Stiles gently pressed his face into the soft, worn fabric of his red hoodie—a smile touched his lips. The familiarity of the fabric released a slight tension in Stiles' shoulders he hadn't realized was there, and he quickly but stiffly slung the garment around his back. For the first time in almost two weeks of having been kept locked up inside of East Plains Rehabilitation Center, Stiles failed to notice the sharp tugging that his bandages caused. Stiles' smile stretched wider. Yesterday, he had been cleared for discharge. He was going home.

Stiles' father was due to arrive in the early afternoon to sign the final paperwork. No doubt Derek and Scott would be with him. Stiles could hardly contain himself; he gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, where he found a genuine smile. Despite the darkened ringlets under his eyes from not having slept much during his stay, the brown orbs looking back at him held a glimmer of something Stiles couldn't remember having seen before.

He turned from the bathroom and strode into the bedroom proper, his eyes trailing over the two un-kept hospital beds that both he and his roommate had lay in the during that night. Stiles did feel a bit sad for the older man—a rather rough character named Carl—for he had to remain in the ward for an indefinite amount of time longer.

That was the thing about East Plains: there was never a definite as to when a patient could leave—there were no clues, no indicators of progress. You only knew you were going home when the Nurse Practitioner, a rather pretentious, red-headed woman named Nicole approached you with a packet of papers. No smile accompanied her presence; she merely took you to your bedroom, sat you down, and began to talk—which brought Stiles to this exact spot, just yesterday.

"How would you say you have been feeling, Stiles?" She had tapped her pen on the stack of papers, waiting for Stiles to reply.

"Um…. Alright I guess, I mean I am feeling okay…not one hundred percent better…but okay." He was unsure of what the correct answer was.

"And have you been dealing with any more suicidal thoughts?" Her gaze searched his.

"Well no. That's what got me here in the first place..."

"So just the depression then?"

"Well yeah…that wouldn't just disappear would it?" Stiles didn't understand what Nicole had been getting at.

"Of course not. I'm just making sure we're on the same page. Your psychiatrist has liked your progress."

"Has he seen my progress? I've never met him…" Stiles had let out a small chuckle. He didn't recall ever meeting his so-called psychiatrist.

"He is aware of your status, though he only saw you in the hospital while you were still under. He hasn't been able to attend to the center personally since he is the only overseeing psychiatrist for this facility. That's why I've been here." Nicole explained.

"Ah… I see."

"It doesn't matter. I've made the recommendation that I think it's time for you to go home, and the doctor seems to agree…all that matters is if you agree—"

"YES YES YES!" Stiles had interjected, silencing her statement. What he had really wanted to say was 'get me the fuck out of here'.

"Well alright then." Nicole nodded. "But before we begin the paperwork…."

Oh sweet lord…. Stiles inwardly groaned.

"Let's chat for a bit." Nicole's voice had grown serious. "I've spoken to your father about your outpatient program… You understand you'll need to attend therapy at least once a week, right?"

"Oh…" Stiles' stomach dropped. He just wanted this whole thing behind him. "Right."

"I just want to make sure that you know this is just the beginning. Depression just doesn't go away when you start therapy, and I want to know if you have a plan for any instances you may find yourself wanting to engage in self-harm again."

Don't sugar coat it or anything…. "Um…well I…."

"How can you be sure you won't end up in the hospital again?" She pressed.

"I don't know, alright?" Stiles retorted. "I don't know…"

"Self-harm is serious Stiles." Nicole had continued. "You're going to have scars. What will you tell people who see them? That you got into a fight with a pirate?" She let out a forced, if not sarcastic, chuckle.

It had taken a moment for Stiles to answer…Did she really just say that? Stiles blinked in disbelief, feeling somewhat insulted. "Well it's not like I'm going to walk around half naked all the time."

"I'm just looking for a plan Stiles. I'd really hate for you to end up back here." Nicole brought a hand to massage her temple.

You and me both… "Well hopefully the therapy helps. And I've got my dad to talk to. And Derek…and Scott…" Stiles had felt himself saying.

"Then why didn't you use them as a resource before you acted as you did?"

"Because I didn't know I could…" Stiles' hands gripped the duvet on the patient bed. "It's not like I can just tell someone I love that I want to die."

"Do you still want to die?"

"No! Just…What are you getting at?" Stiles eventually asked, letting out a frustrated huff of air.

"I'm just trying to see if you're ready to go home." She had replied in a cool collected manner.

"I'm more ready than you know."

"So then…Your plan?" She asked again.

"I guess…I'll just try to talk about it. With Derek mainly. I don't think I could put my dad through that again." Stiles looked to his feet, bare on the cold tile floor.

"Why not? If anything I'm sure he'd be hurt if you didn't open up to him…"

"I'll try. Is that a good enough answer?" Stiles' head snapped up. "I'll just try. That's all I can do…as you said, depression doesn't just go away."

"Well then…" Nicole had sighed. "I'll need you to sign here then." She had pushed the stack of papers to him.

The papers had simply detailed his acknowledgement that payment to the facility for anything that wasn't covered by his insurance would be his responsibility and that he understood what his entire outpatient program entailed. It didn't matter. He'd sign his soul away if it meant getting home to his dad and Scott and…well home to Derek.

Looking back at the room now, the room which had been his cage for every night over the past two weeks, Stiles felt nothing but happy. He hopefully wouldn't ever be coming back. You won't be coming back, Stiles told himself. He would do whatever he could to avoid falling down as far as he had.

Sighing, Stiles grabbed his shoes and his favorite book that his father had brought him a couple of nights previously, before offering a silent wish that Carl would somehow turn out alright. He then left the room without so much as a glance backwards.

Once in the common room, Stiles took a seat on the couch to wait out the last few hours before he was free. It was still odd, being in the common room when Tonya was no longer there. Having been discharged a week earlier, Stiles had found himself rather lonely without the presence of his new friend—still, he smiled. The memory of their goodbye floated through his head.

"Hey, Angel!" Tonya's voice had drifted across the common room.

Stiles looked up from the couch where he had been lost in the tides of his favorite book. He had cocked his head to one side in brief confusion, as Tonya marched proudly up to him in hot pink track pants and a black hoodie, rather than the normal pale blue scrubs the patients normally wore.

"Hey!" Stiles closed his book as she dropped down beside him. "What's with the get-up?"

"I'm going home." Tonya beamed; her eyes alight from behind the strand of pink hair.

Stiles had simply blinked. When her words finally registered, Stiles dropped his book entirely and wrapped his bandaged arms around her. "I'm so proud of you." He whispered. "When will you be leaving?"

"My brother will be picking me up in about thirty minutes." Tonya just buzzed. Stiles could see that she was just as fed up with this place as he was. Because really, fuck the cheesy eggs. "And guess what?" She pulled back briefly.

"I feel like I should have something clever to say here, but I'm out of options." Stiles grinned. "I'm just happy that one of us is getting out of here."

"My daughters are coming with him!" She squealed, and threw her arms around Stiles' shoulders once more. "They're letting me see my little girls."

When Stiles pulled away, Tonya's eyes sparkled with tears. Of course, Stiles knew that they were tears of joy, but that somehow made them all the more mesmerizing. Whereas both he and Tanya knew that East Plains functioned as a place of healing, it actually felt like a place of confinement—of punishment for having done something wrong. Therefore, moments of true joy were few and far between, only surfacing when patients received the news that they were being allowed to go home. Stiles could hardly remember seeing such fervent joy. But when those tears glimmered in Tonya's blue eyes, Stiles witnessed more than joy; he saw hope and love and something else he couldn't quite describe. Maybe it was someone's glimpse at self-given redemption—the knowledge that it was in their power to move forward, and that they felt strong enough to do it. Stiles hoped that, whatever it was that resided in Tonya's eyes, stayed with her forever. He hoped she would never come back to a place like this.

"You wanna see them?" Tonya beamed, wiping away a stray drop of happiness from her eyes.

"You have pictures of them?"

"Yeah! They're on my phone. Hang on." She sprang up from the couch and bounded to the nurse's station. Stiles heard her asking for her cellphone, and then explaining that she simply wanted to show some pictures of her daughters. It took a few more moments of haggling, having to explain that Tonya was cleared for discharge and needing to verify that fact before the nurse handed the device over. Tonya returned to the couch where Stiles still sat and plopped down once more. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of the old furniture, awaiting the device to fully power on. "Okay, look look look!" She said after tapping through a few menus.

Stiles found himself staring at two adorable little girls, both with freckles and blond hair. Both with smiles as wide as can be, while one smile was simply missing a few teeth. H grinned. "What are their names?"

"Well the youngest one, with the missing teeth, is Sarah. She'll be turning seven next month. The older one is Natalie. She's eight." Tonya turned her gaze back to the photo on the cell. I had Natalie when I was seventeen. Would you believe that? Time flies when you're as messed up as we are."

