Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Stiles?"

About ten seconds ago Derek was in the loft's kitchen preparing a stir fry and listening to Isaac griping about how much he hated baby corn. Now, he was standing in a clearing in the middle of the forest he didn't recognize, facing a guy that could have been Stiles... in about five or six years.

The guy does this full body eye roll that wipes out any doubt from Derek's mind to just who it is and adds for good measure, "No duh. Who do you think it is?"

"Something's happened," Derek says. Stiles' scent is the same but his body's different. Derek's having trouble cataloging all the ways how because his mind's trying to shy away from it.

"You think?" Stiles says, dry as always. "I was just in bed and now..." He flails his arms around, indicating their surroundings and then turns back to Derek, the gesture morphing into a shrug. "Any ideas? Did you do this?"

"No I didn't do this," Derek snaps, immediately irked. Stiles gives him the chill out, don't bite my head off wave of his hands that Derek knows he uses a lot on the wolves, sometimes on Lydia and Allison too. It's all very surreal to see those familiar gestures in such a changed body.

Stiles is taller, he has a good couple of inches on Derek now like he's gone through some kind of late growth spurt. He's also thicker through the shoulders and chest but still narrow-waisted. He's wearing a beat-up flannel shirt, black jeans and boots. There's a chain from the front pocket at his hip that presumably joins to the pocket on his ass but Derek can only guess for now. Derek can see the thin fingers of a tattoo at Stiles' right collarbone and there's a pair of glasses hooked into his shirt, pulling the left breast pocket a little askew. Derek is starting to get a Very Bad Feeling about all of this.

"How old do you think you are?" Derek asks slowly.

Stiles makes a rude noise. "Dude, you just skipped out on my eighteenth birthday party, didn't even give me so much as a Starbucks gift card and you're choosing to rub this in now?"

"Stiles, I don't think you're eighteen."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles snorts indelicately as he fumbles for a second, finding his wallet attached to the chain Derek had already seen and seems a little derailed by it, but then huffs and digs his license out. "See, I'm-" Stiles starts to say, holding out the license but he's glanced at it and his eyes have widened. He yanks it back to himself and holds it practically pressed against his nose, making a startled noise, probably at the photo.

"Like I said," Derek sighs and then starts to check out their surroundings properly while Stiles not-so-quietly freaks out behind him. Stiles finally stomps up behind Derek, fwapping him with his open wallet that he's yanked free of the chain.

"Dude, is this some kind of elaborate birthday prank, because kudos if it-"

"Stiles," Derek grits out, grabs a hold of Stiles' shirt and yanks up. The glasses go flying and so does Stiles' wallet when the shirt's yanked free of his arms. Stiles immediately crosses them over his chest, blushing furiously, incensed.

"What the hell? You're not leaving me in the middle of the forest naked!"

"No, just-" Derek advances on Stiles again and he dances backwards, but Derek finally grabs a hold of his face and forces him to look downwards at the changes to his body.

"I... what?" Stiles bleats, trembling fingers coming up to trace over the tattoo, at the broader plains of himself. Derek still can't really make out what the tattoo is because it only just curls over one of Stiles' shoulders, the rest of it obviously taking up the real estate of his back. The changes to the rest of him are even more stark without the shirt in the way and Derek swallows thickly to see the sharper cut of Stiles' hip bones and the thicker line of hair from his navel to his belt buckle.

Derek turns away, because while Stiles doesn't currently look it, he's still only just stepped over the magical line of eighteen. Plus, they have bigger problems.

Stiles is muttering behind him, something about radioactive spiders and magical abs, casting about in the long grass of the clearing until he comes up with his shirt, wallet and the pair of glasses, tugging the shirt on first. The latter he considers for a moment, squinting through the glasses before he slips them on. Derek has to turn away again because they make Stiles' already ridiculously pretty eyes look impossibly large and fragile through the lenses and he's not even going to get started on the thick, hipster frames and the age and gravity they add to Stiles' features.

"My dad always told me to read in better light," Stiles says, grimacing as he taps the side of the glasses when Derek manages to pull himself together.

"The glasses is what you're getting hung up on?" Derek asks and Stiles looks exasperated for a moment.

"No, but it's the one freaky think I can deal with for now. I'm not quite up to-" Stiles waggles his hands to indicate the entirety of his being. Then his eyes narrow and he steps forward. "Hey, if I'm older, are you? I mean, you look the same."

"I don't know," Derek admits, then digs in his pocket for his own wallet, pulling it out and flipping it open. Something gets ejected with the rough movement and Stiles shows unusual grace by catching it. It looks like a photo folded into quarters and Stiles unfolds it and then just stares at it for a moment.

"Um, dude? I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," he says, handing the photo back slowly.

Derek did have photos in his wallet, ones of Laura and Cora. He had a strip of those passport types that they'd gotten at a State Fair once, crammed together in the booth and mugging for the camera. Cora had been eight, Laura sixteen. Derek wasn't in them because he'd been fourteen and too cool for that kind of thing. He desperately wished he had gotten over himself and joined in for once because it's the only photographic evidence of his family that survived the fire.

This single photo is different. It's him and Stiles, the picture obviously taken by Stiles because his arm's in the frame, holding either the phone or camera, whatever he used to take it. Stiles is facing forward, laughing, eyes bright and Derek's mooshing his entire face into Stiles' cheek.

Derek can tell even from the squashed profile that he's smiling.

Derek rubs his thumbs over the photo. It's well-worn, gone thin with either handling or age. Stiles in the picture looks closer to the Stiles he knows than the one standing in front of him, the cocky eighteen year old that had driven him crazy.

"Derek, what's going on?"

Derek finds the jeep by scent down a well-trodden path through the trees. Stiles bustles past him to reach it, flinging his arms over the hood and pressing his cheek to it. There are a couple of discolored panels of a darker blue than the rest of the vehicle that weren't there last time Derek had seen it, what looks like home-repairs, but it's essentially the same and Derek can understand Stiles' joy at the familiar sight of it.

Derek plucks Stiles off the jeep's front and frog-marches him around to the driver's side. Stiles is patting at his pockets but it's fruitless, especially when Derek notices the keys dangling from the ignition and points that out to Stiles. "Well, that was careless of bizarro-me," Stiles huffs in consternation.

Derek pulls his cell phone out of his pocket while Stiles is distracted, pulls up the GPS and is relieved to see that they're only just outside of the Beacon Hills city limits, maybe twenty minutes.

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles says. Derek's moved around to the passenger side while he was checking their position and Stiles leans across his own seat to hold something under Derek's nose that's attached to his key chain.

It's a ring.

"Yours?" Derek asks, although in his life he's never seen Stiles wear any kind of rings. He has his father's chunky watch with the thick gold band that's still on his wrist but that's it. Stiles works the ring off the key-chain and then slips it on, waggling his hand, ring finger now adorned.

"Yeah, I guess so. Perfect fit."

He can't help it. Derek looks at his own hands quickly, but he's not wearing a ring. He doesn't know why he was expecting to be. He's not sure what the photo means but in this place, Stiles is apparently married and he's not. He doesn't know why that makes something turn over inside, small and hurt.

"Weird," Stiles huffs, apparently willing to ignore the extra jewelry for now as he turns the ignition key and the jeep roars to life. "Well?"

"Well what?" Derek says, belatedly realizing he's still standing outside the jeep with the passenger door hanging open. He hops up and in, pushing empty takeout containers around with his boots in the foot-well. "Bizarro-you is still a pig. Nice to see some things haven't changed."

"Har, har," Stiles says and Derek tries not to notice that even Stiles' forearms are a little thicker, hands no longer quite so spindly. "So, Deaton?" Stiles proposes.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, because he's fresh out of any other ideas.

"I'm really hoping he can fix this, because I was kind of looking forward to college."

"Don't freak out," Derek says, knowing he's seen it before Stiles. It doesn't help. Stiles jams both feet on his brakes and the jeep shudders to jerky stop, throwing Derek into the dash, hard. Stiles spares a moment to smirk at him because they'd had a fairly juvenile argument about Derek wearing a seat belt before he's back to blinking forward.

The vet clinic is gone. In it's place is what looks like a diner.

"What the hell?" Stiles shrills, leaving the jeep parked haphazardly in front of the diner so he can fall out of it and stare with mouth and arms open. A couple has to break hands to walk around him and they both shoot Stiles irritated glances as they pass. Derek joins him, shuffling Stiles forward and in because it seems like the best thing to do.

The place is nice. It's got a homey feel to it, clean, bright and empty at this time of day, after breakfast and before lunch according to Derek's internal clock. Derek is thinking maybe he should tug Stiles into a booth so they can try and work out just what's going on when a little girl comes bouncing around the counter and immediately holds up her hands in the universal sign for pick me up.

