Chapter Text
Derek leaving sort of sets off this domino-like effect of horrible things that Stiles has to endure, dealing with constant shit storms of issues while trying to hold himself together.
With the werewolf gone, helping Scott with his transition more or less falls to him and, while he doesn’t do a terrible job, he knows that the alpha could’ve done better. He’s bitter for a long time, ignorantly believing everything Derek had said because he just gets too tired of trying to come up with another reason as to why the older man would hurt him the way he did.
Everything
about him changes, his sleeping and eating patterns, even his
mood and behavior - and it’s all because of Derek. Stiles has difficulty
thinking about anything else, because he opened up parts of himself to
the older man that he’d never done with anyone else before; not even
Heather.
Missing the werewolf comes naturally, even after all of the harsh and mean things he said, there’s still a part of him that longs for his mate and it doesn’t make any sense to him, because he’s human. The distance between them shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, either, especially after time passes, but it does.
Stiles doesn’t bother keeping track of how long it’s been and eventually, the days all kind of blur together and he becomes a more secluded, bitter, shadow of his former self. Just about everyone takes notice, his friends, his dad; even his boss, whom, after a while, decides he’d rather not deal with it and ends up firing Stiles. So on top of everything else, he loses his dream job, and losing his job, in turn, causes him to lose the house - their house.
Alcohol quickly becomes a way to escape his head-space after that and it’s not so much that it makes Stiles forget completely, but it numbs the pain, makes it easier for him to breathe.
His father takes him in, too, and he knows that it’s not an ‘issue’ according to his dad, but he still feels like a burden, like a waste of space, doing nothing but sitting on the couch day after day, drinking his feelings away. Which is selfish of him, to say the least, because he knows the struggles his father has had with alcohol, and yet he continues to taunt and tempt the older man.
He’d give it up, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle the reality that being sober brings, so he packs a bag and moves out, without so much as leaving a note for his dad.
It’s probably a bad idea, driving under the influence, because God knows he’s seen what it can do, but he does it anyway. He doesn’t even really know where he’s going, he just drives and follows his instincts, letting them take him wherever they may.
Eventually he breaks down just outside of New Mexico and, as much as he doesn’t want to, he abandons the jeep and hitchhikes from there. It’s not like he has any pride left, so it doesn’t particularly bother him, hopping from vehicle to vehicle and making idle conversations with strangers he’ll never even see again - thankfully, most of them don’t expect money.
It takes about five months, and by the time he reaches his destination, he’s sunburned with blisters on his lips and covering his feet. He doesn’t even realize where he’s at until he finds himself staring up at a big egg-shaped statue and he vaguely remembers his surroundings from pictures; he’s in New York.
The realization shouldn’t confuse him as much as it does, seeing as this is where Derek’s at, but it’s still unnerving that his instincts lead him here.
He has a choice now, he knows he does. He can either search his mate out and more than likely be rejected, or just accept the fact that he’s this close and be content with that. He doesn’t really think he could handle the rejection at this point, not after all of these years, so he wills himself not to seek the older man out.
After the first week of staying in a shelter, he decides to try things on his own, because the other people he bunks with aren’t necessarily trustworthy and he catches them, on more than one occasion, stealing from what little he has left. At least when he’s on his own he doesn’t have to worry about that, unless he ends up getting mugged or something, but seeing as it hasn’t happened so far, he figures maybe he’ll be okay.
It’s not ideal, curling up under a cardboard box at night and sitting on the curbs of streets during the day, but he takes solace in the proximity to the werewolf, even if he can’t see him or be with him; he can feel Derek out there.
After Derek gets transferred to the bureau in Albany, New York and gets assigned a new partner, he knows there’s no where else to go but down. It’s difficult enough trying to settle into a new place, and with his emotions in the state they are after he leaves his mate, the full moon less than a week away, he ends up making some bad decisions right off the bat.
The first thing he does is get his partner fired, and get himself suspended from work, and when he comes back he gets assigned another partner, despite requesting to work on his own. Then he becomes reckless; carelessly handling cases and coming in late to work, and eventually he gets pulled from the field and stuffed down on the first floor, transcribing other agent’s cases and handling paperwork. After over fifteen years with the FBI, it’s almost ironic it took them this long to put him where he ends up.
It doesn’t take long after that to hit rock bottom, and once he starts seeing a therapist, a real one - and not just any kind, but one that knows what he is, one he can completely confide in - he starts to get… somewhat better. He tries his hardest not to think about the things he could’ve had, the things he almost had, because it’s not like there’s anything he can do at this point.
