Title: These Walls You Put Before Me Won't Break
Author:
painfullystoic
Recipient:painfullystoic
Pairings: Derek/Stiles
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 6,000+
Warnings: Somewhat rough frottage, control issues, dominance, brief restraint, injury, off screen character death (not Derek or Stiles), angst, pining, reckless behavior (implied), and language
Summary: Stiles spun around and the look in his eyes gave Derek pause. "I swear to God if you finish that sentence, I'm going to kill you myself."
Author's Notes: Derek has a martyr complex and Stiles is sick of it. Happy Holidays,painfullystoic! I hope you like this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Any mistakes are my own.
The sound of a car approaching was the first thing that Derek heard when he came to. For the past half hour he had drifted in and out of consciousness, his arms suspended above his head and blood dripping from his wounds. The vehicle stopped and the driver got out and slammed the door. Footsteps crunched across the broken glass that scattered the ground and Derek smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon, sandalwood and oak. The silence stretched on for a while with Derek simply unwilling to look up at his savior. He could feel the kid judging him already and he was not in the mood. Not tonight.
"Love what you've done to the place." Stiles finally drawled out. "Really brings out a sense of repressed rage and violence with a hint of early nineteenth century psychosis."
At this, Derek finally looked up to glare at him but ended up cringing when he saw the damage done to his car. The normally glossy black paint job was completely disfigured with scratch marks and all the windows had been busted. Upon closer inspection, the tires and rims had also been destroyed and Derek was devastated. That car was his baby, the one thing besides his leather jacket that Derek allowed himself to have--to enjoy--from his previous life. He did not deserve nice things.
For what he did to his family, he didn't deserve anything.
"Could you just help me get free? These ropes...they soaked them in wolfsbane and it's eating into my wrists."
"Oh, you want my help now?" Stiles arched an eyebrow and stayed right where he was. Derek noticed the different ways he carried himself these days. Stiles stood up a little taller, a bit straighter; had a level of aggression coiling within him that Derek didn't quite like. Stiles' innocence had long been stripped away with all the horrors he and his friends had had to face and Derek took a moment to mourn for yet another teenager whose entire life had been upended.
"Stiles."
A bitter smile twisted Stiles' mouth, but he finally moved forward and fished a switchblade out of his pocket. As he worked, his fingers kept brushing Derek's and he could detect a fine tremor in them.
Stiles was shaking, but it didn't seem to be from fear. No, Derek realized, He's pissed.
"They got the jump on you? Right outside the train depot...which means they know where you live. They know where all of us live." Stiles jerked the ropes free of Derek's wrists with a lot more force than was necessary, and Derek hissed in pain. "And wolfsbane soaked ropes? So that means they're immune somehow. Just another advantage that these fuckers have over us, right?" He got in Derek's face. "Right, Derek?"
"What do you want me to say?" Derek snarled. "That you're right?" He glared at Stiles' mulish expression. "Fine. Okay. You were right, Stiles, and I was wrong. Are you happy now?"
"It's not about me being right or not, you jackass! It's about you stopping this stupid martyr bullshit and finally letting someone help you for once."
Derek winced in pain as he moved away from the wall, the wounds on his chest still bleeding profusely. He purposely ignored the wreckage of his Camaro because if he kept looking, he'd completely lose his shit. He wouldn't risk that when Stiles was nearby. The stubborn teen was fragile despite the fact that he pretended otherwise. He was strong in all the ways that counted except his own mortality. If Stiles wouldn't watch out for himself then Derek would do it for him--even if it meant that he couldn't have what he so desperately wanted.
Even if it meant that he had to protect Stiles from Derek himself.
"I don't need or want your help. I didn't ask you to come here tonight."
"Yeah preach it to the choir, Sourwolf. I've heard all this shit before and you know what? I wasn't impressed then and I'm sure as hell not impressed now. Besides...you needed my help tonight, didn't you? Otherwise your ass would still be tied to that pipe and you know it."
Derek inspected the damage to his chest and sighed. These wounds were inflicted by an Alpha and would take some time to heal. He couldn't afford that time. It wouldn't be long before the bastards struck again.
"Are you even listening to me?" Stiles snapped. He grabbed Derek's face and pulled it to face him. "Isaac got attacked by the twins tonight. But you didn't know that did you? You've pulled away from everybody so much that you couldn't even sense that your own beta was in trouble." At Derek's worried look, Stiles' expression seemed to soften, but he didn't let go of Derek's face. "He's okay. Scott got to him in time. They're both injured but they'll live. Scott called me while they were being seen at the hospital. Isaac was frantic. Said that you were in danger and he needed to go to you. My Dad and Mrs. McCall won't let them leave. There were...witnesses who saw the attack. They think that Scott and Isaac were ambushed by a gang or something. But if they walk out of the hospital without any medical attention, then it's going to raise suspicions. Mrs. McCall is the one stitching them up while my Dad keeps watch."
"I didn't know Scott's mom could do stitches."
Stiles released Derek and headed back towards the jeep. "Yeah...well...it's like I said. You've been out of the loop for the last seven months. There's a lot you've been missing. And avoiding."
Derek growled. "I told you I didn't want to bring that up ever again. Okay? Drop it, Stiles."
Stiles held his hands up as if surrendering, his amber eyes glinting in anger. "Consider it dropped, big guy."
"Good, now get out of here. The Alphas jumped me to make a point. They're teasing me, trying to make me lose my cool. It's best if you leave in case they decide to come back." The next thing Derek knew, Stiles had punched him with a strong right hook to his face, which sent Derek almost to his knees. He snarled, eyes flashing red in warning, but before he could even speak a word, Stiles had punched him a second time and then a third. He dropped to the ground, hissing as his bloody chest made harsh contact with the concrete. Stiles was panting with exertion above him, rubbing his sore knuckles and cursing.
"Fuck you, Derek. FUCK. YOU! You selfish ass. Do you honestly think that these Alphas are here only for you?" Stiles shoved Derek backwards once he struggled to his feet. "Well, do you? Have you forgotten that the rest of us are also here; are also suffering at the hands of these psychopaths? Have you forgotten that they still have Erica and Boyd and that they KILLED Jackson and Peter?" By this time Stiles was outright shouting at the top of his lungs and Derek felt every word pierce through him like a bullet. Stiles, who had been beaten down the night they saved Jackson, who had to watch as the girl he loved professed her love for someone else, who had become so disillusioned for the longest time that he had considered giving up. And yet he didn't. Stiles hadn't given up or admitted defeat. Even when Sheriff Stilinski learned the truth and the Alpha pack had murdered two of their own (well, as much as Peter could have been called their 'own'), Stiles was there rallying the rest of them to never give up.
And Derek hadn't been there for any of it. At least not directly.
He'd withdrawn even more than he usually did, choosing to work and fight alone instead of joining forces with the others. Isaac had grown increasingly more loyal to Scott since his own Alpha seemed to have abandoned him. But Derek had chosen to release Isaac first rather than the other way around. He couldn't handle another person rejecting him. Erica and Boyd's betrayal was still too fresh and it still hurt too much. Derek knew he hadn't been the best Alpha, but...he was learning from his mistakes. Slowly learning, but at least he was figuring things out. But despite the fact that he regularly checked up on the rest of them, he still preferred to be solitary and exclude himself from anything the rest of the group (pack) planned. So much so, it appeared, that the bond between him and Isaac was fading if he hadn't even sensed that the teen was in trouble tonight. A deep sense of shame washed over him, but he couldn't dwell on it too much because Stiles was still yelling, still shoving at him.
"Why are you like this?" Stiles said, all the anger suddenly draining from him at once. "Is this because I--."
"Don't." Derek gritted out. "Just don't."
Stiles smirked, but there was no humor behind it. "Still cowardly as ever, I see. I'm not leaving you here alone when you're hurt, so get in the car."
"I said I don't need your..."
Stiles spun around and the look in his eyes gave Derek pause. "I swear to God if you finish that sentence, I'm going to kill you myself."
Derek just watched him silently for a moment before nodding his head slightly.
"Good. Now get in the fucking car."
~~~~~~~~~
Derek wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he found an angry Stiles to be fascinating. It was in the tense set of his shoulders and the red flush of his pale skin. The agitation so potent that his body seemed to vibrate with it. Derek reveled in it. He wanted to poke the bear, so to speak, to see just how mad he could make Stiles. There was no question that the teen had grown up a lot in the past several months. Something had changed in him since the night that everything with Gerard had gone down. Stiles was wiser…more cynical and jaded somehow. Like a shadow of his former self. With the dangerous world they now lived in on an increasingly daily basis, that was good. It was good for him to toughen up, to know that not everything was fun and games anymore. Derek knew that when he looked at this new version of Stiles, but it didn’t make his heart ache for his lost innocence any less. Stiles should be having fun and playing video games and figuring out which colleges he wanted to go to. Not planning strategy against a ruthless Alpha pack or any other unforeseen dangers on the horizon.
Not trying to stay alive at every single moment of every single day.