Stiles had to laugh at that. He wasn't sure if he agreed though, seeing as time had really dragged for him. But he knew she was just talking. Obviously Tonya had been through a lot. Hell, everyone at East Plains had been through a lot. Stiles knew that things weren't always the way that they seemed; for behind closed doors, be they the doors to the ward or to the real world, people like Tonya were fighting invisible battles every day to keep their own hopes, their own dreams alive. Stiles could see that regardless of where Tonya had been in the past, she was beginning to put her path together again. He really held a lot of respect for her. For a mother of two at only shy of twenty-five, Tonya was putting up one hell of a fight. I hope I can be like that one day.

"Oh you will, Angel. You will."

Stiles blinked from his reverie. "Um… what?"

"Don't worry about it." Tanya winked at him. "Remember, I call it like I see it."

Though still a bit confused, Stiles smiled back at her. They both settled back into the couch, and Stiles listened as Tonya told him all about her two daughters and her older brother. Stiles chuckled when Tonya informed him that if there was no Derek, Tonya would be shoving her brother's number into every pocket Stiles had, because apparently her brother had been dealing with "too many demons and not nearly enough angels." Stiles wasn't sure what exactly she was referring too, but laughed just the same.

Tonya's departure eventually arrived, and before he knew it, Tonya was bounding off the couch again at two high pitched squeals of "Mom!" Stiles looked over his shoulder at Tonya, who was knelt at the entrance of the common room desperately hugging the two adorable little girls from the cell phone, now personified in the dreary room. She then stood up to wrap her arms around the taller man's shoulders. Stiles assumed he was Tonya's brother.

When Tonya turned to face Stiles again, he could see that the sparkles of joy had resurfaced themselves. She beckoned him over.

"Stiles, this is my brother Rob." She introduced the two. Stiles shook his hand, the firm grip reminding him of Derek's powerful hands.

"Pleasure." Rob smiled. "Thanks for keeping this wacko company." He tipped his head in Tanya's direction, to which she gasped in mock offense.

Stiles only laughed. "Likewise. Though, it's really the only way around. I really made a friend in here."

Tonya beamed at him, before introducing Stiles to the girls.

"Natalie, Sarah, this is Stiles. Momma's new friend."

"It's very nice to meet you." Stiles had greeted them, slipping down on one knee to be at their level.

"Are you ganna marry our mom?" Sarah blurted out.

"Sarah! Of course not, he just kept me company, remember?" Tonya laughed. "Stiles here already has a boyfriend."

"Oh. That's good. Everyone in here should have someone to love." Sarah smiled.

"That they should." Rob nodded in agreement while patting the small girl on the head. "But c'mon girls. Momma needs to say goodbye to her friend." He turned to pull the girls away. "We'll meet you just in the hallway okay?" Rob then turned to Stiles with his hand outstretched. "It was a pleasure meeting you. Thanks for looking out for Tonya."

Stiles shook the outstretched hand. "We definitely looked out for each other," he smiled. Then Rob turned to leave.

"Wait!" Tonya called after her brother. "Take the rest of my stuff with you!" Tonya stepped to the Nurse's Station once more, briefly speaking with the nurse. He smiled and pulled open a drawer, handing Tonya a plastic bag containing her wallet, a few keys, a tube of lipstick, and some spare change.

"I think that's everything." She said as she handed the bag to her brother, who nodded and proceeded out the door. "Okay…" She turned to Stiles.

"I guess this is it." Stiles murmured. He couldn't help the feeling of loss that was slowly creeping up in his stomach.

"Like hell it is!" Tonya slapped his arm. "If you think you are getting rid of me that easily then you have another thing coming. Are you on Facebook?"

"Well yeah—"

"Give me your last name." Tonya was already on her phone, pulling up the social media app. "Oh! Give me your number, too. I'll send a text now, and then you reply when you get your phone back. We may not be hanging out too much in the future, but I'm just glad that I got the chance to meet you."

Stiles only smiled, and gave her his number as well. She tapped across the screen of her phone as he spoke, grinning at him when she finished.

"So will we see each other again?" Stiles asked.

"Who knows…Life gets crazy. You and I both know that. I wanna say yes, believe me I do. But…."She struggled for the right thing to say. "Time will tell, I suppose. But that's the point of trusting somebody. Isn't it?"

"Good point." Stiles replied. She was right. He couldn't expect that Tonya would actually be around. He didn't even know if she lived in Beacon Hills. People from all over California came to East Plains. How was he to know? "We will talk though right? Even if it's just a simple 'hello' here or there?"

"Of course, dumbass. That's why I got your number." She punched him in the arm. Tonya was definitely an interesting girl.

Stiles smiled at her.

"Okay…well…I'd better get going." Tonya laughed, if a little bit forced. "I'm glad I met you, Angel." She turned to go.

"It was nice meeting you t—" Stiles' sentence was cut short as Tonya had turned back around and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her now-tearful face into his shoulder. When Stiles regained his bearings, he wrapped his own bandaged arms around her in return.

"I promise I'll check up on you. I promise we'll keep in touch." She pulled back, tears in her eyes.

Stiles felt the cold shimmer of his own tears begin to glaze his vision over. Tonya stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Derek is lucky to have an Angel like you."

And then she was gone.

Stiles watched as the automatic doors opened for his new friend—they opened for a new chance at motherhood and a life she could be happy about—and they let her through. As they closed, Tonya turned once more, her glistening eyes meeting Stiles'. She blew him one last kiss, and then she was gone.

The memory vanished with the closing of the doors. Stiles smiled from where he sat on the couch, blinking from his reverie. Tonya would be fine. They would keep in touch, and hell, they might even see each other again; as she had put it, only time will tell.

Stiles felt hopeful at the thought.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"Stiles!"

The boy in question ceased the idle flipping of pages in his book and turned to see his father stepping through the automatic doors of the ward. Behind him came the all-too-familiar puppy face of Scott, and lastly came Derek, whose eyes were alert and searching something with extreme focus.

With speed Stiles hadn't been aware he possessed, he all but leapt off of the back of the ratty couch, and flung himself at the three men. He felt the strong arms of his father catch him, pulling him in close and squeezing firmly.

"Hi dad…"

"Hey kiddo. Are you ready to get the hell out of here?" John Stilinski whispered.

"You have no idea." Stiles pulled away from his father, smiling brightly. Hugging his father allowed him to breathe anew, and if Stiles had thought he was happy upon receiving the news of his discharge, only something beyond euphoria could be used to describe how he felt in that moment—reveling in the feeling of family, the feeling of home. Stiles turned to Scott.

"C'mere buddy." Scott smiled as he held his arms wide open, where Stiles soon found himself in another vigorous embrace. "Prepare yourself for when you get home, because for the foreseeable future I will not be leaving your side. I'm talking video games, pizza, YouTube, more pizza, and even more video games."

Stiles merely laughed. It would just be like old times, and in Stiles' mind, he could think of almost nothing better than what Scott proposed—the idea of simplistic normalcy brought a grin to his lips. "You got it, dude."

The sheriff cleared his throat, and Scott dropped his arms with a sheepish smile as if he were responding to a command. Stiles looked to his father with questions in his eyes, but the sheriff was merely pointing his chin at the third member of the welcome-home committee. Derek had been standing in silent patience, awaiting his turn while Stiles was being engulfed in the love of his father and his best friend. Stiles felt his cheeks gently emblazon with heat, and he stepped forward into Derek's now-open arms.

This embrace was unlike the fervent hug of his father, where Stiles himself had seemed to be a lifeline; nor was it the electrifying squeeze he had received from Scott not three moments before. This embrace lifted Stiles up like the tide of placid waters lulling into a serene harbor. And like the ocean, which could be among the most peaceful entities on earth, this embrace still held a quiet force, utterly exuding with power. Stiles felt safe and warm in this harbor, this embrace. He nuzzled into the crook of Derek's neck and inhaled softly.

"You're scruffy." Stiles chuckled in a whisper, nosing the dark hairs under Derek's chin.

"Look who's talking," Derek murmured in reply. His eyes glowed with warmth, as if this moment was the happiest in his life. Still, he gently pulled back the smallest of distances, and cupped Stiles' scraggly, unshaven cheek with his palm. Stiles leaned into the touch and sighed in contentment, closing his eyes. He soon felt Derek press a feather of a kiss to his forehead.

After this brief moment, Stiles pulled away to turn back to his father. "Can we go now?"

John Stilinski merely chuckled. "Of course, kiddo. Let me just sign the waivers." He turned to the Nurse's station.

Stiles watched as his dad spoke with Andrea, who glanced briefly at Stiles with a happy smile. She nodded to his father, before stepping away from the desk into the office just behind her. After a brief spell, Andrea returned to the desk with Nicole trailing behind her with a stack of papers in her arms. Nicole still didn't smile as she set the papers in front of his father, fluttering her fingers over the expanse of the pile as she mechanically explained where his father needed to sign.

As the sheriff bent over the pile of papers, Andrea beckoned Stiles to the counter.

"Are you ready to go, honey?"

"So ready." Stiles beamed at her.

Andrea chuckled a bit. "Well, Nicole here wants to remind you to get your prescription filled, as you're supposed to be on your anti-depressant for six months." She pushed a small piece of paper towards him, which bore the name of his medication, the dosage and other such details.

