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“Dude, don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look so good.”
Derek keeps staring out the windshield, ignoring Stiles. He doesn't feel great by any means. He's been awake for probably three days, maybe four, and he's tired. Really, really tired. But they've also been chasing fucking Berserkers for days.
The large dent on the hood of his Camaro feels like a personal wound, even though the car only took the damage after narrowly avoided it. Still.
He hasn't been able to sleep. Recently, every time he closes his eyes, he swears he smells smoke, and he's up on his feet.
That's... probably something a therapist would be suited for sorting out, but what the fuck isn't like that in his life? He's not about to start whining now. Fuck that.
Also, how did he end up with Stiles, of all people? He's amazed Stiles didn't jump at the chance to go bro-out with Scott, all the while ignoring the main point of the mission and destroying their plans ---
That might have been why Isaac volunteered. Erica disappeared with Boyd, as expected, and Derek expects they might also be ignoring the mission at hand for... well, other things.
Derek's cranky when he's tired.
Stiles is still staring at him, waiting for a response.
“I'm tired,” Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. “Not that it's any concern of yours.”
“Fuck yeah it's a concern of mine!” Stiles argues. “I mean, if that big man-bear-pig comes running at us, I'm gonna need you at full werewolf power. You should sleep.”
“I don't want to sleep. I'm on patrol.” Derek pauses. “Man-bear-pig, really? A South Park reference?”
“Hey.” Stiles points to his forehead. “This thing is full of mystical knowledge, sarcasm, and pop culture references.”
“And porn,” Derek finishes, deadpan, not really in the mood for Stiles's antics. Not that he really ever is, even if it can be a little bit endearing in Derek's softer moments.
Those are rare.
“Maybe,” Stiles's tone lightens a little and his face goes red.
Derek settles into the leather seat and crosses his arms across his chest. His eyelids are drooping dangerously low. Yeah, he's got all the super abilities of a werewolf, but even lycanthropic creatures need rest. Stiles is still watching him like some little bush-baby, with huge nocturnal eyes and a vacant expression. Yep. A bush-baby. That's exactly it. Derek remembers seeing one in a Zoobook in elementary school and thinking it was really cute in a weird way. He dozes off a little and jumps back to attention when he hears a twig snap.
“Will you relax?” Stiles chides. “There's nothing. We are sitting in a giant clearing. If anything's coming for us, we'll see it. That's the point.”
“We're looking for them. We're not waiting for them to come to us.”
“Seems to be working better this way.”
“As in, you're not dying?”
“Yeah.”
“I can change that.”
“Fuck you, Derek. I'm not afraid of you anymore.”
“Your heart just jumped a couple beats.”
“Y-yeah well. Fuck you anyway.”
Derek sighs heavily through his nose, frustrated with the whole situation. His body is heavy and achy with the need to rest. It's not healing as quickly, and bruises from his earlier skirmish with a berserker throb dully in his bones.
“You're usually better at quips, Stiles.”
“Go to sleep, Sourwolf.” Stiles speaks a bit vehemently, and yet at the same time, there's a warmness to it that fills Derek's chest and makes the car feel more comfortable. He smirks a little.
“Fine. Keep watch. Wake me if you see anything.” He puts the seat back and rolls onto his side, facing the door, and cradling his head in his elbow.
His eyelids drift closed and he feels his body soften and relax into the seat. For a moment, he feels like he's floating out in space, out of orbit and over the moon, the heat from the car seeping into him and enveloping him in its warmth. He hears his sister's voice in the back of his mind, humming gently a song he never knew the words to as she gently stroked his hair.
He misses her. It's always a lonely pang in his heart before he finally drifts off to dreamland.
Bad idea.
He can hear the hum of electricity, dull but pounding in his eardrums; can feel it pumping around his wrists and shoulders and torso and angles. He lifts his head, and it's so fucking heavy that it hurts to move. He recognizes this room. He wishes he didn't recognize this room.
Gerard sits at a table, hands quietly folded, eying Derek with a mixture of malice and amusement.
Derek tries to thrash against the wires. Electricity shoots through his veins and he cries out against his will, a guttural roar that ricochets off the dirty brick walls and back to him.
