Stiles Stilinski woke up in a cold sweat biting his hand, almost to the point of blood, to stifle the screams threatening to violently rip out of his throat. It had been weeks since he was last possessed by the Nogitsune and the nightmares were still relentlessly pounding through his head. Image after horrifying image of his friends and family being tortured, torn to shreds, by his own hands. Tears spilled out of Stiles' face as he remembered the pleasure the demon took at twisting the blade in Scotts flesh. He could feel the skin of his best friend tear under the sharp pressure, blood splashing hotly onto his hands. He wanted to vomit.
He rocketed out of bed and got dressed as quickly as possible. Stiles threw on a pair of jeans, his worn red sweatshirt, and his sneakers. Snatching the keys to his Jeep, the boy rushed down the steps to the car, almost tripping, only stopping to grab his Dad's spare bottle of liquor from the kitchen cabinet. Stiles would never tell anyone about what he does on these bad nights when his returning anxiety hit him the hardest, and his father would never know as long as he replaced the empty bottle with a full one before the officer checked the cabinets. He didn't want to deal with getting caught, he didn't think that he could handle it. All the looks of worry, and pity that he would get, the tears and words of sorrow, "We love you Stiles!", "Please stop this Stiles!", "We can figure out this together Stiles!". What was there to figure out? He was weak, he let himself become possessed by a demon and try to kill everyone he ever cared about and more. Of course that would be written off because the others said that anyone could have become possessed by the Nogitsune and it wasn't his fault. But it was his fault! Scott and Allison didn't get possessed by a psycho killer demon! They didn't secretly enjoy that feeling of power. They didn't let the thing inside of them on purpose because they were too weak to do anything else to save Malia. Although if he was being completely honest with himself, he didn't just do it to save her. Deep down inside he craved the power the Nogitsune gave him. Stiles enjoyed toying with people and having their lives rest in the palm of his hand and their fates in his control. He liked the fact that he didn't even have to blink and he could have ended someone's life. Another thing he would never tell anyone was that when the Nogitsune held his form, he could see through it's eyes the moment Allison died. It wanted him to watch, to feel, as it destroyed his friends. He felt almost as if he was trapped inside the thing again, Stiles felt that moment as if he was the one who had caused her death, he felt Scott's agony as his first love died in his arms. The tragic moment tasted sweet like a warm, sugary syrup.
As the thoughts rolled and rolled through Stiles' head he drove on, trying to blink the salt water out of his eyes before he drove off of the darkening road. Although at this point he idly wondered if it was for the better. What if Stiles hurt his friends again? What if some other supernatural creature with the power of possession comes along and he gives himself up to it just for the chance to feel that power again. Or even worse, what if no creatures come and Stiles hurt his friends again. No excuses, just Stiles attempting to hurt, maybe even kill, his friends for the fun of it. It would be difficult, but possible for him to kill them. He knew all of their weaknesses. Just find an opening and he could taste that power again. He could feel that exhilarating rush of taking a life while the others stood around helpless.
Stiles was horrified by how tempting the thoughts sounded as he parked his Jeep on the side of the road by the forest. Where else would a lonely teenager go to drink in the middle of the night? It provided the perfect amount of darkness for Stiles' mood. He rushed through the trees as fast as he could, stumbling over hidden debris on the forest floor. As he did so, Stiles screwed off the cap to the liquor bottle and took a deep drink. It burned at his throat like the tears burning in the back of his eyes. He needed to get away, he just wanted to forget. He wanted to forget their pain, and fear, and how disgustingly right it felt to enjoy it; how he wants to enjoy it again. He wanted to forget about werewolves and the supernatural. He wanted to forget his Dad's worries, his Mom's absence. He wanted to forget the sinking pain in his heart that he was just a stupid human out to get himself killed. Stiles wasn't strong enough to defend anyone, he didn't have any helpful powers like the wolves, he wasn't the smartest of the group, that was Lydia. He wasn't even there for comic relief because everyone hated his jokes, they hated him. He was just Scotts annoying tag along. Stiles wasn't even sure how Scott put up with him this long. The only reason that they didn't just kill him when he was possessed was probably because the town heroes can't kill an innocent, defenceless human. That's just bad publicity. Well they sure as hell would have killed Stiles if they could have seen what was going on inside his head besides the board game with the Nogitsune. He wished they did kill him, because maybe then he would have finally been at peace and out of everyone's way.
It didn't take Stiles long to get through half of the bottle. He was just now starting to get the numb feeling he craved, it was a testament to how often he'd been having his little nights out. He stopped stumbling around for a moment, the alcohol wasn't working fast enough so he decided that the best option was to chug the rest before taking another step. When he was done, Stiles reared back and threw the bottle against a tree, shattered glass raining everywhere in a sparkling explosion. He stumbled into the throw, falling onto the remains of the bottle and slicing his hands open. He just laughed at the sight of his blood, almost pitch black in the darkness. He hated ironic symbolism.
