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Stiles spent a lot of time at the loft. He didn’t know what Derek had done, if the deed was still in his name or not. Either way, the loft remained empty and no one (other than Stiles) stepped foot inside. It wasn’t empty empty though; Derek had left his furniture. His bed was still there, the comfortable couch Stiles had cajoled him into buying was still dominant in the living area, even the bookcase was still standing in the corner, albeit empty of any books. Derek had taken his clothes and his books and his stupid mug and his triskelion talisman, but he had left everything else behind. Including Stiles.
Stiles went to the loft when the ache of missing Derek was particularly bad. It didn’t make him feel better to be there, not per se, but… It was a way of connecting to Derek. The only way he had of reassuring himself that Derek had really existed. Every time he stepped foot into the loft, though, he was transported back to that night Derek had left, the moment when the alpha had looked at Stiles, picked up his suitcase, and turned around and walked away from him.
No. Going to the loft never made it easier. But it made it more bearable for Stiles to endure the pain.
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The first time Stiles broke down and hit his speed dial 2, his hand was shaking and his breathing shallow. He anxiously, painfully, waited, waited, waited, until he heard the beep signaling the beginning of the automated voicemail message. He sucked in a breath when he heard Derek’s gruff voice. “Derek Hale. Leave a message if you insist. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
That first voicemail he left in Derek’s inbox was filled with the sounds of Stiles breathing brokenly.
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It became an unhealthy pattern. Stiles would impatiently wait for the school day to end, or for pack meetings to finish, or whatever he had to get through, really, before he could hurry over to Derek’s loft. Then he’d stay there for hours. Sometimes he’d bring his homework to work on. Other times, he’d read a book he knew Derek would like. But sometimes, he just sat there on the edge of Derek’s bed, staring down at the ground with his arms dangling in between his thighs, eyes blurred over with tears.
And sometimes, sometimes, when the ache was particularly bad, Stiles would fumble with his phone, hit speed dial 2, and listen to Derek’s voice.
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The first time he actually left a message, Stiles was desperate. He had been over at Scott’s and it was painfully awkward, because Scott knew that Stiles was in pain but he couldn’t do anything about it, he couldn’t help. And it made Scott’s wolf restless, which in turn made Stiles feel guilty.
Stiles was desperate for the pain to end.
He’d made an excuse to Scott, mumbled something about needing to get some air, before he clambered into his jeep and drove just over the speed limit to Derek’s loft.
By the time he made it inside, he was close to a panic attack. His fingers trembled as he extracted his phone from his pocket and dialed Derek’s number. His held his breath, knowing that Derek’s voice was close. And then –
He heard it. “Derek Hale. Leave a message if you insist. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” And Stiles could breathe again.
“Derek,” he whispered, his voice dry and pained even to his own ears. “Derek. I… I don’t know what to say. There’s so much I want to tell you but I don’t have the right words. I never did have the right words with you, did I?” Stiles let out a humorless laugh, which died off just as suddenly as it started. “I miss you, Sourwolf,” he whispers, as if it was a great secret. It wasn’t. It wasn’t a secret at all. Everyone knew; Scott, Lydia, Kira, Isaac, Liam, even his dad. “I miss you so fucking much. I come over to your loft a lot. I don’t know why, but it makes things more bearable. I just want you back. I don’t understand why you just left me here. I miss you. Won’t you come back?”
He hangs up, feeling a little less empty than before.
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That was how it started. Once Stiles realized that leaving messages for Derek was an outlet for his pain and restlessness, a sort of catharsis, it became an addiction. He’d tell Derek about his day, or about Finstock’s most recent bout of craziness, or about the latest supernatural trouble in Beacon Hills.
He didn’t always say something. Sometimes he just breathed. Other times, he read aloud to Derek, read passages that he thought Derek would appreciate or find funny.
Sometimes, God, when the ache was particularly sharp, Stiles dialed Derek’s number and cried.
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3 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 8:13 PM
“Beacon Hills isn’t the same without you, man. Don’t get me wrong, Scott’s a good alpha and, now that my dad and Parrish are in the know, we’ve got the BHPD to help when things get particularly tricky. But none of us have the knowledge or experience you have. Kira’s fox is out of control. Her mom is trying to help, but it’s an uphill battle. Liam’s still struggling with his anger and Scott is at a loss. I’ve tried talking to the kid and it’s helped a little. I tried to channel you and your eyebrows. But I wish you were here to knock some sense into him. You’d be able to get through to him. I know you would.”
