Summary: Some wounds never truly close up and it just so happens most of them aren't physical. Sometimes, the littlest things can open these back up.
A good thing some people are here to patch these wounds up.

The distortion on your face is so obvious Angie immediately notices it, even if she's barely over your shoulder while he stares in disbelief at your phone screen. To be frank, there's such a revolting feeling setting in your stomach at the moment that it wouldn't be hard to notice how badly you're taking what you're seeing. But, like a train wreck, despite your disgust, you can't look away from it until your finger closes the app on his phone on their own.

"Derek, is everything okay?" She then asks, prompting you to put away your phone and face her.

"Y-yeah," he stutters. "Just saw something unpleasant."

Angie looks around, noticing the staff room is empty at the moment. It's not surprising, considering it's three in the morning. She grabs your arm and gently pulls away on it.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You don't really want to say anything what you've just seen, but you also need something to rinse the bitter and sour aftertaste that won't leave your mouth. Plus, it's not like your therapist recommends bottling everything up, especially on that topic.

"I'll take the offer. Thanks, Angie."

She smiles as she slowly walks you to the sofa.

"You're welcome. I'm always glad to help."

You both sit down on it with only a few centimetres separating you from her. You stare at the floor, still trying to wash your eyeballs and cleanse your stomach. Alas, it's all in vain: the feeling doesn't seem to agree on leaving the premise anytime soon.

It's not even like you should still be this deeply affected by that goddamn picture. It's old and you don't even remember it being ever taken. It's so old, in fact, you can't find any precise memory within yourself of that time of your life, just vague shards of words and feelings blurring into a mix of fiction and recreation done by a slightly confused brain which doesn't know if it should burn that past to the ground or instead treasure it inside a little box.

A comforting hand lands on your thigh, breaking you away from that short burst of thought.

"So, what is this thing that's been bothering you? It seems really unpleasant, considering your face's all twisted."

"It's… It's just a silly photo. You're gonna find it super silly too if I tell you…"

"There's no judgement here, Derek. You can tell me about it, it's fine. I've told you I'd help you as both your assistant and your friend, right?"

"Of course, but really, it's so ridiculous…"

"I'm sure it's nothing of the sort."

You sigh again. Your therapist has also told you multiple times to stop belittling your thoughts and throwing so much judgement onto yourself for things you cannot control, so you better listen to these lessons and learn them now.

"I have relatives who don't know about it yet."

"About 'that'?"

"Yeah. They're people I haven't seen in a decade so they're unaware of everything. I've never told them because I've never had to. My mom never forced me to anyway…"

"So they still call you by the wrong name and things like that?"

"Exactly."

Angie gives you a tender look. She most likely doesn't know what that feels like, or even what words to put onto that phenomenon. How can you blame her? You're glad she doesn't know what it's like, actually. You're relieved she's never had to suffer through that in her life.

"I'm sorry to hear that… They know you're a surgeon, at least, right?"

"Yeah, my mother must have told them at some point. Some of them at least call me Doctor, even if they've got no idea."

"Is there a reason why you've never told them?"

"I just never felt the need to. It's the sort of things you hate telling people because you never know how they'll react."

"It must be a terrifying thing to do…"

"…but I'm starting to regret my decision not to tell them, I think."

Surprise washes over her face. Her other hand is now on your shoulder, loose hair brushing against the skin of his forearms. You left the lab coat in his office before going to grab a coffee; but that was also before the picture fiasco.

"Why so?"

Aren't you annoying her with all of your ramblings? Well, at least, it does feel therapeutic, so it's not like you should mind. Her questions are helping you clear his mind and make your own thoughts easier to understand and digest.

"I often get messages from distant relatives or old high school friends that tell me they find it amusing that there's such a famous Dr Stiles that's often on TV or talked about. None of them actually suspects him and me to actually be the same person. It's weird, I feel like an imposter when I read that kind of messages."

"Now that's quite the situation… You want them to recognize you as this man even if they think you're… not one yourself?"

Her voice crackles on the last words. She clearly still struggles with some of the topics, or at least how to put them into words. You can tell she's trying, though. She's done her research behind your back for sure.

"Maybe? I'm kind of confused. I usually don't think a lot about it anyway. It's just that I got a message that reminded me of all these buries feelings earlier. I didn't see it until a few minutes ago."

"Oh, it's because of the thing on your phone that bothered you, then?"

"Exactly."

The grip on both your shoulder and thigh strengthens.

"What was it, then? Again, if you don't mind me asking…"

You sigh. Lighten your chest, Derek, you won't sleep tonight if it's still weighing on your consciousness like that… You don't want the nausea and the elevated pulse to wake up in the middle of your precious resting time, right?

