Better Than Your Head's Only Medicine
I wrote something. It's been a while.
Better Than Your Head's Only Medicine
Derek/Stiles
PG
Summary: Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one getting burned. -Buddha
Or, in which anger isn’t enough for Derek anymore.
Notes: In response to a Teen Wolf Kink prompt.
(Cross-posted at AO3)
“Why don’t you have this place torn down, dude?” Stiles asked as he ran a hand along the old banister of the Hale house. There was ash like black dust dotting the stairs and Stiles brushed it away with a hand before sitting down on the bottom step.
Derek watched him out of the corner of his eye and didn’t speak for a long moment. Stiles just watched him impatiently, raising his eyebrows and gesturing expectantly.
“It’s a good reminder,” Derek finally said. “When I feel myself losing a little control, I come back here and remind myself what I’m fighting for. It helps to renew the anger that keeps me in check. With the full moon tonight, I thought it’d be good to visit again.”
Stiles whistled and clicked his tongue. “Ever thought that holding onto that anger isn’t terribly healthy?”
“Plenty of things in my life haven’t set me up to be the picture of mental health.”
“Yo, my life hasn’t been a cakewalk either, but at least I don’t keep poking at the wound,” Stiles said, his voice oddly fragile. “At least, I try not to.”
Something in Derek stung with empathy that he got all too often around Stiles. Still, he tightly insisted, “It’s grounding.”
“Yeah, only because it feels like righteous anger right now,” Stiles said. Derek glared, shoulders going tense like he was readying himself for a fight, because this is what it meant to be angry all the time.
“And my family being murdered isn’t a good enough reason to be angry?!” Derek barked. “By all means, give me a better reason!”
“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck like he was stumbling for words, and Derek waited with hands burning to hit something. When Stiles spoke again, he said, “You ever heard the Buddhist proverb about anger being like a coal in your hand?”
Derek, despite himself, nodded.
“That’s pretty much what you’re doing right now. You’re trying to hold onto all these destructive feelings and expecting it to hurt someone else, but that’s not how it works. Because Kate’s dead, you’re an alpha, your pack is safe, and you’re still angry. Sure, for now the anger is holding you down to earth while there’s something big and strong in you trying to overcome your humanity, blah blah. It’s only going to work until you realize that you’re running out of other people to be angry with. Then the only person left is you. And when you’re angry at yourself? That sort of shit doesn’t make you feel more human--it makes you feel unworthy of being human.”
Derek knew that tone. God, he hated that tone. It was the one Stiles took when he was giving Derek a little naked piece of him to see, all vulnerable and still not fully healed. Sometimes it was presented like advice or a joke, but that tone was the one thing indicating that he was revealing something. Or maybe saying it to himself. Derek felt himself deflate, but only a little. Then he said, “It’s the best I have right now.”
Stiles pursed his lips and threw his hands up in the air. “Well, if you’re so convinced that you’re incapable of anything more human than anger, then whatever. It’d be pointless for me to try and tell you otherwise, right? Because it isn’t like you have a pack or friends who care about you to help you remember how much you need and want your humanity. Oh, wait. That’s right, you have all those things.”
Then Stiles stood and walked out. Derek listened as Stiles started up his old Jeep and drove away, the scent of frustration and disappointment fading with him.
Derek lingered around the house a little longer, chewing on Stiles’ words.
He tried so hard to grip onto that same feeling of anger like he used to. For some reason, though, it all just felt like vain aggression. It felt like throwing a tantrum that you know will never get you what you want but there’s some awful habit that makes you kick and scream and fight anyway. Maybe that’s all it was anymore-an awful habit that he was starting to grow out of. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to acknowledge that his anger wasn’t potent enough to hold him like it used to, because that might be too close to letting go of the family he lost. It felt disrespectful, in a way. How pathetic that, only years after the incident, he can’t keep himself angry like before. That sort of thing happening should fuel anger for the rest of his life, but he could feel it slipping. He’d been feeling it slip for a while. Or maybe what he felt was the heat of that anger that he’d steeled himself to before, as if the momentary relief from it only made that searing sensation clearer when it came back. It all just made him realize how much he hated it.
Fuck, he felt lost.
