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Derek had no idea what Scott was expecting him to do about this. About any of this. He had absolutely no idea why he was the one who’d been tasked with dealing with this situation. He wasn’t exactly qualified, and he certainly wasn’t close enough to the intended party to be the one to do this, and yet somehow, he was the one who was being volunteered for this.
He scowled at the front door, really debating turning around, because he wasn’t the person they should be relying on to try and help make this all better. What did he know about situations like this? He felt like most of the time, Scott forgot Derek was literally only three years older than him. Two and three-quarters, if he was being super specific, but regardless. Derek wasn’t any more an adult than Scott was.
Letting out a long, aggrieved sigh, Derek reached up and knocked on the door. He listened, but heard no movement from within. Knocking once again, a little louder, he tilted his head but didn’t hear anyone coming to answer the door. He knew Stiles was home, he could hear his heartbeat, even from here.
Derek rang the bell next. He didn’t like ringing doorbells, they were loud and annoying, but maybe he wasn’t knocking loud enough. When there was still no answer, he ascertained that he was being ignored. Well, not him specifically, since it was highly unlikely Stiles knew who was at the door, but he was being ignored all the same.
Trying the door, he found it locked. Which was unusual, because Stiles and the sheriff were notorious for not locking their door. It was like they wanted people to walk in uninvited.
Turning, Derek headed back down the porch steps and around the side of the house. He looked around before jumping up and grabbing at one of the lowest sturdy branches from the tree by the edge of the roof. He climbed it quickly, crouching on one of the larger branches and then leaping silently onto the sloped roof. He crouched a bit, not wanting to be super obvious since he usually did this at night and not in the middle of the day, and made his way quickly to Stiles’ bedroom.
The window was open a few inches and he pulled it open all the way, climbing into Stiles’ room, and then standing by the window, unsure of what to do.
Stiles was in his room, like Derek had expected him to be, but he was just lying in bed with his blanket over his head, curled into a ball on his side. He was awake, because his heart was beating too quickly for him not to be, and his breathing wasn’t slow and even.
Which meant he was just... lying there. In bed. Doing nothing.
It wasn’t what Derek had expected to walk into, nor was the scent of misery, guilt, and shame.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asked, because he had to start somewhere.
“I’m sick,” Stiles’ muffled voice said, sounding ten different kinds of miserable.
“No you’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Kind of do.” Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ chair and dragged it closer to the bed, spinning it around and sitting down. It was surprisingly comfortable, considering it was falling apart. He kind of understood why Stiles was always sitting in it.
“Go away.”
“That’s usually my line. Seeing as you never comply, I don’t see any reason for me to comply.” Derek leaned forward a bit, elbows on his thighs, and stared at the mass of blankets on the bed. He had no idea how to start this entire conversation. He wasn’t exactly a heart-to-heart kind of guy, and while he cared about and respected Stiles a great deal, he didn’t think they were exactly classed as ‘friends.’
This was really something Scott should be doing. They were friends, best friends. They knew one another so well, and Stiles probably really needed someone close to him here right now. Derek wasn’t that person, and he thought it was a little horrible of Scott not to think about coming himself.
In a way, wasn’t that just increasing the distress in this case? Wasn’t it just making everything worse for Stiles, because his best friend couldn’t bear to come over and make sure he was okay?
“Wanna talk about it?” Derek finally asked, because he didn’t know what else to say.
“No.”
“Might help.”
“No.”
Derek raked a frustrated hand through his hair. He had no idea how to move this along. He didn’t know how to coddle people and try and make them feel better. But he couldn’t just leave Stiles, either. Because he remembered the way he’d felt when Boyd had been murdered in front of him. The way he’d felt at the knowledge that his own claws had brought about the demise of one of his own.
Stiles had been there for him. Stiles had tried to help him. Derek couldn’t leave him here like this. This wasn’t Stiles. Stiles was sunshine, and intelligence, and sarcasm. He was compassion, and honesty, and loyalty. He was the best person Derek had ever met, and the fact that this had happened to him made him feel responsible.
If Derek and Laura had never come back to Beacon Hills, Scott never would’ve gotten bitten, and Stiles wouldn’t have been dragged into all of this. He never complained about it, but this wasn’t a life Derek ever would’ve wished on anyone, least of all Stiles. He deserved only good things, and since Scott had been bitten, he’d only gotten bad things.
And this was by far the worst thing since Scott’s bite. Because he knew how Stiles felt. He understood the guilt that was consuming him. It was one that ate away at Derek every day, from the moment he woke up until the moment he fell asleep.
Derek understood where Stiles was coming from, why he didn’t want to get out of bed, why he wanted to just disappear into nothingness.
