.” Johnson chuckles and slides down in the seat a little. A comfortable silence settles between us, both of us stuck in our heads. “Have you told anyone yet?”

            “Cute that you think I wasn’t also panic-calling someone… Called my best friend back home. He’s always been good at calming me down when I go crazy.” Johnson talks about his best friend from home as much as I talk about Scott, but it feels… different. He talks about him the way I want to talk about Derek. Him and I haven’t explicitly talked about the whole sexuality thing, but he at least knows I’m bi. I catch myself wondering, yet again, if he is still in that closet. What? Johnson is gorgeous and I have to not think about it too often or I will absolutely embarrass myself.

            Dark, wavy hair that’s just long enough that it flops over into his bright blue eyes when he doesn’t have it slicked back to be in regulation. Cheek bones and a jaw that could cut someone if they weren’t careful. Skin that’s perfectly tan from spending all the time we do outside in just his uniform t-shirt. A t-shirt, I might add, that perfectly shows off how built he is. He’s only a little taller than me, but he’s a lot bulkier than me. A broad chest with perfectly formed pecs and abs that make me have impure thoughts about my friend way too often. Don’t even get me started on the tattoos twining down his arms. He’s got two full sleeves, one of colorful, abstract swirls. The other is a series of interlocking smaller pieces he’s puzzled together over the years. They’re all in classic American style and they’re absolutely stunning.

            “Earth to Stilinksi,” Johnson laughs as he waves a hand in front of my face. “What dimension did you run off to just then?” He chuckles again, but he looks a little haunted.

            “Johnson… Can I ask you something? You have to promise me you won’t slug me afterward, though.” Dropping his head back against the headrest, he sighs. Johnson is completely used to my weird rants at this point. He nods, though, looking to me to wait for my question. “What’s the deal with you and him? The way you talk about him… You want to talk about it?”

            He swings his head toward me and for a moment, I think he might actually slug me. Anger flashes in his eyes before he locks it down and lets out another huff. Johnson stays quiet, but I know him well enough to know he’s just trying to piece together what he wants to say.

            “We’ll talk after work, yeah?” Johnson pats my knee and slips out of my rig before I can call him out for avoiding the question. Oh, we will talk after work, I think to myself.

            The rest of the day floats by with the whole of the platoon in a bit of a haze. We’re all still reeling from getting the news this morning. Since I got home, I’ve been laying on my bed, staring at my ceiling. I’m trying not to catastrophize, but damn is it hard. I’ve heard too many horror stories. Hell, the stories I heard from my medic instructors alone are enough to traumatize any sane person. I see the black and silver cuff bracelets a few of the older guys in my platoon wear, each bearing names of someone who didn’t make it home.

I’m not worried about dying. I’ve been through enough in Beacon Hills that death really doesn’t scare me anymore. What scares me is the possibility of being responsible for another bracelet with one of my guys’ names on it because I didn’t do my job. The possibility that someone could get hurt and not come back home in one piece because I made a mistake or couldn’t save them.

A knock on my door snaps me out of my spiral.

“Dude, I can hear you freaking out from the hallway,” Johnson shouts. “Let me in. I have sustenance!” I know him well enough to know that means booze. I’ve stopped asking where the 20-year-old gets his alcohol. It was probably Bryant. I hop up and cross the room, throwing the door open and letting him in. He flops down on my bed, setting the bottle of whiskey down on my nightstand and making himself at home like he always does.

“Ooooh boy, bringing out the big guns, I see.” He huffs loudly and stretches his hands behind his head. It takes conscious effort to ignore the way his biceps flex with the movement. “What are we avoiding tonight?”

“You said you wanted to talk. Let’s talk.” Oh damn, we’re doing this. Grabbing a couple glasses out of my cabinet, I drop down next to him. Johnson moves to crack open the bottle. He pours us each a heavy serving. “You asked me about James earlier. Why?” Johnson doesn’t look angry like he did earlier today, but his expression is more closed off than I think I’ve ever seen it. He really thinks I’m going to give him shit for this…

“I’m not sure. You just… the way you talk about him. Are you guys really just friends?” He takes a deep breath beside me. Always taking his time with stringing his words together.

“Him and I are… complicated,” he mutters.

“Oh, that is a bullshit answer and we both know it. Drink your liquid courage and spill, Johnson. You know I am relentless when I want to be.” He laughs, but throws back the contents of his glass, grimacing slightly at the burn.

“Only when you want to be?” The lopsided smile he gives me sets a few butterflies stirring in my stomach. Bad Stiles. Down boy. I look at him expectantly and he sighs again. “Fine… He’s my high school sweetheart. But him and I were the couple that never should have been more than friends. Once we got together, we fought constantly over the stupidest shit. We argued more than we did anything else. After a while, we got tired of it. We missed being friends with each other and decided that it just wasn’t in the cards for us. He’ll always be important to me, and I’ll always love him, but I stopped being in love with him about a year ago.” A quick glance in his direction shows me that he is intensely focusing on the ceiling, a blush crawling up his neck. Is he embarrassed? Johnson clears his throat and sits up to pour himself another drink. Yep, definitely embarrassed.

“Hey.” He turns to look at me, ears going red. “You know I like guys, too. Were you really scared to tell me about him?” I ask. He rubs at the back of his neck before laying back down next to me.

Is it just me, or is he a lot closer than he was before? It’s definitely just me… Right? Right.

“Yeah, I know… I don’t know. I’m very used to keeping that shit quiet around

here. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” isn’t a thing anymore, but you know how people can be. It’s easier to just keep it under wraps… unless I know I can trust the person.” He sounds… hurt. And my chest pangs at the idea of him thinking he couldn’t trust me with this. I throw the rest of my drink back and sit up, leaning over him to pour myself another drink. His breath hitches slightly as my forearm accidentally brushes his thigh.

            The air in the room suddenly feels heavy. Has there always been this much tension with Johnson and I? Or did him taking off his armor release it? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about this more often than I am willing to admit, but it has never felt reciprocated in any way. It has me slamming my second drink. Maybe it’s just me not having gotten any action in the last several months, but my brain is taking the tension and running with it.

            The whiskey starts to seep into the edges of my consciousness, making me a little bolder than I would normally be. Let’s test this theory. I sit up, leaning over him like I just did, to set my glass down on the nightstand. His breath catches again. Okay, it’s definitely not just me. I slowly retreat, intending to lay back down next to him. His left hand shoots out and snags my right forearm as it’s stretched out over his abdomen. Both of our breaths stall in our lungs, my eyes finding his.

            Oh, holy shit.

            His pupils are blown wide and the flush on his skin has him looking absolutely biteable. That broad chest of his is rising and falling with his uneven breaths. I feel my own pick up in response. It’s been a long time since someone looked at me like that. Like he wants to devour me. Like I’m all he sees. It gives me the confidence to drop my hand to his hip. His eyes definitely drop to my lips for a moment before meeting my eyes again. Shit, he wants to kiss me. And, maybe, I want to kiss him, too.

He has on a soft, dark grey t-shirt and a pair of black jeans that hug his thighs in a way that would make lesser men grovel. Hell, I might grovel, too. The soft fabric of his shirt bunches in my hand as I grip his hip harder. He sucks in a breath, dropping his head back onto the bed.

            “Eyes on me, Johnson.” His head snaps up, eyes darkening.

            “Don’t fucking call me that right now,” he growls, shifting to abandon his own glass next to mine.

            “Don’t call you your name?” I laugh.

            “No, don’t use my last name. That’s what all the other guys call me. Use my first name.” His hand comes up to rest on the side of my neck, thumb rubbing at the soft skin under my ear. I nearly preen at the contact. Fuck, it has been too long. I shift toward him, slinging a leg over his hips and sitting up so I’m straddling him. His hands immediately find my hips. Dropping down onto an elbow, it brings my face right to his neck. I’m not sure he’s breathing. A hum of satisfaction rumbles out of me as goosebumps spread over his skin where my breath ghosts over it.

            “Say please,” I whisper, letting my lips brush against his ear. A full shudder ripples through him and I can’t help but smile against his skin. God, I love it when people are reactive like this. It makes me want to spend hours finding out every single way I can pull a shudder or a little noise from them.

            “Please, Stiles.”

            Well, fuck me.

            I didn’t expect him to actually do it. He’s practically vibrating with how hard he is holding back. I’m going to snap that control like a twig. Something I pride myself on is learning to take apart a person piece by piece until they’re putty in my hands. And, oh man, am I going to turn this boy into putty. I pull back to look at him, making sure this is what he wants. His icy blue eyes are so pleading, I have no choice but to give him what he wants.

            “Since you asked so nicely… Caleb.” His hips buck into mine, causing friction that is so perfect I have to stifle a groan. Not wanting to wait another second to find out what his perfect, tan skin tastes like, I drop my mouth to his neck. The gentle, open-mouthed kiss earns me a curse under his breath. My own hips grind down against his, drawing a hiss from both of us. Caleb’s hand slides along my cheek, pulling my mouth from his neck and toward his own.

            Our lips slide together and it’s everything I was hoping for. His lips are so soft and perfectly kissable. He groans as I lick at his lips, wanting to taste every inch of him. Caleb lets me in immediately, sliding his tongue against my own. He nips at my bottom lip and drags his hands down my sides. They slip over my ribs, his thumbs pausing to slip under the hem of my t-shirt before continuing down to grab onto my ass and pull me harder against him.

            My phone rings out, startling both of us. I pull back just far enough to glance at my screen, praying it isn’t my NCO needing me for something.

            Derek’s name and face flash across my screen.

            And just like that, it’s like a giant bucket of ice water has been dumped over my head. It’s not like him and I are together by any standard, but part of me feels incredibly guilty that I’m currently in Caleb’s lap and he has no clue I’m in love with someone else. He deserves to know before whatever this is continues. I reluctantly pull myself from his grasp and slide off his lap. He immediately locks up tighter than Fort Knox, every single wall he possesses slamming up. Shit, he thinks I’m rejecting him.

            “Hey, no, don’t do that.” I tug at his hand, but he holds it firm against his stomach, glaring at the ceiling. “Caleb, look at me.” His head slowly turns, just enough to make eye contact with me. I can see the hurt painted clearly across his face.

            “It’s fine. I’ll just… go.” He moves to sit up, but my hold on his hand keeps him on the bed.

            “I didn’t stop because I wasn’t enjoying myself. Believe me, I definitely was,” I laugh, watching the tension in his body ease slightly. “No, I was having a great time. There’s just something I need to tell you first.”

            “Oh god, you have a girlfriend or something, don’t you?” He groans and throws his free arm over his face. He sounds betrayed, but the corners of his mouth are turning up. I move to sit up, snagging a pillow and leaning up against the wall. Caleb follows me, sitting close enough to press his thigh into mine. Well, he’s not running out the door. Let’s hope it stays that way.

            “No,” I chuckle. I don’t miss the relieved sigh that slips out of him. “No girlfriend. I’m totally single. It’s just… as you said, complicated. I’m not exactly the most emotionally available person. There’s a guy at home that I’ve been friends with for a few years. Nothing has ever happened between us, as much as I wish it would. It’s very much unrequited. I was starting to think that maybe it might be requited, but then I left and I just… with the distance and everything, there’s no way anything could happen.” Caleb has fully relaxed next to me. He pulls my hand off my lap, threading our fingers together. “I’ve been in love with him for years. He just called, that’s what put the brakes on… this.” I gesture between the two of us.

            “Does he know?” Caleb looks completely genuine, all traces of hurt and anger clear from his features. All I can manage is a shake of my head. “You aren’t going to tell him, are you?”

            “I just… I don’t see the point. I’m all the way up here. I can’t even take him on a date. No one wants to start a new relationship as long distance. And that’s assuming he even feels the same. Which I have no clue.” He chuckles beside me, earning my elbow in his ribs.

            “Hey! Easy! Look, I have an idea. It’s a little crazy, but just go with me, okay?” I give him a nod, entirely unsure where this is headed. “Both of us are emotionally unavailable. You’re head over heels for some Jody. I’m still completely messed up from being in love with my best friend and nearly losing him that the idea of commitment of any kind will send me running for the hills… Who says the two of us can’t have a little fun now and then? I think the two of us are good enough friends that we can do this without it getting messy,” Caleb says, giving me a cocky smirk that does things to me. His thumb sweeps over the back of my hand and the contact feels so damn good.

            “Okay, but we need to set some ground rules. If one of us starts to catch feelings, we talk about it. If it starts to affect our friendship, we call it quits. You’re my best friend here. I’m not losing you over some stupid shit like this. You know I hate meeting new people. Don’t make me find a new best friend,” I plead. He chuckles and nods, raising my hand to brush his lips over my hand. The gesture is so sweet it makes my heart ache. I’m not sure how or why we’ve suddenly slipped into this alternate reality where we can be so openly affectionate with each other, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. I’m touched-starved as fuck after not hooking up with anyone for several months.

            “And each of us reserves the right to suspend this agreement at any time, for any reason. No obligations. No feelings,” Caleb says. The smile he gives me makes my stomach swoop.

            “That was weirdly formal, my guy,” I tease. Caleb shifts, dropping my hand to curl his around the nape of my neck and tug me to him.

            “Hey, we said no attachments. No calling me yours unless you intend to keep me.” I know his words are a joke, but a few butterflies flutter in my stomach at the thought of having someone to be mine. Mischief sparkles in those bright blue eyes. “So? What do you think, Stilinski? We doing this or what?”

            “Caleb, nothing short of First Sergeant Kelsey barging through my door would stop me from kissing you again.” He gives me a huge grin before pulling my face to his. This is going to end up hurting one or both of us some day, but I can’t bring myself to care as his lips slide over mine once more.

            Our unit has been in the field for six days and we’re all ready to go home. We’ve got four more days before we head back home and each and every one of us is counting down the hours. This field training has been miserable. It hasn’t stopped raining since the second day, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been as muddy as I’ve gotten this last week. Both pairs of my boots are soaked through with no chance of drying out. The tent I’m assigned to is full of uniforms draped over improvised clothes lines in an attempt to allow anything to dry out.

            Today is one of our biggest exercises. A big convoy moving from one FOB to another. No one is really sure why we’re working on just moving things back and forth, but when leadership says “jump,” us lower enlisted must jump. We don’t even get to ask “how high” half the time. I’m in my Bradley with Johnson, another crew driving his LMTV behind us. We’re the fifth vehicle in the convoy, with twice as many behind us. There’s roughly another ten miles to go.

            Rain is coming down sideways, wind causing the giant box of a vehicle to swerve every few seconds. The shitty wiper blades are working overtime to compensate and keep the windshield clear enough to see through. Johnson is driving, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel along with Cold As You by Luke Combs. This guy loves his country music more than anything and refused to let me even have a little bit of a say in the music we’d be listening to today.

            “Oh my godddddd,” Johnson groans, letting his head thump down onto the steering wheel as we come to a complete stop for the fourth time today. “I think we died, and we’re stuck in purgatory… Just endlessly driving some shitty Army rig with seats that make your ass go numb.” I chuckle, sitting forward to look through the windshield and see what the hell has us stopped this time around. It looks like there’s a vehicle has slid off the road up ahead of us. Alarm bells go off in my head as I see someone hauling ass toward our rig.

            “Johnson, something’s fucking wrong,” I say as I scramble out of my seat and into the back of the Bradley to grab my aid bag. If someone is beelining for the medic’s truck, shit has hit the fan. I hear Johnson curse as I fly out the passenger door and into the rain.

My brain is already flipping the switch into what medics fondly call “medic mode.” It’s a frame of mind some of us learn to slip into when someone gets hurt and we need to work. We stop seeing anything outside of injuries; stop seeing individual people we know and care about and see only casualties. If you see the injured as the person you care about, the emotional part of your brain will take over and it will become exponentially harder to do what you need to do.

I see smoke coming from the rig that went off the road and someone is yelling. Shit, someone is definitely hurt. Bryant finds me, breathing a little hard.

“Thank god. Martinez and Fisher hit a mud patch and went right off the road. Martinez’s leg is definitely broken, but we aren’t really sure what’s wrong with Fisher… He’s having a hard time breathing, but nothing seems wrong? I don’t know…” His voice is shaking. Fisher is his closest friend and I can tell it has Bryant very freaked out.

“Just show me where they are. It’s going to be okay,” I say, patting him on the shoulder and motioning for him to lead the way.

Thankfully, the rest of the guys were able to get the two out of the rig and into the back of a truck with a covered back. The last thing we need is for the guys to be injured and out in the rain. Adding insult to injury and all that. Climbing into the back, Martinez is being held down at the shoulders by two guys. His lower right leg and foot are sitting at an odd angle, his foot pointing way further to the left than it should be. Fisher is sitting up, which is a good sign, but he’s in a tripod position with one hand braced on his knee. It’s clear he can’t breathe for shit right now.

“Alright, gents, what the fuck did yo get yourselves into this time?” Martinez is in too much pain to hear me, but Fisher gives me a weak smile. I flop my aid bag down onto the floor and whip it open, pulling out a few things. I hear Johnson behind me and call him over, needing an assistant.

“Johnson, you are going to take this,” I say, handing him a roll of medical tape and a small package, containing a stick with an orally absorbable pain medication in it. “This end gets taped to his pointer finger and this end gets stuck in between his cheek and his teeth. Make sure he doesn’t chew on it. He’ll probably pass out, but that’s what we want. The lollipop will fall out of his mouth when he does. If he wakes back up before I’m done with Fish, put it back in his mouth.” Johnson looks a little spooked but listens to my instructions.

I look to one of the guys holding Martinez down and hand him my trauma sheers. “Carefully cut up both sides of his pant leg, to the thigh. I need to see his leg, but I need to deal with Fisher first.” The guy does exactly as I say and I kneel in front of Fisher.

“Okay, Fish. Let’s see what’s going on, shall we?” I pull my stethoscope out of my bag; thankful I actually packed it. Stethoscopes don’t usually make sense in combat, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to bring it to the field. I have him sit back up and try to breathe, listening to the right lung and then the left. The breath sounds on his right side are significantly quieter. Fuck. “You’ve been having a hard time breathing. Has it felt like it’s been getting worse?” He nods quickly, right hand rubbing at his chest.

I have him take his jacket and t-shirt off, then lay on the ground, on top of his cloths. He’s having a tension pneumothorax, a puncture in the membrane surrounding the lung which prevents the lung from inflating properly. Thankfully, it’s an easy fix and a skill I excelled at in AIT. I’ll have him breathing better in just a minute or two, then I’ll deal with Martinez.

“Fish, this part is going to suck, but you’ll be able to breathe better once I’m done. Trust me to take care of you?” He gives me a weak nod and I set to pulling out everything I need. My brain is running through every single step of a needle decompression. Alcohol pad to clean the site, second intercostal space at the midcalvicular line. A 10-gauge needle for the actual decompression. Tape to secure the catheter once I’m done.

I set to work, waiting the ten seconds before removing the needle and leaving the flexible catheter behind to ensure that his lung doesn’t re-collapse, taping it in place. His chest is already moving more evenly.

“Thanks… Doc…” Fish gasps, smiling at me. Arranging a space blanket over his chest, careful to avoid the catheter, I pat his shoulder.

“Only doing my job, Fish.” That was the easy part. Now to figure out just how bad Martinez’s leg is. I turn back to him, seeing he has indeed passed out. That’s ideal because I’m most likely going to need to manipulate his leg to get it in a splint.

“Hey, they’ve got an ambulance 5 minutes out,” Bryant says, poking his head around the side of the truck. Perfect, these guys need a surgeon.

True to Bryant’s guess, a paramedic hops up into the back of the rig, as I finish up the final wrap on Martinez’s splint. I stifle a chuckle at the shocked look across the guy’s face. I guarantee he’s confused at how these two ended up with the level of care they have.

“Hey, man, they’re pretty much stable, just need you to give ‘em a quick ride to the hospital.” The guy gives me a very quizzical look. “Army medics have much different scopes of practice than civilian ones,” I say as explanation, hoping he’ll stop gawking at me and take care of my guys.

“What all have you done,” the paramedic asks, pulling out a clipboard from his bag.

“Compound fracture for that one, not sure if both the tibia and fibula are broken, but definitely at least the tibia. We’ve had a tourniquet on him for…” I pause and move to check the piece of tape on the tourniquet and then my watch. “25 minutes. I’ve got it splinted just enough to immobilize it, but I haven’t done much assessment other than that. I gave him a 400-microgram fentanyl lollipop, but that was about 10 minutes ago, and I’d guess he’s had about half that. He’ll probably wake back up here in a minute, but his pain should be managed, hopefully.” The paramedic nods, clearly impressed with me. I don’t let it inflate my ego. Really, I don’t.

“As for Fisher, he was having some issues breathing, getting progressively worse. Gave his lungs a listen and lung sounds were diminished on his right side. Had him lay back and did an NDC. How ya How ya feeling, Fish?” I pat his knee and he smiles up at me.

“I’m doing a hell of a lot better now, Doc, thanks.” He settles his head back onto his jacket, his eyes falling shut.

“Damn, you really have it handled, don’t you?” The paramedic is smiling at me, having finished writing his notes on his clipboard. “What the hell do they teach y’all in the Army?”

“We get a ton of trauma training, so accidents like this are kind of my bread and butter,” I chuckle. “Take care of my boys, will ya?” He nods and hops off the truck, heading to his rig to get a gurney for Martinez.

“Cheers to Doc!” Caleb has his arm slung around my neck, holding me in place. Bryant’s house is more crowded than I’ve ever seen it. The big living room is full of people, music pulsing through the entire house. The lower enlisted of our platoon fills the kitchen. They demanded I be dragged in here the second Johnsonand I showed up tonight.

“To Doc!” Bryant shouts, thrusting his red solo cup into the air. The rest of the room follows suit, and I can’t keep the blush from overtaking my entire neck and face. I’ve never been good at taking compliments and an entire room full of people cheering for me has me squirming in my skin. I’d much rather absorb into the wallpaper than be the center of attention.

“You’re cute when you blush,” Caleb whispers into my ear, his breath ghosting over me and sending a shiver up my spine. The two of us have developed a friends with benefits type of situation. Our friendship really hasn’t changed all that much in the last few weeks. We still hang out the same amount, ending up in one of our rooms most nights to play video games. Now, some of those nights end with us tangled up in our sheets.

We’d gotten home from the field this morning and had spent most of the day getting the trucks back into the motor pool and all of our gear back to our rooms. As soon as the motor pool was sorted, we were released for the rest of the day, giving us a three-and-a-half-day weekend. Our leadership figured we could use a few days off after the shit that happened with Martinez and Fisher.

“You are so not helping,” I whisper, glaring at him with no real malice. He chuckles again, pulling me tighter against his side. Everyone else is so wrapped up in their own celebrating for me and for Fisher and Martinez both being okay to notice the two of us wrapped up in each other.

Caleb drains his drink, grinning at me and dropping his hand from my shoulder to my side. His warm fingers find their way under the edge of my t-shirt to brush against the sensitive skin of my hip. A hiss sucks through my teeth. I lean toward him, acting like I need to be closer for him in order for him to hear me over the music.

“Keep that up and I will drag you out of this house and have you on your knees before you know what’s happening.” Caleb sucks in a breath. I grin, knowing I have him exactly where I want him. He might be bigger than me, taller and wider, more muscular, but the second I use that firm tone with him, he’ll do whatever I say. It’s adorable, really. “Aw, you like that idea?”

His hand retreats from my hip, grabbing my cup out of my hand and throwing back the contents. Our gazes meet and those icy blue eyes darken. Oh, he definitely likes that idea. A grin splits my face at the thought of what the rest of my night will probably look like. I love Bryant’s parties, but I am suddenly desperate to leave. Caleb’s mouth splits into a grin mirroring mine and he nods, telling me he is just as ready to head out.

“Stilinksiiiiiii, you are such a badass,” he suddenly slurs, sounding much drunker than he is. It’s our plan of escape any time we find ourselves desperate to dip out without someone questioning what we’re doing. One of us pretends to be drunk enough to warrant a babysitter for the walk back to the barracks. Tonight, it’s his turn. “You’re a good medic, Doc. You save lives, man.” Caleb smacks a hand on my chest, chuckling to himself.

“Alright, Johnson. Let’s get you out of here, you drunk asshole. You’ve got an IV appointment with said medic.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders again and it takes all of my self-control not to deeply inhale his cologne. It’s musky and earthy and reminds me of the Preserve right after a good rainstorm. “Yo, Bryant! Johnson got shitfaced again, so I’m gonna get him back and get him set up with fluids so he’s not insufferable tomorrow.” Bryant nods, very much used to me carting our guys back to the barracks when they drink a little too much.

The moment we’re out the front door, Caleb stops leaning on me so heavily, but doesn’t move away. Contact between us has become so casual and comfortable. I can’t lie… It’s really nice to have a way to satisfy my need for physical touch. I can’t help that physical touch is my main love language. It keeps the ache in my chest reduced to a manageable level, despite the fact that I can’t see Derek or my pack.

            As we get up to my floor, I can feel the tension between us begin to shift. We both know what comes next. Caleb’s breath is coming a little quicker than before. His hand has found its way back to my side, fingers gripping tight to my shirt. I unlock my door and push it open, letting him past before following him into my room. The door shuts behind me and I make sure it’s locked.

            I turn away from the door to find Caleb standing in the middle of my room. The pretty blue of his eyes is nearly blocked out by his black pupils, his chest rising and falling with his uneven breaths. I can’t fight the smirk that pulls at my lips. He’s always so eager when it comes to us. It strokes my ego in a nearly addicting way. How much Caleb wants me is clearly written all over his face and body. That hungry look in his eye feeds my own hunger. He crosses his arms, smirking at me and raising an eyebrow. He’s challenging me and I couldn’t be happier about it. It’s so much more fun when there’s a bit of a power struggle.

            “Someone’s feeling bratty, today,” I tease, closing the space between us with a few steps. “You sure that’s the choice you want to make?” He closes the last few inches, pressing his chest into mine. He’s only an inch taller than me, so we are nearly nose to nose. His gaze flicks to my mouth and back. Ugh, I love when he looks at me like that.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His smirk grows into an outright grin. It tells me all I need to know. If Caleb is pushing me, he needs me to get him out of his head. We’ve both been so worried about Fisher and Martinez, despite hearing from both of them the second we got home this morning. The last couple days in the field were even more miserable. The rain hadn’t let up and the overtone had soured following the accident. Leadership was incredibly hard on us for our last exercise, clearly spooked that some of their soldiers had been hurt. It was utterly exhausting and left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. We’re all stressing about the deployment and that accident put every single one of us on edge. Both of us need a distraction.

            My hand reaches up to card through his hair at the back of his neck. Caleb’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs, clearly starting to relax. The way he melts when my hands are on him has me fighting a groan. Pulling him to me, I use my grip on his hair to turn his head and give me better access to his neck. I press my lips to his neck and work my way toward his jaw. His head tugs against my hand, trying to get my mouth where he wants it.

            “Always so eager, aren’t we?” I laugh against his neck, causing him to squirm even more. Caleb grabs at my t-shirt, using it to pull me against him. A soft whine slips from his mouth when I give in and lave my tongue over the sensitive skin where his neck meets his shoulder. His skin always tastes so damn good. His earthy cologne and citrusy body wash mixed with a little bit of salty sweat. Delicious. His hand releases my shirt, moving up to the back of my neck to hold me in place. It really is cute when he tries to take control.

            “Ah ah ah. You know the rules. Hands at my sides until I say you can touch elsewhere.” Caleb groans and moves his hand back to its previous position. “There’s my good boy.” There’s that desperate little whine again. As much as I’d like to, I can’t give in yet. If I give in this quickly, he won’t be able to get out of his head in the way he needs. I tighten my grip on his hair and pull his face away to look at him. He licks his lips, clearly waiting to see what I want from him next.

            I pointedly flick my eyes down to the floor, knowing he’ll see the command in my eyes. Like the good boy he is, he does exactly what I want him to. He drops to his knees in front of me on my plush rug, hands resting on his thighs. Fuck, he looks good on his knees. The urge to grab his jaw and shove my dick down his throat is particularly strong, but I need to check in with him and see if he needs me to be a little on the softer side tonight. I’m secretly hoping he doesn’t.

            “Is my good boy eager to listen tonight?” I ask, my voice dropping lower, gravelly with need and hunger. I smirk at the little hiss of breath he sucks in. If Caleb is into anything, it’s praise. Call him a good boy and he’ll do just about anything you ask. “What do you want tonight, pet? You want me to pin you down and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name? Or do you need me to just use that pretty mouth of yours and show you who you belong to?” His pupils flare even wider, his breathing ticking up again. There we go. Grabbing his jaw, I give him a cocky smirk.

            “Please use me, Sir,” Caleb breathes, tongue flicking out to wet his lips again.

            Well, fuck me. He’s not messing around tonight.

            The two of us have only used honorifics a handful of times, but hearing Sir fall from this gorgeous man’s lips never fails to have all my blood speeding south fast. I give him a nod and his hands fly from his lap to my belt. I need his mouth on me time now. Caleb makes quick work of my belt and the buttons of my jeans, fisting his hand around my dick and pulling it free. The first contact rips a groan out of my throat. Him and I haven’t done this since before we left for the field and it’s obvious we’re both a little desperate tonight.

            Those beautiful blue eyes meet mine as his tongue flicks out along the underside of my dick. He sucks me all the way down in one go, pulling a soft curse from my throat. This man sucks dick like it’s his goddamn job. Enthusiasm makes up most of a good blow job and he’s got it in excess.

            “You feel so good, Caleb,” I growl, returning my hand to the back of his neck and gripping his hair. I pull him off of me and lower my face until we’re nearly eye to eye. Brushing my free hand along his jaw, I use my thumb to wipe away some of the spit shining on his lips. He immediately opens his mouth and sucks my thumb into the wet heat. “You want your face fucked like the slut you are?” He pulls off my thumb and grins up at me. Such a good boy.