Without his mate and without the handful of friends he’d managed to make in the short amount of time that he knew Stiles, he realizes that before he’d met the younger man, he never knew what it was truly like to be alone. He can kind of appreciate the ignorance from before, but it’s still bittersweet.
If he’d been considered a ‘monster’ at the last bureau, it pales in comparison to what he is now, his size doesn’t help, and at least before he’d been seen as some kind of unusual character. Now, after five years of working in New York, he knows that all of seven people in the entire building know both his first and last name, and the rest don’t bother, which is how he prefers it.
He may not have much, or anything at all, but after this long he actually feels like he’s at a state in his life where he doesn’t constantly blame himself for the things that happened to his family and his partners. He’s also come to realize how unusually unhealthy his and Stiles’s relationship was. Even though his mate was something positive in his life, he still never managed to dig himself out of the hole he’d buried himself in after he lost his family.
It’s ironic, that now Derek would consider him someone that could actually be of value to his mate, and he’s the farthest from Stiles he’s ever been.
The alpha, or omega alpha, or whatever he is at this point, leaves work later than most and starts his usual walk back to his loft, taking an awkward route just to avoid the man at the bus stop on his typical way home because the guy is one of the most insufferable jackasses Derek’s ever met. He stops at a cross section with a group of other people, keeping to himself when he catches an unusually familiar scent.
If he’d been in his alpha form, his ears would have perked up on his head the moment he caught a whiff and Derek turns quickly, knocking over the woman standing next to him and he reaches out to catch her and the three large bags of groceries she’s holding.
“Sorry,” Derek mutters gruffly, walking past her and knocking down another man as he tries to push his way past them, looking around wildly as he stares through the crowd, scenting the air and wincing when he catches the strong, overwhelming scent of a woman’s floral perfume.
He shoves through a group of people walking along the street, glancing at their wide eyes as his hulking mass moves quickly around the corner and he stops when he hears the familiar heart beat.
The alpha walks tentatively to a person sitting on the ground alone, being avoided by most of the people around and it doesn’t take him longer than a second to recognize Stiles, even in the state the younger man’s in.
Derek stares at him, his eyes widening and he reaches down to take his arm, “Stiles?” he says softly, brows narrowing as his mind spins in a million different directions, unsure of how to really put together the fact that his mate is sitting there in front of him.
Stiles doesn’t really hear what the person is saying, but he feels the hand on his arm and he jerks it away without looking up, figuring that it’s just another officer telling him that he needs to move, “Just leave me the fuck alone, I’m not hurting anyone,” he grumbles, drawing his aching knees in tighter to curl into himself.
“Stiles,” Derek repeats and leans down again, lifting the younger man up to his feet as though he were picking up an empty box, “What are you doing in New York?”
“What the fuck, dude,” Stiles complains and looks up, all the color draining from his face, because he’s either hallucinating or looking at Derek. But given the fact that he’s usually constantly inebriated, hallucinations don’t really seem that far fetched.
“This isn’t real,” he says to himself, trying to scramble back as he shakes his head and closes his eyes, “Too much alcohol, oh god I’m seeing shit.”
Derek narrows his eyes and scents Stiles again, looking at the state his mate’s body’s in and the alpha glances around, “You’ve been drinking…” it’s an unusual thought and, though he hasn’t known what the younger man’s been up to, he can’t understand for the life of him why Stiles is in New York, of all places - drunk, and clearly as underfed as he looks.
He takes Stiles’s jaw in hand, looking at the dry lips, the burned skin, and then he sighs, “You’re not seeing anything, you idiot - what are you doing in New York? And how the Hell did you get here?”
Stiles feels nauseated the moment he realizes that Derek is, in fact, standing in front of him and he shakes his head again, “I’m not-I’m not stalking you,” he tries to explain, remembering the older man’s words from when he left, “I swear I’m not, I haven’t even-I didn’t look for you, so… this isn’t my fault, okay? You found me and I just, I was sitting here minding my own business.”
“I’m aware of that,” Derek says, brushing his fingers through the awful attempt at a beard before reaching back to touch the nape of Stiles’s neck, “Let’s get you off the street before someone calls the cops or something,” he looks his mate over again and then lifts Stiles up into his arms, “When was the last time you ate?”