After Gerard had disappeared and the Alpha pack had first appeared and taken Boyd and Erica, Derek tried to work with the rest of the group. He really did. But it was hard watching Isaac look more and more to Scott for leadership and Peter always quietly mocking him on the side. Peter was like the Jiminy Cricket you never wanted to have, the one who spouted negatives in your ear at an alarming rate, causing you to completely doubt your ability to do anything. Derek already doubted his ability to do anything good, had the evidence of all of his mistakes thrown into his face by his own rag tag pack abandoning him. And oh…it hurt. It hurt more than he thought it would because Derek had made a promise to himself when he turned them:
Don’t care.
Just one simple rule and he broke it. He tried to tell himself it didn’t hurt when Boyd and Erica came to tell him they were leaving, but it gutted him. Derek felt angry and betrayed. Hadn’t he tried to prepare them for what was coming? Hadn’t he tried to teach them to protect themselves and the pack? And this is the thanks he got? Left behind (alone) at the first sign of trouble?
Always alone.
Derek wasn’t stupid. He knew he had issues. Had faults bigger than the Grand Canyon even, but he always thought that his pack knew that he meant well. That he was trying to find his footing in this crazy world that had only done things to hurt him. He had been wrong about his pack and he had been wrong about trusting Scott. Deaton told him that his problem was not trusting anyone enough to let them in. And the fucking thing that pissed him off the most was that Derek listened to Deaton. He actually took his advice and went straight to Scott and was willing to work together to bring down Jackson and Gerard--only Scott wasn’t as on board as he had assumed.
Scott was busy plotting his own agenda; one that didn’t include Derek.
So after that night, Derek tried. He tried to swallow his pride and work with the group. He tried to defer to Scott even, to let him know that he would follow the younger man’s lead this time around. But seeing the way Isaac just blindly gave his loyalty to Scott whereas Derek had always had to work for it, just rubbed him wrong.
But you never really tried to work for Isaac’s trust, now did you? his mind mocked him. Did you?
And Stiles. Stiles would remain loyal to Scott until the day he died and that also rubbed Derek wrong--but for different reasons.
Stiles was…different. He had always found himself being aware of Stiles in a way that he hadn’t with the others. Even from the beginning when he first encountered the two teens on his family’s private property and he had tossed Scott his errant inhaler. Derek remembered seeing Stiles standing there both nervous and defiant and a whole lot of curious before he had turned and stalked away through the trees, trying to tune out Stiles’ whispered play by play of Derek’s tragic life story. He found himself thinking that day that it both pleased and angered him that Stiles knew so much about him, and Derek knew even back then that he was in trouble.
Stiles was willful and stubborn, intelligent and annoying--but in an endearing way that made you like him despite yourself. Derek knew it to be true long before he even wanted to admit it to himself, but he couldn’t ignore the facts for long. Derek liked Stiles. This cute, hyperactive and sarcastic bane of his existence. He liked him and for that, he also hated him.
In the Days After Gerard, when Derek was trying so hard to fit in and work with Scott and the others, when the Alpha pack was just starting their reign of terror, that was when the dreams started as well. Dreams about Stiles and what he wanted to do to Stiles. Kissing Stiles and touching him, stroking him …making him moan.
Dreams where he was fucking Stiles, just barely this side of human because the boy just made him lose control.
Derek freaked. He was not about to do to this kid what Kate had done to him. It just simply wasn’t going to happen. Derek started coming around the group less when they were strategizing, preferring to patrol near their houses late at night to make sure they were okay, and if he happened to patrol near Stiles’ house more often than not, no one knew but him.
And apparently Stiles.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Stiles was very aware of Derek’s penchant for hanging out on his roof more than anyone else’s. The kid was too fucking smart for his own good. It really pissed Derek off sometimes because he knew that Stiles could read him better than anybody else. Oh sure, he acted like he didn’t know Derek and couldn’t read his moods, but then Derek would turn around and find Stiles watching him. His wide, amber eyes all too sharp and knowing, mocking him and saying: We see you, Derek. You can’t hide from us. And he would want to hurt Stiles then, at these moments. Hurt him by being a complete asshole or throwing the kid up against the wall and threatening him. Anything to get that knowing look out of his goddamn eyes. But it never worked. Somehow, despite everything, he and Stiles seemed to always be thrown together in the weirdest of situations and Derek was tired of trying to analyze why. Somewhere down the line he and this infuriating kid had become friends. Or something resembling friends, at least, up until a month or so ago.
It had been a few days after Thanksgiving and the group (pack) that now included Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa McCall and Chris Argent had all gathered at Lydia’s house to figure out how to handle the latest nasty surprise left by the Alphas. The Alphas had sent both Lydia and Allison a dummy in their likeness to their homes, the dolls obviously the victims of torture and disfigurement. It was a clear threat against the girls that had the whole group in an uproar. Since Allison was still estranged from everyone, her father had swallowed his pride and joined forces with the rest in order to keep his daughter safe. But there was still tons of bad blood between him and Derek and Argent was another reason why Derek was choosing to stay away these days.
The argument, Derek remembered now, had not only been about the threat against the girls but about him being MIA. The rest of the group bickered back and forth about him as he lurked outside Lydia’s home and eavesdropped on the conversation. When Chris Argent declared that maybe they were better off doing things on their own without an ‘emotionally disturbed miscreant’ in the mix of things, Derek was surprised to see just who came to his defense. Okay, sure, Isaac wasn’t much of a surprise even thought he’d clearly bonded so deeply with Scott, but Stiles? Stiles was the one who shocked him.
“Okay, stop it!” Stiles shouted. “So Derek has some issues. We all have issues nowadays and personally, I don’t blame the guy. How would the rest of you like it if some lunatic burned down your entire home and family?”
Peter chose this moment to pipe up. “Well, not his entire family. I’m still here.”
Stiles glared the older man into submission. “Don’t remind me. Look, I get it. Derek is somewhat of a wild card, but the fact that he’s disappeared these days shouldn’t make you guys relieved. It should make us all very afraid because that’s what these Alpha bastards want. They want us to separate and crumble our defense into dust.” Stiles gazed around at each member of the group and pounded his fist into his other hand for emphasis. “We are all stronger together. Not apart. We need every single hand on deck to beat these psychos, okay? And that includes Derek.”
“And Allison.” Scott piped up dejectedly, exchanging a quick look with Chris. “She should be here too.”
“Yes, she damn well should be.” Stiles snapped and glared at Chris. “Tell your daughter to get over herself and be at the next meeting and I’ll find Derek and tell him the same. We don’t have time for all of this side drama. When this pack leaves our town? Then we can all fall apart if we want, but until then we need to get our shit together.”
Derek had been impressed that night as Stiles handed out the weekly patrol and training schedule. That night he saw a glimpse of the man that Stiles would turn out to be in the future. One that was just as strong, dedicated and clever as his father. And the rest of the group saw it too, if the looks on their faces were anything to go by, the Sheriff’s being the proudest of them all. For a moment, Derek wanted to join them. To go in there and be a part of the group again, but his shortcomings still haunted him and he felt, in the end, it was better to be alone.
Since it was Jackson and Peter’s night to patrol, everyone soon left and Derek beat Stiles home. The Sheriff had to head to the station for a late shift and Derek wanted to make sure Stiles was okay by himself. Perched on the roof of the Stilinski home, right above Stiles’ window, Derek settled himself in for a long, chilly night.
He almost tumbled off the roof an hour later in shock when Stiles opened his window and leaned out so he could look up at him.
They stared at each other for a beat. Then Stiles drew back inside. “You coming in or not?”
Derek hesitated. He could feel as though things were changing now between them. If he went inside, if he acknowledged that he watched out for Stiles--protected him--it would be crossing an invisible line somehow. It would make things real. Derek shook his head and prepared to jump down off the roof and head back to his car. This was not a game he wanted to play. Unfortunately, his body apparently had other ideas, dangerous ones.
He went inside.
Stiles was sprawled in his desk chair facing the window, waiting to see what Derek would do. When he was finally inside Stiles’ room, he shivered a bit despite his natural body heat, noticing the warmer temperature inside the house. He hadn’t realized just how cold it was outside now that it was almost December. Stiles nodded at a tray he had placed on his bed, bogged down with two steaming hot mugs of cocoa and slice and bake sugar cookies. “I figured you’d want something hot to drink, get in from the cold a bit.”
“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. We naturally run hot.”
“I’ve noticed.” Stiles said softly. “Doesn’t mean you’re not human.”
Derek chose to ignore his remark and shrug out of his leather jacket. He grabbed a mug and passed it to Stiles and took the other for himself. Silence filled the room while they sipped their drinks and it was far from comfortable, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Derek could smell the fresh pine scent from Stiles’ soap, see the still damp state of vigorously scrubbed skin from his earlier shower. Could remember exactly what Stiles had done in the shower that had traveled to Derek’s well trained ears even out on the roof.
