Archive of Our Own ^beta

Superhell

How many people would go to the end of the world for the person that they love? And how many of them would go to the underworld? Because Stiles would. He is.

If he could report anything from the most deserted, hopeless place in existence, it would be the infinitely stretching darkness that swallows up the edges of the world and casts it into fluid immaterialism. A bubble outside of its touch is where Stiles exists right now, but the black veils curl and trail after him wherever he goes, granting him only a few feet of insight into his surroundings after which only nothingness awaits. It feels like a thick curtain of black fog preventing him from seeing what is around him - or what isn't - and that blindness is a cage on its own.

"Mischief?"

A soft, feminine voice calls from his left, but it feels muted in this narrow space without an echo to follow as if the word (and Stiles himself) only exists in this vacuum of non-reality. He whips around as an old instinct rises to the surface - the instinct to follow his mother's voice and seek shelter in her embrace - and forgets that he has lost that kind of comfort decades ago.

"Mom?"

She can't be here - a rational part of Stiles's brain supplies. Why would she be here? Please, don't let her be here.

"Why are you here, mom?"

"You don't remember?" Claudia asks, the light crease on her forehead conveying the hurt over being forgotten as if Stiles was responsible for leaving her in this endless mist.

"What?"

"You sent me here, Mischief," His mom reminds him, her voice still too soft for this miserable place, "You killed me."

Her nails are sharp on his skin, but Stiles doesn't fight back. He covers his head as he lets her fury cut trails of blood into his arms, and only after a few seconds of motionless eternity does he peek out from behind his armour of flesh and bone. His mom is nowhere to be seen.

"Mom?"

Her vindictive cries disappear into the void, and a new, taunting voice answers the call, somehow worse than before.

"Did you lose your mommy, Stiles?"

The blood freezes inside him, and from the shadows, a familiar, young figure emerges with vengeance distorting his face.

"I think I'll hunt her down, too. After I'm finished with you."

Stiles doesn't wait for Donovan to pounce, he just runs. The darkness is constantly before him, behind him, around him, and it feels like Stiles could never catch up to hide in it. The chimera tackles him to the ground and his fangs sink into Stiles's fragile skin one bite after the other, but Stiles's screams are muted like his mother's as he kicks his attacker off and runs fast, fast until his feet trip over a tree root on the forest ground and he stumbles forward into water. His blood floats around him as he sinks heavily into the depths, the lake closing over him and the small light of the Moon shrinking into the distance. There is a weight in his jacket, like rocks pulling him down, and he flails to get it out and off of him. He's convinced that if he got rid of this thing, he could break through the surface for air.

What he pulls out of his jacket is nothing as heavy as a rock. It's a circular, wooden token with a triskelion carved onto one side - the symbol of a family that holds this object as an heirloom with one specific purpose: an anchor.

Derek.

Stiles swims upwards with everything he has and makes it onto the shore on all fours, clothes dripping water and chest aching from the sudden heave of oxygen. As his eyes slowly lift, he sees piles upon piles of bodies ahead of him, and at the edge of the darkness, a bandaged figure slips through the trees. Stiles shuts his eyes and tells his limbs to move despite the numbness.

Deaton told him that this place was meant to torture him. It's a prison cell of the most cruel kind, conjuring the trapped soul's worst fears and twisting them into a neverending, inescapable nightmare. The thought that Derek is stuck here somewhere makes Stiles forget about his own demons and concentrate harder on locating the other man.

This place only knows terror, and hence, only dread can exist here. Stiles knows this and clings to his fear to make use of it as a string that will guide him (hopefully) straight to Derek as planned. He focuses on the worry and guilt in his heart, on how scared he is to see what Derek might be experiencing down here, and suddenly, an arrow pierces the air in front of him. Looking to the side, he is not surprised to catch Kate Argent grinning wickedly at him, and Stiles can only wish she was truly here in this pithole of helpless suffering. She would deserve it.

Stiles bolts towards the darkness as more hunters infiltrate his bubble of nightmare, which seems to gradually expand as Stiles forges it with Derek's own flavour of hell. As the darkness recedes somewhat, a black wolf jumps out of the trees, and it takes everything in Stiles to stay afraid.

"Derek!"

The wolf doesn't listen. It runs for its life through the limitless woods, except there is nothing to offer them safety or shelter in the middle of the abyss. Stiles tries to keep up as much as he can, and when the wolf swirls into his line of escape, Stiles throws himself at the animal and lets gravity do the rest. They roll together, trashing on the ground, and Stiles barely has enough strength to free a groan stuck inside his throat as they skid to a stop and the wolf springs to its paws. He feels the chill settle over him again, and a quick scan of their surroundings confirms that yes, they are in the basement of an imaginary Eichen House. All as intended.

The wolf whines at him then from the corner of the room and Stiles doesn't dare move.

"It's okay, buddy," Stiles puts a hand out and is not even stunned that his earlier scratches and bite marks are no longer visible, "I brought us here. Hopefully, Kate won't find us now."

If Stiles's fear is greater than Derek's, that is.

The wolf's rightful wariness manifests in a threatening growl, so Stiles puts up his other hand as well as a sign of surrender. It seems like the wolf is counting before the growls stop, and its head tilts questioningly to the side, which Stiles would normally tease him about but there is just no space for happiness in a place like this. Maybe later.

"Only you could be so stupid to get yourself in a place worse than hell, Derek," Stiles scoffs half-amused, half-angry as he tentatively rises to his height, "But don't worry. I'm here to get you out."

The wolf begins pacing the room and clawing at the walls - clearly, Derek doesn't have good memories of basements, either. But with the wolf's agitation growing, the nightmare shifts to accommodate Derek's fears, and as expected, hunters soon burst through the walls of their bubble. They grab Stiles and Derek and drag them out into the woods where the pair is deposited right next to the pulsating entity of the Nemeton. At least Stiles knows that this fraction of their nightmare is real.

Stiles gets pushed to his knees as four hunters work to tie Derek down, and between trying to get free and straining to save Stiles, the wolf doesn't stand a chance.

"Give him the bite!" Kate commands with a lunatic smile on her face, and then there are two hunters forcefully opening Derek's maw while another yanks Stiles's arm closer to the sharp fangs.

"Wha-" Stiles struggles, but he's no longer in control of his body. In the back of his mind, he feels an ancient spirit cackle with glee.

Derek keeps growling and whining and snapping his teeth at any hunter in his vicinity, and Stiles falls face-first to the ground in the wrangle. As his hand touches the root of the tree, a door gets conjured up on top of the Nemeton with multiple circles representing the layers of reality adoring it and a faint glow highlighting its hinges.

"The tree of life," Deaton told him before he descended, "connects the realms. Find it, and it will bring you home."

"Derek." Stiles's desperate eyes seek out the wolf, but Derek's unmoving on the ground, and his chest rises and falls as tiredly as the wolf's body probably feels. Hopelessness is the ultimate exhaustion not just in this hell, and Derek apparently has accepted his fate.

Those fangs inch closer to Stiles's skin as the hunters grab him again, but before Derek's jaw can lock around his wrist, one of the hunters cries out and a blinding beam of light sweeps across the clearing. When Stiles blinks the swaying spots out of his eyes, he sees a middle-aged man make another hunter's eyes bleed white with only a touch of his hand on her head, and as the man whirls around to fend off the others' attacks, his trenchcoat flows around him like a short cape.

"Go!"

There is no time to admire or ponder their unknown saviour. The man shouts as he kills another one of Stiles and Derek's captors, and the pair finally clambers to their feet. Stiles immediately jumps onto the stump and wrenches open the door, almost getting knocked off his balance by the icy gust of wind that breaks through from the other side. Beyond the threshold, Stiles can only see whiteness, but the light is still better than the darkness that consumes everything down here, so he finds Derek on the battlefield with his eyes and signals for him to come.

"Derek!" Stiles calls for him, but the wolf doesn't stray from the fight. He seems determined to destroy the hunters his mind conjured up like the loop of his nightmare is a quicksand Derek has begun to willingly sink into, and he seems more impelled to do it side-by-side with the mysterious stranger. Stiles knows that it's all just made up, though, and just like the darkness, it's never going to end. He doesn't want Derek to fight for his life for all eternity.

"Derek, you have to come with me, okay?" Stiles pleads, and finally, the wolf looks at him with high, alert ears. "I need you, Derek. I need you to escape this place. I need you to help me find a way out. But we'll both get stuck here if we don't leave. right. now!"

As his last resort, Stiles extends a hand in the wolf's direction just as he feels the wind wrap around him like a hook and pull him inwards to the light. Derek hesitates at the base of the tree, and there is a brief flash of panic as Stiles is almost swallowed by the light and the realization that he might escape this place without the love of his life securely beside him overtakes his senses. He can't hear anything, he can't feel his own body. All he has is the sight of a black wolf as it leaps onto the stump, and in the last second, fangs bite down on the edge of Stiles's jacket before they both fall into the bottomless light.

