Oh. Right, Derek knew that. Should have remembered that there's this downside to the bond, namely dying. Not that he'd ever think about ending his own life because that would never be the way to go, no matter how bad it would get. Derek was a fighter and that's how he preferred to go down when it was his time, dying for a cause, a good reason like protecting others, especially now when his death would most likely kill the human as well. The headache was noted though so he didn't push, simply lowered his eyes to acknowledge the words. Since things were being picked up as he thought them, not all but certainly a lot, he wasn't sure what he could think without doing harm, besides not thinking much at all.

So yeah, patience, he could do that, he gave a tight nod while Stiles moved away to get his food. The wards were a nice thought but clearly they weren't doing all that much with everything he was seeing. How was he supposed to feel safe when not even the walls were something he wanted to touch? Nothing seemed safe anymore, nothing seemed normal anymore except for these videos on the phone. Would wards even work on the devil for long? Maybe if they were powerful enough.

Pulling his legs to his chest, Derek looked for other videos to watch, small moments in the lives of the two of them with the little girl. Like playing with a puppy, decorating a Christmas tree, Derek sleeping with a Santa hat on his head. Completely normal moments in a family's life, probably boring for others with how utterly Hallmark they were but he soaked them up, especially the way they were bickering. Though the more he saw, the more he doubted any of this was real. This wasn't something he had after losing everybody.

Life had been this rush of being hunted, being hurt, having hands covered in blood, running to protect others, fighting. Though he did notice that it was only the two Stilinski men and the two Hale werewolves. Safety in numbers sure, but less of a target in a small little group.

When the cellphone signaled a message, the loud noise startled the Hale and he quickly tossed it away from him. It bounced on the bed before it was thrown to the floor, maybe broken? Breaking things was bad, so bad. Horrified at the stupid mistake he attempted to curl into himself even more, to hide away in the walls because there was no way he was going to bolt across the room and leave the corner.

Meanwhile putting together the sandwiches was like an automatic process. Stiles didn't pay too much attention to that as he was too lost in his thoughts and the throbbing of his head. His magic was slowly pulsing with it, unsettled and lightly swirling around him. It was somewhat "depleted" but already accumulating in him again. He just hoped that the strain he had to put on it wouldn't trigger another boost of it, because he wasn't sure Derek would be able to bear a balancing ritual on that scale right now.

Still, the young Spark will have to keep in mind that they will have to balance the magic in some way. And soon-ish. He could feel it kinda off. Maybe he should put Derek under like he did during the rut so he wouldn't work himself up. Also, he wasn't sure that now with a full soul the ritual would feel the same to them or not. But of course he'll have to talk to Derek about this first. He wasn't going to force anything on the poor man. Especially not now.

Stiles sat down to the kitchen table to quietly force the food down, his hungry stomach felt weird. It didn't seem to be able to decide if it wanted to accept the food or not, but in the end it stayed down, making the lean man sigh with relief then washed the first down with some coffee. He was nearly done with the second when he heard the chiming of his phone then a thud on the floor nearly right after.

Finishing his coffee, he abandoned the half-eaten food, grabbed the mug of black coffee he had poured for Derek and wandered back into the living room, feeling Derek's horror. He saw him curled into himself as small as he could... as if waiting for a punishment. With a light frown Stiles soon detected his phone as the source of the thud.

Without a word he walked over and picked it up. "Just a scratch," he said after observing the damage and walked back to Derek, putting the mug of coffee between them once he was leaning against the wall with his back. There was a bit more distance between the two of them this time.

The silence in the loft was oppressing, it felt unnatural, and not just because the screams of Hell had been normal for the Hale. Stiles wasn't supposed to be that quiet, that calm. So hesitant. As if Derek might bite if he came too close, though that was probably not too far from the truth with the way he was cornered and acting. Hesitantly he lowered his hands to look at the human when there was no screaming, no pain, no nothing. The phone was eyed, Stiles was ogled, then back to the phone before the mug got attention. There was this acid scent and it wasn't covered by the inviting smell of the hot coffee.