Stiles' father reached out a hand without breaking his concentration from the stack of papers in front of him, snatching the small piece of paper with a gentle smile. "I'll take care of it". Stiles just sighed in relief.

"Another thing," Andrea continued. "I should probably show your father how to change your bandages, because you'll need to change them at least every other day, and of course when you shower."

Again, Stiles nodded, waiting for his father to finish signing his papers. Derek appeared at his side, taking Stiles' hand in his strong grip. "I'd like to learn as well if you wouldn't mind showing me." He said gently, squeezing Stiles' hand.

For a brief moment, Stiles glanced up at Derek in wonder, but then his gaze shifted nervously to see his father's reaction. His father paused the signing of Stiles' release papers to look at Derek, but to Stiles' surprise, the corners of his lips twitched upwards just a fraction and he gave a quick nod in agreement. Derek nodded back.

"Alright then, if you would follow me back into the office exam room for a moment." Andrea motioned for the trio to follow. They complied after the sheriff finished the stack of papers and Stiles told Scott to sit tight.

"Stiles, if you wouldn't mind lifting up your shirt for a brief moment and turn around please," Andrea said gently once they were inside the office exam room with the door shut.

Stiles blushed a bit, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and somewhat ashamed. He quickly received a reassuring squeeze to his hand from Derek.

"Stiles' bandages have their unravelling point just under his right shoulder," Andrea indicated. Stiles could feel her finger tap on his shoulder blade. "The bandages should always be wound in a figure-eight pattern, moving up over the left shoulder and down crossing over the front of his chest. You'll then want to wrap around his right hip and bring it around his back." Her fingers trailed over the path as she spoke, not actually unravelling the bandages much to Stiles' relief. "Then you'll be doing the inverse, bringing it around his left hip, up across his chest again over the right shoulder and under his left arm. Lastly, you'll wrap it again around his chest one last time and you'll be right back at his right shoulder blade. Does that make sense?"

The sheriff and Derek nodded, asking a few clarifying questions before affirming their understanding of the process.

"Wonderful." Andrea clapped her hands together. "Here are several roles of gauze and bandages to get started with." She reached into the cabinet under the exam table and pulled out several spools of the beige colored cloth and white cotton, handing them to the sheriff.

"Thank you so much." He nodded to her.

"Well, I suppose that's it sugar. You're ready to go home."

Stiles pulled his shirt back over his shoulders, and smiled at her. "Thank you…for everything Andrea."

"No need to thank me. I'm just happy you're alright." She smiled back. "Now go on, get on home."

The three men all obliged, thanking the nurse before stepping out of the exam room and back into the common room.

"Are we ready to get out of here?" Scott perked up from where he leaned against the wall.

"Yeah, buddy." Stiles said. "Let's go home." Stiles stepped to the ratty couch to pick up his book while his father handed over the paper work to Andrea at the desk. They met at the hallway just before the automatic doors.

Stiles felt a hint of anxiousness as he stared at the gray doors before him. He was almost afraid of going back out into the world; that, if he did leave East Plains, he would suddenly be inundated with every nightmare that dragged him in here. As if sensing the distress, Stiles felt Derek take his hand, while his father put a hand on the small of his back. He took a deep breath, and they stepped forward.

The doors opened before him as they had done with Tonya, letting him through into an eerie world of uncertainty. This time, however, Stiles wasn't alone. With his father and Derek at his side and Scott leading the way, Stiles felt a modest glimmer of hope. If he wasn't alone, he could do this.

Officially having exited the center, Stiles breathed in the crisp air. No nightmares confronted him, no ridicule awaited him. It was just him, his family, and the world.

"You must be starving…" John said. "After all that crap they had you eat, let's get you some proper food."

At the mention of food, his stomach gurgled rather loudly. The other three men laughed, and though Stiles himself was blushing he too let out an airy chuckle. "Yeah, food sounds good."

"Any idea what you're hungry for?" John opened the passenger door of his cruiser so Stiles could get in.

"Um….Chinese food?" Stiles didn't know why he said Chinese. Over the past two weeks the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Yet, the more he toyed with the idea of Mu Shu pork and Kung Pao chicken, the more his mouth watered.

"Well alright then. Chinese it is." His father smiled. "Derek, Scott, care to join?"

Derek, who had briefly placed a kiss on Stiles' forehead, was making his way to his Camaro parked a few spots away. "I think I'll sit this one out, Sheriff. You should have some time with Stiles."

Stiles sent him a questioning, if not slightly hurt, look. But Derek simply smiled in return, letting Stiles know that everything was fine. "I'll see you later. I promise."

Stiles nodded just as his dad replied. "Thank you, Derek." Then after a moment, he turned back from closing the door behind Stiles, "You're welcome to come over later this evening."

"I will." Derek affirmed, before unlocking the door to his Camaro and getting in.

"Apologies, Scott." The sheriff turned to the other boy. "You don't mind riding in the backseat, do you?"

"Nah. It'll be fine." Scott gave the sheriff a thumbs up, before climbing in.

By the time the Sheriff entered the driver's seat of the vehicle, Scott and Stiles were happily chatting. "Like hell Stiles, you only win because you camp!"

"I do not! I just happen to rotate strategically through several well placed areas of potential marksmanship."

"What does that even mean?" Scott rolled his eyes. "You camp. That's it. That's how you always win."

"Fine. We'll do a skirmish when we hang out and I'll show you I'm simply the better player. And I won't 'camp'". Stiles stuck his tongue out while making air quotes.

Stiles heard his dad chuckle as they cruised down the road. Scott kept chatting, his dad kept laughing, joking, and smiling, and Stiles thought for a moment about how buoyant he felt. Deep down, he knew he still had a lot of work to do, but sitting in this moment, driving with his best friend and his father to devour incredibly unhealthy Chinese food, Stiles couldn't help but smile in gratitude. Though their lives had all grown chaotic and complicated, this moment had brought them back to a simpler time—before the bloodshed, the fights, and the seemingly constant darkness that pervaded both Stiles and the town of Beacon Hills.

The trio pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant boasting of an all-you-can-eat buffet. They stepped from the car and walked in; Stiles suddenly felt rather self-conscious of how he looked, standing there in old sweats, his red hoodie, bandages galore, and an unruly scraggly face of whiskers. The hostess merely smiled at the lot of them taking no notice and beckoning them to follow her. Stiles relaxed a bit upon sitting down, the delicious aromas of the buffet lines evoking the growls of his stomach.

"Go ahead, Stiles." His father urged him. "I'll go when you get back."

Scott grabbed his arm and the two embarked on a mission to pile as much onto their plates as possible. Stiles loaded everything he could, from Lo-Mein to Szechuan beef, egg rolls to fried rice. They set their plates down, and once Stiles' father returned with his own plate, they all dug in. Stiles couldn't remember any food having tasted as good as the plate in front of him did. He found it empty within a matter of minutes, and was then parading up to the buffet for more. Scott and his father watched him with amusement as he shoveled down plateful after plateful, making satisfied noises as he devoured every mouthful.

After a while, Stiles found he had to put his fork down, though he did so reluctantly. After spending two weeks of eating glorified plastic, Stiles hadn't wanted to give up eating the delicious food without a fight. But alas, his stomach couldn't even be sucked in. He took a sip of his Coke, and let out and obnoxiously loud belch.

Scott burst out laughing as his father dropped his forehead into his hand, shaking it and muttering "Stiles, God dammit." Still, he chuckled along with Scott.

Once the laughter settled, and Stiles had assured his father that he wouldn't be able to eat another bite, they all got up and made their way to the cash register.

"How was everything?" The petit woman behind the counter inquired.

"Wonderful." Stiles said as his father said "Excellent."

"Thank you." The trio then said in unison.

"Fortune cookie?" She held a tray carrying three fortune cookies in front of them.

"Thank you." They all said again, grabbing a cookie for themselves, before leaving with a wave goodbye. Walking out to the cruiser they all opened their cookies.

"What's yours say Dad?"

"You are talented in many ways." His father chuckled. "How inspirational."

"Oh come on it's not that bad. You know those things are meant to be general and vague." Stiles laughed with.

"Ah, what the hell!" Scott growled before crunching his cookie in his mouth.

"What is it?" The Sheriff asked.

"Mine says, 'It would be wise to continuously eat your vegetables' Come on!"

Stiles had to laugh at that. Scott would get the one fortune that was all too accurate, if not a little bit snide. "I don't know what you're talking about. I think it suits you."

"Oh shut up." Scott replied, waving his hand to swat playfully at Stiles. "What does yours say, if you're so cool? Go on, go on! Open it!".

Stiles made a playful face at him and unwrapped his cookie. He broke the cookie and read the little slip of paper on the inside.

The past has passed. Let it stay there. Now is the time for a new beginning.

Stiles smiled, and then shoved his cookie into his mouth.

"And?" Scott pressed, his hands folded across his chest.

