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katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Rouge

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.

If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.

And honestly you may have found a way.

To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.

No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.

No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.

They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.

As if that's how you looked majority of your life.

Content.

Happy.

You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.

And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.

The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.

You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.

Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.

And tried countless times at that.

Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.

Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.

So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.

So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.

At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.

But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.

What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.

You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.

One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.

Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.

As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.

With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.

None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.

But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.

Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.

Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.

Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.

You often dream of the following moments.

It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*

Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.

Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.

"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.

But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.

You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.

Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.

You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.

Not exactly how you planned it but effective.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.

At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.

Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.

Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?

No you already tried that.

When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.

You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.

"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.

Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.

One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.

It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.

A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.

Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.

Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.

All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.

About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.

Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.

Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.

But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.

"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.

Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.

So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.

"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'm leaving so get your shit done."

"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.

Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.

Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.

Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.

*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*

Decay.

The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.

Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.

You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.

How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.

You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.

Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.

Oh this was just getting better and better.

The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.

Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.

Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.

Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.

You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.

You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.

Careful.

The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.

By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.

Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.

It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.

You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.

But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.

You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.

Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.

He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.

One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.

How it can no longer go on.

Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.

You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.

That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.

"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.

You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.

Cannot reach you as you mourn.

You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.

The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.

How long had he been in this position?

Ten?

Twenty minutes?

You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.

Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.

You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.

That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.

Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.

Wait.

Red?

Where else had you seen red?

*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?

Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.

You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.

Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.

He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.

You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.

"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.

Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.

Almost leaving you to regret helping him.

After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.

"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."

He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.

Vivid scarlet red cuts through the dark of the night.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha kacchan #bnha katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha angst #bakugou angst

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blueyesandleatherjacket · 5 years

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Ghost of you, 17/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 17/?.

Pairings: Human!Nine x Rose; Human!Ten x Jack; Clara Oswald x Olivia Baxter (OC).

Synopsis: “Be thou spirit of health, or goblin damn’d, Bring thee air from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such questionable shape That I will speak to thee.”

A/N: I've started writing this fiction last year after I had a particularly weird dream (as usual) and after I wrote the prologue, I've put it aside to work on other stuff. I've gone back to it not so long ago and decided that it would be the fiction I would post next, after not posting anything for a while. I must have watched I am legend and Game of thrones way too much to come out with something like this but I hope you will like it. I am not a scientist, nor did I have a particular knowledge of sciences. I do my researches on the internet like everyone to make sure everything is as close to the reality as possible. I have a literature degree only. Writing is what I do and it makes me explore next fields, and learn new things.

“Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you? / Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. / If charnel houses and our graves must send / Those that we bury back, our monuments / Shall be the maws of kites.” - Macbeth, Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 17:

Eleventh day of October. Day 1755 since the infection. Jack Harkness video log. Our researches are finally leading us somewhere. We have all this different information scattered and we’re trying to make them fit together like pieces of a huge puzzle. The noctiagus isn’t a simple deadly virus like the pest or the cholera. Unfortunately. We have the necessary weapons against those. The noctiagus is more like a cancer. A corrupted cell corrupting everything around it until the body gives in. It seems like nothing since we can’t cure most of the cancers yet but knowing how the virus works is a huge step still. We can adapt our researches to it. That’s what we’ve done already. The doctor Clara Oswald and myself are currently trying to find a way to fix the DNA and stop it from changing to the contact of those corrupted cells. This would be a great improvement for the sick people. And for our friend. The doctor Martha Jones helped us synthesising this sort of temporary cure. It has the form of a tiny pill that can be swallowed with a bit of water. Nothing too complicated. Except we’re afraid of testing it. Our only living subject is Maxence and the latest report on his health isn’t great. Testing it on him can be too dangerous. I don’t want him to suffer more than he does at the moment. And none of us wants him to… we want him to hold on. It wouldn’t be fair if he was dying now. The thought of Maxence dying forced Jack to stop speaking for a moment. He didn’t turn off the recording. He just needed a moment to breathe deeply and pull himself back together. He looked down, moved away, took deep breaths. Maxence being infected was a hard blow on him but there still was that hope to save him. Maxence fighting the virus had been a good thing at first but now… he was dying and Jack couldn’t handle that. He was putting his brave face on when he had to face everyone but deep down… deep down, he wished for this nightmare to be over. With all the geniuses gathered in this place, how could this cure still be unreachable? Jack ended up turning off the recording. This entry to the video log was over. He couldn’t say more. There wasn’t anything more to say anyway. The main information was inside. He sent the video to their common server. He didn’t mind what would be murmured behind his back for being so emotional. They could say whatever they wanted. They could even go to hell. His friend was dying for fuck’s sake! His best friend, the man who saved him from the consequences of after war. It couldn’t end like that. It couldn’t end before Jack found a way to thank him for this. He let himself fall on his desk chair and rubbed his face. It was hard to focus and worry at the same time. He hated this situation as much as everyone else in this building except for Colin. Colin who couldn’t harm anyone anymore thanks to Tegan. “Last time I’ve seen you looking so defeated, you were refusing my job offer.” For a second, Jack thought he was hallucinating, that the lack of sleep had finally gotten to him, but his brain was telling him that Maxence was speaking to him. He raised his head. His boss was sat on the chair on the other side of the desk, his legs crossed, and was observing him. Jack was a former soldier. Consequently, he knew that hallucinations came to him in his moments of weakness and guilt. The guilt to still be alive, the guilt not to have been able to save the men and women and children around him, the guilt to have killed in order to survive. Right now, he was feeling guilty for not working faster, for not finding a concrete answer, for not being able to save his friend and he was beyond exhaustion. All he needed was damn good news and days of sleep. Which he wasn’t gonna get this time again. He was clever enough to ignore the image of his boss. Last time he had spoken with an hallucination, he was in the psychiatric unit of a military hospital. Weeks after he was sent back home, he had lost his mind. He had broken down and his boyfriend at the time had had to have him locked up for his own sake. They had broken up because of that decision but Jack now had forgiven him. It had been the best decision at the time and he couldn’t see it. After that, he had gone back to his first love: sciences. That’s how he had met Maxence, how he had arrived here today. “Good thing I’ve insisted.” “What are you here for this time?” The words had blurted out of his mouth before he could hold them back. He stared at his boss straight in the eyes and folded his arms on his chest. He was aware that he was talking to someone that wasn’t there but it was too tempting to answer, to have a proper response to his questions. However, this time, Maxence remained silent and his image flickered. He looked at his hand that was almost translucent and frowned. A usual reaction when something wasn’t going the way he thought it would. “I came to say goodbye, Jack.” The former captain felt his heart furiously beating against his ribcage as if it was gonna come out of his body at any time. It was painful but the physical pain was nothing compared to the psychological one these words caused in him. ‘I came to say goodbye’ could only mean one thing and Jack didn’t like the meaning of it. He didn’t wait for the next sentence this fake Maxence could say. He jumped to his feet and rushed out of his office. He ran to the underground part of the lab, to the place his painful heart and the stabbing alarm resounding through all the building was leading him: where everyone was gathered to watch the worst happening under their eyes…

