How Scared I Was Part Five: "Who Are You?"
Series: How Scared I Was
Chapter Title: Who Are You?
Part: 5/5
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: Derek/Stiles; Mervin Cunnick (OC), Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Sheriff Stilinski.
Rating: PG-15
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Summary: Stiles woke up to the rumbling sound of Derek's growl and an unfamiliar voice talking about tits and mojo.
Warnings: un-betaed. Creepiness.
Previous
Mervin tended to not come out this way all that often. By 'out this way' he meant America, of course. He was only out here because a friend of a friend needed some help or a second pair of eyes or something. Who better to call than him, really? He'd never met the guy he was supposed to be meeting, but his friend told him that he was good enough to warrant his visit all the way from Cardiff. He shifted in the cab's seat, his face showing that there was no love lost for the American ways of things. Cabs had been better across the pond the entire time-plus you could fit more people into one back home. This one fit him and his bags (yes, bags-plural-after 119 years on this planet you tended to acquire a large amount of stuff, to be fair though, most of it was trades materials).
It was the town of Beacon Hills that this cab was taking him to-a place that might as well have been called West Bumfuck because he had no idea where he was except that he was still in California. He slouched down in the backseat of the cab, hazel eyes flitting from the view of the windshield to the view out of the windows of the back doors. They drove along like that for long enough for Mervin to nod off. When he awoke it wasn't to the cab reaching his destination, it was to an ache in his gut and a pull toward the side of the road that seemed to be all forest.
In all his time he'd experienced this only a few times-one of which being when his brother was involved in the accident that killed him. It wasn't all that unusual for someone like him to have such reactions to hauntings-it was actually quite common. What wasn't all that common was someone willing to drop whatever it was they were doing and deal with it for free. Mervin happened to be like that, but only since his brother passed on. To him it just didn't seem like an option to just leave it and let someone else deal with it. He sat up in his seat and cleared his throat, directing the driver toward the source of the pain in his stomach. The driver didn't seem all that displeased by the change in direction, but then he wouldn't as he well expected to be paid.
When they reached the husk of a house that looked like it might be in the process of getting cleaned up again, the cab driver pulled to a stop and Mervin paid him well. He hauled his bags out and dumped them near the edge of what used to be a porch, but now just seemed to be a rotting death-trap. He watched the tail end of the taxi bump off down the place again, though Mervin was sure the driver was looking back at him and thinking he was nuts. He turned his hazel eyes back to the cars that were parked in a curve around the side of the house. His anti-social nature made him cringe away from dealing with it. The ache in his gut made him power through his misgivings, though.
He left his bags where they were, smoothed his platinum blonde hair down on his head, not appreciating the slight breeze that fluffed it up in the opposite direction. He hated it when he had any in his face. His hands were pushed into his pants pockets as he hopped up the stairs that creaked under his admittedly light weight. He pushed open the red, paint peeling door from it's position of almost-latched. They were probably wannabe ghost hunters or some stupid teenagers-either way they had stirred something up recently that they had no clue how to handle. Mervin released a breath and tried to roll some of the tension out of his shoulders. He took a few steps into the 'house' and stopped as the door past the stairs flew open and the kids piled out.
Mervin knew they hadn't quite seen him yet-but when they did they had all piled through the door already. The adult of the group (had they called him because they were scared, or was he just weird?) was carrying the body of a recently possessed boy bridal style. Mervin just settled his eyes on the boy and glanced about, pulling his hand from his pocket to point to an old couch that had yet to be gotten rid of. It was green and missing it's cushions, but it was better than the floor.
“Put him there, he'll wake up in a bit.” The answer was one he figured he'd get, but was unwelcome anyway. The adult took on a threatened air and basically growled as he ground out his words.
“Who the hell are you? Get off my property.” Ah, so he'd been there the whole time then. Brilliant. A panicked adult was just what he wanted to deal with. The rest of the kids were wary of him, admittedly, but they seemed to be looking toward the adult for what they should do. It was a little off-not like a regular gang of teens looking up to the older, more mature neighborhood guy. Mervin couldn't put his finger on it, though. His accent was thick as he spoke again.
“Look, do you want help or not? Because the way I see it you're up to your tits in bad mojo and I'm the only one here who knows anything about stopping it.”
{break}
Stiles woke up to the rumbling sound of Derek's growl and an unfamiliar voice talking about tits and mojo. He was quite befuddled, so it could have been his imagination running a commentary about how haunted this house was. Groggily he moved to sit up, his whole body aching. The pack was standing in a ring around him, facing toward the door. His head hurt the worst, and how was it that they had gotten up here anyway? The last thing he remembered was unceremoniously face-planting on the cement floor of the basement.
“Nnnnniirrrggghh.” Okay, so he wasn't quite capable of speech yet. Everyone had heard him, but only Allison moved to sit beside him and put a supportive arm behind his back. He leaned into her gratefully and blinked as the world came into focus. There was definitely someone new here. His voice was coarse and lower than normal when he finally tried speaking again. “What's going on?”
Allison shifted to peek around the side of Scott presumably to get a good view of what was going on. When she turned back to Stiles, she spoke under her breath. He had to lean in close to hear her. “Some guy is here.”
