Burning Slowly

Chapter 9

Derek lifted his body off Stiles carefully, tried not to wake him. It'd taken a long time for Stiles to fall asleep. The outburst he'd gone through had been ugly and painful, but necessary. He needed the rest. Derek tilted his head to look at the wet mess Stiles had made of his shoulder. He didn't really care; Stiles had needed to let all that pain out.

He'd been surprised when Stiles finally opened up, he'd had no idea what the teenager had kept bottled inside. Derek knew what it felt like to be alone. He wondered how Stiles could go through each day with a smile on his face, laughing and joking about everything when he had such pain locked inside. Derek wasn't capable of doing something like that; he respected the kid's strength.

He wrinkled his nose at the coppery scent of blood in the air, it wasn't very pleasant, but it was something he was used to. There were other scents flooding the room, above them all was Stiles, that personal mixture of his body chemistry with his deodorant and soap. Just below that was Scott. He'd lingered in the hall all night, he still sat against the wall by their door. The young beta's heart beat anxiously.

Scott had followed at a discreet distance as Derek had carried a flailing Stiles up to their room. He'd only attempted to enter once, when Stiles stopped screaming, when he'd started crying in earnest. He'd poked his head just inside the door, met Derek's scowl with defiance.

Scott didn't seem to understand that he'd been intruding, seeing something that Stiles wouldn't want him to, something he wasn't ready to share with his friend. Scott had almost risked challenging him to get to Stiles's side.

Derek had stared into glowing amber eyes, met them with furious crimson. Concern had clouded Scott's judgment but hadn't pushed him into doing something he'd regret. Derek would have had difficultly restraining himself from breaking both of the beta's arms and throwing him off the terrace.

He closed his eyes at the memory. He wanted to protect Stiles, to take care of a vulnerable member of his pack, but being tempted to meet another pack member's concern with violence wasn't the right reaction. His mood swings were getting worse, the Alpha wolf seeped into every corner of his mind, picked at the edges of his control.

"Go to bed." Derek whispered the command knowing Scott would hear it.

"No." Scott's reply was quiet, but infuriatingly obstinate. "I want to make sure he's alright."

"You're the reason he's not alright. He needs time." It was harsh, but true. Stiles needed to face what happened on his own, needed to come to terms with what he'd done before he faced anyone else.

There was a soft rustle of clothes and light footsteps on the carpets as Scott retreated down the hallway, eventually Scott's scent faded too. Derek heard the others milling about downstairs, talking amongst themselves, worrying, thrown into a flurry of emotion as they asked Scott what happened, asked him if Stiles was alright.

Derek tuned them out, took another deep breath. He needed to do something about the blood scent in the air before it drove him into an instinctive frenzy. He was still adjusting to his new more potent urges. First he would need to bandage Stiles's hands so they wouldn't keep bleeding. It was possible the teen might wake up when he tried, but Derek was willing to bet that between the alcohol he'd smelled on Stiles's breath, and the emotional fatigue of his outburst, he wasn't likely to awaken any time soon.

He watched the boy sleep for a few minutes. His breathing was even, face slack. Stiles's heartbeat was steady. Derek went into the bathroom and pulled a first aid kit out from under the sink. He couldn't clean the wounds in Stiles's hands as stringently as he should, but he'd at least apply some antiseptic to the bandages before wrapping them. That would be enough to get him through the rest of the night.