Work Text:
Stiles hasn't seen Derek for two weeks. He'd woken up alone but his pain had at least been a lot better than the night before. He put it down to getting the kind of sleep he hadn't been able to find since Matt -
Anyway. He hasn't seen Derek for two weeks. He's beginning to think that Derek doesn't really want his help, even though he'd been so sure Derek was telling the truth. Derek had offered him a kind of submission that had terrified Stiles, he has no idea how to be responsible for that kind of trust. So he's just going to forget about it for now, push it to the back of his mind, and spend as much time as possible remembering to breathe.
He's been hanging out with Scott a lot, probably more than he's hung out with Scott since the whole werewolf thing started, and it's been comforting in its familiarity. It should feel forced because both of them have changed too much to just go back to the way things were – but it doesn't. Scott hasn't asked him to tell all of what happened after the lacrosse game and this is the way they've always been – Scott giving him space until he's ready to talk.
Stiles isn't ready to talk about it. He doesn't even like thinking about it.
(Which doesn't for a moment mean that his subconscious is wasting any time throwing him back to that basement every time he drops into REM sleep. He's not sleeping very well.)
They mostly play whichever FPS Scott is in the mood for (they have to play in the living room because Scott's TV is still busted, but it doesn't matter so much because Melissa's working a lot at the moment) and drink too much soda and each too much crap. Stiles relaxes as much as he can when Scott nearly imperceptibly flinches every time he looks at his face. The abrasions have healed but he's still covered in some pretty intense bruises.
He's a picture.
Sometimes Isaac hangs out with them too. Stiles can only think of it as 'Isaac's taken a shine to Scott', as old-fashioned as that sounds, because Isaac is a completely different person around Scott these days. Stiles only has the basics of what's been going on with them since Gerard Argent's Crazy Parade of Not-Fun came to an end but he's got that Isaac's still staying with Derek, which is a good thing because Stiles really doesn't like the idea of Derek being left alone with Peter, and that Scott's making an effort to be friends with him.
It sounds a lot like Scott's basing this on Isaac coming back to help with everything that went down on Lacrosse Night. People coming back seems to be something of a theme for them all at the moment.
Stiles hasn't seen Derek for two weeks but as far as he knows the guy is okay, he's pretty sure Isaac would tell them if he wasn't because Isaac seems to trust Scott a little more than he trusts Derek. He also figures that Derek's asked Isaac to keep tabs on him because Isaac has this habit of gripping Stiles' forearm, or his shoulder right where it flows into his neck, before leaving and asking if Stiles is okay.
Stiles is about as far away from okay as he could possibly be and he knows that both Scott and Isaac know he's lying when he says he's fine. That's all right, he decides, because he knows Derek knows it's a lie too. Derek had seen the worst of Stiles that night a few weeks ago – the side he normally hides away – what's the point in disguising it?
Isaac suddenly sits up from where he's been slouched into Scott's side for the past two rounds of Battlefield and freezes. Stiles and Scott hit pause in perfect synchronisation and take a moment to shoot each other a look which says 'nice'.
“What?” Scott asks, turning back to Isaac. Isaac tilts his head.
“Something,” Isaac makes a face and, yeah, he's adorable in exactly the same way Scott is. “Derek, I think.”
“What about him?” Stiles asks, shifting forwards on the couch to look around Scott. Scott gives him a look but Stiles doesn't really care.
“I don't know,” Isaac shifts from side to side, meets Stiles' eyes. “It's like there's something wrong.”
“When you were in trouble he could feel it,” Stiles says to Scott before looking back at Isaac. “Maybe it goes the other way? Some kind of – pack bond?”
“I've got to -” Isaac stands, his adorable little face twisting up with what? Derek's pain?
“Yeah, yeah,” Scott says, standing up too. “Do you – should I come with you?”
“No, it's okay,” Isaac shakes his head. “It's probably nothing.”
Stiles has a feeling it's not nothing. Scott had been dying when Derek knew something was wrong. Something pulls inside Stiles because Derek really isn't his favourite person but he's definitely started to not want the guy to die. He maybe even actively wants to keep him alive.
It's been a strange six months.
“If you need me - call, okay?” Scott says earnestly and Stiles stops himself from rolling his eyes. This is what happens when Scott has no Allison to obsess over. Isaac nods at him though, just as earnestly, and Stiles does roll his eyes.
“Stiles -” Isaac says, pausing in the doorway. “You're okay?”
Stiles opens his mouth to say 'I'm fine' but what comes out is: “Just make sure Derek's okay.”
Scott gives him his best 'what the fuck, Stiles' look but Stiles ignores it in favour of asking himself what the fuck. Isaac nods and is gone.
