Stiles always talked in her sleep. It was one of the many things that Derek found endearing about the quirky young woman, but he would never tell her so. She didn't need to know that he liked watching her face contort with emotion as she slept, nor did she need to know that he thought it was cute when she snored like a small bear.
He was a man of few words and she respected that.
But then there were the nightmares. They didn't come as often as they once did, but by god when they did they terrified him. They would start with a whimper, then before he knew it her usual murmurs would turn into heart-wrenching sobs that tore him up inside. If he was there, he would hold her close and she would unconsciously cling to him, her nails digging into the flesh of his strong arms.
Then the screaming would start and he had to wait it out.
They were harsh, gut-wrenching screams that rattled the walls. And no matter what Derek did, she would not wake up until her hellish night terror was over. No amount of shushing, pleasant murmurings or begging could bring the poor girl back to the real world.
Waiting for her to come back to him was the worst part.
Whenever she stopped wailing, her body would go limp in his arms. It was as if all of the fight would drain out of her, and he didn't dare move her out of fear she would recoil from his embrace. It felt selfish, but at the same time he needed the skin-to-skin contact to keep himself calm. It made him angry that she never shared what her nightmares were about. He had never told her that because he felt like he had no right to ask about them.
However, that did not stop him from wanting to know what it was that made her scream like that.
So the next time it happened again, he waited. He snuggled with her into the wee hours of the morning, coming up with strategy after strategy on how to confront her about it. He knew he needed to approach the subject gently because it would undoubtedly be a touchy subject for her. As someone who hated sharing things, Derek knew what it was like to feel backed into a corner. She would be scared, probably defensive; maybe he needed to coax her into sharing by doing something unexpected first. Lull her into a false sense of security before he made his move.
It was dirty, sure, but he knew it was now or never.
So her made her breakfast. It was so simple, and yet it was something he had never done for her before. It wasn't that Derek was a bad cook - on the contrary, he loved cooking, especially Italian - but Stiles was the one who usually insisted on making them breakfast when he stayed over, so he had let her.
This time he did not. He had gingerly removed her from his person, which was difficult thanks to her vice-like grip. She was a clinger, a kicker, and occasionally a puncher; this was something Derek could honestly do without, but it couldn't be helped. After tucking her in nice and snug, he had tip-toed into her tiny kitchen and raided her fridge for ingredients with a plan in mind.
Derek made a mean bacon and cheese omelet.
It took Stiles about twenty minutes to finally shuffle into the kitchen. He had chuckled as she ambled up to the coffee machine, taking in the glorious sight of her. She was wearing a too big grey t-shirt and pajama bottoms with little pink mustaches. The shirt was his and hung loosely on her slender frame, and he liked seeing her in his clothes. The pajama bottoms, if he recalled correctly, were a gift from Scott for Christmas a few years ago. They were limited edition or something.
Stiles was not a morning person in any sense of the word. Her short hair usually stuck up like a chick's ruffled feathers and her vocabulary was severely limited until she had at least a mountain of sugar with a splash of coffee.
As she passed by him on the way to the breakfast bar, Stiles greeted Derek by planting a sloppy kiss on his stubbled cheek. It was as close to a hello as he would receive until the caffeine finally kicked in. As he finished flipping the last omelet, Derek's mind wandered back to his objective: the intervention he was about to have with his significant other.
Mornings after the nightmares were weird. Stiles liked to pretend that they never happened and he had let her. Now that he planned on actually talking to her about it, he felt like a fool for not doing this sooner. Would she be angry with him for butting into her personal life? Probably. Would be she upset that he used her favorite type of food to coax her into his trap? Absolutely. However, he knew that it was time they talked about this.
As the king of being emotionally comprised, he knew he had to do this. For them.
After laying her plate of food in front of her, Derek sat down with his own plate and dug in hungrily. He tried not to laugh as Stiles took a small experimental bite of her own omelet, then practically inhaled the rest of it. His girl was not a picky eater and didn't dare try to hide her eating habits from him. He secretly thought it was adorable that she ate like a starving caveman. But again, so many things he couldn't tell her due to his inability to express himself.
Which was why the conversation they were about to have was going to be awful.