Derek nudges Stiles forward because he's usually the one good with small things, animals and people both, but the girl's arms swing so she's still pointed determinedly at Derek. She's got a charm bracelet dangling off her wrist, tiny crescent moons and stars and one small arrow charm hanging off it.

"Der!" she says, starting to make grabby hands at him impatiently.

"I think she wants you," Stiles says in an exaggerated whisper out of the side of his mouth.

"I'm not picking up some strange kid," Derek says, fighting the urge to run for the door.

"She's obviously not strange to this you," Stiles points out reasonably when the girl advances on them, almost zombie-walking with held out arms and stiff, little girl legs.

Derek rolls his eyes, but also hoists the girl up when she reaches him. He's holding her awkwardly, like something that might explode if he's not careful but she tugs and wriggles until she's settled against his hip like she was made for the space. Derek almost drops her when he gets hit with her scent and she smells like pack, like a strong combination of the wolves he calls his own and Allison too.

The hits just keep on coming as Scott appears through the swinging door that leads to the diner's kitchen, throws himself across the counter and bounces down in front of them, grinning. "Hey, how'd it go?" He lifts the little girl out of Derek's arms when she twists around for him easily.

"What the fu-?" Stiles starts, and Derek knows what he means. Scott's got his hair shaved close to his head, almost as short as Stiles wore it when they first met and his throat is ringed in tattoos, arms poking out of his t-shirt sleeves similarly covered in a patchwork of symbols and color. From a quick glance they look like protection and treaty marks, the kind of covering that Derek would expect on a much older Alpha.

"Hannah-safe language," Scott scolds, a clipped reprimand that jerks out of him like it's habit, like it's something he has to remind people all the time. The little girl has clambered around to Scott's back so her arms are dangling over his shoulders and her legs are swinging at his sides. He's not bothering to hold onto her at all, seemingly confident in her ability to cling to him like a velcro monkey.

"Good," Derek blurts, answering Scott's initial question even though he has absolutely no idea what he's talking about. He's not really sure if he should level with this Scott about what's happened to him and Stiles, mostly because he doesn't know what's happened himself. He's more inclined to tease out information slowly, get a proper lay of the land before he starts giving out trust.

Stiles is not so reticent. "Dude, you would not believe-" he starts to say and Derek reaches over and puts one hand to the back of Stiles' neck, the other over his mouth. Stiles shoots him a puzzled glance, but at Derek's slight shift of the head, his eyes widen for a fraction of a second in understanding. When Derek releases him, he amends, "Sorry, adult-only conversation. Forgot for a second. Tell you later."

Stiles' ability to think on his feet and correct mid-course has always been something Derek's admired.

Scott hasn't noticed though, instead his attention caught on Stiles' hand when it came up to tug at Derek's over his mouth. He reaches out and picks it up, index and thumb touching the ring Stiles hadn't taken back off again. His face lights up and he looks between Stiles and Derek. "Oh, duuuuudes, really?" he breathes.

"What?" Derek says before he can think twice about it.

"Well," Scott says, smile dimming just the tiniest fraction. "I mean, Stiles has the ring back on. That's... it means what I think it does, right?"

Stiles looks at him quickly, pretty much putting the ball in Derek's court as to how to answer whatever question Scott is asking.

"Uh, yes?" Derek hedges.

"Awesome!" Scott crows and is suddenly pressing forward, wrapping arms around Derek and Stiles both and hugging them together so vehemently that he manages to crack all their skulls together.

"Okay, ow," Stiles grunts as Scott releases them, starting to look pensive again.

"Why don't you guys seem happier?"

"We're very happy," Derek says and the words sound horribly stilted, even to his own ears. He's starting to suspect what's going on here and he's willing to play along until everything starts to make more sense. He goes so far as to slide an arm across Stiles' shoulder and tug him in. Stiles, bless him, just goes with it. Derek's expecting resistance though so he might tug a little too hard and clack his and Stiles' heads together for a second time.

"Again, ow. Why is everyone hurting me today?" Stiles huffs, but he pats Derek's belly in an affectionate way before he tugs out of his grip and that seems to satisfy whatever concerns Scott has. Either that, or Scott decides to chalk it up to them being weird around each other which seems to be nothing new, even in this alternate universe.

"So, you're staying for a while?" Scott asks, reaching out to fist a hand in the bottom of Stiles' shirt with a painfully hopeful expression on his face.

"Suuuuuuure," Stiles drawls, flicking a glance at Derek, an almost-panicked get me out of here before I blow it, look. Stiles has always been the best liar out of all of them, except when it comes to Scott.

"We're going to-" Derek doesn't elaborate, because he has no idea where they're actually going to go, but he hooks a thumb over his shoulder and Scott raises his eyebrows but he's also nodding.

"Yeah, 'course. Don't forget dinner tonight, both of you," he says agreeably.

"P'shaw," Stiles lets out, which isn't really an answer and then they're escaping the diner and the most surreal conversation of Derek's life so far.

"Well, I guess what they say is true. You can't go home again," Stiles says. He's obviously fighting back panic, it's palpable in the air. Derek grips his shoulder but he's feeling almost as shocked. The Stilinski house has a couple of bikes and a dilapidated play house in the front yard, plus a porch swing and a heavily pregnant woman sitting in it, pushing herself lazily back and forth.

"I'm sure he's-"

"If you say the word fine, I'm going to punch something, probably you," Stiles warns.

"He's okay, Stiles. I swear."

"You know that for a fact, huh? Deaton's gone, Scott looks like he's starring in the remake of Mad Max and now there's strangers living in my house."

"We'll find out what's happening. We'll fix it, I promise you."

"Don't talk to me like that, Derek. Don't pretend everything will be alright just because you say it will be."

"We'll go back to Scott's place. We'll tell him."

"I don't-" Stiles starts to say, but then darts out from under Derek's grip. It takes Derek a second, but then he's following Stiles as he leaps over the short fence in front of the neighbor's house and takes the front steps two at a time. Derek can tell he wants to drum on the door but he refrains at the last moment, gripping his hand into a fist and holding it away until he can bring himself to tap gently.

"Mrs. Campbell!" Stiles says, relief evident in his voice when an older lady with a little raisin of a face answers and squints up at them.

"Oh, Stiles dear," she says after a moment. "Are you alright, sweetheart? You look flushed."

"This is going to sound crazy, but do you know where my dad is?" he asks in a rush.

"Is he missing?" Mrs. Campbell asks, eyes going wide with concern and hand fluttering to her necklace to clutch at it.

"I don't... I'm not sure? He's not..." Stiles flails at the house next door which, up until a few hours ago in their recollection, had been his. Derek watches Mrs. Campbell frown at Stiles and then him in turn.

"Well, I haven't seen him since he moved into the new apartment."

The tension goes right out of Stiles' body and he slumps backwards into Derek. "New apartment?"

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, great. Fantastic. Do you, um, know where the new apartment is?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm having a really bizarre day," Stiles says and Derek's always been amazed at how sincere Stiles can be about asking what should be absurd questions, enough that people volunteer information regardless of the oddity. Mrs. Campbell looks slightly dubious, but she also nods.

"Let me get my book."

"You're a lifesaver Mrs. C," Stiles calls after her enthusiastically as the woman disappears into the depths of her house. Stiles jitters in place while they wait, humming everybody was Kung-Fu Fightin' and Derek just watches him, relieved and bewildered. Stiles might almost look like a stranger, but he's still the same hyperactive kid at his core that Derek's come to know painfully well.

The apartment is closer to the city center than the Stilinski house, but still on a relatively quiet suburban street. Stiles' dad's apartment block is a smaller building than those hemming it, probably only eight apartments in total and Stiles's dad must be on the top floor because he's number eight. Stiles scurries over to the entryway as soon as he pulls the jeep into a visitor space and then leans on the buzzer, hopping from foot to foot in impatience.

"What?" comes a gruff voice and Derek watches Stiles almost slump to the ground in relief.

"Dad?"

"Stiles? When did you-?" the Sheriff cuts himself off mid-sentence by buzzing them in and Stiles shoves through the door, not even waiting for Derek who follows more sedately. He's unsure of his relationship with the Sheriff in this place. Would it be weird for him to be turning up with Stiles, especially if their own relationship is rocky?

He hesitates on the first landing, listening to Stiles thump up the remaining stairs and then beat an off-kilter rhythm on his dad's door even though the man knows they're coming and there was no need to knock. Derek contemplates retreating back to the street but the decision is taken out of his hands when Stiles glances back at him and makes an impatient come up here wave of his hand.

