Bittersweet

Derek could sense there was something wrong, his head snapped up during training and he let out a snarl. Erica and Isaac swapped confused looks. Derek turned letting his fangs and claws slide out, he uttered one word before rushing out of the abandoned subway: Stiles.

The smell hit Derek as soon as he entered his street. It was strong and bitter. It made his stomach churn with agonizing fear, his heart pounding so hard against his ribcage that it might fall out. A shiver ran up his spine as he climbed up to the familiar bedroom window – as he had done many times before – Stiles wasn’t in his room. It looked like it hadn’t been touched since that morning.

However, thanks the wolf’s ridiculously good smelling abilities, he could smell him and his emotions seeping through his pores. He could hear the shower running and that made his blood run even colder, fright seized Derek’s chest as he jumped in the window, clambering into Stiles’ en suite bathroom.

The sight was enough to break anyone’s heart, Stiles fully clothed, underneath the showerhead, an almost empty bottle of Jack (most certainly stolen from his father’s liquor cabinet) in hand, and his eyes heavy lidded with alcohol consumption. Derek dropped to his knees next to Stiles, shutting off the shower – which was freezing – and pried the bottle from his long fingers.

The older boy picked him up and grabbed a towel, his heartbeat still wildly out of control. Stiles’ eyes were glazed as Derek tried to stand him up right, but he swayed on the spot and slumped into him, he sighed and dropped him onto his bed. The hard way then.

Derek then began to peel off the layers of water soaked clothes, Stiles still completely out of it; he did, however, lift his arms up to help Derek remove his Batman shirt. He threw the rest of his wet clothes neatly in heap on the floor, sighing.

He wrapped a big fluffy towel around Stiles’ shoulders as he ventured into his drawers looking for warm clothes for the smaller boy to wear, Derek decided on a pair of thick sweats and one of his shirts (which Stiles had apparently misplaced after a heated kissing session). He didn’t mind though, he thought it was adorable Stiles liked to wear his clothes.

Once Stiles was dressed, Derek closed the window and wrapped him in his duvet.

“Hmmf, cold.” Stiles whined pawing for Derek.

“Shouldn’t have sat in a freezing cold shower for God knows how long.” Derek muttered a little harsher than intended.

“Was jus’ tryna clear my head.” Stiles whimpered still trying to reach out for Derek.

“From what?”

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

That’s when Stiles’ eyes changed, Derek could see his walls start to crumble to dust around him. Tears collecting in those ridiculously dark eyes of his, Stiles looked at him with such fragility; Derek thought he was going to break. He shifted closer to the smaller boy, lacing their fingers together, nodding for him to continue.

However, he didn’t, he let himself fall apart – which Stiles never done, in front of anyone – sobbing and hiccupping into Derek’s muscular chest, it was a shock at first, seeing Stiles so vulnerable. He was the happy go lucky, peach fuzz for hair kid. A gangly bundle of random noises with eyes deep enough to drown in and a stupidly attractive mouth (which Derek loved to kiss, he had sworn on more than one occasion that Stiles had the most kissable lips in Beacon Hills).

Derek could still smell his emotions (fear, self-hatred, anger, guilt, and regret) and it was heartbreaking, he had no idea what to do to make Stiles feel better. So he tried his best and rubbed – somewhat – comforting circles on his back, kissing his hair and whispering sweet nothing in his ear. Stiles whimpered, balling his fists into the older boy’s shirt seeking comfort. Which ever came because he remembered, remembered that the werewolf was using him.

Stiles shoved against Derek trying to break free, he let Stiles go, – scared in case he hurt him – and Stiles tried to roll onto his side. Derek tried to splutter out his name in surprise but he was cut off.

“Sick, sick of being strong, pretending I'm okay, pretending I'm not hurting.” Stiles muttered. “Sick of pretending I'm okay with our ‘casual sex’ meetings, Derek. Sick of pretending I don’t love you.”

The taller boy looked at him, he looked so broken…so lost. It was mainly his fault. And this shook Derek to his core, he felt his own eyes well up. He reached out for Stiles but he recoiled away, curling himself into a ball and started to cry again. Derek squeezed himself closer to the crying boy, trying to process what he had just said.

“Always have to be strong, for the pack, for you, for dad, for everyone. I’ve been dubbed pack mom, remember?” Stiles whimpered again. “You don’t want me either; you just like to have sex and leave.”

“Stiles, listen to me. No, look at me.” Derek soothed, holding the younger boy’s – slightly rolling - head in his hands. “You are singlehandedly the strongest person I know, everything Scott and I have put you through on top of everything you’d been through before that. It’s okay to have off days like today, it’s okay you want a break and it’s certainly okay if you want talk about what’s bothering you.”

Then it happened again the look in his eyes, even more of his walls slowly crumbling to dust around him. Derek took his hand again and kissed it gently, Stiles edged closer.

“And, as for these ‘casual sex meetings’, they aren’t meaningless Stiles. I leave because they are my issues I need to resolve, after the fire and Kate… I haven’t really had a relationship. I’m scared in case they leave me again or hurt the ones I love, I know you would never. But it’s something on me, that needs to be sorted out.” Derek explained, a few of his own tears escaping from his eyes. “I do love you Stiles, I promise I do. You’re the only person who just understands me, you just astound me, continually.”

Stiles wrapped an arm around Derek’s waist, looking at him as if he was made of gold.

“You mean that, really?” Stiles uttered nervously, fiddling with the hem of Derek’s shirt.

Derek nodded, pushing Stiles’ chin up with his free hand. Their eyes locked. The calm and the storm, truly meeting at last to create something so much beautiful than themselves.

And it’s beautiful, so beautiful, just laying in each others arms. A tangled mess underneath the duvet of limbs and unnecessary bedding – and it’s so typically them – because that’s exactly what they are, a tangled mess of feelings.

Now their true emotions are showing, at last. It seemed to sober Stiles, seeing Derek’s walls crash down around him because of him (the gangly human bundle of random noises) and it is the most wonderful feeling.

He’s pushing those bricks out, almost like a game of Jenga and watching them fall. And then they realise, they are linked together in more than just sex now, once you’ve been this vulnerable in front of someone you can’t ever take that back. Somehow, they are okay with that.

“Be mine?” Derek almost begs his voice is thick and pleading, his hear tightened.

Stiles’ eyes widen and he sucks in a breath, he tries to stumble out his acceptance but he just can’t, he’s too elated. A wide grin broke out across his face and Derek leans down, pressing his lips to Stiles’ so softly that he could barely feel them there.

There it is, the storm – or more so, the lightening - infusing within. It sparked something so electrifying inside neither could comprehend it; they were too busy being wrapped up in that tangled mess of feelings (all of the right ones this time) again to care.

Derek held onto Stiles the entire night so tightly, just in case he slipped away from him again. Moreover, Stiles clung to Derek just as tight. He could hear the soft rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat, the calm.