A/N: I am so sorry, guys. I know I haven't been updating regularly for a little while now... but my excuse is that I moved to a new apartment and with my job and everything it's a little bit hard to keep up with stuff. I still read your reviews and appreciate you made the time to write them. Thank you. You are all awesome.

Chapters will be updated weekly. Special warnings would be at the bottom notes of the chapters when needed.

Summary: 'Derek glanced at Stiles, who's smile dissolved into a light frown. He moved his hands again, and Derek flicked his eyes back to Sheriff Stilinski, silently asking for help. The Sheriff took a few steps forwards. "Stiles is mute." He said.'

I own nothing.

Chapter 15

You cut me down to size,

And opened up my eyes.

Made me realize,

What I could not see.

The first thing Stiles knew when he first woke up, was pain.

It only lasted for a few seconds, actually. He felt strangely distant and numb, as if he was underwater, but there was still a dull ache that throbbed through his veins and made him want to groan in protest. But no matter how much he tried, his mouth wouldn't work and his eyes wouldn't open. And after those few seconds of foggy consciousness, he finally sank back into a blissful darkness.

The next time was considerably better, consciousness wise. Of course, the pain was still there, a lot more noticeable and sharp than before. But, after a few determined attempts, Stiles managed to force his eyes to open. He blinked up, squinting against the pale light he couldn't find the source of, and tried to make out his surroundings.

Everything was still blurry and quite dark and foggy, and it made his head spin and his stomach turn. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, only to whimper as a sharp pain stabbed inside his chest. He tried to clutch at himself to fight the pain off, but his arms wouldn't move. It felt as if they were made out of led.

A few minutes later, he was out again.

The third time, Stiles woke up with a sharp hiss of pain, his lips parting in a silent cry as he arched off the bed, only to drop back and whimper miserably. He blinked his eyes open groggily, bringing a hand up to rub at his face as he forced himself to breathe slowly.

It took him a few seconds to notice he had an I.V. attached to his arm, a pale fluid dripping through the tube into his circulation. Stiles glanced around, eyes rolling tiredly as he tried to figure out what was going on. He gathered he was in a hospital, although it wasn't in Beacon Hills for some reason he couldn't figure out. His gaze wandered and finally fell on a sleeping form slumped in a very uncomfortable-looking chair, and it took his brain a few more long seconds to process and realize that the person sleeping beside him was his father.

His hand crawled - with much more effort than it should take, Stiles thought bitterly - towards the arm of the chair, where he proceeded to poke his father's waist weakly. The Sheriff jolted awake in an instant, looking around with haunted pale eyes. Stiles frowned. His father looked terrible, tired and worried, his eyes puffy and red with dark circles around them and a few days' stubble on his chin.

"Stiles...!" He jumped forward in his seat, clasping his son's left hand in his as if Stiles was going to just get up and run away, looking him over worriedly. "Oh God, you're awake." He breathed, kissing Stiles' knuckles and pressing the back of his hand to his cheek as he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. "Thank God... thank God." He whispered.

Stiles squirmed a little, making his father look up again and smile at him lovingly, tears of relief glistening in his eyes.

What happened? Stiles signed clumsily with his free hand, his movements tired and sluggish. He shifted again, uncomfortable and hurting everywhere.

The Sheriff sighed heavily. "You don't remember?" He asked quietly, closing his eyes for a second. "You were beaten up. Some guys Scott said picked on you a few days before that."

Wait... so, that wasn't a dream.

"Oh." The word left Stiles' lips in a breathy whisper, whisky brown eyes distant and glassy as he started to remember what had happened to him. A shiver crawled up his spine at the memories that flooded back. He closed his eyes for a second, blocking out the echos of shouts of insults and beating mixed with his own choked screams. It was a memory he wished he could just erase from his mind and never think of again.

How long was I out? He finally signed, tearing his hollow gaze from the ceiling and looking back at his father wearily.

"Six days." The Sheriff answered, breathing deeply and slowly, tense as if he was afraid he was going to suddenly crumble in front of his son. "The doctors patched you up in no time and said you were going to be fine, but you didn't wake up for so long... you worried us sick, kid." The Sheriff tried to smile, but the result was a crooked wince that made Stiles' chest ache in regret.

