So far, this is only written as a one-shot where Derek realizes his feelings for Stiles and helps him through another difficult night after Allison is killed. This is my first Fanfiction ever so I am a little nervous to post it. Leave me some reviews and let me know what you think! I might continue this into a full-on story if it gets decent feedback. Thank you all so much! Of course, I own nothing Teen Wolf and am eternally grateful for the creators of the show!
Thank you all!
XOXO - Ryan
"See?" Scott looked at me with his eyebrows heavy over his eyes, knit together in the middle in concern. His eyes were expectant, waiting for my expression to melt from its usual hardness into concern for Stiles. I looked back in through the window, partially to look more closely at the boy laying in the web of blankets and sheets, but also partially to get Scott's gaze off of me. Stiles did look thinner. His cheeks, so high and slender already, seemed gaunt, the skin pulled even more tightly along the frame of his bones. Even though his eyes were open, I didn't worry about him seeing Scott and I. It was pitch black outside and the lamp that sat on his desk illuminated the room enough that I was sure that even if he focused on the window, he'd see nothing but a reflection of his room, not that him focusing seemed to even be a concern right now. His eyes, bloodshot, swollen, and rimmed red, stared through the floor at something entirely somewhere else. I repressed the shiver that travelled up my spine upon looking at those usually lively eyes looking so blank that they almost seemed to be dead. Honestly, if it wasn't for the shallow movement of his ribcage, a rhythmic rising and lowering, I might be convinced that he was dead. He sure looked the part. Even his skin had a dull, grey appearance as opposed to the smooth, bright ivory that it usually was. I briefly thought about the antique sink that still sat in my parent's bathroom, once gleaming porcelain, now covered in a thin layer of dust, grime, and ash, masking the life that it once had.
That had been one of the hardest things to look at after returning to Beacon Hills and seeing the remains of my home. I looked into my mother's old bathroom only once, seeing it mostly intact. That was one room of the house that I kept shut. The memories that I had in that room, my mom letting my sister and I play in her big, claw-footed bathtub, washing pebbles in that antique sink, sitting on the fluffy rug while my mother braided my sister's hair. All of those memories had rushed back to me upon seeing the remains of that room. I haven't opened the door since. The rest of the house was easy enough to live in, mostly because it no longer looked like the home that I once knew.
I shook my head when I realized that the familiar constricting of my throat was back, threatening to spring tears into my eyes. I hardened my expression again before looking back to Scott.
"He looks tired. It's two in the morning and he's awake. That'll make anyone's face look tired." I said, not allowing any emotion to leech into my voice.
"Bullshit. You know that this is more than that." Scott had a fire in his eyes that blazed brightly, even in the darkness.
"This isn't our business, Scott." My voice came out harshly. I watched as Scott flinched, his eyes narrowing into a glare and protective glint coming into his expression. When he opened his mouth to say something, argue probably, I continued.
"He doesn't want us around and if this is how he needs to cope, then let him cope. His dad is here, he can take care of Stiles. We need to let things be." I let my voice soften a little, trying to convince to Scott to let things with Stiles ride out as they will. I needed Scott focused and I needed Stiles to get better and interfering wouldn't help.
I surprised myself at that thought. Did I really need Stiles to get better? A month ago, I didn't care whether Stiles came with us or stayed home or lived or died. Stiles was just an attachment on Scott, a tumor that came with the new wolf. But now, I was standing outside of his window, worrying more than I'd ever admit to anyone. I couldn't understand the protective instinct that was gripping me as I perched outside this frail human's room. Frankly, it bothered me that Scott was here at all. I felt some sort of claim over Stiles, even though Scott was his best friend and had known him so much longer than me. It felt like my responsibility to be here, not Scott's. Maybe it was because I considered Stiles to be part of the pack and it was my job to ensure the safety and well-being of each member, and at the moment, Stiles was the one that was most in need of help. At least, that's what I'd convince myself.
"Derek, please. I can't just ignore this. He's my best friend. I can't just wait for him to get better, I need to help." Scott's expression melted into desperation and I needed to do something to ease this situation. I huffed out a long sigh, shooting a glance back towards Stiles, who hadn't moved even a fraction of an inch. He really did look dead.
"Fine. But we cannot interfere directly. He's been through so much and if he doesn't want to see anyone, then that's his choice. We can take turns checking on him, making sure that he's safe. But we will not interfere." I said, putting down authority into my words. Scott nodded slowly in response.
