So much blood.
Not that blood was a new sight to Stiles, carnage, was an almost weekly occurrence with the company he kept. The only difference was to whom the blood, on his hands, belonged.
Allison. The memory of her cold body and the warmth of her blood as he helped carry her from the woods, sung through his memory like a song he wanted desperately to forget.
She had been thrown in the rough of it how many times now, and somehow like a cat she always managed to land on her feet. Whether it was through combat skill, weaponry or Scott's blind devotion to her. But this time was different.
Her combat savvy and even her blades failed her in the ambush they happened upon. She had been ripped open like a Christmas package, frail human skin no match for the adamantium like claws of an rogue wolf. Her abdomen looked like carrots after you put them through a salad shredder, just like the one his dad used to...
Dad, Stiles thought to himself.
He never should have drug him into this mess. In reality it was really only a matter of time that his dad would have either put together his son and his friends constant connection the the blood and violence in Beacon Hills, or just happened to stumble upon something of the supernatural variety face to face. Stiles just couldn't continue to let his dad come up with dead end after dead end. The lines on his face had become to etched, worry always seeming to paint his forehead in a furrow.
Luckily his dad hadn't got the worst of it though. A dislocated shoulder, a broken arm and a mild concussion along with variously assorted cuts and bruises, he could've sustained these injuries in his normal duties. However, his guilt wouldn't stop rolling around in his stomach, it was nauseating and it made his head dizzy.
The fact that he seemed so useless, kept whirling in his gut. With no fighting skills and no supernatural force within to turn him into a vicious bundle of claws and fangs, not even the knowledge to handle a gun...it was a heavy weight, and right now it threatened to crush him.
"You know they're gonna be alright, right?"
This was one of those odd moments when Derek was more man than wolf. Actually Derek had been oddly accommodating all night, but Stiles wasn't used to him seeming so human. He had offered to give Stiles a ride home after his father insisted that he didn't need a babysitter, and with Scott and Mr. Argent pacing holes in the floor waiting for Allison to come out of surgery (there was just too much tension there to stand). His dad didn't need him, no one needed him. So Stiles took the offer with little convincing.
"Yeah," Stiles replied weakly, not moving his head from where it rested on the car window he was slumped against. He lazily watched the trees go by as Derek's camaro eased down the rain soaked streets. He could feel the blood still drying into his skin, under his nails...the scent of hot metal cloyed at his nose threatening his knotted stomach to heave.
Derek gripped the steering wheel while watching Stiles with his peripheral vision. He couldn't understand why the younger man was taking this night so particularly hard. This wasn't necessarily a new situation, but sadness circled him like a tropical storm and as he continued to keep an eye on him he saw the tremor in his hands and the glassy look in his eyes belying of what must be running through the younger man's mind.
The rest of the ride was silent.
"You wanna come in for a while? We could watch a movie or something..." Stiles asked.
It was obvious he didn't want to be alone, and honestly Derek felt this unyielding need from somewhere out of sight to make sure he was alright, "Sure".
It was barely anything but Derek was almost certain a grin tugged at the corner of Stiles' mouth as he exited the car and walked up the porch, unlocking the door. This fact made Derek feel relieved knowing that he was easing some burden the boy had placed on himself.
"I'm gonna go shower real quick, feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen, I'll be right back."
Derek watched the boy disappear up the stairs, and feeling a little out of his element, shoved his hands deep in his pockets, letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. Derek had little trouble finding the kitchen, and rummaging through the cabinets he soon found what he needed to make a little something to fend of the cold, tired feeling that had settled into his muscles.
He was rummaging through Stiles' DVD collection when the boy came into his room from the bathroom across the hall. Draped in nothing but a towel, his skin was still pink from the hot water and obvious signs of scrubbing, small tufts of steam rose from his flesh in the cool air.
"What's this?" Stiles asked, picking up a steaming mug, that had been sat on his computer desk.
"You said to help myself," the wolf replied, holding up a mug of his own.
"Oh," the brunette took a tentative sip, "Oh! This is good," another sip, "like surprisingly good."
Derek huffed, furrowing his brown as if to ask what that was supposed to mean.
"Not that I..." unsure of how to amend his implication he just took another sip of the spicy chocolate beverage, and stood awkwardly to the side of his bed.
"You know that you're still naked right?" the Alpha said lifting an unruly brow.
Stiles wasn't naked, he was still in a towel, but Derek found him distracting, to look at and to smell. He smelled like soap, teenage hormones and something he couldn't quite place. He watched the pale teen as he gathered up something to wear for pajamas and dashed back across the hall.
When Stiles returned, Derek had given up the search for a movie and instead had turned on the TV and was splayed across the bed in a rag-doll like fashion, jacket thrown over a chair off to the side. Stiles sat down on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at a commercial, not really caring what it was about.
Silence blanketed the room as the two men sat, the television offering the only sound in the household.
Stiles couldn't keep from replaying the night in his head, in particular his inability to hold his own and the brave efforts of his father to do his part, leading to his hospitalization. There was a burning feeling behind his eyes that sank into his sinuses. It wasn't exactly crying but a silent tear ran down his cheek, determined to have something other than silence in the room.
Derek picked up the sounds coming from Stiles, not humanly audible, the boy probably wasn't aware of them himself but they stirred him from his stupor. He lay there for a minute, unsure of whether to say anything, but in the end he was pulled by a need to make sure the boy was OK, joining him on the edge of the bed. He looped and arm around the smaller man's shoulders and took a deep breath.