I've gotten trapped inside of hurt!Girl!Stiles fics recently and this wouldn't leave me alone so I decided to just get it out of my head while I'm writing the next chapter for Flinching.
Warnings: Heavy on the Self-Harm/ a looks-like-but-isn't suicide attempt/ general angstyness.
Derek uses his words in this one guys.
It was never supposed to be this way. Even after her mom died, and her dad kind of fell apart, Stiles was fairly sure she wasn't one of those people. The kind of people that use pain and blood in order to feel, in order to know that they're alive. Yet, here she is, at home with a switchblade on the bed in front of her and a lighter in her hand. She's not crying, that will come after there is a new bubbling burn-blister about an inch below her elbow with the others and too many cuts to count on her thighs, hips, upper-arms. There is a kind of cold swell in her stomach, pushing up through her throat and escaping in screams that are muffled by her fist pressed against her mouth.
Stiles can remember the exact date it started, almost two years ago now, when Erica had her ribs broken jumping in front of the Dhampir heading towards her. They hadn't healed as well as they should, shattered and splintering and Erica had spent two days laid up at the vets with Deaton watching over her. The guilt she felt because of being too weak to having dealt with it herself, because Erica got hurt because of her inability to follow direction and stay the fuck away from the fight was overwhelming. That night, after Derek had told her that Erica had four shattered ribs and six lacerations from the claws, Stiles had counted along her own ribs, screamed and hit at herself until they bruised and ached, she had scratched with her nails until she had marks on her skin that bled and stung. After that, the guilt felt a little less, the fight was a little more easier to process. After that, there was parts of her that could come forward and just be grateful that they were all still alive.
After that, it happened whenever someone got hurt protecting her, she matched their injuries as best she could in the numb panicked guilt that overtook her and then added some more for the damage she should have taken. The day that Isaac; the baby, the innocent, was returned after being kidnapped instead of her because she was ten minutes later than their arranged 'get coffee and bitch about people' date, Stiles grabbed the Stanley knife that was on the edge of her desk from last week's art project and took it to the area on her wrists where the rope marks made by wolfsbane rope had lingered on Isaac's skin. It was deep, painful, and Stiles bled under the water of her shower until she was dizzy and sick and finally peaceful again. After that, the lighter was introduced because Boyd got electrocuted by some crazy-ass hunter every time she answered a question wrong. The one's after that all blend together, a mixture of pain of all the pack, her family and the people she loved. And then, it was whenever the numb cold burn built up too much, to relieve the ache of that guilt.
Two years later, and here she was. The third night this week, holding the knife against her thigh over not-healed marks and praying for the strength to both pull away and to press harder. She's distracted by thoughts of pack, and of weakness. She wonders why they don't smell it on her, don't know by now, and the distraction is enough that she isn't brought back until there is blood and blood and more blood and it's too deep. There is a moment of horrendous panic but the energy is leaving quickly and there is only the focus of red warm liquid and searing pain, the knife still pressed too deep like she's afraid to pull it out.
The pain is too much and not enough but feeling is fading until it's black, weak, and then it's gone.
The dark fades to purples and red explosions as light breaks through. She doesn't want to open her eyes, but there is the sound of breathing, beeping and a faint drip somewhere that is breaking through her much desired blankness. The next thing to break through is touch, there is a pinch in the back of her hand, a hand on her forearm, sticky pads and wires against her chest and a tightness around her thigh that makes her want to itch. Stiles wants to twitch, move around to figure out what's going on but there is no energy lingering in her muscles to do more than twitch her fingers and blink her eyes open against the harsh lights of what is now obviously a hospital room.
"Stiles?" Her father. His fingers tightened around her arm and she made the effort to turn her head and look at him. She wanted to cry for him, eyes red, drooping with exhaustion and bloodshot like he'd been crying.
"Dad?" Stiles choked out. "Wh-what happened?" Her father clenched his eyes tightly, breathing in deeply and she could see tears clinging to his eyes lashes.
"You don't remember?" She shakes her head weakly as her father frowns.
"I don't know why... but i came home and checked on you, and you were-" He takes a deep breath, blinking away tears gladly. "You were unconscious, and bleeding so much, with this knife- god, Stiles, it was still stuck in your leg." Faintly she can recall losing herself in thoughts and only coming back when the sting of pain and blood registered. She recalls looking down and knowing she'd gone too far this time, that it was too deep and too much, and not caring.
"What the hell were you thinking, Gen?" Her father whispers, pulling her hand up and resting his forehead against her knuckles below the IV.
"I'm sorry daddy." Stiles gasps back, trying not to cry herself. This is more painful than anything she could have caused herself, watching her dad breakdown at her side, feeling the hot wetness of his tears on her fingers. He turns his head so that his cheek is resting on her fingers and he's looking at her with such sadness.
"Were you trying to- did you want to-" Another deep breath is sucked in. "Were you trying to die, Genevieve?"
"Dad-" Stiles whispers, desperate to pull away from him and push herself into his safe embrace at the same time.
