Where is My Mind? (Sweet Dreams Are Made of This)
Chapter One
Stiles and Jackson jumped from the car, flame grenades at the ready. Stiles took in the sight of the clearing outside of the Hale house. It looks like a battlefield, his friends thrown about, struggling to get up as a ferocious grey monster stood amongst them, seeming torn between who to attack first.
Stiles took a step forward, brought his arm back and aimed, hoping with all his might that his grenade would hit its intended target. Soaring through the air, it was heading straight at the alpha, an almost guaranteed hit…until the alpha turned saw the incoming projectile. Feigning to the right, the beast avoided the bottle and set its gaze on Stiles.
The alpha moved faster than anyone in the clearing could have anticipated. Peter Hale jumped in one giant leap to the car that Stiles and Jackson stood by, swiping one claw at the more athletic man, sending him sprawling to the ground. The beast then turned to Stiles. Stiles was paralyzed with fear, the red orbs freezing him in his place.
It happened slowly. The world started to fade around him, smells and sights and noises began to dim. He could vaguely hear Derek screaming, Scott too, but there was something in Derek's voice, a different kind of fear. He could feel the alpha pin him to the ground, could see him raise his claw, poised to strike. It was that moment in which everything fell away, and Stiles was gone, trapped within his own mind.
Derek had jumped from his spot on the ground, his feet racing to where his uncle was hunched over Stiles. Without thinking, Derek sunk his claws in the side of the alpha's neck. The beast staggered at first, and tried to turn and aim it's poised claw at Derek, but Derek dragged his claws across the beast's throat, watching the life ebb away.
Everyone in the clearing would later remember the way that Derek had acted right after that moment. He had stared at his claw, his eyes had flashed the same unforgiving red that had once lit his uncle's eyes, before he had dropped to his knees beside Stiles, frantically trying to get the attention of the young man who stared off into the distance.
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Derek, Scott and Stiles's dad crowded around the prone form of Stiles Stilinski. Derek had rushed the boy to the hospital, surprising all those who knew him with his concern. Scott had explained the werewolf factor to the sheriff, and now the group awaited word from the doctors, one of whom had walked into the door with a somber expression. The doctor had been bombarded with dozens of questions, and answered as many as he could. Before leaving the room, he gave a general summary of Stile's condition.
"He sustained a pretty heavy blow to the head. He's lucky be alive," the doctor said, giving everyone in the room a moment to process what he just said.
Sherriff Stilinksi took a shuddering breathe before asking the question which had plagued everyone's mind since they had entered the hospital room. "Is he going to be okay?"
The doctor hesitated, a move that did not go unnoticed by Derek and Scott, before he expanded on his earlier diagnosis. "Yes and no. His vitals are strong, and he is young and healthy, which gives a great outlook."
"Then what's the problem," Derek said, tired of the evasiveness.
Startled by the forwardness of the Derek's words, he looked to other people occupying the room but found no sympathy. "He's in shock. Deep shock. It's call catatonia."
"So . . . he's in a coma?" Scott asked. Derek could detect the slight tremor in the young wolf's heartbeat, and was sure that Scott could detect the irregularity in his heartbeat as well.
"No, he's awake. What differs here is that while Mr. Stilinksi is conscious, he is not aware of his surroundings. He won't respond to external stimuli," the doctor answered.
Derek could smell the tears gathering in the sheriff's eyes, could see the glossy coat of moisture gathering in his eyes. The older man stood suddenly, startling Scott, and excused himself, stating there were some other things he needed to look into to before the night was over. The doctor followed him, intent on explaining Stiles's condition in more detail.
Scott gave the sheriff a nod as he left and took the seat a few spaces away from Derek and Stiles. Silence remained thick in the air between the two conscious boys. Scott watched Derek, amazed at the soft look in his eyes as he stared at Stiles.
"He shouldn't have been there," Derek said, breaking the silence, looking anywhere but at Scott.
