Chapter Text
Part XII
Derek had been shifting restlessly in bed, idly wondering if Stiles wasn’t going to make it up again tonight when he felt it.
It was a spike of terror so great that it bordered on physical pain and Derek didn’t move right away because all he could do was clutch his head and gasp for breath and then-
Then he had figured out what it was and where it came from and he was moving to the door, already half shifted because the knot in his head that was Stiles was-
Well, he wasn’t sure how to describe it. It was unravelling. But not like it was supposed to, not like when Stiles smiled and it loosened and Derek got to feel some of the raw heat that was Stiles’ true personality.
It was… fraying. Not quite fading like Scott had when he was shot but the tight point was expanding and then struggling to reform and it was wrong and Derek was terrified and though he usually tried to respect Stiles’ privacy, he didn’t hesitate for a moment to put his entire focus on the bond and on finding out where Stiles was because he had to stop this. He didn’t even know what it was but he was going to find out and maybe kill whatever was causing it and-
He didn’t remember the journey. All he knew was that he turned the last corner sharply and even though he was already shifted something bubbled underneath the surface of his skin as if he could shift more and-
The moment only lasted a moment because the next he was forcing himself to lean back and hide and attempt to calm down.
Not that he really could. Because another werewolf had Stiles pressed up against the wall, hand casually curled against one side of his neck while he mouthed at the other side and Stiles had his head tilted and was letting him and all of Derek’s instincts told him to just kill but-
But common sense prevailed at the last second. Because to kill him would be to cause a scandal and would doubtless blow Stiles’ cover and Scott’s hiding place and Beacon Hills would be discovered and as much as Derek wanted to attack without thinking, he was Stiles’ mate.
Which meant he had to protect the things that Stiles cared about. Which meant he had to calm down and think. Just for a second.
There was more than one way to get Stiles out of this. What this werewolf was doing was breaking a dozen pack traditions and there had to be a way to save Stiles without drawing attention to the fact that he was saving Stiles. He just had to-
It’s just an act.
It was just an act- an act and it wasn’t that Derek actually felt any calmer, but by force of will, he forced himself out of his shifted form. Forced himself to take one deep breath and arrange his face into a scowl that looked merely annoyed rather than murderous and-
“What are you doing?” he growled, spinning around the corner angrily. At least the angry part was easy enough. He just didn’t know if he’d be able to do the rest.
The werewolf stepped back, smirking, and had the audacity to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and-
“Just enjoying some late night Hale hospitality,” he said and Derek didn’t recognize who he was – he must be a Second of one of the smaller packs, though really Derek was having a hard time concentrating on the entire Summit so his lack of knowledge wasn’t exactly surprising.
He would bet the man wasn’t an Alpha merely because a Beta, even a Second, could be distanced from his Alpha, maybe publically reprimanded, and sent away without it being an official inter-pack scandal. An Alpha abusing another Alpha’s territory like this would almost be considered an act of war.
“Not you,” Derek said. Alpha or not, he couldn’t risk insulting another werewolf. Derek was still just a Beta and, even if this was supposed to be his territory, it wasn’t. His mother wouldn’t even know something was wrong right now. Even the fact that she wasn’t arriving to help him if this became an open challenge would look suspicious. “Him.”
He pointed a finger at Stiles, trying to making enough eye contact so that Stiles could see what he was trying to go for here. He just needed Stiles to play along and Derek could get him out of here. They just had to act.
Stiles had been doing it all week. He was the first Hale slave to remember to bow when Derek made the mistake of trying to visit after dark and Derek had seen him scurrying around the halls as if he were nervous of his own shadow and Derek’s awareness of him had shrunk to practically nothing. If the concerned looks that Scott threw around his room whenever Derek snuck away to see him were any indication, Scott could barely feel Stiles as well.
Stiles could do this. It was Derek who was going to mess it up. At least, that’s what Derek assumed.
But Stiles didn’t seem to be responding, not immediately anyway. He was still pressed to the wall, eyes locked somewhere on the other werewolf’s feet and-
“You were supposed to be in my room twenty minutes ago,” Derek said, stepping closer. Maybe Stiles didn’t quite realize it was him yet. And Derek needed him to figure it out because the other werewolf was frowning. Suspiciously.
“Wait a minute,” he said, his eyes calculating. “I thought the Hale Pack didn’t-”
He cut off as Stiles slid to his knees. The werewolf’s eyes lit up and stared at him almost hungrily.
“I- I’m sorry, Master,” Stiles said and Derek had to clamp down on a whimper at the sound of Stiles’ voice. It was tight and terrified and it didn’t contain any of the relief or maybe awareness that Derek had hoped it would. It just sounded scared.