Stiles was sad, Derek had made Stiles sad because of the phone? Or because of his behavior? He wasn't exactly sure what kind of behavior was expected of him besides being patient with himself. Pale green eyes went back to the mug, gauged the distance between the mug and Stiles before he cautiously moved forward to take hold of it, careful not to spill anything of the dark liquid. It smelled good, he remembered he had liked coffee a lot. The roasted taste of the beans, especially the Arabic blend. Coffee snob. That's what Stiles had called him, a coffee snob because he had been picky about what beans to buy.

The first sip tasted great when Derek carefully took it. It was warm and soothing. Eager, the next sip was a big gulp, as if his body just now remembered that it had been thirsty. Big mistake. The taste of old rust filled his mouth and the smooth liquid turned to this chunky and sticky kind of substance, he couldn't swallow it. Suddenly the mug was filled with old congealed blood, dark and tar like, stinking of rot and death. Paling, Derek put the mug down, spitting out the thick goo all over his pants while it slowly dripped from his mouth in dark red strings.

Drip… drip. Red on his pants, red everywhere. The taste of old blood in his mouth.

"I'll drink it later," he tried to explain, as if all the blood was normal, not realizing Stiles could only see the coffee stains and nothing more.

Truth be told, Stiles wasn't that surprised that even a simple task like drinking coffee proved to be difficult for Derek at the moment. He hated to see how pale Derek suddenly got – not that he had rosy cheeks beforehand either. Fishing out a tissue from his pocket, Stiles carefully leaned closer to wipe the coffee off his mouth and chin.

"It's okay, Derek. It happens..." he said softly with a tiny strained smile. He couldn't manage anything more from the worry that gripped his heart like a vice, threatening to squeeze the life out of it. But he wasn't going to let that happen. Not when his mate clearly needed him. He was sad only because he didn't know how to help him.

"Are you... seeing things?" Stiles whispered, not meeting the wolf's eyes as he finished more or less cleaning the other man's face. "Is that it? You can tell me. I think you should tell me so maybe I can figure out how to help you better. Or do you know what I should do to help you?" he asked, a bit hopeful. His mind was already thinking about doing some research in his spell books. Maybe there was a ward to... well, ward off visions like that. Or at least make Derek realize that they weren't real. And maybe Stiles should dive into some psychology books as well. Or give a call to Morrell to see if she was available for help. After all, Derek had told Stiles that they had a few more or less successful sessions.

Stiles' movements were deliberate, so the tissue was seen coming, it wasn't a surprise and therefor tolerated. It was loving what Stiles did, cleaning away the spilled coffee patiently but it made the Hale sad because he knew this wasn't how it should be. Like he was some baby, incapable of even drinking from a mug or cleaning up after himself but to him it wasn't coffee, it was blood and it was everywhere and he didn't know how to clean it all, didn't know where to start. He looked away, because he didn't want to see the human covered in it as well.

Was he seeing things? Dull-eyed he looked at the bleeding walls, the faces in them with a horrified expression forever carved into their flesh as they stared at Derek with soundless screams. The mug was still filled with old blood, his pants were still stained by the spilled blood and then there was Stiles... Some of this wasn't real, but he didn't know what wasn't so yeah, he was seeing things. Derek nodded in answer.

"Blood, faces, you look like a corpse. Flashes of... of what happened to me if I look at my body." He stared at the stump where his hand used to be, or still was? Because he could feel it was still there, he could wriggle his fingers even when he couldn't see them. And then he worried that it was phantom limb pain and it wasn't there anymore, forgetting what was real or not. "I don't know what's real." Stiles could be in his mind too and not even the trick of counting his fingers worked because he wasn't sleeping. "I don't know how to tell what's real."

"I see. Then... I guess you'll have to rely on me telling what's real or not until we find a way for you to be able to do so on your own," Stiles nodded with understanding as he tossed the tissue next to the mug. "For one, I can tell that me being a corpse is not real. I'm very much alive, thank you," he tried a chuckle to lift the mood a bit. Not that he thought it'd work. "Also, there's no blood. Just coffee. But I can help you shower and get you in clean clothes. You wanted to shower before," he offered.

