If cuts Derek like a knife, not a word but a weapon.
If he had saved Paige. If he had figured out who Kate really was before it was too late. If he had made it back to Beacon Hills in time to save Laura from Peter. If he hadn’t pushed Isaac away because he was so scared, if he had been a better alpha to Erica and Boyd.
If he had been good enough for Stiles. If he had been brave enough to tell him just how much he wanted to let himself love him.
When Derek leaves Beacon Hills and all of its terrible ifs, he makes something like a life for himself, in a distant city where no one knows him, where no one knows his tragic what-could-have beens.
Weeks turn into months and then into years, but if never stops tugging at him. The word, tossed about so casually, so carelessly, haunts him; if makes him flinch like a beaten dog; if aches like an old break that set wrong; if is a wound that just won’t heal.
And so when Stiles shows up at Derek’s door, six years after he put Beacon Hills as far behind him as he could, he can’t help but wonder if he’s finally lost his mind completely; if the beautiful boy with sharp whiskey eyes and an even sharper mouth that smiles shyly and says long time no see, big guy, is actually real.
Stiles, apparently not a hallucination, asks be invited in, and Derek opens the door wider, and then he’s no longer an if anymore. He’s real, and he’s here, invading Derek’s space, his scent, still that peculiar sweet-tinged spice, so familiar, the scent Derek’s craved so badly, crawling under his skin and burning there just like it used to, threatening to undo the fragile peace he’s managed to carve for himself.
Stiles rambles nervously as he strides into Derek’s living room, eyes darting all over, says that he got his address from Deaton’s cell phone, which he stole. He collapses into a heap on to the couch, sighing like he’s exhausted.
In the years since he’s seen him, Stiles has grown into himself, his features sharpened by age, eyes hardened by maturity, beauty-marked cheeks dusted with a patchy dark beard. Derek has no idea what to do or say, so he simply sits down next to him, sighing too. They stay like that for a long time, side by side in the deafening silence.
Stiles’ voice is steadier, but softer too, when he finally speaks again,. “Do you ever wonder…” he says, but then stops, runs a hand through his hair, bites at his bottom lip. “I mean…it always felt like there was this thing between us.” He pauses again, like the words are hard for him. He stares down at his hands. “I just can’t stop wondering what if, you know?” Stiles finally looks at him, eyes big and worried, if hanging between them in the chasm of years echoing with so many things left unsaid.
“Yes,” Derek says simply, the knot in his chest loosening with the confession, with Stiles’ answering smile and brightening eyes, if ringing between them like hope.
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