Tegan had thought that now that he had figured out who was behind this worldwide mess, things would be easier. He just needed to transfer the information to his team and they would be able to work harder on the noctiagus. With a copy of all the researches done by Myrtle Appleton that he had found in Colin’s computer, they had everything in hand. They couldn’t fail now. He was done typing the mail. The attached documents were done charging in the mail. He clicked on the ‘send’ button, closed the messaging service window and moved from his chair to his couch. He barely had his eyes closed for a bit of rest that he was getting a call on his phone. He groaned, pressed a pillow on his face and tried to ignore the call. How was Maxence doing this job? Worse, how was Harvey dealing with this whole building so well? The phone stopped ringing and he felt guilty for being so relieved. What he wanted was just a little bit of rest. Like the rest of his team, he was way beyond the exhaustion. They were all holding on to the nerves to find that cure and it wasn’t a good thing. Saving Maxence was becoming very urgent – more urgent with every minute – but working in these conditions was pushing them to make mistakes. Or to miss someone who was sabotaging their researches. Tegan was still feeling like an incompetent idiot for almost killing his boss. His boss… The words felt strange now that he was the boss and Maxence was a simple patient in his special unit. A patient with very worrying scans. The virus was winning but Maxence refused to let go. This was killing him, and Tegan wondered if the mistake he had made hadn’t sped up the process. His phone rang again and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It could be important. It could be a life or death question. It could also be nothing. There were still blokes who thought that they were funny by calling people and scaring them. The communication means were almost all down. The CRCD had its own aerials that were giving the whole building a constant access to internet and phone lines. It was a real blessing in times like this. They were rarely getting calls from the exterior but it sometimes happened, especially through radio frequencies. Usually, they were coming from survivors that were looking for loved ones or for help. Everything was written down in a notebook and transferred to the appropriate security services. The normal police had long lost this battle and Tegan ignored if the messages they were transferring were helpful to the persons who launched them. He finally picked up his phone on the third attempt of his caller to reach him and mumbled something in the speaker. He hoped that it was for something important because he wouldn’t move from this couch if this was just for a fight that had occurred somewhere in the building. It was up to the security to deal with that. He had had enough to do with Colin already. The news he was given was far more interesting though. He sat up quickly. “Say that again.” The man on the other side of the line repeated his words. “Let her in. Lock her in a crate and take her to one of the sterile rooms.” He ended the call and pushed the pillow away. He also pushed the fatigue away. It wasn’t time to sleep. Not anymore. Myrtle Appleton had decided to come into his realm and it was his duty to go and welcome her in person. She was infected but, unlike Maxence, she had all her abilities. It was another sort of sick person and he was willing to work on this. He would take care of her case personally. Scans, blood tests, saliva tests. Everything that would enable him to find the answers they were all craving for. If he hadn’t lost his trust in Adam, he would have taken him as his assistant. He would have learnt a lot but he had chosen Colin and Colin had ruined him. Now, Adam had been transferred to a lesser job and he had been advised to shut up about Maxence’s case or worse could still happen to him. Being fired, having this behaviour mentioned in his file and he was done in the job. He stopped by the lockers room and pulled on a hazmat suit. He wouldn’t lose any time. He would start working as soon as he got there. He was closing the door of his locker when he heard someone behind him. He jumped and turned around to find no one. Once again, he called himself an idiot for being so easily scared of a small noise, for being paranoid. “I’ve always known you would make a great boss for them all. You just needed someone believing in you and the necessary push.” This time again, Tegan jumped and turned back around. A pale image of Maxence was leaning against the lockers and looking at him. He had that smile a father would have after his kid told him about an achievement they would have done. Tegan was a scientist and didn’t believe in spectres. So, he just rubbed his eyes to get rid of their fatigue and passed through the ghost as if it wasn’t there. When it appeared again before him, he thought that maybe some help for this new case would be needed because he was really tired. “Be thou spirit of health, or goblin damn’d, Bring thee air from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such questionable shape That I will speak to thee.” Tegan was quoting Hamlet in the beginning of the Shakespearean play when the young prince faced the spectre of his father for the very first time. His own ghost, the ghost of his mentor, seemed amused by the reference. If Tegan had believed in supernatural stuff, he would have been terrified by this. He had read enough Shakespeare to know what spectres could push you to do in their names, or just because they were the manifestation of a deep guilt. The Macbeths once experienced it and it led them to madness and death. “I am thy mentor’s spirit, Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg’d away – Are you a man?” “Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil.” From Hamlet to Macbeth, there was only one verse and they had crossed the line. Tegan thought that he might have fallen asleep in the end. This was too unreal for his liking. He had no time for such fantasy. He needed to wake up and quickly! “I’ve got no time for this.” “I’m proud of you, T. Keep up the good work.” “What?” The image faltered and, with a bright smile, it disappeared and Tegan was left alone in the corridor he had stopped in. For a couple seconds, he remained still, unable to move or think. Until the alarm went off. An alarm that made his blood speed up in his veins and fear crush his heart. He completely forgot about Myrtle Appleton, about her researches, about everything that wasn’t Maxence and he ran, ran like crazy toward the current disaster of the building.