"I also have an idea. Maybe it'll help. Just give me a sec," he hummed and reached for his phone, ignoring the slight crack in the bottom of the screen, and scrolled down along his contacts until he reached the letter 'M'. Then he hit dial and lifted it to his ear, waiting. At least it was connecting and ringing so the number had to still work. It's been a while since he called her.

"Oh hi, Miss Morrell. It's Stiles. Stilinski. From Beacon Hills. You know..."

"I'm very aware of who you are, Stiles," the calm voice on the other end said, seemingly not surprised that he called her so out of the blue. Was it possible that she was expecting a call from him? Maybe she talked with Deaton? "How can I help?"

"Well... the thing is, it's kind of an emergency and it's not for me but for Derek. Are you by any chance available? Like... right now? To come to Derek's loft?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. "What is this about?" she asked, obviously careful. Clever woman.

"It's not something I'd like to talk about through the phone, but... you know. We are in dire need of some therapy. You might know why if you talked to your brother..."

Another pause then some moving around sounds in the background. "I'll be there soon. I'll call you when I get there so you can let me in."

"Oh... okay. Thanks. See you soon then."

And with that she disconnected the call, leaving Stiles stare at his phone's screen with a light frown. "Deaton totally blabbered to her about me or us..." he snorted then glimpsed at Derek. "I guess this gives us some time to clean up. So... come on, big guy. Time to shower..." he sighed and stood to help Derek up.

If only it would be so easy as to believe Stiles that what he said was real was the truth when all he could see was blood. Of course he could tell the human wasn't lying, the heartbeat was regular without any upticks besides the nervous beat it already had, which was not something new. Derek had familiarized himself with that irregular pattern so many years ago that it was mostly a comfort to be around it again. While the call was being made, the wolf attempted to focus on the mug of coffee to see if it would be filled with actual coffee instead of blood if he concentrated hard enough, because Stiles had said so. Unfortunately, it didn't work like that just yet.

By the time the call was done and Stiles came to collect him to get a shower, he was still glaring at the mug because it wasn't showing him the truth as it was supposed to be doing. A shower was a good idea, he wanted to get clean, get the blood of off him, the scent of Hell gone, the feeling of being dirty down to his soul. Going to shower did require him to move away from the corner of the room, across it, across the open space. When he had bought the building, living in the open spacious loft had seemed like a good idea, no room to be stuck in. It's why the bed had been placed in the living area. Now it was more like giving up all his safety and being open for an attack.

Shakily standing with Stiles' help, Derek eyed the distance, the many steps he was going to have to take to get to the bathroom, counting them out quickly. None of it was real, he reminded himself, closing his eyes. That way he didn't have to see it all, that way all he needed to do was to focus on Stiles' guiding him and the steps he had to take.

It’s not real.

One, two, three... It’s not real. Four, five, six. Each step he took, he was accompanied by that quick heartbeat like a drum encouraging him to keep going. Not once did he look back because he was out of the corner now so looking back would mean seeing his safe spot being corrupted. With one hand outstretched, he kept going until he felt the metal of the door touching his fingertips. They had made it. Through the door, into the room he was supposed to know well since he had been the one who had tiled it. His bare feet only felt concrete since that was throughout the loft but the air had changed in here. The bath was in the middle of the room, not good.

"Shower only," Derek was quick to say. It was in a corner and he really liked corners now.

Leading a closed-eyed Derek to the bathroom was heartbreaking for Stiles, but he kept murmuring encouraging words to him and he smiled a bit relieved that they eventually made it without his mate freaking out. Stiles didn't know how Derek managed to avoid that, didn't know that it was his heartbeat that seemed to be helping enough, but he would've smiled and probably blushed happily if he knew. Either way, he quickly understood (and to some degree felt) why Derek wasn't fond of open spaces right now. Or why he opted for the shower instead of the bathtub.

"Shower it is then," he nodded and helped Derek take off his clothes before he did the same. He was in dire need of one too from getting all sweaty last night during the ritual and then being too tired to clean himself up once Derek was dragged into bed. Plus, he figured that since the shower was much more spacious than he used to have in San Francisco, they could save some time before Morrell got there.