So much of how Derek thought or acted or felt was justified by his anger. It gave him reason to be distant and uninvolved. It gave him reason to work hard and fight harder. It made him feel allowed to want things he’d never get because the one given-family-should still be around. Anger gave Derek an identity.
If he didn’t have anger, then what did he have?
Because it isn’t like you have a pack or friends who care about you to help you remember how much you need and want your humanity.
Derek kicked a hole in the decaying walls just for good measure, but there was no satisfaction of destroying something. All he felt was exhaustion.
~*~
It was dark by the time he made it to Stiles’ house, but the moon hadn’t risen yet. The Jeep was in the driveway and there was faint light coming through the blinds on Stiles’ bedroom window.
As he habitually did, he leaped up onto the slanted roof hanging over the front porch and slunk over to Stiles’ window. He could hear music playing quietly and computer keys clicking even before he came close and rapped on the glass. A bit of shuffling inside, and then Stiles was at the window, looking completely unsurprised to see Derek.
He opened the window without hesitation and stepped out of the way. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Derek didn’t deign to respond, just prowled in almost cat-like and rolled his shoulders when he stood straight again.
Stiles, used to the intrusions, just settled back at his computer and began to type away on a Word document that looked like a school report from where Derek was standing. The music was still going in what felt a distracting manner to Derek but apparently helped to focus Stiles.
“Hey,” Derek said with an undue intensity, practically punching the word through the silence.
Stiles startled for a second, then swiveled around on his chair to peevishly say, “What?”
Derek started taking off his shoes and shrugging off his leather jacket. “Come here.”
Stiles just stared at Derek for a moment with a vaguely blank look in his eyes. For a kid so smart, he had some issues understanding simple commands like come.
“What are you doing?” Stiles said instead, not budging.
“Getting comfortable,” was all Derek said, and he did just that. He piled up the pillows on Stiles’ twin-sized bed to recline back against them at the gentle slope. He waited there with his feet on the bed, knees bent and open wide. Anyone with eyes could have seen it as the invitation it was, but Stiles just sat there and blinked at him.
Derek rolled his eyes impatiently and repeated, “Come here.”
Stiles hesitantly approached, looking awkward and skittish. Sure, Derek had never instigated anything like this before, but god, it wasn’t like Derek was telling Stiles to strip. When Stiles came close enough, sitting on the very edge of the bed, Derek grabbed a handful of his shirt and used it to haul him in close. He arranged Stiles how he wanted, his back to Derek’s chest, and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ narrower shoulders.
The reaction was instant from Stiles. Unsurprisingly, his heartbeat went heavy and fast, and Derek could smell the salt from a nervous sheen of sweat on the back of Stiles’ neck.
“Uhhh,” Stiles tried, but didn’t finish.
Derek slowly paced his breathing, knowing that Stiles would instinctively match it, and within a few minutes Stiles had relaxed back into him. When he leaned his head back into the curve of Derek’s neck and the overwhelming sense of home came over Derek, he felt himself shaking a little. It kind of scared the hell out of him at first, especially since it’d been so long since he’d gotten this feeling. Fingers digging into soft flesh, Derek starting closing in tighter on Stiles like one might brace for a blow. He tucked his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck and just breathed. That smell, directly from the source, was possibly the most satisfying and calming thing he’d been able to indulge in since losing his sister. The part that really tied it together was the patient, completely nonjudgmental vibe of understanding that Stiles exuded.
Then Stiles spoke, soft and a little hesitant. “I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, man, but I know that, if it has anything to do with what we talked about before, it’s probably really fucking scary to be going through it. When I lost my mom, I felt like it’d be a ton easier to blame someone. Then her death could mean something, you know? It couldn’t just be that she got sick and life’s a bitch. At least if I blamed it on doctors who didn’t see the signs sooner or God for doing this to our whole family, then maybe I’d have something productive to do with my feelings, or whatever. Sometimes that sort of thinking has a tendency to bite you in the ass, though.”
Derek sighed out a breath against Stiles’ neck and got a little shiver in response.
