yo, guys, ignore the fact that it’s been like two years since i updated this fic and enjoy this next one!
Derek doesn’t remember falling asleep. All he knows is that he’s comfortable, safe, and warm. Almost too hot if he’s being honest. Which means that Stiles is probably there. Which means it must be a rare night when Stiles actually stays over. Which means it must be Saturday.
What is a bit unclear is why the wolf part of him is dragging him towards consciousness. He frowns a bit, drops his nose into the back of Stiles’ neck and takes a deep breath because he has the feeling it is too early to wake up. So whatever stupid bird or whatever has pinged his wolf is going to have to wait because he’s thinking at least another hour of sleep and then maybe pancakes before Stiles has to run off. This is a good plan. He is a genius. He does not want to go on a long vacation back to New York ever again. Not if it means depriving himself of this.
The door opens and Derek snaps awake and next to him, Stiles lurches up, sitting up as if he hadn’t just been asleep and Derek’s eyes flash as he throws an arm over Stiles and pushes him down and he’s ready to attack because who is in his house and then looks around and–
Derek has a moment of supreme confusion, did Scott bring the kids over to pick Stiles up? Was there an emergency? Was the–
He’s at Stiles’ house.
“Dude,” Stiles says, shoving at the arm that Derek is still using to pin him in place. “Get off me.” He sounds a bit annoyed. Which makes sense because that is… that is Stiles’ kid. Corey. Who is here. Because Derek is in Stiles’ house.
While he’s still processing this information – the fact that he had fallen asleep at Stiles’ house – he realizes he’s naked. Oh god, he’s naked and in Stiles’ house in front of his children and one of them is right there. Staring at both of them. Probably scared out of his wits because Derek had just flashed his eyes at him and basically growled and it’s the middle of the night and Derek is naked.
He lets out a sound suspiciously like a yelp and yanks his arm away from Stiles.
Remembering’s dangerous. I find the past such a worrying, anxious place. “The Past Tense,” I suppose you’d call it. Memory’s so treacherous. One moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights, with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candy-floss… the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go. Somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp ambiguous shapes of things you’d hoped were forgotten. Memories can be vile, repulsive little brutes. Like children I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can’t face them, we deny reason itself! Although, why not? We aren’t contractually tied down to rationality! There is no sanity clause! So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there’s always madness. Madness is the emergency exit… you can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away… forever.
The Joker || Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke