Night of the Banshee
He was an impotent, disloyal failure. He felt guilty. He felt angry. He felt … he didn't even have a word for how he felt. He had been less traumatised by his own mother's death than by the killing of the surly auto-shop guy. That couldn't be right. What sort of a son got more upset by his Jeep's mechanic dying than his own goddamn mother.
Stiles howled. Those indescribable feelings stampeded out of his mouth in a torrent of incoherent noise that he would not have been surprised if his father could hear – and the sheriff was still at the garage overseeing the forensics processing. Stiles wanted to cry, to vent in some more tangible way but he didn't know how to marshal his body to comply.
In his frustration he lashed out, arms flailing, fists punching air then flattening as palms reached for any surface to strike at, nails slashing wildly. He heard himself making staccato sobbing sounds but, though he was desperate for the relief he knew tears would bring, his eyes remained dry and unblinking.
Suddenly he was listening to another sound. A rushing, shushing sort of noise, as steel bands clamped around him pinning his arms to his torso and forcing all the air from his lungs. He struggled against the tightening restraints, struggled to draw breath, struggled to understand what his ears conveyed to what remained of his consciousness.
The noise coalesced into sounds he could make sense of as it formed into words.
"Shush, shush. It's ok, Stiles. You're safe. I've got you."
The voice. He knew that voice. Derek! Derek was here? In his room?
Yes, Derek was here, arms encompassing him. Pulling him into him. Holding him against his chest. Hugging him. Comforting him.
Stiles felt his pulse racing as panic, he supposed, ripped through him. Yet he found he couldn't draw back. Didn't want to pull away. Like this he could barely remember the look of terror and resignation in the mechanic's over-large, over-round, eyes. Like this he could forget the sickening soundtrack of splintering bone and the shriek-like sobs of the dying man that had been playing in his head on a perpetual loop since he had returned to the silence of his bedroom.
"It's just shock," Derek was murmuring, lips pressed close to Stiles hair, stubble against stubble. "Just the shock. It'll pass. You're ok. I've got you. Trust me. You're safe now. Just shock. Let it out, Stiles. Let it go. Don't hold it in. Never does any good to keep it bottled up inside of you. You need to let it out. It's ok to let go."
Suddenly Stiles had a mental picture of a dark-haired boy, not even as old as himself, with green eyes flickering iridescent blue in pain and confusion, standing in front of the burnt out shell of his family home, holding back tears, trying to be strong. Trying to be a brave wolf though most of his pack and family were ash amongst the embers. Fighting back the anguish of knowing that he had bought the flames to their door.
Overwhelming grief hit Stiles like a freight train off a trestle bridge, pulling heavy tears from him, hot and urgent. His arms wrapped themselves around Derek's waist as he buried his head in the crook of the older man's neck. He took comfort in the hard unflinching muscle pressed tightly against him, as he cried out his sorrow and distress against warm skin that had a reassuring fragrance and calming aura, like summer in the shade of the forest.
Derek continued his quiet chatter and began rubbing Stiles' back, tentatively at first, but then in firm circular movements that helped Stiles to breathe.
As his heart rate evened out his tears slowed and he thought, just for a moment, that Derek's lips were pressed to the top of his head; a benediction more than a kiss. And in that moment, Stiles was lit from the inside with a revelation. He realised that he wished that it had been a kiss, that Derek would want him as fervently as he suddenly understood that he wanted Derek.
"Don't," Derek whispered, a note of warning in his voice.
Stiles wasn't sure if the word was meant for him, though he hadn't said anything out loud, not even unintentionally. At least, he didn't think he had. Perhaps Derek was speaking to himself. Or it was meant for both of them. Which meant maybe Derek could have feelings for him too. He could hope at least.
As if privy to those thoughts, Derek bought his mouth close to Stiles' ear and said softly, "I can hear your heartbeat. Heard it calm. Then heard it race again. Sensed that you … You weren't upset anymore. You need to stop."
Derek's body stiffened as he went to step away, to step back towards the open window. Stiles tensed too but only to tighten his arms around Derek, his head pressing hard into his shoulder.
"What do I need to stop, Derek?" Stiles asked quietly, his lips almost touching the sensitive skin of Derek's jaw. "Stop seeing the car slowly crush the life out of someone I'd just been talking to, while I'm lying helpless on the floor wondering what lizard-boy has in store for me? Because I've stopped. You stopped that for me. You get that, right?"
