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Stiles tries not to scream, he hates it. Hates the spike of fear it sends through the house, the way his dad will rush to his room looking panicked and half awake.
He dislikes dealing with it on his own, but it’s better than having to speak, having to vocalize what he’s seen.
With Derek it’s different. He will jerk awake at the scream, startled into consciousness, but he doesn't panic. Has never panicked, has never looked at Stiles with wide, terrified eyes and asked him to stop. Has never said no, not even when Stiles told him how he died. He barely flinched, just nodded and smiled softly and curled around him like everything would be okay.
With Derek everything was okay.
Stiles has found that the visions are less scary when he is in Derek’s bed. He still downloads them, sends them to Danny for processing, but he doesn't get that hot sick feeling when he has to re-live them for the chip.
Derek is always there beside him, calm, collected, solid.
During the day Derek works at a small bookshop. Stiles likes to sit in the window and read while he shelves and catalogues. The smell of old dust and paper so strong it wipes out the sense memory. The worlds between the covers promising intellectual escape.
Sometimes they go for walks, strolling hand in hand, letting the world go by.
Stiles isn’t allowed to do anything until he turns Twenty-three, or has his first lapse. Whichever comes first.
He tries not to feel bitter about it, but up till senior year he was going to be a forensic psychologist.
Then, ironically, he’d seen his first murder and it all came tumbling down around his ears.
Derek had studied once, he was carefully vague about it and Stiles was just as happy to let him be. If he hadn't stopped they wouldn't have met and Stiles would still be living at the institute, sleeping his days away and screaming his nights into dawn.
It was easier, in a difficult sort of way, to be here with Derek.
On the nights that he doesn’t see, he pretends it’s all over. That their lives have returned to normal and they can start living again.
Sometimes the idea terrifies him, because when it’s all over, Derek might not stay… not once Stiles is normal, when the agitation and anxiety and restlessness continue even though the visions don’t.
Everyone gets sick of it- of him, eventually.
But when he does sleep, deep and dreamless, it’s always the promise of company in the morning that lets him rest.
It doesn't worry him the way it should, the broken way they fit. Like chipped pieces of a smashed in window, sharp and vicious, transparent to all those around them.
Derek doesn't care that Stiles body shakes with experiences beyond its years, Stiles loves that Derek’s fits perfectly around the curve of his. Filling the spaces left by false memories.
It’s difficult not to feel hopeless when you can see everyone’s ending before you even get to start.
He’d do anything to let in a little light, It might help with the belly deep ache, the heaviness in his limbs. One day he will start living; and it will be a wonderful thing.
The one time Stiles asked Derek what he would be doing if none of this ever happened. If Stiles had never fallen out of his car in the middle the Walmart carpark and screamed into his shocked face. If He’d had never taken so many inhibitors he’d had a waking vision. If Derek hadn’t forgotten to get Laura’s Jalna. The one time Stiles unsubtly asked what Derek would rather be doing: He stared intently into his face, pushed him firmly back until he hit the wall and kissed him until his head spun, his knees shook and his chest ached with wanting.
There’s nothing sexual, though, about the way Derek curls around the space between Stiles shoulder and thigh. No heat in his hands when they press firmly, insistently, constantly against his body. It is a possessive touch without smothering, careful but not ineffectual, both heavy and light; and able to make Stiles whole. Derek can bring his thundering heart to a standstill just by touching his arm, he can communicate his worry, concern, desire, with just a look. He lets Stiles feel and be and heal any way he needs to, any way he can and Stiles wouldn’t rewrite this future for the world.
Derek is all he never knew he needed, he is more than Stiles thought he could have, better than the best healer and stronger than the horror that haunts Stiles nights.
He burns out the bitter taste of Stiles' medicine, makes Stiles weaknesses feel like strength, brings him back to centre and holds him there and Stiles thinks he might break open with how much he loves him.
No, he wouldn’t change their future for the world, because the first time he screamed into Derek’s face; he saw them, curled around one another on a crisp white bed and he knew, he would always come back.