“Soul sickness. I’m guessing that’s not just a fancy way of saying I’ll be depressed for a while.”
Stiles is standing in Deaton’s office, already looking a little weak on his feet as he leans against Scott’s arm for support. It’s totally just to make Scott feel useful, ‘cause the guy’s looked like he’s on the verge of a breakdown ever since he hadn’t quite managed to knock Stiles out of the way of that spell in time.
It’s not that Stiles is feeling woozy, feeling like his legs might just decide to go on strike at any second.
And if it is, that’s only because Deaton’s frowning at him in a way that actually makes him look nervous. Deaton. Nervous.
That’s never even remotely good.
“I’m afraid soul sickness is exactly what it says on the tin,” the man replies. “Your soul is literally weakening, beginning to wither. And if it dies off completely… well, that’s a fate—“
“If you say ‘a fate worse than death’ I’m gonna slap somebody.”
The older man sighs, brows going up as if to say ‘fine, I won’t say it then.”
Scott’s grip tightens on his arm, voice going too low, wavering.
“But you can fix it, right?”
“This is a battle the soul must fight on its own, I’m afraid.” And then, after waiting just long enough for both boys to start well and truly panicking: “There is one thing that might help bolster you, help your soul fight off this unnatural disease. But…”
“But what?” Scott cuts in as he falters. “Whatever it is, do it.”
.-
So, apparently, soulmates are a thing.
Soulmates.
Who knew?
“It’s not as dramatic as romantics would have you believe. Most people don’t end up in a relationship with their soulmates. Many don’t even encounter them.”
“But if you did, you’d know, right?” Scott, of course, is enthralled by the idea. Deaton’s head bobs noncommittally, and his bright expression falters.
“Your souls would recognize each other. Most certainly, they would leave an impression. But to the untrained mind it would be hard to discriminate from any normal emotional response – attraction, nervousness, anger, even, depending on the situation.”
Stiles glances to his friend, a smirk touching his lips.
“Why Scotty, you think you and—“ he was going to say Kira, he really was, but when he thinks about sparks of instant infatuation, he finds his mind jumping to Allison. Scott’s seems to as well, his eyes going shuttered.
Stiles lets the moment pass, looking back to Deaton.
“Ok, so you said ritual? Then let’s find me my soulmate.”
.-
The ritual is simple enough, especially for Stiles, who just has to lie there.
They make it past the first hurdle without setbacks - “They’re alive at least. The circle wouldn’t have reacted otherwise” – and now all they have to do is wait. Wait for his soulmate, wherever they are, to feel an irresistible pull, to stop whatever they’re doing and hop in car, bus, or plane and make their way to Stiles’ side.
His soulmate’s on the way.
His Soulmate.
Like. The one person in the world who is his soul’s perfect match.
Not that he’s nervous or anything.
.-
Except that they don’t. Come, that is.
And Stiles stops feeling a little bit woozy, starts reaching the point of “wow, moving sucks” and “hey, bed’s really comfy. How about I never move again, never even bother opening my eyes, that’ll be nice.”
The pack’s hanging around all the time, which is just… weird, honestly. Not bad. Except Stiles feels like crap, and knows he looks like crap, and it’s getting really hard to stay focused, stay conscious, to look at anything and feel something. They’re starting to talk about staying with him in shifts, like they’re worried about him dying while they’re not looking or something.
Or… not dying. “A fate worse than death.”
He starts to think maybe he doesn’t care either way.
.-
Derek spends the first few days patrolling the town borders, just in case some idiot wanders through in a spell-induced daze, looking for Stiles, and gets themselves killed tripping over a rock. (They are a match to Stiles, after all.) Making sure there’s nothing in town that might threaten newcomers, digging through the Argents’ magical tomes, researching alternate cures for soul sickness… or trying to. Deaton’s information actually seems pretty accurate on this one.
But Derek’s rattling out of his skin every time he tries to focus, too restless to do anything but get on the rest of the pack’s nerves, and ends up finding himself back at Stiles’ house again and again, hovering at the windowsill while Scott or Stiles’ father sit next to his bed looking stricken, while Kira and Lydia perch next to him, pressing cloths to his head like he has a fever, like he’s undergoing a battle of the body and not the soul.
Derek doesn’t belong here, not like the others do, but he can hardly force himself to leave. Whenever he’s gone all he can think about are the moments slipping past, slipping away until Stiles isn’t Stiles anymore.
What happens when your soul dies?
