Fic: Occam's Razor (2/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
When they got back into the car and left the hospital behind, Derek was doing that silent brooding thing. There seemed to be more worry than anger in his broody silence than Stiles was used to, but typically taciturn nonetheless.
Stiles, however, was not.
“So… do you think it was a spell?”
Derek gave him a brief ‘what the hell are you on about?’ look.
“You know, like maybe I pissed off a witch, she threw some eyes of newt in a bubbling cauldron, and now I’m stuck in some bizarre alternate reality?”
“You really think that’s the most likely explanation?”
“Uh… well, yeah. What else could it be?”
Derek gave him a very pained look.
“What? What did I say?” Stiles needled.
“Isn’t it more probable that there is just something wrong with your memory?”
Stiles gaped. “Uh… no. No, it’s not. I mean, that would mean this Stiles is me Stiles, and me Stiles wouldn’t…” Stiles clamped his mouth shut, because he realized one second before it flew out of his mouth how hurtful his next words would be.
But even if Stiles bit his tongue, Derek knew where he was going. “The real you wouldn’t marry me.”
Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, then huffed out a breath. “Well, I mean, come on. Of all the possible pairings of our social group, you and I were probably the least likely couple. Like, me and Megan Fox had a better chance of tying the knot.”
“You would never have a shot with Megan Fox.”
“Thanks. Nice. But apparently I would with you?”
Derek took his left hand off the steering wheel to hold it up for Stiles to see… wedding ring and all.
Stiles squinted and shook his head. “I can’t… my head hurts. You shouldn’t pose these kind of existential questions to a guy with a head injury. It’s in the Geneva Conventions.”
Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles scrunched down in the passenger seat to try and get a grip on things. He was pretty sure going to sleep wasn’t going to ctrl+alt+del this weird reality, so he had better nut up and start using his brain.
He tried to see this from Derek’s point of view. The dude went to bed one night with his husband, then the next thing he knew his spouse was freaking out saying he didn’t remember the last seven years of their life together. Worse, that he couldn’t comprehend a timeline where he would ever marry Derek Hale.
Even Stiles could admit that had to be an uppercut to the nut sack. And therefore kind of shitty of him. This Derek, whether real Derek or holodeck Derek, seemed actually pretty decent. Kind, even. He didn’t deserve to have Stiles constantly tearing down his marriage. If this was some weird reality Stiles had been transported into, if he was the piece out of place, then it was Derek in the right and Stiles who had it all wrong.
Besides, until he figured out what the hell was going on and how to put things right, he might want to be smart about not alienating the people who cared about him and wanted to help him.
“Look, Derek… I’m sorry. I know this has to suck for you, too. And whether I’m your Stiles or Evil Goatee Spock Stiles, I just… you know, thanks. For taking care of me.”
Derek’s right hand left the steering wheel and he reached over blindly toward Stiles. Maybe to take Stiles’ hand or something, but he wasn’t sure because Stiles pressed himself into the passenger side door and Derek froze before pulling his hand back.
“We’ll figure this out, Stiles. I promise.”
“I know. I’m just… it’s a lot to take in. Like you and me. That elephant in the room for starters. When? How? Who? And I took your name?”
Derek smirked. “We talked about it before we got married. You were pretty insistent.”
“I was?”
Derek nodded. “Said it was the chance of a lifetime and when you sent in to have your last name legally changed, you changed your first name, too. And really, Stiles Hale is better than your last legal name.”
“You…” Stiles croaked, “You know my first name?”
“Previous first name, yes. And I could spell it in a pinch, but I still can’t pronounce it.”
“Well, don’t try!” Stiles went to facepalm and yelped when he forgot the fact part of his face was held together with stitches. “Oh! Ow! Oh my god, I can’t believe I told you my first name.”
Derek chuckled. “Don’t worry, babe, I never told anyone. And it’s not like it’s going to come up anymore since you had it changed.”
Stiles peeled open one eye to peer at Derek incredulously. “Babe?! Shit, we’re one of those couples?”
Derek blinked, clearly not paying attention to the pet name slip, then he shrugged one shoulder stiffly.
“Oh, fuck me…” Stiles grumbled, then he went ramrod straight and darted a look at Derek. “I mean, no! Don’t! I meant…”
“Relax, Stiles, I know what you meant.” He frowned. “We probably need to sit down and talk.”
“At, uh… at home?”
The tone of Stiles’ voice must have been telling, because Derek said, “Maybe someplace more neutral. How does breakfast sound?”
“Breakfast. Yes. Breakfast sounds good. Breakfast with a side-order of filling me in.” The double entendre hit Stiles like a slap. “With answers! I meant filling me in with answers.” He wilted in his seat. “Oooh my god, how am I married to you? No, seriously. It has to be so painfully, painfully awkward for both of us. Just an endless parade of Stiles sticking his foot in his mouth.”
“If you could remember last night, you wouldn’t be talking about a foot being in your mouth.”
If there was a sound for an aneurysm, Stiles made it. “Derek!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Derek said with a smile on his lips, “that was out of line.” He was clearly torn between laughing and doing damage control.
Stiles squirmed, because Derek said ‘I’m sorry’, but he didn’t say ‘I’m kidding’. Stiles had a sneaking suspicion that was because he wasn’t. Holy fucking shit, other Stiles was a sex god. Because Stiles didn’t care what your preference was, bedding Derek Hale was a feat. People should build shrines in his name. To our glorious Stiles, who hath laid the Derek of Hale.
“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, just…” all traces of humor fled as Derek sighed, “you don’t remember the last seven years, but I do. It’s going to be hard not to treat you like I normally do.”
Stiles cleared his throat. “I get that. I do. I just… this is really fucking weird from where I’m sitting.”
“From where I’m sitting, too. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”
“Breakfast.”
“Right.”
“And a friendly little q and a.”
*************
It was a relief that Stiles actually recognized the diner Derek stopped at - he and his dad had eaten there many times - even if he didn’t recognize any of the wait staff when they walked inside.
The wait staff, however, recognized them.
“Well, if it isn’t the Hales,” a woman in her mid-fifties near the door greeted them cheerfully when they entered. Then her eyes widened when she saw Stiles. “Goodness, Stiles, what happened to you?”
“Uhh… would you believe I got this beaut in my secret life as a crime-fighter?” He could be Batman, damnit.
“Hmmm…” the woman came closer, giving him a critical once-over. “You don’t seem to be very good at it. Best leave the crime-fighting to your husband.”
“Hey! You don’t even know what the other guy looks like!” Stiles objected… just on principle, you know?
