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"I just don't see why we need to send anyone into that warehouse alone and without backup?"
Derek's face remained impassive as he stepped into the elevator ahead of Stiles and turned to face the doors, his arms crossed. "Alone generally means without backup, Stiles,"
"Don't pull that semantic crap on me, you know what I mean," Stiles replied caustically as he joined him in the apartment complex's sole, and disturbingly ancient lift.
Derek sighed as Stiles punched the button for the lobby with a little more force than was completely necessary. "Fine. I do know what you meant, but it doesn't change the fact that someone needs to go in and scout the warehouse for the dagger's location, before we try to steal the damn thing out from underneath twenty hunter's noses, and that someone will have a far better chance of getting in and out undetected if they are alone,"
Stiles sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest, and Derek wondered if he knew that he was mirroring Derek's stance with disturbing accuracy. As the elevator finally creaked and shuddered to life, Derek uncrossed his arms with a deliberate and studied casualness and turned to lean against the pitted metal rail that was bolted to the side wall.
"Scott knows what he's doing, and since he's working off what is basically your plan, I suggest you stop complaining,"
Stiles scoffed. "That's easy for you to say, it's not your best friend going into unknown danger armed only with... well, himself! And," he added, rounding on Derek, "I never suggested that anyone go into that... that... viper's nest alone. We never do well at stealth, Derek you oughta know that by now,"
The lift shuddered and jarred, and any response that Derek might have made was cut off by Stiles' sharp intake of breath as he threw a hand out to grab the rail behind him in a white-knuckled grip.
There were only twenty-two floors in the inner-city complex that housed Derek's loft, but the elevator was old and slow, and Derek had used it enough times to know that they couldn't be anywhere near the ground floor yet.
"What was that?" Stiles asked breathlessly, his hand still locked onto the railing, his knees bent as though he was bracing to be tackled.
"Someone must have called the elevator on this floor," replied Derek, but he didn't sound convinced, even to himself – the car had come to a stop far too abruptly, even for this museum piece, and the doors should have opened by now.
"Then why haven't the doors opened?" Stiles asked with an unknowing echo, his eyes sharp with their usual exasperating intelligence.
"I don't know, Stiles alright? It's an old building; everything works slowly in this place,"
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed away from the wall, tamping down the sudden ache in his chest, as well as the urge to apologise for his abrupt tone, as Stiles' jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. The sliding doors remained ominously still, so Derek let his hands shift and slid his claws into the seam between the two pieces of dull metal, pulling them apart with a little more force than necessary.
Stiles' whimper of despair bounced off the walls of the elevator... and off the badly mortared brick wall that was staring Derek in the face.
"Couldn't even stop halfway-level with a floor, could you?" he muttered to the impartial brickwork.
"Okay, okay we need to call someone," Stiles stammered as though he were trying to remember the first step from a five-step safety lecture. "Where's the phone thingy with the button thingies?"
Button thingies? Derek thought despairingly. "I told you, this elevator is old – there isn't a service phone. The only thing that it's got is an emergency button that alerts the concierge's desk, but there hasn't been a concierge for this building in what I'm assuming is a very long time,"
"I'm pretty sure that violates, like forty different building codes, dude. What are we going to do if we can't alert anyone to our peril?!"
Derek rolled his eyes, ignoring the smile that came along with it, and tried not to notice that Stiles still had a death grip on the rail behind him. "I don't think we're facing immediate death here, Stiles. The others went ahead to the rendezvous point – we're supposed to be there in twenty minutes. When we don't show up they'll come looking for us, they’ll track our scent back here and they'll find us in the elevator, okay?"
“Okay. No, wait – phones! We can just ring the fire department,”
Derek shook his head as Stiles fumbled around in his pocket for his phone. “You won’t get any reception in here – all the concrete and steel – it’s like a lead-lined box,”
Stiles drew his hand slowly out of his jeans and bit his lip – dark eyes scanning the elevator as if he were looking for weak spots. “So... you’re saying that we have to wait until Scott realises that something’s wrong? Do you know how long that’s going to take?! He once waited at a drive through for ten freaking minutes before he realised that they were closed, Derek. Ten minutes,”
“Well, what else do you propose that we do, Stiles? Huh?”