Some guy? Some guy. Stiles went to lean to get a good look, but he ended up crashing back to the sofa, the view consisted of all legs. The 'Some Guy' was wearing jeans-stylish, but clearly comfortable too. Stiles tried to cant his head in order to see up, but the best he got was a view of Derek's ass (which wasn't so bad in itself). His head was still pounding and trying to follow the conversation seemed like it was out of the question. Until, for some reason, the stylish jeans advanced on the group and Derek actually moved out of the way.
Hazel eyes peered into his brown ones and Stiles jerked backward, only to be met with a hand cupping the back of his head. Derek was the one who spoke, standing off to the side, but watching what was happening like a hawk. “It's okay, Stiles. Just let him.”
Still uncertain of what exactly this guy was doing here and why he was studying Stiles like a particularly interesting piece of art, Stiles reluctantly did as he was told. He wasn't really prepared for the barrage of questions that the man started in on.
“Did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt?”
“Don't answer questions with questions-did the possession hurt you?”
Stiles shook his head, but found that sent the world spinning more violently than it had before. Even though he wasn't sure how this guy knew about what had happened, he swallowed thickly and answered. “It didn't when it happened. It hurts now, though.”
“How does it hurt?”
It was hard enough trying to concentrate when people were talking, but this was already starting to get irritating. “My head hurts. Dizzy, hard to concentrate.”
'Some Guy' nodded and frowned as he felt around on Stiles' head. It would have felt like a really nice massage except for the fact that Stiles wasn't sure if he should really be trusting this guy. He glanced over at Derek when the next question came.
“Do you know who it was?”
He had more than an inkling, based on what had happened. His voice came out a little strangled. “Yes.”
The stranger frowned again and prompted him to sit up on his own. “Who was it?”
Derek stepped in. “That doesn't matter. Is he alright?”
The man, who Stiles thought must have either a hefty pair of balls or was just lacking in brains, straightened up and stepped right up to be in Derek's face. “I think I'll be the one to determine what information is necessary, thank you.”
Then he waited a second until Derek had swallowed back his pride and took a step back, lowering his gaze (and since when did Derek step down from anyone?), and then spoke again. “He'll be fine.”
And suddenly there was a duffle bag where Stiles was sure there hadn't been before. The guy turned back to him as Stiles was trying to figure out in his head if the bag was haunted or if anyone else had noticed it just appearing there or not. “Now. Who was it?”
Stiles jerked his head back to look up at the man who was crossing over to the bag and bending down to open it up. Stiles frowned and glanced at Derek again (who wasn't meeting his eyes) and answered much more quietly than he usually would have. “Derek's family.”
He swallowed back the rest of the answer and stared at the duffle bag that the man was rifling through. The man looked up at him and Stiles felt compelled to meet his eyes, even if his Alpha wouldn't. The man gave a thin smile and rose to his feet, crossing the distance. His voice was soft, enticing in a way that Stiles hadn't encountered since his Mom, when he was little. “Who was it?”
Stiles practically choked on the words coming out of his mouth, his mind fully on how this would effect Derek. He couldn't have his Alpha seem weak in front of a newcomer. He absolutely couldn't. “The Hale family.”
The man came down to his level, their faces only about six inches apart. Stiles felt trapped in a way he hadn't felt since Peter Hale had him in the parking garage. The man's voice was the same soft, almost plaintive tone. “Who was it, Stiles?”
He just broke, like he hadn't been resisting that hard to begin with even though he had. The words rushed out and his eyes closed hard after them. “Derek's Mom.”
He didn't see the satisfied smile rising to the man's lips, nor Derek's head jerking up, eyes landing on Stiles as he sat, defeated on the couch. He only opened his eyes after the man had backed off again and Allison took to rubbing his back in a consoling way. Everyone seemed to not be looking anywhere near Derek, who's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
The rest of the pack stood around stupidly until Derek moved over to the man and spoke in a low voice with him. It was then, when Stiles really wanted to overhear the conversation, that the pack gathered around and was poking and prodding him to make sure he was okay. He wanted to bat them away like the annoying gnats they were pretending to be, but the look in Allison's eyes and the cage that they were making around him made him just give in. They didn't talk much, but just consoled him with touches, the way that they had always seemed to do whenever anyone needed it. In the back of his head Stiles knew it to be a wolf sort of thing, but the cat part of him wasn't objecting, so maybe it was just more of a friend thing.
Whatever Derek and the stranger had spoken about, they seemed to be in agreement. Derek came back to the pack and spoke in the same low voice to them as he'd been using with the man across the room. “We all need to go back down there.”
His voice was rough with some emotion, but he wasn't letting anyone see past the armored exterior he wore as an Alpha. Stiles maybe knew better than most that he was doing this for the pack's benefit. He was hurting inside. Scott was the only one to offer any resistance to the idea, and even that was short lived.
“Are you-” Scott didn't get much further than that when Derek looked over at him.
“Yes. Now get down there.” He was, perhaps, a bit harder about it than he needed to be but it sure got the pack moving. Stiles didn't even attempt to get up, he just looked between the strange man who was pulling a lot of weird items out of his bag and Derek, who seemed to be waiting for everyone to do as he said. Allison had lingered for a moment, but as soon as Scott looked back to see if she was coming, she was on her feet and leaving Stiles with Derek.
Derek refused to meet his eyes. Stiles decided that pushing probably wasn't the best answer, so he went for a subject he was still unclear on. “So who is this guy?”
He ran his hand over his buzzed hair and worried at his lower lip. He was gazing at the man, but he still felt Derek's eyes on him. Derek's voice was even more rough when he spoke. “His name is Mervin.”