Wait a second…
Stiles looked quickly over at Derek, who smiled at the woman giving Stiles a hard time. “Stiles cracked his head on the nightstand.”
“Oh, lord… you didn’t throw him into it in a randy round of hanky panky, did you, Derek?”
Stiles wheezed like a balloon leaking air, but Derek just laughed. “No, definitely not. Personally, I think it was Stiles’ plan to get me to take a day off work and spend some time with him.”
As if! Stiles hoped his mighty scowl of ‘how dare you’ got across his level of effrontery at such a claim.
But since the lady was just chuckling and shaking her head, it probably didn’t. “You boys… well, always glad to see you two. Come on in and we’ll get you seated.”
They were shown to a booth, and Stiles waited until the entirely-too-familiar-with-their-sex-lives waitress left before turning to Derek and asking. “Crime-fighting?”
Derek just lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah… I work with your dad.”
“You do.” He said it dubiously, but when Derek didn’t so much as blink Stiles went, “Really?”
Derek nodded. “You didn’t think it was odd that I asked him for the day off back at the hospital?”
“Honestly, on the list of things I was having trouble wrapping my head around, that detail was low on the list. So you’re a cop?”
“Deputy.”
Stiles stared, slack-jaw, at Derek. He was trying to imagine him in uniform. That was hotter than it had right to be. Not in a ‘perving on Derek’ way, just in a totally subjective ‘Derek is attractive and a uniform would only enhance the hotness factor’ way. Stiles might not have ‘marry Derek Hale’ on his bucket list, but he wasn’t fucking blind.
“You’re picturing me in uniform, aren’t you?” Derek asked knowingly.
Stiles flushed. “What? No! Just… shut up!” He ducked his head when the waitress brought them their drinks, then grunted a tad petulantly after she left, “I just can’t picture you in law enforcement.”
Derek shrugged. “I didn’t expect to end up there, either, but I actually like it. And it helps Dad having someone on the force with… special knowledge and skills.”
Ignoring for the moment that Derek apparently called John Stilinski ‘Dad’ now. “Oh yeah… probably would be helpful. I imagine you get called in on all kinds of crazy ‘consultations’.”
Derek nodded agreement.
“So, like… do you come home after work and tell me all about the cases you work on?”
Expression totally deadpan, Derek answered, “That would be a breach of protocol. I couldn’t divulge details of an ongoing case… legally.”
Stiles guffawed. Oh yeah, Derek totally gave him all the dirt on the nefarious deeds that went on in Beacon Hills. Awesome.
One side of Derek’s mouth twitched.
The waitress came back to take their orders, and by the time she left an awkward silence had fallen over the table.
Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair (which was shorter than he remembered it being before he was whisked to the Land of Oz), then he decided to jump right in.
“Okay, so…” But god, where to start? He looked across the table at Derek, who was watching him closely. And other people might not notice how keyed up and tense he was, but Stiles did. He might not be married to the guy, but he had known him for years.
So Stiles decided to start with the easy stuff.
“Scott lives in San Francisco?”
Derek blinked, clearly surprised by the question, then he visibly relaxed. “Yeah. He and Kira moved out there right after graduating high school. Technically, Kira and her parents moved first, but Scott followed not three months later after a really lame attempt at long-distance dating.” Derek fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. “We all went out there about six years ago for their wedding.”
“Scott and Kira got married?”
“Yep.”
“Wow.”
“They have a four-and-a-half-year-old daughter.”
“No way!”
Derek smirked. “Way. Her name’s Rene.”
That took Stiles a moment. First, to imagine his best friend moving away and Stiles not tagging along. He just figured he and Scott would always live near each other, eternally in some form of the friendship they’d had through school. Then to picture goofy, moon-eyed Scott as a father.
“What about Lydia?”
“Works at the District Attorney’s office in New York.”
Stiles whistled.
“She went to law school in New York, interned at the court house, and got a full-time position faster than I imagine just about anyone ever has.”
“Yeah, well, from Lydia, that’s not really shocking. She totally rocks that Will Hunting thing. I was going to guess something along those lines… or that she’d gone the mad scientist route and had her own rocket with a death ray holding the president hostage from outer space or something.”
Derek snorted.
“What about Malia?”
Derek got a pinched look on his face and just shook his head. Shook his head in a very ‘we don’t speak of that’ sort of way. Okay, so Stiles would have to come back to that one, because the waitress was approaching and Derek looked like it wasn’t good news on the Malia Tate front. Stiles was getting the gist she wasn’t around, though. Stiles felt bad for that - the poor girl never seemed to catch a break.
They paused when their food arrived, and Stiles packed face an entire piece of bacon before he asked around a mouthful, “What about Isaac?”
Derek hesitated. “He… all we know is he’s somewhere in Europe. He sent a postcard once, but that was…” Derek tapped his fork distractedly against the side of his plate. “Stiles… what do you remember? You said at the hospital… I can fill you in on what happened, but I don’t know where I need to start for you.”
“Oh… right.” Stiles swallowed thickly. The bacon stuck in his throat and he grimaced. Served him right for not chewing properly. “When I went to bed last night, it was the end of my junior year. In fact, I was cramming for a chemistry final I had the next day - and sucking on all fronts at it. I downed four cups of coffee and this Japanese tea Kira gave me that was supposedly good for concentration but tasted like ass… huh, now I’m wondering if I actually managed to pass that thing.”
“Well, I don’t know about passing that particular test, but I can tell you that you never had to retake chemistry.”
“Score for Stilinski,” Stiles celebrated after-the-fact with a forkful of eggs. Then he sobered. “The… we’d just dealt with the…” he twirled a finger around his temple, “with the nogitsune.” Stiles used chewed thoroughly as an excuse to pause, trying to order his thoughts. This was all still fresh for him. Still serrated and dangerous. “Honestly, where I came from everything was still a mess. Allison just… we weren’t over it yet. Scott and Isaac were both super-bitchy. It’s like they were both looking to pick a fight over everything. It actually doesn’t surprise me that Isaac took off. He was kind of halfway out the door, figuratively, the last time I talked to him.”
Derek thought about where Stiles was coming from, thinking back to the last timeline they shared.
Stiles perked up. “Did I go to college?”
“You did one semester at the community college before you ‘concluded your talents would be more useful elsewhere’.”
“Yeah, that sounds like something I’d say. Bet my dad was disappointed I didn’t go, though.”
“He’s not disappointed in you,” Derek said gently.
The ‘gently’ was still giving Stiles the willies, so he asked abruptly, “So do I have a job?”
“You did. You worked for a non-profit for a few years helping families of cancer patients, but you quit a couple of months ago.”