"I'll take first shift. You were out all night last night and frankly you look about as tired as Stiles." I realized that the care that I had for these two was coming to the surface, becoming apparent so I hardened my next words. "Go home and sleep. I need you running at top performance. I can't have any more weak links in the pack. Stiles is bad enough." There was more acid in my voice that I intended but I held my ground.
Scott just nodded again, looking back through the window for a long moment before returning his gaze to me. He clenched his jaw and turned his back, leaping easily off of the eave and into the closest tree, swinging down from a branch to the ground silently. I waited until I couldn't hear his retreating footsteps any longer before returning to Stiles. I just watched him for what was probably another hour before I saw his eyes drift closed as he pulled his fist closer to his face, snuggling into his position more deeply. His breathing slowed and finally, I could see that he was sleeping. It was a relief to see him sleeping, knowing that hopefully, the purple circles beneath his bloodshot eyes would be eased in the morning. I kept my eyes on him, focusing on his breathing to keep my mind from wandering.
It was only about 15 minutes or so until his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turned down in a frown. I felt my face mimic the motion, starting to feel concerned that he didn't seem to be sleeping soundly. I figured that this was why he looked so tired. He probably wasn't sleeping well when he was finally able to sleep. I continued to watch as his face twisted from emotion to emotion, sadness, anger, worry. His body twitched slightly, his fist trembling next to his face, his leg kicking back slightly.
This continued for a few minutes before the sleep-talking began.
"No," he whispered pitifully, "Please." I saw a tear break down his cheek and I leaned closer, beginning to really worry. This was looking bad. I imagined him doing this every night and my heart felt heavy. Now that Scott was gone, I didn't have to hold up the tough façade that I worked so hard to keep firmly in place in front of everyone that I knew and I let my heart hurt for Stiles.
"Wait!" Scott said, louder this time. His arm shot out towards the edge of the bed, reaching for something that wasn't there. His voice was hoarse as he continued begging, "Don't go. Please. Don't go. Please. Please. Please." He kept repeating himself, his voice growing quieter and more desperate. The tears continued down his face. I clenched my fists. This was hard to watch.
Suddenly, Stiles pulled all of his limbs in as close to his body as possible, his arms shooting up to cover his head. Through the spaces, I could see a look of agony spread over his face as his back arched backwards, distorting his thin frame. He threw his body over to his back and started talking again.
"Don't do it. Please. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." A sob racked his body as he let the last words fall from his lips. The sob faded out and then Stiles gasped, bolting up in bed before letting out an earsplitting scream as he wrapped his arms around his chest, his eyes squeezed closed tightly as he pitched forward in pain.
I was in through the window and crossing the room to his bed before the scream was even over. His eyes shot open and he looked around his room frantically, tears still gushing from his eyes as his breath came in ragged gasps before his eyes settled on me. He jumped in surprise, his eyes wide and confused. Clearly his nerves were shot. I held up my hands innocently, crossing the rest of the room slowly towards Stiles. Suddenly I heard another door open and close and footsteps began to move down the hall. His dad was coming to check on him and Stiles and I both looked at the door. I quickly said, "I won't be far," before flashing into the closet, tucking myself back behind the door. I peeked out, seeing that Stiles was looking around with panic on his face and I suddenly felt guilty for disappearing so quickly. I didn't have much time to feel guilty before his dad opened his bedroom door. I tucked my head back behind the door and listened to his dad quickly cross the room to Stiles' bed.
"Shhhh. Its okay, son. It was just another nightmare." Stiles' dad's voice was muffled by all of the clothes hanging in front of me. There was no response from Stiles but I could hear the springs of his bed creak as his dad sat down. It was quiet for a long moment before I heard his dad speak again.
"Try to get some more rest. Things will get easier with time, Stiles, I promise. I love you so much." I could feel the tenderness coming off of Sheriff Stilinski in waves. The love that he felt was almost palpable in the small room. My heart felt heavy again, sinking further into my chest. During the last moments of silence before Mr. Stilinski moved to the door, I let the pain that I repressed all day long take me for just a moment, biting my lip and clenching my fists, picturing Stiles screaming himself awake. Watching that was so much more painful than I was expecting. When I came to Stiles' house, I wasn't even aware that I actually cared for the kid. Now I was feeling actual pain for whatever it was that he was going through. I felt such a strong urge to protect and comfort Stiles that it made me uncomfortable. I convinced myself that it was because his struggle reminded me so much of what I went through after my family was killed in the fire, but deep down I felt like that was a lie. I wasn't going to allow myself to dwell on it though.
After hearing the door to Stiles' room close, I slowly crept out from the closet, crossing the room slowly so as not to scare Stiles again. His head was down on his knees, which were curled tightly to his chest and his arms covered his head. I could see his body trembling slightly.
