[Teen Wolf] [Derek/Stiles] Desperate Hours
Title: Desperate Hours
Subject: Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles
Rating: R
Summary: Scott died first. Scott came back first. Allison shot Scott first, point blank range, blood and brains everywhere.
Notes: I don't even know what kind of order this thing is in. Completely non-linear, started off as the weird werewolfy scene after the kiss section, which was inspired by 'pressure points' and everything grew around it.
Some nights there's a whole lot of nothing. No people, no zombies, no anything. Those nights they barricade the door a little more than usual - just in case - and they both sleep, cramped together in the twin bed, pressed skin to skin.
Some nights they argue, kept inside and kept secluded and driven insane by the zombies roaming the wasteland just beyond their door. They blame each other for the mess they're in, the only thing they have to argue about these days; Derek should have known there was even a slightest possibility of the dead rising, Stiles should have googled it if he's so it was common knowledge, but it's pointless. There's noone to blame and Derek didn't know and google isn't even a thing anymore. Still, they argue in circles until the sun rises and they find something else to do.
Some nights, their strange little halfway house fulfils its purpose. Travelers stop in, blood stained and weary, hungry and tired and happy for even a clean patch of floor to sleep on. They swap stories and news like it's something tangible, share tins of food like they're a delicacy. They get a place to sleep in exchange for something Derek and Stiles are running low on, bottled water or food or ammunition for Derek's gun, whatever they can find to pass for currency.
Some nights, Stiles falls asleep to the sound of Derek's shotgun. Some nights, Derek falls asleep to the sound of Stiles chattering away about anything and everything, mile a minute like the time he has to talk in is running out.
Scott died first. Scott came back first. Allison shot Scott first, point blank range, blood and brains everywhere. It worked.
Allison left with Lydia after that, armed to the teeth and a plan in their heads that they refused to share. Jackson headed North, Isaac taught them, unintentionally, that werewolf-zombie hybrids were not a good thing. Erica and Boyd got the hell out of dodge, left Derek with a quiet sorry and an invitation to join them that he didn't take.
Derek and Stiles stayed behind, both too loyal to memories and ash, memories of ash, to names on slabs of stone. They moved from abandoned house to abandoned house - Jackson's was the coolest and somehow the least practical - before they settled on what had been Old Lady Rogers' house. Small enough that they couldn't lose themselves in it, far away enough from town that other people weren't a worry, close enough that they could get back to town to get food easily enough, good sights all around. They never called it home, just the house, but they moved their things in, made it theirs.
It's Stiles who kisses Derek, a hand tight on his wrist to keep him close even though he knows Derek could get away easily enough.
It's not desperate. He's not drunk. Nobody's almost died. It's just that Derek hasn't shaved in a few days and he looks so good and Stiles always had had poor impulse control.
Derek doesn't pull away, Derek kisses him back.
The full moon drives Derek insane. He can control the wolf, that part of him, it barely bothers him anymore but it's hard sitting inside, staring at the full moon. He takes deep breath and he finds his anchor but he can feel it, like it's scratching at his insides, a pressure that could choke him, desperate to get out. He's desperate to get out. He's stir crazy and he's a werewolf and he's kept inside like a chihuahua.
He gets a bit rougher with Stiles on those nights, pushes him harder, bites him harder - never too hard, never, just enough to bruise, just enough to leave the imprint of his teeth lingering on skin that doesn't heal the way his does - kisses him harder and leaves bruises on his skin. Stiles stays quiet through it, pulls at Derek's hair like he's pulling him back, leaves scratches down his back and on his hips and scratches him some more when those heal.
It helps, sort of, but when it's over Stiles starts talking again and Derek goes back to staring at the moon.
When Isaac was bitten, they'd ignored it. He'll be fine, Derek had said. He can still hear his voice, he can still hear how disinterest he'd sounded. It'll heal. It wasn't as bad as Scott's bite had been. He wasn't already half dead. He still had all of his organs left, even.
It hadn't healed. It had festered, not the way wolfsbane bullets did but worse. The skin around it bubbled and blistered and Isaac couldn't stay anchored, couldn't stay calm and safe and human. They tried forcing his body to heal other things but broken bones stayed broken, cuts kept on bleeding, the bite got worse.
Erica had told Derek to shoot him, had screamed stop it, Derek, stop it. She'd called him selfish and punched bruises to his chest, fist shaped marks that lasted bare moments. He'd known he was being selfish, knew it deep down his stomach, had lost track of the times he'd been called it, the people who'd spat it at him like he wasn't aware of it.
He didn't stop it, he let Isaac die and then he let Isaac come back and then he shot him, now that he was more animal than man and he let Erica and Boyd leave and didn't act surprised when Stiles stayed, even if he was.
"Just us now then." The sun is rising, setting the world on fire as they sit at the crest of the hill. Stiles hasn't shut up all night, buzzing on bad coffee and adrenaline. "Me and you, Batman and Robin, Pinky and The Brain." More than anything, Derek wants a cigarette. A cigarette and a new life. "I'm The Brain." A cigarette, a new life and a gag, perhaps.