An act, Derek tried to assure himself. Stiles wasn’t scared of him, he was just acting and Derek had to keep on acting and-
“I got held up, Master,” Stiles continued, his eyes never leaving the floor. “Please forgive me.”
“You’ll make it up to me,” Derek said, feeling slightly sick but hoping it came across as menacing somehow.
There. That was it. They could leave.
“Sorry about the confusion,” he told the werewolf. “This one isn’t-”
“You don’t have him very well trained yet, do you?” the werewolf interrupted, smirking. “He should be on the ground begging your forgiveness. That wasn't begging.”
“If I wanted-” Derek started, thrown by the familiar tone and the message that filtered into his head a few beats late as Derek wasn’t paying this werewolf any attention, too busy trying to get Stiles to look at him somehow.
“And look at this,” the werewolf continued and then to Derek’s horror, he took Stiles’ chin in one hand and forced his face up. Derek felt a spike of horror through his head at the movement. And then one thumb came up to press on the bruise that covered the left side of Stiles’ face. Derek didn’t miss Stiles’ sharp intake of breath. “Still relying on physical punishment?” He shook his head. “It won’t work. Stiles here doesn’t care about that at all but there are other methods that are much more… effective.”
Stiles shuddered. The werewolf looked down and grinned as he felt the movement and Derek desperately tried to rearrange his face into something that wasn’t horrified. Because it was just now hitting him that the werewolf knew Stiles’ name and that meant he wasn’t random and this wasn’t random and-
“Who are you?” Derek asked and he didn’t think he did a good job of keeping his voice confident and angry. It came out too concerned. Too wrecked.
“Me?” The werewolf asked and he was still looking down at Stiles. “Matt. Second to the Daehler pack.”
Daehler Pack. Frantically, Derek tried to remember everything about them- smaller, yes, but popular, especially among Deucalion’s inner circle and he thought he had heard rumors that they were trying to expand, no longer allowing anyone to marry out of the pack and-
“I’m the one you should be thanking for all the little tricks Sticks knows,” Matt continued. “Have you gotten him to do the thing with his tongue and his fingers yet because let me tell you, that took training and-”
Matt kept talking but Derek stopped listening. Because that’s when the first name finally registered. Matt.
Matt was the word that sometimes escaped Stiles’ lips when he was in the grasp of a nightmare, Matt was the name that Stiles had once mentioned when he had to ask Derek to stop kissing him – “Matt – one of them used to do that whenever he finished” – Matt was- he was-
Matt was still touching Stiles, the hand used to jerk his head to the side still there, his thumb sliding down to swipe across Stiles’ lips.
“Get off him,” Derek snarled, taking a step forward and jerking Matt’s hand aside. It didn’t make him feel any better that Stiles flinched away from the movement. And Matt hadn’t taken kindly to being pushed away, his eyes flashed – still a blue color, only brighter in the darkness – and Derek felt his eyes flash in response.
“He’s mine,” Derek said, threading his hands through Stiles’ hair. It was supposed to be comforting but Matt’s eyes flicked towards the movement and so Derek forced his hand to tighten slightly, hoping it looked worse than it was, and pushed Stiles head back down.
“Okay, okay,” Matt said, eyes glinting with amusement, though he took another step back. “I get it. You’re possessive about your playthings.”
Derek barely stopped his eyes from flashing again at that statement. As it was, he couldn’t stop his hands from clenching into fists again, including the one still resting on Stiles’ head. There was a tiny stab of pain through the bond and Derek jerked his hand away when he realized what he’d done but-
He had to get out of this. He was going to snap. He was going to snap and challenge Matt formally or maybe just kill him- just sink his claws into Matt’s throat like he had done to Kate and he hadn’t even thought about it when he did it to her but he was thinking about it now and he could do it. He would do it. He wouldn’t even feel particularly bad about it.
“You don’t have to be, though,” Matt continued, stepping closer to Derek now. “He could handle both of us, I think. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Stiles?”
Derek couldn’t speak – his fangs had extended into his mouth. They had to get out of there.
Unfortunately the pause meant that Stiles blinked and looked up. For just an instant. Just long enough that Derek could see the terror that was somehow flat in his eyes.
“What- whatever would please my mast-”
“I don’t share my things,” Derek finally growled. Matt held his eyes for a long moment before stepping back, the grin sliding from his face.
“Fine,” Matt replied, curling his lip in distaste. “Have fun with my leftovers.”
It was an insult- this whole goddamn conversation had been an insult – and Derek wanted to challenge him or maybe just hit him but more than that, he wanted-
“Let’s go,” he ordered Stiles and then while Stiles didn’t move right away, he reached and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. Because they had to get out of here. He couldn’t do it any longer. “You have work to do.”
