Stiles sits on a bar stool in Derek’s kitchen. He’s just managed to get Eli to sleep. Or pretend to sleep. Who knows? The kid’s most likely still silently crying on his bed, turned away from the door, from the world that no longer has his father in it.
Stiles can’t blame him.
He holds a paper in his hand with long-dried ink, hand-written, speaking of farewell favors that make him want to scream and cry and leave.
Damning Derek (at least in thought), Stiles tries to read through the tears.
___________
Hey Stiles,
If you’re reading this, then something must’ve…happened, and I’m not able to ask you this one last favor in person. For that, before anything else, I’d like to say I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I let whatever happen happen. I’m sorry I’m asking you this in this way. And I’m sorry for asking what I’m about to ask.
If you’re reading this, then that means I am no longer there. It probably means that despite my best efforts, the universe has decided to play its tricks again and I have left Eli an orphan.
I know what it’s like to grow up without a parent. With nothing but hurt, fear, and anger surrounding and driving me. I do not wish the same for my son.
___________
Then be here, you asshole.
Stiles has to pause to clear his vision.
Be fucking here, he begs. Derek or the universe, whoever would listen.
In the responding silence, he continues on.
___________
So here’s the ask. Stiles, please.
Stay with Eli.
Raise him like I would. (Knowing you, you’d probably raise him better than I ever could.)
Take care of each other.
I’m sorry to say it here, like this, but I want you to know. You two are the most important people in my life. More than anyone, Stiles. More than you might ever know.
The both of you are also the fiercest people I know when it comes to protecting the people that you love. Be the family that I know you can be for one another.
I wish I hoped I didn’t want things to be like this. It’s been years, I know. It’s taken me awhile, but I have been trying to make myself better. I have been working towards making myself deserving. Of you, Stiles. Despite everything, even when Eli came into my life, for me, it had always been you.
You have always had a place in my home. In my family.
I really wish I could be telling you all of this in person. I…wish for a lot of things when it comes to you.
I wish I met you elsewhere. I wish I bumped into you at a bookstore, and we started all this with nonsense quips and your endless wit. I wish I met you in a cafe where we would get off on the wrong foot with you judging me for my coffee order.
Really, I just wish I had a life with you. Something better and kinder. But only because that’s what you deserve. To be completely honest, I would be happy to have any life with you. Even this one, as fucked up as it is. As long as it was with you, and Eli.
I’m sorry I say all this too late. It’s selfish and cowardly. I know, Stiles. I know.
If it’s too much, please, feel free to forget about me.
Please, just. Take care of Eli. Take care of yourself.
Yours,
Derek
___________
It’s all Stiles could do to fold the letter with shaking hands and take a deep, unsteady breath.
He wipes angrily at a stray tear on his cheek, glaring at the stupid papers still held delicately in his hand.
Derek’s last words.
With a flick of his wrist, the letter catches fire mid-air.
Fuck that. I’m bringing you back, you asshole.