Title: flashing red lights and body bags
Author: The Red Hoodie
Rating: T (language and whatnot)
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski
Summary: Stiles is useless and Derek is alone.
Notes: Post 2x10. Ideas that came to me at 3AM are always the best. Be prepared for feelings and maybe you should grab some tissues. (unbeta'd, only edited once, beware and ignore)
flashing red lights and body bags
Hands shaking, heart pounding. He hadn't even felt this terrified when he had a gun pointed at his head. Melissa McCall sat numbly a few feet away, his dad was on a gurney with an oxygen mask and he was alone, sitting on the curb. His body felt heavy and cold and stiff from working off the paralysis. No one paid him any attention. Off duty officers in street clothes with hastily pulled on uniform jackets and blue dressed medics dealt with the dead bodies.
The back of Stiles' throat burned and he pressed his fingers against his eyelids. Images of his dad, dressed in black and telling him just what an awful person he was, flashed through the darkness. His chest constricted and he blinked, vision blurry.
No one asked him if he was okay. He couldn't find Scott or Jackson or Matt or Derek. No one was here.
His stomach twisted and he launched himself to his feet, stumbling between patrol cars and throwing up into the grass behind one of them. Between the wolfsbane punch and kanima venom, he was sure he should be dead or at least in a coma. He was not some supernatural being who could handle all of this, he was just…Stiles, just human.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and continued to walk blindly away from the sheriff's station. He just couldn't handle being there, with all those bodies.
He should stay. If he were a good son, he would stay with his dad…but his dad didn't even trust him, so what would it matter if Stiles stayed?
Eyes blurred with tears. He was frustrated over not being able to do a damn thing because he was just Stiles, just human. He was just a kid and a liar. He couldn't do anything, he was always helpless.
Hands grabbed him and pushed him against the rough brick of a building. He knew it was Derek, because he was the only one in town who liked to push Stiles into things that wasn't chained up in a train car right now.
Stiles didn't even say anything or protest, and Derek stepped back, letting go of Stiles' shirt. "What do you want?" Stiles said bitterly, not caring that he probably smelled gross and he was still crying.
Derek looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.
"I can't…handle any more wolf shit tonight, so you can just go fuck off." He dragged a hand over his face and then sort of froze, eyes watching his fingers as they shook.
"Stiles…"
"Derek," Stiles countered, fisting his hand and dropping his arm to his side. "If you're going to give me some speech about what happened tonight, just stop. Because…because my dad could have died. People died. People are always dying." Always. Ever since he had dragged Scott out in the middle of the night. This was all Stiles' fault.
"This is your fault, anyway. What sort of Alpha turns a kid into a freakin' lizard anyway?" Stiles knew it wasn't Derek's fault, but he had to blame someone, or he was going to have a break down right here that might possibly end with him walking in front of a bus. "You're pretty useless. Couldn't even handle yourself against the kanima, really? Some rescuer you are."
A blip of sirens cut through the air and Stiles jumped. His body tensed and his heart beat faster and faster against his chest.
No. He knew this feeling. He clenched his hands into fists, digging nails into palms. "But you…" He didn't know how he had gotten out of that room. He was still mostly paralyzed, but somehow he had fallen onto the ground and crawled to the cell, but he couldn't do anything when Matt waved around that gun and knocked out his father. His dad, who was so human and so vulnerable, with a kanima crawling around the ceiling…Stiles could have watched another parent die before his eyes…the thought caused his chest to get tight and he pushed himself back against the building so he didn't fall. "You were all wolfy and…fuck…you saved my dad."
He swallowed down a sob and his throat got tight and he could hardly breathe. Derek could do what Stiles couldn't and he should be thanking him, not blaming him but Stiles couldn't breathe and he felt like he was going to die of guilt and shame and he couldn't breathe.