Stiles struggled to his feet, burning the gashes on dirty tree bark. He continued to aimlessly wander in the dark, holding onto trees for support so as not to fall with his drunken stumbling. As the minutes ticked by he felt increasingly numb to the pain both inside and out. By the time he found himself in a clearing he realised just where his feet had taken him, the burnt down husk of the old Hale house. How fitting, it was around here that everything had started. The night Scott got bitten, everything went to hell. The night Stiles dragged Scott into the woods to get bitten by a crazy alpha werewolf. All of this was his own fault really. If he had just stayed home like his Dad had told him to then maybe, he would be happily sleeping in his bed that night instead of hopelessly stumbling around in the forest. He didn't listen though, and everything bad was because of him. Stiles fell to his knees in front of the house. He wished everything could go back to the way it used to be, him and Scott being unnoticed nerds and best friends with relatively safe lives. Right now, Scott and the others could barely look at him without thinking of what the Nogitsune did to Allison. He just wanted his friends back and to feel anything close to safe and happy. He didn't even deserve his friends back because he would probably do it all over again if he had the chance.
Tears streamed down Stiles face as he let out heavy sobs, his shoulders racking. He beat both fists on the ground and wailed, sticks and leaves getting trapped in his hair as the ground cradled his head, almost nurturing. He curled up into himself, arms wrapped around his chest as he tried to keep his heart inside, no matter how damaged it felt. Maybe if he held himself tight enough he could put the broken pieces back together, fix it, fix him.
"Stiles?" A deep voice questioned hesitantly. Stiles snapped his head up at the sound. His watery, bloodshot eyes were faced with Derek Hale. He was just caught crying his eyes out in front of Derek Hale's old house where the boys whole family died. He didn't even know what to think, let alone what to say. If anyone should have been caught crying in front of the house it was Derek. Stiles just sat there, gently rocking back and forth as tears streamed down his face.
"Stiles, why are you out here? What's wrong?" Stiles just shook his head and started whispering. "No, no. I. I can't," Tears flowing faster.
"You can't what Stiles?" Derek tried his best to sound gentle.
"I don't know I just can't! I can't do this!" Stiles yelled out.
Derek understood. As he watched the boy fall apart in front of him, Derek knew that this was what he felt like for years after the fire. The fire he blamed himself for. Stiles probably blamed himself for Allison's death, for his friends distancing themselves, even unknowingly, because a thing wearing Stiles face tried to kill them all. He could smell the guilt and self loathing coming off the boy in heavy waves. Derek understood more about feelings than anyone gave him credit for, and he understood that if someone didn't do something now, Stiles wasn't going to last much longer. Stiles was drunk off his ass in a dark forest, stinking of alcohol and blood, and crying his eyes out while his friends cried on each others shoulders in a warm, safe house.
"What happened? I smell blood. Did you get attacked?" Derek was a bit panicked at the thought of Stiles getting attacked alone in the woods at night, even if he couldn't smell anything dangerous, just the boy and the trees.
"I'm fine." Stiles managed in between sobs. He used the answer that he'd been giving everyone for weeks, and his friends when they could bring themselves to speak to him.
"Stiles, where did the blood come from?" Derek was firm, he would not be ignored while Stiles was injured. He didn't smell much blood, but he needed to know exactly where it was coming from.
"I'm fine Derek. I fell on some broken glass, it's just my hands." He managed to get out an entire sentence before showing the slightly frazzled werewolf the blood dripping out of his hands.
"Can you stand?" Stiles shook his head. Derek should have guessed from the amount of alcohol he could smell on the boy, it was probably pure luck that he'd made it all the way here. It was even luckier that it was one of the nights Derek chose to check on his old home. I'm sure Stiles would have slept out here otherwise, he thought as he effortlessly scooped the crying boy into his arms. Stiles tried to push away at first, despite knowing it was useless against the powerful wolf.
"I'm taking you out of the forest one way or another, so you might as well relax." Derek mumbled.
"No, I wanna stay here. Just leave me to the darkness."
"Stiles, look at me." He looked directly into Derek's eyes. Even the insects in the forest silenced themselves during the serious moment. "I will never leave you alone to the darkness. Now you're coming with me."
Stiles chose not to fight anymore, he closed his eyes and fisted his hands into the werewolves shirt, continuing to cry. Even though his shirt was getting covered in tears and blood, Derek couldn't help but hold Stiles a little tighter in a gesture of reassurance.
