Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7285543.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Lydia_Martin/
      Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin, Jackson
      Whittemore, Sheriff_Stilinski, Scott_McCall, Theo_Raeken
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Hurt/Comfort, Angst_and_Humor, Depression,
      Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Warm_and_Fuzzy_Feelings, Past
      Rape/Non-con, Heavy_Alcohol_Use, Secrets, Misunderstandings, Implied/
      Referenced_Self-Harm, Promiscuity, Slow_Build_Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-06-23 Updated: 2016-06-28 Chapters: 2/? Words: 13389
****** How He Held The Weight On His Shoulders. ******
by Breannanotbre
Summary
     An unforgettable night at a party changed Stiles. How Stiles went
     from being a happy, charming, lovable boy to a promiscuous boy who
     has depression and sometimes self harm? No one knows, because Stiles
     won't speak about it. His behavior puzzles his father. So when his
     father throws him out of the house for his behavior, he ends up being
     taken in by the person he least expected.
Notes
     I'm going to say this and say it right now. This IS a PAST RAPE
     FANFICTION. Not a fantasy or anything like that. As well as if you
     are triggered, I encourage you to not read at all costs. If you
     choose to, you're welcome to read.
***** Chapter 1 *****
| Stiles |
In less than a minute, Stiles is practically thrown out of the house. He tried
and tried to get his dad to let him stay, but he wouldn't budge. His father had
yelled every single curse word known to man as Stiles’ suitcases are stacked up
with each other on the carpet. Stiles’ room was becoming more and more empty,
leaving just the bed, the TV, and the desk, as he packed the rest of his
things.
“Dad! I won't have anywhere else to go!” Stiles yells from upstairs.
“You should have thought about that before bringing yet another boy into my
house, Stiles!” His father shouts from downstairs as he can hear his father
angrily slamming the fridge shut. Stiles felt like he was on the verge of
wanting to throw up and pass out. But he holds it together, getting his
suitcases and going downstairs slowly.
This was it. He could feel it. No more was his father giving him anymore
warnings. Stiles was scared and nervous and fuck it, he didn't know what to do.
He barely had any money right now and he wasn't trying to… He didn't mean to…
“I didn't have unprotected sex..” He says.
His father exhales deeply, trying to keep calm. “Then what did you do?”
“I gave him a blowjob.” Stiles arches an eyebrow as if to convey ‘what did you
think I was doing?’. Another thing, Stiles was always honest about what he did.
He never had intercourse with the guys he had brought in the home, the men were
mostly too drunk to even care that he wasn't fucking them, he mainly just gave
them oral sex. Not that this made things okay whatsoever, but no, the young boy
was not opening his legs that much… However he did on a few occasions, but that
was only it.
Stiles sighs, looking at his father. “Dad, please?” Stiles asks him one last
time.
“Stiles… I love you, as your father, I love you. But I can't keep going through
this with you.”
“Fuck, so you want me to go through it by myself?” Stiles was nearly close to
tears as it felt like he was being forced away by the only person that was
truly in his life besides his best friend, other than that. He had no one. No
one else to go to.
“That's the problem, Stiles. I don't understand what it is you're going
through. You won't tell me.”
His father has an unreadable expression. He loved his son, he truly did. But
since a year ago, Stiles has became mute, not saying much, bringing all kinds
of men into his bedroom, stealing the liquor from his father's cabinets. Stiles
was a living breathing mess and his father was tired of his son behaving this
way without any explanation whatsoever. Everytime he questioned Stiles, the boy
simply just shrugged, as if flipping a switch, he would shut down, just
completely stop talking sometimes. He never answered his father's simple
question: “what happened to you?”
If anything, Stiles got angry about it. Really angry, but he never projected
that anger to anyone but himself. He was angry for one reason, then that one
reason turned into another reason, and then multiple reason, until Stiles
slowly felt like he was watching himself from the outside, just watching life
go by as he seemed to have stopped living in that moment. Not feeling a damn
thing, wishing that he could. But when he does feel, it's overwhelming, scaring
him to the point where he sometimes tries to block it out with doses of
alcohol.
He just can't win.
“You're giving up on me…” Stiles says quietly.
“Stiles, I'm not giving up on you!” His father's eyes got a bit shinier.
“You're giving up on yourself. You won't accept the help that I'm trying to
give you.”
“Because the women makes it worse! She doesn't help me!” Stiles flails his
arms.
A few weeks ago, his father had decided to try the therapist approach. Boy
could he have been wrong for doing that because that seemed to make Stiles
worse, coming home twice as mad nearly every night, beating himself up over the
session gone wrong. Literally. He's father didn't find out until Stiles’ entire
side was covered with bruises. His father nearly flipped, taking Stiles to the
hospital after that. Ever since then, if Stiles ever did it, he made sure to
keep it hidden from him… Until last night.
“Why couldn't you just tell me that before it got to his point, huh? Why won't
you just speak?”
But Stiles can't. The words are stuck in his throat, only allowing him to
breathe and not talk. Sometimes it feels as if someone is forcibly choking him
so hard he just utterly cannot speak. It's not like he does it on purpose,
because he doesn't. It's not his fault that he feels like he's being
suffocated, and if he doesn't want to speak, he doesn't have to. But deep down.
Way deep down. Stiles knows it's slowly tearing himself apart, and sooner or
later (sooner) he needs to talk.
Stiles doesn't say anything, just stares at the floor as a few tears had
already fell. He doesn't want to leave. He feels like someone shot him multiple
times in the chest, no room to breathe, because every time he breathes, it
hurts.
“Where else am I supposed to go?” Stiles practically whispered.
His father doesn't say anything, because he doesn't have an answer. And Stiles
didn't expect him to. Stiles breathes for a moment, calming himself.
“Fine,” is all Stiles says as he opens the door. He piles the suitcases into
his jeep as he's father comes outside.
“Stiles—”
“Save it. You already told me how you felt about me.”
His father shakes his head. “Stiles, I did not tell you how I felt about you.”
“You're kicking me out of the house instead of helping me. I gave up on myself
a long fucking time ago, and the one person I need in my life gives up on me
too? Would mom have let you given up on me?”
His father winces a bit and Stiles gives a tiny glare through his tears. Truth
be told, she wouldn't have. If anything, Stiles wouldn't have been the way he
is if his mom was alive. He would have been able to tell her. Tell her
everything that had happened. Because Stiles couldn't forget everything that
happened. He remembered everything about that night. As if it was a loop in his
head, running non-stop, reminding him constantly of it whenever Stiles tries to
feel somewhat balanced, there his mind goes, fucking throwing him off balance
once again.
“Stiles. I've tried to help you the best that I can. I can only do but so much,
because you refuse to tell me anything.”
Stiles sniffs, rolling his eyes.
“And because you refuse to tell me, I have to put my foot down. You can visit
me, contact me anytime you want, but you can not live here until you get help
that you need.”
“Fuck you,” Stiles flips him off, putting the rest of his suitcases in the
backseat.
His father rolls his eyes. “I know you don't mean that,” and Stiles pauses,
sighing before shaking his head. “I don't,” he says quietly.
It silent between the two before his father wraps his arms around his trembling
son. “I do love you, okay?”
Stiles can only nod, as he awkwardly hugs him back. Stiles didn't do hugs that
much anymore, it made him feel weird sometimes. Too vulnerable. He didn't like
that.
“I'm not giving up on you as you think, but there are some things you need to
do for yourself. The only other person who's going to help you, is you.”
Stiles fights back tears as he knows his father is half right. But he was still
a bit upset, so he releases from him, saying another goodbye as he heads to the
one place he knows to see if his friend can help him: Scott.
Scott was Stiles’ best friend. The two were nearly inseparable when they first
meet a long time again in elementary school. Stiles rolls his eyes, just
thinking about school made him pissed. Stiles winded up having to finish school
online because he couldn't handle the anxiety and panic attacks. He had a lot
of them and it made school just worse. However, the only thing he really missed
was eating lunch with Scott and some classes they had together. He did have two
other friends Allison and Lydia. But every time Lydia was around, that meant
Jackson was around and ugh! Stiles does not like him whatsoever. He didn't like
how Jackson treated Lydia at first because he knew Lydia really had feelings
for him.
It took Jackson forever to clean up his act a bit and admit his feelings were
deeper for Lydia than just physical attraction and high status. He had been
known that Lydia had loved Jackson for more than his status, even if she never
said it. Which is why he was pissed at Jackson for not noticing that Lydia had
loved him so much.
