Bad Moon Rising
He screamed again, voice coarse. He writhed in his shackles, arching off the wall and trying to get away from the hot poker digging into his skin.
"Come on, now, little one," the stranger cooed. "Just tell us where your little wolves are and we'll let you go."
"No, mno. I won't," Stiles coughed, shaking and sweating. "I-I don't care what you- AHH!" He cried out again, tears slipping down his cheeks, the acrid smell of his burning flesh reaching his nostrils.
"Aw, aren't you cute?" The woman giggled. "So fun to make such a young, pink little body squirm."
He hung limp in the chains, crying and wishing to god he could stop it. His whole body throbbed, mind muddled and clouded. "Please…"
"Don't beg me, you pathetic waste," she snarled, chucking a nearby knife at him, cackling when it stuck in his arm. Stiles cried, praying Scott and Derek would stay as far away as possible from this crazy bitch. "Just tell me what I want to know and I'll stop torturing you."
"N-no. Th-they're my friends, I won't…" He gulped, shaking his head, tears hot and stinging almost as much as the searing metal constantly pressed to his skin. He shrieked again, muscles strained and wound too tight. "STO-OP! PLEASE! Please, stop, s-stop it, please."
"Tell me where they are…"
"I DON'T KNOW!" He sobbed, shaking his head wildly, contorted in the bindings. "I don't know where they are, I wouldn't tell you if I did, but I don't! I swear to god. I swear! Pl-please…"
Help me, god, somebody help me, please…
He couldn't take much more of this.
She stepped forward, ripping the knife from his arm, grinning when he screamed again, pressing on the wound with her thumb, her other arm holding his chest still and putting strain on his broken collarbone. Stiles cried harder, shaking his head.
"Such a pretty baby, aren't you?" She grinned, holding his face, staring at the blood on his lips. "And you are a baby, huh? Just a little boy with a daddy that has to deal with his spaz of a son and a dead mommy. Just one friend in the whole wide world that would leave you for dead for his girlfriend. You're nothing special to him, Stiles, you're not special to anyone."
He looked away from her, in too much pain to rattle off some clever comment that he already knew that, and he'd known for quite some time.
"Really? Nothing? A snide comment? A joke that leads to another plea to stop? Come on, Stiles you were so fun earlier." She pouted. "Honestly, I'm disappointed, little one. So…here's what I'm gonna do instead. I'm gonna break you so badly you can't piece yourself back together again and dump you in the woods. And maybe, just maybe, if you survive the cold and nature and all the blood I'm gonna drain out of this pasty body they might find you. And when they do you tell them that next time I'll strip the flesh off your bones and crucify you on Derek Hale's porch, eh?"
He whimpered again, staring at her, unable to look away from her eyes. "I-I don't know where they are, please….please, don't hurt me anymore. I can't…I…"
"Too bad," she smirked. "I'll quit when I'm through with you. Whether you live to that point is your choice."
The way he hurt at the moment, he wasn't so sure if that wasn't preferable. "Please, please, don't do this," he stammered weakly as she walked away back to the table holding everything she'd been torturing him with. "M-my dad's the sheriff, he-he'll…" She plucked yet another instrument off it, grinning at him. His head fell back, shaking so hard his teeth chattered. "Gohod, please!"
"Shh…" She hissed, slapping a piece of duct tape over his lips to silence him. "Much as I hate to hide that pretty mouth I'm kind of tired of listening to your pathetic attempts to talk me out of this. You fucking waste of space. Now let's take our punishment like a big boy, okay?"
He fell into the damp leaves, coughing softly, gasping through his agony wracking his slight frame.
"Make sure you make my message clear, baby," the woman hissed, licking a stripe up his face to make him cringe again. She gave his ribs a final kick before walking away, getting back into her car and driving him off, leaving him bloody, naked and shivering in the dark.
He tried twisting his hands in the thick tape around his wrists to get loose, gaining nothing but more frustrated and humiliated tears.
He sobbed into the dirt, too weak to scream or move, wondering what would kill him first, blood loss or the cold. He was going to die out here, in so much pain he couldn't breathe.
Help me, help me, please…PLEASE!
"Stiles?"
"Mm?" He fought to lift his head, heart pounding, hoping and praying he wasn't hearing things, eyes searching the horizon for something.
"Stiles! Fuck, oh my god!"
Derek.
Claws snapped the tape on his raw, bloody wrists and carefully took it away before pulling him into his arms. "Shh, shh, it's alright, it's okay now. I've got you. Hush…" He soothed, stroking his hair, carefully taking the tape off his lips.
