Late but on the correct day woo

edited: 5/12/20

edited: 6/20/23

Stiles's trembling contrasted horribly with Scott's still body.

Stiles was sprawled across the bathroom tiles, counting his friend's frantic heartbeats. Hoping, praying, they wouldn't unjustly cease.

There was a morbid sense of fascination in the way Scott's chest heaved. Stiles didn't want to see it stop, but he didn't know how to help either. A minute ago he had been panic-stricken and out of control.

Now his mind was blank.

This wasn't Stiles's world. He had never been trained to deal with death. Never once did he wake up fearing the pain of a bullet piercing his body. He had been thrust into a reality he was terribly unfamiliar with, and he was about to pay the price.

Scott's body started to convulse.

Stiles had to do something.

He blinked his eyes hard and color flooded his senses, no longer was he staring at the muted red that had surrounded him. Instead of the monotone fuzz he had been listening to, the sound of Scott's wheezing breath provided an anchor to grasp onto. Stiles inhaled deeply, feeling for the first time since he had walked into the room that he could breathe without a weight on his chest.

Scott was in trouble, and Stiles needed to get over himself and help him. The boy's eyes narrowed in determination. Memories started flashing in his head of what to do in situations like this.

When his father was still the Sheriff, he used to quiz Stiles on emergency protocols.

If someone had hypothermia you take off any wet clothes and wrap them in blankets. If someone was severely burned you had to clean out the wound with antiseptic and wrap it. If you were shot you... if you were shot..

He wanted to scream. He couldn't remember.

Fuck. Why couldn't he remember?

Stiles knew the answer lay somewhere in his past, but the information wasn't coming to him.

He could remember his father explaining it to him once after seeing a particularly nasty shootout.

Stiles's father had lain on the floor and pretended to be unconscious. The sauce Stiles's mother made the night before was used as blood.

As a boy, Stiles had giggled through the entire demonstration. His parents smiled along with him.

But never once did he think that lesson would become necessary in his real life. This wasn't Stiles and his father playing pretend. More importantly, the liquid pouring out of Scott definitely wasn't sauce.

Stiles could feel the panic welling inside him once again.

'You're weak Stiles,' a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father slithered in his mind.

'You're the reason your mother is dead. You're the reason I lost my job. Now you're going to be the reason your friend dies?' Stiles outwardly flinched, feeling the sting of his father's words.

'I should have left you out on the street a long time ago.'

Stiles bit his lip to keep from speaking out against the voice. It was right after all. This was Stiles's fault, it was always Stiles's fault.

But then another, quieter voice sounded, gaining volume the more Stiles focused on it.

'Calm down Stiles. Breathe. I trust you to handle this.'

The voice was deeper than his father's, and was too gruff to be anyone but Derek.

The boy inhaled slowly.

'You're smart Stiles. So tell me, what's the first thing you're supposed to do when someone's been shot.'

Almost immediately, the answer came to him.

"Pressure," Stiles whispered to himself, "apply pressure."

He blinked open his eyes, not remembering when they had closed. The sight in front of him became more tolerable the more he focused.

Stiles knew what to do.

He moved Scott's body into a more comfortable position, and placed his hands on the brunette's body.
Warm, sticky blood oozed from the wound as Stiles pressed down. The boy swallowed back the bile, refusing to be sick again.

He had to keep his cool long enough for someone to get here.

"Help," Stiles croaked.

That wasn't nearly loud enough.

He cleared his throat.

"Help..."

Louder.

"Help.."

Again.

"Help me!"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Help me!"

Derek's ears pricked. It was early in the evening and he was in his office when he first heard the plea for aid. With each new cry, the voice became dreadfully familiar.
A chill crawled up the Alpha's spine.

Stiles was in danger, and that spelled trouble for his pack.
So far into Derek's career one would think cries of help and haunted voices wouldn't bother him.
Normally they didn't, but nothing about his relationship with Stiles was normal.

"Please, someone. Help me, god dammit!"

There it was again, the echo of Stiles's voice ringing throughout the building.
It was clear the boy was losing his patience. Losing his mind sounded more accurate.

Shit.

Derek was out of his chair, grabbing his gun, and running for the hallway. Stiles's howls seemed to be coming from Scott and Isaac's floor. It was enough of a lead to get the Alpha chasing his way up stairs, and through hallways to get to the couples room. Stiles's voice a beacon in the night.

When Derek got to the door, he was troubled to find it had been forced open. With his instincts on high alert, the Alpha carefully made his way past the entryway to scan the inside. Not finding Stiles anywhere.

