Derek rolls his eyes; he is so not in the mood to put up with this bullshit. "Did you not hear me just say that I do? Quit with the stalling, Stiles, I don't have the patience."
The boy sighs. "Fine, fine, I'm sorry. I'm just... scared."
"You don't have to be."
"No, Derek, I kinda do. I... I've been getting these... weird discolorations on my skin for about a week now. At first I thought they were bruises I got from beating myself up in my sleep or something, since they only really hurt when pressure's applied to them, but then they started to look... splotchy. Then I maybe thought I'd developed a late case of eczema, but they don't itch or anything, and it's not rosacea either because it doesn't look or feel like acne. So when I was thinking back to when this started happening, I realized that this is very likely a result of my physics teacher, and- Damn it, Derek, stop it with the glowing eyes. Wipe that scowl off your face. Derek."
"I'm going to fucking kill that son of a bitch," Derek growls, turning to the door. He's stopped by Stiles before he can storm off, who takes his arm and holds it against his chest.
"No, you're not," he says, which causes Derek to look back at him. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you. Please think rationally. Hurting him in return isn't going to solve anything. It might just piss him off and then he'll do even worse things. Never-ending loop, Derek."
Derek stares at him for a moment before calming down a little bit. He sighs and Stiles lets go of his arm. "So you've got all sorts of weird spots on you."
"Yes."
"Because of your teacher."
"Yeah.."
This explains why he's the only one who noticed something off about his scent. The other kids are familiar with the smells of their school, so it's not weird at all to them that Stiles would smell like a teacher. Still, why is it that this man's presence is stronger than anyone else's?
Derek's gut wrenches. "He put his hands on you?"
"No! No, it's nothing like that. He always talks about experiments he likes to do in his spare time. About two weeks ago, he started giving me candies every time I'd answer a question correctly. I'm thinking those candies are one of his experiments. The discoloration started showing up last week. As soon as I noticed, I made sure to cover everything up as quickly and effectively as possible."
Well, that's a relief. Somewhat, at least.
Another exhale escapes Derek's lips. "And that's why you smell like CoverGirl."
Stiles crosses his arms. "It's actually L'Oreal, thank you very much. Because I'm worth it."
"Now isn't the time for jokes, Stilinski. Take it off."
"What?"
"Take the makeup off. I want to see the damage that bastard's done."
"You're not going to turn this into one of those dumb, cheesy chick flick moments where you kiss all my wounds and vow to protect me no matter what, are you?"
"Stiles."
"Okay, okay. Do you have any makeup wipes?"
"No. Why would I have makeup wipes? Can't you just use water?"
"It's a waterproof foundation, Derek. Shit doesn't budge."
Derek sighs for what feels like the millionth time in only twenty minutes. His brain is pounding against his skull so roughly and rapidly that it feels like it's trying to write a heavy metal song before it'll finally explode from anger. Red clouds his vision, faded to where Stiles stands, a pink fuzz surrounding the boy's frame. His muscles are tense, making him feel as if he's made of rocks. It's definitely taking a lot of self control to remain calm instead of go on a psychotic murderous rampage.
"Okay," he says slowly. "Did you bring any with you? Do you have any in your car?"
Stiles worries his bottom lip for a moment and radiates internal conflict. "How badly do you want to see them?"
"If you don't show them soon, I guarantee you I will kill that piece of shit first and ask questions later. I'm not afraid of the consequences, Stiles."
It's Stiles' turn to sigh. "I think I may have some in the glove box."
"Go get them."
Stiles nods and leaves the loft.
Derek runs a hand through his hair. He feels like such a jackass for not prying this out of Stiles sooner. If he'd have done so, the bastard would have had his ass severely kicked by now. Stiles wouldn't still be hurting.
How could he let this go on for so long?
He really fucking wants to punch something, someone. The urge to shove his claws deep into someone's chest and tear out their heart has never been stronger, and he's felt that desire plenty of times before - and rightfully so.
Stiles' scent grows stronger, and the note of fear is overpowering. This must mean he found the wipes. That, or he doesn't have them and is scared of what Derek's reaction may be. If that's the case, Derek doesn't blame him.
The teenager lets himself in, and Derek's eyes immediately go to the small light blue package in his shaky left hand.
"I'm guessing those are the wipes."
"Yeah... And you're positive you-"
"Stiles."
"I'm sorry, Derek. You have to understand that this isn't easy for me."
The truth is, Derek doesn't really understand. He's too pissed off to try. Of course he wants to - and should - be there for Stiles, but his immense hatred for this physics teacher dick is too... immense. A bright orange flame of burning abhorrence overtakes his entire body; there's simply no room left for empathy.
Derek stays quiet and watches Stiles. After a brief staring contest, Stiles starts walking to the bathroom, and Derek follows suit. Stiles turns the light on as he enters, an unpleasantly overpowering scent of dread flooding the apartment. Derek leans against the door frame and watches Stiles tear open the flimsy top of the packet. A quick glance at the label tells Derek the wipes are unscented; the aroma is faint even to his nose, and it's even easier to cover up with a shower than a product with heavy chemical fragrances would be. Damn this kid's smarts.
Stiles pulls out a damp white cloth and unfolds it from its compact rectangular shape. He looks into the mirror, obviously does his best to avoid his boyfriend's gaze, and begins to wipe the makeup off his forehead. Such a simple, innocent action is something no one would normally pay any mind to, but due to the situation, Derek is completely invested.