"It says, 'The past has passed. Let it stay there. Now is a time for a new beginning'." Stiles folded the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket.

Scott closed his mouth for a second, and then smiled. Stiles turned to see his father also smiling. He winked at Stiles.

Yeah… Stiles thought. Now is the time for a new beginning. "C'mon. I wanna get a shower."

"Alrighty, Kiddo. Let's go home."

xXxXxXxXxXx

Upon arriving home, Stiles definitely didn't shower like he had wanted too. Scott had ended up staying a while, entrancing Stiles into several one-on-one Black Ops matches on the XBOX in the living room, determined to defeat him.

"God dammit, Stiles! I said no camping!"

"Standing openly on top of a tower hardly qualifies as camping!" Stiles yelled back, once again taking Scott's character out with a clean headshot. "Maybe you should just aim better!"

As Scott respawned, he again went in search of Stiles, who, in order to avoid being blamed for camping, had left his outpost atop the tower in search of a new location.

"Oh come ON!" Scott dropped his controller in frustration. "You can't just come up from behind and knife me! This isn't Assassin's Creed!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Stiles chided with a large grin. "The point of the game, my dear Scotty, is to actually kill your opponent, of which I did. Multiple times…In several different positions. Just face it, I'm clearly superior."

"Gah! Fine!" Scott growled and crossed his arms. "You win, but don't you for a second think this is over. I will have my revenge."

"Oh, I look forward to it buddy." Stiles dropped his own controller to wrap his arm around Scott's shoulders.

Scott attempted to hold his pout, but found he couldn't. He grinned and wrapped his own arms around his best friend, hugging back. Scott took a moment to cherish the embrace. All seemed to be well, though Scott knew that all of the shit he had pulled prior to Stiles' incident still needed to be addressed, and he would do whatever was required of him to earn back his best friend's trust—his forgiveness. But for the moment, everything seemed to be alright. He sighed contentedly.

"What?" Stiles pulled away.

"Nothing… I'm just glad you're okay." Scott cast his eyes downward. Then after a brief moment: "Stiles, I need to apologize. And I know simply saying sorry doesn't even cover how badly I hurt you, but I want you to know that I'm really, really sorry… If I could go back and do everything over again—keep my promise—I would… And if there is anything I can do to earn your forgiveness, I will. You just name it, and I'll do it."

"Scott…" Stiles rested a palm on Scott's shoulder, unsure of what to say. He would like to say that there was nothing to forgive, but he would be lying to himself. However, it still didn't change the fact that Scott was more than a best friend; it didn't change the fact that Scott was really a brother to Stiles. And for better or worse, brother to brother, Stiles had already forgiven him. He was just happy that Scott was here, right now, where they could start over together. "You're already forgiven."

Scott smiled at him. Though he understood that he would still need to do whatever he could to help Stiles in recovery, he was happy that he hadn't lost his friendship with Stiles. It was honestly a grace he knew he wasn't deserving of, but he grabbed at it selfishly—this time, he was unwilling to let it go so easily.

A knock sounded at front door.

"I'll take that as my cue." Scott chuckled, standing up from the couch and stretching.

"Derek?" Stiles inquired hopefully.

"Who else?" Scott laughed.

Since when does he use the front door?

"Stiles! Derek's here!" His father's voice sounded from the kitchen.

Scott winked at Stiles, and the two made their way through the kitchen to the foyer by the front door where Derek stood.

"Alrighty, buddy. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Scott turned to Stiles, giving him a strong hug.

"Okay." Stiles hugged back. "See you tomorrow."

Scott slipped passed Derek, nodding to him as he did so. Derek returned the gesture, before grabbing an unsuspecting Stiles by the wrist and pulling him swiftly into a strong embrace. Derek buried his nose into Stiles' hair, inhaling his scent desperately as if he'd been suffocating. Stiles in turn clutched his fingers into the fabric of Derek's Henley, allowing the heat of Derek's body to radiate into his own. They stayed that way for several long moments before Stiles pulled back.

"I missed you."

"I know exactly what you mean," Derek cupped Stiles' scraggly cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb.

"C'mon. We'd better shut the door," Stiles chuckled, closing the door behind Derek and bringing him into the kitchen where the Sheriff sat with a cup of tea. Stiles glanced at the clock on the microwave, surprised to find that it was already 9:30pm.

"Good evening, Derek."

"Sheriff." Derek nodded respectfully.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Stiles offered.

"No thanks."

Stiles simply nodded as his father took a sip of his tea. There was an air of awkwardness in the room. Derek knew of course, that even though he had received the sheriff's approval, he still felt unsure of how to act around him.

"So…" Stiles began in an attempt to fill the silence. "Will you be working in the morning, dad?"

"Nah…" His father replied. "Deputy Graham has more or less kicked me out of the office until Monday."

"You gotta watch out for her," Stiles laughed. "She'll kick your ass in a heartbeat if you don't do what she says."

"I know. And they say I'm the sheriff." The two laughed for a brief moment.

Derek simply smiled. Seeing the love of his life laugh together with his father brought a warm feeling to his heart. They seemed at such ease, the two of them. This is how it should be.

"I take it Derek will be staying the night?" The sheriff suddenly inquired.

Stiles' mouth shut instantly, eyes bulging. "I—uh—well—"

To both Derek's and Stiles' surprise, John just laughed. "I'm not under any illusions that Derek would willingly let you be alone for the night; especially now that you've just come home. At least this time, he came through the front door." He shot Stiles a knowing look.

Derek felt his throat go dry. Physically, he knew he could overpower the man. However, it didn't change the fact that the sheriff was Stiles' father, and there was that unspoken law of respect that called to Derek, willing him to heed its command—and that freaked him out. It had been years since Derek felt the need to impress anybody, yet here he was standing in the kitchen of his mate's house, blushing like a stage-frightened child.

"Ehehehe…" Stiles laughed nervously, reaching a bandaged arm behind his head. "He'll totally stay on the couch, it's cool... Right Derek?"

At the mention of his name Derek snapped to, nodding his head furiously. "Yes sir."

The sheriff put his mug down and folded his arms across his chest. There was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes and a smile played at the corner of his lips. "Stiles…" He chuckled. "Don't let what I'm about to say set a precedent, because this is a one-time, non-negotiable exception. But…" He began. "I suppose if Derek is staying the night, it would be alright if he stayed with you. Just for tonight." He emphasized.

Stiles' jaw dropped and deep blush colored his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Dad…"

"It's really okay, Stiles." His father stopped him. "Derek and I had quite the conversation a couple of weeks ago. We're…on the same page." His piercing gaze met Derek's, who nodded in affirmation. "But like I said, this is a one-time thing."

Stiles nodded, and then a full grin broke stretched from his lips. "Thanks dad."

"I love you, Kiddo. Derek does too. There's no point in me denying it." His father returned his smile and they held each other's gaze for a moment. "But I swear, if I hear anything going on tonight I will break down your door and throw Derek out of the window."

The blush was back, this time coloring both of their faces. "Dad! Oh my god!"

"Rules are rules Stiles. I can't willingly let your boyfriend deflower you und—"

"Okay dad I think we got it!" Stiles' horror sent the sheriff into a fit of laughter.

Derek, though just as embarrassed as Stiles, began to laugh too—maybe it was the nerves.

"Alright, alright, I've made my point."

Derek heard Stiles mutter a "thank god" under his breath before he uttered: "I think it's time for me to go shower."

"Okay kiddo." His father smiled again.

"G'night dad," Stiles sighed out and smiled. He rounded the kitchen counter and stepped to the wooden table. His father stood and wrapped his arms around his son, gripping him tightly. The two held the embrace for a good while. After some time had passed, Stiles began to pull away. "Alrighty, I'll see you in the morn—"

"I'm not done yet." His father interrupted and pulled Stiles back in, squeezing him harder. "I love you, kiddo."

Stiles, though surprised for a brief moment, sunk back into the embrace. He smiled into his father's shoulder—this was the closest he had felt to him in years…ever since his mom had passed. "I love you too."

Derek suddenly felt like he was intruding immensely on the moment, and averted his gaze. He couldn't deny, however, that his heart soared at the reunion in front of him. The sheer emotion in the room was tangible.

"Okay kiddo. Go shower." His father released him. "Do you need help taking your bandages off?"

"Oh yeah…" Stiles muttered. He looked briefly at Derek, who opened his mouth as if to say something. "Would you come up in a sec? I want to shave first." He directed his words quietly at his father. There was no way in hell he wanted Derek to unravel him in his current state.

Derek clenched his jaw shut, the tension visible around his eyes.

"Sure, thing. Just holler at me when you're ready."

Stiles nodded his affirmation, and then retreated up the stairs. In his bathroom, he carefully removed his shirt while keeping his sweatpants on. He shut the door behind him and turned to face the mirror. The whiskers on his face and above his upper lip really were unruly. Truly, he was a sight to see; Stiles grimaced. He really should do something about his poor-excuse-for-a-beard.
Digging through his cabinet underneath the sink, he withdrew his shaving cream and his shaving razor. As he set the objects on the counter, he stared at his reflection and frowned. His entire face was pale—his cheeks were still shallow and almost translucent. There were the ever-present dark circles underneath his eyes and his lips were still incredibly chapped. Stiles darted his tongue across them, hoping to eliminate the gritty feeling but failing. In all, he looked exhausted and several years older, though not in a good way.

