AN I don't own Teen Wolf of any of its characters! Rated M for mentions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, and H/C themes! Sterek fluff.
Derek knew what abuse was. He had sat through enough health classes and school presentations to know that his dad was abusive emotionally, physically, and sexually. When he was little, he'd thought that was just how parents were-or at least dads-and by the time he'd learned it was too late. That fear was already ingrained into him. That was just… how it was. He got beatings when his sisters got hurt and got fucked whenever his mom was out. Laura had begun to suspect things before the fire but only Derek and his father has made it out. After that, there was no subtlety or tact about their unusual relationship-Derek stopped calling him dad soon after, marking the shift. Ever seen, Derek had called him sir and only sir. Thankfully, they became estranged when his father was arrested for fraud over in Europe.
However, it couldn't be that simple. His sentence wasn't very long, especially by French standards, and he was an American citizen so it was only a matter of time before he came back to the states. Derek had kind of hoped that he'd forgotten about his only living son… But it was unlikely.
Stiles found the man in New York City three months into a very successful pyramid scheme. But before all that, Thomas Hale had been brilliant. Talia had diluted his more greedy and cunning nature to use his intelligence to benefit the supernatural community, but without her he plummeted. But even just finding him alive was enough to shock Stiles. He flew him to Beacon Hills as soon as possible, convinced that the former right hand man to the famed Talia Hale could only help the current situation.
But Stiles could not have expected the reaction it got… The second Thomas Hale walked through the door, Derek's entire demeanor changed. His head dropped from it's usual alpha position and his eyes hit the floor before the man was even in the room or over the threshold. The man didn't smile at him. Derek's shoulders dropped and he clasped his hands behind his back like he was trying to curl in on himself somehow. Why wasn't he happy? His father was alive! But Derek looked far from happy.
Thomas walked up to them and introduced himself to Stiles-they'd talked on the phone but never met in person-and Stiles greeted him but Derek didn't say a damn word or look up from the floor. His jaw was set and clenched tight, Stiles could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin.
"Derek." Thomas stated, like the name was some kind of accusation. Derek didn't wince or flinch but the alpha missed a breath in his rhythm.
"Did you let Kate Argent resurrect herself?" Stiles opened his mouth to argue that it wasn't Derek's fault at all but Derek answered before he could.
"Yes, sir." Thomas glared. "You let her come back here? Let her pick off members of your pack?" Derek felt his stomach lurch and fought back tears. It'd been a long time since his dad had laid into him like this but it was worse because Stiles was standing there watching the entire thing. And Thomas didn't care.
"You didn't protect them." It wasn't a question so Derek didn't answer, but the silence was enough to suffocate him. He'd let his pack down, and he'd let down the Hale reputation his mother had left behind in her death.
"Stiles, can I speak to my son alone for a moment?" Stiles hesitated and Derek tried to beg him telepathically not to go but he didn't look up or say a word because he knew that, if Stiles stayed, it wasn't going to stop Thomas. It would just make it worse later when he finally did get him alone. Stiles left, looking back over his shoulder like he was concerned every few seconds, until the door closed behind him.
Derek felt his heart lurch into his throat as his dad stepped closer. A fist connected with his stomach and he doubled over but didn't make a sound. A knee hit his temple and his vision went black for a few seconds, just long enough for his dad to deliver another kick-this time to his jaw-but he didn't fight back. Fighting back only made it worse, he'd learned that a very long time ago. It was still ingrained in him not to.
"You're a disgrace," his father growled into his ear, hauling him up by his shirt. He didn't argue or protest because he knew it was true. "To think your mother thought you were going to be the next true alpha! And yet here you are with a fucking human in your pack, three dead betas, and you're still letting Kate walk all over you! It's like you enjoy it or something!" Derek wanted to throw up. From where he was hunched over on the floor, with blood dripping from between his lips, every word his father said echoed through his body like a gunshot. Another hit to his temple, enough to make the world go fuzzy and quiet for a moment, but when he came back his dad was talking again.