            I straighten and he leans forward, mouth open and waiting. He eagerly licks up and down my shaft before sinking down all the way. His gaze flicks up to mine and he gives me a slight nod, his signal that he’s ready. I chuckle and swipe a thumb over his cheek. Starting gently, I thrust my hips forward, loving the feel of that perfectly wet mouth. My hips pick up speed of their own accord.

            “That perfect mouth looks so pretty with my dick shoved in it,” I croon, thrusting harder and starting to feel the back of Caleb’s throat give. Pleasure is starting to curl in my core, telling me I won’t last long tonight. His eyes flick up to meet my gaze again, hunger making his eyes molten. His hand drops to my thigh as I sink my other hand into his hair. I pick up my pace, chasing my release. “You feel so good, baby. I’m going to come down this pretty throat of yours,” I mutter. Caleb doubles his efforts, tongue flicking along the underside of my dick as it slides in and out of his mouth. My release barrels into me, crackling up and down my spine. I shoot down his throat, Caleb doing his best to swallow down as much as he can. I release him and move back a few steps to fall back onto my bed. He chuckles from the floor, standing and moving to lay down next to me.

            “You doing okay?” I ask, lifting my right arm so he can tuck under it. He rests his head on my chest, and I let my fingers card through his hair. I reach for his jeans, but he just grabs my hand and threads our fingers together. “You did so good for me. Let me take care of you.”

            “Nah, I’m okay tonight. Really. I just… I needed out of my head,” Caleb mutters.

            “You sure? I’m not one to take and not give back just as much.” He nods against my chest, taking a deep breath. “Wanna stay for the night?” I love when one of us stays over in the other’s room. I am a snuggly person and he likes physical touch just as much as I do.

            “Yeah,” he grins. “That sounds perfect.”

            I’m really not sure how I managed it, but I was able to swing a long weekend of leave before we’re due to mobilize in a month. My commander seemed to have a bit of a bleeding heart when I went to see him to make a request for leave, telling him I just wanted to see my dad before I went overseas. I didn’t let him in on the fact that I’m going home for the pack just as much as I am my dad.

            My flight landed the afternoon before last. I’ve spent the last 24 hours with my dad not letting me out of his sight other than to pee or sleep. It’s easy to tell how stressed he is about my deployment. I wish there was something I could say that would make him feel better, but I can’t seem to say the right things. Every time I open my mouth to comfort him, it just ends with him looking at me absolutely horrified or confused. I gave up trying this morning.

            “Stiles picks the last movie!” Scott shouts from the couch.

            “Scotty! Stop forcing decisions on me,” I yell back, poking my head out of the kitchen to glare at him. He just shrugs and snags the remote out of Isaac’s hand. I thought coming home and seeing the pack would ease the ache in my chest, but if anything, it’s made it worse. Having a few days with them and having to leave again tomorrow sucks majorly.

            “They’re going to start fighting again if you don’t go back in there,” Derek grumbles from behind me. He’s been weirdly quiet since I came over a few hours before pack night to hang out just the two of us. He’s acting like his old self. Quiet. Broody. All around grumpy to anyone that talks to him. Lydia noticed, too. She had cornered me and asked if I knew what was wrong with his stubborn ass.

            The wolf moves to stand next to me in the archway leading from the kitchen to the open living room. His shoulder bumps mine. At least he isn’t holding back physical contact like he used to.

            “What’s wrong with you today?” I turn to face him, noting his brow is deeply furrowed. My thumb itches to rub those lines creasing his forehead away. “And you had better not give me some one word, bullshit answer or tell me that you’re fine. We both know you only revert back to sourwolf status when you’re upset.”

            The wolf huffs and nods toward the patio door. Uh oh. If he wants to go outside where the other wolves can’t hear us, it must be something serious. He holds the door open for me, then follows me out. Derek moves to stand along the railing, his gaze dropping to the ground.

            “What’s got you so bothered, big guy?” Those perfect green eyes find mine and he looks… scared. I move to stand next to him and take a deep breath of the night air. It’s just after midnight and the rest of the pack will probably head home soon despite fighting over what the next movie will be. Lydia, Parrish, and Liam have already headed home. “I forget how beautiful the view is up here.”

            Gazing out over Beacon Hills, a pang of homesickness hits me hard. I’ve grown to love Lewis over the last six months, but I miss this place. It will always be home, no matter how far I get sent away from it. This town is a beacon for the supernatural, but it’s a beacon for me, too. I’ll always feel pulled back here.

            “Stiles.” Derek’s soft voice brings my attention back to him. Yeah, he definitely looks scared. He takes a step toward me, but pauses, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

            “Talk to me, Derek.” He takes a deep breath and turns to rest his forearms on the railing, letting his head drop onto them. I move to stand next to him, letting our shoulders brush. “Hey, I thought we moved past this. You can talk to me about anything. What’s got you so scared?” Next thing I know, Derek’s arms are wrapped tightly around me.

            Derek Hale is hugging me.

            Derek Hale is hugging me.

            My arms automatically wrap around him, even as my heart is fully in my throat. What the actual fuck?His head drops onto my shoulder, and I tip my head to the side a little to let him scent me. I know it’ll help calm him, but I’m praying he won’t smell the hints of lust flooding through me at having him wrapped around me like this. Derek mumbles something into my neck and I have to fight back a groan as his breath ghosts over my skin.

            “Can’t hear you, Derek. I don’t have wolfy hearing, remember?” I joke, but it falls flat. He pulls back from my neck, and I expect him to retreat back to his spot along the railing. But he goes and completely shocks me by placing his hands gently on my cheeks. I’m frozen by those bright green eyes and the hands on my face. What the fuck is happening? His mouth opens and closes several times, clearly deciding what to say.

            “Stiles…” he whispers, pain and fear laced through his voice. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this… spooked. It forces the crack in my heart ever wider, feeling fresh and raw.

            “You gotta talk to me, big guy,” I whisper back.

            “Stiles, you have to come home safe.” Oh god. That’s what has him so scared… Me. My deployment. “You have to promise me that you’ll come home safe.” My entire chest feels like it’s caving in on itself with the way he’s looking at me.

            “Derek… you and I both know I can’t make promises like that.” His head drops back down onto my shoulder, wrapping his arms around me again. I think he might be shaking. “I’ll do everything I can to make it back home, but I won’t make promises I can’t keep.” The wolf nods against my neck, giving me a final squeeze and taking a step back. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

            “Just… come home to us.”

Chapter Text

            Dust. And sand. I’m so fucking sick of dust and sand. Yes, I know that being in a desert kind of inherently implies that sand and dust will be present but when it’s been five months and I have yet to not feel dusty… it gets to be a bit much. Sand has found its way into everything I own. It’s in my boots. It’s in my damn underwear. It’s everywhere. I know what you’re thinking. Stiles, just take a shower! Not enough. Those delightful few minutes of dust-free bliss in the shower are completely ruined the second you dry off and get dressed. The sand never leaves. I’m fairly certain that I will be dusty until the day I die.

            The first couple months over here were a bit of a dream. My squad’s daily routine was simple. Working out at the base gym, going to repeat safety meetings, playing far too much Call of Duty and Super Smash Bros on the PlayStation in the recreation building. We even had weekly Smash Bros tournaments with some of the other squads in our unit.

            That bubble got burst at the end of month two when my squad was told that we were moving from Shindand Air Base to a forward operating base even closer to the border of Iran. Apparently, there was an uptick in IED incidents, and more teams were needed to patrol the area surrounding the FOB. We’ve been going on weekly patrols in the town nearby since we got here three months ago.

            It was quite the transition from the massive air base that houses thousands of personnel to the FOB with just short of 250 people. Everything is still the same sad beige color that the sand is. All of the tents. All of the buildings. All of the walls surrounding the base. Beige. I don’t remember the last time I saw a damn plant that wasn’t brown.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on the goddamn camel spiders. I’ve seen more than my fair share of weird creatures, living in Beacon Hills, but nothing prepared me for the absolutely massive scorpion-spider hybrid of my nightmares. The first time we saw one, Choi fully screamed like a girl and jumped up onto the table we were sitting at. It’s become a game amongst the squad to try and chase them in his general direction just to hear him scream.

Our missions and patrols are typically uneventful, though we have definitely had a few days that were more exciting than was entirely comfortable. About a month ago, we had received info from local forces that a couple of ISIS were camped out in a house on the edge of the town we are closest to. My squad was sent out to deal with the issue. It was the most nerve-wracking day of my life.

Thankfully, the day was easy aside from Franklin getting clipped by a bullet in his right bicep. It was very much a surface wound, but my stomach had just about fallen out of my ass when he dropped that day. I have never been so thankful for the legitimate brainwashing medics receive during our training. The numerous videos of people sustaining combat injuries that we were subjected to helped take the shock away from watching one of my guys actually get hit.

My brain had automatically kicked into medic mode, my hands simply knowing what to do before my brain had caught up with what was happening. The only medical care he ended up needing was a good cleaning and a small handful of easy stitches to hold the gash together. It ended up being a damn good day. It gave me faith in myself and my team. My biggest fear had happened right in front of me, one of my guys getting hurt, and I hadn’t hesitated for a second. When we got back to the FOB afterward, my guys had damn near tackled me. I guess I truly earned the title “Doc” that day. They refuse to call me anything else.

Except Caleb. He still calls me Stiles most of the time. The two of us have returned to being just friends. Sneaking around at the air base was totally possible and we definitely did several times. Once we got to the FOB, both of us decided that it just wasn’t a good idea to continue when there are so few people around. Neither of us are interested in catching shit from the squad when we inevitably got caught. It felt too complicated and not worth the risk. Being able to just go back to being friends with him without things getting awkward has been a true relief. He’s still my best friend and we still spend a lot of our free time together.  Just without the… perks.

I can’t help but think about saying fuck it, who cares who knows about it, but that’s just the deployment desperation talking. The stories we’ve heard of the crazy things people have done while deployed are absolutely wild. They call it deployment goggles. When you spend every single day with someone and have absolutely zero other options, people start to look mighty attractive. I’ve caught myself drooling over more of my squad than I care to admit.

What has surprised me the most is how easily I’ve been able to stay in contact with everyone back home. I’m not sure why I figured it would be like going back to basic where you get letters from people, but that’s about it, but it’s been so much easier than that. My phone is perfectly usable and through messaging apps, I’m able to text and call the pack and my dad just about as often as I want to.

I call my dad weekly since I know that hearing my voice helps remind him that I’m safe and alive. Other than the one day, I’ve never even felt unsafe. He doesn’t seem to believe me when I tell him that, though.

I can’t do pack nights anymore, considering that I am a full twelve hours ahead of the west coast. They send me all kinds of texts and videos to keep me updated on their lives. Each video I watch makes that ache in my chest flare to life. I’m not sure how I haven’t completely pushed a hole through my sternum with how often I’m trying to rub the ache away.

The Derek-shaped crack is holding on by a thread. I talk to him nearly every day, but any time I talk to him, I can feel how worried he is about me. I don’t know what to do with it. He’s lost enough of his pack members and doesn’t want to lose another one. But sometimes, when I have just a moment too long of free time, my mind starts to wonder and race. Why is he so damn worried? He knows I’m mostly safe and he was the one who told me I’m well-trained and that everything will be fine. It makes me think too much. Makes the crack in my chest bleed like I’m dying.

“Yo, Doc!” Caldwell’s voice shakes me out of my spiral. “Mail’s here. You’ve got a big ass package, too.” He shoves the box with several envelopes stacked on top of it into my arms. I see Scott and Lydia’s names on the top-most envelopes, and I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face.

I have a stack of letters shoved into one of my duffles at my bunk from every single member of the pack. Most of them I expected to receive. Letters from my dad, Scottie, Derek, and Lydia were absolutely no surprise when they started showing up. I wasn’t even all that surprised to receive a couple from Parrish and Liam. The two letters I really did not expect to receive were from Malia and Isaac. I’ll never let a single one of those letters go. I’m keeping them for the rest of my life. It helps me feel so much closer to home and helps hold the ache in my chest at bay.

“Ooooh, what’s in the box, Stiles?” Caleb flops down next to me on the ratty couch. We’re having our weekly Smash Bros tournament, courtesy of an X-Box that was abandoned here within the last few years. Shuffling the envelops off of the box and tucking them under the side of my leg, I check the name on the box and slip my knife from my pocket. He leans into my shoulder and peaks at the shipping label himself. “Aw, it’s from lover boy,” he teases quietly. It earns him an elbow to the ribs.

My dad has sent me a couple of care packages, but I get one from Derek every two weeks. He’s claimed the boxes are from the whole pack, that his name is only on the box because he is the one who mails them out. But when I asked Scott about it after the third package, he sounded a little confused. I’m fairly sure Derek is doing it by himself. And if that doesn’t send the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy, I’m not sure what will.

Flicking my knife open and slicing through the tape, I pull the box open. As usual, it’s absolutely stuffed with snacks. I’ve spent far too much time over-analyzing the fact that I’ve been away from Beacon Hills for a year and a half now, and Derek still remembers my favorite snacks. Jerky, bags of hot Cheetos, sour gummy worms, my favorite flavor of protein bars. I have to hide the contents of the boxes every time they show up, or my squad will descend on them like vultures.

Caleb makes a grab for a bag of hot Cheetos that are poking out of the top of the box. I slap his hand away and he rubs at it, laughing. I glare at him which makes him laugh harder since he knows I’ll share with him later.

            “Godddd, why do I ever do leg day with you, Johnson?” I groan from where I’m sprawled out on the floor. Caleb has worked me so hard that I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back up off the floor. My legs feel like jello. Tomorrow is going to suck even more, once the soreness kicks in.

            “Well, maybe if you actually did leg day more than once a month, you wouldn’t be collapsed on the floor like a baby.” He laughs and kicks my foot. Metallica blares through the shitty speakers. It’s Bryant’s day to pick the music. We cycle through who gets to choose our workout music and everyone has their own tastes. If 80s rock or metal is playing, it’s Bryant’s day. If country is playing, it’s Johnson’s day. K-pop is Gonzalez’s. Franklin loves pop punk and emo music. Ewing drives us all nuts with his weird EDM mixes. We give Choi shit every single time he plays his show tunes, but he gets to give us shit right back when he catches us singing along to whatever Disney song is on.

            “Hey, idiots! Get your asses over here!” Our squad leader, Sergeant James, calls us all over to the corner of the gym. He’s got a very serious look on his face that has us all worried. He’s usually a carefree guy, constantly joking with all of us. If he looks that somber… something’s definitely up.

            “Everything okay, Sarg?” Bryant cuts his tunes as Johnson pulls me up off the ground and we head over.

            “Yeah, everything’s good, Bryant. I just need all of you to go get cleaned up and report to building 5 in a half hour.” Each of us mumbles our agreement, all confused as to why he’s being so damn cryptic. “Get going!”

            A half hour later, we’re all showered and piled into a small room in building 5, sitting in those shitty plastic and metal chairs that fill every single middle school. Johnson has elbowed me several times in the last couple minutes, trying to get me to stop wiggling my leg. I can’t help it. Sergeant James is acting weird as hell and it’s making me anxious. What do I do when I’m anxious? I fidget. A lot.

            “Alright, we’re here because command has received some intel from the local forces that we’ve been working with.” All the muttering and mumbling in the room goes silent. Well shit… that’s never good. “They’ve been watching a house for several weeks and they’ve confirmed ISIS movement within it. They aren’t sure what the body counts are or exactly what they are using the house for, but they think it may be a weapons cache.”

            “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Several of the other guys echo it.

            “Yeah… fuck.” James huffs a humorless laugh. “Since we’ve been having quite a bit of success on our missions lately, we’ve been chosen to address this. The last week or so, things have gone a bit quiet, and it’s got everyone on edge. They want us to go in, get more information, maybe even clear out whatever supplies are at the location. We’ll be heading out in two days, so get your fucking heads straight. This isn’t going to be like our other missions. The risks are higher, but so are the rewards.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever heard Sergeant James sound this damn serious. It’s got me feeling extremely uneasy. He’s worried about this mission… If he’s worried, as the medic, I should be fucking terrified.

And I am.

            The night before a mission, we all have our own routines. The rest of the guys take their time making sure their weapons are all in perfect working order. The last thing we need is for a weapon to malfunction if shit hits the fan on a mission.

Johnson is sitting on his bunk with his rifle completely disassembled; all the pieces and parts spread out neatly on his bedspread. He’s got a box of q-tips out and is scrubbing the bolt with an intensity that almost makes me laugh. His brow is furrowed in concentration and it makes me want to brush my thumb over it. Almost as if he can feel me looking at him, he glances up and meets my gaze. He winks at me gives me one of his goofy half-smiles.

While the others work on their weapons, I have my aid bag completely gutted. The routine started the night before our first mission when I was so terrified of something happening and not being prepared that I completely emptied out my bag and repacked it twice. I wanted to make sure I had every single thing I could need and knew exactly where it all was so I didn’t have to go searching for it.

Now, it’s just my way of calming my pre-mission nerves. It reminds me that I am prepared. Each pouch is labeled with a wide piece of medical tape that notes whatever is in the given pouch. At this point, I’ve packed and unpacked this bag so many times that I honestly don’t need the labels, but I won’t risk taking them off and then having myself blank at the exact wrong moment.

Piles of gauze, pressure bandages, extra tourniquets, chest seals, and IV supplies sit in front of me. I rearrange everything back into its corresponding pouch and fit the pouches back into my pack. I move to reach for my weapon in order to clean it and do my own checks, but it’s gone from my bedside. A moment of sheer panic flits through me at the fact that I don’t know where my weapon is, but then I hear Johnson chuckling next to me.

“Chill, Stilinksi. This is yours.” He motions to the rifle on his bed that’s nearly put back together. I then notice that there’s another rifle leaned up against his bunk. I grin at him and say thank you as he puts the final pieces back into place. “The least I could do for ya, Doc. You spend so much time making sure you are prepared, and I figured you could use a little help.”

He grins at me again, clearly seeing the blush creep up my neck. Him and I may have agreed not to hook up anymore, but that doesn’t mean we don’t flirt with each other when no one is looking. I’d like to think him and I will pick up where we left off when we get back Stateside, but I know that that chapter of our relationship is probably over. We’ll just stay friends and have that kind of friendship where you flirt shamelessly but are simply just fond of one another.

I take my weapon back from him and settle back on my bunk to try and relax a little before it’s time for lights out.

            I’ve been trying to pull myself out of my head since we left the FOB an hour ago. Something in my gut is telling me that we shouldn’t be doing this. We’ve been here for six months and other than Franklin barely getting clipped, nothing has happened. It’s been an utterly uneventful deployment. Maybe I’m a cynic, but it feels like we are tempting fate every time we have a successful mission; like we are on borrowed time. Maybe, it’s just my anxiety, forcing me to always wait for the other shoe to drop…

            “Oi, Doc, everything alright back there?” Choi calls from the front passenger seat.

            “Yeah, everything’s good. Sorry, just zoned out for a minute.” Johnson elbows me from his seat next to me, giving me a look that tells me he sees right fucking through that lie. I just shake my head at him, and he goes back to looking out his window.

            “Alrighty boys… It’s fucking showtime.” Bryant throws the rig in park, alongside a bigger building that almost looks like a warehouse. We’ll be moving as a squad for several blocks before getting to the house we’ve been told is a potential weapons cache for ISIS. We all pile out of our own rig as the rest of our squad climbs out of theirs. At this point, we’ve got the routine down. Everyone knows their position on the team and what their job is today. I’ve been lucky to just function as a normal grunt on nearly every single mission. I’m hoping today is another day where I won’t be needed as a medic. We form up and move out toward our actual target.

            It’s a rundown little shack of a house. The walls are sand brown, just like everything else in this goddamn desert. From a precursory glance, there’s no movement inside the house. No lights on inside. No curtains swaying or shadows moving across the windows. If it weren’t for the fact that the street is also completely empty and quiet, you could say it’s almost peaceful. But this quiet isn’t peaceful. It’s the silence that comes right before a storm.

            The air is charged with energy. I cast a glance around to my team. Every single one of my guys is laser-focused on the task at hand, weapons not raised fully, but sitting ready if needed. Sergeant James heads the formation, holding up his hand in a closed fist, signaling to the rest of us to stop. We’ve reached the street corner opposite to the house and I can tell each one of us is holding our breath, waiting for whatever command or signal James will give us next.

            Adrenaline has started pumping through my veins. My heart is thrumming in my ears. My hands used to shake during the initial endorphin dump, but I’ve gotten used to the feeling by now. It was overwhelming the first few missions. I felt like I was back in Beacon Hills, watching the people I care about walk into some creature’s trap. The adrenaline had fueled a panicky feeling that took up residence in my chest from the moment we left the FOB to the moment we got back safely. That panic no longer feels overwhelming, but I can still feel it sitting behind my ribs; the threat of me actually having to do my job when one of my guys gets hurt.

            Franklin and Ewing have taken up positions on the roof of the building directly across the street, so they can watch our backs. I’ve got Bryant in front of me and Choi behind me, with Johnson behind him. Since our very first mission, my team has refused to let me have any position in our formations other than the center. If I think about it for too long, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside to know that they are that focused on keeping me safe.

            Sergeant James gives us another signal, telling us to shift into the next phase. We split into two smaller groups of four in order to move into the building and begin clearing it. He takes Johnson, Caldwell, and Choi with him for the initial push, while I hang back with Bryant, Gonzalez, and Pineda for the second wave. We all watch vigilantly while the first group hugs the wall and approaches the front door. Johnson is poised to kick the door in while Caldwell, Choi, and Sergeant James stay stacked against the wall, ready to rush into the room the second Johnson’s got the door open. Caldwell looks to the two behind him and they share a nod. He then looks to Johnson and takes a breath deep enough that I can see his shoulders rise and fall from where I am. He gives Johnson the final nod.

            Johnson adjusts his stance, weapon ready, and slams his right boot into the dusty door. It flies open and before we even hear the door hit the wall as it swings open, Caldwell and Choi are already in the house. The moment the full team is in the house, Sergeant James’ voice comes over the radio.

            “Alright, first floor is clear. Second team head on in and my team will head upstairs and clear the rest of the house.”

            “Roger that, S’arnt,” Bryant quips and we all follow him up to the front door. Sergeant James spots us through the door and nods to Johnson and Caldwell to head up the stairs and begin clearing the second level. The house is completely run down. The walls are crumbling, barely any paint left on them. There’s dust on every single surface, which doesn’t make sense if this house is being used on a regular basis as a weapons cache. The layout is simple, a single open room with barely any furniture. Just like outside, everything in here is some shade of beige, clearly abandoned.

Johnson is the first to make it to the stairs and as he begins to climb, a thump sounds from the second floor. He freezes in place, as does Caldwell behind him. He flicks his gaze up to the top of the stairs and then back to Sergeant James, who gives him a nod. A few of us are watching the front door, but all I can do is watch Johnson move slowly up the stairs toward whatever made that fucking noise upstairs. I know every single one of us is hoping it’s an open window and a gust of wind knocked something over, or some animal who’s taken advantage of the empty house. But we all know that the likelihood of that is slim to none. Someone is up there and whether or not they are a threat remains to be seen.

My heart feels like it’s beating in my throat as Johnson and Caldwell make it to the top of the stairs with Choi and Sergeant James tailing them. I share a quick glance with Bryant, him looking about as nauseous as I feel. The waiting is agonizing. Who the fuck is up there and why is it so goddamn quiet?

Just as that thought crosses my mind, all hell breaks loose upstairs. Several shouts filter down through the thin floor, making all of us snap our heads to the stairs. A new spike of adrenaline floods my veins as even more shouting occurs upstairs.

“You two stay down here and keep this house secure. No one else comes in this fucking house,” Bryant snaps at Gonzalez and Pineda, not even waiting for them to nod their acknowledgments before nodding at me and heading to the stairs. There’s even more shouting going on upstairs now. “What the fuck is happening up there, Sergeant?” Bryant’s voice echoes through the comms. No response comes in, which I expected.

As we hit the middle of the stairs, three gunshots ring out through the small house.

Bryant doesn’t even spare me a glance, knowing I am hot on his heals, as he tears up the rest of the staircase. The upstairs of the house is simple, just a single hallway with four doors, only one of them is open, the second door on the left. That has to be where our guys are. Please… Please let those bullets be ours… That thought is quashed the moment it enters my mind as Sergeant James calls out, both over the radio and down the hallway.

“Doc! Get your ass up here, now!” Bryant doesn’t even need me to tell him to move. He flattens himself against the wall as I barrel past him. No amount of deep breathing or training could have prepared me for the scene that greets me when I swing into the room.

Some unknown man is sprawled out on his back on the floor, having had a bullet put through his skull. There’s a fair amount of blood underneath his head and there’s what is most likely brain matter splattered on the wall behind him. There’s a second man that Sergeant James is currently handcuffing with zip ties, Choi standing near with his gun pointed directly at the man. Those two men aren’t what make me stop dead in the doorway, though.

Johnson is.

 He’s in the middle of the floor, flat on his back.

Screaming.

Caldwell has his hands pressed to Johnson’s left thigh, both of them already completely covered in blood. Johnson’s entire thigh is soaked in bright red blood. Fuck, they might have hit an artery…

“Doc!” Bryant barks from behind me, snapping me out of whatever limbo I got sucked into for a few seconds. I slip my gun from my shoulders and shove it into his hands, then pulling my aid bag from my back. Medic mode. Medic mode. Medic mode. I’m grasping for that switch in my brain, waiting for the adrenaline to kick in and for the logical part of my brain to take over so I can do my goddamn job without getting emotional over the fact that it’s Caleb bleeding in front of me.

“What the fuck happened,” I growl at Caldwell, who nearly looks green. He’s just staring at his hands that are pressed to Johnson’s leg, blood still seeping through his fingers. “Caldwell,” I bark. His head snaps up to me. His eyes are the size of golf balls and I’m not entirely convinced he’s not going to throw up.

Glancing down at his hands again, a wave of anger sweeps through me. Johnson has clearly been shot and is bleeding significantly. And yet, Caldwell hasn’t even begun to pull a tourniquet out of Johnson’s pack or even his own. I say his name again and he finally snaps out of whatever the hell is going on in his head.

“Um… we heard another noise come from this room and the door was open, so we knew they were in here.” As he speaks, I pull a tourniquet from my aid bag and move to slide it over Johnson’s boot and up his leg. Once I reach Caldwell’s hands, I nod for him to remove them and slide the tourniquet as high as I possibly can get it before Caldwell returns his hands to Johnson’s leg. Yanking the Velcro strip into place, Johnson lets out another yell. I finally look up at his face. It’s twisted up in agony and I barely recognize him.

“I know, buddy. It’s about to get worse, but I’m going to get you the fuck out of here, you hear me?” I swear I see his eyes flutter open for just a moment at the sound of my voice. I grab the windlass and twist it a full three rotations, trying my best to drown out him screaming so loud his voice gives out. Tourniquets hurt like hell on an uninjured leg. They have to be absolute agony on an injured one. But hey, in pain and alive is still fucking alive.

“You can let go now, Caldwell.” The look he gives me suggests he thinks I’ve lost my goddamn mind, but Johnson’s leg is no longer bleeding, and I need his hands out of my way. “I need you to pull your head out of your fucking ass and get out of my goddamn way, Caldwell.” He pulls his hands back but is still sitting right against Johnson’s left thigh. Exactly where I need to be. I look to Bryant, who’s been standing over my shoulder since we entered the room, and he nods to me. He moves carefully around Johnson and grabs Caldwell, hauling him over to prop him up against a wall. Bryant will check on him. Johnson needs my full attention.

            Looking to Sergeant James, who has finally secured and searched the second man, handing him off to Choi to be escorted downstairs. “Sergeant, what the fuck happened?” He fills me in as Bryant and I work to pull Johnson’s helmet and body armor off of him.

            The two men were posted up in this room, waiting for the first team. They entered the room and the man that is now dead on the floor had pulled an AK-47 on them. The first shouting we heard was Sergeant James telling him to lower his weapon. The man refused. James asked him again, but the man fired off two shots before Choi was able to drop him. Two shots. Fuck. Johnson might be hit somewhere else.

            And sure enough, when Bryant tugs his body armor off, there’s a splotch of blood blooming across the outside of his right pec. As Bryant helps me lift him up to remove his blouse and t-shirt, another splotch of blood just under his right scapula. A breath of relief rushes out of me at the sight of it. A through and through shot. Thank god. If there was no exit wound, Johnson would be in much worse shape. Bullets love to ricochet around the body and tear you apart from the inside out.

            Bryant helps me keep Johnson sitting upright so I can wipe the blood off his back. Pulling a chest seal out of my aid bag, I rip the packaging open with my teeth. Using some gauze, I wipe the blood away again and line the chest seal up with the exit wound. Thankfully, these wounds don’t seem to be bleeding too much. I nod to Bryant, who eases Johnson back into a lying position. I pull the second seal from the package and repeat the process with the wound on the front of his chest.

            Johnson is still crying out, but at least that tells me he’s still breathing okay. He’s writhing on the floor, muscles straining against the pain. Bryant has already gotten his boots off and I pull out my trauma sheers to to cut open Johnson’s pant leg. I need a clear visual of just how bad this wound is and if it really is an arterial bleed.

            Once I’ve got it wiped mostly clean, I can see that it’s a clean wound just like his chest. The bullet went through the meat of his outer thigh, away from his femoral artery. My breath moves in and out of my lungs a little easier as I realize that it isn’t an arterial bleed. The wound is about midway up his thigh, just to the left of centerline. An inch or two to the right and he would have ended up with a shattered femur.

            After replacing the original tourniquet with a new one placed properly on his leg instead of high and tight nearly at his hip, I pull the supplies I’ll need for an IV.  Now that I’ve got his bleeding controlled, the tightness in my chest is easing even more. He’s going to make it out of here. He’s going to make it home. The mantra plays on repeat in the back of my mind as I place his IV, get fluids pumping into him as well as a clotting factor and pain medication. As soon as I push the pain meds, his screams start to shift to groans until he goes completely quiet. I gave him enough to knock him out entirely. He doesn’t need to be awake through getting him out of this stupid fucking house and transporting him back to the FOB.

