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Lydia holds his head in her lap, stroking his face. "Oh, Stiles," she sighs. "Why did you have to do this?" He's shaking, his body convulsing as it rejects the holy water the hunters had forced him to swallow. He was human enough to be alive, but demon enough to suffer.
Even as he starts to calm, hours later, his body slowly beginning to come down from the pain-induced high, he can't stop the shaking. It's then that he realizes he's probably dying. Even as he takes inventory of all the injuries he'd received besides, he knows he can't make it. Knows that this is the end of not only Stiles, but also him - his very existence.
He'd never forgotten that he'd die with the body, but he'd always thought he'd get at least a little more time. He hadn't even graduated high school yet. He considers it silently, body trembling from pain and shock. He's got a punctured lung, several broken ribs, a handful of stab wounds, and a collection of dark bruises and deep, gaping cuts.
He can sense the moment Lydia realizes that he's dying - can sense her panic. There's nothing she - an angel - can do for him, a demon in a human's skin.
"It's okay," he rasps through damaged vocal cords. "I know. It's okay."
But it really isn't and when she starts crying, he can't stop himself from doing the same. "I don't mind," he says, his ravaged voice further changed by pain. "It was good, trying to be human." She's openly crying, bawling for him, and he wonders if she'll be lonely after their century-transcending friendship. He hopes not.
"I just..." Tears run from his eyes without any instruction from him when the body begins to react according to its genetic makeup. But that's not all of it. He can't stop his voice from breaking when he thinks of what he'd really been searching for, this whole time, and how hadn't found it. How - now - he never would.
"I just wish that there had been a form that I could've taken," he can't help but say, voice thick with sorrow, "Where I just wasn't so lonely!" He can still feel her hands on his face, but even the sensations from that are fading fast. "Why couldn't there be a place where someone knew me and actually wanted me?" He only has a few moments at best now.
"Sorry, Seraph....Lydia. You always were the greatest comfort, righteous fury or not," he says. The last thing he knows before his hearing goes and his vision blurs to black is the sound and form of the door splintering as the others return to rescue them, him and Lydia. Just Lydia, now.
But then something thumps against his chest and his body seizes when he realizes what it is - his very own grace from centuries past - and the change begins to take, the holy power that was utterly, singularly his burning through his body to remake him in the form of his creator originally intended for him once more.
It feels like hours, but he knows it's only a matter of minutes minutes. When his wings flutter from his back, he doesn't know whether to laugh or despair. He's alive, an angel once more. Just another place that he's never fit.
"You asshole!" Lydia accuses, face still covered in tears. But, hey, she doesn't even seem to care that her make up is running, so who is he to say anything? "Don't you ever just quit on me like that ever again!"
And he smiles at her almost halfheartedly. "How can I?" Stiles asks softly. "I'm back where I started." And it shouldn't sound so sad, but it is. His tears evaporated in the change, but it doesn't matter. Real angels weren't supposed to cry.
They hug, they smile; they go home. Nothing and everything has changed. Now Stiles is an angel, once more responsible for the safekeeping of humans instead of the tormenting of them - and once more required to be loyal to those who didn't quite understand his need to be free, filling the silence with chatter, the empty spaces with his gesturing limbs, and the coldness with some kind of warmth.
It's hard and terrifying, but then, he supposes, it's a better option than being dead.
It isn't until later that he returns from a shower to find Derek in his room. It doesn't even surprise him anymore - can't. He can sense the man's inner warmth and for a moment wonders if he has a chance now that he's no longer a demon. He kicks the thought out of his head, knowing full well that he doesn't. He hadn't before, and honestly, he'd rather the man love him regardless of his species rather than in spite of or because of it.
But it's hard, knowing what he could have and wishing for it, especially because he knows he'll never actually have it. How much of his life had been spent as a demon, a fallen angel? He can't even count the centuries.
"Derek," he acknowledges. He can't help but be relieved that he'd taken a change of clothes with him to the bathroom, so used to Scott dropping in unexpectedly... though that, too, had decreased over time. The whole demon thing, though, seemed to have reminded the human that he had an actual friend and he'd responded accordingly, making his presence a constant part of Stiles' life once more.
"You're an angel now," the werewolf said. That Stiles was no longer a demon went unsaid.
"Yes." Stiles watches as Derek looks around the room, apparently taking in that nothing has changed before looking at him again. This time, Stiles is caught off guard by the sheer discomfort he sees in Derek's face. There is uncertainty and a kind of fear. He frowns in response. "Derek?" he says quietly. "Is something wrong?"
"You said you were lonely. Before." Derek says and Stiles feels a bit surprised. Had they been close enough to hear that? He's relieved he didn't say anything else, but also embarrassed.
"If you're here to laugh--" Stiles chokes on his words, unable to look Derek in the face. God, he couldn't stand it, especially if it was Derek of all people.
"What?" Derek sounds surprised by that, taken off guard. It immediately makes Stiles feel miles better about the situation and he shyly lifts his eyes to meet Derek's once more. "No! I just. I wanted." Derek growls, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair.
"Yes...?" Stiles prompts, a bit puzzled by the turn of events. He ruthlessly crushes the hope in his chest, aware that it'll never come to fruition. The hope hurts - aches and burns - and he doesn't want to feel so torn open anymore. "What is it?"
Derek scowls at him before just lunging forward to grip the neck of Stiles' shirt, dragging him towards him. The newly reborn angel is surprised and taken off guard, but he's even more shocked to find that Derek is attempting to kiss him.
He says attempt because the werewolf overshot things a bit, dragging Stiles forward fast enough that it was either an awkward face nuzzle or a bruised nose. Stiles, for one, is glad to say that Derek had gone with the nuzzling.
"Derek?" he says, eyes wide as he stares at the other man's jawline.
"You don't--You don't have to be lonely," the other man says. "I never meant for you to feel that way - never realized."
And Stiles can't help but think that those words mean that Derek's been hiding this for longer than his existence as a demon. He'd been a demon still, uttering those words as he could feel himself dying. And Derek had heard them.
"It doesn't matter. What you are, I mean."
And Stiles can't help but want to cry again to keep the bubbling feeling in his chest from overwhelming him. He settles for kissing Derek properly instead.