Derek cannot comprehend why Stiles Stilinksi won’t just leave him alone.
Stiles has a choice. He’s not a werewolf, he’s not a banshee, he’s not a Kanima. He’s just a human— a normal human teenager who doesn’t need to be wrapped up with the supernatural. He isn’t obligated stick around and risk his life, but he does. He has the option to be safe; he just refuses to take it. The list of better things he could be doing is endless, hanging out with friends, on a date with someone normal, doing absolutely anything else that doesn’t involve the supernatural. But he’s not. Stiles is here with them, fighting like his life depends on it—which it does—and Derek cannot for the life of him understand why.
They’re fighting a troll— except it’s more like Derek and Scott are fighting a troll, while everyone else just dilly-dallies around the gymnasium. It’s an ugly-looking thing, it’s big and burly and if Derek had to describe it in one word, he’d probably choose ‘Oozing.’ The smell of it burns his nostrils and leaves him wrinkling his nose in disgust. It ranks in the top 5 most atrocious smells he’s ever had the displeasure of smelling. Then the creature takes one giant step towards Derek, and Stiles scent spikes of fear. It makes the heinous odor of the beast smell like roses in comparison.
Stiles, of course, starts yelling at the thing like he’s not even scared in the slightest. Derek is well aware of how scared Stiles is. Even if he weren’t so in tune with his chemo signals at all times, he would be able to tell by the way his voice goes squeaky in the middle of his sentence, and the quiet little “holy fuck” he mutters under his breath when the troll finally turns towards him. Derek shoots an exasperated look at the ceiling. He decides he can berate Stiles over his stupidity later, when Stiles’ life doesn’t actively depend on him.
Derek rolls himself up off the floor, a certain heaviness taking over him as he trudges his way towards Stiles—or towards the troll— he isn’t quite sure which yet. He knows he’s going fast, sees the way the world blurs around him, yet he feels fucking slow. It’s like he’s weighed down, anchored to the floor, desperately crawling his way toward the danger. Nothing occupies his mind as he flings himself onto the trolls back, his claws digging into the moist flesh. It’s disgusting, but he thinks of nothing when he tears at the monsters skin, and blood splatters across the gym floor.
The troll lets out a pained roar that shakes the entire room, but Derek doesn’t feel liberated. It’s not enough, will never be enough. He could kill a thousand trolls and still never be satisfied. The only thing that will give him that peace is when he no longer has to kill to survive, when he gets to have a choice. A gasp tears its way through Derek’s mouth, and he almost can’t hear it through the thick noise of his own heartbeat. He chances a glance toward Stiles, whose big brown eyes are wide and locked on him, and for a second he thinks that it might actually be Stiles heartbeat he’s hearing. When he crashes to the ground, troll blood making his hands uncomfortably sticky, he still isn’t sure exactly whose heartbeat he’s taking solace in.
The troll doesn’t die, but he can tell he’s done some damage. Its movements are staggered as it whips around to face Derek. It doesn’t look as angry as Derek thought it would, though; it just looks too tired to be angry. Derek finds himself relating more than feeling bad for the thing. Its gaze darts towards Stiles once more before its hooded eyes lock on Derek, and Derek finally feels an ounce of satisfaction. He’s kept the man safe for another moment.
Derek’s shoes squeak against the gymnasium floor as he scrambles back. The noise makes him grit his teeth in discomfort, but he doesn’t stop backing away, because the troll doesn’t stop coming closer. As he uses his arms to push himself away from the danger, he feels a sharp pain shoot through him. Still, it isn’t until his shoulder blade fuses itself back together that he even realizes he had broken it in the first place. It’s not the first time Derek has been blissfully unaware of an injury during fights like these; sometimes he’s just too caught up in Stiles safety to even notice his own.