Matt was still watching them and Derek knew it was customary for slaves to walk a few steps behind and he couldn’t risk that. He had to know Stiles was okay. So he went for the most possessive stance he knew and curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck as he propelled him forward. Hopefully it would be enough to keep Matt away from Stiles permanently, though Derek was going to see to it that he never even had the opportunity to touch Stiles again. Not even for a second.
They had walked up one flight of stairs and turned down two hallways when Derek finally let some of the tension out of his arm.
Stiles must’ve sensed the change because the next second he was breathing way too fast and his scent had spiked to one of panic and he was shaking and-
“Stiles,” Derek tried, pulling them both to a stop quickly and going to stand in front of him. “Stiles, it’s okay. It’s over. He’s gone.”
Stiles was pale and shaking and, frantically, Derek tried to pull any pain out of him but there wasn’t any, not physical at least, and he could stop a growl that rose to his throat, already regretting let Matt go. He shouldn’t have. Matt had hurt Stiles and-
“Get off me,” Stiles snarled and Derek blinked in surprise and must not have obeyed fast enough because the next instant, Stiles had shoved him hard enough that he stumbled back a few steps and all the anger drained out of him as if it had never been.
In its wake was a dull sense of panic. Of wrongness.
Oh god, Stiles must not even really know who he was.
“Stiles,” he said again, willing himself not to raise his voice. “It’s me. It’s Derek. I just-”
He took a slow step forward and then his head snapped backwards.
Because Stiles had punched him. Hard but the little ping of pain that jolted through his head was from Stiles’ hand, not his face and oh god, this was all a mistake.
“You- you stay away from me,” Stiles growled, his voice low and angry and scared. “You- you said you wouldn’t- you-”
He cut off, gasping for air and that’s when it finally hit Derek:
Stiles knew exactly who he was.
He knew who Derek was and he knew Derek had touched him in ways that Derek had promised never to do and maybe eventually he would see that it was an act, that it had been necessary but Derek didn’t think that meant Stiles would ever forgive him.
Or trust him.
Oh god, he’d forced his head down and pulled his hair and-
And curled his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, which he never dared to do. Not even when they were curled up in bed or making out against the side of Lydia’s library or stealing a kiss behind Scott’s back as he rambled about animals and he’d just done it.
They had already been making their escape at that point. It hadn’t been a necessity. He just- He didn’t-
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, holding up his hand in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner even though every instinct he had wanted to go wrap Stiles in his arms. “Stiles, I’m sorry- I just- I had to get you away from him. I didn’t mean to.”
He wasn’t sure Stiles could even hear him over his gasping breaths. Derek didn’t know if it was a panic attack or maybe just something similar but he-
“We should get to my room,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice level. One of them had to remain calm. His voice had been getting louder with his own panic and he had to just remain calm and explain this.
“You weren’t supposed to,” Stiles gasped again. “Don’t- don’t touch me.”
“Please,” Derek said. “I know. I won’t.”
Stiles screwed his eyes shut, waving a hand that Derek took to mean shut up and then all Derek could do was watch as Stiles slowly pulled himself together.
At least, eventually his breaths slowed to a manageable level and he risked opening his eyes again.
“Go to sleep,” Stiles finally said, his eyes not quite meeting Derek. “I’m sor- I’m going to Scott’s.”
“Stiles,” Derek started but by the time the word was out of his mouth, Stiles was gone.
*^*^*^
Stiles had to stop two times on the way to Scott’s to lean against the wall and attempt to catch his breath. And then he tried to take an extra moment to pull himself together before he slid open Scott’s door because he was okay. He was okay and nothing had happened and Derek was just trying to help, he knew that and-
When he opened the door to Scott’s room, he realized that all his attempts to look somewhat normal were in vain.
Because Scott’s eyes were glowing red and he was pacing back and forth as if caged and there was fucking blood around his finger nails and-
“Holy shit!” Stiles said, stepping over the threshold. “What did you do?”
“What did- what did I do?” Scott said, sounding almost manic. “Stiles, what did you do? You were tired and fine- well, as fine as you normally are – and then you just- you just broke or something. What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”
Scott accompanied the words by moving forward and grabbing Stiles by the arms, inhaling as if he could smell what was wrong and-
“I’m fine,” Stiles said, something in his chest loosening. “I’m fine. Dude, how did- there is blood on your hands.”
“Tried to get out of the mountain ash,” Scott muttered, still scanning over Stiles’ body as if there was a wound he wasn’t seeing. “I got close. I think I could have done it.”
Stiles blinked, surprised, and glanced backwards. He wasn’t an expert but he thought that maybe the ash line did look a little faded.
“Oh,” he said, a little bit stumped as to what to do. Mountain Ash wasn’t supposed to fade. “Oh, well, it’s okay. I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Scott asked and then frowned. And inhaled. “And you’re not okay. There’s blood on your hand. You- you- Stiles I can feel you now. Everyone. And you- what happened?”
