A/N: This is a oneshot for a person who deviantArt who wished that I would make a fic to go with their art. So here it is.

The picture is used as the cover, but you can also see the link to the full thing at DeviantArt on my page. This is for you, alladammit :)

Scars

By wolfgal97

I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut.
My weakness is that I care too much.
And my scars remind me that the past is real.
I tear my heart open just to feel.
-Scars, by Papa Roach

Things would be so much easier if he stopped letting werewolves into his house.

Stiles had had a very long day. He woke up, had a chemistry test, went to lacrosse practice, had his friend ignore him for a girl, and oh, yeah, he also came home to find a werewolf in his bedroom. For some reason that Stiles couldn't figure, this wasn't very unusual in his life.

Derek had a habit of showing up at the worst time possible. Stiles had just collapsed from exhaustion onto his bed when he heard a noise coming from the corner of his room. Half annoyed and half scared, Stiles peeked his eye open to see what it was.

His gaze met the back of Derek's leather jacket. The teen sighed. "Can I help you?" he asked grumpily.

Stiles didn't know why he was being so sarcastic, considering that the last time he saw Derek, the werewolf had just become alpha by slicing open his crazy uncle's throat. Still, Stiles just knew that Derek wasn't planning on killing him. Derek had had plenty of chances to let the teen die, but he'd even saved him a few times, even at risk to himself.

"No," the dark werewolf whispered from his position at Stiles' desk. He wasn't doing anything on the computer. He was just trying to find a safe place to heal.

Earlier, the hunters had come by his house. There had been many of them, and Derek had to run quickly to escape the remains of his burnt down home. Still, even though he'd managed to make it to his car, a bullet had clipped him in the shoulder and another had landed in his hip.

"Derek? What's wrong?" Stiles asked. He knew something was up when Derek hadn't turned around to glare or growl at him. The teen got up and walked over to the werewolf, his eyes growing wide when he saw the blood coating the front of Derek's shirt.

"Derek, what the hell? What happened to you?" Stiles asked, hands twitching, not knowing what to do.

"Hunters. They came by my place. I... I didn't have anywhere else to go," Derek admitted quietly.

Now Stiles knew that something was very wrong. Derek was never quiet. Broody? Yes. Angry? For sure. Cold? Like an ice cube. But quiet? This was a side of Derek that Stiles had never seen.

A low sound like a whine escaped Derek's clenched teeth. He was hurt pretty bad and Stiles didn't really know what to do. The last time Derek had been shot, he'd almost had to cut off his arm. Stiles shivered just thinking about it.

"What do I need to do?" Stiles asked.

"It's... fine. I'll heal," Derek said slowly.

"I know that, but we need to get the wounds cleaned up," Stiles argued.

"We?" Derek asked, sounding very small.

Stiles suddenly felt conscious of how weak Derek looked bleeding out on his floor. How sad his eyes looked when those eyebrows weren't constantly casting an angry shadow. Suddenly, Derek seemed very small, indeed.

"Yes, sourwolf, we. Now, get up and go shower. I don't want my floor to become permanently red with your blood," Stiles said lightly, trying to hide how confused he was about Derek.

Quickly, the teen went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of his baggiest jeans. He tossed them to Derek. "The shower is down the hall. I'll see if I can find one of my dad's shirts because God knows mine don't fit you."

Derek frowned and nodded. He tried to stand up from his seat, but his knees went weak and he fell. Stiles didn't miss a beat, though and caught him. Derek nodded gratefully as Stiles pulled him to his feet.

"Jeez, sourwolf, you're worse than I thought," Stiles frowned. "Are they wolfsbane bullets?"

Derek shook his head, breath coming out ragged as they stumbled to the bathroom. "No, my healing abilities will be still that of a beta for a few days until my body adjust to being alpha. Plus, I'm still healing some internal stuff."

And there it came. The topic that Stiles wanted to avoid but knew would come up anyway. Still, for the moment, he decided to ignore it for the time being. Discussing Derek killing his uncle while dragging his half-dead carcass down the hall.

Stiles, for once in his life, chose to be silent.

Derek took this as a bad sign.

"Stiles, are you okay?"

This confused Stiles.

"One, you're asking if I'm okay when you're the one with bullets in your body. Two, you actually care? Do you not see what's wrong with this picture? Oh no! You must be dying! Derek, answer quickly, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Stiles? Shut up."