“Letting go of anger is really freaking hard, especially when you feel like it’s the one fire keeping you moving,” Stiles continued. “But when you have some time and you feel a little more equipped to handle life again, you gotta let that go. Otherwise it’ll eat you up. I’m not saying you need to stop being angry right now, because I don’t think it’s a good idea to rush things like that. But maybe it’s not such a good idea to keep stoking the flames. Let it die out when it’s time, you know?”
Derek wished he had it that easy, wished that the anger wasn’t his anchor so he could let it go just like that. He wanted to say as much to Stiles, but it was a moot point by now. Derek would rather risk his emotional state than possibly the livelihood of others. Better to control the wolf and hold onto the anger than let that bitterness go and be unleashed.
It was times like this that Derek wished Stiles knew how much the kid asked of him.
It was then that Derek felt the full moon’s effect simmering in the pit of his stomach. He was hit with a normal bout of lightheadedness that had him closing his eyes and slowing down his breathing. That, of course, only served to hit him with another dose of Stiles’ scent like he was surrounded by it. The combination of fabric softener, Dial, and a natural musky boy aroma was what he kept his mind on for a few moments while he centered himself. God, it was nice. And having a warm body in his arms helped, too.
There was at least a small advantage to being born a werewolf rather than turned, and it was only that the full moons were a bit easier to handle. Granted, it still made him practically want to tear someone’s face off most of the time, but being cautious and controlled around the full moon had always been a thought in his mind. It felt natural to reign himself in. The only difference that night was the added anxiety at the frighteningly weak hold he had on his anger now.
Naturally, it was at this most inopportune time that Stiles said, too sincerely to be contrite, “ You know, it wasn’t your fault.”
Claws sprang out of his hands in a flash, unexpected and alarming. Thankfully, they hadn’t pricked Stiles. He ground his teeth together and tried to will them back down to blunt, human fingernails.
But Stiles said it again, quieter this time but brimming with conviction. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The lightheadedness turned into a headache, and Derek wanted to strangle Stile if it meant getting him to shut the fuck up.
“None of it was your fault.”
Then Derek growled, not in annoyance or frustration like he sometimes did. This one had a real threat behind it. He growled like an animal ready to protect itself, feeling cornered and fearless for the sake of self-preservation. His canines were going sharp and he felt infuriatingly powerless to stop any of it.
“Derek,” Stiles said uneasily. Then he wiggled around in Derek’s grip, still tight and unyielding, and met Derek’s eyes. There was undeniably fear there when Derek looked but also an almost foolhardy determination that was so characteristic of Stiles.
“Shut up,” Derek said, voice gone low and gravely. Stiles never listened, though.
“No one is holding you responsible for any of what happened except for yourself.”
“Shut up!” Derek bellowed, both hands coming up to clutch at his own head as the pain kept intensifying into a full-blown migraine. He felt his skin go hot and his heart beating wildly in his chest. He needed it all to stop; he needed to get himself back down before he hurt someone close to him. Again.
He pushed Stiles up and away from him, curling in on himself for a second while Stiles said, “Breathe! Derek, breathe!”
Fuck Stiles! As if he had any idea how to control this. As if he was in any place to take that control away from Derek and leave him with nothing to tether him on the full moon. If he ended up hurting Stiles, whether or not Stiles lived through this to regret it, Derek was going to have to live with that guilt. It was all too much.
Then, just as Derek could feel himself thrumming like he was being shot through with electricity, Stiles grabbed the back of his neck and brought him in close. The smell hit him again with a new edge of desperation.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles was saying over and over, arms reaching to wrap around Derek’s neck. “I shouldn’t have pushed, and I’m so sorry.”
Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ shirt and yanked him far enough away to glare with blazing red eyes. It was meant to be a warning, maybe even a threat. If Stiles only knew how much danger he was in, then maybe he’d get out and Derek could deal with this without any harm done. However, the eyes that stared back shut Derek down so fast he was practically breathless.
Stiles was crying. Tears welled up and spilled over in big, heavy droplets, and Stiles’ whole face had gone pink and tight.
Something dropped in Derek’s chest and sank in his stomach, as if that coal of anger had finally been let go and was fizzling out, leaving him with little more than an empty feeling that he urgently wanted to fill.