Sorry. He rubbed his chest weakly. He was getting tired quite quickly, but he couldn't allow himself to fall back asleep yet. Where is everyone? He asked, glancing around as if the gang would magically appear in the darkened room.

"Sleeping in that motel you rented," The Sheriff said quietly. "Scott said it was Isaac who found you. When you didn't come back, the poor kid went to search for you and found you lying on the ground a few blocks from the motel. They were so worried about you," He paused, letting out another sigh as he shook his head. "Derek's there too." He added.

Derek? Stiles signed slowly, his eyes widening in surprise and his heart suddenly beating faster at the mention of the name. The Sheriff nodded.

"He came here with me." He said. "He was here earlier. The whole time, actually. We sort of forced him to go take a shower and get some sleep." He smiled again, and this time it was a little bit more convincing.

Stiles nodded slowly, shifting a little as his eyelids started dropping. His father noticed that, of course, and reached out his other hand to stroke his son's hair. Stiles leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

"Go back to sleep, kiddo." He heard his dad mumble quietly. "I'll be here when you wake up."

And he was. When Stiles woke up again in the afternoon of the next day, the Sheriff was still sitting in the chair beside his bed, reading a thick, hard-cover book. When he noticed his son's sluggish movements, though, he put the book aside, leaning in to kiss Stiles' forehead.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." His father said in a much lighter voice than yesterday. "How are you feeling?"

Fine. Stiles slowly touched his thumb to his chest, still a little bit sleepy. My chest hurts.

"That's because you have three broken ribs." Scott's voice said from the doorway. Stiles glanced over, watching as his best friend approached his bed with a small smirk on his face. He dropped himself on the edge of Stiles' bed, his weight sinking one side of the mattress. "I gotta tell you, man, you gave us all a heart attack."

Sorry. Stiles found himself apologizing again. He really hoped that Scott wouldn't go and ask anymore questions. Stiles wasn't ready to think about it yet, let alone talk about it.

Scott waved his hand lightly. "Don't be. Just don't do that again?" He winked playfully.

Stiles just nodded slowly.

The conversation shifted after that and his father and Scott started arguing about the game and talk about Scott's college plans. Stiles listened silently for a little while, before his mind started to drift. He nodded off every few seconds, fighting to keep his eyes open, before he finally gave up and sank back into the soft pillows, lulled by the quiet voices that kept talking beside him.

A few hours later, Stiles woke up again, eyes wide and lips parted, ready to scream. The room was dark again, and he was drenched in cold sweat, panting so hard that waves of sharp pain hit his chest with each breath. He stared forwards without seeing, the images from his nightmare still floating in front of his eyes, and he whimpered and slumped back into his sheets, closing his eyes shut.

A comforting hand - Stiles figured it must have belonged to his dad, as the man never left his side - suddenly touched his forehead, warm and calming and soothing. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, relaxing into his pillow.

"Welcome back."

Stiles' eyes flew open in an instant, his breathing quickening. His gaze darted to the side, meeting two pale green eyes.

Derek was sitting - currently hovering - next to him, occupying the chair Stiles' father used the days before. He looked different - haunted, with dark circles around his eyes and a troubled expression he couldn't hide behind the weak smile he tried to offer Stiles. He brushed his hand one more time across Stiles' forehead, sliding to cup his cheek for a moment before he pecked his lips gently and moved back to drop down into the chair.

Morning. Stiles signed, and for the first time since he woke up that morning - was it really just this morning? It seemed so far right now - he managed to produce something similar to a smile. He watched Derek with soft eyes, drinking in his features as if they hadn't seen each other for decades. The same look was in Derek's eyes, and the older guy shifted his chair a bit until it was almost pressed against the side of Stiles' bed.

"How are you?" He asked quietly.

Fine. Stiles signed tiredly. He really wished people would stop asking that. Derek gave him a strange look. He then got up from his chair - startling Stiles as he did - and moved to sit on Stiles bed, grabbing his hand firmly but gently, leaning in until they were close enough.

"No, you're not." Derek said simply. "You pretend to be alright, but I can see it in your eyes. That look... it scares the hell out of me." The man admitted, staring Stiles straight in the eye, his own eyes glistening with what Stiles suspected were tears. It startled him. "So please, tell me the truth. How are you?"

