There's Something Dark Inside of Me

“Stiles, you need to eat something.”

“It’s been days man, nobody blames you.”

“Stiles… we miss you, please talk to us…”

Stiles hadn’t spoken much since they had defeated the Nogitsune. He had mostly just stayed in bed, ate and showered when he had to. He didn’t leave the house, didn’t want to see anyone, see the pain there.

The pain he had caused.

He couldn’t look at Lydia, at Scott. He had killed Allison, he had killed Aiden. It didn’t even matter that the Oni had done it. The Nogitsune had gotten power because it had possessed him. If he hadn’t given it a body, an opportunity to kill them…

So, when the Pack had come by to try and talk to him, he had rolled over and faced the wall until they left. Eventually they stopped coming by altogether. They had finally given up, just like him.

Maybe they realized how broken and damaged he was, how twisted. They knew he was a lost cause. Good. At least they weren’t getting their hopes up for him.

“That’s it Stiles, this has gone on long enough.”

His eyes flew open in surprise, not at the words but who was speaking to him. He had never heard Derek speak so gently, so quietly.

“You need to get up, you need to start healing,” Derek told him. He was sitting in the desk chair, leaning forward so his face was only two feet from Stiles’. Derek’s eyes were full of concern, which was what brought him back to his stubborn, self-hating reality.

“Fuck off, Derek. Everyone else gave up, what do you care?” Stiles spat out, bitter that the words he said were the truth.

Derek sighed, moving the chair a little closer. “Nobody gave up Stiles, they just know that you aren’t listening to them, and I explained that their forgiveness and assurances that you aren’t to blame makes you feel worse. It just reminds you of what happened and the role you played. So I told them to back off, I would talk to you.”

Stiles blinked at him, unsure of how to respond. So he didn’t.

“You’re forgetting that I have an idea of what you’re going through, of what you’re feeling,” Derek whispered. He was staring at his hands, his knees, the floor, anywhere but at Stiles. He couldn’t look at him and let Stiles see the overwhelming guilt there.

“You have no idea what I’m feeling.” Derek finally looked up and saw the tears in Stiles’ eyes, the absolute anguish written into every feature.

“I killed the girl I love, I gave Kate everything she needed to kill my family, I turned Jackson into the Kanima, I bit Erica who was a scared teenager and she was killed by people coming for me, I killed Boyd, I fell for Jennifer and almost got your dad killed. I have a faint idea of what you’re feeling,” Derek said.

“Killing Allison and Aiden isn’t the only thing that I’m upset about, Derek. It’s not just who I’ve hurt…” Stiles whispered, closing his eyes. He was ashamed, he didn’t want Derek to think he was a monster. Not after all they had been through.

“I know.” Derek brushed the hair out of Stiles’ eyes, then pulled his hand back quickly like he had been burned. “It’s that you liked the power the Nogitsune gave you, you liked feeling strong.”

Stiles nodded, rubbing a hand over his face to get rid of the tears he couldn’t hold back.

“It’s okay to want to feel strong, in control. It’s not shameful. But you don’t understand how strong you’ve always been, Stiles,” Derek told him. He had leaned so close that Stiles could feel his breath against his skin. He shivered.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles mumbled behind his hands.

“Stiles, you have always stood up for your friends, run into supernatural fights armed with nothing but a baseball bat, you held me up in a pool for two hours, and you were tortured by Gerard for information and never gave it to him. You are loyal and sarcastic and a fighter in a world where most of the strength comes from sheer supernatural ability. Most of these wolves wouldn’t last a day in this world if they were human, and you still run into these fights to protect the people you love. You are strong.”

Stiles had finally moved his hands away from his face, blushing deeper the more Derek spoke.

“You make it sound like I’m some sort of hero, but I’m not a hero, Derek. I’m just a kid that dragged his best friend into the woods. I’m just dead weight,” Stiles argued, still not believing that Derek wasn’t just saying this to appease him.