“To do what?” Stiles waited for Derek to tell him what job replaced that one, but he never did. Stiles frowned. “So I don’t work now? I… oh hell no. You mean I’m kept? I’m a househusband?”
Derek tried to stifle his smile with his hand, but Stiles saw it.
“Oh god, how humiliating,” Stiles slumped down in the booth. “I’m the wife.”
“You have far too much penis to be a wife.”
Stiles flailed, banging his knees on the underside of the table and sending the cutlery clattering against their plates. “Quit saying that crap!” Stiles squeaked. “I’m declaring a no-fly zone on all references to my genitals, got it! Until further notice, there will be no discussion of the Stilinski nether-regions. Stiles south-of-the-border is forbidden lands.”
Derek held up a hand in surrender.
“For the love of god,” Stiles grumbled, “who would have thought you were so obsessed with dicks?”
“In my defense, I’m not the only one at this table who married a man.”
Right.
Stiles turned back to his food, just for a distraction from all the Derekness happening across from him. He couldn’t last long, however, before glancing back in his direction.
Derek was pushing his food around his plate, clearly troubled. He looked pointedly at Stiles. “I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that. So you don’t have a job, but that doesn’t mean you don’t do anything.” Derek glanced around the diner. “Being… what I am… doesn’t automatically make law enforcement any easier. If anything, it makes things harder. I used to protect my secret by keeping my head down and avoiding… revealing situations. But I can’t do that in my line of work. I can’t avoid being noticed or people paying attention. I have to be so careful all the time, and it’s hard. Plus the things I see on the job… I thought I’d seen everything people - and not-people - could do to each other, but the first year on the force proved me wrong. I have to deal with some ugly shit sometimes, but I never feel overwhelmed. At least, not for long. Because at the end of every shift I come home to you, and you just make it all easier. Better. I see the bad in people - I always did - but you always see the good. I need that perspective. I need your… heart. You keep me level. You tame me. And that’s important.”
Stiles sat speechless, gaping at Derek. He would bank on riding a purple unicorn to school before he heard that kind of speech come out of Derek’s mouth. And honestly, he didn’t know what to do with it. He had this idea of Derek Hale. Brusque, growly, man of few words, creeper of high school and teenagers’ bedrooms. That was a Derek Stiles would not dream of marrying in a million years.
But this Derek. Well, shit… he was husband-material. Stiles didn’t doubt he still had enough rough-edges to cut through cee purlin, but this Derek was someone Stiles wouldn’t necessarily, unequivocally, automatically rule out as a life-partner.
Fuuuuuuck.
“How you boys doing?” the waitress asked as she walked past.
Derek managed to plaster on a pleasant smile. “It’s great. Thanks, Nancy.”
Stiles tucked back into his breakfast, keeping his eyes down so he could have some time alone with his thoughts.
If possible, things were even more confusing now than they were when he first woke up.
*************
Stiles was feeling very out-of-sorts when they finally got back to the house. Their house, he supposed, but it didn’t feel like home to him. It wasn’t home to him. He stopped just inside the front door and eyed the place like it might grow teeth and bite him.
Derek slipped around past him. “Do you need anything?”
They’d lapsed into a silence at the diner that lasted the entire ride home. It was still there now.
“No, I just… maybe I’ll just look around?” He didn’t expect anything to jog his memory, because this wasn’t his reality, but going through the motions like it could might make Derek feel better. Because Derek was convinced this was a memory issue and not some inter-dimensional rabbit hole. Stiles didn’t have the heart to press the issue, because Stiles was just hoping to get back to that chemistry final he may or may not pass while Derek was hoping for his husband back.
Derek pocketed his keys. “Sure… I’ve got some work I can do from here. If you have any questions, just ask.”
Of course he had questions, he was nothing but questions, but he was still feeling overloaded with information from breakfast. And he hadn’t even asked everything on his mind. Just everything he could handle at once.
Derek disappeared into the innards of the house, and Stiles took a tentative step into the living room.
It looked cozy. A couch and recliner faced a television mounted on the opposite wall. A coffee table with a criminal law book and outdoor magazines on it had scuff marks from where putting one’s feet on the table was clearly not against house rules. There was a print on the wall of two wolves - one black and one white - in the woods in winter.
Stiles wandered over to a bookcase of DVDs and read the titles. He recognized a lot of his favorites, and others that were popular that he never really cared for (those must have been Derek’s favorites). A few educational DVDs from the American Cancer Society. Some documentaries on the criminal justice system. And then some movies that he had never heard of before in his life - presumably films made within the last seven years.
The top cinematic picks of the last seven years were tempting, but Stiles moved on to the second bookshelf, which held actual books.
There were textbooks with yellowed ‘used’ stickers on the spine that screamed of college. And Stiles knew he hadn’t gone, so they must be Derek’s. He saw some of his books, ones that had been in his bedroom growing up, among the titles. In a world full of so much unfamiliar, the sight of them was reassuring. At least his Chronicles of Narnia that his mom used to read to him at bedtime was a constant. There were some books in different languages that piqued his interest and made him add another question for Derek to his mental list.
One tattered and worn spine made Stiles reach out and pull the book from the shelf for a closer look. He traced his thumb over the letters of the title ‘ShineGold’ and realized that he had no idea from looking at it whose book it was. It looked scifi, which he’d been known to read on occasion. But he had no clue what kind of literature Derek liked to read for the fun of it. He didn’t know that kind of personal information about Derek. This novel was someone’s go-to - this book had plainly been read more than once - but Stiles had no idea whose guilty pleasure it was.
And the not knowing was troubling on a very base level.
He went to put the book back when his eyes caught on the spine of what was clearly a photo album on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
Stiles grabbed it up like it might vanish on him. He took both, ShineGold and the photo album, to the coffee table and set them down, album on top. But he didn’t open it. He just started making a pile.
He went into the kitchen next. He stared at the countertops and the island and the table and chairs with a detached numbness. He couldn’t really imagine any of this being his. He still felt like a kid. He couldn’t fathom being a homeowner, much less having his own table and chairs. Like he could take one of those chairs and smash it to pieces and he wouldn’t get in trouble for it because that was his fucking chair. System error.
He went to the fridge to peruse the papers stuck to it with magnets. A letter from the Beacon Hills Cancer Group addressed to Stiles Hale thanking him for his help with some kind of fundraiser. A receipt for tires for the Honda. A notice about an upcoming training seminar on domestic violence protocol for Derek in November. A sheet of paper torn in half with the scribbled name ‘Annabelle’ and columns of phone numbers and dates that meant nothing to Stiles. A piece of pink construction paper, on it written in purple marker ‘I LUV U UNKL DERK + UNKL STILZ’ and a really bad drawing of a dog. Or a racecar. Maybe a racecar-dog. That would be awesome.
