Derek let his head hit the back of the door with a dull thud as soon as he made it through, the exhaustion that always accompanied the morning after a full moon hitting him hard.

He was still caked in dirt and sweat, maybe a little bit of blood, he couldn't be sure, and he had never been more ready to fall into his bed. But he also knew that wasn't an option. He still had a job. He still had responsibilities he couldn't ignore.

And since poor Scott and Isaac, who had been right there with him all night going through all the same shit, had to be at school earlier than him, he knew better than to complain. Sure, he was older than them, but not like Peter. And certainly not in the way that allowed him to bitch and moan about the lack of sleep.

He hadn't even been out of school all that long, and he'd been coaching hardly any time at all.

Yeah, he didn't have any room to be calling out of work for something like the full moon. Even if he felt like death warmed over right now.

Derek toed off his tennis shoes, not wanting to wake Peter if he'd managed to fall asleep. And if Stiles was running late, he didn't want to be the one who startled him, morphing him into chaos personified. Honestly, all of them could stand to get some rest.

But today was not the day.

When he rounded the corner and made his way into the kitchen, the hint of a grin played on his lips. Two large fruit punch Gatorades sat on the counter, though Stiles would have insisted they were red if he were here, demanding they be distinguished by their color, not their flavor. Only cops knew the flavors, he said.

But Stiles wasn't here, it turned out. Though his blanket was folded neatly and stacked with everything else Peter must have laid out for him the night before at the end of the couch.

A note in Stiles' chicken scratch also lay beside the Gatorades, and Derek couldn't help the chuckle that fell from his lips as he read it.

Hey Sourwolf,

Ordered pizza last night and got way too much because I was missin' you.

-Stiles

He'd even gone so far as to dot all his Is with tiny hearts, which left Derek shaking his head and smiling wider than he had since the last time he'd seen Stiles in person.

It was a sweet gesture, and the pizza that had been recently reheated made his mouth water, but he needed a shower first. Everything else would have to wait. At least it seemed Stiles was officially letting him off the hook. He could stop groveling now.

As he made his way through the quiet house, only greeted by the sounds of Peter's steady breathing, he peeled off his shredded tank top and tossed it right inside his door. He knew he was adding it to an already shockingly large pile of laundry he desperately needed to do, but he didn't have time. And he continued to the bathroom before he backtracked, deciding to grab a few things first.

A floral scent invaded his senses as soon as he propped the door open more and walked inside, confusing him fully. He certainly didn't remember having left it smelling like that, but he wouldn't put it past Stiles to clean up after him either. But the deeper inside the room he went, the more bewildered he became.

Because Kate Argent was in his bed.

Kate Argent, who he'd pined after for years as she'd pranced around his house as his sister's best friend. Kate Argent, who he'd dated all through the first two years of high school. Kate Argent, who had been taken from him far too soon.

Kate Argent, whose funeral he'd definitely attended with Peter.

And then it hit him. She was here. She was with him. If anything, it was a gift. Uninterrupted time to explore the space where she still existed, fully formed in his mind. He'd assumed he had been handling everything in stride. That he'd done a good job of pushing it as far out of his conscious thought as possible.

Obviously not, he decided.

Of course, it was possible this was how his brain had adjusted to the grief that, at times, felt utterly overwhelming.

He lowered himself onto the floor quietly beside his bed, brushing her hair out of her face. It was clouding his view of her, and that wouldn't stand. If this was his daydream, brought on by the anniversary of a trauma so severe it had fractured his psyche, he wouldn't suffer anything less than a perfect recollection.

But being able to feel her warmth underneath his fingertips wasn't a good sign. He didn't know a lot about psychology, or how the human mind functioned, but for all it could do, Derek was positive it couldn't do that.

Hallucination or not.

So, he smiled down at her sadly, kissed her temple, and made his way slowly and calmly to Peter's room.

When he opened his uncle's door, he could see that he'd been right. Peter had managed to fall asleep. And he almost felt bad for interrupting what little peace his uncle had found. Between the rogues that had infiltrated their town and the mysterious deaths that ran the risk of causing all the right people to start asking the wrong questions, it was a wonder Peter wasn't tossing and turning.