Derek shook his head, moving away from Stiles to lean back in his chair. “You’re wrong, you’re so wrong. You don’t see yourself clearly, the way we see you, the way I see you,” he said, almost too quietly for Stiles to hear him. “But fine, I can’t force you to believe me. But do you want me to help you get stronger? I can teach you how to fight and I got Deaton to agree to teach you some of what he does.”

Stiles sat up and faced Derek. “You talked to Deaton? You wouldn’t talk to Deaton unless you had to. You get too frustrated.”

Derek just looked at him for a moment, studying his face, before pretending Stiles hadn’t said anything.

“So, if you want us to help you, come to the Clinic tomorrow morning,” Derek told Stiles before getting up and walking out of the room.

…

Stiles pulled up behind the Clinic, sighing before getting out and walking into the building. The only reason he had come was because he knew what Derek had gone through to do this for him.

“Okay, I’m here. Let’s get this over with,” Stiles griped. He walked into the exam room and found Derek leaning against a wall and Deaton walking around collecting things to place on the table.

“Wow,” Derek said flatly. “Don’t sound so overjoyed.”

Stiles snorted, “This coming from the most emotionally constipated person I’ve ever met.”

Deaton smirked momentarily before his face became impassive once again. He grabbed the last few jars of herbs and lined them up on the table.

“Stiles, I am under the impression that you want to train to be a Druid. Or at least see if you’re capable, as not everyone is,” Deaton queried.

“Well, you wouldn’t have agreed to try and teach me if you didn’t believe there was a possibility of my being capable,” Stiles asked, leaning against the wall opposite Derek.

Derek raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed that Stiles understood Deaton, at least as much as anybody could.

Deaton nodded, eyeing Stiles curiously. “I’ve suspected for a while now that you might have the Spark of a Druid, or any form of magic user really. It’s one of the reasons Mountain Ash works so well for you.”

“So, you think you can teach him?” Derek asked, trying to get a straight answer. This was what he got annoyed with whenever he had to talk to Deaton about anything. He could never just give a straightforward answer, he was always vague and mysterious. It irked him.

“I believe so, yes. I want to try a few simple things first, just to make sure,” Deaton answered.

Derek pushed away from the wall, feeling that he was being excused, but Stiles voice stopped him.

“Can-can he stay?” He asked nervously. Derek’s eyes widened, surprised by how unsure Stiles sounded.

Deaton didn’t look surprised at all, he merely nodded his head at Derek. Leaving the decision up to him. Derek didn’t say anything, just went back to leaning against the wall.

“I want to teach you about the Nine Herbs-”

“You mean the Nine Sacred Herbs of the Saxons?” Stiles interrupted, sounding interested.

“Yes, I take it you’ve come across it in your research?” Deaton asked, smiling.

“Yeah, I know it can be used on most supernatural venoms and poisons if it’s mixed properly!” He was smiling now and his eyes had that hungry look he got when he was researching. It was the most life he’d shown since the Nogitsune had possessed him.

Derek smiled, relieved that Stiles was back, even for a short while.

…

“Dude, you don’t have to carry those for me, I can do it,” Stiles told Derek, grabbing for the heavy books that Deaton had given him to read.

“Stiles,” Derek protested, pulling the books out of Stiles’ reach. “For the third time, I can carry them. And knowing you, you’ll drop them and I don’t think they can handle that.”

“Fine,” Stiles grumbled. “Stubborn ass Sourwolf,” he mumbled under his breath.

Derek snorted.

They were beside the Jeep now, Stiles opening the door. He was a little surprised when Derek climbed into the passenger seat.

“Uh, didn’t you drive here?” He asked.

“No, I knew you were going to and I didn’t see why we both needed to drive to my place. And I wanted to go for a run this morning,” Derek told him, carefully putting the books in the backseat.

Stiles just shook his head, because of course Derek ran here. Just a casual 15 mile run, nothing big.

“So, what are we doing at your place?” He asked after a few minutes of driving in silence.

“Well, you want to learn to fight, to defend yourself. So, I’m going to teach you how to best fight a werewolf. You probably won’t be able to beat a werewolf on your own, but if you’re learning magic from Deaton you should be able to combine those. Unless you want to learn how to use weapons,” Derek explained.

