Unsteady | Sterek

Thirteen: If you love me don't let go

Derek has never felt terror like he had when Stiles calls. His hearing picks up on the breath catching in the boys throat and the quivering voice tells Derek everything he needs to know.

"Help me."

Those two words trigger his reflexes and he's running before he even knows he's moving. There's shouts from Scott but Derek barely registers them and runs faster, heart in his throat. Stiles was fragile, breaking, and now he was crying.

He reaches his human in record time just as Stiles slumps over, unconscious. He shouldn't be able to, but Derek can smell the distress and panic of Stiles and he bares his teeth. Stiles also reeks of Markis and Derek longs to rip the younger werewolf to shreds.

"Stiles," he murmurs and pats the young boys cheek. "Stiles." There's no response. "Damn it!"

"Hell wake up soon," a voice sneers from behind him. "If he doesn't get possessed first."

Derek nearly shifts there and then, Markis's scent sour in his nose. The younger werewolf is cocky, walking forward until his boots are nearly on top of Stiles. Derek snarls protectively.

"Ah," Markis smiles knowingly. "The Alpha's little pet. I see."

"Fuck off," Derek growls.

Markis chuckles and nudges Stiles slightly. The boy stirs but doesn't wake and Derek aches to slash Markis to bits. Just for once, he'd like to be able to resort to violence. Just once.

He doesn't.

"He's terrified, you know."

"Of what?" Derek seethes. "You? Unlikely."

Markis tuts. "So you say. You're right, of course. Stiles isn't afraid of me, or my coven. No, he's afraid of himself. He's afraid of what he was, what he is. He's afraid of the little box we have tucked away with the only thing that Stiles can't control."

The Nogitsune.

Derek's skin crawls because no wonder Stiles was crying, no wonder he was terrified, no wonder he called for Derek because if there was one thing Stiles would never be able to shake it was the fucking nogitsune.

"Why?"

Markis shrugs. "Because."

"He's traumatised," Derek says bluntly. "He doesn't need it anymore."

"Yes," Markis muses. "Allison, right? One of the best party tricks, I must admit. Very realistic. We have Magana to thank for that. Very clever witch, she is."

"You did that?"

"Of course."

Stiles groans from the ground and instantly, Derek is beside him, fussing over him as he sits up. Markis fades into the shadows with an ominous hum that Derek ignores. Stiles is pale, ghostlike and skeletal. Only now does Derek notice how thin his human is, how weak and scared.

Stiles takes a long, deep breath and then bursts into tears.

He doesn't speak, doesn't need to because Derek can smell the turmoil on him and curls around him. Neither of the talk, Derek just holds his human charge close as the boy cries away his pain.

Stiles doesn't tell the werewolf that Allison is watching him and laughing.

***

When Stiles gets back to his house, his dad isn't home. There's a note on the fridge that Stiles doesn't read and pizza in the fridge that Stiles doesn't eat. He's in a strange, semi-unconscious world where everything is grey and blurry. He can see Allison, her face half deformed and he can see the Nogitsune, lurking just beyond his reach.

"Stiles, you're okay."

It's Scott, who was supposed to be Stiles friend, supposed to never have left him for another.

Scott wasn't supposed to leave him for a dead girl.

Stiles shies away from the hug offered to him, walking past his old friend and into his bedroom.

"Stiles?"

He doesn't respond. Instead, he sets up his laptop and starts to research, the only thing he's good at and the only thing he can contribute without messing up. He doesn't even know what he's researching, he just stares at pages of supernatural creatures until his eyes blur and he clambers into bed.

He thinks Scott is still there but he doesn't care. He just wants to sleep and sleep and sleep because if the only thing he is ever going to be is crazy, then what's the point in being alive?

There's no reason to live, Stiles muses. I'll just hurt everyone, just like Allison, just like Dad.

"Stiles, man. You're scaring me." It's Scott, kneeling beside the bed.

Stiles closes his eyes tightly, a single, lonely tear clinging to his cheek. "Good," he whispers thickly to the darkness.