Stiles chanced a look at his boyfriend and showed the concern written on his face. Then he smiled, somehow finding a miniscule amount of humour in the situation. “Mervin?”
He shifted, bringing himself closer to the edge of the couch and beginning to try to stand up on his own. Derek took his hand and helped him up, steadying him with hands on his shoulders. Derek didn't seem to get what was so funny about the name. Stiles dropped it and the smile. “And what's happening?”
This made Derek's jaw muscles tighten for a moment, making Stiles pause and wonder if maybe he shouldn't be speaking at all. He didn't seem to be doing a good job of being sensitive. Derek answered before he could think of how to take it back.
“He's going to get rid of them.” Derek's eyes flicked toward the stairs that led down toward the basement and tunnels. Stiles' stomach flipped as he momentarily thought he was talking about the pack.
Derek's hands disappeared and Stiles realized he was staring at the door with severe trepidation. He turned his head to meet Derek's eyes. Obviously not the pack. Obviously the ghosts. Obviously.
“Are you sure?”
Derek seemed about to speak, but Mervin walked over, a jar of something in his hands. “He's sure.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes, not sure he fully trusted this guy. After all, he'd only interrogated Stiles and made Derek look foolish in front of the pack. Stiles glanced back at Derek who was once again not meeting his eyes. Okay, enough was fucking enough. He turned back to Mervin and spoke firmly. “How about you not interrupt a private conversation, okay buddy?”
This seemed to get Derek's attention, but Mervin just shrugged and wandered away again. Derek was frowning at him. Stiles took a ragged breath and turned back to his boyfriend. “Why are you doing this, if you aren't sure?”
Derek seemed to be frustrated for a moment and turned a glare on him; Stiles thought about backing down, but Derek's gaze softened and he spoke even more quietly than before. Stiles only just heard his answer.
“He knows more about this stuff than you do. He's in the position to do something about it.”
Stiles wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort him or not. Besides, that wasn't even an answer. He spoke in the same low tone. “That isn't really an answer, dude.”
Derek shifted uncomfortably and Jackson was peaking up from the doorway, presumably to see what was taking them so long. “Just-trust me, okay?”
Stiles studied him for a moment before relenting. This wasn't easy for Derek, anyone could see that, but this wasn't the time to be questioning him. He attempted a few steps on his own before Derek had his arm around his waist and helped him along. The pack seemed relieved that they were finally on their way; Stiles didn't blame them.
{break}
The swirling wasn't just in his head, he was sure of that. On his knees in the middle of a circle drawn on the floor, Mervin's hand hovering over his head. All he really wanted was to stop the place from spinning-maybe have Derek wrapped around him too. He simultaneously felt like he had been stripped raw and yet he felt so distant, so far away from everything that was happening. Mervin didn't look happy as he spoke what he had explained to be a Catholic Exorcism in Latin.
“Dómine sancte,” Mervin's accent wasn't one Stiles was familiar with, but it sounded funny with the Latin. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He gasped for air and tried to curl in around himself but something kept him from doing so. He was locked in place, not even able to look anywhere but at Mervin-the bastard-but he felt how uneasy the rest of the pack was at what was happening.
The sun had begun setting a while ago, but none of the peachy-orange light was reaching down into the basement, even with the door open at the top of the stairs. The only light came from some bare light bulbs strung along the walls, the way they had been since way back when Derek was held captive here by Kate Argent. Stiles wasn't sure if that knowledge made it even more eerie or if it was the fact that he felt like he was being tortured now, but it certainly didn't help him feel any better. He just couldn't get his breath back, his muscles rigid against whatever was holding him in place.
“Da, Dómine,” Another sucker punch, expelling all of the air he had in his lungs. His jaw was locked, but not due to whatever was holding the rest of him still-it just hurt too damn much to even try to speak. Why had he been okay with this again? This was not fucking okay. His claws shinked out, his jaw finally unlocking at Mervin went on and on in Latin. A gut-wrenching scream: low and more cat-like than human, poured from his mouth. He was vaguely aware, through the pain, of the fact that his world had gone greyscale and his teeth were a lot longer and sharper.
The yells continued to rip from him, his throat going raw and rough quickly. The pain just wasn't stopping, the swirling around was getting more intense. Darkness started seeping in to the edges of his vision, the lights lining the walls winking out one by one until he felt his eyes roll up into his head. His body stayed right where it was, but his muscles lost some of their tenseness, only going taut every so often, when a new wave of pain broke over his body.
{break}
That Stiles kid was one of the most brave people Mervin had ever met. He knew full well when going into it that he would likely feel the repercussions of the exorcism. He'd still gone right on ahead, which pretty much guaranteed that no more spirits would be lingering in, on or around this old, falling down house. As soon as the exorcism had ended, Derek Hale had rushed to him and wasn't letting anyone else near him for a while. Mervin wasn't an idiot, he knew that supernatural creatures existed, he just wasn't sure what these people were-he didn't recognize what that boy Stiles had half turned into during the exorcism. It had looked vaguely like the werewolves he'd heard about, but he couldn't be sure, having never met one before. He didn't think too hard on it, he just packed up his stuff and let them deal with Stiles. The kid would be alright.