Without even thinking about it, he brought both hands up to cup Stiles’ jaw and pressed their mouths together. Then a different kind of heat spread through his chest and made his fingertips buzz. Stiles went pliant immediately, accepting it like he’d been waiting for it. They kissed hard and closed-mouthed, hands scrabbling at each other in a frantic attempt to get closer. All the while, Derek was breathing in the smell of Stiles mixing with the array of emotions that cycled through him.
When they parted, Derek pressed their foreheads together and listened to Stiles’ erratic heartbeat.
“Stiles,” he murmured. “You know it wasn’t your fault either.”
That was when Stiles broke down. He stopped breathing for just a second, trying to hold it all in, and then the sobs were coming out in heavy, painful heaves. Each sound came out wrecked and raw like it’d been ripped out of him. He clutched at Derek gracelessly and didn’t let go when he got a hold. It was as if the kid had never in his life allowed himself to let any of it out. Derek could relate.
And in that moment, sharing the excruciating pain of trying to let go of so much self-hatred, Derek felt more vulnerable and human than he ever had in his entire life. He sat there holding Stiles in his arms while the boy cried, both of them shaking. And into the faded material of Stiles’ t-shirt, Derek let himself shed tears that he’d always thought would break him. Maybe Stiles noticed, maybe not. Derek wasn’t sure, but he didn’t much care. He needed this. They needed this.
Breath stuttering and hiccupping, Stiles pulled back for a moment and wiped his nose before giving a badly timed, self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, I’m getting gross.”
Derek waited while Stiles blew his nose and splashed water on his face in the bathroom, his body itching to be close to Stiles again. When Stiles finally came back, he settled in next to Derek without being told. They both stretched out along the bed, Derek wrapping and arm around Stiles’ waist and dragging them close together.
This was risky and Derek knew it. Memories were good anchors, as were motivating feelings like anger or hope. However, an anchor based on care and affection was practically begging to get ruined. Derek knew all this, and yet he couldn’t seem to help it. As he watched Stiles’ eyes close and his breathing go deep and even, he found himself drifting off with him and he wasn’t afraid.
It was worth it, even for a season. Though, he hoped it would be more than that.
Better Than Your Head's Only Medicine
Derek/Stiles
PG
Summary: Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one getting burned. -Buddha
Or, in which anger isn’t enough for Derek anymore.
Notes: In response to a Teen Wolf Kink prompt.
(Cross-posted at AO3)
“Why don’t you have this place torn down, dude?” Stiles asked as he ran a hand along the old banister of the Hale house. There was ash like black dust dotting the stairs and Stiles brushed it away with a hand before sitting down on the bottom step.
Derek watched him out of the corner of his eye and didn’t speak for a long moment. Stiles just watched him impatiently, raising his eyebrows and gesturing expectantly.
“It’s a good reminder,” Derek finally said. “When I feel myself losing a little control, I come back here and remind myself what I’m fighting for. It helps to renew the anger that keeps me in check. With the full moon tonight, I thought it’d be good to visit again.”
Stiles whistled and clicked his tongue. “Ever thought that holding onto that anger isn’t terribly healthy?”
“Plenty of things in my life haven’t set me up to be the picture of mental health.”
“Yo, my life hasn’t been a cakewalk either, but at least I don’t keep poking at the wound,” Stiles said, his voice oddly fragile. “At least, I try not to.”
Something in Derek stung with empathy that he got all too often around Stiles. Still, he tightly insisted, “It’s grounding.”
“Yeah, only because it feels like righteous anger right now,” Stiles said. Derek glared, shoulders going tense like he was readying himself for a fight, because this is what it meant to be angry all the time.
“And my family being murdered isn’t a good enough reason to be angry?!” Derek barked. “By all means, give me a better reason!”
“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck like he was stumbling for words, and Derek waited with hands burning to hit something. When Stiles spoke again, he said, “You ever heard the Buddhist proverb about anger being like a coal in your hand?”
Derek, despite himself, nodded.