Scott was always there for Stiles and Stiles was always there for Scott.
Except, the one thing that's killing him a bit, is he didn't tell Scott what
had happened. He didn't tell anyone what had happened that night. If Scott
found out, he would flip shit. Probably go on a shooting rampage. Stiles nearly
laughed at the thought. Not of killing people, but because the mental image he
got of Scott trying to work a gun was just too funny.
Stiles had sometimes stayed the night quite a few times. And even though his
mother was completely fine with Stiles staying more than a few nights, Stiles
still said no. He felt weird about them keeping him here.
He's there in no time, parking his car and getting out, Scott already has the
door wide open, a worried expression.
“You okay?”
Nope.
“Yeah… I need your help.”
“HE’S STAYING HERE!” His mother shouts from the kitchen. Scott must have
already told her the situation.
Stiles laughed a bit, coming inside. “I'm not staying here…” he shuts the door
behind him.
Scotts face dropped. “Why?”
“I can't do that, Scott.”
Scott just frowns. No way was he letting his best friend just live anywhere. He
knew Stiles, he knew his best friend was looking for help the best he could,
sometimes he just didn't know how to ask for it.
“I need help looking for apartments…”
“No. Stay here,” Scott says. “We don't mind.”
Stiles still shakes his head as his mother comes from the kitchen, giving him a
glass of water. “You want me to kill him?”
Stiles laughs a little, shaking his head. “No,” he drinks it a bit. “So… About
those apartments.”
“Stiles, really,” Melissa (Scott's mom) holds his shoulders gently. “You know
you're welcome here anytime.”
He can't do that to them. Stiles has a hard enough time taking care of himself
and really would feel incredibly guilty for making the stress levels skyrocket
all the way in the galaxies. He couldn't do that to them. He wouldn't.
“I know. But, no. I'd rather find somewhere else.”
It's not that they couldn't take care of him, it's just that Stiles doesn't
want to see their disappointed faces like he sees in his father sometimes. He
doesn't want that for them. That would just add more weight and guilt to him,
piling on top of the weight and guilt that's already there.
She nods slightly, then gives him a warm smile. She loved Stiles, so much. And
she always loved when he came over. She was glad that he had Scott, because she
knows her son. She's never seen her son get along so well with a friend, Stiles
would be a first for him. If anything, that rang a bell that Stiles was
important to him and she couldn't ignore that. And eventually, Stiles had grown
on her, and slowly she felt this motherly love for him and it just kept growing
ever since.
So, for a while, they all try and come up with something. And then, that's when
this came up.
Scott, of all people, came up with the absolute worse idea he could ever
imagine. Stiles was furious. He refused to do it. He did not want to die
tonight.
“Scott. Are you crazy?” Stiles bellows and Scott nearly just grins.
“Nope… Come on! It's perfect. You know what he use to study in? He could
seriously—”
“NO. You want me to die, Scott!”
Nope. Nope. Nope. He wasn't going. No way. He was not going to Derek fucking
Hale. They both knew Derek, as Scott works as an assistant for him, and he's
heard the horror stories of Derek and he did not want to live with this man.
No. Derek was just… No. Stiles did not want to.
“Stiles—”
“No.”
He sighs. “I'm not having you live by yourself when you can't take care of
yourself right now. It's either my place or his. Choose,” Scott says firmly.
Stiles sighs in defeat.
“At least try it, yeah? See how it goes?”
Stiles says nothing, just nods.
Stiles stood by his best friends mom as he watched Scott try and reach him on
his cell phone. Scott sighs. “We’ll have to drive up there.”
Stiles nods and together, they help transfer Stiles’ suitcases to Scott's car,
say goodbye to his mother, and hop in the vehicle. Derek use to study in
clinical psychology for teenagers with behavioral problems or mentally ill.
Then figuring out what it is he really liked, was music. And Derek knows he has
a few problems of his own, nothing major, but he still has after finding his
family's dead bodies, PTSD was definitely something Derek struggled with a bit.
He figured, he would want to be in good condition with his mind straight when
helping them. So he chilled off a bit, decided he had his whole to do that
whenever he wanted to. So, he learned that very quickly and found that it
wasn't his passion. Music was. He now owned a studio downtown, collabing with
several people, making his own mix tapes, sounds, and figuring out his own
style. He has even worked with all kinds of people as well. Even producing
their tracks.
He had realized that this suited him much better. Stiles always deemed Scott
lucky, because Scott was Derek's assistant. Which meant he was always in the
studio, always around the good stuff. He heard a few of the tracks Derek helped
produce and it completely blew his mind. He actually really liked them. He
never told Derek this, he was shy a bit, actually.
“If this works out,” he hands Scott his keys. “Please bring my jeep.”
Scott nods, grabbing them. “It will work out, don't worry.”
But Stiles couldn't help but worry. He was sure Derek wouldn't do it. The man
was just almost unreasonable (from Scotts words). Stiles sighs, he still feels
like he wants to just pass out at any minute. And then, his heart nearly jumps
out his chest as they reach a familiar big house. They both get out, Stiles
walking slowly behind him. When he hears Scott knocks, he closes his eyes as
every inch of his body seems to light up. Feeling as if he's on fire, his body
becoming a heater.
The door opens and the tall man answers the door. A scowl planted firmly on his
face. “What the fuck, Scott?”
“I need to talk to you.” Scott says, grabbing Stiles’ arm and dragging him in
with him, closing the door behind him. Derek's eyes slowly scans the boy beside
him, recognition evident in his green orbs.
“I was sleeping.” Derek snaps.
“Too bad, this is important.”
“What do you want?” The man sighs, looking back to Scott.
“Remember when I told you about my best friend?”
Derek crosses his arms over his chest and Stiles tries really hard not to
realize how muscular he is, but fuck, he was well built. The dark grey t-shirt
flattering him nicely.
“Uh huh.”
“Can Stiles stay here?...”
“What?” He breathes.
Oh no. He's going to kill me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Stiles thinks to himself,
trying his hardest not to freak out.
“What the—absolutely not!” Derek's intense eyes nearly make Stiles let out a
small noise. “Fuck, I up your pay to ten dollars an hour and already you're
asking favors!”
“Derek! Please. He won't have anywhere else to go.”
Derek growls. Literally growls, and Stiles nearly feels like he's going to
faint as he stares back and forth between Derek and Scott. Derek sighs, making
his way into the kitchen, putting something in the microwave, before coming
back.
“And he's the one you've been telling me about?” Derek does a gesture with his
hand, looking directly at Stiles. He was aware a tiny bit of how Stiles was. He
didn't know everything about him, just the that the boy was a bit… Fucked up a
little. Other than that, he doesn't know anything else. The young boy just
wishes he could disappear at the moment.
Scott nods. “Derek… You use to study—”
“A long time ago. What? You want me to counsel him? I don't study in that
anymore.” His tone is sharp.
“Yes and no. All I'm asking is that you give him a place to stay..”
“And he can't stay at home?”
“Fuck it,” Stiles breathes, reaching and opening the door before Derek's strong
hand slams it shut, making Stiles swallow nervously a bit.
“Why can't you go home?” He asks to Stiles.
Stiles avoids his gaze. “My father kind of put me out for the moment…”
“Why?”
“None of your business…” Stiles can't help the eye roll.
“Except it is if you want a place to stay.”
“I…” Stiles starts, not saying anything. Derek just waits, returning to his
arms crossed over his chest. Eyebrow arched high.
“I—”
“He can explain that later to you… If you help us. Him,” Scott intervenes,
Stiles was eternally grateful.
Derek runs a hand through his dark jet black hair, making it even more tousled
than it already was. Derek groans, softly this time, and looks up at the boy
and after a long time, he speaks. “Okay..”
Stiles finally, finally breathes.
“But there are some rules.”
And just like that, Stiles freezes up again, wishing he could hide inside his
flannel.
“One, do not, I mean do not, leave past midnight. You can leave anytime then.
But if, and I mean, if I check on you and you aren't in your room and that
clock,” he points to the clock on the white wall, “reads twelve o’clock. I will
find you. That's a promise. And you do not want me to find you.”
Shit.