“It’s nothing,” Stiles tried and knew from the glare that Scott directed at his heart and then his face that he was well-aware Stiles was lying. “It’s nothing- I just…”
He suddenly realized that this was a mistake. Coming to see Scott so soon.
Because he was aware that he was barely hanging on and even without his new superpowers, Scott would be aware of it and he didn’t- couldn’t-
“Matt’s here,” he admitted. And he couldn’t help how his heart jumped at the statement. Oh god, Matt was here. Stiles had seen him and Matt had touched him and-
He shouldn’t have come here. He should have gone to a bathroom and taken a shower. He should have-
“Matt,” Scott growled and Stiles realized abruptly that even though he didn’t know all of it, Scott knew enough to hate Matt. Because there was no hiding Matt’s sadistic streak, not when he often directed it at all the slaves, Scott included, and there was no hiding that he had taken a special interest in Stiles, even if Scott wasn’t fully aware of what exactly that “interest” entailed.
And, of course, there was no hiding the fact that one day, he’d torn Stiles open one day for no particular reason and Stiles suspected he’d almost died. Not that he remembered or that Scott had ever told him directly but… but he hadn’t missed the way Scott’s eyes clung to him for days afterwards.
“It’s okay,” he said, watching as Scott’s jaw clenched. “He- he didn’t do anything, he just… it was just a surprise. Seeing him.”
Scott looked doubtful and Stiles told himself he could do this. If he kept this casual, Scott didn’t have to know any of the details.
He’d kept this secret for almost three years now. It wouldn’t come out now.
“Did he try to do anything?” Scott demanded, eyes blazing. “I can’t believe- he would need a reason and permission to discipline another werewolf’s slave.”
“No,” Stiles said quickly. Maybe too quickly. “No, he didn’t-” Unbidden, the feel of Matt’s claw running down his neck returned and he flinched before settling. “He didn’t do anything, Scott. Just- Derek showed up so… it’s fine. No big deal.”
He could do this. Just had to keep it casual. Keep his voice light. Shrug and smile and this wasn’t a big deal. Nothing had even happened.
“You’re lying,” Scott said and he actually stepped back, tilting his head in confusion. “Why are you lying?”
“Fuck,” Stiles muttered, hoping he sounded more annoyed than terrified. “C’mon, Scott, I’m not lying, I just-”
This was a mistake.
“Yes, you are,” Scott said, his voice raising just slightly. “And it was a big deal, Stiles. You went- you were panicking.”
“Look,” Stiles tried going for firm. “It was just a shock. I just panicked a little bit- the guy did once claw me open, Scott.”
Scott didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked even more certain that Stiles was lying. Stiles kept talking. That was what he did. He would keep talking and eventually Scott would laugh and this would all be over. It could be done.
“I actually have to go,” he said, jerking one hand towards the door. “I just came by to make sure you were okay and, clearly, you are, so I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
“Stop,” Scott said and his confusion was melting into something like anger. “Just tell me, Stiles. What is it about Matt? Why did you panic like that? And who did you punch? Did he say something to you? Threaten you?”
“Shut up,” Stiles snarled and it was almost a relief that all the panic in his belly suddenly turned to anger. “Just, fuck, Scott, just leave it. Fucking-”
His hands were shaking again and he knew Scott noticed because his eyes flicked downwards and he was a werewolf now and werewolves noticed everything and Stiles couldn’t -
“Stiles,” Scott took another step closer. He was moving slowly. Deliberately. “What are you hiding?”
“No,” Stiles growled and maybe he knew it was wrong, that this was Scott but the rush of anger that rose in his chest had his whole body flushing. He stayed absolutely still, muscles tense, jaw clenched. “No, you don’t get to ask me that.”
It wasn’t that he couldn’t do this right now. It wasn’t that it was too much in this moment, that he was still too keyed up from seeing Matt and oddly shaky from seeing Derek act that way. It wasn’t that.
It was that he couldn’t ever do this.
Scott couldn’t know.
And not because he didn’t want Scott to feel more guilty than he already did or because he wanted to protect Scott from the realities of life or because he wanted something- just one thing – that was fucking private.
It was simply because Scott couldn’t know.
Derek knew and, because he was a fucking idiot, Lydia knew and Chris knew and, on some level, he was afraid that Mrs. McCall knew and maybe Jenny and, fuck, Kate had known so Gerard knew (You little whore, you littlewhore, youlittlewhore) and Matt and Brunski and-
Too many people. Too many people knew about him. About what he was.
Scott couldn’t be one of them.
It had been a mistake. Coming here.
He turned to the door.
“Stiles,” Scott said and it was his Alpha-voice. Even before he was a werewolf, it was the soft, serious voice that Stiles had grown up obeying instinctively.