"Whatever else is going on in your head, Stiles, just drop it." Despite the clipped tone, Derek made no further move away. He was still holding Stiles to him.
"Don't," Stiles mimicked Derek's earlier remark.
"Don't what?" Derek asked so softly that Stiles wondered if he had forgotten that he didn't have werewolf hearing. After a moment of silence Derek murmured, "Are you going to explain?"
"Like you don't do, you mean? Mr 'Tight-lips' Enigmatic."
Stiles moved away, forcibly breaking Derek's hold on him. He stepped back to look the other man in the eye.
"Don't push me away," Stiles said, with more force than he'd intended, adding, "please," to soften his words.
"I didn't," Derek stated blandly.
"No, but you did. And you know what I mean," Stiles looked pointedly at Derek but he just stared back, expressionless.
"I'm not a fool, Derek. Hopeful maybe. Open to possibilities. But don't make the mistake of thinking I'm stupid." Stiles' tone was verging on angry.
"I know that," Derek acknowledged soberly.
"Good. And I'm guessing you know how I feel. About you. What with that wolfie detector thing you have going on. Which, FYI, is way creepy."
Derek merely inclined his head a little in agreement. Stiles hoped he wasn't being stupidly optimistic and reading far too much into the fact that Derek was still holding his gaze.
"So, what are we going to do about … this?" Stiles waved a hand back and forth in the small space between the two of them.
"Nothing," Derek said firmly.
"But …"
"No!" Derek's eyes and tone hardened. "I'm not doing this. I won't be a predator. Not happening."
"Excuse me?" Stiles was incredulous. "Predator? Where the hell did that come from? Oh, is that what you think? That you have become her?"
"Drop it," Derek warned, eyes narrowing.
"No! This is about me too. You need to realise that you are not her, and I'm not you. I'm not 14, Derek. And honestly, I'm not sure I ever was 14. When you lose your mom as a kid, you grow up real quick."
"You're too young. I won't be a predator. That's not negotiable. Just leave it, Stiles."
To Stiles this sounded more like a plea than one of the standard-issue imperious Hale commands he was used to. He let his natural optimism bubble to the surface and a broad smile emerged. Derek scowled back.
Stiles figured if he could survive an encounter with a homicidal Kanima, he could certainly handle a grumpy wolf.
"Derek, you're an idiot! I'm not naïve. I know what this is. And I know that you could never be Kate. There is no 'predator' here. I may be inexperienced but I'm not a child. Honestly? I didn't think you would ever feel the same …"
"I don't …"
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Stiles whooped stupidly, grinning at the irony of practically making a liar of himself. "I may not have your wolfie polygraph mojo but you can't lie to me worth a damn, Derek. You have a tell. Actually, you have so many tells it's amazing to me that you even bother trying to lie to me."
"We can't, Stiles …" Derek started to say, but Stiles saw something else in Derek's eyes. Something that looked to Stiles like it might mirror the hope he felt sure was obvious in his own eyes.
Stiles took his cue and stepped back into Derek's space, not once looking away from the depths of those haunting green eyes that Stiles had always been able to see right through. He had thought he had some strange affinity with Derek because both had experienced devastating childhood loss. But maybe there was something else at work here. Stiles needed to know.
"Why did you come here, Derek? You came because you were worried about me. Because you care. About me."
"I was passing. I heard that awful wailing noise you were making. I came to shut you up before your neighbours started calling 911 to report a banshee."
"You were passing, huh? Like I'm gonna… Wait. Banshees are real? Seriously? Because, like, wow! Oh, so what is a banshee anyway? Most of my research suggests some kind of…"
"I said I came to shut you up!"
"Hey, I've stopped making like a banshee, haven't I?" Stiles was indignant.
Derek inclined his head a tiny fraction as if to concede the truth of the statement.
"So, Derek. Was preventing spurious 911 calls your only reason for coming here? Before you answer I would advise you to think carefully about the fact that I can tell when you're lying. You can fool others, you know, the ones who now call you 'Alpha'. Except maybe for Erica, because she's got some sort of x-ray vision for feelings. But anyway. You can even fool Scott. Ok, that's a given with most people on most days so you probably can't count that one. But me? I see you Derek. I know where you live. Oh, I don't mean literally, because of course I do know where you live if you mean the mansion – although technically I think I'd call it squatting rather than living per se…"
"Stiles!"
