Fic: Wild Declarations of Friendship, pre-Derek/Stiles, PG
Title: Wild Declarations of Friendship
Pairing: pre-Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG
Additional tags: angst, trauma, mental health issues, past torture, Stiles is an awesome friend, coda to More Bad Than Good.
Summary: And that is - so Stiles. Someone he barely tolerates calling him up in the middle of the night, after a month of not talking, and - here he is, not saying a word of judgement about it. Not doing anything more than breathe in Derek’s ear and sound genuinely concerned; and it’s enough to clear some of the fog in front of his eyes. Enough to calm his breathing a little bit. Gives him something to focus on, beyond the chainsaw buzz that seems stuck under his skin.
Derek’s no stranger to cheating death, but nearly being carved up with a chainsaw is a new one. for him It’s the only reason he can think of for why he calls Stiles as soon as he’s free. The only reason for why he has his finger on the button as soon as Braeden and Peter give him some space. It’s three in the morning and he’s alone in one of the other rooms while the two of them bicker, and he can’t stop the low swoop in his stomach at the sound of Stiles’ voice on the other end of the line.
“… Derek?”
He - doesn’t sound sleepy, oddly enough. Sounds - Derek doesn’t know what he sounds like, but he thinks it’s more confused than anything; and he has a moment of hating himself for calling. Hates himself for being this fucking far gone over a seventeen-year-old boy - and then takes a deep breath and does his best to not just hang up again. Sometime between day four and day fourteen of being carved apart, over and over and over again, he’d finally lost the strength to keep pretending, where Stiles was concerned - and now he has no fucking idea how to go back.
“Scott tried to reach me.”
It’s - probably not the best to open with, and it sounds like it’s been ground between his teeth, but Derek is shit at this. Has given up on pretending otherwise. Knows damn well that - as much as Stiles reeks of arousal, whenever he’s around him - he and Scott only talk to him because he’s been forced into their lives. He’s not someone that people talk to, unless they need his help, or want to use him - and then there’s a sigh in his ear, and Derek wrenches his thoughts back to the present.
“Nah, man - s’all good. Crisis averted. Where the hell are you, anyway?”
And Derek - can’t quite speak, suddenly. His chest is tight, and his stomach is hurting, and - he sucks in a shaky breath, and puts a hand against the wall, and - god, no, he’s better than this. Knows how to handle pain, how to handle death, how to handle people wanting to cut him up -
“Derek? You - okay?”
And that is - so Stiles. Someone he barely tolerates calling him up in the middle of the night, after a month of not talking, and - here he is, not saying a word of judgement about it. Not doing anything more than breathe in Derek’s ear and sound genuinely concerned; and it’s enough to clear some of the fog in front of his eyes. Enough to calm his breathing a little bit. Gives him something to focus on, beyond the chainsaw buzz that seems stuck under his skin. He’s not quite going into shock - he’s been there, before, and he knows the signs - but he’s still shaking, just a bit. Hopes like hell that Peter is too occupied to hear the way his heartbeat is out of control.
“I - we were captured. Deaucalion sent Braeden to free us. I don’t know why, but -”
“Did they hurt you?”
Stiles sounds incredibly small, suddenly, and it immediately reminds Derek of why he should never have called in the first place - because this kind of false hope is a particularly awful kind of hell. Reminds himself that he needs to not delude himself where this kid is concerned. Stiles is a reluctant ally who happens to think he’s hot, and Derek damn well needs to remember that.
“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. I heal.”
“Not the point, you know. Maybe you should get your ass back here so I can take care of you.”
It sounds more serious than anything else, and Derek takes a deep breath as he gets his hand off the wall. Straightens up and imagines Stiles lying in his bed, alone - and realizes he wants to be there so badly it aches. Wants to know when, exactly, Stiles went from being Scott’s annoying kid friend to someone that Derek genuinely trusts. Someone who’s saved his life time and again, and who - for all his sarcasm and scathing humour - loves his friends so much it hurts to watch.
“Derek?”