Off the kitchen was a door to the garage, which had been converted to an at-home gym. That was Derek’s… Stiles didn’t even have to ask to know that one. There was a weight bench and free weights and some other exercise paraphernalia he couldn’t identify. But Derek clearly wasn’t a controlling meathead about his work-out space, because along the edges was a lawnmower and a box labeled ‘X-MAS’ and then a metal rack of shelves with extension cords, motor oil, and tools. He also saw some lacrosse gear in the corner - clearly his, though the layer of dust suggested Derek used his weights far more than Stiles used his stick and face mask.
Stiles went back inside (skipping the laundry room entirely, because even in an alternate dimension that was boring) and poked his head in the hall bathroom, which was clearly the guest/general purpose bathroom, because it had that ‘we don’t use this one much’ feel to it.
Next Stiles found himself in the bedroom, looking closely at the room he’d only seen through a veil of confusion and blood that morning.
The bed in the center was unmade and odd articles of clothing were strewn across the floor. There were two nightstands, one on each side of the bed. On the right, there was a framed picture of Stiles’ mom. There was also a book on the occult (that figured) and an empty glass.
The nightstand on the left was home to the alarm clock, a lamp, and file folders Stiles recognized from the Beacon Hills Police Department. And a half-empty container of lube.
“Okay!” Stiles yelped and turned his back to look somewhere else.
There was a dresser on Derek’s side, a television stand on the wall opposite the bed with a television, DVD player, and gaming console taking up the three levels of storage space. He resisted the temptation to thumb through the games leaning against the gaming system in favor of continuing his exploration of the bedroom, but he couldn’t help noticing that both controllers were hooked up. He couldn’t shake the mental image of him and Derek side-by-side at the foot of the bed playing Call of Duty.
On the wall next to the door, closest to Stiles’ side of the bed (and how nuts was it that Stiles already knew ‘his side’), there was a painting of a pack of wolves running in the forest, their features hidden and outlines silvered by moonlight, and written in the black of the shadows: “I went looking for myself in places dark and lonely, and the night gave me a home among the wolves”.
Stiles wasn’t sure who that was meant to speak to, him or Derek. Who had picked that out? Who had brought it home and proclaimed without speaking that ‘this is me, I’m the one who found his home among wolves’. Because it could be either one of them.
Again, that place where the line between Stiles and Derek got hazy was borderline terrifying. He turned away rather than dwell. There was still some more house to see.
He meandered his way into the master bath attached to the bedroom and did a double-take at the hodge-podge of stuff on the counter. For some reason he was expecting clear separation between his stuff and Derek’s. There wasn’t. There was one cup with two toothbrushes in it. An electric razor and a regular razor stacked together by the mirror. One tube of toothpaste. A single bottle of mouthwash. Two different brands of deodorant.
Evidence of two lives thoroughly, hopelessly enmeshed. There was no way to pick apart Stiles from Derek, Derek from Stiles.
Stiles walked out of the master bath and bed without pausing.
The next room Stiles stuck his head in was an office, though it looked half-full. The desk and half-bookcase were both pushed against the far wall, leaving the rest of the room empty. There were boxes stacked near the door, like they were still setting this room up, which made Stiles wonder how long they’d lived here. The rest of the house suggested years, but this room made him question that if they were just now getting around to unpacking the office.
In the chair in front of the computer, Derek was reading from a case report, a pen held lightly between his teeth. When Stiles poked his head in, he looked up and took the pen out of his mouth. “Hey.”
“Uh… hi.”
Derek watched him expectantly. Stiles fidgeted in the doorway. “Lot of wolf décor in here.”
“Is this about me shooting down that poster of Cthulhu you wanted in the hall?”
Stiles barked out a laugh. God, that did sound like him. “What are you working on?” he asked, taking a step into the room and nodding at the file Derek held.
Derek glanced down at the case file. “Paperwork on a guy we arrested for petty larceny.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Stiles said drolly.
“Well, it can’t all be kanimas and rogue alphas. Frankly, stuff like this is nice for a change.” He put the file down and turned his chair to face Stiles. “How are you feeling?”
“Still really, really confused.”
Derek nodded slowly. “Anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t even know, man.” Stiles looked down at his feet. What he really wanted to ask for would hurt Derek’s feelings. He knew it would. And Stiles didn’t want to hurt him. But this also wasn’t his life. He couldn’t just pick it up like it was, be the househusband and be with Derek when the last time he remembered talking to Derek, they were tentative allies at best.
“Stiles? Talk to me.”
Stiles heaved a sigh. “Okay, I don’t want you to take this personally, but… what I really want right now is to go home.”
Derek stared at him uncomprehending a moment, then realization sank in. “You want me to take you to your dad’s?”
Stiles winced. “Yes.”
Derek looked away, visibly hurt.
“It’s not you, okay? You’re being really nice about all this… but I’m just… I’m just kind of overwhelmed. I need some space to think.”
From the look on his face, Stiles may as well have taken off his wedding ring and thrown it in Derek’s face. But Stiles didn’t. He was wearing the ring. He’d keep wearing the ring. But he needed to retreat and regroup. Derek had to see that, right? It didn’t mean ‘get out of my life’. It meant ‘give me some time to figure out my life’.
“I’ll drive you over,” Derek said lowly.
Stiles sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
Derek just nodded.
Stiles didn’t think anything he might say could make it less hard on Derek, so he didn’t try.
On the way out the door, as they passed through the living room, Stiles went to his little stack on the coffee table. “Mind if I take these?” he asked.
“Take anything you want. It’s yours, too.”
“Don’t…” Stiles began, intent on saying ‘don’t talk like this is a divorce’, but he held his tongue and just clutched the book and album to his chest. This wasn’t even his marriage, but he felt like utter shit at that particular moment for endangering it. He felt like he was ripping Derek’s life to pieces.
He wasn’t, he didn’t want to, but he also couldn’t climb into bed with Derek tonight and sleep beside him like there was nothing wrong. He didn’t have that relationship with him. He didn’t share their history. He wasn’t anyone’s husband. He was just freaked-out Stiles Stilinski performing triage on the clusterfuck that was his life.
Stiles just hoped Derek could understand that.
Next
A/N: I had to do some fourth-wall breaking in this chapter when it came to the book that I chose to feature in this fic - and let me tell you, it was weird! But I didn’t want to choose a well-known classic that everyone’s read, and I didn’t want to stop writing in order to research a good book to use, and nobody knows ShineGold like I do (plus I know the author doesn’t care if I use it). Still… so weird!