“No weapons,” Stiles said immediately. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“I assumed as much,” Derek said casually. The tone calmed Stiles, letting him take a breath to relax. “So, I’ll teach you about fighting.”

“You know that I know self defense, right? My dad is a cop,” Stiles said, trying to sound sarcastic, but just sounding a little forced.

“I figured, but fighting a supernatural creature is very different than fighting a human, and I want to know that you can protect yourself,” Derek said seriously. “I want to know you’re safe.”

Stiles glanced at him, surprised to hear the concern in his voice. Derek had turned his head away from Stiles, but the tips of his ears were a little pink, like he was blushing.

What the hell was going on with Derek? He had never really shown that he liked Stiles, in fact Stiles had been pretty sure that Derek thought he was annoying and only talked to him because of Scott.

Maybe he cared more than he let on.

Once they were in Derek’s loft, Stiles took off his plaid shirt, so they were both wearing jeans and t-shirts.

“Okay, so first thing’s first. Keep your hands up-”

“So you can more easily protect your face,” Stiles finished, already in a proper fighting stance.

“Exactly. Now, if we were fighting, where would you want to try to hit me?”

“Nose, throat, behind the ear, kidneys,” Stiles listed.

“Right again. If you’re fighting a werewolf, your best bet is probably behind the ear because that is nerve damage, where everything else can heal pretty easily. But if you can knock them out, even for a small amount of time, it can give you enough time to get out of there,” Derek expanded.

For the next twenty minutes Derek showed Stiles the best ways to attack someone stronger. Everything was going really well, Stiles was a fast learner and picked everything up easily. He asked questions, made suggestions, and took everything much more seriously than Derek thought possible.

“Okay, using what you’ve learned, try and take me down,” Derek instructed.

“You aren’t going to take it as a threat?” Stiles half-joked. Derek just shook his head, smirking.

So, Stiles had thrown a punch to the side of Derek’s head, which he had been expecting. He hadn’t been expecting the leg sweep that knocked him to the ground or for Stiles to roll him over so that he had a clear shot to the spot behind Derek’s ear that Stiles had been aiming for.

And that was when Stiles’ heart started racing and his breath began coming in gasps. Derek rolled over so fast he was practically a blur.

“Hey, Stiles, it’s okay,” he assured quietly. His hands were hovering over Stiles, wanting to comfort him but not sure if touching him would make things worse.

Stiles looked up at him, his eyes wide and his skin pale. He saw Derek’s hands and grabbed one of them, not able to speak to tell him that it was okay.

“Okay, Stiles, did I scare you?” Derek asked. He continued holding one of Stiles’ hands and put the other against his chest to try and ground him.

He shook his head frantically, dragging in breaths and pointing at himself. “Scared… of me,” he gasped out.

Derek blinked once, surprised. Then he composed himself.

“Stiles, I’m okay, see? Do you want to check?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, thrusting his hands forward to run them over Derek’s skin. He started with Derek’s face, then his neck, shoulders, back, chest, arms. The more he realized Derek was fine, the more the panic faded until he became fully aware of what he was actually doing.

He was feeling up Derek Hale. How were his hands still attached to his body? How was he still breathing?

He jerked his hands away. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, getting up to leave quickly before Derek murdered him.

“Stiles,” Derek grabbed his wrist to stop him, keeping it gentle enough that if he wanted to pull out of his grip, he could. He didn’t, though. “Stiles, it’s okay.”

“How is this okay? I can’t fight! I just think about hurting someone else and I fall apart!” Stiles shouted, turning around to face Derek. He was crying now, too angry and frustrated to even try to stop the tears.

“You don’t want to hurt people, that’s not a bad thing,” Derek responded, his voice calm like they were having a normal conversation. It made Stiles even more frustrated.

“It’s not a good thing! What if someone is in trouble, and I don’t do anything and it gets someone I love killed? You think I could live with myself if you got hurt because I didn’t do anything, Derek?” He screamed, walking forwards until he was so close that Derek could feel the heat coming off his body.