His head whirls as he looks up at the monstrous thing towering above him, and suddenly he feels small. He hates that feeling; he works himself to exhaustion to avoid that feeling. Kate made him feel small. Small, weak, vulnerable, and young. Looking back on it, he was all of those things and more. She let him know it, too. It was almost like she relished in telling him how young and cute he was. Ridiculously, Derek always took that as a compliment. He was so naive, he didn’t even mind the condescension because he could tell Kate was into it. She just sounded so pleased when she’d bring up Derek’s age, and that thought sends a shiver down Derek’s spine.
The room spins as Derek’s head pounds, and if Derek didn’t know any better, he might actually believe his head was about to explode. It all feels too much, and by the time he sees the troll’s blunt fists coming down towards him, he contemplates just letting it happen. He’s never truly had suicidal thoughts before—there are enough things trying to kill him without him throwing himself into the mix—but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about just letting something do it for him. There are still people out there relying on him, though, and a part of him thinks that maybe successfully protecting them will make him feel better about all the people he failed. Ultimately, he decides to roll to the side, effectively dodging the hit at the last minute. He’s only a foot away from Stiles by the time he picks himself off the ground, and he’s too disoriented to know if Stiles has moved closer or if he had really rolled that far away from the troll.
“Run, Stiles. Get out of here.” Derek barks out firmly, grabbing onto his wrist tight.
He isn’t sure if Stiles can hear him over all the chaos, but either way, Stiles doesn’t listen. At this point, Derek’s not even sure it’s in his capabilities to do so. Stiles yanks his hand away, and for some odd reason Derek feels rejected.
And isn’t that just ridiculous?
He doesn’t really have time to dwell on it, because Stiles is on him in a matter of seconds. If he wasn’t so out of it, Stiles probably wouldn’t have been able to tackle him to the ground. Thankfully, he feels as though every single one of his body parts has been torn off of him and then shoved right back on multiple times. A big violent fist comes down right next to where Stiles and he have fallen to the ground, causing the room to shake, but all Derek can think about is the feel of Stiles over him. They’re about the same height, but Stiles isn’t as bulky as him, so he doesn’t feel too heavy. Still, with lanky limbs that just seem to be everywhere, he blankets over Derek in a way that has him feeling guilty. Guilty because they just almost died, and Derek is reveling in the way Stiles covers him, calms him.
Stiles is off of him just as quick as he was on him, and Derek doesn’t allow himself to miss it. Instead, he throws himself at the monster again, figuring they’d never get anything done if they just keep dodging him. He’s so close to reaching the troll when its arm thrashes up to block the attack. It hits Derek in the chest, and he’s launched across the gym floor, sliding until he slams into the bleachers. Derek misses when his head hurt just from overstimulation. Someone yells his name, and it might be Stiles, just like it might be Scott. Or Isaac.
He reaches his hand back to poke at the open wound behind his head, feeling as this skin stitches itself back up. His entire body aches in a way that he’s becoming used to. He’s sore and his head is throbbing, and Derek questions once again why somebody would put themselves in this position when they don’t have to. Speaking of, he spots Stiles scurrying towards him, so he quickly pulls himself to his feet and shoots him a nod, reassuring him that he’s fine and in no need of immediate attending. Stiles doesn’t stop until he’s right by him, though, and Derek thinks that maybe Stiles is just using him as an excuse to run from the troll for just a moment.
The theory dissipates a second later when Stiles pulls Derek towards him. It isn’t a hug. Derek hasn’t forgotten how hugs feel; some of his favorite memories from before the fire include a hug from one of his various family members. Werewolves are touchy in nature, it was rare he didn’t have one of his many siblings clinging to him. This is quicker, more desperate. It’s rushed and clumsy and just as comfortable as any hug he’s ever received. It’s almost like a side hug from an acquaintance that you aren’t sure you want to hug, so it’s hasty and aborted. He would think of it like that, except he can sense Stiles distress and knows that if Stiles had the chance to really hold him, he would. He’d probably regret it the second they weren’t in danger, but he’d still do it.
Derek lets himself imagine just what it would feel like for a moment. Stiles long arms pulling him in, keeping him safe. He feels stupid for even thinking about it. Daydreaming about Stiles hugging him, like he’s some teenager with a crush, while a giant troll tries to kill him. There’s just something different about Stiles, something that makes him constantly hyperaware of his presence. Derek finds himself wondering where he is when Scott shows up solo, finds himself running to Stiles side in the face of danger, subconsciously drawn to him.