When they got back into the car and left the hospital behind, Derek was doing that silent brooding thing. There seemed to be more worry than anger in his broody silence than Stiles was used to, but typically taciturn nonetheless.
Stiles, however, was not.
“So… do you think it was a spell?”
Derek gave him a brief ‘what the hell are you on about?’ look.
“You know, like maybe I pissed off a witch, she threw some eyes of newt in a bubbling cauldron, and now I’m stuck in some bizarre alternate reality?”
“You really think that’s the most likely explanation?”
“Uh… well, yeah. What else could it be?”
Derek gave him a very pained look.
“What? What did I say?” Stiles needled.
“Isn’t it more probable that there is just something wrong with your memory?”
Stiles gaped. “Uh… no. No, it’s not. I mean, that would mean this Stiles is me Stiles, and me Stiles wouldn’t…” Stiles clamped his mouth shut, because he realized one second before it flew out of his mouth how hurtful his next words would be.
But even if Stiles bit his tongue, Derek knew where he was going. “The real you wouldn’t marry me.”
Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, then huffed out a breath. “Well, I mean, come on. Of all the possible pairings of our social group, you and I were probably the least likely couple. Like, me and Megan Fox had a better chance of tying the knot.”
“You would never have a shot with Megan Fox.”
“Thanks. Nice. But apparently I would with you?”
Derek took his left hand off the steering wheel to hold it up for Stiles to see… wedding ring and all.
Stiles squinted and shook his head. “I can’t… my head hurts. You shouldn’t pose these kind of existential questions to a guy with a head injury. It’s in the Geneva Conventions.”
Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles scrunched down in the passenger seat to try and get a grip on things. He was pretty sure going to sleep wasn’t going to ctrl+alt+del this weird reality, so he had better nut up and start using his brain.
He tried to see this from Derek’s point of view. The dude went to bed one night with his husband, then the next thing he knew his spouse was freaking out saying he didn’t remember the last seven years of their life together. Worse, that he couldn’t comprehend a timeline where he would ever marry Derek Hale.
Even Stiles could admit that had to be an uppercut to the nut sack. And therefore kind of shitty of him. This Derek, whether real Derek or holodeck Derek, seemed actually pretty decent. Kind, even. He didn’t deserve to have Stiles constantly tearing down his marriage. If this was some weird reality Stiles had been transported into, if he was the piece out of place, then it was Derek in the right and Stiles who had it all wrong.
Besides, until he figured out what the hell was going on and how to put things right, he might want to be smart about not alienating the people who cared about him and wanted to help him.
“Look, Derek… I’m sorry. I know this has to suck for you, too. And whether I’m your Stiles or Evil Goatee Spock Stiles, I just… you know, thanks. For taking care of me.”
Derek’s right hand left the steering wheel and he reached over blindly toward Stiles. Maybe to take Stiles’ hand or something, but he wasn’t sure because Stiles pressed himself into the passenger side door and Derek froze before pulling his hand back.
“We’ll figure this out, Stiles. I promise.”
“I know. I’m just… it’s a lot to take in. Like you and me. That elephant in the room for starters. When? How? Who? And I took your name?”
Derek smirked. “We talked about it before we got married. You were pretty insistent.”
“I was?”
Derek nodded. “Said it was the chance of a lifetime and when you sent in to have your last name legally changed, you changed your first name, too. And really, Stiles Hale is better than your last legal name.”
“You…” Stiles croaked, “You know my first name?”
“Previous first name, yes. And I could spell it in a pinch, but I still can’t pronounce it.”
“Well, don’t try!” Stiles went to facepalm and yelped when he forgot the fact part of his face was held together with stitches. “Oh! Ow! Oh my god, I can’t believe I told you my first name.”
Derek chuckled. “Don’t worry, babe, I never told anyone. And it’s not like it’s going to come up anymore since you had it changed.”
Stiles peeled open one eye to peer at Derek incredulously. “Babe?! Shit, we’re one of those couples?”
Derek blinked, clearly not paying attention to the pet name slip, then he shrugged one shoulder stiffly.
“Oh, fuck me…” Stiles grumbled, then he went ramrod straight and darted a look at Derek. “I mean, no! Don’t! I meant…”
“Relax, Stiles, I know what you meant.” He frowned. “We probably need to sit down and talk.”
“At, uh… at home?”
The tone of Stiles’ voice must have been telling, because Derek said, “Maybe someplace more neutral. How does breakfast sound?”
“Breakfast. Yes. Breakfast sounds good. Breakfast with a side-order of filling me in.” The double entendre hit Stiles like a slap. “With answers! I meant filling me in with answers.” He wilted in his seat. “Oooh my god, how am I married to you? No, seriously. It has to be so painfully, painfully awkward for both of us. Just an endless parade of Stiles sticking his foot in his mouth.”
“If you could remember last night, you wouldn’t be talking about a foot being in your mouth.”
If there was a sound for an aneurysm, Stiles made it. “Derek!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Derek said with a smile on his lips, “that was out of line.” He was clearly torn between laughing and doing damage control.
Stiles squirmed, because Derek said ‘I’m sorry’, but he didn’t say ‘I’m kidding’. Stiles had a sneaking suspicion that was because he wasn’t. Holy fucking shit, other Stiles was a sex god. Because Stiles didn’t care what your preference was, bedding Derek Hale was a feat. People should build shrines in his name. To our glorious Stiles, who hath laid the Derek of Hale.
“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, just…” all traces of humor fled as Derek sighed, “you don’t remember the last seven years, but I do. It’s going to be hard not to treat you like I normally do.”
Stiles cleared his throat. “I get that. I do. I just… this is really fucking weird from where I’m sitting.”
“From where I’m sitting, too. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”
“Breakfast.”
“Right.”
“And a friendly little q and a.”
*************
It was a relief that Stiles actually recognized the diner Derek stopped at - he and his dad had eaten there many times - even if he didn’t recognize any of the wait staff when they walked inside.
The wait staff, however, recognized them.
“Well, if it isn’t the Hales,” a woman in her mid-fifties near the door greeted them cheerfully when they entered. Then her eyes widened when she saw Stiles. “Goodness, Stiles, what happened to you?”
“Uhh… would you believe I got this beaut in my secret life as a crime-fighter?” He could be Batman, damnit.
“Hmmm…” the woman came closer, giving him a critical once-over. “You don’t seem to be very good at it. Best leave the crime-fighting to your husband.”
“Hey! You don’t even know what the other guy looks like!” Stiles objected… just on principle, you know?
Wait a second…
Stiles looked quickly over at Derek, who smiled at the woman giving Stiles a hard time. “Stiles cracked his head on the nightstand.”