The thought that Stiles knew Derek was on his roof all this time--could probably hear him--started to play a staccato drum beat inside Derek’s skull. He wanted to push Stiles down on the carpet and fuck up that pine fresh smell, cover him thoroughly so that he smelled like nothing except Derek. Fuck him…fuck into him over and over until Stiles was begging. And he would too. Derek could just look at the kid and tell. There was a raw sexuality about Stiles, something almost androgynous that made him appeal to everyone if they cared to notice. Before Gerard, Derek had seen it, but had steadfastly ignored it because he knew that way only would lead to trouble. Stiles hadn’t been aware then about his burgeoning sex appeal, had almost tried too hard to be noticed or find validation from his peers. But After Gerard this new Stiles, this older and wiser Stiles, was…sexy. There was a new darkness in him that complemented it, made him alluring in a way that few people had ever noticed.
But Derek had always noticed. Had always been looking.
And in the days After Gerard, Derek had noticed that Stiles was finally looking back.
This was getting to be a problem.
He was starting to feel like a drowning man. Derek made an aborted move to get up and leave and was stopped by Stiles grabbing his arm. “Want to play Call of Duty with me? I was just setting up the console. And true to his word, the television was on the AV channel waiting eagerly for inevitable pixilated video game violence. Derek faltered.
“I don’t know how to play.”
Stiles gave a wicked smile. “Well tonight’s the time to learn, my friend.”
Two hours later, they were both shouting at the television completely immersed in the action unfolding onscreen. It was then that Stiles decided to call attention to the elephant currently stampeding up and down the room. “So, where’ve you been lately?”
“Around.”
Stiles snorted. “I know you’ve been around, dipshit. What I meant was, why are you avoiding everyone? You do realize that we’re sort of in the middle of a war, right? A war you should be a part of seeing as how you’re the Alpha?”
“Some Alpha.” Derek muttered. “I couldn’t even keep my pack together and loyal to me. What good will I bring to the table?”
“I think you’re selling yourself short and just using that as an excuse to feel sorry for yourself.” Stiles snapped. “Your pack fell apart, true, because you didn’t know how to lead them. So fucking learn.”
Derek stared at Stiles in shock. “It’s not that easy. What would you even know about it? You’re in Scott’s pack, you’re already loyal.”
“Yeah, I am. But loyalty has to be earned, Derek. And in case you’ve missed the memo, we’re not dividing packs anymore. We’re all in this together. You still have Isaac’s loyalty and you keep pushing him away. You think he’s behind Scott because he wants him to be his new Alpha? He’s in love with him! It has nothing to do with how he respects you.”
Derek was shocked. “Isaac is in love with Scott? When did this happen?”
“When you were off with your head stuck up your ass.” Stiles snarked.
“Does Scott know?”
“Of course Scott knows. He’s just in love with Allison. Isaac knows that and respects that. But he can’t help how he feels. It’s complicated.” Stiles sighed. “He’s still your beta and he’s just waiting for you to work out your shit, and come back, so we can figure out how to get Boyd and Erica back from those assholes.”
Derek contemplated all of this for a moment as he stared at the paused video game in front of them. He wanted so very much to belong again to someone, to belong to a group--a pack, really--to have a purpose in life again. He hadn’t felt that way since his family’s deaths, and he was afraid.
Stiles was watching him. “We need your help, Derek. We need to all be a unit if we’re going to get out of this latest crap-fest alive this time. You don’t have to turn Frodo on us and go it alone.” Stiles placed a warm, steady hand on Derek’s arm. “You don’t have to be alone.”
Derek was staring at Stiles in confusion. “What the hell is a Frodo?”
“Oh my God.” Stiles moaned in horror. “You don’t know…it’s not a what, it’s a who, Derek. Please tell me you’ve seen The Lord of the Rings.”
He got a blank stare in return.
“The one ring to rule them all, one ring to bind th--you know what? Never mind. Obviously you’ve been living under a rock.” Stiles jumped up and switched off the game. “This calls for an emergency. We’re ordering from that twenty-four hour pizza place and you’re watching these damn movies. Tonight.”
Derek felt the color drain from his face and he glared. “Movies, Stiles? As in plural?”
“Yep. All three of them.”
Derek groaned.
~~~~~~
In the middle of The Two Towers, Derek realized he was having an honest to God really good time. He was fascinated with the story unfolding on the screen in front of him, the characters and the whole wonderful world of Middle Earth. He had just one problem though:
“I don’t see how you could compare me to Frodo. I’m nothing like him.”
“You’re a little like him. He kept leaving his group to go off on a dangerous journey alone. At least in his defense you could understand it. He was trying to protect the others because the ring was so dangerous. You, on the other hand, are just being an ass.”
“Gee, thanks.” Derek snarled.
“Personally, I find you’re more like Gimli.” Stiles said suddenly, toying with the carpet and not meeting his eyes. “You’re gruff, miserable and bad tempered like he is.”
“Well, you’re…you’re Legolas then!” Derek snapped back, as if this was some kind of insult. “Tall and always prancing about everywhere--”
“When the fuck have I ever pranced?” Stiles interrupted in disbelief. “Are you high right now--?”
“--And annoying and…and hot!” Derek fell silent and groaned inwardly. Why the hell had he said that? First off, it made no sense and secondly, way to just paint a neon sign over his head declaring his feelings.”
“You think I’m hot?” Stiles said. When Derek didn’t answer, he leaned closer to him and forced him to meet his gaze. “Well, do you?”
Derek still said nothing, just watched Stiles warily.
“You know,” Stiles said softly, fingers wandering up Derek’s black Henley. “Legolas isn’t a bad person to be. He and Gimli start out hating each other and turn out to be pretty good friends in the end.”
“Yeah?”
Stiles nodded earnestly. “Oh yeah. Some fans even think they were fucking.” He sat up and swung a leg over Derek’s lap suddenly, effectively straddling the older male.
Derek swallowed thickly and rest his hands on Stiles’ hips. “Seems unlikely.”
“Not really, if you think about it. Everyone loves a good love/hate relationship.” Stiles tilted his head, wet his lips. “Don’t freak out, okay? I’m going to kiss you now.”
“That’s not a good idea.” Derek felt his claws lengthen slightly and willed them back, his grip on Stiles tightening. “I can’t…I won’t be able to control myself, Stiles.”
Stiles’ eyes darkened. “Good.” Then they were kissing, lips brushing together slowly then with more and more force. Derek groaned as Stiles’ tongue slipped into his mouth, and he suckled on it, causing the younger man to writhe on his lap.
“Oh…oh fuck.” Stiles sighed, spreading his thighs wider and grinding deliciously against Derek’s denim clad cock. He crushed his mouth against Derek’s in a filthy kiss, tongues twining, teeth clacking together roughly. Stiles could sense that Derek was holding back and he hated it. He wanted Derek to let go with him. Wanted him wild, to let go of all the anger that he constantly carried around with him. Stiles craved it, was practically salivating for some kind of breakthrough, and he was determined to get it tonight. “Come on, man…come on.”
Derek grunted as he palmed the tight globes of Stiles’ ass through his sweats, used them to anchor the kid as he bucked up against his downward thrusts. Stiles was whimpering and whispering filthy things in Derek’s ear, things that shocked Derek as they came out of his mouth. He gripped Stiles’ hips and ass so hard that bruises were sure to form on the kid’s pale skin, but he felt his control slipping as Stiles’ brain to mouth filter completely left the premises.
“Ah, God…Derek. You wanna fuck me, don’t you?” Stiles panted against Derek’s mouth, hips still working obscenely. “Think I don’t see you watching me--ah--fuck, yes, right there…don’t stop.” They were both grinding desperately now and Stiles slid his hands up under Derek’s shirt and dug his blunt nails into the hard muscle, causing Derek to growl. Derek gave Stiles a warning glance but Stiles’ eyes lit up almost with glee and he clawed his nails down again.
And again.
This time Derek’s eyes flashed red, and Stiles caught a hint of fang. A shudder of lust went through both of them and Stiles leaned forward sucking on Derek’s throat wantonly before biting down as hard as he could.
Derek howled and bucked up against Stiles once, twice--and then all hell broke loose.
The wolf side that Derek had been desperately trying to hold back broke free, finally, and slammed Stiles down on his back against the carpet, batting the empty pizza box out of the way and crushing his body beneath his. Derek’s eyes were blood red and wild, and he was growling continuously as he forced his way between Stiles’ thighs. He rutted like an animal against Stiles as he nipped and sucked at the boy’s throat, little bruises forming on the pale skin. Stiles had his head thrown back blissfully, back arched against the floor as he writhed under Derek’s massive bulk.
“Yes, harder. Fuck, Derek, FUCK.”
Derek forced himself to wrench away long enough to yank his jeans down his hips, his naked erection bobbing up to tap against his stomach. He caught sight of Stiles’ darkened gaze on his cock and practically ripped the sweats off the younger man in his haste. He manhandled Stiles back down when he tried to reach for his dick and Stiles made a displeased keening sound.
“I want to taste you.” He protested. “Let me suck you, Derek.”
“Not tonight.” Derek growled out and arranged Stiles the way he wanted. They didn’t have much time. He could feel the shift trying to take hold of him and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Even now his fangs were growing longer, his nails sharper. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles.
Hurt Stiles.