"What? … Oh, yeah, I know. Shutting up. But Derek, you have to be honest with me. Honest with yourself. Why are you here? Really."
Derek squinted at the floor. He looked half in pain and half as though he was trying to make out tiny writing in the pile of Stiles decoratively neutral and highly durable bedroom carpet. He took a deep breath and began a barely audible mumble.
"At the garage… I heard the deputies… You were… I should have got there before… I'm sorry… I should have stopped it."
"It wasn't your fault. It's never been your fault. I don't know why it … did what it did. Perhaps it was overcharged for a service. Who knows? I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But why did you come here Derek?"
"You might have seen something. I sent Boyd and the others out looking. I said I'd check on you. Find out what happened. Then you were making that noise. That banshee wail. My wolf… Heard the pain. Wanted to… Wanted to stop the pain - the noise… Stop the noise. But just because…If my wolf wants…But we… That doesn't mean… We can't… I can't…"
Derek's hesitation spoke volumes to Stiles, emboldening him. He reached out a hand and gently laid it against Derek's cheek watching in fascination as his touch prompted Derek to close his eyes. Stiles decided to interpret the quiet sigh Derek breathed as relief; a cathartic liberation that he was now able to acknowledge his wolf's feelings. His own feelings. Ok, so he was a bit of a romantic at times.
Stiles felt compelled to stroke the baby-soft skin above the line of Derek's stubble, and as he did so he felt Derek turn into his hand to rub his face against the palm. Derek was nuzzling him!
A bolt of desire sparked in Stiles' stomach and shot to his groin, as he slipped his hand round to hold the back of Derek's head and bought their lips together.
When Derek returned the kiss and pressed a hand into the small of his back to urge him closer, Stiles knew he had his true answer. He risked a flick of his tongue and was relieved, and aroused beyond anything he'd known before, when Derek's lips parted and he allowed Stiles in. Welcomed Stiles in.
As he ravished Derek's mouth, hungry for the feel and the taste of him, Stiles began guiding them towards his bed.
It took a Herculean effort to break the kiss for a brief moment, but it was important to Stiles that Derek understood.
"You need to know," Stiles began, a little out of breath, "that whatever happens, we only do what you're, um, comfortable with. I don't want to, you know, force you or anything."
Derek looked at him from under his long lashes and he was grinning. Grinning a genuine, all-the-way-to-his-eyes kind of grin.
"I think you just took my line," he said, now smiling broadly in a way that made him look years younger and made Stiles lose all conscious thought for a moment.
Taking a deep grounding breath, Stiles launched into an explanation. "Well, the thing is, I'm a teenager so I may have a tendency to, well, to be overly influenced by my hormones. No, you should scratch the 'may' because I'm pretty much a walking definition of hormonal teenager. And also, I should point out in the interests of full disclosure, that this is, um, I want to say 'virgin territory' for me, but that just sounds too, well, accurate, so let's just say I'm new to all this so if…"
"Stiles!"
"Hmm?"
"Shut up! And you're doing just fine, novice or not."
Derek dropped on to the bed and pulled Stiles down on top of him, reclaiming his lips.
Now Stiles could feel the hard evidence of Derek's own arousal. Something in his stomach did a back flip, then a triple Salchow, before settling into a shaky, breathless, sit-spin. He remembered the first time he had felt something like this. It was that day in the woods when Derek had first appeared, all mysterious, intimidating and, well, fifty shades of hot. He realised now, with perfect clarity, that this was what he had truly wanted since that day. He was just a little amazed at how slow he had been to see it for what it was. Not fear as he'd supposed, but raw desire and lust. He might even give it another name if he was brave enough.
Stiles wondered briefly how it was that in the arms of the riddle wrapped in a mystery inside the enigma that was Derek Hale, the world actually made sense to him in a way it hadn't before.
As he rocked his hips just to hear the answering moan, Stiles resolved to show Derek just how much that meant to him, even if it took him all night. And he would make sure it took all night. Not even a Kanima the size of Godzilla was going to stop him from getting up close and very personal with every inch of this werewolf, his werewolf, and he gave grateful thanks to his inner banshee.