Just Say Yes Part 2
Title: Just Say Yes
Rating: Future NC-17, I think?
Fandom/Pairing: Teen Wolf Derek/Stiles
Notes: Written for this kink meme prompt
Summary: Stiles wanted nothing to do with Derek Hale. His life was already a mess, and the last thing he needed was his ex-boyfriend back. But when he showed up bruised, beaten, and completely detached from this world on Stiles' doorstep-what else was he supposed to do? Answer: it probably shouldn't have been dragging him into his flat and trying to put him back together, and definitely not hoping Derek to return the favor.
Part 1
There was a reasonable explanation why Stiles was wrapped up in his ex-boyfriend’s arms. Also why said ex-boyfriend’s finger nails had now elongated into sharp pointed claws that were digging into Stiles’ shoulder blades, while Derek breathed heavily into his neck. There was murmuring also with it, a pattern really, Derek would mutter something violently and squeeze Stiles’ tight, then relax his grip.
Then his breathing quickened and his claws would grow so long that small holes poked through Stiles’ thin undershirt. He could feel them scratching at the skin, and Derek begin to shudder.
“Derek!”
He shoved the man lightly, his hold now became bruising, and his words though still unintelligible, had this rough growl underneath them. He was holding him so closely that Stiles’ arms were being squished together in front of his chest, and began to constrict his breathing.
“Derek!”
Derek let out something resembling a howl, and Stiles began to panic. Sure, when he came up with this idea he didn’t think this particular scenario would happen. Stiles thought of this arrangement, because it was supposed to stop this. It was supposed to stop this- what was happening right now.
Derek was sweating now like he was breaking a fever. His body was fully twitching, and Stiles could feel his nails puncturing through his skin. Stiles tried to shift his head upwards to see Derek’s face, and he wasn’t all that surprised to see it wolfed out.
He yelped, and growled, then finally whispered in one tangible word, “Stop.” Then his voice changed, and it was filled with a type of anger Stiles had never heard before. It wasn’t just uncontrolled, it was as if it was the only emotion he was capable of expressing. It was the type of anger that consumed someone that ate their entire being until they drowned inside of it.
Derek was so far gone, that Stiles could identify that just from his one word. “Get away! The treaty!” It turned into a desperate dry sob. A plead, “No!” Then, the screaming started again. A repetitive cycle, that by now Stiles usually interrupted.
Stiles didn’t know how to help him. His brain searched through all of the internet articles he read-there had to be something, remember Stiles, remember.
He could help Derek Hale.
----- Four Days earlier------
The first time Derek woke him up screaming, Stiles almost wet himself.
It was the afternoon when he arrived. Stiles had adapted to being a nocturnal creature. In fact, he sometimes joked about it with Scott, told him that he was turning into the vampire to his werewolf. But when they watched Underworld, the movie became about twenty times more personal.
Actually, most werewolf/supernatural creature movies were odd for both Scott and Stiles. They would either end up criticizing everything about it, or, the most likely one, laughing their asses off. Huh, maybe he should try that with Derek.
Derek probably wouldn’t find it funny.
But Derek had agreed to going to sleep at eight o’clock in the morning. He had agreed to sleep on the futon also without any sort of argument. For a second Stiles was expecting one, but then there was this little zing of pain that came with the reminder that it wasn’t like they were dating or anything.
Not like they had ever dated to begin with, but that was past history, and not something that Stiles should even begin to dwell on.
Stiles had just finally fallen asleep in his bed in the adjacent room. It was a crummy bed, whenever he lay down it squeaked. The teal sheets were torn at the bottom, and his matching pillow case had flecks of red stains on it. For some reason he could never get them removed, maybe blood didn’t come out as easily as soy sauce.
That was a story for a different time though.
Derek’s screaming wasn’t normal screaming. That was probably because Derek did not scream. That was something Stiles did when he saw something gross, or little girls that one time when they had accidently seen Scott wolf out. Derek Hale was a very macho, masculine man, who did not scream.
This was a mixture of a howl, a growl, and a noise like fingers against chalkboard, like a scratch on the violin, like the skid sounds of a car before a crash-all that and worse. Stiles jolted awake, and ran out of his room. Because he didn’t think the sound was coming from Derek. He thought that Derek was strangling someone in his flat, which would be waaay more problematic than anything he was up for.
However not quite as problematic as Derek being the one creating all the noise. It was especially freaky because when Stiles entered the room, there was no noise. Everything was silent, except for the usual racket of his neighbors and the street, but the wailing from before was gone.
Then he laid eyes on Derek. He was sweating profusely, and twitching all over. His mouth was forming some sort of words, and suddenly as his movements began to speed up, the screaming began again. A hoarse cry from his throat, and the futon shook under him.
It was a nightmare like Stiles had never seen before.