“Why do you even care?” Stiles asks, squawking when the burly werewolf picks him up and he tries pushing to get back down, but he’s too weak, “You don’t-you don’t want anything to do with me, just put me back down, I’m not some fucking charity case.”
“I never assumed you were,” Derek responds as he ignores the looks they’re getting, the odd comments he can overhear, “We’ll talk about it once we get you inside, I can’t leave you out here like this,” he says, keeping his voice low so only Stiles can hear him.
He’s not sure if he should tell Stiles that it was all a lie, or if that’s even something his mate would want to hear. As far as the blind man had said, it was clear that Derek would move and stay in New York alone.
“Why not?” Stiles asks incredulously, “You left me in California, I’m not really seeing the difference,” he says, feeling inexplicably angry, “Look at me,” he shakes his head once, “The reason I’m like this right now is because of you, you fucking ruined me.”
“I know,” Derek agrees as he looks down at Stiles, “I’m sorry. I can’t undo what I did, but you’re gonna have to keep your anger somewhat contained until I get you to the loft, and then we can talk about this.”
Stiles opens his mouth to argue, but then he shuts it again and huffs, crossing his arms as he looks away. He’s still having a difficult time believing that this is actually happening - he’s dreamt of seeing Derek since he got to New York. But now that he’s near the older man, all of his feelings are coming back tenfold and he’s angry, fucking hurt that the alpha did what he did in the first place.
Derek carries Stiles, otherwise quiet and content as he breathes in the younger man’s overly familiar scent and tries not to smile - even though he knows his mate’s not in the best condition, or state of mind, he’s been alone for five years - the unusual interruption is more than welcome. He walks across the parking lot to the loft, reaching down carefully with one hand to grab his keys from his coat pocket as he steps into the elevator and hits the ‘6’.
“You don’t have to do this,” Stiles says after a while, expression grim as he recalls how mean the werewolf was when he broke things off, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this, I’m more than content just going back a-and sitting there - I’m used to it.”
The alpha looks down at Stiles and sighs, “Shut up, Stilinski,” he says softly as the elevator takes them up, and though he’s content to leave it at that, he doesn’t. He’s been alone far too long to not let Stiles back in at once, no matter what the conditions for leaving were, “I wouldn’t leave you like that… unless I had no other choice.”
“No other choice, huh?” Stiles asks and stares up at Derek, taking in the fullness of his cheeks, “Is that like, some shitty ass, subtle way of saying you had no other choice when you broke my heart, or..?”
“It’s not subtle in the slightest,” Derek says, taking Stiles out of the elevator and unlocking his door before sliding it open with little effort on his part, “I didn’t have a choice at all.”
Stiles wants to argue, to tell Derek that he did have a choice, but he doesn’t. The words make sense to him, because he remembers telling the werewolf that he wasn’t acting like himself - the rude words and the ugly laughs, none of that was Derek.
“I believe you,” he says naively.
Derek moves to the bed in the center of the room once he’s locked the door, and he sets Stiles down carefully, “I would’ve told you, but the conditions of me leaving were made... painfully clear. I-part of me hoped that you’d see right through it, that it wouldn’t have hurt you as much as I intended it to.”
“I did see through it,” Stiles says and frowns, “But I could only take so much, Derek, what you said-” he narrows his eyes some and shakes his head, “You really fucking hurt me.”
“I needed to,” Derek responds, reaching out and touching the younger man’s cheek, “I couldn’t risk you trying to contact me. If you did, it would’ve made leaving completely pointless… and now you’re here, in contact with me. I’m not even sure if this is safe.”
“I didn’t contact you,” Stiles points out, wanting to make that painfully clear as he reaches up with a shaky hand and pulls Derek’s from his face. He can’t handle having the alpha touch him like that, touching him like he actually means something, not when he’s… like this - dirty and gross.
Derek turns his hand and takes Stiles’s in his, “No, you didn’t, but… I don’t know, I-I need to explain everything, I need to-I need to cook you something,” he stands back up, helping Stiles to his feet, “I’ll make you something to eat, and you can get showered.”
He leads Stiles to the bathroom, turning on the light for him, “I’ll get you a change of clothes, I think I have an older shirt and some pajamas or something that might fit you better, just get showered and I’ll make you some food.”
Stiles looks around the spacious bathroom and it’s pretty obvious to him that Derek’s doing well for himself, just the little bit of loft he’s seen so far is already bigger than the home they used to have together. The sight of the shower itself makes him ache in a way he didn’t know was possible, every fiber of his being wanting to just push the alpha out of the room already and just get in it - he’s never gone so long without a shower before.