The door swings open and the Sheriff finds himself with an armload of Stiles almost immediately. He's shoved back a few steps by Stiles' enthusiasm but he recovers quickly and brings his own arms up to clasp around his son. They hug for a long time, the Sheriff obviously attuned to when Stiles needs the extra comfort and he only releases Stiles when Stiles himself lets go. Stiles steps back, quickly swiping at his face with a sleeve and even though he's not crying, the tang of unshed tears is in the air so it must have been a close thing.

"What's going on?" the Sheriff asks, holding Stiles at arm's length and looking him over like he's expecting to find some kind of hurt. It's only when he's done with his thorough once-over that he notices Derek hovering and his eyebrows rise. He doesn't look exactly surprised to see Derek in his hallway, more confused.

"Can we come in, Sir?" Derek asks politely and the eyebrows go up another inch.

"Of course," the Sheriff says after a beat and he steps back, still keeping one hand folded over Stiles' shoulder until he passes into the apartment, letting Stiles tow him back inside.

Derek recognizes some of the furniture from the Stilinski house. The volume is obviously pared down with the limited space but the Sheriff has the same couch, same entertainment unit, same living room rug. He's got a new television and there's a small desk in the corner of the room with a laptop sitting on it and a printer set to the side. It's a small place. Derek can see three doors just from the entryway and he knows that's it, can pick the bedroom, laundry and kitchen from where he's standing.

Derek moves over to a bookcase to the right of the bedroom door. It's stuffed with crime and non-fiction books and a bunch of orange-covered penguin classics. The books aren't what catch Derek's interest though. It's the photos, jammed into a few shelves devoid of books. There's a couple of a younger Sheriff and a pretty woman with Stiles' eyes, obviously Stiles' mother that Derek has seen before. There's a bi-fold with a picture of her heavy with child and then on the other side clutching a tiny infant with reaching hands, smiling widely.

Beyond the family photos are more, Stiles growing like a weed through a set of four like a time lapse and then Stiles and Scott both wearing helmets and standing on skateboards, lanky with adolescence, mugging for the camera. Next to those, a photo of Scott, Stiles, Allison, Isaac and Lydia all in graduation robes, clutching at each other, Scott thwapping Stiles over the head with his mortarboard and Stiles laughing.

The next shelf down is a photo of Allison and Scott curled around another tiny infant with the corner of Stiles' crinkled eyes and top of his forehead just in frame. Next to that is a photo of Derek and Stiles on the beach, Derek holding a struggling Stiles just out of the reaching surf, Stiles caught mid yelp or laugh or scream, it's hard to tell which. Another of Stiles squished between Derek and his dad, Stiles' cheeks flushed and holding up a beer in one hand and his driver's licence in the other, a headband with 21 in glitter numbers perched jauntily on his head.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, but you'd said you wouldn't have time to swing by. Didn't you have something urgent in San Francisco?" Stiles' dad asks.

"San Francisco?" Stiles blurts, quick and unguarded. He sounds plainly bewildered and the Sheriff doesn't miss it. He's the canniest man Derek has ever met in his life and before Stiles can recover from his blunder, he holds up a hand.

"Okay fellas. Out with it. What's going on?"

Stiles throws a quick glance at Derek who shrugs, leaving it up to Stiles to judge how much to admit to. They need help and Stiles' dad is probably second only to Deaton and maybe Chris Argent in terms of usefulness when stuff like this happens. He's got a level-head and a unique perspective on things.

"How old am I?" Stiles asks.

"What? You think I'm going senile or something? Are you going to ask me who the President is next?"

"No, seriously Dad. How old am I?"

"You're twenty-eight," his dad answers, crossing his arms.

Stiles blinks at that. Derek isn't sure how old Stiles thought he was, but the real age is obviously a shock. Ten years, Derek thinks, possibly a little shocked himself. They've lost ten years. "Okay, well, yesterday I was eighteen."

"I know it feels like that sometimes-"

"No, dad. Listen to what I'm saying. Yesterday, I was eighteen. I'm not speaking metaphorically, or about the way I feel or whatever. I was eighteen, we lived in the house on Maple, the last conversation we had was about how fries didn't count as a vegetable and I, uh, wasn't married."

"Separated," his dad says automatically, like he can't help it. Like maybe he has to say that a lot. Derek had figured that was what had happened from Scott's reaction to the presence of Stiles' ring, but it still hurts down deep underneath his ribcage to hear it confirmed so plainly.

"Not our biggest concern," Stiles says, making a quick slash through the air with his hand.

"Wait, seriously?" his dad says, expression expectant like he's waiting for the punchline to the joke, but when Stiles and Derek just stare back at him, his face clouds over and he repeats, "Seriously?"

"I went to bed in my Pacman pajama pants in my room and then I was standing in a clearing on the edge of town like this," Stiles says, gesturing down at himself. Stiles jerks a thumb at Derek. "Him too."

"I was't in pajamas, or Stiles' room," Derek amends quickly, automatically defensive, although in this future or alternate universe or whatever it is he's probably done more than just be in Stiles' room and the Sheriff knows it. "I was making stir fry."

Stiles gives him a what are you even talking about look, before he returns his attention to his dad. "Anything weird happen to you in the last few days?"

"I didn't wake up ten years in the future, if that's what you mean," his dad says dryly.

"Do you know where Deaton is?"

"Borneo, I think. That's where he was the last time I got a postcard," his dad says and Stiles deflates, slumping over to his dad's couch and dropping into it.

"We should-" Derek starts to say.

"You think it's amnesia maybe? Or some kind of spell?"

"Could be time travel. Wow, it never even occurred to me, but maybe future us are stuck in our younger bodies. What a head trip that would be!" Stiles says and sits up a little.

"Probably less confusing than what's happened to us," Derek points out and Stiles nods in acknowledgement of the point.

"So, who does the pack go to when Deaton's not around?" Stiles asks.

There's a beat of silence and then Stiles' dad says, "Well, you."

"What?" Stiles blurts.

"I mean, that's what you do in San Francisco. You have a storefront and you work for a large pack there mostly. You do the, uh, magic stuff," his dad continues to explain, his face going tight when he says magic stuff like it physically pains him to have to use those words in normal conversation. "I've got pictures of the shop after you had it renovated if you want to see?"

"Hell yeah," Stiles enthuses, but Derek shakes his head, surprised that he's the one that has to say it.

"If this is some kind of time travelling situation, we shouldn't really... find out too much," Derek says.

"What? Why?" Stiles says, frowning.

"C'mon, Back to the Future?" Derek says, glancing at the ceiling because he can't believe he's using a Michael J Fox movie as his reference for their current situation. "Doc drew that line that was one reality, and as soon as Marty strayed from that line it made a whole other line and Marty couldn't get back to his original line."

"He's saying it might affect the decisions you make if you get back to where you're supposed to be," Stiles' dad says.

"You mean we might disrupt the whole space-time continuum?" Stiles says, eyes wide.

"We might disrupt how we're supposed to end up, what we're supposed to do."

"Well, we're already pretty screwed in that regard," Stiles says and when Derek gives him a blank look, he gestures between them. "Not that I know how it happens or what I do to woo you, but if we know it ends up like this, us not even living in the same..." Stiles trails off without finishing the thought but Derek knows what he means.

"I'm sure we'll figure it out," Derek says and Stiles gives him a surprised look.

"Last I checked, you just viewed me as Scott's plus one anyway," Stiles says.

"That's not true," Derek counters, shaking his head.

"Oh lord," Stiles' dad says feelingly and they both turn to him, having forgotten he was there for a few seconds.

"What?" Stiles says, scrunching up his face.

"Everyone telling you knuckleheads that this would happen didn't deter you before. I'm sure even knowing for a fact won't either."

"Did you warn Derek off?" Stiles asks.

"If by me telling him he was going to get his damn fool heart broken, then yes, I did."

"Dad!" Stiles says, looking scandalized.

"Beacon Hills was never going to be big enough for you, kid, and Derek was never going to leave it. I'm not saying you didn't try, but-"

"I think this qualifies as that knowing too much thing," Stiles says, putting his hands over his ears and sinking back into the couch cushions. Derek's left feeling oddly touched at Stiles' dad's protectiveness and that it encompasses him as well as Stiles.

"How about you guys go reacquaint yourselves with the town for a little while, come back in a few hours and we'll go to Scott's together. I'm sure between us all we can figure something out."

"Okay," Stiles says, sounding glum, but he stands and shuffles over to Derek, kicks at his feet disconsolately.

"What did I do?" Derek complains.

Beacon Hills is both familiar and strange at the same time. There are some changes, some shops and houses and landmarks that have been replaced or disappeared altogether. For lack of anything better to do and because Derek is a glutton for punishment, they drive out to plot where his family home used to be.