“Two, stay out of my den without permission. I have all kinds of tech shit in
there set up and you're just as clumsy as they get—
Fuck. He remembers the small incident. The first time they had met, Stiles
accidentally knocked Derek's coffee over the lyric sheets. Derek was enraged at
that point. But for some reason, he still held his composure, telling the boy
it was okay and to hurry and clean it up.
“Three, try not to make big messes and after you eat, clean up your dishes.
Dirty clothes in the bin, eccetera. Clean up after yourself. Got it?”
Stiles nods slightly and Derek hums a bit. Stiles wondered what he was thinking
while Derek just smirks at the fact Stiles can't read his mind right now.
“That's really all. Once we talk more and I get to know your situation more,
more rules will play out. To keep you safe.” Derek says firmly, but somewhat
gentle in a way. “They may seem strict at the moment, but it's to keep you on
track.” He adds.
Stiles just nods slowly.
Scott grins. “Derek. Thank you.”
“You,” Derek points a finger at him. “I should fire!” He barks. Scott is not
phased. He knows Derek appreciates him.
“Of course you won't. You know I'm the best assistant you've ever had. Who else
puts up you're demanding self.”
Derek rolls his eyes.
“Where are your things?” He nods to Stiles.
“I—outside.”
“Great,” he opens the door. “Go get them.”
Stiles’ feet are still stuck to the floor, words clogged in his throat and
Derek growls. “Now.”
Stiles’ feet suddenly became unglued as he goes outside, bringing his things
in, as Derek motions him up the wooden staircase, holding the food that was in
the microwave. Scott helps Stiles carry every single bag upstairs as Derek
leads them into a white, big, bedroom. Nothing in it, but a simple big white
bed, with a grey comforter. The curtains on the window were grey too, the frame
on the bed was black.
“This was a guest bedroom, you can stay in here, it's two doors down from my
room, and one door down and across to the bathroom,” he takes the bag out of
Stiles’ hand. “Let me,” his voice appeared softer as he sets them on the bed,
getting the ones from Scott as well.
There was a dark grey dresser near the wall closer to the door, a closet on its
wall next to the bed, and a desk closer next to the window. A small bookcase on
the other side of the window as well. Stiles nearly smiled a bit, relaxing a
bit more. Derek seems to sense Stiles relax as Derek looks at Stiles. “How old
are you?”
“I just turned seventeen.”
Derek nods. “You don't go to school?”
“Online.”
Derek nods a bit more. “Do you have a therapist?”
Stiles nods. “Yes… I don't like to go.”
“Why not?”
“She's not that helpful.”
Derek doesn't respond in an outrageous way at this, just nods once more. In
some way, he understood that part of why Stiles didn't cooperate well with his
therapists, but if this is what he needed, he was going make sure Stiles stayed
with his therapist or find a new one.
Derek hasn't opened his books in a long time. He was twenty-one now, nineteen
when he started studying in it. A thrill kind of ran through him. A weird
thrill as in. He felt somewhat flattered that Scott remembered he use study in
that and thought of him first, implying he believed Derek could have a small
role in helping his friend get his life back together. Still, he didn't want
Scott to get his hopes up if there was a chance that he couldn't help the boy.
“You can go freely where you please. Just don't mess up anything. Towels, bath
stuff, are in the hall closet,” he taps his hand on the white door as they pass
by, going back downstairs. “And do not touch my things in my room without
asking.”
Derek sighs, turning to Stiles. “Any questions?”
Stiles thinks for a moment and then smirks. “Where do you hide your porn
stash?”
Scott shoots Stiles looks. He doesn't want Derek to take back his offer, so
keeping Stiles’ smart mouth shut would be great right now.
Derek rolls his eyes. “I don't have a porn stash.”
Stiles’ smirk is still firmly in place as he stared up at Derek. Derek took
note that Stiles’ eye color was almost ethereal. It was such a golden brown and
so so beautiful on him.
“Stiles. Calm—”
“It's a simple question, Scott,” Stiles shrugs.
“You know, I don't have to take your wisecracking, smart ass self into my
house.”
Stiles just scoffs. “Careful there, Derek. Being a dick won't make yours any
bigger.”
“You say that like you've seen plenty.” Derek doesn't miss a single beat with
Stiles’ sarcastic words. The downright smug/smirk Stiles gave was the sexiest
thing the tall man has ever seen, but he keeps his composure. Now it's Scott's
turn to look back and forth between Derek and Stiles. Both of their faces
turned into tiny scowls, glaring at each other a bit.
“So… I'm gonna leave you guys.. To it.” Scott opens the front door. “I'll bring
your jeep, I promise.” Scott says on the way out.
Silence.
“Four, watch your language.” Derek adds on a new rule, one that the young boy
definitely will not be keeping. Stiles just nods as he deemed his flannel
needed more attention than Derek right now. Fingering the red and blue fabric,
before looking back to Derek.
“You should get situated. Um, I have to go work in a minute, I'll be home
around 9:30 maybe 10:00 tonight. You can look around, to get use to where
things are,” his voice seemed to be calmer now and Stiles nods once again.
“Okay.”
“Go,” he gently gestures with his hand as Stiles goes up the stairs. Stiles had
calmed down a bit more as he unzipped his bag. He started with his clothes,
placing his nightwear in the drawers and hanging up the t-shirts and pants on
the black hangers Derek had stocked in there. Stiles did wonder if Derek was
considering having Stiles stay there ahead of time since Scott had already told
him a bit about him. Stiles shook it off, he couldn't imagine Derek doing that.
Stiles moves on to the empty bookcase in the room, placing his books in there.
The desk had two small drawers connected to them and Stiles places his art
pencils, markers, pens, etc. inside of them, putting his sketchbooks on top on
the desk in a neatly corner. He places his iPod in the drawer with the art
supplies and places the paints, pastels, ink, etc. in the second drawer
underneath it. He places the bigger sketch pads in his closet on the top. He
hasn't drawn in them yet, but when he gets an idea he will soon.
He places his shoes in the closet at the bottom and pauses for a moment. It
felt weird at how… Comfortable this felt a bit. It was as if Derek didn't
really mind that Stiles was staying here and Stiles picked up on the vibe.
Derek wasn't angry that Stiles was staying here, he just didn't want Stiles to
go across the set boundaries. Really, the rules were only to help Stiles in the
first place. That seemed to make Stiles relax, as well as Derek seemed to
interact well with Stiles’ sarcastic intellectual combats, being just as
equally sarcastic.
Derek liked it a bit.
Stiles hears a door closed and peeks downstairs to see nothing but a yellow
sticky note on the counter. He goes downstairs to read the following: five, in
case you lose track of time and don't realize it's midnight. HOWEVER UNLIKELY,
leave notes if you're going somewhere far, like to the store, your dad's,
Scotts, etc. just so I'll know that was the last location you were.
Stiles can't help the laughter that came out of him. He should have been
freaking out, but he seemed comfortable right now as he trails back upstairs.
Taking a break, he grabs a white towel and heads to the shower.
When finished, he had looked around. His house was huge. Derek's house was
private, yet open in a way. On the outside everything scream private, you get
inside and then you realize once you're inside, everything is open, but still
private. Only being open to the viewer inside. The walls were all white, the
floors wooden. He had a big window in the living room and a TV, which seemed to
be the only TV in the house. He didn't have blinds, he had curtains, light grey
in the living room. A black suede couch that was extremely soft as well. The
kitchen had white curtains and the only other thing in color in there was the
fridge and plates and the light brown wooden table. Derek's room was white.
Everything white, except for the frame of his bed and his dresser, which were
black. Derek's room looked cozy, actually and he was definitely stealing
Derek's fluffy blanket. Just wait.
His house was big and spacious. Then, Stiles steps in front of one single door:
the den. He couldn't help himself as he opened it and went inside. Stiles
realized it was Derek's work/relax space. A bunch of books in a bunch of
bookcases, some sprawled out on the floor, and further away was his laptop and
some studio equipment. Quickly, Stiles keeps his awe to himself and shuts the
door. Yawning, he goes back into the living room, occupying himself with the TV
until Derek was to return.
| Derek |
Derek makes the tiniest smile as he runs his fingers over the keyboard. He was
always a bit more relaxed down at his studio as he drinks some of the water. It
was empty today, not much going on, and Derek was fine with that. He needed to
relax. He's had a very stressful week and he needed to at least calm himself so
Stiles can adjust to things a bit more. All day was a blur for Derek, mumbling
yes's and no's every so often, yelling at Scott because he kept touching things
he was not suppose to touch, and... Thinking about the boy? He was quite
curious about him a bit. He found himself wanting to know him just a tiny bit.