"I'm not angry, sweetheart." Her father reassures her. "I'm not, just confused. I just want to know, if things had gotten so bad that you were trying to end your own life." Stiles shakes her head.
"I wasn't. I just think... maybe i didn't care. It wasn't my intention to cause so much... m'sorry. Sorry dad. I'm really sorry." The tears she's been pushing away break free, spilling in salty-wet lines along her cheekbones. His hand raises to brush them away, before he stands and presses a kiss to her forehead and leaving his mouth there as he talks against her clammy skin.
"That's good, honey. I know, maybe you don't want to talk to me about it. I understand, okay? But someone is going to come and talk to you later, and i want you to be honest. I want you to be honest so they can help you. I love you, and i just want you to be okay." Stiles nods, because it's what he wants from her and she can't bare to make him any more unhappy. It's a lie though, because she can't tell the truth, if anything was more likely to get her thrown into some mental asylum then it would be admitting she hurts herself because werewolves protect her and it makes her feel guilty.
"Okay." He breathes out against her, pulling away with a fragile smile. "Your friends have been outside since they found out, do you want to see anyone?"
Stiles wonders faintly who is out there, whether Derek is sitting worrying in the waiting room, if Scott is crying and Isaac is pacing and she can't bare to see the pain she's caused them either.
"Send them home." Stiles whispers, turning onto her side and shutting her eyes tightly. "I'm tired." Her dad must nod or something, because the next minute the door opens and shuts, there is the sound of him talking to people outside of her room, and then he's back and she's falling asleep with his reassuring hand back on her arm.
A hospital councillor comes to see her the next afternoon, and he seems like a nice enough guy but he's wishy-washy and it's not like she can tell him the truth. She feeds him some line about school being difficult and ADHD being hard to deal with, about how she's not over her mom's death and that the murders she has witnessed leave her with nightmares. There is truth and lie mixed all together that she's not exactly sure herself which is which, but he believes her and her reassurances that she was not in fact trying to kill herself, but just lost control of herself. He hums a lot, gives her sympathetic smiles, asks worthless questions like 'do you want to tell me about the other ones?', 'how long have you felt like hurting yourself?', 'do you want to die?', 'and how does that make you feel?' and 'do you think that's the main reason for the self-destructive behaviour?' She gives answers that he knows will make him relieved, smiles a little when he reassures her she isn't the only one going through this. Eventually, when she's exhausted again, he finally tells her he will agree to her discharge with her ER doctor and arrange weekly appointments with her soon.
It's such a relief when he leaves and her father and doctor take his place ten minutes later with fake too-bright smiles and a discharge form.
"We'll get a nurse in to change those dressings and take your IV out, and then you're all set to go." Doctor Anderson tells her. "Now, you're going to be weak from the blood loss for the next couple of days, and we'll give you dressings for your leg. I want you back in two weeks to take those stitches out and Dean will arrange your therapy appointments with you, okay?" Stiles watches as her dad places a bag of clothes down on the chair beside her bed and smiles politely at the doctor. He returns it, signs the bottom of the form and leaves to get a nurse.
"I'm going to go sign the insurance forms while the nurse see's you and you get changed, alright?" Her dad asks, running a hand through her hair.
"Okay." She whispers back as the nurse comes in with another too-bright smile and a trolley of items.
Home was strained. Her dad had obviously scrubbed at any marks from blood on the floor, if the bleach stains were anything to go by, and there was a new mattress and bedding for her bed. It was kind of horrifying, knowing she had bled out enough to soak into her mattress. He hovered once she was tucked away in her bed, offering food, drink, probably a shoulder to cry on if she had needed it. Thankfully, he wasn't the type to stick around long after she made it clear that he didn't need to, disappearing downstairs and probably into the bottom of a bottle. After that, with the weakness and the pain pills, Stiles fell asleep again.
When she woke up, it was to a silent house and the feel of someone watching her. Turning over, letting the light from the corner of her room rouse her from the drugged sleep properly, she could see a blank-faced Derek sitting on the floor with his elbows on his knees just underneath her window. He was just watching her, observing with piercing eyes and an unwavering expression, and she just stared back. What was she supposed to say to him? Did he even want her to?
"Why?" Derek's voice broke through her thoughts, his voice empty and cold like that first day in the woods all those years ago. It was difficult now to think she had only met him three years ago, and hadn't known him a lifetime. Somewhere between him becoming more relaxed, and the pack pulling their shit together, she had found a semblance of happiness with him, on stakeout and movie nights and pack barbeques at the new house in the woods.
"Because it was fair." Stiles replies, wary as Derek stands and moves towards her. All he does though, is move to kneel beside her bed, his hands reach out and push away the bangs framing her face, let his warm palms encase her cheeks.
"I don't understand what you mean, how could this be fair? Stiles, you almost died!" He hisses at her, voice full of frustration and an emotion she can't quite identify. Gently, Stiles places her hands over his on her face, entwining their fingers together across her.