He turned on the faucet and brought a small cupped handful of water to his cheeks to wet the whiskers. Stiles then doused his fingers in the shaving foam and rubbed the puffy goo on his cheeks, neck, and upper lip. Taking the plastic cap off of the razor, he doused that in hot water also before bringing it to his face. After a few shaky strokes with the blade, he grew accustomed to prickling feeling that accompanied hair removal.

Shit…Stiles hissed, having accidentally nicked his lip by accident. A small drop of blood began to drip down the curves of his mouth. He quickly grabbed for a small wad of toilet paper to remedy his accident; interestingly, he also found himself chuckling sardonically. This situation in particular proved to be rather ironic—for it was not too long ago that Stiles had used an instrument such as the one in his hand to quell pain by causing it. Now, he was cursing because he had accidentally done the opposite. Stiles sighed, and once the bleeding had been stopped by a stuck-on wad of toilet paper, he continued on removing the ugliness that had grown in over the past couple of weeks.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"So, Derek…" The Sheriff was seated once again at the wooden kitchen table. Derek awkwardly stood near the entrance to the foyer. "Please take a seat."

Derek hesitated a moment and then obliged.

"I want to be very clear about what I said" John tapped his fingers on the dull tabletop. "I do not want to hear anything tonight…I'll have you know I keep a glock under my mattress."

Derek clenched his jaw shut, attempting to will away the blush that crept up in his cheeks and failing miserably. "You know we wouldn't…" He slipped off the end of his sentence, attempting to fill the silence with several ambiguous hand-gestures.

The sheriff, though trying to remain resiliently stern began cracking a smile. To his own surprise, Derek found himself beginning to chuckle too. "You know what I mean."

"I would hope so." The sheriff reverted back to sternness, though his eyes still smiled. "But…"

Derek cocked his head slightly, having heard a sudden hiss from upstairs. There was a faint, but very real scent of copper. His heart jumped to his throat. "Uh…sheriff….. shouldn't you go check on Stiles?"

Stiles' father narrowed his eyes. "Why…?"

Derek thought quickly, attempting to find a lie to cover what he had both heard and smelled. "Just to make sure he doesn't need help up there…?"

"That's the next thing I was going to bring up." The sheriff relaxed, much to Derek's chagrin. "I'm thinking maybe you should be the one to help with the bandages tonight. I've…I've already seen Stiles' damage….and I don't think I'm ready to see that again."

Derek had been growing impatient, for he knew exactly what the metallic stench had meant. Still, he froze upon the sheriff's words, comprehending just what he was asking Derek to do.

"But… didn't you just say—"

"I'm not asking you to undress my son… just…get him out of the bandages. I'll trust that you'll leave directly after. I just…can't…see him like that again. Not yet at least."

Derek clenched his jaw, both comprehending and not completely understanding what the man in front of him was referring to. The sheriff had been the one to find Stiles when he tried to… Derek squeezed his eyes shut. He could only imagine how Stiles may have looked, lying there on the cold floor covered in blood. He could only imagine what it must have been like, to be a father, and find your very own son broken and almost lifeless on the floor of his own bedroom. He then nodded. "If you're sure."

"Thank you, Derek." The sheriff smiled faintly. "But remember… just the bandages." He set out his hand in an act of treaty.

The blush came back, but Derek gripped the sheriff's hand firmly. "Yes sir." Then, once the two had come to a common ground, he turned and bounded up the stairs, impatient to comfort what his nose had made anxious. He paused outside the door before knocking.

"Dad? Just a second!" Stiles' voice resonated.

Derek waited for a moment before replying. "It's uh…it's me." Derek could hear the heartbeat inside accelerate.

"Derek?" Stiles' voice sounded guarded. "Is my dad coming to help in a minute?"

"Um…he asked if I could do it for him…"

"Why?"

"Can I come in?"

There was silence from behind the door for a moment, but then: "okay…"

Derek swiftly turned the knob and entered, his eyes searching for the cause of the metallic scent. He felt the tension immediately leave his shoulders when his eyes fell on a small wad of toilet paper just above the corner of Stiles' mouth—the rest of his cheeks had been cleared of the scraggly hair. Stiles didn't look at him though, his eyes cast downward. He had folded his arms protectively across his bandaged torso.

"Where's my dad?"

Derek swallowed. "Your dad…he said he wasn't ready to see your…injuries…again." He felt as though he were saying the wrong words, but as he thought over his statement, Derek wasn't all that sure what the best way to tell Stiles his father's predicament without it sounding like an insult.

"Oh." Stiles tightened his grip around himself and lowered his head.

"Hey…" Derek stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Stiles' shoulders, cradling him to his chest. "He's not mad. If anything he just couldn't bear the thought of his son having been in so much pain."

"He's gotta be at least a little mad, right?"

"Stiles." Derek waited until the boy in his arms looked up. "He's not. I promise."

"…Okay…"

"Now how about we just get you unwrapped and into the shower." Derek dropped his arms in preparation for the task.

Stiles stepped away, his arms encircling himself again—the hitch in his breath and increase in the beat of his heart were clearly audible. "Derek…I…just can't."

"You have to let me help you…" Derek murmured patiently.

"I can't have you see me…not like this…Just not like this."

The remnants of a fleeting nightmare flashed through Derek's mind like a wraith. He had heard those words before. Images of Stiles' fear stricken eyes having clouded over in the awful, obsidian black of death ghosted through his head. He remembered a cold rain and the sharp warm feel of Stiles' thick blood. Derek shook the horrifying nightmare from his head. "Nothing will change, Stiles. I understand that you're afraid, but know that no matter what lies underneath these bandages, nothing can change how much I love you...I promise."

Derek saw Stiles' shoulders tremble, and yet he still turned brusquely away from Derek to face the sink. He braced himself on his bandaged arms.

"Okay…" Stiles whispered. "Just do it." He closed his eyes.

Derek obliged and stepped forward. He ran his fingers along the expanse of Stiles' right shoulder blade in search of the buried bandage strap Andrea had pointed out. His fingers caught onto the edge he was looking for, and with a light tug, the edge came free. Ever so gently, Derek inched the fabric away from Stiles' body according to the pattern he had been taught. Little by little, the bandages pulled away from Stiles' thin frame; occasionally, Stiles inhaled sharply, causing Derek to wince. Derek understood that this was a result of the bandages tugging on his stitches, and every time Stiles mimicked the reaction, Derek murmured guilty apologies.

The layers of fabric pulled away until Derek found himself staring at the pale flesh of Stiles' back. There seemed to be no signs of injury on his skin save for the irritated impressions the bandages had left. Still, Derek bit his lip, suddenly unsure of whether or not he truly wished to see the extent of Stiles' condition for himself.

"Stiles…" Derek whispered. "Please turn around."

There was a moment of icy silence. Derek only heard Stiles' shallow breath in time with the rise and fall of his shoulders. After several long moments Stiles turned to face him, his eyes cast downward in shame.

Derek had tried to prepare himself for the sight that would meet is eyes, but a sharp hitch in his own breathing had snuck out from his chest. Stiles' arms encircled his body again almost in an instant. His lips quivered.

Mentally haranguing himself, Derek spoke. "Stiles…It's okay." He reached out a hand to pull Stiles' arms away from himself.

"It's not, Derek. I'm not…I mean…I can't…" His breathing began to huff out of control.

Derek gently, but firmly gripped Stiles' wrist. "Let me in Stiles. Please don't shut me out."

Stiles clamped his teeth down on the constantly-quivering lip in an attempt to still its trembling. The pink color faded to a translucent white under the pressure of his bite. He surrendered his hand to Derek.

Derek clenched his jaw again and again as Stiles revealed himself. Derek's eyes trailed over the skin of his lover—his heart broke. Etched into the canvas of Stiles' body was the word which Derek knew served as a figment of torment for Stiles—perfect. It echoed through Derek's mind, a grim reminder of his lover's sinister burden. He bit his own lip. Over and over and over again had the word been carved. What had once been the milky expanse of Stiles' body was now turned to a hellish plane of silent laceration—a battleground of torture.

Derek felt his eyes begin to brim. No…he shook his head in an attempt to clear the tears. He would not cry with Stiles having had hurt in ways Derek couldn't even fathom. He released Stiles' wrist, the tips of his fingers moving to gently caress a sutured "p" that engraved its purpose just under Stiles' left pectoral. "I'm sorry." Derek whispered. "I'm so…so sorry." He brushed his fingertips down to Stiles' marred hips and pulled him gently in. His lips pressed against Stiles' forehead and he simply held Stiles in that position. It was all he felt he could do.

Eventually, Derek felt timid hands slip up his back and gently entwine into the fabric of his Henley. Neither of them said anything more for a long while.

"I should shower."