“I - right. I just wanted - be careful. You and Scott and Isaac. If Deucalion freed us, then -”
“Derek.”
“- there must be a reason -”
“Look, man - maybe I’m only brave enough to say this because it’s 3 am and I haven’t heard your wonderfully growly voice for months, but - I actually kind of really miss you, you know.”
And that is - that is Derek’s lungs not working properly. That is something inside him sprouting wings and crash landing at the same time. This is him crushing on a goddamn teenager - and it doesn’t matter that he thought he’d been too broken to ever feel anything like this again. Doesn’t matter that Stiles’ mere existence is helping to heal something that he thought had been lost forever. What matters is that Derek needs to never let Stiles know just what kind of impact he’s having. Needs to not be standing here with his eyes closed and his hand back on the wall, exhausted, hurting; and while he doesn’t want to go home, he doesn’t want to be away anymore, either.
“Um, did I… you’re sounding - a little too quiet, there. Should I have held off on the wild declarations of friendship?”
“Friendship.”
“I - well, yeah. I -”
“You barely tolerate me.”
“I - wow, Derek. You’ve got a fucking shitty opinion of me, don’t you?”
“That’s not -”
“Come on, man. Would I keep saving your ass if I didn’t care?”
“I’m useful.”
He wants to bite it back the second it’s out. Maybe he’s more rattled than he thought. Maybe -
“Useful?”
Stiles’ voice actually cracks on the word, and Derek can’t stop a wince. Only realizes he might be squeezing the phone a bit too hard when it bends a little under his fingers. Knows that he - yeah, there’s definitely something off, right now. And he still seems to be shaking a little bit. Closes his eyes and lets himself lean against the wall. He’s not chained to it, anymore. That’s good.
“Jesus christ. Alright. So - wow, Derek. Holy crap. I think you and I need to have a thing. A thing where we have regular phone calls - with words and everything, and maybe even actual feelings - so I can start driving into your head the fact that you’re more than just useful, god -”
It’s bitten off - sounds like Stiles is just barely holding himself back from a continued rant - and Derek’s smile feels too-wide and foreign on his face. Feels off kilter. Feels good. Closes his eyes and leans harder against the wall, listening to Stiles breathing too quickly in his ear - like he actually cares. Like Derek does mean something to him, and Derek’s an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t know if that’s the correct response - it gets a noise from Stiles that sounds a bit strangled - and then Braden steps back into the room; and Derek straightens back up. Needs to get himself back together. Nods at her, and then presses the phone a little harder to his ear.
“I need to go. Be careful. If Deucalion -”
“Yeah, we got this. You just take care of yourself, alright? I want you in one piece the next time I see you.”
“I - right. I’ll -”
“I’m keeping an eye on the loft, of course. And if you’re not coming back here, then, hey - I’m always up for a road trip?”
It a question - no way around that - and Derek has a moment of wishing, desperately, that he could smell Stiles, and hear his heartbeat. Doesn’t know what’s going on here. Doesn’t know why tonight, of all nights, Stiles has chosen to turn his world inside out. Doesn’t know how he finally seems to have something good in his life. Glances over to where Braeden’s frowning at him - and even as she walks back out of the room, Derek tries to take a steadying breath. Knows that Stiles can’t come here. Whatever he and Peter have been drawn into, it’s not going to be good.
“Look - Stiles. I -”
“Hey, no - it’s okay, it was a stupid idea, anyway. I didn’t -”
“It’s too dangerous here. But -” I miss you “- I’ll try to visit. When I can.”
“That so?”
It sounds like Stiles is smiling, now - sounds pleased and fond and all manners of things that Derek can’t really deal with right now - and he takes another deep breath and closes his eyes again.
“Take care of yourself, Stiles.”
He hits the off button before he can stop himself - before he says anything more damning - and then makes himself take a moment to get himself back together. Breathes through the way that his stomach is hurting in ways that he think might be good, for once - and then he pockets his phone, squares his shoulders as best he can, and walks out of the room, Stiles’ voice still soft in his ear.