Stiles has the impression of fainting, but he's sure they can only end up in a better place from now on.

Right?

Hell

The scent is so familiar.

It clogs up his nose, soaks into his skin and permeates everything in his life.

He knows he is in the hospital even before his eyes flutter open. His head feels leaden as it moves up from his arms and takes in the white blanket that covers his mother's lower body. It's better that way, too, since her skin has dipped into the hollows of her skeleton, and the flesh that kept her alive withered away just like her brain. Her bony hand reaches out to pet Stiles's hair as if it were him who was sick, but to be honest, Stiles feels like he is on his deathbed, too.

"Dad will be here soon," He repeats because he has to believe that if his father was here, his mother would miraculously turn better. But Stiles is alone, and he never could heal her, only drain her like a parasite.

"It's okay, Mischief."

His mother recognizes him, but Stiles has been long deprived of the hope that her remembering means that she's getting better. Because she isn't. She never will.

"Dad will be here and he'll take you home with us. We'll go home, Mom."

"I'm going home either way, honey," His mother smiles, wipes his tears away.

Stiles can't speak. He looks at the door and wills his father to walk in, wills anyone to come, to care. But people are busy, Melissa is busy, and nobody notices that a boy is about to lose his mom.

"Mischief, I love you."

"Mom, don't fall asleep," Stiles surges forward and shakes her shoulders when her eyes begin to droop, "Dad's gonna be here soon, okay? He'll be here any minute."

That loud beeping sound that has been driving Stiles crazy starts to slow down, and it feels like a countdown to the worst moment of his life.

"I don't want to be alone, Mom," Stiles whispers while he grips her frail hand because he's unable not to hurt her even in her last moments.

"Never," His mom breathes, ragged, "You..."

This new sound is truly horrible. The beeping was better than this incessant whiny sound of a flat line, but at least it gets some people into the room, if too late.

When Stiles gets ushered out of the hospital room, it's like a time skip. He's at home, schoolbag in hand, which he tosses carelessly to the side. His father is passed out on the couch again with an empty bottle of whiskey lying sideways on the floor just below his father's open hand. Stiles nudges him, but it elicits no reaction, as usual.

"Dad, wake up! I'm hungry!"

His dad rouses at the harsh cry, eyes blinking equally emptily up at Stiles like he can't recognize his own son.

"Ask your mom," His dad mumbles as his eyes slip closed once more, and Stiles has to nudge him a bit harder to coax him awake.

"Daaaad."

Clearly, his old man doesn't want to move, but Stiles can't leave him like this. Is it really bad that he wants to feel like he lost only one parent to sickness and not two?

"Fuckin'.... leave me, kid!" His dad grumbles angrily - the only emotion he seems to feel nowadays.

"Just get up!"

His dad resists and resists and resists until he pushes Stiles a bit too roughly and he tumbles back and over the coffee table with a terrified screech. He's fine, of course, but his eyes are wider than ever before as he looks at his dad, or better yet, this stranger who parades around as if he were his father.

"That was your fault," His dad says matter-of-factly as he clutches his head with a pained grimace.

Stiles rushes to help his father up but the man swats him out of the way like he is a particularly annoying fly.

"Why you gotta wake me? I was with your mom."

"Sorry," Stiles mumbles contritely. The word, however, loses its meaning after so much repetition.

"Just fuckin'... I donnow. Play or somethin'."

"But I'm starving."

"Gosh," His father grunts, then sighs like he's been working a 12-hour shift, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Stiles doesn't know how to answer that.

"Go over to Scott's."

"But I'm always there."

"If only," His father mumbles as he pushes to his wobbly feet.

Stiles tries again to assist him but his father pushes him away. That seems to be the only thing the man's got energy for in the past few months.

"I don't need you, damn it!" His father shouts in irritation. He's been easier to rile up lately, but at least Stiles gets a reaction out of him this way.

"Dad, stop!"

"I don't need you, ya hear me?! I just need your mom!"

"Well, she's not here!"

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?!"

The verbal slap immobilizes Stiles, but his father doesn't notice. He doesn't notice anything lately, he simply goes up the stairs without a single look and passes out in his bed. Stiles can't breathe in this place.

He runs out the front door, and behind the cascade of his tears, he spots Derek in the dark while nearly tripping over his feet.

Stiles wants to go closer but Braeden is already beside Derek, and anyway, it's not like Stiles can help. There's just no escaping a banshee's death sentence, and the last thing Stiles wants to be to a dying person is a burden.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Just get to Scott."

Another grunt. Another moment where Stiles feels like he's swallowed kanima poison. Why can't he save the ones he desperately wants to?

"Just find him. I'll be right behind you. Go!"

The others run in, but Stiles remains despite the glance he throws towards the temple. He should go inside. That's where he should be right now. Except he doesn't want to be alone and he. can't. move. He feels like that nine-year-old kid again who always brought trouble to people around him and who was always in the way. He takes one step away before he turns back around, still unable not to hurt the ones he cares about out of pure greed. Greed for love, greed for one last moment.

"Hey, hey," Derek looks at him, pleading, and gone is the fire in his voice. He looks oddly soft and peaceful now, just like Claudia did at her last breath, and Stiles selfishly wishes Derek could not find serenity if it meant he would stay alive. "Save him."

Stiles nods minutely, jogs towards the church, hears Derek behind him, and can't stop stealing one last look. Storming into the church and down the hallways is an eddy to the loneliest night of padding feet and heaving lungs, and Stiles feels like he deserves to face death alone after such a cruel abandoning of everything he used to hold dear. He bursts through the school library door with a whirlwind for a mind, high on adrenaline and the dread that's drilling a hole in his stomach. The chimera is close behind, but somehow, Stiles survives while Donovan lies dead (and disappears), and he has the odd feeling of drawing tallies on the wall. One line for each corpse he left behind, and another for himself.

Outside in the parking lot, the sky is pouring all of its tears onto them, and Scott is looking at him like he can't recognize Stiles.

Stiles isn't sure he can recognize himself either anymore.

"So you had to kill him?"

Scott blames him. His father blames him. Maybe it's all Stiles's fault, after all.

Running after Scott is easy, putting the katana into his friend's body is even easier. It's not Stiles who smiles, but it's Stiles who feels good about hurting others instead of being the one getting hurt. Deaton injects the poison into him way too soon, and when he wakes, the other side of his bed is eerily cold. There's a note on it and Stiles isn't even surprised that she's left without a proper goodbye. Lydia has wanted to leave for a long time now, and to be fair, Stiles can't even feel sad anymore. He just feels empty, alien in his own body.

Everything is wrong, and everybody dies. Maybe it's better if Lydia runs from him, too.

He gathers himself the best he can so he is at least semi-presentable at work, and while he's fixing his tie and tearing it off himself in one helpless outburst, he answers the phone without checking the caller ID. It's his father. His voice is hoarse but steady when he tells Stiles Derek is dead, like such news can be delivered over the phone, like Stiles should know how to deal with this like an adult. But Stiles is a nine-year-old kid, and for the first time in years, he feels a devastating pang in his heart that leads him back to Beacon Hills where his hands shake just from being back in town. He sees Eli, or more accurately, the ghost that the kid has become, and then he sees his old friends and pack who are all mourning a man they haven't known for over a decade.

Stiles is still alone.

He has come to accept that this might be his fate over the years of self-imposed isolation, but it certainly isn't Eli's, so he promises to bring back Derek or die trying. Either option is good for him. Then he is actually dying on the Nemeton, the ritual going as it should for once, and he closes his eyes to that unfathomable peace that he's seen reflected in his mother's exhausted eyes. His only thought is Derek as he descends.

The first thing he notices is the familiar scent. He knows he is in the hospital just from that unescapable medical stench, and his eyes flutter open without any joy to face the world. It's always better in his dreams where his mother is healthy and can laugh with him wholeheartedly at the stupid jokes on TV and can cook his favourite meal for dinner. In those dreams, she isn't scarily thin, her smile isn't forced, and her once beautiful face isn't sunk in around her lifeless eyes. Stiles has always liked zombies, up until his mother became the first walking corpse.

"Dad will be here soon," Stiles repeats because his father has to come and save her, has to care more about his mom than some stranger on the side of the road.

"It's okay, Mischief."

Stiles looks around, tears trickling down his cheeks. Most people would assume that the realization that the supernatural exists was the most terrifying change of Stiles's life, but they would be wrong. The world became much scarier the moment his mother died, and Stiles hasn't stopped being petrified ever since.

"I love you," His mother says, eyes fond and sparkling as if she can already see into the afterlife, and Stiles can only hope that she'll find something more beautiful and peaceful there than a dull hospital room.

Stiles can't save her, never her, but he can still save Derek.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers with his hands gently cradling his mom's bony fingers. The triskele token is heavy in his pocket. "I'm sorry I killed you."