“That’s pretty much what you’re doing right now. You’re trying to hold onto all these destructive feelings and expecting it to hurt someone else, but that’s not how it works. Because Kate’s dead, you’re an alpha, your pack is safe, and you’re still angry. Sure, for now the anger is holding you down to earth while there’s something big and strong in you trying to overcome your humanity, blah blah. It’s only going to work until you realize that you’re running out of other people to be angry with. Then the only person left is you. And when you’re angry at yourself? That sort of shit doesn’t make you feel more human--it makes you feel unworthy of being human.”
Derek knew that tone. God, he hated that tone. It was the one Stiles took when he was giving Derek a little naked piece of him to see, all vulnerable and still not fully healed. Sometimes it was presented like advice or a joke, but that tone was the one thing indicating that he was revealing something. Or maybe saying it to himself. Derek felt himself deflate, but only a little. Then he said, “It’s the best I have right now.”
Stiles pursed his lips and threw his hands up in the air. “Well, if you’re so convinced that you’re incapable of anything more human than anger, then whatever. It’d be pointless for me to try and tell you otherwise, right? Because it isn’t like you have a pack or friends who care about you to help you remember how much you need and want your humanity. Oh, wait. That’s right, you have all those things.”
Then Stiles stood and walked out. Derek listened as Stiles started up his old Jeep and drove away, the scent of frustration and disappointment fading with him.
Derek lingered around the house a little longer, chewing on Stiles’ words.
He tried so hard to grip onto that same feeling of anger like he used to. For some reason, though, it all just felt like vain aggression. It felt like throwing a tantrum that you know will never get you what you want but there’s some awful habit that makes you kick and scream and fight anyway. Maybe that’s all it was anymore-an awful habit that he was starting to grow out of. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to acknowledge that his anger wasn’t potent enough to hold him like it used to, because that might be too close to letting go of the family he lost. It felt disrespectful, in a way. How pathetic that, only years after the incident, he can’t keep himself angry like before. That sort of thing happening should fuel anger for the rest of his life, but he could feel it slipping. He’d been feeling it slip for a while. Or maybe what he felt was the heat of that anger that he’d steeled himself to before, as if the momentary relief from it only made that searing sensation clearer when it came back. It all just made him realize how much he hated it.
Fuck, he felt lost.
So much of how Derek thought or acted or felt was justified by his anger. It gave him reason to be distant and uninvolved. It gave him reason to work hard and fight harder. It made him feel allowed to want things he’d never get because the one given-family-should still be around. Anger gave Derek an identity.
If he didn’t have anger, then what did he have?
Because it isn’t like you have a pack or friends who care about you to help you remember how much you need and want your humanity.
Derek kicked a hole in the decaying walls just for good measure, but there was no satisfaction of destroying something. All he felt was exhaustion.
~*~
It was dark by the time he made it to Stiles’ house, but the moon hadn’t risen yet. The Jeep was in the driveway and there was faint light coming through the blinds on Stiles’ bedroom window.
As he habitually did, he leaped up onto the slanted roof hanging over the front porch and slunk over to Stiles’ window. He could hear music playing quietly and computer keys clicking even before he came close and rapped on the glass. A bit of shuffling inside, and then Stiles was at the window, looking completely unsurprised to see Derek.
He opened the window without hesitation and stepped out of the way. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Derek didn’t deign to respond, just prowled in almost cat-like and rolled his shoulders when he stood straight again.
Stiles, used to the intrusions, just settled back at his computer and began to type away on a Word document that looked like a school report from where Derek was standing. The music was still going in what felt a distracting manner to Derek but apparently helped to focus Stiles.
“Hey,” Derek said with an undue intensity, practically punching the word through the silence.
Stiles startled for a second, then swiveled around on his chair to peevishly say, “What?”
Derek started taking off his shoes and shrugging off his leather jacket. “Come here.”
Stiles just stared at Derek for a moment with a vaguely blank look in his eyes. For a kid so smart, he had some issues understanding simple commands like come.
“What are you doing?” Stiles said instead, not budging.
“Getting comfortable,” was all Derek said, and he did just that. He piled up the pillows on Stiles’ twin-sized bed to recline back against them at the gentle slope. He waited there with his feet on the bed, knees bent and open wide. Anyone with eyes could have seen it as the invitation it was, but Stiles just sat there and blinked at him.
Derek rolled his eyes impatiently and repeated, “Come here.”