“Oh, lord… you didn’t throw him into it in a randy round of hanky panky, did you, Derek?”
Stiles wheezed like a balloon leaking air, but Derek just laughed. “No, definitely not. Personally, I think it was Stiles’ plan to get me to take a day off work and spend some time with him.”
As if! Stiles hoped his mighty scowl of ‘how dare you’ got across his level of effrontery at such a claim.
But since the lady was just chuckling and shaking her head, it probably didn’t. “You boys… well, always glad to see you two. Come on in and we’ll get you seated.”
They were shown to a booth, and Stiles waited until the entirely-too-familiar-with-their-sex-lives waitress left before turning to Derek and asking. “Crime-fighting?”
Derek just lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah… I work with your dad.”
“You do.” He said it dubiously, but when Derek didn’t so much as blink Stiles went, “Really?”
Derek nodded. “You didn’t think it was odd that I asked him for the day off back at the hospital?”
“Honestly, on the list of things I was having trouble wrapping my head around, that detail was low on the list. So you’re a cop?”
“Deputy.”
Stiles stared, slack-jaw, at Derek. He was trying to imagine him in uniform. That was hotter than it had right to be. Not in a ‘perving on Derek’ way, just in a totally subjective ‘Derek is attractive and a uniform would only enhance the hotness factor’ way. Stiles might not have ‘marry Derek Hale’ on his bucket list, but he wasn’t fucking blind.
“You’re picturing me in uniform, aren’t you?” Derek asked knowingly.
Stiles flushed. “What? No! Just… shut up!” He ducked his head when the waitress brought them their drinks, then grunted a tad petulantly after she left, “I just can’t picture you in law enforcement.”
Derek shrugged. “I didn’t expect to end up there, either, but I actually like it. And it helps Dad having someone on the force with… special knowledge and skills.”
Ignoring for the moment that Derek apparently called John Stilinski ‘Dad’ now. “Oh yeah… probably would be helpful. I imagine you get called in on all kinds of crazy ‘consultations’.”
Derek nodded agreement.
“So, like… do you come home after work and tell me all about the cases you work on?”
Expression totally deadpan, Derek answered, “That would be a breach of protocol. I couldn’t divulge details of an ongoing case… legally.”
Stiles guffawed. Oh yeah, Derek totally gave him all the dirt on the nefarious deeds that went on in Beacon Hills. Awesome.
One side of Derek’s mouth twitched.
The waitress came back to take their orders, and by the time she left an awkward silence had fallen over the table.
Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair (which was shorter than he remembered it being before he was whisked to the Land of Oz), then he decided to jump right in.
“Okay, so…” But god, where to start? He looked across the table at Derek, who was watching him closely. And other people might not notice how keyed up and tense he was, but Stiles did. He might not be married to the guy, but he had known him for years.
So Stiles decided to start with the easy stuff.
“Scott lives in San Francisco?”
Derek blinked, clearly surprised by the question, then he visibly relaxed. “Yeah. He and Kira moved out there right after graduating high school. Technically, Kira and her parents moved first, but Scott followed not three months later after a really lame attempt at long-distance dating.” Derek fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. “We all went out there about six years ago for their wedding.”
“Scott and Kira got married?”
“Yep.”
“Wow.”
“They have a four-and-a-half-year-old daughter.”
“No way!”
Derek smirked. “Way. Her name’s Rene.”
That took Stiles a moment. First, to imagine his best friend moving away and Stiles not tagging along. He just figured he and Scott would always live near each other, eternally in some form of the friendship they’d had through school. Then to picture goofy, moon-eyed Scott as a father.
“What about Lydia?”
“Works at the District Attorney’s office in New York.”
Stiles whistled.
“She went to law school in New York, interned at the court house, and got a full-time position faster than I imagine just about anyone ever has.”
“Yeah, well, from Lydia, that’s not really shocking. She totally rocks that Will Hunting thing. I was going to guess something along those lines… or that she’d gone the mad scientist route and had her own rocket with a death ray holding the president hostage from outer space or something.”
Derek snorted.
“What about Malia?”
Derek got a pinched look on his face and just shook his head. Shook his head in a very ‘we don’t speak of that’ sort of way. Okay, so Stiles would have to come back to that one, because the waitress was approaching and Derek looked like it wasn’t good news on the Malia Tate front. Stiles was getting the gist she wasn’t around, though. Stiles felt bad for that - the poor girl never seemed to catch a break.
They paused when their food arrived, and Stiles packed face an entire piece of bacon before he asked around a mouthful, “What about Isaac?”
Derek hesitated. “He… all we know is he’s somewhere in Europe. He sent a postcard once, but that was…” Derek tapped his fork distractedly against the side of his plate. “Stiles… what do you remember? You said at the hospital… I can fill you in on what happened, but I don’t know where I need to start for you.”
“Oh… right.” Stiles swallowed thickly. The bacon stuck in his throat and he grimaced. Served him right for not chewing properly. “When I went to bed last night, it was the end of my junior year. In fact, I was cramming for a chemistry final I had the next day - and sucking on all fronts at it. I downed four cups of coffee and this Japanese tea Kira gave me that was supposedly good for concentration but tasted like ass… huh, now I’m wondering if I actually managed to pass that thing.”
“Well, I don’t know about passing that particular test, but I can tell you that you never had to retake chemistry.”
“Score for Stilinski,” Stiles celebrated after-the-fact with a forkful of eggs. Then he sobered. “The… we’d just dealt with the…” he twirled a finger around his temple, “with the nogitsune.” Stiles used chewed thoroughly as an excuse to pause, trying to order his thoughts. This was all still fresh for him. Still serrated and dangerous. “Honestly, where I came from everything was still a mess. Allison just… we weren’t over it yet. Scott and Isaac were both super-bitchy. It’s like they were both looking to pick a fight over everything. It actually doesn’t surprise me that Isaac took off. He was kind of halfway out the door, figuratively, the last time I talked to him.”
Derek thought about where Stiles was coming from, thinking back to the last timeline they shared.
Stiles perked up. “Did I go to college?”
“You did one semester at the community college before you ‘concluded your talents would be more useful elsewhere’.”
“Yeah, that sounds like something I’d say. Bet my dad was disappointed I didn’t go, though.”
“He’s not disappointed in you,” Derek said gently.
The ‘gently’ was still giving Stiles the willies, so he asked abruptly, “So do I have a job?”
“You did. You worked for a non-profit for a few years helping families of cancer patients, but you quit a couple of months ago.”