“Stiles, you will get better and I will help you. Stop beating yourself up, stop ignoring all of the ways you’ve already begun healing. You got out of bed today, you came to Deaton’s, you came here. That is progress. You need to be proud of every step you take,” Derek said, putting his hand on Stiles shoulder.

Stiles was breathing heavily again, this time from shouting. He stepped forwards and put his forehead on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek froze for a moment, before putting his arms around Stiles. When he felt Stiles arms snake around him, he couldn’t help but relax. He hadn’t hugged anyone in a while, but it was nice.

And Derek was very pointedly not thinking about the fact that Stiles had maybe said he loves him. Not thinking about that at all.

…

That week began a routine. Stiles would wake up, shower, eat, and then go to Deaton’s. Sometimes Derek would pick him up, and sometimes Stiles would drive. But they only ever used one car, so the days Stiles drove, Derek ran to the Clinic.

Stiles knew that Derek didn’t need to be there with him while he was practicing with Deaton, but he felt better when Derek was around. He understood now what Scott was talking about when he talked about having an Anchor.

He still hadn’t spoken to the rest of the Pack, and Derek must have told them to stay away until he said something to them. He was grateful for that. He wasn’t ready to face them, not yet.

The panic attacks weren’t as frequent either. They still happened, but Derek was always there to bring him back.

It was a Thursday night when he looked at his phone and realized it was 1 am and he had been at Derek’s reading the books that Deaton had given him for nearly 12 hours. And he was exhausted.

“Shit, it’s really late,” he said. He turned his head to see Derek lying on the couch and realized that Derek had passed out. He smiled, knowing how tired Derek usually was.

He got up to leave, grabbing the books and shoving them in his bag. He was almost to the door and thinking about how he was going to open it without waking Derek up when he heard a voice behind him.

“Where are you going?” Derek asked, voice muffled by the cushion that his face was mashed into.

“Uh, home?” Stiles answered, though it came out as more of a question.

“Stiles, you’re too tired, you’re not driving. Stay here, you can have the bed,” he said.

Stiles took a step towards the door, planning on ignoring Derek and just driving home. He was fine, he had driven when he was this tired before.

Then Derek was in front of him, taking his bag and turning him around. “Stiles, I’m serious. I can smell how tired you are, you aren’t driving home. Your dad’s at work, right?” Stiles nodded. “Alright, I’ll call him and let him know where you are. There’s a spare toothbrush upstairs, go get ready for bed.”

Stiles was too tired to argue, so he just did what he was told. And he definitely did not eavesdrop on Derek’s conversation with his father.

“Yes sir.”

“He tried, but I can tell how tired he is and I really don’t like the thought of him driving home, no matter how short a drive.”

“Of-of course, sir.”

The last reply from Derek got Stiles attention. It took a lot to make Derek nervous. What had his father said to him?

Stiles stripped down to his underwear and t-shirt, left his jeans and sweater in the bathroom, and walked over to Derek’s bed. Once he was laying under the covers he rolled over to face Derek on the couch.

“What did my dad say to you?”

“Nothing.” That clearly meant he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Really? Because I’ve never heard you sound nervous like that? Or was it embarrassment? Maybe both?” Stiles pushed, knowing it would grate on Derek’s nerves.

Derek rolled over and Stiles could see his face now. He looked angry, but he always looked like that. “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“I’m just curious, you don’t need to be embarrassed in front of me. I have panic attacks like twice a day, and you see almost all of them, I think you can trust me with this,” Stiles said.

“It’s not a matter of trust.” Derek closed his eyes, not sure he wanted to see the reaction he got. “Your father told me to make sure I kept my hands to myself and that we were both in separate beds.”

Stiles mouth dropped open. Whatever he had been expecting, that wasn’t it. Then he laughed, and once he started he couldn’t stop. The idea just seemed so ridiculous. He was laughing so hard he didn’t see Derek’s face fall.

“Oh god, he thinks you would ever want to touch me? That you, you, would be interested in me? Fuck, that’s absurd!” Stiles was laughing so hard he was crying now.