Stiles hesitantly approached, looking awkward and skittish. Sure, Derek had never instigated anything like this before, but god, it wasn’t like Derek was telling Stiles to strip. When Stiles came close enough, sitting on the very edge of the bed, Derek grabbed a handful of his shirt and used it to haul him in close. He arranged Stiles how he wanted, his back to Derek’s chest, and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ narrower shoulders.
The reaction was instant from Stiles. Unsurprisingly, his heartbeat went heavy and fast, and Derek could smell the salt from a nervous sheen of sweat on the back of Stiles’ neck.
“Uhhh,” Stiles tried, but didn’t finish.
Derek slowly paced his breathing, knowing that Stiles would instinctively match it, and within a few minutes Stiles had relaxed back into him. When he leaned his head back into the curve of Derek’s neck and the overwhelming sense of home came over Derek, he felt himself shaking a little. It kind of scared the hell out of him at first, especially since it’d been so long since he’d gotten this feeling. Fingers digging into soft flesh, Derek starting closing in tighter on Stiles like one might brace for a blow. He tucked his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck and just breathed. That smell, directly from the source, was possibly the most satisfying and calming thing he’d been able to indulge in since losing his sister. The part that really tied it together was the patient, completely nonjudgmental vibe of understanding that Stiles exuded.
Then Stiles spoke, soft and a little hesitant. “I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, man, but I know that, if it has anything to do with what we talked about before, it’s probably really fucking scary to be going through it. When I lost my mom, I felt like it’d be a ton easier to blame someone. Then her death could mean something, you know? It couldn’t just be that she got sick and life’s a bitch. At least if I blamed it on doctors who didn’t see the signs sooner or God for doing this to our whole family, then maybe I’d have something productive to do with my feelings, or whatever. Sometimes that sort of thinking has a tendency to bite you in the ass, though.”
Derek sighed out a breath against Stiles’ neck and got a little shiver in response.
“Letting go of anger is really freaking hard, especially when you feel like it’s the one fire keeping you moving,” Stiles continued. “But when you have some time and you feel a little more equipped to handle life again, you gotta let that go. Otherwise it’ll eat you up. I’m not saying you need to stop being angry right now, because I don’t think it’s a good idea to rush things like that. But maybe it’s not such a good idea to keep stoking the flames. Let it die out when it’s time, you know?”
Derek wished he had it that easy, wished that the anger wasn’t his anchor so he could let it go just like that. He wanted to say as much to Stiles, but it was a moot point by now. Derek would rather risk his emotional state than possibly the livelihood of others. Better to control the wolf and hold onto the anger than let that bitterness go and be unleashed.
It was times like this that Derek wished Stiles knew how much the kid asked of him.
It was then that Derek felt the full moon’s effect simmering in the pit of his stomach. He was hit with a normal bout of lightheadedness that had him closing his eyes and slowing down his breathing. That, of course, only served to hit him with another dose of Stiles’ scent like he was surrounded by it. The combination of fabric softener, Dial, and a natural musky boy aroma was what he kept his mind on for a few moments while he centered himself. God, it was nice. And having a warm body in his arms helped, too.
There was at least a small advantage to being born a werewolf rather than turned, and it was only that the full moons were a bit easier to handle. Granted, it still made him practically want to tear someone’s face off most of the time, but being cautious and controlled around the full moon had always been a thought in his mind. It felt natural to reign himself in. The only difference that night was the added anxiety at the frighteningly weak hold he had on his anger now.
Naturally, it was at this most inopportune time that Stiles said, too sincerely to be contrite, “ You know, it wasn’t your fault.”
Claws sprang out of his hands in a flash, unexpected and alarming. Thankfully, they hadn’t pricked Stiles. He ground his teeth together and tried to will them back down to blunt, human fingernails.
But Stiles said it again, quieter this time but brimming with conviction. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The lightheadedness turned into a headache, and Derek wanted to strangle Stile if it meant getting him to shut the fuck up.
“None of it was your fault.”
Then Derek growled, not in annoyance or frustration like he sometimes did. This one had a real threat behind it. He growled like an animal ready to protect itself, feeling cornered and fearless for the sake of self-preservation. His canines were going sharp and he felt infuriatingly powerless to stop any of it.