“Ah, see, we all learn by doing,” Gerard says with way too much simplicity.
Derek tries to remember where he was before now. Nothing comes to mind. He can hear commotion going on somewhere outside the room, the roar of a Berserker, the cracking and splintering of wood, splats of blood hitting the floor. He tries to shut it all out and focus on the hum, the burning in his wrists, because he doesn't want to think that his pack (or whatever they consider themselves) is somewhere getting pummeled without him.
“What do you want from me?” Derek asks, his voice low and gruff in his throat. “You're letting your men die up there up against a monster they can't control. Forget the fact that my guys are up there too.”
“They can wait.” Gerard reaches over and takes a long sip of hot tea. It's a strong spicy tea that burns Derek's nostrils.
“H-how.” Derek grits his teeth. “How the hell did you catch me?”
“You don't remember? Hm.”
He hears screaming. He squeezes his eyes shut and struggles against the wires, even when he feels like they're ripping his veins out of him. “LET ME GO!”
“Nothing but a monster. Don't worry. It'll all be over soon.”
Gerard finishes his tea and stands up slowly.
Derek realizes that the room reeks of gasoline.
Gerard goes to the door, lights a match, and drops it gently on the floor.
The door closes. The room lights up, orange and red, curling up the walls. Derek breathes in smoke and coughs, tugging violently at his restraints, and he knows his flesh his singing. He's surrounded by flames.
“LET ME OUT!” He yells as loudly as he can. He howls as the flames eat their way up his pants leg.
There's a blast of pain into his arm, his shoulder.
He wakes up cold.
Stiles is hitting him in the arm and way, way too close to him. For a second, Derek panics and pushes Stiles harshly into the steering wheel. The horn blasts into the distance. Stiles yelps, gripping a sudden bleeding wound just above his belly button. Still, he manages to scramble off of the horn and back into the passenger seat, dripping blood onto the seat.
“WHAT THE FUCK DEREK,” Stiles growls, wincing.
Derek stares at his claws as they slowly retract back into his hands, leaving only blood on his fingerprints.
“I--- wh--- why were you hitting me?” Derek tries to argue, because maybe he can make this Stiles's fault.
“You were... you were having a nightmare. Or something, okay?” Stiles breathes, his eyes still wild like a caged animal. He gingerly touches his wound. “I—it's not as bad as it looks. Just a scratch.”
Derek feels his defenses raise up like a giant concrete wall.
“You were...” Stiles pauses. “You were whimpering, I think. And muttering. And then you started going wolf on me and I couldn't wake you up. When's the last time you slept, dude?”
Derek ignore Stiles, reaching over the seats and putting his palm flat on Stiles's wound (he flinches, looking terrified), healing it for the most part. He feels the pain snake it's way up his arm and vanish. Stiles visually relaxes.
“I thought you were about to kill me,” Stiles half-laughs, but there's a little bit of truth to it too.
Derek gets out of the car into the cool night air, taking a long breath. His heart is still racing in his chest. It makes his blood boil in rage and embarrassment. He's humiliated. A stupid little dream and he's almost killing a basically defenseless person who was only trying to help.
He's used to having much more control. His mind just isn't with it. He stalks around in the grass in frustration, running his hands through his hair and trying not to freak out. He's doing a very bad job at it.
“Hey, hey!” Stiles is yelling, hopping out of the car. “Don't just walk awa-- Derek. Derek, hey.” Stiles grabs his arm and Derek wrenches it away, his eyes flashing red at the younger boy.
“Don't touch me,” Derek warns.
Stiles holds up both his hands, looking a little threatened. “Fine. Fine. You okay? You don't look like you're okay.”
Derek stares.
Stiles continues. “I mean. You look like... you're... kind of... freaking out.”
Derek swallows and decides to actually tell the truth. “I might be. Little bit.”
“You uh... wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Derek feels a little light headed so he sits on the hood of his car. He makes a low sound as he pats the dented hood. Stiles stands there, watching, shaking his head.
“Man. That sucks. That is just sad. This car is way too beautiful to be smashed.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Hey you know what should be smashed instead?”
“What's that?”