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5 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 12:14 AM
“Some harpies came into town. Harpies man, who knew? You probably did. We could’ve used your help. You would have known what to do. Scott is beating himself up over what happened. Mason got hurt and Liam went crazy. But at least he directed his anger at the harpies. He’s the one who managed to drive them away.” Stiles was quiet for a moment. “I miss you, Sourwolf. Won’t you come back?”
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6 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 9:10 PM
“We had a pack dinner at Scott’s house tonight. It was going okay. We’re all trying to heal. I’m trying to heal. But then they brought you up, and I just couldn’t… I couldn’t. They said your name and it was like my heart fractured. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t fucking talk. I left so fast, Melissa probably thinks I’m a werewolf now too. It’s been almost a month and a half, yet I can’t even hear them say your name. It hurts too much. It hurts, Derek.”
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7 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 4:08 AM
“Fuck you, Derek! Fuck you to hell and back! How could you just leave us?! Leave me?!” Stiles cried, the broken sounds of his sobs a sharp, insistent echo in the loft. “You should have stayed when I asked you to. You should have told me you were leaving and I would have found a way to make you stay. I would have found a way. I just needed more time. But you just left. You fucking picked up your suitcase and left without a word. Even when I told you how I felt, you didn’t even have the decency to say anything. Fuck you, Derek Hale,” he sneered, “You’re a fucking coward.”
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7 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 4:51 AM
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just… I just miss you so damn much.”
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2 months after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 1:07 PM
“Derek, I did it! I did it, just like you said I would! I got into Berkeley. Early admission. You’re the first person I’ve told, aside from my dad. When I got the letter, I wanted to call you immediately. Of course, dad cried a little, even though he said he didn’t. I admit, I shed a few tears myself,” he sighed, and his voice grew quiet. “I wish you were here, Sourwolf. Won’t you come back?”
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2 months and 3 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 5:07 AM
“I’m gonna – I’m gonna move on. I need to. I know this isn’t healthy, I know. You’re probably not even listening to these. I’m probably just talking into a void and you’ll never know about any to this. You won’t know that Scott’s getting better at this alpha business. You won’t know that Isaac’s in a new relationship. He finally managed to heal after what happened with Allison and he’s trying to move on. You won’t know that Lydia wants to go to MIT and Scott’s going a little crazy about her being so far. You won’t know that we finally figured out that Parrish is a hellhound. You won’t know that I still… I still…
“God, I don’t know what’s worse. That you’re never going to hear this or… Or you’re listening to all of my messages and just ignoring me.” Stiles took in a shaky breath. “Goodbye, Derek,”
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3 months after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 2:19 AM
“I can’t stay away. I’m sorry.”
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3 months and 2 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 4:29 AM
“I know I’m human, so I don’t feel the pack connection like you weres do. But sometimes… Sometimes, I swear, I think I can feel you. It’s like a thrum under my skin, a beat in my head. It’s like a string is pulling me to you, connecting us. It’s warm and it makes me feel safe, and all I want to do is follow it. It’s getting harder and harder to resist. I can’t leave my dad, or Scott. So I keep on resisting when all I want to do is give in and come find you. I take comfort in it, because when I feel it, I know you’re okay. I know you’re alive.
“But Derek, why would I even feel you? Why not Scott? I’m supposed to be in his pack, but I don’t feel anything like that where he’s concerned. Derek, Derek… If you’re my alpha, then why did you leave me? Why didn’t you take me with you?”
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3 months and 3 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 4:23 PM
“I miss my best friend. Won’t you come back?”
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4 months after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 12:01 AM
“Happy birthday, Sourwolf. I hope it is happy. I hope wherever you’ve gone to, that it has brought you some peace. God knows you deserve it.”