Pairing: pre-Derek/Stiles
Rating: PG
Additional tags: angst, trauma, mental health issues, past torture, Stiles is an awesome friend, coda to More Bad Than Good.
Summary: And that is - so Stiles. Someone he barely tolerates calling him up in the middle of the night, after a month of not talking, and - here he is, not saying a word of judgement about it. Not doing anything more than breathe in Derek’s ear and sound genuinely concerned; and it’s enough to clear some of the fog in front of his eyes. Enough to calm his breathing a little bit. Gives him something to focus on, beyond the chainsaw buzz that seems stuck under his skin.
Derek’s no stranger to cheating death, but nearly being carved up with a chainsaw is a new one. for him It’s the only reason he can think of for why he calls Stiles as soon as he’s free. The only reason for why he has his finger on the button as soon as Braeden and Peter give him some space. It’s three in the morning and he’s alone in one of the other rooms while the two of them bicker, and he can’t stop the low swoop in his stomach at the sound of Stiles’ voice on the other end of the line.
“… Derek?”
He - doesn’t sound sleepy, oddly enough. Sounds - Derek doesn’t know what he sounds like, but he thinks it’s more confused than anything; and he has a moment of hating himself for calling. Hates himself for being this fucking far gone over a seventeen-year-old boy - and then takes a deep breath and does his best to not just hang up again. Sometime between day four and day fourteen of being carved apart, over and over and over again, he’d finally lost the strength to keep pretending, where Stiles was concerned - and now he has no fucking idea how to go back.
“Scott tried to reach me.”
It’s - probably not the best to open with, and it sounds like it’s been ground between his teeth, but Derek is shit at this. Has given up on pretending otherwise. Knows damn well that - as much as Stiles reeks of arousal, whenever he’s around him - he and Scott only talk to him because he’s been forced into their lives. He’s not someone that people talk to, unless they need his help, or want to use him - and then there’s a sigh in his ear, and Derek wrenches his thoughts back to the present.
“Nah, man - s’all good. Crisis averted. Where the hell are you, anyway?”
And Derek - can’t quite speak, suddenly. His chest is tight, and his stomach is hurting, and - he sucks in a shaky breath, and puts a hand against the wall, and - god, no, he’s better than this. Knows how to handle pain, how to handle death, how to handle people wanting to cut him up -
“Derek? You - okay?”
And that is - so Stiles. Someone he barely tolerates calling him up in the middle of the night, after a month of not talking, and - here he is, not saying a word of judgement about it. Not doing anything more than breathe in Derek’s ear and sound genuinely concerned; and it’s enough to clear some of the fog in front of his eyes. Enough to calm his breathing a little bit. Gives him something to focus on, beyond the chainsaw buzz that seems stuck under his skin. He’s not quite going into shock - he’s been there, before, and he knows the signs - but he’s still shaking, just a bit. Hopes like hell that Peter is too occupied to hear the way his heartbeat is out of control.
“I - we were captured. Deaucalion sent Braeden to free us. I don’t know why, but -”
“Did they hurt you?”
Stiles sounds incredibly small, suddenly, and it immediately reminds Derek of why he should never have called in the first place - because this kind of false hope is a particularly awful kind of hell. Reminds himself that he needs to not delude himself where this kid is concerned. Stiles is a reluctant ally who happens to think he’s hot, and Derek damn well needs to remember that.
“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. I heal.”
“Not the point, you know. Maybe you should get your ass back here so I can take care of you.”
It sounds more serious than anything else, and Derek takes a deep breath as he gets his hand off the wall. Straightens up and imagines Stiles lying in his bed, alone - and realizes he wants to be there so badly it aches. Wants to know when, exactly, Stiles went from being Scott’s annoying kid friend to someone that Derek genuinely trusts. Someone who’s saved his life time and again, and who - for all his sarcasm and scathing humour - loves his friends so much it hurts to watch.
“Derek?”