_
The first arrow whizzed by Derek’s grip. Its impressive speed was unlike anything Derek had witnessed. They closed in around them, about thirty five or so hunters against Derek’s ten people pack. The faces weren’t quite intelligible; they just looked like dark shadows with wicked smiles, and clutching at weapons that would soon kill them.
He heard a thunk as one of his pack members collided with the ground as an arrow pierced his neck. That was only the start of the ambush. The arrows flew at them from all directions, and the hunters ran towards them with knives hidden at their sides.
The fight blended in Derek’s mind. He remembered very little, except for clips of throwing hunters off of himself and his pack-mates. But right now, the details passed by him, because there was a turning point in the fight that seemed so effective.
The first spark dropped.
And the ground lit up into flames, it caught onto the branches of the trees. Some of the hunters pulled back at this, letting the suicide missioners take over. Because now the fire was spreading and circling around them, and Derek…could only try to fight through the horror as the temperature rose and more of the forest around them was engulfed.
He could hear the yelling of his sister, the crying of his mother and father, beams of wood falling. It was all happening again. This time to the pack he was supposed to lead.
“They think the only way to kill a werewolf is with silver, or wolfs bane…” The taunting voice was hidden by the rising, smoke. An insane low chuckle followed it.
“But you know there’s another one, don’t you? Der-“
“Derek!”
Derek woke up with a poised fist and without knowing who exactly was on the receiving end, punched Stiles.
_
“Oh, ow fuck, I think my jaw is broken. Aw man what are your knuckles made of? Steel? Jesus, ow.”
The closed curtains did not provide a very significant shield from the light outside. So with the streams of sunlight pushing through, Derek could see Stiles knocked backwards on the ground, with his jaw in one hand and the other trying to support himself.
“Like steel that has been dipped in kryptonite maybe-“
It was about then that Stiles noticed that Derek was hyperventilating. He was sitting up straight and breathing in and out quickly, with no suitable pause in between. He wasn’t looking at Stiles either, just staring straight ahead. And Stiles was worried that he was having a panic attack, because Stiles knew what panic attacks looked like and this was somewhat close to it.
Except Stiles had never experienced one waking up from a dream.
He approached Derek slowly. He scouted forwards on the carpet along his hands and knees, and very hesitantly put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. In the past Derek had flinched away or growled at any touch that wasn’t involved in…intercourse. Something soft and comforting like this, Derek would have pulled away from.
That’s what Stiles was expecting. He was expecting Derek to look at him like he was an idiot, and for Stiles to spend the rest of the night telling himself that he was an idiot for trying to treat Derek Hale like a normal person.
Instead he allowed it. He melted into the touch momentarily, in fact his entire body leaned towards it, and his shoulders relaxed for a split instant. His breathing was still erratic but less so than before.
“You okay dude? I mean I thought there was American Psycho playing in here.”
At Stiles’ voice Derek immediately pulled away. He didn’t just pull away; he jolted away, as if Stiles was electrocuting him.
Most people may be offended by this, but Stiles, more than anyone else, was used to it. He was used to Derek’s harsh glare now, he had totally adapted to it. Which was sad in a way, but the two of them held no romantic bond anymore-well they hadn’t ever. It was just some fabricated teenage fantasy.
Why did Stiles keep coming back to this? The past wasn’t important in what was happening now. Right? So Stiles should just stop thinking about it.
Stiles slid his hands away when Derek gave him the, never touch me ever face.
“Seriously, you okay? I mean like this is really weird that you’re here, and you still haven’t answered why you’re here with me but it’s also weird that you sounded like you were being murdered just now.”
Derek sighed, and Stiles could see the exhaustion in his face, and the deep circles under his eyes. “I’m fine. It was just a dream.” Derek shrugged the hand off, and stood up off the futon. When he stretched, Stiles’ shirt rode up on his abdomen and Stiles could see the cut from before was now forming into a white puffy scar.
It looked like it was starting to heal at least. Stiles felt the urge to jab it with his finger to see how Derek would react, but if memory served him properly, it wouldn’t be good.
He settled for muttering under his breath, “it didn’t sound like just a dream.’
Derek sent him the ‘end of discussion’ face that Stiles remembered oh too well.
“It was just a dream Stiles, let it go.”
He was about to retaliate. To yell back at Stiles that no, he wouldn’t let it go, because if you just let things go, then in the end they would come back and bite you in the ass. But he didn’t. Because, first it was very un-Stiles like, and second because he needed more information before he continued to pester Derek.
He followed Derek’s suit, and rose off the ground. He raised both hands in the air in his expression of backing off, and cleared the pathway for him by sitting on the edge of the couch. Derek helped himself towards the kitchen, and there he investigated the contents of Stiles’ refrigerator, as if he hadn’t just freaked out on Stiles’ five dollar futon.