"Never," His mom smiles, a flicker of happiness returning as she looks at him. "You-"

It's like a punch - the memory of sitting beside his father's hospital bed and the phantom feel of his hand on his shoulder as Stiles stared down at a casket. The words of his father echo in his mind with the comforting lull of her mother's voice - one sentence that he thought was never finished: "You've still got me."

"Thanks, Mom," Stiles says as she flatlines, and he kisses her forehead goodbye before walking out.

The next memory he regards as a puzzle, or more accurately, an escape room since aside from the entrance that leads to his next memory, there are no doors anywhere in sight. It's like they were precautiously removed to only serve as segue ways into each follow-up nightmare, and that particular attentiveness betrays the fault in the system.

Stiles goes upstairs to a bleak hallway and remembers Lydia's words with a long-not-felt twist describing the story of how she found his room under layers of tapestry when he was taken by the Wild Hunt. That story was once a badge of their invincible love, and now, Stiles uses that hope to claw at the wall, to tear it to pieces until it flakes away to reveal a wooden structure that he - without a handle to turn - kicks open.

There's cold air rushing along the narrow alley where Stiles turns up. Everything is dark and bereft with ten-feet-high walls of ice blocking the view in all directions, but there are carvings in the frost above the doors that line the frozen alleyway. Above the door of his own prison cell, a name shimmers: Mieczyslaw Stilinski.

His eyes frantically leap between the rows of doors, but thankfully, they don't have to wander further than the neighbouring entrance where the name Derek Samuel Hale is written in cursive. Stiles nearly collapses from the relief that Derek is truly here instead of down there and that he wasn't mistaken when he saved a wolf from the black hole of the afterlife. Stiles braces himself for the worst sight still - as there are a lot of horrible memories unseen yet that could serve as a scene for Derek's eternal torture - and cautiously passes through the door.

Instead of some hellish landscape, he is transported to the familiar grounds of the sheriff's station, and within it, his father's office where Derek is squirming in his seat across the sheriff's pitying look.

"I think Stiles needs time."

"But do you think he'll come back?" Derek asks, and the heavy sigh that presses the sheriff deeper into his chair denotes that this isn't the first time they've had this conversation.

"There's nothing here for him."

"There's nothing out there either," Derek retorts briskly.

The sheriff's sorrowful look is both stern and sympathetic - he looks just like when he told Stiles that they are supposed to take care of each other, not just one way around. A bit disappointed, a bit lost, but the sheriff was also just incredibly hopeful that Stiles would one day understand that he can't always have it all, and maybe that's a lesson Derek has similarly struggled to grasp.

In his case, though, Stiles would make the argument that Derek probably never wanted to have it all. He just wanted one good thing from life, and look where that got him.

"He'll find something," The sheriff says, reassures Derek as much as himself, "Something that isn't Lydia."

Derek's nod is far from acceptance, but he leaves the station wordlessly and gets into his Toyota. Stiles follows him like a ghost or that daunting shadow that has chased the man all his life without ever knowing how to exit the darkness.

"What's happening, Derek?"

Answer doesn't come, not that Stiles had much hope for being heard. Instead of driving home, Derek parks the Toyota at his garage and gets into the newly fixed jeep that Stiles hasn't seen the inside of in years, and he knows he shouldn't be surprised that Roscoe runs smoothly, but Stiles is still dumbfounded by how well Derek took care of it in his absence. It's enough to make his heart twist from the guilt that he hasn't allowed himself to feel yet.

"Where are we going, Derek?"

No response again, but there is no doubt about their destination when they pass the Beacon Hills Preserve sign and Derek turns them onto a narrow path just off the main road. Stiles knows exactly where these worn-out tyre trails lead, and he still can't believe his eyes when they end up at the same cliff where Stiles kept Jackson in a police van seemingly a lifetime ago. The settling sun paints colourful strokes of tangerine and purple across the scenery that is dotted with the low-reaching buildings of Beacon Hills, and the spot of civilization looks dauntingly small from such vertigo-inducing heights. For a moment, Stiles thinks that this location is perfect to feel the call of the void.

"What are you doing, Derek?"

Derek just stares ahead, white-knuckling the steering wheel, while the engine keeps running.

"Derek."

The man doesn't react, and Stiles forgets that they are currently drifting down the stream of memory. He only has instinct now, and his hands shoot out of their own accord to stir the car to the side, but Derek thumps his head onto the steering wheel before Stiles can get hold of it, and thankfully, kills the engine. In the lingering silence, Stiles hears the man sob like he hasn't heard him since Boyd's death, and feels the tickle of tears, too.

"I can't do this," Derek whispers like an apology, like penance, "I can't let you go."

He jumps out of the car and Stiles has his years of training to thank when his feet follow along despite the emptiness he feels inside. Derek seems equally shaken as he runs ahead, tracking a sound only he can hear before Stiles realizes which memory they are entering.

There's that god-forsaken clearing, obviously, and there's the pack and Parrish atop the Nemeton where Derek is pushing Scott to the ground before taking his place behind the Nogitsune. Eli's devastated call for his father gets swallowed by the flames, just like Derek himself, and the whole scene unfolds just as Stiles's worst nightmares have reenacted.

He never wanted to see this.

He never wanted this to happen...

"WHY AREN'T YOU DOING ANYTHING?!" Stiles screams at the still pack as he marches forward with bloodshed eyes and ragged breath to match his maniac state, "WHY AREN'T YOU STOPPING THIS?!" This particular accusation is aimed at past Scott with all the rage Stiles hasn't acted upon when he first came back, but if he is being honest with himself, he can hardly find the strength to move, too.

When everything disappears and the night grows hollow, that's exactly how Stiles feels.

The sniffles are barely audible, but Stiles lets the sound (the sign of something alive, the proof of existence) guide him down to a cellar below the Nemeton with the reminder that all he sees now has passed already. Derek is there - it's almost whiplash - and so are his claws that dig deep into the pale, young flesh of a girl's trembling body.

Paige.

He squats down and tries to get Derek's attention, but a pained howl in the distance squanders any attempt at consolation. Derek stands and runs out into the forest - Stiles loses the fight to keep up - and lets out the most heart-wrenching scream that Stiles has ever heard in his life when his body slams into the invisible barrier of a mountain ash circle. On the other side, the Hale house is covered in columns of fire, and Stiles at first can't even speak from the smoke clogging his throat. Or maybe that's his heart, shattering into a million pieces.

"MOM! DAD!"

Derek slams himself into the wall again and again to no avail, and when Stiles reaches out to grab him, Derek shakes him off without a second thought.

"I'M COMING! HOLD ON!"

Derek's eyes are red-rimmed and watery, and his breathing comes dangerously fast. When the barrier starts to burn his skin, Stiles forcefully shoves him back by the shoulders, and that contact seems to get the man's attention away from his burning home.

"Derek, we have to get out!"

Those colourful eyes look at him and see him - actually see Stiles - but there is no recognition yet.

"I have to be with them," Derek says as he gears up for another try, "My family..."

"Your family is up there, in the real world," Stiles shouts over the cracking fire, a reminder to himself as much as to Derek, "Eli. Remember?"

Derek doesn't stop, how could he? Just like Stiles was, he is young again with those long-ignored scars being cut open suddenly and without mercy for this self-inflicted punishment. The burn marks char his skin and Derek's still relentless, too lost in the memory to escape his hell loop on his own. Stiles thus has to break the mountain ash circle with his foot and dash after Derek when the werewolf mindlessly rushes ahead and tears open the entrance to the flame-consumed Hale house. Beyond the blackened door, a bleak alley awaits with ice-solid walls on all sides and a closed door with Derek's name behind them. Stiles supports himself on his knees while he swallows back the bile and attempts to force some air down his constricted throat, and all the while, Derek just spins around like the lost child he's always been.

"Where are we?"

Derek's voice is a myriad of emotions - confusion, devastation, disappointment, anger - but most of all, he reminds Stiles of that young boy they found in that Mexican temple with all his memories erased and the demons of his past still tormenting him both figuratively and literally. It seems that Derek Hale hasn't changed much in the years, actually.

"Hell," Stiles answers once he straightens up and finds the courage to look into Derek's ocean-like eyes. This way, he can pinpoint the exact moment Derek realizes that Stiles is actually there with him, that Stiles is real, and he looks more shaken at that moment than ever before.

Maybe Stiles can't understand him as well as he used to, after all.

"What are you doing here?"

"Saving your ass," Stiles snaps back, then tries to tame the emotions he just let loose, "You know, the regular."

"Why?"

Derek's jaw is so tense that Stiles is afraid the werewolf might break it out of sheer rage, and that is just not fair. This isn't the reaction Derek is supposed to have when he discovers Stiles has embarked on a self-sacrificial journey to save his furry ass. If anything, Derek should see him as a hero. He should be running into Stiles's arms right now!

"I promised Eli - you know, the son you abandoned - that I would take you back to him, so here I am!"

