Archive of Our Own ^beta

Two hours. Stiles spent two grueling hours treading water in the middle of the high school pool while holding up a paralyzed werewolf that weighed nearly twice what he did. Or at least that’s how it felt to hold up someone who was literally dead weight in the water. 

“You know, Derek, it’s not fair. I weigh barely a buck fifty—wet, and here you are, a solid wall of three hundred pounds of wolfy muscle. You better be grateful that I’m doing this, and I swear to god if I die, I’m haunting your furry ass.”

Derek grunted and rolled his eyes. It was the only option he had under the current circumstances.

“Stiles, shut up.”

“You know, considering the fact that if I drop you, you die, you need to be nicer to me, damnit.”

“Fine! Just, please don’t leave me.”

“As if I’d ever abandon you, SourWolf. But fuck you very, very much for even thinking that.” 

Derek scoffed but didn’t respond. He knew Stiles was loyal to his friends; he just didn’t think he fell under that category, even though he did think highly of the teen.

Stiles was getting tired, his muscles ached, and he kept choking on water. He knew he had inhaled some, okay, more like a lot, which made him keep trying to reach the edge of the pool to have something that could help support him. He just needed something to hold onto, but that damn lizard was prowling the sides of the pool like it was his entire life's mission. In a way, it was.

Derek was brought out of his thoughts of that damn night by a knock on the hospital room door. He was sitting next to Stiles, holding his hand. This was the least he could do, considering it was all his fault that Stiles was on the brink of death. 

“Come in.”

One of the shift nurses entered the room. She had a somber look on her face. Marina had known Stiles since his Mom was a patient and was Melissa’s best friend. It was crushing to see Stiles there as a patient who most likely would never wake up.

“Any changes?”

Derek shook his head and sighed. The muscles in his body were taut like a bowstring, and he felt like he could snap at any moment. Marina nodded sadly and took down Stiles’ vitals.

“I have to check his catheter and empty the bag. Could you turn, please?”

“Of course, I’ll just step outside for this.”

“Thank you.”

Derek stepped out of the room quickly to allow Marina the space she needed to take care of Stiles. He also didn’t want to take advantage of Stiles being unconscious. He deserved his privacy and dignity. 

Derek took note of the time and what had been done to report it back to the Sheriff, who was at home getting some much-needed rest. Melissa had put her foot down after the Sheriff had swayed while standing. When she heard he had been up for two days without sleep, she grabbed some meds and shooed him out the door. 

The Alpha was grateful that Melissa was with Noah and had let him know she had finally convinced the Sheriff to accept the sedative in order to get the rest he needed. Things were bleak enough; they didn’t need another medical emergency coming up because he refused to sleep.

It had been a clusterfuck, and Derek felt the guilt eating away at his psyche and soul. Would everyone he cared for be doomed to die because of him? Derek could feel his wolf pacing restlessly within him. He wanted to run and escape the stench of sickness and death that invaded his lungs with each breath while standing in the hospital corridor.

But what was the point of doing that? It wouldn’t benefit Stiles, it wouldn’t fucking heal him. What was the point of being a supernatural creature if he couldn’t fucking fix Stiles? Derek came out of his thoughts when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Marina was giving him the same sad smile.

“I’m done, his vitals are not great, and his fever is spiking. You should go in and be with him. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Derek nodded and walked back into the room. The minute he walked in, he could scent the change in the air. It was bad. It was the kind of smell that set into a body when they were drifting between realms, more dead than alive, and Derek knew. He fucking knew there was nothing he could do to save Stiles.

The next few hours flew by in a whirlwind of nurses and doctors coming in and out of the room. Additional tests were conducted, and various medications were administered. Nothing seemed to make a difference; if anything, Stiles was getting worse.

The smell of death clung to him like a second skin, and Derek hated every second of it. He refused to leave him alone. Derek held Stiles’ hand with both of his own and kept asking, “What were you thinking? You should have let me fucking die.”

In times of great turmoil or peril, everyone always looks for someone to blame. Derek had no one to blame but himself; however, he was still furious that Stiles let himself get to this point. Derek could tell he had taken in some water during those two hours they were in the pool, but Stiles swore he would be fine after a few hours of rest.

That was his mistake, trusting Stiles to treat himself the way he treated others —you know, with care and concern. They each went their own way, and four hours after the events had taken place, he received a call from the Sheriff asking why Stiles was behaving strangely. He explained it had started with him walking around in circles mumbling incoherently, swaying with each step, saying things like, ‘silly heavy SourWolf,’ and asking what time his Mom was coming home.

Stiles' Mom had passed away eight years ago, so none of it made sense. He was also trying to eat paper and licked the walls a few times. Stiles was also burning up with a fever.