Derek can’t imagine looking into those eyes one day and finding emptiness looking back. But the idea of missing even a second of the time he has left… So he stands there, awkward and out of place, a shadow against the far wall, waiting for those lights to go out.
.-
Until one day they end up alone in the room – the Sheriff having been coaxed into crawling into his own bed for a few hours at Melissa’s insistence – and Derek finds himself drifting from his corner, falling into the now empty chair, staring at Stiles’ too pale face, at the eyes shifting restlessly under his lids.
And god, Derek is in love with him.
And he absolutely loathes this idiot of a soulmate, whoever they are, for not coming to Stiles’ call. For being too useless do just to this one simple thing, for failing Stiles, proving how utterly unworthy they are before they’ve ever met him.
Stiles is asleep, has been asleep for hours, and Derek surrenders to the urge to reach out and comb his fingers through that soft, tousled hair.
Stiles deserves so much better than whoever’s soul he shares.
But apparently Stiles hadn’t been as far under as he’d thought, because his eyes flit open at the touch, a ghost of a tired smile slipping over his lips when he catches sight of Derek next to him.
“There you are, sourwolf.”
Derek’s hand is still in Stiles’ hair. He doesn’t move it.
“I’ve been here.”
“Yeah, saw you lurking.” Stiles’ fingers move sluggishly, lifting to catch on the edge of Derek’s sleeve and twisting it in clumsy fingers. “Your sneaky skills are like a two on a hundred scale, man.”
Derek glances down, lips quirking to match the fuzzy twist in his heart.
They sit there for a while, Stiles’ eyes sliding back shut, Derek’s hand starting to comb through his hair again, and for the first time in over a week Derek feels right. Just sitting here next to Stiles, touching him, helping comfort him in whatever small way he can.
Until finally…
“You never came over here before.”
Derek snorts at the sleep-thick words, his thumb drifting to trail down Stiles’ cheek.
“We’ve never been alone before.”
Amber eyes drift open, a too-bright smile slipping over his lips.
“We gonna do things we need to be alone for?”
He looks like absolute hell and attempts a ridiculous thing with his eyebrows that makes him look mildly insane…
And Derek loves him. And when Stiles tugs weakly at his sleeve, Derek surrenders to the pull and presses their lips softly together.
Stiles makes a sound, like he’s thrilled and contented and frustrated he can’t manage more, and when Derek falls back his eyes are a little more open, his lips tilted in a pleased, resting upcurve.
He seems better for the rest of the night after that, awake and responsive, playing with Derek’s fingers as though they’re an absolute revelation to him. Or at least… as though being allowed to touch them is.
At this point, Derek’s just barely resisting the urge to crawl into bed and wrap his whole body protectively around Stiles. He settles for just breathing in the same air, taking in Stiles’ scent – warm with contentment where it had been starting to go cold.
When the Sheriff stumbles out of bed to come check on Stiles, Derek can tell he sees the difference in him too.
Stiles’ fingers never stop playing absently with Derek’s as he talks with his dad, shifting them to rest over his heart once in a while as though the pressure, the simple presence, soothes him. Derek can see the Sheriff watching them, sees a question starting to form in his eyes… and with a startled little shock, Derek finds himself wondering too.
The presence of one’s soulmate will help fight the effects of the soul sickness. A soulmate is someone you’ll have an immediate, powerful reaction to.
Wide brown eyes staring, startled, before ducking shyly.
“Dude, that was Derek Hale.”
The second they’re alone, Derek doesn’t waste a second before ducking to kiss Stiles again. Stiles’ free hand lifts to grip his nape, fingers strong and sure as he laughs into Derek’s mouth, breathing “finally.”
They stay, soft and needy and dragging, against each other’s mouths, until Derek can sense Stiles getting too tired to keep going. And then they just sit together, fingers playing across cloth and skin, breathing each other’s air and quietly teasing about nothing. Derek hasn’t felt this comfortable, this complete, since he can remember.
He can hardly believe it took him this long to get here.
They drift to sleep with their hands still clasped, and in the morning Stiles doesn’t wake up.
.-
He’s been catatonic for nearly a day, now.
Derek refuses to leave his side, refuses to stop touching him. Because maybe he’d been a little slow on the uptake, maybe he’d been a little late getting here, but he loves Stiles, and Stiles wants him, and he’d kissed Stiles and he’d been getting better, damn it. He’d been smiling, responding.
Healing.