Once again they were on the main floor of the house (Mervin might have been somewhat afraid of falling through the floor, but he was ready with a levitation spell on the tip of his tongue). Stiles was deposited on the same couch as before, but he was going to be out for a while, Mervin was sure of it. Derek then approached him as the rest of the kids took care of Stiles. Mervin straightened up from tucking his book away and extended a hand toward Derek. The man didn't seem to want to take it, but he did out of politeness.
“What do you want?” Derek's gruff tone had Mervin snort and shake his head.
“Why do you think I want anything?” Mervin caught the evaluating look Derek was giving him and he went on. “Look, you needed help, I gave you help. Now I'll be on my way. I have a friend to meet up with here.”
Derek didn't seem to want to just let it go like that, but Mervin wasn't going to let him keep going on like that. He put his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows at the man. “How about this, then. You owe me one and I'll call you up when I have something in mind.”
Derek seemed to accept this, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “Alright.”
Mervin pulled out his phone (and how awesome were these gadgets, really?) and took down Derek Hale's number. It was surprising how many contacts he had in his phone, considering his anti-social nature. He didn't linger much longer, just gathered his stuff and waited outside with it until the cab he called had picked him up.
{break}
When Stiles finally started blinking awake, he was in the back of the Camaro, listening to the engine purr and Derek singing along softly to a Katy Perry song. He shifted, but his muscles felt like he'd run four miles and wasn't actually a WerKatze. He groaned softly and pulled at the leather jacket that was draped over him. It smelled strongly of Derek and put him at ease. He fell back asleep until the Camaro was parked and the ignition was turned off. Groggily he saw Derek lean back and brush his knuckles over his forehead. It was the kind of tender touch that Derek only gave when no one else was around. Stiles relaxed again and shut his eyes.
When he finally woke up it was the middle of the night, Derek was curled around him in their bed at Derek's rent-a-house. Stiles rolled over and tangled his legs with his boyfriend's, reaching up to thread his fingers in Derek's thick, dark hair. Stiles was pushing what happened as far out of his mind as possible, choosing to let his questions go unspoken for once and just cuddle up to the Alpha werewolf.
{break}
The pack, minus Derek because he didn't go to Beacon Hills High School, pretty much escorted him everywhere the next day. Stiles was exhausted, and reasonably so seeing as he had been possessed twice during one evening. He went through school in a haze and got driven home by Jackson with him and Lydia fawning over him, making sure he was comfortable until his Dad would get home. He was thankful, but at the same time he just wanted to sleep. So he did, until the Cruiser pulling into the driveway woke him up.
He was at the door in seconds, looking fully alert and holding it open for his Dad, whom he knew was going to be pissed about him not showing up last night. He'd have to come up with something good to be forgiven. His Dad hardly looked at him the whole time he was sorting through a stack of files in his hands. It looked like a work from home night-Stiles would have to start getting dinner ready. He ended up not having to explain anything to his Dad, who immersed himself in work even through a plate of Chicken Parmesan being placed in front of him.
A week later and Derek hadn't dragged them out to work on the house yet. Stiles was popping grapes into his mouth and reading his Trigonometry notes to make sure he knew what he was doing when he was reminded of it. He looked up from his book to watch Derek flipping through a mechanic's magazine. It wasn't that unusual, but it was a new one, so Stiles was curious. He didn't let it deter him from his mission, though. “So what are we doing about the house?”
Derek looked up sharply, snapping the magazine shut and flicking it onto the table effortlessly. Stiles wished he was that cool. He always managed to look like he was trying way too hard whenever he attempted something like that. “I got a call from one of the companies I tried to hire before. They're going to start in this Monday.”
Derek had long since learned to just tell Stiles everything at once and that way he wouldn't have to keep answering his questions. He got up from the couch and crossed the tiled floor with bare feet, leaning on the counter next to Stiles and gestured to his textbook. “You done yet? I'm getting hungry.”
Stiles glanced at the clock and snorted. “You're always hungry.” Then he jotted down something on his paper, “Just two more questions.”
Derek lingered for a moment, and then skirted around the counter, diving into the fridge. Stiles looked up with a frown. “Hey, no spoiling dinner.”
The fridge closed again and Stiles turned back to his homework. Derek was leaning across the counter now, appearing to be reading his textbook upside down. Stiles raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Derek met his eyes for a moment, then went back to sitting on the couch. Stiles finished the math homework and shut his textbook, paper tucked inside with his answers on it. He shoved it back into his bag and got up from the stool. “So are we meeting everyone there?”
Derek nodded, having gone back to flipping through his magazine. Stiles dropped his bag by the door and sunk down on the cushion beside him. He reached over and tapped the page, distracting Derek from reading. “So what's this then?”
Derek shrugged. “I got a job.”
This threw Stiles for a loop. He sputtered. “You got a job? When? Where?”
Derek was trying to change the shit-eating grin he was currently wearing into a menacing grimace, but it wasn't working too well. Stiles' eyes narrowed slightly, “Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?”
Derek's grin had abated somewhat when he answered. “Because I only got the call today, while you were in school. It's that car place down near the police station.”
Stiles frowned a little. “This police station, or my Dad's?”
Derek leaned in and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “My Dad's, isn't it? Are you trying to give him a heart attack or something? He still doesn't think you're totally innocent.”
His boyfriend just smirked and leaned in to give him a deep, rather filthy (but oh so wonderful) kiss and nibble his jaw. “Come on, we all know I'm not innocent.”