“You, dude. You need to be smashed.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, stupid. You need a drink.”
“I don't need a drink.”
“You need lots of drinks.”
“I'm a werewolf. I don't get drunk.”
“Oh yeah.”
“It doesn't solve anything anyway.”
“Well have you ever been drunk before?”
“No, but I've seen plenty of people make asses out of themselves because of it.”
“That's the point. You've never made an ass of yourself?” Stiles give Derek a dubious look.
“Pretty sure I did a pretty good job of that a second ago.”
“Nah, I bet you could do way more stupid shit. You kinda wanna kill me on a daily basis.”
Derek frowned at his claws, not humoring Stiles. “I wasn't trying to kill you. I wasn't trying to kill anyone.”
“Then why did you attack me? Just a reaction? You looked pretty scare--”
Derek's head shot up and he glared at Stiles. Stiles stammered, trying to create a different word. “Scareeeeecrowed.”
Derek stared. “What.”
“Sorry. It was the only word I could think of.” Stiles stared down at his lap, embarrassed. “Don't kill me?”
Derek ran his hands down his face, exhausted. “It's... fire.”
“Hm?”
“Fire. I keep dreaming about fire. Everywhere. Burning me to death. And people are dying all around me and there's nothing I can do. All I can do is burn.” He takes a breath. “I keep yelling for someone to let me go so I can help. But no one ever comes. The dream changes every time, but the outcome is always the same. I'm burning to death by myself.”
There's a long silence as Stiles takes it all in. “That's... heavy.”
“Yeah, I know.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Thank you for that magnificent insight.”
Stiles makes a face at him. “What do you want me to do, relate? I can't. I'm sorry. But...” Stiles hugs his knees to his chest. “I do get it a little. The wanting to help and feeling completely useless? Yeah, I get that totally. And that fire took away your security, the pack that made you feel powerful and useful... Maybe. I could be totally wrong. I'm not a shrink or anything.”
“It was my fault.” Derek's voice is low and soft in his throat.
“Dude, don't blame yourself for--”
“I brought Kate into the house. I trusted her and she betrayed me. She used me to kill my family, to further her cause of destroying werewolves.”
“Brought her in? What, were you like boning her or something?” Stiles pauses and stares at Derek for a long, long time. “Wait, you were?”
“Kind of, yeah,” Derek snaps.
“Woah...” Stiles murmurs. “Was she, like... your first?”
“What the fuck does that matter?!”
“Well, I mean, if we're getting all deep tonight, I just figured I'd ask.”
Derek huffs. “If you must know, then yes. Jesus fucking Christ, why am I even talking to you?”
“Probably because I'm here,” Stiles says easily, shrugging. “I'm sure if I was Scott or Erica or Isaac, you might say the same thing. Maybe not to Allison, for obvious reasons, but--”
“It's why I didn't want Scott to date Allison. When you... you give yourself to someone that fully... it's dangerous.”
“Well, yeah. But dangerous doesn't always mean bad. I mean, becoming a werewolf seems pretty fucking dangerous to me, but it's changed a lot of people in good ways. You have to figure that the risk outweighs the reward sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Derek spits, bitterly. “Other times you end up losing everything. Not really fucking worth it then, is it?”
“Not everyone is out to destroy you.”
“There's not much left anyway.” Derek lays back against the windshield, gazing up at the stars. He's angry, but he's too tired to act on it. He's really fucking tired of being mad.
“For what it's worth,” Stiles says suddenly. “You... you didn't deserve that. And it wasn't your fault. She tricked you. She used love to control you, and that's not fair. I mean, c'mon, Derek. You were just a teenager yourself, weren't you? It's easy to fall in love. She took advantage of you.”
“I should've known better than to trust her.”
“Hey, you started over. After all that! And you put trust in people even after one of the only people you ever gave yourself to betrayed you. You don't find that the least bit honorable?”
“I find it pretty fucking stupid, actually, but I can't do all of this on my own. As much as I wish I could, a wolf works better with a pack.”
“Hey, listen. You're a dick, Derek. Like, really, you are.” Derek sits up with fire in his eyes, pissed. Stiles waves his hands. “Hear me out. Hear me out. You can be cold and bitchy and pretty much the hardest person to talk to in the world.”