Derek reached his car in a matter of minutes, gently sliding Stiles into the passenger side. He had to slowly pry the boys hands off his shirt and shush him when Stiles felt Derek's, oddly comforting, form retreat. When he got in his side of the car and started the car, Derek couldn't help but look over. Stiles already had his seatbelt on, eyes closed and head rested against the window. It was a quiet drive back to Derek's flat, and a smooth one as he avoided all the potholes, the last thing Stiles needed right now was to have his head banged against a window.
When the car finally came to a stop Derek got out and walked to the other side. Stiles looked like he hadn't moved, but his seat belt was now off. Derek picked him back up and carried him inside the flat. Once inside the apartment he went straight up the steps and into his room, easing Stiles onto his bed. This time the boy wasn't gripping his shirt, he was looking off at a far away wall with an almost dead look in his eyes. As soon as Derek turned away to grab the first aid kit, Stiles spoke up.
"What's wrong with me Derek?" Said man spun around with a look of surprise.
"What makes you think something's wrong with you?" Derek knew the boy had to have felt that way, but it was so strange to hear someone usually so confident, sound so vulnerable. He sat the kit on the bedside table and leaned down next to Stiles.
"I." He swallowed. "I liked hurting them. They're my friends and I,"
"No." Derek interrupted firmly. "You hated hurting them. The Nogitsune enjoyed it and pushed it's feelings on you so you wouldn't have the willpower to force it out. The only thing you enjoyed was the power,"
"Isn't that bad enough?"
"Everyone likes feeling powerful, even me."
"Well I don't feel very powerful right now. I feel like everything is crashing down around me and I can't do anything to stop it." Stiles started out strong but ended with a pained whisper.
"You don't have to always feel powerful, your friends-"
"My friends hate me now because it was my hands that tried to kill them. It was my fault that thing killed Alison."
"It was not you hurting them and they know that. They just need a little time to process Allison. Everything will be back to normal soon."
"Yeah, and I can go back to being the damsel in distress, the one always in the way, the weak link."
"You are not weak."
"How can you say that I'm not weak? Not too long ago I was crying in your arms. Everyone I talk to on a daily bases could kill me in less than thirty second if they wanted to. You guys don't even need me for research anymore. I'm weak and useless. I should have just taken up Peter's offer when I got the chance."
"Wait, what offer?"
"He offered me the bite."
Derek was shocked. All this time and he had never heard about that. His Uncle never offered anything unless he was going to gain from it. What could he have gained from turning Stiles? It wouldn't have changed Scotts allegiance, if anything it would be one more wolf on Scott's side. One more super strong wolf, and the only intelligent one of the two, and both against Peter. It didn't make sense.
"What?" Stiles monotoned. "The thought of being the same species as me too revolting for you?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just wondering why he would want a strong intelligent werewolf working against him."
"Flattery will not make me feel better." Stiles deadpanned.
"Since when do I ever flatter anyone?"
"Since when do you carry boys bridal style as you let them cry into your shirt?"
"Since I know how it feels to feel like your insides are completely destroyed and all you want to do is disappear."
Tears welled up in Stiles eyes again. "I'm sorry Derek. Nobody should ever have to feel this way, even a Sourwolf like you." Derek ignored the Sourwolf comment.
"Exactly. That's why I couldn't leave you there. And that's why I'm not leaving you until you and your friends get yourselves together enough to actually look after each other."
"Oh great, you're never leaving."
"So be it. I may be a Sourwolf, but I'm not a monster. I still care about people."
"Aww. Derek cares about me."
"Don't get all sentimental Stilinski."
"Yes, now come here!" Stiles tried to reach out to Derek only to fall of the bed, the wolf catching him before he hit the floor.
"I fell. And you caught me." Stiles looked at the wolf in amazement.
"Yeah, well I don't want you cracking your skull open on the floor."
"Thanks Der." Stiles said before placing a quick, drunken kiss on Derek's lips and flopping back on the bed. Derek stood frozen for a few moments thinking things over. In the end he decided that the boy was drunk and wouldn't remember anything anyways. Before deciding against it he covered Stiles in a blanket and gave him a quick peck on the forehead, blushing because it was Stiles. The boy said nothing, just humming happily and getting comfortable. Derek decided to brush the whole thing off. After all, how much trouble could a kiss or two really get him into? He decided it would be better to focus on finally fixing the sleeping drunks hands instead of dwelling on questions he couldn't answer.
Stiles only stirred as Derek took a wet washcloth to his damaged hands. After a bit of antibiotic ointment and a few ace bandages Derek decided that was good enough, he would make the boy shower tomorrow. He had a tough day. Derek looked down at his shirt and sighed. He liked this one but the scent of the boys blood would never wash away. He begrudgingly threw it in the trash and changed into a pair of sweatpants before sitting in a chair across the room. Derek sat watching Stiles breathing and thinking about how he could possibly help the boy, before he fell asleep himself.