AFTER

Part 2

I wanna ask for direction
But I don't dare to disturb
I got a thing with affections
Yeah, that's why I'm walking alone

He still isn't the same talkative, overly energetic Stiles that they all once knew. He's still skittish when Peter and Scott get into arguments, he still sleeps next to Derek to keep the nightmares away, and despite their breakthrough in the kitchen Stiles really doesn't say much, not like he used to. Stiles and Derek watch mindless TV together on the couch, their shoulders and legs just barely touching each other, eyes glued to the TV except for when anyone enters the living room.

Lydia smiles at them both when she enters through the kitchen, and sometimes just to get a laugh out of Stiles (and sometimes from Derek) she worms her way between the two of them with a satisfied smirk. Slowly she's inching Stiles further and further out of the shell Andrew had shoved him into.

But so is Derek.

Stiles is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling as he listens to the water run in Derek's bathroom. He knows Derek's routine now; he showers quickly because there are half a dozen other people who want hot water. Then he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and brushes his teeth. Stiles smiles at the thought because he had never thought of Derek as someone who brushed his teeth or showered inside of a house before.

They're never coming for you.

The shower shuts off and he can hear Derek humming in the bathroom as he gets ready for bed, another odd routine Derek has. When he emerges Derek is standing under the frame of the bathroom door wearing a pair of pajamas and a black t-shirt. He smiles at Stiles before climbing into bed next to him. It's part of their comfortable routine.

"Bathroom's all yours."

Stiles bites his lip, his own habit since living with Andrew, scoots closer to Derek so he doesn't have to speak too loudly, and asks, "What were you humming?"

Derek jumps, a little startled by Stiles' voice and by the question, but smiles softly at the memory, "My mom used to sing it to me and Laura when we were kids."

Why would they want a simple human like you?

"Why—" Stiles starts, but shakes his head and rolls onto his stomach so he can go to sleep instead.

"Stiles—"

"It's not important," he whispers into his pillow, burrowing down against the mattress below him. I'm not important.

The next morning Derek finds himself waking up with an armful of Stiles. For all the times that they've slept in the same bed the only time Derek has ever touched Stiles was by rubbing his back to help him relax. The younger man is shaking from head to toe, his face buried against Derek's chest. He can smell the tears invading his senses, can feel them soaking into the front of his t-shirt too. "It's okay. You're safe," he whispers into the shell of Stiles' ear and rubs a hand against Stiles' back gently, trying to calm him.

Once Stiles is relaxed and asleep again, Derek lies awake, staring at the ceiling above him. Even though he can smell her and the food coming from a mile away, he's a bit surprised to see Lydia smiling at them from the doorway a few hours later, a tray with coffee and food balanced expertly on one hand, "He's still sleeping," Derek says softly as she sets the tray down onto the dresser next to the bed.

"He's been crying," she says, cupping Stiles' cheek with her hand and sighing. "Has he been having nightmares again?"

"Not for a while. I think—" Derek shakes his head softly and sighs. "I'll talk to him about it. I think I know why."

"Derek," Lydia says cautiously eying her alpha.

"I can handle it."

She huffs at this and says, "It's not—"

"Not handling anything, I know. Leave it Lydia. Go make sure everyone gets to school, okay?"

"Yes, mom," Lydia says with a smirk, planting a kiss to Stiles' forehead and then one to Derek's cheek. "Oh don't make that face. You love it."

"If I'm the mom, are you the dad?" he asks. He can hear her laughing all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Stiles stirs against his chest, his nose obviously recognizing the smell of coffee, and Derek smiles against the top of Stiles' head when he hears both of their stomachs rumbling. "How are you feeling?" Derek asks and Stiles shrugs once he properly sits up to sip from his mug of coffee. "Did you have a bad dream?" Stiles nods, but doesn't respond otherwise to the question. "Do you remember what it was about?" Stiles nods again, not letting himself meet Derek's eyes. "Do you—do you want to talk about it?"

Stiles hands Derek his mug, scoots closer to the edge of the bed, and stands quickly, "No."

"Stiles." Derek says softly and Stiles stops at the door, hand already on the doorknob but not turning to face him, "I just want you to feel like you can talk to me. If you need to."

Stiles spends more time with his dad instead of with the pack during the next week. He curls up on his dad's office chair at the station and reads case file after case file until he can barely see straight.

"You know I don't want you to read those, kid," his dad says from the other side of his desk with a sad look.

"The wife did it," Stiles says softly. He closes the file and hands it back to Jonathan Stilinski.

"Stiles…" Jonathan sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, why do you think it's the wife?"

And for the first time in months Jonathan sees his son smile up at him, and he revels in hearing Stiles speak more than just a few words. Stiles is relaxed leaning against his dad's shoulder as he points out the evidence in the case and how it fits with his theory.

Later Derek brings them dinner and when it finally gets too late Jonathan shoos them both towards Derek's Camaro, "Go. You look like you're dead on your feet, son. Go home and get some rest." He hugs Stiles to his chest, kissing the top of his head like he's still a little boy. "Love you, kiddo."

