Derek let go of the werewolf's wrist when his claws faded away. He sighed, frustrated that the teenager hadn't reacted to the name. Was he right? Was this the same person that went missing from Beacon Hills?

The force of the shower caused water and blood to spray onto Derek as he tried to move the showerhead to finish rinsing off the werewolf. That was not going to be easy to get out of his clothes, but he wasn't too concerned. He'd lost a lot of outfits to blood stains over the years. He turned the water off, glanced back at the mirror and grimaced at the ruddy fluid soaking his white t-shirt. That was a goner.

He looked at the werewolf, then pointed at the floor outside the shower. It sickened him how quickly the guy leapt to obey him, how eager to please the werewolf seemed. Derek grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around the teenager's waist. Even if the werewolf didn't have any issues with nudity, it was definitely making Derek uncomfortable. He reached for another towel and wiped the remaining water and blood off of pale skin.

Derek gently dried the werewolf off, smiling to himself as he draped the towel over the guy's head to get his hair. There was a wet drag of a tongue along his wrist from under the towel freezing him in place. The werewolf turned his head against Derek's hand, gently rubbing his cheek back and forth across Derek's fingers.

In a disturbing way it was like trying to dry off a puppy. The absurdity of it made him laugh. The werewolf froze at the noise, then slowly pulled the towel away so that he could see Derek. Brown eyes so large, maybe in shock or curiosity regarded him. He tried to shake it off, to ignore that as he continued drying the werewolf's skin, he began to push back against Derek's touch.

"Is your name Stiles?"

Derek looked into brown eyes that for the first time seemed to have something else swirling in the depths, kept up his gentle patting with the towel. The werewolf nodded almost imperceptibly. Derek grinned. He was getting somewhere. An almost nod and something other than a blank gaze, that was progress of a sort. He dropped the towel he was using and grabbed a fresh one from the rack. He wiped the last traces of blood and water he could find away from Stiles's chest.

"Turn around," Derek said as he reached out and put a gentle hand on the werewolf's shoulder, trying to direct him to spin in place. The wolf obeyed instantly, the submissive reaction almost obliterated the tiny amount of hope that Derek had started to feel. He gently wiped off the werewolf's back, there wasn't as much blood there, but Derek sucked in a breath when Stiles let his head lull forward. On the back of his neck there were scars, multiple crisscrossing bite and claw marks, Derek brushed them lightly with his fingers. Stiles trembled at the touch, body shaking, pulling up his arms to hug himself, or maybe protect his torso. Derek instantly regretted having done it, pulling his hand away.

How many times? How many times had someone dug their fangs or claws into Stiles's neck for there to be scars? In a horrible chain reaction, Stiles suddenly crumped to the bathroom floor, his head against the tile, and folded his arms submissively behind his back.

Something twisted in Derek's heart. That was so wrong, like Stiles was just kneeling there waiting for Derek to rape him on the floor. He blinked rapidly, trying to push away the terrible thoughts.

Stiles slowly turned his head, not removing it from the tile but twisting at an awkward angle to look at back at Derek. There was fear, no longer curiosity, no longer emptiness. He began to shake.

Derek took a step forward, began to kneel down and reach a hand out. The werewolf immediately rolled onto his back, towel coming lose. He kept his hands behind his back, shoulders straining with he effort. Stiles tilted his head back, exposing his throat up to Derek and closing his eyes.

Derek pulled his hand back as if he'd suddenly realized he was reaching towards an open flame. He was doing everything wrong. He grabbed the towel he'd been drying Stiles's hair off with and tried to cover Stiles with it so he wasn't laying there naked and vulnerable. After a few moments of hesitation when the shaking didn't stop he tentatively reached his hand out again and stroked Stiles's short hair. It took a few minutes, but finally the shaking stopped. Stiles opened his eyes, and second by second Derek watched as terror peeled back to reveal that curious gaze. Eventually the eyes fluttered closed again, and Stiles began to relax.

"Let's get you into some clothes, okay?"

Stiles opened his eyes, then nodded. Derek smiled. Stiles tilted his head again as though he didn't fully understand what was happening. Derek got to his feet and offered a hand to help the werewolf up. Derek's smile faded as the werewolf's hand trembled as it reached for him. He gently took the offered hand and helped pull Stiles to his feet, turning his face away as the naked werewolf rose up out of the pile of bloody towels on the floor.

Derek flinched when Stiles leaned into his personal space and took a deep breath. He tried to ignore the effect that it seemed to have on the young werewolf. It was awkward trying to help a guy get dressed who kept sniffing at him, who was obviously… into whatever it was that Derek smelled like.

Even after he got Stiles into a pair of sweats, it didn't do much to hide the interest that Stiles seemed to have. Derek pulled a shirt over Stiles's head and walked him back into the main area of the hotel room. He gestured toward the bed, and Stiles moved quickly, spread himself out on his back and watched Derek through half closed eyes. Derek swallowed, his throat constricting.

Derek hated himself for not being able to look away. Stiles splayed out on the bed, looking at him and so obviously aroused. The werewolf's eyes started burning with amber light, he sniffed at the air. Derek's throat was dry, Stiles was reacting to what he was feeling. He turned away.

Derek grabbed a shirt that wasn't soaked with water and blood out of his bag, tried to ignore the rustling movement on the bed behind him as he pulled the one he was wearing up over his head and dropped the bloody wet ruins of it to the floor. Derek pulled the new shirt on but didn't turn to look at the bed.

"I'm going to go get you some food. Stay here, don't go outside, and don't answer the door."

There was no response except for the bedsprings squeaking, Stiles must have been shifting his weight on the bed. Derek didn't look. He hurried to the door, tried to ignore whatever was happening.

When he pulled it open he caught out of his peripheral vision the image of Stiles kneeling on the floor, clutching the shirt Derek had been wearing to his face, inhaling Derek's scent off the clothes.

He was half way down the block before he could get the image out of his head, running towards a gas station he knew was just a bit further ahead. He leaned against a telephone pole and tried to get his breathing under control. He stood, sucking air into his lungs for almost ten minutes.

It was when he heard the gunshot that he realized all the mistakes he had made on his way out. Derek hadn't made sure the door to his room was closed. He hadn't taken his phone with him. He hadn't told Laura he was leaving to get food. He had left a werewolf in his room, holding the shirt he had been wearing. A shirt that had been covered in blood held to the young werewolf's face.