“Do you even eat?” He grumbled after a thorough scan and slammed the door shut. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Uh well there’s ramen in the cabinet. And I’m pretty sure there’s left-over lasagna in there. It’s the thing that looks like an alien brain.”
Derek snorted, and before Stiles realized what he was doing, he clambered towards the door. He threw on his leather jacket, and when his hand turned the door knob Stiles called out at him, “Wait, hold on, where are you going? This isn’t the best neighborhood, and you look like a male prostitute. No offense or anything.”
That was the first time Derek smiled at Stiles in a long time. Of course it wasn’t really a smile. It was a half smirk, half grin, kind of devilish looking, and used to give Stiles a boner when someone even vaguely mentioned it. Except, this smile was vacant. There was no emotion behind it, not even the confidence or arrogance that everyone knew Derek possessed. It was like someone had forced it onto his face.
“If you can handle yourself, I think I’ll be fine.”
Stiles told him, through the shut door, that he was going to sleep, but of course that wasn’t what he was going to do. First he called his co-worker and begged him to tell their boss that he wasn’t coming in tonight. Because he honestly didn’t feel like dealing with his boss at this current moment, or even worse maybe he’d show up to his house and find Derek there…and then…
Stiles didn’t want to think about what happened.
After that he slept, because, hell he was going to need all night for this research.
Huh, just like old times.
_
Stiles didn’t hear Derek come back in six hours later, he did however hear him turn the television turn on, and only guessed that there was no way that Derek was actually watching it.
He wasn’t sure if Derek slept that night, he doubted he did, because there was no screaming or crying or vague noise of a nightmare.
Stiles didn’t sleep that night either, it wasn’t a problem, he was used to odd hours, but mostly because he needed all the research he could get.
So Derek had clearly experienced some traumatic event, and also suffering nightmares from them or whatever those were. Stiles could gather that on his own. Hopefully Google search could do the rest.
He spent the first couple of hours reading through diagnosis on Wikipedia, scanning through articles, and editing his search, until finally he came across what was probably the closest thing that Derek was suffering. He vaguely remembered learning about it in school, about Vietnam veterans who went through the same thing.
He researched the nightmares first, which was actually apparently, very common of people who just experienced something traumatic event. In one article they addressed how to handle it, which Stiles had spent the night looking for.
However, he didn’t like the answer.
It told him that he was supposed to hold Derek. It told Stiles to calm him down by just being there in his arms, or holding Derek within his arms, and whispering to him and comforting him softly. He was supposed to be gently affectionate, to cuddle.
Nothing about their relationship had ever been gentle. Sex had always been a battle, having sex with Derek had been like having sex with a wild animal (not that Stiles would know…but he assumed). Cuddling was out of the question, always. When they used to fuck, it was almost never in a bed, and if it was they were both out of it before the action of falling asleep together could begin.
Stiles couldn’t do this. It was not what he signed up for. There was no way, he could lie next to Derek, hold him, and tell him everything could be okay. Hell, he didn’t think he could tell anyone everything would be okay without lying. Not when there were still bruises on his wrist and all signs of his black eye had finally disappeared two days ago.
Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do.
_
He didn’t see Derek the rest of the night. It wasn’t that they avoided each other or anything. They were just in their own separate space. Stiles stayed by his computer, and Derek stayed in the living room. As long as they weren’t facing each other, then they didn’t need words.
But when they could both see each other, words were needed to fill the silence, or at least according to Stiles. It was eleven o’clock in the morning when Stiles had to make a life altering decision.
He had just entered his computer-coma. That dazed phase that happened when he had been researching for too long, and all the words began to blend in together. He began to get more and more secluded from reality and morphed into the people these articles were written by.
When he heard the shouting again, it was time to figure out how to apply words to actions.
In theory he could’ve ignored Derek, he could’ve just put in ear plugs and gone to sleep. Even though he joked about it, there was a slim chance the police would show up at Stiles home they had so many other crisis’s that this one would be low on the list.
So he really could’ve just let Derek lay there, about to scream his head off, and relive whatever horrific experience had happened to him.
Stiles was a better person that that.
This time though he was prepared for the possibility that Derek could possible punch him in his sleep, and therefore his route was a little different than last time. He started by gently nudging his head. It was kind of gross actually. This one was worse from before. Derek’s head was covered in sweat, and Stiles’ fingertips were wet from where he touched.
“Hey, Derek, uh wake up.”
He woke up chocking for air. He didn’t sit up though; just lay there with his body still twitching. His eyes were wide, unblinking and locked on nothing.
It was decision time.
Sometimes Stiles wondered that if he just walked back to his room, if things would have been different. That maybe this action he was about to do right now was the spiral cause of all the events about to come. Maybe Derek would have left sooner, maybe his life would’ve been totally different.