            I finish my assessment of him, making sure that he doesn’t have any other injures, which he thankfully does not. Once I’m finished, Bryant helps me carry him carefully down the stairs and place him on the litter that’s waiting for us. The rest of the team is all standing in this room, staring at me, waiting.

            “He got shot twice,” I start, causing several of the guys to suck in breaths. “But, they were both through and through so they’re pretty straight forward wounds. He got hit in the leg as you can see,” I state, pointing to the pressure bandage now wrapped around Johnson’s thigh in place of the tourniquet. “He also got hit in the chest, but it was on the right side so nowhere near his heart. I think it might have hit his lung, but with the way he was screaming, it didn’t seem like he was having a hard time breathing.” Several of the guys wince.

            Sergeant James claps me on the shoulder and gives me a nod. The rest of the guys follow suit and two of them move to get Johnson out to one of the rigs. I’m able to take a full breath for the first time since we left the FOB this morning.

I did it.

One of my team got hurt, and badly, and I did my job. I saved Johnson’s life.

I did it. I fucking did it.

Relief floods through me, causing me to sag against the nearest wall with my hands on my knees. Someone clears their throat and I startle a bit, thinking everyone had headed out to the rigs already. I look up to see Caldwell standing in the middle of the room, hands hanging at his sides. Hands that are still completely covered in Johnson’s blood. The sight of my best friend’s blood soaking his skin and his pants reignites the burning fury I felt for a short moment upstairs.

Caldwell hadn’t put a tourniquet on Johnson, hadn’t even thought to get one out. Sergeant James and Choi were too busy securing the second man to help, but I know they would have done it if they’d been able to. They would have known what to do. What if I had taken longer to get upstairs? Johnson would have bled out on the floor while Caldwell just sat there and let it happen.

I push away from the wall, trying to tamp down the blinding rage taking over me. He clears his throat again, clearly preparing to say something. I whip around to face him and he flinches. Good.

“You got something to say, Caldwell?” My voice is practically a growl as it rips out of me. He flinches again.

“Uh… yeah. I uh…” he stumbles over his words, opening and closing his fists. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I got in your way today and it could have cost us Johnson.” Now I am fully seeing red.

“You’re apologizing because you got in my fucking way?” He nods, keeping his eyes on his boots. “You think I’m pissed because you got in my way?”

He looks up at me now, confusion written all over his face. He nods again.

“No, Caldwell. I’m not angry because you got in my way.” My voice has lowered to barely a whisper as I try to keep it from shaking with rage. His shoulders sag in relief. He thinks he’s in the clear. I can’t even look at him. He hasn’t the slightest clue what he did. “I’m pissed because you completely failed him today.”

“I…” Caldwell starts, then opens and closes his mouth several times. He glances down at his hands and balls them into fists. I’m fairly certain they’re shaking. “I know I did. I should have… I don’t know what I should have done, but I know I messed up.”

“Do you?” I spit. He takes a step toward me and it snaps something in me. Before I even realize whatI’m doing, I have him backed up against a wall with my forearm across his neck.

“Johnson almost fucking died today. He was laying on the floor bleeding out and it didn’t occur to you to maybe put a fucking tourniquet on his leg?” I snarl. His face actually goes pale at that. Wow… he really didn’t know what he did could have killed Johnson.  “We almost sent him home in a fucking pine box because you decided not to pay attention when I was teaching you how to save someone’s fucking life. What would have happened if I wasn’t there? Johnson would be dead, and it would be your fault. Your. Fault.”

A hand grabs onto my shoulder and pulls me away from Caldwell.

“That’s enough, Doc,” Sergeant James says. Just like that, all the anger whooshes out of my body like a deflating balloon. All of the adrenaline pumping through my system has finally run out. I feel like I could collapse on this floor, but James wraps an arm around my shoulder and tows me toward the door. “Johnson is all secure in the rig. Go. We need to get back to the FOB and get him to our surgeon. Let’s go.”

I let him lead me to the truck they’ve loaded Johnson into and climb up next to him. I do all of my rechecks and find nothing wrong. Choi starts up the truck and nods to me before we make our way back to the FOB.

            As we roll back through the front gate of the FOB, I check Johnson over one last time, making sure I have a complete report for whatever doctor is waiting for us. The truck rocks as we pull to a stop in front of the main medical building. There’s a flurry of activity outside, the base having received the radio report from us during our drive back. I take a deep breath and try to flip the switch back on. My hands have started shaving and I can feel the adrenaline crash looming. Johnson is safe and alive. He’s alive. He’s not out of the woods yet though. A lot can still happen. We may have a trauma surgeon here, but what if it’s something that can’t be fixed? What if the surgeon makes a mistake and he finally bleeds out? How is he going to survive the insanely long flight back to the States? I can still lose him…

            The back of the truck finally gets thrown open, snapping me out of my spiral. Several soldiers from another platoon rush at us and pull the litter out of the back. They move to carry him inside, but panic rises in my throat at the idea of him being out of my sight. I move to the guy carrying one end of the litter and pat him on the shoulder.

            “I’ve got it, my guy. Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my voice even as I can. We bring him inside and set the litter on a rack next to a simple bed. Dr. Harold is waiting for us, already directing a couple of soldiers to grab supplies. He nods to me and I give him a run-down of what happened and what interventions I did.

            “Sounds like you did a great job. And saved his life. He owes you one.” He gets to work and I feel a hand at my elbow, tugging me toward the door.

            “Let ‘em work, Doc,” Bryant mutters as he pulls me outside. As if he can sense the wave of panic threatening to completely consume me the second the hot, dry air hits my lungs, he tows me around the corner and away from prying eyes. “Breathe, Stilinski. Johnson is alive. You saved him. He’s going to get to go home to his family in one piece… because of you.”

            My knees threaten to give out as I try to suck air into my lungs. The air is too hot and cloying to bring me any comfort. God, I was so fucking close to losing him… A single delay in me getting upstairs would have cost me my best friend. I can’t pull in enough air, my lungs refusing to expand. My heart rate is pounding in my ears. My palms are starting to sweat.

            “Doc, hey. It’s going to be okay.” Fuck, Bryant sounds scared. I’m scaring him because I can’t keep my shit together like I’m supposed to. His hand falls on my shoulder and I try to focus on the contact and let it ground me. I am trained for this. I am trained for this.

            You are trained for this.

            Derek’s voice rings out in my head, taking me by surprise. Suddenly the hand on my shoulder is his, a mirror of my hand on his shoulder the night we lost Boyd. The weight constricting my ribs lessens and I’m able to suck in a bigger breath. I squeeze my eyes shut and I let his voice wrap around me. It settles me and allows my breath to return back to normal, my heart rate evening back out. Bryant can clearly see that I am calming down and pats my back.

            “Thanks, Bryant. Adrenaline just got the best of me.” He gives me a look that tells me he knows I’m lying, but doesn’t say anything. “We should probably go find the team, huh? Debrief and all.”

            Johnson is on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own blood. My hands are slick on the tourniquet as I try to tighten it. Bright red blood is pulsing out of the wound in his leg, the tourniquet doing absolutely nothing to staunch the flow. He’s screaming so loud my ears are ringing. I keep twisting the tourniquet, but the blood doesn’t stop.

It’s too much blood… It’s too much. He won’t survive this.

His screaming sputters out as he begins to cough up blood. The bright red liquid dribbles down his chin as he tries to say something to me. The words come out garbled. He coughs again and I’m finally able to understand what he said as his eyes go blank and the breath leaves his body.

“Your fault.”

I bolt upright in bed, panting and covered in sweat. My heart is thundering in my chest. It was a dream. It was just a dream. Johnson is alive and headed back home safely. He’s okay, I remind myself.

The sweat on my hands makes them feel slick and a little too much like blood. Bright red flashes from my palms in my lap for a second before the sleep finally clears from my eyes. My thumb subconsciously sweeps over my palm, trying to wipe away the red stains my eyes can’t see.

It’s been a month since Johnson got flown out of here, back to Shindand Air Base and onto the American military hospital in Germany. He had a couple surgeries to stabilize him enough to make the ten hour flight back to the States. He’s been at Walter Reed recovering since then. We’ve gotten several updates on his condition and he is expected to make a full recovery. His shoulder has healed completely. His leg is taking longer to rehabilitate due to a minor muscle and a couple tendons being snapped by the bullet.

He called us on video last week and he looks happy and healthy. The relief threatened to overwhelm me seeing him sitting there, smiling and laughing. We’ve only got two months left over here before we head back, but he keeps telling us he’s nearly back to normal and will be meeting up with us soon. We all laugh, but he never notices the worried look we all give each other. He barely survived the first time, and we are all too aware of that fact.

It’s been a month since Johnson got flown out of here, and I’ve had the same nightmare every single night since he left. He’s lying on that floor, bleeding out. No matter what I do, he’s dying. I can’t save him. I can’t save him. I can’t save him. He’s bleeding out in front of my eyes and as he dies… he tells me it’s my fault. Every night for the last month, I’ve woken up panting and drenched in sweat. The feeling of his blood sticky on my palms.

I know he’s safe. I know he’s going to be perfectly healthy again and will just have a couple cool scars and a story to tell. I did save him. I did my fucking job and he got out of here safe… but the what ifs hang over me like a storm cloud. I know the rest of the team can tell that something’s up with me, but they gave up asking if I’m okay after I snapped a few weeks ago that I am fine and to stop fucking worrying about me.

I’ve had nightmares before. After dealing with the aftermath of waking up the Nemiton and the Nogitsune, nightmares are nothing new to me. Though, those ones were terrifying because I didn’t know what was happening or why. This nightmare is different because it’s not me who’s hurting. It’s Caleb.

I know my dad and Derek are worried, too. I missed my call with my dad this week because a movie we had been watching made images of Johnson’s blood flash through my head like a slideshow. I’d ducked out of the recreation building and my phone rang. I couldn’t very well answer the phone on the brink of tears without terrifying my dad, so I just didn’t answer. I had told him I was too busy to talk this week and would call next week, but I don’t know if I will.

I’ve been avoiding Derek’s calls altogether since it happened. The idea of him asking how I am, if I’m okay, is too much for me to bear. I’ve broken enough and if I talk to Derek, the walls and dams I have carefully crafted around the incident will crumble. I can’t let my team see me cry and if I talk to Derek about almost losing Johnson, I know he’ll be understanding and perfect and I’ll probably not be able to stop crying once I start.

I’ll be home soon anyway. I’ll talk to them and explain then.

            “You ready for tomorrow, Doc?” Caldwell quips from his bunk next to me. My aid bag has been organized and repacked, like always. I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’m sitting here cleaning my weapon because Johnson isn’t here to do it for me.

            “Yep. You?” He nods and doesn’t continue the conversation. The guys know I never feel like chatting much the night before missions now. We’ve still been running them weekly, and I don’t sleep the night before. Staring at the ceiling of the tent above my bunk all night the night before a mission has becoming as much a part of my pre-mission routine as redoing my aid bag is.

            Bryant claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes my bunk and gives me a knowing nod. He’s watched me closely since Johnson left and knows the night before missions are hard for me, anxiety flooding my system.

            Slipping the bolt carrier back into the upper receiver of my weapon and sliding it shut, I hook the sling over a post at the foot of my bed. I’m completely prepared for tomorrow and yet, the anxiety rolling through me compels me to check my aid bag for the third time to ensure I’m not missing anything.

            A few hours later, as I’m staring a hole through the ceiling, the feeling that I forgot something from my bag is eating through me. Something is telling me I don’t have everything I need, despite the fact that I did my full check twice and nothing was out of sorts. It’s just anxiety from what happened with Johnson. It’s just anxiety.

            Shots are ringing out around us. I’m crouched behind the front wheel of one of our rigs, half of my team having screamed at me to stay fucking put. Our second truck is parked about fifty meters ahead of the one I’m hiding behind. Caldwell and Ewing are crouched in positions mirroring my own, popping up every few seconds to fire several rounds into the series of alleys across from us.

            We had pulled into this small open square, surrounded by small beige buildings and several narrow alleys, looking to do one last sweep through this area before heading back to the FOB. The last thing we expected to find was several insurgents hiding in said alleyways, waiting for us to step out of the safety of our trucks before they started firing.

Franklin was caught in the shoulder with a bullet and dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks. I had scrambled to swing my aid bag onto my shoulders and was ready to sprint out in front of their truck to drag him back to safety. Bryant had held me back and motioned for Caldwell and Ewing to grab him.

“You’re too fucking important to send out there, Doc. Franklin needs you,” Bryant had said to me. It made sense, but every medic instinct that had been brainwashed into me was screaming at the fact that he was lying on the ground, bleeding and screaming, and I wasn’t immediately sprinting to help him.

Thankfully, the two of them had been able to grab him under cover fire by the rest of my team. They had drug him behind the first truck and propped him up against the rear tire. Caldwell’s gaze had snapped to mine as they settled him down, his hands immediately reaching for the small first aid kit on Franklin’s belt and pulling out a tourniquet. He had placed it perfectly, as high on Franklin’s arm as possible and tight as hell.

My team has spent the last five minutes in a fire fight with whoever the fuck is in that alley, but they seem to be gaining control of the situation. Sure enough, both Caldwell and Ewing move from their spot behind the truck forward into the square, followed by a few of our other team members. The shooting has nearly come to a stop and I peak around the front of my own rig to verify that they’ve got enough cover for me to get over to Franklin safely. He may not be bleeding anymore, but he still needs me.

Taking a deep breath and schooling my nerves, I shift from my knees to my feet and prepare to sprint across the gap between the vehicles. I’ve it about ten meters when a small, round rock comes bouncing into the gap between us.

Oh fuck.

It’s not a rock.

It’s a grenade.

Before my brain can fully process what’s happening, it feels like the world ends. The loudest noise I’ve ever heard hits my ear drums so hard, all I can hear is a high pitched whine. As the noise hits me, a wall of wind knocks me onto my back. Sand and something metallic coat my tongue. The dust is so thick around us that I can’t see through it.

As the ringing in my ears settles slightly, other noises start to work their way back to me. More gunshots are ringing out. Several people are yelling. Someone else is letting out an awful, wet, garbled screech of pain.

Then, a wave of agony so intense it makes my head swim hits me all at once. My right lower leg feels like it is on fire. It burns. My weight shifts as I move to sit up and a stab of pain shoots up the entire length of my leg, causing me to cry out. Fuck, something is wrong.

The dust starts to settle and the scene before me starts to become clearer. It’s mayhem. There’s debris everywhere, a small crater lays just over halfway between this truck and the other. Another blood-curdling scream momentarily drowns out the ringing in my ears.

Franklin.

My eyes find him, still halfway hidden by the rear tire of the truck, but his upper body is no longer covered since he is slumped over onto his side. He’s bleeding a hell of a lot more than he was fifteen seconds ago. I can see a few pieces of metal embedded into his legs, a couple sticking out of his body armor. He’s writhing on the ground, his screams nearly echoing they’re so loud. It dissolves into wet coughing as blood spews out of his mouth.

I have to get to him. I have to get to him. I need to do my job. My team needs me.

I try to get up to move to him, but that pain in my right leg is getting sharper and more intense by the second. I can barely breathe with how much it hurts. I know I shouldn’t, but I cast a glance down. Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t have looked… A gnarled piece of metal is sticking out of the outside of my calf, about half way down. The metal isn’t what makes my vision go black at the edges, though. It’s the fact that there’s a bloody bone sticking out of my leg and that my foot is at a slightly odd angle.

Another on of my Franklin’s screams snaps my attention back to him. Fuck, I can’t get to him. I can’t move. He needs me and I can’t get to him. The edges of my vision keep going fuzzy, then black, then back to normal. My head is swimming. My entire body hurts, but every instinct is telling me that I need to get to Franklin and fucking do something.

He’s rolled onto his side and even further away from the truck. No, he needs to be behind cover. Someone needs to get him behind cover. His scream devolves into a bloody cough, red dripping out of the corner of his mouth and across his cheek to mix with the sand and dirt.

“Franklin!” My voice breaks on his name, but his eyes snap to me. His pretty blue eyes that are streaked with blood and tears. He reaches his uninjured hand out toward me and I think it might give me the strength to get to him.

I don’t get the chance.

Just as his hand reaches out, a bullet finds its way through his skull, leaving those blue eyes to stare blankly at me. His hand falls to the dirt, his screaming finally quiet.

“Fuck, Doc! I’ve got you, what do I do?” Bryant’s voice tears my gaze away from Franklin, but those blue eyes will be the only thing I ever see when I close my eyes. I manage to flick my gaze back toward the truck and he gets what I’m trying to say. He apologizes twice and hooks his arms under my armpits. Pain so sharp and hot rips through me as he drags me back to the front tire of the truck, making my vision go white.

He pulls a tourniquet out of my aid bag and looks to me. I grit my teeth and nod. I have a compound fracture and I’m definitely bleeding, my medic brain supplies. A tourniquet is what I need, but I don’t think I’ll make it through the process of getting it on. He loops it under my knee, sending another jolt of pain searing up my leg.

“I’m really, really sorry about this, Doc…” he mutters quietly, before starting to twist the windlass of the tourniquet to tighten it just above my knee. My vision once again goes fuzzy at the edges, then black.

Then, the world goes quiet and dark.

            “Stilinski, you with us?” The voice swims through darkness to find me. What is that fucking ringing? Why do I feel like I’m moving through molasses? Why does that voice sound so far away, but so close?

            I hear my name again and I’m finally able to crack my eyes open. Too bright fluorescent lights make me slam my eyes back shut. My head is pounding and my mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. I blink my eyes open again, squinting in the light. I’m propped up in a bed, a beige blanket covering one of my legs, an ace wrap completely incasing the other. There’s an IV line in my left arm. There’s a ringing fading in and out somewhere. No, not somewhere. In my ears.

            What the fuck happened?

            “There ya are, Doc. We were wondering how long you’d be out,” Sergeant James pats my uninjured leg. He must read the confusion on my face because he gives me a rundown of my injuries and what happened yesterday. Yeah, it’s already tomorrow. Apparently, after I passed out, I stayed knocked out until they got me back to the FOB, where I was then drugged up so they could fix my leg.

            “What…” my voice cracks, throat feeling like sandpaper. He hands me a plastic cup of water, which I sip. “What happened to Franklin?” The slightly hopeful look on his face immediately falls.

            “He was killed in action. Bullet to the head.” Those blue eyes flash in my head, blood running over them, his hand reaching out to me. “Doc, there’s nothing you or anyone could have done. A shot to the head is final and even if that hadn’t happened, based on his other injuries the doctor said he wouldn’t have made it anyway…” I’ve never heard Sergeant James’ voice this soft. It makes my head swim again.

            My eyes slip closed as those images of Franklin’s last moments flash across the inside of my eyelids like a movie. He had spent his last moments literally reaching out to me for help and I failed him. I failed him. I failed my team and Franklin and his family. I swore to myself I’d get my team home to their families and now one of them is going home in a pine box. A wave of nausea rolls over me, sweat breaking out across my skin.

            Franklin is dead.

            “We’re sending him home tomorrow. You’ll be on the same flights with him,” James says quietly. “You’ll be with him, so he won’t be going home alone.” His voice waivers and I open my eyes to see his watering. He clears his throat and tells me that he’ll tell the rest of the guys I’m awake and okay. As he leaves, the surgeon walks up to me. He looks exhausted.

            “Hey, Sir. Thanks for patching me up,” I say, trying to give him a smile, but only managing a slight lift of the corners of my mouth.

            “Just doing my job. Did he tell you about your injuries at all?” I shake my head and he nods. “Okay, well, as I’m sure you’re aware, you broke your leg. A compound fracture of your tibia and an incomplete fracture of your fibula. We were able to mostly put the pieces back together, but I suspect that you’ll need another surgery or two once you get back Stateside. I’m no Ortho surgeon. You also got one hell of a concussion and I am very surprised your ear drums didn’t rupture.” Ah, that would be why my ears keep ringing on and off. And why my head is absolutely throbbing.

            “Stilinski, there isn’t really an easy way to say this… but I wouldn’t be surprised if they push for your medical separation, considering the severity of your concussion. Your leg will probably take a while to heal, as well. The shrapnel partially tore through your calf muscle. You’ll need some physical therapy.”

His words feel like they float in one ear and out the other. None of their meaning truly settles into me after he says that they are going to push for my separation. I’ve only been in for just under two years, not even half of my contract. I can’t be done. I finally found something I’m good at and they’re going to try and take it from me.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. Tomorrow, you’ll be flying back. I imagine they’ll have you stop in Germany to check on your injuries before you head to Walter Reed for your recovery. As far as I know, your team member who was injured a few months ago is still there, so at least you will know someone there.” The panic blooming in my chest eases just slightly at his words. Johnson. I’ll be in the same place as Johnson again. “Get some rest, Stilinski. We’ll let you know what the details are for tomorrow a little later.”

With that, he pats my shoulder and leaves me to my thoughts. I’m going home. I’m going home to see Johnson. My Army career might be ending right before my eyes, but at least I get to see my friend.

            My heart is thrumming in my ears. My hands are shaking and sweating. All I can focus on is how sticky my hands feel. I keep opening and closing my fists, but I can’t shake the feeling of blood on my palms. The truck I’m in is rumbling its way back to Shindand Airbase, so that I can catch my flight to Germany. Well… we’re catching our flight. Franklin and I. My team fills the rest of this truck and the one behind us. They went out of their way to get special permission to escort us back to the Airbase. They wanted to be there to put Franklin on his plane home.

            We arrive at the gate and pull through, heading right to the air strip. There is a C130 plane sitting on the tarmac, waiting for us with its back hatch open. Our truck pulls right up to the back of it and rolls to a stop.

            Choi looks at me and gives me a weak smile. No one has said much today. I know the guys are sad to see me go home, but my departure is completely overshadowed by the fact that I’ll be accompanied by a pine box with a flag covering it. My chest feels hallow in a way I haven’t felt since my mom died. I haven’t taken an unhindered breath since I woke up two days ago. There’s only one thought that’s been on repeat in my mind, like a broken record.

            I should be in a box, too.

            I’ve felt my fair share of survivor’s guilt after dealing with everything in Beacon Hills. Losing Erica and Boyd. Nearly losing Derek more than once. Nearly losing Scott. It’s not a new feeling, but it’s never felt this… crushing. Survivor’s guilt feels different when it’s your fault the person is gone.

            Bryant snaps me out of my thoughts as he opens my door and hands me my crutches. He’s got my duffle on his shoulders and my backpack in his other hand. He gives me the same sad smile Choi just gave me and it makes me want to yell at him. It’s only been a few days, but I am already tired of people looking at me with pity.

            “Fix your face, Bryant.” His eyes snap up to meet mine and he gives me another pitying look. “I mean it, dude. Stop looking at me like you feel bad for me. It’s a broken leg, I’ll fucking live.”

            “Sorry, Doc. We’re all just going to miss you around here,” he says, his face telling me how much of a lie it is. “Say hi to Johnson for us, will you?”

            “Of course. I’ll throw a punch just for you.” That earns me a small laugh and that sad look finally leaves his face.

            The two of us move to the back of the truck and my breath catches in my throat as I see the rest of our team moving to pull Franklin out of the back of the rig. I hear Bryant blow out a breath next to me. Two lines of soldiers stand at attention leading up to the back of the plane. They’re waiting for us. For Franklin. I’ve been trying to prepare myself for the reality of this little ceremonial send-off, but standing here ready to walk onto this plane is something I could never be ready for.

            The rest of our team, the ones not carrying the flag-covered box, fall in line with the rest of the soldiers. Bryant and I find our place at the end of the line, nearest to the plane. We’re called to attention and I do my best to follow the command, even with my crutches. As our team carries him onto the plane, each soldier salutes Franklin and I try to hold back the wall of emotion threatening to consume me. I can’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

            Once that portion is finished, the rest of the soldiers clear out, giving our team space and privacy. We’re all standing here, no one saying anything. I don’t think anyone knows what to say. One team member is going home because he broke his leg and the other is going home in a box. How does one handle this goodbye? Even I’m not sure what to say to my guys.

            “Thanks for taking care of us, Doc,” Choi breaks the silence. He moves forward and claps a hand on my shoulder. The rest of the team follows suit, all giving me thanks and saying their goodbyes. As I move to get settled in my seat, propping my injured leg up on a travel pillow I found, the team starts to trickle into the back of the plane. I watch with my eyes and throat burning as each one of my guys goes up to the flag and places their hand on it. I don’t hear anything they say, but over half of them are wiping their eyes when they walk away.

            We say our final goodbyes and the fight crew gets the plane ready for our seven-hour journey back to Germany. I won’t be staying there for more than a layover. Part of me wishes I was, but the other part of me is glad that I’ll be with Franklin the whole way home. I don’t want him to be alone, as silly as it sounds.

            As we take off, my thoughts start to swirl. This isn’t how I was supposed to go home. I’m supposed to have my team with me. We’re all supposed to be going home together, safe. But one of my teammates is already back stateside with an injury I couldn’t prevent. Another team member’s body is in a box 20 feet away from me. The rest of my team is getting left behind. All I can think about is my team having to continue on without me. Someone will get hurt and I won’t be there to make sure they’re safe. I can’t lose another teammate. I can’t.

            Thankfully, the noise of the plane soon drowns out my thoughts and lulls me into a fitful sleep. I don’t know what will happen when I get home, but maybe I can use the endless flights I’ll be on to figure it out. Figure out my next move. How to convey to my pack and my dad that I’m okay. How to tell Derek that I’m okay.

            Just… come home to us.

            Derek’s voice echoes through my dreams. Well, I’m coming home. Though I’m not sure if I’m coming home entirely in one piece…

Chapter Text

The last couple months have been… brutal. To say the least. I spent a month at Walter Reed recovering after having two additional surgeries on my leg. Apparently, I did a really good job of nearly completely shattering my tibia. The orthopedic surgeon showed me my x-rays and even after a decent resetting procedure the doctor overseas did, it was completely wrecked. I’ve now got a three-inch long titanium plate keeping my leg held together. It’ll probably be there forever.

            That month at Walter Reed was both perfect and completely miserable. Johnson was my saving grace during those weeks. Seeing him nearly every day kept the nightmares I’d been having since he left Afghanistan at a minimum. We got into a routine of working on our physical therapy together. Seeing him every day reminded me that he made it out alive, that we both did.

            Giving him the rundown of everything that happened after he left took several tries. I knew the rest of our team had told him what happened with Franklin, but I also knew he wanted to hear it from me. He got it in his head that me talking about it would help me, but I’m still not so sure. Talking about it made me feel like my rib cage was being ripped open. Like someone was scooping my lungs out of my chest with a rusty spoon. He’d been patient and sat with me while I fumbled through the story.

            As soon as I had arrived at Walter Reed and often through my surgeries, I’d met with a doctor that had started the process for my medical separation. Apparently, having a metal plate permanently fused to the bones in your leg isn’t conducive to completing a military contract. You get one concussion and some hearing damage and suddenly you’re no longer fit for duty.

They also made me meet with a psychiatrist to evaluate me for PTSD. I had nearly laughed when they brought it up. I’d given them a very quick rundown of what had happened with Johnson and Franklin while feeling like I was completely separate from my body. The psychiatrist had then asked if I was sleeping well or having any nightmares. I’d scoffed and he had looked at me with such deep concern, then stopped and written on his little notebook for nearly a minute before turning back to me. Which you always know is good… when the doctor evaluating if you’re traumatized or not writes a damn novel about you.

So, here I am. Three months and a PTSD diagnosis later. After spending two months at Fort Lewis basically twiddling my thumbs and waiting for my separation process to end. A few weeks ago, I finally got word that all of my evaluations were completed and I got my date for finally going home.

I’m going home.

Back to Beacon Hills. Back to the pack. Back to my dad. Back to Derek…

I’ve barely spoken to the pack since I got back stateside. The calls with my dad have resumed, only because he threatened to call my command if I didn’t start talking to him. Leave it to my dad to result to threats. My phone is full of unanswered messages from the whole pack. Scott has all but given up on trying to get me to talk to him. I want to talk to him, I do, but I feel like the part of me that used to fit in with the pack no longer exists. I’m fairly certain it’s laying somewhere in the dirt and sand of that fucking desert.

I’m going home. Tomorrow. And I am terrified of what will meet me when I step off that plane. When I left for the Army, my future was laid out in front of me, full of opportunities and promise. Now? I have no idea what my future holds. It’s yawning in front of me, like a dark, endless cave.

            The water is cold enough to make my teeth start chattering, but my breath won’t return to normal. My hands are shaking, rubbed red and raw from trying to scrub the sticky feeling from them. Franklin’s screams still echo around my skull. My ears haven’t stopped ringing since I startled out of sleep twenty minutes ago. Images flash through my mind, blurring my vision.

            Icy blue eyes, wide and unseeing.

            Blood covering my hands, hot and slick.

            Turning the water as cold as it will go, the icy spray makes my breath finally stall in my lungs. It’s the only way I’ve found so far that can shock me out of the fog that my nightmares leave me in. An old trick I used to use when I got panic attacks after my mom died. Something about resetting your nervous system by releasing endorphins. All I know is the cold is usually enough to snap me out of it.

            I switch the water off, throwing the shower curtain open and grabbing my towel off the rack. My entire body is trembling, both from the cold water and from the adrenaline finally working its way out of my system. I check my phone and it tells me that it’s 4:06am. I rarely sleep past four or five in the morning these days. I’m not sure if it’s because I just got used to being awake so early or if the ghosts in my dreams keep me from trying to go back to sleep. I haven’t looked too closely at it.

