Work Text:
It’s a Wednesday night in the beginning of March when Stiles comes knocking on the door to Derek’s loft. It’s almost midnight but Derek doesn’t sleep much at night anyway. To say that Derek is surprised to see him standing outside the door is an understatement. Derek hasn’t seen Stiles since… It must have been last summer, because even if the others came back to Beacon Hills to celebrate Christmas, Stiles hadn’t. The Sheriff had gone to New York to celebrate with his son instead.
“I think it’s weird Stiles isn’t coming back for Christmas,” Isaac had said, feet propped up on the table in front of the couch no matter how many times Derek had told him to remove his feet from the table. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”
Scott made a sound as if he agreed, but he was also frowning slightly as if uncomfortable talking about his best friend when said friend wasn’t present.
“Give him a break,” Lydia said and gave a rough kick to Isaac’s feet, forcing the werewolf to take them down before she sat down in the armchair Derek had been forced to buy when the teenagers had deemed his place the best place to hang out at. “He’s in love, guy’s allowed to be a little absent.”
“A little?” Scott seemed to have given up on not talking about his friend. “He hasn’t called me in- like a month or something. I’ve called him, but he’s always been busy. Gordon’s this and Gordon’s that.”
Lydia scoffed at him.
“As if you took every opportunity to hang out with him when you and Allison met.”
“I-” Scott started to defend himself, but then seemed to realize that Lydia was indeed right.
“He’ll come around,” Derek said, even though he actually had no idea if Stiles would. But Scott had come around after the first month or so with Allison so he hoped Stiles would too.
And now… Stiles is wet from the rain that pours down outside, shivering slightly and even though it’s March he’s only wearing a gray hoodie, the hood up over his head, almost obscuring his whole face from view. Almost…
“What happened?”
Derek grabs Stiles’ arm and drags him into the loft and into the kitchen where the best light is. Stiles winces as Derek pulls down his hoodie and doesn’t met Derek’s eyes.
“Stiles, who did this? Was it hunters? Are you-? What happened?”
Stiles waves his hand – his left hand, Derek notices absentmindedly as his right is pulled to his chest – as if to wave it off. He drops his hand and swallows, seeming very interested in the tiles on Derek’s floor.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
His voice is soft and broken and Derek wants to wrap him up in a hug like he’s grown used to doing with the others. But Stiles hasn’t been here since the summer, he wasn’t with them on Thanksgiving when some ghouls were trying to take over town. While the others had drifted closer, Stiles had drifted away.
“You’re always welcome here,” Derek says. “Let me take a look at the wounds, okay?”
Stiles nods and lets Derek pull him into the light and tend to the split lip and the gash across his cheek. His eye will have a distinct, blue color when the morning comes, Derek thinks. He doesn’t ask all the questions that tumble through his head; why is Stiles in Beacon Hills? Why is he with Derek? And, most importantly, who did this to him?
“You want a shower?” He asks and Stiles nods. “You can borrow some of my clothes.” Stiles nods again. His silence is as disconcerting as the gashes on his face. Stiles walks gingerly into the bathroom as Derek quickly pulls some clothes out for him. He puts them on the toilet seat and then leaves, closing the door behind him.
He considers calling Scott, but then refrains from it. If Stiles had wanted Scott to know that he’s back in town he would have told him himself. Derek has no idea why Stiles wouldn’t want Scott to know. No, that’s not true. He knows exactly why Stiles wouldn’t want to let Scott see his bruises. Scott would force the truth out of Stiles and then hunt the bastards down and kick their ass. Derek might have had the same plan running around in his head since he saw the state of Stiles’ face.
There are no sounds from the bathroom; no water running, not even the sound of Stiles moving around. Derek stands outside the door for a few moments, hesitating, before he knocks.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Derek isn’t close enough to hear Stiles’ heartbeat but if he knows he’d hear the telltale skip of a lie in it.
“Is there…? Do you need help with anything?”
“No.”
Derek doesn’t need to hear the skip in Stiles’ heart to know that that, too, is a lie. He wait for a few moments and is about to ask again when the door opens. Stiles’ eyes are filled with tears and he doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes.
“I can’t- I can’t get off my shirt.”
His right hand is still held close to his body. Stiles backs away when Derek steps into the bathroom.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
Derek feels a little bit like that time he and Isaac were called to help Scott and Deaton with those dogs that had been badly mistreated by their owner. They had been afraid of touch and underfeed and Derek had touched them gently, warily, afraid to scare them more or hurt them.
