No One Hears You Shout
By
GhostlyWhiteDirewolf
This was written at 2am, my muse is irritatingly nocturnal.
Is is based on the prompt fill: Derek is injured by another Alpha/other supernatural being and isn't healing. Stiles patches him up and lets him stay.
Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.
When Derek reached Stiles' house, he wasn't sure that the teenager would still be at home, but he knew that he couldn't afford to lose much more blood without passing out. Passing out in the open of the preserve isn't an option; he isn't sure how far behind him the other alpha is, if the alpha had managed to get up at all.
Dragging himself up the steps to Stiles' front door is a long process, blood seeping from the wounds across his torso that aren't healing. He can see the blood dripping down onto the white paint of the porch and cringes; he's left the perfect trail for the alpha to follow, leading him straight to Derek and Stiles.
He leaned against the arch of the door, unable to support himself, but he not wanting to pitch forward the second Stiles opens the door, his eyelids fluttering in an attempt to stay conscious as he heard Stiles' footsteps on the stairs, hears him stumble slightly in his hurry to answer the door.
The teenager's eyes widened, his mouth opening as he gasped, "Derek!"
"Stiles," Derek groaned, "can I come in? Please."
"Jesus, yeah, Derek," Stiles let the door swing open behind him as he moved forward, clutching one of Derek's arms as the werewolf staggered in his haste to be inside.
"I'm sorry, an alpha," Derek coughed slightly, wincing as Stiles unwittingly pressed against one of the wounds. "He came out of nowhere. I managed to kill his beta, but he just tore me apart. I don't know if I killed him."
"C'mon, let's get you upstairs and I can see the damage," Stiles mumbled, his eyes raking over Derek's body in a way that would usually turn him on, but now, the horror in his eyes made Derek want to reach for him in a completely different way.
Derek could only imagine what he looked like, skin hanging off his body, his once white t-shirt sticky with blood and stuck to his body, full of gaping holes and not hiding any of the damage inflicted upon him.
Their progress up the stairs was slow and painful, Stiles half dragging Derek, who was quickly becoming a dead weight, leaning against him as his head lolled to one side, the effort to keep his eyes open too much.
"Don't you dare collapse on me; I can't lift you by myself." Stiles warned him, pushing him through the bathroom door and then lowering him gently into the bath tub.
Stiles grimaced as he heard the low hiss that escaped the werewolf's lips. He had seen Derek take beatings without so much as a whimper, for him to visibly showing the pain only emphasised how serious his injuries were. Derek watched through unfocused eyes as Stiles turned towards a chest of drawers in the corner, pulling out a medical kit and a pair of scissors.
"Damn, I liked this shirt," Stiles pulled a face as he knelt beside the bath, gently pulling Derek's shirt away from his chest and beginning to cut it to reveal the marred skin underneath, mumbling rushed apologies whenever Derek flinched.
"Fuck, Derek," Stiles gasped, finally taking in the extent of the damage. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Your legs?"
Derek shook his head, his chest moving too rapidly from his laboured breathing, his voice low and pained when he spoke, "I don't know."
Stiles nodded, "okay Der. It's okay, I'm just going to get your jeans off and take a look."
Derek nodded, moving his head to look at Stiles as he pulled off the werewolf's boots before moving to unbutton his jeans. He lifted his hips slightly to help Stiles drag his wet jeans off his legs.
"Your legs are ok, it looks like your chest took the brunt of the attack." Stiles told Derek, leaning across him to grab the shower head dangling from a hook. "I need to clean the blood off before I can see the damage. There's too much blood. Are you not healing because he was an alpha? Oh god, you're not going to die right?"
Stiles saw Derek's lips quirk slightly despite his apparent agony, "sorry, you know how much I hate blood. It's that or puke."
"Just do it," Derek muttered, reaching for Stiles' wrist and squeezing it gently, "get it over with."
Stiles nodded, turning the water onto a low temperature and letting it run over Derek's chest, cringing himself when the werewolf gritted his teeth, Derek's fists clenching with the effort of stopping himself from curling inwards in an attempt to ease the agony.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Der," Stiles repeated, running one hand over Derek's chest to try and dislodge the blood that had begun to dry without accidentally catching any of the wounds there.