            Returning to my room, I flick my lamp on my bedside table on and pull a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out. I quickly dress and rub the towel through my hair one more time. Sighing loudly, I glance around my childhood room. It looks exactly the same as it did when I left nearly two years ago. My dad didn’t change a single thing.

When I got back, he had immediately shot down the idea of me moving anywhere but back into my old room. He’s barely let me out of his sight since I got back, which I understand, but it’s felt a little suffocating. Worry is clear on his face whenever he looks at me, though it’s mixed with relief. I know he’s beyond happy to have me home, but I don’t think he knows what to do with me. It feels like we’re both walking on eggshells. He’s too afraid to ask and I definitely won’t be trauma-dumping on my dad.

The guilt of avoiding him is starting to take its toll, but I can’t handle that look in his eye. The look of him wanting to ask if I‘m okay for the millionth time. The look I haven’t seen since everything with the Nogitsune happened.

I haven’t told him I found a one-bedroom apartment I’ll be moving into in two weeks yet. I’m not sure how. But I can’t take being around him when he keeps treating me like I’m going to break if he asks me a single question. I need my own space and my own routine back. I need something that’s mine.

After dressing, I quietly pad down the stairs to start a pot of coffee. The world is still dark outside, the neighborhood completely silent. It’s too silent. Between living in the barracks and being overseas, I grew accustomed to constant noise. In the barracks, someone was always coming and going, stomping loudly down the hallways. Overseas, we slept in tents which block out exactly no noise. A camel spider could have run past in the sand outside and you’d probably be able to hear its footsteps. I had to buy a fan for my room upstairs two days after I got home when I discovered just how quiet my dad’s house is.

Silence means being alone with my thoughts. Silence means everything from the past six months comes flooding to the forefront of my brain.

My new apartment is much closer to downtown Beacon Hills and is guaranteed to be louder most of the time. It’s in a larger complex with neighbors and bigger roads running past. I need those sounds of cars and people. I know my dad probably won’t understand, but he’ll let me go. He’ll let me do what I need to do.

            Music vibrates through my bones as I lean up against the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice me and give me a refill. The Jungle is dark and hot enough to make sweat roll down my spine even though I haven’t made it to the dance floor yet. It’s absolutely packed, which had honestly surprised me, given that it’s Wednesday. I hadn’t expected to see such a crowd, but I can’t say I’m not thankful.

            Two months ago, shortly after I had moved into my apartment, I had needed a distraction on a particularly bad night. Memories of Franklin had threatened to drown me. My hands felt sticky and hot. My breath felt like it was caught in my lungs. Two cold showers and a stiff drink later, my phone was in my hand with a text from Danny saying he could easily sneak me into Beacon Hills’ favorite gay bar.

            After scrambling out of my Uber and meeting Danny at the back door, I had felt some of the pressure ease off of my ribs when the overwhelmingly loud music began to drown out the ringing in my ears. With each drink that I retrieved from bar, the flashes of blue eyes and echoes of screams had faded into blissful numbness.

            Numb enough to let a handsome, dark-haired stranger pull me onto the dance floor. His hands had felt warm and heavy on my waist as he pressed in behind me. The desire that had flooded my system nearly overwhelmed me. I hadn’t realized just how desperate for touch I had been until I was connected with another person from shoulder to knee.

Those strong hands had led me in a rhythm that matched the music. At one point I felt lips brush against the back of my neck, a hint of stubble making me shiver. I had wanted those gorgeous lips on mine, had wanted them everywhere. Spinning in his arms, wanting to chase those lips and stare into those perfect green eyes, I wrapped my arms around his neck. But the eyes that met mine weren’t that perfect shade of jade green. They were a brown so dark they were nearly black. The moment my brain realized that the man wasn’t Derek, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over my head.

Following my realization that I had been dancing with a stranger while imagining it was Derek had me fleeing the dance floor under the guise of having to pee. I didn’t even give the man the chance to respond before I was heading off the dance floor and toward the back door.

When I awoke the next morning, the first feeling that washed over me was guilt. I had gone to a bar and danced with a complete stranger who had clearly been interested in me. And all I had done was think about Derek. I was sitting in bed, trying to come to terms with the fact that I had used that poor guy as an instrument to my fantasies when I realized something else.

It was the first night since the day Johnson was shot that I hadn’t been thrown out of sleep by a nightmare.

            Since that first time at The Jungle, it has become something of a routine on nights when I feel like I’m drowning. The nights when my hands feel sticky with blood, even after I’ve scrubbed them nearly raw. The nights when my empty apartment feels suffocatingly quiet. The nights when my ears ring so badly that I want to claw them off my head. The nights when I wouldn’t be able to find sleep with a map and a flashlight.

            So, here I am, propped up against the bar. Images are still flashing behind my eyes every time I blink, but hopefully with another drink, they’ll start to go fuzzy. I set my hands on the edge of the bar, leaning forward to catch the bartender's eye. I immediately regret touching the bar at all when something sticky coats the palm of my left hand, threatening to send me into a spiral. It’s just whatever sticky drink someone spilled on the bar. It’s not blood. It’s not blood. It’s not blood, I tell myself as I frantically wipe my palm on my jeans.

            “Hey, this is from that guy,” the bartender says as he sets a bright blue drink in front of me. He nods toward the other end of the bar where a blonde man is standing, smirking at me. When our eyes meet, he gives me a little wave. He’s handsome, if not a bit average. I pick up the drink and tip it toward him, giving him a nod of thanks.

Apparently, he takes that as an invitation because he starts moving toward me. I’m not particularly in the mood to entertain another person, but if he wants to buy me a drink, who am I to say no?

“Hey handsome…” he drawls as he slides up next to me. Taking a long sip of my drink, I prepare to let him down easily. As I turn toward him, our gazes meet and my words die in my throat.

Staring back at me are eyes the exact shade of Franklin’s.

His unseeing eyes as he slumps onto the ground. His screams still echoing through the air. My ears ringing from the explosion. Pain tearing through my leg as I try to get to him. But I can’t get to him. I can’t… I can’t.

“Hey, dude, are you okay?” A hand on my shoulder startles me out of my flashbacks. That’s when I realize that I’ve been staring at this blonde man, nearly panting, with what is probably a panicked look in my eye. He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Did you take something?” I shrug his hand off my shoulder with a muttered apology and snatch my drink off the bar. Another sip reminds me just how strong this drink is. Good.

I take deep pulls through the straw, focusing on the burn of the alcohol as it flows down my throat. I let the pain pull my attention and start to settle the throbbing behind my ribs. A warmth blooms behind my sternum and the quiet begins to seep in, dulling the panic. Franklin’s eyes slowly fade back to the blue eyes of that blonde stranger.

            Scott: Pack night tonight! We’re going to order Chinese food and watch some movies. See you there, dude.

            Derek: Movie night, pack misses you.

            Lydia: Please don’t make me be the sole voice of reason for choosing movies tonight… <3

            It’s probably a good thing I have ADHD and the ability to forget about things that aren’t directly in front of me. I’ve rarely been thankful for having the object permanence of a toddler, but when it allows me to pretend my phone isn’t full of text messages from the pack, I am. I know they just want to see me and that they’re worried about me, but pack nights have become something that is just… too much for me.

            Several times, I had to make a quick exit and fight off a panic attack as I drove myself home. The first time, it was because we were watching Kingsman: The Secret Service. I’m not even sure who picked it. I had gone into the kitchen to make popcorn and returned to the living room of the loft with the movie already on. I wasn’t going to ask everyone to pause the movie and pick another one, so I figured that I would just try to make it through the movie. It was just a movie, right? It’s not real.

            An hour later, gunfire was ringing out in the loft, and I sat trembling in my seat at the edge of the couch. Derek kept giving me sideways glances, clearly trying to check if I was okay, but all I could focus on was keeping my breathing from getting completely out of control. I had abruptly stood up and claimed that my dad had texted me, asking me to bring him food at the station, before bolting out the door without waiting for anyone’s reply. I’d drank myself into a stupor that night, the guilt of not even being able to handle a night with my friends threatening to pull me under.

            The last time I attended a pack movie night, we had all settled into the loft living room, most of the pack on the pile of blankets spread out on the floor. Isaac had sweetly made room for me between him and Scott, not seeming to notice anything was off when I refused. The idea of being trapped between two bodies when that panicky feeling took over me felt like a death trap. It made my heart kick up in my chest just thinking about it.

            While deciding what movie to watch, Liam had suggested Battle: Los Angeles. Scott had quickly responded that we couldn’t watch that, sending a quick glance my way. Liam had innocently questioned him until Scott had glared at him and not-so-subtly nodded in my direction.

            “Oh, shit, sorry Stiles. I didn’t even think about it…” Liam had stuttered, avoiding my gaze. We had watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs instead, my stomach turning the entire time at the idea that they had to completely change their plans simply because I couldn’t handle a movie.

            So, I stopped going. The pack deserves to be able to watch whatever movie they want. They shouldn’t have to change their plans to cater to me. Plus, someone can only take so many looks of concern and pity before they completely snap. And I had nearly reached my limit.

            I’d been making excuses about spending more time with my dad to avoid any questions the pack had about why I haven’t shown my face in a month. I’ve claimed that with his schedule, pack nights are the easiest night for me to have dinner with him since he doesn’t work that day of the week. Scott took my excuse at face value and has just tried to convince me to ask my dad if I can skip one week. I’m fairly certain both Lydia and Derek see right through my excuses, but neither one of them has said anything and I have no plans on bringing it up.

            They don’t need to know that I spend those nights at The Jungle, drowning out the ringing in my ears and the ghosts in my dreams. They’ll only worry.

            Or try to stop me.

Derek

            I don’t know how our quiet pack night turned into a full night out on the town, but I’m currently regretting letting them talk me into coming with. I could have had an easy night back at the loft with a good book, but here I am. My wolf hates places like this. Too loud. Too many people. Too many smells. It overwhelms my senses and makes me feel a little too far out of control for my liking. Scott hadn’t ordered to me to come as the Alpha, he never would, but one look at those big, brown puppy eyes and it was a done deal.

            So, now I’m standing between Isaac and Scott, a watered-down drink in my hand and the smell of too many sweaty bodies in my nose. The thumping music of The Jungle sets my teeth on edge. I can feel Isaac swaying along to the beat, surveying the dance floor. I give it one more song before Cora is pulling him out into the throngs of people to dance with her. I give Scott and Allison about 30 seconds. Scott’s been making eyes at her since we walked in, and she keeps smiling at him and kissing his cheek.

            Watching the pack all pair off makes some long-lost part of me flare to life, content to have a big pack around me again. I was convinced that I was never going to be lucky enough to have a big, loud, crazy pack like I did when I was a kid. Growing up surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins and my siblings made for a constantly busy life. I’ll never admit it to the pack, but my wolf is never more content than when the whole pack is piled into the living room of my loft. At least it used to be.

            I haven’t felt that contentment in nearly two years… not since Stiles left Beacon Hills for the Army. The pack isn’t whole without him. Sure, he’s back home these days, but we haven’t seen him at pack night in over a month. And when he did show up, it was like a ghost was sitting on my couch.

I’ve never known Stiles to be so… quiet. He looked like my Stiles and smelled like my Stiles, but he didn’t act like my Stiles. My Stiles is loud and argumentative and teasing. Who am I kidding? He’s not myanything. Not anymore.

I speak to him less now that he lives a five-minute drive from the loft than I did when he was on the other side of the world. During his deployment, we texted nearly every day and spoke on the phone weekly. The utter relief I had felt every single time I heard his voice on the other end of the call is something I still haven’t looked too close at.

I’m still not sure what all happened to Stiles while he was over there. He refuses to talk to any of us about it and we’re all too scared to bring it up for fear of seeing that thousand-yard stare he gets when it’s clear he’s back over there, reliving things. Everything in me wants to push and pry, to get him to open up to me like he used to. He has to know that if anyone understands, I do. I’ve dealt with more death than anyone should in a single lifetime. In several lifetimes. I still wake up in a cold sweat, memories of Kate or Jennifer or Boyd flashing through my mind.

None of us have brought it up, but I know every single member of the pack suspects that he’s lying to us about where he is when he misses pack night. He’s been giving us the excuse that his dad has been taking that night off and they’ve been spending more time together. The thing is? Last week when he missed pack night and told us he was with his dad? His dad was on shift at the station with Parrish. We’re all worried, but no one knows what to do about it. Not even Scott.

A new song starts, and right on cue, Cora grabs Isaac’s hand and pulls him onto the dance floor. A smile finds its way onto my face as I watch my baby sister make heart eyes at the beta. I know they got close after we lost Erica and Boyd, but they’ve been near inseparable the last two years. I’m not even entirely sure what they call each other, but I’ve never seen Cora look at anyone the way she looks at Isaac when she thinks no one is paying attention.

It’s sweet, but I can’t think about it for too long. It makes me think too hard about what my life is missing. Or who my life is missing. The person my gaze finds when I think no one is watching me. Well, at least who my gaze used to find. When he was actually around.

Scanning the dance floor, smothering a smile when I notice that Scott and Allison have joined Cora and Isaac, I take a sip of my weak whiskey and coke. I’m not even entirely sure why I ordered it, besides having something to do with my hands while I stand here and wait for the pack to get bored. A few men have approached me, or at least tried to, but a quick glare from me sent them scattering. Unless they’ve got honey-brown eyes and pale skin decorated with freckles and moles, I want nothing from them.

Almost as if my mind thinks him into existence, I see a head of chocolate brown hair and a flash of a smile I know so well. There’s a tall man with sandy brown hair who has his arms wrapped around Stiles’ waist. I have to fight back a growl at the thought of someone being that close to what is mine. Which is just ridiculous. He’s not my anything. While I’m distracted by his smile for that stranger wrapped around him, my legs start to carry me into the mass of sweaty bodies that make up the dance floor. Something in me is drawn to him and I can’t stay away.

He doesn’t even notice as I approach, his eyes closed, and head lolled back. The stranger glares at me as I reach Stiles’ shoulder, clearly trying to mark his territory and deter me from stepping in. Little does he know… there is nothing that could stop me from getting Stiles.

I let out a low growl and just barely let my eyes flash as the lights over the dance floor flash, causing the stranger to startle and drop his hands from Stiles’ waist. He immediately snaps his eyes open and looks to the stranger, clearly about to complain when he notices that someone else is standing behind him.

“Listen, I already have a dance partner, so you can just…” he trails off as his alcohol-addled brain takes me in. “Derek!” He gasps and grins at me. And if that doesn’t send my wolf purring, I don’t know what will. Instantly, he has forgotten all about Blondie, who has taken the hint and disappeared into the crowd.

As I’m watching after the stranger, Stiles takes a step toward me and slips his arms around my neck. My entire body locks up. He smells like alcohol, but underneath that is the smell of him. The smell of the Preserve after a good rainstorm. Earthy and clean. Like home.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He’s staring at me with those perfect brown eyes, pupils blown wide in the dark. It sends a thrill through me to see him like this. His hair being mussed from running his fingers through it makes me want to run my fingers through it. The slight sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin making me want to lick it off of him. His breath coming hard enough that I can feel his chest rise and fall against mine. Images of him breathing hard for another reason flash through me, making my teeth clench.

“It’s pack night and the rest of the pack wanted to come out.” I already knew he was drunk, but the way he just simply nods and doesn’t react to the idea of the pack he’s been avoiding for weeks being in the same room as him, tells me he might be a little more drunk than I thought.

“That makes sense. I was gonna be confused if you were here alone.” His body has started to sway along to the music playing. I’m nearly holding my breath, trying to stay still and not let him grind against me. I should turn and go home. I should bring him with me. No, not like that.

“Are you here alone, Stiles?” I ask. His eyes flick back to mine as another smile spreads across his face. He leans toward me and for a moment I actually think he might kiss me, but then he moves to whisper in my ear.

“Do I look alone to you, Der?” The use of my nickname sends a wave of heat shooting through my core. His hot breath on my neck doesn’t help. My wolf is preening at having him this close to me again.

“No, Stiles, you don’t look alone.” That earns me a grin that looks so much like the old Stiles it makes my chest ache. He drops his arms from around my neck and I think he might walk away until he turns around and backs up into me. My hands instinctively go to his waist as he knocks into me, keeping us both upright.

My breath fully catches in my throat as he swings his arm up and wraps it around the back of my neck. It takes everything in me not to immediately wrap my arms tightly around him and pull him back into me. Then I realize, what’s stopping me? He clearly wants to dance with me. What’s the harm in that?

I snake my right arm around his torso and pull his back tightly against my chest. I feel, more than hear, the happy hum that rumbles through his chest. I smother a smile in his neck, and I feel his breath hitch. It makes me want to get him somewhere quiet so I can take my time learning each and every little noise I can get him to make.

I am swallowed up in the pulsing music and Stiles’ intoxicating scent. Before I know it, my hips are following Stiles’. His are pushing back against me, the friction so delicious that I have to shift the angle of my hips against him so he doesn’t feel just how much I’m enjoying this.

That realization is like a bucket of cold water over my head. Stiles is drunk, so drunk he might not even remember this tomorrow, and I’m taking advantage of him. There’s no way he’d want this if he was sober. He’s drunk and lonely and clearly looking for some physical affection, but I can’t give it to him. Not if this is all he wants. And it’s very clear that is all he wants. He’s been avoiding me like we’re back to when he was sixteen and terrified of me.

I carefully remove his arm from around my neck and take a step away from him. Stiles shifts back around, looking at me quizzically.

“Getting a drink?” He looks hopeful, but cautious.

“No, Stiles. I’m going home. I think you should, too.” The words taste like ash as they leave my mouth. My wolf is growling in my chest at the idea of leaving him here for that blonde guy to come claim again. Stiles’ brow furrows and takes another step back from me. “Stiles…”

“Fuck you, Derek” he shouts over the music. Anger blooms over his scent, burning through the smell of alcohol in his system. He may be angry now, but if he remembers this in the morning, he’ll thank me for saving us both the embarrassment. Him the embarrassment of doing something he’ll regret when he’s sober again. Me the embarrassment of taking advantage of the man I have had a childlike crush on for years.

Before I can muster up something to say to him, he turns and disappears into the crowd.

Nice going, Derek. Very nicely handled.

With that, I pull my phone out of my pocket to shoot a text to Scott and Cora. I slip out of The Jungle and shift into my full wolf form. A very long run in the Preserve is calling to me after that shit show.

I don’t collapse into bed until the sun is beginning to peak over the horizon.

Pack Group Chat

Scott: Pack meeting tonight at 7. Derek, can we use the loft?

Derek: Yes.

Cora: Ever the conversationalist.

Isaac: I’ll be there. Can we get pizza?

Liam: *Liam liked Isaac’s message*

Lydia: Only if we get a Hawaiian for me and Jordan. Thanks.

Scott: Yes, we can get pizza. I just need you all there. It’s important.

Allison: You know I’ll be there. <3

Cora: Ew.

            Five empty pizza boxes cover the surface of my kitchen island. The pack is in the living room, sounds of their conversations filtering into the room. The hoard of them showed up right at seven, but Scott has made no move to bring up what he called the meeting for. Though, I’m fairly certain it’s about the pack member who isn’t here tonight. Who hasn’t been here in two months. Who I haven’t seen or heard from since the night at The Jungle three weeks ago.

            I move into the living room and Scott’s gaze meets mine. He gives me a small nod, telling me that it was me he was waiting for. He gets everyone’s attention while I take my place on the couch.

            “Guys… we have to do something about Stiles.” The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Everyone is turning to look at one another, no one saying a word. “I’m really worried about him and I don’t know what to do about it. He won’t talk to me.”

            “He barely talks to me and when he does, it’s superficial and not even a conversation worth having,” Lydia adds in. She turns to me. “Does he talk to you?”

            “I haven’t spoken to him in over a month…” I quietly admit. Even voicing it out loud makes my chest ache fiercely. I miss our daily conversations. I got accustomed to hearing from him every day and looking forward to telling him about the mundane things that happened to me during the day. I still have to stop myself from sending those texts every once in a while.

            “Parrish, do you have any ideas?” The deputy is sitting on the floor, propped up against the couch between Lydia’s knees. He smells sad.

            “Honestly, I think all you can really do right now is make sure he knows that he still has you, even if he isn’t talking to you. Whatever happened to him, he’s processing it. It might not seem like it, but he is. Give him some time, but make sure he knows that you’ll be there with your hand out when he’s ready to take it.” The look on Parrish’s face tells me that he’s seen a few too many people go through what’s happening to Stiles.

            “We’ve given him time. He’s been home for four months and there’s been no change. If anything, he’s getting worse. He’s isolating himself and talking to no one. He’s lying to us.” Scott sounds more distressed than I think I may have ever heard him. I don’t need my wolf sense of smell to tell that he is hurting for his best friend.

            After the night we spent at The Jungle, I had mentioned to the pack that I saw Stiles. I didn’t tell them the extent of our interaction, but I did tell them I saw him.  It confirmed our suspicions that he’s been lying to us about why he’s been missing pack nights. It had made me incredibly angry, then heartbroken, that Stiles felt the need to lie to me. Why couldn’t he just tell me that he couldn’t handle coming to pack nights? None of us would be angry with him for that.

            “You guys have to understand… He’s not himself right now. You’ve all been through something really traumatic, and it changes you. He’s trying to find his way back to a version of himself that makes sense. You just have to keep reaching out,” Parrish adds.

            “I think we need to do more than reach out…” Lydia mutters. “I think he’s spiraling, and he needs us to pull him out. He needs you to pull him out.” She points directly at me from the other end of the couch.

            “What? Why me?” She gives me a look that tells me she thinks I’m dumber than a bag of rocks. “Shouldn’t it be Scott?” The alpha shakes his head.

            “We all know he listens to you better than he listens to anyone else. Plus… you have an extra room here. I think he just needs to not be alone.” Scott’s words wash over me. Is he saying what I think he is? Is he saying Stiles should move in? “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know you are the only one who can do it. He’ll just snap at anyone else.” I go to open my mouth but Lydia cuts me off.

            “Alright, who votes Derek as the designated person to talk to Stiles?” Lydia asks, looking around the room and raising her own hand. Scott immediately raises his hand, followed by Allison. Parrish hesitates, but after a glare from Lydia, raises his hand, too. Liam puts his in the air, but it seems more out of not wanting to be the odd one out than anything. Isaac’s goes up the second Scott’s does. Cora and Malia both look annoyed by the whole situation, but they nod and raise their hands as well. “Perfect. It’s settled then. You’ll talk to Stiles, Derek.”

            Her tone of voice leaves no room for questions.

            Fantastic.

            Now, I have to figure out how to ask Stiles to move in with me.

Stiles

            As I raise my fist to knock on the loft door, I try to think back to how I got myself into this situation in the first place. I don’t even want to be here. When Derek’s name had showed up on my phone, it had been second nature to answer it. My finger had hit the accept button before my brain even registered that I didn’t really want to talk to him.

            Staring at my phone for a moment, I realize that Derek is on the other line. I hadn’t even meant to answer it, but now I have no choice. If I hang up, it’ll just give him confirmation that I’m avoiding him. But what else am I supposed to do when I thoroughly embarrassed myself at The Jungle a few weeks ago.

            I’d really thought that Derek was going to dance with me for a moment, but then he had gone still as a statue and turned away from me, clearly uncomfortable. My drunk brain had only registered the disappointment, the embarrassment coming the next morning when I awoke with a pounding headache. The memories had come back in flashes.

Dancing with some stranger and actually thinking about going home with him. Someone interrupting and me feeling irritated that someone was trying to take what’s-his-name from me. My drunk brain realizing that it was Derek standing behind me. Immediately wanting to wrap myself around him and breathe in that scent I missed so much. Even with all the smells in the club, the smell of his skin had nearly overwhelmed me when I leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Woodsy with a hint of citrus.

What the hell could he be calling about?

“Hello?” I hear him call out from my phone that I am still looking at like it will bite me. I raise it to my ear.

“Um, hey Derek.”

“Oh… um, hey Stiles.” The fact that he sounds so surprised makes the ache in my chest crack wide open. My knuckles find their way to my sternum. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over to the loft for a movie night?” Panic surges through me at the idea of a pack night. No. No. No. I can’t.

“Derek, I…” The wolf immediately cuts off my objection.

“Not a pack night, just the two of us. I know the pack can be a little overwhelming sometimes.”

“You… want me to come over to watch a movie with you?” Now I’m just confused. Derek and I haven’t spoken in weeks and haven’t seen each other in person in nearly two months. Why now? Why today?

“I don’t know why you sound surprised. We used to do it all the time before…” His voice trails off, the silence heavy with the words he didn’t say. Before I left. Before I came back broken.

“I don’t know, Derek.” Part of me is telling me that this is the worst idea ever. I’ve been avoiding the pack for a reason. I don’t need their pity and I don’t need them dancing around me like I’m fragile. I can’t handle that from them. Especially not from Derek.

“Stiles, please,” he says, his voice near breaking. “You don’t even have to stay for more than one movie. I just… I miss my friend.”

The ache in my chest burns so brightly at his words. He sounds so sad. I don’t expect the guilt that washes through me, strong enough to make my throat tight. I might be isolating to protect myself, but I’m hurting him in the process. It’s clear to me now. And you know what?

I miss my friend, too.

“Yeah, okay,” I agree. 

“Wait, really?” He didn’t think I was going to agree… Ouch. “How does seven tonight sound?” We finish making our plans, me promising to bring snacks, him promising to order pizza from my favorite local place. After hanging up, I can’t fight the smile that blooms across my face. What I wouldn’t give for a normal night that feels like it did before.

Okay, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t, but now that I’m standing at his door, my stomach is doing somersaults. The last time I saw Derek I had quite literally ground my ass against him like I was in heat. And he had let me. The loft door rolling open snaps me out of my memories of the night at The Jungle.

And there he is.

Standing in the doorway, Derek looks more beautiful than I think I’ve ever seen him look. And no, I don’t mean handsome. I mean beautiful. His silky black hair a little longer than usual. His green eyes bright and gorgeous as ever. His stubble is a little thicker these days making him look a little older, but in a way that makes me want to tackle him and run every single part of my body over that scruff. He’s sporting my favorite sweater of his, the dark red one with the little thumb holes that makes him look cozier than he has any business being. And lord help me, those are grey sweatpants slung low on his hips.

Realizing I’m fully just standing in his hallway and gawking at him, my gaze snaps back to his face. And the asshole is smirking at me, like he knows exactly what I was doing. Oh, this was a really bad idea.

Before I can turn tail and run, he’s grabbing the grocery bags full of junk food out of my hands and padding barefoot into the loft to set them on the coffee table. I follow him into the apartment, shoving my hands in my pockets. It looks different than before I left. It feels more… lived in. Instead of just a sterile couch and TV, there’s side tables, a coffee table with a soft rug underneath it, a bookshelf up against the far wall filled with books. The couch even has a few pillows and a very soft-looking throw blanket draped over the back. Something in me tells me Lydia might have had something to do with all of this. It makes me smile.

Derek returns from the kitchen with a large bowl of popcorn and several sodas in the crook of his arm.  He sets them down on the coffee table next to the other snacks. He nods toward the couch and sits down himself, balancing the huge bowl on his lap. I don’t miss the fact that there is only a single bowl, meaning I’ll have to sit close enough to him on the couch to reach it if I want any. And if you don’t eat popcorn while you’re watching a movie, then you are just wrong. So, I settle on the couch directly next to him, trying not to get distracted by the way my knee brushes his as I do so.

Derek thoroughly surprises me by settling back into the couch and queuing up The Devil Wears Prada. My mind flashes back to all those months ago. The night before Scott and I drove up to Fort Lewis. The last time Derek and I’s friendship truly felt normal.

“Who are you and what have you done with Derek Hale?” He looks at me like I’m the one who has lost his mind. “Did Lydia get you hooked on this movie while I was gone? Or did you get abducted by aliens? Because the Derek I know would never willingly choose this movie.”

“Well, maybe I’m not the Derek you know anymore.” I can tell he means it as a joke, but it stings, nonetheless. He winces slightly and focuses on the movie. I continue to watch him, images of that night flashing through my mind. Us having repaired our friendship the day before. Me spending almost a full twenty-four hours at the loft to catch up on lost time. Being comfortable enough with him to sling my legs over his thighs and then having to excuse myself to the bathroom when him touching my ankle got me all hot and bothered. I hadn’t been touched by another person like that in months, sue me. “Stiles… You’re staring.”

“Sorry, I’m still convinced an alien has taken your place and I was waiting for you to summon the Mothership.” To my surprise, Derek throws a piece of popcorn at me. It startles a laugh out of me because it feels so… right. Like we are picking up right where we left off.

“Watch the movie, Stiles.” Yeah, I’m pretty sure he said the same thing the last time we watched this movie, too. A smile breaks over my face as I turn to watch Stanley Tucci tell everyone to “gird their loins.”

As the credits roll, Derek starts to shift around on the couch next to me. It’s clear he’s trying to decide if he should put another movie on or not. I reach for the remote, ready to pick something else when his hand stops me.

“Stiles, we need to talk.” And just like that, the comfortable feeling I’ve settled into evaporates and leaves a wave of nausea behind. He wants to talk about what happened at The Jungle… What else would it be about?

“If this is about what happened at the bar, we really don’t need to talk about it. We can just leave it where it is in the past and move on,” I ramble. I’m fighting every instinct that is telling me to sprint out the front door. I don’t need to relive the mortifying memories of that night.

“It’s not about that.” Relief floods through me. But, if it isn’t about that, what the hell is he so serious about? “The pack is worried about you.”

Oh. That’s what.

I rise off the couch, knowing the pity that’s about to start flowing out of the wolf’s mouth. Anger flashes through me with the realization that they’ve been talking about me behind my back. They don’t understand and they never will. They all stayed and carried on with their normal little lives while I left, and my entire world changed. Changed so much that I feel like a lost puzzle piece that got tossed into the wrong box. I don’t fit here anymore. I did at one point, but what happened in the sandbox turned me into something I don’t think any of them recognize. Well, guess what? I don’t really recognize me either. My hand hits the loft door and his voice floats across the living room.