Derek froze. What the hell was he doing? He was no better than Kate, taking advantage of someone younger than him, ripping away the only innocence that Stiles had left. He shook his head to clear it of the lust fog and took a good look at Stiles beneath him. The kid looked utterly debauched. Lips swollen and red, skin marked up with Derek’s stubble and claws. Stiles lay half naked on the floor, his amber eyes half lidded, reaching out for Derek to pull him down for another kiss. Derek saw all of this through a red haze, his wolf threatening to devour the younger man in front of him, mark him up and claim what should rightfully be his. And Stiles wasn’t afraid. In fact, Derek realized, Stiles arousal seemed to increase when Derek let the wolf out to play.
Fear almost blindsided him and he jerked away from Stiles. Derek scrambled to his feet, tucking himself back into his jeans and grabbing his jacket. “This shouldn’t have happened, I better go.”
Stiles was just sitting up from the floor looking completely wrecked and confused, the haze of pleasure rapidly fading from his features. “Derek, what the fuck, man?” He looked vulnerable all of a sudden and Derek’s heart squeezed. “I thought…we were--”
“You thought wrong.” Derek said harshly. “I won’t be coming around here again.”
Then he slipped out the window and was gone.
The next day the group learned that Jackson and Peter had been killed while on patrol. The Alphas had barely left enough of their remains to identify. Lydia was inconsolable with grief and had to be talked out of going on a suicide mission to get revenge. Derek spent the day feeling conflicted. Peter was dead. Again. He didn’t know, quite honestly, how to feel. His cell phone rang at half past noon and he instinctively knew who it was that was calling without looking at the caller ID. He ignored the call and prowled around the site of the murders trying to find some kind of scent to trace, but there was nothing. The Alphas were good at covering up their tracks. It was almost as if they were being tormented by an invisible foe. Still, for Jackson and Peter’s sakes, he patrolled the area like a man possessed hoping to get some missed clue.
He stayed there until well after midnight and never found a thing. Derek headed back to the train depot with a heavy heart and five missed calls from Stiles.
After that day, Stiles stopped calling.
That had been weeks ago. He hadn’t seen Stiles since that night and, honestly, he thought it was for the best. Derek was brought out of his memories as he followed Stiles into his kitchen, the latter throwing his car keys down on the center island.
“Sit.” Stiles said tersely, nodding at one of the chairs. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”
Derek started to say, “That’s not necessary--” but one look from the younger man had him trailing off abruptly. Stiles headed upstairs and Derek thumped his head down on the island top. This could only end badly.
Just when he was wondering if he should beat a hasty retreat, Stiles reentered the kitchen with a first aid kit, some towels and a spare shirt. He set everything down on the counter except the towels and went to wet one with warm water from the tap. “Take off your shirt.”
Stiles brings the wet towels over and sets to work cleaning the deep furrows in Derek’s chest that are still oozing blood. Stiles is still angry and his touches are harsh, forceful and entirely too erratic, but Derek grits his teeth and bears the pain. After the wounds are relatively clean, Stiles bypasses the antiseptic spray for a bottle of mustard colored powder with strange symbols marked on it. He pours some powder into a small bowl, adds a little warm water and mixes it all together with his fingers until a sticky paste forms. “Can’t mix it with any plastics or metals unless it’s pure silver--and we’re fresh out.”
“Don’t you have any fancy silverware?” Derek asked curiously.
A shadow passed over Stiles’ face. “My dad gave it all away after my mom died.”
He finished mixing the paste and started applying it to the torn flesh. “Deaton says this will help wounds inflicted by Alphas heal a bit faster. There’s a numbing agent in it so you won’t feel any pain.”
Derek nodded but didn’t say anything, his eyes trained on Stiles’ face and the intense level of concentration he saw there. Quick, sure fingers applied the medicine to each tear in his chest, then held the wounds closed with butterfly bandages. When Stiles got to the last wound, the worst one over Derek’s heart, he took in a deliberate, ragged breath and his hand shook. Derek reached up without thinking to steady it and Stiles jerked away.
“Don’t.” Stiles kept his eyes down. “Just…don’t. Okay?”
“Okay.” Derek said softly and sat back in the chair. Stiles stayed where he was, eyes downcast and body trembling. He gripped the table hard and tried to get control of himself. The silence was starting to get to Derek, and the grandfather clock in the hall was ticking too loud…tick…tick…tick…over and over like the countdown of some hidden bomb. He watched Stiles shake and a deep shame started to coil within his belly. “Stiles--”
“I said, don’t.” Stiles barked out and he stood so fast that his chair toppled over and skidded across the kitchen linoleum. Stiles stared at his hands as if he’d never seen them before, covered with paste and Derek’s blood. An agonized cry tore out of him then, shot out of his chest with such a force that Derek was alarmed, and he whirled around and started viciously scrubbing his hands at the sink. Over and over he scrubbed, the water swirling red and then pink down the drain. He scrubbed until his hands were clean, but he was still seeing the phantom blood on them, Derek’s life essence on them and suddenly he started to cry. Ugly, wrenching painful sobs tore out of him and Stiles just slumped down on the edge of the sink, his hands still dangling under the running pipe.
Derek cringed at the awful sounds he was making, cringed at the goddamn fucking ticking from the grandfather clock. He decided to give Stiles a few moments and busied himself by putting the medicine on his last wound and bandaging everything up. By the time he was done, Stiles had stopped crying for the most part, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. Derek warily approached him, as one would approach any wild animal, and slowly reached a hand out to shut off the pipe. Stiles was still shaking, from rage or sorrow Derek wasn’t quite sure…he just wanted Stiles to stop hurting.
“I’m okay.” Derek whispered; lay a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m okay, Stiles.”
A bitter chuckle sounded from the younger man’s mouth. “No, Derek, you’re not.” He finally turned around and touched the bandages over his heart. “Do you realize you could have died tonight? That if I hadn’t found you, if Isaac hadn’t sensed you were in trouble, that you most likely would have bled out where you were?” His voice was rising as he advanced on Derek, anger blazing from his doe like eyes. “Well?”
Derek glared back defiantly. “Yes. I knew.”
Again, he didn’t see the punch coming until he was stumbling back holding his cheek, bright white hot pain flaring up the side of his head. Stiles was holding his damaged fist and rubbing it, the knuckles already swollen and tender from his earlier assault. He stared at Stiles and wanted to avert his gaze because…because it was Stiles and he was everything and nothing all at once. This hurricane of a kid who could make Derek crazy and angry at the same time, who could make him feel like he was deserving of happiness.
Who could just look at him as he was--right now--and make him think of love and family and home.
Stiles was glaring right back at him now, this strange new version of him, and he held up a finger. “Let’s get a few things straight, shall we? One, no more of this Lone Ranger bullshit. I’m tired of your Woe-is-me-I-deserve-to-die-alone-unhappy-a
Derek sighed heavily. “Stiles--”
“Shut up. I’m not through. Two, you will fucking make up with Scott and the two of you will work out your issues if it’s the last thing the both of you do. And you will start re-forming a bond with Isaac and the rest of the pack--but especially Isaac. He’s lost without you and you’re too stubborn to see it. Then we’ll work on getting Allison to get over her shit and re-join the pack as well.”
“Can I talk now?” Derek said, but was glared into submission.
“You’ll talk when I say you can talk.” Stiles said frostily. “And last but not least, you will stop avoiding me like a goddamn coward and admit that you have feelings for me.” This last bit sounded harsh but Derek could see the hurt in those eyes and he felt guilt threaten to overwhelm him.
“May I speak?” He asked again and once Stiles nodded, “I’m sorry.”
Stiles nodded again. “You left me, Derek. We were having a moment and you just took off. I felt like complete shit for days.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“And I could be dead tomorrow.” At Derek’s growl, Stiles shrugged. “It’s true. So what? You can be upset at the thought of me dying, but I’m just supposed to sit back and watch you embark on your death wish and give you my blessing? No, fuck that and fuck you if that’s what you think.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Derek, you deserve to be happy.”
“So you do.”
“And I’m happiest when I’m with you.” Stiles whispered. He crossed the room to Derek and entwined their fingers together. “What are you so afraid of?”
Derek didn’t hesitate. “You, Stiles. Okay? You terrify me.”
“Then doesn’t that tell you that maybe this thing with us is worth fighting for? You wouldn’t be scared if it didn’t mean anything.” He looked at Derek fiercely. “I’m not going to let you push me away again, all right? I’m not letting you run away.”
Derek contemplated this for a while before giving in. He was a goner anyway; had been since he first pushed Stiles up against his bedroom wall. “Okay.” He breathed. “I won’t run anymore.”
Stiles beamed at him, the grin lighting up his whole face. “Good. So are we done with our after school sappy program yet?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Then shut up and kiss me, wolf man.”
As Derek gathered Stiles to him, he knew they weren't out of the woods yet. He still was made of issues and Stiles was still underage. And even on the off chance he managed to avoid getting murdered by the Sheriff, they still had to get Erica and Boyd back--if they were even still alive--and run the Alphas out of town. All without getting killed in the process. It seemed like a very high mountain to climb.
But as Stiles whimpered and slid his tongue inside Derek's mouth, Derek figured they had something the Alphas didn't: Stiles.
It was a start.