He tried thinking of anything good, like the feeling when he was picked for first line or how his mom would always get him a slice of cheese at the deli when they went shopping or when Lydia actually had a good time with him at the ice skating rink but the one thing that kept popping into his head was his dad saying "You killed your mother and you're killing me" and that feeling of panic as he crawled into that room and reached out in a feeble attempt to save his dad but knowing he couldn't.
The air wasn't reaching his skin and all he was were two lungs and a brain that didn't work right. He couldn't feel a thing, but it was worse than being paralyzed…this was his own body doing this to himself.
But then he felt something. Hands on his face. Derek's hands. They were warm like fire and slammed Stiles back into his own body, though he still couldn't breathe well and he was seeing spots amid frantic images of his dad sliced to pieces by the kanima.
"Stiles." Derek's voice was muffled. Blood was rushing in Stiles' ears. "Stiles, Stiles focus."
He saw red. Literately red. Stiles blinked and sucked in a breath. His hands scraped against the brick he was leaning on, and jolts of pain shot through his skin. He couldn't focus, but he wasn't wheezing.
"Stiles, think of your father."
Stiles shook his head, feeling like he was eleven again, and refusing to get dressed for his mother's funeral. "I don't want to," he choked out.
"He's your family."
Derek's voice was soothing and Stiles found himself breathing without realizing he could. His eyes still slid out of focus and he was hyperaware of the werewolf touching him, like Derek was an anchor, the only thing keeping Stiles breathing.
"They're taking him to the hospital."
Stiles blinked, Derek's face coming into sharp view, eyes fading from red to normal. Stiles gulped, his heart slowing to a somewhat average pace. His face felt cold when Derek's hands disappeared. "What?" he croaked out, turning to look around the side of the building. The scene hadn't settled. There were still flashing lights and they were pushing bodies into the coroner's van. He saw his dad in the ambulance. He was awake and without the oxygen mask, he was just Stiles' dad.
It would have been nice of him to thank Derek for whatever it was that he did, but Stiles was reeling from the catastrophe of the night, the hallucination and the actual events at the police station. He just stepped around Derek and stumbled toward the station on legs that were still feeling like jello from the panic attack. He never thought he would feel that way again…that panicked, that hopeless…
Derek was right. His dad was his family. Guilt aside, he had to stay by his side because they were the only Stilinskis left.
"Dad," he said, stopping at the doors of the ambulance.
His dad pushed himself up, a wave of relief washing over his face. "Stiles, thank God you're safe." And he gave Stiles that same smile he often smiled after Stiles' mom died and he needed cheering up.
Stiles climbed in and onto the seat, vision blurring and nose running, turning him into a pathetic blubbery mess. His dad's hand cut into his vision and Stiles grasped it after a moment's hesitation because he just needed something to steady himself. He should say something funny, because he was Stiles, but he couldn't.
"I love you, Dad."
88
Derek lost the kanima within the city. He still wasn't at his full power, and the kanima venom had taken its toll on his already weakened body. Now was not the time to worry about anything but the kanima and Gerard Argent. He couldn't distract himself by thinking of Scott lying, or Peter being brought back to life, or that Deaton had known his family before all of this started.
He kept himself from shifting, putting all his energy and power into tracking and running. But Gerard was in a car and he moved faster than Derek could. By the time he got to the river and the bridge, all he found were tire tracks, that kid's dead body being pushed down by the soft current and the subtle scent of his uncle.
Derek stood on the bridge under the light of the full moon. He breathed and concentrated. One thing at a time…he had to deal with one thing at a time or he was going to go insane.
Deaton…the vet knew everything but he was telling nothing. Derek didn't trust him, even if he had told Derek that he was protecting him as a promise to his mother. He couldn't remember his mother ever mentioning the man, nor could he remember actually seeing him around town during his sixteen years here…before the fire.
He couldn't think of his uncle being back…or the fact that Deaton had mentioned Gerard as being involved. Derek should have never come back here…it was a cursed place and he wanted to leave but he was stuck here now. He turned kids into wolves without them understand what it really meant. He had created this failure, this kanima that was a merciless killer that couldn't be stopped.
