Fic: Hold Me Fast, Derek/Stiles, PG-13
Title: Hold Me Fast
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG-13
Additional tags: First kiss, developing relationship, bed sharing, little bit of angst, nightmares, fluff.
A/N: Set right after Anchors, and written because I can’t even count the number of tumblr posts along the lines of, “Oh my god, can someone please write one where Derek wakes Stiles up from a nightmare and then does his best to comfort him?” Also, title comes from Mumford & Sons.
Summary:
“Stiles.”
And there’s - nothing more. Derek sounds ragged, suddenly, and Stiles blinks back against the burn in his eyes. Swallows through the tightness in the back of his throat. The impossibility of it all - this is actually happening, this is - this is real, this is Derek shaking against him, too, just like Stiles is shaking, and - it gives Stiles the courage to put a hand on Derek’s cheek, losing his breath at the stubble under his palm. At the way Derek swallows hard, and stares at him, looking lost.
Stiles can’t breathe.
Derek’s back. He’s back, and he’s a fucking wreck, and he’s asleep in Stiles’ bed, and Stiles - can’t get enough air into his lungs. It’s not quite a panic attack, but it’s pretty damn close; and Stiles closes his eyes and turns away from the sight of the werewolf in his bed. Opens them again and glances at his phone, considers calling Scott for backup - but there’s nothing Scott can do to make this better. Nothing either of them can do to fix the fact that Derek has been put through hell, again, and is now back in Beacon Hills and curled up in Stiles’ bed, not a mark on his body but his eyes haunted in a way that makes Stiles sick. He thinks he’s getting pretty tired of the world deciding to keep beating the hell out of Derek. As if he hasn’t been through enough already.
As if on cue, Derek shifts a bit in his bed - barely a movement, but loud in the silent room - and Stiles takes a deep breath and turns back to watching him sleep. Doesn’t care if that’s creepy. Doesn’t bother - for once - to fight the way his stomach is filling with butterflies, and the way his chest is aching in a way that doesn’t have anything to do with panic, and more to do with the fact that, yes, he’s got a thing for Derek a mile wide, even if he’d never admit it out loud. The werewolf may be abrasive and snarky and completely incapable of using words and often just plain mean, but - Stiles gets it. Understands what grief and trauma can do to people. It’s a miracle, really, that he himself hasn’t become more of a bastard than he already is. Snarky sarcasm might not be the best method of interacting with the world, but it could be worse. He could be broken in Derek-type ways. He could be incapable of letting anyone in behind those walls, the way he thinks Derek tries so hard to be - and then Derek shifts on the bed, again, and Stiles has a horrible suspicion that the werewolf might no longer be as zonked out as he might like to be appear.
“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know.”
Even he can hear the shake in his own voice, and Derek’s got to be able to hear the way his heart beat is going absolutely out of control - but it’s been two months since he saw the bastard, and his defences seem to be down. He’s out of practice. They’d kicked down the door and saved the day, but Stiles isn’t soon going to forget the mess that that monster had made of Derek and Peter. Isn’t going to forget the utter fucking relief on Derek’s face when he’d looked up to find Stiles and Scott and standing in the doorway, with Scott wolfed out and ready to fight, and Stiles, well - he was there, at least. He’d gotten out of the way while Scott and Isaac went after the bastard, leaving Stiles to cut the electricity and unchain Derek and Peter from that fence - and it’ll be a long time before he forgets the way it felt to have Derek sag into his arms, leaving it to Stiles to hold him up.
Another movement from the bed reminds him that they’re probably meant to having some kind of conversation here, and he forces his mind back to the present. Takes a steadying breath and tries to stand, and - after deeming his legs just barely capable of holding him - moves away from his computer to stand beside the lump in the bed, even as he blinks back the wave of exhaustion. It’s been months since he slept through the night without screaming, and nearly twenty-four hours since they went looking for Derek; and while he gets that Derek no longer has his loft, Stiles still isn’t sure that having Derek in his bedroom is the next best option. All he wants to do is climb in under the covers and wrap himself around Derek so tightly he can barely breathe.
“Derek?”
A moment of silence, and then the blankets get pulled down a bit, leaving Derek staring up at him with what looks like - well, it’s his normal scowl, sure, but it looks more exhausted than anything, and Stiles feels his heart thump a bit harder. Derek’s hair is a mess and his eyes are a bit wide and his bloody clothes are currently in a pile on Stiles’ bathroom floor, with Derek wearing the biggest jeans and sweater that Stiles could find in his own closet - and Stiles wants to protect him from everything. Wants to find a way to get in behind those walls. Wants to be the person that Derek can lean on when the world kicks the shit out of him.
