Alright everyone, so it all begins. You're reviews have been most helpful, and I have taken careful consideration to how I will build the story from here. Please keep them coming! Brace yourselves! Here's Chapter 8.
Stiles stood petrified. His mind hadn't begun to function again. Everything was a blur—the forest around him, the thud of his heart, his memory swirling chaotically. All Stiles could remember were Derek's ruby eyes boring into the very core of his heart, and then it all went blank. The only feeling he had were two lips, coarse as sandpaper yet gentle as a feather, upon his own.
His mind flared into overdrive. Derek had kissed him. Something Stiles had thought was impossible, yet it was really happening. Why? The question echoed through his head. Why is this happening? This shouldn't be happening. What is going on? What do I do? Do I stop him? Do I want this? Of course I want this, but why? Does Derek want this? He started it. He kissed me. But why? Why? Why?
Stiles couldn't wrap his head around it. Something definitely sparked within his chest, and chills ran up and down his spine. Then it was all gone. Derek pulled away, leaving an unpleasant feeling where his lips had just been. Half of Stiles wanted to pull him back in, but he restrained himself. Don't. This isn't real. This didn't happen. It's all a lie.
"Stiles…" Derek searched for something to say, his strong jaw clenching as his brow furrowed.
Stiles just stared at him, completely frozen, completely unmoving. Why did you do that? Why the fuck would you do that? This can't happen. I'll ruin it. I'm no good for you. You can't want me. I'm not perfect. Stiles was at war with himself, and all he could do was stare. Fires raged inside of him, and all he wanted to do was scream. Yet there he stood, quiet as stone.
"Stiles… Please say something." Derek's now hazel eyes pleaded. He reached out to touch Stiles face, seeming to awake the boy from his stupor. Stiles flinched away.
"Why did you do that?" It was nothing more than a whisper. "Why the hell did you do that?"
"Stiles… I…" Derek retracted his hand. "I don't know."
I knew it… Stiles clenched his jaw, and ran his hand up the door of the jeep. Yanking it open he jumped in and started the vehicle. Throwing the transmission in reverse, Stiles backed up and sped away from the burnt out house, leaving a solemn-faced Derek in a cloud of dust and pine needles.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Stiles paced around his room. What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck happened today? Derek. He kissed me. Why would he kiss me? That wasn't supposed to happen. I should have never gone over. I knew it was a bad idea. Oh shit, he knows I cut. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He must think I'm beyond mental. But then why would he kiss someone as fucked up as me? I don't get it… Why?
Stiles felt like he was going crazy. His mind was a whirlwind of incoherent thoughts and flashbacks of that all too wonderful—and petrifying—moment when Derek's lips pressed against his.
Six hours had passed, and all Stiles could do was question how something like that had happened. Stiles had been going over possibilities for hours. He hadn't done his homework, hadn't taken his Adderall; he hadn't even eaten dinner. His dad was at work for his double shift, so Stiles was all alone, which was the last thing he needed. But it's the first thing I want. I don't deserve to have people see me like this—especially Derek. God, he must think I'm crazy. Absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred million thousand percent beyond fucked up in the head.
Stiles groaned, and sank onto his bed. There is no way I can face any of them now. Stiles put his head in his hands. Good luck sleeping tonight. Then Stiles' head shot up. He had picked up a bottle of the Pharmacy's strongest over the counter sleep aid before he had headed to see Derek. Stiles leapt to his back pack on his computer chair, and found the bottle. Oh thank sweet baby Jesus. He read the label.
Take one tablet thirty minutes before bed. Do not exceed… blah blah blah. Stiles did as the directions commanded, popping one pill and swallowing it dry. Thirty minutes will be a breeze to wait through. Stiles thought, as he practically ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He didn't even bother to look in the mirror.
Within five minutes, Stiles was back in his room, stripped down to his briefs and in bed. Please work fast, Stiles pleaded with himself. Regardless of how hard he tried to distract himself, his thoughts always returned to Derek's kiss. What if he meant it? Oh, please, Stiles told himself. Why would someone like Derek mean to kiss someone like you? Stiles felt a bit juvenile, yelling at himself like this, but the feeling was there. What if?
Stiles looked at the clock.
10:55pm.
C'mon, please work. Within minutes, Stiles received his wish and slipped into a deep, but dark sleep.
xXxXxXxXxXx
Derek perched on Stiles' window sill. Hard as he tried, Derek couldn't stay away from Stiles' house. He knew he shouldn't be there. I probably scared him so bad today. There went any chance I had. Derek mentally slapped himself. You're such a fucking idiot. Of course he didn't want you. His wolf whimpered. Well at least now I know. Now I can't hurt him anymore.
Derek prepared to leap down from the sill, when he heard Stiles whimper. He peered back inside the boy's window, seeing Stiles tossing in his sleep.
"Derek…" Stiles whimpered his name.
Derek didn't believe his ears.
"Derek… please… Help me…" Stiles tossed again.
