DEREK/STILES AND DYLAN/TYLER H POST!

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Previous prompting posts: round one, round one favorites, round two, round two recs and favorites, round three, spoilery prompt post, the other pairings post, and the gen and pack fic post.

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FILL: Time For Mourning [21/?]

[ziusura]

A dejected Scott left shortly after and Stiles watched him go, pedaling on his bike back to his house or maybe Allison’s. He wanted to reassure Scott before he left, hug him and tell him it wasn’t his fault that Stiles died, but he couldn’t. He still felt so bitter that Scott would ignore him when he was dying like he did. Allison was his world, Stiles understood that, but he thought Scott would care enough to notice maybe. Even if it was impossible to stop.

And Stiles had no freaking clue about what was going on. Was he dead-dead? In Hell? He may have lied a little to protect his dad and he jerked off a lot to various types of porn, but that didn’t mean he deserved to go to Hell. Sure he never really believed in God, but living this whatever it was had to be Hell because Stiles couldn’t see feeling this miserable otherwise. His body was dead and his best friend provided no comfort to him. Sounded a whole lot like Hell, even if it was missing the burning fires.

“Stiles,” Derek said, and he had no idea what he caused with that one word.

Stiles snapped, anger that had been itching to get out boiled over, scalding everything it touched. He pushed Derek up against the wall next to the door and Derek let it happen, not that Stiles noticed. He was on a power surge. He was dead and he was invincible, the rage coloring his thoughts.

“Why the fuck did you bring Scott here, Derek? You promised, Derek.”

Stiles threw his fist up and punched Derek in the chest, arm, and jawline. Derek hardly looked like it was affecting him and that made Stiles more furious. He wasn’t weak. He was dead but he wasn’t some stupid defenseless human so why wouldn’t his punches work?

Derek didn’t answer and no matter how hard Stiles punched, he wasn’t bruising his pale skin either. Stupid werewolves and their stupid fast healing. Stupid Stiles and his stupid dead human bag of bones. His hands stilled against Derek’s chest and Stiles felt Derek’s impossibly warm hands rest over them, scalding his insides with their intentions.

“What’s the matter, Stiles?” Derek asked and Stiles felt his words vibrate against his hands. He wondered when his vocal chords had stopped doing that, when he noticed it. Probably when rigor mortis began to set in.

Stiles pressed his hands into Derek’s chest, trying to do some sort of damage with his blunt fingernails but Derek didn’t react in the way he wanted. He just pressed Stiles hands closer to his chest and held them there. Stiles could feel the ghosts of hot angry tears boil in his eyes, but they weren’t really there. It wasn’t like a dead person could cry.

“I’m just,” Stiles began but cut if off short at his voice. The rawness reminded him of years back when his mom had died, when he had stayed up late screaming in her bed trying to smell her scent in bed sheets that she hadn’t slept in for months. “I’m dead.”

Derek didn’t say anything and Stiles wasn’t sure if he liked the silence. It made his thoughts echo in his head and he didn’t want to hear, “You’re dead,” more than once. Hell, he didn’t want to hear it at all.

But he was, and it was a bite so hard to chew. It left him feeling so empty inside.

“We should get this cleaned up,” Derek eventually said and he pushed himself off the wall and out of Stiles reach, squeezing Stiles’ right hand.

Stiles was confused for a second until he looked down at the hand that had been caught in Derek’s. The knuckles were split open, the force from Derek’s collar bone having cut them, and three fingers were at least dislocated if not totally broken. Stiles sighed at the cuts, not surprised to see the next layer of his skin but no blood. Dead people don’t clot, don’t bleed. And above all he couldn’t help thinking that the mess looked like his heart. But at least it wouldn’t itch because there was nothing to scab over it.

“Yeah,” he muttered and pulled the hand to his chest. He followed Derek upstairs.