Derek pulled away, attempting to gaze into the amber pools that were Stiles' eyes. Those pools, however, dimmed and turned from his view. Derek caught Stiles' cheek briefly and gently kissed those gorgeously chapped lips. "I love you."

And there they were—the pools of light suddenly gazed at him. "I love you too." Stiles then turned and stepped into the tub before pulling the curtain shut behind him. Derek listened to the ruffling of fabric and a pair of sweatpants dropped over the top of the tension-bar. Derek took that as his cue to leave. His body was commanding him to stay put, fearful of leaving Stiles alone after a moment of such vulnerability, but he knew he had the sheriff's wishes to think of and he wanted to respect those wishes. He stepped from the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Back in the kitchen, he heard the T.V. buzzing from the living room. Suddenly, Derek was unsure of what to do with himself. He elected to follow the sounds down the short flight of stairs and around the corner where he found the Sheriff sitting in his recliner.

"Would you care for a beer?" The Sheriff sat forward and grabbed a brown bottle from the coffee table in front of him, offering it to Derek.

"Thank you." Derek replied. Though he knew the beverage would affect him not at all, Derek couldn't deny that it did offer him a vice against the tumultuous stream of thoughts that was raging through his head. He sipped the bitter drink gratefully.

"It's not easy is it?" The sheriff murmured, but did not look at him. "Seeing him that way."

Derek fortified himself with another drink. "No. It's not."

They both stared at the T.V. for some time.

"Am I bad parent?"

The question caught Derek off guard. He tightened his grip on the bottle. "No Sir." He replied after a moment of deliberation.

"But I could have been a better one, is that right?" John looked warily at Derek.

"We all could have been a better something. We can always be a better 'something'." Derek met his gaze. "But isn't that the point? No matter how hard we try, there is always something we can do better."

"But had I been a better father, do you think Stiles would be how he is now?" John tipped his chin in the direction of the staircase in the kitchen.

"With all due respect, sir, I think there are many more factors at play here than just you…but I see where you're coming from. For example, had I been a better…boyfriend…to Stiles, I don't think things would have happened the way they did."

"So you do think I had something to do with it." The sheriff's face remained blank.

"I didn't say that." Derek met his eyes. "Besides, it's not my place to think about anything other than what I've done and what I can do better…what I will do better."

To Derek's surprise, Stiles' father chuckled. "You've got a point."

Derek sighed in relief. "I suppose that all we can do is try." He thought for a moment, fighting back the images of Stiles' body from several moments ago. The word perfect appeared again in his head and it may as well have smacked him clean across the face. Derek frowned. "Sheriff…what do you think about the idea of perfection?"

Stiles' father met his gaze and took a swig from his own beer bottle. His jaw tightened and he remained quiet for a moment. He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "I think it's overrated." There was no sarcasm in the words, as there is typically when someone uses the phrase—there was a hint of bitter anger. "Hell, I wish there was no such thing."

Derek didn't know what to say, so he simply nodded.

"If there were no such thing, maybe Stiles wouldn't feel…." The sheriff lost his words, attempting to gesture vaguely with his beer bottle—then he sighed. "He's my son…That's all I need him to be… No matter what. He can be angry. He can be sad. He can be scared or he can smile or disobey me and get into trouble and make me want to strangle him…but as long as he's still there at the end of the day for me to call my son, then that's all I care about. That's all I want."

Now it was Derek's turn to be silent. He simply sat there with the Sheriff, with the T.V. blaring the daily sports report that neither of them listened to. They both took another swig of beer. "Thank you, Sheriff."

"Call me John."

Derek looked up. This time, as he met the Sheriff's gaze, they both cracked a smile. "Thank you, John."

"For what?"

"Letting me stay."

"Remember, it's just for the night." The sheriff stated in mock warning.

"That's not what I meant." Derek replied. "Thanks for letting me stay…with Stiles."

John nodded. "You're what Stiles wants. You make him happy. If I'm going to be a better father, than I can't very well risk that happiness on my own past ignorance. I'll do whatever I can to keep Stiles from getting back to where he's been."

"Me too." Derek smiled.

"But I stand by what I said." Stiles' father looked at him. "You do anything to hurt him…anything at all…"

"I've no intention."

"Still… I keep multiple firearms in the house. All of them are fully loaded."

"Dad? Derek?" Stiles' voice came from the kitchen area. "Can I get some help?"

Derek breathed out in relief before gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. "Do you want to...? Or I can….?"

"Go on, get outta here." John nodded his head in Stiles' direction.

Derek stood and placed his empty bottle on the coffee table. He turned to Stiles' father and reached out his hand. The Sheriff stood and grasped it firmly, thereby fortifying the understanding between them. He smiled.

"Remember Derek. Multiple Firearms…Fully loaded." He dropped their hands.

Derek began to blush and a nervous chuckle escaped his lips. "I'll be going now." He turned and quickly headed into the kitchen and up the stairs.

Stiles was waiting for him in the bathroom, leaning against the sink with his arms wrapped around himself. He wore the same sweatpants from earlier, but no shirt. There was a fresh roll of bandages sitting on the bathroom counter. "What were you two talking about?"

"We were just getting on the same page." Derek replied.

"Uh huh…." Stiles' brow furrowed. "Did he threaten you again?"

"Just how many guns does your father have?"

Try as he might to refrain from doing so, Derek saw Stiles crack a smile. "Well he is the sheriff…"

Derek stared at the boy before him. He definitely missed that smile. "C'mon…Let me bandage you up."

Stiles' smile fell slightly, and he turned from Derek. "Okay."

Derek stepped forward and grabbed the roll of bandage wrap. Unravelling it slightly he placed one end on Stiles' shoulder blade, just as Andrea had taught him. His arms brought the roll up, around, and down Stiles' naked torso in an easy but firm manner.

"You might want to pull it a bit tighter," Stiles told him. "Otherwise the bandages won't hold very well."

Derek nodded and pulled the bandages slightly tauter as he continued to wrap the fabric around Stiles. After several moments the roll of bandages was empty and Stiles was completely patched up. Derek deposited the empty spool into the wastebasket by the toilet. "There. All done."

Stiles turned to him. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me." Derek whispered.

Stiles stepped towards him and Derek wrapped his arms around the boy's now covered waist. He buried his nose into the damp hair on Stiles' head and breathed in. Stiles smelled soapy and clean.

"I should brush my teeth. Would hate to have morning breath." Stiles chuckled.

Derek dropped his arms and laughed. "Do you have a toothbrush I could borrow?"

Stiles shook his head. "Sorry. Scott usually brings his own."

Derek understood. But then the memory of when Stiles spent that wonderful night in Derek's room. "I could use yours…"

Stiles, who had begun the brushing of his own teeth paused the ministrations of his toothbrush; his lips coated in a minty foam. He resumed swirling the toothbrush around his mouth before spitting into the basin of the sink. Sticking his lips under the faucet, he rinsed his mouth. Then he turned to Derek. "Would that be weird?"

"Was it weird when you used my toothbrush that night in my house?" A smirk played at his lips.

"Ehehehe…" Stiles chuckled and rubbed his wrist nervously. "No…I just…" He made a face. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't mad Stiles. I thought it was…kinda cute." Derek lifted the boy's chin to meet his eyes.

Stiles grinned. "Well… if you don't mind… I don't mind."

"Well alright then." Derek returned the smile.

"I'm ganna go say goodnight to my dad. I'll be back up in a few."

"Okay. Hurry back."

When the boy disappeared out of the door and down the hall, Derek turned to Stiles' discarded toothbrush; he gently picked up the utensil, feeling the faint warmth radiating from its handle. He grinned. Once again, their two daily rituals were becoming one, as if this simple act of brushing teeth served a larger purpose.

Derek slicked the bristles with toothpaste and began brushing. Two minutes later, he spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth and the basin before leaving the bathroom. He did his best to effectively not listen in on what was occurring downstairs once he flicked off the light and stepped from the bathroom. Stiles and his father needed some privacy to themselves, so Derek elected to wait for Stiles in the boy's bedroom. He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting.

Derek began to think. He wasn't sure if Stiles had been in here yet as there was no fresh scent of him that hung in the air; this thought made Derek a bit tense. There was no telling how being back in his bedroom would make the boy feel, what memories would emerge from the boy's last night in the room. Derek could faintly smell the distinct scent of bleach that still emanated from the floorboards. Though it sickened him slightly, Derek supposed it was better than having the smell of Stiles' blood permeate the room.

Soon enough, Derek heard the footsteps of the boy in question sound down the hallway. Stiles appeared in the doorway and Derek quickly got to his feet when he entered.

"Hey you." Stiles smiled gently. He closed the door behind him, and stepped to Derek. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's strong shoulders. "You're breath smells nice."

"I suppose I should thank you for that." Derek laughed and hugged the boy close.

"C'mon sourwolf, let's get to bed." Stiles pulled away.

Derek sat again on the corner of Stiles' bed and began to unlace his boots. Stiles strolled to his window and lifted up the blinds. He stared outside for a moment. Derek, having removed his boots, stepped up behind him.