The burnt remains of the old house are gone, replaced by a new house with a fenced yard, a swing set in the front and a fat, ginger cat lazing on the wraparound porch. Derek's about to ask Stiles to turn around, but then he gets out of the jeep, digging into his pockets to unearth a set of house keys with a troll doll key chain that's at some point been giving a buzz cut.

He walks up to the house like he's in a trance, hears but ignores it when the jeep driver's door squeaks open and there's the crunch of Stiles' boots hitting a pile of leaves behind him. Derek pushes through the neat little gate at the front of the house onto a pebbled walk and the ginger cat immediately mews and picks itself up to trot down the porch steps and headbutt his shins.

Derek reaches down to scratch over the cat's head absently, before taking the porch steps two at a time and then hesitating at the front door. The smell hits him before he even manages to get the key up and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is his.

"Woah. Way to rebuild," Stiles comments, startlingly close as Derek pushes the key into the lock. It clicks and Derek swings the door open with just his fingertips, hesitant to breach the threshold and break whatever spell this is.

The place is a study in overlaid scents, hard to pick apart and layered the way his family home used to be. Scott and Allison's scents are strong here, mixed with notes of their daughter. There's hints of Isaac and Lydia and Derek can almost see their shadows, the paths they've walked.

He leans in, flaring his nostrils and the one thing he was fearing is confirmed. The trace of Stiles in the place is old and stale which means Stiles hasn't been in this house for months, maybe a year or two. Stiles bumps into his back, like he's eager to take a look but Derek turns around and pushes him gently, shaking his head.

"No, you can't. It's not fair to the... other me," Derek says.

Stiles looks like he's going to protest, but then thinks better of it, like something in Derek's expression told him not to push. He trundles back down the porch steps without further argument and kicks his way through the fallen leaves back to his jeep, pulling himself up onto the hood with his long legs dangling.

Derek wonders if maybe he shouldn't go in either, but really, his past self needs something like this, something to look forward to if he can't look forward to Stiles. A home, family, pack. Lately he's been moving from crappy rental to crappy rental, never finding somewhere he feels truly comfortable. His future self seems to have finally admitted that he wouldn't find a home anywhere but somewhere he'd built himself from the ground up.

Derek lingers on the threshold for long enough that Stiles must get bored and the uneven thumping of his heels against his jeep increases as he yells, "You going in or what?"

"Nah," Derek says, pulling the door closed again and locking it. This is enough, just knowing it's here.

"You sure I can't take a look? I must have a room, right?" Stiles says, hands cupped around his knees as he watches Derek come back down the steps.

Derek just shrugs, because he doesn't think both of them need to know that no, Stiles probably doesn't have space here anymore. They must have gone through the awful motions of Stiles moving out, or maybe Stiles packed up and fled when Derek was away from the place, furtive and sad.

No, Derek decides, they wouldn't have gone quietly like that. He can almost picture it. The screaming fights they must have had, Stiles packing a box right in front of Derek, maybe throwing things out of it at Derek when he'd run out of barbed words. Derek can't imagine himself not fighting for Stiles, fighting with him if that's what it took.

Did Scott stand quietly by when it all happened? Derek can't imagine he would have. Scott and Stiles are connected in a way that Derek never has been able to, nor never wanted to touch. It must have been almost physically painful for Scott to lose Stiles, like having a layer of skin ripped off.

Does he blame Derek?

Derek doesn't think so if his easy acceptance of their presence is his cue. Scott had looked thrilled at the prospect of them being back together and Derek understands that more now because it would mean that Stiles would move back.

Thinking of Scott makes something float to the forefront of Derek's mind and he stops in front of Stiles, who was in the middle of getting down from the jeep but pauses, hovering awkwardly when he glances back at Derek. "What?"

"Scott didn't look surprised to see us. Both of us," Derek says.

"So?"

"He knew why you were here."

"I bet that why is our whole problem," Stiles says, nodding as he slides the rest of the way to the forest floor. His shirt rucks up as he gains his feet and Derek reaches out automatically to tug it back into place. He doesn't take his hand back quick enough and Stiles gives him an unreadable look.

"What did I do to woo you?" Stiles breathes. "Whatever that particular move is, I need to know."

"What makes you think you wooed me?" Derek asks, finally taking his hand back, although it's hard to do so because Stiles' shirt is skin-warmed, the belly underneath still flat.

"Because you barely tolerate me," Stiles says.

"That hasn't been true for a long time. Why do you keep saying that?"

"I don't know. You haven't done anything to indicate I'm wrong. I mean, you're not the most demonstrative guy, but you're still affectionate in your own way with everyone, except me."

"That's because I hold myself back around you," Derek says plainly, exasperated that his care around Stiles had been misunderstood, taken as a kind of passive rejection.

"From punching me?"

"From touching you at all. Once I do I can't seem to stop," Derek says, waggling the hand that had had a mind of its own for a minute there.

"What are you saying?" Stiles asks slowly and Derek doesn't bother trying to use any more words. Instead he pushes Stiles up against the side of the jeep and kisses him. Stiles makes a helpless noise, going immediately pliant under Derek and his hands come up to hold onto the lapels of Derek's jacket.

"You just... I wish..." Derek says between nips at Stiles' lips, the skin of his throat. He's not sure what he's trying to say and Stiles doesn't seem interested in hearing it, instead pushing closer to Derek so they're pressed together, hip to knee. He spreads his legs a little and Derek slots into the space easily, like it was made for him.

It turns a lot dirtier after that, Derek forgetting that it's day time, that they're outside, forgetting everything as he goes for Stiles' belt. All the reasons why they shouldn't seem distant and unimportant and Stiles seems happy to go along with Derek right up until he grabs handfuls of Derek's shirt and groans, "Wait, wait, wait."

"What?" Derek says, leaning back just enough that he can see Stiles' flushed face without his features blurring together.

"Oh my god, my dad was right," Stiles grumbles, letting his head thump heavily against Derek's shoulder and punching Derek's other shoulder lightly with his fist.

"About what?"

"The cyclical nature of us," Stiles says, stepping away, hands clasped together and fingers twisting. "He said it wouldn't matter that we knew where this ends up, that we'd just do it all over again."

Right, that. Everything had flown out of Derek's head the moment he'd allowed himself to touch Stiles with purpose, and maybe that was their whole problem. He'd been willing to ignore the road already traveled, the one that was plainly furrowed deep with hurt and separation just to hear Stiles say his name, all high and needy.

"We should head to Scott's," Derek says, jutting his chin at the sky and the setting sun.

"Oh man, I don't even know where Scott lives," Stiles groans, smacking an open palm against his forehead when he gets back behind the wheel of the jeep.

"I'll message your dad," Derek offers and Stiles nods and starts the car. Derek quickly thumbs through his address book and is reassured to find STILINSKI - SENIOR right there in his contacts, a picture of an otter in a police uniform the accompanying photo that makes Derek snort a laugh. He composes a quick text to the Sheriff and then hits send. He's about to tuck his phone away, but tosses it in his hand a few times and then checks for other messages, unable to believe that he hadn't thought of doing it before.

He's disappointed to find his incoming message history has been cleared. He checks his outgoing and as well as the text to the Sheriff for Scott's address is one single sent message to a number he doesn't recognize.

CAN'T WAIT <3

Derek stares at the message for a while, until he gets a response from the Sheriff and it turns out that dinner is held at Scott's diner. Derek sends a quick acknowledgement and then returns to that single sent text, puzzled.

"As the bartender said to the horse, why the long face?" Stiles asks, his fingers waggling in front of Derek's eyes. Derek looks up after clearing the messages, still unsettled, offering a perfunctory smile.

"Just... stuff," he says and Stiles snorts.

"Yeah, there's a buttload of stuff," he agrees.

Derek tucks his phone away and thinks that this is something he doesn't need to know. If he's seeing someone else...

No, that's definitely knowledge best left to future him.

The middle space of the diner is filled up with the floating tables pushed together for dinner. Both Stiles and Derek hesitate in the doorway when they see most of the chairs already taken, only half the faces familiar. Scott spots them and trots over, dishtowel slung over one shoulder and a streak of flour on his cheek.

"Oh, hey, your dad called. It was too late for me to cancel so we'll clear everyone out as soon as possible before we discuss it." Scott's tone is no-nonsense and while Derek always thought he would be a good leader some day, it was eerie to see it realized without any kind of time in between, for Derek at least. Derek can pick the other wolves in the group, if not by scent then by the way they track Scott in the room, heads always tilted in his direction, even if their attention is somewhere else.

