Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1035246.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Derek's_POV
  Series:
      Part 3 of Darker_Corners
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-07 Words: 1223
****** Not Strong Enough ******
by xantissa
Summary
     The last bullet was supposed to be for Derek, but Stiles just wasn’t
     strong enough.
Notes
     AN: Blame the song: not strong enough by Apocalyptica
     05-11-2013
05-11-2013
 
His whole body hurt, burned, even when he was trying to breathe. It was like
sucking liquid metal into his lungs. Everything was insane, he was blind and
deaf to the outside world just this thing trying to burn him out to a husk.
 
There were hands on him, pushing and pulling, dragging him somewhere and a
smell, he should have recognized it but his confused mind couldn’t make the
connection any more. He could feel the wolf trying to burst through, his skin
itching and burning with the almost-change but he fought it, tooth and nail, no
longer conscious of why he fought.
 
He fought to stay sane. He fought to stay human. He fought to keep the fire
contained to his own body, to stop the power from leaking out.
 
There were hands on him again, small, cool hands tearing at his clothing,
giving fleeting relief from the heat.
 
Clothes felt like a steel wool against his skin, making him  growl and snarl,
the haze enveloping him, the flames surging even higher.He tore at his own
clothes and when there was no longer anything touching his own skin, he tore at
the clothes separating him from that blessedly cool body. Everywhere they
touched, he could feel the flames subsiding,taking away another bit of the
insanity trying to burn his reason away.
 
It was simple, instinct, the bone-deep knowledge that made him arch and press
towards the cool body, that made him use his claws, his supernatural strength
to keep hold of that body. It was more than instinct, it was the deep seated
knowledge that it was the only way for his survival. He needed that, them, so
badly nothing else mattered anymore.
 
There were words, he was vaguely aware of sounds, of the smell of somebody
else’s breath on his lips, of touches that tried to direct rather than push
away, but he could grasp none of it. Understanding, communication, sanity was
so far out of reach for him it might as well not exist anymore.
 
Getting closer, getting in, getting deeper was all he knew at that moment, the
entirety of what he was. Everything in him told him that this, this was the way
to stop the pain, to stop the flames from burning him down to cinder.
 
So he did it. He tore at anything and everything between himself and the source
of that relief, gorged himself on contact, on the taste and smell and feel of
that body, on every cool touch he could wrangle, until the fire subsided.
 
Coming back was like waking up from wolfsbane poisoning. Everything hurt and
his senses were all out of whack, smell coming in too strong one moment,
overwhelming him completely, only to fade completely the next. Eventually he
became aware of his surrounding somewhat. The smell of wet earth and moldy
wood, old machine oil and sawdust told him he was still in the old sawmill. The
smell of blood, beeswax, candles, semen and blood was however unexpected.
 
He groaned and tried to roll over onto his knees before he realized that he was
laying down on the old wooden floor and he wasn’t alone.
 
Their scents were so intermingled, so mixed, so different it actually took him
a moment to realize just who was with him, who was touching his hair and
repeating something like a mantra.
 
“Shh, calm down. You are safe. You are okay. I’m sorry. You’re okay.”
 
When he opened his eyes and saw Stiles’ brown eyes just inches from his own he
just frowned, not really understanding what was going on, not getting why
Stiles was petting his hair as if he was some kind of distressed puppy.
 
For a very long moment he just stared confused at Stiles, trying to jumpstart
his mind.
 
When he did, he almost wished he had stayed insensate forever.
 
It was the scents that suddenly made sense. The candles, the smell of recent
and powerful magic all around them, the wet earth, the blood and above all else
the fucking come he could smell all over them both. It all fit into a single,
clear picture.
 
He pulled back, his body answering much more readily than he would have
expected after ordeal and looked down at himself and at the teenager. They were
both naked, both smeared with mud and blood, the smell of sex almost choking
the breath out of Derek.
 
He recoiled so violently he actually fell down again, rolling painfully over
the old floor until his shoulder hit something hard and unyielding that stopped
him short. The tingle of magic he could feel rattling his teeth told him it was
a magic circle even before he looked down to see an intricate circle taking up
half of the visible space of the old sawmill.
 
Somewhere beyond he was aware of a woman, a powerful witch judging by the
complexity of the circle and the way it didn’t even flicker when he pressed
against it.
 
She smelled powerful, upset and not completely human. She was also leaving.
 
“What did you do?” He rasped, even though he already knew. His stomach heaved,
throat seized on a gag, but there was nothing in his stomach to purge so he was
left with only the taste of bile in his mouth. “What did you do?!” He roared
turning on Stiles..
 
All he could smell was the scent of his own sweat and come on Stiles, the smell
of their blood cloying the air.
 
He surged towards Stiles wanting to shake the out an answer from him, some kind
of explanation that would deny the obvious.
 
The moment his fingertips brushed Stiles’ skin, Derek felt the bond between
them flare to life like a supernova, bright and fierce, so powerful there was
no hope of ever breaking it. He staggered back, everything suddenly snapping
into focus, sudden clarity almost knocking him to his knees.
 
“Derek. Derek please. There was no other choice. It was too much power. Four
Alphas in one night, there was no chance for you to assimilate that much
power.” The teenager was talking quickly, desperately, reaching out to Derek
but the older man flinched as if struck and backed up as much as the circle
would let him, trying to get as far as physically possible. “There was no other
choice! I have enough magical affinity to take the strain from you, to let you
adjust slowly to the power, to keep you sane. It was the only way!” the
teenager cried but Derek was shaking his head, trying not to see the hand
shaped bruises, not to see the proof of violation all over Stiles’ body.
 
“I told you.” He rasped, his throat closing up. “I told you to save the last
bullet for me!” He hurled at the boy even as he threw himself uselessly at the
magical barrier.
 
The circle didn’t even flicker.
 
Stiles flinched as if struck.
 
“Out!” Derek managed, his finger already turning into claws. This time he
wasn’t even fighting the change. “Let me out!” the last word ended in a howl as
the wolf took over and howled his distress.
 
The last thing he remembered was the sight of Stiles’ skinny, naked body
scrambling over the old wooden floor to break the circle.
 
The end.
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