“Derek,” Stiles said uneasily. Then he wiggled around in Derek’s grip, still tight and unyielding, and met Derek’s eyes. There was undeniably fear there when Derek looked but also an almost foolhardy determination that was so characteristic of Stiles.
“Shut up,” Derek said, voice gone low and gravely. Stiles never listened, though.
“No one is holding you responsible for any of what happened except for yourself.”
“Shut up!” Derek bellowed, both hands coming up to clutch at his own head as the pain kept intensifying into a full-blown migraine. He felt his skin go hot and his heart beating wildly in his chest. He needed it all to stop; he needed to get himself back down before he hurt someone close to him. Again.
He pushed Stiles up and away from him, curling in on himself for a second while Stiles said, “Breathe! Derek, breathe!”
Fuck Stiles! As if he had any idea how to control this. As if he was in any place to take that control away from Derek and leave him with nothing to tether him on the full moon. If he ended up hurting Stiles, whether or not Stiles lived through this to regret it, Derek was going to have to live with that guilt. It was all too much.
Then, just as Derek could feel himself thrumming like he was being shot through with electricity, Stiles grabbed the back of his neck and brought him in close. The smell hit him again with a new edge of desperation.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles was saying over and over, arms reaching to wrap around Derek’s neck. “I shouldn’t have pushed, and I’m so sorry.”
Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ shirt and yanked him far enough away to glare with blazing red eyes. It was meant to be a warning, maybe even a threat. If Stiles only knew how much danger he was in, then maybe he’d get out and Derek could deal with this without any harm done. However, the eyes that stared back shut Derek down so fast he was practically breathless.
Stiles was crying. Tears welled up and spilled over in big, heavy droplets, and Stiles’ whole face had gone pink and tight.
Something dropped in Derek’s chest and sank in his stomach, as if that coal of anger had finally been let go and was fizzling out, leaving him with little more than an empty feeling that he urgently wanted to fill.
Without even thinking about it, he brought both hands up to cup Stiles’ jaw and pressed their mouths together. Then a different kind of heat spread through his chest and made his fingertips buzz. Stiles went pliant immediately, accepting it like he’d been waiting for it. They kissed hard and closed-mouthed, hands scrabbling at each other in a frantic attempt to get closer. All the while, Derek was breathing in the smell of Stiles mixing with the array of emotions that cycled through him.
When they parted, Derek pressed their foreheads together and listened to Stiles’ erratic heartbeat.
“Stiles,” he murmured. “You know it wasn’t your fault either.”
That was when Stiles broke down. He stopped breathing for just a second, trying to hold it all in, and then the sobs were coming out in heavy, painful heaves. Each sound came out wrecked and raw like it’d been ripped out of him. He clutched at Derek gracelessly and didn’t let go when he got a hold. It was as if the kid had never in his life allowed himself to let any of it out. Derek could relate.
And in that moment, sharing the excruciating pain of trying to let go of so much self-hatred, Derek felt more vulnerable and human than he ever had in his entire life. He sat there holding Stiles in his arms while the boy cried, both of them shaking. And into the faded material of Stiles’ t-shirt, Derek let himself shed tears that he’d always thought would break him. Maybe Stiles noticed, maybe not. Derek wasn’t sure, but he didn’t much care. He needed this. They needed this.
Breath stuttering and hiccupping, Stiles pulled back for a moment and wiped his nose before giving a badly timed, self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, I’m getting gross.”
Derek waited while Stiles blew his nose and splashed water on his face in the bathroom, his body itching to be close to Stiles again. When Stiles finally came back, he settled in next to Derek without being told. They both stretched out along the bed, Derek wrapping and arm around Stiles’ waist and dragging them close together.
This was risky and Derek knew it. Memories were good anchors, as were motivating feelings like anger or hope. However, an anchor based on care and affection was practically begging to get ruined. Derek knew all this, and yet he couldn’t seem to help it. As he watched Stiles’ eyes close and his breathing go deep and even, he found himself drifting off with him and he wasn’t afraid.
It was worth it, even for a season. Though, he hoped it would be more than that.