He wasn’t going to wait around for the order. He kept moving, one hand reaching and grabbing the door, ready to slide it so as not to disturb the Mountain Ash line and-
Scott’s hand was suddenly there, holding the door in place and then the other was fisting in Stiles’ shirt – the blue one that Stiles hated – and holding him in place.
“No,” Scott said and his eyes were bleeding red. “No, we’re not going to do this anymore.”
“Do what?” Stiles demanded, shoving Scott’s arm off of him. It flew away for only a moment before it was back. Stiles stared down at it, a part of him shocked, more of him angry that Scott would actually grab him and hold him in place.
“This,” Scott snapped and his fist tightened. Stiles felt the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. “This thing where you do whatever you think is best and hide things from me and let yourself get hurt. You can’t do it anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked, making a half-hearted attempt to open the door. It didn’t budge. Scott didn’t even look like he was trying with his new Alpha strength.
“I’m talking about you,” Scott said and the anger in his eyes had dimmed into a kind of concerned determination. “You’re… you’re always getting hurt and you don’t seem to understand that I can’t- you- it needs to stop. I won’t let you do this anymore.”
“Oh yeah,” Stiles shot back. “And what are you gonna do about it? You gonna stop me?”
He made it a challenge, a taunt, and maybe there was a part of him that hoped Scott’s temper would snap. The conversation would be over if Scott hit him.
Wrong, a part of Stiles’ brain was screaming. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
This was all wrong. He and Scott didn’t fight. They whispered to each other even when they were supposed to be silent and made up secret hand signals to use behind their owners’ backs and stitched each other up and held each other when there was no one else and- They didn’t do this. They didn’t fight.
Apparently Scott had the same thought because the next second the anger had drained from his face and it had gone soft and sad and the hand curled in Stiles’ shirt loosened.
“Stiles,” Scott said and his eyes were hurt. “Please. Just- just tell me.”
“No,” Stiles said and took advantage of the moment to shove Scott back. He’d never shoved Scott before in his life.
A part of him recognized the shoving a barely controlled, newly formed Alpha werewolf was a bad idea. He wasn’t even surprised when Scott’s eyes flashed red and his mouth twisted into a snarl.
He didn’t lunge forward to grab Stiles’ though. But his hands clenched at his sides and when he spoke his voice was soft and deadly quiet.
“You’re going to tell me.”
Stiles shook his head mutely. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach though. He didn’t move for the door again. He knew what would happen if he did.
“You’re going to tell me and I’m going to help.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Stiles tried.
He was going about this all wrong, he realized. He should beg Scott to stop asking, should promise to tell him later when he wasn’t upset, he should just calm down and think for a second.
But his chest was heaving and he was just too angry- at Matt, at Derek, at everything and-
“Stop lying.”
Stiles clenched his jaw.
“You can’t help,” he managed, hoping Scott could hear the truth of that.
“Yes I can.”
Scott said it was such certainty. With the same stupid naivety that he said everything. As if he honestly believed he could make the nightmares disappear or go in an magically fix everything that was wrong with Stiles because he’d let werewolves fucking take whatever they wanted.
Fuck, he’d been the one to set it up the second time. Maybe Kate was right. Maybe a part of him did like it.
“You can’t help, Scott,” he snarled, loud enough to shut down the memories that started replaying. “You can’t- there’s nothing. Just leave it.”
“No,” Scott said and he was moving closer again. “No, I’m not going to ‘just leave it.’ I’ve been- I been fucking ‘leaving it’ for years because you never wanted to talk about it and I never wanted to upset you and I- I deserve to know what happened, what you did in order to help me.”
Scott was too close again. Stiles had to say something to get him to back away.
“Fine,” he snarled, unaware that he was going to say it until he did. “Fine. You want to know? You want to help?”
He was the one to take a step forward now, barely stopping himself from shoving Scott back again. Because Scott was glaring right back at him, eyes red and determined and angry and-
“I let Matt fuck me for over a year,” he said. He meant to stop at that but he didn’t. “It only stopped because he got bored and clawed me open even though two minutes before I was on my knees sucking his dick. And it didn’t even make sense because I had been being good and I didn’t even deserve-”
His throat closed and Scott’s face went white. Stiles didn’t care. He dragged in a breath and barreled on.
“And then we left and came here and after stealing shit didn’t work, I went right back to it.” What came out of his throat wasn’t a laugh but he couldn’t have said what it was. “You needed an inhaler and we needed money and there were twelve of them- thirteen if you count Brunski and he was multiple times and one of them liked me to say I fucking loved it and I did.”
He had to stop for a breath then. Scott had moved away, stepping back in horror and his face was ashen and he was shaking his head and the ugliness that Stiles tried to hide away was still spilling everywhere.
“I fucking begged for it so- so just- just go on then, help.”