~Fin
Author:
painfullystoicRecipient:
painfullystoicPairings: Derek/Stiles
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 6,000+
Warnings: Somewhat rough frottage, control issues, dominance, brief restraint, injury, off screen character death (not Derek or Stiles), angst, pining, reckless behavior (implied), and language
Summary: Stiles spun around and the look in his eyes gave Derek pause. "I swear to God if you finish that sentence, I'm going to kill you myself."
Author's Notes: Derek has a martyr complex and Stiles is sick of it. Happy Holidays,
painfullystoic! I hope you like this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Any mistakes are my own.The sound of a car approaching was the first thing that Derek heard when he came to. For the past half hour he had drifted in and out of consciousness, his arms suspended above his head and blood dripping from his wounds. The vehicle stopped and the driver got out and slammed the door. Footsteps crunched across the broken glass that scattered the ground and Derek smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon, sandalwood and oak. The silence stretched on for a while with Derek simply unwilling to look up at his savior. He could feel the kid judging him already and he was not in the mood. Not tonight.
"Love what you've done to the place." Stiles finally drawled out. "Really brings out a sense of repressed rage and violence with a hint of early nineteenth century psychosis."
At this, Derek finally looked up to glare at him but ended up cringing when he saw the damage done to his car. The normally glossy black paint job was completely disfigured with scratch marks and all the windows had been busted. Upon closer inspection, the tires and rims had also been destroyed and Derek was devastated. That car was his baby, the one thing besides his leather jacket that Derek allowed himself to have--to enjoy--from his previous life. He did not deserve nice things.
For what he did to his family, he didn't deserve anything.
"Could you just help me get free? These ropes...they soaked them in wolfsbane and it's eating into my wrists."
"Oh, you want my help now?" Stiles arched an eyebrow and stayed right where he was. Derek noticed the different ways he carried himself these days. Stiles stood up a little taller, a bit straighter; had a level of aggression coiling within him that Derek didn't quite like. Stiles' innocence had long been stripped away with all the horrors he and his friends had had to face and Derek took a moment to mourn for yet another teenager whose entire life had been upended.
"Stiles."
A bitter smile twisted Stiles' mouth, but he finally moved forward and fished a switchblade out of his pocket. As he worked, his fingers kept brushing Derek's and he could detect a fine tremor in them.
Stiles was shaking, but it didn't seem to be from fear. No, Derek realized, He's pissed.
"They got the jump on you? Right outside the train depot...which means they know where you live. They know where all of us live." Stiles jerked the ropes free of Derek's wrists with a lot more force than was necessary, and Derek hissed in pain. "And wolfsbane soaked ropes? So that means they're immune somehow. Just another advantage that these fuckers have over us, right?" He got in Derek's face. "Right, Derek?"
"What do you want me to say?" Derek snarled. "That you're right?" He glared at Stiles' mulish expression. "Fine. Okay. You were right, Stiles, and I was wrong. Are you happy now?"
"It's not about me being right or not, you jackass! It's about you stopping this stupid martyr bullshit and finally letting someone help you for once."
Derek winced in pain as he moved away from the wall, the wounds on his chest still bleeding profusely. He purposely ignored the wreckage of his Camaro because if he kept looking, he'd completely lose his shit. He wouldn't risk that when Stiles was nearby. The stubborn teen was fragile despite the fact that he pretended otherwise. He was strong in all the ways that counted except his own mortality. If Stiles wouldn't watch out for himself then Derek would do it for him--even if it meant that he couldn't have what he so desperately wanted.
Even if it meant that he had to protect Stiles from Derek himself.
"I don't need or want your help. I didn't ask you to come here tonight."
"Yeah preach it to the choir, Sourwolf. I've heard all this shit before and you know what? I wasn't impressed then and I'm sure as hell not impressed now. Besides...you needed my help tonight, didn't you? Otherwise your ass would still be tied to that pipe and you know it."
Derek inspected the damage to his chest and sighed. These wounds were inflicted by an Alpha and would take some time to heal. He couldn't afford that time. It wouldn't be long before the bastards struck again.
"Are you even listening to me?" Stiles snapped. He grabbed Derek's face and pulled it to face him. "Isaac got attacked by the twins tonight. But you didn't know that did you? You've pulled away from everybody so much that you couldn't even sense that your own beta was in trouble." At Derek's worried look, Stiles' expression seemed to soften, but he didn't let go of Derek's face. "He's okay. Scott got to him in time. They're both injured but they'll live. Scott called me while they were being seen at the hospital. Isaac was frantic. Said that you were in danger and he needed to go to you. My Dad and Mrs. McCall won't let them leave. There were...witnesses who saw the attack. They think that Scott and Isaac were ambushed by a gang or something. But if they walk out of the hospital without any medical attention, then it's going to raise suspicions. Mrs. McCall is the one stitching them up while my Dad keeps watch."
"I didn't know Scott's mom could do stitches."
Stiles released Derek and headed back towards the jeep. "Yeah...well...it's like I said. You've been out of the loop for the last seven months. There's a lot you've been missing. And avoiding."
Derek growled. "I told you I didn't want to bring that up ever again. Okay? Drop it, Stiles."
Stiles held his hands up as if surrendering, his amber eyes glinting in anger. "Consider it dropped, big guy."
"Good, now get out of here. The Alphas jumped me to make a point. They're teasing me, trying to make me lose my cool. It's best if you leave in case they decide to come back." The next thing Derek knew, Stiles had punched him with a strong right hook to his face, which sent Derek almost to his knees. He snarled, eyes flashing red in warning, but before he could even speak a word, Stiles had punched him a second time and then a third. He dropped to the ground, hissing as his bloody chest made harsh contact with the concrete. Stiles was panting with exertion above him, rubbing his sore knuckles and cursing.
"Fuck you, Derek. FUCK. YOU! You selfish ass. Do you honestly think that these Alphas are here only for you?" Stiles shoved Derek backwards once he struggled to his feet. "Well, do you? Have you forgotten that the rest of us are also here; are also suffering at the hands of these psychopaths? Have you forgotten that they still have Erica and Boyd and that they KILLED Jackson and Peter?" By this time Stiles was outright shouting at the top of his lungs and Derek felt every word pierce through him like a bullet. Stiles, who had been beaten down the night they saved Jackson, who had to watch as the girl he loved professed her love for someone else, who had become so disillusioned for the longest time that he had considered giving up. And yet he didn't. Stiles hadn't given up or admitted defeat. Even when Sheriff Stilinski learned the truth and the Alpha pack had murdered two of their own (well, as much as Peter could have been called their 'own'), Stiles was there rallying the rest of them to never give up.
And Derek hadn't been there for any of it. At least not directly.
He'd withdrawn even more than he usually did, choosing to work and fight alone instead of joining forces with the others. Isaac had grown increasingly more loyal to Scott since his own Alpha seemed to have abandoned him. But Derek had chosen to release Isaac first rather than the other way around. He couldn't handle another person rejecting him. Erica and Boyd's betrayal was still too fresh and it still hurt too much. Derek knew he hadn't been the best Alpha, but...he was learning from his mistakes. Slowly learning, but at least he was figuring things out. But despite the fact that he regularly checked up on the rest of them, he still preferred to be solitary and exclude himself from anything the rest of the group (pack) planned. So much so, it appeared, that the bond between him and Isaac was fading if he hadn't even sensed that the teen was in trouble tonight. A deep sense of shame washed over him, but he couldn't dwell on it too much because Stiles was still yelling, still shoving at him.
"Why are you like this?" Stiles said, all the anger suddenly draining from him at once. "Is this because I--."
"Don't." Derek gritted out. "Just don't."
Stiles smirked, but there was no humor behind it. "Still cowardly as ever, I see. I'm not leaving you here alone when you're hurt, so get in the car."
"I said I don't need your..."
Stiles spun around and the look in his eyes gave Derek pause. "I swear to God if you finish that sentence, I'm going to kill you myself."
Derek just watched him silently for a moment before nodding his head slightly.
"Good. Now get in the fucking car."
~~~~~~~~~
Derek wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he found an angry Stiles to be fascinating. It was in the tense set of his shoulders and the red flush of his pale skin. The agitation so potent that his body seemed to vibrate with it. Derek reveled in it. He wanted to poke the bear, so to speak, to see just how mad he could make Stiles. There was no question that the teen had grown up a lot in the past several months. Something had changed in him since the night that everything with Gerard had gone down. Stiles was wiser…more cynical and jaded somehow. Like a shadow of his former self. With the dangerous world they now lived in on an increasingly daily basis, that was good. It was good for him to toughen up, to know that not everything was fun and games anymore. Derek knew that when he looked at this new version of Stiles, but it didn’t make his heart ache for his lost innocence any less. Stiles should be having fun and playing video games and figuring out which colleges he wanted to go to. Not planning strategy against a ruthless Alpha pack or any other unforeseen dangers on the horizon.
Not trying to stay alive at every single moment of every single day.