Stiles swallowed drily, Derek watching his Adam's apple bob just above the collar of his flannel shirt before he tore his gaze away. "Well… can't we-- can't you just werewolf us out of here?!"
"Without knowing the layout of the whole building, I can't punch through that possibly load-bearing brick wall, and I doubt you'd have the stamina to follow me up the cables to the floor above us. Although..." Derek's forehead crinkled in thought. "You don't need to. Ugh, I'll just go alone and bring back help. I can't believe I didn't think of that,"
"Well, don't beat yourself up, Derek," Stiles quipped, his tone light and taut like a kite string. "We've only been stranded for two minutes tops,"
"Two unnecessary minutes," Derek growled as he began feeling the roof, looking for the inevitable hatch. The panels above his head were made of old-fashioned pressed metals squares, one of which gave under Derek’s probing hand. The gap was small, but Derek managed to twist his way up and through with his usual level of skill. He tested his grip on the thick cables that ran up and vanished into the darkness at the top of the shaft before crouching down by the hatch.
“It looks fine, and the next floor isn’t very far up. The biggest challenge is going to be making the leap from the cables to the ledge,”
Stiles smiled tightly. “Lucky I’m not going then, I never could climb the rope in gym, and I sucked at long jump,”
“Well, I shouldn’t be that long. I’ll head back up to the loft – I should get a signal there,”
Stiles looked at the floor and nodded tightly in reply as Derek stood up and grabbed a hold of the thick, greased cables. It was harder work than it should have been – the black, greasy coating on the lengths of steel preventing him from getting a proper grip. For every two hand lengths he managed to climb he lost another hand length back.
By the time he drew level with the ledge he was sweating, and his dark jeans and t-shirt were filthy with streaks of the tar-like cable coating. He looked down below at the elevator car for a moment, his heart racing in his ears from the climb. He’d have better luck jumping the gap if he waited for a moment until it had calmed down a little.
One moment passed, then two and Derek began to frown – why wasn’t it slowing down? He closed his eyes and took a deep measured breath, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. So why did it still sound like he was two steps from a heart attack? He frowned and let himself really, properly listen – casting his senses beyond his own body.
There it was below him, echoing like a frightened rabbit in a concrete cage.
“Stiles?”
The heartbeat kept its quick, erratic rhythm, and Derek bit his lip – his eyebrows converging like storm clouds on his brow. “Stiles!” he tried again – louder this time.
“What?” Came the reply. It was tight and bitten off, but far more composed than the out of control beat of what had to be his heart.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m fine. Just… just go and get help, alright?”
The stutter threaded amongst the wild beats of Stiles’ heart could have been easily lost in the mass of erratic sounds, but Derek had been around the teenager for long enough now to know a lie when he heard one.
“What’s wrong, Stiles tell me! I can’t help once I’ve left you behind,”
Derek could swear he heard a flurry of muffled ‘fuck fuck fuck’s before Stiles called out again. “There’s nothing wrong, your stupid werewolf hearing’s on the fritz, okay?”
Derek did some swearing of his own as Stiles’ heart skipped a beat again, and he clamped his feet on either side of the cables, letting himself slide all the way back down to the elevator. He jumped back through the hatch and froze as his eyes found Stiles huddled in a corner, knees drawn to his chest, hands clasped, wringing themselves together over and over again in a desperate pattern.
“I told you I was fine,” Stiles muttered – his voice surprisingly calm, and utterly at odds with his body.
Derek moved forward slowly, crouching down until he was in touching distance of Stiles. “I can hear your heart, Stiles. You’re not fine, something’s wrong, tell me,”
“It’s pointless,” he scoffed, but the tone of his voice was flat. “You can’t do anything, I can’t do anything, so just… please go and get help,” He looked up, locking gazes with Derek. “Please, Derek,”
Derek shook his head and moved to his knees. “I can’t do that – you sound like you’re about to have a heart attack—”
“It’s not a heart attack, okay? It’s a panic attack, or it’s the start of one, and I can’t, I can’t, I—”
Stiles panted his mouth opening and closing like a fish on a dry riverbed, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the hard floor. Fuck. Scott had told him that Stiles occasionally suffered from panic attacks, but he’d never told Derek why they happened, or more importantly how to stop them. Well, there had been no need – he and Stiles were so rarely alone together, and they may have been pack to each other, but if Derek were ruthlessly honest with himself, they weren’t quite friends yet.
