Days turned to weeks, slowly she started regaining color.
After the first week, the Cullens left but not before Carlisle gave Derek a description manual, telling him all that has to be done and when.
That same week Sam's pack left for La Push too.
Leaving only the usual Beacon Hills crew behind after a few weeks.
Lydia stood in the doorway looking how Derek wipes her clean with a wet cloth. "Is she even going to wake up?"
Derek didn't look up, his gaze fixed on Aria—the rise and fall of her chest slow, but steady. For a moment, he stayed silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, tinged with exhaustion. "I hope so." His words hung heavy in the air, like a confession neither of them could bring themselves to say out loud.
"I'm sorry Derek, if I could have been here quicker with the Kitsune herbs, she wouldn't have been in this state." Lydia profoundly apologized.
Derek shook his head, shoulders drooping. "You're not the one to blame here." A muscle ticked in his jaw. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It doesn't matter. She'll be okay." There was an edge of desperation to the last words, a plea more than a statement.
Lydia took a few steps into the room, her heels clicking against the floor. She reached out gently and placed a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Derek… she's not dead." Her voice softened, almost like she could see through the mask he wore. "And she's not gone. But if you keep treating her like a ghost—like you've already lost her—then that's exactly what you'll do."
He didn't answer. Just kept wiping Aria's arm with the cloth, his movements careful, reverent.
Lydia let out a quiet sigh. "I brought something," she said softly, turning to set down a small wooden box on the nightstand. "Kitsune healing herbs. Not much, but it might help stabilize her transition… especially since this isn't just any werewolf change." She opened it carefully—a faint golden glow pulsed from within. "They're called Yūrei Ashi," she explained. "Spirit-walker roots. They're supposed to help anchor someone who's stuck between worlds... between lives."
Derek finally looked up at her, eyes red-rimmed but sharp with hope. "Will they work?"
"I don't know," Lydia admitted honestly. "But I know one thing…" She stepped closer and gently lifted Aria's hand—the veins beneath were now threaded faintly gold—and pressed one of the small dried root pieces into her palm before folding her fingers around it. Her gaze locked onto Derek's with fierce certainty. "She's stronger than you think."
Derek stared at Aria's closed fist—the tiny root nestled inside like a secret promise.
For the first time in weeks, something loosened in his chest. Not hope—not quite—but the quiet possibility of it. He reached out slowly, covering her hand with his own—large, calloused fingers trembling slightly as they brushed over her knuckles. "I know she is," he whispered, voice thick. "I just… I can't lose her. Not now. Not after everything."
Lydia watched him for a long moment—then gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back. "She's not going anywhere," she said firmly, "because you won't let her."
She turned toward the door but paused mid-step. "And Derek?"
"Yes?"
"Talk to her."
"What?"
"She can hear you," Lydia said softly. "Even now… she's listening." And with that, she left—her footsteps fading down the hall.
The room fell into silence again—but it was different this time.
Lighter.
Full of breath instead of dread.
Derek turned back to Aria—the moonlight spilling through the window and painting silver streaks across her face—and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.
Then he leaned close, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting their foreheads together once more. "I'm here," he murmured, voice breaking. "And I'm not leaving. So don't you dare try to run ahead without me…"
His thumb traced slow circles over the back of her hand. "I miss your voice... I miss how you laugh when I try to be serious…"
A tear slipped free—one he didn't bother wiping away. "You're so strong... stronger than all of us put together... I need you…"
"I love you..."
His hands trembled around hers, voice catching in his throat. "...I love you so damn much."
His other hand brushed damp hair away from her face—tracing her features like a prayer. He closed his eyes, his face twisted with emotion. "Please… come back to me."
Suddenly, her fingers twitched in his. Derek froze. His breath stopped.
One second passed.
Then another.
And then—a squeeze. Faint. Weak. But unmistakable. Her fingers moved again—just slightly—curling around his like she was reaching for him through the dark.
"Aria?" he whispered, voice cracking as he leaned closer, heart hammering against his ribs. "Can you hear me?"
Her eyelids fluttered—once… twice—a slow struggle against the weight of unconsciousness. A soft, pained sound escaped her lips, barely more than a sigh. But it was enough to set Derek's world on fire all over again. "Water..." She whispers in such a low tone that Derek didn't caught it right away.
He leaned closer, pressing his ear to her mouth to catch the whisper. "Water?" he repeated, hope rising in his voice. "You need water?"
She couldn't nod her head, every limp feels heavy, therefore she whispered the word water again.
Derek's hands were shaking as he rose, still clinging to hers with his other hand like a lifeline. He grabbed a glass from the nightstand, filling it quickly from the bathroom sink—then returned to her bedside, easing one hand under her head to lift her slightly. "Can you drink this?"
Her lips moved just slightly, but it was unmistakably a yes. He put the glass carefully to her lips, watching as she drank in short, careful sips.
After about half a glass of sips, she falls back into the cushion.
She smiles weakly at Derek, before another whisper left her lips, a little louder this time around. "You're alive..." But the moment was only short lived as she almost instantly fell asleep.
Derek let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he set the glass down on the nightstand. He took her hand again, brushing her knuckles with his thumb—almost afraid to believe it, to let himself hope…
"I'm here," he told her. "I'm here." His voice cracked. "And I'm not going anywhere," he promised, voice hoarse, as he brought her hand to his lips—kissing the back of her fingers gently. "I swear it."
For the next few days, Aria was constantly in an out of consciousness.
Derek barely slept—staying up through the night, holding her hand, watching for any sign of change in her breathing or expression.
Every time her eyes fluttered open, his heart leapt into his throat. He'd press water to her lips, whisper encouraging words—tell her to keep fighting, beg her not to give up, remind her that she was strong and beautiful and loved. Sometimes he'd swear he could see a hint of recognition in her gaze… but then her eyes would slide closed again.
Somewhere along the line Derek drifted of into a well needed sleep. When he woke up Aria was sitting up in the bed, looking at him, a soft smile glancing her lips.
Derek was up in an instant—hands moving over her arms, face, as if to check that she was really there, really awake, and not some fever dream.
"Aria…" he whispered, voice rough—a mix of disbelief and unbridled hope. "You're awake." His lips curled into a shaky smile, eyes bright with unshed tears as he gripped her hand in both of his.
"Derek... You're alive..." Aria voiced but her tone is still a little rough around the edges.
Derek let out a soft, disbelieving laugh—a sound so raw and broken, it carried every ounce of pain and relief he'd held inside.
"Me?" His voice cracked as he cupped her face gently in his hands—thumbs brushing over the warmth returning to her cheeks. "You're the one who came back from the edge… You're alive. You're here." He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in—the scent of pine and something uniquely Aria filling his lungs like salvation. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I'd lost both of you…"
"Both...?" She asked wide eyed. Momentarily confused, but then the memory surfaced.
He nodded, his expression softening into an almost shy smile—eyes damp, but bright with a fierce joy. He traced his hand over the curve of her stomach again, a tender sort of awe in his touch. "Our child…"
"Derek?"
He raised his gaze back to her, hand still resting gently on her stomach. "Yes?"
"I love you!"
Derek let out a low, shaky exhale, his heart overflowing with a rush of emotion so powerful he couldn't speak for a second—couldn't do anything except stare at her, taking in her face, her eyes, her hair… and the faint life glowing with promise beneath her skin.
Then—he kissed her—slow, soft, and filled with a thousand unspoken words. When he finally drew back, his eyes were shining with tears.
"...I love you, too."