He remembers finding himself in front of Stiles jeep, Roscoe or something, after being shot with a wolfsbane bullet. He had wondered why he had ended up there for days after the incident. Delirious and on the verge of death, he went to Stiles. Even though he was barely conscious, the memory is clear as day, him trudging his way to the high school, the only thing keeping him going being the scent of Stiles getting stronger and stronger. He remembers holding on until he finally had Stiles in his direct line of sight, allowing himself to collapse in front of his car. He had barely even known Stiles back then; just knew he was safe.
Derek’s always trusted a little too quickly, jumping at the chance to just have somebody. He’s always felt so alone, even before he truly was. After Paige’s death he thought he would never love again, never have somebody again; at the time he thought Kate could fix that. After Kate, he really was alone. Laura was all he had, but she wasn’t enough. And he wasn’t enough for her.
He remembers spending late nights together, pretending like the death of their family hadn’t put such a large rift between them. Sitting with her in a silence that was full of dread. They were together, but they were alone. After Laura, there was nobody to be alone with. He jumped at the chance with Jennifer, feeling so stupid after. The way Stiles had looked at him that day, all teary-eyed and begging, Derek would rather never have anybody again than see Stiles look at him like that.
It’s taken him long enough, and a whole lot of loss, but he’s learned not to trust people so easily. He doesn’t need to have anybody as long as Stiles is okay. Though, for reasons incomprehensible to a barely coherent Derek, Stiles is not okay. He’s tugging at Derek’s sleeve urgently, brown eyes wide and fearful. Derek could look at them forever. He’s repeating something under his breath, and Derek really should be able to hear him, but he can’t. His head is killing him, his breath is labored, and he wants nothing more than to let himself fall into Stiles.
The slight grip on his sleeve shifts into a full-on grab on his arm, and Derek is completely content to let him drag him away. He sort of wishes Stiles would drag him to safety and nurture him back to health, and he must’ve hit his head harder than he thought. Stiles tone switches from desperate to almost exasperated, and Derek tries harder to listen.
“Oh, now you’re smiling.” Stiles says, or at least that’s what Derek thinks he hears.
He lets his head fall onto Stiles shoulder as he tries to fight off a laugh. He is smiling, he realizes, and stupidly at that. He sobers up a bit when the troll swings at them.
It doesn't matter the state he's in; he will not let himself be responsible for Stiles getting hurt. He pushes himself in front of Stiles, taking the brunt of the hit. He grunts when the monster’s fist makes contact with his torso, positive he's broken at least a couple ribs. This time he's positive it's Stiles yelling his name, and for some reason that matters even as the troll’s hand starts coming back down at him. Derek's ribs haven't even had time to heal yet, and he can't breathe, and he's sure he's about to die, but Stiles yanks him back last minute.
It isn't the first time he's saved Derek's life, and Derek desperately hopes it won't be the last. If there's one thing Stiles is good at, it's giving Derek hope. It's a funny thought, especially while Stiles is cursing him out for volunteering himself as a human shield. Derek doesn't care, he feels the pain in his side dissipating by the second in a way Stiles wouldn't. He would do it a hundred times over if he really had to. Derek isn't even healed when he gently shoves Stiles off of him, or more like unwillingly pulls himself out of Stiles grasp, and throws himself back at the troll. He is pretty sure Scott is doing the same thing from the other side, and he braces for impact.
His claws dig atrociously into the thing, and its roar echoes through the gymnasium, blending together with his own pained noise. Troll blood slides down his forearm, dripping off his elbow onto the court below him. He makes a mental note about cleaning that up after this is all over. He’s usually the one left to cover their tracks. Scott’s morphing into a pretty good alpha, but he hasn’t quite got the art of stealth down yet. Derek’s spent his entire life hiding what he is; he’s used to it.