Stiles was still gasping for breath – hyperventilating, his brain supplied – and the only stupid thing Derek knew for that was blowing into a paper bag.
“Fuck,” he swore beneath his breath and moved in front of Stiles until they were face to face. “Stiles, Stiles, it’s gonna be okay, you just need to breathe normally, okay? I just need you to… I dunno… hold your breath? Just… try to hold one breath for a few seconds, alright?”
Stiles nodded, wide eyed and closed his mouth, his body shaking with adrenaline that Derek could smell coming off him in thick, tart waves. He lasted a few seconds before he exhaled raggedly and drew in another breath like a man breaching the surface of a deep lake.
“Try again, keep going,” Derek encouraged, desperately trying to ignore that fact that he had no idea what he was doing.
Another breath held for a couple of seconds before Stiles let it go sharply, with no pause before the next one. His heart was still racing terribly, and a wild, frightened look was beginning to bleed into his light brown eyes. “S’not… working,” he managed to gasp between breaths, one leg unconsciously kicking out towards Derek.
Instinct made him clamp a hand down on Stiles shin, holding him steady, while his other hand slapped down flat on the floor beside Stiles’ hip. He was leaning forward now, and Derek had a second to worry that his proximity might be making things worse.
“Do you need space?” he murmured, mentally slapping himself for his stupidity. “I’ll go over to the other corner so it’s not so claustrophobic,”
He made to move, but Stiles’ hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist, his grip like an iron shackle around Derek’s skin. Stiles shook his head as he continued to gasp for breath, his grip pulling Derek back towards him.
Derek tried to ignore the frisson of static heat that crackled up his arm and let himself shuffle forward again. “Okay, I’m here, I’ll stay here,” he replied, twisting his captured arm sideways until he could grip Stiles’ wrist with his own hand as well.
Their eyes locked again. “What happens if you can’t control this?” Derek asked worriedly.
Stiles let his head fall back against the metal of the wall and tightened his grip on Derek’s wrist as he struggled for breath. “Black out,” was all he managed, his chest heaving with the effort.
Derek could already smell it – the sickly odour of chemicals being pushed into the bloodstream even as Stiles’ heart rate stuttered like a ball caught at the apex of its flight.
“Stiles. Stiles! You need to hold your breath – you’re about to pass out!”
Stiles didn’t answer. Instead, his head rolled to the side, the blood draining from his face as his eyes closed, and his desperate breathing came to a frightening halt. His hand was suddenly loose in Derek’s, and Derek let it fall away, moving both of his hands to Stiles’ face instead, tilting it forward – fingers and thumbs braced in arches around his ears.
“Stiles? Stiles!”
He still could hear his heart, finally beating steady, accompanied by the feather-soft rise and fall of his chest, and he shakily let go of the breath that he didn’t realise he’d been holding. Derek wasn’t sure what the proper procedure was for someone who lost consciousness during a panic attack, but he supposed it was probably similar to what you’d do for a seizure. Tamping down the spike of remembered pain that came with those thoughts, Derek gently pulled at Stiles’ feet until he was laid out along the floor of the elevator. Cursing the warm weather for his lack of a jacket, he pulled his grease-streaked t-shirt over his head and turned it inside out, folding it until it was thick enough to cushion Stiles’ head.
Retreating to the other end of the elevator, he closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of Stiles’ heart.
**********
“Mmuh… Ugh my head,”
Derek kept his eyes closed – the lift in Stiles’ breathing had alerted him to his slowly waking state twenty seconds ago. “How are you feeling?” he asked the darkness beyond his eyelids.
“Tired. And kinda rough – like the tail-end of a hangover,”
There was a shuffle of movement, and the sound of Stiles clearing his throat. “Um… where’s your shirt, Derek?” Derek cracked open an eye to see Stiles sitting up and looking as though he were trying not to stare at Derek’s bare chest.