Stiles makes a beeline for the corner of the long table where Lydia and Allison are perched, pausing to return greetings he receives on his way. Stiles has always been good at faking it in large groups. Derek hadn't even been aware till much later that Stiles' social anxiety was almost crippling and he'd learned to paste easiness over the top to hide it. He was loud and brusque in a large group which distracted from his discomfort.

Derek follows him for lack of anything better to do. Out in the jeep, before they'd come in, they'd had a quick debate on whether Stiles should remove the ring again. It was agreed that he should and Stiles had tugged it off and pocketed it, not wanting to give these people who knew about the separated version of Stiles and Derek the wrong idea.

They still get puzzled glances when Derek sticks close to Stiles' heels and he veers away when it looks like a couple of them have scraped up enough courage to ask about it. He pulls up a chair next to Isaac and settles in, offering a gruff greeting that Isaac returns with a bemused look.

Scott's pack has grown by eight, including his daughter and another boy of about ten who's sticking close to a woman with green eyes and frizzy red hair. She has her arm curled loosely over another man who is human but looks comfortable and is obviously in the know. There's three other women and two men, the pack feeling well established and Derek himself feeling like he belongs even though it's irrational.

Stiles is the one that sticks out, with his flailing hands and patterned skin. Scott's tattoos are well worn, like part of his skin, but Stiles' look like they only barely sit on the surface of him, vibrant and apart like they could fly off at any moment. Stiles has a fox picked out in reds and blacks on his right arm and even though it's probably a trick of the light, Derek would swear that it winks at him when he looks at it.

One of the women Derek doesn't know leans across the table to tap Derek's knuckles to get his attention. "Hey, how did the-?"

"Marlene," Scott snaps, setting a large platter down on the table and shaking his head at her briskly. She looks confused, but subsides, deferring to her Alpha without question, sitting back and resuming a conversation with the red-haired woman.

"You okay?" Isaac asks and he inclines his head towards the end of the table where Stiles is holding court, Lydia and Allison watching him with amused expressions as he sketches out an elaborate story with broad strokes of his hands and an almost too-loud laugh.

"Yup," Derek says and it's in no way convincing, but luckily there's a reason for him to be stilted and Isaac gives him a sympathetic look and a turkey leg from his own plate.

Small hands land on his thigh, and Derek looks down to find Hannah climbing determinedly up onto his lap. Derek helps her by scooting back a little and giving her space and when she's situated, slumping back against his chest, she gives Derek a world-weary sigh.

Derek automatically brushes a hand over her head as more food is set down and then Scott takes his place at the head of the table. That seems to be the cue everyone was waiting for to eat and a bunch of hungry werewolves and some humans that have obviously learned the knack of eating around them set to. It's noisy and busy and absolute bliss to Derek. His mother had insisted on family dinner every Sunday, everyone home and this reminds him so strongly of those nights that Derek almost aches with it.

Derek looks up over Hannah's head to see with Lydia and Allison distracted by their food, Stiles is now quiet, just staring at him. He's confused as to why for a second, but then he realizes that Stiles is probably struck by the way that Derek is smiling, almost helplessly. Hannah offers a bread roll back to him, her small hand bumping into his nose and breaking the trance and Derek mock-growls and tears a chunk off with his teeth, making the little girl giggle. When he steals another look at Stiles, he's now looking down at his plate, pushing the food around but not eating anything.

Scott chases everyone out about an hour later. Stiles' dad had turned up in the intervening time and he sticks close to Stiles, giving him worried glances when he doesn't think Stiles will notice. He offers Derek a sympathetic smile when everyone's moving out, hugging and laughing. Derek keeps Hannah curled into his chest, the little girl having fallen solidly asleep against him so he has an excuse not to hug anyone but Stiles isn't as lucky and he gets more and more agitated until the room finally clears.

"So you guys seriously don't remember anything from the last ten years?" Scott asks when they're back sitting at the end of the large table with coffee in front of them. Allison had plucked Hannah out of Derek's arms and disappeared with her and all that's left is Lydia, Stiles' dad, Scott and Stiles himself.

Lydia has her arm across Stiles' shoulders, her hand squeezing rhythmically and a concerned look on her face. Derek swallows down the irrational impulse to replace her with himself, feeling like he's the one that's supposed to be offering comfort here.

"I was studying for a Biology quiz, I went to bed and the next thing I knew I was in a clearing outside of town," Stiles says.

"You think it was the-?" Lydia starts.

"Must've been," Scott interrupts her to agree with a nod.

"Well, we weren't sure how she was doing it, we still don't really-"

"Guys, complete sentences," Stiles barks, looking frustrated and they both offer Stiles apologetic grimaces.

"We'd heard there was a witch contracted by a bunch of hunters out of the East. She was picking apart packs, weakening them so when the hunters went in they weren't dealing with a united front, they could bring down individual members. We got a heads up from a contact in Florida after she hit a pack there that she was pointed in our direction next," Scott explains.

"Stiles said he thought he knew how she was doing it. She tripped a border ward you'd set up just outside the city limit and you guys went after her," Lydia adds to Stiles.

"I wanted you to wait for all of us but you said Derek was meeting you there and that it would be enough," Scott adds to Stiles.

"What would be enough?" Stiles asks, twisting his fingers together.

"We don't know," Scott says, indicating himself and Lydia with a wave of his hand. Allison returns, wearing a slouchy sweater and with her hair up in a ponytail. She takes the seat next to Scott and picks up his hand to squeeze it. "You haven't really been... forthcoming lately."

"No use getting pissed at me for bizzaro-me's douchebaggery," Stiles says with a wry twist to his mouth.

"We missed you man," Scott suddenly blurts, like he can't hold it in any longer. "I can't tell you how excited I was when I saw the ring..." he trails off, looking sadly at Stiles' hand, the naked space on his finger again and Stiles takes his hands off the table and shoves them under his legs.

"Okay, so the witch has probably made herself scarce, considering. We just gotta figure out what she actually did, how I thought I could combat it and how to undo it."

"If it's memories, we could try the ice bath thing," Scott says, shrugging.

"If it's some kind of displacement, swapping the past and the present versions of you, that won't help. It'll be dangerous and basically useless," Lydia argues.

"How about the...?" Allison makes her fingers into claws and holds them against the back of Scott's neck.

"You comfortable doing that?" Derek asks, watching Scott make a thoughtful face.

"I've had some more practice. Marlene's previous Alpha used to take memories from his pack as punishment. It took a long time but we recovered everything for her."

"What if it is the displacement thing?" Stiles asks, pensive.

"Then we'll have to find the witch and make her reverse what she did," Scott says, his mouth a grim little line. Despite the drastic makeover, up until that point Derek had thought that Scott was basically the same person. Clearly he's not, has instead become an Alpha that can make the tough decisions when it comes to the safety of his pack.

Allison and Lydia are nodding, expressions determined but Stiles' dad waves a hand and says, "Hang on, what's going on now?"

"Scott could possibly recover our memories if they've been taken or lost or shutdown or whatever," Stiles says, turning in his chair to his dad.

"How is he gonna do that?" the Sheriff demands, rightly worried.

"It's, um, a little grizzly? You might not want to stay for it," Scott says and the Sheriff immediately fists a hand in Stiles' sleeve, like he's worried someone's going to try and physically remove him from his son. "Or not. Not's good," Scott says.

Stiles is yelling at someone.

He's yelling and he looks angry and fed up and sad all at the same time. It's a potent mix of misery and Derek wants to back away from the feeling, scuttle from it like a frightened animal because it feels like it wants to swallow him whole.

The figure in front of Stiles, fuzzy and scattered, resolves slowly like an old Polaroid picture, details bleeding together and sharpening into another him. The other Derek is holding a box of books in one hand like only a werewolf can and flailing between himself and Stiles with the other in big, frustrated loops. What he's yelling back is fragmented just like he was, but Derek catches snippets, how could you do and you didn't even think about us in amongst the noise.

It looks like an effort, but Stiles stops yelling back, putting a halt to I didn't mean to and why are you always and looks down, shuts his eyes for a moment. Then he looks up at the ceiling and says, "Scott! I think you threw us back too far."

"Who are you talking to? Scott's not here," the Derek in front of him snaps, looking so hilariously peeved that Stiles looks like he has to bite back an almost hysterical laugh, mostly because it's really, deeply unfunny.

"I wonder where the real you is," Stiles muses and that outrages the other Derek further, but a moment later he looks away from the doppelganger and at the real Derek and huffs, "There you are."

When he looks back, the Derek that was holding the books is gone and the room they're standing in looks scraped clean of all details. He takes a moment to scan it anyway as he moves to Stiles' side, a warm, reassuring weight at his shoulder.

"I thought we'd just remember everything," Stiles says with a shrug when the silence has stretched out thin.