"Stiles?" I called quietly, trying to make my voice soft.
He looked up at me, eyes red from tears and then he hid his face again. "What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice breathless.
"We've all been worried about you so I came to check on you." I said simply.
He scoffed then, laying back down on his side, facing away from me before saying, "What do you care?"
I froze then, realizing that I didn't know how to respond to that. My heart started beating faster, which didn't happen very often, not unless I was angry. I hesitated a moment before I moved to sit at the edge of Stiles' bed, one knee up so I could face him. "You're part of my pack, Stiles. You are one of us and I care about you just as much as the others. You guys are my family now and I care about you just as much as I did for my true family." I was surprised by the honesty that was coming out of my mouth. I was trying to let down my walls a little in order to comfort Stiles, but at the slightest bit of weakness, my floodgates just seemed to open, which really scared me.
Stiles turned over slowly and I wished that he wouldn't. I was afraid to see his face, afraid to see my weakness reflected back in his reaction. The only word that I could think of for his expression was vulnerable. He suddenly looked so small and childlike to me. So…breakable. I quit fighting to keep my walls up and I let them lower for Stiles' sake. I knew that if I didn't, I'd be too harsh and I'd hurt him even more. I pulled in a shaky breath and clenched my hand in a fist, frustrated that I was having such a hard time with this, with Stiles' eyes on me. I could tell that he was waiting for me to continue but I didn't.
"Are you okay?" I asked, looking at him with concern. He closed his eyes as he nodded and he pulled himself up to sit with his arms wrapped around his legs, pulling himself into a ball. I felt a tingle through my arms, an urge to reach out and pick him up and I clenched my jaw. What was I thinking? What was happening to me? I kept my hands grasped firmly on my knee so I didn't unconsciously reach out to stroke the unreal looking skin at his tender cheeks or run a thumb along the bony jawline. I growled at myself internally for even thinking that.
"You don't look okay." I said dumbly, not knowing what else to say to pull him from the dark place that he had sank into.
Stiles turned his head to look at me, keeping his cheek rested against his arm and gave me a half-hearted smile that never reached his eyes. "I'm trying to be okay." He said slowly, testing the words as if they were the first that he'd spoken in days. I guessed that they actually weren't far off.
"Let us help you." I asked, feeling embarrassed at how pitiful my voice sounded when I spoke.
"No, I've put all of you through enough. I can handle this." He said firmly, his voice taking on more confidence, but I knew it was an act. There was no way in hell that a boy who wakes up from nightmares that violently is handling things okay himself. His assurance angered me, setting in my determination to help him that much more firmly and if he wasn't going to ask for help, I was going to give it to him anyway.
"When was the last time you ate?" I asked, once again eyeing his sunken sockets and dimly hollow cheeks. I let my eyes travel obviously down his shoulders, just now registering the fact that he was shirtless. His shoulders looked bony rather than neatly muscled like I was used to. He had been thin, always, but toned. A fine layer of muscle coating his frame. But those muscles looked smaller, almost non-existent at the protrusion of his collarbones and at the points of bone against the skin, his elbows, his wrists. He watched me as my eyes reached his side, where I felt my heart break for him. The ribs under the surface of the skin were easily visible, as were the sharp points of his hipbones.
"I ate dinner tonight." He spoke in a rush, answering my question too late. I knew he was lying. I brought my eyes back to his and narrowed my gaze, giving him a skeptical expression.
"I did! I ate with my dad. I do every night." Stiles said defensively.
"How much did you eat?" I asked, trying to draw the truth from him. There was no way that he got this thin this fast if he was still eating regularly.
"Some." He answered after a hesitation, revising his answer afterwards though, "Enough."
"By whose standards? If you're eating 'enough' then why are you nothing but bone?" I asked, feeling the roughness return to my voice, instantly regretting it when he turned his body to face me so that way all I had a good view of was the front of his sweatpant-clad legs that covered up his chest.
There was a long pause before he met my eyes again. He looked down at his hands before speaking, "I've been having trouble… keeping it down."
That surprised me. I never would have thought that Stiles would be the bulimic-type, even if he is as depressed as this. I thought back to the times that I'd seen him eat, scarfing down more food than I could imagine even fitting into his slender frame. He would eat quickly and he'd anything that he could get his hands on and when he wasn't eating, he was always complaining about being hungry. This was so unlike him that I almost couldn't see this frail boy in front of me as the Stiles that I had grown to know, so full of life and sarcasm.