He didn’t think about that until after he climbed into the futon with Derek.
It was awkward. There was only an inch of space between them, and Stiles wasn’t sure how to cuddle. Derek wasn’t a girl, he wasn’t soft and easy to hold in his arms, and neither was Stiles. Plus he didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to move closer? Was he supposed to whisper in Derek’s ear or something? How could he make this not so couple-y and still comforting?
“So, this is supposed to make you feel better.”
The comment just now brought Derek’s attention to him, and his eyes snapped towards Stiles. He still didn’t seem okay, his face was blanched, his mouth slightly open, and eyes still impossibly wide. It was just then that Stiles finally put two and two together and realized that Derek Hale was scared out of his mind.
“I don’t think its working.” Derek answered in his familiar ‘your entire being is stupid’ tone.
“Well, it would if you were participating correctly,” He responded in his own ‘your entire being is made of jackass’ tone.
“This is your idea.”
Stiles moved a little closer, and in order to not forehead Derek in the nose, he adjusted position downwards so his head lay just under Derek’s chin. He moved one hand up and on Derek’s bicep and the other on the upper part of his chest. It was kind of like a hug. He tried to keep the lower half of their bodies as far away from each other as possible. Both of them were tense, their posture a little too fixed, and the contours of their bodies not quite finding the right niche.
This was to remain non-sexual.
He wondered if Derek was going to shove him off. If he was going to launch Stiles off the futon or punch him again.
The opposite happened. Derek moved his own arms around Stiles to pull him closer. Stiles read that this was good, because right now, Stiles’ body was providing something real. His essence was something that was connecting Derek to this world, and separating himself from his dream.
“See this isn’t so bad? It’s working right? Yeah, you seem better already man!” It was true, the shuddering had lessened, the erratic breathing had calmed, and Derek’s wide eyed stare had vanished.
The growl Derek emitted rumbled through his chest and Stiles could feel it through his own body. It made Stiles equally afraid as happy, because that growl was purely derived from irritation.
“Keep talking and I’ll rip your throat out.”
_
Once Derek fell asleep, Stiles would slip out of his iron grip, and back to his own bed. This proceeded on for the next two days. When Stiles got home from work, they ate breakfast, and went to separate beds. Whenever he heard screaming he would enter the room, wake him up, and climb in next to Derek. Sure, it helped him sleep, but for Stiles it was a killer. Being woken up so often made it difficult to fall back asleep and he woke up randomly just imagining that he heard screaming.
It was also nearly impossible to stay still and quiet while he waited for Derek to fall asleep. It was frankly, quite boring and tiring.
He ended up amusing himself by shutting his eyes and counting backwards from one hundred.
So on the fifth day of his discovery of Derek’s nightmares, Stiles fell asleep in his arms.
Now, he had always woken Derek up before climbing into bed, he had never been in the same bed, in their awkward embrace, while he was having a nightmare. Like right now.
Derek’s claws were scraping against his back, and his arms were still trapped in between the other man’s. Unless he kicked Derek, or head butted him, waking up seemed difficult. Clearly shouting his name was not working, and Derek’s face was turning into a complete wolf.
Stiles had never seen one of this intensity before and maybe that was because Stiles always woke him up before it could elevate to this level.
“Derek!” He yelled, and broke his arm free to elbow Derek roughly. “Man you gotta stop,” He pleaded.
Derek didn’t wake up in the same way he usually did. His face was still wolfed out, his claws were still drawing blood, and instead of his vacant stare his eyes were filled with emotion. They were crazed, horrified, and Stiles could’ve sworn they reflected the nightmare Derek was having.
“Oh God, Stiles, Stiles.” His voice was a chocked sob, the words shaky and syllables crashing into each other. His clawed hand made its way to the back of Stiles’ neck. With a rough jerk he moved Stiles higher up onto the futon and in a swift motion slammed their lips together.
Stiles didn’t push him away. Mostly because he was scared-not of Derek, but for Derek, what had just happened scared him more than anything in the days past. Derek wasn’t kissing him with any skill, or any particular techniques. He was kissing him with desperation. Mostly it was their lips sliding across each others, but occasionally Derek would stop and roll Stiles’ bottom lip in his long canine teeth.
Stiles let Derek kiss him; let him bite him until the wolf left. When the kiss became slightly less rough, or at least to the point where Derek wasn’t mutilating his mouth, Stiles backed off.
He honestly didn’t know what to say. He was at loss for words. He sprung up from the futon and wiped the blood and saliva from his mouth. The only thing he could do was stumble backwards to his room, with Derek’s gaze constantly on him.
For some reason, Stiles just couldn’t tell Derek simply that what just happened wasn’t okay, that they weren’t together-they were never together.
Oh, most importantly, that Stiles was seeing someone else.