Only a tiny bit.
Stiles was definitely very beautiful. Cute tiny moles spread out on his pale
face. His brown eyes wide and nervous, his small pink mouth forming in natural
pout. In that instant, he reminded Derek of the spring time. When all the
flowers bloomed beautifully, the air was nice, not too cold or too hot. When he
looked at Stiles, he didn't see anything that wasn't normal, he saw a hurt
teenager in a lot of pain. He saw something real within the boy. It was like
Stiles was an open book in that moment. His expressions gave away what he was
feeling, he couldn't hide them from Derek at all.
Derek didn't know why he even agreed to, but as soon as he saw that boys face,
he couldn't help but say yes. Stiles looked like he needed help. A lot of help.
The boy looked like he barely slept at all, dark circles under his eyes. He was
a skinny little thing and Derek hopes to God that he wasn't on drugs. But
Stiles wasn't that skinny. He had natural muscle tone and he did look healthy
(body wise) and he didn't see any traces of Stiles being on drugs, so for the
moment, he's going to say he isn't. He did however spot something on his arm,
when he had his flannel folded down.
“Scott!” He shouts.
Scott snorts, strolling in casually. “What?”
“I have to ask you things about Stiles.”
Scott nods a bit, his attention more focused now, as Derek motions him to sit.
“First, is Stiles on any drugs?” He asks. He needs to know this.
Scott shakes his head. “He has ADHD and was prescribed Adderall, you think he's
abusing them?”
Derek shakes his head, sighing in relief a bit. “No, it's just to make sure. So
if he ever did abuse them, I know what it is he's on. Does he self harm?”
Scott falls silent a bit. Scott hated to talk about it because Stiles did and
every time Stiles came to his house in the middle of the night, he would never
forget the face Stiles had every time he did it. It would be filled with regret
and guilt and so much pain.
Scott nods. “He bruises himself.”
“Does he cut?”
“He has a few times… But mostly just sticked to bruising. I've tried to get him
to stop.”
“What does he have?” Derek then asks and Scott freezes.
Derek furrows his eyebrows. “Scott you need to tell me. I need to know.”
“Major Depression. However, he's gotten a little bit worse. So please please
keep a watch on him.”
Derek lets it sink in for a bit and nods. “Has he been suicidal lately?”
He asks ‘lately’ because one look at Stiles and he could tell the boy has been
through quite a lot of shit and at his age, he knows for a fact Stiles has been
suicidal before. And if he was staying with him, he defineitly needed to know
this. He's found his family's bodies and he certainly does not want to find
Stiles'. Looking at Scotts face, he can tell it would break Scott.
Scott shakes his head. “No. Not recently.”
“If there's anything else, Scott,” he gives his assistant a knowing look. “You
have to tell me. In order for me to keep him safe, you need to tell me.”
Scott hesitates for a moment. “Derek. I don't think that's my place to tell
you. Honestly, he has to tell you himself… Or show you.”
Derek arches an eyebrow. “What they hell do you mean show me?”
“I mean how he acts. He didn't tell me directly what he did yet until I asked,
but when I asked… He was completely honest, he always is. He might not tell you
directly yet, but when he does he's usually honest about it. The only things he
would probably lie about was if he leaves late and said he didn't, those type
of things.”
Silence.
“And hide anything sharp, just in case,” Scott sighs a little. He really hoped
Derek could help him. He literally went through the changes with Stiles. He
watched Stiles go from being very happy, his usual hyper self to… Becoming a
danger to himself. Stiles was the definition of destruction at the moment.
Scott just wanted his best friend to get better. He wanted to know so many
things, but Stiles would just shut down an he hated seeing his face like that.
Derek doesn't say anything, just watching Scott's eyebrows furrow in.
“He's really important to you?” Derek says.
Scott nods.
“Then I'll try my best, okay?”
Scott looks up, realizing Derek meant every word he was saying and smiles a
little. “Okay,”
They spent the rest of the day with Scott on the phone, setting up appointments
with certain people, while Derek started dropping the bass, making new sounds,
and groaning in frustration as he realizes his mind is in a block. He had a lot
of stuff on his mind recently and now added the boy to his mind. Derek didn't
have much of a happy past. He didn't have any family left, they were dead.
Gone. His mother and both of his sisters. Gone. He doesn't like to talk about
what happened and he doesn't want anyone's sympathy. He just wants people to
mind their own business and stop spreading rumors of what they think happened.
As a result, he's a bit more introverted than most, but he's fine. It's just
now… He has to care about someone else, not that he doesn't care about anyone
and he's a selfish prick. He isn't.
But now, it's not just him living in his house. Meaning, he has to interact
with someone else, learning to feel human again. Going through the motions of
talking, getting along. Learning what Stiles likes, doesn't like, learning
about a different person… It's weird for him because he's use to being alone.
Now, he has to share a part of his home with someone else and hope for the
best. Honestly, he didn't think it would be that hard. But he was expecting to
have a few ups and downs, that's normal. So for a while, he sits and thinks
about what he could do to have Stiles trust him a tiny bit.
Then he got an idea.
“Scott, we can call it a night.” Is all Derek says, before exiting out the
door. Scott didn't mind locking up, he was off tomorrow anyway, Derek had given
him the day off. Realizing Derek's in a slightly better mood, he does not argue
with that. He may never see this mood ever again.
Derek needed to go get some composition notebooks. When he studied in this, he
figured that when he did start to counsel, some of them wouldn't speak, so if
he stayed in that profession, he was going to give them journals to write in
until they felt comfortable talking about it. Since he didn't stay, he didn't
need to. However, it wouldn't be a bad idea to give some to Stiles. He had a
feeling Stiles wouldn't talk right away, so he bought a lot of the notebooks.
He got a few of them with different versions of Batman on the cover because
Scott had texted him and told him Stiles really liked Batman after Derek had
texted him first, asking him should he get regular plain black and white ones
or different colors. He winded up getting different colors and the Batman ones.
Derek just sent a quick text back. Thanks
His phones beeps within a few seconds. You're welcome.
Derek nearly smiled, ringing up the notebooks before leaving. When he arrives,
he sighs in relief as Stiles hasn't broken any rules yet, sees a perfectly
parked blue jeep in front of his house. Derek pulls into his driveway, getting
the bags out of his car and opening his door. He shuts it, locking it and was
about to call Stiles’ name when he sees Stiles curled up on the couch. His
white t-shirt slid up a bit as he sleeps, his small snores being the music for
right now.
Derek hums to himself, setting the bags down and gathers up the boy, shutting
the TV off, and carries him up the stairs and into the room he gave him. He
places Stiles under the covers. He places the notebooks down on the side of the
bed, along with another sticky note and quietly exits as to not disturb him
with a bunch of noise. With that, Derek didn't bother showering, he'd do it in
the morning, and collapsed onto his bed, too tired to even change his clothes,
he soon drifts off in a deep slumber.
And yes, Stiles did steal Derek's fluffy white blanket and Derek nearly flipped
his shit as he told Stiles not to touch his things and he did it anyway.
That little shit.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Holy cow... AWWWWWWHHHHH GUYS!! Thank you so much for the kudos on
     just the first chapter, that means a lot.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
| Stiles |
Stiles opened his eyes, he was drenched in sweat, his shirt sticking to his
chest, as he breathes heavily, closing his eyes. He managed to calm himself a
bit, his knuckles untightening as he loosens his grip on the covers. Then he
realized he was in the bed and not the couch. He hums to himself, slowly
sitting up, and stretched, yawning a bit. The house was quiet and he wondered
if Derek was here or not. He then smells food and his question is answered. He
sees a plastic bag full of books and furrows his eyebrows in confusion before
picking them up and sitting them on the bed. He looks to see that they're
notebooks, as he picks up the sticky note.
I figured if you wouldn't speak, you'd want to write, so I bought you
notebooks. Take full advantage of them.
Stiles smiles a little, picking up one of the Batman ones, before taking them
out and putting them all in the closet, leaving only one out, as he puts that
one with his sketchbook on the desk.
First, he showers, calming himself down as he rinses of the soap off, standing
under it for a moment. Then he dries off, putting on a simple long sleeve black
shirt and sweats. He makes his way downstairs to see Derek in the kitchen.