In the immediate, though, he just really needs to sleep, and there’s a werewolf scowling up at him from his bed, looking so exhausted it’s a miracle he’s woken up at all, and Stiles - isn’t sure if he should leave Derek alone, after what he’s been through, but really doesn’t have a choice. He’d say fuck the impropriety and crawl in beside him - because he’s just masochistic enough for that to be a decent idea - but the last thing he wants is to wake up screaming with Derek right beside him.
“Look, I’m - I need to sleep, or I’m gonna pass out, so. I’ll be on the couch. My dad’s at work for the night, but he knows about you guys now, anyway, so - if you need me, just wake me -”
“It’s your bed.”
“You need it more than me.”
“I can leave.”
“And go where?”
He hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it - thinks, distantly, about Derek’s old burned out shell of a house; thinks of the old train he’d lived in, and of the loft he’d had to give up when it, too, became a place of horror - and then Derek’s expression does something that looks a little bit pained, underneath all that exhaustion, and Stiles kind of really wants to kick himself. Settles, instead, for taking a deep breath and turning away, lost for anything else to say - and then a hand touches his arm, and Stiles feels himself go absolutely still. Stops breathing, and turns back just as Derek’s hand falls away, leaving Derek staring down at the blankets, and looking almost - guilty?
“Sorry. I shouldn’t - shouldn’t have -”
“No, it’s - fine, I don’t -”
“I should go.”
“Derek.”
He sounds a bit helpless, though - and then Derek makes a move to sit up, as though he’s really going to just go out there alone and take a nap on the forest floor, and Stiles has a hand on his shoulder before he can think it through. Knows, distantly, that the only reason Derek is staying where he is is because he’s letting Stiles keep him there - and then they’re just staring at each other, Derek’s expression gone back to being absolutely inscrutable; and Stiles has no fucking idea what’s going on here. Takes his hand away and straightens up again before he does something stupid. Hope like hell that Derek will think his heartbeat has something to do with fear, and nothing else.
“Look, just - I want you here. I want you here, recovering, with four walls around you, so. Just let me sleep on that damn couch, and take this no-strings-attached gift of a bed for the night, alright?”
Derek doesn’t say a word - just stares up at him, still unreadable - but Stiles decides to take that as acceptance. Fights the way everything inside him is telling him to reach out and touch - fights the way he wants to be big spoon, here, and pretend that he can protect the big bad werewolf from everything that goes bump in the night - and then turns and leaves him room. The couch won’t be comfortable, but if it means giving Derek a roof over his head, then every stupid ache in the morning will be worth it.
- - -
Stiles wakes up screaming.
For a moment, he’s in free-fall - and then there are hands on his shoulders, and he screams louder. Kicks out as hard as he can - can’t breathe, can’t see - only to go still at the sound of Derek’s voice, right close to his face. Derek’s voice in his ear and his hands on his shoulders, holding him still, murmuring something that's probably soothing - keeping him on the couch, saying his name, over and over again, and - Stiles bites back a sob, he needs to wake up.
“Stiles, Stiles - it’s fine, you’re awake, you need to -”
“Stop.”
“Breathe with me. Alright? I need you to -”
“Let go!”
He hits the carpet hard, hands and knees. Can’t breathe. Forces his head up to find Derek kneeling in front of him, eyes wide and his hands up, and Stiles - closes his eyes. Can’t do anything but kneel there and shake until there’s a hand on his shoulder, again. Flinches, but gets his head up again to find Derek still kneeling in front of him, a hand on each of his shoulders and his expression a bit cracked down the center, like he actually cares. It’s enough to pull a laugh from Stiles, because, god, his subconscious is a fucking bastard, and that’s really not surprising at all.
“You were having a nightmare.”
Stiles still is having a nightmare, because Derek sounds about as bad as Stiles feels, which is just all kinds of hilarious because it’s so fucking impossible and so very, very cruel, and Stiles shakes his head. Wills himself to wake up. Flinches anew when he doesn’t. Hates himself for a moment with such ferocity it hurts. Bites back the tears that are threatening his vision, and then - shakes even harder when Derek shifts the tiniest bit away. Grabs Derek’s wrist without realizing what he’s doing. Thinks, distantly, that he’s a goddamn masochistic bastard - but he doesn’t want to be alone. If this is his dream, then he's going to damn well take whatever good he can out of it.