"It doesn't work like that," Derek says. "We might have to sort through a few memories until we find the right ones, kinda like index cards at the library."

"I didn't know that. I haven't done this before."

"You have-" Derek starts to correct, but stops himself and winces in that reflexive way everyone does when they accidentally bring up that time that Stiles was possessed by an evil fox spirit that no one likes to talk about.

"Oh," Stiles says. "Well, should we go back through the door you just came in?"

"You don't want to," Derek says with another wince and Stiles looks like his interest is snagged, wonders what's behind it in that morbid way that makes people slow down at traffic accidents.

"Well, there isn't really..." Stiles starts to say, but when he looks again, there is another door in the room, painted a clinical blue. "Huh," he says and waves a hand at it, inviting Derek to go through first. He must be feeling particularly off-balance or magnanimous, maybe both and he knows Derek likes to take point.

Derek gives him the tiniest of tiny warm smiles and then his face blanks out, his shoulders hunching up as he reaches for the door handle and pushes down. The door swings away from them and they're standing outside Beacon Hills high school. It feels more than a little strange to be looking at himself standing at the corner of the building with yet another Stiles in front of him. As he watches, the other Stiles and Derek lean together and kiss, the memory Stiles resting his feet on top of Derek's because standing toe to toe is obviously not close enough for them.

"Wrong way," Stiles says, casting about until he spots another door that's an ugly burnt orange color. "That one?"

Derek nods and leads the way through and they're back in another room, this one Derek recognizes more from the layout than the decor which has changed. They're in the house and there's a Derek sitting on a large bed by himself, twisting a stack of papers in his hands. There's an envelope resting at his feet, Derek scrawled across it in Stiles' writing and Derek hates what it says about his life that he can recognize when he's been abandoned just by the slump in his shoulders and no other clues.

"Did you seriously Dear John me?" Derek asks, incredulous. He hates to think that's how things ended, Stiles feeling like he had to slink out and leave a note behind.

"We're going in the right direction, at least," Stiles says, pointedly ignoring the question and he's right to, recriminations will do no one any good right now about things that have already happened. There's a door that's plain, unpainted wood with a large split up the middle and Stiles makes for it without waiting for Derek this time.

This time it's a bar, obviously not Beacon Hills anymore and Stiles by himself, standing with a hip against the wall and smiling as he texts on his phone. A girl with blue braids shoulder-checks him as she passes and waves a hand at his phone. "Come back to us, Stilinski. Your boyfriend can do without you sending him dopey love hearts for one night, can't he?"

"Did we go backwards again?" the real Stiles asks, frowning in confusion and Derek feels something cold settle in his belly.

"I don't think so," he says, his voice sounding dangerously hollow to his own ears.

"But-" Stiles starts to say, then it hits him what it means and he spins back to his alternate self, looking betrayed.

"This is really none of my business," Derek says, weaving through people as he heads for a padded red door on the other side of the bar.

"That's not... this is so your business. This is all your business. I don't know what that asshole thinks he's doing!" Stiles shrills, catching at Derek's jacket sleeve and halting his progress. It's almost amusing the way Stiles swears at his other self and looks so affronted.

"We're both probably going to see stuff we shouldn't or won't like," Derek says reasonably. "By all accounts we've been apart... a while." Derek can't help but swallow thickly when he says it, feeling like he's currently involved in the most awful, elaborate prank ever conceived.

"I can't... I wouldn't..." Stiles seems unable finish a thought, balling his hands into fists in frustration and then tugging at the hair at his temples. He looks so distraught that Derek can't help but reach out and tug him in, fold Stiles into the spaces of himself that he's never known, but somewhat suspected, was made just for him.

"I'm sorry," Derek says into Stiles' hair.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I don't know, just feel like I should get it in there before we remember anything."

"You're a buttface," Stiles says, his voice threaded through with such fragile affection that Derek just squeezes him all the tighter. "I'm sorry too."

"Let's just get this over with before Scott cramps up or something."

Stiles snorts a wet-sounding laugh and leans back, giving Derek an unreadable look. He shakes his head then and steps all the way out of Derek's arms, squaring his shoulders and doing a few deep knee bends like he's preparing for a race. "Let's do this."

"You're ridiculous."

"That's why you lo-" Stiles starts to say but cuts himself off, blushing a deep red. "I mean, uh."

"Yeah, probably," Derek agrees and Stiles swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Shut up," he says blearily and Derek resumes his path to the red door to give Stiles a moment.

Through the red door is the clearing they both sort-of woke up in that first day, but it's night and chill and there's a woman standing in front of them, with short hair and unsettling pale blue eyes. She turns on them when they push through the door and her lips curl back. "What are you doing here?" she sneers.

"What did you do to us?" Stiles demands immediately and she throws back her head and laughs.

"Little pup, you thought you could stop me with your parlor tricks?"

Derek realizes belatedly that the woman isn't actually looking at them, but past them and he turns to see himself and Stiles standing in the clearing behind them. Derek tugs his Stiles sideways out of the path and watches as the memory Stiles raises one hand and grips Derek's shoulder with the other. There's something that passes between them, a light travelling under Derek's skin and into Stiles, kind of like when the werewolves draw pain but good.

"Holy crap," Stiles breathes beside him as the memory Stiles' eyes glow gold and he holds up a hand. The woman raises her own arms, holding what looks like a cat's cradle of yarn between her fingers which she yanks apart, speaking one word.

Undo.

The memory Stiles and Derek drop like marionettes with their strings cut and Derek feels a lurch, like he's being tugged by the sternum and then he's gasping for breath and reaching out for Stiles, swearing and sweating but gloriously intact. Derek pats over him restlessly as Stiles gets back his own breath and Scott, Allison, Lydia and the Sheriff all hover around them anxiously.

"What did you see?" Scott asks.

Chris Argent comes through for them in a big way.

"I have a spellbook," Stiles says gleefully, hugging it to his chest.

"You have a Charles In Charge spellbook," Derek points out, almost as gleefully and Stiles waves him off.

"I'm sure it's for camouflage. No one's going to suspect the secrets of the Universe being in a diary from nineteen-eighty-five."

"Where would you even find something like that?" Derek asks.

"I'm sure it's just a backup since I left it with Chris for safekeeping and my primary spellbook is much more badass. Like, maybe a Charmed diary."

"Not our biggest concern," Stiles' dad points out and Stiles grimaces and gives himself his focus Stiles shake which Derek has always found completely adorable and will never admit it.

"Whatever we were doing, I'm sure it was going to smack that witch into next week, if she hadn't done whatever she did," Stiles says, dropping back onto his dad's couch. Their small group is gathered in Stiles' dad's apartment and Chris Argent had arrived about an hour ago, looking much the same as he always did, which was to say annoyed at them.

"I did tell you to wait for me," Chris says gruffly, his face only softening when Allison nudges him with a hip.

"Could people stop being annoyed at me for stuff alterna-me's done? I totally would have waited for the cavalry," Stiles huffs.

"Yeah, because going off half-cocked and unprepared is so unlike you," Lydia snits and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"From what I could gather," Chris says, apparently choosing to ignore everyone devolving into teenagers in front of his very eyes. "This woman could disrupt relationships inside a pack which left them scattered and vulnerable. I suppose affecting people's memories, making them forget their ties to each other is a good way to do that."

"I can imagine if you did this to an entire pack, they would be easy pickings," Allison says, frowning. "Why do this to just Stiles and Derek though in this case and why not make them forget each other completely?"

"Maybe we got to her before she was prepared. She might've panicked," Derek says, remembering the surprise on the woman's face when she'd faced them.

"So, are we still at square one?" Scott asks and Stiles shakes his head.

"Nah, I know the power word behind the spell she cast and that our memories are there, just blocked so I should be able to fix this," Stiles says.

"I'm not doubting that my Stiles could fix it, but can you?" Scott says, looking uncertain.

"Oh ye of little faith, Scotty," Stiles huffs. "I'm still your Stiles, even if you see me as Stiles-lite at the moment. I was into this stuff before. I'd been working with Deaton for about six months before, you know, the great time jump Charlie Brown."

"Really?" Scott says, surprised.

"Yeah, my constant badgering had paid off and I wanted to be, y'know, more helpful."

"You didn't need to do this for us," Scott says and his eyes dart to Derek and then away quickly. Derek knows what he's thinking, that the magic stuff seemed to be the catalyst for Stiles' departure. If Stiles had perhaps felt more secure in the pack, he wouldn't have sought that for himself.

"I was tired of bringing a baseball bat to a fire fight. I wanted to bring actual fire," Stiles says, nose already buried in his book.

"Do you think the witch is still around?" Allison asks, eyes narrowed.

