Derek’s mom told him that love is beautiful, with one of those same smiles that everyone got when they talked about Peter’s wife. That sort of past-tense sad reserved for loss that’s worth bringing up again.
Because love is beautiful.
He believes it, that’s the problem. He sees it in her eyes when she plays, mixed up in petty anger and dusky browns. He sees it in the way she leans towards him when they talk, and the way his chest opens up when she’s near by. Derek thinks, This is beautiful.
But, it’s not. Because his mom said—she said love is beautiful—and Paige is vomiting black on to the dirt floor, writhing in pain, babbling out promises and pleas no teenager should ever have to speak. No one should have to ask for help to die, it shouldn’t be this hard. It shouldn’t be this ugly.
He breaks her, and it breaks him.
He believes that for months. Long months of time that crawl by with the ever present memory of black, acrid love in the back of his mind. Derek learns to avoid touching people, learns to filter the guilt-induced hallucinations from reality.
He wakes up to inky black in his bed. Not real. Not real. Not real.
The girl touching his arm after the basketball game has black hair—too much like his sisters, yuck—but nothing more. Nothing Paige.
There’s a young boy watching him from the woods. He doesn’t feel real enough for Derek to acknowledge him.
Life goes on like this for a year, and it’s fine. He knows people can survive without love, he’s watched his uncle happily survive for this long.
Until someone sneaks in. No, Kate pushes her way into his life with groping hands, secrets, and little promises that sound more like demands for love and sex and so many good things. She’ll make him feel good, make him strong, make him love her.
Derek doesn’t love her, love is a black mess spewed into the dirt. Love is a dead girl under a tree.
But he takes everything else she offers, because he’s never lived as easily as Peter has, and he’s young. He needs attention, feckless affection with no consequences. Meaningless feel-good. No one will get hurt.
The boy from the woods is back, staring at him across busy police station. Derek’s too fucked up to care if he’s real or not. The next time he looks up, there’s a KitKat on the floor in front of him, and the boy is gone.
Love is a dead girl under a tree.
Love is a home turned tomb.
Love is a lie told to his last family member.
Laura comforts him in their loss, and Derek loves her too much to tell her the truth. They’ve run away from the blackened wood and burning flesh to a city that smells just as bad. It’s not home.
Their first night there is spent in a one room apartment, no electricity, and one mattress on the floor that they collapse into, both of them sobbing so hard Derek fears his heart will finally rip free of his chest.
Derek’s sister tells him that she needs to go back to Beacon Hills with one of those same smiles that she got when they talked about their family. She tells him she wants to visit Peter, to see how he’s doing. It’s a lie, but Derek lets her go.
Because love is beautiful.
He’s there, again. In the woods. He knows it’s him, even years later. Scents don’t change much, unless you lose everything that makes you you. Which is why his immovable uncle Peter smells like something different, something more dangerous than the man he once knew. The boy, however, is the same.
KitKats and a sad smile from the woods.
Derek makes him leave before he thinks too much about events leading up to those memories.
The problem is, they’re persistent. These damn teenagers are everywhere, stepping into his business, getting bit by the rabid alpha, doing stupid, stupid things. A lot of it, in the name of love. Friendship. Family.
Love is a dead girl under a tree, Derek tells himself.
Love is a tomb turned home.
Love is a lie that killed his sister.
He finds himself thinking the words at night, while wounds heal and the dust settles. Peter, Scott, Argents, Alphas. Fight, kill. protect, promises. Screaming and arguing, throwing barbs.
KitKats on the doorstep of his tomb-home.
Stiles remembers. Stiles, somehow, sneaks in. And this time, it’s actual sneaking. He moves into Derek’s life like a thundercloud. A low, warning rumble as it moves across the sky, a crackle here or there to let you know what you’re getting into.
Stiles is a spark in a bleak world.
Love is a mistake, ill-informed choices taken out of a dead girl’s hands.
Love is memorial, no, a memory.
Love is the lie his sister used to save his life.
She’s a blip in his life, the seconds between one extreme and another. Toxic wasteland meet ice age.
It still hurts, but she’s a blip.
Love never even comes into it.
When he finds Stiles in the dirt, screaming, he knows this is it. He’s invested, he’s given away parts of himself again, he’s believing again.
So when Stiles—skinny, defenseless Stiles—brings a plague of murderous amusement to Beacon Hills, he’s already decided what to do.
And he does everything he can to bring Stiles back from wherever he went. Somewhere in the black, under the roots, is that spark.
It takes some time, but with no hesitation, they drag Stiles, kicking and screaming, back to reality.
And it’s not perfect, that’s not how life works. It’s as messy as black rejection spilling into the dirt. It’s as trembling and fragile as the burnt-out-shell of a home in the woods. It’s as many twists and turns as a well told lie to protect someone you love.
But it’s too late for Derek, and it’s too late for Stiles.
Because Derek will do anything to save that stupid kid frowning at him through the trees. He’ll kill everyone before he hurts that confused boy who leaves KitKats for crying murderers. He’ll die for guy who will die for him, because love is…
2087
baratheonpilled
gummygunk
janainaart
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
