Archive of Our Own

Stiles got the phone call at 12:03.

He almost didn't answer it. He'd spent the past seven hours with old mythology reference books and Google, a bag of Cheetos and and a Diet Pepsi the vending machine had given him by mistake and he'd shoved into his bag a few days ago before sighing and paying again for a Mountain Dew. He was tired. His eyes were stinging from squinting over tiny pictures and dead languages and he'd just sprawled out on his bed when Scott's ringtone rang out, clear and shrill. Across the room.

He grumbled to himself as he rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a slight whuff and half crawling to his desk, hand outstretched. If Scott was calling because he couldn't remember what time they needed to be on the bus tomorrow he was seriously going to whoop some ass.

Scott didn't say anything when he picked up the phone. Stiles thought it might have been a pocket dial until he heard the hitched breath, the low whine, an indistinct murmur a voice in the background. "Scott?" he was instantly alert. "What's wrong, bro?"

"I killed Derek. It was my fault."

The air rushed out of the room and a roaring noise started in his ears. "What?" Stiles said dumbly.

"I thought if I just talked to them - but Derek was there - we fought the Alphas and Derek, he - "

Stiles shoved a fist into his mouth, waited a moment before he could compose himself enough to talk with a steady voice. "Do you want me to come over?"

"No. Isaac's here. I'll...I'll see you in the morning, Stiles."

Scott hung up before Stiles could say anything else and he was grateful for it. The phone felt foreign in his hand, the screen still bright with the background of a wolf frolicking in the meadows. Just two weeks ago he'd teased Derek that the wolf was him and he was after a tasty little bunny. He let it fall to the ground.

He was still on the floor, and he looked around him unseeingly. Derek. No. Derek couldn't be dead. He wasn't allowed to die. He was strong and Stiles had seen him so hurt before... He couldn't be - He'd never even told him -

The pain that had started growing in his chest leapt forward, his breath coming in shallow pants and grasps. Panic attack. He knew logically that was what it was. Knew he needed to calm down and take deep, big breaths. Could almost hear Derek's voice in his head coaching him through it, except no. That made it worse, and the little black dots started to encroach upon his vision.

*

He came to only moments later. He knew it hadn't been long because he could feel the itchy dampness from tears running across his face and down his neck, into his shirt. He hadn't even known he'd been crying.

He was sideways on the carpet, cheek pressed against the rough floor, legs titled awkardly to the side. He hadn't passed out from a panic attack in years.

He struggled to his feet, walking clumsily to the bed, lifting the covers mindlessly. Sleep. When he woke up, he'd realize that this was all a nightmare. He wouldn't have to think about the crazy idea that Derek was dead without even knowing that Stiles - that Stiles thought he loved him.