“The floor’s kind of uncomfortable, even for your hard head,”
Stiles quirked an eyebrow and cast his eyes down to the floor beside him. He picked up Derek’s t-shirt, holding it in both hands for a moment, before he threw it at Derek. “Thanks. How long was I out?”
“Minute and a half, maybe,” Derek replied.
Stiles nodded and pushed himself gingerly back towards the wall until he could rest against it.
Like fighters in their corners, came the unbidden thought into Derek’s head, and he shook himself, unfolding his shirt and turning it back the right side out, before pulling it over his head. The smell of Stiles’ shampoo, mingled with the scent of his sweat rushed past his nose as the fabric settled back against his body. He tried not to think of the fact that the shirt was essentially rubbing Stiles’ scent into his bare skin, or why this felt different to the last time he’d been enveloped by smell of Stiles, when he’d put on one of Stiles’ shirts while playing the role of Miguel the ‘cousin’.
“Will you be okay now?” Derek finally asked after the silence had stretched on for a couple of minutes.
“Probably,” Stiles hedged, and Derek narrowed his eyes.
“You do remember I’m a werewolf, right?” he growled. “I can tell when you’re lying,”
Stiles sighed as he stared at the gap in the ceiling. “Well, I’m sorry if I don’t like admitting to my weaknesses out loud, dude. God, the quicker we get out of here the better. Maybe you should try the climbing routine again?”
Derek stared at him until the silence made Stiles finally look down. “And what happens if you have another attack? I just leave you to pass out in the elevator alone?”
Stiles’ jaw clenched stubbornly. “It is or it isn’t going to happen – either way you can’t do anything to change it, and the sooner you get help, the sooner I get out of here and feel better,”
“Look, I’m sorry you’re claustrophobic, Stiles, but I think it’s probably safer if I stay here until help arrives. If you die of a heart attack, Scott will kill me,”
Stiles’ eyes narrowed, his lips thinning to match them. “You know what you don’t talk about with someone who’s trying to rationalise the general harmlessness of panic attacks? Heart failure,”
“Sorry,” Derek bit out angrily, before mentally kicking himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated more softly. “So, these… attacks – they aren’t dangerous?”
“Not generally speaking, no. They’re just incredibly, incredibly unpleasant and kinda unpredictable,”
“Except in this case,” Derek replied.
“Huh?”
“Except in this case. I mean, being stuck in a small space is a pretty predicable trigger,”
Stiles shifted and looked away from Derek. “No… Yeah, I mean no. I’m not claustrophobic,”
Derek frowned. “Yes you are – that’s why you panicked. I mean it’s okay, plenty of people are claustrophobic, it’s not weird,”
“I’m not claustrophobic!” Stiles replied loudly, his voice taut. “I… it’s so much more embarrassing than that,” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair before lacing them behind his head. “It’s being stuck somewhere that I know I can’t get out of. You know, like when you’re on a plane and it takes off and you know that no matter how you feel, no matter what happens to you, you can’t get out. So, you begin thinking that if you start to panic you can’t just get up and leave – go for a walk, or find a friend, or go to bed, or… I dunno, make a fucking sandwich. You’re stuck where you are and it’s only a matter of time before thinking about how it’s probably going to happen, makes it happen and then, and then, oh god—”
“Shit! Stiles, calm down, stop talking about it,” God, he was so fucking bad at this. Give him a basketball to sink, or a bestiary to study, or a monster to fight, anything but this delicate fucking dance of words.
Stiles’ heart rate was already rising, his hands clenching and unclenching as he visibly tried to control his breathing. Derek skidded over to him and grabbed him by the knees. “Stiles, listen to me. You don’t need to worry about being stuck in here, okay? I can break down that fucking wall if we need to, or I can carry you up those cables – you’re not stuck and you’re not alone, alright I’m here, we’re pack, I’ll look after you, just… please breathe slowly. Please,”
Stiles tried to nod and rocked forward, grabbing onto Derek’s hands where they lay on his legs, and drawing them towards himself, lacing his fingers through Derek’s until they were palm-to-palm.
Derek swallowed harshly and tightened his grip on Stiles’ hands. “Look at me, Stiles,”
Brown eyes met hazel and Derek let a little ice blue bleed into his irises. “This time we caught it early, so we’re going to breathe slowly and then hold each breath for as long as we can, okay?”