“You are helping your case so much,” Derek replies sarcastically, his claws threatening to make a return.
“But! See, there's a but. But you actually do give a shit. I mean. You've saved Scott's and my ass plenty of times and put yourself in tons of danger when Scott doesn't even consider himself part of your pack. You are super protective of the wolves in your pack, and, I don't know. You care. I feel like... maybe you don't get enough credit for that sometimes. You fought the only person left in your family for us. And yeah, Peter's back now, but at the time he was a total nutbar and you fought him.” Stiles shakes his head. “You... you keep trusting people when so many of them seem to let you down....”
Derek's heart jumps in his chest and his eyes burn for just a second. He swallows it all down and tries to find interest in the treeline instead of Stiles's face. “I guess being let down is better than being alone. Being alone sucks.”
“You do know how to pick 'em I guess. Kate killed your family, Peter killed your sister and tried to kill all of us, Scott went behind your back a lot, especially with Gerard.... Yeah, maybe you're not a great judge of character. But you can get it right. Not everyone's a horrible person. Scott had good intentions at least.... So that's a start maybe.”
“And you?” Derek can't help but ask.
“Me? Uh... I don't know. I'm weird. I'm full of sarcasm. I don't say things right most of the time, and I lack focus to the point that I might bail on you at an important moment. But I don't mean to. I just have really bad A.D.D. And sometimes I run out of Adderall, especially around exam week when I load up. Mainly because my Chemistry teacher is a total asshole and I don't think I can pass a test in his class even if I get every question right, because he fucking hates me. I mean, c'mon, how unfair is that--”
“Stiles.”
“What?”
“You're rambling.”
“See, I was just telling you that I do that.”
“It's hard, starting over without family. You keep trying to fill this hole in you, and you're just hungry for it all the time. It never goes away.”
“I know. It eats away at you. My mom died when I was just a kid. Cancer. I met Scott in elementary school not too long after she died. And I just... I clung to him. Pretty sure all the other little kids thought I was weird because I would never leave him alone. I followed him home every night and stayed and stayed and stayed until my dad came to get me.” Stiles gives this sad little smile and Derek's entranced by it because he's never seen this look before. “One night, Scott fell asleep while we were watching TV. And I was bored, so I got up and went into the kitchen. Scott's mom was making us cookies. I think she felt sorry for me. I mean, c'mon. I was tiny for my age and looked like the loneliest fucking kid in the world. She had just put them in the oven – she burned them, by the way. Scott's mom sucks at cooking. - and she looked at me, and she smiled. I'm making these just for you, she told me. I didn't want cookies though. I... I remember holding out my arms like a toddler wanting to be picked up, and she gave me this weird look for only a second. And then she knelt down, and... and she hugged me. And that was all I wanted. I wanted my mother to hug me again. And she wasn't my mom, but it was close enough. Close enough to get by. Because, I mean... love is love. Doesn't matter who it comes from. It heals you as much as it hurts you.”
Stiles gives a breath of a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Look at me. Getting all deep with Derek Hale. It's like we're the fucking Breakfast Club.”
“Did you dream about her?” Derek asks, because he has to know. “Your mother?”
“All the time. I dreamed that I was chasing her down this neverending sidewalk, and I just couldn't catch her. And I kept yelling for her, but she never turned around. Always woke up crying. Freaked Scott out once with it. When I told him, he gave me this stupid... puppy face. You know the one. Where everything is so fucking simple. And he's like Dude, it's your dream. Don't let it hurt you. I was so pissed because he didn't fucking get it. And then he turned out to be right and I was even more pissed. Because I felt like... I needed to hurt for her. Because that was my mom. She was dead. I wasn't supposed to get over it. I wasn't supposed to be happy ever again, because that was my mom. I figured I was supposed to keep chasing her forever and ever. But I tried what Scott said. I stopped running. I stopped yelling. And for a second, it was scary, because she disappeared. I was alone. But then I turned around, and I saw that I wasn't. Because there were people chasing after me too. People that needed me. And I knew I couldn't keep chasing her forever. I had to let her go.”