“To do what?” Stiles waited for Derek to tell him what job replaced that one, but he never did. Stiles frowned. “So I don’t work now? I… oh hell no. You mean I’m kept? I’m a househusband?”
Derek tried to stifle his smile with his hand, but Stiles saw it.
“Oh god, how humiliating,” Stiles slumped down in the booth. “I’m the wife.”
“You have far too much penis to be a wife.”
Stiles flailed, banging his knees on the underside of the table and sending the cutlery clattering against their plates. “Quit saying that crap!” Stiles squeaked. “I’m declaring a no-fly zone on all references to my genitals, got it! Until further notice, there will be no discussion of the Stilinski nether-regions. Stiles south-of-the-border is forbidden lands.”
Derek held up a hand in surrender.
“For the love of god,” Stiles grumbled, “who would have thought you were so obsessed with dicks?”
“In my defense, I’m not the only one at this table who married a man.”
Right.
Stiles turned back to his food, just for a distraction from all the Derekness happening across from him. He couldn’t last long, however, before glancing back in his direction.
Derek was pushing his food around his plate, clearly troubled. He looked pointedly at Stiles. “I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that. So you don’t have a job, but that doesn’t mean you don’t do anything.” Derek glanced around the diner. “Being… what I am… doesn’t automatically make law enforcement any easier. If anything, it makes things harder. I used to protect my secret by keeping my head down and avoiding… revealing situations. But I can’t do that in my line of work. I can’t avoid being noticed or people paying attention. I have to be so careful all the time, and it’s hard. Plus the things I see on the job… I thought I’d seen everything people - and not-people - could do to each other, but the first year on the force proved me wrong. I have to deal with some ugly shit sometimes, but I never feel overwhelmed. At least, not for long. Because at the end of every shift I come home to you, and you just make it all easier. Better. I see the bad in people - I always did - but you always see the good. I need that perspective. I need your… heart. You keep me level. You tame me. And that’s important.”
Stiles sat speechless, gaping at Derek. He would bank on riding a purple unicorn to school before he heard that kind of speech come out of Derek’s mouth. And honestly, he didn’t know what to do with it. He had this idea of Derek Hale. Brusque, growly, man of few words, creeper of high school and teenagers’ bedrooms. That was a Derek Stiles would not dream of marrying in a million years.
But this Derek. Well, shit… he was husband-material. Stiles didn’t doubt he still had enough rough-edges to cut through cee purlin, but this Derek was someone Stiles wouldn’t necessarily, unequivocally, automatically rule out as a life-partner.
Fuuuuuuck.
“How you boys doing?” the waitress asked as she walked past.
Derek managed to plaster on a pleasant smile. “It’s great. Thanks, Nancy.”
Stiles tucked back into his breakfast, keeping his eyes down so he could have some time alone with his thoughts.
If possible, things were even more confusing now than they were when he first woke up.
*************
Stiles was feeling very out-of-sorts when they finally got back to the house. Their house, he supposed, but it didn’t feel like home to him. It wasn’t home to him. He stopped just inside the front door and eyed the place like it might grow teeth and bite him.
Derek slipped around past him. “Do you need anything?”
They’d lapsed into a silence at the diner that lasted the entire ride home. It was still there now.
“No, I just… maybe I’ll just look around?” He didn’t expect anything to jog his memory, because this wasn’t his reality, but going through the motions like it could might make Derek feel better. Because Derek was convinced this was a memory issue and not some inter-dimensional rabbit hole. Stiles didn’t have the heart to press the issue, because Stiles was just hoping to get back to that chemistry final he may or may not pass while Derek was hoping for his husband back.
Derek pocketed his keys. “Sure… I’ve got some work I can do from here. If you have any questions, just ask.”
Of course he had questions, he was nothing but questions, but he was still feeling overloaded with information from breakfast. And he hadn’t even asked everything on his mind. Just everything he could handle at once.
Derek disappeared into the innards of the house, and Stiles took a tentative step into the living room.
It looked cozy. A couch and recliner faced a television mounted on the opposite wall. A coffee table with a criminal law book and outdoor magazines on it had scuff marks from where putting one’s feet on the table was clearly not against house rules. There was a print on the wall of two wolves - one black and one white - in the woods in winter.
Stiles wandered over to a bookcase of DVDs and read the titles. He recognized a lot of his favorites, and others that were popular that he never really cared for (those must have been Derek’s favorites). A few educational DVDs from the American Cancer Society. Some documentaries on the criminal justice system. And then some movies that he had never heard of before in his life - presumably films made within the last seven years.
The top cinematic picks of the last seven years were tempting, but Stiles moved on to the second bookshelf, which held actual books.
There were textbooks with yellowed ‘used’ stickers on the spine that screamed of college. And Stiles knew he hadn’t gone, so they must be Derek’s. He saw some of his books, ones that had been in his bedroom growing up, among the titles. In a world full of so much unfamiliar, the sight of them was reassuring. At least his Chronicles of Narnia that his mom used to read to him at bedtime was a constant. There were some books in different languages that piqued his interest and made him add another question for Derek to his mental list.
One tattered and worn spine made Stiles reach out and pull the book from the shelf for a closer look. He traced his thumb over the letters of the title ‘ShineGold’ and realized that he had no idea from looking at it whose book it was. It looked scifi, which he’d been known to read on occasion. But he had no clue what kind of literature Derek liked to read for the fun of it. He didn’t know that kind of personal information about Derek. This novel was someone’s go-to - this book had plainly been read more than once - but Stiles had no idea whose guilty pleasure it was.
And the not knowing was troubling on a very base level.
He went to put the book back when his eyes caught on the spine of what was clearly a photo album on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
Stiles grabbed it up like it might vanish on him. He took both, ShineGold and the photo album, to the coffee table and set them down, album on top. But he didn’t open it. He just started making a pile.
He went into the kitchen next. He stared at the countertops and the island and the table and chairs with a detached numbness. He couldn’t really imagine any of this being his. He still felt like a kid. He couldn’t fathom being a homeowner, much less having his own table and chairs. Like he could take one of those chairs and smash it to pieces and he wouldn’t get in trouble for it because that was his fucking chair. System error.
He went to the fridge to peruse the papers stuck to it with magnets. A letter from the Beacon Hills Cancer Group addressed to Stiles Hale thanking him for his help with some kind of fundraiser. A receipt for tires for the Honda. A notice about an upcoming training seminar on domestic violence protocol for Derek in November. A sheet of paper torn in half with the scribbled name ‘Annabelle’ and columns of phone numbers and dates that meant nothing to Stiles. A piece of pink construction paper, on it written in purple marker ‘I LUV U UNKL DERK + UNKL STILZ’ and a really bad drawing of a dog. Or a racecar. Maybe a racecar-dog. That would be awesome.