“Not… exactly a… group activity… is it?” Stiles panted, and Derek pushed his hands against Stiles’ until he felt resistance.
“Well, I’m going to do it with you anyway so the next breath, you take it and you hold it, and I’ll do the same,”
Stiles nodded wordlessly and inhaled before closing his mouth as his chest heaved with the need to take another panicked breath. Derek nodded encouragingly, his own breath held safe inside his lungs. It was one second, maybe two, before Stiles’ breath exploded out of him as though he were choking on it, and he gulped for air again. “I can’t I can’t I… can’t I can’t—” His eyes were wild, darting around the elevator until they focused on Derek, pleading with him to do something.
“I can’t, I— Stiles, what do I do, I don’t know what to do!” Derek pleaded, dropping Stiles’ hands and grabbing the sides of his face instead. He let his head fall forward until his forehead was resting against Stiles’, Derek’s shallow breath mingling with Stiles’ frantic gasps. He let one hand slide around to the back of Stiles’ neck and began rubbing circles with his thumb, desperately hoping that it might help.
Stiles’ hands fisted in the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt, pushing and pulling against him as his breathing continued to ramp up alongside his heartbeat, as the terrible, sickly smell began to return.
“Oh no, c’mon Stiles. You can’t keep doing this, stay with me,”
“Ngh,” Stiles pulled Derek towards him, their heads still touching, and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck.
The scent of Stiles was all around him, the clean, bright smell of him still there beneath all the fear and adrenaline, and the wolf part of Derek, the pack part, wanted to bring that back to the fore, and chase all the other bitter smells away. Using his free hand, and not quite sure whether he was doing this for the right reasons, Derek tilted Stiles’ head up until Stiles was panting into Derek’s mouth. Closing his eyes, he bridged the tiny, infinitesimal gap that remained, and pressed their lips together.
Stiles kept trying to breathe into Derek’s mouth, but Derek tilted his head and sealed their mouths together, keeping them steady with his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. He kept his eyes shut tight; not wanting to see the look of shock on Stiles’ face that he could feel in the shuddering lines of his body.
He kept moving gently, resisting the urge to plunge his tongue into the warmth of Stiles’ mouth, letting it run across his teeth instead, and flick at the edge of Stiles’ bottom lip. They kissed for what seemed like the longest minute of Derek’s life. When he was sure that Stiles had stopped hyperventilating, he drew back, letting his hands fall away too, until Derek was simply kneeling in the space between Stiles’ legs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes half-lidded and glued to the floor. “I couldn’t think of what else to do – you were about to black out again,”
“Well it worked,” came the hoarse reply. “It seems to be a bit of a lucky charm with me,”
Derek looked up sharply to see Stiles’ face – flushed and warm… and very near his own. “…Lucky charm?”
“Yeah,” Stiles murmured as he tried to rub away the tremors that were still running through his arms. “Lydia did something similar once – it worked then too,”
Derek smiled tightly. “I’m glad I’m following a pattern,”
Stiles eyes flicked up to meet Derek’s for a moment. “Yeah, so am I, apparently,” Stiles muttered in reply as he looked away.
Derek raised an unseen eyebrow. “Well… Are you alright for now?”
“For now yeah, I think so. I just… Thank you for helping me. I know this can’t be your idea of a fun evening – making out with a weird teenager in a derelict elevator – so, thanks for staying with me. It’s always worse when I’m alone,”
“You’re pack, Stiles. And you’re not weird either, you’re just…”
Stiles quirked an eyebrow, a little of his usual spark appearing in his eyes.
Derek sighed. “I honestly don’t know what you are. You’re confusing, and irritating, and smart, and stupidly brave— You’re just Stiles, I guess,”
Stiles closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall behind him. “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to work it out,”
Derek took the cue, and turned to make his way back to what was sadly already becoming ‘his’ section of the elevator. A sudden hand on his bicep stopped him, and he turned his head.