He spat the last word. Made it mocking and low and mean and-
“Stiles,” Scott said and his voice was soft and scared and the red had leached from his eyes. “You- you-”
“I – what?” Stiles said. “I wouldn’t? I couldn’t? Well, I did, Scott. And, you know what?”
“Stiles, please,” Scott tried. Maybe he knew what was coming. It didn’t matter. Stiles wouldn’t be stopped now.
“I would do it again,” he growled, taking a step forward before he checked himself. “In a fucking heartbeat.”
He met Scott’s eyes head on. He saw the horror there, saw Scott’s eyes glance towards his chest for the briefest second, but he already knew his heart beat would be perfectly steady.
Because it was the truth. It was the truth that Stiles knew with every fiber of his being. It was the truth that Scott never wanted to know.
For a moment, it hung between them. Heavy and ugly and-
“No,” Scott said into the stillness. He looked down and then away and then at his hands which were cutting through the air. “No, that’s not-”
“It is true,” Stiles interrupted. He appreciated that they weren’t looking at each other anymore. It gave him the opportunity to glance up and try to calm down. He wasn’t angry any more but he wasn’t stable either. He was… fuck, he just- “So you- you can’t help and you can’t kill yourself and you can’t die because I-I keep you alive, Scott. That’s my job and you- you have to let me do it.”
He didn’t risk looking way from the ceiling. Couldn’t. To look away would be to look at Scott and see the horror and disgust there and this wasn’t supposed to happen, Scott wasn’t supposed to know and –
Scott hit him hard enough that the breath was driven from his body and Stiles didn’t quite register it as a hug until he recognized the familiar pressure of Scott’s arms wound tightly around his body. He was squeezing hard enough that Stiles thought he might bruise but it was Scott and-
“I’m sorry,” Scott sounded panicked. Desperate even. “St- I’m so sorry.”
Stiles opened his mouth to tell him that it was okay. That it was worth it and he was fine and they were fine and Scott didn’t need to be sorry. He opened his mouth to try to make it better.
“He- he’s here,” is what came out instead.
And suddenly Stiles was clinging just as much as Scott was because it was hitting him that Matt was here, that Stiles had seen him and Stiles was terrified. He was scared in all the ways that he never allowed himself to be, not even when he was fucking living through it and he said he would do it again and he would but he didn’t- he wasn’t sure if he could do it again and -
He thought he was done with that but Matt was here and that meant it wasn’t over.
“Stiles,” Scott started and his voice was low and urgent and Stiles interrupted anyway.
“He- I- I was being good,” Stiles said and his voice caught. He had been kneeling and taking it and trying to swallow everything and when Matt had pulled out suddenly and shoved Stiles down hard and it had been eighteen months and Stiles hadn’t even protested or complained like he used to. “I didn’t even deserve- I was being good.”
They’d been sold two days later, when Stiles had managed to stay awake long enough for Matt to sneer down at him and declare him used up and Scott managed to work himself into an asthma attack and then the auction had happened and then Derek had happened and Stiles had never really thought about it.
About the rough hand that yanked him up, that he assumed was just getting him off all fours to start back up again or maybe going to toss him onto the bed, about the dull sense of horror as Matt’s claws had suddenly extended and then dug in, about the ripping, tearing pain and screaming and trying to get away and-
Scott was whimpering, somehow holding him tighter and Stiles pressed closer shamelessly, giving up on trying to hold back.
“I was being go- I-I d- don’t get it,” he admitted, gasping. “I don’t understand why.”
He didn’t understand why it was him or why it was them or why everything had just… happened and he hadn’t been able to stop it. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t move past it.
He stopped and tried to suck in a full breath and when that didn’t work, when his breath hitched and his body just started to shake harder, he made a half-hearted attempt to move away but he didn’t think Scott even felt it.
“I don’t know either,” Scott whispered. “I don’t – Stiles, I can’t. I’m so sorry. I should’ve known and done something and I’m so sorry and I’m not going anywhere, I promise and, Stiles, I can’t-”
Stiles shook his head, unable to tell Scott that he didn’t need to be sorry because his throat was still closed and he wasn’t really capable of saying anything right then and neither was Scott apparently because for a long time they both simply clung and shook and tried to get impossibly closer and-
“I’m sorry,” Scott continued eventually. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you t-tell me like this and I didn’t – you can’t ever do this and- it’s over. I promise it’s over. I’ll-”
“No,” Stiles managed. “No, Scott, it’s me- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
“No,” Scott interrupted. “No, Stiles, this was not your fault. Okay. It wasn’t. This was- those fuckers are evil and I’m going to-”
“No,” Stiles said. “No, not for that.” He wasn’t sorry for that. Sorry it had happened, maybe and maybe sorry he had hid it for so long but he- even now he didn’t regret it.