More than anything, he wanted to tell someone, anyone about all of this. But Derek trusted no one…and for good reason. Scott had betrayed him and the rest of the pack by working with the hunters. It cut deep with Derek, his own past rushing forward, back to when he had been manipulated by an Argent himself. It stung, and just went to show that he shouldn't, and would continue to not, trust anyone.
Which brought Derek back to Deaton. He had answers to Derek's questions and there was only one way to find them out. There was no way to he could try to catch Gerard or the kanima tonight, it was a stupid idea to try, but he couldn't just sit still. He had to find something to focus on to settle his thoughts. He was the Alpha, this was his territory, he shouldn't be letting it get so out of hand. He knew this…Deaton told him he was incompetent, and there was no reason for Derek to try to justify his shitty job so far.
He felt less tired, stronger even, after his run back into town. He was going to the animal clinic, he was going to get answers, but suddenly he was hit with a wave of something invisible and powerful that stopped him in his tracks. He thought it was something supernatural, another trick by whoever was pulling the strings in this town, but then he waded through whatever it was, getting crushed by…guilt, panic, fear…
The sheriff's station was one street over. He concentrated and heard people, off duty officers and EMTs and his feet took him down the next street. Lights flashed red and blue, and Derek smelled blood and gunpowder.
Someone stumbled closer…Stiles. Derek grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him against the side of a building. He was shaking and smelled like vomit and those emotions that had brought Derek here were coming off him in waves. Derek furrowed his eyebrows and took a step back.
"What do you want?" His tone was bitter.
Derek wanted…he didn't know what. He wanted to ask Stiles what was going on, what the police were thinking happened and where Scott was, because he obviously wasn't there or Derek would be able to hear or smell him. He wanted to ask Stiles if he knew Scott was feeding information to the Argents…but he thought it better not to. Stiles was the loyal one…he would probably defend Scott's actions and waste Derek's time. No, he stayed silent, wondering why he wasn't just leaving to go find Deaton.
"I can't…handle any more wolf shit tonight, so you can just go fuck off."
Derek's eyes flickered down to Stiles' hand, which was raised in the air between them and shaking visibly. Derek felt hostility mixing with the guilt coming from Stiles. He couldn't move…something was keeping him here. He knew what it was, but he couldn't admit it. Finding any similarities between himself a human wasn't going to happen…not now or ever. He made himself a pack to distance himself from humans, yet Stiles…Stiles was always around.
"Stiles…" Derek found himself saying. More words were almost ripped from him…but he clenched his teeth. He would not sympathize. He wanted more than anything to leave.
"Derek." Stiles fisted his hand and sucked in a breath. He was shaking all over. Derek could feel it. "If you're going to give me some speech about what happened tonight, just stop. Because…because my dad could have died. People died. People are always dying."
He swallowed. Stiles was sixteen. Just like Derek was…no. This might be Derek's problem, but he was not going to stoop to that sort of level. He could deal with kanimas and resurrected uncles and hunters, but humans were a far cry from his expertise.
"This is your fault, anyway. What sort of Alpha turns a kid into a freakin' lizard anyway. You're pretty useless. Couldn't even handle yourself against the kanima, really? Some rescuer you are."
Derek swallowed. It took a lot of willpower not to crush Stiles' windpipe with his hand. But he was suddenly tired and Stiles' words rang true. It was his fault that there was a kanima…it would never not be his fault. And he had let himself get surprised by the kanima at the sheriff's station. He had been weak from the power exchange between himself and Peter and he hadn't been prepared for what was waiting for him there. He hadn't taken Deaton's words as seriously as he should have. No…he had been distracted by what had happened and the way the vet had so easily brought up his family and his mother. It was hard to hear about them…it was hard to think about them without Derek going down that dark road once again.
Like now…but Stiles caught his attention, speaking once again, humorless, painful, hard-sticking words that seemed wrong coming from him because he was always the one cracking jokes and sarcastic comments.