Derek jerks back as if Stiles has just slapped him across the face (Stiles's hand would surely break if he tried that, albeit it is a tempting idea), and his eyes roam over the blue hues of the shimmering walls around them as he takes a deep breath and releases it in one, frustrated blow.

"Are you taking me back?"

"As I've been saying."

"Let me do one last thing."

"What could you possibly want to do here?" Stiles mostly questions Derek's sanity here, and he has a hunch it's not gonna be the only time.

Granted, Derek starts down the alley with the determination of a possible lunatic without any explanation whatsoever. Stiles scurries after him to yank at his shoulder (this wouldn't be the first time Derek marches into death on a whim), but Derek just motions for him to stay quiet as his eyes dart rapidly to the side and back. Understanding that Derek has sensed something, Stiles peers around the corner to catch the mesmerizing sight of a young man descending the vertical alley in a plain, black gown that sweeps along the ground so elegantly Stiles could believe that the man is floating. The stranger opens the entrance to one of the hell chambers with no name above it and parts the front of his gown as his hands extend in front of him in the shape of a globe like he is cupping a butterfly between his hands. As his hands unfurl, a speckle of light bursts from the cage of his fingers, and Stiles watches in complete rapture as the shiny thing flows through the air and enters the chamber right before the stranger closes the door behind it. Above the door, a new name carves itself into the ice: Tamora Monroe.

Stiles is still dazed when Derek springs from their hideout and grabs the man by his gown, snarling into the man's shocked face something Stiles can't hear from his spot so he, too, edges closer. The man shakes his head with a scandalized look to which Derek pulls out the old cards and slams the stranger into the rigid wall of ice cubes, his claws cutting holes into the smooth gown in the process through which flashes of light escape and fly upwards into the endless night sky.

"What are you doing?!" The man shrieks before magically mending his gown with a swipe of his hand, "Do you have any idea of the kind of people you so violently resuscitated just now?!"

"Is. she. here?" Derek snarls again, and the man huffs indignantly before his eyes glow white for a few pensive seconds. After his eyes return to their rich brown, the man reluctantly grits out the answer between his teeth:

"Yes."

Derek, apparently, isn't satisfied with just that. He raises a single eyebrow of persuasion - pronounced by the threat of his claws that dig into the man's gown - and the man flicks his wrist with a petulant scoff, followed by the conjuring of a black portal right behind his back. Derek eyes it contemplatively for a second before shoving the man forward and passing through the pitch-black gate together, and Stiles barely manages to follow them with various curses aimed at Derek's fatal stupidity muttered under his breath. The portal eventually spits them all out in a different but at the same time identical alley, and the man doesn't hesitate to point to the nearest hell door, at which Derek's shoulders seem to relax (and his partial shift withdraws) for the first time as he reads the name above the entrance.

Katherine Argent.

"Okay, Derek, you've seen what you wanted to, let's go," Stiles urges with new clarity, but also with a foreboding dread churning in his stomach.

"Where do you think you're going?" The man turns on him then with a kind of terrified seriousness that belongs both to the youth and the ancient, "You belong here now. No souls are allowed to escape on their own."

"On their own?" Stiles echoes, but the man has already shifted out of Derek's loosened grip and has conjured up a huge, seemingly very sharp scythe from thin air.

"The balance cannot be broken," The man - reaper? - declares as he takes a swing at them, and Stiles throws himself at Derek without thinking so they both end up on the ground and successfully out of the scythe's way.

Derek recovers first and drags Stiles up to his feet as the reaper prepares for the next blow, which they dodge by the skin of their teeth right before sprinting down one of the many identical alleys. Stiles tries to access their surroundings, but it's a near impossible feat mid-run, and he doubts this place has a single tree inside it, anyhow.

Meanwhile, new reapers spawn in front of them, and Derek grabs one of the scythes mid-fling to block another's attack while Stiles manages to move out of a third's scope. Derek then switches to his claws and lands a few scratches on the reaper's arm, which causes no pain to the creature, but rips its gown open enough to distract the reaper while Derek twists the scythe out of its hand. He tosses the weapon to Stiles in time for the man to block the other reaper's plunge, and then they engage in a quasi-sword fight as Derek succeeds in kicking the previous reaper into a nearby hell chamber.

"We need to find the tree of life!" Stiles shouts as the werewolf comes up behind the remaining reaper and tosses that, too, into a cell.

Stiles pants euphorically as he goes in for a fistbump, but Derek's eyes narrow onto a spot of new reapers around the corner, and he once more takes hold of Stiles's wrist as they dash down the maze of alleys one after the other in a seemingly endless chase.

"We're never getting out," Stiles wheezes all the while Derek manoeuvres them past countless corners to avoid more and more portals that have reapers flooding out of them like a swarm of bees.

"Derek, where are we going?!"

"There!" Derek shouts back, nudging his chin towards the huge - and only - hill that emerges from the walls up ahead with a vacated wooden chair atop it, whose owner Stiles really doesn't want to guess.

By a stroke of luck, they reach the hill's foot where a cave's mouth encircled by dead tree roots appears, and Stiles only notices that Derek has halted when his hand slips out of the other's protective hold.

"Come on, Derek! We're almost out!"

"Go! I'll save you time." Derek gives weight to his words by taking a step back, and Stiles feels his heart sink as his feet immediately root into the ground.

"What?"

"I'll be right behind you. Go!"

Stiles knows it's a lie. It was a lie back then, too.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Stiles insists, which makes Derek round up on him with a growl ready in his throat.

"Stiles, go!"

He doesn't budge. Neither does Derek.

And that's when Stiles comes to a crucial - and very dangerous - realization.

"Why do you want to stay here, Derek?"

The werewolf doesn't look surprised that Stiles has figured it out, but he's clearly disappointed. His mask of anger falls away to reveal nothing but exhaustion and guilt as Derek ducks his head in defeat.

"What if he's right? What if I belong here?"

"You belong with your family," Stiles reminds him with a cautious step forward. He'll carry Derek through that channel if he has to. "And your family's upstairs, waiting for you."

They both see the formation of a black portal next to them, but Stiles stubbornly stays in place to make sure Derek knows that if he stays, he's dooming Stiles, too. Just as the first reaper slips through the portal, Derek makes up his mind and pushes Stiles into the cave, yelling "Lead the way!" as they dart into the darkness.

Stiles runs with leaden limbs and no destination in mind. He just runs and runs, never looking back, and it feels like his feet aren't even hitting the ground after a while. He has the vague thought that this is what zero gravity must feel like, and nausea hits him right as echoes awaken in the dark - voices of the deceased, like his mom and Heather, similar to the place below. Stiles closes his eyes and imagines making it out with Derek, focuses on nothing but the relief of finding him and the determination to save him, and suddenly, sunshine bursts behind his eyelids. He stops so fast in his tracks that he almost topples over, and as he blinks away the void, rows of trees take shape around the clearing where he stands.

He's made it.

There's laughter so free and joyful then, it takes Stiles a few seconds to realize it's coming from him. The ecstasy is so great, he swirls around to hug Derek and share this solace with him, but the only thing he sees behind himself is the cave he's emerged from and the abyss that sparks deep inside it. Delight is quickly overturned by panic - a surge so strong that his hands go numb and he has to shake them out to feel like he's still in control of his body. (It doesn't feel like that. It feels like drowning.)

"Derek!"

Nothing.

"Come on, Derek," Stiles pleads quietly, and when he notices a shadow appear through the curtain of his tears, he doesn't care anymore.

"Sti-"

Derek's air gets punched out of him by the force of Stiles's hug, but it doesn't matter because Derek is here, he's fine, and they've made it.

"Never do this to me again, asshole!"

Stiles squeezes harder, wipes his nose into Derek's shirt (the moron deserves it), and there's a beat of silence before Derek's arms come up to wrap around him, too.

It's been over a decade that Stiles felt this safe and hopeful. Too bad he can't catch a break with Derek.

"Alright... what now?"

Purgatory

"This was a horrible idea."

"I told you: the Nemeton can take us home," Stiles parrots with another futile glance around, "We'll find it. I mean, these woods have to be the same as in Beacon Hills."

"I meant your stunt," Derek grunts from his side, "Coming down here? Risking your life? This is the most hare-brained plan you've ever come up with and we both know that's saying something."

"Are you - Mr Let's-sacrifice-myself-and-orphan-my-child - preaching to me about the stupidity of self-sacrifice? Really?"

They are both still now, but the tense energy flows restlessly between them with the buried feelings of the past fifteen years, and it's not Stiles's fault that Derek started scratching at their wounds again for a little blood in the cut. If Derek was capable of keeping the jeep alive for thirteen years, why ruin everything now? Why backtrack? Why not admit that he wants Stiles here? (Cause he wants him, right?)

"I was saving Eli and the pack!" Derek defends, weakly, in Stiles's opinion, "My sacrifice at least meant something!"

"So does mine!"