Shirtless and in just his boxers. Stiles tried not to stare and Derek just
smirks a bit. “Can I help you search?”
Stiles’ cheeks flame up as he doesn't say anything and sits at the island, on
the black stool. Derek looks at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “You
alright?”
Stiles just nods and Derek hums. He took note that Stiles looked a little
restless.
“How'd you know I like Batman?” Stiles says, touching one of the petals of the
bluebells Derek had on the island counter top, his finger tracing the small
light blue pot holder.
“Scott said you liked him… They had a bunch of them, so I figured I'd get you
something you actually liked.” Derek shrugs, flipping the pancake over, as
Stiles locks his eyes on Derek's triskele tattoo on his back. The image was
then imprinted on his mind and well… Guess it's stuck there.
“How… Nice of you,” Stiles says. “Shall we see more of this nice behavior?”
Derek pulls a blue plate from the cabinet. “Probably not,”
“Aww,” Stiles frowns. “I thought we were making progress, last time we were
close to ripping each other's throats out.”
Derek's mouth tugs a bit.
This makes Stiles crack a small smile and Derek turns to look at him, his mouth
tugs up just a tiny bit as he sees Stiles’ golden eyes wide staring up at him.
Derek seemed relaxed, his eyes a lighter green. “You sure you're okay?”
Stiles groans. “I'm fine.”
“You look overwhelmed.”
“Nightmares,” the boy simply shrugs, as if he's use to them. Which, he kind of
is use to them. When his mother died he use to get them a lot, they had stopped
and then the incident came and they magically appeared again. Yay.
“About?”
Stiles gave an eye roll so hard, he was sure he was going to get a headache
later. “None of your business.”
Derek just hums to himself, placing the two pancakes on the plate with the eggs
and bacon, served respectively with a glass of orange juice as he slides them
to Stiles. Stiles’ stomach rumbles before he could protest.
“You need to eat.” It's like Derek reads his mind and Stiles obliges, picking
up the fork and eats.
“Do you have therapy today?”
“Nope.” Stiles lies.
Derek sighs at this. “Six, no lying about the important things. Example:
therapy.”
Stiles scowls at his pancakes, popping a piece in his mouth.
“What time?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, annoyed now. “At 4:30 and I can drive myself.”
Derek's silent for a moment, debating on if he wants to let him drive or take
him. Eventually he nods. “Alright, fine.”
Stiles smirks, finishing eating the breakfast, washing it down with the Orange
Juice. He felt full and content in the moment as Derek grabbed his plate,
putting it in the sink.
“Do you work?”
Derek nods. “In a few minutes, actually. I'll be home in the afternoon.”
Stiles nods and with that, they both prepare for the day. Derek planned to talk
to Stiles in the afternoon when he came home to get more of the situation.
Stiles seemed to be talking just a bit, so he hoped Stiles would still be like
this. However, he did notice the boy did look extremely restless…
Stiles lays in his bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling. He had so much
on his mind and sometimes it could get overwhelming. So, sometimes staring at
the ceiling did the trick. He usually just hummed a tone, bent his leg up and
down, trying to figure things out. Apart of him blamed himself for the things
that happened. He didn't want to and every time he felt himself actually
starting to think hey, maybe it's not my fault, he gets knocked right back down
until he feels empty. Stiles does know he use to be happier, more himself. Ask
everyone he knows and they would say it too. But now, Stiles doesn't even know
what to call himself.
He feels trapped and he doesn't know how to really ask for help. It feels like
there's this weight that's just laying on him, never getting up, just staying
exactly on him. He sighs, grabbing the black medium sized sketchbook and
figures he'd draw until the meantime. Stiles was very talented for his age. He
never really thought he was that good, typical artist move, but he was. He blew
people away with some of his artwork. But Stiles still thinks he isn't good
enough. He's been thinking he isn't good enough for a lot of things for a quite
some time actually. He doesn't have that mindset on purpose, it isn't his
fault, really.
Stiles hums when he works. On his art, he hums. So he hums a little tune while
drawing Derek's tattoo repeatedly on the same page. He didn't know why Derek's
tattoo stuck in his mind, because obviously Derek shirtless was amazing to
Stiles, but he seemed to be focused on the tattoo more. It's simple, yet to
Derek it probably held meaning. Which it does.
                               • • •
For a while, Stiles sits. A small glare on his face as if trying to glare her
into submission. He doesn't speak, he simply just sits there. He felt drained
of energy and simply was not feeling it right now.
“How are you feeling today?” The browned haired woman asks him, her brown eyes
looking at him.
Stiles had sat cross legged on the dark grey couch, fingering the button on his
green flannel. He's silent, not saying much for right now and then he looks up,
shrugging. “Tired a bit.”
“Yeah?”
Stiles sighs. “What do you really want to know?” He snaps. It came out harsher
than he meant, but he's irritated and tired.
“I want to know how things are with you, Stiles. I need to get a sense of who
you are, I don't know that much about you other than from the few sessions
we’ve had,” she smiles gently. On her end, she really doesn't know anything
about Stiles that much. She wanted to. She wanted the boy to talk and to trust
her because she genuinely wanted to help him.
And it's not that Stiles hates her, because he doesn't. It's just he's
frustrated with himself that he can't speak the words he wants. So it doesn't
help either of them. He just physically cannot speak sometimes. He doesn't
really want to be here at all actually.
“Come on, Stiles. You can talk about anything you want. You don't have to talk
about those things just yet.” She says.
Stiles sighs. “I found a new place to stay since my father kicked me out.”
She hums. “Why'd he kick you out?”
“Because obviously he hates me, what do you think?” He stares at her.
Her expression stays the same. “You think he does?”
“He kicked me out… I think that says enough.” Stiles pursed his lips.
“Obviously he doesn't give a shit right now.”
She says nothing, just listens.
“Maybe he's trying to understand you. Sometimes people won't understand unless
they've been in your shoes or unless you tell them.”
Stiles literally scoffs. “There's no way he can be in my shoes. It never
happened to him!”
“And what was it that happened?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, making his glare get heavier. “None of your business.”
“Stiles, in order for me to help you, you have to give a little. You have to
talk.”
But Stiles simply does not, he just sits there, glaring at his shoes. He just
wanted to leave. He had a small flashback literally on the way here and it had
him shaken up a bit. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted to know how to make
them stop, how to make everything stop. How to make the pain stop, because it's
not just him in pain, it's like now that he's in so much pain, he sees it all
around him in others. And it's too much because then it's like he takes the
weight off of others and puts it on himself. It constantly drains him, making
things worse because he can be so detached from others. Because of this reason
and several others, such as him feeling empty, the doctor first thought he had
BPD (borderline personality disorder) and after really taking a close look at
Stiles and how he thinks, he realized that Stiles had Major Depression.
Which one was worse? Doesn't matter. They're both not good and everyone's
different. Everyone handles things differently and thinks differently. Like a
person with BPD could express their pain inwards and not act it out. Just like
a person with Depression can act out their pain in other ways instead of moping
around and making it obvious that they're hurting. Stiles does both and does it
well. He puts on a smile to mask his hurt, his smile could be the brightest in
the room, but he isn't happy, he's in pain. He's fooling them to keep them from
thinking if something is wrong because he doesn't want them to think
something's wrong. He doesn't like when the attention is on him, he was never
the one to really be comfortable on the spotlight as much. Unless he truly had
to.
“Stiles?” The woman calls his name gently, knocking Stiles out of his reverie.
He then instead stares at the pen in her hands.
“What are you thinking about?”
Stiles doesn't respond to that, he ignores her questions and asks something
else instead. “Is it possible to feel guilty even though you know logically
it's not your fault?” He asks quietly.
“Yes… What do you feel guilty about?”
Stiles bites the inside of his lip a little, an old nervous habit, and sighs.
“Are we finished?”
“If you want to be finish for the day,” she nods. “However we have fifteen
minutes left.”
Stiles let's out a long groan, but stays silent. She looks up at him, humming
before she sits back, crossing her legs. “All this pain you feel, Stiles.
You're letting it consume you.”
Stiles peeks up through his eyelashes a bit.
“You're making it a part of you,” she continues. “All this anger and
frustration, it's not you. The more you talk, the more we can make progress.”
Stiles sighs softly. “I know.”
“Any panic attacks lately?”
Stiles shakes his head. “No,” Stiles sighs in relief. He was happy he has not
had them for a little bit. Very happy.