Amy was standing in front of the wall of pictures. She was still in Maxence and Rose’s room but she was alone now. Rose had thought that taking a shower would do her a world of good after this failed nap – for her at least – and she had left Amy to observe her surroundings. The therapist wouldn’t say no to a shower. After such a deep sleep, she felt rested but she needed to refresh herself and to change clothes to feel even better. Rose had allowed her to have that shower here when she would be done and she would also lend her some clothes. It felt weird to Amy to have a friend willing to do so much for her. From what she could see on this wall, Rose was quite the popular girl. Her childhood might not have been one of the best but she had managed to beat fate and to build herself this life she could be proud of. These pictures were showing the story of Maxence and Rose’s life. It almost looked like a fairy tale to Amy. There was so much love between those two human beings that she was almost jealous. Her husband never loved her the way Maxence loved Rose. He never did any of the things Maxence had done for her. The scientist seemed like the perfect man that every woman was dreaming of. He wasn’t as handsome or sexy as those photoshopped playboys you could find in magazines but he had something. Charisma. Gentleness. Intelligence. A rare combination in a man. Rose had found the rare gem and everyone could be jealous about it. She hadn’t let the opportunity disappear thankfully. She had grabbed it and kept it and her knight in shining armour was now the damsel in distress. Funny how things could change quickly. Her eyes stared at another picture. A friends’ picture that looked almost like a family picture. Taken around Christmas time. Maxence and Rose were gathered with Allegro, Jack, Tegan, Clara and Olivia around a small barbecue on the balcony of some flat. Maxence was roasting some chestnuts on the fire. Amy regretted not having friends like this to share such a moment. Her last Christmas… When was it already? What had she done? Probably gotten drunk and been sick for the next few days. She used to love this celebration so much before. She was always overexcited when Christmas time was rolling around. But with William’s death… “It was our last Christmas.” Amy jumped. She hadn’t heard Rose coming out of the bathroom. She turned to face her. Her brown hair that she was usually colouring into blonde or red were falling on her shoulders, wet. She had pulled on clean clothes but hadn’t finished with her hair yet. That was why she had a towel around her shoulders so it wouldn’t soak her T-shirt. “Sorry. Thought you’ve heard me.” “It’s okay. I’ve got lost in your story.” “Almost a fairy tale.” “Definitely a fairy tale.” Rose sighed and sat on the bed. She used the towel on her shoulders to dry her hair the best she could without using a hairdryer. She would just do a quick ponytail. No need to do anything fancy for work. She needed to go back to Maxence. She needed to find this cure. “You can use the bathroom. I’m done with it.” She grabbed the brush on her bedside table and started brushing her hair slowly. She would dye it in any colour Maxence would like to if she managed to save him. If it was the contrary… She would certainly die. She wouldn’t have the strength to keep going. Amy didn’t move. Not yet. Her eyes were still on the pictures. She wished she had such a wall, such memories. It was never too late to start. Maybe when the virus would only be a bad memory. Maybe Rose would take her in that sweet band of friends. She turned around when she heard Rose gasp and drop her brush. Her face had gone pale and her eyes were wide open. She was staring at something beside Amy. The therapist looked at the wall but couldn’t see what was scaring her patient so much. “What do you see?” “Not in the mood for therapy,” retorted Rose. She suddenly was up. She walked to the spot right next to Amy and raised her hand much to the therapist’s astonishment because she couldn’t see what Rose was seeing: the pale figure of her husband standing there with an apologetic look. He avoided her touch. “I’m just an image,” he declared sadly. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks silently as her hand fell back by her side. She never saw a ghost before but she knew how to tell that what was before her was real. His voice was distant, almost like an echo of lost words, and he was so pale she could see the wall and the pictures through him. As if he was nothing but a veil before her eyes. “Rose?” hesitantly called out Amy. “Why?” The question came out of her trembling lips. She had read enough books and myths to know that ghosts only appeared to the persons they loved. They were coming to say goodbye. A one last goodbye. There were people down there. They could save him before she even left this room. What were they doing? “I’ve never been that strong. My brain went through a lot when I was a boy. It couldn’t handle the virus any longer.” “You can’t…” Rose couldn’t form full sentences and Amy was watching her patient talk with a wall. Her attitude was clear enough: she was seeing her husband. It was her exhaustion and her anxiety playing tricks to her, making her hallucinate. She put her hand on her shoulder but Rose shrugged it off. She had no time to waste. Once again, she tried to touch Maxence. His image flickered and almost disappeared. She swallowed a sob. “I’m sorry, I wish our song wasn’t ending this way.” “I…” “I love you, Rose. In this life and all the others if they ever exist. Be strong for me, my love. Find this cure. Become the hero I’ve always known you were.” He bent over and she closed her eyes, thinking she would feel the ghost of his lips pressed against hers but there was nothing and when she opened her eyes, he was gone. She could have collapsed and cried but she swallowed the sobs again and rushed out of the room. She didn’t want this to end like this. Amy would have followed her if she hadn’t been facing the very same spectre Rose had been talking to. She opened her mouth but considering that he was barely visible now, that the image was fading away, she wouldn’t have time to say anything before he disappeared. He had one last thing to say and it was for her. “Take care of her for me. She’s the best woman you’ll ever meet.” “I will,” Amy promised. The next words he pronounced struck her. They were like a stab in her heart but in the good way. If a stab could be good in any way. ‘William wants you to know that he misses you and he’s happy you’re making friends again.’ Was he…? Her son… Was he around like Maxence? Could he see her and watch over her? She wanted to ask but Maxence was already gone and, the weight of these new words on her heart, she followed Rose’s path.

