Stiles felt Derek's arms wrap around him, but he was too tired to react. He refused to open his eyes as Derek pulled him out of the van. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd passed out. He was starving and exhausted, but that wasn't anything new. He'd fallen asleep listening to Derek's heartbeat. He hadn't ripped from sleep by nightmares or pain. He couldn't remember any other time that had happened.
"This is stupid Derek," Laura said. "We just got into town, it's 5am, and you want to try to find out if this lady really knows that thing you're carrying around?"
Stiles wondered what she was talking about. He had no idea where they were. He still wasn't strong enough to open his eyes.
"Laura just wait with the van," Derek said, "I know you're trying to watch out for me, but I can take care of myself. I can make my own decisions."
"Whatever. The bakery isn't even open," Laura said.
Stiles flinched when the van door slammed closed. He turned his head into Derek's shoulder. The hunter was carrying him the same way he'd carried him out of the woods. Hands holding his legs; he was wrapped around the hunter's chest with his head buried in Derek's neck. He clutched Derek's shoulders, tried to go back to sleep. For some reason when Derek was holding him Stiles wasn't afraid. Derek's scent, his arms, the heat of his body, they all made Stiles feel something close to safe. Somehow Derek had saved him from the life he thought he was never going to escape.
Stiles drifted, barely reacted at all as Derek used the wall of the building they were in front of to steady them long enough that he could reach out to bang on the door with one hand. Stiles flinched at the sound instinctively, burrowed further into Derek's body to get away from it. Derek made a soothing noise even as he banged again.
"Hello?" Derek called out. His voice terribly loud in Stiles's sensitive ears. "Please, open up."
"We're closed. Come back in a few hours."
The words picked at Stiles's consciousness. A vague memory tried to claw its way to the surface of his mind. He thought it might have been someone singing. He couldn't hear the song though. There were too many screams, too many howls of pain in his memory drowning everything else out.
"I found this boy in the woods. He needs help," Derek said.
Stiles heard metal locks turning, shuddered when a chain rattled. He hated the chains his pack used to drag him around. Sometimes they played a game where they pushed him back and forth while he was hanging from a tree. They hadn't played that game in a long time. They'd gotten tired of it when he stopped crying, when he stopped begging as they tightened the chain around his neck. The sound of a door opening pulled him back from sinking into the abyss of his mind.
"In the woods? You found him in the woods?"
The words, the familiar song, he couldn't hear it. He strained his ears, but it eluded him. All he could hear was Allison's cruel laughter.
"Yes," Derek said, "Please, can I bring him inside?"
"Of course. Set him down over at one of the tables along the wall. I'll get him some water. The bakery is half coffee shop and café these days."
Stiles listened harder, but it was no use. The song in his mind skittered just under the surface of the oily darkness, couldn't break the surface. What was it?
Derek carried him through the threshold of the building. The warm aroma of baking bread filled his nostrils. It stirred something in his gut. It wasn't hunger. It was longing, of time being turned backwards. He tried to delve back into the oily water of his memories. There had been a time when he spent almost every moment of every day wrapped in that smell, of flour, sugar, butter, bread, cookies, cupcakes, and muffins. Their scent had been everywhere. That scent was here too, but also mixed with robust coffee, sweet cinnamon, and so many others. It was powerful, got inside his lungs and flushed out the smell of blood, charcoal, gasoline, and burning flesh.
Stiles couldn't open his eyes. He was still so tired, but he sucked in a deep breath. For the first time in years it felt like he was breathing fresh air. Derek set him down in a chair, but he didn't want to let the hunter go. He kept his arms coiled around Derek's neck.
"You're fine," Derek said soothingly, rubbing strong hands against the back of Stiles's head. "No one is going to hurt you here."
Surrounded by the smell of the bakery, lost in the pureness and the innocence of it made Stiles believe. He let Derek go. He sank deeper into the chair; let his head rest back against the wall behind him. This place was perfect. Stiles must have died in that hotel room, or in the back of the van, but Derek had somehow brought him to heaven, even though monsters had no place there. He knew he was breathing too quickly, too deeply, practically gasping. He couldn't get enough.