"Stiles…" I began, but couldn't think of what to put after that.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I finally asked, deciding that it worked as well as anything else that I could ask.
His eyes met mine again and there were tears brimming his lashes. "At first I just didn't eat at all. I couldn't move, let alone sleep or even eat. Then when I did start eating again, I honestly couldn't keep it down. My body just rejected everything. Then, I realized that the hunger-pains felt better than the guilt that came after eating so I kept getting rid of it. But I had to eat for my dad's sake." He said in a rush, seeming relieved to tell someone. When I just looked at him without responding, he continued.
"I think my dad believes that I'm getting better, but I think I'm just getting better at acting." He admitted, his shoulder drooping and his body going slacked.
"Why would eating make you feel guilty, Stiles?" I asked, trying to keep my expression neutral.
He shrugged, "Allison will never get to eat again because of me, why would I deserve to eat?"
It suddenly clicked. Stiles felt responsible for Allison's death. Without thinking I reached over to Stiles and wrapped my hands around both of his biceps, pulling him forward so he fell onto his knees and I wrapped my arms around his small body. I felt him stiffen at the unexpected contact but slowly begin to relax into me.
"Stiles, that was not your fault. You can't blame yourself for what that monster did. There was nothing that you could've done and I know that it is difficult to accept, but you have to if you want to move on. Trust me, it took me a long time to figure that out. I don't want you to suffer like I did. You need to let it go. It's all over and you need to move past this. We all do. We will get through this. I'll help you get through this." I felt the sincerity of my words as they fell out of my mouth without permission. I clamped my mouth shut after my last sentence, feeling a mixture or embarrassment and fear for letting that slip out. I wondered briefly what Stiles' face would show if I could see it.
After a moment, Stiles shifted forward more and moved his hands up under the circle that my arms made around him. I released my grip on him, thinking that he was going to push me away, but instead, his arms snaked around my neck and he pressed his face against the skin under my ear. My breath caught in my throat at the motion and I wrapped my arms back around his midsection tightly. I felt my heart pound as I realized that I liked the way that holding onto him like this felt. I got way too much pleasure out of this and I felt fear creep up the back of my neck. I had been repressing the feelings that I had for Stiles, not even allowing myself to truly feel them until this moment. The careful gates that I had put up around my emotions came toppling down and I felt them wash over me, sending goosebumps all the way down my arms. The love that I had for Stiles hit me like a truck, striking down my carefully arranged bad-boy image and I felt tears spring to my eyes.
After a few moments, I managed to gather myself together enough to move, I stroked Stiles' back gently, up and down from his shoulder blades to the middle of his back, where my other arm was clutching his body against mine, all while thinking of what I was going to do about my newly discovered feelings for Stiles. Fear, doubt, and nervousness were not emotions that I felt often, but I felt all of them at once, a cadence of worry drumming through my fast-paced heart.
I felt moisture on my neck and it took me a moment to realize that Stiles was crying again. I slid the hand that was stroking his back up to cradle the back of his head and I pulled him closer, wondering how far this could go before it freaked him out, worrying that even this simple gesture was too intimate. He just gripped my neck tighter and relaxed his body a little more. After a moment, I realized that he must be uncomfortable, balancing on his knees, leaning forward at an angle that would be difficult to maintain if I wasn't holding him up. I considered what move I could make that would make him more comfortable without being too forward. I didn't want to do something that would make him pull away. I wasn't willing to let this human boy go yet. Before I had a chance to decide though, I felt his face pull away from my neck, leaving a cool sting when the air hit the spot where his hot tears and been, pressed between his skin and mine. He sat back onto his heels, closer to me now than he had been before I had embraced him, just a few inches from me. I was hyper-aware of the buzzing air that flowed between us, the gap seeming too large.
Without thinking, I moved my hand up to his face and used my fingertips the brush the tears from his cheek, wincing internally as I felt the bone of his cheek too close to the surface. He looked up at me, his eyes curious. My hand froze where it was, realizing that this must have been the limit. I had crossed a line.
Stiles spoke first, "Why are you being so nice to me?" His question seemed simple enough but the answer was far too complicated. I let my hand fall from his skin and I looked down at the small section of bed that I could see between us, thinking over my answer. What do I say? Because I'm completely in love you with you, Stiles. Because you're suddenly more important to me than anyone else in the pack. Than anyone else in the world. Not only did I not know if he felt the same way about me (which I'm sure he didn't. He hated me.) but I didn't even know if he was gay (which I'm sure he wasn't. He's had a crush on Lydia since the third grade.) No, I couldn't say anything. I suddenly felt my cheeks blaze bright red with a furious blush, growing more embarrassed at my reaction, making the flush creep up my ears. I was suddenly so nervous, so afraid to meet his eyes that I couldn't tear them away from the bed.