Within thirty seconds the bath tub was filled with red water, but Stiles was starting to be able to see which wounds had stopped bleeding and begun to heal themselves and which were still potentially dangerous.
"I'm gonna disinfect them before I bandage you up, Der, I don't know how much use that will be with your healing, but I'm going to anyway because some of these look nasty and I'm pretty sure there's dirt in them. Can you get an infection?" Stiles frowned, "I guess not. But still. This is going to hurt, I'm sorry. Please don't like, rip my throat out or anything please?"
He reached for Derek's hand, pulling gently on it to get Derek's attention.
"You still with me?"
Derek's answering hum was weak, but it was there nonetheless.
Stiles grabbed a clean flannel and ran it under the showerhead before dumping anti-septic onto it, his apologies beginning to sound like a chant as he pressed the flannel to the worst of Derek's wounds.
"You're the worst boyfriend ever, do you know that," Stiles pursed his lips before continuing, figuring that his babbling might distract Derek from the pain a little. "You're hours late for pizza night and then you turn up covered in blood. Pretty inconsiderate if you ask me. I mean, almost getting killed is a pretty extreme way of getting out of date night."
"I'll think of a better excuse next time," Derek muttered.
"You'd better," Stiles forced a smile, "I won't accept it again."
"I'm sorry." Derek told him solemnly, lifting his hand up to trace Stiles' cheek with his thumb, smiling slightly when the teenager tilted his head, pressing his face into the werewolf's warm touch.
"You're going to be okay, right?" Stiles asked, bringing his own hand up to hold Derek's, pressing kisses into the older man's bloodied knuckles.
"I should be once the healing kicks in." Derek told him, flinching as Stiles continued to clean his cuts with his free hand.
"Deaton gave me some herbs that are good for healing; he said that they should work on werewolves. I could make you some tea with them if you wanted?" Stiles offered.
Derek grimaced, "I think I'll be okay. I remember the last herbal tea you and Deaton brewed for us, I know the pack will eat anything, but that was disgusting."
"Fine then, be in pain." Stiles said, tapping Derek's shoulder. "I need you to sit up so that I can do your back before I start bandaging you up."
Getting Derek into back into a sitting position was more difficult than Stiles had anticipated, despite starting to lose the previous deathly pale pallor, Derek was still in agony and unable to fully support himself and Stiles couldn't support him, despite having filled out over the months, Stiles was still scrawny and gangly compared to Derek's solid muscle. When Derek finally managed to sit himself up, he was out of breath and Stiles could see that the movement had aggravated his wounds, some of them beginning to bleed again.
"This is stupid," Stiles told him, beginning to clean the cuts on his back, which, luckily, were far more scarce than his chest. "Why does there have to be a catch like this with the healing?"
Derek lifted a shoulder slightly in response, looking down at his lap with a defeated expression.
Stiles worked quickly, sensing that whatever energy Derek had left was abandoning him and wanting to get him somewhere more comfortable before he crashed.
"C'mon, I need to get you out of there. I don't want the bandages to get wet before I've even got them on you." Stiles stood, offering Derek his hand, relieved when the wolf took it without question, using the teenager as anchorage to pull himself to his feet.
"Well done, I can do it in my room and then you're on a bed so that you can sleep." Stiles looked over Derek, relieved to see no blood gushing from anywhere, he was healing, slowly, his body probably working to replace the lost blood before it started on the external wounds.
He pulled Derek along the hallway before letting him slump down onto Stiles' bed, before pulling out gauze and medical tape.
"Your underwear is all wet and bloody." Stiles remarked gently, gesturing towards Derek's briefs.
"You'll do anything to see me naked." Came the reply, Derek's voice rough and low.
"Yes, but no. Not right now. You'll get cold, you'll get blood all over my sheets and it's going to be bad enough explaining the rest of the blood to my Dad." Stiles raised an eyebrow.
"I thought your Dad knew about us?"