After Gerard had disappeared and the Alpha pack had first appeared and taken Boyd and Erica, Derek tried to work with the rest of the group. He really did. But it was hard watching Isaac look more and more to Scott for leadership and Peter always quietly mocking him on the side. Peter was like the Jiminy Cricket you never wanted to have, the one who spouted negatives in your ear at an alarming rate, causing you to completely doubt your ability to do anything. Derek already doubted his ability to do anything good, had the evidence of all of his mistakes thrown into his face by his own rag tag pack abandoning him. And oh…it hurt. It hurt more than he thought it would because Derek had made a promise to himself when he turned them:
Don’t care.
Just one simple rule and he broke it. He tried to tell himself it didn’t hurt when Boyd and Erica came to tell him they were leaving, but it gutted him. Derek felt angry and betrayed. Hadn’t he tried to prepare them for what was coming? Hadn’t he tried to teach them to protect themselves and the pack? And this is the thanks he got? Left behind (alone) at the first sign of trouble?
Always alone.
Derek wasn’t stupid. He knew he had issues. Had faults bigger than the Grand Canyon even, but he always thought that his pack knew that he meant well. That he was trying to find his footing in this crazy world that had only done things to hurt him. He had been wrong about his pack and he had been wrong about trusting Scott. Deaton told him that his problem was not trusting anyone enough to let them in. And the fucking thing that pissed him off the most was that Derek listened to Deaton. He actually took his advice and went straight to Scott and was willing to work together to bring down Jackson and Gerard--only Scott wasn’t as on board as he had assumed.
Scott was busy plotting his own agenda; one that didn’t include Derek.
So after that night, Derek tried. He tried to swallow his pride and work with the group. He tried to defer to Scott even, to let him know that he would follow the younger man’s lead this time around. But seeing the way Isaac just blindly gave his loyalty to Scott whereas Derek had always had to work for it, just rubbed him wrong.
But you never really tried to work for Isaac’s trust, now did you? his mind mocked him. Did you?
And Stiles. Stiles would remain loyal to Scott until the day he died and that also rubbed Derek wrong--but for different reasons.
Stiles was…different. He had always found himself being aware of Stiles in a way that he hadn’t with the others. Even from the beginning when he first encountered the two teens on his family’s private property and he had tossed Scott his errant inhaler. Derek remembered seeing Stiles standing there both nervous and defiant and a whole lot of curious before he had turned and stalked away through the trees, trying to tune out Stiles’ whispered play by play of Derek’s tragic life story. He found himself thinking that day that it both pleased and angered him that Stiles knew so much about him, and Derek knew even back then that he was in trouble.
Stiles was willful and stubborn, intelligent and annoying--but in an endearing way that made you like him despite yourself. Derek knew it to be true long before he even wanted to admit it to himself, but he couldn’t ignore the facts for long. Derek liked Stiles. This cute, hyperactive and sarcastic bane of his existence. He liked him and for that, he also hated him.
In the Days After Gerard, when Derek was trying so hard to fit in and work with Scott and the others, when the Alpha pack was just starting their reign of terror, that was when the dreams started as well. Dreams about Stiles and what he wanted to do to Stiles. Kissing Stiles and touching him, stroking him …making him moan.
Dreams where he was fucking Stiles, just barely this side of human because the boy just made him lose control.
Derek freaked. He was not about to do to this kid what Kate had done to him. It just simply wasn’t going to happen. Derek started coming around the group less when they were strategizing, preferring to patrol near their houses late at night to make sure they were okay, and if he happened to patrol near Stiles’ house more often than not, no one knew but him.
And apparently Stiles.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Stiles was very aware of Derek’s penchant for hanging out on his roof more than anyone else’s. The kid was too fucking smart for his own good. It really pissed Derek off sometimes because he knew that Stiles could read him better than anybody else. Oh sure, he acted like he didn’t know Derek and couldn’t read his moods, but then Derek would turn around and find Stiles watching him. His wide, amber eyes all too sharp and knowing, mocking him and saying: We see you, Derek. You can’t hide from us. And he would want to hurt Stiles then, at these moments. Hurt him by being a complete asshole or throwing the kid up against the wall and threatening him. Anything to get that knowing look out of his goddamn eyes. But it never worked. Somehow, despite everything, he and Stiles seemed to always be thrown together in the weirdest of situations and Derek was tired of trying to analyze why. Somewhere down the line he and this infuriating kid had become friends. Or something resembling friends, at least, up until a month or so ago.
It had been a few days after Thanksgiving and the group (pack) that now included Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa McCall and Chris Argent had all gathered at Lydia’s house to figure out how to handle the latest nasty surprise left by the Alphas. The Alphas had sent both Lydia and Allison a dummy in their likeness to their homes, the dolls obviously the victims of torture and disfigurement. It was a clear threat against the girls that had the whole group in an uproar. Since Allison was still estranged from everyone, her father had swallowed his pride and joined forces with the rest in order to keep his daughter safe. But there was still tons of bad blood between him and Derek and Argent was another reason why Derek was choosing to stay away these days.
The argument, Derek remembered now, had not only been about the threat against the girls but about him being MIA. The rest of the group bickered back and forth about him as he lurked outside Lydia’s home and eavesdropped on the conversation. When Chris Argent declared that maybe they were better off doing things on their own without an ‘emotionally disturbed miscreant’ in the mix of things, Derek was surprised to see just who came to his defense. Okay, sure, Isaac wasn’t much of a surprise even thought he’d clearly bonded so deeply with Scott, but Stiles? Stiles was the one who shocked him.
“Okay, stop it!” Stiles shouted. “So Derek has some issues. We all have issues nowadays and personally, I don’t blame the guy. How would the rest of you like it if some lunatic burned down your entire home and family?”
Peter chose this moment to pipe up. “Well, not his entire family. I’m still here.”
Stiles glared the older man into submission. “Don’t remind me. Look, I get it. Derek is somewhat of a wild card, but the fact that he’s disappeared these days shouldn’t make you guys relieved. It should make us all very afraid because that’s what these Alpha bastards want. They want us to separate and crumble our defense into dust.” Stiles gazed around at each member of the group and pounded his fist into his other hand for emphasis. “We are all stronger together. Not apart. We need every single hand on deck to beat these psychos, okay? And that includes Derek.”
“And Allison.” Scott piped up dejectedly, exchanging a quick look with Chris. “She should be here too.”
“Yes, she damn well should be.” Stiles snapped and glared at Chris. “Tell your daughter to get over herself and be at the next meeting and I’ll find Derek and tell him the same. We don’t have time for all of this side drama. When this pack leaves our town? Then we can all fall apart if we want, but until then we need to get our shit together.”
Derek had been impressed that night as Stiles handed out the weekly patrol and training schedule. That night he saw a glimpse of the man that Stiles would turn out to be in the future. One that was just as strong, dedicated and clever as his father. And the rest of the group saw it too, if the looks on their faces were anything to go by, the Sheriff’s being the proudest of them all. For a moment, Derek wanted to join them. To go in there and be a part of the group again, but his shortcomings still haunted him and he felt, in the end, it was better to be alone.
Since it was Jackson and Peter’s night to patrol, everyone soon left and Derek beat Stiles home. The Sheriff had to head to the station for a late shift and Derek wanted to make sure Stiles was okay by himself. Perched on the roof of the Stilinski home, right above Stiles’ window, Derek settled himself in for a long, chilly night.
He almost tumbled off the roof an hour later in shock when Stiles opened his window and leaned out so he could look up at him.
They stared at each other for a beat. Then Stiles drew back inside. “You coming in or not?”
Derek hesitated. He could feel as though things were changing now between them. If he went inside, if he acknowledged that he watched out for Stiles--protected him--it would be crossing an invisible line somehow. It would make things real. Derek shook his head and prepared to jump down off the roof and head back to his car. This was not a game he wanted to play. Unfortunately, his body apparently had other ideas, dangerous ones.
He went inside.
Stiles was sprawled in his desk chair facing the window, waiting to see what Derek would do. When he was finally inside Stiles’ room, he shivered a bit despite his natural body heat, noticing the warmer temperature inside the house. He hadn’t realized just how cold it was outside now that it was almost December. Stiles nodded at a tray he had placed on his bed, bogged down with two steaming hot mugs of cocoa and slice and bake sugar cookies. “I figured you’d want something hot to drink, get in from the cold a bit.”
“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. We naturally run hot.”
“I’ve noticed.” Stiles said softly. “Doesn’t mean you’re not human.”
Derek chose to ignore his remark and shrug out of his leather jacket. He grabbed a mug and passed it to Stiles and took the other for himself. Silence filled the room while they sipped their drinks and it was far from comfortable, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Derek could smell the fresh pine scent from Stiles’ soap, see the still damp state of vigorously scrubbed skin from his earlier shower. Could remember exactly what Stiles had done in the shower that had traveled to Derek’s well trained ears even out on the roof.