Stiles rubs violently at his eyes. “Still sucks sometimes though.” He sniffs. “I just talked for like ten minutes straight. You mine adding a little input, hm?”
“Yeah, because I'm so great with words.” Derek half-laughs. “I have no idea what to say.”
“That's right. You're the kid that kicked sand in others' faces when they pissed you off instead of telling them why you were mad.”
“I have issues, okay?” Derek smiles a little, and it makes Stiles smile a little.
Well, that's a weirdly warm little moment.
“See?” Stiles chuckles. “Breakfast Club. We should go eighties dancing in the library.”
“Crawling through air ducts? Making out and fist pumping in victory?” Derek adds a little lazily.
Stiles looks proud. “My God, you're actually human. You've seen The Breakfast Club.”
“I'm not human. I'm a werewolf. But yes, I've seen it. Judd Nelson was my hero.”
“Always wondered what it was like.”
“What's that?”
“To get a kiss so great that you can't help but freeze-frame fist pump, y'know? That's a good fucking kiss, right there.”
Derek nods, raising his eyebrows.
“I had such a crush on Molly Ringwald too. I think that might be part of why I liked Lydia so much. She reminded me of her.” Stiles laughs. “Then again, I guess I had a bit of mancrush on Judd Nelson too. Because he was a badass.”
“Either way you get to be part of the 'good fucking kiss' right?” Derek rolls his eyes again, but this time it's almost in good humor. “You're set.”
“Maybe.”
They lay back on the car. Stiles pats the hood. “Stupid Berserker.”
Then, Stiles sits up quickly, like a light has gone on in his head. “I know!” He slides off the car and turns around in front of Derek,extends his arms and cocks his head with a grin.
Derek looks at Stiles with one eye shut, not moving. Stiles wiggles his fingers. Derek raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing? Jazz hands?”
“I am trying to give you a hug. It'll make you feel better. Come on.”
“No.”
“Don't be sour on me now! We were just starting to become bros!”
Derek curls up to where he's leaning on his elbows, amused. “Bros?”
“I promise I won't try to kill anyone or you. I promise.”
Derek sits up all the way, and he's actually considering it when a rumble captures his attention. He pushes Stiles to the ground mere seconds before a tree collides with the spot he was standing in. Leaves and twigs fly everywhere and Derek and Stiles roll through a cloud of dust. Derek's car alarm goes off. Stiles coughs, scraping at the ground, his eyes squeezed shut from the debris.
“Derek,” he calls out, a little weakly.
The berserker is standing over Derek, huge and heaving with fury. It roars loudly into Derek's face and it actually blows his hair back.
And he's actually rather rightfully scared. He pulls out the claws and the teeth and attacks. But he's a wolf fighting a bear. The pure brawn of it is too much for him. It wraps it's hands around Derek's arms and throws him. Derek feels the bones in his body snap and shatter as his body cuts through an entire tree, splintering wood exploding from the impact. He spits blood and gets back to his feet, cuts healing. He roars back at it, refusing to back down. This thing is not afraid of him at all. It is a walking mountain of violence. Derek breathes. A giant fist slams into the side of his head and he topples over, his ears ringing. It's only been a couple of seconds and Derek's pretty sure he's in over his head. He needs his pack. He sits up and he's dizzy. He can vaguely make out Stiles's outline against the trees. And then he comes further into focus, crawling toward him.
“Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me.” He slaps the side of Derek's face a little. “Focus. Focus.”
“I—I'm fine.” Derek shakes his head until his vision realigns. “Fuck. It's like fighting a rage machine.”
“We gotta slow it down. Tranquilize it or something.”
“Sorry, I'm fresh out of dart guns. And I seriously doubt any kind of tranquilizer would even poke through that thing's skin.”
“Shit, you're so bruised,” Stiles yelps.
“I'll be fine. It just takes a second.” Derek wipes the blood from his nose.
He can hear trees cracking and falling in the distance. It's coming for them.
“Stiles, you need to get out of here.”
“No way.”
“Are you out of your mind? Get out of here!”
“No!”
“Why?”
“Because...” Stiles hesitates. “...Because you need proof that not everyone's gonna leave you alone.”