"Dude," Stiles said happily, after she hungrily shoveled in her last bite of omelet. She ate like a ravenous hobo; it was endearing. "I didn't know you could cook like that. You've been holding out on me, you jerk! That omelet was so fluffy, and cheesy and - and full of bacon-y goodness . . . by god Derek, you are amazing. Can you do this all the time or was this just a one time thing?"
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. It was just an omelet, for goodness sake. "To be fair, you never asked if I could make breakfast food. You just assumed I couldn't."
Stiles mock glared at him over her coffee cup, but it immediately melted into a teasing smile. "Yeah I know. But still: thank you, Derek. You're awesome."
Those words made it hard for Derek to swallow properly. He had always been one of those people who didn't know how to accept compliments. So instead of saying something stupid like "thank you", he drank his orange juice before speaking.
The conversation they were about to have would make Stiles take back those words for sure.
"Hey Stiles? Can I - can I talk to you? About something? It's important."
The teasing smile instantly dropped from her face. "Yeah sure, Der. What's up?"
He wanted to punch himself in the face when she reached over and grabbed one of his hands. Her fingers were so slender and feminine compared to his own. He had calloused, rough hands; hers were so soft with light callouses on the pads of her fingers. Man hands, Stiles had informed him once. He had working man's hands, which were the best kind of hands.
His eyes slowly met hers over their clasped hands and she gives him an encouraging look.
Fuck, this was going to be so hard.
"You never talk about your nightmares."
It was a blunt statement, but Derek wasn't much of a talker. He tended to get right to the point, which was something most people did not appreciate a majority of the time. Some found it down right rude, others found it to be an interesting quality. Like Stiles.
The look she gave him after he spoke was complicated. It was a combination of hurt and confused, as well something Derek couldn't place. Fear, maybe? Whatever it was, it made him feel instantly terrible for ruining everything. Because that's what he did: he ruined everything. Stiles didn't deserve to be treated this way, to be interrogated like this. He wasn't a good person and she served better than him.
She deserved the world.
It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally responded to his statement. Her voice was shaky as she began, and Derek suspected from her watery eyes that she was holding back tears.
That's it: he was officially an asshole.
"I know. I know I don't. And I-I'm sorry, okay? It's just something that's r-really hard for me to talk ab-bout without feeling helpless, you know?"
The tears that started freely flowing down her cheeks were immediately wiped away with her free hand. It took Derek a moment to realize that she was still holding his hand, clutching it tightly in her own. Was that a good sign? He hoped so.
"I keep you up a lot, don't I? I'm sorry, I don't mean to - they just come sometimes, mostly when I'm alone," she says, and he doesn't dare interrupt her. He had wanted to hear this, even though he had known it would hurt her. "I've been having night terrors since my senior year of high school. I had an abusive boyfriend who, um, wasn't very nice to me. He was incredibly manipulative and tried to, uh, kill me because I finally had the courage to break up with him. My dad had to shoot him to save me. I had to see a therapist afterwards for the crippling anxiety and night terrors. It helped some, but not much."
She looks almost shamed to admit that she needed therapy. Derek feels guilty because they've had that discussion before - about him needing to talk to someone about Kate. His ex is a sore subject for him for a number of reasons and she knows that. It feels hypocritical of him now to have been so against therapy.
"It's not always the same nightmare, but I can only wake up if I start screaming. They don't - they don't happen as often as they used to. I've gotten a lot better but the memories are still there. O-Only a few people know I have them: Scott, Lydia, my roommate Erica from college, my dad, Melissa, and now you."
She nibbles nervously on her bottom lip after she finishes. It's a habit Derek notices from time to time, one that happens usually when she's waiting on his opinion on something or she's afraid she's upset him in some way. Now he knows why she acts the way she does: she's just like him.
Except she had her friends and family to support her. In his case, he only had Laura and his uncle Peter had been in a coma.
Derek honestly didn't know if he would ever be ready to talk about his family. Or Kate. But if he ever wanted to he knew Stiles would be there for him, just like he was trying to be for her. He did care, although he had an unorthodox way of showing it.
He suddenly removes his hand from hers, an action that causes her to visibly wilt before his eyes. However, he rectifies this by cupping her heart-shaped face in his hands and kissing her tenderly. He can tell she wasn't expecting it, but eventually she softens into the kiss and her rigid posture relaxes.
Whenever he pulls away, her full lips form the tiniest of smiles and Derek takes it as a victory.
He didn't completely fuck this up after all.
"Thank you for telling me."