Part 3
Rating: Future NC-17, I think?
Fandom/Pairing: Teen Wolf Derek/Stiles
Notes: Written for this kink meme prompt
Summary: Stiles wanted nothing to do with Derek Hale. His life was already a mess, and the last thing he needed was his ex-boyfriend back. But when he showed up bruised, beaten, and completely detached from this world on Stiles' doorstep-what else was he supposed to do? Answer: it probably shouldn't have been dragging him into his flat and trying to put him back together, and definitely not hoping Derek to return the favor.
Part 1
There was a reasonable explanation why Stiles was wrapped up in his ex-boyfriend’s arms. Also why said ex-boyfriend’s finger nails had now elongated into sharp pointed claws that were digging into Stiles’ shoulder blades, while Derek breathed heavily into his neck. There was murmuring also with it, a pattern really, Derek would mutter something violently and squeeze Stiles’ tight, then relax his grip.
Then his breathing quickened and his claws would grow so long that small holes poked through Stiles’ thin undershirt. He could feel them scratching at the skin, and Derek begin to shudder.
“Derek!”
He shoved the man lightly, his hold now became bruising, and his words though still unintelligible, had this rough growl underneath them. He was holding him so closely that Stiles’ arms were being squished together in front of his chest, and began to constrict his breathing.
“Derek!”
Derek let out something resembling a howl, and Stiles began to panic. Sure, when he came up with this idea he didn’t think this particular scenario would happen. Stiles thought of this arrangement, because it was supposed to stop this. It was supposed to stop this- what was happening right now.
Derek was sweating now like he was breaking a fever. His body was fully twitching, and Stiles could feel his nails puncturing through his skin. Stiles tried to shift his head upwards to see Derek’s face, and he wasn’t all that surprised to see it wolfed out.
He yelped, and growled, then finally whispered in one tangible word, “Stop.” Then his voice changed, and it was filled with a type of anger Stiles had never heard before. It wasn’t just uncontrolled, it was as if it was the only emotion he was capable of expressing. It was the type of anger that consumed someone that ate their entire being until they drowned inside of it.
Derek was so far gone, that Stiles could identify that just from his one word. “Get away! The treaty!” It turned into a desperate dry sob. A plead, “No!” Then, the screaming started again. A repetitive cycle, that by now Stiles usually interrupted.
Stiles didn’t know how to help him. His brain searched through all of the internet articles he read-there had to be something, remember Stiles, remember.
He could help Derek Hale.
----- Four Days earlier------
The first time Derek woke him up screaming, Stiles almost wet himself.
It was the afternoon when he arrived. Stiles had adapted to being a nocturnal creature. In fact, he sometimes joked about it with Scott, told him that he was turning into the vampire to his werewolf. But when they watched Underworld, the movie became about twenty times more personal.
Actually, most werewolf/supernatural creature movies were odd for both Scott and Stiles. They would either end up criticizing everything about it, or, the most likely one, laughing their asses off. Huh, maybe he should try that with Derek.
Derek probably wouldn’t find it funny.
But Derek had agreed to going to sleep at eight o’clock in the morning. He had agreed to sleep on the futon also without any sort of argument. For a second Stiles was expecting one, but then there was this little zing of pain that came with the reminder that it wasn’t like they were dating or anything.
Not like they had ever dated to begin with, but that was past history, and not something that Stiles should even begin to dwell on.
Stiles had just finally fallen asleep in his bed in the adjacent room. It was a crummy bed, whenever he lay down it squeaked. The teal sheets were torn at the bottom, and his matching pillow case had flecks of red stains on it. For some reason he could never get them removed, maybe blood didn’t come out as easily as soy sauce.
That was a story for a different time though.
Derek’s screaming wasn’t normal screaming. That was probably because Derek did not scream. That was something Stiles did when he saw something gross, or little girls that one time when they had accidently seen Scott wolf out. Derek Hale was a very macho, masculine man, who did not scream.
This was a mixture of a howl, a growl, and a noise like fingers against chalkboard, like a scratch on the violin, like the skid sounds of a car before a crash-all that and worse. Stiles jolted awake, and ran out of his room. Because he didn’t think the sound was coming from Derek. He thought that Derek was strangling someone in his flat, which would be waaay more problematic than anything he was up for.
However not quite as problematic as Derek being the one creating all the noise. It was especially freaky because when Stiles entered the room, there was no noise. Everything was silent, except for the usual racket of his neighbors and the street, but the wailing from before was gone.
Then he laid eyes on Derek. He was sweating profusely, and twitching all over. His mouth was forming some sort of words, and suddenly as his movements began to speed up, the screaming began again. A hoarse cry from his throat, and the futon shook under him.
It was a nightmare like Stiles had never seen before.