"What's out there?"

"Nothing." Stiles replied. "The moon just looks really pretty tonight."

Derek looked up and found the quarter moon. For being covered halfway in shadow, it was still phenomenally bright. He shifted his gaze back down to the boy in front of him. "You look really pretty tonight."

"Oh shut up." Stiles laughed, moving away from the window.

"I'm serious." Derek followed him with his gaze.

"I know, I know." Stiles looked down, standing just in front of his closet. "I'm still working on taking compliments. I'm still working on a lot of things actually."

"You don't need to explain it to me." He murmured. "Just know that I'll be here with as much help as I can give. That includes a bunch of compliments…for practice."

Stiles smiled at him. "Thanks Derek."

There was a soft silence in the room.

"Sooo…bedtime?" Stiles shifted on his feet.

"I suppose." Derek smiled. He turned from Stiles, preparing to remove his shirt. He heard the rustle of fabric from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder. "Umm… Stiles? What are you doing?"

Stiles had slipped his thumbs underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and had begun sliding them down his hips—hips, Derek very soon realized were not covered by anything but the edges of bandages. Stiles blushed and looked down. "Getting into bed…"

"Stiles…" Derek said sternly, fighting back the heady feeling the image of Stiles was giving him. "We promised your dad…"

"I'm not looking to do anything…" Stiles mumbled. "It's just…never mind."

"No…Tell me." Derek turned to face him.

Stiles however, quickly shoved his sweats down the rest of the way, kicked them off his feet, and leapt beneath the covers before securely pulling the comforter up around his mostly-naked body.

"It's stupid…" Stiles worried the comforter between his fingers.

Derek sighed and removed his shirt. He then walked to Stiles' side of the bed, knelt down, and reached for Stiles' fidgeting hand. Derek brought it to his lips and kissed every digit, letting his eyes bore into the features of Stiles' face. "You can tell me you know. I won't judge."

Stiles hesitated. "It's just been too long since I've had time alone with you. I just wanted to be as close to you as I possibly could. No clothes, no barriers." He looked at his heavily-wrapped arms and chest. "Well, almost no barriers."

Derek bit his lip in thought. He knew all too well how Stiles felt. Hell, he'd craved the feel of Stiles' body against his without restraint for weeks. He sighed and let go of Stiles' hand. Getting to his feet, he moved to the light switch by the door and flicked it off, filling the room with darkness. The darkness did not spread entirely though, as moonbeams gently streamed in through Stiles' window. Derek could only make out Stiles' silhouette in the pearly light. He made his way back to the bed.

"Derek?"

Unsure of what to say in reply, Derek moved to unfasten his belt buckle, and then the button on his jeans. Derek looked over his shoulder at the dark door where he was sure Stiles' father was waiting; he paused his thumbs underneath the hem of his jeans, and without allowing himself time to think of what he was actually doing, he slipped both his jeans and his underwear down his legs and off of his feet. "Scoot over." He murmured.

Derek heard the rustle of Stiles' body across the fabric. He reached a hand out and lifted back the covers, and slid underneath.

"Derek, I—"

"Shhhh…" Derek reached his arms out and gathered Stiles' naked body in and pulled him close. His lips feathered a gentle kiss across Stiles'. "I've wanted hold you like this for weeks…let's just—"

Stiles' lips replaced his words. Derek allowed his hands to stroke freely along Stiles' body in the darkness, from naked hips to bandaged back. In turn, he felt Stiles' hands caress gentle circles into his back. They stayed there, holding each other for a long while, each reveling in the feeling—no clothes, no barriers, just the two of them.

Derek chanced the moment. "Stiles? Can I ask you something?"

Stiles' hands ceased their movements. "Okay."

"Does it bother you, being back in here after…well…you know…?"

Derek felt the boy tense in his arms.

"To be honest, I don't remember a lot of it. I mean…I remember hearing voices and feeling…not great." Derek heard the boy swallow with some effort. "But other than that, everything is just a jumble of weird images. I remember seeing my mom's picture and I remember the floor. I also remember being very cold and not being able to move my feet. But other than that…it just goes blank." The boy sighed. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just worried…" Derek replied truthfully. "While I was waiting for you, I began to wonder if you had been in here yet. I wasn't sure what that would bring back for you."

"Yeah…" Stiles sighed again. "I'm kinda thankful that I don't remember a whole lot."

Derek could definitely empathize with that sentiment. "Well," He began. "The past has pas—"

"Passed." Stiles finished for him. "I know…Let it stay there. Now is the time for a new beginning."

"How did you know what I was going to say?" Derek laughed.

"It was in my fortune cookie today."

"I see…That's one smart cookie."

"You're telling me."

Derek felt Stiles' lips just under his jaw. He turned his own lips downward in hopes of catching Stiles' before they left his skin, and smiled into the kiss when he became successful.

"I'm glad you're here, Stiles."

There were a few moments before the boy in his arms spoke. "Me too…Me too." He then gave a loud yawn. "It feels good to be back in my own bed."

"I'm sure." Derek whispered. He tightened his grip around Stiles.

Moments passed, and Stiles' breath fell into a slow, even pace. The hands at Derek's back had stopped their moving only to rest warmly along his spine. Derek marveled at the treasure in his arms. He thought of all the ways his life had been utterly uprooted and turned backwards in the past few months after simply being with the boy. Sure, his life hadn't been anywhere close to normal in years, but this strange deviation from typicality was more than welcome. In fact, Derek was unsure he could even recall what life had felt like before finally holding the boy in his arms as he was doing now. He didn't dare begin to think about what would have happened had Stiles been beyond help. There was simply no future in which Derek had a desire to take part that lacked Stiles' presence—there was no other option.

Derek reverted his attention back to the gentle inhale and exhale of Stiles' sleeping breath; the sound feathered through the air in a lullaby of wisps. Derek rejoiced in this sound. For as he lay there, cradling the boy he loved, he realized that this was the closest he had ever been to heaven. Derek himself wasn't a firm believer in the whole idea of heaven, because everyone had their own doubts and demons to ruin it all. The very idea of a place of such purity seemed too good to be true…too perfect—and so, he was brought back to his contemplation of the moment at hand. The past few weeks of waiting for Stiles to awaken in the hospital, only to learn that he would be taken away for several more weeks had been an absolute hell for Derek. Therefore, right here in this very moment, everything in the world seemed right as rain.

There was the lullaby of Stiles' breath and the warmth of their bodies fitting together just as two pieces of a puzzle would. There was the remainder of bleach in the air and the plethora of memories stored in the floorboards and corners of the room. There was the pearly moonlight, dripping beautifully through the window and bathing the room in its gentle beams—beams, that were paled in beauty only by the beauty of the boy in Derek's arms. There was the ever present doubt that all of this was but a dream, and Derek would soon awaken to the disappointment of not having the love of his life here in this moment.

Derek reassured himself with the gentlest of caresses; his fingers to Stiles' cheek. Still, the warmth calmed him. Still, Stiles' rise and fall of breath soothed him. Still, the one heart beat between them.

No, this moment wasn't perfect—it was so much more. Derek couldn't seem to quantify what exactly this meant. Yet as he gazed down at a slumbering Stiles, he felt as though he might have an idea.

The light of the moon seemed to seep into Stiles' body, allowing him to glow with a translucent, silver light—much in the likeness of a moonstone when the light passes through at the right angle. One simply needed to know just how to look at it. Derek now knew how to look at Stiles, and he smiled. For Stiles was not unlike the moon; the exact opposite really. Stiles may as well have been an angel from the moon, come to Earth under the purpose of helping Derek to see beauty in everything again. It was this resemblance that taught Derek how to view Stiles.

Stiles had spent a great amount of time believing in his own imperfection, and so he had succumbed to a great darkness. But now, a new moon had risen and was well on its way to becoming full, just as Stiles himself was banishing the shadows in his life and becoming full.

Derek stroked the bandages encasing Stiles' sleeping form as he contemplated the synonymy between the love of his life and the pearlescent moon above. The moon was often silent and distant, cold, and riddled with imperfection. However, this did not change the fact that it still was the most faithful companion to all of those in darkness; for in the darkness, the moon was at its brightest and most beautiful. Just like Stiles… Derek sighed in contentment. Stiles too, was often silent and distant. Too often had he been touched by the bitter chill of sadness, and he firmly believed that he was riddled with imperfections. Still, this did not eclipse his beauty as he may have believed. For as they lay there in that bed, Stiles too glowed with pearlescent light.

Thus was the nature of this moment. It was not perfect, nor was Derek, and nor was Stiles. But isn't that the point? Derek asked himself. Sure, not long ago Derek would have argued vehemently that Stiles was very much perfect in every way. He now knew that perfection was not something to be desired, that it often ruined more than it made better. Nothing was perfect, and Derek now understood that Stiles was only perfect in his imperfection. But even so there was an inherent ability for everything to be beautiful and good—and that included Stiles, the boy with the moon in his eyes. To Derek, there was nothing sweeter.