Derek rolled over, definitely not wanting to talk about this right now. “Just go to sleep.”

After a few more minutes Stiles finally stopped laughing. He fell asleep pretty soon after that, snoring softly. Derek had been right, he was exhausted. He would call Deaton in the morning to tell him that Stiles needed a day off.

As Derek lay there listening to Stiles’ snores fill the loft he thought about what Stiles had said when he was laughing.

He had thought that Derek would never want to touch Stiles, he thought that was what was ridiculous about the Sheriff’s warning. He thought that he was somehow below Derek, that Derek was out of his league.

As if Stiles didn’t have it all backwards, Derek thought bitterly. Stiles was much, much better than Derek, too good for him. Derek would never deserve Stiles, not in an infinite number of lifetimes.

Yet Stiles thought Derek wanting him was ridiculous.

He didn’t see himself clearly, which had been obvious to Derek once he actually got to know Stiles. It was hidden under a layer of sarcasm and obnoxiousness, but it was there.

It wasn’t just that Stiles was beautiful, though he was one of the most beautiful people that Derek had ever laid eyes on, it was his heart, his soul that he loved.

And yes, Derek was fully aware of how cliché and lame that was. But he couldn’t ignore the truth of those words, everything Derek had told Stiles that day when he had finally gotten through to him, that he was strong in his humanity and love and loyalty. He had shown Derek what true strength really was. How could he not fall in love with him?

“Stop! No, stop, don’t don’tdon’tdon’t!” Stiles yelled, terrified.

Derek jumped up, ready to fight the attacker. Then he realized Stiles was just having a nightmare. He ran over to the bed, kneeling beside it and reaching out a hand to him.

“Stiles, it’s okay,” he whispered soothingly. He placed his hand on Stiles cheek, feeling how clammy he was but hoping it would comfort him.

Stiles’ eyes whipped open, wide and scared. Derek was about to pull his hand away, worried he had made it worse, before Stiles threw himself on Derek. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders and his legs around Derek’s waist.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated quietly, clinging tighter and tighter to Derek as the seconds ticked by.

Derek didn’t know what to do so he just held Stiles close and rubbed his hand up and down his back. He moved to sit on the bed, thinking that it would be more comfortable.

“Nonono!” Stiles sobbed, clutching Derek even tighter. Derek hadn’t known Stiles had that much strength.

“I’m just moving us onto the bed, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against Stiles hair. Then he moved onto the bed as gracefully as he could with a human-being wrapped around him.

They sat like that for a while, neither of them really knew for how long. Stiles clinging to Derek and repeating over and over that Derek was okay, he was safe. Derek holding him just as tightly, rubbing his back.

Eventually, Stiles pulled back enough to look at Derek, to hold his face with both hands. Derek held his breath.

“I can’t lose you. Not you. Don’t let anything happen to you,” Stiles told him. His voice was shaking but his hands were steady, and so was his heart. He meant it.

Derek just nodded, not sure what else to say. But if Stiles needed him, he would be there. Until the end.

Stiles lay his head on Derek’s shoulder and fell asleep again. Derek wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew that he couldn’t leave Stiles, not even just to sleep on the other side of the room. So he just moved them so they were laying on the bed, Stiles face against Derek’s chest and his hands gripping his shirt. And Derek fell asleep, holding the man he loved and ignoring the fact that it didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean.

…

“Why were you so mad last night? Like before I fell asleep, when I was laughing at what my dad said,” Stiles asked Derek the next morning.

He was still avoiding looking at Derek, and Derek seemed to be doing the same thing. He knew why he was doing it–he had admitted something very personal, something that he had been keeping to himself for over a year. But he couldn’t figure out what Derek was embarrassed about.

Maybe he wasn’t embarrassed, thought Stiles. Maybe he just realized the extent of Stiles’ feelings and didn’t want to disappoint him. Damage an already broken person.

“Because you were laughing at the thought of me wanting to be with you,” Derek answered honestly. Stiles could hear that his teeth were gritted, like he was forcing the words out.