_
The first arrow whizzed by Derek’s grip. Its impressive speed was unlike anything Derek had witnessed. They closed in around them, about thirty five or so hunters against Derek’s ten people pack. The faces weren’t quite intelligible; they just looked like dark shadows with wicked smiles, and clutching at weapons that would soon kill them.
He heard a thunk as one of his pack members collided with the ground as an arrow pierced his neck. That was only the start of the ambush. The arrows flew at them from all directions, and the hunters ran towards them with knives hidden at their sides.
The fight blended in Derek’s mind. He remembered very little, except for clips of throwing hunters off of himself and his pack-mates. But right now, the details passed by him, because there was a turning point in the fight that seemed so effective.
The first spark dropped.
And the ground lit up into flames, it caught onto the branches of the trees. Some of the hunters pulled back at this, letting the suicide missioners take over. Because now the fire was spreading and circling around them, and Derek…could only try to fight through the horror as the temperature rose and more of the forest around them was engulfed.
He could hear the yelling of his sister, the crying of his mother and father, beams of wood falling. It was all happening again. This time to the pack he was supposed to lead.
“They think the only way to kill a werewolf is with silver, or wolfs bane…” The taunting voice was hidden by the rising, smoke. An insane low chuckle followed it.
“But you know there’s another one, don’t you? Der-“
“Derek!”
Derek woke up with a poised fist and without knowing who exactly was on the receiving end, punched Stiles.
_
“Oh, ow fuck, I think my jaw is broken. Aw man what are your knuckles made of? Steel? Jesus, ow.”
The closed curtains did not provide a very significant shield from the light outside. So with the streams of sunlight pushing through, Derek could see Stiles knocked backwards on the ground, with his jaw in one hand and the other trying to support himself.
“Like steel that has been dipped in kryptonite maybe-“
It was about then that Stiles noticed that Derek was hyperventilating. He was sitting up straight and breathing in and out quickly, with no suitable pause in between. He wasn’t looking at Stiles either, just staring straight ahead. And Stiles was worried that he was having a panic attack, because Stiles knew what panic attacks looked like and this was somewhat close to it.
Except Stiles had never experienced one waking up from a dream.
He approached Derek slowly. He scouted forwards on the carpet along his hands and knees, and very hesitantly put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. In the past Derek had flinched away or growled at any touch that wasn’t involved in…intercourse. Something soft and comforting like this, Derek would have pulled away from.
That’s what Stiles was expecting. He was expecting Derek to look at him like he was an idiot, and for Stiles to spend the rest of the night telling himself that he was an idiot for trying to treat Derek Hale like a normal person.
Instead he allowed it. He melted into the touch momentarily, in fact his entire body leaned towards it, and his shoulders relaxed for a split instant. His breathing was still erratic but less so than before.
“You okay dude? I mean I thought there was American Psycho playing in here.”
At Stiles’ voice Derek immediately pulled away. He didn’t just pull away; he jolted away, as if Stiles was electrocuting him.
Most people may be offended by this, but Stiles, more than anyone else, was used to it. He was used to Derek’s harsh glare now, he had totally adapted to it. Which was sad in a way, but the two of them held no romantic bond anymore-well they hadn’t ever. It was just some fabricated teenage fantasy.
Why did Stiles keep coming back to this? The past wasn’t important in what was happening now. Right? So Stiles should just stop thinking about it.
Stiles slid his hands away when Derek gave him the, never touch me ever face.
“Seriously, you okay? I mean like this is really weird that you’re here, and you still haven’t answered why you’re here with me but it’s also weird that you sounded like you were being murdered just now.”
Derek sighed, and Stiles could see the exhaustion in his face, and the deep circles under his eyes. “I’m fine. It was just a dream.” Derek shrugged the hand off, and stood up off the futon. When he stretched, Stiles’ shirt rode up on his abdomen and Stiles could see the cut from before was now forming into a white puffy scar.
It looked like it was starting to heal at least. Stiles felt the urge to jab it with his finger to see how Derek would react, but if memory served him properly, it wouldn’t be good.
He settled for muttering under his breath, “it didn’t sound like just a dream.’
Derek sent him the ‘end of discussion’ face that Stiles remembered oh too well.
“It was just a dream Stiles, let it go.”
He was about to retaliate. To yell back at Stiles that no, he wouldn’t let it go, because if you just let things go, then in the end they would come back and bite you in the ass. But he didn’t. Because, first it was very un-Stiles like, and second because he needed more information before he continued to pester Derek.
He followed Derek’s suit, and rose off the ground. He raised both hands in the air in his expression of backing off, and cleared the pathway for him by sitting on the edge of the couch. Derek helped himself towards the kitchen, and there he investigated the contents of Stiles’ refrigerator, as if he hadn’t just freaked out on Stiles’ five dollar futon.