“Can…” Stiles bit his lip and stared at the point where his fingers met Derek’s arm. “Can you just… stay over here for a bit? I think it helps, and you really don’t want it to get back to the stage where my stupid, malfunctioning brain forces you to have to kiss me again,”
Derek froze, confused. “No one forced me to kiss you. I wanted t— I mean, I was happy to—” He growled in frustration and rubbed a hand over his face. “I did what I thought might help, I… I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry you had to go through it, but I assumed that it was a better option than passing out,”
Stiles stared at him, something flickering in his eyes. “I may have been in the middle of a panic attack, but I’m reasonably sure that kissing you is probably better than pretty much any alternative available,”
“Huh?”
Stiles’ eyes widened and he dropped Derek’s arm as thought it was suddenly made of poison oak. “I didn’t mean, I… It’s just the aftereffects of the panic attack – brain’s all scrambled and I’m pretty sure I’m running on leftover adrenaline right now,”
He backed away until he ran into the wall. Derek’s instincts were telling him to follow the movement and crowd him up against it, but the sane, well-adjusted part of him was telling him that that was the quickest path to another panic attack. Instead, he reached out a hand to Stiles. “Come on, take my hand – you said it’s better when I’m— when there’s someone near, right?”
Stiles nodded, staring at Derek’s hand as though he expected it to suddenly turn on him.
“So… Take my hand,”
Slowly, Stiles reached out until he could wrap his hand in Derek’s. Derek tried not to smile, and pulled Stiles slowly towards the other end of the elevator. He sat down against the wall in the corner, his hand still trailing Stiles behind it, and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“Sit down, Stiles. We have to wait until the others get here, so we might as well do it comfortably,”
He pulled Stiles down by his hand until he was crouched between his legs.
“Derek, I—”
“Just stop thinking so much, Stiles. Turn around and lie back,”
Stiles sniffed and pointed a little shakily to Derek’s t-shirt. “You shirt is filthy, remember?”
Derek huffed, smiling, and pulled his t-shirt over his head in one, fluid movement, tossing it away before leaning back into the corner.
“I… whaa… I didn’t mean…”
Derek let the smile fade from his face. “I’m here if you need me, then,” he replied softly, and closed his eyes. He tried to remember the book that he was reading, running over the scenes in his head, when there was one, sharp breath, and the shuffle of feet, and then the warmth of a body lying against his bare chest, and a head softly coming to rest on his shoulder, it’s hair tickling his ear and filling his nose with the smell of citrus and lemongrass.
Breathing in the fragrance, Derek slowly brought his hands up and wrapped them across Stiles’ chest, pulling him closer. “Sleep if you can – I’ll protect you from any roaming monsters,”
“You are a roaming monster,” Stiles murmured, the sound carrying from body to body so that Derek could feel it reverberate in his chest.
“Shut up, or I’ll eat you,”
Nah, you’ll save me. You’re good at that,” came the quiet reply.
**********
He heard them coming long before he saw them, but something inside him just couldn’t bring itself to wake Stiles up. Instead, he waited quietly, as first Scott, and then Isaac slid down the cable, landing with their usual supernatural grace on the roof of the elevator. When Scott stuck his head through the hatch, Derek put a finger to his lips. Scott looked puzzled, and a little disturbed until he took a breath of the air inside the car and wrinkled his nose, before turning a sad smile on Stiles’ sleeping form.
“Grab a ladder from the caretaker, while I wake him up,” Derek whispered so softly that only Scott could hear him.
With a nod, Scott was off, already scrambling up the cables with the extra speed of an alpha. Derek could tell that Isaac was still there, but he seemed to make no move to look though the hatch.
Derek rubbed Stiles’ arm gently, until he began to stir.
“Huh? Whazzat?”
“The cavalry are here,” Derek replied.
“Oh, awesome,” Stiles yawned. “That must make you the advance scout,”
“Either that or a farmhand that got caught in the crossfire,”
Stiles snorted and sat up – Derek trying not to dwell on how much he missed the warmth pressed against his chest.
“Well, farmboy I’m glad you were here,” Stiles grinned, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly pink. “We should do it again sometime, sans the horrifying elevator and crippling panic attacks,”
Derek smiled as he got to his feet, offering Stiles his hand and pulling him up until they stood face to face.
“As you wish.”