"Is that what it is, Derek? Do you enjoy her torture? You always were sick like that. I remember you would moan at even the weakest punch or hit, wouldn't you? Is that was it is? You like the pain? Maybe you miss our little sessions, but Kate is no replacement for that. Don't worry, though, I plan on sticking around." With that, his dad left. He heard the apartment door slam shut and he pictured the scene of Stiles running into him in the hall. He heard them briefly say goodbye, his dad much less pleasant now that he'd used Stiles to find his only son, but Derek just let out a sob into his hand.
Lying on his back with his knees bent to keep from stretching the bruises on his ribs, he brought an arm up over his eyes as if he could blackout the memory of what just happened. Tears slipped out between the skin of his arm and of his cheek but he didn't care. He just lay there, the world spinning, and tried not to throw up. He'd forgotten how rough his dad's touch was, how eagerly he dealt blow after blow with no concern for what it did to Derek. He heard the door open again and prayed that he father wasn't back. But it was Stiles and as soon as he saw Derek, the younger man almost gagged. Stiles was on the floor beside him in an instant, asking if he was okay and what happened, but Derek just stood so quickly that he got a headrush and brushed him off. He moved to the table by the window and started throwing together a go bag of bullets and bandages but Stiles wouldn't let up.
"Derek you have a fucking black eye! What the hell happened!?" Derek stiffened. He couldn't do it. The raw hurt and worry in Stiles' voice ate at him like acid he couldn't wipe off.
"Nothing I didn't deserve." That was true. Allison, Boyd, Erica, and now Ethan too? His father was right, he was failing his pack. God what the hell was he doing? He hadn't asked for any of this, especially not to become an alpha, and he hadn't asked to have all these lives resting in his hands. But now he was the one dropping them.
Derek was lost in his thoughts of self pity and blame until Stiles reached for his arm. He sensed the touch before it happened and jerked away so quickly he left Stiles grasping at air but just as quickly he hissed.
"Don't touch me!" Stiles just stared at him in shock. They weren't close, or at least not particularly close compared to any of the other pack members, but Derek had never flinched that violently away from him before. He hadn't meant to. The hurt it put in Stiles' face made him regret it even more but he just turned his back. It was better this way. If the pack learned not to trust him, not to rely on him, then maybe they had some semblance of a chance at surviving,
"I'm sorry, I thought bringing him here… I thought he would help with the recent disappearances.."
"He will." Stiles swallowed hard, watching his hands shake on the desk. Derek was so stupid. He'd gone two years without his father finding him and he'd thought that could last forever but that wasn't the way it was meant to be. Just like Paige and Kate and Jennifer weren't meant to be, his father was never meant to leave him alone. He could already hear his voice, calling him Ricky in that singsong tone. He could already feel his hands on his hips or the way his breath hit his shoulder.
He knew the second he went to his father he'd get the beating of his life. But he also knew he deserved it. Stiles hadn't been wrong. His dad would help, for the right price, but that price was getting his son back. Derek wanted to throw up again, and not because of the bruised ribs. He hadn't missed his father, at least not the anger or the yelling or the slicing little comments, but he had missed the touch. It made him sick to his stomach and he hated himself for even thinking it but the only person who had ever touched him, hugged him, held him, or fucked him, and had remained constant in his life was his father.
None of the pack even brushed a shoulder against his in the hallway. Stiles had reached for him now, sure, but Derek could never get used to the touch or relax enough to lose himself in it. At least with his dad it was familiar. It was a routine. A sick, twisted routine but a routine nevertheless.
"Derek, you're shaking. Please tell me what happened or let me help you." Something about Stiles' blatant observation struck deep in his gut. He was shaking. He was visibly shaking, and to the human eye. God his dad was right he was always such a sick fuck. He started to lose himself in that thought but then suddenly Stiles was in his arms, hugging him. Hugging him? Derek couldn't breathe for a second, only half because of the bruised ribs, but no it was true Stiles was there hugging him and it was real. What the fuck? Slowly, Derek made himself hug the boy back. No, not boy. Stiles was nineteen now. Derek kept forgetting that.