“Do you even eat?” He grumbled after a thorough scan and slammed the door shut. “There’s nothing in here.”
“Uh well there’s ramen in the cabinet. And I’m pretty sure there’s left-over lasagna in there. It’s the thing that looks like an alien brain.”
Derek snorted, and before Stiles realized what he was doing, he clambered towards the door. He threw on his leather jacket, and when his hand turned the door knob Stiles called out at him, “Wait, hold on, where are you going? This isn’t the best neighborhood, and you look like a male prostitute. No offense or anything.”
That was the first time Derek smiled at Stiles in a long time. Of course it wasn’t really a smile. It was a half smirk, half grin, kind of devilish looking, and used to give Stiles a boner when someone even vaguely mentioned it. Except, this smile was vacant. There was no emotion behind it, not even the confidence or arrogance that everyone knew Derek possessed. It was like someone had forced it onto his face.
“If you can handle yourself, I think I’ll be fine.”
Stiles told him, through the shut door, that he was going to sleep, but of course that wasn’t what he was going to do. First he called his co-worker and begged him to tell their boss that he wasn’t coming in tonight. Because he honestly didn’t feel like dealing with his boss at this current moment, or even worse maybe he’d show up to his house and find Derek there…and then…
Stiles didn’t want to think about what happened.
After that he slept, because, hell he was going to need all night for this research.
Huh, just like old times.
_
Stiles didn’t hear Derek come back in six hours later, he did however hear him turn the television turn on, and only guessed that there was no way that Derek was actually watching it.
He wasn’t sure if Derek slept that night, he doubted he did, because there was no screaming or crying or vague noise of a nightmare.
Stiles didn’t sleep that night either, it wasn’t a problem, he was used to odd hours, but mostly because he needed all the research he could get.
So Derek had clearly experienced some traumatic event, and also suffering nightmares from them or whatever those were. Stiles could gather that on his own. Hopefully Google search could do the rest.
He spent the first couple of hours reading through diagnosis on Wikipedia, scanning through articles, and editing his search, until finally he came across what was probably the closest thing that Derek was suffering. He vaguely remembered learning about it in school, about Vietnam veterans who went through the same thing.
He researched the nightmares first, which was actually apparently, very common of people who just experienced something traumatic event. In one article they addressed how to handle it, which Stiles had spent the night looking for.
However, he didn’t like the answer.
It told him that he was supposed to hold Derek. It told Stiles to calm him down by just being there in his arms, or holding Derek within his arms, and whispering to him and comforting him softly. He was supposed to be gently affectionate, to cuddle.
Nothing about their relationship had ever been gentle. Sex had always been a battle, having sex with Derek had been like having sex with a wild animal (not that Stiles would know…but he assumed). Cuddling was out of the question, always. When they used to fuck, it was almost never in a bed, and if it was they were both out of it before the action of falling asleep together could begin.
Stiles couldn’t do this. It was not what he signed up for. There was no way, he could lie next to Derek, hold him, and tell him everything could be okay. Hell, he didn’t think he could tell anyone everything would be okay without lying. Not when there were still bruises on his wrist and all signs of his black eye had finally disappeared two days ago.
Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do.
_
He didn’t see Derek the rest of the night. It wasn’t that they avoided each other or anything. They were just in their own separate space. Stiles stayed by his computer, and Derek stayed in the living room. As long as they weren’t facing each other, then they didn’t need words.
But when they could both see each other, words were needed to fill the silence, or at least according to Stiles. It was eleven o’clock in the morning when Stiles had to make a life altering decision.
He had just entered his computer-coma. That dazed phase that happened when he had been researching for too long, and all the words began to blend in together. He began to get more and more secluded from reality and morphed into the people these articles were written by.
When he heard the shouting again, it was time to figure out how to apply words to actions.
In theory he could’ve ignored Derek, he could’ve just put in ear plugs and gone to sleep. Even though he joked about it, there was a slim chance the police would show up at Stiles home they had so many other crisis’s that this one would be low on the list.
So he really could’ve just let Derek lay there, about to scream his head off, and relive whatever horrific experience had happened to him.
Stiles was a better person that that.
This time though he was prepared for the possibility that Derek could possible punch him in his sleep, and therefore his route was a little different than last time. He started by gently nudging his head. It was kind of gross actually. This one was worse from before. Derek’s head was covered in sweat, and Stiles’ fingertips were wet from where he touched.
“Hey, Derek, uh wake up.”
He woke up chocking for air. He didn’t sit up though; just lay there with his body still twitching. His eyes were wide, unblinking and locked on nothing.
It was decision time.
Sometimes Stiles wondered that if he just walked back to his room, if things would have been different. That maybe this action he was about to do right now was the spiral cause of all the events about to come. Maybe Derek would have left sooner, maybe his life would’ve been totally different.