"Love you," Stiles whispers back to his dad before letting Derek guide him into the passenger seat.

When they finally make it back to the Hale house fifteen minutes later Stiles is practically sleep walking as Derek guides him up the front porch stairs and through the front door with a hand pressed gently against Stiles' lower back.

"My dad loves me," Stiles mumbles sleepily into his pillow once they are both settled into bed. Stiles reaches across the middle of the bed between them, grabs a fistful of Derek's t-shirt in his hand, and pulls him closer to Stiles' side of the bed. Derek is reluctant at first, but when he resists Stiles only tugs harder.

"Me too," Derek whispers once he can feel that Stiles is relaxed and fast asleep next to him.

"He can't fall in love with you right now," Lydia says, startling Derek out of his thoughts while he's leaning against the porch stairs railing watching Scott and Isaac wrestle in the front yard.

"I—What? Isaac is like my brother."

"I'm talking about Stiles you idiot," Lydia huffs angrily. "He's still scared of his own shadow. I love that you're finally pulling your head out of your ass and admitting your feelings for him, but he couldn't reciprocate his feelings for you even if he wanted to."

"I know that," Derek grumbles. "It's going to take a while for him to get anywhere near where he used to be, but—But I'm willing to wait for him."

"You're willing to wait for him," Lydia says blandly and stares at him, not like he's nuts or lost his mind, but like he's the most beautiful person on the planet. It's confusing and it makes Derek's head spin, but he levels her gaze anyway. "Well... Good. He's comfortable around you."

"He's still scared of me though."

"He's scared of everyone, Derek. He may be doing better, but he still thinks like he's with Andrew. He still feels like he has to be cautious, no matter who he's around."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Derek says softly, but Lydia touches his shoulder and squeezes hard. It isn't enough to hurt, because of his own werewolf strength, but he winces at the sudden contact.

"You would never hurt him," she says through narrowed eyes. Her eyes soften, however, when she sees how pained he looks. "I know you wouldn't, Derek. You've done nothing but protect him since the day you've met him, even when you didn't really know him."

He nods, slowly, but there's still a part of Derek that doesn't believe her. That, even if he doesn't mean to, he'll end up hurting Stiles anyways.

"I can't… give you what you want," Stiles whispers from his side of the bed, only a few months later. Their relationship doesn't change, but Stiles clings to Derek more now when danger is near. The room is pitch black and Stiles' eyes are closed. "I know—I know you want… that."

"I just want you to be happy and to feel safe," Derek replies softly, reaching out a hand to rub Stiles' back.

"You're not Andrew."

"I know."

"No I—I have to say that to myself. That you're not Andrew. That Scott isn't Andrew. That Isaac isn't Andrew," Stiles says and Derek can feel the anguish rolling off him in waves.

"I don't blame you," Derek says and Stiles opens his eyes in the dark to stare at him silently, watching him carefully. "He hurt you. He hurt you, Stiles. Anyone would be scared."

"You wouldn't."

"Would you ever hurt me? On purpose?"

Stiles furrows his eyebrows together first, then, "No."

"That's all I need to know. I just want you to be happy."

"Me too," Stiles whispers, letting Derek pull him closer.

They're fine, at least, for a few weeks. Stiles has nightmares, and Derek finds Stiles curled up against his chest with tear stained cheeks in the morning light, but they're fine all things considered. Derek helps him work through the nightmares, pulls him from the depths of the worst with soft words and touches. Even though they don't actually talk about them in detail Derek can sense that Stiles wants to say something, wants to ask questions, but he doesn't. Instead he curls himself against Derek's chest every night and shakes until Derek is the one who helps calm him down. It's routine and easy.

It only lasts for so long though.

"Why?" Stiles asks, looking out across the front lawn at the rest of the pack playing. When he turns to sneak a look at Derek, Stiles sees that he is looking at him, confused.

"Why what?"

"Why did—" Stiles starts, his voice is soft and with a human's ears Derek wouldn't have heard what he had started to say. Stiles' eyes are filling with tears and Derek can see that he's biting his lip so that they won't fall. "Why did you let him take me? He said—he said you made a deal."

"We never, Stiles. We never let him take you."

"He said that you didn't want me and I didn't want to believe it. I didn't, but it- it started to make sense. Why would you want a weak human around when you have Allison and Lydia and Danny? You don't need me."

"Of course we need you. Lydia, Danny, and Allison are all great at what they do, but no one is you. Your ideas, your brain is so much more unique than theirs. You think outside the box. No one else can do that except for you. We were lost without you there."

"You didn't let them take me? You promise?"

"We didn't, Stiles, we didn't. If Andrew told you that—" Derek growls, but Stiles doesn't step back in fear so Derek tugs him forward into his arms. "It wasn't true."

"I dream about him all the time, but sometimes it's you. Sometimes it's you pushing me to him, telling him to take me. Telling him you don't want me." Stiles sobs against his chest, voice broken and tired, "Promise?"

"I promise, Stiles, I promise we didn't let him take you."

I lie, I pretend 'til I'm almost certain
It's a beautiful world