Chapter Title: Who Are You?
Part: 5/5
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: Derek/Stiles; Mervin Cunnick (OC), Allison Argent, Scott McCall, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Sheriff Stilinski.
Rating: PG-15
Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Summary: Stiles woke up to the rumbling sound of Derek's growl and an unfamiliar voice talking about tits and mojo.
Warnings: un-betaed. Creepiness.
Previous
Mervin tended to not come out this way all that often. By 'out this way' he meant America, of course. He was only out here because a friend of a friend needed some help or a second pair of eyes or something. Who better to call than him, really? He'd never met the guy he was supposed to be meeting, but his friend told him that he was good enough to warrant his visit all the way from Cardiff. He shifted in the cab's seat, his face showing that there was no love lost for the American ways of things. Cabs had been better across the pond the entire time-plus you could fit more people into one back home. This one fit him and his bags (yes, bags-plural-after 119 years on this planet you tended to acquire a large amount of stuff, to be fair though, most of it was trades materials).
It was the town of Beacon Hills that this cab was taking him to-a place that might as well have been called West Bumfuck because he had no idea where he was except that he was still in California. He slouched down in the backseat of the cab, hazel eyes flitting from the view of the windshield to the view out of the windows of the back doors. They drove along like that for long enough for Mervin to nod off. When he awoke it wasn't to the cab reaching his destination, it was to an ache in his gut and a pull toward the side of the road that seemed to be all forest.
In all his time he'd experienced this only a few times-one of which being when his brother was involved in the accident that killed him. It wasn't all that unusual for someone like him to have such reactions to hauntings-it was actually quite common. What wasn't all that common was someone willing to drop whatever it was they were doing and deal with it for free. Mervin happened to be like that, but only since his brother passed on. To him it just didn't seem like an option to just leave it and let someone else deal with it. He sat up in his seat and cleared his throat, directing the driver toward the source of the pain in his stomach. The driver didn't seem all that displeased by the change in direction, but then he wouldn't as he well expected to be paid.
When they reached the husk of a house that looked like it might be in the process of getting cleaned up again, the cab driver pulled to a stop and Mervin paid him well. He hauled his bags out and dumped them near the edge of what used to be a porch, but now just seemed to be a rotting death-trap. He watched the tail end of the taxi bump off down the place again, though Mervin was sure the driver was looking back at him and thinking he was nuts. He turned his hazel eyes back to the cars that were parked in a curve around the side of the house. His anti-social nature made him cringe away from dealing with it. The ache in his gut made him power through his misgivings, though.
He left his bags where they were, smoothed his platinum blonde hair down on his head, not appreciating the slight breeze that fluffed it up in the opposite direction. He hated it when he had any in his face. His hands were pushed into his pants pockets as he hopped up the stairs that creaked under his admittedly light weight. He pushed open the red, paint peeling door from it's position of almost-latched. They were probably wannabe ghost hunters or some stupid teenagers-either way they had stirred something up recently that they had no clue how to handle. Mervin released a breath and tried to roll some of the tension out of his shoulders. He took a few steps into the 'house' and stopped as the door past the stairs flew open and the kids piled out.
Mervin knew they hadn't quite seen him yet-but when they did they had all piled through the door already. The adult of the group (had they called him because they were scared, or was he just weird?) was carrying the body of a recently possessed boy bridal style. Mervin just settled his eyes on the boy and glanced about, pulling his hand from his pocket to point to an old couch that had yet to be gotten rid of. It was green and missing it's cushions, but it was better than the floor.
“Put him there, he'll wake up in a bit.” The answer was one he figured he'd get, but was unwelcome anyway. The adult took on a threatened air and basically growled as he ground out his words.
“Who the hell are you? Get off my property.” Ah, so he'd been there the whole time then. Brilliant. A panicked adult was just what he wanted to deal with. The rest of the kids were wary of him, admittedly, but they seemed to be looking toward the adult for what they should do. It was a little off-not like a regular gang of teens looking up to the older, more mature neighborhood guy. Mervin couldn't put his finger on it, though. His accent was thick as he spoke again.
“Look, do you want help or not? Because the way I see it you're up to your tits in bad mojo and I'm the only one here who knows anything about stopping it.”
{break}
Stiles woke up to the rumbling sound of Derek's growl and an unfamiliar voice talking about tits and mojo. He was quite befuddled, so it could have been his imagination running a commentary about how haunted this house was. Groggily he moved to sit up, his whole body aching. The pack was standing in a ring around him, facing toward the door. His head hurt the worst, and how was it that they had gotten up here anyway? The last thing he remembered was unceremoniously face-planting on the cement floor of the basement.
“Nnnnniirrrggghh.” Okay, so he wasn't quite capable of speech yet. Everyone had heard him, but only Allison moved to sit beside him and put a supportive arm behind his back. He leaned into her gratefully and blinked as the world came into focus. There was definitely someone new here. His voice was coarse and lower than normal when he finally tried speaking again. “What's going on?”
Allison shifted to peek around the side of Scott presumably to get a good view of what was going on. When she turned back to Stiles, she spoke under her breath. He had to lean in close to hear her. “Some guy is here.”