“I’m sorry I turned you into a werewolf,” he mumbled, not risking pulling back to see Scott’s face. Because that was- he knew that Scott-
He knew that he and Scott hadn’t been right since it happened. It had been all tense conversations and purposeful avoidance and it was Stiles’ fault but he needed – he needed Scott right now and so he gave the apology and-
It was the apology that he should’ve said weeks ago, the apology that he had been avoiding because he thought that saying it would mean that he regretted saving Scott’s life, which he didn’t but he-
He did regret that he’d had to turn Scott into a werewolf to do it. He regretted that it had changed Scott’s personality and that Scott couldn’t control it and that Scott didn’t have any say in it. Because he knew what it was like to not have control over your own body and he’d tried for weeks now to convince himself that it wasn’t the same but- but Scott hated it. Stiles saw it every time that Scott’s shoulder slumped after he snapped at someone and every time he flinched away from his reflection in the mirror and every time he sighed as he took a deep breath. So Stiles regretted it.
Sure, he also regretted that he hadn’t even considered the implications for a minute, regretted that Scott might have to give up his role at Beacon Hills, regretted that they might have to give up the one place that they had both considered “safe,” but mostly…
Mostly, he regretted that there was no part of him that was strong enough to live in a world without Scott. He regretted that he would make the same decision every time if there was even the slightest chance that there would still be a version of Scott in the world. He regretted that-
Scott released him and pushed him back almost roughly and Stiles cringed, waiting to hear the torrent of anger that he knew Scott must be feeling, must have been holding back for weeks; waited for the blame and judgement and-
“Stiles,” Scott said, his hands gripping Stiles’ shoulders. When Stiles looked up, it was to see that Scott’s eyes were locked on his own. “Don’t- I’m not mad at-
“I would have done the same thing,” Scott said. His hands were clenched hard enough to bruise. “Do you hear me? The same- the same fucking thing.”
Before Stiles could react, he was pressed against Scott’s chest once more and he hadn’t thought it was possible for Scott to hold him any tighter but he was and something loosened in his chest and-
“That’s what you don’t get,” Scott said. “I would have-”
He sounded urgent and desperate and sad and-
“All of it,” Scott finished. “I would have done all of it.”
*^*^*^
Stiles didn’t know how long they spent clinging to each other. He didn’t know when he stopped crying. He wasn’t sure Scott had.
But, eventually, he took a deep breath without Scott shaking his head and pulling him closer and eventually he took a step back.
Scott’s eyes were red and he still looked… older. As if he’d aged years.
And then his eyes switched back to their normal brown, but he still suddenly looked predatory. Predatory and angry and Stiles knew the question before it even left Scott’s mouth:
“Do you want me to kill him?” he asked. And he looked completely solemn and serious and Stiles knew he was completely serious, despite all previous statements against the killing of werewolves, and for a moment, just a moment, Stiles considered it.
The answer was yes. He wanted Matt to be dead and he wanted Matt to know it was Stiles who arranged it and he wanted Matt to look up at him with terror in his eyes just like Stiles had done for over a year and he wanted to hurt him and see the body and make him pay.
For a moment, the answer was yes.
But then the moment passed. And Stiles remembered that to do that was to put Scott at risk and the Hales in danger and to risk Beacon Hills and-
It wouldn’t help. Not really.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. Maybe one day. But not now. He was tired. “I just… I want to go home.” He couldn’t do this anymore.
Scott stared at him for a moment and Stiles idly wondered if his heart had skipped a beat, if Scott knew that a part of him was lying but eventually Scott nodded.
“Okay,” Scott said, voice hoarse. “We’re leaving. I don’t care what Talia has to tell anyone who asks. We’re not staying here.”
Stiles opened his mouth to argue and then jerked his head in a nod instead.
Leaving would be good. He didn’t want to see Matt again. He wanted to go home.
He was exhausted.
And he still had to deal with Derek.
“Th- the shift?” he asked, glancing at Scott.
“I can control it,” Scott answered. “William told me everything I need to know.”
“In five days?”
“I’ll figure out the rest. And I still have two weeks at least. It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving.”
For once, Stiles accepted that.
“Okay,” he said, taking in a breath. “Okay, I guess I’ll…”
“Dude,” Scott said and it was relief to hear him sound at least semi-normal. When Stiles looked up, there was even a shadow of his old smile – all encouragement and hope and excitement. Instinctively, Stiles felt better. “Go talk to Derek. It’ll be fine.”
“I punched him,” Stiles admitted, pulling up his hand to look at it. He punched Derek hard enough to break the skin on his knuckles. He hadn’t noticed as presumably Scott was leeching any of his pain while they hugged but his fingers were bloody and doubtless they would be bruised tomorrow and even though Derek would have already healed, it still felt like he had crossed a line.