"Why are you hugging me?" But Stiles shook his head.
"Just let me, please," It was strange but the longer they stood there like the that the less uncomfortable Derek became. It felt like hours but Derek slowly began to breathe normally and then maybe even relaxed a little into the touch? Maybe he could get used to this. Maybe his dad was the only person-no, who the hell was he kidding? He was sick and twisted and Stiles would disappear too-somehow-just like all the others. His dad was the only constant, that was why Derek keep letting it happen.
At least that's what he told himself. In no way did he like that it was his father, he just liked the affection. He was so touch starved and desperate for any kind of love or attention that he didn't care who it came from or how many punches came with it. He deserved them all anyways. Gradually he realized the man in his arms was shaking and he started to panic-jumping to a seizure or some kind of anxiety or panic attack-but Stiles wasn't panicking. He was… crying? Derek managed to mumble out some variation of what's wrong but Stiles shook his head, still hugging Derek and not showing the slightest indication of wanting to let go anytime soon.
"I never want to see that expression on your face again." Derek couldn't help himself, he couldn't stop it. The response bubbled up from his gut and out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking.
"Yes, sir." Stiles went rigid against him. Derek swore at himself but couldn't make himself back away or let go so he just stood there, trapped and beating himself up as much as he could without actually moving. Later, he would actually do that anger justice. Leave bruises and scars that disappeared as quickly as they formed. But in that moment he just stood there, stuck and panicking.
"Don't ever call me that again..." Stiles whispered finally, his voice broken but determined. Again Derek fought back the instinctive response of yes sir but this time he was ready and managed to keep quiet.
"Sorry." He mumbled but Stiles shook his head. When he did take a step back, Derek found himself whining internally at the loss of contact. Thankfully, it was at a high enough frequency that Stiles didn't hear it but he still swallowed it down quickly. Stiles just stared at him, his face looking heartbroken.
"What the hell did he do to you? Two minutes and you look like an entirely different person, and not in a good way." But Derek didn't answer. He couldn't. If he even started to tell Stiles the half of it Stiles would know how perverted and sick he was and the entire pack would know too. So he just shook his head. Stiles sighed but seemed to realize that Derek was not going to budge on the issue. So he reached out and took his phone from the table and programmed his number in it before handing it back to Derek.
"Please don't do anything stupid. And please, please call me the second you want to talk or are willing to let me help you. Any hour, any reason. Please." And with that Stiles excused himself and left but Derek just gaped at the phone like Stiles had pulled it out of a magic hat. Stiles had given him his number. Not for safety, not for the pack, for Derek to call if he needed him. Any time, any hour of the day, day or night. Derek wanted to sob and punch something and be punched all at the same time. No one in his life had ever done something so simple and yet so blatantly caring.
He pocketed the phone and went out to look for one of the sleazy bars on the edge of town where he knew he could pick a fight but, every few minutes, he found himself touching the outline of it in his pocket, as if reassuring himself it was still there. That that had just happened. Even when he was down on the cement with blood in his eyes and at least four broken bones, he touched the outline. It helped almost as much as the pain did. He didn't fight back, he didn't ever fight back, he just let the four guys pound him into the dust until he wanted to die and then a little more.
The injuries started to heal before they'd even finished but they were in no way healed immediately. So, when he stumbled back to his apartment, it was with blood running between his teeth and a seering fracture in his ankle. He didn't care. He touched the phone again as he neared his apartment, relieved that the outline was still there against his leg. Maybe one day he would actually use it, but for now he was content to know it was there.