“Stiles, please.” Derek sounds… broken. It makes me turn around to face him. He’s not looking at me, but down at his hands in his lap. “We know you’ve been lying to us about why you never come to pack nights anymore.”

Fuck.

“What do you mean?” I try, hoping to scavenge any sense of dignity. His head snaps up to look at me and this time he looks angry. I don’t remember the last time Derek looked at me with anger. I don’t think he has since I was an annoying high schooler framing him for murder.

“Stiles, you’ve been saying you miss them because you are spending time with your dad. Jordan told us that there’s been several pack nights where you said you couldn’t make it because you were with your dad… but he was on shift at the station.” The anger burns even brighter in my chest. Of all people, Parrish should understand. How dare he go behind my back like that? “When I saw you at The Jungle, do you even know what day that was?”

I rack my brain, but I can’t remember what day of the week that was; only that memories of Franklin and Johnson had been so cloying I had felt like I was drowning. I had woken up from a nap, deep in panic, convinced that Johnson had died too. That I had failed not one, but two of my teammates. Cold showers wouldn’t touch the fear and I had washed my hands so roughly that my skin had remained red and angry for nearly a full day afterward.

All I had thought about that night was getting drunk enough to blur the images and quiet the ringing in my ears. I hadn’t even registered if it was a weekday or not. It hadn’t mattered.

“It was pack night and we decided we wanted to go out for once. We knew you wouldn’t want to come with us, figuring you were with your dad. But then I was standing at the bar and there you were on the dance floor,” Derek finishes. God, he sounds so disappointed. Shame washes through me so strongly that I nearly bolt out of the door to avoid all of this.

“Derek, I…” My voice cracks and I clear my throat, trying to swallow past the tightness.

“You don’t have to explain. It’s okay. We all know you’ve been having a really hard time since you got back and you’re coping in whatever way you know how.” He pats the couch next to him. I’m not sure what makes me move to take the spot beside him, but something is pulling me toward him. As I sit down, he shifts his body to face me fully. “When everything happened with Jennifer and the alpha pack, I coped in the only way I knew how. I left. I ran. I abandoned my pack and thought it was what was best for me. I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with my pain, so I left.”

Those months when we all thought Derek had left Beacon Hills for good were miserable. I had just realized I was in love with him, only for him to skip town, leaving me convinced that I would never see him again. I had walked around like a ghost for the first few weeks until Scott called me out on my shit.

“So, no, you don’t have to explain because I understand. But Stiles, you can’t just expect me… us, to sit back and watch you waste away.” Derek is looking at me with such understanding and empathy that my chest feels like it’s about to cave in. Empathy… not pity. Like he knows exactly what it feels like to be inside my skull. The ache in my chest yawns open like an abyss, threatening to swallow me whole. I’ve been so selfish these past few months. By isolating myself, all I’ve done is hurt my pack. All I’ve done is hurt more people. “I want you to move in here.”

“What?” My head snaps up. He did not just say that. He did not just ask me to move in with him.

“We had a pack meeting,” he holds a hand up as he speaks, sensing my anger rising again. “Every single one of us is worried about you. You don’t get to be angry with us for giving a shit about you, Stiles.” That shuts me right up.

“It’s obvious that you living alone is only encouraging the bad habits. You need somewhere to heal. I know you won’t move back in with your dad, which I understand. You don’t want to burden him with all of this when he already worries about you. I have a spare bedroom with plenty of space for you. Hell, you already nearly lived here before you left for the Army.” He’s staring into my soul with those green eyes, pleading with me.

“Derek I can’t intrude like that. Plus, I signed a lease. I don’t know if I can get out of it.” It feels like the only excuse that might deter him. “And I don’t need your charity.”

“No, you don’t.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, giving me a look that sends my heart galloping in my chest. Derek understands. I know he does. “What you need, Stiles, is to not be alone. Would it really be so bad?” I swear I feel my heart shatter in my chest.

My mind is reeling. Would it? Part of me is screaming at the idea of giving up my freedom, my own space. The other part of me is running in circles at the idea of having Derek so close again. I’d never admit it to his face, but I’ve really missed the easy friendship I used to have with the wolf. Movie nights where we fight over what genre to watch. Quiet days spent reading, not uttering a word to one another but simply enjoying each other’s company. Could we have that ease again? An optimistic part of me thinks we could.

“Okay.” Derek startles at my words. He looks completely taken aback by my answer. It nearly makes me laugh.

“Really? You’d move in here?” A soft smile breaks across his pretty face as he sees my answering nod.

“You’re going to get sick of me so fast, Sourwolf.” The sparkle that blooms in his eye at my use of his old nickname makes it feel like my heart is stitching itself back together again. His small smile is now a full-on grin. “I’m going to regret this, but yeah… I’ll move in here.”

            Derek helps me break my lease and a week later, the whole pack is trailing in and out of my small apartment grabbing boxes and carrying them out to the moving truck. There’s less stuff here than I thought there would be, but with the apartment coming fully furnished, I won’t be bringing any of the furniture with me to the loft aside from the desk and bookshelf I bought when I moved in.

            Derek had showed up nearly two hours early without me asking him to in order to help me clean and organize before everyone else showed up. He said nothing as he collected some of the trash and empty bottles lying around. He hadn’t even thrown me a pitying glance when I moved to pack up the bottles of alcohol filling one of the small kitchen cabinets. A small part of me had wanted to dump it all, but in the end, it just went into a box labeled “Kitchen” and was carried out to the truck with the rest.

            “I can’t believe Derek is letting you live in the loft, in his space,” Lydia quips from beside me. “He never lets any of us sleep over when pack nights run late. And here he is just… inviting you to move in with him.” She elbows me in the side and raises her brows suggestively.

            “He’s just trying to be helpful, Lyds.” I haven’t given myself the chance to overthink the fact that in just a few short hours, I will fully be living with none other than Derek Hale.

            “Oh, he wants to help you alright…” she chuckles from beside me. She has also allowed us to pick up right where we left off, saying nothing about the dozens of unanswered texts she’s sent me. Her starting remark was to complain about how terribly the apartment is decorated. I had tried to explain to her that I wasn’t the one that decorated it, but she wouldn’t have it.

            A hand clapped on my shoulder startles me slightly and I hear Scott bark at Liam to knock it off. The younger beta gives me an apologetic look and quickly moves to pick up another box. Scott moves to stand next to me as Lydia steps outside to take a call from Parrish, who’s on shift and couldn’t be here today.

            “He’s trying his best, but he forgets sometimes.”

            “It’s okay, Scotty. Really. I appreciate you guys helping me today, even if I don’t deserve it. I know I haven’t really been around lately…” He turns to look at me, brown eyes shining.

            “Stiles, you’re pack. We’ll always be here to help when you need it.” The double meaning of his words hits me like a ton of bricks, making my throat tight. He gives me a watery smile and it’s enough for my own eyes to start stinging with tears. I return the smile and he tugs me into a tight hug. I shift my hold on him so I can tilt my head to the side and his face finds my neck in no time. I swear I hear a slight whine slip out of him as he inhales my scent.

            “I’m sorry, Scott. I’m so sorry…” As we stand in the living room embracing each other, I realize that the apartment has gone quiet. I pick my head up and look around the room. Lydia and Allison are standing just inside the front door, hands clutched to their hearts and tears in their eyes. Cora and Isaac are near them, both looking awkward enough that it makes me chuckle. Liam is standing near the couch, absolutely beaming at Scott and I. The look on his face tells me that I can expect the beta to tackle me the second Scott lets go. Malia is in the kitchen, looking completely confused by the open show of affection.

            And Derek… Derek is standing in the bedroom doorway with a soft smile on his face that I feel down to my toes. His arms are crossed and he’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. He looks absolutely edible today in dark wash jeans, a long-sleeve dark green Henley, and black boots. The shirt hugs his torso and arms in a way that makes me want to peel it off of him and trace all of those muscles with my tongue. I don’t know how I am going to exist in the same apartment as him… I am so incredibly screwed.

            Scott releases me and takes a step back, clearing his throat. Oh shit. I was fantasizing about licking Derek while my wolfie best friend had his face pressed to where my scent is the strongest. He probably got a nose-full of horny Stiles. A flush sweeps over my cheeks and neck. He just claps me on the shoulder and smiles.

            “Alright let’s get the truck brought over to the loft!” He calls out to the rest of the pack, clapping his hands and breaking the emotional moment hanging in the air. As I suspected, Liam immediately comes over to me, looking a little sheepish.

            “Come here, kid,” I mutter, repeating what I said to him all those months ago when I came home for leave before heading to Lewis. He smiles, telling me he remembers, too. Liam wraps his arms around my torso and gives me a hard squeeze, releasing me quickly. I ruffle his hair as he backs up and he snaps his jaw playfully at me.

            Emotions threaten to overwhelm me at the familiarity in the gesture. They’re really all here… For me. Even though I’ve been the worst friend in the world since I got home, they all showed up today. I haven’t been to a pack night in months and yet… my pack is still here. My pack. The words clang through me. I still have a pack.

I swallow past the knot in my throat and move to set the keys on the counter. Everyone else has cleared out, aside from Derek. He’s standing quietly near the door with his hands in his pockets. He looks… content.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” He heads out the front door and waits patiently a few steps away. His warm hand finds my shoulder as I close the door on being alone. “Let’s go home, big guy.”

I don’t miss the way his eyes flare as I say it.

            He’s not moving. He’s not breathing. The tourniquet is as tight as I can turn it, but blood is still pouring out of the wound in his leg. No matter what I do, the blood won’t stop. It’s more blood than should come out of a person. He should have bled out minutes ago. But it won’t stop.

            “Caleb!” I shout, shaking his shoulders and smearing red over his uniform. He’s not stirring, not responding. “Caleb!” I shout again, my voice cracking with the force of it. My hands move back to his leg so I can try to put pressure on the wound. I have to stop the bleeding. I can’t lose him. He has to make it home to his family. I can’t fail him.

            Someone is grabbing my shoulder, but I won’t let them take me away from him. He needs me. I have to do my job. I have to save him. I have to save him. I have to save him. Someone is shouting my name, but it sounds like it’s coming through water. Distant and murky.

            “Stiles!” The voice comes louder now. Closer. It’s familiar, but it doesn’t fit. That voice shouldn’t be here.

            Flying into a sitting position, it takes me several moments to realize where I am. The room is dark save for the moonlight streaming through the window along the right side of my bed. My breath is coming in ragged and shallow gasps. My entire body is drenched in sweat, my hands sticky and too hot. Fuck, where am I? I’m at the loft. I’m in Derek’s guest room, my room.

            “Stiles…” The same voice comes quietly from next to me, causing me to whip my head toward it. Derek is sitting on my left on the edge of my bed, his hand on my shoulder and a worried look on his face. “It was a nightmare, Stiles. You’re okay. You’re safe.” His words wash over me, but my chest still rises and falls rapidly. Derek gently takes my left hand and brings it to rest over his heart.

            “Feel my chest rise and fall with my breath. Let your breath match it.” He takes a slow, deep breath, then exhales just as slowly. “In and out, Stiles. You can do it.” My eyes find his and there is so much sorrow in them.

Images are still flashing through me. Johnson dead on the floor of that damn house. Blood everywhere. Covering the floor, covering him, covering me. It makes my hands clench, the one held to Derek’s chest fisting in the fabric of his soft shirt. I try to pull my hand back, not wanting to get blood on him, too. But my hands are clean, no trace of red remaining on them. They still feel too hot and too sticky.

Taking my hand back, I stand and walk swiftly into the bathroom attached to my room. I turn the tap on as hot as it will go and begin scrubbing my hands clean. I swear I see red splashing down into the sink. The water is too hot and nearly burns my skin, but I’ll take the burning over the feeling of hot, slick blood. I snatch the small brush sitting on the edge of the sink and begin to scrub intensely at my hands and up my forearms.

I have to get the blood off. I have to get it off. I have to get it off.

I don’t hear or see Derek until his hands are coming into my line of sight, gently grabbing my wrists, stopping my scrubbing.

“I have to…”

“I know, Stiles. I know.” His voice is soft, soothing. The wolf moves to grab a washcloth and some soap out of the cabinet under the sink. The moment he lets go of me, my hands move back to start scrubbing again. My breath is still coming too fast. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it reverberating against my ribs. “Stiles, stop.” He grabs my hands again and adjusts the tap.

When Derek places my hands back under the water, it’s pleasantly warm, not burning hot like I had it a moment ago. He wets the washcloth, adding a little soap, and starts to swipe it over the back of my left hand. He takes special care to turn my hand over and gently scrub the soapy cloth over my palm. It feels… nice.

“I still wake up feeling Boyd or Paige’s blood on my hands sometimes.” His quiet confession shocks me out of my thoughts. “It’s been almost fifteen years since I lost Paige and I still feel it. Still feel my claws sinking into Boyd and watching the light leave his eyes.”

As he moves to my right hand, I realize that my breathing has slowed down to an almost normal pace. The rhythmic movement of the washcloth across my skin is lulling me back into a sense of calm.

“Washing my hands like this usually helps to get rid of that feeling. You don’t need to scrub your skin off your hands…” He gives me a gentle smile as he finishes rinsing the soap from my skin and turns off the tap. Grabbing the towel from where it hangs next to the sink, he takes my hands and carefully wraps them in the towel before nodding for me to head back into the bedroom. “Sit down, I’ll be right back.”

Derek leaves the room and leaves me reeling. Not only did Derek wake me up from my nightmare and try to calm me down, but he washed my hands for me… Derek Hale washed the ghosts of my nightmares from my skin with so much care it made my chest ache. I’ve never seen him be that gentle. With anyone. He’d told me about his own nightmares; had shared a vulnerable piece of himself so I wouldn’t feel alone.

I sit on the bed, mind spinning. What the hell was that? I’ve been so scared that my having nightmares would bother Derek, would wake him up in the middle of the night, but he hadn’t looked even remotely upset. He had only looked concerned and sad. I wiggle my fingers where they are still wrapped in the soft towel, relishing in the fact that my skin feels clean.

Derek returns with several things in his hands. He sets down a big glass of water on the nightstand, along with a bottle of lotion. He also has what looks to be a protein bar that he sets next to the water.

“How are you feeling?” He looks so… human standing there in dark blue sleep pants that look incredibly soft and a black t shirt. His hair is sticking up at odd angles and it makes my fingers twitch with the desire to run them through that dark hair. A glance at the small clock on my nightstand tells me it’s nearly four in the morning, but Derek is bright-eyed and alert.

“Um… better. Much better,” I mumble. He smiles down at me and sits next to me on the bed, reaching for the lotion. He pulls my hands free of the towel and hands me the lotion. The bottle is freezing cold. He motions for me to put some on my hands. I give him a questioning look.

“Just put some on your hands and rub it in really well.” I squirt some into my hands and begin to rub it into my palms and up my forearms.

“Okay, I understand the lotion, but why is it cold?” I ask.

“I keep it in the fridge because when it’s cold, it doesn’t…” Derek trails off, giving me a sad smile. The look on his face makes his unfinished sentence click.

“If it’s cold, it doesn’t… it doesn’t feel like blood.” He nods, placing the lotion back on the nightstand. My heart clenches in my chest as I realize that Derek knows what it feels like to have the blood of someone you love cover your hands and leave them stained in a way only you can see. That’s how he knows what to do to help me. He’s been here… He’s been where I am. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Derek nods and stands, grabbing the lotion like he’s leaving. The idea of being alone sends a pang of panic through me and he pauses near the door. He glances back at me over his shoulder, clearly having smelled the panic rolling off me.

“Would you… do you mind staying?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, a blush searing my cheeks and neck. Did I just ask Derek Hale to stay in my room for the night? He’s fully turned back around, staring at me like he has absolutely no clue what to do. Great, you made him uncomfortable, Stiles.

“Um, yeah sure. Let me put this away and I’ll be right back.” He slips out of the room, and I flop back on the bed, blowing out a breath.

“You just asked Derek Hale to share your bed… You fucking idiot,” I whisper to myself. Dragging myself up, I slip back under the covers and roll to face the window. It’s already awkward; I don’t need to watch him come in and climb in bed with me, too.

I hear him pad into the room, though I swear his steps sound different than they did a moment ago. The bed dips behind me as he climbs into bed. I take measured breaths, trying to keep my heart from pounding. I do not need to add that embarrassment to this already slightly mortifying night. He gets comfortable, and I hear him sigh. But the lamp on the nightstand is still on.

“Hey big guy… you gonna turn the light off?” As I speak, I roll over to look at him and nearly yelp. In place of Derek is an absolutely massive black wolf curled up next to me. “Fuck, I forgot you could still do that…” I say, clutching a hand to my chest. Well, at least now I have an excuse for my heart racing.

I reach over him to flick off the light and settle back into the bed. Derek’s even breaths lull me to sleep rather quickly. Before I can doze off fully, my hand grows a mind of its own and finds its way into the fur along the right side of Derek’s next. As I fall asleep, I swear I hear the rumble of a purr start coming from the wolf.

I’m woken up by soft morning sunlight streaming in through my window. Sunlight… Sunlight woke me up. Not a nightmare. A quick glance at my clock shows me that I’ve been asleep for nearly six hours. I didn’t have a single nightmare after Derek joined me. I haven’t slept longer than four or five hours without the help of alcohol in months. I rub my hands, smiling slightly as I remember just how gentle and careful he was with me last night; how well he took care of me. Maybe moving in with the wolf was a good idea after all.

I didn’t have a single nightmare.

Because of Derek.

Chapter Text

       So, as it turns out… Derek is the perfect roommate. He is clean and quiet. Half the time, I’m not even sure if he’s home because he’s so quiet. Most of the time I can find him on the couch or the cozy chair near the bookshelf against the wall of windows. The wolf is always reading something. I don’t know if I’ve yet to see him with the same book twice.

            Derek never bothers me about where I’m going when I leave the apartment, didn’t ask a single question when I came stumbling drunk into the loft last weekend after a night out at The Jungle. He had simply looked up from his place in that chair, then returned to whatever he was reading.

            Though his silence felt more like a judgement than his words would have been…

            I have never met someone so completely content with silence. The first week or so in the loft had me itching with it. I didn’t expect him to be a chatty Kathy, but it was an adjustment to learn that he is just a quiet person, like he’s always been. I’ve learned to love the nights when he sits in that chair and I sit on the couch, each of us reading a book, not feeling the need for conversation. It’s peaceful. It’s become somewhat of an unspoken routine between the two of us.

            Another unspoken routine is that Derek spends nearly every single night in my bed. Sometimes he pads in late into the night. Sometimes I find him already in my room, snoring softly, on nights when I can’t sleep until late. He still denies he snores. I swear, next time I’m going to record it just so I can prove him wrong.

            Nights like tonight. Nights when my brain decides that instead of sleeping like I should, I need to sit and think every thought possible. I’ve tried reading to tire myself out. I’ve tried melatonin and tea meant to make you sleepy. Warm milk with honey in it. Doing meditations meant to pull you out of your head and into your body so your mind quiets and relaxes. Sometimes they work, but more often than not, they do nothing.

            My physical body is so tired I feel like I don’t even have the energy to get up off the couch, but my brain is still going a million miles an hour. ADHD is quiet the evil bitch when she wants to be. You don’t need sleep! We have thoughts to think!

            Groaning, I abandon the book I’ve read the same page in five times over the last two minutes. Checking my phone, I do some quick math and realize it’s been… yep, it’s been nearly 36 hours since I slept last. I’ve been tired before. After the Army, being tired is nothing new… but this is starting to become a whole new level of exhaustion.

            “For fucks sake… Someone put me out of my fucking misery already.”

            “I mean, gladly, but am I allowed to ask why?”

            “Fuck!” I startle so hard at Derek’s words that the book flies out of my hand, landing open, face-down on the floor. “Not everyone has wolfie hearing… Make a noise or something next time.” I hear Derek chuckle from behind the couch and wish I still had the book in my hands so I could lob it at his head.

            He comes around the edge of the couch, snagging my book from the floor. I stand and reach out my hand for it, but he pauses as he looks at me. Concern furrows his brow, and he sets the book down on the coffee table. Taking a step toward me, his eyes search my face, though I have no idea what he’s looking for.

            My heart nearly stops dead in my chest as he raises a hand to the side of my face. Derek oh so gently swipes a thumb under my left eye. The look on his face is so incredibly tender that for a brief moment I have the delusional thought that it would only take a small lean forward and a tilt of my head to kiss him.

            That would be the sleep deprivation talking.

            “When was the last time you slept?” The ache in my chest flares to life at the worry in his voice. His eyes are still traveling over my face, taking in what are probably dark purple circles under my eyes.

            “Um…” My voice catches in my throat. I clear it and try again. “Yesterday.” His jade green eyes flick to mine as he glares at me. “Fine, Tuesday night.”

            “Stiles, it’s nearly five in the morning on Thursday…” Derek is looking at me like I’ve stabbed myself or something equally harmful to my health. “You must be exhausted. Why haven’t you slept?”

            “It just… happens sometimes.” That earns me another glare that is so reminiscent of the old Derek that a chuckle slips out of me. He glares harder. “I have ADHD, okay? I have a hard time getting my mind to turn off and settle sometimes. It makes it really difficult to fall asleep.”

            Derek’s hand drops from my face, and I instantly mourn the loss of contact. He’s touchier than he used to be, but these soft touches are so few and far between that half the time I think my brain made them up. The way he’s looking at me now… It makes something in me burn brightly. There’s pity in those green eyes. He feels bad for me.

            The realization makes me take a step back, readying some excuse.

            “Stiles, I’m not pitying you. I’m worried about you. Sleep deprivation is a torture technique for a reason. It messes with your head.” Of course, the wolf would know about torture tactics. “Go change into sweats and a sweatshirt.”

            “What? Why?” Why the hell does he want me to change? What could we possibly be doing at five in the morning?

            “Just go, Stiles.” Maybe it’s my sleep-addled brain. Maybe it’s my curiosity, but something makes listen to him.

            When I return to the living room, I notice that Derek has also changed into sweats and a lightweight zip up jacket. He’s sitting on the couch tying his sneakers. Mine are right next to him. He nods towards them, clearly wanting me to put mine on as well.

            “What the hell are we doing?” I say as I sit next to him on the couch.

            “We’re going for a run. It’ll tire your body and your mind so you can sleep. You need to sleep, Stiles.” He finishes tying his shoes and gets up, heading toward the door.

            This man wants me to go for a damn run… at five in the morning. Well… Actually, I’m pretty damn used to running this early in the morning. It almost feels familiar. A thought flashes through me. I haven’t gone for a run since a few days before… before Franklin. An ache shoots through my lower leg, making me wince. I was declared fully healed before I left Fort Lewis, but what if I can’t run anymore? What if I go with Derek and I embarrass myself? I don’t think I’d ever recover if Derek had to carry me back to the loft because my leg can’t handle the run.

            “Stiles…” Derek says gently from the front door. “I’m not asking you to run a marathon with me. We’ll play it by ear, but I imagine it will only take a mile or two with how little sleep you’ve been getting.”

            That makes my breath come a little easier. I can handle a couple miles. I used to run a couple miles while still drunk from the night before while at Lewis. Running tired is second nature. I take a deep breath and move to stand next to Derek at the door.

            “Alright, let’s do this.”

            Once again… Derek was right. As we started to run, it truly felt like riding a bike. My body simply knew what to do and took over. Between cross country and lacrosse in high school and running basically being in my military job description, it came easy. I had expected my leg to bother me, but other than a slight ache for first half mile, I felt no pain.

            My lungs, however, were an entirely different story. Turns out, not exercising for months on end leaves you in terrible shape. Much to my relief, Derek didn’t say a word about the fact that we had to turn back relatively quickly because I was so thoroughly out of breath. I don’t even think we ran two miles.

            Regardless of how far we ran, it took me maybe five minutes to fall asleep. The exhaustion had set in along with the endorphins of the run had quieted my brain completely. I don’t remember the last time I fell asleep so fast. Well, the last time I fell asleep that fast while sober…

            Derek had disappeared when we got back, and I had assumed he was going back to sleep in his own room. But then the shower had turned on and I had to distract myself with my own shower, so I didn’t think too long about Derek being in the shower…

            A few minutes later, he had padded into my room, already in wolf form, and climbed into bed.

            I don’t remember the last time I slept so soundly. My body completely worn out. My brain blissfully silent. My wolf softly breathing next to me.

            The bliss only lasts until I get out of bed the next morning. Muscle soreness is nothing new to me, but I swear I can feel the plate in my leg pulling on my bones today. Most days, my leg has a slight dull ache to it. It’s been long enough that I’m fully used to the pain and don’t even really notice it. But today… today each step has a sharp pain shooting from the middle of my shin up to my knee and down through my ankle. It hurts more than it has since I’ve gotten back from Walter Reed.

            I’ve avoided Derek so far today, not wanting him to see me limping and feel bad about making me run last night. I’m not even sure if he remembers that I have the plate. Everyone knows I needed surgery, but I never made a big deal about the hardware I earned.

            I limp into the living room and wince as I see Derek look up from where he’s reading on the couch. He gives me a smile that nearly takes my breath away. He knows last night helped me sleep better than I have in months. I stand in the doorway debating if I should just cut my losses and return to my room, claiming I’m still tired. But my leg will probably still hurt tomorrow… And I can’t avoid him forever.

            The moment I take a step toward him, his eyes snap to my leg. He can probably smell the pain on me, too. As I round the couch and plop down, concern is again flashing in his eyes.

            “You’re limping…” I let out a scoff.

            “Yeah, and you’re Captain Obvious,” I grumble. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. My leg just bothers me some days.”

            It’s not entirely a lie. My leg hurts every single day, but most days it’s just a dull ache. There are days now and again where the pain becomes distracting, but they’re becoming fewer and further between. The wolf scoots closer to me on the couch and pats his lap. When I only answer him with a look of confusion, he looks to my leg and back at me.

            “Give me your leg, Stiles. I can help.” I slowly turn and shift to lay my legs across his lap, trying my best not to let my heart completely beat out of my chest. “Wolves can take pain, remember?”

            “Yeah, I kind of forget you guys can do that…” His warm hands push the leg of my jeans up to my knee. I have to consciously control my breathing as his hands begin to brush over my skin. My heart is already galloping, but I can blame that on the pain.

            “How often does it bother you?” Derek asks as he begins to rub his thumbs up and down the scar running along my shin. The veins in his hands go slightly black as he begins to take my pain. I have to physically bite my tongue to keep myself from groaning. My head slumps back onto the arm of the couch behind me. A warmth radiates up my leg and a sigh slips from my lips as my leg stops hurting completely for the first time since my accident. “Stiles…?”

            “Hmm? Oh, um… every once in a while. It’s normally fine.” Derek hums and continues to trail his fingers over my leg, massaging my shin and calf. Even without him taking my pain, his hands on me would feel delicious. They’re just a little rough from calluses. I want them scraping over every inch of my skin. What would they feel like dragging over my chest and stomach? Nails scratching down my back. Fingers threading through my hair as he kisses me…

            Shit. Shit. Shit.

            I’m sitting here with Derek’s hands on me, fantasizing about him while he can smell me and getting hard in my jeans. I clear my throat and mumble a thank you, pulling my leg out of his grasp. I need to get out of here and I need to get out of here now. If he gets a whiff of me… I will never recover from the embarrassment.

            “Everything okay?” Derek asks innocently from the couch. I round the back of the couch and head to the stairs to flee up to my room.

            “Um, yeah. Leg feels a lot better. Thanks.” I am a full-grown adult man and here I am fleeing the room because someone touching my leg has me aching in my pants. God, I need to get laid. As I get to my room, I immediately head to the bathroom and throw on the shower. Maybe a cold shower will calm me down enough that I won’t embarrass myself in front of my roommate who is just trying to be helpful.

            Slipping out of my clothes, I run my hand over my dick, shivering as the ghost of Derek’s hands slip over my skin. I step under the spray and pray the cold water will help wash the scent of desire off of me. It doesn’t help. At all. If anything, I’m even more desperate to go back downstairs and drag Derek into this shower with me.

Gritting my teeth to hold back a moan, I take myself in a tight fist, pumping slowly. God, how I wish my hand were his. I sigh and give in, letting my mind wander where it so badly wants to go.

Derek coming in and slipping into the shower behind me. His arms coming around me, sliding up and down my chest and stomach. His hand taking the place of mine and working me from base to tip. His mouth finding its way to my neck and shoulders, kissing and biting.

“Fuck…” I swear under my breath, my hand moving faster. With a low groan, I brace my arm against the shower wall as my release washes over me.

I finish my shower and decide that I need to not be in the loft right now. I’ll go see my dad. I’ll go see Scott. I’ll go bug Lydia. Anywhere I won’t be in the same place as the man I just jerked off to in the shower like a teenager. Get a hold of yourself, Stiles.

Getting dressed again and snagging the Jeep’s keys, I flee the loft like the coward I am, hoping that the smell of my body wash is strong enough to mask my scent…

            Another secret about Derek I’ve learned since I moved into the loft is that he is a phenomenal cook. He cooks constantly and is always trying new recipes. It’s made me glad that we go for runs so often now because I’ve become his taste tester. I’m fairly certain I’d have started gaining weight like crazy without it.

            Tonight’s dinner is a creamy garlic pasta with mussels. He even made pasta from scratch. Sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, I had watched him cook the entire meal. I’d offered to help, like I always do, but he had shaken his head and dismissed it.

            Watching him move effortlessly around the kitchen had made me realize that there is an entire side of Derek I don’t think I know. Before I moved in, I had no clue he knew how to cook. I had always assumed he just ordered in a lot. Living with him has opened me up to the more intimate parts of his life. And those soft, domestic parts of him might truly be the death of me.