“How can I… Make it stop?” He asks quietly.
“The pain?”
He nods.
“You have to forgive yourself, Stiles. Whatever happened, you're putting the
guilt on yourself when it shouldn't be there. No one else is going to forgive
you because there's nothing to forgive, you didn't do anything wrong if I'm
reading you correctly.” She says and Stiles looks at her for the remaining
time.
“I'll still be here when you want to talk, but until then. Go easy on
yourself.” She gives him a nod.
Then, Stiles is gone, making his way back to Derek's. It was hard for him to go
easy on himself when he isn't particularly fond of himself. He doesn't hate
himself, no, but he doesn't like himself that much either. Like she said,
Stiles doesn't forgive himself, he doesn't think he will.
Stiles returns, coming upstairs and changing into something comfy. When Stiles
comes downstairs, he sees the den open and Derek steps out, a pizza box beside
him. He motions the younger boy over to the couch and Stiles looks hesitant
before marching over there, sitting with him.
“How was it?”
“Shitty.”
Derek's face becomes amused. “So… We have to talk… A bit.”
Stiles nods slightly. “About?”
“You.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “No thanks,” he stands, but Derek pulls him back. “Sit
down.”
Derek was strong. Incredibly strong. So really, Stiles was smart for sitting
down like Derek told him too. It's silent for a bit as Stiles grabs a slice of
pizza, taking one of the pepperonis off and eating it. Derek looks at Stiles
for a bit, examining his face. He nearly smiled at how gentle it looked a bit,
it looked as if anyone touched him or showed him any once a small love, he'd
melt. That, and he'd be nervous and confused. In this instant, it reminded
Derek of windy nights and lights at night. Like people going downtown, looking
at all the beautiful lights and people. He's not sure why this, but that's what
Stiles reminded him of in this very moment.
“First you buy me notebooks, make me breakfast, then buy me pizza. You're off
to a great start, Der,” Stiles already gives him a nickname and Derek rolls his
eyes to it.
Stiles looks up, meeting Derek's gaze and he blushes a bit. “What?”
Derek shrugs. “Nothing, anyway. Are there things that I should know about you?”
Stiles looks at him for a moment before looking away and staring at his pizza.
Derek's eyebrows pointed down a bit. “What is it?”
Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing.”
Derek rolls his eyes, tearing the crust and eating pieces of it as he waits for
Stiles to talk.
“It depends, what did Scott tell you?” He finally speaks.
“Nothing much, just what you have. And that you hurt yourself sometimes.. That
true?” Derek surprises himself as his words came out a softer tone, not harsh,
it still had authority in it, just a bit more gentle than usual.
Stiles winces a bit. He felt ashamed of himself every time he did it, but he
was looking for that release and relief that he couldn't really find anywhere
else. For now, it's kind of how he coped. He didn't really know what to say to
Scott when he had told him. If anything he was all fucked up that whole day,
and was constantly in and out of it, irritable. It was not a good day.
“I won't judge you for it, but I need to know. If you're staying here, I can't
let you do anything to yourself. I told Scott I would look after you and you
and I both know that to Scott, that's a promise.”
Stiles doesn't say anything as he nods a bit.
Damn you, Scott.
“You have any alcohol?”
Derek looks puzzled.
Stiles smirks. “If you do, you might want to hide them, however, I’m being
honest with you, I will try and find them. And if you don't have them I'll
manage to get my hands on them. Just a warning.”
Derek falls silent. He was not expecting that, but then again he wasn't really
sure what to expect from the seventeen year old since the last time few times
they've met.
“I don't like to be bothered if I'm super irritable, it just makes things
worse. If you're yelling and I'm yelling, the problem doesn't get solved and
I'll… Doesn't matter, it just doesn't help.”
Derek nods slightly. He wanted to ask him why it didn't matter, but he just
listens for now, all the while making some rules in his head.
“I probably won't tell you if I had hurt myself… Because I don't want you to
know I did it.”
Derek doesn't like this and shakes his head. “Stiles, you have to tell me.”
Stiles doesn't like this either, shaking his head.
“You wanna get better?” Derek asks him.
Stiles doesn't speak for a little bit and then he nods.
“Then you have to tell me when you start feeling like that, Stiles. You're not
staying in the room few doors down from me and I not know you're hurting
yourself. You can make it easy and tell or I'll find out.”
Stiles nods slightly.
“I don't mean to do it…” Stiles says suddenly and quietly.
“Do what?” Derek's tone matches Stiles’, as he furrows his eyebrows.
“Any of it… Things weren't suppose to be this way,” Stiles finishes the slice
of pizza, going in for his second, making Derek's mouth tug just a tiny bit.
“Things changed… I don't understand why—I don't…” Stiles trails off, staying
quiet. He didn't understand why they did what they did. He's not sure why he's
like this, he's not really sure of anything. All he knows is that he isn't the
same. It really fucked him up a bit. He's hoping he can get better, but he
doesn't think he ultimately will. Because he can't speak, he doesn't feel safe
enough to speak. Loved enough to speak. He feels like he's by himself.
Stiles doesn't realize he was quiet for this long until he felt Derek nudges
him. “You okay?”
Stiles nods, but Derek isn't buying it. He's not stupid.
“Stiles… You can talk to me, okay?”
Stiles looks at him, laughing a bit. “Big bad Derek wants to talk feelings,
huh? This is new.”
Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles plays with his flannel.
“I'm just saying… You can. We might as well try and be.. You know..” He does
gestures with his hands and Stiles snorts. “Friends?”
“That's the word!” Derek snaps his fingers.
Stiles nods to this. “Something's different about you since the few times we've
met,” Stiles tilts his head curiously, eating the pizza. He looked adorable in
this moment. His golden eyes wide and curious. “Ah! You're not going around and
bossing people.”
“I'm not bossy! Don't say that!” He snaps, shooting Stiles a look.
Stiles makes a small cute laugh, looking up at Derek. He was never
uncomfortable with Derek when they had met, which was good for Stiles. He'd
rather be in a place that wouldn't make him uncomfortable… Therapy makes him
uncomfortable for the moment being.
Stiles sighs. “I’m not comfortable talking about it yet…”
Derek nods slightly. He doesn't push him anymore because he was at least a bit
happy that Stiles talked a bit. They spent the rest of the afternoon watching
movies actually, much delight to Stiles, he felt a bit more relaxed. Derek
glances at him a few times, just to make sure he's okay, and the boy was. He
happily watched the TV screen and managed to stop being a bit jittery for the
moment. Derek couldn't help but watch Stiles. He thought Stiles was clumsy and
annoying the first time they'd met, oh, how he wanted to smack the book out of
the boy's hands, and tell at him to stop humming. But now, it was different
seeing Stiles calm and comfortable.
Derek's phone buzzes during the one of the movies and so he excused himself to
take it.
“Hello?” He says once he goes outside.
“How's he doing?” Scott's voice comes through the other line, making Derek roll
his eyes.
“He's fine so far… Should I be expecting worse?”
“Yes.”
Derek groans, shaking his head a little. He still can't believe he agreed to
let Stiles stay here. He wasn't making any messes so far, but he knew it was a
matter of time before he would.
“He wasn't answering my text messages, so I had to call you.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“Nah, just checking on him.”
Derek peeks inside just a bit, to see Stiles has stolen his blanket once again,
and narrows his eyes before shutting the door. “That ass.”
“What happened?”
Derek can't help but laugh at the panic Scott has in his voice.
“Nothing. He stole my blanket.”
Scott laughs a little. “Did you take it back?”
“Yeah. This morning, he found it again.” Derek growls. He was going to murder
Stiles. It was inevitable. After a while, he spent some a bit more time on the
phone, peeking every once in awhile and then he pauses as he doesn't see
Stiles. He opens his mouth slightly, going inside. He sighs in relief a bit,
his face relaxing when he sees him getting ice cream. Stiles’ cheeks turn red
as he looks at Derek.
“Can I—”
Derek nods, stepping back outside.
“Did you get those files faxed over?”
“Yes… Why couldn't you just come get them instead? Are you off tomorrow?”
“Because it's just faster and yes… Are you still coming over?”
But right as he says it he sees Scott pulling in and he rolls his eyes. “You
shouldn't have been driving while you called me.”
Scott shrugs, following Derek inside. Stiles peeks his head up and his eyes
widen. “Scotty!” He jumps on him as Scott grins.