Liv was in Allegro’s cage when the alarm went off. Both of them raised their heads. Liv rushed to the interactive wall and checked Maxence’s vital signs. They were almost inexistent. She glanced at Allegro and mouthed a sorry before she rushed out of this cage to go to the other one. She dragged Maxence away from the broken bowl and spilled food and turned him on his side. The fall hadn’t hurt him badly but it was clearly not the matter now. She didn’t have time to lose. His heart was giving up because his brain was suffering from a severe pressure. The reason was unknown at the moment but they would find it later. Right pupil blown, cerebral fluid flowing through his nose. How had they missed the signs? They should have seen it long before this happen. She ran to the airlock and grabbed the medical bag she left there earlier. It would be very needed. She hurried back into the cage and knelt down beside him. She pulled out disinfectant and cleaned the area she was gonna work on. She hated this. She wasn’t a neurologist but she knew the process. She took the medical portable drill and cleaned it off quickly. Then, she pulled on latex gloves above the gloves of her suit and took a deep breath. Three fingers above the ear, two on the side of the blown pupil. A quick vertical cut. Ignore the blood. Place the drill in the middle of the cut. Drill a first hole. Behind the hairline, a bit off the midline. Second hole. Drill around the hole. Remove as much blood as possible. It was the process but she didn’t know what to do anymore now that the holes were pierced, now that the brain pressure was relieved. Tegan would know. That was his specialty. And she was just a simple doctor. Her eyes were clouded with tears as she was taking off as much blood as possible with gauze. Maybe a derivation would have been the best way but she hadn’t had time to do things properly. She was trembling. The life of her friend was between her hands and she was lost. “You can’t leave, Max. Not now, not when we’re so close. You gotta hold on. For Rose, for me. What will happen to us if you die?” She sniffled. Her tears were flowing. She didn’t hold them back anymore. “Rose will survive. She’s strong, she can do it but me? I need you. I need my friend. I need the man who saved my life and got in troubles for helping me. I need the man who gave me a second chance, the man who healed me with his kind words and hugs and support. I need to hear you tell bad jokes and I’ll laugh along even if it’s not funny. I need to see your smile again to think that the world is a good place. I need your presence to stop thinking that I’m unworthy, to think that I have my spot in this world. I need you to keep me above the water because I can’t do this without you, Max. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about dying and you’ve just come around and get this out of my head? Do you know how many times I’ve told myself that I couldn’t disappoint you after all you’ve done for me? Now is not the time, Max. This is not your time. I won’t let you.” She wiped away her tears. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t see a thing because of them. She was still cleaning that blood. There was too much, way too much and she was afraid that she might have done wrong. What if she had killed him instead of saving him? Rose would kill her this time. She would be so angry and devastated that she would kill her for ruining her husband’s last chance. “Please,” she begged. “Please, don’t die on me now.” Maxence had come to her too but she wasn’t seeing him. He was standing beside her, beside his wrecked body and was sadly looking at the scene, at his friend. She couldn’t see him because he was too translucent, couldn’t hear him because he was too weak but he was there. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you’re stronger than you think you are, Olivia.” He was the only one able to use her full name, a name she hated for reasons only Rose and him knew now. “I believe you will go on with your life without me. And it’s gonna be fantastic.” He gave a small sad smile at the scene. He wished she could have heard him. He wished she could see how strong she was. He had been their cornerstone for so long and now, they were gonna have to learn how to live without him. It would be hard at first, but with time, it would be okay. He would find a way to stay around them, when he would be less tired. He closed his eyes. Now was his time to go…

To be continued...

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In the next chapter:

She could hear his voice now but she didn’t react to it. It was her grief speaking. Just a memory in a spectral form. It was no way to remember this fantastic man. She preferred keeping the precious memories of him smiling and laughing, the priceless image of the man who took her out of the orphanage when she was sixteen, the picture of him bruised after he got involved in a fight with his biological father who was responsible for her rape, for her miscarriage and her now inability to carry children. She remembered the many nights spent on the phone with him because she couldn’t sleep without nightmares, the many times he came over so she wouldn’t be alone and do something she would regret later.

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#doctor who #ninth doctor #rose tyler #tenth doctor #jack harkness #doctor x rose #ficandchips #dwfic #dwau #ghost of you

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milenadaniels · 7 years

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Part 2 in the series + sequel to Momentary Reprieves.

Hit the Read More to read on Tumblr instead!

Months of researching, weeks of putting a plan together (admittedly longer than he usually had), 3 days of springing into action, and a scant 9 minutes in and out of the building where Derek was kept. It was a long time to live with such a poignant sense of urgency driving your every step, setting the rhythm of your heartbeats, manipulating your neurochemical responses. Insomnia, hyperfocus, surges of adrenaline - those side effects had served him well, especially on the two-hour car ride out of Dodge, as it were, on about three hours of sleep in the past two days. Derek, as always, had been utterly useless in that capacity, having opted to pass out due to his injuries pretty much as soon as the wheels crunched over gravel.

He woke up briefly to assist Stiles in hauling his nearly dead weight into the nondescript motel room in some suitably unknown town near the national forest, but he was out moments after hitting the mattress. Having been bloody, dirty, and very still, Stiles had stopped the car about 20 minutes out, when he felt relatively sure they weren’t being followed, to make sure Derek hadn’t actually died, and with a bit of poking and prodding, he determined they were fine to continue. Now, in the motel room, he enacted part two of the poking and the prodding (as well as he could given the immovable 200 pounds of werewolf he was dealing with). What wounds Stiles could see - and there were a nausea-inducing ton of them - were healing well enough, and he was fairly sure Derek was just sleeping it off.