"I'll join you if that's okay. We need to hurry. Marin'll be here soon," he murmured as he started the water, making sure it wasn't too cold before they stepped in. This time he ignored their nakedness as he was focusing on the task ahead. And how good the hot water felt to his aching muscles and bones!

Taking the shower gel they both usually used, the younger man hesitated for a moment, contemplating if it was okay for him to help wash Derek. Then he scolded himself because if he announced what he was going to do, it was probably okay. Not to mention that maybe the physical contact with his mate might be grounding. For both of them. Because Stiles was feeling so uncertain... so lost, even if he was trying to help in whatever way he could.

"I'm going to help you wash up. Which includes touching. I promise I won't hurt you," he announced and lathered up his slender hands, starting at Derek's shoulders with some gentle but thorough touches. What he didn't tell the wolf was that he wanted to avoid the possibility of his mate scrubbing his skin raw while trying to get rid of the imaginary blood – and mental filth and violation he certainly felt. Things Stiles was way too familiar with thanks to the Nogitsune.

Nakedness wasn't a problem, it was fine because he had seen Stiles naked before, and even though he wasn't in the right frame of mind to appreciate the beauty of the slender muscular body in the shower with him, Derek felt comfortable enough. Stiles told him where the hands were going before he did it, there were no surprises and it made it easier. Despite that, his heart was still going rabbit fast from being in one space with somebody, for letting him touch the bloodstained skin.

The weirdest thing was that even though he saw the blood on his own skin, it wasn't washing off, there were no red swirls going down the drain, no red splatter on the green tiles. Almost as if the blood had soaked into him like ink, forever staining him. The human took great care in washing his fingers and hands, lathering up his hair and wash out the thick stubble that was growing into a beard. There was no offer of shaving, of which he was grateful because the thought of having razor blades close to his throat wasn't a good one. Not even the kind that was automatic as he always used to maintain the look without a smooth face. The beard hid his age, hid his face, he felt naked without it and not in a good way.

It was nice to feel somewhat clean, smell like soap and shampoo instead of blood and sweat. Stiles felt like he was more at ease as well, more settled with being able to touch him and have less distance between them. Derek had wanted to spend like an hour in here, with hot water and scrubbing until he felt like there was nothing more to scrub clean. This wasn't the same, the gentle washing wasn't the same at all. Quietly he let Stiles though, not speaking a word because he didn't know what to say. He mostly kept his eyes closed so he could pretend the hallucinations weren't there.

Washing Derek was relaxing, indeed. Well, after a minute or two it started to have that grounding feeling for Stiles too. They were silent as he took his time washing every inch of his mate clean, only the sounds of the cascading water and the dissolving foam on Derek's skin broke the silence in the bathroom. Stiles didn't mind the silence at all this time. He needed it just as much and was simply happy that he could feel useful... that he could do something at last to make Derek feel a tiny bit better. Maybe.

"I want to wear your clothes, smell like you. Sweaters." Nothing short-sleeved, nothing tight and restricting, nothing that wouldn't have his mate's scent or only smell like soap. Being clothed was another reminder that he wasn't in Hell anymore, because who needed clothes when being tortured, they'd only rip apart.

Stiles’ hands only paused for a moment when the other man finally spoke. He couldn't stop a lopsided smile from the request because it warmed his heart a bit. If wearing his clothes will help Derek to feel safer and more stable, he's going to give his whole wardrobe to him.

"Of course. Most will fit you since I'd filled out a bit during the years," he said softly, that smile lurking in his tone. He let his hands linger a bit longer on Derek's sides then with a light caress, he pulled them away. "I'll stop touching you now because I have to quickly clean myself too," he announced and did just that, doing a sloppy but quick work at that then he told Derek that he was also dry him with a fluffy towel before repeating it on himself.

"You're doing great, Derek. Do you want me to lead you to my duffel bag outside or should I bring it in so you can pick out what you'd like to wear?" he asked, the other man's hand still in his grounding hold.

Be patient, that's what Derek was supposed to do. But he knew this wasn't how it was supposed to be; he wasn't supposed to be so fragile and broken as his mate even did the simple things like drying him off with a towel. What was more frustrating though, was the fact that he needed the help. The moment the soft towel had touched his skin, he had wanted to grab it and throw it far away, because it felt too soft. Instead he had taken a shuddering breath and did nothing, fighting the need to freak out over a towel, a stupid harmless towel. The sensations were too much, it was all overwhelming, but apparently he did great.