“So he comes back for me, huh?” Stiles sighs happily. “I knew it.”
Derek does an eye roll, joining Stiles back on the couch as Scott sits cross
legged on the floor.
“You've been fine?”
Stiles nods and Scott nods. Then, it's silent as they look at each other.
Stiles groans. “Just ask it.”
“Have you talked to your dad?” The words slip out of Scott's mouth.
Stiles frowns. “Why would I want to?”
Scott friend at this. “Stiles… You should talk to him. He said you've been
ignoring his calls and messages.”
Stiles shrugs flippantly. “And?”
“Talk to your father for fucks sake.” Derek's looking at a book that none of
them even realized he had.
“I don't have anything to say to him,” Stiles says.
“He's obviously worried about you,” Derek gives him a look.
Stiles sticks his tongue out as Derek just smirks. “Cute,” he rolls his green
eyes.
Derek just listens as the two engage in small talk and small arguing. Rolling
his eyes every so often and then sneaking glances at them playfully glaring at
each other. Any other day, this would not be happening. He would have
absolutely no one entering his home or staying there for that matter, but he
does. Which just made him think a bit. What in the world made him say yes,
besides looking at Stiles’ face? His eyes are glued to the page, but he's
already stopped reading once his mind took off, far into the galaxies,
searching for the answers that he may never know.
He hums to himself a bit. He remembers the first time Stiles had walked into
his studio. He had a buzzcut then, his eyes the striking color it was now, a
red hoodie on, which Derek thought it looked nice on him, and simple jeans and
converse. He had a sketchbook in his hands and he was always so damn curious on
what the hell the boy was drawing. Every time Stiles had opened his book, it's
like everything stopped for Derek. All he wanted was to see what it was. He's
seen some of Stiles’ art before from Scott and the boy had serious talent, so
when Stiles would stop by he couldn't help himself from gazing at him after a
while.
Stiles in his work zone was really adorable… Then the coffee incident. Derek
nearly wanted to strangle him, but he knows it wasn't the boy's fault. That's
why he wasn't incredibly upset, but still somewhat pissed. At first he wasn't
sure how he'd handle two idiots in his studio, surrounded by a bunch of other
idiots that worked for him, but Stiles was… Different.
He was jittery, and sarcastic. He was funny and hyper. He was calm in a way as
well. And well, it was natural for him… And somewhat opposite from Derek and
that's what pulled him to Stiles in the first place. He took note of the
differences and liked them a bit. But he also saw Stiles could be hard on
himself and his work, ripping out the pages and throwing them away. From what
he's seen, Stiles doesn't need to be hard on himself, but he doesn't argue.
He's hard on himself as well. He supposed it's just an artist thing for Stiles.
And a… Thing for him.
They did share similar qualities as well. Such as their nature to be sarcastic
towards each other. They weren't too much of the same, so in a way, it kind of
balanced them out. Derek groans in his mind. Was I really just thinking about
him like that?
Yep. He was. He shakes it off and then furrows his eyebrows, putting the book
down, as he sees Stiles getting off the phone, his expression upset. “I'm
leaving,” is all he says. He grabs his shoes and slams the door shut. Derek's
up. Fast.
“What happened?”
“His dad called… And he answered this time.”
Derek mentally curses in his head. “Shit!” He says out loud. Scott pauses
Derek's movements before he gets to the door. “Don't… Let him cool off.”
“It's almost midnight!” Derek's says indignantly. “One! Rule one!”
“I know, but—just don't right now, chew him out when he comes back…”
“And where exactly is he going?”
“I don't know,” Scott sighs. “He could be in the places you don't even think.
You think he's in a bar, boom, he's sitting at the park. You think he's at the
park and then boom, he's in a club. He does tell me though, so wait a few
minutes.”
And with that, they both sit on the couch, waiting for a call. But not a single
text or call came and their phones sat there, not vibrating or buzzing. So for
the moment, they just talk quietly.
“Should I be worried when he leaves…?”
Scott sighs. “Depends on what state he's in before he left… He wasn't… Always
like this. Something happened to him, I know it.” Scott shakes his head to
himself. “A year ago Stiles would have never… Done things..”
Derek just looks at Scott, slightly lightly. “What exactly does he do, Scott?”
Derek closes the book completely, facing Scott.
“Sometimes he can get… Promiscuous a bit.”
Derek's eyebrows raise to this. “Stiles? The Stiles that's been in my studio
many times?” Because obviously he was a bit stunned that Stiles did.. That.
Scott nods. “He doesn't do it a lot, but he does sometimes give sexual favors
that doesn't involve intercourse. He's only had sex a few times… He told me
about them.”
Silence.
“I think it's because of vulnerable moments… For some reason, it's like he just
can't handle certain emotions… So he'll flip a switch,” Scott sighs to himself.
“I wish he'd just tell me what happened.”
                               • • •
Stiles dances. He doesn't remember when he got there, but he's there. Swaying
to the beat with his cup half full, getting loss in the electro synth music.
He's not himself. He knows it, but it feels like it. He dances and gives sexual
favors and drinks because it's a way for him to know he's still feeling
something. It's another way for him to express things he can't say and hope
that someone gets it. That someone realizes that he doesn't want alcohol, he
wants the effect that it gives, the ability to numb things. He doesn't want
sex, he wants the comfort that comes after, laying in the arms, being content
with the warmth right beside them, and to not feel in that moment, feel
nothing, but happy.
There's something inside of Stiles that's wounded, yet he can see people
clearly. He can see people's weaknesses and strengths. Don't be fooled. He sees
them because he's already detached himself a bit. Partially because Stiles has
a small (huge) fear of intimacy. It scares him, the closeness in another kind
of way. His closeness with Scott doesn't scare him, but other things do. It's
not his fault, but he feels like it is. So he does what Stiles does when he's
not in tune with his emotions, he overrides them, turning them off, tilting the
vodka down his throat as if it were in a shot glass, and closes his eyes, the
corner of his mouth tugging up until he smiles. He dances.
Stiles was still incredibly upset about his father, so really, to say that his
father cared about him doesn't settle well with Stiles. Whatsoever. It just
makes his skin boil underneath until he wants to explode. He doesn't even know
why him and Scott even agreed to go to the party. Parties weren't their thing,
so why he went? Not a single clue. They just figured, hey, we won a Lacrosse
game, everyone's going over to Theo’s, let's go celebrate.
Stiles never returned to Theo's house. Ever. He freaks out when he even sees
the damn jersey. He just can't, he'd lose it if he ever saw that damn thing
ever again. So he had buried it deep in his closet so he'd never have to see it
again. If it were a person, he'd drown it.
This part, he doesn't even remember agreeing to the plea of the older man as
his lips pressed against his, but Stiles doesn't complain, just dances with
him, turning around as the guy gripped Stiles’ waist, all the while Stiles
slowly slides down him, coming back up as the man pulled him closer to him,
attaching his lips back to his.
| Derek |
Derek was pissed, beyond pissed. It was now three in the morning and Stiles
still hasn't returned. He was only seventeen, where else go seventeen year olds
possibly go! Derek paces back and forth, a scowl on his face as his eyebrows
are puckered in.
“I'm going to kill him.”
“Okay, that's what we're not going to do,” Scott checks off on his mental list.
Derek groans. “God so help me, when I get my hands on him, he's dead. So dead!”
Scott just lets Derek blow off some steam, mumbling about how he was going to
beat the living crap out of Stiles for not listening and then probably
apologize because he'd feel bad. It was quite hilarious, as Scott watched him
go back and forth, thinking to himself.
“If he's not back by 3:30, I'm going to find him.”
“It's hard to find him when he does—”
“I. Will. Find. Him.” Derek growls, his green orbs a darker shade as he sits at
the island. Derek didn't know why he felt so worked up over Stiles breaking the
damn rule, but something worried him about Stiles staying out that late.
“You don't think he's… You know…” Derek trails off.
Scott arches an eyebrow. “Fucking anyone?”
Derek nods.
Scott sighs, his eyebrows lowering. “No… He wasn't that upset.”
Derek makes a low growl and as if he can't take this silence anymore, he
stands, grabbing his keys. “Wait here.”
Derek turns, about to leave, when a shaky Stiles comes through the door.