"Us as in the supernatural meaning, not us as in you and I." Stiles looked at the floor, feeling sheepish.
Derek looked up slowly, "I thought you said..?"
"I know what I said, I'm sorry I lied to you, but I went to, I swear I did but he was having a bad day, a case had gone bad and he'd been drinking. It wasn't the right time." Stiles muttered. "And.."
"And?" Derek pressed gently.
"I'm scared how he'll react." Stiles admitted, his voice quiet. "I don't want, I mean, what if he won't let me see you? What if he turns you in? I'm underage Der."
Derek frowned, "I don't think your Dad would do that. He just wants what's best for you. I'm willing to take that risk if you are."
Stiles sighed, getting up and walking over to his chest of drawers, pulling out a pair of sweat pants that Derek left the last time he stayed over and padding back over to sit next to him on the bed.
"I want to be with you, please don't ever doubt that. I just, I need to find the right time, you know?" Stiles said, handing Derek the sweats.
"I know." Derek nodded, his hand finding Stiles' as he leaned over, pressing his lips gently to Stiles' temple.
Stiles turned his head, angling himself to press his own lips against Derek's in a soft kiss.
"I need to get you sorted," Stiles said, detangling himself from Derek and reacting for the gauze and bandages. "And then you can sleep. I know sleeping helps Scott heal more quickly."
Derek nodded, "I'll just change."
Stiles busied himself cutting the gauze into strips whilst Derek slides his underwear off and replaces them with the clean sweats.
"I'll be as quick as I can," Stiles told him, kneeling between Derek's thighs and pressing the strips of bandage to the werewolf's chest and taping them into place, hoping that he would be able to remove them to reveal unblemished skin sooner rather than later.
"Okay, I think I'm done." Stiles announced, standing up and stretching. "You should sleep."
Derek nodded gratefully, lying back against Stiles' pillows.
Stiles looked around hesitantly.
"Stay? Please." Derek asked, looking up at him pleadingly.
Stiles' lips quirked slightly at the open honestly shown on Derek's face, the normally carefully schooled mask of annoyance or indifference overthrown by the pain of the evening and leaving behind a slight vulnerability that Stiles has only seen once or twice from the werewolf.
"Okay," he nodded, pulling off his own jeans and shirt and sliding into the bed beside Derek, his head tucking easily against the older man's shoulder, one arm coming to rest carefully on Derek's hip.
"Thank you Stiles." Derek murmured, kissing Stiles' forehead before burying his nose in the teenager's hair, inhaling the strong smell of Stiles.
Of home.
"You're welcome Der." Stiles pressed a kiss into Derek's collarbone as the werewolf's arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, one hand drawing gentle circles into Stiles' back.
"Stiles!?" Sheriff Stilinski whispered as he opened the door to Stiles' room.
Derek tensed as he heard the small intake of breath from the Sheriff.
"Jesus Derek," John said quietly, walking over to the bed to peer at the bandages covering the werewolf's torso.
Derek blinked, taking a moment to realise that he was still in Stiles bed. With Stiles.
He turned his head to look at Stiles' father, suddenly afraid of what he might find there, but instead of anger or disgust, he saw an unexpected fondness as the Sheriff looked down at them.
Derek knew his fear must have shown on his face when John sighed gently and shook his head, "hell kid."
"I…" Derek opened his mouth to speak, fully prepared to defend himself and explain, but stopped short when the Sheriff pressed a finger to his lips in a shushing motion.
"We'll talk about this in the morning. You look a mess. Get some rest, son."
The Sheriff adjusted the duvet slightly so that it covered Stiles' shoulders before turning and leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.
Derek relaxed slightly, exhaling a long breath that he didn't realise he'd been holding.
"Hey Der, you okay?" Stiles asked quietly, shifting a little in his arms, his voice hazy with sleep.
"I'm fine, starting to heal now." Derek told him. "We're okay."
"Okay," Stiles replied sleepily, settling back against Derek and falling asleep within seconds.
Derek smiled slightly kissing the teenager's forehead, "night Stiles."
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