Sterek Library (a03 Edition)

On A Scale From The Moon To The Sun

By: whenshewrites

“Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe.”

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, that’s what Ms. Morrell told Stiles to think about. He sat across from her just like he had nearly two years ago and picked at the hem of his shirt instead of his lacrosse stick. He hadn’t played lacrosse in a long time; not since the Nogitsune. Not since the return of Kate 2.0.

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, Stiles was told to look on the positive side of things. He was told that by everyone else, at least. Certain other people remained elusive. Certain other people who made Stiles so mad, he stopped going to counseling for an entire three months until his nightmares started waking him up in screaming fits and night-sweats again.

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, Stiles was told to think about the sun and the moon. And he was so fed up with everything sometimes.

He was so fed up with everything.

Like what they faced after Derek left. So many things. Stiles learned what it was like to be considered untrustworthy. He learned what it was like to be considered a real murder. To have blood on his actual hands.

He did this… thing when no one else was around. He didn’t tell Morrell about it and he didn’t tell his father. He most certainly didn’t tell Scott, but they hadn’t been talking that much lately anyway.

And if Stiles’s dad was to snoop around his bedroom one day, he might find a neat stack of letters. Ones that were never sent out, but always slipped in clean envelopes. Ones that were all addressed to the same initials, but there was never an address. Stiles didn’t think he’d send them even if he got an address; but it was a lot like the instance with Derek Hale’s number currently in his phone. He’d stared at it for hours before, debating making a call. A text. Something.

He never did though. Stiles thought he’d have a lot less control with the texts. So he wrote letters instead.

When Derek Hale first left Beacon Hills, the words; “Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe”  had circled through Stiles’s mind so often, he thought he was going crazy.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

When Stiles had gone into high school, he’d never expected to come out of it surprised he’d survived. They all made jokes years and years ago, yeah. But Stiles still couldn’t believe sometimes that he’d survived.

When he graduated as a senior, he’d stopped going to the counseling sessions. His dad had tried to bring up actual therapy but Stiles was at the point where he realized how Derek had felt when he first returned to Beacon Hills years ago. Once upon a time, when Stiles had been an idiot sixteen-year-old kid and Derek was nothing but tired and sad. 

For the first time, Stiles kind of wished he could go back in time and apologize.

Because hell, Stiles was tired. He was sad. He was tired like when Derek had buried himself in his childhood house and attempted to ignore the world. He was sad in that sometimes, he felt like he’d lived and died a dozen lives, and maybe he was just going through the motions these days.

He might have looked for Derek in the crowd the day they’d graduated. Because if Derek Hale was ever going to return to Beacon Hills, it would be then. When most of the danger had passed, when most of them had survived.

Most of them. Not all.

Stiles attempted to organize a vigil for those who hadn’t made it to graduation. A little ceremony. Something, anything, to remember that they all weren’t so lucky.