“I - right. I just wanted - be careful. You and Scott and Isaac. If Deucalion freed us, then -”
“Derek.”
“- there must be a reason -”
“Look, man - maybe I’m only brave enough to say this because it’s 3 am and I haven’t heard your wonderfully growly voice for months, but - I actually kind of really miss you, you know.”
And that is - that is Derek’s lungs not working properly. That is something inside him sprouting wings and crash landing at the same time. This is him crushing on a goddamn teenager - and it doesn’t matter that he thought he’d been too broken to ever feel anything like this again. Doesn’t matter that Stiles’ mere existence is helping to heal something that he thought had been lost forever. What matters is that Derek needs to never let Stiles know just what kind of impact he’s having. Needs to not be standing here with his eyes closed and his hand back on the wall, exhausted, hurting; and while he doesn’t want to go home, he doesn’t want to be away anymore, either.
“Um, did I… you’re sounding - a little too quiet, there. Should I have held off on the wild declarations of friendship?”
“Friendship.”
“I - well, yeah. I -”
“You barely tolerate me.”
“I - wow, Derek. You’ve got a fucking shitty opinion of me, don’t you?”
“That’s not -”
“Come on, man. Would I keep saving your ass if I didn’t care?”
“I’m useful.”
He wants to bite it back the second it’s out. Maybe he’s more rattled than he thought. Maybe -
“Useful?”
Stiles’ voice actually cracks on the word, and Derek can’t stop a wince. Only realizes he might be squeezing the phone a bit too hard when it bends a little under his fingers. Knows that he - yeah, there’s definitely something off, right now. And he still seems to be shaking a little bit. Closes his eyes and lets himself lean against the wall. He’s not chained to it, anymore. That’s good.
“Jesus christ. Alright. So - wow, Derek. Holy crap. I think you and I need to have a thing. A thing where we have regular phone calls - with words and everything, and maybe even actual feelings - so I can start driving into your head the fact that you’re more than just useful, god -”
It’s bitten off - sounds like Stiles is just barely holding himself back from a continued rant - and Derek’s smile feels too-wide and foreign on his face. Feels off kilter. Feels good. Closes his eyes and leans harder against the wall, listening to Stiles breathing too quickly in his ear - like he actually cares. Like Derek does mean something to him, and Derek’s an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t know if that’s the correct response - it gets a noise from Stiles that sounds a bit strangled - and then Braden steps back into the room; and Derek straightens back up. Needs to get himself back together. Nods at her, and then presses the phone a little harder to his ear.
“I need to go. Be careful. If Deucalion -”
“Yeah, we got this. You just take care of yourself, alright? I want you in one piece the next time I see you.”
“I - right. I’ll -”
“I’m keeping an eye on the loft, of course. And if you’re not coming back here, then, hey - I’m always up for a road trip?”
It a question - no way around that - and Derek has a moment of wishing, desperately, that he could smell Stiles, and hear his heartbeat. Doesn’t know what’s going on here. Doesn’t know why tonight, of all nights, Stiles has chosen to turn his world inside out. Doesn’t know how he finally seems to have something good in his life. Glances over to where Braeden’s frowning at him - and even as she walks back out of the room, Derek tries to take a steadying breath. Knows that Stiles can’t come here. Whatever he and Peter have been drawn into, it’s not going to be good.
“Look - Stiles. I -”
“Hey, no - it’s okay, it was a stupid idea, anyway. I didn’t -”
“It’s too dangerous here. But -” I miss you “- I’ll try to visit. When I can.”
“That so?”
It sounds like Stiles is smiling, now - sounds pleased and fond and all manners of things that Derek can’t really deal with right now - and he takes another deep breath and closes his eyes again.
“Take care of yourself, Stiles.”
He hits the off button before he can stop himself - before he says anything more damning - and then makes himself take a moment to get himself back together. Breathes through the way that his stomach is hurting in ways that he think might be good, for once - and then he pockets his phone, squares his shoulders as best he can, and walks out of the room, Stiles’ voice still soft in his ear.