"D-Derek," he trembled, still crying, still so scared he couldn't see straight. "I-I didn't-"
"Shh, don't talk. It's alright." His jaw was set, words tight, but his eyes were so scared, holding his fragile body as close as he could, stripping off his jacket and tucking it around him. "It's okay, Stiles, shhh, shh, it's okay. I'm here." He held him to his chest, trying not to panic, trying not to let the flood of emotions, memories and echoes of losing anyone and everyone he ever cared about clog his throat or allow the tears in his eyes to actually come through.
He carefully pressed his hand to his neck, watching his veins turn black, ebbing just a fraction of Stiles' pain from him, hissing as it hit him. Stiles sighed at the slight relief before realizing what Derek was doing. "S-stop it," he slurred, leaning away from him.
"Stiles-"
"'M okay. B-but don't do…don't do that," he pleaded, grateful but worried Derek might have the power to take it all, and that was the last thing he wanted.
"Okay, alright, I need to get you to the hospital. They're not gonna find you out here in the middle of the goddamn woods. So just…just hang on." He slowly gathered him in his arms, wincing when he whimpered and groaned. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"
Stiles could barely hear or see, listening to the low rumble of Derek's voice in his chest beside his ear, clinging to him with whatever strength he had left. There wasn't any part of him that didn't hurt. He wanted to scream but he wasn't sure his throat or his lungs could take it. All he had left was weak sobbing and looking up at Derek wishing he was brave enough to ask him to kiss him.
"We'll be there soon, I promise," Derek assured, looking at his body and wincing. "God, what did they do to you?"
"E-everything," he breathed. Derek pressed a kiss to his forehead, tasting blood and sweat, smelling his fear and his pain and hating himself for it. "Did you h-hear me?"
"When?" He whispered.
"Wh-when I was in there, when she was huhn-hurting me, could you hear me?" He whimpered. He looked at the near child-like desperation in Stiles' eyes, pleading. But god help him, he still couldn't lie to him.
"Not to where I could find you," he said, guilt weighing on each word. "I tried, baby." Stiles stared at him, heart swelling just a little.
"You…you called me-" He broke off, coughing, blood sprinkling his lips. Derek swallowed, kissing his temple.
"I'll call you whatever you want, I'll do whatever you want, Stiles, just stay with me. I can't lose someone else, please… please don't make me lose you too, okay?" He begged. "Stay here, stay with me."
Stiles continued to stare at him, even in his pain he could see how upset Derek was, how scared even if he'd never say it. "Oh-okay," he nodded, swallowing hard. "On-on-one condition, though."
"Anything," Derek said immediately, feigning his usual stoic behavior.
Stiles took a breath, looking up at him. "K-kiss me? L-like a real one, n-not…" He whimpered again, the pain too much, coming in a wave of agony.
Derek caught his cheek, gently running his thumb over his lower lip, pausing in his stride, carefully leaning down and pressing his lips to his. Stiles' breath hitched, not caring that Derek might be doing all this just because he was hurt. Derek kissed him over and over, holding his face.
"Stay with me," he prayed. Stiles nodded, curling against him again, so cold, so weak. He continued walking, heart fluttering when Stiles got quiet again. He listened to his pulse, how soft it was getting, already erratic. "Hey, how the fuck do you play lacrosse? I don't understand it, tell me about it."
Stiles talked, explaining positions and rules, what the different sized sticks were for, what penalties were, anything to keep himself talking and get that look off Derek's face.
"You couldn't just play soccer or something?" Derek teased. Stiles managed a smile, head falling limp in the crook of his arm, strength gone. "Hey, hey, stay awake, come on, we're gonna get there soon. I promise." He could turn and run with Stiles on his back and get there so much faster than his half-jog through the trees but he wasn't strong enough to hold onto him, he was barely strong enough to keep his eyes open.
By the time he reached the hospital Stiles had stopped shivering, barley peeking through his eyelids. "D-Dere…"
"Shh…" He soothed, worn and still trying so hard to keep his tears back. He staggered through the doors, his heart making his body weary. "H-help!" He managed, blood-slicked fingers making it difficult to hold onto him. "Somebody, please!" Nurses jumped with surprise when they noticed he was there, rushing to Stiles' aid immediately.
Derek reluctantly let him go, lying him on the gurney they wheeled in front of him, gently rubbing his forehead before he was whipped around the corner.
"Don't move," one of the nurses he recognized as Scott's mom warned before stepping away.
He stood still, absolutely still, looking lost and weary while the hospital bustled around him, blood coating his arms and his hands, heart thrumming raggedly. He shut his eyes, listening for Stiles' voice, for a heartbeat he knew only belonged to him just to be sure he was alright, that he'd pull through.
God, please, let him get through this.
Before he could locate it he was slammed against a nearby wall, a strong arm across his chest pinning him to it and a gun in his face.
Stiles' father.
A/N: Please review. Thank you.