There is one little thing he needs to make sure of before he does that, though, so he stares up at Derek and keeps his expression neutral, “I’ll shower… if you can just-reconfirm that those things you said to me, tell me you didn’t mean any of it.”
“I didn’t mean any of it,” Derek says at once, staring back down into his eyes, “You’re my mate, you’re everything in my life that’s ever mattered to me. Every word I said when I left was a lie to keep you safe. Even if there was no possible way for you to have my pups, I’d adopt in a heartbeat over any other alternative that didn’t involve you. I love you.”
The words are more than Stiles anticipates and he swallows thickly, because it all kind of makes his chest swell with something akin to hope and he shouldn’t allow himself to give in so quickly. He tries not to and instead of replying vocally, he turns and moves to the shower, reaching out to test the nobs.
Derek smiles as he watches Stiles and closes the door a little for him before moving to the closet, opening it and stepping in, sifting through the clothes for some in the back. Fortunately, he’s been too lazy to actually throw anything out, and while he was still a giant to Stiles before, it’s better than anything he wears now.
He takes one of the tightest shirts he’d owned before and a pair of pajama pants with a drawstring, moving back to the bathroom and setting them on the counter without looking at Stiles before he goes to the kitchen to start cooking him something.
Stiles gets into the shower and pays no mind to the werewolf when he comes back in to set the clothes on the counter, hands reaching up to touch the water beating down on his sore skin almost reverently.
It hurts but it feels good at the same time, the pressure of the water making his flesh sting and burn as he watches in disgust, the water pooling brown around his feet as the dirt and grime washes away. Back before, when he actually took things like showers for granted, he probably would’ve just washed off and then got out, but he stands there for as long as he can and then he sits down, letting it rain over him even after it’s gotten cold.
When Stiles’s teeth start chattering he stands back up, limbs throbbing in protest from where he’s gotten so stiff. He brushes his fingers over the bottle of body wash and picks the familiar container up, the one Derek’s always used and before he realizes it, he’s letting out a shallow sounding sob. Raising a wet hand, he rubs it over his face to calm himself and proceeds to wash himself down, eyes watering the entire time as he breathes in the scent.
By the time he finishes, the water's already been cold for a while so he just shuts it off and climbs out, grabbing the nearest towel and wrapping it around his slender waist. He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror and what he looks like now makes him want to weep, because he can see the toll that the years and distance between him and his mate has taken.
It’s not like he can reverse it all or use some kind of time machine to fix things, so he accepts things at face value and picks up the older man’s shaving cream, deciding that maybe shaving wouldn’t be such a bad start.
The sound of Stiles crying in the bathroom doesn’t take Derek by surprise, even though it makes his entire body ache, and the urge to go in to be with Stiles is difficult to push back, but he wants to give his mate as much respect and privacy as possible, even though he can more or less hear everything.
He prepares the plates, setting them out on the table and moving to the second refrigerator to grab a couple bottles of water, then takes down two cups and pours them before sitting down at the table and waiting.
Stiles shaves as carefully as possible and given the fact that he’s gone years without doing it, he doesn’t nick himself. Which is surprising, especially considering his hands are pretty much constantly shaking.
He rinses everything out and puts it all back before getting dressed, smiling sadly to himself when he pulls the clothes on, because they hang off of him, making him look even smaller than he already is. So he pulls the drawstring on the pajamas as tight as they’ll go, trying to make sure they won’t fall down before he exits the bathroom tentatively, crossing his thin arms as he moves closer to the table Derek’s already seated at.
Derek watches Stiles, his body tensing slightly as his chest tightens and he can’t help himself when he smiles, even though he feels like it’s probably inappropriate, “Feel any better?”
“I feel cleaner,” Stiles responds vaguely, because no, he doesn’t necessarily feel better. He looks at the food on the table and it’s as if his body decides to act on cue, stomach rumbling loudly, causing him to frown.
The alpha chuckles and stands up, moving to Stiles and all but pushing him towards a seat as he pulls it out and sits his mate down, “Eat,” he says firmly as he moves back to his own food, sitting down again and staring at Stiles, “Eat as much as you can, if you haven’t been doing it properly for some time… just eat what you can.”