He’d have liked to think that was why Scott had sent him over, but that was giving Scott too much credit. Derek felt it was more that Scott didn’t want to miss any school, and since Derek didn’t have a job, he was the easiest person to coerce into going to help his friend out.
“Stiles,” Derek finally said after a long silence. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was,” the muffled voice retorted heatedly.
“No,” Derek pressed, “it wasn’t.”
“Yes it was, Derek!” Stiles threw the covers off himself and whipped around. He looked terrible, his skin sallow, eyes puffy and red, hair sticking up every which way. It looked like he hadn’t eaten in a long while, and he was in desperate need of a shower, but it was the look in his eyes that really hit Derek to his core. The guilt he felt. “It was my fault, Derek! I shouldn’t have made it so easy for him! I shouldn’t have—I don’t know! I should’ve resisted! Been stronger! I should’ve pushed harder when I thought it was me and nobody listened!”
“What happened to you could’ve happened to any of the three of you,” Derek insisted. “Would you blame Scott if it was him?”
Stiles didn’t answer for a moment, because Derek was right. If it had been someone else, Stiles wouldn’t have blamed them. He’d have insisted it wasn’t their fault. But because it was Stiles, obviously, it was his fault.
“It’s not the same thing,” Stiles insisted after a moment.
“Why not? How would it be any different if the Nogitsune had possessed Scott instead of you?”
“I killed Allison!” Stiles shouted. The words seemed to tear his throat to shreds on their way up, and he looked like he was about to completely lose it the second they escaped him. His eyes began to water and his hands shook when he brought them up to drag through his hair, pulling hard at the strands. “I killed Allison,” he said again, more quietly, voice broken. “That was me. I... I stabbed her. She died. How am I supposed to just pretend it didn’t happen? How am I supposed to get up and go to school, see Scott and Lydia, run into her dad at the store? How am I supposed to just...”
When he trailed off, Derek slowly stood from the chair and moved to sit beside Stiles on the bed, pressing himself against his side. Not crowding him, but just offering silent comfort.
“That wasn’t you,” Derek said quietly, pressing into him a little harder. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Stiles said, liquid spilling over his lashes and rolling down his left cheek. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”
Derek felt his heart clenching in his chest, because he didn’t want to admit that he did, but this was Stiles, and he needed him. He needed him to bounce back from this. He knew it would take time, it always did, but he couldn’t let Stiles fall into this downward spiral or he’d turn into Derek. He wanted Stiles to heal, to try and move forward, to realize that horrible things happened sometimes, and they were beyond anyone’s control.
“Actually,” he said quietly, “I’m fairly certain I’m the only person who could ever understand.”
When Stiles opened his mouth to argue, Derek saw him catch himself. Like he’d been about to insist that was impossible before remembering who he was speaking to.
Derek had slept with Kate Argent. He’d been passed out in her bed when she’d left the house and gone to light his family home on fire.
Derek had become an Alpha. He’d gotten himself some Betas, made himself a little pack that was his. Then the Alpha pack came to town, and he was brought to his knees, held down, and forced to murder his own second.
If anyone in this entire town could relate to what Stiles was going through even one iota, it was Derek.
And Stiles evidently recognized that, because he said nothing further. He just lay back down, pulled his blanket over his head, and curled into a ball on his side once more.
Sighing, Derek rubbed his face with one hand, then kicked off his shoes. He knew this was more of a wolf thing, but closeness helped humans, too. And he cared about Stiles, much as he hated admitting it sometimes. He didn’t like having people to care about, because it was so easy to lose them.
Like Erica. Like Boyd. Like Cora and Isaac, who’d both left him. Stiles was someone he didn’t want to care about, because he would eventually lose him, too. But he did care.
Taking his jacket off and tossing it onto the chair, Derek shifted on the bed so he was lying down behind Stiles and pulled him back into his chest. Stiles was stiff beneath him, but he didn’t ask him to go away again, so Derek considered it a win.
“I know things seem really bad right now,” Derek said softly. “And I know it feels like you’ll never come back from what you did. But you will. It won’t be easy, and it’ll take time and patience, but if anyone can do it, it’s you, Stiles. And I know I might not be your first choice, but as someone who has their fair share of guilt, and understands, truly understands what you’re going through, I’m here for you. If you ever want to talk, or even scream or just punch something, you can come to the loft and do what you need to do. I think Peter might even have a few breakable items you can toss around.” He smiled slightly, tightening his hold on Stiles.
“You’re not alone, Stiles. You’re never going to be alone. We’re all here for you, and we’ll help you get through this. You’re going to be okay.”
Derek needed Stiles to be okay. Because if Stiles wasn’t okay, Derek didn’t think he himself would ever be okay again.
END.