“Seriously, Stiles, what the hell?” Scott asks when they hear the front door close. Stiles shrugs.
“I don't know, man,” Stiles says, bouncing his leg nervously. “I guess – Derek's the closest thing Isaac's got to family right now. You know?”
Scott stares at him for longer than Stiles thinks is really necessary, frowning. Finally he shrugs too and they go back to the game. Stiles knows he's going to suffer for this eventually. Scott doesn't seem very smart most of the time but he doesn't forget things and they nearly always fall out of his mouth at the least opportune moment.
They've been playing for another twenty minutes when Stiles' phone buzzes in his pocket. They pause again and Stiles digs it out, assuming the message is his Dad wanting him home.
It's from Derek.
your house. Now
“Your Dad?” Scott asks. There's sympathy in his voice because, yeah, Stiles' Dad hasn't liked Stiles being out since that night. Stiles doesn't mind because, if he's perfectly honest, any time he can spend with his Dad where his Dad doesn't look at him with sad eyes of betrayal is good time.
“I need to go home,” Stiles skirts the truth. It works because Scott gives him the 'parents, eh?' face and squeezes his shoulder.
He doesn't really know what he's expecting when he gets to his house; the front door ripped off its hinges, werewolf based debris scattered everywhere, his Dad staring down a shotgun at Derek? But his Dad still isn't home and the front door is fine. He checks the kitchen on impulse and finds that the lock on the back door has been picked, he locks it again before heading upstairs with a bad feeling growing in his stomach.
“Derek?” he says, when he reaches the top of the stairs. Then, a little quieter, “Isaac?”
“In your room, Stiles,” Isaac's voice carries. “If you've got a first aid kit -”
There's a soft noise of pain and that stops Isaac from talking. Stiles ducks into the bathroom and pulls out the first aid kit they keep under the sink. He can feel his breath tightening in his chest, his habitual reaction to worry these days, and he has to stop in the doorway of his room to fight down his panic response.
After a long moment where he's not sure he's going to win he takes a deep, clear breath and flips the lights on. Isaac is holding Derek on the bed, face down, and Derek is -
“Holy shit,” Stiles' heartbeat picks up and he swallows dryly because, fuck, Derek is a mess.
Derek's shirtless and his back is just shredded. He's wheezing with pain and shifting against Isaac's hold. He has his head turned towards Stiles and Stiles has a sudden and horrifying flashback to demands of arm-severing.
“Stiles,” it's the weakest Stiles has heard Derek in a long time. “I know you've got -”
“Shit,” Stiles says, understanding where Derek's going with this. “Shit, Derek, what the -”
“Stiles,” and that's a more familiar tone, that's the 'rip your throat out' tone and Stiles finds himself reacting to it without even thinking. He throws the first aid kit onto the bed and runs into the spare room. Buried under the dusty futon they never use anymore is a sealed box of wolfsbane he bought off eBay after the whole bullet thing. He'd figured it couldn't hurt to have it around – they weren't always going to be able to break into the Argent's and steal bullets. This really wasn't what he'd planned for.
“Do you know what happened?” Stiles asks Isaac as he kneels beside the bed. Isaac shakes his head.
“I found him like this,” Isaac says, shifting his grip. “On the edge of the warehouse district. I think it's – glass. He stinks too.”
“A trap?” Stiles asks Derek, waving for Isaac to pass him the first aid kit. Derek nods, his eyes falling shut. Stiles is glad, to be honest, because he can't handle the pain in Derek's eyes right now, not if he's going to get through this.
“Fuck,” Stiles says as he takes a closer look at Derek's back. The skin is puckered and torn and Isaac is right, there's definitely glass embedded in the flesh. Stiles swallows against the bile rising up in his throat.
“Don't,” Derek opens his eyes and raises a hand away from the bed to grab Stiles' shoulder. “Don't pass out on me.”
Stiles blinks and huffs out a laugh, lowering his head and taking a deep breath. Derek squeezes his shoulder then lets his hand fall away, brushing Stiles' leg on the way.
“Okay,” Stiles says, pulling some tweezers out of the kit. “I'm guessing – I should probably get the glass out before getting wolfsbane in this.”
Derek's eyes are shut again but he nods, his hand coming up rest on Stiles' knee. It's a weird moment but Stiles gets that Derek's getting something from it when Derek relaxes slightly.
“I can do this,” Stiles says, looking up at Isaac. Isaac's eyes are wide with distress but there's something in there, something Stiles has been seeing since he drove the Jeep into kanima-Jackson, that says he thinks Stiles can do it to.