Off the kitchen was a door to the garage, which had been converted to an at-home gym. That was Derek’s… Stiles didn’t even have to ask to know that one. There was a weight bench and free weights and some other exercise paraphernalia he couldn’t identify. But Derek clearly wasn’t a controlling meathead about his work-out space, because along the edges was a lawnmower and a box labeled ‘X-MAS’ and then a metal rack of shelves with extension cords, motor oil, and tools. He also saw some lacrosse gear in the corner - clearly his, though the layer of dust suggested Derek used his weights far more than Stiles used his stick and face mask.
Stiles went back inside (skipping the laundry room entirely, because even in an alternate dimension that was boring) and poked his head in the hall bathroom, which was clearly the guest/general purpose bathroom, because it had that ‘we don’t use this one much’ feel to it.
Next Stiles found himself in the bedroom, looking closely at the room he’d only seen through a veil of confusion and blood that morning.
The bed in the center was unmade and odd articles of clothing were strewn across the floor. There were two nightstands, one on each side of the bed. On the right, there was a framed picture of Stiles’ mom. There was also a book on the occult (that figured) and an empty glass.
The nightstand on the left was home to the alarm clock, a lamp, and file folders Stiles recognized from the Beacon Hills Police Department. And a half-empty container of lube.
“Okay!” Stiles yelped and turned his back to look somewhere else.
There was a dresser on Derek’s side, a television stand on the wall opposite the bed with a television, DVD player, and gaming console taking up the three levels of storage space. He resisted the temptation to thumb through the games leaning against the gaming system in favor of continuing his exploration of the bedroom, but he couldn’t help noticing that both controllers were hooked up. He couldn’t shake the mental image of him and Derek side-by-side at the foot of the bed playing Call of Duty.
On the wall next to the door, closest to Stiles’ side of the bed (and how nuts was it that Stiles already knew ‘his side’), there was a painting of a pack of wolves running in the forest, their features hidden and outlines silvered by moonlight, and written in the black of the shadows: “I went looking for myself in places dark and lonely, and the night gave me a home among the wolves”.
Stiles wasn’t sure who that was meant to speak to, him or Derek. Who had picked that out? Who had brought it home and proclaimed without speaking that ‘this is me, I’m the one who found his home among wolves’. Because it could be either one of them.
Again, that place where the line between Stiles and Derek got hazy was borderline terrifying. He turned away rather than dwell. There was still some more house to see.
He meandered his way into the master bath attached to the bedroom and did a double-take at the hodge-podge of stuff on the counter. For some reason he was expecting clear separation between his stuff and Derek’s. There wasn’t. There was one cup with two toothbrushes in it. An electric razor and a regular razor stacked together by the mirror. One tube of toothpaste. A single bottle of mouthwash. Two different brands of deodorant.
Evidence of two lives thoroughly, hopelessly enmeshed. There was no way to pick apart Stiles from Derek, Derek from Stiles.
Stiles walked out of the master bath and bed without pausing.
The next room Stiles stuck his head in was an office, though it looked half-full. The desk and half-bookcase were both pushed against the far wall, leaving the rest of the room empty. There were boxes stacked near the door, like they were still setting this room up, which made Stiles wonder how long they’d lived here. The rest of the house suggested years, but this room made him question that if they were just now getting around to unpacking the office.
In the chair in front of the computer, Derek was reading from a case report, a pen held lightly between his teeth. When Stiles poked his head in, he looked up and took the pen out of his mouth. “Hey.”
“Uh… hi.”
Derek watched him expectantly. Stiles fidgeted in the doorway. “Lot of wolf décor in here.”
“Is this about me shooting down that poster of Cthulhu you wanted in the hall?”
Stiles barked out a laugh. God, that did sound like him. “What are you working on?” he asked, taking a step into the room and nodding at the file Derek held.
Derek glanced down at the case file. “Paperwork on a guy we arrested for petty larceny.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Stiles said drolly.
“Well, it can’t all be kanimas and rogue alphas. Frankly, stuff like this is nice for a change.” He put the file down and turned his chair to face Stiles. “How are you feeling?”
“Still really, really confused.”
Derek nodded slowly. “Anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t even know, man.” Stiles looked down at his feet. What he really wanted to ask for would hurt Derek’s feelings. He knew it would. And Stiles didn’t want to hurt him. But this also wasn’t his life. He couldn’t just pick it up like it was, be the househusband and be with Derek when the last time he remembered talking to Derek, they were tentative allies at best.
“Stiles? Talk to me.”
Stiles heaved a sigh. “Okay, I don’t want you to take this personally, but… what I really want right now is to go home.”
Derek stared at him uncomprehending a moment, then realization sank in. “You want me to take you to your dad’s?”
Stiles winced. “Yes.”
Derek looked away, visibly hurt.
“It’s not you, okay? You’re being really nice about all this… but I’m just… I’m just kind of overwhelmed. I need some space to think.”
From the look on his face, Stiles may as well have taken off his wedding ring and thrown it in Derek’s face. But Stiles didn’t. He was wearing the ring. He’d keep wearing the ring. But he needed to retreat and regroup. Derek had to see that, right? It didn’t mean ‘get out of my life’. It meant ‘give me some time to figure out my life’.
“I’ll drive you over,” Derek said lowly.
Stiles sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
Derek just nodded.
Stiles didn’t think anything he might say could make it less hard on Derek, so he didn’t try.
On the way out the door, as they passed through the living room, Stiles went to his little stack on the coffee table. “Mind if I take these?” he asked.
“Take anything you want. It’s yours, too.”
“Don’t…” Stiles began, intent on saying ‘don’t talk like this is a divorce’, but he held his tongue and just clutched the book and album to his chest. This wasn’t even his marriage, but he felt like utter shit at that particular moment for endangering it. He felt like he was ripping Derek’s life to pieces.
He wasn’t, he didn’t want to, but he also couldn’t climb into bed with Derek tonight and sleep beside him like there was nothing wrong. He didn’t have that relationship with him. He didn’t share their history. He wasn’t anyone’s husband. He was just freaked-out Stiles Stilinski performing triage on the clusterfuck that was his life.
Stiles just hoped Derek could understand that.
Next
A/N: I had to do some fourth-wall breaking in this chapter when it came to the book that I chose to feature in this fic - and let me tell you, it was weird! But I didn’t want to choose a well-known classic that everyone’s read, and I didn’t want to stop writing in order to research a good book to use, and nobody knows ShineGold like I do (plus I know the author doesn’t care if I use it). Still… so weird!