“Why would that make you mad?” Stiles asked, staring at Derek and completely forgetting that he was avoiding eye contact. Though Derek stayed facing the wall, his body completely still.

Then he sighed, leaning his elbows on the counter.

“Because I love you, Stiles,” he mumbled into his hands. It was barely loud enough for Stiles to hear him, but Stiles was positive he hadn’t heard him properly.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked, sticking a finger in his ear to make sure there wasn’t anything there.

Derek groaned, “Don’t make me say it again Stiles, please.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, speechless for once. After a few minutes of increasing tension Derek couldn’t handle it and turned around, expecting to see Stiles on the verge of laughter. He definitely didn’t expect to see an expression akin to being punched in the face and still processing that it had happened.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered. He sounded so young, so afraid of what Stiles was thinking.

“You… you love me? Me? You’re completely sure you mean me and not someone else? Because I was under the impression that you tolerated me, that I annoyed you and you wanted to rip my throat out. With your teeth,” Stiles rambled, finally stopping to catch his breath.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Derek muttered. He took a deep breath and gathered himself again, closing off his emotions–at least until Stiles was gone.

“Derek, don’t do that! Don’t, not when we were getting so much better. I didn’t say I don’t love you back, I just… can you give me a moment to realize that this is real? That I’m not still dreaming?” Stiles asked, pacing and running his hands through his hair.

“‘Still dreaming’?” Derek repeated, staring at Stiles and failing to stop the hope from bubbling up in his chest. “What do you mean ‘still’?”

“I’ve had this dream before! Derek, I’ve been in love with you for months!” Stiles shouted, not understanding why Derek was so surprised by this. Everyone knew, they all made fun of him for it. He had just assumed Derek knew and chose to ignore it.

I’ve been in love with you for months! was echoing in Derek’s head, freezing him in place. Stiles loved him. Stiles loved him. Stiles loved him!

“I just… Derek, you deserve so much better. I’m broken and damaged and completely fucked up! I’m a mess and you shouldn’t have to deal with all of my shit because I don’t think I’m ever going to be normal, not the way I was before all of this happened. There is always going to be darkness around my heart, that’s what Deaton told us. I can’t do that to you, bring any more darkness into your life…”

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, making Stiles jump when he realized Derek had moved to stand in front of him. Derek opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else.

He didn’t seem to have the words he wanted though because then he was grabbing Stiles face and kissing him so fiercely that Stiles felt the air leave his lungs.

Then he threw his arms around Derek’s waist, pulling their hips together and sinking even deeper into the kiss.

Derek’s hand moved into Stiles hair, tugging his head to the side and sliding his tongue into Stiles mouth. Stiles moaned and tried to pull himself even closer to Derek’s body.

When they broke apart they were out of breath and flushed. But they were both grinning at each other because they had been wanting to do that for far too long.

“Stiles, I know you’re still healing. But so am I. I don’t know if the healing ever completely stops, but it’s so much easier when you have someone you love there to help. And though I don’t believe that there is anyone better than you, it doesn’t matter who you think I deserve. I want you, I have wanted you for longer than I am willing to admit,” Derek whispered. He ran a hand along Stiles jaw, revelling in the fact that he was allowed to touch him like this now.

Stiles blushed, putting his hand over Derek’s and smiling. “Der, if I can make you happy, I will. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be annoying as hell still,” Stiles warned.

Derek smirked, “I haven’t really been annoyed by you in a year. I’ve been pretending so you didn’t find out.”

“So you’ve been lying to me!” Stiles gasped, faking outrage.

“I’m sorry,” Derek apologized, smirking and bringing his face close to Stiles’. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

He started kissing Stiles jaw, moving his mouth down to his neck to leave marks and pulling his hips closer.

Stiles moved his head to the side and slid is arms around Derek’s shoulders. “Yeah, that’s a good start,” he moaned.

Derek smiled and lifted Stiles up, carrying him back to the bed. They had all day and he would spend as much time as he needed showing Stiles just how much he loved him.