Chapter Text
“Have fun, you two,” the malicious man utters with a smirk as he pulls out a half-filled syringe.
The last thing Derek remembers is feeling a prick in his neck, seeing red behind his eyes, so much anger, and not being able to control the wolf.
The next thing he knows he’s pinning a flailing, delicate body underneath him against the cold, hard concrete, looking into panic-stricken, whiskey eyes, and hearing the terrified shrieks of Stiles.
“Derek! Derek! Stop, stop... please, just stop.” Stiles pleads through the trickling blood on his lips. Derek blinks, twice, before looking confused at the scene in front of him, or rather, beneath him.
Stiles eyes are shut and his face is contorted in pain. He’s violently shaking while his sobs and whimpers echo through the small, metal cell. And that’s when Derek notices the blood. He not only smells but tastes the metallic flavour of it. It’s all over the floor, Stiles’ body and... Derek’s hands.
Derek yelps as he jumps off the teenager, a look of horror planted on his face. What did I do?
“Th-thank god,” Stiles chokes out as he curls in on himself and pressing his hands to his stomach.
“Stiles, what... what happened?” Derek slowly stammers out as he crawls back over to Stiles, wanting to siphon some of the pain. But Stiles flinches back, that chilling fear re-plastering on his face. Derek puts his hands up. “Hey, hey, I’m not gonna...” But his reassurances die as he looks at his blood-coated hands in front of him.
Stiles’ face is the image of mistrust as he spits out his next words, along with sticky blood. “Oh, what was that, Derek? You’re not gonna, what? Hurt me? Tell that to the fucking red-eyed monster clawing at me and bashing my head against the ground a few minutes ago!” Stiles was shouting by the end of his rant, breathing heavily as if he were on the verge of a panic attack. Derek moved forward again, wanting to comfort him, fix what he did, but Stiles scrambles back. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
Derek looks back down at his hands. I did this. He thinks, shuddering. I couldn’t control myself and I almost killed the one thing left in my life.
Stiles must notice Derek’s guilt, as his face softens. He sighs and speaks in a quieter tone, yet his voice remains shaky. “Look, Der, it wasn’t your fault. It was that dickhead’s fault, the one who drugged you up with some kind of ‘let’s kill Stiles’ shit.” He sways in his sitting position, seeming paler by the second. He isn’t keeping enough pressure on the wounds, Derek observes.
“Can I... can I help?” Derek offers. “Can I touch you?”
Stiles hesitates, seeming anxious that Derek would wolf out again. After a few battles within his mind, he decides. “Y-yeah, sure.”
That’s all Derek needs before he rushes over to Stiles, siphoning the pain and applying enough pressure to the gashes with his strength. His stomach drops and he becomes light-headed as his eyes sweep over the main wounds. There are five long slashes that start from above his collarbone and travel all down Stiles’ front, finishing below his jutting hip bone. Derek is trying to ignore the ringing in his ears that could have only been caused by Stiles’ screams.
Suddenly Stiles inhales sharply as his eyes lock on something behind Derek’s shoulder. Derek spins around to meet the intruder, the same vicious-looking – scratch that, just vicious – man that locked them in this tiny cell and dosed Derek with that loss-of-control drug. And he was laughing.
Derek snarled at the man, covering Stiles’ body with his own at a subconscious attempt to protect Stiles’ limp body. He fought away every instinct to just let loose and shred the man to pieces, he needed answers and needed a way to get out of this dungeon.
The man finally spoke up with a sour voice. “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?”
Derek growled a second time, louder.
“Oh, save it, wolf-boy. I’m not scared of you. Anyway, you weren’t meant to break out of the toxin so early. The boy was meant to be more than a mere chew toy. He was meant to be a snack.” He finished with a smirk.
Shivers went down Derek’s spine. Thank fucking god I stopped myself.
Derek had enough. “What the hell are you doing with us.” It wasn’t a question, more like a demand. He could smell Stiles’ blood flowing more rapidly, and he needed to find an escape, fast.
“What do you think I’m doing?” the man answered, looking at Derek as if he were a child who’d just spelt a word wrong. Then he turned serious. “I’m turning you into the monster you were meant to become.”
With that, he pulled out another syringe, this time the mysterious liquid filled to the top.
Panic surged within Derek, and the last thing he hears is Stiles beginning to whimper.