            I’m convinced that cooking is Derek’s love language. Any time he makes food for me, he patiently waits nearby as I take my first bites. He waits for my reaction while pretending like he isn’t paying close attention. The moment I smile or nod my approval, his shoulders relax. Every single time. It is the most adorable thing I think I’ve ever seen.

            While making the pasta tonight, he had wiped his face with the back of his hand and smeared flour along his cheek. It took every ounce of control I possessed at that moment to remain seated in my chair and to not cross the kitchen and wipe that perfectly stubbled cheek clean. Don’t get me started on how drool-worthy his forearms had looked while kneading the pasta dough… I’d nearly had to excuse myself from the room after watching his muscles flex and bunch. It didn’t help that he’s wearing a deep blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows either. The color makes the green in his eyes breathtakingly bright. I’ve caught myself staring more often than I care to admit.

            He’s now sitting on a stool next to me, enjoying the fruits of his labor. The food is fantastic. The pasta and mussels are perfectly cooked. The sauce is buttery and smooth, filled with roasted garlic. I didn’t know pasta could even taste this good.

            “Where the hell did you learn how to cook like this, Der?” I don’t miss the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth as I use his nickname.

            “My mom.” He takes another bite of his food, clearly not willing to say any more on the subject.

            “I never got the chance to learn from my mom… And my dad is too busy to learn how.” His eyes flick over to me as I stare down at my bowl. Most of the memories I have of my mom have faded with time, but I do remember how wonderful of a cook she was.

            “I can teach you. If you want.” Derek doesn’t look at me when he says it, but he sounds genuine. No hint of sadness or pity in his voice.

            “Oh, you’re going to regret that offer. I’ve tried to learn from Lydia, and she banished me from her kitchen,” I chuckle, mind flashing back to her screeches when I added sugar instead of salt to a recipe. What? They look the same when they’re in the unlabeled, “aesthetically pleasing” containers that fill her kitchen.

            “Stiles, I am infinitely more patient than Lydia.”

            “Whatever you say, Sourwolf.” He snaps his jaws at me, but I swear I see a hint of a smile when he goes to take his next bite.

            Part of me is truly considering taking up his offer for lessons. It would be nice to be able to pull my weight around here as far as cooking. Derek does one hundred percent of the cooking, aside from when we order out. But the other half of me… isn’t entirely sure that my heart could handle Cooking Lessons with Derek Hale. The domesticity, the closeness. My heart already threatens to thump out of my chest half the time he’s around me. I don’t need his patience and kind words as he teaches me his love language. I don’t need to fall even more embarrassingly in love with him.

            Today snuck up on me. The last several months have gone by in a blur of simultaneously trying to spend every waking moment with Derek and avoiding him every chance I get so he doesn’t catch my scent at the wrong moment and learn how I feel about him. I’d woken up to a text from Johnson telling me to take care of myself today and it had taken me nearly an hour to figure out why he sent it. I’m not sure how it came so quickly. How could I forget? How could I lose track of time so completely?

            The last time I saw Franklin alive was exactly a year ago. Our morning had gone by so normally. Doing a quick PT session. Prepping for our mission. Deciding who was picking the tunes in the rig that day. My team left the FOB whole, minus Johnson, and had come back in pieces.

            My leg has been throbbing since I woke up, even though Derek and I missed our run last night. I’ve taken a bath loaded up with epsom salt. I’ve rubbed it down with lotion. I’ve taken more over the counter pain meds than is entirely healthy for my liver and kidneys. But the fun thing about bone pain? Most meds don’t touch the pain. You just get to deal with the throbbing ache of your skeleton telling you to go fuck yourself.

            Derek is gone for the night and for that I’m glad. He left a few minutes ago, allowing me to finally emerge from my room after spending the entire day playing video games to drown out the past and keep my mind busy. But now the loft is too goddamn quiet and empty. My ears started ringing the second I took my headphones off and they haven’t stopped yet. My hands are itching with the feeling of blood even though I’ve already washed them three different times. It’s like my body knows what day it is.

            As the quiet of the loft presses in on me, my phone rings. Bryant’s name flashes across my screen. Panic seizes my lungs as it continues to ring. No one else from my team has reached out today and I thought that I’d be able to make it through the day without having to reminisce with someone. But now his name is flashing across my screen and I’m just sitting here, letting it ring like the coward I am. It goes to voicemail, but he doesn’t leave one and I breathe a sigh of relief.

            That is, until a text pops up.

            Bryant: Hey Doc. Wanted to reach out and see how everything is. I know today is a hard day for all of us, but we’ve still got your back. You might not be in anymore, but you’ll always be a part of our team. Don’t beat yourself up too hard tonight.

My chest feels like it’s about to cave in. Ice blue eyes greet me with every blink. My ears ring so loud it sets my teeth on edge. My hands are shaking where they sit in my lap.

The team has probably spent the day reminiscing and remembering. And yet none of them reached out, other than Bryant. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It echoes through my head. If I had been better… a better soldier. A better medic. A better teammate. The rest of my team wouldn’t have had to spend the day grieving if I had done my fucking job. No wonder no one reached out to me today.

It’s my fault.

The guilt swirls around me, making my throat tight. How am I the one that got to come home to my family? Why did I deserve it more than Franklin? I should have been in a box right next to him. I should have died that day. I should have…

“Fuck this,” I growl to the empty loft, rising off the couch and snatching the Jeep’s keys from their spot by the door. I need something, anything, to quiet the ringing, to quiet the fucking guilt. Flying down the stairs, I head to the Jeep and start it up.

The Jeep roars to life as my hands shake on the steering wheel. I haven’t had a drink since I stumbled into the loft drunk out of my mind several months ago, but if there is any day that warrants a drink, it’s today.

Fifteen minutes later, I am back at the loft with a glass of ice in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. I slump down into the chair near the bookshelves and wall of windows. Pouring with a heavy hand into the glass, I set the bottle on the floor near my feet.

The first sip goes down with a delightful burn. I continue to sip until the glass is empty and refill it. Having not eaten yet today, the buzz comes on quickly, blissfully. The ringing in my ears begins to dull, and I sigh, dropping my head back onto the chair. As I’m about to throw back the second glass, the door of the loft begins to slide open.

I should care. I really should. Someone is coming into the loft, and I should care that someone is about to see me like this. But as I reach for the part of me that should care, I find nothing. Just… numbness. It’s like that part of me has completely given up after today. I’m not drunk enough yet for the apathy to set in, so maybe that piece of me has finally broken for good.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice echoes through the loft. He turns and closes the door, clearly not seeing me sitting in the shadowed corner just yet. I lift the glass to my lips, allowing the ice to cling around in the glass. His head snaps to mine, green eyes taking in the glass in my hand and the bottle at my feet. Several emotions pass over his face in quick succession. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. Pity. “Stiles, what are you doing…?”

His voice is soft, gentle. It makes me want to snarl at him. He’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal who might bite. And you know what? Maybe tonight I will.

“What do you want, Derek?” He flinches at my harsh tone, nearly taking a step backward. It makes a humorless laugh huff out of me. If he expects the Stiles of before… he is going to be sorely disappointed.

“Go get changed. Let’s go to the Preserve,” Derek says gently, avoiding my question. It makes irritation flare to life in my chest.

“I’m not going for a run, Derek.” He moves across the room, stopping to flick the lamp near my chair on. He fully takes me in, crossing his arms over his chest. His nostrils flare as he scents me and makes a face. “Yeah, well keep your fucking nose to yourself.” Something flashes in his eyes that I can’t quite place.

If he thinks he can drag me out into the night, if he thinks a little exercise will be enough to drown out the voices in my head tonight… He turns on his heel and disappears upstairs. I scoff, laughing to myself at how easy it was to get him to abandon me when I have a bad night. Who would want to be around a shell of a human who knows they should have died in a desert months ago? Who couldn’t even do the job they were trained for and ensure their team got home safely?

Derek returns rather quickly, though slowly enough for me to finish downing my third glass first. He’s got my running shoes in his hand. He drops them down in front of me and snatches up the bottle of Jack. He leaves again and heads toward the kitchen. With an empty glass and the flashes of memories still echoing behind my eyes with every blink, I rise from my chair and follow him.

As I walk into the kitchen, anger rips through me. Derek is standing at the sink, the bottle of Jack in his hand and actively emptying down the drain.

“Hey!” I bark, but he ignores me, dropping the now empty bottle into the sink. “What the fuck is your problem? That was mine!” The wolf turns away from the sink to lean up against it, crossing his arms over his chest. Anger is furrowing his brow. What the hell does he have to be angry about?

“My problem is watching you self-sabotage instead of asking for fucking help.” I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” I snap. “Derek Hale, the king of turning tail and fucking running when things get hard is telling me how to deal with my shit… Isn’t that ironic?” Derek sighs and drops his head. When he looks back up, he looks… defeated. He pushes away from the sink and moves to brush past me.

“If you want to hit the self-destruct button, be my guest. But I’m not going to sit here and watch you do it,” he mutters as he walks past. The anger that’s been festering in my chest breaks open, consuming me in its blaze.

“You don’t fucking understand, Derek,” I shout at his back. He whirls around, now standing in the middle of the living room. His bright green eyes hold more anger than I think I’ve ever seen in them. His hands are clenched at his sides and his chest is rising and falling with the effort of his breath.

“I don’t understand?” He asks, lip curling back into a growl. “I don’t fucking understand? How could I, Stiles? How could I understand when I still wake up some nights, Paige’s blood still staining my fingers? How could I understand when I still have nightmares about my claws sinking into Boyd’s flesh and watching the light leave his eyes?” I flinch slightly at the pure, seething anger echoing from the wolf. “You watched your friend die. I held the love of my life and my own fucking beta while I personally drained the life out of them.” I swear I hear a growl echo out of his chest as he takes a few steps toward me.

“So, when you say I don’t understand…” His voice trails off, anger still written clearly on his face. “Believe me… I fucking understand.” Guilt and shame replace the anger flowing through me. How could you say that to him? A voice echoes in my head. Oddly enough, it sounds like Franklin.

“Why do you even care…?” I ask, voice quiet enough that I can barely hear myself over my own racing heart. Derek has turned away from me, shoulders still moving with his harsh breath. He slowly turns around, eyes burning with something other than anger. Something I can’t place.

“Why do I care?” He repeats as he moves closer, stopping a few feet in front of me.

“Yeah… Why do you care so much?”

“Because I care about you!” His voice rings out through the loft. My heart stops in dead in my chest. Derek closes the last few feet between us, his hands coming up to rest on my cheeks. I’m not entirely sure I’m breathing as he rests his forehead against mine. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you going through the same pain I went through.”

Those perfect green eyes find mine and I lose my breath all over again. Where there was anger and hurt a few moments ago, now tenderness and worry take their place. And well… When Derek Hale looks at me like that?

I am hopeless to do anything but kiss him.

I surge forward and press my lips to his. He freezes against me for a moment, and I start to rethink every single choice I have made that’s led me to this. Then, he’s gripping my face and kissing me so fiercely that it steals the breath from my lungs.

Derek’s lips are just as soft as I dreamed they would be. I can’t help myself and flick my tongue out to lick across the seam of his lips, desperate to taste more of him. One hand drops away from my face to wrap around my waist and pull me into his chest. His other hand smooths over my jaw and moves to wrap around the base of my neck. A groan erupts out of me as he fists his hand into my hair and tugs, the slight sting zapping straight through to my core.

My hands slide up his chest to fist in his shirt, trying to pull him closer, even though there is no space left between us. I can’t get him close enough. My hands leave his shirt and slide underneath it, craving his skin. A growl rumbles low in his chest, vibrating through me where we are pressed together.

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol giving me courage or if I’ve just simply stopped caring, but I want everything Derek is willing to give me. I’m tired of waiting. I’ve spent years hiding away from how I feel about the man that’s currently wrapped around me. How long have I been waiting on bated breath, waiting to see if maybe, just maybe, Derek has wanted to kiss me just as long. He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine again.

“What happened today, Stiles…?” His voice is so soft, I barely hear it, but it still feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over me. My desire fades out, leaving behind that numbness I’ve been feeling all day. “Talk to me. Please.”

His pleads echo through the ache in my chest, even as I pull away from him. My skin already feels cold without his hands on me, but I can’t do this. Not right now. Not today. I am brought back to the downward spiral I was in when Derek walked in earlier. If I’m going to kiss him, he deserves for me to kiss him because I want to, not because I am desperate for a distraction.

“Stiles, please…” The desperation in his voice tears through me. It stops me in my tracks, halfway across the living room.

“It’s been a year since my accident. Since… Franklin,” I whisper, but I know he heard me because he sucks in a breath. Footsteps echo behind me as Derek approaches. His warm hand settles on the side of my neck, thumb sweeping over my jaw. The gesture is so tender, so supportive and soft. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t deserve the kindness, the comfort. Not when it’s my fault that a family has spent an entire year without their son.

I shrug his hand off and move toward the stairs, intending on taking a cold shower and crashing. Derek’s hand grabs mine, stopping me.

“Tell me about him.” It’s not a question, not a request. I want to. I want to spill everything that happened that day so badly, but my throat tightens to a point where I feel like I can’t breathe. If I tell Derek, he’ll know it was my fault. My fault. My fault. A shudder rushes through me and I move toward my room again, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“I can’t,” I say, and I turn just in time to see disappointment flash across his face. “But someday I will.” At that, his head snaps up, gaze finding mine. His expression very clearly tells me that he intends to hold me to that.

After my shower, I am lying in bed, staring at my ceiling. The thoughts and memories are threatening to drown me. My hands still feel sticky and my leg hurts like hell. I’ve accepted the fact that I won’t sleep tonight, too caught up in everything that happened earlier today.

I broke. I gave in. Instead of reaching out to my pack, I took my tentative sobriety and threw it out the window. I let the numbness surround me and pull me under in a way I haven’t in months. I told Derek he wouldn’t understand… How could I say something like that to him of all people? Derek Hale, who has lost more people than anyone ever should. Who has felt the life leave more than one person he loved while he held them, completely helpless to save them. Just like me. Because that’s what I was that day.

Completely and utterly helpless.

I’d laid so hard into my team about medical training, had ensured that every single one of them would know what to do if I went down. We’d spent time nearly every week training. Caldwell had come to me on his own, asking to be retrained on everything after Johnson had gotten hurt. And he had paid more attention than any of my other guys that day.

When Franklin had first been hit in the arm, it was Caldwell who got the tourniquet on in record time. He’d even made sure to get Franklin behind cover so that I could get to him and would be safe when I did so. But it wasn’t my team that messed up that day. It was me.

And it was me who had messed up today, too.

My door creaks open, startling me out of my thoughts. I pick my head up to peak at the door and am met with a large black wolf standing at the threshold. He’s waiting at the door, eyes meeting mine cautiously. I flop back down onto the bed, cursing myself. I hurt him today. I know I did. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have taken him this long to show up in my room and he certainly wouldn’t be waiting at the door for permission.

“Come on, Sourwolf,” I huff, patting the open expanse of bed next to me. Derek trots across the room and hops up onto the bed, turning a few times to get comfortable. He pauses mid-turn to glare at me, clearing sensing the dog jokes I am barely holding back, before settling in. He’s curled up, his head resting near my left hip. My fingers act of their own accord, sliding through the silky fur near his ears. Derek huffs loudly but doesn’t move away from my hand. In fact, when I go to pull my hand away following the huff, he pushes his head into my hand, seeking out my touch.

I fall asleep rather quickly with a smile on my face and my wolf snoring softly in my bed.

            It’s pack night. I’ve been to a few in the past couple months, but it still feels overwhelming sometimes. I know they mean well and just want to see me and spend time with me, but the pressure of acting okay around everyone when I’m usually not is exhausting.

            Since the night I kissed Derek, things haven’t really changed between him and I. I’m not sure if I’m glad things aren’t different or not. He’s gone back to bothering me to go for runs every single night, then falling asleep in my bed in his wolf form. I’m beginning to think that the wolf form isn’t to tell me that I don’t need to talk, but to make it clear that he doesn’t feel like talking. Ever my antisocial wolf…

            I haven’t told a soul about the night two weeks ago. The night a few weeks after the kiss when I had woken up in the middle of the night from a nightmare about Johnson and reached out for Derek, hoping to find some comfort in stroking his soft ears… Only for my hand to meet skin. Not fur. Skin. Derek had shifted back into his human form at some point in the night. I’d peeked an eye open, both terrified and excited to see what I would find. The sight damn near left me breathless.

            Derek was laying on his stomach, the blankets pooled around his waist. His face was buried in the pillow, hair sticking up every which way. His face was so relaxed in sleep, making him look younger, softer. It had taken every ounce of self-control I possessed to not trace my fingertips over that tattoo between his shoulder blades. He had look absolutely delectable all sprawled out in my bed. The only thing that stopped me from touching him was the idea of him waking up in the middle of me creeping on him in his sleep. The idea had me fleeing to take a cold shower. When I returned to bed, Derek was in the same position, snoring softly. I’d just laid down and tried to go back sleep.

            I woke up the next morning alone and I still don’t know if Derek knew I’d woken up that night, finding him very human and very naked in bed with me. I refuse to bring it up because that conversation would be more embarrassing than I think either of us could handle.

            An elbow in my ribs brings me back to the present. Lydia is looking at me, a grin on her face, as I realize I’ve been staring at Derek from across the kitchen. Tonight is one of the rare nights where Derek decided he wanted to cook for the pack. He had made the most delicious spaghetti and meatballs with homemade garlic bread. The pack had devoured every bite, all echoing praise for his cooking. I swear I caught a slight pink coloring the tips of his ears as the pack told him how much they enjoyed the food. It made me want to kiss him so badly, I’d had to leave the room.

            “What the hell is going on with the two of you,” she questions, voice a low whisper.

            “Nothing, Lyds. Just the normal unrequited pining.” Lydia looks at me like I just might be the stupidest person on the planet.

            “Whatever you say, Stiles,” she quips, shaking her head at me and moving around the island to go stand next to the wolf. It makes my stomach start doing flips as she settles against the counter, leaning over to say something to Derek. I try to subtlety shake my head at her, but all I get is a sweet smile. Whatever she says to him makes him look up at me, a soft smile on his face. Oh, I am going to kill her.

            An hour later, the pack is piled into the living room, a movie playing on the large TV. Most of the pack is on the floor in a sea of pillows and blankets, like they always are. All of the wolves are tangled up in each other. Liam is tucked against Scott’s side, Malia’s head resting on the younger wolf’s thigh. Allison is sitting behind Scott leaning her back against the couch, his head resting in her lap as she plays with his hair. Isaac and Cora are so wrapped up in each other that I don’t think they’re even aware the movie is playing. They’re slightly further away from the group, but Isaac still has a leg out to tangle with Scott’s.

            What surprises me the most is that Lydia is on the floor with the rest of them. She’s wedged between Scott and Parrish, Isaac’s leg thrown over all of them. She hasn’t even complained about someone messing up her hair. She just looks perfectly content with her head on the hellhound’s chest.

            Warmth slides through me seeing her so completely… relaxed. At seeing all of my friends so damn happy after everything we’ve been through. It feels so… normal sitting here with all of them. A piece of me I haven’t seen in years slides back into place as I realize I am right where I am supposed to be. As I sit on this couch, surrounded by the people who love me, I swear I feel a part of my soul I left in the desert finds its way back to me. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m home.

            Derek’s knee bumps into mine from where he’s sitting next to me on the couch. His head is tilted to the side, a questioning look on his face. That’s when I realize I haven’t been watching the movie. I’ve just been looking around the room, my eyes wet with un-fallen tears. I shake my head, smiling, trying to convey that nothing is wrong. I’m simply…

            Happy.

            The word tears through me. That’s what this is. Happiness. Contentment. Joy. Emotions I’m not sure I’ve felt in months. It’s a little overwhelming. I’ve been so busy trying not to think about that kiss with Derek that I haven’t realized that I feel more like myself than I have since I left for that damn sandbox.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I’m happy and sitting here with the people I love most. Something Franklin will never again get to experience. Guilt dampens every other emotion. How can I sit here with my pack and act like nothing happened? That I deserve to be happy more than he does. How could I be so selfish? My breath is coming faster than it should, panic rolling through me as I try to get my lungs to expand the way they should.

A warm hand finds mine, fingers threading through my own. I look over to find Derek watching me, concern etched in his features. All I can manage is a shake of my head. He takes an exaggerated breath, keeping eye contact with me. I try to match his breaths as he continues to let his shoulders rise and fall.

My lungs and body relax, breathing returning to normal. I’m allowed to be happy. I should be happy. Franklin deserved to have this happiness, so I’ll be happy for him. I’ll live for him. A soft smile takes over my face at the realization.

Looking to Derek, a smile matching my own greets me. The pride on his face is clear and it makes me grin bigger. His hand is still entangled with mine, but neither of us make a move to pull away. He reaches up with his other hand to brush over my cheek before settling back into the couch.

As I too settle back, Derek’s hand leaves mine. I momentarily mourn the loss until his arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. My head drops onto his shoulder, and I swear I feel a purr take up in his chest.

Another realization hits me. I’m sitting on the couch under Derek’s arm, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. My head is tucked against him, his thumb swiping over my shoulder. I’m pressed up against the man that spends every single night in my bed. The man who stays up with me at all hours of the night when I wake up in a panic. The man who saved me when I wasn’t able to save myself.

The man who maybe… just maybe… feels the same way about me as I feel about him.

The thought puts a grin on my face I’m still wearing a few hours later when the loft is empty and said man is wandering around the loft tidying up.

            So, you know how I was convinced that maybe Derek felt something for me? I was wrong. So embarrassingly wrong.

            The last week has been so painfully awkward, and I can’t figure out what the fuck happened. The last pack night was… perfect. I had finally felt like my old self again, comfortable and surrounded by my pack. Derek had held my hand and then wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into his chest. I had been so thoroughly convinced that Derek felt something for me.

            Since then… it’s been radio silence. He hasn’t slept in my room since the night before pack night. He’s been all but completely absent from the loft. Our normal routine of hanging out with one another but doing our own thing has stopped, too. We haven’t even gone for runs together. I’ve been running by myself in order to ensure I can sleep because I’ve grown so used to Derek sleeping next to me.

            I have no idea what I did wrong. Did I push too far when I kissed him? Was us cuddling on the couch during pack night too much for him? The more Derek has avoided me, the more my anger has grown. He’s once again reverted back to the monosyllabic, growling, brooding wolf he was when I was in high school. I was so sure that him and I had moved past that part of our relationship. I thought we were closer than that.

            But apparently, I was wrong about that, too.

            I’ve planted myself on the couch, book in hand, but I’m not really reading it. My eyes have traveled over the page several times, but I’ve absorbed exactly nothing. I’m waiting for Derek to get home. He’s been avoiding me and I’m getting really fucking sick of it. When I woke up this morning to the loft being yet again completely empty, a wave of seething anger had taken over me. It’s still burning behind my ribs. Why the hell is he avoiding me?

            I hear the telltale squeak of the floorboards outside the loft. My breath catches in my chest as I hear him unlock the door. The door slides open, and he comes inside, not even bothering to acknowledge me. He drops his keys onto the little dish by the door, sliding his shoes off. He doesn’t say a word as he crosses the room and heads toward the stairs.

            He’s really going to pretend like I’m not sitting right fucking here. My anger boils over and I slam my book down onto the coffee table. Derek pauses at the base of the stairs, hand on the railing. I shove off the couch and cross the room.

            “What is your fucking problem?” I growl, stopping a few feet away from him. He doesn’t even bother to turn around to look at me as he replies.

            “What?” I swear my vision goes red as anger tears through me.

            “Why the fuck are you avoiding me?”

            “I’m not avoiding you, Stiles.” His voice is so even, so toneless. He still hasn’t turned around, hand gripping the railing of the stairs, so hard his knuckles are white.  

            “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you,” I shout, grabbing at his shoulder and yanking him around to face me. His eyes find my face immediately, anger clearly written on his face. Oh, what the fuck does hehave to be angry about?

“You have been avoiding me, Derek. I have barely seen you all week and you’ve barely spoken ten words to me. We haven’t gone for a single run. You haven’t slept in my room once…” I trail off, hurt suddenly breaking through the anger. I push it down. Now is not the time for that. I take a deep breath and pull the anger back to the forefront. “So, I’ll ask again. What is your fucking problem?”

I take another step toward him and his eyes flash. Wow, he is angry with me. Derek’s breath is coming in short pants, his chest rising and falling quickly. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes are burning so brightly with anger.

“You want to know what my problem is, Stiles?” Derek’s voice is so low I barely catch it. He looks down at his feet and takes a deep breath, opening his hands and flexing his fingers. When he looks back at me, it knocks my breath from my chest. His eyes are no longer filled with malice. His brow is furrowed, sorrow etched clearly into his features. His eyes are shining. “You. You are my problem.”

Just like that, all of my anger rushes out of me like a deflating balloon. The hurt in his voice is crystal clear. My knuckles find their way to my sternum, trying to rub away the ache behind my ribs. His gaze drops back to the floor, and I swear I see his shoulders drop a few inches in defeat. My fingers itch to reach out to him, to comfort him and get that look of agony off his face.

I take a hesitant step toward him, and my heart shatters in my chest as he matches me, taking a step backward. His hands clench into fists at his sides again. What the hell did I do? I think to myself. What did I do that’s left Derek so… wounded?

“My problem is that you won’t let me in,” he mutters, still looking at the floor. Taking a deep breath, he looks up at me. “I’m doing everything, everything, I can to be there for you, but I can only do so much when you won’t let me in…”

“Derek, I…”

“No, Stiles. You don’t get to make excuses. I have tried everything I can possibly think of to get you to open up to me about what happened to you over there, but it’s been an entire year and you still just… refuse.” That ache in my chest is now an open wound, bleeding out onto the floor. Derek is standing here, tears in his eyes, and it’s my fault. Oh god, this is my fault. That all too familiar voice is screaming out in my head. My fault. My fault.

My fault.

“Derek, I’m so sorry…” My voice comes out broken and barely audible. He surprises me by closing the distance between us, his left hand coming up to my cheek. My eyes flutter shut as he presses his forehead to mine. God, I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m the reason Derek is standing here, looking more broken than I think I’ve ever seen him look.

“Just… let me in.” His breath ghosts over my lips. I have never wanted anything as badly as I want to kiss Derek in this moment. All it would take is a slight tilt of my chin and my lips would meet his. But some part of me knows that this needs to get resolved before that happens or we will end up right back where we are currently stuck.

“Why have you been avoiding me, Der?” He leans back, but I catch his wrist, keeping his hand at my cheek. “This goes both ways, Sourwolf. If I’m going to let you in, you have to let me in, too.”

“Because I can’t keep doing this…” he whispers, eyes closing. He tugs his hand away again and this time, I let him go. Derek moves around me to sit on the couch. I stay where I am, shoving my hands in my pockets so I don’t move toward him and reach out.

“Doing what, Der?” The look he gives me rips my heart out entirely.

“Us… I can’t keep doing whatever is going on between us.” His forearms are resting on his knees, his hands clasped together and head hanging low. My heart is on the floor, stomped into the floorboards. Derek is sitting here telling me that whatever has been going on between us has to stop. So much for him feeling the same about me. He’s been avoiding me because I kissed him like an idiot and nearly tried to climb in his lap during pack night. He’s been avoiding me to be nice and save me the embarrassment.

“I’m going to go pack a bag and spend the night at Scott’s. I’ll talk to my dad. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic for me to have my old room back. I can be out by tomorrow.” His head snaps up, green eyes confused and hurt.

“Stiles, I don’t want you to leave,” he mutters, wringing his hands.

“Then what the hell do you want? You said you can’t do this anymore, so I assumed that meant me living here and being in your space. I clearly am causing you pain by being here, so I’ll go. It’s fine, Der.” He shakes his head and huffs out a laugh.

“You are an idiot, Stiles.” Anger reignites in my chest.

“Just tell me what you want from me, Derek! If you want me to leave, I’ll fucking leave,” I shout, hands carding through my hair and tugging. This wolf in front of me might be the most infuriating person I’ve ever met in my life.

“I want you to let me in!” He’s up off the couch, stalking toward me. Before I can register what’s happening, he has his hands pressed to my face again. He’s nearly panting. Those green eyes are burning with something I can’t read. “Stiles, please… Let me in.”

His tone makes something click in my brain. Derek is pleading with me, begging. He’s avoided me for a week because we got too close. But I’m starting to think he was avoiding me to protect himself, not me. I kissed him and ran away. I held his hand and let him wrap his arm around me, but at the end of the night when he’d asked me what happened, I had brushed him off. I had told him I was fine and not to worry about it. Thinking back now, he was angry that night, too. That was the first night he hadn’t slept in my room. I figured that I had pushed him too far and he needed space. So, I gave it to him. But now, I realize he grew tired of reaching out a hand when I refused to take it. Every single time, I’ve refused to take the outstretched hand of the person who will understand what I went through more than anyone.

It hits me all at once.

Why Derek has avoided me this last week. Why he held my hand and helped me calm back down during pack night, keeping me close in case I needed him again. Why he comes into my room every single night. Why he wakes me up from nightmares and washes my hands with so much care it makes my entire chest hurt. Why he continues to keep my favorite scent of lotion in the fridge, even though he doesn’t particularly love the smell. Why he looks to me before taking a bite of food he’s made, seeking my approval. Why he makes me go for runs in the Preserve on nights when my thoughts are too loud and I can’t find sleep. Why he offered to let me move in here all those months ago. Why he kept reaching out his hand, even when I refused to take it.

Derek Hale is in love with me.

Chapter Text

Derek Hale is in love with me.

Holy shit. Derek Hale is in love with me.

His hands are warm against my already heated skin. I can feel the blush creeping up my neck to stain my cheeks as he continues to stare into my soul with those perfect green eyes. I can feel his breath across my lips, and it makes me want to kiss him so badly it hurts. Those green eyes flick down to my mouth and back. Oh my god. Derek just looked at my lips. Derek is thinking about kissing me. God, I hope he kisses me.