The Sheriff thought this was some sort of supernatural ailment, but Derek knew better. He told the Sheriff to get him to the hospital immediately. He explained what had taken place in the pool. The Sheriff told him to meet him at the hospital, and he emphasized that if anything happened to Stiles, he would finish the job the lizard had not been able to. And Derek? Derek believed him and was ready to accept whatever punishment the Sheriff saw fit. Even if that ended with Derek being killed.

Derek had fallen asleep while holding Stiles’ hand. He had promised Stiles he wouldn’t leave him alone, just like Stiles hadn’t left him alone in that pool to die. Except that the difference was, Derek knew there was no positive outcome this time. 

A throat cleared, and he saw the Sheriff standing next to the specialist who was overseeing Stiles’ care. Derek rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the time. It had been eight hours since the Sheriff had been dragged home and about one hour since Derek had finally let slumber take hold. The Sheriff looked rested, but his face was marred with a sadness that plagued those who knew grief was impending. 

The doctor took a few steps forward to stand at the foot of Stiles’ bed and spoke.

“Mr. Hale, Sheriff Stilinski has given consent for you to be made aware of all medical updates. We have already discussed this while you were napping. It has been twelve hours since Stiles was brought in, and there has been no improvement. In fact, Stiles’ organs have begun to shut down. Between the secondary drowning and the blood poisoning, well, there isn’t much we can do. Once his brain stops, and no further blood or oxygen is flowing to it, sadly, a decision must be made about either taking him off life support or keeping him on it for an indefinite period of time”

The doctor wiped a tear from his eye. He had been a close friend of Claudia's, and this wasn't easy for him.

"I’m so sorry, Noah.”

The doctor patted him on the shoulder, nodded at Derek, and took his leave. He walked away as if he hadn’t just carved a hole into Derek’s very soul. Derek knew he and Stiles had something between them, but they never got the chance to explore it, and now they would never have the chance to. It was all his fault.

“Sheriff?”

Derek spoke softly and looked up tentatively, waiting for the bullet to hit him between the eyes or perhaps for a fist to connect with his jaw. Except that neither one of those things happened. The Sheriff sighed and pulled up a chair on the other side of the hospital bed. He took Stiles’ hand into his own and kissed the back of it three times. Tears were silently falling down his face. He cleared his throat and looked at Derek.

“I know what I said to you, Derek. Well, how I threatened you, but the way Stiles spoke about you tells me everything I need to know. He risked his life to save you, and that proves your life is worth preserving. I’m not going to hurt you; I’m sure your own mind will do enough of that on its own. What is it he called you? SourPup?”

Derek let out a noise between a sob and a laugh and tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come out. He gave Stiles’ hand a light squeeze to ground himself and took a deep breath.

“SourWolf, Sir, he um, liked to call me SourWolf. Fuck. I hate myself so much. I’m so sorry, Sheriff. If I could take his place, I would.”

“I know, son—I know, but then that would make Stiles’ sacrifice void. And that seems unfair.”

“He didn’t deserve this. I’m going to get vengeance. I’m going to make them all pay!”

“Stiles wouldn’t want your life to be a sea of blood and rage either, son. The fact is, I’m going to be alone soon, and I could use some company to make sure I don’t fall off the wagon again. What do you say, son? Are you up for the challenge?”

Derek broke down and sobbed. He nodded and reached a hand out to the father, who was about to lose the last remaining member of his family, his sole reason to live. Noah took Derek’s hand and held it like a lifeline, the only tether keeping him from falling over the precipice. 

“I’m up to the challenge, if—if you’ll have me.”

Derek was still crying, and Noah nodded at him. He squeezed Derek’s hand briefly and took his own hand back to run it through Stiles’ hair. Stiles, who had lost more color and had stopped producing urine. His body was swelling, and Derek knew the end was near. The doctors had said normally secondary drowning didn’t progress so quickly, but that wasn’t the only thing they were fighting. This all felt wrong.

Derek shouldn’t have been alive while Stiles lay dying. He should be the one lying in that hospital bed with his organs shutting down.  No matter how guilty Derek felt, nothing was going to change unless a miracle happened. Given the trajectory of Derek’s life, he knew those didn’t exist, at least not for him or for the ones he loved.

Each hour that ticked by felt like a slow descent into madness. Stiles’ condition deteriorated, and he and Noah, as he insisted Derek call him, knew it was only a matter of time before Stiles was gone for good.

“You should try to sleep, Noah. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“No, Derek, at this point, I want to be awake for as long as my boy’s heart is still beating. I’ll rest soon enough.”

Derek swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. All he could do was nod. He felt like his life was spinning out of control, and he had no idea if he would ever feel centered again.

Forty-two hours after Stiles had arrived at the hospital, his brain function ceased, and his heart stopped beating. His Dad knew there was nothing that could be done, so he asked for a few hours of privacy with his son before everyone else came to say their goodbyes.