Every time he’d left the room these past days, Derek had felt an irresistible pull drawing him back. He can’t imagine a world without that beautiful, infuriating mole-dotted face, without Stiles’ full, soft, snarking mouth.
The rest of the pack is in and out, researching furiously, still looking for answers. The Sheriff is calling in every contact, trying to find someone – anyone – who might’ve shown up unexpectedly in town recently. Derek thinks about telling him not to waste his time, that he’d been the one to feel the pull, that he still hadn’t been enough. But all he can do is sit at Stiles’ bedside, brushing his fingers through Stiles’ hair. Pressing soft, then insistent, then furious kisses against Stiles’ temple. Snarling threats, demands, pleas for him to wake up.
To come back to him.
.-
Stiles finally does wake up that night.
But not until Scott comes bounding into the room, bright and excited, a confused looking woman on his arm.
She’s maybe two or three years younger than Derek. Beautiful in a quiet, artsy sort of way: cargo pants and combat boots and a purple streak in her long, wavy hair. She stops in the doorway when she sees Stiles, a little surprised “oh” slipping from her lips.
Derek’s hand falls from Stiles’ as the girl steps forward. He’s barely out of the chair before she’s falling into it, her face an open wound of startled awe and recognition, a hand drifting out to touch Stiles’ face.
“She started out on the other side of the country,” Scott explains eagerly, like Derek isn’t busy breaking apart right next to him. “She tried ignoring the call at first because, you know, it seemed totally insane to just hop in a car and start driving without a plan, but then she was driving home from class one day and just kept going. She was just… drawn here and she had no clue why. And then she ran out of gas because she was like, driving without even knowing where she was going, and then she ended up—“
Stiles comes to with a startled hitch of breath, scrabbling into motion, hand shooting up to catch at the girl’s before he even gets his eyes open. And when he does…
“Oh.”
Like his whole world is slotting into place.
They’re still caught in each other’s eyes when Derek falls back, ignoring Scott’s startled “hey, where are you—“ as he flees the room and leaves Stiles to his perfect match.
.-
The world is dull around him. He tries not to think of the awed sparkle in Stiles’ eyes at the sight of the stranger, hers when she first noticed him. Torn between loathing her entire existence and loving her for saving Stiles when no one else could. When Derek obviously couldn’t.
Loathing himself for giving himself a few moments of truly believing he’d earned some kind of happiness.
The loft is too full of voices, scents, and memories, and Derek is barely at the doorway before he retreats instead to the quiet of the rail yard. The ghosts there are from older wounds, more heavily scabbed over. He relaxes there, feels almost pleasantly numb.
.-
“Hey,” the voice echoes out too loud in the silence of the warehouse. “You stopped lurking.”
The voice doesn’t startle him. Stiles’ presence doesn’t startle him. He’d heard the footsteps outside, had been given plenty of time to run if he’d wanted. But what would be the point? He can’t delay this conversation forever… should probably feel grateful that he warrants a conversation at all.
Though he almost wishes, now, he could have been at the loft for this. Fresh wounds should all be in one place.
“I thought I should give you some space. You and your… person.”
“My person?”
Stiles’ brows go up a little as he echoes the words, lips teasing into a faint smile. And in that moment, Derek loathes him too.
“Your soulmate.”
Stiles lets out a little wisp of a breath, his smile going bigger for a second before he ducks his head, swallowing it. And Derek hates himself again for his own terse stance, his accusing tone. For making Stiles feel like he has to bury his happiness for even one second for Derek’s sake.
“Right,” Stiles’ voice comes out soft, still echoing in the gaping space between them. “Whose name you didn’t pick up, because you bolted.”
Derek shifts, eyes sliding away. It’s wrong to make Stiles feel guilty; that’s why he’d cleared out the way he had.
Well, that and the agony of seeing Stiles fall for someone else right in front of him.
“…Look,” Stiles says, when it’s obvious Derek can’t, won’t respond. “I think maybe your head’s doing things right now that it shouldn’t be doing.”
“…My head’s doing things.”
“Thinking thoughts. Ok? Don’t do that. You’re no good at it.”
It’s light, trying for teasing. It floats over Derek with the sensation of long fingers playing with his, with an unfamiliar warmth filling his chest.
“Stiles…” The name hurts sliding off Derek’s tongue. His tone bites out sharper than it should as he continues: “I have things to do.”