My hands are hanging limply at my sides. I have no clue what to do with them when Derek Hale is looking at me like that. Like he wants to devour me. And I’m going to let him.

“Okay,” I whisper, our lips nearly brushing. He’s staring at my lips again until he registers what I said, eyes snapping up to meet mine. He thought I was going to fight him on this. As if I could do anything but be putty in his hands when he’s holding me like this. I’d do whatever this man asked me to.

One more flick of his gaze down to my mouth, and I can’t take it anymore. If he’s not going to kiss me, then I’m sure as hell going to kiss him. My hands find their way to his sides, my fingers finding his belt loops and using them to pull him against me. His eyes widen just slightly in surprise, but it’s quickly wiped away by an intense wave of heat. And I thought he wanted to devour me before…

A growl rumbles through his chest. I blink, and his mouth is on mine. Our last kiss was so… gentle. It was slow and sweet, and I’d wanted to show him how much it meant to me that he was still trying to help me. That he was willing to relive his pain in order to ease mine. How did it take me so long to realize this man loves me?

This kiss is nothing like that. It’s hard and not entirely perfect, both of us too eager to taste each other to care. His tongue brushes against my lips, and I let him in, earning another growl. I’m beginning to like the feeling of his growls rumbling through my chest.

I’ve only kissed Derek twice, but I’m already addicted. Addicted to the way he growls when I do something he likes. The way his teeth graze against my lips as he smiles. The way his tongue tastes against my own. The heat of his body pressing into me, desperate to have me closer. I never want it to end.

His hand snakes back from my jaw, trailing along my neck in a way that makes me shiver, and twines his fingers into my hair. His fist slowly tightens in my hair, tugging the strands. A breath hisses through my teeth at the slight sting. Derek smiles against my lips again. His mouth follows the path of his hand, placing open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and neck.

He pauses where my neck meets my shoulder. I tilt my head away from him, putting my neck fully on display for him. Just as I expected him to, he nearly snarls and sinks his teeth into my neck. Not enough to break skin, but enough that I will most definitely have a bite mark tomorrow, probably a bruise too.

He smiles against my skin yet again. Scratch kissing Derek being my new favorite thing. My new favorite is whatever the hell we’re doing right now. I want his teeth on me everywhere. I want his bite marks all over me, marking me his. Oh shit. Am I his now?

Distracted by my thoughts, I barely notice him pulling away from my neck. The hand in my hair tightens, and pulls my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. That perfect green is nearly swallowed by his pupils. He looks destroyed, and I never want him to look any other way. Because I feel the same. Both of our breath is coming in ragged pants, chests brushing as they rise and fall.

I try to tilt my head and meet his lips again, but his grip tightens, preventing me from moving at all. He’s got a gleam in his eye that takes me a moment to recognize. I used to have that same gleam in my own eyes when Caleb and I were seeing each other. The look of hunger, and ideas of how to torture your partner with ecstasy.

Any other time, if you asked me whether I preferred being in charge during sex, I’d have said absolutely. I like to be the one to give out the pleasure. Or pain. Depends on the day. I like being in control, watching someone hand me their submission with complete trust. Any other day and I’d have said, yes. I went to be in control. But today?

Today, I’m nearly panting when Derek brings his mouth to my ear and whispers “On your knees, Stiles.”

Yep, any other day, I’d have laughed and said no, I run this show. But today, I am on my knees before I can give it a second thought.

Having my hair pulled has always felt amazing, but Derek has the technique down pat because I am putty in his hands at the way his hand is fisted at the base of my skull. It’s got my mind going blissfully blank, a difficult feat for someone with ADHD like me. He leans over me, swiping the knuckles of his free hand over my cheek. I nearly preen at the contact, my eyes fluttering shut. His hands feel so good on my skin. He lets out a contented hum.

“That’s my good boy,” he murmurs. My eyes snap open to find his full of amusement. Shit. I knew I enjoyed giving praise. The look on Caleb’s face every time I told him how good he was for me never failed to make me rock hard. Being on the receiving end isn’t something I was prepared for. But now that I’m here… I will be Derek’s good boy any day of the week.

Derek’s good boy.

Oh.

I am his.

A grin splits across my face. Derek’s answering smile leaves me stunned. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners. The way they light up in a way very few get to see. Those dimples that hide themselves in his stubbly beard. It hits me again just how much I love the man in front of me. It makes my eyes water and my throat burn. I try to clear my throat and dislodge the lump forming, but it holds firm.

Derek’s eyes flash from hungry to worried in a split second as he takes in the tears forming in my eyes. The hand on the back of my head immediately loosens, smoothing over my hair.

“Oh, Stiles, I’m sorry… I didn’t even ask if that was okay. We haven’t really talked about anything, and I shouldn’t have made assumptions about what you’re into,” he rambles. I let him go on for a bit. It’s too damn cute not to.

He moves to take a step back, and I won’t be having any of that. I catch his wrist, keeping his hand pressed against my cheek.

“No, I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. I fucking loved that. You can do that to me whenever you want to,” I say, grinning up at him. It’s also too cute how quickly he relaxes at my words. “Der… I…”

I pause, taking a deep breath. I might have figured out that Derek loves me… but has he? The way he’s gazing down at me has me thinking yes, but the doubt is just loud enough to make me think twice about letting those three little words fly.

But then, I realize I’ve waited long enough. It’s been nearly five years since I finally acknowledged that I’m in love with Derek. I’ve waited so long I’m starting to feel like Sirius Black. I’ve done my waiting! Five years of it!

“Derek… how long have you been in love with me?” His hand drops from my face as he finally takes that step back. I let him go even though it breaks my heart. He backs up another step and drops down onto the couch. Rising off the floor, I move to sit next to him.

“I-,” he starts, pausing to clear his throat. Oh god. You misread this, Stiles! You read too far into it, a little voice in my head shouts. I shove it away. Derek loves me. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. It’s just a matter of whether or not he’s ready to admit it. “I’m honestly not sure…”

Oh sweet baby Jesus.

Derek Hale does love me.

“Tell me when you realized it,” I say softly, reaching over and lacing his fingers with mine. I’m not going to sit here and have this conversation without touching him. I need him right here; a reminder this is real.  

“Well, I don’t really know when things started to change with you. One day, you were this intensely annoying teenager who kept trying to frame me for murder,” he says, glaring at me. I can’t help but chuckle. “And the next… you turned into this fiercely loyal person who was treating me like I wasn’t broken. Like I wasn’t something to be feared. You and Scott helped me realize that even if I’ve been through a lot, that doesn’t mean I have to go it alone. That I’ll always have my pack,” he mutters, dropping his head. The tips of his ears are pink, showing me just how hard that was for him to openly admit.

“Then, you left. And I realized it wasn’t Scott that made my pack feel like pack. It was the irritating human who I couldn’t stop thinking about.” Well, if I wasn’t crying before, I’m definitely crying now. “I had to physically stop myself from writing you letters every day. Suddenly, anything that happened to me, I wanted you to be the first person I talked to. I had gotten so used to you being around for me to talk to that not having you here was devastating. Lydia had to come yell at me to stop moping and just write you…”

He smiles, glancing up at me. His thumb rubs small circles into the back of my hand.

“That does sound like Lydia,” I sigh.

“And when you came home for Christmas, you were happier than I’d ever seen you. You got out of Beacon Hills, and you were thriving. I somehow got it in my head that you wouldn’t ever want to be with me because I would just hold you back, keep you here in the town you tried so hard to get away from.”

“Derek, I wasn’t running from you. I was running from everything that happened here.” He gives me a weak smile.

“I know that now.” Derek scoots closer so he’s pressed up against me, hip to knee. “It took everything I had to not send the letters I wrote you. To let you start your new life and be happy.”

“What do you mean? Did you keep writing me letters?” He nods sheepishly, and if I wasn’t already in love with him, that alone would have had me head over heels. “That is the sweetest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” I mumble, sniffling.

“I still have them,” he says, hand coming up to wipe my tears from my cheeks. “You can have them.”

What did I do to deserve that kind of dedication?

“I have never been more relieved than when I smelled you out in the hallway before you left for Washington. I spent those entire two weeks pacing the loft, fighting with myself over going to your house and just kissing you stupid before you left. I knew it was a stupid idea to start anything with you when you were starting your new life, so I had talked myself out of it. I was content with letting you move on. But then you showed up at my door, even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you, and how could I do anything but be your friend again?” Now his eyes are silver lined. If he starts crying, I’ll be a mess for sure.

“You want to know something?” He hesitantly nods. “When I was up at Lewis, Caleb started calling you Lover Boy because of how much I talked about you. The day we found out about our deployment, you were the first person I called, and he caught me. He gave me so much shit for it. The first thing he asked me was how long I had been in love with you…” I’m pretty sure Derek was holding his breath up to that point because his shoulders sag with the force of his exhale.

He was worried that I was going to reject him… That I was asking how long he’s been in love with me not because I cared for him, but because I needed to know to let him down easy. It makes the ache in my chest crack open again as I realize that he doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. Not like this. And how could he? After Paige, Kate, and Jennifer? If I’d been through half of what Derek has, I would have gone celibate and become a monk, would have completely given up.

But Derek… Derek still has it in his heart to fall in love with someone. To fall in love with me.

“Derek… I’ve been in love with you for years. I don’t know when it started, but I’m hoping it doesn’t end here. I am so in love with you it hurts,” I say, laughing a little as my chest tightens in answer to the absolutely stunning smile now painted across his face. He really is devastatingly handsome. I blink and he’s tugging me onto his lap, framing my face with his hands.

“Stiles, I am so in love with you I don’t even know what to do with myself. And that’s never happened to me before.” And just like that, my heart melts for this wolf all over again.

“I love you, Der,” I whisper, leaning my forehead against his. My eyes flutter closed, and I breath Derek in. I might not have heightened wolf senses, but his scent is still intoxicating. It’s woodsy and perfect, with just a hint of brightness and citrus. I could make millions selling candles. I’d call it Sourwolf.

He takes a shuddering breath and presses his lips to mine. It’s quick and chaste, and I immediately want more, but I hold myself back. Derek needs to take his time saying it, and I need to give him that time. My eyes open to find him intently staring at me, gaze so fond it sends a jolt through my chest. A grin slowly spreads across his face.

“I love you, too, Stiles.” There is a moment of is just gazing into each other's eyes before we are crashing into each other, even more fevered and hungry than before.

Derek loves me.

Derek loves me.

Derek loves me.

The realization has me feral. I can’t get enough of Derek. Of his mouth on mine. Of my hands sliding over his chest. Of his hands gripping my hips tight enough to bruise. Of that growing hardness beneath me.

I grind my hips down to meet his, earning a deep groan from the wolf’s chest. He tears his mouth away from mine to place open mouth kisses along my jaw and down my neck. The feeling of his beard scraping against the sensitive skin of my neck has me nearly purring in his lap. Derek’s hand finds its way back to the nape of my neck to tangle in my hair. Yep, if I was a wolf, I’d fully be purring now. God, his hands feel good on me.

“Stiles…” I don’t ever want him to say anything but my name from now on. “On your knees,” he repeats, tugging my head back and meeting my gaze with his jade green eyes. There’s a spark of mischief in his eye that has my blood speeding south. I don’t know what he has planned, but I am one hundred percent on board with whatever it is.

His hand doesn’t leave my hair as I slide off his lap to kneel on the carpet between his knees. I would give anything for Derek to continue looking at me the way he is right now. His eyes are tender and soft, and it makes my chest ache. He slides his hand from my hair to my jaw, running his knuckles over my jaw.

“So pretty like this,” he mutters, almost as if to himself. Another wave of heat flushes through me at Derek’s praise. I get it now. I get why Caleb preened every time I said something like that to him. Why he pushed his head into my hand whenever I touched him like this. I’m doing the same thing now, trying to prolong Derek’s touch. His thumb swipes over my bottom lip and tugs on it.

All thoughts eddy out of my head as his thumb slips into my mouth, brushing my tongue. His pupils flare as his nostrils do the same. I flick my tongue along the underside of his thumb and suck, earning another groan from him.

He pulls his thumb free and settles back into the couch. He drapes one arm over the back of the couch, settles one hand on his thigh. My own hands settle on my thighs, itching to touch Derek, but unsure if I’m supposed to wait for instruction or not.

“Take me out, baby,” he says, eyes heavy-lidded and chest rising and falling quickly. Fuck. I did not think Derek calling me baby would have such an effect on me. I have to bite back a whimper as he says it. I distract myself with pitching forward on my knees, shaking hands reaching for his zipper. I have to take a few steadying breaths to get my wild heart rate under control.

I ease his zipper down and pop the button on his jeans open. My breath catches in my throat as he shifts his hips to let me tug the jeans down his legs a few inches. Under those black boxer briefs he’s wearing, Derek is rock hard. It sends a chill over my skin and makes my mouth water. I need him in my mouth now.

My hand no longer shakes as I tug down the waistband of his boxers, pulling his dick out with the other. He’s… perfect. I never thought I’d think of a dick as perfect, even my own, but, damn, Derek’s is perfect. It’s not too long, but thick enough to make me have to bite back a whimper, yet again. I run my thumb over the underside, swiping over the head. Derek swears under his breath, and I can’t help but smile. I’ve only just started touching him, and even though I’m the one on his knees, I know I’ve got Derek in the palm of my hand.

“Stiles…” His voice is little more than a growl, making me smirk up at him. His hand moves to the back of my head again, guiding my head closer to where he wants me. I let my warm breath huff out over his head. Derek’s jaw flexes and his grip on my hair tightens. Sticking my tongue out, I make sure to pause just long enough to make eye contact with Derek before flicking it over the underside of his dick.

Derek swears under his breath, nostrils flaring. Okay, I’ve had enough waiting. I could toy with Derek like this for hours, and I plan to some day, but right now I have other things planned.

All at once, I sit up off my heels and sink down as far as I can onto Derek. He barks out a curse, and as I pull back and glance up, I’m rewarded with the sight of Derek flopping his head to rest on the back of the couch. My favorite reaction to pull out of men. It has my blood burning in my veins. I have never needed someone the way I need Derek right now.

I start up a rhythm, sinking down and pulling back, my right hand coming to squeeze at the base. Derek’s hand remains in my hair, guiding my speed. Every once in a while, he pushes my head down a little further and holds me there until my eyes water and I start to gag. He lets me pull back each time and catch my breath, but that hand never leaves my hair. And I don’t want it to. I don’t want Derek’s hand anywhere but gripped in my hair forever.

His grip tightens as he groans, sending a shiver down my spine. His hips are twitching with holding back from bucking up to meet me each time, so I slowly stop moving. Thankfully, he takes the hint and starts to roll his hips, going slightly deeper. I flick my eyes up to see that Derek is already watching me, pupils blown wider than I’ve ever seen them. He’s panting, jaw clenched in a low growl that hasn’t stopped since I got my mouth on him.

Those green eyes burning into me have my own hips bucking forward. The friction against my jeans is just shy of enough and it’s beginning to drive me insane. Okay, maybe there is one place where I’d rather Derek’s hands be… But I need more, and I need more now.

Derek must read something on my face because he pulls me off of him and smirks down at me. One of his hands comes forward to wipe away some of the spit on my chin, his thumb swiping over my bottom lip. There’s no doubt I probably look absolutely wrecked right now, but with Derek looking at me like that, I can’t bring myself to care.

He sits forward and dips down to kiss me. It’s… gentler. So much so that it makes my chest ache. It’s soft and sweet and I swear I can feel how much Derek loves me. He pulls back entirely too soon but gives me a smirk that has me curious what he’s got planned. Tucking himself back into his jeans, he stands from the couch.

“Come on, our first time is not going to happen on a couch,” he says, grabbing my hand and tugging me to my feet. Derek starts toward the stairs, pulling me with him.

“Derek, you know I’m not a virgin, right?” He doesn’t turn around, but I feel him roll his eyes.

“I know that, Stiles. But if I’m going to fuck you senseless for the first time, I’m not going to do it on a couch. I’m going to do it on a bed where I can lay you down and take my time taking you apart. Over and over again.” I trip as he pulls me up the stairs, earning me a chuckle and a glance over his shoulder, showing his shit eating grin.

Oh, I am in so much fucking trouble.

“Derek,” I whine. For the last what feels like four hours, but in reality was probably ten minutes, Derek has been on a mission to kill me. But hey, might as well go out happy, right?

After Derek hauled me upstairs and into my room, he’d pulled me in for another kiss. He slid his hands over my waist to settle on my ass, using his grip on me to tug my hips into his. I couldn’t hold myself back from touching him any longer and slid my hand down the front of his unbuttoned jeans. His groan when my fingers wrapped around him will echo in my head forever.

Derek had smacked my hand away, telling me to get on the bed. He disappeared out into the hallway for a moment, quickly returning holding a bottle of lube and a condom. It shouldn’t have made my stomach flutter, but it did.

“I can’t contract anything, but we can use one if you’re more comfortable with that,” Derek had told me as he set the items on his nightstand. My heart nearly burst at his unwillingness to compromise my comfort. I’d just shaken my head and told him I didn’t want anything between us. The growl that rumbled through his chest at my words shot straight to my dick.

Apparently, those were words I should have kept to myself. It has resulted in Derek spending the last ten minutes with his tongue and his fingers in my ass, driving me absolutely insane.

“Derek, please. I need more.” I’m painfully hard. My arms are starting to shake, and I’m about two more brushes over my prostate away from collapsing onto the bed. He isn’t even putting any real pressure on it, either. Just barely there touches that are making me feel desperate and a little feral.

Derek’s free hand smooths up my spine. I try to let it ground me, but he crooks his fingers as he does it.

“Fuck,” I pant as he actually presses against that little bundle of nerves. It sends a jolt right up my spine. “Der, if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to kick you out.”

He has the audacity to laugh at me. I glare at him over my shoulder, but I imagine I don’t make a very threatening image right now.

“No, you won’t. And we both know that. You like this,” he purrs, crooking his fingers again, “way too much.” He’s right. I hate that he’s right. “But maybe if you ask me nicely, I will.”

“Derek, please fuck me already,” I grit out. Derek hums, removing the three fingers he was torturing me with. My body cries out at the loss, but I know the best is yet to come.

Before I even really have a moment to catch my breath, Derek grips one of my hips tightly. With the other hand, he swipes the head of his dick up and down a few times, smearing lube. My hips twitch back into him, and he just chuckles.

“My eager little slut.”

Shit. I was not ready for Derek dirty talking. I’m not usually all that into it, but when it’s him? His voice moves over my skin like a touch. It sends a shiver through me. I’ll be whatever he wants me to be if he keeps talking to me like that.

“Deep breath.” I do as he says, anticipating to discomfort as he starts to push in. I’ll never admit this to him, but his lengthy foreplay seems to have paid off. There’s a burn, but it fades quickly.. His hips settle against mine, causing me to drop my head down on my forearms below me. It must change the angle because now he’s brushing over my prostate with every small movement.

This might actually kill me.

Thankfully, Derek gives in and starts thrusting gently. It makes me see stars. I didn’t know it was possible for it to feel this good. The way his fingers are digging into my hips tells me he’s thinking something similar. His hips start to move quicker, each thrust just a little harder.

It feels so good, I don’t ever want it to stop. But I also want him to stop holding back. I want to see what Derek looks like when he loses that control he keeps such a tight grip on. I tilt my hips up just a bit to make the angle even deeper. He groans loudly, hips faltering in their rhythm for just a moment. He’s as close to losing it as I am. Good.

“Stop holding back, Der. Give me everything.”

Derek’s thrusts slow for a moment. The slow, smooth strokes have my eyes nearly rolling back in my head. Literally everything he does feels amazing.

“You want everything?” My heart melts a little as I realize that’s his way of asking me if I’m sure I want this. I just nod and shove my hips back into him. A growl rips out of him, and his hands tighten even more on my hips. “Words, Stiles. I need words.”

“Yes. I want everything,” I tell him. Derek slips out of me, and I whine in protest. This is the exact opposite of everything. His hands tug at my hips, urging me to roll over.

The view I’m rewarded with when I do takes my breath away.

Derek is always gorgeous, in all his versions. With the pack. When it’s just him and I. When he’s working with the police department to consult on cases. They’re all perfect because he’s perfect. Those beautiful jade green eyes framed with dark lashes. The stubble that’s somehow always the perfect length. But Derek like this? This version is hands down my favorite. Those green eyes are nearly swallowed up by his pupils. His cheeks and neck are flushed, covered in a light sheen of sweat that makes me want to lick him. He looks completely and utterly wrecked.

Derek drops down onto on elbow above me, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead then my lips. He settles my legs around his hips and guides himself back into me. My head flops back onto the bed. We both groan, me cursing under my breath.

He works back up to steady rhythm, fully stealing the breath from my lungs. I am knocked further breathless when I pick my head up and find Derek watching me. No one has ever looked at me the way he is right now. Like I’m his world.

To chase away the burning at bridge of my nose, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his mouth to mine. I can feel his smile against my lips. He pulls back, trailing kisses down my jaw and neck, murmuring praise the whole way.

“You are so perfect, Stiles.” A kiss at my jaw.

“So good for me.” A kiss and a lick just below my ear.

“You feel so good, baby, like you were made for me.” A quick stinging bite at my collarbone, soothed away with his tongue.

All the while, his hips keep their steady rhythm. The brief break helped pull me back from the edge, but I can feel myself barreling back toward it. But he still hasn’t given me what I want.

“Derek.” He pulls back to look at me. “I want everything.” His nostrils flare as he blinks a few times before slowing nodding. His eyes flutter shut. He takes a deep breath.

When Derek’s eyes open, they are burning in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He’s looked at me with heat and desire in his gaze before, but nothing compares to this. No one has ever looked at me with such unbridled lust. It makes my entire body feel just a little too hot.

The tether Derek has on his control finally snaps. A slightly feral noise slips out of him as he leans back onto his knees. His hands fall to my hips, tugging me closer to him. I open my mouth to tell him again, but the words dissolve into a moan as he unleashes on me.

Derek’s hips snap into mine, hard. Hard enough that I start scooting up the bed with each thrust. He moves with me, though, never losing his rhythm. My entire body feels like it just got zapped with an electric fly swatter. It’s too much. It’s not enough. My body can’t decide.

Derek decides for me. He slides a hand between us, wrapping a fist around my dick.

“Oh fuck,” I choke out as he starts stroking in time with his thrusts. I feel like all the pieces of me are about to blow apart. Everything is so sensitive and it’s Derek and it’s perfect. He leans over me, placing his hand near my head. He scrapes that perfect stubble over my chest and neck.

“Come for me, Stiles. I want to feel you come on my cock,” Derek growls into my ear. The rumble of his voice is enough to send me careening off the edge. My release hits me so hard I can’t breathe for a few moments. My vision goes blurry, and my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

The man just made me come harder than I ever have in my life and his words are what’s making me blush. Get it together, Stiles. I bite back a moan as he slows his rhythm just a little. It eases the hypersensitivity just enough to make me feel like I could go again. I can’t. But I sure wish I could.

“You gonna come for me now?” I ask him. Derek’s eyes snap up to mine from where they were lingering on the mess I made of my stomach. They narrow a little, but all I can see on his face is fondness. He loves my bratty ass.

I tug him back down, just needing to be closer to him. He pauses just a breath away and smiles, before kissing me. He groans into my mouth as I scratch my nails up his back. His face buries into his favorite spot just under my jaw. I know from Scott that my scent is strongest there.

Derek gently bites at my neck as his hips stutter a few times. He groans again, quietly panting my name. I trail my fingers over his shoulder blades, tracing the tattoo there like I’ve wanted to so many times. He hums, releasing my neck and nuzzling instead.

“I love you, Stiles.” God I will never get used to Derek Hale telling me he loves me. I hope he never stops. I want him to tell me he loves me until we’re both old and grey. The thought ricochets through me. I want to spend my life with this wolf. I want a future with him. A future with a big house and kids and the pack. And Derek. A future I wasn’t even sure I was going to even be around for a few months ago.

“I love you, too, Derek.” He leans back to look at me when he hears my voice break. Concern is written all over his face. “Sorry… just having an epiphany over here. I’m fine.”

Derek huffs, dropping his head to my chest before slowly pulling out and flopping down next to me. I curl into his side, and he wraps his arm around me. We fit together so perfectly, like I was made to be tucked under his arm like this.

“Want to share with the class?”

“Um…” I hesitate. Derek just told me he loves me. I know that was probably a big step for him, considering his past. I don’t want to freak him out by telling him that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. “Just realizing I’m genuinely happy for the first time since I got home.”

“Stiles, you know I can smell it when you lie. It makes your scent go just a little sharp. Tell me. Please?” I take a deep breath. This is what he said he wanted. He wants me to let him in. I can do that. I think.

“I was just thinking that I hope you keep telling me you love me until we’re old and grey…” I trail off, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m too scared to look at Derek right now. His hand slides over my jaw, pulling my face toward him.

“Look at me, baby,” he says, voice soft in a way I’ve only ever heard him use with me. My eyes flutter open to find Derek looking at me with so much love in his eyes that it genuinely makes my chest hurt. “I will tell you I love you every single day for the rest of our lives if you let me.”

“I like the sound of that,” I admit. “Can we have a big house with a big backyard for the kids?” Derek grins at me, nodding and pressing a kiss to my lips. He tugs his arm out from under me, holding out his hand to help me up. I’m about to argue that I don’t need help when my knees nearly buckle. He catches me by the elbows.

“You were about to tell me you didn’t need help, huh,” Derek teases, grinning at me. “Come on, Bambi, let’s go take a shower.” That nickname had better not stick. It’s not my fault he fucked me within an inch of my life, and it made my legs all wobbly. It’s his! I follow him into the bathroom anyway.

An hour later, we’ve collapsed into my freshly made bed. Neither of us were too keen on the idea of sleeping in the mess we made. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to sleep in his room. He knows it’s unfamiliar to me and that waking up in an unfamiliar environment really messes with me sometimes. My heart had melted for him all over again.

Now we’re a tangle of limbs. My head on his chest and my arms wrapped around his waist. His arms wrapped around my shoulders. Our legs tangled together. Derek presses a kiss to my hair. I’ve never felt so…

Safe.

Somewhere along the way, Derek became my peace. A safe space to just be me and to not have to worry about expectations. A safe space to not be okay sometimes. With his arms around me, the problems in my life don’t seem so daunting. He makes me feel invincible, like I can do anything.

He’s seen the darkest parts of me. The part of me that knows what it feels like to take a life. The part of me with my buddy’s blood on my hands. The part of me that knows it should have been me that day. He’s seen all of it, and he still looks at me like I’m the center of his universe. He still loves me.

I’ve been so scared to give him that final piece. To tell him how I failed. To tell him just how low I fell. I know he won’t judge me, that he’s had one hell of a self-destructive streak himself, but I haven’t talked about that day in nearly a year.

Last time I spoke to someone about it was at Walter Reed with Caleb. When things were still so fresh, each word felt like a razor blade in my throat.

I untangle myself from Derek and sit cross-legged on the bed next to him. He mirrors me, concern creasing his brow.

“I…” My voice gives out, but he just waits patiently for me to find it again. “I want to tell you about… my tour.”

Derek’s eyes go wide for a moment.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Can you give me five minutes? I’m going to run downstairs and make you some of your favorite tea. Do you… Do you want me to grab your lotion? Just in case?”

Tears prick at my eyes. How did I get so insanely lucky? I don’t know what sort of karma I had to cash in to get a man as thoughtful and protective as Derek to fall in love with me. But it was worth it. Between the anxiety creeping up and the other emotions threatening to overwhelm me, I can only manage is a nod. He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and disappears.

While he’s gone, I tug on a pair of sweats and swipe Derek’s shirt off the floor. It’s one of his dark grey Henleys that are perfectly broken in and so soft. His scent surrounds me, easing my anxiety just a little. I settle back on the bed with my back against the headboard.

Derek reappears a few minutes later, carrying two mugs and the lotion tucked under his arm. His eyes drop down to my chest as he sets the mugs down on the nightstand. A low rumble comes from him.

“I like when you wear my clothes,” he hums, sitting down next to me and handing me a mug. “I put a couple ice cubes in it so it should be cool enough to drink.”

I take a small sip, letting the lavender earl grey wash away a little more of the tension in my shoulders. I set the mug down on the nightstand and turn to face him.

“This isn’t going to be easy. And I can’t promise I’m going to make it through the whole story.” I look down at my hands, already feeling the memories start to pull at me, demanding my attention.

“Whatever you are able to tell me, I’ll gladly listen to,” he reassures me. “Do you want me to touch you?” I shake my head, needing to do this on my own.

Rolling my shoulders, I start the story of the day I almost lost Caleb. Derek sits and quietly listens, nodding every once in a while.

“I just… I’ve never felt so angry. It was my responsibility to train my guys on what to do in a situation like that. I failed them that day. I failed Caleb and I failed Caldwell. Caleb could have just as easily died, and it would have been my fault if he bled out on that floor. My fault. My fault…”

The words start on their repetitive loop, dragging me further down with each pass. Derek’s hand comes to rest on mine in my lap. His touch pulls me back into myself somewhat. I hadn’t even noticed that I was starting to rub at my palm with my thumb, trying to scrub away the ghosts clinging to my skin. I give him a small grateful smile and continue.

“I completely lost it on Caldwell. I’ve never yelled at someone like that. I… I pinned him to the wall with my arm at his neck. I saw genuine fear in his eyes, and I reveled in it. I wanted him scared. Scared enough that he wouldn’t fuck up again.” The guilt of how I treated Caldwell in the aftermath of Caleb’s injuries comes swirling back. “The guy had messed up, but not bad enough to warrant me telling him that it would have been his fault if we lost Caleb that day. Because it would have been mine. My. Fault.”

My hands are starting to shake. Fuck I knew this was going to be hard, but this… this feels like drowning. Like I can’t get to the surface even though it’s just beyond my reach. There’s no relief for me.