Some guy? Some guy. Stiles went to lean to get a good look, but he ended up crashing back to the sofa, the view consisted of all legs. The 'Some Guy' was wearing jeans-stylish, but clearly comfortable too. Stiles tried to cant his head in order to see up, but the best he got was a view of Derek's ass (which wasn't so bad in itself). His head was still pounding and trying to follow the conversation seemed like it was out of the question. Until, for some reason, the stylish jeans advanced on the group and Derek actually moved out of the way.
Hazel eyes peered into his brown ones and Stiles jerked backward, only to be met with a hand cupping the back of his head. Derek was the one who spoke, standing off to the side, but watching what was happening like a hawk. “It's okay, Stiles. Just let him.”
Still uncertain of what exactly this guy was doing here and why he was studying Stiles like a particularly interesting piece of art, Stiles reluctantly did as he was told. He wasn't really prepared for the barrage of questions that the man started in on.
“Did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt?”
“Don't answer questions with questions-did the possession hurt you?”
Stiles shook his head, but found that sent the world spinning more violently than it had before. Even though he wasn't sure how this guy knew about what had happened, he swallowed thickly and answered. “It didn't when it happened. It hurts now, though.”
“How does it hurt?”
It was hard enough trying to concentrate when people were talking, but this was already starting to get irritating. “My head hurts. Dizzy, hard to concentrate.”
'Some Guy' nodded and frowned as he felt around on Stiles' head. It would have felt like a really nice massage except for the fact that Stiles wasn't sure if he should really be trusting this guy. He glanced over at Derek when the next question came.
“Do you know who it was?”
He had more than an inkling, based on what had happened. His voice came out a little strangled. “Yes.”
The stranger frowned again and prompted him to sit up on his own. “Who was it?”
Derek stepped in. “That doesn't matter. Is he alright?”
The man, who Stiles thought must have either a hefty pair of balls or was just lacking in brains, straightened up and stepped right up to be in Derek's face. “I think I'll be the one to determine what information is necessary, thank you.”
Then he waited a second until Derek had swallowed back his pride and took a step back, lowering his gaze (and since when did Derek step down from anyone?), and then spoke again. “He'll be fine.”
And suddenly there was a duffle bag where Stiles was sure there hadn't been before. The guy turned back to him as Stiles was trying to figure out in his head if the bag was haunted or if anyone else had noticed it just appearing there or not. “Now. Who was it?”
Stiles jerked his head back to look up at the man who was crossing over to the bag and bending down to open it up. Stiles frowned and glanced at Derek again (who wasn't meeting his eyes) and answered much more quietly than he usually would have. “Derek's family.”
He swallowed back the rest of the answer and stared at the duffle bag that the man was rifling through. The man looked up at him and Stiles felt compelled to meet his eyes, even if his Alpha wouldn't. The man gave a thin smile and rose to his feet, crossing the distance. His voice was soft, enticing in a way that Stiles hadn't encountered since his Mom, when he was little. “Who was it?”
Stiles practically choked on the words coming out of his mouth, his mind fully on how this would effect Derek. He couldn't have his Alpha seem weak in front of a newcomer. He absolutely couldn't. “The Hale family.”
The man came down to his level, their faces only about six inches apart. Stiles felt trapped in a way he hadn't felt since Peter Hale had him in the parking garage. The man's voice was the same soft, almost plaintive tone. “Who was it, Stiles?”
He just broke, like he hadn't been resisting that hard to begin with even though he had. The words rushed out and his eyes closed hard after them. “Derek's Mom.”
He didn't see the satisfied smile rising to the man's lips, nor Derek's head jerking up, eyes landing on Stiles as he sat, defeated on the couch. He only opened his eyes after the man had backed off again and Allison took to rubbing his back in a consoling way. Everyone seemed to not be looking anywhere near Derek, who's hands were clenched into fists at his sides.
The rest of the pack stood around stupidly until Derek moved over to the man and spoke in a low voice with him. It was then, when Stiles really wanted to overhear the conversation, that the pack gathered around and was poking and prodding him to make sure he was okay. He wanted to bat them away like the annoying gnats they were pretending to be, but the look in Allison's eyes and the cage that they were making around him made him just give in. They didn't talk much, but just consoled him with touches, the way that they had always seemed to do whenever anyone needed it. In the back of his head Stiles knew it to be a wolf sort of thing, but the cat part of him wasn't objecting, so maybe it was just more of a friend thing.
Whatever Derek and the stranger had spoken about, they seemed to be in agreement. Derek came back to the pack and spoke in the same low voice to them as he'd been using with the man across the room. “We all need to go back down there.”
His voice was rough with some emotion, but he wasn't letting anyone see past the armored exterior he wore as an Alpha. Stiles maybe knew better than most that he was doing this for the pack's benefit. He was hurting inside. Scott was the only one to offer any resistance to the idea, and even that was short lived.
“Are you-” Scott didn't get much further than that when Derek looked over at him.
“Yes. Now get down there.” He was, perhaps, a bit harder about it than he needed to be but it sure got the pack moving. Stiles didn't even attempt to get up, he just looked between the strange man who was pulling a lot of weird items out of his bag and Derek, who seemed to be waiting for everyone to do as he said. Allison had lingered for a moment, but as soon as Scott looked back to see if she was coming, she was on her feet and leaving Stiles with Derek.
Derek refused to meet his eyes. Stiles decided that pushing probably wasn't the best answer, so he went for a subject he was still unclear on. “So who is this guy?”
He ran his hand over his buzzed hair and worried at his lower lip. He was gazing at the man, but he still felt Derek's eyes on him. Derek's voice was even more rough when he spoke. “His name is Mervin.”