Derek's ears were alert; the stenches of fear, pain, and sadness emanated from the room.
Stiles whimpered and tossed again. With a scream, the boy jolted upright in his bed, panting heavily. Derek turned quickly and hid himself on the roofing just beside the window. From here, Derek could still hear the boy's pounding heart, almost as if it could pound out the fear that had a vice like grip on the boy's panting. He heard Stiles swear.
Then Derek felt something different—something terrifyingly different. An aura of anger seeped from the room, and Derek heard the padding of Stiles feet on the hardwood floor of the bedroom. Derek looked at his watch.
12:00am.
Does Stiles ever sleep? Derek knew the answer to that question. Of course he doesn't. When he's hurting as bad as he has, he…Derek's head shot up in attention at a horrifying realization. He quickly turned to gaze into the window, only to see Stiles standing only in his briefs in front of his desk. Anger was seeping from the window as if it were water through a sponge. Derek heard the boy intake a breath sharply and exhaled a whimper. Something metallic flashed by his stomach.
NO! Derek's claws erupted from his fingertips, digging underneath the window, yanking it upward and snapping the lock with ease. Stiles jumped back, tripping over a shoe and fell to the ground with a yelp of fear as Derek leapt into the room, his eyes ablaze.
"Stiles drop the knife." Derek growled; the scent of blood filled his nostrils. "I said DROP it."
To Derek's dismay, Stiles recovered from his fear and got to his feet, gripping the razor tighter in his palm.
"What the FUCK are you doing here?" Stiles spat. His eyes awash with anger, fear, and pain in the moonlight now streaming through the open window. Blood trickled from a small cut by Stiles' navel.
Derek thought he was going to be sick. Regardless, Derek choked down his horror and rushed forward, grabbing the wrist which held the bloodied razor.
"Derek let go!" Stiles cried weakly.
"I said DROP it." He growled again. This time, Stiles' hand fell open and Derek heard the razor clatter to the floor.
All anger emanating from Stiles immediately dissipated, only to be replaced by the thicker, darker aura of anguish and fear. Stiles' wrist began to tremble. His breath became raggedly labored.
He's trying not to cry… Derek realized, and his wolf immediately gave way to his human form. Stiles' head was bowed, trying to keep back the sobs.
"Help… me…" Stiles gave a stuttered whimper, and Derek almost shattered to pieces with him.
Derek pulled the nearly-naked Stiles into a solid embrace, cradling the broken boy against his chest. "Shh….Shh… It's okay. It's all over. It's okay. It was just a nightmare… Shh…" Derek crooned.
Stiles collapsed into Derek's hold; his emotional dam had broken and the sobs flowed freely. The boy was shaking as he gasped for breath.
Derek could feel the boy's panic attack approaching, so he tightened his grip around Stiles. "Stiles, I'm here." He repeated the mantra over and over, as the boy weakly clutched to his shirt, staining it with the blood from his torso and the tears from his eyes.
"D-d-d-don't…l-l-l-l…" Stiles couldn't form coherent words due to his torrential sobs.
Derek had never seen the boy this hurt, this vulnerable. In fact he had never seen anyone in such a state. Stiles… Derek couldn't even comprehend how much emotion was being released from its prison in his own arms. "I'm not leaving."
Derek managed to walk Stiles' trembling figure to the bedside, and he sat down cradling the boy closer to him. Stiles curled toward him in response, the torrent still flooding from his body.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Stiles' sobbing dwindled to dry whimpering and panting, and then eventually it slowed to an even pace. Stiles' heart slowed as well as the boy slipped into an unconscious state. Derek looked at the clock.
1:30am.
Derek looked at Stiles who lay limply in his lap. The blood oozing from the small cut on his stomach had congealed. I'd better patch that up. Derek carefully lifted Stiles from his lap, and laid him on the bed, tucking the comforter around his bare figure. Stepping quickly to the bathroom, Derek rummaged through the cabinet under the sink, and located Stiles' first aid kit.
Returning to the room, Derek carefully uncovered Stiles' torso, and applied a large bandage to the boy's wound. Derek swiftly replaced the comforter as Stiles shivered from a draft that had blown from the open window. Derek quickly closed it.
Stiles whimpered again, his brow furrowing, and Derek could smell fear growing within him. Moving to the opposite side of the bed Derek sat on the mattress, and placed a hesitant and careful hand on the boy's shoulder. Stiles relaxed at the touch, resuming a restful breathing pattern. Stiles… Derek's gut wrenched for the boy and his pain. He scooted closer to Stiles, and carefully lay next to him. Reaching out an arm, he wrapped it around the sleeping boy, who stirred at the warm touch, but did not wake. Derek pulled Stiles close, and buried his nose in the back of the boy's neck, inhaling his intoxicating scent.
Stiles breathed deeply again, all traces of fear gone from his tear-streaked face. Finally, he can get some real sleep. Derek thought to himself. He placed a soft kiss on the back of Stiles' neck, and settled in to wait for the sun to arise.