Derek stood outside the hospital room door, listening to the wails of a father who had lost the last part of his wife and his only son. They were the sobs of a fully broken man. The cries of anguish and grief that only a parent who had just lost a child could release.

The sounds were harrowing, and they burrowed deeply within Derek’s soul. He would never be able to unhear them for as long as there was life in him. Derek's normally stoic demeanor faltered as tears slid down his cheeks. His hands fisted at his sides, and he felt like something within him had shattered. Stiles was gone. Life would never be the same again.

Three weeks after Stiles’ death, Derek, who had since moved into Noah’s home, was doing the dishes after he had made him have a full meal. He usually only ate twice a day and only because Derek forced him to. At least Derek counted that as a win since it was solid food and not alcohol. 

“Did you take your pills? You have been awake for two days. Please, take them or I’ll call Melissa.”

“You’re a menace! I'm not afraid of Melissa.”

Derek gave him a look that said, he didn't have to be a wolf to know that was a lie. Noah rolled his eyes but took the sedatives and bid Derek a goodnight. Derek listened until he heard the bed creak and Noah’s breath even out. It was steady, and his heartbeat had calmed from the erratic mess it usually was when he was awake.

Derek finished in the kitchen and went up to Stiles’ room. He sat on the bed and looked around. Every single thing was exactly the same as it had been left by the teen the day of the pool nightmare.

There was a pair of jeans thrown on the ground by his hamper, which was full of dirty clothes. He had a board up with red string connecting random occurrences in Beacon Hills to images of potential supernatural creatures, and his laptop sat open on his desk.

Its battery had died, but Derek couldn’t bring himself to plug it in. He let his head drop into his hands as he attempted to stifle a sob. That’s when he felt it. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a shiver went through his body. Derek sat straight up, and what he saw made him flinch.

Stiles was sitting in his desk chair, smirking with his head slightly tilted. He was watching Derek intently. His beautiful brown eyes were sharp, but his skin had a soft glow to it. Derek had grown up in the supernatural world; he knew the ‘other’ as his Mom and Dad called it existed, he had just never experienced it for himself. 

“Stiles?”

“Hey there, SourWolf. I told you I would haunt you if I died and I'm making good on that promise."

"How are you here?"

Stiles let out a soft chuckle and crossed his arms over his chest. A cocky grin took over the smirk, and Derek wished so badly he was alive.

"Well, I admit, it took me a bit of negotiation with Anubis. Egyptian Deities are so snobby, but eventually, I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse."

Derek hadn’t realized he had moved and was now on his knees in front of Stiles’ spectral form. His hands hovered around Stiles’ shape, wanting to feel but knowing he most likely wouldn’t be able to.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles. Fuck!”

"I take it you missed me?”

Derek scoffed.

"Obviously!"

“I missed you, too, SourWolf. Thanks for taking care of my Dad. You might not have been able to see me, but I've been watching. Not in a creepy way, just making sure you're both as alright as can be."

"So, am I the only one who can see you? Should I tell your Dad? Just—how?"

"Well, like I said, I negotiated and boom, you’ve been ghosted, uh, not in that way. Anyways, I'm not sure about Dad just yet, just you for now."

"Okay, so, what did you negotiate?"

"A story for another day. For now, just know that I’m here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. I’m your very own ghostly fairy godmother, or Jiminy Cricket. Meaning, if you want to 'slice and dice,' we have to discuss it first. I know you’re set on vengeance, but there’s a better way. A smarter way.”

“Tell me what to do, Stiles, because I feel lost.”

“First things first, you rally your puppies, because if you're lost, you can't even imagine how disoriented they are. You will build them a proper den somewhere. Preferably here, since there is a certain bit of old magic at play. Think Nemeton meets Anubis level magic. Then, you make sure my Dad is part of your pack, not Scott’s. Get the hunters the fuck out of Beacon Hills and take back this territory. It’s all right there.”

Stiles pointed to a black leatherbound journal that was sticking out from behind his laptop. 

“I had been giving this a lot of thought and had written everything down before I died."

"Peter always said you were the clever one. He was right."

"Yes, he was. So, Alpha, will you follow my lead?”

“Stiles, I’d follow you into certain death, no questions asked.”

“Not yet, SourWolf, not for a very long time. For now, you live, restore the Hale Pack to its former glory, and I’ll be around when you need me the most. Like your ethereal Emissary that keeps your furry ass in check.”

Derek felt a cold hand rest against his cheek, and one land on his shoulder. He couldn't help but cry.

“Please don’t leave me, Stiles.” 

“Never again, Derek. It's you and me, SourWolf. In this life and all of the others we are destined to live.”

~ Fin ~