When Thomas pulled out of his burning ass and moved to the other side of the motel room, Derek didn't let himself move. There was cum on his chest and cum dripping between his legs onto the bed but he didn't move. He heard his dad sigh and he heard the belt buckle jingle as he tucked the leather back into his duffel bag. Derek tried not to notice the stinging and throbbing of his back and his ass but he knew there were marks, deep and purple with tinges of red, all over his skin.
"I told you to get that tattoo removed." Derek winced but didn't say anything. He didn't move. His dad had told him to get it removed as soon as the fire happened. Said it wasn't right to keep a reminder of something that didn't exist anymore.
"You don't deserve that symbol on your skin with the shit kind of alpha you've turned out to be." He clenched his jaw but didn't move. Another sigh, and then his dad walked out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind him. It wasn't locked, though. Derek didn't get up to lock it. He felt the cum seeping from his asshole and it felt dirty and gross and wrong but he didn't get up to shower-not yet. He laid there and forced himself to drown in it, in how sick this all was and how sick he was. When he did roll off the bed, it was with a groan because the skin and muscle from his shoulders to his ass felt like they were going to explode. He hissed, but stepped into the cold shower anyways.
It hurt like hell but he made himself stand there and turn up the heat until it burned on his skin. He deserved it. Maybe he thought the hotter it was, the more it could wash away the sin of what had just happened, but it didn't. Even when he stepped out, he felt like shit. He left, slipping into his camaro, and hesitated in the driver's seat. Suddenly angry at himself, he smashed his head forward into the steering wheel but compared to his back it was barely a dull ache. He drove back to his apartment feeling like he was going to throw up despite not having eaten in days.
The second time his dad called him to his hotel room, Derek didn't hesitate. He hadn't the first time, or ever before, because he feared what his dad would do to him if he did. But after the feeling of someone else touching him, of someone's warmth against his skin, of someone wanting him, had worn off again he laid on the bed and tried not to cry. Like usual, his dad put away the belt and left without a word.
Derek didn't get up, though, he just couldn't. His back hurt more than usual and his ass felt used and violated. The cum on his chest made him want to scream but he made himself stare at it for some reason. Like a self punishment for having done what he just did, again. He laid there and felt more and more like the world was closing in on him, like he couldn't breathe.
Until there was a knock at the door. He hadn't realized he was crying until he looked up and his vision was blurred with tears. Another knock but Derek didn't have the voice to answer nor the strength to get up and lock the door. His dad had left it unlocked. He prayed they would go away but the person tried the handle and, when it gave, opened the door. He expected housekeeping or the manager saying his dad hadn't paid but he hadn't expected Stiles to stand there in the doorway and stare at him. Or to rush forward, closing the door, and collapse beside him frantically checking vitals.
Derek curled his knees up to his chest, ignoring the fact that he was naked. It was a sorry attempt to try to hide the cum on his chest from Stiles, but Stiles didn't seem to notice. If he did, it wasn't what he focused on. It took a solid minute before Derek was able to understand a word that Stiles said through the near hyperventilating breathing and the rushed, frantic words.
"ohmygodDerek! What the hell happened!?" But Derek just let out another sob, against his will, and curled in on himself. He couldn't move. Something in him poured into his joints and hardened like cement, trapping him in that position on the bed where he couldn't breathe and he felt Stiles eyes boring into him. After a minute, Stiles seemed to realize he wasn't going to talk. Stiles stood, leaving Derek surprisingly cold despite not touching him.
When Stiles returned, it was behind him with a warm, wet, washcloth. He ran it down Derek's back, washing away the sweat, and down between his legs. Slowly, he uncurled Derek's limbs and laid him out on the bed so that he could wipe down his chest and his limp cock. Returning with another washcloth, Stiles pressed the cool wetness against Derek's forehead, making sure it touched both his temples, and left it there. Returning yet again, Stiles was holding Derek's discarded boxers and eased them on to him, lifting his hips to get them on.