"Where in the woods did you find…"
The voice trailed off, it made Stiles sad. That voice was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. The voice made him feel good, wrapped his insides in warmth, banished the memories of twisting barbed wire running across his skin.
"Oh god, you… you found him. Stiles? Stiles? Baby?"
The voice called out for him. For him. She said his name. He hadn't owned that name for so long, not until Derek had spoken it. But something in the woman's voice, the way she said that name,it made him finally feel like it was his. Calloused hands brushed against his cheeks. He wanted to open his eyes, but he was afraid that if he did he'd wake up and he wouldn't really be in this wonderful place. He was afraid he'd wake up and he would be in pain, he'd be on fire, flayed, drowning, he'd be back in every other day of his life instead of this fantasy.
"Baby? Stiles baby? Are you ok? I've missed you so much."
Gentle hands ran over his head, brushed aside memories of claws digging into his scalp as his pack ran dull clippers through his hair.
"What's wrong with him? Is he hurt?"
Soft hair brushed against his face. It smelled like lavender and vanilla. Arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug that obliterated the memories of vicious clawed hands pulling his flesh from his bones.
"Baby open your eyes. Can you open your eyes for me, honey? I want to see those chocolate brown eyes."
Chocolate. She made it sound like the most wonderful thing in the world. The word spoken by the woman clinging to him cast away the memories of a young girl who lovingly called him that as she licked blood from wounds she opened on his chest with her claws and her knives.
He fell forward into the woman, started crying into her neck, wracking sobs tore through his body. Slowly and gently he wrapped his arms around her. He didn't want to hurt her. He was a monster, and even though monsters weren't supposed to be able to touch beautiful things without destroying them, he had to try. For her, for the chance to hug her, to have her hug him back, he had to try. He was terrified because somewhere deep down inside the tattered thing that passed for his soul he knew. He knew that if she pulled away from him he was going to die. Whatever force kept him animated, that kept him moving despite everything he'd been through would just gutter out.
She hugged him back tightly.
He had thought Derek felt safe, but when she wrapped her arms around him he finally remembered what safety really felt like. He cried pitifully into the woman's hair. He pushed himself out of the chair, sank to his knees and she followed him down to the ground, clinging to him just as tightly.
"You're okay, baby. I'm going to take care of you now, okay? No one is ever going to hurt you again. No one."
She was making him a promise. He wanted to believe that promise, wanted it so bad that he opened his mouth, tried to speak, but all that came out was a pathetic broken noise. His throat constricted. He gasped and swallowed, tried to remember how to make his voice work. It had been years, so many years since he'd said a single word.
"You're okay, honey. You don't have to say anything. Holding you again is enough. Touching your hair, touching your skin again, that's all I've wanted for so long. Can you open your eyes for me?" The woman rubbed his head and back soothingly.
He leaned away from her, but kept his hands on her shoulders, gently squeezing the cotton of whatever she was wearing. It was so soft, not as soft as her hair but the feeling on his skin banished memories of his fingers clawing through dirt as members of his pack took their pleasure in his suffering.
There was a brief, feather light touch on his eyelids, then fingers moved down brush against his cheeks. Finally, he opened his eyes. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest.
Beautiful black hair surrounded the kindest face he'd ever seen. Rich, dark brown eyes full of life, hope, love and all the things that a person could ever want in their life stared back at him. The sight of the woman with the small patches of white flour on her skin, of her tears making those patches into white streaks running down her face eradicated the memory of a cruel sneering young girl. He opened his mouth again, choked on the sensation of air passing out of his lungs.
"You're okay, baby, you're okay. I love you," she said, "You don't have to say anything." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
He took a deep and rattling breath. He needed to open his mouth, needed to tell her he finally remembered who she was. He remembered the song. He knew her. He needed her to know that he wasn't empty anymore, needed to tell her that she'd taken out so many of the bad things inside of him just by still loving him. He needed her to know that her love had filled him up, kept him alive for years when he wanted to die. His throat was raw, his voice cracked, but he managed to speak a single word into the space between them.
"Mom…"