Derek's eyes set out on the short black spandex shorts and Derek growls. “You
fucking went out like that!” He explodes. Those shorts perfectly showed Stiles
long legs and oh my god. He was going to kill Stiles. It was official.
“I wore this before I left, Derek.”
“Yeah. In the house,” Derek's tone was angry and Stiles sighs, going upstairs
without another word. Derek can't even think straight he's so angry. He calms
himself, reassuring himself that he'll ground him… Maybe.
“Scott,” he turns to his lovely worried assistant. “Go home. I'll handle it.”
Scott nods slightly and leaves without another word. Whereas Derek is ready to
go break some necks if he finds out anyone laid a finger on him. For a little
while, he stays downstairs, to make sure he's calm a bit more than before.
Before, Derek was ready to tear up the house. Now, he only wants to tear up the
living room. That's some serious progress. Derek reaches upstairs and is about
to open the door when he hears Stiles small sniffles and sighs softly. He opens
the door to see Stiles sitting cross legged, staring out the window as the cool
breeze smacked his face, his back turned to him. He peeks and sees Stiles
drawing something as his ears are filled with Stiles’ familiar hums.
Derek couldn't help himself as he sits next to him. “You're grounded,” he
mimics the boys position.
Because apparently, it's official once Derek says it out loud.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “I figured,” he snaps the book shut, throwing it to the
floor.
“It was either kill you or ground you. You should be lucky I even considered
grounding to be an option,” he growls at the fact Stiles wouldn't let him see
what he was drawing.
He hums. “So lucky,” he says sarcastically.
For a while, the two just look out the window, and into the tiny stars lighting
the path for the sky. Stiles always liked the nighttime. It was relaxing to
him. He hated daytime sometimes, maybe because he's had shit mornings and not
enough shit nights to balance it out. Stiles shoves Derek, resulting in a
lethal glare. “What the hell was that for?”
“You were going to kill me!?”
He rolls his eyes. “I wasn't going to kill you,”
Stiles snorts. “Really? You weren't, okay. Let's pretend you weren't.”
He sits in silence before nodding a bit. “I was really thinking about it.”
Stiles can't help the small laughter that came out of him.
“Did you…” he trails off.
Stiles looks at Derek, meeting his gaze and sighs. “I promise you, I didn't
tonight… I just—I made out with someone in there,” he refers to the club. “But
I didn't do anything.”
It was true. Stiles didn't do anything. Just danced and kissed the guy, that
was it.
Derek nods slightly. “How does a seventeen year old manage to get into a club
that's for 20 and up?” Derek arches an eyebrow, his thoughts confirmed that
Stiles indeed went to the club.
“I know the owner,” is all Stiles says, clearing his throat. Derek furrows his
eyebrow slightly, understanding what he means.
“Stiles… You had sex with the owner to get in the first time?” Derek frowns a
bit.
He shakes his head. “I did other stuff… I’d rather not talk about it. It
already happened a long time ago, so…”
Silence. Incredible, heavy, pin drop silence.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes,” Derek says. “Because you put yourself in danger and you had Scott and I
worried about you. I was livid,” he sends the boy a small glare.
Stiles manages to smile a tiny bit. “You were worried about me, huh? I knew big
bad Derek had feelings,” he smirks. Derek just growls.
He sighs. “You remember that time when there was a shortage in the studio, one
of the equalizers were messed up and you tried to fix it—”
“Yeah my memory isn't that fucked up, dick.” Stiles shoots him a look.
Derek sighs. “Well, I was pissed—”
“That's really not surprising, considering your short temper. I'm not sure how
Scott survived the days without fearing for his life. I mean you nearly killed
me, Derek! Killed me and I was not—”
“Stiles!” Derek nearly shouts and Stiles sighs, keeping quiet.
“Like I was saying. I was pissed. But I was pissed only because you could have
hurt yourself. You shouldn't have tried to fix it, you should have told me and
I would have taken care of it then and there… And I was not going to kill you,
over dramatic much?”
Stiles scoffs. “Over dramatic? You duct taped my mouth, tied my hands, and made
me sit in the chair for thirty minutes.”
“It was so you wouldn't touch anything else!” He protests.
“I call bullshit!”
“You're clumsy! I did what I had to do!”
“Oh I bet you did!” Stiles’ glare is met with Derek's.
“I got you food didn't I? I had to shut you up after that.”
“Yeah,” Stiles pats his shoulder. “That's the way to do it,” he rolls his eyes.
“Now, any point to this story?”
“The point was that you put yourself in danger once again. You could have met
all kinds of psychos in that club, Stiles. Could have done anything to you.” He
says seriously, tilting Stiles’ chin up to make him look at him. “I'm not
risking that. I risked it once and I barely forgave myself for it,” he whispers
as Stiles stares wide eyed at Derek's intense eyes. He opens his mouth slightly
and then closes it, swallowing nervously.
He realizes Derek must have really been upset about the incident. Stiles did
put himself in danger dealing with electricity. He could have hurt himself
really bad and that didn't settle with Derek. But he had the impression Derek
just didn't want his equipment messed up, when really it wasn't that at all.
And he still doesn't know, neither does Derek actually. It's the first time he
actually spoke it out loud.
He pulls away from Derek. “Well then, if I'm grounded… You should—um, leave..”
Derek was well aware that Stiles had a bit to drink and was not going to yell
at him tonight. But he would definitely be yelling at him tomorrow. Although,
he still wanted to know what it was his father said to him that made him go
off. He needed to know Stiles’ triggers otherwise this was not going to be a
smooth journey. So, for the time being, they talk quietly as Derek stares at
the grey comforter.
He makes sure Stiles stays in that damn bed as he finally stands, until Stiles
grabs his hand. “Can you stay? Until I fall asleep.”
He groans. “Stiles—”
“Please,” his eyebrows pucker in.
Derek sighs. “Scoot over,” he growls, making Stiles move over so Derek can come
on the bed. He turns the lamp out and the two of them lay, facing each other as
Derek narrows his eyes. “Go. To. Sleep.” He says through gritted teeth.
Stiles frowns, pinching him, receiving death glares from Derek to which, he was
sure he was going to die. They lay in silence as Stiles’ eyes are wide and
obviously not going to bed anytime soon. Stiles giggled, poking his nose and
Derek smacks his hand away.
Then, this happens. Stiles liked Derek's warmth and Stiles was cold. So, he
inches his little body closer to Derek's muscular body and closes his eyes
against his shirt. Derek stays still, his eyes widening just a bit as he
furrows his eyebrows. He didn't know what to say or feel in this moment, his
words getting stuck in his throat. Stiles only wanted the warmth, no big deal.
He's about to protest until he feels Stiles’ hands rest against his chest, he
could hear Stiles’ heartbeat as Stiles looked up at him. Derek doesn't say a
word, just wiped the wetness of his cheek a bit, and being the dick he is,
wipes it on Stiles shirt, receiving a small laugh from the boy as he sniffs.
Neither of them know who did it first, but their lips are touching. Derek can't
help himself as he pulls Stiles closer to him, a strong hand firmly cupping
Stiles cheek as he feels Stiles’ cold lips against his. Derek doesn't do
anything, just kisses the boy gently and tries incredibly hard to not smile
when he feels Stiles fingers play with the hair on the back of his neck. Stiles
breaks the kiss, pushing his head to his chest until Derek feels his shirt
becoming wet. That's when he realized that Stiles was grieving. Which he had
every right to grieve. He doesn't know why, but he grabs Stiles’ face back and
kisses him. Stiles moans a little, responding to Derek, just kissing him. Long
and slow until he can hear Stiles calm down, sniffing a bit. His small soft
hums against Derek's lips as Derek breaks the kiss first. He almost, almost
smiled at how wide eyed Stiles looked, his cheeks instantly turning pink.
He opens his mouth to talk, but Derek shuts his mouth with his own mouth,
kissing him a bit more. “It's okay. I get it,” he says because he does. He
realizes Stiles is grieving because he felt the radiation of Stiles’
overwhelming sadness spread throughout him like wildfire when Stiles cried on
his shirt. For now, he just pulls him a little closer and gives him a lethal
threat of what would happened if he doesn't take his ass to sleep.
Which, he'd wake up with all his limbs attached in different areas. How very
sweet of Derek.
Chapter End Notes
     So... In case anyone's confused... This IS still a slow build between
     them, I finally got an idea of how I wanted to do the slow build and
     choose to take a different route in then how Inwas going to
     originally do it.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!