"I am weak." Derek goes to interrupt but she cuts him off. "It's true, i'm human. Breakable, fragile, weak. A burden, Derek. You and the pack keep taking injuries meant for me, Isaac was kidnapped in my place because i was late, and Boyd was electrocuted because I wouldn't give a straight answer. You and Erica were almost killed by that Dhampir bite when you got in the way of its teeth for me. You're always getting hurt when it should be me, and that guilt eats away at me. Like it presses on my chest and makes it impossible to feel anything else, to breathe, until i am in pain too, until i know that i can bleed and i'm alive because you keep putting your lives on the line for me. Even if i'm not worth it." Stiles breathes out the last part, refusing to look at him. A noise she didn't even think was possible escaping from Derek, somewhere between a whine and a sob as he closes his eyes, leans forward until they're touching forehead-to-forehead.
"You idiot." He hisses out, making Stiles eyes snap to his, so much closer than they were before.
"What?"
"You're such a fool, Stiles. We're probably as much to blame, we never told you, but you've been so obtuse about this. Christ. We do the things we do, we keep you safe, because you're the only thing that's worth it."
"Derek-"
He rises up higher on his knees, looming over her a little so that she has to look up to him even if they didn't both still have hold of her face.
"No, listen." He demands. "You're human, and yes you're fragile, but it's not a burden. It's the only thing that keeps us human half of the time. You're our link to what humanity, not interrupted by animal, is like. You're the one thing that we always agree on, the one thing we work together for besides wolf-bond and territory, just you. The beta's, they protect you like you're a ma- a leader. They protect you like you're an Alpha Female. We heal, and you don't, and we can't stand to see you in pain, Stiles. It's not out of obligation, it's not selfless to keep you safe for your own sake. It's selfish. We keep you safe, alive and well because none of us know what we'd do if you were gone, Stiles." He's breathing fast and shallow, and his eyes are glassy in a way they only get when he talks about his family.
"You almost undid all of our lives when you did what you did. All of the times you did it, and we should have noticed and i'm sorry. But, fuck. You almost took yourself from us Stiles. You almost went away and i don't know what we would have done."
"M'sorry." Stiles whimpers out, turning her face and nuzzling into one of Derek's palms. "I didn't know, i'm so sorry."
"Shh." Derek sooths, brushing away tears she didn't even know had fallen. "Shh, it's okay now. You're still here, just please. God, please, don't scare us like that again. Tell me you'll stop this, please." Stiles shudders, blinks fast and tries to work past the fear of letting go of this mechanism.
"I don't- don't know if i can. I'll try though, i might need help." She adds sheepishly. "But i'll try, i promise."
"We'll help you." His forehead is pressed against hers again. "We'll be anything you need, just please." Derek lets out the awful half-sob-half-whine again. "Please don't go away."
Stiles doesn't know what to say but a moment later there is no way she could say anything anyway. Derek's mouth slants over hers desperately, and it takes a moment to register, but Derek Hale is kissing her like it's the first time he's ever touched her and the last time he ever will. Pressing hot and wet and frantic against her mouth until she responds, yielding beneath him, whimpering against him until he pulls back and they're both panting into each other's mouth's as they try to regain equilibrium. They don't say anything else, but finally Derek stands, shrugs off his jacket, jeans and shirt before climbing in beside her and pulling her as close as he can without jostling her healing leg. There is a moment of hesitation on her side before she buries her head into the crook between his shoulder and neck and he drops a kiss on the crown of her head.
"Derek-" Stiles tries sleepily, letting his warmth soak through into that cold, numb burn that takes up residence in her stomach.
"Sleep, Genevieve." He tells her quietly, arms wrapping around her securely. "We can talk in the morning if you want, but get some sleep now. It's okay."
"You'll stay?" She asks, on the verge of falling into the blissful dark of sleep.
"Of course." Derek whispers back.
Her dad must come in at some point during the night, but Stiles doesn't hear it, and clearly he appears to have no issue with it, because Derek is still there against her in the morning. He smiles at her gently, tells her that her dad called them down to breakfast ten minutes ago and she doesn't even question it. Lets it happen, because Derek told her he'd be everything she needed.
Maybe, one day soon, they'll tell her dad about werewolves and why Stiles almost broke everyone she loves, and the guilt will still eat away at her. There will be days when she locks everyone out, but Derek will crawl through her window or follow her out to the preserve and prise the lighter or the blade out of her hand and let her scream, sob, hit until the urge is repressed if not gone.
It won't be perfect, but they'll work at it, because this is the first morning she's woken up and known that maybe being human, being the weak one, isn't a bad thing. Letting people take care of you when they're stronger than you are is self-preservation, not weakness. And yeah, she'll still feel guilty about it, but maybe one day she'll channel that into making whoever is injured their favourite cookies and watching moves with them until all the pain meant for her is gone. Derek will be there on the nights when it's hardest and the pack will always be hers, and his, and theirs. And it will get better.