So. That was it then. Derek in trouble, Derek saved. FBI and SWAT evaded. Good job, team. Time for a well deserved snack break and nap.

If only his racing mind would allow for something like that.

With an irate sigh, Stiles threw himself on the other double bed and slid his phone out of his pocket. He could really use Scott right now, or Lydia, or even Malia. But he hadn’t called them two months ago. He hadn’t called when he had a plan. He just...never called. What would he say now? “Hey guys, you’ll never guess what just happened two months ago…”

They’d made a promise, all of them, that they’d call him if ever there was trouble brewing in Beacon Hills. And they hadn’t called. They did call to catch up at least once a week but reports were that everything was calm back in the epicentre of hell. So, what? Stiles would call back home to let everyone know he found the supernatural drama all on his own without the need for a cursed town? He would rope them into leaving almost certain death to come risk it in fucking Virginia instead? Besides, there was a non-negligible chance their response would be “Damn, that sucks for Derek. It’s not your problem, though?” and somehow Stiles knew he wouldn’t react well to that. So really, better all around that he had gone it alone. And it worked out! Mostly. He just didn’t really know where to go from here. Which is why he really needed to talk to Scott. But...wash, rinse, and repeat.

Grumbling with frustration, Stiles rubbed the edge of his phone roughly against his brow and then lobbed it at the end of the bed. He picked up the old school tv remote instead. Sleep could wait. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with the paranoia that Derek could stop breathing at any moment anyway.

Stiles woke up half-choking on a breath that didn’t know if it was coming or going. Despite the rude awakening, and the annoyance that he hadn’t been able to stay awake after all, he felt a bit more grounded. Less on edge. Out of habit (because he did manage to check at least 4 times before he conked out), he turned his head to the left and focused in on the line of Derek’s ribcage.

In and out, right on schedule. That was something.

The sun had barely been peeking over the horizon by the time they’d gotten into this motel room, but it looked to be high in the sky now. He should probably close those drapes better, but the sun didn’t seem to be bothering the rock that was Derek’s body any so who cared.

Having gotten (some of) the rest he needed, Stiles’ stomach reminded him about the snacking half of his recuperation formula. His phone confirmed it was mid-afternoon, so Derek had been sleeping for at least seven or so hours, counting the two in the car. Did that mean that he’d be likely to wake up soon - and would therefore freak out if he woke up to find Stiles gone for takeout - or did it mean he’d be out another twelve hours while Stiles slowly starved to death on the neighbouring bed?

Stiles was nothing if not solutions-oriented, and 32 minutes later, he was opening the motel door exactly four inches wide and obscuring any views of the room with his body while both he and the pizza delivery guy tried to pretend everything in this very sketchy situation was fine. It all worked out. Some toppings went askew when he tipped the box over to fit in the gap but mostly a success.

Halfway through the large pizza and two episodes of a MASH marathon, the sheets of Derek’s bed rustled. Hesitantly, Stiles transferred the pizza box from his lap onto the small table and took his feet off the other chair, letting his own settle back on all four legs.

“Derek?”

Nothing.

“You waking up?” he whispered.

In response, Derek let out a sound between a gasp and a cry. Stiles was on his feet instantly but stopped a foot short of the bed. It was never a good idea to startle a half-aware werewolf.

“Derek? You back with me, dude?”

Derek’s eyes were screwed shut and his brows were drawn close together. He seemed to be trying to move up his elbow on the bed to prop himself up.

“Hey, you don’t need to get up. Just waking up is a win, trust me.”

Derek didn’t acknowledge him. One moment he was gasping in pain, the next he’d taken a large breath and forced his arm out to shove himself into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. Well, it would have been a sitting position if he hadn’t immediately curled down over his knees.

Without conscious thought, Stiles threw out his hands to catch his shoulders. Unfortunately, just-waking-up-Derek did not take kindly to people in his space. Fortunately , he was too weak for his shove to really hurt and the other bed was kind enough to catch him.

“Okay. Gotcha. Sorry, no touchies. Probably got way too many touchies in the last while.” He winced at his lack of tact but he felt an irrational urge to ramble. “You doing okay? Good nap? Any immediate pains we need to address? How’s your stomach? You said it hurt when...earlier.”

Derek was very obviously tuning him out. To be fair, he was such an ashen colour that Stiles was reminded of the first time he become familiar with wolfsbane. Derek had been that exact shade right at the end when he demanded his arm be cut off. Actually, now that he thought about it...

“Hey,” Stiles tried again, his voice losing its comedic edge. “I know there’s a lot to process, but there are healing puncture wounds on your arms.” It took several seconds, but Derek absently looked down at his sleeve covered arms, so at least they were in the ballpark of being on the same page. “I saw them when I got you out of there. Did they inject you with wolfsbane? I’m not seeing any conspicuous black veins but I don’t know what else they would have given you. I’ve got some with me if we need to burn it.”

Derek, having had his fill of looking at bloodied and dirty sleeves, rested his elbows on his knees and let his head hang.

“Hey, come on,” Stiles pestered. “This is important. Literally life-or-death import-”

Derek shook his head.

“No? No, you weren’t injected with wolfsbane?”

Derek paused, then shook his head again with more confidence. He coughed twice to clear his throat, then lifted his wrists.

“It was in the cuffs.” His voice sounded like he’d gargled glass. Which, given the deep burn marks on his neck, was probably entirely justified.

“Can it poison you that way?”

Derek shook his head again.

“So what did they inject you with? Can you tell if it’s still in your system?”