He helps Stiles out of the hoodie, trying to not move his arm too much. This close Derek can hear every intake of breath Stiles makes when a certain movement hurts. Derek wonders if he should say something, when he had taken care of the dogs he’d whispered soothing things like “shh” and “don’t worry” and “it’ll be alright”. Now he stays quiet.
When he has finally gotten Stiles out of his hoodie he gingerly takes Stiles’ arm in his hands, it’s slightly swollen over the wrist.
“We should probably get a doctor to-”
“No.” Stiles’ tone leaves no room for argument. Derek bites his lips to refrain from nagging more about it. For now.
He then helps Stiles out of his t-shirt. It’s slightly easier because of the wider arms of the shirt. When the shirt is off, Derek notices a large blue and yellow bruise on Stiles’ left side. He looks to Stiles, but Stiles still doesn’t meet his eyes. Derek knows that the yellow indicate a healing process and that this bruise was inflicted at least a few days ago.
“Please, don’t,” Stiles whispers. “Not now.”
Derek nods curtly.
“Can you-?” he motions kind of awkwardly at Stiles’ jeans and he hopes that Stiles will be able to get them off himself because helping another guy out of their pants is kind of awkward.
“I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Derek hushes and steps forward to unzip the pants and shove them down Stiles’ legs. Derek is man enough to admit that he might have had his fair share of fantasies where he helps Stiles out of his clothes, but reality is nothing like his dreams and that’s even worse. Stiles sobs above him, maybe from humiliation or maybe from pain. There are no bruises on his legs, but he holds his right hand to his chest once again and his left hand on Derek’s shoulder to keep his balance when Derek helps him step out of the pants. The underwear is even more awkward and Derek doesn’t even have to force himself to not look at Stiles’ junk because the situation is nothing sexual, only hurtful. Stiles is crying silently and Derek pulls him into a one armed hug when he’s gotten Stiles out of his underwear. He doesn’t even reflect over the fact that Stiles is completely naked.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs into Stiles’ hair. It smells like rain and sweat and a little bit like blood. Derek wishes he could smell whoever did this to Stiles, but he can’t.
He helps Stiles into the shower stall and then realizes that Stiles won’t be able to wash himself. Derek pulls off his own clothes quickly and steps in beside Stiles with Stiles’ back to him. He adjusts the temperature of the water before he takes the hose and washes Stiles’ back and his hair when Stiles leans his head back. Stiles sobs every now and then and Derek wishes there was something he could say. It’s nothing like that time Isaac-
“Did we ever tell you about that time Isaac walked down into a cursed swamp a couple of witches set up as a trap for us?”
Stiles makes a questioning noise and Derek lathers Stiles’ hair carefully as he continues the story.
“The water petrified him. He could still talk, but couldn’t move. We took him to Deaton. It was quite hard to get him into the car as he was petrified standing up. He was swearing at us every time his head bumped into the ceiling as me and Scott tried to get him into the car. It wasn’t that bad though, Deaton said we could wash it away with just soap and water. So Scott and I did. In the shower stall at the clinic that they normally use to wash dogs. Deaton was watching but refusing to help – as always. Isaac kept repeating no homo and refused to look Scott and me in the eye for a week afterwards.”
Stiles huffs out something that sounds a bit like a laugh and Derek washes off the rest of the foam from his body. He turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his own hips before he wraps another around Stiles’ shoulders. He dresses himself in a pair of sweatpants and a Henley while he leaves Stiles to dry off a bit. Stiles’ body is more damp than wet when Derek’s dressed and he only dries Stiles’ hair before he helps him into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He leads Stiles to the bed and orders him to sit as he gets the bandage from the first aid kit he has in his kitchen. It’s mainly for the human members of the pack as the werewolves heal too quickly for it to be any use. He wraps Stiles’ wrist carefully as he tells Stiles about the last time he bandaged anyone; it was Lydia’s ankle after she had drank too much and then walked around in her high-heels. Stiles snorts at that and Derek counts it as a win. He gives Stiles some painkillers and a sandwich that Stiles gulps down with the same enthusiasm Derek has come to associate with him. He’s glad some things haven’t change.
“You should get some sleep,” he tells Stiles after Stiles has eaten.
He leaves Stiles to the bed and sleeps on the couch. He doesn’t sleep well that night, he can hear Stiles turning around every now and then; his pained gasps when he shifts into a position that probably hurts his arm; if he focuses, he can hear Stiles’ rabid heartbeat that slows down first at five a.m.; and at last he hears Stiles’ even breaths as he falls asleep. Derek lets himself relax as well.
