Things have been quiet... way too quiet if you're asking Stiles Stilinski.
Of course, that's when shit hits the fan... again. Boyd & Erica go missing, the pack find them after weeks of searching, with a surprise long lost Hale.
Derek breaks Stiles...
When they made it back to the Stilinski residence, Jackson is already in stiles' room "you look like shit." He observes, putting his phone down.
"Aren't you just a peach," Stiles snarks as he grabs his pj's and goes into his bathroom to change and brush his teeth. When he exits Scott and Cora are gone and the hybrid is already under the blanket, making himself at home.
Stiles doesn't bat an eye though, they've shared a bed before, as have most of the pack members.
He slips under the blanket and settles on his right side facing the wall. Jackson huffs as he turns to wrap an around the spark, nuzzling into his back. "I'm sorry Derek's such a dick, if he doesn't get his head out of his ass, I'll remove it myself."
Stiles sniffles, a smile tuggin' at his lips, "thanks Jax, for everything."
~~~
The loft is cloaked in tension as Peter, the cunning and observant one, strides in the still open loft door. Of course he was eavesdropping, he makes it his mission to know everything about everything. Derek, caught off guard by Peter's intrusion, tightens his grip on the table, a physical manifestation of his frustration.
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"Tsk, tsk, tsk, nephew," Peter beings, his voice a melodic yet ominous melody that resonates within the loft. Derek, who's bracing himself for the impending lecture, mumbles a strained acknowledgement, "not now Peter."
Peter, however, is not one to be easily deterred. "If not now, then when?" he presses on, his eyes piercing through the dimly lit space. "Why are you acting like this? Hmm? Just a week ago Stiles was the love of your life. You were inseparable."
Derek's patience wanes, and in a moment of charge emotion, he slams his fist against the table. The loft trembles, but miraculously, the furniture holds beneath his hands. "Enough, Peter, leave."
"With pleasure," Peter quips, a wicked grin on his lips as he retreats into the shadows. However, before fading entirely from view, he delivers a parting shot, spoken with both menace and a strange sort of concern, "I just hope you know what you're doing. And I hope you beg on your knees for Stiles to forgive you, and for your sake, Derek, you better pray and pray hard that boy forgives you."
The lingering words echo in the loft, a haunting reminder of the consequences Derek might face if he doesn't rectify the wreckage he's caused. But every time the truth is on the tip of his tongue, it's like it grows ten times it's size. The truth won't come out and he doesn't know what to do. In the aftermath of Peter's visit, the loft feels colder, the shadows deeper, and Derek is left to scuffle with the weight of his own actions and the potential loss of the one he claimed to love.
~~~
The loft is wrapped in the early morning gloom, yet the relentless banging on the metal door signals the arrival of Lydia. He can smell her strawberry vanilla shampoo from his bed. Derek, still struggling with the fall out from the previous night, musters the energy to crawl out of bed and open the door, his movements sluggish.