Derek's eye roll doesn't convey the smallest hint of gratitude. "You don't get it, Stiles. You could die!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Stiles huffs, and instead of facing this mulish, cold side of Derek (he forgot how hard it was to get through to the other man), he keeps trudging through the bending and twisting of trees, "And I don't care if I die."

"Well, I do."

"You shouldn't have sacrificed yourself then," Stiles retorts after a beat of pause, "You should have known that I would come and save you. As always."

"How should I have known? You haven't been back in 12 years."

And there it is. The accusation he's probably heard countless times over the years, on the phone from Melissa, from Parrish, from his dad. Stiles never had a comeback for it, and that tradition won't end now, so he chooses silence as he is wont to do these days.

Derek hasn't changed, but Stiles isn't sure he recognizes himself anymore. He can't be mad at Derek for wanting the old Stiles to save him, and instead getting the depressed failure version of the boy he once adored so much.

"Well, this is a bust," Stiles kicks a piece of mushroom on the ground and leans his back onto a nearby tree.

It's been two hours of wandering without even coming close to the Nemeton, and Stiles's faith, as well as his ambition to continue, are wavering. No wonder the FBI no longer sends him on cases.

Derek sighs, looks around one last time, and nods: "I guess it's time for Plan B."

"We have one?"

"The town," Derek tilts his head towards the buildings in the distance - the exact opposite direction of where trees reside, "If this is a replication of our world, then we might have my family's collection here."

"What? Collection of useless things like this?" Stiles snarls as he takes out the triskele token and turns it around in his hands a couple of times. Derek stares at it blankly at first, then shakes his head as he averts his eyes.

"A collection of books. Lore. Maybe there's something in it about the underworld."

Stiles's eyes sway with the dance of the token in his hands for a little longer, then he pushes himself off the tree and sinks the object into his pocket where it belongs. Buried deep and undisturbed.

"Good thinking," Stiles snaps his fingers, and they head down to the underground replica of their hometown.

It's eerie, is what it is, to come across almost as many people as the town's real population down here, if not more. The buildings might be in the same place as in the real world, but they are ruled by decay and destruction, and the people roaming the streets are either lingering ghosts without purpose or ambitious spirits out to deal vengeance on anyone who so much as looks funny at them. It's the kind of chaos the Nogitsune would overdose on.

"I'm not sure how I feel about seeing all these people here," Stiles speaks up first, "They are like ghosts, like, they are dead but they live in this world of in-between?"

"Hopefully, we'll see a familiar face."

Stiles hopes for the opposite, actually. He doesn't share the enthusiasm of stumbling upon anyone they might have known beforehand - ally, friend or enemy. It's all the same bitterness.

The Hale vault, luckily, exists all the same in the underworld, and the treasury of books is available for their hectic search just as Derek suspected. It does make Stiles curious, thumbing through the books, that a bookworm like Derek wouldn't have devoured all the knowledge stored here either out of boredom or caution.

"Why don't you know it?" The question escapes him suddenly, "I mean, you know a bunch about the supernatural, but not purgatory?"

"I read about it. Some," Derek sighs, "But I was never interested in knowing how to get out. Never seemed relevant."

And then you go and sacrifice yourself, Stiles thinks darkly.

They peruse the books meticulously, and the age of the tomes is not lost on Stiles. Time has made the pages fragile yet heavy, and Stiles's haste leaves some of the pages fractured as parts of them splinter into dust, and he can't help but ponder if existence can only be remembered by the ashes one leaves behind. It's absurd to think of himself as nothing but dust now, in the upstairs world, and he chuckles for no reason.

Derek, meanwhile, has stopped moving altogether. His shoulders are drooped and his face has fallen into resignation where his eyes stare blankly into one of the ancient books.

"What is it?" Stiles probes with apprehension, "You found it?"

"It's not gonna work."

Despite the tone of doom, Stiles straightens up immediately.

"What is it?"

"Forget it," Derek closes the book with a big thud, but he's still too preoccupied with his thoughts to stop Stiles from grabbing the tome from him. The younger man reads the entry that rendered Derek hopeless and feels his heart burn with fury.

"Derek, this is the key to me getting you out!" Stiles points out sharply and seeks some explanation in the other's avoidant eyes.

"Stiles, this book says that souls can only be taken out by the living, and only at the lowest point of Purgatory."

"Yeeeah," Stiles affirms, unsure why Derek isn't buzzing out of his skin right now, "It's perfect."

"Stiles," Derek pronounces his name as if he were obtuse, but the bitterness in his voice is what catches Stiles off guard, "One of the requirements is true love."

In that moment, Stiles realizes that Derek still doesn't understand. He doesn't know why Stiles is here, why he is risking everything. He doesn't know Stiles can do it - that Stiles can save him - because he doesn't know about Stiles's feelings, and how could he? Derek said it himself: Stiles hasn't returned to him in 12 years. It's all on him if Derek has lost faith.

"This is our only chance," Stiles says drily and starts for the door. He can't do this now, but he doesn't have to. He can explain everything to Derek once they get back to the real world.

Right outside the vault, Stiles barely takes a step before he stops so abruptly that Derek collides with his back. Breathing becomes manual the second someone's waiting presence registers in his brain, and as his luck would have it, the person isn't alone.

"It's really you, Stiles!" Donovan cheers in front of him as if they were old friends encountering each other in the mall, "Remember the last time we saw each other? When you killed me? 'Cause I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Yeah," Stiles presses the words past the lump in his throat, "I remember it feeling real good."

"Well," Donovan smiles, all sharp teeth, "I think it's time to reverse the roles. It's only fair, don't you think?"

From the corner of his eyes, Stiles sees Derek creep around him with fangs peeking out of his mouth, and Stiles has deja vu as one of Donovan's hunter buddies in the background (that he probably brought as backup) aims his bow at Stiles. Derek is jumping to shield him before the arrow can be released, and the wolf's pained roar echoes in the open space as glowing eyes lock onto him in despair.

"STILES, RUN!"

Stiles doesn't want to leave. His options are confiscated, though, as Derek begins battling the hunters, and just as his worst nightmares prepared him, when Donovan pounces, Stiles runs for his life.

This pain in his legs and the shortage of breath are awfully familiar. His surroundings blur as he pushes his muscles to move faster, to take him away, to free him from this torture. Part of him hopes this is still hell.

When Stiles reaches the more populated streets, people automatically part for him, but nobody helps him, of course. It's a miracle he has enough of a headstart that he can find an unlocked car and lock himself inside it, but it's all just a wicked part of Donovan's deranged game. The chimera's cackle is joyful and heinous as he shatters the windscreen and drags Stiles through the opening, body tossed carelessly onto the street as Stiles battles with fatigue. Donovan enjoys every second of towering over him - over his prey - and the only reason Stiles doesn't strike is because he sees Derek approach close behind the bastard. Stiles then relishes every second of Donovan's jaw cracking under Derek's punch, but in a one-on-one fight, the werewolf seems disadvantaged by the poisoned arrow he took to the shoulder and collapses to the ground after Donovan bites his leg and sweeps him off balance. Derek tries to crawl to him as Donovan returns to his original target, and Stiles falls back onto his most reliable weapon in store: his inability to shut up.

"So what's your master plan, huh? Kill me?" Stiles scoffs while trying to push himself up with trembling hands, "We're already dead, you smooth-brained fucker."

Donovan chuckles and doesn't even squat down for his villain monologue.

"Oh, no, it's much better, Stiles. See, down here, you can't die," Donovan grins, and he looks even more sick in the head than when he was alive, "Instead, you feel all the fatal injuries you suffer to the fullest, and the best part? Death, the relief, never comes."

Derek swipes for Donovan with his claws and groans when the chimera kicks him across the face. Stiles immediately positions himself in front of the werewolf, not wanting to be the reason Derek falls victim to one of Stiles's demons from the past again.

"Aw, so sweet!" Donovan coos with a grimace, "You know, I have waited so long down here! It was actually kind of rude of you to make me wait this long, don't you think, but I was certain that you would end up here with me. Divine intervention? Maybe. Or perhaps the rotten apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"If you say anything about my father-" Stiles growls.

"Hit a nerve?" Donovan smiles in satisfaction, "Originally, I only wanted to take you, keep you as my little dog, tied up somewhere, feeding on you for all eternity. But now that I see how fiercely you're protecting that beast, I think I will take your pet dog, too. You seem to care about him a lot."

"Stiles, go," Derek grits out, and Stiles can see that he's readying himself to fight again. Hopefully, the poison has burned out of his system already.

"I'm not leaving you. Now, shut up!" Stiles shuts him down still, even as Donovan opens his mouth - lined with rows of meat-ripping teeth - to feast on him.

Then, all they can see is the surprise in Donovan's eyes and the strong hands that wrap around the chimera's neck, launching him into the nearest building where Donovan's spine cracks pleasantly loud. Stiles's heart is still rabbitting one beat away from a panic attack, but their saviour is extending a hand towards him, and he's getting hauled to his feet before he can fully comprehend why he finds those facial features so familiar.