The man yawned and tightened his grip around Stiles, who still slept with easy breathing. Soon, Derek's own breath began to slow, and within moments his breath matched that of his mate's. The two then slept in peace, with matching breath and heartbeat, entering the world of dreams whilst awaiting the new day.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Sunlight streamed in through Stiles' bedroom window. It bore down across the headboard of his bed and cast the two lovers in golden warmth; Stiles stirred. Blinking, Stiles buried is face into his pillow for a moment, before bringing a bandaged hand to rub the gritty sleep from his eyes. As his mind began to take account for waking up, Stiles became aware of his surroundings. For one, he was in his own bed and for that he was grateful. The next thing that caught his attention was how warm he felt, and consequently, his body was coated in a light sheen of sweat. This caused the skin underneath his bandages to itch rather intensely. Stiles brought his hand across his torso, giving short but firm pats to everywhere he felt an itch. God I can't wait to get these stitches out.

His movements elicited a stirring behind him. Stiles froze, and realized that there was a strong arm slung across his body with a hand gently pressing into his stomach. Then he remembered with whom he had fallen asleep. Stiles turned to peek over his shoulder, seeing nothing but a blur of black hair and feeling a rhythmic huff of warm air that tickled the back of his neck.

Stiles smiled, for there was quite honestly no better way he could think of to wake up in the morning. With that said, Stiles felt no need to move from that very spot—apart from the itching, it was the most comfortable he had felt in forever. So, he did what he always did, and began to think. Derek's arm still draped around him and Stiles made no move to change that. How did I get so lucky?

The question, if Stiles was being completely honest with himself, was whether or not he was actually deserving of such luck. Yes, Stiles had made a promise to his father, Derek, and Nicole that he would do his best to fend off any negative thoughts, but this one would not leave of its own accord. Besides, Stiles truly wondered about the answer. Am I actually good enough to keep all of this?

The itch beneath his bandages flared up again. No…A familiar whisper echoed through his mind. No you're not…

Stiles bit his lip and he squeezed his eyes shut. Then, his fingers brushed against Derek's hand which still rested at his center, just across his hip. Stiles allowed his hand to stay there, and he huffed out a strong sigh. You're wrong. Stiles told the voice. He squeezed Derek's hand. The itching continued, but Stiles held his ground.

As long as he had something to hold onto, he would fight this. This moment was too good to be ruined; there was the sun and its warmth, and the warmth from Derek's body. Stiles was home. He was in his own bed, in his own room. His father was just down the hall. No…he was not alone.

Still, the itch flared on, demanding to be scratched—demanding the reach for perfection. You're not perfect. Stiles clenched his jaw. No… No, I'm not. He squeezed Derek's hand again.

There was a stir from behind him. "Stiles?"

Stiles felt lips press into the back of his neck and Derek's hand on his hip opened, allowing for Stiles' fingers to weave in-between his. Stiles held on for dear life.

"Are you okay?"

Stiles thought about the answer to that question. Was he really okay? "Not yet." The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. Derek pushed himself up on his other arm, leaning over and attempting to gaze into Stiles' eyes, which were now trained on wall opposite them.

"What's wrong?"

Stiles was prepared to reply with one of his typical excuses, but he stopped himself. To do so would be to refute the past two weeks of hell he had just been through, and Stiles would be damned if he let that happen. "I've just got a lot of work to do." He turned to look Derek in the eyes.

"Well we'll take it one step at a time." Derek assured him with a kiss. "You're not going down this road alone."

"That's what I don't get." Stiles whispered to him. "What makes you think I'm good enough to stick around for?"

"Stiles…" Derek murmured, awaiting the boy to meet his gaze again. "You don't need to be good enough for me. You don't need to be anything. I'm in love with you, not with what you can be."

Stiles let that sink in for a brief moment. He really was a total mess: both inside and out and far from perfect. How was it that this state of being called for Derek to actually want to stick around? "I guess I can't help but wonder if you thought you could find someone better?"

To his surprise, Derek simply snorted. "Stiles, what exactly does better mean to you?"

"I don't know… Someone who's not…just not so…" Stiles struggled for the right words.

"Not so human?" Derek pulled at Stiles' hip, causing the boy to roll onto his back. Derek then shifted his position and crawled on top of Stiles' naked body. He braced himself on his forearms, which were positioned on either side of Stiles' bandaged chest. His eyes bore down on Stiles' face with such intensity that Stiles seemed to shrink into the mattress. However, he still averted Derek's gaze.

"That's not what I meant." Stiles muttered.

"Then what did you mean?" Derek lowered his head, almost whispering the words onto Stiles' lips, before pressing a chaste kiss to them.

"Just…Someone who's not so screwed up." He still avoided Derek's gaze.

"Hey…" Derek crooned. "You've been through hell. No one can expect you to be just okay after something like that."

"All the more reason for you to—"

"No, no. None of that." Derek muttered. "I'm in love with you. We're mates now. I tried to let you go once and it was the worst mistake of my life. I won't lose you again. So basically, you're stuck with me."

Stiles was silent. He tried to keep his eyes from wandering up to Derek's, so he let them flit this way and that. He feared what emotions he would see written on the face of the person he wanted so much to impress.

"Stiles, look at me."

Stiles pretended he hadn't heard the command. The itching beneath his bandages agitated him further, and there was a solid weight of doubt settled within his gut.

"Stiles…please look at me." Derek said again. His voice dripped in a tone much softer than before. The plea in it was tangible.

After a moment of deliberation, Stiles obliged. Biting his lip, he allowed his eyes to meet Derek's and he gasped at what he saw—staring back at him were the hazel orbs he had grown accustomed too. This time however, they were so much deeper. Their depths seemed to span for ages and Stiles found himself staring into another world, another time. In Derek's eyes he saw the future and he also saw the past. He saw sheer emotion—pain, loss, uncertainty…but he also saw love and hope and a burning determination. But above all that Stiles saw in those hazel eyes, he saw himself.

Then, every emotion Stiles had witnessed in Derek's eyes poured out over him, and Stiles realized it wasn't simply any future he saw in those eyes…it was his future. When he looked at Derek, he couldn't help but see a lifetime ahead. Yes, the details were void of specificity and Stiles couldn't tell if the road before him would be clear of obstacles and dangers; but Stiles did see that he wouldn't be alone to face the unknown—Derek would be right there with him. So would his father, and so would Scott…and somewhere deep in the depths of those orbs, Stiles felt his mother smiling at him.

Stiles released his lip from between his teeth and a tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

"Stiles?" Worry creased Derek's brow.

"I'm fine." Stiles smiled. "Really, I am." And for the moment, the statement rang true.

Stiles understood that he would not always feel happy; that there would always be days where he would have to fight off the darkness of depression. He simply basked in a new understanding that he wouldn't be fighting alone, and that knowledge made the load much easier to bear. In that solace, he would be able to face anything ahead of him—and maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.

He reached up and pulled Derek down on top of him, allowing Derek's lips to settle onto his own. The two lovers rolled over onto their sides before breaking the kiss. Derek's arms encircled him again, and Stiles allowed himself to be pulled tightly into that strong chest. He closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of Derek's heartbeat, the one that matched his own.

Stiles felt Derek rub circles on his back, and these simple strokes seemed to soothe away the itch beneath the bandages. You're not perfect…The voice could only attain the small echo of a whisper, and it seemed to fade further with every circle of Derek's hand. No… No I'm not. Stiles thought back. Surprisingly, a smile stretched across his lips. But that's okay…

Stiles now realized that perfection would forever be outside of his reach, and for the first time in his life he wasn't terrified of that fact. He clutched closer into Derek's body, once again settling into the safest of harbors.

As he drifted into the gentle shores of Derek's warm body, Stiles closed his eyes once more. The sun had come, the storms had gone, and with them left the winds of insidious perfection that had constantly battered Stiles' life. He relinquished that perfection willingly; for Stiles felt that he was finally ready begin anew. From the ashes of imperfection he would rebuild himself, and this prospect invited new hope into his heart.

His future was indeed uncertain—but now Stiles felt excitement rather than fear. So in the likeness of a time Stiles had done so before, he took an inhale of breath. When he let it go, it seemed to resonate in an echo around the two of them. When the sound faded, Stiles gave in—but this time, he was not surrendering to darkness. He surrendered to a future filled with light. In this future Stiles now understood that only one thing was certain: everything would be alright.

He smiled.

My dearest readers,

First and foremost, I thank you for being with me on this journey. I do apologize for failing to uphold my promise in have this ending to you by the first of the year; I only wanted to make this chapter as complete as I could.

It is now that I will bid you all goodbye. Should you wish to reach out to me, feel free to message me, and we will find a way to stay in touch. So I now conclude with this: Thank you. Thank you all for everything. From your support in reviews, to your efforts in reading this story, to your tears, and finally to your smiles. Thank you.

Though there are many things I wish to say, I'm afraid I'm spent and at a loss for how to convey any more to you. Regardless of my ineptitude, I hope I haven't failed you with this ending.

Until the future,
Me.

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