"I doubt it," Chris says. "I'm pretty sure part of her success would have been reliant on packs not seeing her coming. You guys are prepared now and you have a powerful witch of your own. It doesn't appear she was expecting that or that she likes a level playing field. I put some feelers out and the consensus is that she's returned to the hunters who hired her for protection."

"You think you can find them, or her?" Scott asks.

"Absolutely," Chris says, his expression determined and grim.

Derek sets a coffee down in front of Stiles and he looks up blearily. "What time'sit?" he asks.

"Time for you to get some sleep if you're slurring your words," Derek scolds lightly, taking the coffee back. Stiles reaches for it belatedly with a pout. They're still at Stiles' dad's apartment, the older Stilinski only not still hovering like Derek because he's passed out in a recliner in the corner of the room, snoring with his mouth open.

"I'm nearly done," Stiles says, sitting up and blinking, trying to look more alert although Derek can tell he's about to keel over at any moment from exhaustion. Stiles has a stack of pages of scribbled notes beside him and what looks like an ingredient list. Derek plucks the list up.

"You need this stuff?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, rubbing a fist into one eye like a tired kid.

"You get some sleep and I'll hit up the all-night market," Derek says, squints at the list and adds, "and the woods."

"I can come," Stiles volunteers.

"You can sleep," Derek instructs, closing the spell book forcefully and then picking Stiles up by the scruff and frog-marching him to his dad's bedroom.

"But-"

"I don't want you doing any magic anywhere near me unless you're well rested," Derek says and Stiles grumbles, but he also crawls onto his dad's bed and pulls a blanket over him, sighing dramatically.

"Fine." He then raises his arms and makes grabby hands in Derek's direction. "You should sleep too."

"I have to get this stuff," Derek says, waving the list.

"It's not that urgent."

"Stiles," Derek says, but he does drop down onto the corner of the bed and circle one of Stiles' ankles with a hand, thumb rubbing over the knobby bone gently. "You haven't slept in about two days working on this and suddenly it's not urgent?"

"You know me, once I get fixated it's hard to let go. We can both have a break."

"I haven't been doing anything."

"Other than an outstanding impression of the old you with the lurking," Stiles says. "Don't even try to tell me that you've slept when I haven't."

"We shouldn't really..." Derek makes a helpless gesture with his other hand.

"Really?"

"I just feels too much like taking advantage of something that isn't mine... anymore."

"You won't be taking advantage of me if you just come here and sleep," Stiles says, but his eyes dart away guiltily and Derek knows if he joins Stiles on the bed, they won't just be sleeping. That maybe Stiles was the one to stop them last time but it's Derek's turn now.

"We might have... significant others," Derek says and Stiles makes a face at that.

"I can't imagine being with anyone else right now."

"I can't imagine even wanting anyone else," Derek says, looking down at Stiles' feet.

"Maybe we should just forget everything," Stiles proposes, digging his toes into Derek's thigh. "I mean, we now know we didn't actually lose any time, just memories and apparently they're stupid-ass memories full of crappy stuff."

"You really ready to give up everything else that's happened over the last ten years?" Derek asks, not just for Stiles but also himself, because it's tempting. It's painfully tempting, but he also knows Stiles would eventually regret it.

"Well, if you're going to bring logic into the conversation," Stiles huffs, looking irritated.

"C'mon, seriously. I at least want to know what prompted Scott to shave his head," Derek cajoles.

"I asked. Apparently Hannah got gum in his hair four months ago and it wouldn't come out. Allison tried a series of home remedies that made everything worse and they eventually had to shave it. He liked it so much he kept it. You think it grows back like he's some kind of weird Chia pet when he shifts?"

"Okay, Hannah then. You really want to forget the birth of Scott's daughter?"

"You think I was here for that?" Stiles asks glumly.

"I'm sure you were. I'm sure you were handing out cigars in the waiting room."

"Yeah, maybe," Stiles says, although he doesn't sound convinced.

"Say we reset to zero. Why do you think we won't just be back in this exact same position in ten years, five, even two?"

"We would know not to make the same mistakes."

"What mistakes, Stiles? I don't remember them to be able to avoid them, do you?"

"There you go with logic again," Stiles complains.

"I'm pretty sure there would've been some good stuff in there, too that I would like to remember," Derek says gently, fingers now pressing into the delicate arch of Stiles' foot and Stiles curls his toes reflexively with a happy sigh. Derek stands before he can be tempted to say screw it and crawl into bed with Stiles like he really wants to right now. "I'll get the stuff."

"Take Scott," Stiles says as he rolls over, sounding mostly asleep already. "Don't want you to be alone."

"Okay," Derek agrees.

It's very early morning but Scott's awake and he agrees readily to helping Derek. It's a Monday and it's the one day of the week the diner's closed. Derek can hear Hannah screaming in the background and Allison trying to soothe her and Scott sounds supremely grateful to have an excuse to vacate the premises, even if Allison might punish him for it later.

Scott's quiet when Derek picks him up in Stiles' jeep, touching the spaces in the dash that are missing instruments, rubbing his hand under his frayed seat belt and then over his head. He wants to say something and is obviously working up to it so Derek lets him, driving out to the preserve first, knowing that the couple of wilder ingredients they need to collect will take longer. Stiles' idea of taking Scott along was a good one, two wolf noses will most likely cut the hunt time in half.

They're about ten minutes away from the preserve's border gates when Scott says, "Is it weird that I miss him when he's right here?"

Derek slows the jeep to a crawl. They're on the single road into the preserve and no one else is around so he doesn't need to keep up a normal speed. "Stiles?" Derek says to give himself more time with the idea, rather than confirming who Scott is talking about, because he already knows.

"Just, having him back and acting like he used to around us makes me realize how much I was missing him. I can't imagine what it's like for you."

"You gotta remember, for me he's still the annoying eighteen year old that's been constantly underfoot since I met him."

"Oh, right," Scott says, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

Derek hesitates, his own turn now to work up to a topic. Scott seems to sense his hesitation because he turns almost bodily to Derek in his seat and raises his eyebrows, waiting. "Am I, um, seeing someone?" Derek finally asks. He's not sure why he wants to confirm it, definitely doesn't want to know who if he is but-

Scott surprises him by laughing. Huge, wracking sobs of laughter, eyes almost squeezed shut.

"What's so funny?" Derek asks flatly.

Scott gets himself under control with an effort, thumbing his eyes like he's wiping away tears of mirth. "No, sorry, I'm sorry. It's not that... I just wasn't expecting... dude, no."

"It's not out of the realm of possibility that someone else would find me attractive."

"Of course people find you attractive. I find you attractive and I've basically been Allison-sexual since I was sixteen."

"So, what brought on the hysterics?"

"You said Stiles was it for you and we all thought after... well, after that it would change, but it didn't."

"You mean I'm just moping around? Great," Derek huffs. He doesn't really like the idea of his future being that bleak.

"Don't get me wrong, at first you were. Then you kind of threw yourself into everything, everyone. You were helping me with the new betas and visiting other packs and you seemed really content. The last couple of months you've been downright, dare I say, chipper."

"Chipper?" Derek asks, dubious.

"Yeah. So much that we thought maybe you were seeing someone, but you never smelt like anyone else and none of the others smelled more like you than usual and you probably would've told us because we worry."

"Maybe I met someone on the internet." Scott lets out another snort at that and Derek rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

"Well, you have been on the phone a lot and you did disappear for three days a few weeks ago and... oh my god, dude, are you seeing someone?"

"I don't know!" Derek snaps and Scott grimaces.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting."

"Don't we all."

After everything that's happened, the set up for the spell that will reverse it all is fairly anti-climactic. More than once in their lives, Stiles had rolled his eyes when one of the pack had expressed disappointment that magic wasn't more flashy. "It's actually one of the most grounded, practical things when it comes down to it," Stiles had explained over and over again. "I reserve the showy lights and smoke for the tourists."

"At least there could be a little glitter," Isaac had grumbled when Stiles had been reinforcing the protection wards scattered around the town only the year before.

"I'll get you a sparkler to hold next time, huh big guy?" Stiles had joked and then Isaac had picked him up and held him upside down to show him what he thought of that idea and it had been the first time Derek had felt like laughing around Stiles for the longest time and it had been good and horrible all at once. Stiles had also given him a strange look when he'd been set on his feet again, possibly because Derek had still been chuckling helplessly.

Derek blinks hard, because the memory had come fast and unbidden, and he'd only just stepped into the circle Stiles had made with the ingredients he and Scott had fetched. "What?" Stiles asks, having noticed Derek going still in the circle, chalk up to his elbows and a concerned furrow between his brows.