"No, he shouldn't have," Scott agreed, then continued. "But that's who he is. Bat-shit crazy, can barely keep his attention on something for more than ten minutes, but always willing to help."
Scott sat down next to Derek and patted his shoulder. Derek looked over at him, and for the first time that evening, Scott, dense, practically failing all of his classes Scott, understood the haunted look that painted Derek's face.
Derek Hale was in love with Stiles.
Rather than jump up and exclaim his latest discovery, Scott shrunk in his seat and gave Derek his space, ready to offer comfort if the need arose. Sighing, he looked from Derek, wondered was going through his mind, and then turned to Stiles, equally curious as to what was going through the young man's mind.
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He was trapped. On some level, he knew was trapped in some twisted nightmare, unable to escape, no matter how hard he tried. He was being forced to run through some dark forest, his greatest fear following him, pushing his body to perform at level he had never before achieved.
Every muscle in his body ached. He could feel the trees and bushes scratching his face and arms, drawing blood and eliciting pain, making it that much harder to run. His feet felt on fire, not used to such exertion. But he couldn't stop. It was right behind him. A beast that caused his heart to stutter and fear to sky-rocket.
Picking up his pace, he tried to run faster, dodging as many branches as he could. The beast was gaining on him, getting closer and closer. A loud howl broke his concentration and the next thing he knew he was soaring through the air, foot caught under the twisted root of a tree.
Whimpering, he tried to move his foot, groaning the second he attempted to roll his ankle. Backing up against the tree, he took in his surroundings
There, not thirty feet from him, crouching in the underbrush, hunched as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike, stood a werewolf with bright red eyes. Teeth bared, it reared back, preparing to strike.
Stiles closed his eyes, desperately wishing to take up from this nightmare. Begging and pleading with any deity that came to mind to be able to leave this world, to be able to see his dad or Scott or…Derek one more time. Bracing himself, he awaited the signs that the beast was getting ready to move in. Moments later, he heard the sound of claws digging into the ground. Again, closing his eyes, Stiles awaited the darkness.
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Derek sat perched in the plastic hospital chair stationed next to Stile's bed. The sheriff and Scott had left long ago. The sheriff to the burned out shell of his once majestic family home to deal with the bodies of Kate Argent and Peter Hale. He had taken the existence of werewolves and hunters rather well, and once he learned that it was Derek that had brought about his uncle, the man who had put Stiles in the hospital, he was more than willing to help cover the crime. Allison's parents, absent of grief and filled with remorse for the lost lives of the Hale family, were helping the sheriff sort through the mess.
Scott had gone to touch base with Jackson, seeking news of Lydia. Reporting back to Derek, he explained the young genius's condition. Things were tense between the two, but Scott had pushed his feelings of betrayal to the backburner, understanding on some level why Derek reacted the way he had to his uncle mauling Stiles.
It was just Derek now. So alone and so full of fear. Afraid that he would lose the only person he truly cared about left, and that it could happen before he had the chance to tell him. Exhaling a deep breathe hard, he moved to the bed and gently threaded his fingers through Stiles's unresponsive ones.
"You're going to make it through this Stiles." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Looking at the door and listening to see if anyone was near, he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on his boy's forehead. A tear dropped from his eyes and landed on the still boy's cheek. "I need you to break out of this Stiles. I need you," Derek whimpered out, his grief finally escaping the confines he had worked so hard to build.
In Stiles's hospital room, Derek Hale finally mourned the loss of his family, the loss of his sister Laura and even the death of his uncle, driven mad by the actions of prejudiced bigots. He wept, he whimpered; he never felt so weak. Holding the hand of the boy he loved, he mourned what might never be, and swore to everyone in existence if he could have the boy back he would dedicate his life to showing Stiles just how amazing he truly was.
For years he had fought this, fought the urge to cry and move on, and finally it was a battle he lost. A battle that had ended while the center of Derek's universe began his own battle: a war within his own mind.
AN: Read and review! I have a couple Teen Wolf stories started and am unsure of which I should continue right away and which I should push to the back-burner. Please, help me decide!