Derek’s brow furrowed. He looked over at Stiles, who followed his gaze down to his hands.

“It’s out of my system,” Derek said with a sigh Stiles couldn’t interpret. There were so many follow-up questions begging to be asked, but Stiles didn’t want to overwhelm him now that he was responsive.

“Three cheers for the werewolf metabolism!” He tried to muster up some actual cheer but, given the topic, his enthusiasm couldn’t quite get there. Instead, he looked over to the pizza forgotten on the table. “You’re probably star-”

Without warning, Derek shot up to his feet and Stiles instinctively leaned back to make some room between the beds. That is, of course, until Derek realized being vertical had not been a good idea and his knees started to buckle.

With a grunted “why do you always have to make everything more difficult?”, Stiles jumped up and threw an arm around Derek’s waist to try to keep him from falling, but when he tried to guide him back down to the bed, Derek found some reserves of strength and fought to stay up.

“What are you doing?” Stiles snapped.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Derek ground out like he had no idea his face was a mask of pain. Like it was normal to wake up from a torture coma to just get back up and shrug it off for a pee break.

“And it doesn’t occur to you that I am literally a foot away? And, like a normal person, you could say ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, mind giving me a hand across the room?’ instead of faceplanting into what has to be very suspect motel carpeting? Has it not occurred to you yet that stubbornly doing things on your own does not achieve the best results?” Stiles pushed himself away as far as he could while still supporting him so Derek could see his face. “What is wrong with you? Genuine question. You are beat half to hell, I can’t even guess the other half of whatever they did to you because no one has ever faulted psychopaths of not being creative, and I’m standing right the fuck here. Offering help.”

“Stiles,” Derek bit.

“What?” He fired back.

“Mind giving me a hand across the room?” He asked, nonchalantly.

Fucking Derek Hale. Stiles sucked on his teeth for half a second and bit down the rest of what could have turned into a tirade.

“No, Derek,” he replied in kind. “I don’t mind giving you a hand across the room.”

The two of them now working together, they shuffled around the second bed and got to the bathroom without incident. Just when Stiles was mustering up the objectivity to offer to help him relieve himself, Derek swung out of Stiles’ grip, levered himself into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

“Oh that’s just...super,” Stiles griped, gnashing his teeth and curling his hands into fists instead of throwing middle fingers at the door. Okay, he threw one. It’s not like werewolves have x-ray vision.

With a disgruntled sigh, he sat back down on the bed and waited. There was silence for an almost worryingly long time, but then Derek was moving again, and Stiles tried not to listen but what are you gonna do. Actually - he turned the tv back up, MASH was still going. Silence fell again in the bathroom. Then, the sound of the shower curtain screeching against the metal rod as it was pulled back.

“Are you serious right now.”

The shower turned on.

“Dude, you can barely stand!” he yelled at the door.

The shower stayed on.

“Fine, break your fucking neck. Why not? See if I care!”

The shower curtain screeched again as it was closed.

Stiles went back to gnashing his teeth and resolved not to listen. Derek could slip and crash and get knocked out and Stiles wouldn’t budge from this fucking bed. Fuck him. He was a werewolf, he’d survive a broken neck. Not like he was going to drown in 2 inches of water. Unless he fell on his face maybe.

Someone was getting upset on MASH, but he didn’t know why. They started yelling and Stiles reflexively turned the volume down a couple bars. Derek had been in there ten minutes at least. No falls yet. But Stiles wasn’t about to make the mistake of thinking it would turn out fine.

Turning back to MASH, he found himself annoyed just looking at the characters. He didn’t know what was happening and he didn’t care. Instead of trying to focus, he got off the bed and pulled the second duffel onto the table - pointedly ignoring the first duffel emblazoned with the yellow “FBI” lettering on the side - and pulled out what he needed.

“Hey, ingrate,” he called through the bathroom door. “If you survive, there’s clean clothes at the door for you.”

No response.

Stiles rolled his eyes and dug out his phone. Now would be a great time to text Scott an update, or an all-caps rant. Instead, he googled keywords about the FBI op to see if they’d reported anything yet.

They had.

With a heavy heart, Stiles clicked on the headline that read “FBI Uncover Paramilitary Operation in VA”. Quickly, he scanned the text and, much like at a Nicholas Sparks movie, he could have wept by the end. According to the article, the FBI had been pursuing a suspect out of North Carolina and across state lines into Virginia, but had instead found a militia of unknown origin and affiliation (good luck investigating their wolf fetish). The Bureau didn’t believe Derek was part of the militia, and there was no mention of an errant FBI intern having made off with their suspect, though Stiles had doubted they’d easily admit to that. It only said that Derek continued to be a person of interest. That was huge. Stiles hadn’t been with the FBI long but there was a significant importance placed on nomenclature and if they were treating him as a “person of interest”, it meant he’d been officially downgraded from “suspect”. Small mercies.

Stiles was so engrossed in trying to find other sources to make sure that writer hadn’t just paraphrased that he didn’t hear the shower turn off or the door open until it was closed again with a soft click.

So, Derek survived the shower then. Bully for him. Stiles sighed guiltily, then realized with great annoyance that he’d been spending the past half day sighing almost constantly - in relief, in irritation, with pure fatigue. He’d become long-suffering. That thought made him snort, which was a nice change of pace.

The door to the bathroom opened again and there was Derek, leaning against the doorframe, still mostly damp and disheveled. The marks at his wrists and neck were healing quickly, but they were still a garish red against his otherwise pale skin. Otherwise, however, he looked like a brand new person. His skin was free from the dust and dried blood, his hair no long slicked flat with sweat, and his fifth-day-in-a-horror-movie clothes were replaced with the provided soft navy blue henley and dark gray sweatpants.

“Feel better?” Stiles asked pointedly, not able to keep the snit out of his voice.