But based on the way the blanket was tangled around his leg, Derek had just missed it.

He chewed on his bottom lip as he crept closer, trying to decide how big of a deal this was and whether or not it could be handled later. But he knew Peter would be upset to know that he'd not confided in him the instant he thought something was wrong.

Derek reached out and tapped his shoulder, calling his name softly. And like every time he'd come in after a nightmare when he was younger, Peter jerked awake, peering around in a bleary-eyed panic.

As soon as he took in the fact that Derek was the one standing over him, he pushed up against the headboard and started to look him over. "Are you okay? What happened?"

His voice was hoarse and gravelly from lack of use, his eyes wild and his hair sticking up in a million different directions.

"I, uh, I don't know," Derek admitted.

"What do you mean?" Peter questioned, moving his hands along Derek's arms and sides, checking for bumps, bruises, or anything that might point him in the direction of some answers. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "But I think you need to check me into Eichen."

Peter sat up straighter, his head cocked to the side curiously. Whatever he'd been expecting Derek to come out with finally, that hadn't been it.

"What are you talking about?"

"Kate is in my bed. Kate fucking Argent," Derek hissed. "And since..."

"Oh. Oh my God, Derek. You scared me," he returned, laying back down on the bed. "She's, uh, not dead."

"What?"

"She's not dead," he repeated, rolling onto his side. "It's a whole story. One I am not prepared to spend the time telling you. All you need to know is that we hate Gerard." Derek gaped at him, stupefied by the explanation and Peter's attitude toward the situation. "Listen, go talk to Kate. I told her she could sleep in there until you got home. I left you a note."

"I didn't see a note. Well, I didn't see a note from you. I saw one from Stiles."

Peter shook his head with a chuckle, cuddling further into his pillow. "Well, I definitely left one. But Derek, I'm going back to bed. I love you, but there is just too much going on in this fucking town for me to be able to handle it on this amount of sleep, okay? Go talk to Kate. She'll explain it better than me."

Derek nodded mutely, standing back up to his full height as Peter wrapped the covers back around himself. And he stood at the door, waiting to see if Peter was going to realize what either of them had said and jump out of bed ready to have him committed.

But he didn't move again. And in another three minutes, he was back asleep. Just like when he'd walked in.

Derek tiptoed back to his own room again, convinced he would open the door and she'd be gone. That was the only conclusion his brain was prepared for anymore. He'd experienced so much of his life without her, at this point, nothing else made sense to him. And he'd dealt with her death, and his role in it, in more therapy sessions than he'd ever admit out loud.

If she was really here, if she hadn't actually died, he had no idea what that meant for him.

For them.

As the door slid back open by his hand, protesting minimally to the movement, he noticed she was still there. In the same spot, even. She'd hardly stirred. And he found himself rushing back to her side, falling on the floor again.

And then he watched her.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest. He watched her eyes as they darted underneath their lids. And he especially watched the gentle pout to her lips becoming more and more distinct as she dreamed.

He wanted to reach out again, like he had before he knew she was real. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel her. But she looked so serene, and he didn't want to disrupt that either.

As she rolled to her side, he was tempted to crawl in next to her. They'd waited long enough, as far as he was concerned.

Then her eyes fluttered open and she took him in, her expression flashing something he didn't immediately recognize. But it was only a few seconds before it registered to his sluggish brain that she was scared. Startled, even.

"Hey."

"Hey," he returned.

"Listen, I..."

Before she finished whatever she had meant to say, Derek thrust forward, unable to keep himself still another moment. He wanted her. He needed her. And as he threw himself at her, placing his arms on either side of her head to keep from crushing her, he settled between her legs, claiming her lips roughly.

And the moan that escaped her told him that she wasn't about to protest any of what was happening, making his heart soar. As if no time had passed at all, Derek wrapped himself up in her without a care in the world, transporting them both back to a simpler time.