Stiles chanced a look at his boyfriend and showed the concern written on his face. Then he smiled, somehow finding a miniscule amount of humour in the situation. “Mervin?”
He shifted, bringing himself closer to the edge of the couch and beginning to try to stand up on his own. Derek took his hand and helped him up, steadying him with hands on his shoulders. Derek didn't seem to get what was so funny about the name. Stiles dropped it and the smile. “And what's happening?”
This made Derek's jaw muscles tighten for a moment, making Stiles pause and wonder if maybe he shouldn't be speaking at all. He didn't seem to be doing a good job of being sensitive. Derek answered before he could think of how to take it back.
“He's going to get rid of them.” Derek's eyes flicked toward the stairs that led down toward the basement and tunnels. Stiles' stomach flipped as he momentarily thought he was talking about the pack.
Derek's hands disappeared and Stiles realized he was staring at the door with severe trepidation. He turned his head to meet Derek's eyes. Obviously not the pack. Obviously the ghosts. Obviously.
“Are you sure?”
Derek seemed about to speak, but Mervin walked over, a jar of something in his hands. “He's sure.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes, not sure he fully trusted this guy. After all, he'd only interrogated Stiles and made Derek look foolish in front of the pack. Stiles glanced back at Derek who was once again not meeting his eyes. Okay, enough was fucking enough. He turned back to Mervin and spoke firmly. “How about you not interrupt a private conversation, okay buddy?”
This seemed to get Derek's attention, but Mervin just shrugged and wandered away again. Derek was frowning at him. Stiles took a ragged breath and turned back to his boyfriend. “Why are you doing this, if you aren't sure?”
Derek seemed to be frustrated for a moment and turned a glare on him; Stiles thought about backing down, but Derek's gaze softened and he spoke even more quietly than before. Stiles only just heard his answer.
“He knows more about this stuff than you do. He's in the position to do something about it.”
Stiles wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort him or not. Besides, that wasn't even an answer. He spoke in the same low tone. “That isn't really an answer, dude.”
Derek shifted uncomfortably and Jackson was peaking up from the doorway, presumably to see what was taking them so long. “Just-trust me, okay?”
Stiles studied him for a moment before relenting. This wasn't easy for Derek, anyone could see that, but this wasn't the time to be questioning him. He attempted a few steps on his own before Derek had his arm around his waist and helped him along. The pack seemed relieved that they were finally on their way; Stiles didn't blame them.
{break}
The swirling wasn't just in his head, he was sure of that. On his knees in the middle of a circle drawn on the floor, Mervin's hand hovering over his head. All he really wanted was to stop the place from spinning-maybe have Derek wrapped around him too. He simultaneously felt like he had been stripped raw and yet he felt so distant, so far away from everything that was happening. Mervin didn't look happy as he spoke what he had explained to be a Catholic Exorcism in Latin.
“Dómine sancte,” Mervin's accent wasn't one Stiles was familiar with, but it sounded funny with the Latin. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He gasped for air and tried to curl in around himself but something kept him from doing so. He was locked in place, not even able to look anywhere but at Mervin-the bastard-but he felt how uneasy the rest of the pack was at what was happening.
The sun had begun setting a while ago, but none of the peachy-orange light was reaching down into the basement, even with the door open at the top of the stairs. The only light came from some bare light bulbs strung along the walls, the way they had been since way back when Derek was held captive here by Kate Argent. Stiles wasn't sure if that knowledge made it even more eerie or if it was the fact that he felt like he was being tortured now, but it certainly didn't help him feel any better. He just couldn't get his breath back, his muscles rigid against whatever was holding him in place.
“Da, Dómine,” Another sucker punch, expelling all of the air he had in his lungs. His jaw was locked, but not due to whatever was holding the rest of him still-it just hurt too damn much to even try to speak. Why had he been okay with this again? This was not fucking okay. His claws shinked out, his jaw finally unlocking at Mervin went on and on in Latin. A gut-wrenching scream: low and more cat-like than human, poured from his mouth. He was vaguely aware, through the pain, of the fact that his world had gone greyscale and his teeth were a lot longer and sharper.
The yells continued to rip from him, his throat going raw and rough quickly. The pain just wasn't stopping, the swirling around was getting more intense. Darkness started seeping in to the edges of his vision, the lights lining the walls winking out one by one until he felt his eyes roll up into his head. His body stayed right where it was, but his muscles lost some of their tenseness, only going taut every so often, when a new wave of pain broke over his body.
{break}
That Stiles kid was one of the most brave people Mervin had ever met. He knew full well when going into it that he would likely feel the repercussions of the exorcism. He'd still gone right on ahead, which pretty much guaranteed that no more spirits would be lingering in, on or around this old, falling down house. As soon as the exorcism had ended, Derek Hale had rushed to him and wasn't letting anyone else near him for a while. Mervin wasn't an idiot, he knew that supernatural creatures existed, he just wasn't sure what these people were-he didn't recognize what that boy Stiles had half turned into during the exorcism. It had looked vaguely like the werewolves he'd heard about, but he couldn't be sure, having never met one before. He didn't think too hard on it, he just packed up his stuff and let them deal with Stiles. The kid would be alright.