"But you…" Derek watched Stiles carefully because something was obviously wrong. More wrong than just dealing with what had happened at the sheriff's station. "You were all wolfy and…fuck…you saved my dad."
Something stirred in Derek…he wasn't sure what it was, but the first line of thought was that he knew…he knew what it was like having one family member left. Derek had clung to Laura like he never had before, after the fire. He was so filled with guilt that he very well could have ended his own life if he hadn't thought of how it would dishonor his family more than he already had.
This was different from just a minute earlier…there was no invisible wall stopping him from moving farther down the street. Something hit his chest like a baseball and suddenly his own hands were shaking. His eyes widened and he frowned…he'd never felt weak like this before…he swallowed and raised his eyes to Stiles. Stiles, the kid who he had actually made a good plan with while they were both paralyzed…Stiles, who always showed up in his life when he didn't want him to but always managing to be in the right place at the right time…Stiles, who had saved his life when the kanima trapped them in the pool…Stiles, who was wheezing and shaking in front of him.
He was moved by instinct. Hands lifted on their own accord, grabbing Stiles' face. His skin was cold. "Stiles," Derek said, realizing that Stiles wasn't really seeing by the blankness in his eyes. "Stiles, Stiles focus." He didn't know why, but he willed up some power and his eyes filled with red. He could see the rapid pace of Stiles' pulse at the base of his neck…practically feel his constricted lungs.
Stiles blinked. Stiles had heard him. The faint smell of blood reached Derek's nose when Stiles cut his hands on the bricks. His breathing became easier.
"Stiles, think of your father," Derek continued. Thinking of Laura had always calmed him…before the guilt hit him like a brick wall. He didn't want to admit that…he and Stiles were similar.
"I don't want to." Defiance, good. Stiles was talking, calmed enough to talk.
They knew death…Derek more shocking than Stiles, but the death of a parent is something that someone does not just forget or get passed…ever. Stiles was one of the smartest sixteen year olds Derek had ever met, even if he would never say that aloud. Derek would give anything to be sixteen again and change all of his decisions, to save his family and he wasn't going to let Stiles feel this way about his father. Because Derek knew…he knew Stiles was blaming himself for the things that happened tonight, the same way that Derek was.
They were more alike than Derek cared to think about.
"He's your family," Derek said, using a tone that he hadn't thought he would ever use. Soothing, soft, willing…he needed Stiles to focus, to coax him into grasping his own stability and getting through the night.
Derek heard the medics tell Stiles' father they were taking him for a scan to see if he had a concussion. The man was just as defiant as Stiles and the first thing he said was, "Where is my son?" Derek focused as Stiles' heart rate slowed to something less frantic, and his breathing began coming easier.
"They're taking him to the hospital."
It was enough. Stiles blinked and Derek watched as his eyes slid into focus. It was a curious thing. Derek's eyes faded to green and he let go of Stiles, still watching him carefully. He didn't sway, and while Derek could still feel him shaking, the wave of panic was gone and he was breathing properly. Stiles squawked out a "What?" and Derek took a half-step out of his way as he stumbled across the sidewalk.
Derek watched him leave, without a thanks. It didn't matter. He wasn't used to apologies. He was used to blame and guilt…
He slipped passed the numerous cars and people still mulling around. He spotted Stiles sitting with his dad in the ambulance before the doors closed. He saw the shaking body of Scott's mother stand with the help of one of the officers. She looked like she had seen something horrible, and Derek vaguely remembered her being there when the kanima attacked him…so much had gone wrong tonight. So much that couldn't be reversed and that would need picking up for some time.
Turning away from the scene, Derek took to running through the shadows of the city, trying to sort through the things he would ask Deaton first. He had to do something, anything constructive…all of Stiles' emotions were clinging to him, and he couldn't shake them. If he stopped to think about it, he would break. He had no one to comfort him, no one to go back to. He couldn't push himself to even trust his own pack and he couldn't trust himself to find Scott and not rip his throat out.
Derek clenched his hands into fists and dug his fingernails into his palms.