"The sheriff's son?" The woman smiles warmly, albeit there's something about her that constantly demands respect and caution, "You grew up handsome."

Derek finally clambers up as well, clothes bloody and veins still running black from the residue of poison, but pain seems to be the last thing on his mind. Stiles can't blame him, he barely believes his own eyes right now.

"Mom?"

Talia Hale's smile is as fond and teary as expected for a mother-son reunion that's decades overdue, and she holds a hand out for Derek that her son doesn't take, but instead, he simply throws himself onto his mother and clings onto her for dear life.

"Mom."

Stiles has to avert his eyes - it's too redolent of a moment - and notices Donovan still healing at the brick wall he had been thrown into.

"Let's go somewhere safe," Talia pulls back shortly, and Stiles can see the disappointment hidden behind Derek's unreadable expression, "And if you try to hurt them again," She turns to Donovan with a cold look that gives Stiles a glimpse of her years as an alpha, "I will put an arrow in you that is coated with something worse than wolfsbane."

She takes them to what looks like the mayor's office, and on the whole way there, Stiles takes the initiative to walk a few feet behind them. This way, he can catch the occasional hand that wanders up to Derek's neck, and the smile the two share between hushed whispers. Derek looks like a nine-year-old child, too, right now, and he practically glows from happiness when Talia burns the wolfsbane out of Derek's skin despite the agony that accompanies the procedure. Derek is slumped on the couch of the mayor's office afterwards, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, and Stiles sits next to him by impulse and sweeps the dark locks out of the man's eyes without a protesting peep from the werewolf. When he caresses Derek's scruffy cheek with his knuckles, that's an entirely unconscious act, but probably the most vulnerable, too.

"The most dangerous aspect of this place-," Talia speaks from beside the window, her gaze shifting from the town beyond to where Stiles and Derek are snuggled up, "-is that there is no order or law. Negative emotions bring people here, and sadly, vengence is the most prominent out of all of them."

"Why are you here?" Derek asks, eyelashes fluttering open at the same time Stiles withdraws his hand, "Are the others-"

"No one," Talia responds forlornly, "Just me."

Derek has never been easy to read, but in that moment, emotions flit through his face plain in sight, displaying all the heartbreak and relief that comes with such news.

"Laura used to be here," Talia adds, and Stiles has to make a conscious effort not to reach out and touch Derek's neck like his mom did when tenseness returns to his shoulders, "She felt so bad leaving you behind, her guilt kept her here for a few weeks. Then one day, she said something I couldn't believe at first. She said she saw you."

Derek's frown is answered with a proud smile from his mom.

"I guess congratulations on your full shift are in order."

"Wait," Stiles puts a hand up like he's still in school, and feels immediately dumb for doing so, "How is that possible?"

"I died once. I don't even remember," Derek looks up at his mom, torn between wonder and grief, and Stiles remembers the day with all too much clarity.

"Once you disappeared, your sister moved on," Talia continues as she comes around the desk to lean on it, "I believed you were united with the others. I was wrong."

Stiles has never seen someone be so glad that they were wrong, but he could definitely relate.

"So you guys are really like ghosts," Stiles infers as he scoots to the edge of the couch, "With the whole unfinished business thing."

Talia smiles at him again, and Stiles wonders if this was Derek before the fire. If he inherited the good spirits from his parents, and that light was stolen by Kate Argent forever.

Sudden hatred flares in Stiles, but he knows. It's only partially at Kate. He dimmed Derek's light as well.

"Mom, this is Stiles," Derek remembers to introduce him out of the blue, and it disrupts the whirlwind of Stiles's guilt for a second.

"I know," Talia nods at Stiles, her eyes reflecting sorrow and sympathy, "I remember you and your mom."

Stiles swallows, cracks his knuckles above his knees.

"Is she here?"

"No. I haven't seen her, to be honest."

Stiles gives a weak nod. That is probably for the best.

"The better question is: How is it that you're here, boys?" Talia asks, her smile giving way to a more serious demeanour.

And that is the segue into their story, isn't it? It's a convoluted tale - one that neither of them is too happy to unfurl -, and they are somewhat divided about the details. To Talia's credit, she doesn't interrupt them once even when their words cut into each other's speech.

"Stiles is an idiot," Derek declares at the end of their concise explanation, "And due to his lack of self-preservation, he might get stuck here forever."

"Derek is the idiot one!" Stiles counters, "I mean, hello! He sacrificed himself totally unnecessarily!"

"You came all the way down here for my son?" Talia asks, ignoring the (very good) point Stiles was making.

"Deeper. To the last circle of hell."

"How did you find him?"

"With this," Stiles produces the triskele token out of his pocket, and obviously, Talia recognizes it from a single glance.

"And you're here to save him?"

"I'm certainly not here on vacation."

There is something knowing in Talia's next smile, aside from the motherly gratitude, and Stiles suddenly realizes that Derek hasn't inherited her wisdom to read between the lines, or to just see what is right in front of him.

"Can you help us?" Stiles is swift to derail the topic back to their original problem, hands fidgeting nervously with the token in his po

"I can take you to the entrance of the mine," Talia affirms, "That's the lowest point I know."

"It won't work," Derek reiterates, and Stiles turns his head away so he doesn't have to see Talia look between the two of them when she says:

"I think it will."

The empty office - the one Talia apparently claimed for herself shortly after her arrival - descends into fraught silence, through which Stiles can sense the weight of the two werewolves' supersenses trained on his heartbeat and chemosignals, and he feels kind of naked in a way he hasn't felt in years.

"Alright!" Stiles jumps to his feet and claps his hands, "This place is really hospitable, but I would like to go home now."

Talia straightens up in suit and inclines her head towards the exit.

"Follow me."

Their journey to the mine is thankfully ambush-free, but beyond the gate of the mine, the pair can't enjoy Talia's protection anymore, and she doesn't hesitate to tell them this.

"I can't go down there with you."

"Why?" Derek turns to his mother instantly, and he looks extremely youthful at the prospect of separation.

Stiles understands. Derek barely spent an hour with his mother and now they have to say goodbye once more.

"This place will sense your intentions and give you access accordingly," Talia shares contritely, "I, however, have no desire to depart from this place yet."

"What is your unfinished business?" Stiles implores, knowing Derek possesses the same curiosity, but would not ask out of fear of the answer.

Talia's lips twitch a bit sourly in response. "My brother."

"Peter?" Stiles grimaces on reflex, and Talia's face brightens at his reaction.

"I reckon you know him. And yes, I think a talk between us is long overdue."

"You might have to wait for him," Stiles warns, "For some reason, he would just not fucking die."

Talia laughs - head thrown back in joy, just like his son - and beside her, Derek lights up with her joy.

"I like him," She tells Derek with a wink before turning back to Stiles, "But I'll wait for Peter. Time passes differently here, I presume, as you are already grown-ups while I've had the impression of being here for merely a year."

"Oh, wow," Stiles exhales, lines of worry marring his forehead, "How long have we been gone in the living world?"

"I advise you don't make your loved ones wait longer, boys," Talia says, with a scolding look at Derek, "My grandson surely needs his father."

Derek ducks his head in shame and bows his head submissively while Talia plants a kiss on his head and gives one last rub to his neck.

"Goodbye, lobito. I love you."

Derek's eyes remain teary as they descend into the tunnels, and Stiles doesn't know what to say to him, but he brushes his fingers against the other's hand as they walk deeper into the darkness, and Derek... Derek lets him.

It feels all too much like forgiveness.

In the distance, there is golden light akin to sunshine filtering through a narrow opening, and as they pass through the orifice, an underground forest unveils itself before them. Natural light cascades down from a huge hole a mile above them, but Stiles suspects a magical quality to the beautiful cavern. Sky-reaching trees border the path towards a massive, wooden door - five stories high at least - standing on a platform separate from the rest of the forest with only a narrow bridge providing passage over the deep chasm that divides the two parts. Stiles chances a look past the stone rails as they cross over the rift to see a huge waterfall below them reaching into the depths of ominously green-hued water, and somehow Stiles knows that falling into it would mean nothing but doom.

On the vast ledge before the door, a woman awaits with the same ground-sweeping black gown that the men in hell wore, and thus, it's a no-brainer to identify what mystical creature she might be.

"Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Derek Hale." The reaper greets each of them with a nod.

"Random reaper," Stiles says back, not that it would erase the excited smile on the woman's face. The warm welcome is definitely in contrast with her colleagues' earlier behaviour.

"I know why you're here," She starts, and those vague paragraphs from the Hale tome about a particular test of true love immediately spring to Stiles's mind. No pressure at all. "Who wants to start?"

She walks next to a huge stone erected from the ledge with a huge mirror in the form of an eye in the centre and a hand-shaped indentation on each side. Stiles doesn't find either of them promising, and feels the intuitive urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants.

"I'm going first," Derek volunteers before they could have any discussions about how to proceed, and he follows the reaper's instruction to place one palm against the right-side indentation without asking any of the million questions that arose in Stiles's mind as soon as they reached this cavern.

