[All of this happened because I wanted to write something about Stiles not being able to sleep without his pillow. Spoiler alert: his pillow is Derek.]
Derek tries not to look too hurt when Stiles says he’s going back to Washington, but when the Sheriff claps his back and Scott offers him a friendly hug, he knows he failed. But after everything, after the other night - it just doesn’t feel fair.
“It was a nice road trip, wasn’t it?” Stiles had said after they’ve won, after everything was done, their friends were alive and fine and Derek finally got his loft back. “I mean, we had some fun, right?”
Derek smiled without looking away from the flowers the Sheriff got him as a housewarming gift. “Yeah.” He answered, finally turning around. “It was nice to spend time with you.” It was more than nice and he cursed himself for not being able to say it, still, after everything, after the nights spent driving and talking and fucking in deserted roads.
“Yeah.” Stiles agreed easily. He was the one who started it after all, always showing up to save Derek - despite Derek saving him back plenty of times - always being there, trusting him, smiling and laughing like Derek makes him happy. “What will you do now that you’re a free man again?”
Derek shrugged. “I always wanted to start a farm, maybe raise some sheep?” When Stiles blinked at him, surprised, Derek let out a snort.
“Fuck you, I almost believed it!” Stiles said, punching his shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous.” Derek shook his head, still smiling.
“You’re ridiculous.” Stiles stressed, his hand still on Derek’s shoulder, touching, teasing. “I’m -“ Derek didn’t let him finish then, turning around and just pressing their lips together.
He didn’t want to listen then - and in hindsight maybe he should’ve - but without the haste, the guilt of having a nice time whilst their friends could be dying, Derek couldn’t wait, he just wanted to worship Stiles’ body, just wanted to kiss all the places he couldn’t reach before when they were squeezed in the backseat of Stiles’ car.
And so he did, he made Stiles moan his name the entire night and he moaned Stiles’ own just as louder. Just to have his heart crushed the morning after.
“I’m gonna miss you.” Stiles says, his Jeep packed and ready to go. To leave everything behind.
It’s unfair, Derek knows. Stiles didn’t make promises and neither did he, but he can’t help how he feels. He understands Stiles doesn’t want to be in Beacon Hills anymore and that’s his choice, but Derek made his own and he’s tired of running away.
He’s never felt closer to his family than when he’s here, he’s already lost enough and he doesn’t want to lose his home. But somehow, as Stiles drives away, he feels like he just did.
I miss you, Derek thinks every day, staring at the black screen of his phone and wondering if he should actually write those words and send them to Stiles. He decides against it and despite the fact he was joking before, on the third day after Stiles left, Derek buys a farm.
He tells Lydia first during lunch at her favorite restaurant - she was adamant they had to become best friends and Derek enjoys her company so he lets it happen easily - and she tells him he’s not allowed to wear plaid around her. Then he tells Scott and two days later, he shows up at Derek’s front door with all kinds of seeds - “We need pumpkins for Halloween, Derek. Make it happen!”.
It’s something to do with his hands, something to work on. Create life, instead of ending them, build things, instead of destroying. He feels good, better and healing. Cora says he’s calmer now and Derek smiles, despite knowing she won’t be able to see him, and tells her he is.
Some days Stiles texts him, others he doesn’t. Derek reads the ones he has every night before going to bed, but he never answers them.
my friends have more than once taken my shoes and tried to throw them on the school roof, but one time when this was happening a teacher came over and demanded to know what was going on, so my idiot self trying to be funny complained my friends took my shoes. she said ‘so don’t give your shoes to them’ without thinking I responded ‘you seem to have mistaken the word taken for the word given’ I don’t remember exactly what happened after that but I know she made my friends give my shoes back.
17-year-old Anthony Barbaro excelled in Olean High School. He was an honour student that ranked eighth in his class of 200. He was a member of the National Honor Society. His classmates recalled him as being a “brain” but a “loner.” He was also a member of the school’s rifle team and had been awarded a Regent’s Scholarship in December of 1974.
On the 30th of December, 1974, Barbaro went to Olean High School as it was closed for the Christmas period. Once inside, he climbed up three flights of stairs and set up a vantage point. He had brought along his favourite sniper rifle. Barbaro then lit a small fire which burned itself out but not before the fire brigade were called. Over the course of two hours, he shot at the citizens down below. He killed a school custodian, a pregnant woman sitting in her car, and an utility company employee. Eleven other people were wounded, mostly fire fighters who had come to investigate the blaze.
Police apprehended Barbaro after storming the room with tear gas. They found him on the floor, wearing a defective gas mask. After he was arrested, police discovered his diary which detailed his plans for the shooting spree. He had been planning for five months and had listed several potential locations. He even considered just “getting a car and driving through the town shooting.” In his home they also found gasoline, glass bottles, homemade smoke bombs and empty propane canisters.
On the 1st of November, 1975, he took his motivation to the grave with him. He was discovered with his prison bed sheet knotted around his neck with the other end tied to the bars of the cell. His trial was scheduled to begin just the following day. He pleaded innocent by reason of insanity but was declared competent to stand trial. He left behind three suicide notes. One was addressed to his family, the second was addressed to a girl he had been corresponding with but had never met, and the final was addressed: “To whom it may concern.” In this note he said he had a choice between living or dying and with his suicide, he was exercising that choice.