Random reminder that I remember you.
Nonnie, listen, I know this was meant as a message for me but I can’t help but think about Stiles being forgotten by everyone. Everyone except Derek who called Scott after a nightmare to check up on everyone and is more than a little concerned to be met with who? when he finally plucks up the courage to ask how Stiles is.
And so, somehow, he finds a way to send messages to Stiles in that dark, lonely place. He doesn’t actually know he’s sending them but when he dreams, he dreams of Stiles. Sees him, trapped and scared and vulnerable - although he can never reach him, no matter how fast he runs. Instead, he pictures himself writing messages on walls, on the inside of books, on discarded pieces of paper; all in the hopes Stiles might see them.
All the same message: I remember you.
Stiles begins to see them everywhere. They give him hope, hope he’s not lost. Hope that he’s not so easily forgotten as he had always feared, even before he fell down this rabbit hole. And yeah, he doesn’t know it’s Derek. Maybe it’s a trick, or maybe it’s his dad or Scott, but there is something, something, he can feel; something that boils his blood and soothes it in the same breath, and it reminds him so badly of Derek that he shakes with it, remembering the day Derek left. Remembering that night, when Derek slid through his bedroom window, still not gone (knocking first, Stiles noted fondly at the time) and hugged him. Just….hugged him. Tight.
Then, one night, Stiles catches the words being written on a door. He runs to it, tries desperately to grab the phantom hand writing as it goes along but he can’t and he wants to scream because the hand is warm but he can’t touch it, can’t even really feel it, but it’s there and it’s real and when he starts to cry, pushing his head against the door, the hand lingers long after it’s finished writing.
Meanwhile, back in his old loft, Derek dreams of the boy he reluctantly came to care about; tries to hold him - can’t see him or feel him but he can smell him. Stiles’ scent calls to him in a way not even Cora’s does, in a way Laura’s never did. It’s only then Derek realises, waking with a jolt, that Stiles isn’t just his anchor; isn’t just some endearing asshole who confuses him to no end, who makes him want to bare his teeth and throat at the same time, but something more.
And there, lying in his old bed covered in sweat and regret after regret, feeling utterly helpless, Derek whines for his mate.