What had gotten into Stiles? He wasn't questioning any of this, just taking care of Derek. Wait. Stiles was taking care of him? Derek wanted to cry all over again, not that he'd ever stopped. Stiles was taking care of him. Without question, without a word, without even knowing what happened. Stiles was just… taking care of him. But he was torn from his thoughts when Stiles retrieved the comforter from the floor that his dad had ripped off the bed before he even got there. Got in the way, he said.
But Stiles wrapped him in it and eased him up off the bed and onto the floor where Stiles could sit with him without sitting in a puddle of semen. Derek hadn't realized how cold he was until Stiles wrapped him up. Slowly, Stiles gave him a questioning look.
"Derek, what happened? Are you okay" He scoffed and tried to brush Stiles off but stopped himself mid-breath. Stiles, who had just taken care of him without a word after finding him in his dad's hotel room covered in cum, was asking if he was okay. He deserved a better answer.
"I'll be okay.." he finally answered. But that wasn't what Stiles wanted to hear, apparently, because he scooted closer and laid a hand on Derek's shoulder over the comforter.
"No, I know you'll be okay. I asked if you're okay now." Derek suddenly couldn't look away from Stiles' pale hazel eyes. They were like traps, he realized. Deep and mesmerizing but plain on the surface so he didn't realize he was getting lost in them until he was beyond hope. Stiles just pleaded him with those eyes.
"No," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm not okay." Stiles didn't gape or interrogate him, he just nodded, rubbing that hand on his shoulder in little circles.
"Why?" The word was soft, and gentle. Derek didn't realize he'd heard it and was responding until he heard his own voice speaking.
"Why!? Because I just let my own goddamn father fuck me that's why! Because I'm the sickest fucking pervert in the entire fucking world and-" Stiles didn't stop him or interrupt but his voice cut off with a choked sob. He couldn't help it, his shoulders were shaking again at the weight of confessing this to Stiles. He'd never told anyone about his dad.
"Derek, you're covered in welts and bruises." Derek nodded, still crying. Somehow Stiles had managed to skip right past the whole letting his dad fuck him part but Derek still felt like he couldn't breathe.
"He- He-" But he didn't have to finish that sentence because Stiles seemed to understand the implication that they were from his father.
"God, Der..." That nickname on Stiles' lips was enough to snap Derek back to the present for a moment, just long enough to feel Stiles lean against him with his forehead pressed against Derek's arm. He was crying. Why was Stiles crying, though?
"God" he repeated, shaking his head. Derek fought the urge to tell him that god had left them a long time ago. But Stiles just sat there, slowly shaking his head until it turned into more of a rocking rhythm that Derek got caught up in too, like a lullaby.
"Why, Der?" Stiles finally whispered, his voice shaking like he didn't really want to know. Why what? What did Derek let his dad fuck him in cheap motel rooms? Why did he let his dad beat the living shit out of his with a belt? But Derek was about two miles past the point of no return and he just laughed, bitter and dark in the silence. A dam broke.
"Because I'm so fucking alone!" he snapped, years of pain and desperate need leaching into his voice. "Because he was sick and twisted before the fire and I was young, taught to respect my elders. I was scared of him. And then after the fire I was so fucking alone. I slept with countless women to try to drown it out but they all left or melted away into nothingness until he was the only constant. And he kept the habit from when I was little but-" his voice broke but he wasn't done, the words just kept tumbling out no matter what he did.
"But I liked it. It was sick and it was wrong and he beat the shit out of me but it was the first time I didn't feel alone. And he kept calling until I was afraid of what he would do if I didn't answer but I wanted to answer, too. Because no one stayed in my life. No one! And he's horrible but he isn't wrong, nothing he says, even if it cuts deep, is ever wrong. And he beats the shit out of me because it gets him off but it's not like I don't deserve it. Hell! You know that as well as anyone. But now he's back and I hate it I hate myself for it I hate everything about this crappy existence I call a life but… For a few seconds I'm not alone. I'm so tired of being alone."