Once again they were on the main floor of the house (Mervin might have been somewhat afraid of falling through the floor, but he was ready with a levitation spell on the tip of his tongue). Stiles was deposited on the same couch as before, but he was going to be out for a while, Mervin was sure of it. Derek then approached him as the rest of the kids took care of Stiles. Mervin straightened up from tucking his book away and extended a hand toward Derek. The man didn't seem to want to take it, but he did out of politeness.
“What do you want?” Derek's gruff tone had Mervin snort and shake his head.
“Why do you think I want anything?” Mervin caught the evaluating look Derek was giving him and he went on. “Look, you needed help, I gave you help. Now I'll be on my way. I have a friend to meet up with here.”
Derek didn't seem to want to just let it go like that, but Mervin wasn't going to let him keep going on like that. He put his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows at the man. “How about this, then. You owe me one and I'll call you up when I have something in mind.”
Derek seemed to accept this, straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “Alright.”
Mervin pulled out his phone (and how awesome were these gadgets, really?) and took down Derek Hale's number. It was surprising how many contacts he had in his phone, considering his anti-social nature. He didn't linger much longer, just gathered his stuff and waited outside with it until the cab he called had picked him up.
{break}
When Stiles finally started blinking awake, he was in the back of the Camaro, listening to the engine purr and Derek singing along softly to a Katy Perry song. He shifted, but his muscles felt like he'd run four miles and wasn't actually a WerKatze. He groaned softly and pulled at the leather jacket that was draped over him. It smelled strongly of Derek and put him at ease. He fell back asleep until the Camaro was parked and the ignition was turned off. Groggily he saw Derek lean back and brush his knuckles over his forehead. It was the kind of tender touch that Derek only gave when no one else was around. Stiles relaxed again and shut his eyes.
When he finally woke up it was the middle of the night, Derek was curled around him in their bed at Derek's rent-a-house. Stiles rolled over and tangled his legs with his boyfriend's, reaching up to thread his fingers in Derek's thick, dark hair. Stiles was pushing what happened as far out of his mind as possible, choosing to let his questions go unspoken for once and just cuddle up to the Alpha werewolf.
{break}
The pack, minus Derek because he didn't go to Beacon Hills High School, pretty much escorted him everywhere the next day. Stiles was exhausted, and reasonably so seeing as he had been possessed twice during one evening. He went through school in a haze and got driven home by Jackson with him and Lydia fawning over him, making sure he was comfortable until his Dad would get home. He was thankful, but at the same time he just wanted to sleep. So he did, until the Cruiser pulling into the driveway woke him up.
He was at the door in seconds, looking fully alert and holding it open for his Dad, whom he knew was going to be pissed about him not showing up last night. He'd have to come up with something good to be forgiven. His Dad hardly looked at him the whole time he was sorting through a stack of files in his hands. It looked like a work from home night-Stiles would have to start getting dinner ready. He ended up not having to explain anything to his Dad, who immersed himself in work even through a plate of Chicken Parmesan being placed in front of him.
A week later and Derek hadn't dragged them out to work on the house yet. Stiles was popping grapes into his mouth and reading his Trigonometry notes to make sure he knew what he was doing when he was reminded of it. He looked up from his book to watch Derek flipping through a mechanic's magazine. It wasn't that unusual, but it was a new one, so Stiles was curious. He didn't let it deter him from his mission, though. “So what are we doing about the house?”
Derek looked up sharply, snapping the magazine shut and flicking it onto the table effortlessly. Stiles wished he was that cool. He always managed to look like he was trying way too hard whenever he attempted something like that. “I got a call from one of the companies I tried to hire before. They're going to start in this Monday.”
Derek had long since learned to just tell Stiles everything at once and that way he wouldn't have to keep answering his questions. He got up from the couch and crossed the tiled floor with bare feet, leaning on the counter next to Stiles and gestured to his textbook. “You done yet? I'm getting hungry.”
Stiles glanced at the clock and snorted. “You're always hungry.” Then he jotted down something on his paper, “Just two more questions.”
Derek lingered for a moment, and then skirted around the counter, diving into the fridge. Stiles looked up with a frown. “Hey, no spoiling dinner.”
The fridge closed again and Stiles turned back to his homework. Derek was leaning across the counter now, appearing to be reading his textbook upside down. Stiles raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Derek met his eyes for a moment, then went back to sitting on the couch. Stiles finished the math homework and shut his textbook, paper tucked inside with his answers on it. He shoved it back into his bag and got up from the stool. “So are we meeting everyone there?”
Derek nodded, having gone back to flipping through his magazine. Stiles dropped his bag by the door and sunk down on the cushion beside him. He reached over and tapped the page, distracting Derek from reading. “So what's this then?”
Derek shrugged. “I got a job.”
This threw Stiles for a loop. He sputtered. “You got a job? When? Where?”
Derek was trying to change the shit-eating grin he was currently wearing into a menacing grimace, but it wasn't working too well. Stiles' eyes narrowed slightly, “Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?”
Derek's grin had abated somewhat when he answered. “Because I only got the call today, while you were in school. It's that car place down near the police station.”
Stiles frowned a little. “This police station, or my Dad's?”
Derek leaned in and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “My Dad's, isn't it? Are you trying to give him a heart attack or something? He still doesn't think you're totally innocent.”
His boyfriend just smirked and leaned in to give him a deep, rather filthy (but oh so wonderful) kiss and nibble his jaw. “Come on, we all know I'm not innocent.”