Part of Stiles doesn’t want to, because he knows he’s going to make a mess - he won’t be able to go slow, as much as he wants to, “Derek,” he complains, mouth watering as he looks at the food.
Derek lifts a brow in confusion, glancing his mate over quickly, “What? What’s wrong?”
“I just-” Stiles shakes his head and leans in closer, breathing in how good it all smells and suddenly it’s just like he doesn’t give two fucks who’s watching him. He picks up the fork with a trembling hand and digs in, shamelessly keeping his face close to the plate as he chews and swallows, stuffing his mouth quicker than he knows he should.
Derek reaches out to stop his mate, standing up and looking at Stiles as he moves back around the table again, “Don’t,” he says firmly as he takes his seat and pulls it around, urging the younger man to swallow what he already has in his mouth before taking the plate and the fork away and handing him his water.
“I-I-I’ll slow down, just don’t-” Stiles whines and though he doesn’t want to, he takes a drink of the water just to appease the werewolf, eyes still rapt on his food, “Please, give it back. Please.”
“All of your water, first,” the alpha says as he watches Stiles, “You’re dehydrated, drink first, and then eat some.”
Stiles doesn’t question it, he does what he’s told and practically guzzles the water down, sitting the glass back down on the table when he’s done and raising his brows at Derek, “Will you give it back now?”
Derek sets the food down in front of Stiles once more, reaching out to take his own water and set it in front of his mate as well as he glances at his own food, but doesn’t bother touching it, “Eat slowly, don’t force it down or I’ll take it away.”
“I can’t eat slowly,” Stiles grits out as he starts eating again, not expecting Derek to understand in the slightest how it feels to be as hungry as he is.
“If you eat too fast, you could choke, or make yourself sick,” Derek responds, looking at the way his shirt fits Stiles, in the way that it doesn’t in the slightest. He got the smallest shirt he had and Stiles still looks like a child wearing a grown up’s clothes, “I know you’re starving, but you need to eat slow, otherwise it’ll come back up, and that’s the last thing your body needs right now.”
Stiles clenches his jaw and stares at Derek, gripping the fork tightly as he forces himself to slow down and he wants to cry, because it’s not fast enough.
Derek sits back in his seat, waiting as his mate eats and, as much as he wants to touch and hold, and kiss Stiles, he also doesn’t want to make the younger man uncomfortable. Things between them aren’t settled in the slightest, and he knows it’s difficult enough for Stiles to concentrate on the food, Derek doesn’t want to make any of it about himself, preferring to concentrate on his mate instead of himself.
“Don’t forget to drink,” he motions to the water, “Drink as much as you can.”
“I’m trying,” Stiles mutters around a mouthful of food, still chewing as he takes a big gulp from the other glass, the food in his stomach already making him excruciatingly tired.
“I know you are, baby,” Derek says and the word comes out despite his attempts to keep things somewhat platonic for the time being, at least until they’ve talked.
The pet name makes Stiles stop and his back goes a little rigid, looking at the alpha suddenly with furrowed brows and he wants to tell Derek not to call him that, wants to tell him not to say those kinds of things if he’s just going to end up breaking his heart again, because he survived it once, but he wouldn’t be able to do it a second time.
Derek swallows tightly as Stiles watches him and he stands up, “Sorry,” he says as he moves to clear his own plates, taking them to the counter and pulling down some containers to store them in. He’s barely touched his own food, but he figures Stiles can take care of it later, when he’s hungry again.
Stiles stares at the older man for an indiscernible amount of time and then diverts his attention back to the food, eating slower now than he had been before. It takes him longer than he’d like, but he finishes the food and wipes his mouth with his hand, willfully finishing off the rest of the water and although his eyelids are heavy, he stands up.
“I need to um-I have a little bit of money in my pocket, I need to walk to the store real quick,” he explains some, taking his plate to the sink before he walks towards the bathroom for his dirty clothes.
Derek narrows his eyes as he puts the food away and follows Stiles, as immediately protective as he feels, he’s aware that Stiles has been on his own for five years now.
He wants to argue it, but he nods, “Okay.”
Stiles grabs the crumpled wad of cash from his dirty jeans and slips his old shoes on, not concerned in the slightest that he’s about to go out in clothes he’s practically swimming in.
He looks at Derek then and moves past him to the door, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Derek crosses his arms over his chest as he lifts a brow, “Be careful,” he says, because he can’t stop himself from doing it and he turns away, walking to the couch and sitting down as Stiles leaves.