Stiles sobbed against him, matching his own, but Derek didn't care. He felt like he was going to throw up still and he wanted to die right there on that floor but he didn't care. Because Stiles knew. Stiles knew the whole sick twisted story and whatever was going to happen would happen but Stiles knew. Stiles didn't pull away from him, though, or twist his face in disgust. He just cried.
And then, like something suddenly clicked, Stiles reached forward and wrapped Derek in the tightest hug he could ever imagine, burying his face in Derek's shoulder and clinging to him. For a long time, they just sat like that. Derek ran out of tears and just stared at the wall, mulling over possible situations of how this played out, but Stiles still sobbed and clung to him until Derek could feel his warmth through the comforter.
"Derek," Stiles finally choked, starling Derek who thought he was silenced with tears still. "Goddammit Derek! You're such an idiot! You're not alone. I'm here! I've always been here…" Stiles went quiet for a moment but Derek didn't speak. He was waiting for the rest, waiting to hear how perverted he was or to hear how he was going to send them both to jail for what they were doing. Waiting for the words to slash into his chest like knives. But Stiles just shook his head.
"You're coming home with me." Derek started to pull away and protest but Stiles gripped his wrists, hard. "No, you're coming with me. I'm not leaving you alone, not like this, you're coming home with me." Derek stopped protesting before he even started. He could tell from the boy's tone-not, not boy he reminded himself-that he wasn't going to give on this and honestly Derek didn't have anywhere else to go. But he didn't just accept it.
"Why." Stiles stared at him in shock for the first time that day, truly disbelieving. Not horrified, not disgusted, not hurt or upset, just disbelieving.
"Why?" he repeated, like it was the first time he'd ever heard the word. "Because you have people who love you, Derek. I love you! And I'm gonna prove it to you." Derek, for the first time in years, saw a flicker of actual compassion in someone's eyes when they looked at him. Actual, genuine affectionate that hinted at love. That wasn't possible. He was wrong, he had to be. But for the moment Derek let himself believe it and nodded.
He let Stiles drag him up to a standing position and ease on his sweats and his shirt. Barefoot, he followed Stiles to his jeep and let the younger man buckle him into the passenger seat. The drive was silent, but not tense. Stiles handed him four advil which he took without a word. When they parked outside the Stilinski house, Derek didn't get out of the car. Until Stiles walked over and opened the door, took his hand, and lead him out towards the front door.
Inside, Stiles wasted no time in pulling Derek up the stairs. He grabbed two oranges and a pudding cup on the way up, through, which made Derek pause. But he hurried forward to keep up, afraid of losing Stiles. In what must have been Stiles bedroom, they stopped. Stiles pushed him down onto the bed and god it smelled so much like Stiles that Derek almost moaned. But Stiles fed him the oranges and pudding and made him drink the entire water bottle on his desk before he let him lay down on the comforter. Stiles tucked him in, gently, but Derek didn't let him leave.
"Wait, Stay with me." Stiles nodded and sat on the floor near the bed but Derek shook his head. "Please Stiles, stay with me." He tugged until Stiles stood and looked at him with question.
"Please," he whispered, a last stitch effort. "Please you're the only person who has ever made me feel like I'm not completely alone." That broke Stiles instantly. He climbed under the covers with Derek and wrapped him in his arms, not batting an eye when the wolf nuzzled into his chest or whimpered at any soft touch. Derek was so starved for affection that he almost cried when Stiles smoothed his hair or rubbed patterns on his shoulder to calm him down. He did cry, silently. Because he hadn't been lying. Stiles was the only other person to make him question that deep ache in his chest if only for a second, and lying there with him, Derek felt it again. Like when his dad ran his hands along his spine or gripped his hips to reposition him, almost holding him. But a hundred times more. Stiles gently kissed his forehead.
"Don't cry, Der," he whispered. But Derek did cry. And for the first time in maybe ten years it was for a good reason rather than a bad one.
Thanks for reading! Hope to update soon with more H/C fluff for Sterek but reviews encourage!