The thought that Stiles knew Derek was on his roof all this time--could probably hear him--started to play a staccato drum beat inside Derek’s skull. He wanted to push Stiles down on the carpet and fuck up that pine fresh smell, cover him thoroughly so that he smelled like nothing except Derek. Fuck him…fuck into him over and over until Stiles was begging. And he would too. Derek could just look at the kid and tell. There was a raw sexuality about Stiles, something almost androgynous that made him appeal to everyone if they cared to notice. Before Gerard, Derek had seen it, but had steadfastly ignored it because he knew that way only would lead to trouble. Stiles hadn’t been aware then about his burgeoning sex appeal, had almost tried too hard to be noticed or find validation from his peers. But After Gerard this new Stiles, this older and wiser Stiles, was…sexy. There was a new darkness in him that complemented it, made him alluring in a way that few people had ever noticed.
But Derek had always noticed. Had always been looking.
And in the days After Gerard, Derek had noticed that Stiles was finally looking back.
This was getting to be a problem.
He was starting to feel like a drowning man. Derek made an aborted move to get up and leave and was stopped by Stiles grabbing his arm. “Want to play Call of Duty with me? I was just setting up the console. And true to his word, the television was on the AV channel waiting eagerly for inevitable pixilated video game violence. Derek faltered.
“I don’t know how to play.”
Stiles gave a wicked smile. “Well tonight’s the time to learn, my friend.”
Two hours later, they were both shouting at the television completely immersed in the action unfolding onscreen. It was then that Stiles decided to call attention to the elephant currently stampeding up and down the room. “So, where’ve you been lately?”
“Around.”
Stiles snorted. “I know you’ve been around, dipshit. What I meant was, why are you avoiding everyone? You do realize that we’re sort of in the middle of a war, right? A war you should be a part of seeing as how you’re the Alpha?”
“Some Alpha.” Derek muttered. “I couldn’t even keep my pack together and loyal to me. What good will I bring to the table?”
“I think you’re selling yourself short and just using that as an excuse to feel sorry for yourself.” Stiles snapped. “Your pack fell apart, true, because you didn’t know how to lead them. So fucking learn.”
Derek stared at Stiles in shock. “It’s not that easy. What would you even know about it? You’re in Scott’s pack, you’re already loyal.”
“Yeah, I am. But loyalty has to be earned, Derek. And in case you’ve missed the memo, we’re not dividing packs anymore. We’re all in this together. You still have Isaac’s loyalty and you keep pushing him away. You think he’s behind Scott because he wants him to be his new Alpha? He’s in love with him! It has nothing to do with how he respects you.”
Derek was shocked. “Isaac is in love with Scott? When did this happen?”
“When you were off with your head stuck up your ass.” Stiles snarked.
“Does Scott know?”
“Of course Scott knows. He’s just in love with Allison. Isaac knows that and respects that. But he can’t help how he feels. It’s complicated.” Stiles sighed. “He’s still your beta and he’s just waiting for you to work out your shit, and come back, so we can figure out how to get Boyd and Erica back from those assholes.”
Derek contemplated all of this for a moment as he stared at the paused video game in front of them. He wanted so very much to belong again to someone, to belong to a group--a pack, really--to have a purpose in life again. He hadn’t felt that way since his family’s deaths, and he was afraid.
Stiles was watching him. “We need your help, Derek. We need to all be a unit if we’re going to get out of this latest crap-fest alive this time. You don’t have to turn Frodo on us and go it alone.” Stiles placed a warm, steady hand on Derek’s arm. “You don’t have to be alone.”
Derek was staring at Stiles in confusion. “What the hell is a Frodo?”
“Oh my God.” Stiles moaned in horror. “You don’t know…it’s not a what, it’s a who, Derek. Please tell me you’ve seen The Lord of the Rings.”
He got a blank stare in return.
“The one ring to rule them all, one ring to bind th--you know what? Never mind. Obviously you’ve been living under a rock.” Stiles jumped up and switched off the game. “This calls for an emergency. We’re ordering from that twenty-four hour pizza place and you’re watching these damn movies. Tonight.”
Derek felt the color drain from his face and he glared. “Movies, Stiles? As in plural?”
“Yep. All three of them.”
Derek groaned.
~~~~~~
In the middle of The Two Towers, Derek realized he was having an honest to God really good time. He was fascinated with the story unfolding on the screen in front of him, the characters and the whole wonderful world of Middle Earth. He had just one problem though:
“I don’t see how you could compare me to Frodo. I’m nothing like him.”
“You’re a little like him. He kept leaving his group to go off on a dangerous journey alone. At least in his defense you could understand it. He was trying to protect the others because the ring was so dangerous. You, on the other hand, are just being an ass.”
“Gee, thanks.” Derek snarled.
“Personally, I find you’re more like Gimli.” Stiles said suddenly, toying with the carpet and not meeting his eyes. “You’re gruff, miserable and bad tempered like he is.”
“Well, you’re…you’re Legolas then!” Derek snapped back, as if this was some kind of insult. “Tall and always prancing about everywhere--”
“When the fuck have I ever pranced?” Stiles interrupted in disbelief. “Are you high right now--?”
“--And annoying and…and hot!” Derek fell silent and groaned inwardly. Why the hell had he said that? First off, it made no sense and secondly, way to just paint a neon sign over his head declaring his feelings.”
“You think I’m hot?” Stiles said. When Derek didn’t answer, he leaned closer to him and forced him to meet his gaze. “Well, do you?”
Derek still said nothing, just watched Stiles warily.
“You know,” Stiles said softly, fingers wandering up Derek’s black Henley. “Legolas isn’t a bad person to be. He and Gimli start out hating each other and turn out to be pretty good friends in the end.”
“Yeah?”
Stiles nodded earnestly. “Oh yeah. Some fans even think they were fucking.” He sat up and swung a leg over Derek’s lap suddenly, effectively straddling the older male.
Derek swallowed thickly and rest his hands on Stiles’ hips. “Seems unlikely.”
“Not really, if you think about it. Everyone loves a good love/hate relationship.” Stiles tilted his head, wet his lips. “Don’t freak out, okay? I’m going to kiss you now.”
“That’s not a good idea.” Derek felt his claws lengthen slightly and willed them back, his grip on Stiles tightening. “I can’t…I won’t be able to control myself, Stiles.”
Stiles’ eyes darkened. “Good.” Then they were kissing, lips brushing together slowly then with more and more force. Derek groaned as Stiles’ tongue slipped into his mouth, and he suckled on it, causing the younger man to writhe on his lap.
“Oh…oh fuck.” Stiles sighed, spreading his thighs wider and grinding deliciously against Derek’s denim clad cock. He crushed his mouth against Derek’s in a filthy kiss, tongues twining, teeth clacking together roughly. Stiles could sense that Derek was holding back and he hated it. He wanted Derek to let go with him. Wanted him wild, to let go of all the anger that he constantly carried around with him. Stiles craved it, was practically salivating for some kind of breakthrough, and he was determined to get it tonight. “Come on, man…come on.”
Derek grunted as he palmed the tight globes of Stiles’ ass through his sweats, used them to anchor the kid as he bucked up against his downward thrusts. Stiles was whimpering and whispering filthy things in Derek’s ear, things that shocked Derek as they came out of his mouth. He gripped Stiles’ hips and ass so hard that bruises were sure to form on the kid’s pale skin, but he felt his control slipping as Stiles’ brain to mouth filter completely left the premises.
“Ah, God…Derek. You wanna fuck me, don’t you?” Stiles panted against Derek’s mouth, hips still working obscenely. “Think I don’t see you watching me--ah--fuck, yes, right there…don’t stop.” They were both grinding desperately now and Stiles slid his hands up under Derek’s shirt and dug his blunt nails into the hard muscle, causing Derek to growl. Derek gave Stiles a warning glance but Stiles’ eyes lit up almost with glee and he clawed his nails down again.
And again.
This time Derek’s eyes flashed red, and Stiles caught a hint of fang. A shudder of lust went through both of them and Stiles leaned forward sucking on Derek’s throat wantonly before biting down as hard as he could.
Derek howled and bucked up against Stiles once, twice--and then all hell broke loose.
The wolf side that Derek had been desperately trying to hold back broke free, finally, and slammed Stiles down on his back against the carpet, batting the empty pizza box out of the way and crushing his body beneath his. Derek’s eyes were blood red and wild, and he was growling continuously as he forced his way between Stiles’ thighs. He rutted like an animal against Stiles as he nipped and sucked at the boy’s throat, little bruises forming on the pale skin. Stiles had his head thrown back blissfully, back arched against the floor as he writhed under Derek’s massive bulk.
“Yes, harder. Fuck, Derek, FUCK.”
Derek forced himself to wrench away long enough to yank his jeans down his hips, his naked erection bobbing up to tap against his stomach. He caught sight of Stiles’ darkened gaze on his cock and practically ripped the sweats off the younger man in his haste. He manhandled Stiles back down when he tried to reach for his dick and Stiles made a displeased keening sound.
“I want to taste you.” He protested. “Let me suck you, Derek.”
“Not tonight.” Derek growled out and arranged Stiles the way he wanted. They didn’t have much time. He could feel the shift trying to take hold of him and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Even now his fangs were growing longer, his nails sharper. He didn’t want to hurt Stiles.
Hurt Stiles.