"Focus on your memories with Stiles," The reaper guides while her fingers gently coax Derek's eyes closed, "Let your love free, darling."

Derek flinches but doesn't pull back. His eyes are screwed firmly, and before long, Stiles sees images materialise in the mirror. It's Stiles's silhouette from when they first met - he can recognize the buzz cut and the stupid look of open-mouthed wonder and bewilderment. The memory version of Stiles shuffles in place and the real-life version switches his weight from foot to foot. What? Anybody would have that kind of reaction in the face of a leather-jacket-wearing Derek Hale.

The image changes as quickly as it appeared, taking the form of different memories in rapid succession: Stiles in the animal clinic, scared, panicked, and willing to cut Derek's arm off; Stiles in his bedroom, pressed against the door, intimidated but eager, looking down at Derek's lips; Stiles in his car, choosing Derek over playing first line in the lacrosse team; Stiles swimming to the bottom of the pool to save a drowning Derek; Stiles trudging through the woods with him in search of Erica and Boyd while conversing about who is the best Doctor; Stiles touching his arm in worry while standing in an ambulance with a dying Cora; Stiles turning back one last time before running into the Mexican church; Stiles bursting through the door in an FBI vest to save him from his own boss; Stiles standing before the exit of hell, begging Derek to leave with him as reapers close in on them.

It's overwhelming, especially because through it all, there seems to be an aura of light surrounding Stiles's form, no matter the memory. Stiles never thought someone could look at him and see something like that. Even in the last memory, Stiles appears with the same shine as if Derek, despite all the years of abandonment, never ceased to see Stiles in that golden halo.

Derek abruptly withdraws his hand and the mirror turns black again. Past the fluttering of his lashes and the confusion, he looks at Stiles with all his cards bared, and Stiles can't look away, not even when Derek ducks his head and steps away from the stone.

"Stiles?" The reaper calls for him, "Your turn."

One look at Derek, and Stiles hates what he sees. He hates the fear, the resignation and the complete loss of hope. He hates the disappointment and the shame because Derek doesn't know how Stiles sees him, doesn't have a reason to believe that there's enough love from a time long passed to save him. So Stiles squares his shoulders, even though air doesn't quite fill his lungs as he places his palm into the cut-out shape of a hand, and remembers with closed eyes what he refused to remember for years.

It's like a movie, but if they made it in like 9D or something so that a person could experience the emotions of each scene as well: Derek in the sheriff's station, young, burdened with grief, accepting the Batman plaster a nine-year-old Stiles puts on his burned finger; Derek in the animal clinic, dying on the floor from wolfsbane poisoning while Stiles cradles his face with a racing heart; Derek in his bedroom, pushing Stiles up against the door, making a young boy question for the first time everything he used to know; Derek outside the holding cells, protecting Stiles from an out-of-control Isaac; Derek in the remains of his family's home, sharing New York anecdotes with Stiles while they search for apartments in Beacon Hills; Derek in Mexico, driving far away from everything painful, including Beacon Hills and Stiles; Derek in the jeep, telling Stiles he missed him after escaping the FBI; Derek reunited with earth, dead, as Stiles witnesses the evidence of his love (and grieves the life he could have had); Derek in purgatory, emerging from the tunnel of hell as Stiles smashes his organs together with his hug and feels hope once again.

Stiles pulls back as if he had been burned, eyes snapping to Derek immediately, but the other is still transfixed on the mirror with eyes wide and forehead creased. All these memories brought back the feelings Stiles thought would fade with time, and now, he knows better, and he hopes Derek knows, too.

God, how Stiles hopes he knows.

Derek's eyes lock onto his, unsure and earnest, and his lips twitch when Stiles smiles back. It feels like something that's been coming for longer than it should have.

"Okay, lady," Stiles claps his hands excitedly, tearing his eyes away with reluctance, "Where's the staircase upstairs?"

The reaper's previously encouraging smile has washed away from her face at some point, and instead of looking teary-eyed from their grand displays of love, her eyes are misty with pity as she motions at the door behind her.

The door, which is still closed.

"Well... open it," Stiles prompts with waning patience.

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"Only true love can."

"Lady," Stiles puts his hands up as he steps closer to the dark-clad woman, "We just did your test! Open the gate!"

"Yes, you completed the test," The woman concedes, still looking so infuriatingly sympathetic, "And, apparently, you failed. I'm sorry."

Stiles is speechless, that's how core-deep his fury runs. He turns to Derek, scandalized, but the werewolf's eyes are averted to the floor, and there's no fight in the pits of his hurt to galvanize his body into protest.

Well, Stiles has enough fight for both of them.

"We managed to come up all the way up here from the lowest circle of hell!" Stiles shouts into the reaper's face but she doesn't do so much as flinch, "I managed to bring him up here! What do you mean I failed?!"

"Travelling between the underworlds is easier," The reaper explains in a calm, placating tone, "People go down there from here all the time. But to the world of the living? That's a much more demanding journey."

"NO!" Stiles shakes his head and begins to pace in front of the massive, unbridgeable door, "I should be able to take him back!"

"Stiles, it's okay," Derek starts softly, not that Stiles would hear him and his stupid martyr ass out.

"NO! IT'S NOT FUCKING OKAY! GODDAMIT, JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Stiles is reeling as he grabs the reaper by the gown and gets up in her face, "Open that fucking door!"

"I don't have the power to do it. I'm sorry."

"Bullshit. You're doing this on purpose!"

The reaper's kindness vanishes in an instant, and she assumes a similar authoritative look to the reapers they've met downstairs. "Do not dare blame me for something that is your fault, human."

"I came to hell for him!" Stiles emphasizes, "I risked everything! That proves-"

"Boy, I looked at your history," The reaper says condescendingly as she peels his hands off her and smooths down her gown, "This does not seem like a true love story to me."

"Listen here, you bitch-"

"Stiles." Derek takes Stiles's shoulders gently and turns the man to face him. "It's okay. You already got me out of the worst place. Now I can hopefully join my family."

"Yeah, in the real world. Which is upstairs-"

"Stiles, you did everything you could."

"But I should be able to take you back!" Stiles screams, and damn, his vision is getting blurry. He doesn't wipe the tears away, though. He's been holding them for too long. "I love you," He confesses, gripping Derek's arm in a silent plea to make the man believe him, "I know that I left you, and that was the biggest mistake of my life, but there is no fucking way that there ever was someone who loved anyone more than I love you! I should be able to take you back!"

"I'm sorry," Derek whispers, and his smile is so faint, so vulnerable, Stiles has never hated himself more in his life. "I never told you how I felt. I was a coward."

"No," Stiles shakes his head because he can't let Derek bear the guilt that rightfully belongs to Stiles. "I was the one who was too scared of rushing into things. I was the one who didn't come back to you."

"You did now," Derek smiles fondly, and it seems that he finally believes despite Stiles's utter failure, "You always come back for me. Thank you."

Derek then steps away, and Stiles feels a terror like never before.

"Nononono, please, no," Stiles rushes forward, cradling Derek's cheeks between his hands and pressing their foreheads together with desperation and guilt and all the grief he hasn't been able to let go of yet. He's not sure he would ever recover if he lost Derek again. "Please. I know I messed up but you have to come with me!"

"I can't, Stiles." Derek sounds so calm, at peace, but Stiles can't accept this. He can't move on. He can't forget.

He can never forget Derek.

"Please..." Stiles sobs, almost inaudible, "I love you."

Stiles leans slowly forward and Derek lets their lips meet like binary stars finally giving in to gravity and colliding in a burst of temporary, destructive beauty. The kiss is salty from their tears but Stiles doesn't care, he never wants to part from Derek. They kiss over and over again, dreading the separation, and Stiles can't help but think: This is what my life has been heading to all this time.

"Shall we go then?" The reaper interrupts, and Stiles imagines a hundred ways of erasing her from existence.

The kiss ends, but they linger near each other for a minute more. Stiles wants to stretch this moment into eternity, but he has to open his eyes and address the woman. Her hand is extended, beckoning, but only to Stiles, and it doesn't feel right.

None of this feels right.

"I can take you back since you're just a temporary visitor," The reaper explains, "But only you."

Derek nudges him forward. Stiles looks back.

"Take my hand, boy."

Stiles looks at the hand, thinks about the people who are waiting for him back home, and wipes his face off.

"No."

The reaper's eyebrows rise.

"No?"

"Stiles-" Derek speaks, astounded, behind him.

Stiles steps back, stops before a Derek that looks ready to fight (always for Stiles) and feels his heart float in ways it couldn't in years. "I left you behind once. I'm not doing that again."

"You can't stay here, Stiles," Derek insists on principle, and Stiles loves him even with his incorrigible idiocy, "Think about your dad!"

"He'll understand."

"He'll be alone."