Stiles’ arm looks better the next morning and Derek doesn’t bother him about going to see a doctor even if he thinks it would be the best thing to do. He makes them pancakes for breakfast/lunch and they eat in front of the TV without talking much.
Their days quite quickly turn into a routine after that. They don’t fall asleep until early in the morning hours even though they go to bed (or couch, in Derek’s case) around midnight. Derek makes them breakfast/lunch and then he leaves Stiles for a few hours to jog, one time he gets held up and is gone for almost three hours. Stiles almost has a panic attack from relief when Derek comes back and Derek swears not to leave Stiles alone for that amount of time again. He holds Stiles to his chest when they sit on the couch and Derek tells him about his family – something he has never done to anyone before – the happy and good times before Kate and the fire. Stiles doesn’t talk much, he answers some of the questions Derek asks him, but whenever Derek asks about the beatings (Derek is quite sure it’s beatings in plural) he clams up and turns away. Derek asks him about telling the sheriff he’s back in town, but Stiles says he wants to wait. Derek thinks he means he wants to wait until the bruises on his face are completely gone because if the sheriff sees his son like this he might take his cruiser and run down whoever did it.
Stiles’ phone buzzes sometimes – it’s on silent, but the vibration is on – it’s mostly Gordon’s name that pops up, sometimes it’s a, to Derek, unknown name and sometimes it’s someone in the pack. Stiles never answers, though sometimes his thumb hovers over the answer button when Gordon’s name is lighting up the screen before he seems to steel himself, taking a shaky breath and puts his phone away.
It’s almost a week since Stiles came to his loft and they’re preparing dinner (putting the take out Thai on plates) when the crash of glass startles Derek to almost drop the container. He turns to Stiles, who stares at the broken glass on the floor for a moment, before falling to his knees to pick it up, almost so quickly he’s in danger of cutting himself on the sharp shards.
“I’m so sorry,” Stiles rambles, “I didn’t mean to. I’ll clean it up. I’ll buy a new one. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
Derek frowns and sets the container down before taking a step closer to Stiles. Stiles’ reaction is immediate; he crawls backwards until his back is pressed to the wall his arms covering his head as he rambles “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again. Derek takes another step forward and Stiles jerks as if Derek physically has hurt him. Derek sinks to his knees, tries to meet Stiles’ eyes but Stiles’ face is buried in his arms.
“It’s okay, Stiles. Don’t worry.” Stiles is shaking and sobbing and whispers that he’s sorry and Derek hearts break for every shaky, whispered word.
“Don’t worry. Stiles, it’s okay. I’m not mad. It’s okay.”
Derek says those things over and over again, not daring to get any closer, for almost half an hour before Stiles seems to calm down enough for Derek to move closer. Stiles still jerks when Derek puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, but Derek ignores it and pulls Stiles to his chest.
“It’s okay,” he whispers into Stiles’ hair. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again.”
He knows that last one is probably a lie, Stiles will get hurt again – probably both physically and emotionally – but Derek will do his hardest to keep that promise.
Derek makes Stiles call his dad the next day and the sheriff comes over to the loft after his shift. He wraps Stiles up into what looks like a bone-crushing hug and doesn’t let go for a long time. Derek leaves them alone to go for a jog. When he comes back they’re on the couch watching TV and eating some snacks Derek has bought for Stiles. The very fact that John is allowed to eat snacks in front of his son without a single reprimand is so very wrong.
John brings Derek into a hug when they leave that night, more a thank you than words could ever be. John is taking Stiles home with him and even if Derek would love to keep Stiles, he thinks it’s probably for the best.
He goes by Stiles’ place every day to hang out with him. Derek can admit that he has missed the company of any pack-members while they are away at college in general and he has specifically missed Stiles’ company and he’s quite glad to have him all to himself.
Stiles gets better. The first time he makes a joking insult he tenses up, as if expecting Derek to hit him, but when Derek only smirks at him and makes a bad joke back, Stiles’ tension eases up and he smiles before averting his gaze.
They leave the house for walks through the forest and sometimes Derek picks Stiles up and they go to the loft instead of hanging out in the Stilinski house. One time the go to the grocery store but Stiles almost has a panic attack when someone accidently bumps into him and Derek thinks Stiles isn’t ready for crowds just yet.
Gordon still calls. It’s with less frequency, but it’s still at least once a day as far as Derek sees. Stiles doesn’t hesitate before not answering the call anymore. He doesn’t say anything, but Derek sees the way he tenses up in fear every time Gordon’s name pops up on the screen.