When the monster goes down, Derek goes down with it. By the time he hits the ground, it feels like he’s been free-falling for eternity. A sharp pain shoots through his back when he lands, but it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before. The troll knocks the wind out of him when it lands on top of him, and the smell of its blood is so thick that it leaves a metallic taste in the back of his throat. As hellish as it is, he just lies there for a little, giant, gross, gooey creature crushing his bones be damned. The exhaustion makes the rest almost worth the excruciating pain and unbearable discomfort. Then he feels the uptick in Stiles heartbeat, the hitch in his breath, and the worried tone in which he yells Derek’s name. Suddenly he’s no longer content in letting a smelly troll corpse squish him to death.
Despite the ache in his muscles, he uses all his strength to push the corpse off of him. Covered in troll blood, entire body in pain, and head spinning, it takes everything in him not to throw up right then and there. Instead, he takes to breathing from his mouth for a moment, eyes falling shut in an attempt to quench the nausea. When he opens them a moment later, he finds Stiles offering his hand. Derek doesn’t need help standing and isn’t even sure Stiles could lift him, but he takes his hand anyways. Derek can’t ever imagine being in a situation where he wouldn’t take whatever Stiles offers him. He does most of the work pulling himself up, almost dragging Stiles down instead, but he squeezes Stiles hand in appreciation anyways.
The grin Stiles shoots him makes the physical pain entirely too worth it. He would kill one billion trolls just to see that smile again. Still, he doesn’t have the energy to smile back, isn’t even sure he ever will, so he nods instead. This doesn’t deter Stiles from pulling him into a full-on hug. It’s as comforting as it is confusing, so Derek just lets it happen.
The last time Derek was hugged he was merely 16, and Laura yanked him fiercely into her arms after the death of their entire family. She hadn’t known it was all Derek’s fault, and he never worked up the guts to tell her. They had clung to each other for hours after; despite the guilt that burrowed it’s way into his stomach and made a permanent home for itself there, he refused to let go of the only family he had left. Derek desperately wishes he could go back and hold her for just a little while longer. The point is, he hasn’t been hugged in a while, and he isn’t sure how long it will be until he’s hugged again, so he savors the feeling.
It’s a little more awkward than his hug with Laura, but just as desperate. It’s as if some barrier has been broken, or at least bypassed for the time being, because it feels like they’ve been doing this forever. It feels natural, which is unusual because Derek hasn’t felt natural touching somebody since Laura. He can feel Stiles heartbeat as much as he can hear it, and it’s probably a little too intimate for acquaintances. Still, his arms come up to hold Stiles tighter, and it really should feel weird. It doesn’t.
Stiles stumbles over to the others when he finally releases him, and Derek starts feeling dizzy again. The scent of both Stiles and troll clings to his clothes like smoke, and he doesn’t know if he wants to wear the same clothes for weeks and mourn the scent when it eventually fades or tear his clothes off immediately and shred them to pieces, everyone around to see it be damned. The combination of the scents is just too much to handle, and he finds himself holding his breath every chance he gets. This is always his least favorite part of nights like this, the aftermath.
He should feel happy having everyone he cares about smell of hope and relief, but he doesn't. He feels out of place, like just his scent will sour the mood. He isn't like these people; he doesn't smell of hope, and he never will. Derek lost all hope the same night he lost his family. They might have won this battle, but Derek has already lost the war, along with everything else.
As much as he'd love to revel in the afterglow, he knows better. The least he can do is not drag his pack down with him. Still, he lets his eyes linger on Stiles smile, lets his ears tune out everything but his laugh and lets himself focus on his chemo signals. He isn't sure why it makes him feel better, but he thinks that maybe Stiles just has that effect on people. He's nothing like Derek; he lights up the world around him like a spark. He lights people up and makes them feel better. Derek can't think of the last time he made something, or someone, better.
He doesn't look away when Stiles meets his gaze, and he wonders if maybe that’s why Stiles stays to help him clean up afterward. Once again, Derek can’t help but wonder why Stiles involves himself when he doesn’t have to.
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