Sterek, Past lives catching up with them
“Dex … Dorian ... Dalton ... Drake ... Diego ... Dakota …Derek.”
“Micah … Maddox … Marlon … Mercer … Monroe … Morrison … Mieczyslaw.”
Stiles groaned and rubbed his forehead. “What happened?”
“The simple answer is witchcraft.”
Stiles continued to rub his forehead as he cautiously sat up. “And the names? They’re … they’re Derek’s names. I remember them.”
“And I remember Stiles’,” Derek said.
“That was part of the spell,” Deaton said.
“What, to give me a migraine and make me wanna vomit?” Stiles said. “Because it’s working. I’ve got so much going on in my head right now.”
“It’s … it’s memories,” Derek said.
“Memories,” Stiles said. “Wait. Memories of us. Of lives together.”
“Exactly,” Deaton said. “I don’t think that was the witch’s intention, but that is what happened. The spell morphed after it was cast.”
“It reacted to us,” Derek said.
“Again, morphed to give me a migraine?” Stiles asked.
Derek reached over and rested his hand against the back of Stiles’ head, gently pulling the pain away. Even after he knew the pain was gone, Derek left his hand there, gently rubbing small circles in Stiles’ hair.
“Better?” Derek asked softly.
“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly. “Better.”
“I imagine you two have quite a bit to talk about,” Deaton said.
When they were alone, Stiles turned to look at Derek.