Derek doesn't even know what his face looks like. He's a mixture of shocked and touched and overwhelmed.
“Besides, I have a plan,” Stiles adds quickly, not giving Derek any kind of chance to respond. Stiles pulls out a syringe from his pocket. “This is ketamine.. I got it from Deaton. He's made it specifically for this thing. Here's the problem. If we can't pierce the skin, we have to get close enough to internalize it.”
“You're telling me about this now?”
“I was hoping we could stop it another way!”
“Why?”
“Because getting this close means it could kill you. It could rip you in half before you get this drug in it.”
Derek grabs the syringe. “What have I got to lose?”
As he turns to fight, Stiles grabs him by the wrist. “Hey.”
Derek looks back.
“A lot,” Stiles answers him. “You have a lot to lose. Don't go chasing death, Hale. You'll never catch it. Just turn around and look at the living.”
Derek swallows and pulls slowly away from Stiles. “Stay here.”
He rushes the Berserker, gripping the syringe in his hand. Within seconds, it's got him in it's grip and he's staring it in the bright red eyes. He can feel his ribs collapsing in his chest, and he gulps breath, pulling his arm back. The thing is crushing him. It opens it's mouth, bearing large, dripping fangs and Derek attacks swiftly, jabbing the needle into it's tongue. It's mouth clamps down on his arm, teeth ripping into flesh. It keeps squeezing and Derek yells until he can't breathe. And then he plummets to the earth and the monster goes still. Derek coughs up blood, tastes the copper in his mouth, his entire chest aching. For a second, he's certain he's going to die. That he won't heal fast enough. Because he can't breathe. He's suffocating. He's drowning in his own blood.
He smells smoke. He's certain that he smells smoke.
His vision goes black.
Everything comes crashing back in a whirl of senses.
“Derek! Derek, god damn it, wake up!” Stiles's voice is strained. “Fuck I am not trained to deal with this. Will you heal? Just heal. Fuck!”
“Stiles?” Derek wheezes. He can feel the air returning to his lungs, his ribs reforming.
Stiles is the portrait of relief. “Thank God. Fuck, Derek. I told you it could kill you. You're not invincible you know.”
Derek sits up slowly and spits blood into the grass. His arm is still healing from the maul wounds.
“You're so fucking intent on being a hero sometimes. I can't believe you just--”
Derek puts his non-injured arm around Stiles and pulls him close, burying his face in Stiles's small shoulder.
“Oh,” Stiles says softly.
Derek pretends a tear doesn't slip from his eye. “Close enough?” he asks softly.
“Plenty,” Stiles replies in kind, hugging back. He lets out a long sigh into Derek's neck. “Thanks for scaring me to death. What if that hadn't worked and it killed you? I'd have to face it by myself. Which would require a lot of running. And I better get your car in your will. In the meantime, can you not be Billy Badass all the time? It's exhausting.”
“It was your idea. Besides, it's what Judd Nelson would've done.” Derek pulls back and smirks at Stiles.
“Judd Nelson would've shit his pants at the sight of that thing. And then died horribly.”
“So that makes me cooler than Judd Nelson.”
“No. No it does not.”
“Yes it does.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No it doesn't.”
“Yes, it doe---”
Stiles cuts Derek off. He kisses him, fast and hard, and Derek is a little too shocked to react. When he pulls away, Derek stares.
“Why did you do that?”
Stiles smiles. “Because I knew you wouldn't.”
Derek knows it's a quote. But he takes it as a challenge. “The hell I wouldn't.”
He grabs Stiles and kisses him fiercely, pushing him to the ground, even though it hurts like hell on his healing bones. He's just happy to feel so alive. When he finally comes up for air, he doesn't feel like he's suffocating anymore, but oxygen tastes different.
He can hear the sounds of the pack gathering in the distance, knows they heard his cry of pain. He starts to heal faster with their approaching presence. And it's warm. And it's right.
“Let's go,” he says, offering Stiles a hand up and heading for the Camaro.
He walks a few steps but doesn't hear Stiles behind him, so he turns and looks back. Stiles is smiling.
He has his fist in the air.