It's pretty much the worst thing Stiles has ever done. It's worse than nearly cutting Derek's arm off, worse than two hours in the pool, worse than being paralysed and unable to help his Dad. The blood stench is strong in Stiles' nose, as is the unfortunately familiar smell of wolfsbane poisoning. He doesn't gag again, although it's a close run thing – every time he comes close Derek's hand flexes against his leg and drags him back.
After a length of time Stiles really can't place he has all of the glass fragments piled up on the floor beside him. Now that they're out there's sluggish black liquid seeping up and Stiles really doesn't have much time, he knows.
“Come on, Stiles,” Derek says and his grip on Stiles' leg is just the wrong side of painful.
“Okay, okay, just don't rip my leg off, God,” Stiles says, wiping shaking hands against his thighs before reaching for the wolfsbane. “I haven't – I need a lighter.”
“Pocket,” Derek says. He moves and rocks himself slightly so that Stiles can reach into Derek's front pocket. Which is just the weird icing on the cake of strangeness that Stiles' evening has become.
“I'm going to need a lot, aren't I?” Stiles says to himself as he opens the box. Derek chuffs out a laugh and Stiles looks up in surprise. Derek gives him a look like the one he did that night Stiles ended up sleeping with him, the scary trust look, and Stiles nods.
He tips a pile of ground wolfsbane onto the lid of the box and rubs his hands on his thighs again. He's sweating suddenly because he knows that this is probably going to be even worse than getting the glass out in the first place.
“Isaac,” he says, gripping the lighter tightly in his left hand. “You're going to have to hold him as tight as you can because this – this is going to be fucking terrible.”
He ignites the wolfsbane with a flick of the lighter and squints at the sparks that fly out. When they die out he scoops the powder up and realises he has no idea how to go about putting this much wolfsbane into so many wounds. In the end he starts from the top of Derek's back, pouring powder with one hand and pressing it in with the other. Derek makes awful noises and Stiles desperately tries to ignore them as he works his way down. Derek writhes against Isaac's hold the further Stiles goes down and Isaac leans over him.
“Stiles,” Isaac says. “Stiles -”
“I know,” Stiles says, hands shaking and covered with black whatever. “I'm nearly done. Just. Hold on. Hold on, Derek.”
When Stiles finally reaches the last of the wounds Derek lets out a genuinely frightening noise, loud enough to make both Stiles and Isaac jump, and Stiles starts away from him, twitching. Derek's hand is still on his leg, though, and he doesn't get far. A cloud of blue smoke drifts up from Derek's back as he twists against the bed and Isaac meets Stiles' eyes again.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, spreading his arms and shrugging. “That's a thing that happens.”
Derek relaxes suddenly, his grip on Stiles' leg releasing enough to allow him to move away from the bed. Stiles half scrambles across the floor until his back bumps against his chair. He hauls himself up and buries his head in his hands and tries to focus on his breathing. When he thinks his heart isn't going to fall out of his chest he looks up to see Isaac with his hands on Derek's back, black lines twisting up his arms.
What the hell.
“What the hell?” Stiles asks and Isaac looks across at him, guilt written on his features.
“We can – take a little pain,” Isaac says, pulling his hands back.
“That's why you always touch me,” Stiles says, not even having to think it through to know it's true. Isaac nods. “I -”
“I told him to do it,” Derek says, pushing himself away from Isaac. “You needed it.”
“I -” Stiles finds himself with absolutely no response to that which wouldn't make him sound like a dick. “Thanks?”
Derek moves around until he's sitting with his legs over the side of the bed, feet flat against the floor. He almost rocks off and Stiles rolls forwards to push him upright. Derek looks at him, eyes still open and vulnerable, and Stiles still doesn't know if it was the best thing in the world to say that he'd help him.
He's only sixteen, for God's sake.
“I'll clean up,” Isaac says, looking between them. He climbs off the bed and gathers up the first aid kit before disappearing.
“You want to tell me what happened?” Stiles asks, hands still curled around Derek's biceps. Derek pulls a face, which was something Stiles didn't even realise he was capable of, and makes a frustrated noise.
“Hunters, maybe,” he says, letting his head fall forwards a bit. Stiles pushes forward and lets Derek's forehead rest on his shoulder. Derek sighs.
“The Argents?” Stiles asks but even as he says it he doesn't think it's right. He feels Derek shake his head.
“Still dealing with the fallout,” Derek says, he moves his head a bit so that his chin is resting on Stiles' shoulder, face turned in towards Stiles' neck.
“Someone new, then,” Stiles says, moving his hands around to Derek's back, touching the newly healed flesh. “Great.”
“I'll deal with it,” Derek says, breathing against Stiles' neck. “You don't need to be involved.”
“Clearly I do,” Stiles says, running his hands down Derek's back as an example. Derek shudders and pulls back, shaking Stiles off.
