Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7407454.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Sheriff_Stilinski_(nonromantic_focus/one-sided), past_Derek
      Hale/Kate_Argent
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski, Kate_Argent_(mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con_Elements, underage_
      (mentioned), The_Sheriff_Wants_to_Help, Object_Insertion_(mentioned),
      PTSD, Derek's_Still_Broken, Kate_was_Evil
  Series:
      Part 2 of If_I'm_Falling
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-06 Words: 1334
****** You Pushed Me ******
by gremlins-came-and-got-me_(Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)
Summary
     Derek's still falling into older men's beds. Instead of grizzled,
     grieving ex-Hunters though, it's the local sheriff.
Notes
     Read the tags, heed any warnings.
     Also, spoilers through Season 4 (and make note: this was mostly
     written during the end of 2015 with absolutely no regard to any
     further canon).
     Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.
     Apologies for any medical mistakes.
See the end of the work for more notes
                                      ~*~
Derek’s still falling into older men’s beds. Chris, even though it had only
been the once, had taken some time to break his habit of climbing the stairs
and camping outside the Argents’ door, waiting for it to swing open with a
gruff, “Derek.” The hunter running to France had helped considerably.
Now, it’s the Sheriff Derek finds himself with.
It had been a simple invitation, a “You look rattled, son, come with me.” Derek
ignores the way it feels like he’s a puppy trailing after the Sheriff.
All told, it’s rather comforting to curl up on the foot of the bed, with the
Sheriff’s cold feet pressed against his stomach.
Derek blinks slowly, forcefully, as the Sheriff turns pages on his thriller.
Every so often he stares at him over the tops of his glasses. Derek ignores him
in favor of counting the flowers on the bedspread.
The Sheriff sighs suddenly, and his feet move, kicking slightly as he
disentangles himself from Derek.
“Speak up, kid, I can’t hear you,” he says, and Derek notes a fond sound in his
tone.
“What do you want me to say?” Derek thinks of Stiles, upstairs, picking away at
his computer, complaining to Scott about homework or something inane. Stiles
can talk about anything and everything. Derek? Not so much.
The Sheriff taps his foot against Derek’s side, sighing again as he sets his
book down and folds his legs. He pats the bed beside him, staring at Derek
expectantly until he crawls to the spot and settles, limbs loose and back
tense.
The Sheriff runs a hand over Derek’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I want you to
tell me about yourself,” he says, kindly. “Tell me what you like to do for fun,
where you go when you run, what foods you like, things like that.”
“Um,” Derek says. He doesn’t do this, doesn’t let people know him. Well, he
would, except Laura (Kate) taught him it gave people power over him. Like,
saying his true name, if he were Fae.
“Um,” he says again, trying to remember everything the Sheriff said. “I like to
read?”
He does. And not just murder-mysteries, like the stack on the Sheriff’s
nightstand.
He has a bookcase filled to the brim with medical journals (just because he
heals doesn’t mean he’s not interested in seeing what would and could happen to
a human with the same injuries—and it hasn’t escaped his notice that he should
be dead a dozen-plus times over, including some of Kate’s affections). He keeps
his research books stacked neatly in the Hole-in-the-Wall closet and his
pleasure reading under the bed.
Still, the Sheriff looks unsure and gives him an indulging smile.
“Uh, I run around the old property.” The Sheriff recoils a bit. Yeah, it’s
where his family died, where they were murdered, but it’s also the closest he’s
ever felt to them. Even driving Laura’s Camaro or wearing his dad’s jacket
hadn’t made him feel home, just really, incredibly guilty (lonely).
“Foods,” he sighs. It’s not that he doesn’t like food, but everything tastes of
dust or blood and he really only indulges in sustenance when it feels like his
insides are going to turn into outsides or when other people watch him
expectantly. Although, his aunt, dead of natural causes before he was twelve,
used to make this thing she called Chipmunk Pie, even though it had no
chipmunks in it. He thinks he used to like it, and mumbles as such to the
Sheriff, whose eyes go kind and squinty, like he’s trying to hide amusement.