Derek didn’t react to his attitude, he just nodded and said, “yeah, lots” in such a tone of relief that, just like that, most of Stiles’ irritation faded.

“Good. That’s good.”

Derek tugged on the hem of the shirt with a shadow of a grin. “It fits, this time.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not one of mine so that’s a given, and Wal-Mart doesn’t size things in ‘absolutely ridiculous’ so I just got some extra larges and hoped for the best.”

The smile on Derek’s face moved out of the shadows and inched its way into the bright light. It warmed Stiles and made him feel...squirmy.

“You hungry?” When Derek looked torn between a laugh and crying, he asked, “Were they - Did they even feed you?”

Derek huffed a dark laugh. “Not that I remember. But I don’t...know...how long I was there so I don’t know.”

“About six weeks.”

“Huh,” Derek replied, looking and sounding soul-weary all of a sudden. “Then they probably did at some point or I would have lost a lot more weight.”

Stiles nodded. “Well I’ve got pizza here though it’s gotten pretty cold. But if you haven’t eaten in a while, it would probably be best to start slow.”

Derek shrugged against the door jamb. He made no indications of wanting to sit down so Stiles didn’t offer. Instead, he went back to the duffel on the table and pulled out some honey packets and squeezed by Derek to fill the carafe of the coffee machine at the sink. He dumped the water in the tank and turned it on with an empty filter. When the water had boiled, Derek watched as Stiles emptied some into a mug along with three packets of honey.

“You do realize I’m a wolf, not a deer.”

“You do realize people who’ve been starved for a long time can die if they just jump into a buffet? This is the thing mostly likely to not shock your system if your stomach is too far gone.”

Derek wasn’t convinced and he tried to protest again. “You do realize I’m a werewolf and not a human. I’ve lost maybe ten pounds. They probably had an IV feeding me.”

“That’s not how that works. Your body have been given nutrients but your stomach hasn’t done anything in a long time and it’s gonna need an adjustment period. Can you please just sit your ass down and drink your honey water? If you can manage that, I’ll give you full reign on the pizza.”

Derek finally sat down at the table. The first few mouthfuls were spaced well apart, and by the look on his face, you could have sworn he was drinking mud. When he got tired of trying to force it, Derek just held the warm mug in his hands and sat back.

“How did you find me?”

Stiles smirked. “I told you, magic.”

Derek looked confused.

“I said that on the ride here, you were in and out. But yeah, coincidence and google-fu mostly. Magic.”

“You’re alone,” Derek remarked.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted. “Not because the others didn’t want to come or anything. I just, haven’t gotten around to involving them yet.”

“Good.”

Stiles couldn’t help but smile at that. So predictable.

“How did you get...involved?” Derek asked.

He could have explained the lead-up - his internship, his classes, his petitioning the instructors to focus on the Hale case - but that wasn’t ready for public consumption yet.

Stiles shrugged. “You know me. Always at the wrong place at the right time.” Whether he accepted that answer at face value or just didn’t feel like pushing, Derek nodded. “Better question is, how the hell did you?” It had been nagging at him for weeks now. The FBI had plenty of information from the time Derek was accused of murder but nothing about what got him to that point in time. And though he’d shoved it to the back of his mind throughout the search and through the op, he found that the question refused to stay dormant any longer. He needed answers. So when Derek shrugged as if he was going to brush the question off too, a spike of annoyance sliced through Stiles.

“No, seriously, what happened? You... evolved , you drove off into the sunset with the girl, supposedly to leave all this shit behind you. Next thing we know, despite not hearing from you in ages, she comes back alone, and then I find you captured and being tortured. Again.”

Derek frowned lightly. “Braeden went back?”

“Who cares!”

The frown stayed in place and was followed by a careless shrug. “We were on the road a bit, but she was chasing down leads on a case so we went our own ways.”

“I know that, we saw her . It’s you who stayed MIA.”

“Just a second ago you were talking like it was a good thing I left.”

“It was!”

“But I was supposed to go back?”

“No,” Stiles insisted vehemently.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Then I don’t know what you’re angry about.”

“I’m not angry,” he said, “I’m just…”

“...disappointed,” they said at the same time, a silly, wry smile growing on both their faces. The tension dissipated and Derek went back to attempting to drink his honey water. But Stiles remained contemplative. Despite his assurance to the contrary, there was an anger roiling inside him but he couldn’t quite tease it apart or name it. There was disappointment, not in the stern way a parent would be disappointed, but not having Derek around...it had been disappointing. He’d run into that feeling so many times around Scott, at school, at the preserve. Any number of things would remind him of Derek - a nice car, a particular shade of blue, someone playing chess, someone with his same initials carved on a library shelf. And each time he’d be struck with a strange...loneliness. But alongside that loneliness had come a sense of peace and contentment, and he’d used that feeling to get through so many of the hard moments in the past years, but now, nothing he did could call it up.

“You were supposed to be safe,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the dormant coffee machine. “You were supposed to...I don’t know, buy a farm or a ranch or a cabin by the sea. Maybe get a dog or something. A cat. You seem like a weird cat person. I don’t know. But that’s what you were supposed to do.” He could heard himself getting louder but he couldn’t pull himself back. “You were supposed to have a fucking vegetable garden and your biggest problem should have been something like porch repairs! Sock darning! For fuck’s sake, Derek, you were supposed to be okay!”

Derek frowned down at his mug, looking a little shell-shocked. “I didn’t exactly go looking for trouble.”

“You don’t need to, you’re a fucking magnet for it,” Stiles lamented, rubbing his hands over his face. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the point, Stiles? What do you want to hear?” Derek threw back. “They found me. They always find me. I outran them as long as I could. But it’s never far enough.” And wasn’t that just fucking heartbreaking. “What the hell do you want from me?”