“Stay.”
For a moment, Derek doesn’t move, nothing but a shadow, lit by the streetlamp from outside - and then Stiles sees him nod, and Stiles stumbles to his feet. Pulls Derek to the couch and doesn’t question it when Derek lets himself be nudged down first. Crawls in beside him and bites down against a new flood of tears when the blanket is pulled back over him, and arms go tight around him, Derek breathing sharp and shaky against his neck and Stiles’ entire body aching from the inside out.
- - -
The first thing Stiles is aware of his warmth. The second is someone breathing against his neck, and arms wrapped around him. That’s about the point when he goes very still - only to have Derek, christ, shift a bit behind him, and swallow so hard Stiles can feel it all the way through him. For a moment, then, neither of them moves - until Stiles digs deep to find all the courage he has, his heart slamming so hard it hurts and his stomach swooping so badly it’s almost nauseating, and twists around in Derek’s arms until they’re face to face on the little couch. Loses the ability to breathe at the lost expression on Derek’s face, and then finds oxygen again when Derek’s eyes drop down to somewhere around his chest, and Stiles is acutely aware of every inch where they’re pressed together, and - jesus, is he still dreaming? Is this - how is this even possible -
“You didn’t want to be alone.”
Derek’s voice is rougher than Stiles has ever heard it, and Stiles hurts everywhere. Aches down to his bones at the sound of it. Closes his eyes, then opens them again, and Derek is still there. Feels real. Looks real, in the dim light of the room - must be just barely sunrise. Feels like - feels solid, and real, and, god, Stiles knows better, because this feels real, but it’s too good to be real.
“I - called Scott, while you were sleeping. Woke him up. He told me about your nightmares.”
“Derek -”
“I want you to -”
“How d-do I know - that this is r-real, that -”
“You’re the smartest person I know. Think it through. Dreaming, it - feels disjointed. Less clear. Blurred out around the edges. Like you’re trapped. Like you’re watching yourself in a movie. Right?”
“I -”
“Does this feel like that?”
And Stiles - stares at Derek, with inches between them, his body on fire and his mind turning in on itself, and thinks, no, it doesn’t. It feels clear - it feels real. He feels real. And he knows better than to trust it, but - but there is a difference, maybe. He thinks there’s a difference. He thinks Derek might be right - and the shuddery breath he takes rocks though him, relief making him weak. Decides to take a chance and have this be real. Only realizes he’s closes his eyes again when there’s a hand on his cheek, just for a second - but it’s enough to make him open them again, to find Derek staring at him. Still watching him, and waiting for an answer, and looking so solid.
“I - no. This feels - real. This - Derek. Jesus. How did you -”
“You’re not the only one who has nightmares.”
And with that - Stiles can feel his shaky heart break a bit more - Derek starts unwrapping his arms, drops his eyes and starts pulling away - and Stiles grabs on as tight as he can. Only realizes he’s clinging to Derek when Derek goes still and stares at him, so fucking close, his breath hot on Stiles’ face and his heart slamming in between them and his eyes wide and Derek has to be feeling what this is doing to Stiles - the relief, the closeness, it’s all too much, Stiles can feel himself starting to shake, everything inside him tangling into knots - and then he closes his eyes when Derek rubs a thumb against his arm, sending a wave of heat straight through him.
“Stiles.”
And there’s - nothing more. Derek sounds ragged, suddenly, and Stiles blinks back against the burn in his eyes. Swallows through the tightness in the back of his throat. The impossibility of it all - this is actually happening, this is - this is real, this is Derek shaking against him, too, just like Stiles is shaking, and - it gives Stiles the courage to put a hand on Derek’s cheek, losing his breath at the stubble under his palm. At the way Derek swallows hard, and stares at him, looking lost.
“I’m - not alone in this, then?”
For a moment, Derek doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. Barely seems to be breathing. Then, he shakes his head against Stiles’ palm, and tugs Stiles’ hand away from his face, breaking something inside Stiles - but Derek is still holding on to his wrist, so tight there will probably be bruises.
“I - you’re seventeen. I can’t -”
“I died, Derek. If you want this, too, then I’m more than old enough to say yes.”
He doesn’t know how he gets the words out - how his voice doesn’t completely fail him - but he thinks it might have something to do with being wanted back - and then Derek swallows again, and rubs his thumb in another circle against Stiles' wrist, the simple motion stealing away Stiles’ breath all over again.