The first few areas of skin show no traces of manipulation, simply revealing a canvas that has been stripped of its flesh-colored paint. It doesn't take long for the discoloration to peek through, ugly reddish stains on the smooth, pale surface. Once Stiles' face is bare, he moves on to his neck and collarbone. That area isn't very altered, but a few disgusting pink-toned marks do reside.
He flips the cloth over and starts removing everything from his arms, uncovering a gruesome display of varying shades of red. Derek's blood is boiling so much he feels like it's on the verge of evaporation.
Then he takes off his shirt. The dirty towelette is thrown into the trashcan and another one is taken from the packet. Stiles takes his time unfolding this one, the fear and insecurity he radiates being strong enough to knock someone over. Every fiber of Derek's being is tense and infuriated as the new cloth touches Stiles' skin. His chest becomes even more exposed as the wipe travels over it. He doesn't clean further than his navel. Derek assumes this is where the makeup stops.
"So...," Stiles says awkwardly after tossing the cloth into the trashcan.
"Yep," Derek confirms, "I'm going to kill him."
"No, you are not. Murder is never the answer, okay? Except for the times where it is, but this is not one of those times. I told you, causing him pain isn't going to do anyone any good."
"I would rather be in jail for manslaughter than have this motherfucker keep doing whatever this shit is to you."
"You said you weren't going to turn this into a cheesy chick flick moment, Derek."
"How the hell is me talking about killing someone a 'cheesy chick flick moment'?"
"You're doing the 'I'm always going to protect you, babe' thing."
"Would you rather I not want to make sure you're safe?"
"Yes! This is something I need to solve on my own."
"Oh, yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?"
Stiles doesn't respond, which answers Derek's question the exact way he was expecting.
"That's what I thought. You can't say you want to fix this on your own when you're just enduring it. Letting it happen isn't going to do a damn thing. You obviously can't deal with this alone."
"Don't tell everyone else.." Stiles sounds small, a tone that breaks Derek's heart. "Please."
"I won't," Derek tells him earnestly. "That's your job, not mine."
Stiles flinches slightly, but he nods. "Yeah.."
"Go see Deaton."
"Deaton..? Why? You... think it's something supernatural?"
"I don't know. Might be. If you don't think it's something human science can answer, then this would be the only viable option."
The teenager nods again. He stares silently at the floor for a few seconds before slowly holding out his arms.
Derek's heart squeezes with a mixture of anguish and adoration. He envelops Stiles in as tight an embrace as he'll allow himself, being careful to avoid as many red spots as he can. Stiles relaxes a little in his arms, but he still smells nervous.
Of course he does. This can't be easy for him. Hiding things from his loved ones. Potentially being in a shit-ton of danger from some fucked up candies. It's a stressful position to be in.
He doesn't care at all what Stiles wants him to do. Derek's not going to show this motherfucker any mercy when he gets his hands on him.
Deaton listens attentively to Stiles' story. He makes no noise at all throughout its duration, not even when Derek interjects with incredibly important expletives about the situation. "I'm sorry this is happening to you," he says once Stiles is done. "I can't guarantee anything I can do will help, but I'll try my best." His gaze sweeps once more over the marks on Stiles' body. "If this is something out of regular science's bounds, it's even more serious than it already seems."
"Meaning you'll make it quick, right?" Derek asks, unmoving from his leaning position against the wall. His impatience earns him a sigh.
"I'll work as quickly as I can, but rushing a test won't provide accurate results. This isn't some TV crime drama where the answers are ready in thirty minutes or less or they're free. A blood test will take at least three days, if not longer, and skin samples can take several months to process. We'll only use that as a last resort, but it'll be necessary if there's no abnormalities in the blood. I'd also like to test the candy itself, if you have a piece with you."
Stiles takes a small sphere wrapped in red cellophane from his pocket and places it into Deaton's palm. Derek glares at it.
"Thank you. Testing this will take about two weeks. We'll use its results as support if the bloodwork comes back abnormal, or as reason to continue with a skin scraping otherwise. I hope you've already stopped eating these?"
Stiles nods. "Yeah. I haven't had one for a little over a week."
"Good. Don't eat any more of them"
"Wasn't planning on it."
"Have any other students from your class noticed discoloration on their bodies?"
"Not as far as I know."
Deaton hums. "I see. It's likely you're the only one having a reaction. That, or the candies he gives you are different from the ones everyone else receives."
Stiles shrugs. "Either one is possible, I guess."
"I'd like to keep monitoring you throughout the next few days. Please come see me after school every day this week, and call me immediately if anything feels off."
"He will," Derek responds in Stiles' stead. He only feels a little bad about doing it; he hates being overbearing, but Stiles needs to stop avoiding getting help. Agreeing to this was already a great first step, though, and hopefully he'll open up even more in the near future.
In the meantime, Derek's going to do some research of his own.
Author's Note: Raise your pitchforks and torches high, I deserve them. It's been almost five full years since I've updated this, and that's friggin' insane. I'm really sorry about that. Admittedly, I don't think I've never seen a full episode of Teen Wolf before. I'm not really sure why past me got invested in this fandom despite that. I do remember planning on starting to watch the show before continuing this fic, but I never got around to it. I feel terrible about taking so long, so I'm not going to wait anymore and just get this finished running off the sparse knowledge I have (and probably some aid from the wiki if I'll need it). I can't promise consistent updates, since this isn't pre-written, but a five year break shouldn't happen again. Thanks for waiting. Hopefully I won't disappoint.