“I mean it,” Derek says, shaking his head. “You don't have to be involved.”
“You're the one who told me you wanted my help,” Stiles says, leaning forwards into Derek's space. “Don't change your mind just because it gets dangerous.”
Derek stares at him, his eyes drifting over Stiles' bruises in a way that makes Stiles' skin feel hot and uncomfortable. He resists the urge to turn away, to hide.
“Fine,” Derek says, that familiar, begrudging 'you won't leave me alone, will you' expression on his face. “If I think you can I help I'll call you. Don't go looking for it.”
“Can't promise that,” Stiles says, even though only an hour ago he was enjoying not having to endure this sort of bullshit. “How about I let you know if I hear anything from my Dad?”
“Sure,” Derek says, shrugging. “If you think it'll help.”
“Do you -” Stiles starts. He's interrupted by Isaac returning the room with the rubber gloves they keep under the kitchen sink and a plastic bag. He and Derek watch silently as Isaac cleans up the glass fragments. Isaac nudges the wolfsbane box back towards Stiles, his nose wrinkled against the smell.
“How did you know I had it?” Stiles asks as he reseals the box, holding it against his chest.
“I was -” Derek pauses and Stiles thinks that he actually sees a hint of red in Derek's cheeks. “I saw it delivered.”
“You are such a stalker,” Stiles says, shaking his head. It's a bad thing for his future that he actually finds it a little endearing.
“I needed to know as much about Scott, and you, as I could,” Derek says. He's aiming for nonchalant but it comes out a lot lonelier and more desperate than that.
Isaac takes the box away from Stiles and, after asking where it goes, leaves them alone in the room again. There's something about the way Isaac doesn't look at either of them that makes Stiles think Isaac knows something about what's going on here. Which is great because Stiles has no idea what's going on here. Maybe he'll ask him next time they're at Scott's.
“Do you need a place to stay?” Stiles finishes the question Isaac had interrupted before. Derek's eyes widen in surprise for a moment before going back to his usual blank look.
“I should be okay to make it back,” Derek says, pushing slowly to his feet. He only wobbles slightly. “Isaac can help.”
Stiles gets up and crosses to his drawers, digging through his shirts for the stretched grey tee he keeps buried underneath them. He pulls it out and throws it at Derek. It's probably worrying that he's starting to think of it as Derek's shirt.
“Thanks,” Derek says when he's pulled the shirt on. It seems even tighter on him than it had been the first time he borrowed it. Stiles had thought Derek had put on more muscle after becoming the Alpha, now he has proof.
“Stiles Stilinski's One-Stop Surgery-and-Clothing Store is always open for late night visits from surly werewolves,” Stiles says, spreading his arms wide. He thinks he sees the corners of Derek's mouth twitch up and calls that a win.
“I mean it,” Derek says, holding his eyes.
“I know,” Stiles says, nodding at him.
Isaac returns as Derek moves towards the window. Stiles surprises himself by making a loud noise of disapproval. Derek turns raised eyebrows on him.
“Seriously?” Stiles says. “Going out the window when you could actually leave by the door for once?”
He leads them back downstairs and through the kitchen, no need to tempt the neighbours by letting them out the front door – they can easily jump the fence. Derek squeezes his shoulder again, hand lingering just the wrong side of awkward, before disappearing out the door. Isaac goes so far as to hug him, somewhere between a bro hug and the sort of hugs he's caught him giving Scott.
(Stiles is pretty sure that werewolves are tactile creatures in general, he's surprised it's taken this long for Scott to get some sweet werewolf hugging action.)
“I'm really glad you're with us,” Isaac says against Stiles hair, which confirms that he does have at least some idea of what's passed between Stiles and Derek. “Without Scott it's – I'm just glad he – I'm glad we at least have you.”
He wraps a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and Stiles feels some of the constant aching dissipate, enough that he thinks he should sleep pretty easily. Isaac smiles at him the way he normally smiles at Scott and Stiles finds himself returning it. He locks the door after Isaac and drags weary feet back up the stairs, he's suddenly exhausted.
He's about to be amazed that Derek managed to get no blood on his bed when he sees the pile of used towels in the basket in the bathroom. Stiles isn't used to consideration from Derek. It's a brave new world, apparently. He shoves them right to the bottom of the basket – he always does the laundry so he doesn't have to worry about his Dad finding them – before moving over to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth.
He collapses onto his bed after expending the last of his energy on changing. He's drifting towards sleep when his phone buzzes twice. Two messages:
Got him home safely. From Isaac.
thanks Derek, of course.
Stiles taps his phone against his chin before dropping it back onto his nightstand. He's too exhausted to figure this out right now. He makes a mental note to try in the morning.
He doesn't have a nightmare.