"We talked about this, okay?" Stiles reveals with a lump-tight throat, "He knew there was a chance I wouldn't return, and you know what? Out of everyone, he understood the most. Because if my mom was down here, he would choose to stay with her in a heartbeat."

As Derek stands there shock-still, Stiles intertwines their hands and turns defyingly towards the reaper.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm staying with the love of my life. So fuck you."

His balance abandons him at that moment, and Stiles only discovers the reason once Derek twirls him around with his arms securely around him and Stiles's arms wound around the werewolf's neck, nose buried in the joint of Derek's shoulders where he would never know the burden of solitude again.

"This is crazy, you know that?" Derek laughs, euphoric, and embraces Stiles a bit stronger.

"Have you known me to be sane?" Stiles retorts as he nuzzles closer even though such a thing isn't possible.

He has never known perfection or peace, but maybe he found it in Derek's arms, where their past dissolves into forgiveness, and the present blooms into the hard-wearing string of two connected hearts. It's the end of the journey, with many delays and detours, but Stiles has finally reached his destination. This is where his soul will rest.

Or, it would, if that cocksucker reaper wouldn't be set on disrupting them every time they have a moment for themselves.

"Congratulations!" She cheers with a shrill voice that's just begging for a bitch slap, "You've passed the test!"

If she's never been stared down with two equally annoyed bitch faces at once, well... now she has.

"The test of true love!" She adds, albeit less confidently, "You passed it."

"This was the test?!" Stiles pulls away from Derek, ready to send this woman to the even more under underworld with the fury of his fist, "Whether I choose to stay with him?! You would have let his son grow up as an orphan just for the sake of a stupid test?!"

"You know how many people beg me to send them back?" She defends, "I had to work out a system."

"So we can both go back?" Derek asks eagerly, and his hand reaches down to take Stiles's once more.

That's when it dawns on Stiles.

He was right. What they have is true love.

Stiles grins down at their joined hands.

"Yeah," The woman confirms with a beaming smile, "And I hope that your love is truly strong, otherwise, your souls won't survive the journey upstairs and they will be lost forever in the void of the universe."

Stiles and Derek share a look.

"Alright, let's go!"

At Stiles's passionate cry, the reaper finally opens the door to a limitless, dark forest beyond. Before they can demand some guidance from the reaper, the door shuts behind them with a decisive bang, and the two lovers have to take a while to get used to the dim atmosphere. They move deeper into the uncharted mystery that is a border between worlds, hand in hand, as they seek the redemption of an exit.

"Do you hear that?"

Stiles nods. To their right, a pair of red eyes sparkle amidst the darkness.

"Laura," Derek exhales, fear and longing stringing him forward towards the shadow.

"Derek, she's not here, remember?" Stiles reminds with his body positioned between the deceptive creature and the werewolf. "Think about Eli."

"What if it's really her?" Derek rounds on Stiles, but the human is there to block him anew.

"What if you just want her to be real?"

Derek watches the figure behind Stiles's back for a second more before giving a light squeeze to Stiles's hand. As soon as Derek begins to turn away, they hear a tortured scream come from the shadow, and upon investigation, the creature emerges from the darkness with a cavity for eyes and grabs for Stiles's hand. Derek wolfs out in an instant and cuts the creature's arm so deep that it immediately sinks back into the darkness.

Stiles locks eyes with a now fearful Derek, and the two fortify the grip on each other's hands before continuing their perilous search.

Along their aimless wandering, they encounter four more creatures: one mimics the singing voice of Claudia Stilinski, one beckons Derek closer in the tone of his father, and two more attack them in the disguises of Erica and Boyd. The shadows are easy to destroy or scare, but not joining them in the dark is what challenges Stiles's and Derek's resilience.

Their will starts to fray after six hours of futile meandering, and they take turns reminding each other why they are withstanding still.

At the breaking point of sanity, the sound of an engine - not belonging in a quiet place like this - disturbs the misery. Neither of them believes their eyes when a blue jeep swerves and stops in front of them out of nowhere, a brown flock of hair soon appearing in the open window of the driver's side, and the token inside Stiles's pocket awakens with a burning warmth.

"Your carriage has arrived!" Eli announces, and his eyes light up even more at the sight of his father.

"It's a trap," Derek warns, but Stiles is already tearing the back doors open and pushing both of them in.

"The token says otherwise. Now, go!"

"Buckle your seatbelts, guys! It's gonna be a bumpy ride!" Eli shouts right as the jeep shoots out into the endless rows of the mysterious forest.

"Why are you here?!" Derek berates his son, and while they are seemingly safe, Stiles keeps their hands joined even in the car.

"Deaton agreed to send me here!" Eli recounts excitedly, "He said you might need my help, anyway."

"Do you know how to get us out of here?" Stiles questions with a bit less panic that they might get vaporized into cosmic inter-world dust.

"Um... no? Deaton just told me to find you."

"Big fucking help, Deaton," Stiles curses and slumps back into his seat.

They drive through the trees, and somehow, the forest makes way for the car despite it not being of any benefit.

"Stiles," Derek squeezes his hand to get his attention, "You said the way out is by finding the tree of life."

"Thanks, Sherlock. Which tree among the thousands here seems like a highway to the living world to you?"

Derek looks pensive for a moment and, without explanation, grabs the token out of Stiles's pocket to reveal that the object has changed shape in the meantime, and instead of a triskele that once adorned it, there seems to be an arrow spinning around on it like some makeshift compass.

"Fucking Deaton," Is all Stiles can say.

The object swiftly returns to its original shape once they brake in front of the Nemeton, and the trio marvels only for a moment at the fully healed version of the tree that seemingly remained in the underworld even after it's been cut down. They don't dither for long, though, as shadows creep towards them from all directions, but get out of the car with aimless urgency and absolutely no clue on how to cross over. Perhaps Stiles should have asked Deaton for more detailed instructions, but damn it if he's gonna give up at the finish line.

They are all pondering how they will ascend without any magical cave or staircase in sight when the ground below them turns malleable, and Stiles only has time to shout for Eli and Derek before his body is swallowed by the forest floor.

Beacon Hills

With darkness encaging him all around, Stiles digs desperately at the earth above him and doesn't even bother with breathing when he knows that panic has already captured his lungs. He digs and digs until sunlight breaks through the blindness, and hands take hold of his arm to pull him out of his grave. He collapses to the now solid ground with dirt gathered under his nails and his father leaning over his tired figure with solicitous eyes, one hand rubbing gently along his back.

"Stiles! Son! Are you alright?!"

Stiles coughs up dirt in answer, but his throat feels too itchy to talk yet. He barely has the wherewithal to look around and confirm that he is indeed kneeling beside the real-world Nemeton (finally!) and that there are people around him talking and hugging and asking more questions than he can cognize. He hears Malia's and Jordan's voices somewhere, and he sees Mason's relieved figure behind his dad with a flashlight clutched tightly in his hand despite the bright light the Moon casts at the clearing.

Stiles gets to his feet with his father's support, and the question "Where is Derek?" is barely out of his mouth before someone tackles him from the side and nigh suffocates him in their vice grip. Stiles welcomes this kind of suffocation happily as he nuzzles his face against Derek's scruff, his soul arriving home with a loud, pleased sigh.

"Did you see that?!" Stiles hears Eli's excited cry from a few feet away, currently getting checked over for injuries by Malia, "We're like zombies!"

"Congratulations," Deaton answers flatly, but his stance gives away the relief that they all collectively feel right now.

After him, though, Stiles blocks everyone out. He's rooted on the spot of grass where he and Derek stand together, intertwined, alive, and a bit disbelieving that they can finally hold each other after so many years of misunderstandings. It's mindless bliss and more - something akin to healing as if Stiles's soul has been trapped in hell all this time and Derek, just like he did down there, freed him back into his body with a single touch. There's a kiss planted against Stiles's neck, a reassurance and a question all in one, but it's Stiles who takes the werewolf's face into his hands and kisses Derek senseless until their lips forget their autonomy and mould together into one inextricable piece.

"Can we agree to never leave each other again?" Stiles gasps when their foreheads touch, lips never straying far.

"Does this apply to our afterlife as well?" Derek asks with a wide smile that's reminiscent of Talia while his arms encircle Stiles's waist and pull him into his body like a tide.

"Obviously. I mean, I got your mother's blessing, and I'm pretty sure we're soul-bonded for life."

Derek laughs, probably the happiest in years from the shocked look that everyone sends him, and his smile only grows when Eli runs over and presses himself into their hug until he's standing between them with a lopsided grin.

"Can we go home now?"

Stiles and Derek share a look and they don't need words to know what's going to happen next. Happiness, most definitely. At the realization, something clicks into place inside Stiles's chest, and from the utterly sappy look on Derek's face, something long lost returns to his heart as well. It's a bit surreal, even more so as the whole pack joins the hug, and the sheriff has to push past all their friends to embrace the three of them to his chest and laugh like he never thought he would again, vocalizing what everyone's secretly thinking:

"Can I just say: fucking finally!"