“I want you to be safe .”

“You’ve said that, but it doesn’t seem to be up to me now, does it?” Derek all but yelled, his eyes wide and helplessly angry. “Trust me, I would like nothing better than to kick back in a hammock for a day. I would love to get a fucking cat! I would give up actual years of my life to - fuck - to have a shitty studio apartment in the middle of nowhere where no one knew my name and I wasn’t sure to get maimed at least once a month.” Stiles’ throat was closing around unshed tears, but Derek still wasn’t getting it. “You think I wouldn’t? But I can’t have that. I can’t.”

“Then you come home,” Stiles ground out wobbily, finally looking up to catch Derek’s gaze and jabbing a finger into the tabletop to emphasize his point. “I...if you were out there somewhere, living a peaceful life, then fine. Beacon Hills is literally the mouth of hell, it’s unsafe, it’s a nightmare not all of us survived. But you didn’t escape that, it chased you down, and you were on the run for months and not once did you call. Not once did you come back and ask for help.”

“Is that what this is?” Derek asked tiredly. “You’re pissed I didn’t call for backup?”

“No!” Stiles yelled, throwing himself out of his suddenly too-restrictive chair to stand. “I’m pissed you weren’t ours .”

If Derek hadn’t looked punched out before, he certainly did now.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, pacing and biting on his lips to try to keep the tears of frustration, exhaustion, and grief at bay. “Do you have any idea what the past year has been like? We found out that you can get a were-anything if you really set your mind to it. A douchebag kid from our childhoods came back and infiltrated the pack. You would have hated him. You would have - Oh and I killed a guy. All on my own. Look, ma, no possession!” Derek got up from the table, so Stiles paced in the opposite direction and took the opportunity to wipe a couple traitorous tears away. “And there was that time I was fucking wiped out of existence. Scott, Lydia, my dad forgot me completely. Did you? Hm? Did you wake up one day and suddenl-”

He reached the end of the room and turned back to find Derek not six inches away from him and looking wretched.

“I didn’t,” Derek said with conviction. “I didn’t forget you. Whatever...happened, it didn’t reach this far.”

Stiles bit down on his trembling lips and nods. “It’s been hard.” He huffed a sad laugh. “It’s always been hard. God knows the whole...being possessed thing was no walk in the park. You getting aged down was just... But it was harder, without you. There were so many times I wanted to just walk into the loft and ask you about something, or walk into a fight and see you beside us. So many times I thought, you would have been quicker. You’d have figured things out faster. Fought harder. But you weren’t there and I was so okay with that. Really, I was.” Stiles’ eyes are too wide, pleading with Derek to believe him. “I was okay with that because I thought you’d escaped it all and I wasn’t about to drag you back into the mess of tragedy and chaos that is Beacon Hills. I thought you were free from that nightmare finally. But you weren’t. You weren’t fucking free of it at all. It wasn’t any better out here past the sunset. So why didn’t you come back? To us?”

Stiles had never felt this raw, this exposed - by the end he was speaking in a hushed whisper - but that was the question. The one that had rested in the back of his mind, biding its time, building on any resentment, the implied rejection, the loneliness it could find until now, when it finally had its desired audience. And Stiles felt like shit for even putting it out there. Derek’s eyes were as glassy as his felt. He looked gutted. In the wake of weeks of torture, it was Stiles who was going to break him. Stiles almost wished that he could take the last five minutes back, but that wouldn’t solve anything.

Instead, he closed those scant six inches of distance and wrapped his arms around Derek like he could leech all the pain he’d caused out of him. He expected, after a speech like that, for this to be a very one-sided hug but in a matter of seconds, Derek’s arms were coming up and encircling Stiles, grasping tighter and tighter until they had to breathe in complementary rhythms because there simply wasn’t room for both of them to breathe in together.

“I would have come back if you asked,” Derek murmured into his neck.

“I didn’t want you to,” Stiles replied softly, laying his head down Derek’s shoulder, being mindful of the neck burns. “I wanted you to be-”

“-safe, yeah, I got that part,” Derek finished wryly. A chuckle surprised its way out of Stiles and jostled them apart, but they didn’t go far. Stiles could see a small wet patch on Derek’s shirt, but he knew he had a similar patch on his own shoulder. Neither of them mentioned it. “I wanted that for you too.”

Stiles nodded, smiling gently. “We’re full of great intentions.”

“Not so much at communicating though.”

That got an honest-to-god laugh out of Stiles. “No, that we are not. Where would the fun be in that?”

“In a vegetable patch with a cat, apparently.”

Stiles laughed again and smiled fondly. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

They stayed in their bubble for a few more comfortable moments, and Stiles thought if he just closed that distance again, he could fall into Derek’s arms and not leave until the sun went down and came back up. But the mission wasn’t over yet, and he didn’t have the luxury of just...giving in. So with a deep breath - one that made him feel lighter than he had in a while - he gestured towards the table.

“You still need to eat something of actual substance,” he reminded them. “You don’t seem in a hurry to upchuck that honey so the pizza might be okay. Or we can order something else now that you’re awake. Salad. Sandwich. Do they deliver steak? Whatever you want.”

Derek interrupted his ramble by taking one of his hands. The touch was uncertain and light, and it sent waves of gentle electricity from Stiles’ palm to his chest. There was no way Derek couldn’t hear the uptick in his heartbeat.

“Stiles,” Derek began, looking equal parts earnest and lost for words. Stiles squeezed around his hand, feeling Derek’s squeeze back immediately. Then, he shook his head lightly and said simply, heartfeltly, “Thank you.”

Stiles ducked his head and smiled. “Anytime,” he said. “Anywhere.”

A reckless promise, maybe, but it was turning out to be his one constant truth in life. And he was okay with that.

#sterek #sterek fic #my fics #series: reckless but honest

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