“That’s what most of my nightmares are about. Caleb getting hurt that day and no matter what I do, I can’t fucking save him.” Images of that day flash behind my eyes as I squeeze them shut. Caleb lying on the floor, covered in his own blood. So much fucking blood. “I can’t save him. I can’t save him. I can’t save him.”

My breath is coming in quick pants now, nausea crawling its way up my throat as echoes of screams I can’t unhear ring through my head. That day comes crashing back full force. How terrified I was to lose Caleb. How angry I was with Caldwell. How a small, sick part of me was almost glad because I proved that I am a damn good medic who can take care of his team that day. The guilt that swept in following that realization settled deep in my bones and never left.

“Stiles, breathe.” Derek’s voice cuts through it all. His hands come up to cup my jaw, thumbs sweeping over my cheekbones. The images trickle off, but the adrenaline dump I usually deal with after my nightmares is still running rampant in my bloodstream. It kicks the medic part of my brain into overdrive. I need to save him, but I fucking can’t.

“Derek,” I pant, hands coming up to grip his wrists. “I can’t save him.”

“Stiles, look at me.” I force my eyes open, taking in the wolf in front of me, reminding myself that I’m here with him in Beacon Hills. Not in some rundown house in Afghanistan. That I’m safe. That Caleb is safe. “You can save him. You want to know how I know you can? Because you’ve already done it once.”

His muttered words make the remnant images of my nightmares that have bled into my memory of the real event vanish. His words all those months ago echo through me. You’re trained for this.

“I… I can… I can save him.” The words feel strange in my mouth. The funny thing about trauma is that it only reminds you of the bad. It doesn’t remind you of the good that’s mixed in with the bad. Sometimes remembering the good pieces makes the bad feel less… bad.

“Are you okay to keep going or are we done for the night?” Derek asks the question with absolutely zero judgement and zero pity. He genuinely just wants to know.

“I’m… well, I’m not okay, but I’m getting closer to it.” Derek gives me a small smile, showing me he appreciates my honesty. It gives me courage. “Caleb’s screams were bad that day. I can still hear them if I let myself. But Franklin…” My voice breaks on his name. Vacant blue eyes flash, and I shake my head to clear them away. “I don’t go a day without hearing his screams.”

“How did he die?” Derek asks the question so gently, but it doesn’t make me feel like he’s scared I’m going to break. His voice is soft like the way you speak in a cemetery. There’s no pity, just quiet respect.

“He got tagged in the arm but was mostly okay. A tourniquet got put on, so he was good for a bit. We were taking fire, but my team moved to provide cover so I could get to him. I started to run to him. It really felt like it happened in slow motion, like a movie. A grenade bounced on the ground between us.” I pause, taking a few deep breaths. It was so much closer to him than it was to me. He’d gotten hit so much harder than me. It should have been me. “Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back and all I can hear is this high-pitched ringing.”

As if summoned by the memory, both of my ears start ringing violently. I close my eyes and press a hand to one of my ears, tucking my head down with a wince. I mumble an apology. Derek’s hand smooths over my knee.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Is it your ears?”

“Yeah. They always kind of ring, but it’s quiet and I’m used to it by now, so it doesn’t bother me. But sometimes it gets really bad. It makes my teeth hurt,” I whine. I peak over at him to find his mouth drawn tight. He looks frustrated, but I think that’s because he just doesn’t know how to help me. “This is honestly worse than any fit my leg throws. I can handle the physical pain, but this shit is annoying.”

Derek’s forehead creases. His hand slides down to the scar on my shin. The veins on his hand go black. He sucks in a breath. I feel my shoulders sag with relief at the brief absence of pain in my leg. I don’t remember the last time I was pain free.

“Stiles, is today a bad day?” Part of me wants to tell him yes, this is as bad as it gets. A bigger part of me knows I don’t have to hide it. Not from Derek.

“Um… today is about a 4?” He just continues to stare at me. “My bad days can be a 6, nearly a 7, but they don’t happen as often anymore. Most days I’m at about a 3, which I’m used to, so it doesn’t really bother me anymore.” Now he’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Do you ever have days that are zero?” I almost laugh. I don’t remember what it feels like to be completely pain free.

“No, Derek. I haven’t had a zero day in over a year.” Irritation flashes across his face. Yep. He’s pissed that there is a problem he can’t fix. Not permanently. “Der, it’s really okay. It’s manageable and tolerable most of the time.”

His hand continues to massage my shin, leeching my pain away. “Thank you,” I manage around the lump in my throat. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t want him to take away my pain completely. It’s a way to keep Franklin close to me, as fucked up as that probably sounds. A reminder so I don’t forget that day, forget him.

It should have been me.

“A piece of shrapnel lodged itself in my shin. It broke both the bones and partially severed my calf muscle. It hurt like hell, worse than anything I’ve ever experienced, but my pain fell second to hearing my teammate scream so loudly his vocal cords gave out,” I tell Derek. It feels like I’m watching a movie of myself that day. It should have been me. “All I could think was I can’t get to him. He needs me and I can’t get to him. I can’t get to him. I can’t get—“

Derek’s hand squeezes on my thigh, helping to pull me back from the desert and anchor me in today.

“I tried, but my leg gave out before I could make it even a step. He had gotten knocked over by the blast, so he wasn’t behind the cover of the car anymore. He had rolled over onto his stomach somehow and was reaching for me. He was screaming at me to help him and I—“ My voice breaks. A tear breaks free, trailing down my cheek. It should have been me. “He needed me, and I couldn’t get to him. I failed him. I failed my whole team that day… It… it should have been me.”

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek says, tucking a finger under my chin, urging me to tilt my head up. When I do, he brushes his hand over my cheek. He cups the side of my neck while his thumbs rub small circles under my ears. When I meet his gaze, his eyes are fierce. “I want you to listen to me, okay? You didn’t fail anyone. There’s no way you could have known about the grenade. And you couldn’t move. It is not your fault that he succumbed to his injuries.”

“He… he didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he didn’t succumb to his injuries…” Derek glares at me, sensing how much I’m dancing around the point. I almost don’t want to admit it to him, knowing exactly what his reaction will be. “He got shot. In the head.”

Derek drops his head for a moment, huffing.

“Stiles,” he says, laughing a bit. “I know what it feels like to think there must have been something you could have done to change the outcome. But sometimes there just isn’t anything you could have done. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.”

I just sit and look at him for a moment. I let the words wash over me, tucking them away to pull out when the memories get too loud. Do I think this conversation magically cured my PTSD? Of course not, that’s insane. But I do feel lighter having told Derek everything. And he’s not looking at me any different. I’m still Stiles.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling his hand from my neck to press a kiss to his palm.

“For what?”

“For… everything. For giving me my space when you thought that was what I needed. For telling me to pull my head out of my ass. For making space in your life for me. For taking me on runs. For the tea and the lotion. For dealing with all of my nightmares… For loving me,” I finish. Derek rolls his eyes at me.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you, Stiles,” he chuckles, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of my head. “Besides, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. You’re stuck with me.”

“I’d argue you’re the one stuck with me. I’m way more annoying.”

“You’re probably right.” Derek laughs as I smack him in the chest. I can’t help but laugh, too. I think Derek just helped me turn over yet another leaf tonight. I did save him. It wasn’t my fault.

He moves to lay down, flicking the lamp off and pulling me down onto his chest.

“I love you,” he mutters into my hair.

“I love you, too.”

The worst part about working past trauma is that things will start to feel like they are getting better, easier. Things have been good. Really good. The last several weeks, I’ve felt like I’m actually getting back to my old self. The last two pack nights have been fun. I even joined in the cuddle pile last week.

I was struck speechless when Derek followed me onto the floor. Even more so when he wedged himself between Liam and I, letting the younger wolf rest his head on Derek’s shoulder. He’d wrapped an arm around me and kissed my hair. I’d been too dumbfounded to question him about when he started participating in pack cuddles.

The worst part isn’t that things get easier. It’s that things will be easier for a while, and then, everything will come crashing back. You’ll wake up one morning feeling like you’ve made zero progress at all, like you’re back to square one. Like all the healing you’ve done is just… gone.

Today is one of those days. I had one of my nightmares last night, a really bad one, and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. Derek had made me tea and wrapped me up in his arms, but the restlessness in my bones refused to settle. Finally, after lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for over an hour, I gave up. Gently removing Derek’s sleeping from me, I came downstairs to try and find something to distract my brain.

Lately, after my nightmares, the adrenaline tapers off and allows me to settle back down. The anxiety won’t go away today. It’s ramping my ADHD up to ten. I had to sneak back into my room twice to grab a different shirt because the first two made me want to scratch my skin off. I can’t sit still, needing an outlet for all this nervous energy.

I parked myself on the couch with my iPad in my lap about a half hour ago in hopes of distracting myself. I threw my headphones on and started up The Devil Wears Prada. Even the great Meryl Streep can’t keep the memories from flashing in my head. My nightmare start to bleed into reality again. That all too familiar feeling that I need to do something but can’t starts to well up in my chest. My hands start to feel sticky where they grip the sides of my tablet. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but it’s a mistake because all I see when I close my eyes is Caleb on the floor of that house.

All I see are those ice blue eyes going vacant.

Something tugs my headphones off my head, making me jump about a foot off the couch, heart threatening to break through my ribcage.

“How long have you been awake?” Derek asks gently, sliding his hand over the back of my neck. I don’t know if it’s my ADHD ramping up my sensory input in the face of anxiety or if it’s the fact that I just got an adrenaline dump on top of an adrenaline dump I already couldn’t get rid of, but his hand on me makes me want to scream.

I shrug away from his hand and pull my headphone back over my ears. I can’t handle questions right now. It’s all I can do to keep my breathing even. Derek comes around and kneels at my hip. He reaches up and gently pushes one side of my headphones off my ear. His warm hand slides over my shin, but I pull my leg away.

“Stiles, let me help,” Derek pleads. He wants to take my pain. I need the ache in my leg. I need the reminder that I suffered that day, too. I can’t let him take that from me. I just shake my head. “What do you need?”

“I need you to leave me the fuck alone,” I snap, some distant part of me feeling guilty over the hurt look that takes over Derek’s face. “It’s too much today. Just… leave me alone please.” Derek nods and stands. He leans down like he’s going to kiss the top of my head, but stops himself. He just reaches out to slide my headphones back over my ear.

Derek leaves me alone for most of the day. I stay planted on the couch with my iPad, watching movie after movie and trying to just weather the storm my mind seems intent on having. By mid-afternoon, I only feel marginally better. The adrenaline has faded, but the memories haven’t. They’re as vivid as they’ve ever been.

My ears are starting to ache after hours of being squished down by my headphones. I’m starting to get a headache. I’m exhausted. All I want to do is sleep, but I know that isn’t a likely option. Not while these memories are knotted up in my chest so tight I feel like I can’t breathe. A solution pops in my head, and I don’t have the strength to fight it today.

Shutting my headphones off and locking my tablet, I set them on the coffee table. Derek is over in a chair by the bank of windows reading a paperback. He looks up for a moment when he hears me get up, eyes tracking me across the room as I head to the stairs.

Once I have a hoodie on, I head back downstairs and head for the door. I hear Derek’s book snap shut, but I don’t care.

“Stiles.” I don’t stop walking. I told him to leave me alone. It’s not my problem if he’s not listening. I make it to the door and slide my feet into my Vans. “Stiles, where are you going?”

When I straighten up and reach for the Jeep’s keys, I find the little bowl empty. I quick glance to my right tells me that they are now being held hostage by the most annoying werewolf in existence.

“Give me my keys, Derek.”

“Not until you tell me where you’re going.” A wave of anger washes over me. I’m sleep deprived and grouchy and just so fucking done with today, so my brain makes the decision to try and take the keys from them. He just takes a step back, eyebrow raised.

“None of your business.”

“Well, if you’re heading to a liquor store, I’d say that is definitely my business.” Indignation flares through me. Who is he to fucking judge me? Who is he to keep me from the one thing that quiets the ringing, quiets the screams, blurs the memories? “I… I thought you were past this, Stiles.”

Derek’s voice is so soft, so gentle. But I can hear the disappointment underneath, the pity. It makes the anger that was brewing start to bubble over.

“Oh, like you moved past Paige and Boyd?” Derek’s eyes flash with hurt. I’m being an asshole. I know I’m being an asshole, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe if I piss him off enough, he’ll leave me alone with my bad decisions.

“I don’t expect you to forget what happened, but I thought you were healed enough to know what to do when it gets to feel like it’s too much,” Derek says, taking a careful step toward me. I hate the pity in his eyes. I hate that I’m not healed enough. Not for him.

“Nope, still fucking broken. Give me my keys,” I growl, sticking my hand out. Derek’s eyes soften, and it’s too much.

“You know there are healthier coping mechanisms. What can I do to help?” A laugh bubbles up out of me, but there’s no humor in it.

“Ha! Derek Hale telling me I need healthier coping mechanisms. That’s rich. At least I stayed. You ran like a coward when Boyd died and abandoned your pack.” The moment the words leave my mouth, guilt flares brightly in my chest. Derek’s face falls, shadows overtaking his eyes. He turns, sliding my keys into his pocket. He grabs his own keys from the bowl and moves to the door.

“Just because you didn’t leave doesn’t mean you didn’t abandon your pack, Stiles,” Derek mutters as he moves out into the hallway and starts to roll the loft door shut.

Well fuck.

I’m lying on my bedroom floor, sweaty and panting. The moment the loft door shut, I had turned on my heel and headed straight to my room. Changing quickly into shorts and a t shirt, I had immediately followed Derek out of the loft. By the time I got outside, his car was already gone.

I knew this day would come. When I got so wrapped up in my memories and anxiety that I said something to someone I love that cut them deep. Deep enough that I’m not entirely sure how to fix it. The only thing I could think to do is try to deal with things in a way that Derek would approve of.

So, I went for a run. I didn’t stop running until my lungs were burning and my legs felt like they were going to collapse underneath me. Then, I forced myself to run another mile.

Sprawled out on my floor, my lungs are aching. My shin is throbbing. I am so covered in sweat that I’m practically stuck to the floor. But my head is quieter. Derek was right. I knew he was right earlier. I just got so caught up in my spiral that I didn’t want to hear it. I need to make sure he knows I’m thankful for him fighting for me when I didn’t fight for myself.

Fuck, I messed up.

I peel myself off the floor and head to the shower. I spend entirely too much time just standing under the hot water, hoping that maybe if I stay in here long enough, it’ll wash away all the shitty things I said. But that’s not how things work. After a while, the exhaustion begins to set in. I drag myself out of the shower, half drying off before sliding on a clean pair of pajama pants and falling into bed.

I fall asleep hoping that I’ll wake up to a wolf in my bed.

I don’t.

I wake up by bolting upright, chest heaving. My skin is slicked with cold sweat. For a moment the walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, the floors covered in dust. Dust… and blood. Blinking rapidly, the image fades into my dark bedroom.

My fingers dig into the comforter, trying to stop the feeling I know is about to set in. It’s a useless effort. It slowly creeps over my hands and up my arms, like an unwelcome pair of gloves I can’t take off. My palms go clammy. The sweat flashes red with every blink. A wave of nausea rolls through me as I stumble out of bed and into the bathroom.

Tonight’s nightmare was a brand of hell my brain saves for special occasions. A terrifying morphing of the two worst days of my life. I’m in that rundown house, in that little upstairs bedroom. But it’s not just Caleb bleeding out on the floor. It’s him and Franklin. And I sit there frozen between them, unable to decide who to save. They’re both screaming for my help, but no matter what I do, my feet won’t move. I can’t get to them. Either of them. They both slowly bleed out on the floor, hands reaching out.

How I can feel the blood on my hands when I just stood motionless in the room is a mystery to me. All I know is I need to get it off. Flicking the hot tap on, I snatch a washcloth off the little rack and begin scrubbing away at the blood that hasn’t been there in nearly a year and a half.

The more I scrub, the hotter the water gets, the more the feeling sinks into my skin. I can’t fucking get it off. I need to get it off. My scrubbing becomes more frantic until I fling the wet cloth onto the floor at my feet. The stupid thing isn’t helping. At all. I drop down and throw the cabinets open, rummaging to find something, anything, to get this fucking feeling off my hands.

My hand closes around a little blue plastic nail brush.

Perfect.

With each swipe of the stiff bristles, my lungs expand just a little easier. My heart slows just a beat or two. I scrub until the sticky feeling goes away, until I stop seeing flashes of blood washing down the drain.

Wait.

Is there...? There’s actual blood running down the sink. The red staining the white porcelain snaps me out of my post-nightmare fog. It’s real. It’s never been real before…

Glancing down at my hands, I suck in a breath. The nail brush goes clattering into the sink. The skin on the backs of my hands is nearly scrubbed off. My forearms are red and raw. Blood trickles into the sink from more than a few places. Fuck.

I… I scrubbed my skin off.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Fuck, I need Derek, but he’s angry with me right now. He has every right to be. I don’t even know if he came home. My hands start to shake, pain blooming over the backs. The medic part of my brain is yelling at me to take care of the wounds. I reach for that switch, needing it to get me through this so I don’t have a meltdown and beg Derek to forgive me. Not when I haven’t apologized yet.

I pat my palms dry and walk out into my room. I know Derek stocks a basic first aid kit in the hall closet. I made him get one when I moved in, explaining to him that I don’t have super wolfy healing like he does. He’d blushed adorably and stuttered out an apology for not having something I might need.

I pad down the hall to the closet. Sneaking the door open, I eye the little plastic drawers. Derek had made fun of me when I labeled each drawer, but I like knowing exactly where everything is at a moment’s glance. It’s how my aid bag was set up, too, with little pieces of medical tape listing what each pouch contained. I snag the bottle of wound cleaning fluid, a stack of gauze pads, a couple rolls of gauze, and a roll of medical tape.

As I turn to nudge the door shut, the roll of tape topples out of my grip. It falls to the floor, clattering loudly in the silent hallway. Well, if the wolf is home, he definitely heard that. Great. I scramble to pick it up, so I can flee back to the safety of my room.

Derek’s door at the end of the hall swings open. He steps out in black sleep pants and a grey t shirt, rubbing at his eyes. I definitely woke him up. Fuck.

“Stiles? What are you—“ He stops dead in his tracks. His hands slowly lower to his sides and his nostrils flare. “Stiles, why do I smell blood?”

“I’m fine, Derek. Go back to bed,” I inform him, not willing to let him know what I’ve done. Of course, Derek doesn’t listen. No, he closes the space between us in a few long strides. Before I can protest, the supplies are pulled out of my hands and set on the ground next to us. He gently grabs both of my hands, thumbs swiping along the outsides of my wrists.

“What happened?” The emotion in his voice causes a lump to form in my throat. Derek sounds devastated, like this is somehow his fault. When those green eyes flick up to mine, there is so much concern and pain shining in them. He glances back down at my hands, his veins going black as the pain seeps out of me. I can’t help the soft sigh of relief as it fades.

“Nightmare,” is all I can manage through the emotion clogging my throat. My eyes are burning, and I’m having to blink rapidly to keep tears from spilling out. Derek just nods, snagging the supplies from their spot on the floor. His free hand wraps around my bicep, tugging me back into my room. He has me sit on the end of my bed. My hands are still shaking where they rest on my knees.

“Would it be helpful for you to walk me through what I need to do to clean these up?” The question catches me completely off guard. Something in me cries out in relief at the suggestion. The part of me that’s been fighting since last night to do something. Leave it to Derek to know exactly what I need when I don’t even know myself.

“Honestly, yes.” Derek nods, arranging the supplies on the floor next to him. He blinks up at me. I take a few deep breaths, ensuring that switch is fully clicked over. “Okay, um. First things first, you should probably go wash your hands.”

Derek hops up and goes to do so do without even cracking a joke about how he’s a werewolf and can’t carry or contract any diseases. He just follows my instructions. He returns a short moment later, dropping back down to kneel in front of me.

“Now, get one of the gauze pads. See how at the top corner the package can be peeled open?” Derek nods. “Open peel it open but try to avoid touching the gauze. Open like four of them. Use some of the cleaning liquid to saturate two of them.”

His hands work to carefully peel the packages back before setting the open packages on the ground, with the gauze resting on top. He soaks two in the cleaning solution, then looks back at me.

“Now, just kind of… dab at the wounds. It’s got numbing stuff in it, so it’ll prob—fuck,” I hiss through my teeth as the wet gauze meets my skin. Derek immediately pulls back, an apologetic look on his face. “As I was saying… the numbing stuff will sting. I’m okay. Just smarts a little.”

Derek doesn’t look like he believes me. It’s confirmed that he doesn’t when he brings the gauze back to my hand and the veins in his hand go black. The sting barely registers this time. I walk him through the process of cleaning everything and dabbing it dry with clean gauze. I then show him how to wrap the rolls around my hands and secure them at my wrists with the tape. Derek sits back on his heels to admire his work. I flex my fingers a few times. He did the wraps perfectly. They’re snug enough to help keep the bleeding from starting up again, but loose enough that I can comfortably open and close my hands.

Those perfect green eyes find mine, eddying all thoughts from my brain other than guilt. Guilt over nearly breaking earlier today. Guilt at how I treated Derek, at the things I said to him.

“Derek, I’m sorry,” I start, reaching out to take one of his hands in my bandaged ones. “I didn’t mean anything I said to you earlier. I shouldn’t have said them. I know that doesn’t make it hurt any less, but I wanted to apologize. You were only trying to help me, and I lashed out at you. Today was a really bad day. I let myself fall back into old habits.”

“You forget that I understand how you feel, Stiles. It’s always easier to be angry than it is to deal with any other emotion. It’s easier to lash out and push people away than it is to be vulnerable and to ask for help.” Derek’s words wash over me, a balm to my frayed nerves and heart. His free hand moves to cup my cheek. I can’t help but lean into the touch. It grounds me in a way nothing else can. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you tonight.” I roll my eyes and hold up my bandaged hands.

“You did help me, Derek. You always do.” An idea pops into my head. One that takes me by genuine surprise after the day I’ve had. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“I… I think I want to…” My voice trails off. I clear my throat a couple times, willing the lump to go away. Derek just waits patiently, like he always does. “I think I want to go see Franklin. Will you come with me?”

“Of course, I will, Stiles. If you want me there, I will be there.”

My hands haven’t stopped shaking since we stepped off the plane in Virginia. Derek hasn’t left my side for even a moment. He’s either been holding my hand or resting a hand at the small of my back. Anytime I look at him, he just gives me a soft encouraging smile.

I can do this.

Derek drives our rental car up to the gate at Arlington National Cemetery. It took a few weeks to work out all the details, to find out where Franklin was. I’d nearly bailed on the entire idea when I figured out he was here, at Arlington National Cemetery. Coming to see him was going to be hard no matter what, but as we pull through the gates, it’s clear that this place is going to make it just a little bit harder.

Rows after rows after rows of the fallen and their family members pass our windows as we drive through. Derek checks the map a few times to make sure we’re headed to the right section. The car rolls to a stop, but I can’t make myself open the door. His hand closes over mine in my lap. He gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asks quietly. I shake my head. No, this first part I need to do alone.

“Give me like ten minutes, okay? Then, you can come join me.” Derek just nods, raising my hand up to press a kiss to the back of it.

My entire body shakes as I walk through the grass. There are flowers and flags and other little offerings left at some of the headstones, but most of them are hauntingly empty. I shudder out a breath, shaking out my hands. My throat is already tight, my eyes burning. The air here is heavy, like the grass and trees and wind know what this place means. The birds even seem a little quieter.

My feet bring me to a stop at one of the white marble stones. It reads:

James Andreas Franklin

It’s followed by his rank, where he did his tour, his date of birth, and… I swallow, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

And the date of the last day I saw him.

I blink a few times, fighting back the images of the last time I saw him. I sink to the grass, pressing a hand to the stone.

“Hey, Frankie… I’m sorry it took me so long.” I swear I can hear him laughing. “Franklin, I… I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I let you down that day. You needed me, and I failed you. I know now that it isn’t my fault, but I’m sorry anyway. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you home safe…” My voice breaks, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Miss you like hell, buddy.”

I spend the next several minutes just sitting quietly with one hand pressed to the warm stone, bearing a black and silver bracelet that matches the name on the stone, one hand threaded through the grass beneath me. It occurs to me that Franklin helped grow this grass, and it makes me smile slightly. I focus on the feel of the blades between my fingers until  footsteps sound behind me.

“Do you need some more time?” Derek asks gently from over my shoulder. I just shake my head, glancing up at him. I pat the ground next to me, and he sits. “Can you introduce me?” His words leave an ache in my chest so fierce I’m a little worried something might actually be wrong in there.

“Franklin… I’d like you to meet… Lover Boy.” Derek’s eyes snap to me, eyebrows nearly at his hairline. I actually manage a small chuckle. “When we were over there, and you were sending me those care packages constantly… You might have earned yourself a nickname.” He just rolls his eyes at that, huffing a laugh.

“Great, I’m sure that gave me a great reputation,” he grumbles.

“Funny enough, the guys all loved it. You sent more snacks than I could have ever consumed alone, so Frankie here and the boys got the leftovers,” I explain, a genuine smile on my lips as I remember how him and Bryant used to fight over the brown sugar poptarts.

I spend the next hour just… talking. Derek listens to me as silently as Franklin does, both of them a comforting presence. I tell Franklin stories about Derek and the pack and Beacon Hills. I tell Derek stories about Franklin and Caleb and the rest of the guys. It’s the most I’ve ever talked about my tour. It’s the easiest it’s ever been to talk about it. Something about sitting here with Franklin, knowing he went through everything with me, even if he didn’t make it out, sets something free in my chest.

I rise to my feet with a smile on my face. I go to rest a hand on the top of his headstone to say goodbye and nearly knock the several coins resting on top of it. I hadn’t even noticed them when I walked up. There’s a few of pennies, left behind as offers of respect from other veterans who have passed through. A dime sits next to them, from someone who served with him. What draws my attention are the two quarters. You only leave a quarter if you were with the person when they were killed.

My team has been here. Well, at least two of them have. I frantically start patting my pockets, whipping my wallet out. My heart sinks to my feet when I realize I have exactly zero change. Not even a penny. How could I forget? I came all this way, and I couldn’t manage to remember to bring a fucking quarter…

Derek taps my elbow, so I turn to face him. His other hand is outstretched, palm up. In the center of his palm… is a quarter. My eyes snap up to his. I never told him the code with the coins. I never explained that to him. He must read the adoration on my face because the tips of his ears go pink.

“I did a little research before we came… Is a quarter the right one? I have a little change from getting breakfast this morning…” Derek starts digging in his pocket, but I stop him by stepping forward and gently taking the coin from his palm. I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips.

“A quarter is exactly what I need. Thank you, Der.” I don’t know how he does it. I truly don’t. He somehow knows exactly what and exactly when I need something. I turn back to the headstone, running my fingers over the edge. “This one’s for you, buddy. Sorry I was late.”

Setting the quarter down next to the other two reminds me that at least two members of my team have stood exactly where I’m standing. I haven’t spoken to any of them since I was at Walter Reed, aside from a handful of phone calls and texts with Caleb. I’m hit with a fierce need to have them standing here with me, with Franklin. They were my closest friends, my fucking team, and I just dropped them like they meant nothing to me.

My phone is out of my pocket before I can second guess myself. I bring the contact up and hit call before I lose my nerve. The call connects after just one ring.

“Doc?” Emotion threatens to overwhelm me at the sound of Bryant’s voice, at him using my nickname. “Doc, is that you?”

“Yeah,” I answer, clearing my throat. “Yeah, it’s me.” A massive breath sounds from the other end of the line.

“It’s really fucking good to hear from you, Doc. Really fucking good,” Bryant says, and I can hear his smile through the phone. Relief washes over me. He’s not angry with me for falling off the grid. All I hear in his voice is relief that mirrors my own. “Is everything okay…?

“Yeah, everything is… good. I, uh… I’m actually with Franklin right now,” I say gently, knowing dropping that name is going to pull at least some sort of reaction from Bryant.

“Wait really? I was literally just there last week. My wife has family in West Virginia, so I took the opportunity to drive over,” he explains. “Made sure to leave my quarter with him. I think the other quarter is from Caldwell… Man, it is so good to hear your voice, Doc. Can… can I add you into our group chat? It’s me and a couple of the guys from the team. No pressure though.”

My instinct is to say no, but Derek comes up beside me, giving my arm a squeeze. I cast a glance at him, letting his presence make me brave. I don’t have to hide from this. I can talk to my team. I want to talk to my team.

“Uh, yeah, I’d like that.” Bryant’s responding ‘okay’ is a little squeaky, telling me he really didn’t expect me to say yes. We say our goodbyes, promising to start making plans for a meet up soon. As Derek and I walk back to the car, my phone starts to buzz. I retrieve it from my pocket and can’t help but smile at the string of texts coming in.

Bryant: Welcome back, Doc.

Johnson: Holy fuck. Is this a joke? This is a joke, right?

Choi: DOCCCCCCCC

Caldwell: Ayyyy, Doc is back!

Doc: I hope you nasty fuckers changed your socks while I was gone.

Johnson: Did you marry Lover Boy yet?

Doc: I changed my mind. I want nothing to do with you assholes.

Doc has left the chat.

Bryant has added Doc to the chat.

Doc: Fuck you, Bryant.

Bryant: Missed you, too, Doc. Missed you, too.

I can’t fight the smile breaking across my face. With Derek at my side and my team back in my life, everything feels a little lighter. A little more manageable. The realization that I’m not alone, that I’ve never been alone threatens to overwhelm me as Derek drives us back to our hotel. Between my pack and my team, I really don’t have a choice but to be okay. They’ve had my back through thick and thin. Despite my multitude of attempts at burning everything around me to the ground, I still have so many people willing to be in my life.

Things change. And I’m starting to realize I like it that way.

The End