The Tell-Tale Heart
Author: vampthenewblack
Title: The Tell-Tale Heart
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Stiles, Derek, Peter
Summary: "Can't you hear it?" Derek whispers. "His heart is still beating."
Warnings: Possible MCD, but it's ambiguous. Some violence that could be perceived as domestic.
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 857
Prompt: #61
Author's Notes: The prompt put me in mind of a heartbeat, which put me in mind of Poe's story, from which this draws heavy inspiration. Set in a vague yet very AU Season 2. I would probably categorise this as horror or having horror elements, but I think it's on a canon-typical level.
Stiles finds Derek in the basement of his old house, huddled by the wall, arms around his knees.
He stares at Stiles, wide-eyed and blinking, before he scrambles to his feet. "Hey," he says, and his eyes dart quickly around the room before he brushes himself off.
There's dust in the air, made visible by the early morning sunlight that comes in through the vents at ground level. Motes swirl as Derek moves through the room, and when the light falls on his face it reveals dark circles under his eyes.
"Are you okay?" Stiles says.
Derek stretches, cracks his neck. "Yeah." His eyes drift from Stiles' face, up and to the right, and Stiles gets the impression he's heard something. "I was just..." He looks back, to the space by the wall where he was sitting. "Thinking."
Then all his attention is back on Stiles. He takes the final step, reaches out and pulls him close. "Sorry," he whispers. "I lost track of time."
Derek's lips are cold and dry, but the kiss is fleeting. He pulls back, and his eyes glaze over.
"What is it?" Stiles says. "What do you hear?"
"Nothing." It's a little abrupt, a little curt. Stiles might not be able to hear his heart beat, but Derek's not a good liar, and he's hiding something.
Stiles pushes away. "There's something here." His eyes scan the room, but Stiles has never been down here before, and he doesn't know what-if anything-is out of place. He grabs hold of Derek's hand, tries to tug him toward the stairs. "Come on, let's go."
"There's nothing." Derek shakes him off. "Look, there's nothing." He cocks his head to the side, scrunches his eyes shut tight. His lips move, shaping silent words that Stiles can't make out.
"Okay, that's it," Stiles says, and grabs Derek's shoulder. "Something is freaking you out. We're out of here."
Stiles doesn't see the blow coming until it's too late. Pain flares in his jaw and he hits the floor. He stares up at Derek as he holds his hand to his face, pulls it away from his stinging lip to see blood smeared across his palm. "What...the...hell, dude?"
Derek's eyes are wide and shocked. "It won't stop," he says, the words shaking as he breathes in violent shudders. He drops to his knees, presses his hands to the boards, and his claws snick out and scratch at the charred wood. "I'll show you."
He peels back the floorboards, splintering them as he breaks through and opens a hole in the floor. When he sits back, clawed hands hanging limp at his sides, Stiles crawls forward to look inside.
Bile rises in his throat and he chokes it back. "Oh my god," he groans. "That's disgusting. Is that...? Is that Peter?"
He can't tear his eyes from the charred body in the hole. Slumped, as if he was dumped in feet first and forgotten about. Crispy in places, raw open wounds of burnt flesh in others. It's been months, yet there's no decomposition.
"Can't you hear it?" Derek whispers. "His heart is still beating."
Stiles can hear nothing. Apart from the lack of decomp, Peter looks dead, and if he wasn't, he would have healed by now. "It's in your head, Derek. It's not real."
He recoils when Derek reaches into the hole, hauls the body out, dumps it outstretched on the floor.
Stiles' breakfast tries to come back up. He scrambles backward, trying to put as much space between himself and the body. "Put it back in," he chokes. "Cover it up and forget about it, Derek. He's dead."
Derek lifts his eyes and shakes his head. "You think I'm crazy," he says. "Maybe I am. I killed my uncle. Maybe it's guilt." He looks back down at his hand, claws locked into the burnt flesh. "But I'm gonna make sure he's not coming back."
He tears into it with both hands, ripping away the flesh. Stiles stares in horror as Derek breaks open Peter's rib cage like it's nothing.
Derek rocks back on his heels. His face pales, all the blood draining from it. He lifts his eyes. "Look."
Stiles pushes himself to his feet. He crouches beside the body, leans over carefully, as though he's afraid it might explode.
It's dark in there. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, holds it up, lights the screen.
Stiles feels it at the same time as he sees it, a beat that presses in on him from outside, and he realizes it's always been there, vibrating through his body irrespective of his ears. Peter's heart moves in a slow, bloodless beat, and all the air rushes out of Stiles' lungs.
"You see it?" Derek says. "You hear it?"
Stiles nods. There's a lump in his throat he can't swallow. "What do we do?"
They should have been ready, but they weren't. When the body moves, it's too quick for either of them to react. Peter's fingers are scratchy and slick all at once, and tight, too tight wrapped around his throat. Derek chokes beside him.
"You die," Peter says.