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4 months and 1 week after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 3:04 AM
“My dad got shot. Melissa called me in the middle of the night to tell me that my dad got shot and that he was in the hospital. I don’t even remember driving over here, I was in such a damn panic. I’m so fucking mad. With all the supernatural shit that goes on, he gets shot in an armed robbery gone wrong?!” Stiles laughs hysterically, and wonders what Derek would think if he heard this, if he heard how broken Stiles sounded right now. Would he come back then?
Who was he kidding? Derek wasn’t listening to this. Derek never listened to any of his messages. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. I’m in the hospital waiting room, waiting for Melissa to tell me if my dad’s going to live or not, and I’m leaving you a fucking voicemail.”
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4 months and 1 week after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 7:08 AM
“Dad pulled through. He’s going to be okay. He’s pushed himself too hard in the past few months and I haven’t made it any easier on him. He’s going to be okay, but I’m not. Because I lost you, and I almost lost my dad today, and I just… I don’t know how I’m going to survive. Please Derek. Won’t you come back?”
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4 months and 3 weeks after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 11:47 PM
“I had sex today. I imagined it was you the entire time.”
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5 months after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 3:51 AM
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
Stiles’ phone was held up to his ears with numb, cold fingers. He was frozen, the beat of his heart a muffled sound in his head. He stayed upright through sheer force of will. For one, two, three seconds. And then –
Stiles collapsed, knees buckling under him and hitting the floor hard. His phone skittered away, the sound of it breaking distant in Stiles’ ears. He gasped in a shuddering breath, trying to get air into his lungs, trying to understand, why, why, this was happening.
He stayed there, on his knees at the foot of Derek’s bed, trying to breathe, for a long time.
And no answer came.
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6 months after Derek Hale left Beacon Hills, 1:09 AM
Stiles hadn’t slept in days. All he’d been getting were a few fitful minutes of unconsciousness. He hasn’t been able to stomach anything other than water and a few pieces of bread.
The ache was particularly bad that day. With no way of hearing Derek’s voice, with no way of leaving him messages that served as Stiles’ therapy, he was breaking apart. His dad was worried, but he put on a brave face for him. Duping Scott, with his werewolf senses, was much harder, but Stiles managed it. He’d been doing it for months, anyway.
He couldn’t bear it anymore. He couldn’t hold back the heart-wrenching sobs that wanted to escape from his chest. He couldn’t muffle the sound of his cries, of his pain. Pain was his constant these days. Pain was his companion.
Stiles hurried over to the loft and barely made it through the door before he collapsed. His knees smarted from where they roughly landed on the floor, but that physical pain was nothing compared to the agony he was emotionally feeling.
Stiles sobbed as if someone had died. And in a way, someone had. Derek Hale had walked away from Stiles without a single glance backwards. Derek Hale had left, and he’d taken a piece of Stiles with him.
He sobbed until his throat was raw and his face drenched with his tears. He sobbed until he couldn’t feel the pain in his knees or the cold draft coming from somewhere in the loft. He sobbed until he had no more tears left. And then he sobbed some more.
Stiles was kneeling on the spot Derek had last stood in, head bent and clutching his stomach, arms wrapped around himself in a feeble attempt to glue himself back together.
With a jarring nudge back to his surroundings, he felt strong arms come around him, holding him tight, keeping him together.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Shh, shhh…” Derek’s voice ghosted over Stiles’ ears, the werewolf’s tone pained and tight. Stiles sobbed harder, but this time it was tinged with relief.
Derek had come back to him.
He trembled in the alpha’s arms, relief and agony warring inside him, making him feel weak. Once he had a modicum of control over his own limbs, he turned around, red-rimmed eyes seeking Derek’s. Stiles’ eyes were blurred and the werewolf’s face was hazy, unclear. He reached a hesitant hand forward, slowly inching towards Derek’s cheek. For one breathless moment, Stiles felt warm skin and soft stubble underneath his palm. Derek even leaned into his touch and let out a pleased sigh.
But in the next moment, Stiles felt nothing. His hand hung stiffly in the air before falling limply to his side. He felt nothing. Only cold. Only agony. He was alone again. He was always alone.
Derek was never there. Derek was never coming back. Derek was never, ever, ever going to come back for Stiles.
Stiles’ eyes burned with the need to shed more tears when he had none left to cry.
Derek was gone. And he couldn’t even hear his voice anymore.