"It's going to work," Derek says, wondering just how he feels about that. It'll be good to get the memories back, he definitely hasn't swung back to the other side of the fence on that one, but there's also a slow roll of dismay in the pit of his belly that this might be the last time, again, that he'll be able to be this close to Stiles without the painful stuff simmering on the surface.

Derek wonders belatedly what it'll be like, whether old, scabbed over wounds will bleed fresh and new. Whether he'll feel the span of the years the memories fall into or it'll all feel like it happened yesterday.

"Maybe..." Derek starts to say, glancing up and around. Scott, Allison, Lydia and Stiles' dad are all on the edges of the circle looking in and Derek doesn't get to finish the thought before Stiles is stepping over the border, his hands out.

Their fingers connect and everything else drops away.

Derek isn't sure what he's expecting, maybe a slow trickle of memories over a period of days, even weeks. He's not prepared to just know everything he'd been missing, the last ten years in an information dump that doesn't feel so much overwhelming as returning to zero.

He remembers the beginnings of his relationship with Stiles, how they'd fallen naturally together after a particularly fraught and frustrating few days with a bunch of pixies that were less dangerous and more annoying. How he'd stopped holding himself back from giving Stiles affection freely and how Stiles had taken it as the green light that it was to push for more, relentless, insufferable and amazing.

He remembers it being good, so good, right up until it wasn't. Right up until Stiles had started tugging himself free of their life like he'd been stitched there, unwilling. He'd left and Derek had been at a loss what to do with himself, other than visit the Sheriff for weekly barbecues because they both had a gaping, Stiles-shaped hole in their lives.

Scott became more centered and more well-known as an Alpha. He forged ties with other packs and outcasts, the packless started to migrate to him. He wouldn't keep all of them but a chosen few he embraced. Those he couldn't find a place for, he helped to find their own way, supportive but not willing to risk the safety of those he called his own, which included Derek.

Stiles had set up his shopfront and he'd been doing well. He'd come back and visited, infrequently and only when he couldn't convince his dad or Scott to visit him and he and Derek would always be standoffish, stilted around each other, until it was just easier to avoid Stiles when he was back.

No one commented on it. Everyone understood.

Then four months ago, Stiles had called out of the blue, saying loudly and with more feeling than Derek had heard in his voice for years, "This sucks."

"What in particular," Derek had said, choosing to ignore the strangeness of Stiles' call when they hadn't really spoken unless save for trading perfunctory information or passing on messages for so long.

"I really messed this up."

"What?" Derek had asked, heart starting to pound and trying to tell himself that Stiles didn't mean them. That he meant something completely unrelated. That he was just calling because he needed help and Scott was as bad at answering his phone then as he had ever been.

"I thought I was doing the right thing, that we didn't work or I was bored or whatever the hell I tried to tell myself because I couldn't face the truth."

Derek had been sweating, licking his upper lip and clenching the phone so hard in his fist that the plastic creaked. "Can I buy a vowel?" he had asked faintly, at a loss what else he could say.

"It was easy, us. It was so easy and it freaked me out. The rest, everything was so difficult that easy just felt wrong by comparison, you know? Difficult became the new baseline for normal and we just-"

"Weren't hard?"

"Oh, there was hardness," Stiles had said and Derek had been able to hear the eyebrow waggle in his voice. "Sorry, I... sorry. You know me, can't let an inappropriate boner joke go unsaid."

"Stiles, you keep saying I know you and I do. I know when you're skirting a point. Out with it."

"I want to come back. Not just to Beacon Hills but... and I know I have no right to ask this after everything but... I want to come back to you."

Derek should have made Stiles work for it, hold himself back in case Stiles decided to freak out again because apparently his freak outs could last years, but like Stiles had said, in the end it was easy.

"Okay."

Derek looks at Stiles sitting across from him in the circle now, eyes wide and hands pressed over his mouth. "Oh my god," Stiles says and then must hit repeat internally because he's chanting oh my god over and over again, muffled because his fingers are laced tightly over his lips.

Like a broken record, Derek knows he'll keep doing it if there isn't some kind of manual intervention so Derek leans forward, circles Stiles' wrists with his hands and tugs him forward so Stiles falls against him.

"Maybe we should, um," Scott says, waving a hand at the door and the others follow him out, Lydia giving them a smirky grin over her shoulder.

"What's going on now?" he hears the Sheriff ask, probably the most reluctant to be shuffled out.

"I think I know who Derek was seeing for the last few months," Scott says and there's a general ruckus of giggling and the Sheriff still making confused noises that fades as Scott draws everyone away because apparently he does double duty as a true Alpha and a saint these days.

Stiles is basically folded over in half, his forehead on Derek's knee and one of his hands clutching Derek's thigh. Every now and again he still hiccups out an oh my god as Derek rubs his back soothingly, unable to hold onto the huge smile that's broken across his face.

Stiles sit up all of a sudden and punches Derek in the shoulder. "Ow!" Derek protests, but he's still smiling.

"How did we not... how come... why hadn't we told anyone?"

"We're taking it slow, remember?" Derek says and is thrilled that he does, that he remembers everything. Over the last four months they'd Skyped and texted a lot and then a few weeks ago Derek had gone out to San Francisco. They hadn't actually done anything more than hold hands, talk until they were both hoarse and, as Stiles' pink-haired store manager Janet had said, made moon-eyes at each other. It was like it had been in the beginning, fresh and new and fragile with possibility. "We didn't want anyone else... involved until we were really sure."

Stiles had wanted to come back straight away, but Derek hadn't wanted him to, ignoring the selfish part of himself that said, yes, immediately and instead made them both give it some time. They'd been apart for as long as they'd been together at that point and Derek didn't want either of them jumping back into anything with the assumption that their original problems would magically disappear.

They did argue. There was still a lot of unresolved hurt there, but they'd both made a deal never to hang up angry and it was working, forcing them to sort through things rather than trading barbs and then retreating which had been their old pattern.

"I was rushing back so I could finish handing everything over to Janet," Stiles says. They'd had to call Stiles about the witch while Stiles was in the delicate stages of passing some of his duties onto his store manager, hiring a new assistant for her and working out how Stiles would juggle the growing online presence of his store from Beacon Hills and also still do the necessary for the San Francisco pack that he'd been friendly with and didn't want to abandon.

They still had a way to go with everything, but it was hopeful.

Stiles makes a happy squeak and leans forward to kiss Derek. The angle is terrible and he kind of flails at the last moment so he ends up basically kissing Derek on the chin but Derek wouldn't have it any other way. He grabs Stiles by the biceps and hauls him into his lap to try again properly.

"No, seriously-" is the only warning they get that Stiles' dad is going to burst back into the room, obviously made ridiculously strong with worry because he's dragging Scott after him like he's a kid, Scott with his arms wrapped around the Sheriff's waist and an apologetic twist to his mouth. "Uh, what-?"

"Dad!" Stiles says happily, extricating himself from Derek and trying to make like it's not super awkward that he was basically straddling him. The Sheriff gives Derek some impressive raised eyebrows over Stiles' shoulder when Stiles pulls his dad into a cheerful hug.

"Is everything... back?" the Sheriff asks, breaking the hug to hold Stiles at arm's length and give him his concerned face.

"Yes!"

"You remember that you guys were broken up?"

"We've been reconciling," Stiles says, smacking his dad on the shoulder which is probably meant to be affectionate but his dad just winces and gives him a quick scowl, before it breaks into a relieved smile. "Oh, well, that's good," he says, leaning over to offer a hand to Derek who stands and then has to press his hot face into the Sheriff's shoulder when he clasps both Stiles and Derek to himself.

He steps back though and his features are marred with a tentative disappointment. "It'll be sad to see you go, though, kid," the Sheriff says to Derek.

"No, dad, I'm coming back here," Stiles clarifies, and this makes his dad hook arms around both their necks and tug them back close. He accidentally bonks Derek and Stiles' heads together much like Scott had in the diner and they all laugh.

Scott must decide this is his cue to initiate an affection free-for-all because he wraps arms around all of them and practically lifts all three of them off their feet in his enthusiasm. A few moments later, Derek feels a pointy elbow in the ribs and then he's making room for Lydia and Allison to squish into the group embrace.

"Okay, alright, ugh! You're squeezing the stuffing out of me," Stiles protests because he's well and truly in the center of the press of bodies. Derek carefully disentangles and then helps unwrap everyone else until he's pulling Stiles free, keeping an arm around his waist and taking the liberty of digging his chin into Stiles' shoulder for a second, breathing in and then rubbing a rough cheek against Stiles' throat.

"Ugh, beard burn. Going to have to get used to that again I guess," Stiles mock-complains with his eyes gleaming.

"So much," Derek says, grinning back. "Everywhere."

"Too much information!" Scott shrieks, clapping his hands over his ears.