Stiles hesitated. He bit his lip, every instinct in his his body yelling at him to shut his mouth and suck it up, that he didn't need to share his most vulnerable thoughts and feelings with others.

But it wasn't just 'others'. It was Derek.

I'm... scared. Stiles started, his gestures slow and hesitant, heart racing in his chest in panic... and then the gestures came flowing out of him, fast and shaky. I keep seeing them. In my mind. They close in on me every time I close my eyes... I can hear their laughter and- He stopped abruptly, staring at his trembling hands, eyes dull and glassy. He shivered, brow creasing in a wince as he remembered the frightening feeling of utter helplessness he felt that night. Derek's hand clenched into a fist on Stiles' bed sheets, so tights his knuckles turned white. I can't get it out of my head.

Silence fell after that. Neither of them said anything, and they sat there, both deep in thoughts, staring into nothing. Derek's mind was reeling, horrifying, ugly ideas of different kinds of revenge popped into his mind, and he found those thoughts oddly satisfying. He hated himself for that, as right now Stiles needed him to be understanding, not homicidal.

A weird noise came from the back of Stiles's throat, and suddenly there were two strong arms around him and his face pressed into a broad and familiar chest that smelled like pine needles and dust... so familiar and comforting he clung to it with his fists buried in Derek's shirt, so tight, as if he was afraid he'd die if he ever let go.

Lips were pressed onto the top of his hair, and Stiles whimpered, hating himself for not being able to keep himself from burying his face farther in Derek's chest. The sudden contact made something finally snap inside him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, but that did nothing to stop the tears that suddenly came, rolling down his cheeks and soaking Derek's shirt in seconds. How did it come to this, so suddenly? Stiles thought angrily, his grip tightening. He let out a frustrated, choked sob, shoulders shaking.

"It's okay." Derek mumbled into his hair, holding him close and rubbing his back gently. Stiles could feel the words echo in his chest, triggering another wave of angry, frustrated sobs he couldn't stop. A choked scream tore out of his throat, muffled by Derek's shirt. Why was this happening? "You can cry, it's okay."

It took him nearly ten minutes or so to finally calm down enough from crying to look Derek in the eye, tear tracks staining his face and eyes puffy and red. He sniffled, wiping his face in his sweater sleeve. Derek was still sitting close, one arm still stretched behind Stiles' back to rub it softly, green eyes focused on him in concern.

"You seem better now." Derek said quietly. The comment seemed so out of place Stiles couldn't help it, and let out a bark of wet, teary laugh, sniffling again.

Thanks. He smiled at him weakly through moist eyes.

"Anytime." Derek returned the smile, tiny and awkward as it was. Stiles cleared his throat, then shuffled a little to the farthest side of his hospital bed, trying not to wince as his healing ribs protested loudly. "What are you doing?" Derek asked, watching Stiles in slight confusion. Stiles looked at him, then gave him a tiny smile and patted the mattress twice.

Join me. He signed. Derek raised an eyebrow.

"I don't really think we're allowed to do that here." He commented, glancing around as if he was afraid one the nurses might come in and shoo him away. Stiles huffed, but the effect wasn't as strong since his cheeks were still tinted in pink, and he kept sniffling.

Don't care. He signed again, patting his bed once more. I feel a lot better when you are with me. Derek stared at him for a second, as if debating with himself whether or not this was a good idea, then shrugged to himself and scrambled to his feet, climbing onto the bed as well.

He shifted so that he was lying on his back, careful not to hurt Stiles' aching body as the younger moved a little to rest his head on the joint of Derek's shoulder and chest, lying still.

They breathed quietly for a little while, just staring at the ceiling together and enjoying each other's comforting company. Derek hummed quietly in Stiles' ear, his voice echoing deep in his throat and rumbling under Stiles' head, soothing. It was when Derek finally felt Stiles relaxing against him, his breathing slowing, that he stopped humming, took a deep breath, closed his eyes

and whispered, "I love you."

He didn't need to look to know Stiles was signing, Me too.

Well, that's where I belong,

And you belong with me.

Not swallowed in the sea.

A/N: Song used: "Swallowed In The Sea" / Coldplay.

Warnings: Mention of past abuse, stress, hospitals.

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