Subject: Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles
Rating: R
Summary: Scott died first. Scott came back first. Allison shot Scott first, point blank range, blood and brains everywhere.
Notes: I don't even know what kind of order this thing is in. Completely non-linear, started off as the weird werewolfy scene after the kiss section, which was inspired by 'pressure points' and everything grew around it.
Some nights there's a whole lot of nothing. No people, no zombies, no anything. Those nights they barricade the door a little more than usual - just in case - and they both sleep, cramped together in the twin bed, pressed skin to skin.
Some nights they argue, kept inside and kept secluded and driven insane by the zombies roaming the wasteland just beyond their door. They blame each other for the mess they're in, the only thing they have to argue about these days; Derek should have known there was even a slightest possibility of the dead rising, Stiles should have googled it if he's so it was common knowledge, but it's pointless. There's noone to blame and Derek didn't know and google isn't even a thing anymore. Still, they argue in circles until the sun rises and they find something else to do.
Some nights, their strange little halfway house fulfils its purpose. Travelers stop in, blood stained and weary, hungry and tired and happy for even a clean patch of floor to sleep on. They swap stories and news like it's something tangible, share tins of food like they're a delicacy. They get a place to sleep in exchange for something Derek and Stiles are running low on, bottled water or food or ammunition for Derek's gun, whatever they can find to pass for currency.
Some nights, Stiles falls asleep to the sound of Derek's shotgun. Some nights, Derek falls asleep to the sound of Stiles chattering away about anything and everything, mile a minute like the time he has to talk in is running out.
Scott died first. Scott came back first. Allison shot Scott first, point blank range, blood and brains everywhere. It worked.
Allison left with Lydia after that, armed to the teeth and a plan in their heads that they refused to share. Jackson headed North, Isaac taught them, unintentionally, that werewolf-zombie hybrids were not a good thing. Erica and Boyd got the hell out of dodge, left Derek with a quiet sorry and an invitation to join them that he didn't take.
Derek and Stiles stayed behind, both too loyal to memories and ash, memories of ash, to names on slabs of stone. They moved from abandoned house to abandoned house - Jackson's was the coolest and somehow the least practical - before they settled on what had been Old Lady Rogers' house. Small enough that they couldn't lose themselves in it, far away enough from town that other people weren't a worry, close enough that they could get back to town to get food easily enough, good sights all around. They never called it home, just the house, but they moved their things in, made it theirs.
It's Stiles who kisses Derek, a hand tight on his wrist to keep him close even though he knows Derek could get away easily enough.
It's not desperate. He's not drunk. Nobody's almost died. It's just that Derek hasn't shaved in a few days and he looks so good and Stiles always had had poor impulse control.
Derek doesn't pull away, Derek kisses him back.
The full moon drives Derek insane. He can control the wolf, that part of him, it barely bothers him anymore but it's hard sitting inside, staring at the full moon. He takes deep breath and he finds his anchor but he can feel it, like it's scratching at his insides, a pressure that could choke him, desperate to get out. He's desperate to get out. He's stir crazy and he's a werewolf and he's kept inside like a chihuahua.
He gets a bit rougher with Stiles on those nights, pushes him harder, bites him harder - never too hard, never, just enough to bruise, just enough to leave the imprint of his teeth lingering on skin that doesn't heal the way his does - kisses him harder and leaves bruises on his skin. Stiles stays quiet through it, pulls at Derek's hair like he's pulling him back, leaves scratches down his back and on his hips and scratches him some more when those heal.
It helps, sort of, but when it's over Stiles starts talking again and Derek goes back to staring at the moon.
When Isaac was bitten, they'd ignored it. He'll be fine, Derek had said. He can still hear his voice, he can still hear how disinterest he'd sounded. It'll heal. It wasn't as bad as Scott's bite had been. He wasn't already half dead. He still had all of his organs left, even.
It hadn't healed. It had festered, not the way wolfsbane bullets did but worse. The skin around it bubbled and blistered and Isaac couldn't stay anchored, couldn't stay calm and safe and human. They tried forcing his body to heal other things but broken bones stayed broken, cuts kept on bleeding, the bite got worse.
Erica had told Derek to shoot him, had screamed stop it, Derek, stop it. She'd called him selfish and punched bruises to his chest, fist shaped marks that lasted bare moments. He'd known he was being selfish, knew it deep down his stomach, had lost track of the times he'd been called it, the people who'd spat it at him like he wasn't aware of it.
He didn't stop it, he let Isaac die and then he let Isaac come back and then he shot him, now that he was more animal than man and he let Erica and Boyd leave and didn't act surprised when Stiles stayed, even if he was.
"Just us now then." The sun is rising, setting the world on fire as they sit at the crest of the hill. Stiles hasn't shut up all night, buzzing on bad coffee and adrenaline. "Me and you, Batman and Robin, Pinky and The Brain." More than anything, Derek wants a cigarette. A cigarette and a new life. "I'm The Brain." A cigarette, a new life and a gag, perhaps.