He didn’t think about that until after he climbed into the futon with Derek.
It was awkward. There was only an inch of space between them, and Stiles wasn’t sure how to cuddle. Derek wasn’t a girl, he wasn’t soft and easy to hold in his arms, and neither was Stiles. Plus he didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to move closer? Was he supposed to whisper in Derek’s ear or something? How could he make this not so couple-y and still comforting?
“So, this is supposed to make you feel better.”
The comment just now brought Derek’s attention to him, and his eyes snapped towards Stiles. He still didn’t seem okay, his face was blanched, his mouth slightly open, and eyes still impossibly wide. It was just then that Stiles finally put two and two together and realized that Derek Hale was scared out of his mind.
“I don’t think its working.” Derek answered in his familiar ‘your entire being is stupid’ tone.
“Well, it would if you were participating correctly,” He responded in his own ‘your entire being is made of jackass’ tone.
“This is your idea.”
Stiles moved a little closer, and in order to not forehead Derek in the nose, he adjusted position downwards so his head lay just under Derek’s chin. He moved one hand up and on Derek’s bicep and the other on the upper part of his chest. It was kind of like a hug. He tried to keep the lower half of their bodies as far away from each other as possible. Both of them were tense, their posture a little too fixed, and the contours of their bodies not quite finding the right niche.
This was to remain non-sexual.
He wondered if Derek was going to shove him off. If he was going to launch Stiles off the futon or punch him again.
The opposite happened. Derek moved his own arms around Stiles to pull him closer. Stiles read that this was good, because right now, Stiles’ body was providing something real. His essence was something that was connecting Derek to this world, and separating himself from his dream.
“See this isn’t so bad? It’s working right? Yeah, you seem better already man!” It was true, the shuddering had lessened, the erratic breathing had calmed, and Derek’s wide eyed stare had vanished.
The growl Derek emitted rumbled through his chest and Stiles could feel it through his own body. It made Stiles equally afraid as happy, because that growl was purely derived from irritation.
“Keep talking and I’ll rip your throat out.”
_
Once Derek fell asleep, Stiles would slip out of his iron grip, and back to his own bed. This proceeded on for the next two days. When Stiles got home from work, they ate breakfast, and went to separate beds. Whenever he heard screaming he would enter the room, wake him up, and climb in next to Derek. Sure, it helped him sleep, but for Stiles it was a killer. Being woken up so often made it difficult to fall back asleep and he woke up randomly just imagining that he heard screaming.
It was also nearly impossible to stay still and quiet while he waited for Derek to fall asleep. It was frankly, quite boring and tiring.
He ended up amusing himself by shutting his eyes and counting backwards from one hundred.
So on the fifth day of his discovery of Derek’s nightmares, Stiles fell asleep in his arms.
Now, he had always woken Derek up before climbing into bed, he had never been in the same bed, in their awkward embrace, while he was having a nightmare. Like right now.
Derek’s claws were scraping against his back, and his arms were still trapped in between the other man’s. Unless he kicked Derek, or head butted him, waking up seemed difficult. Clearly shouting his name was not working, and Derek’s face was turning into a complete wolf.
Stiles had never seen one of this intensity before and maybe that was because Stiles always woke him up before it could elevate to this level.
“Derek!” He yelled, and broke his arm free to elbow Derek roughly. “Man you gotta stop,” He pleaded.
Derek didn’t wake up in the same way he usually did. His face was still wolfed out, his claws were still drawing blood, and instead of his vacant stare his eyes were filled with emotion. They were crazed, horrified, and Stiles could’ve sworn they reflected the nightmare Derek was having.
“Oh God, Stiles, Stiles.” His voice was a chocked sob, the words shaky and syllables crashing into each other. His clawed hand made its way to the back of Stiles’ neck. With a rough jerk he moved Stiles higher up onto the futon and in a swift motion slammed their lips together.
Stiles didn’t push him away. Mostly because he was scared-not of Derek, but for Derek, what had just happened scared him more than anything in the days past. Derek wasn’t kissing him with any skill, or any particular techniques. He was kissing him with desperation. Mostly it was their lips sliding across each others, but occasionally Derek would stop and roll Stiles’ bottom lip in his long canine teeth.
Stiles let Derek kiss him; let him bite him until the wolf left. When the kiss became slightly less rough, or at least to the point where Derek wasn’t mutilating his mouth, Stiles backed off.
He honestly didn’t know what to say. He was at loss for words. He sprung up from the futon and wiped the blood and saliva from his mouth. The only thing he could do was stumble backwards to his room, with Derek’s gaze constantly on him.
For some reason, Stiles just couldn’t tell Derek simply that what just happened wasn’t okay, that they weren’t together-they were never together.
Oh, most importantly, that Stiles was seeing someone else.
Part 3