I'm (Not) Giving Up On You

Count the Saints

Stiles stared up at the clear night sky. It was a new moon—the stars the only twinkling lights in the sky. They mirrored the flickering yellow and orange orbs that slowly went out one by one in Beacon Hills. He was up on the edge of town, his Jeep easily crossing the rougher terrain of the less cared for roads. Now he found himself lying down on the too chilly ground in a too thin hoodie with a too empty bottle of Jacks. He didn't even particularly like the taste of the whiskey but it reminded him of his father and gave him some fragile semblance of adulthood.

The meet-up with Derek in the library had really shaken him. In the inky darkness, when Stiles dangled the leather cord from his fingers the talisman didn't reflect. There was no swooping line of light over the smooth curved edge of the piece. He let his fingers play across the surface of it, having already memorized the contours of it long ago. With a heavy sigh he let his hand fall to the ground to make a dull thud. As if balancing the motion, he brought the bottle to his lips and let the honey brown liquid slide down his throat. It didn't so much burn anymore—only leaving a trail of foggy warmth behind.

What was he even doing at this point? A small bark of laughter escaped him. Here he was on a Tuesday night in the middle of the woods drinking. He should be in bed. He should be terrified of wild animals. He should be—What? What should he be doing?

"Damn," he mumbled, voice rough from the night air and passage of alcohol. In an attempt to drown the world out, Stiles closed his eyes and slung his arm over them. He focused on the whistle of air as his lungs expanded with his breaths. What he needed to do was go over all of the information he had. If he did that, then he would be able to make an educated decision. That's how he always handled things.

So then what did he know for sure?
-Derek had met Parrish at the bar (How long had they been meeting? What was the purpose of their meetings?)
-Derek hadn't told Stiles anything (What was he keeping secret? Had Derek been cheating?)
-Scott and Kira were probably going to get married (No that didn't have much to do with the situation at hand. But it was still important information.)
-Stiles was going to finish his Bachelor's Degree in the next couple of years
-He would be moving away for Graduate School (Pros and Cons of a Long Distance Relationship?)
-He really really really missed Derek (At least one of those "really"s was probably due to the alcohol, probably.)

It wasn't even so much that he missed Derek. Stiles missed the sense of security he had around Derek. Talking to Derek was just so easy. Even if Derek didn't speak volumes or spout soliloquies, he never complained about Stiles' perhaps excessive talk. He didn't tell Stiles it was stupid when he went to every Avengers premier dressed as Captain America. He didn't even complain when Stiles convinced him to dress as a rugged-chic Tony Stark. Derek never whined about being the Little Spoon, but he also understood when Stiles just needed to be held. Derek always gave Stiles space when he needed it—no brooding werewolf over his shoulder at all times. It was such an effortless and wonderful relationship. The matter-of-fact just making it all so much more confusing as to why Derek hadn't communicated with Stiles when he was begging for it.

Stiles sat up, groaning from cramps in his back the movement caused. He cradled the liquor and necklace in his lap and stared out over the town. He didn't know when it happened but soon he felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks. Covering his mouth did nothing to stop the sobs that shook his body.

He missed Derek.

He needed Derek.

He loved Derek.

Drawing gasping, quivering breaths, Stiles let shuddering curses fall from his lips. His cries were heard only by the invisible moon and the endless night sky.

—

The phone rang for what seemed like ages. Stiles sniffled and rubbed his arm in an attempt to regain some heat. When had it gotten so cold out? He waited less than patiently for the caller to pick up the phone. Finally it clicked and Stiles let out a relieved breath.