Payment (revised)

Chapter 19

We are still alive and for some reason so is this fucking story, enjoy

edited: 5/13/20

edited: 8/13/23

Derek awoke to an insistent light dancing across his eyelids. His neck crackled as he moved his head away from the sunlight pouring in, an attempt to continue sleeping. It was no use, and he relented to waking up. With a labored groan, Derek stretched his sore muscles, squinting in confusion as he was greeted by the looming windows in his office.

Why was he in his office?

The strangeness of the situation forced him to wake up quickly, a sense of bitter alertness in the roof of his mouth. He didn't think he was in danger, but Derek was certain something was amiss. Why wasn't he in bed? Derek hadn't slept anywhere but with Stiles in the past month, why would he break from the comfortable routine?

A flash of memory, as vibrant and painful as the encounter had originally been, took Derek's breath away and filled his lungs with drying cement. Everything inside him turned to hard stone, and just when he thought he'd never be able to breathe again, his next inhale shattered the cement back into broken bone.

The anger and sadness welled in his chest until he was sure he would choke on it. Derek's original assumption was correct, something was wrong, something much worse than he could have imagined.

He took a deep breath to center himself, hoping it would make this pain go away.

Knowing it wouldn't.

The fight with Stiles ran rampant in his mind. Derek stood from his chair in a panic, and swept away the neatly stacked papers on his desk.

Stiles's voice screamed so loudly in his head Derek covered his ears, shutting his eyes tight. That only made it worse. Stiles's whiskey eyes were painted along his eyelids, their depths conveying nothing but betrayal for what Derek had said and done.

Then there was the gun. The gun that Stiles had shot at Derek's head. Derek would have done the same if he was in Stiles's shoes.

Derek wouldn't have missed.

Burning agony clawed its way up Derek's throat, and lingered in his sinuses as he felt his tear ducts swell. Derek's eyes shot open. He grabbed his left forearm with his right hand, and squeezed.

His blunt nails punctured his skin and he relaxed into the pinpricks of pain. It was comforting as the sharp sting brought him back to reality, and kept him from facing his own mistakes.

Derek finally unhanded himself when he felt the extra moisture in his eyes dry up. He couldn't let himself succumb, he couldn't afford it. Not when having Stiles around was enough of a liability already.

With his irrationalities shut down, and his logic whirring back to life, Derek gathered his thoughts.

He hated that he had hurt Stiles, that was still true.

No matter what mindset he was in, the idea of Stiles in pain made him lose his mind. However, Derek did not regret what he had done. Stiles needed to learn if he was going to live here, if he was going to be one of them, he needed to listen to Derek. He needed to recognize that Derek was in charge, especially when it pertained to missions and how they were run. People could have died because of what the stupid boy did. Even if this time around things had worked out, and Lydia had been returned to the pack, next time they might not be so lucky. Stiles couldn't disobey him anymore.

A voice whittled its way past Derek's defensive borders, it shouted at him that putting Stiles on lockdown wasn't going to help the situation, either. It screamed at him that the only way to work on the problem was to treat Stiles like an equal and listen, really listen, to what he had to say. Even though Derek was terrified that Stiles could have gotten hurt, a trace of nauseous fear still too close to the surface, he had to let Stiles help.