“Things like that,” the Sheriff prompts a few seconds later. “Derek, I want you
to talk to me about you. I don’t want to have to ask all the questions.”
“You might have to,” Derek says. He ducks his head and stares at his lap where
his hands are fisted, claws digging into the skin. He slowly straightens his
fingers, wincing at the bloody, healing pockmarks made from his claws.
A hand drops onto his neck and he jerks, flailing right off the bed. He manages
to tumble gracelessly onto his feet, turning to stare at the Sheriff.
He’s frozen, the hand he’d used to touch Derek still raised, a shocked
(disgusted) expression tight on his face.
“Sorry,” Derek mumbles, crawling back onto the foot of the bed. He lies on his
back, head turned towards the Sheriff, watching him warily. “Last time that
happened, I was asked about Kate,” he says softly.
“Do you want to tell me about Kate?” the Sheriff asks. Derek shakes his head.
If he had his way, he’d never talk about Kate again. But, her fingerprints
still burn him, taint him. So, he sighs and sits up.
“I don’t want you to help me,” he says, and the Sheriff nods. “I’m doing…fine.”
It’s a lie, but it’s one the Sheriff is apparently ready to let him tell. He
draws in a deep breath, almost choking on the sudden tears that well in his
eyes. It feels like Chris all over again.
“I was sixteen the first time Kate…had sex. With me.” He wonders why he’s
pausing. This is the part he’s rehearsed should anyone ever care to ask. But,
practice doesn’t make it easier and he finds himself blinking rapidly to dispel
the tears still in his eyes. It only makes them drip down his face.
The Sheriff makes a noise that sounds like anger and guilt but he doesn’t move,
and Derek swallows a small sob to say, “She progressed quickly, and she
wouldn’t listen when I said ‘no.’” He laughs bitterly. “I said ‘no’ a lot.” He
thinks of the wolfsbane-laced gags and ropes that she used to bind him with.
“She got tired of that, and took away my ability to speak.”
“The night of the fire?”
Derek shudders. This is another question he has practiced. Instead of the
simple truth, ‘I was at school,’ though, he feels the heavier truth building on
his tongue. “She was role-playing and she dragged me to the school where
she…had sex with me in several of the classrooms.”
He’d thought the loss of sensation was because she’d covered a dildo with
wolfsbane lubricant and shoved it into him with no preparation. Later, he’d
found that it was because his family was dead.
It was a good thing she’d disappeared into the wind.
Laura had found him still tied down in the library, the dildo half in him,
sobbing and choking on his gag. It was then that she’d decided they wouldn’t
stay in Beacon Hills. And the psychiatrist she’d dragged Derek to the next day
had agreed.
The Sheriff snorts. “Derek, she didn’t ‘have sex’ with you. She raped you.”
He flinches, hunching down and covering his ears with his hands. Laura’d said
the same thing. Repeatedly. Didn’t make him believe it any more than the
Sheriff telling him.
“I responded to her. I kept going back to her. Why would I do that if she was
raping me?”
The Sheriff rubs at his eyes wearily. “Derek, I’ve seen cases of abuse that
sound almost identical to yours. Yes, some people keep returning to their
abusers for any number of reasons. That doesn’t make it their fault.”
Derek laughs, the frustrated sound bubbling out of him. “I don’t think I want
to talk about Kate anymore,” he says, and the Sheriff nods.
“We’ll let it be for now,” he says, reaching over to grab his book again. He
pats the space next to him again, waiting until Derek is settled again before
flipping it open to his bookmarked page. “But, Derek, this isn’t the end.”
Of course not. It never is.
All he hopes is that he’ll make it to the other side without losing much more
of himself. From the way the Sheriff ignores him then, flipping pages almost
too fast to actually be reading, Derek thinks he just might break.
God, he hopes not.
                                    ~ Fin ~
End Notes
     I apologize if my tags are inadequate. Please don't hesitate to let
     me know if something bothers you, needs more tags, or even if you
     just liked it.
     Thanks for reading!
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