"We can go out of the bathroom." They had to; he didn't want to hide away in the bathroom even though it felt a little safer since it wasn't such a large open space. Morrell was going to come over, he remembered that. Stiles had called her, she was a druid like Stiles and she was a licensed therapist. Clutching at his mate's hand, like he wasn't about to let go unless he really had to, he finally could throw the towel away, he didn't like them anymore.

Instead of keeping his eyes closed, he stared at the floor, avoiding the walls, the furniture, anything that wouldn't look as it was supposed to look. Especially the mirror, he took care to not get close to that one, a snarl bubbling up at even catching a glimpse of his own reflection. Yeah, he didn't like mirrors either. Spotting the duffel bag, he didn't even reach out for it since it wasn't his. He waited for Stiles to reach for it and grab it. Forgetting that this wasn't Hell and he didn't have to be obedient, that this was his place, that he had been a bold person who hadn't been so subservient.

Stiles could feel the frustration building in Derek and he could easily imagine why. He knew that feeling from first hand. He went through similar stages after the Nogitsune and the Wild Hunt too. When it was hard to determine what was real, when people around him made him uneasy. When others touching him was a difficulty and when panic attacks and night terrors were considered constant companions in his life. When everything was too much. So... even if he didn't want to be annoying to Derek, he stuck to the things that helped him somewhat and stayed patient with his mate. He knew that trauma and PTSD were no fucking joke and were required to handle carefully. Especially in such early stages.

He smiled at Derek for his bravery for following him outside, clutching at his hand maybe a bit desperately and scared and Stiles could also detect more submissiveness in him than usual, but he didn't comment on it, not wanting to upset his mate even more. He only let his hand go when they were at his bag and he started rummaging around for the clothes he thought would fit Derek.

Crouching down with his tattooed back to Derek, he fished out a pair of black sweatpants and a dark-grey henley that always looked a bit big on him. It'd be perfect for his pair's built. He offered the clothes to Derek without looking, his other hand hunting for some clean underwear, another pair of pants (this time olive green), a simple white T-shirt, warm socks and a grey hoodie. (He paid attention not to pick anything remotely red.)

The clothes handed to him were soft but worn, not as new as the towel had been. And they smelled like Stiles and detergent. The pants weren't tight, the henley was snug on the upper arms but not constricting, it felt good to be dressed, he had to admit that even though to his abused mind it was something long ago, almost alien to be wearing clothes. It's why he didn't want to wear his own, they'd smell like him and that would make it too unreal because Stiles' scent hadn't been part of Hell. Smelling him, having him here, it helped clinging to the little bit of reality he had left.

They just got finished dressing up when his phone started buzzing on the bed where he had dropped it muted before the shower. He walked over to pick it up and let Morrell know that he was going to go downstairs for her to let her through the wards.

Turning around, he looked at Derek. "Are you okay with this?" he asked with a searching look. "Can I bring her up? I'd totally understand if you said no. I could ask for her advice downstairs and work with that once I'm back." That right there was a way out for Derek, but Stiles really hoped that having Morrell around was going to be chosen. After all, she was the professional here.

At the question, Derek stopped plucking at the clothes to briefly glance up and meet Stiles' eyes before he ducked his head again. Derek had no idea what he was okay with, the idea of somebody else here when it felt so unsafe already made this sense of panic flare up but the thought of Stiles downstairs with her while he was up here alone, unsafe... it was worse. Frowning at having the option to choose when he hadn't been given a choice in anything for so long made him hesitant. Lucifer had given him choices, but they would never lead to anything good if he had picked the wrong one. So instead of instantly answering, he carefully weighed which answer he thought was the right one.

"She can come up," the wolf decided, heavily influenced by what Stiles wanted but it also happened to be the choice he wanted too. He went back to plucking at the clothes, until his mate left. The moment the room was empty except him, he retreated back to the corner near the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and hid his face in his arms so he didn't have to see the emptiness and the faces judging him.

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