And with that, all way right with the world of Stiles. Almost. He still had a bleeding werewolf that he more or less cared about in his house.

Stiles sat Derek down on the seat. "Look, this is as far as I go when it comes to getting you to the bathroom. You get to do the rest." He set the jeans on the toilet lid and turned to go to his dad's room to get a shirt.

Stiles found a black long sleeve shirt that would fit Derek and went to wait in his room for the werewolf to return. He didn't wait long.

Derek loped in, shirtless and the dark jeans fitting snugly to his hips. His hair had been towel-dried and was sticking up wildly in random black spikes. But Stiles wasn't paying much attention to that. All he could see was the ugly blackened skin around Derek's side. It wasn't bruised, but almost... burned, like the charred house he lived in.

"What the hell, Derek? I thought you said they weren't wolfsbane bullets? Do I gotta sneak into the Argent house? Because unlike Scott, none of them are attracted to me! Well, not that I know of..."

"Stiles! It's not wolfsbane. It's... the internal stuff I was talking about."

"What do you mean?" Stiles quizzed.

"It's from a few days ago," Derek admitted, snatching the shirt from the bed and pulling it on to hide the wound.

"What do you mean? Even with beta healing, that should be gone by now."

Derek sighed, his strength leaving him. He backed up to the wall and and sank to the floor, knees pulled to his chest. His gaze refused to meet Stiles'.

"If you... damage... a werewolf enough, a mark will stay a little with him," Derek whispered. "Almost like a scar."

And suddenly, it clicked with Stiles. The wound must have happened the other night... while Derek was missing... with Kate.

"What did she do to you?" Stiles gasped, not really meaning for the question to come out. Derek's eyes closed. It was as if he couldn't see Stiles, he could pretend that he wasn't here looking so weak in front of the human.

Still, he'd heard his question. And he knew that he should answer. "She... she wanted to know who the alpha was and who the other beta was. I wouldn't tell her. In case you haven't noticed, Kate liked burning things."

Stiles didn't know what to say. Derek had just opened up to him, and he wasn't sure how to handle it. So, he did what he knew to do. He reached under his bed and felt around until his fingers found what they were searching for.

Pulling the bottle out, he walked over to where Derek sat and slid down the wall next to him. He offered the Jack to Derek. Derek looked down at it, eyes narrowed in confusion. "Stiles, why do you have liquor under your bed?"

"I hide it up here so my... dad won't drink it. After... after mom died... he formed a bad habit. So, sometimes, I just make sure to keep an eye on him."

Derek watched Stiles with wide eyes. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," the werewolf said almost gently. It couldn't be called gentle because Derek just wasn't ever gentle. Not anymore.

"Yeah, well, I'm sharing the bottle with you, so I might as well get it all out," Stiles said, taking a swig from the bottle. He swished the foul tasting liquid around in mouth before swallowing it.

"She died of cancer, you know. I wasn't even there to say goodbye when it happened. I had panic attacks when I found out. It got worse after the funeral. I failed her."

Derek frowned. He felt the need to make the teenager better, somehow. "You didn't fail her, Stiles."

"Yes, I did," Stiles argued, taking another drink. "I was weak. I was supposed to be strong for my dad, but instead, he had to baby me while grieving himself."

"Stiles, you lost your mother. It hurts. Believe me, I know. And it wasn't even your fault. Mine was killed because of me," Derek admitted, his heart clinching in pain.

"Kate was older than you, Derek. It was entirely her fault," Stiles said.

"One dumb mistake," Derek ground out, "One mistake cost me everything." His gaze was again avoiding Stiles, looking away from the boy. His hand found the bottle and he took his first drink in a long time. "And now I'm all alone."

Long, skinny fingers weaved through his and Derek's head snapped to look his hand, seeing Stiles' holding it. Green found brown and tears fell from both.

"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles said, eyes so wide and sincere. "I'm hyper, I'm annoying, I talk about a lot of stupid stuff, but under all that, I'm lonely. And I hate the feeling. So you know what, Derek? I stick. I'm not going anywhere."

Derek smiled. For the first time in a long time, he knew he didn't have to be alone anymore.

So yes, things would be so much easier if he stopped letting werewolves into his house. But Stiles wouldn't have it any other way.