"My aunt sent me a picture from when I was a kid."

"I see…"

"You're gonna find it silly, of course, but I hate that picture and the caption with it. I don't think I have the strength to describe it, let me show you."

You puts your phone out again and, trying to pry your eyes away from the photo at fault, you open the message back up and puts your cell in her right hand.

You've felt that wave of anxious nervousness before. It's the stress that piles up on you when you need to show someone something that could change their perception of you, or your life as a whole sometimes. If you've told Angie with words what you truly are, your made Mom read a text you'd written on a piece of paper at school when the class was the white noise background to the cacophony of your mental, sentimental turmoil.

Still, you do manage to look at her as she looks at the screen. Her delicate fingers handle your phone with precaution. Her expression goes from endeared (most certainly by the picture itself, where your child self was smiling for the camera dressed in a lab coat too big for such a tiny body), to shocked, to finally distorting in distress.

You've just realized you've forgotten that the message also mentioned the one information you didn't want to give her for any reason. It was your most secretive part, the one piece from your past you'd have done so much to erase from this plane of reality.

That's… absolutely awful.

After a heavy silence, Angie gives back your phone, looking away.

"Sorry, I read the caption…"

"You couldn't have known. Please just… never use that name."

"Why would I do that? I'll make sure to forget about it as soon as possible and never come across it ever again. I shouldn't be this curious anyway…"

"It's okay. In fact, I'm thankful you've asked me. It's incredibly relaxing once everything's off your chest."

"I'm sure it is. I'm glad I could be of help!"

Her face suddenly lights up.

"Oh, by the way! Can I ask you how you picked your name?"

You chuckle. Her enthusiastic curiosity isn't typical of a 3AM shift.

"I haven't been asked that in such a long time, I forgot how I used to explain that!"

"Oh, really? How long?"

"Since my therapist asked me about it, I think… Either her or when Tyler asked me about it, and that was back in med school. I didn't exactly get to reveal that to anyone else since then, at least, that was until I told you…"

Angie fiddles with her fingers. She clearly doesn't like to be reminded of it and, frankly, so do you aside from one little thing. Your only pride in what unfolded that day is the fact you were somehow able to actually put into spoken words what used to terrify you to express so much you had to write it down and make people read a text instead. It was a personal victory and, well, you're allowed to be proud of that, right? It's rare for you to find euphoria where a land barren of joy once stood.

You clear your throat, the story forming back inside your mind.

"Anyway. I picked that name when I was in high school. At the time, I didn't really know what to pick for myself, so… You know these baby name sites? I used to always be on them unless my mother entered my room. In the end, I ended up not finding anything I really liked on there. It's hard to name yourself when you've been called something else your entire life."

A smile draws itself on your face as the memories come back, one by one. It's a strange rush of nostalgia for something that was so painful.

"One day, I stumbled upon my father's old comic books. My mother never had the heart to throw them away, so we just kept them in big boxes in a storage room. In one of them was a doctor character named Derek and, from then on… I just identified with him. Actually, I wanted to be like him and save people through medicine. He was way more muscular than I was, though."

You must look ridiculous to someone more grounded than Angie, and yet you hear her softly laugh.

"You say that as if you weren't already a superhero of your own, Derek."

In one remark, she's set fire to your face.

"Huh…?!"

"Not only have you saved the world from GUILT, but you've also overcome all of this. At least, to me, that's a heroic act. You went against everyone and everything else for that, in a way." She glances back at him. "If that isn't worth admiring, then what is?"

"Hah… I don't know what to respond…" You scratch the back of your head with a laugh in your throat. "Thanks a lot, Angie."

"I'm trying my best. I still don't understand everything and, no matter how many times I try, I can't quite put myself in your shoes… So, if I ever mess up, tell me, okay?"

"I will. If it reassures you, I don't have anything to write on a report about you yet."

It's her turn to sigh in relief.

"I'd even add you've been my best supporter on that front so far."

Both of your faces turn red as their eyes dart away from each other's. How did you manage to squeeze that one out of your chest? That was oddly smooth coming from your clumsy mouth, Stiles. Must be the power of the late shift soon coming to a close.

"To our tandem, then," Angie says as she lies back into the sofa.

"To our tandem."

Telling the rest of your family doesn't seem to be quite the bad idea if you've got people like Tyler and her by your side. It can't bring you any more pain than it's had until now, can it? Perhaps you should tell Angie about it.

Why a "perhaps"? Of course you'll tell her about it before you take a decision. Silly you.