Derek froze. What the hell was he doing? He was no better than Kate, taking advantage of someone younger than him, ripping away the only innocence that Stiles had left. He shook his head to clear it of the lust fog and took a good look at Stiles beneath him. The kid looked utterly debauched. Lips swollen and red, skin marked up with Derek’s stubble and claws. Stiles lay half naked on the floor, his amber eyes half lidded, reaching out for Derek to pull him down for another kiss. Derek saw all of this through a red haze, his wolf threatening to devour the younger man in front of him, mark him up and claim what should rightfully be his. And Stiles wasn’t afraid. In fact, Derek realized, Stiles arousal seemed to increase when Derek let the wolf out to play.
Fear almost blindsided him and he jerked away from Stiles. Derek scrambled to his feet, tucking himself back into his jeans and grabbing his jacket. “This shouldn’t have happened, I better go.”
Stiles was just sitting up from the floor looking completely wrecked and confused, the haze of pleasure rapidly fading from his features. “Derek, what the fuck, man?” He looked vulnerable all of a sudden and Derek’s heart squeezed. “I thought…we were--”
“You thought wrong.” Derek said harshly. “I won’t be coming around here again.”
Then he slipped out the window and was gone.
The next day the group learned that Jackson and Peter had been killed while on patrol. The Alphas had barely left enough of their remains to identify. Lydia was inconsolable with grief and had to be talked out of going on a suicide mission to get revenge. Derek spent the day feeling conflicted. Peter was dead. Again. He didn’t know, quite honestly, how to feel. His cell phone rang at half past noon and he instinctively knew who it was that was calling without looking at the caller ID. He ignored the call and prowled around the site of the murders trying to find some kind of scent to trace, but there was nothing. The Alphas were good at covering up their tracks. It was almost as if they were being tormented by an invisible foe. Still, for Jackson and Peter’s sakes, he patrolled the area like a man possessed hoping to get some missed clue.
He stayed there until well after midnight and never found a thing. Derek headed back to the train depot with a heavy heart and five missed calls from Stiles.
After that day, Stiles stopped calling.
That had been weeks ago. He hadn’t seen Stiles since that night and, honestly, he thought it was for the best. Derek was brought out of his memories as he followed Stiles into his kitchen, the latter throwing his car keys down on the center island.
“Sit.” Stiles said tersely, nodding at one of the chairs. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”
Derek started to say, “That’s not necessary--” but one look from the younger man had him trailing off abruptly. Stiles headed upstairs and Derek thumped his head down on the island top. This could only end badly.
Just when he was wondering if he should beat a hasty retreat, Stiles reentered the kitchen with a first aid kit, some towels and a spare shirt. He set everything down on the counter except the towels and went to wet one with warm water from the tap. “Take off your shirt.”
Stiles brings the wet towels over and sets to work cleaning the deep furrows in Derek’s chest that are still oozing blood. Stiles is still angry and his touches are harsh, forceful and entirely too erratic, but Derek grits his teeth and bears the pain. After the wounds are relatively clean, Stiles bypasses the antiseptic spray for a bottle of mustard colored powder with strange symbols marked on it. He pours some powder into a small bowl, adds a little warm water and mixes it all together with his fingers until a sticky paste forms. “Can’t mix it with any plastics or metals unless it’s pure silver--and we’re fresh out.”
“Don’t you have any fancy silverware?” Derek asked curiously.
A shadow passed over Stiles’ face. “My dad gave it all away after my mom died.”
He finished mixing the paste and started applying it to the torn flesh. “Deaton says this will help wounds inflicted by Alphas heal a bit faster. There’s a numbing agent in it so you won’t feel any pain.”
Derek nodded but didn’t say anything, his eyes trained on Stiles’ face and the intense level of concentration he saw there. Quick, sure fingers applied the medicine to each tear in his chest, then held the wounds closed with butterfly bandages. When Stiles got to the last wound, the worst one over Derek’s heart, he took in a deliberate, ragged breath and his hand shook. Derek reached up without thinking to steady it and Stiles jerked away.
“Don’t.” Stiles kept his eyes down. “Just…don’t. Okay?”
“Okay.” Derek said softly and sat back in the chair. Stiles stayed where he was, eyes downcast and body trembling. He gripped the table hard and tried to get control of himself. The silence was starting to get to Derek, and the grandfather clock in the hall was ticking too loud…tick…tick…tick…over and over like the countdown of some hidden bomb. He watched Stiles shake and a deep shame started to coil within his belly. “Stiles--”
“I said, don’t.” Stiles barked out and he stood so fast that his chair toppled over and skidded across the kitchen linoleum. Stiles stared at his hands as if he’d never seen them before, covered with paste and Derek’s blood. An agonized cry tore out of him then, shot out of his chest with such a force that Derek was alarmed, and he whirled around and started viciously scrubbing his hands at the sink. Over and over he scrubbed, the water swirling red and then pink down the drain. He scrubbed until his hands were clean, but he was still seeing the phantom blood on them, Derek’s life essence on them and suddenly he started to cry. Ugly, wrenching painful sobs tore out of him and Stiles just slumped down on the edge of the sink, his hands still dangling under the running pipe.
Derek cringed at the awful sounds he was making, cringed at the goddamn fucking ticking from the grandfather clock. He decided to give Stiles a few moments and busied himself by putting the medicine on his last wound and bandaging everything up. By the time he was done, Stiles had stopped crying for the most part, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. Derek warily approached him, as one would approach any wild animal, and slowly reached a hand out to shut off the pipe. Stiles was still shaking, from rage or sorrow Derek wasn’t quite sure…he just wanted Stiles to stop hurting.
“I’m okay.” Derek whispered; lay a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m okay, Stiles.”
A bitter chuckle sounded from the younger man’s mouth. “No, Derek, you’re not.” He finally turned around and touched the bandages over his heart. “Do you realize you could have died tonight? That if I hadn’t found you, if Isaac hadn’t sensed you were in trouble, that you most likely would have bled out where you were?” His voice was rising as he advanced on Derek, anger blazing from his doe like eyes. “Well?”
Derek glared back defiantly. “Yes. I knew.”
Again, he didn’t see the punch coming until he was stumbling back holding his cheek, bright white hot pain flaring up the side of his head. Stiles was holding his damaged fist and rubbing it, the knuckles already swollen and tender from his earlier assault. He stared at Stiles and wanted to avert his gaze because…because it was Stiles and he was everything and nothing all at once. This hurricane of a kid who could make Derek crazy and angry at the same time, who could make him feel like he was deserving of happiness.
Who could just look at him as he was--right now--and make him think of love and family and home.
Stiles was glaring right back at him now, this strange new version of him, and he held up a finger. “Let’s get a few things straight, shall we? One, no more of this Lone Ranger bullshit. I’m tired of your Woe-is-me-I-deserve-to-die-alone-unhappy-a
Derek sighed heavily. “Stiles--”
“Shut up. I’m not through. Two, you will fucking make up with Scott and the two of you will work out your issues if it’s the last thing the both of you do. And you will start re-forming a bond with Isaac and the rest of the pack--but especially Isaac. He’s lost without you and you’re too stubborn to see it. Then we’ll work on getting Allison to get over her shit and re-join the pack as well.”
“Can I talk now?” Derek said, but was glared into submission.
“You’ll talk when I say you can talk.” Stiles said frostily. “And last but not least, you will stop avoiding me like a goddamn coward and admit that you have feelings for me.” This last bit sounded harsh but Derek could see the hurt in those eyes and he felt guilt threaten to overwhelm him.
“May I speak?” He asked again and once Stiles nodded, “I’m sorry.”
Stiles nodded again. “You left me, Derek. We were having a moment and you just took off. I felt like complete shit for days.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“And I could be dead tomorrow.” At Derek’s growl, Stiles shrugged. “It’s true. So what? You can be upset at the thought of me dying, but I’m just supposed to sit back and watch you embark on your death wish and give you my blessing? No, fuck that and fuck you if that’s what you think.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Derek, you deserve to be happy.”
“So you do.”
“And I’m happiest when I’m with you.” Stiles whispered. He crossed the room to Derek and entwined their fingers together. “What are you so afraid of?”
Derek didn’t hesitate. “You, Stiles. Okay? You terrify me.”
“Then doesn’t that tell you that maybe this thing with us is worth fighting for? You wouldn’t be scared if it didn’t mean anything.” He looked at Derek fiercely. “I’m not going to let you push me away again, all right? I’m not letting you run away.”
Derek contemplated this for a while before giving in. He was a goner anyway; had been since he first pushed Stiles up against his bedroom wall. “Okay.” He breathed. “I won’t run anymore.”
Stiles beamed at him, the grin lighting up his whole face. “Good. So are we done with our after school sappy program yet?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Then shut up and kiss me, wolf man.”
As Derek gathered Stiles to him, he knew they weren't out of the woods yet. He still was made of issues and Stiles was still underage. And even on the off chance he managed to avoid getting murdered by the Sheriff, they still had to get Erica and Boyd back--if they were even still alive--and run the Alphas out of town. All without getting killed in the process. It seemed like a very high mountain to climb.
But as Stiles whimpered and slid his tongue inside Derek's mouth, Derek figured they had something the Alphas didn't: Stiles.
It was a start.
~Fin
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