“We could get you a new number, if you want to,” he tells Stiles but Stiles shrugs.
“He’ll stop eventually,” he says.
He talks to some of his college friends sometimes. Someone named Clara and someone named Joe, but he never once talks to Gordon. Derek is relieved. He’s quite sure by now that this is all Gordon’s fault. If Derek ever meets him in person he won’t be held responsible for his actions.
Stiles takes to running with him in the woods and even if Derek has to run slower than he usually does, he doesn’t mind.
Derek calls Scott to inform the Alpha what’s going on. He tells Scott everything, about his suspicions about Gordon and the bruises and the way Stiles had flinched away from his touch in the beginning. If both he and Scott cry silently, no one but them needs to know and they won’t ever talk about it. He tells Scott that he and John are handling it and that Scott doesn’t need to skip school to come to Beacon Hills. Scott promises to come as soon as he can and Derek promises to call Scott if anything happens.
It’s the middle of April and Derek’s lounging in the spring sun on his balcony when his phone vibrates on the table beside him. It’s not unusual that Stiles calls him, he does almost once a day even if they have agreed to see each other in the afternoon. Stiles’ panicked tone, though, is not customary.
“Derek, he’s here. Oh, my god, he’s here. I didn’t think he’d- Please, Derek, I think he’s going to kill me.”
Derek is up from his lounging chair in less than a second, his eyes glowing blue and nails lengthen into claws.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in my room. I locked the door but-”
A loud bang comes from the other end of the line and Derek is out and by his car before he’s even time to think.
“Stay with me, Stiles, okay? I’m on my way. Have you put anything in front of your door?”
“I- No.”
Derek hears him gasping and the sound of him pushing something – probably his bureau to barricade the door.
“I didn’t think he’d come here. I thought- Oh, god, Derek, please, don’t let him kill me.”
“I won’t,” Derek promises as he speeds through town to the Stilinski household. He wishes a police car would spot him so he’d get the police with him, but there are no cruisers in sight. He doesn’t dare hang up on Stiles to call the sheriff. The drive to Stiles’ house has never felt this long, but Derek knows he’s never driven this fast through town.
When he’s almost there, he hears a crash and Stiles screams at him that Gordon’s inside his room and “please, don’t-” before the line is dead. The car has barely stopped moving outside of the Stilinski’s house before Derek’s out of it and runs up the stairs to Stiles’ bedroom. A dark-haired guy is holding Stiles by his throat against the floor, his knee against Stiles’ chest. Stiles flails and is obviously having a hard time breathing. Derek grabs the guy’s shirt and throws him into the wall, snarling at him and presses his hand against the guy’s throat. He can hear Stiles’ rasping breaths from the floor and he presses harder.
“I’ll kill you,” he growls at the guy. “I’ll fucking kill you for hurting him.”
The guy wheezes, flails and kicks and tries to get Derek off him, but his human strength his no match to Derek’s werewolf strength. The guy passes out and Derek considers holding his hand to the guy’s throat until his heart stops beating, but then his attention shifts to Stiles, who whimpers on the floor.
Derek lets go of the guy – Gordon – and lets him just crumble to the floor as he walks over to Stiles who sits with his back pressed to wall of the far end of the room. Derek kneels in front of him, cups his cheeks with both hands and looks into Stiles’ huge, tear-filled eyes.
“It’s okay, Stiles, I’ve got you. It’s okay,” he murmurs. He gets Stiles up from the floor and leads him into John’s bedroom where he lies Stiles down on the bed before he calls the Sheriff to inform him what has happened. John arrives with a few of his deputies and the deputies take Gordon away. A paramedic comes to make sure Stiles is okay. He is – physically, at least. Neither Derek nor John leaves Stiles’ side for the rest of the night. Stiles doesn’t complain.
Derek had hoped Gordon would end up in jail for years, but he doesn’t. It’s probably only because Stiles is the sheriff’s son and Jackson forces his father to be the prosecutor and give the bastard his worse (everyone knows Jackson’s relationship with his father is strained at the best and that the older Whittemore would do anything for his son to strengthen the bond) that Gordon ends up in jail at all.
The thing that scares Gordon the most though, is probably when the whole pack, along with the sheriff, visit him in jail and the wolves flashes their eyes at him with their faces away from the camera and the sheriff tells him, in a low enough voice that the cameras microphone won’t be able to pick up on it, that he knows how to hide a body so no one will ever find it.