“Not - now. You’re - just awake from a nightmare. I can’t -”
“Fine. Tonight, then.”
Derek makes a noise that sounds helpless, for all that it’s barely a huff of breath, his eyes still wide like Stiles has shocked him down to his core - and Stiles, carefully, tucks his head back in against Derek’s shoulder. Somehow coordinates his limbs over how hard his heart is slamming against his ribcage. Slides his wrist out of Derek’s grip and twines their fingers together - tugs Derek’s hand until his arm is draped over his side again - and then holds his breath until Derek swallows and nods against his hair, pulling Stiles back in close against his body - and Stiles just closes his eyes, buries his face into Derek’s neck, and lets Derek hold him.
- - -
When Stiles wakes up again, it’s because there’s a hand sliding along his back, and Derek’s voice is in his ear.
“Your father will be home soon. I need to leave.”
For a second, it doesn’t process - then it does, and Stiles shakes his head against Derek’s chest. Holds on a little bit tighter - the sleep is fading from his vision, and everything is warm and perfect and why is Derek leaving - and then Stiles finds himself being gently nudged away. Finds himself being maneuvered upright and set on his feet, the blanket falling down onto the carpet - and it hits him, suddenly, the entirety of what’s happening here. That Derek is still here - that he hadn’t run off while Stiles was asleep - and it’s enough to make something swoop low through Stiles’ stomach, as Derek - raises a hand to smooth his fingers through Stiles’ hair, before he clears his throat and steps back, his face something that looks like guilt and hope all at once.
“My phone will be on.”
Stiles doesn’t say anything - his voice seems to be gone, and his heart has climbed up into his throat - but he manages a nod; and then Derek stares at him for a moment, before he turns and walks out the front door, still wearing Stiles’ clothes, and Stiles - takes a deep, steadying breath, before he locks the door, and gathers up the blanket and pillows to lug them upstairs. Dumps it all onto his bed and then buries his face in the pillow that smells most like Derek, a smile tugging across his lips as he starts to fade off again, with Derek’s hands a phantom touch all over his body.
- - -
Later that day finds them leaning against Stiles’ jeep, overlooking the preserve, with Derek’s arms wrapped around him and Derek’s face in his hair, and Stiles’ heart jackrabbiting in his chest.
Stiles had given it the rest of the day - had stumbled through his classes, clinging to the memory of waking up in Derek’s arms, whenever the world around him had started to fade out of focus - before meeting Derek not far from the school. Derek had still looked exhausted and hurt, smudges under his eyes and his scruff even scruffier than normal, and he’d been wearing some kind of kicked puppy dog expression that a werewolf of his size and strength shouldn’t have been able to pull off - and they’d made it only as far as the preserve before Stiles had put his baby in park, taken Derek’s hand, and tugged him out of the jeep. Had somehow found the courage to nudge Derek up against the jeep until Derek’s arms were around him, pressed front to front with Stiles’ face buried in Derek’s neck, just like when they’d woken up - and it takes everything Stiles has to make his voice work, with the strength of Derek’s body pressed all along him.
“I’m saying yes, Derek. Free of any external influence. So if you want this, then -”
“Yes.”
It sounds like it almost hurts Derek to say it, sounds like it’s been bitten out, but Stiles - really wouldn’t expect anything less. Knows that this is going to be unbelievably complicated - but if Derek wants to try, then Stiles will give this everything he has. Pulls back to look up at Derek - and finds Derek looking all kinds of conflicted, but still with something that looks a bit like hope; and it’s enough to tug a smile to Stiles’ lips. Enough to give him the courage to find the right words, even through the way his heart is beating hard enough to nearly choke him.
“So, can I kiss you, then?”
For a moment, Derek just stares at him - and then he nods, his lips parting on a breath in a way that looks damn near obscene, and Stiles leans up to press their mouths together, the scratch of Derek’s stubble sending heat through him - and then he bites back a groan when Derek exhales sharply and pulls him in closer, their lips moving together in a way that sends aches all across Stiles’ body. It lasts mere seconds, but it feels like flying, feels like every stupid romantic cliché ever - and when Stiles pulls back again, Derek’s hands are tight on his back, and Derek’s looking at him like Stiles has done something amazing; and Stiles really can’t ask for more than that. Grins up at Derek until he gets a small smile in return; and then he closes his eyes again and presses his face back against Derek’s shoulder, and just lets Derek hold him, keeping him safe.