"You're blushing?!" He asked suddenly, his voice disbelieving. There was more energy in this question than in anything that I'd heard him say since the night that Allison died. Of course it had to be my stupid feelings that shocked him out of his stupor. I didn't know what to do, so I put the careful mask that I had perfected back in place and got up from the bed suddenly, walking swiftly to the window, standing near the opening breathing in the cold air, facing away from Stiles before answering.
"You're part of the pack. It's my responsibility to make sure you're okay." Good enough.
"Bullshit." He said. I spun around, incredulous at his blatant rejection of my explanation. I didn't think Stiles still had this edge in him.
"Your responsibility is to keep us safe. I'm safe. Now what?" He said, his voice harsh. I flinched unconsciously at his words, completely at a loss.
I turned back towards the window, needing to get some air and clear my head to think of a better excuse. I hated the panic that was setting into my throat.
"Wait!" Stiles exclaimed then, "please don't go. I'm sorry." His voice was quiet and pitiful again. I remembered the words that he had mumbled during his nightmare and how they matched his right now. The look of agony that he had on his face after that part of his dream flashed in my mind and I turned around to check that I hadn't caused that same look to cross his face again. He was biting his lip and his eyes were watering again. I felt my stomach flip in my abdomen, butterflies fluttering against my insides at the sight of his full lip pulled beneath his teeth.
Stiles clenched the bottom of his sweatpants in his fist, biting down on his lip harder. This pulled me from my stupor and I stepped forward, stooping down to kneel in front of him.
"I won't go anywhere if you don't want me to. I'll stay as long as you need me to." I looked up at him, willing him to meet my eyes.
"I'm sorry. I don't need you, you don't need to stay. But I want you to. I'm selfish, I'm sorry." He mumbled, never meeting my eyes.
I grabbed his ankles and pulled them off the edge of the bed, letting them flop to the floor. Stiles caught himself before he got pitched too far forward and he finally met my eyes, this time with confusion in them.
"Stop that. I'm here as long as you WANT me. And not because I need to be. I want to be here, too." I said, firmly at first, but my voice softened by the end. His eyes finally met mine. And he took a long, unsteady breath.
"This has got to be a dream." He sighed.
I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. I let it out easily before relaxing into a sigh. "Why would you think that?" I asked.
Stiles fiddled, clearly nervous. Now it was my turn to be curious, but I would be patient for the poor boy's sake. He's had a rough night already.
"In my dreams, you're always there, no matter where I am in the dream. You're always there but you never help me. Even if I'm being killed you always turn to walk away until I beg you to stay. Then you do, but you always just watch things happen. Whether nothing happens or my whole world ends, you watch." Stiles said.
"Well that's exactly why this can't be a dream." I said softly.
"Why?" Stiles asked, his eyes meeting mine again. I felt my heart melt a little.
"Because unlike your dreams I'm here to help you." I said.
I couldn't read the expression on his face after my statement, but it stirred the butterflies in my stomach.
"Now sleepyhead, you need to get some rest." I stated, his eyes widening in panic slightly before I quickly added, "Don't worry, I won't go anywhere. I'll stay with you all night." At this he smiled weakly and nodded, "okay."
He scooted himself back up to the pillows and laid down on his side, facing the side that I was going to be sleeping on for the night, which excited me. He wanted to face me and my stomach thrilled at the thought. I moved hesitantly, hating how I was overthinking every single move that I made. I laid down on the pillow beside him on my back, tucking one arm behind my head and laying the other on my chest, trying to appear casual. Stiles pulled his blanket up and closed his eyes with a sigh. I turned my head to look at him and smiled softly, glad that his eyes were closed and he couldn't see my moment of weakness, although I had a feeling that I'd be having a lot of them from now on. After returning my gaze to the ceiling, I felt a touch at my side and I flinched unconsciously, purely out of surprise. My nerves were on end to night too.
"Sorry," Stiles murmured, opening his eyes, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, "I think that if I… touch you… while I sleep. I think it might keep me more grounded. Maybe it'll help the nightmares." He seemed to be struggling with the words. I smiled and let him know that it was okay, and I moved the hand that laid on my chest to his, taking it up in mine and reveling in the feeling of his long fingers wrapping through mine. He closed his eyes again and I could tell he was repressing a smile. That put a grin on my face, something that felt foreign to me. I fell asleep with my hand entwined with Stiles' and a warmth in my heart that hadn't been there in years.