“What, brood? Mope? Look, I was getting pretty out of it toward the end there, but I remember some things, you and me shaped things. And I don’t think I imagined them.”
Is Stiles here to apologize? To try and mend fences? To give that horrible, unbearable “let’s still be friends” speech? Whatever it is, Derek doesn’t need to hear it. He shifts, staring to the side, tries to cut it off before it starts.
“I won’t make it awkward.”
“Fuck, Derek. You’re making it awkward now.”
He knows. He can barely look at Stiles. He can’t even think about looking at her. That’s why he’d left.
“You’re the one that came to me.”
“You’re the one who ran away.”
“You’re the one who found your soulmate.” He flinches at his own words, gentles his tone and tries again. “Stiles, I’m happy for you. Is that what you want to hear? It’s true. I’m happy she found her way here and saved you, I’m happy you can be happy. But I need some time before I can see you being happy together.”
“She’s on her way back to Florida.”
That makes him look up. Stiles offers a small smile, shoulders rolling idly. He doesn’t seem broken up about it. Derek must have misunderstood; maybe she’s leaving and coming back with her things.
“What?”
“That’s where her life is, Derek.” So then… is Stiles— “And my life’s here.”
Derek spends too long staring at him. Stiles shifts absently, holding his gaze.
“But she’s your soulmate.”
“And she seems awesome. And when I saw her it was like… like I knew she’s a part of my life. No question, she just is.”
Derek’s eyes slide shut. He’d thought he’d had that for a moment. For one night, he’d thought he’d found someone who could be a part of him.
Who’d he been kidding? With his luck, his soulmate had probably died in the womb.
“That’s great,” he says. It comes out dull.
There’s a sound of movement, Stiles moving anxiously toward him.
“Look, you’re not… I’m not… Derek, when I look at you, I know I want you in my life.” It comes out fierce, determined. Derek grits his teeth; refuses let his hopes jump. “We might not be destined to be together, not some magical perfect match. We might grate sometimes where the edges don’t fit, but I want you.”
Want. Not want their friendship, or want things not to be awkward. Derek hears his own breath hitch.
“She’s perfect for you.”
“Kind of? But not. It’s hard to explain when you haven’t felt it. It’s… Deaton says platonic soulmates are a thing. They’re a more than common thing. I mean, Kayley’s great, we’ll keep in touch, Skype, whatever. But I don’t want her. Who wants to date themselves?”
Derek feels his eyes slide open, finds himself staring at Stiles again. He looks flustered, so close, right within arms’ reach.
“She doesn’t complete me or anything, she’s more like… me.” When Derek just keeps staring, he huffs a laugh. “I mean, ask Scott. They caught on with each other so fast. I thought I was gonna lose my best friend for a minute there. It’s like… you know those stories about long lost twins? That’s what it was like with her. I could see myself being her if I grew up as a girl with a big family in Florida.” He bites his lip, pauses, drifts in a hair closer, close enough to share body heat. Derek feels his breath catch. “Honestly, I’d be way more worried about you falling for her than me.”
“I want you.” It slips out before Derek can check it. He still can’t quite believe they’re standing here, having this conversation.
That Stiles has a soulmate, and he sent her away. Turned her down. Wants Derek instead.
Stiles’ eyes have gone almost unbearably bright, his smile contagious when he stops trying to bite it down. Derek’s chest is going warm again, that eternal knot untwisting, leaving him feeling light and strangely breathless.
“You always did make terrible romantic choices,” Stiles offers lightly, and goes still when Derek winces. “Crap… that was… I’m not a bad choice, I swear. I’m an awesome choice, an amazing choice, please choose—“
They crash into each other too hard, too eager – flailing arms and clutching hands and far too much teeth, until Stiles finally breaks away, turning his head and laughing. Derek has a few heartbeats for cruel joke and changed his mind to crowd into the silence of his mind, and is vaguely startled when the thoughts don’t come.
Then Stiles is looking back up, touching his cheek. Murmurs: “Ok, try that again?”
And leans in to brush their lips together. The nerves are still there, vibrating out through slow-dragging lips and sliding tongues, slowly building heat and hums of approval when they discover the best angles. They search and dig and fight to make it as good as possible, just like they’ve fought for every step that led them from reluctant allies to this point where they can open up to each other, trust each other, admit to the want that’s been running through their veins from the very beginning.
And Derek thinks maybe there should be more stories about this, about how two imperfect beings, imperfect for each other, can come together and find a kind of happiness that’s perfect for them anyway.