Scott barked a surprised laugh. “It’s okay,” he promised. “I did that once too.”
Stiles frowned at him but Scott waved him towards the door. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. For now, go. He’s freaking out.”
“Okay,” Stiles replied. But then hesitated because something had changed and Scott knew now and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to act anymore. Hiding things had become a way of life. He didn’t know how to-
“Stiles,” Scott said and it was his Alpha voice again, although softer and gentler than before. “We’re going to talk about this more but not...” he waved a hand around the room. “Not like this.”
Stiles was surprised when the idea didn’t fill him with dread but maybe that was only because he was too drained to really feel anything at the moment. So he nodded one last time and accepted one last hug from Scott and left.
He had the brief thought that maybe he should be worried about wandering the halls at night, should be more concerned that only an hour ago (or maybe more, Stiles had lost track of time) Matt had found him here and he probably should be scared that it could happen again.
But he wasn’t. He was too exhausted and empty and Derek would come save him again anyway. Maybe Scott too if the faded Mountain Ash line was anything to go by. He moved quickly and silently but it was more out of habit than anything else.
And then he was at Derek’s room. And for the briefest moment, he had the idea that he should just leave, but it passed quickly and he -
He opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Derek, though he was completely unsurprised to find the lights still on and Derek still wide awake.
He was sitting at his desk but he rose immediately and then froze.
For a moment, all Stiles could do was stare at him. His eyebrows were drawn up and together and his mouth was hanging open just a little as if he were surprised that Stiles was standing at his door. He shifted back a step and neither of them said anything, too busy just looking at each other.
Derek was ashen and seemed just as exhausted as Stiles felt and Stiles wanted, more than anything, for everything to just be okay somehow.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles offered first. Derek still hadn’t moved but he shook his head slightly. Stiles kept talking anyway. “I shouldn’t have freaked out. Or punched you. I just… panicked and I-.”
“No,” Derek said and he took a step forward before stopping himself. “No, I’m sorry. I was trying to help but I shouldn’t have touched you. It was – Do you want me to leave?”
“What?” Stiles said, blinking in confusion. “No, no, you don’t have to-” He waved a hand towards the door and watched as Derek’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Derek, it’s really fine. I was… I didn’t expect to see him here. And I wasn’t ready for you to-”
To act like that. Like him. To actually be convincing.
It was stupid because he was the one who had joked about it, who had told Derek that it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just an act but…
But in so many ways, it was Stiles’ worst nightmare come to life and he hadn’t been ready.
“Stiles, I’m so sorry,” Derek said again. “I just couldn’t think of anything else to do and I didn’t want him to come after you again and I wasn’t- I didn’t- Please don’t leave.”
Derek took a step forward and then stopped and Stiles finally noticed his hands were shaking.
“Please don’t,” Derek said again. “I- I’ll sleep on the floor, okay? I won’t ever-”
Derek was terrified. Maybe Stiles was too but, regardless, it made it easier to take the four steps to him and Stiles hesitated only because he didn’t know if he wanted to say something or just go for the hug or-
He grabbed Derek’s wrist and didn’t bother taking a breath and then it was all too easy to simply place it where he wanted it.
Resting against the right side of his neck.
He watched as Derek’s eyes widened and the outer edge of his hand was covering the first claw mark that wound across Stiles’ shoulder and it- it said everything that Stiles couldn’t say.
Stiles kept his hand on Derek’s wrist only to make sure Derek didn’t flinch away as he took another step closer and then curled both his hands in the front of Derek’s shirt and dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder and it took a few seconds for Derek to react but when he did, he made a noise in the back of his throat that was almost a whimper and then his body relaxed and his other arm came to wrap around Stiles and the hand at Stiles’ neck tensed and then squeezed and-
Stiles felt safe.
“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered again and Stiles shook his head.
He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He didn’t need to.
“Don’t,” he said, trying to somehow get closer. “Please, just… let’s just… not.”
“Okay,” Derek replied and so they stood there.
They stood there and Stiles counted the beats of Derek’s heart because it gave him something to do, although he kept losing his spot and having to start over. They stood there and Stiles breathed in the smell that was quintessentially Derek and eventually Derek risked pressing his lips against Stiles’ forehead and they just… they just stood.
And maybe it wasn’t perfect but maybe it would be someday. Or maybe it was close enough.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Stiles mumbled eventually. His eyes were sliding shut but that was important. Derek had to know that they probably had to wake up early. So that Derek could wake him up. Because he had a feeling he was going to sleep like a rock the second they made it the three steps to the bed.
“Good,” Derek said. The thumb resting on Stiles’ collar bone swiped up to his Adam’s apple and back down again. “I want to go home.”
“Yeah,” Stiles replied, nodding even though neither of them moved.
“Me too.”
End Longer by Far