The light from the bathroom illuminated the rest of the bedchamber, and frantic breathing came with it. It was cause enough for him to move quickly, ignoring the broken furniture and blood spatter until he was outside the bathroom door.
Derek put his back against the wall and cocked his gun. He took a calming breath to ready himself for whatever he would walk into. Then Derek turned sharply into the bathroom pointing his weapon, ready to shoot. Only to find Stiles pressing down on Scott's shoulder frantically. Derek came to a stop. The sight of the boy's panic inherently wrong in the otherwise spotless room.

Stiles was covered head to toe in Scott's blood, his face looked ashen with fear. That's all it took for the Alpha to spring into action once more.

Derek thrust his gun onto the counter before dropping to his knees besides Stiles.
He wanted to replace the boy's shaking hands with his steady ones, but Stiles wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry...my fault.... pressure...help," Stiles kept murmuring those words over and over, refusing to be moved from his spot.

He didn't seem to realize help was there, and that Scott would be taken care of.

From behind Derek, a new voice sounded.

"Derek, what's going on?"

Lydia asked, prepared to maintain composure when she saw the scene before her. To anyone who didn't know her she would have succeeded her aloof performance, but it was clear to Derek she was unnerved.

He met Lydia's gaze, an order already on his lips.

"Find Deaton first and then the rest of the pack. Get them all here as fast as you can."

With a single nod she was gone.

Once Derek knew help would be on the way, he turned back to Stiles. Again, he tried to remove the boy's hands from Scott's paling body, but Stiles fought against the Alpha vehemently.

Derek grunted.
Over and over again he kept at it, trying to retract Stiles from the tiled floor. But each time he shifted the boy, Stiles moved himself back. Going to the point of vocalizing his protests.

"No!" he would insist every time Derek attempted to transfer him away from the body.

Finally, the Alpha had enough.

"Stiles," Derek yelled, needing to break the boy out of whatever trance he was in.

The reaction was immediate. As soon as Stiles's name was out of Derek's mouth, he quieted down. Then, to the Alpha's ever growing surprise, Stiles looked to Derek for orders.
The man felt the wrongness of the situation settle in his bones. Never before had Stiles listened to him so easily. Derek's annoyance dwindled. Stiles was scared. He had never been in a situation like this before, and clearly was panicking as he had every right to. Derek felt a consuming protectiveness for the boy, and silently promised to help him when this was all over. The tension in Stiles's body eased, as if he knew it, too.

"Derek, get him out of the way," the spell was broken, and in came Deaton along with the rest of the pack.

All were ready to help Scott.

Derek made a split second decision. He didn't have time to coax Stiles out of the bathroom. He had to move him now. Hoping this wouldn't make the problem worse, Derek placed his arms under the boy and lifted him into the air. As soon as the two were out of the way, Deaton swarmed in, barking orders to the rest of the pack.

Derek took Stiles out in the hall, knowing he needed to get them away from the chaos. To his surprise, Stiles didn't fight against him as he expected. Instead, the boy buried himself further into the Alpha's chest, like he was trying to disappear. Derek could feel him quivering with the force of his pent up emotion.

"It's okay, Stiles," Derek whispered so only Stiles could hear, "you're safe now, Scott's going to be okay, I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles was numb as Derek carried him. The image of Scott on the ground, and Isaac being hauled through the window playing on loop in his head.

"Derek..he's gone, Isaac was taken," Stiles insisted, knowing he had to tell someone while it was still fresh in his head.

The boy tugged on Derek's shirt, leaving bloody handprints all over the fabric.

"Scott is hurt, too. You have to find him, you have to save Isa-"

"Stiles!" He cut in before the boy could work himself up again.

"It's going to be okay, we'll find Isaac, but first we need to take care of you," Derek's hold on Stiles tightened, not caring about the inevitable transferring of bodily fluids.

They got to Derek's room in no time, and the Alpha was quick to shut the door behind them for privacy.

Derek headed straight to the bathroom, setting the boy down on the side of the porcelain bathtub.

The man planned to get a towel and a change of clothes, but Stiles was reluctant to let Derek go. The boy held on stubbornly to the Alpha, refusing to be left alone.

Derek put his calloused hands on top of Stiles's own, and spoke gently.

"Stiles, you're safe now, but you have to let go so I can help you."

The boy looked up at Derek with wide, trusting eyes, finally nodding his allowance before releasing his vice grip.

Derek attempted a disarming smile, probably failing if Stiles's grimace was anything to go by. But that could have been the fault of the blood on his hands, and had nothing to do with Derek at all.

The Alpha sighed trying hard not to bang his head against the wall, then faced away from the boy and turned on the faucet to the bathtub. The trickle of running water aided in the comfortable silence the two fell into.
Derek waited for the water to warm up before turning back to Stiles. Slowly, trying to come off as non threatening as possible, Derek knelt down in front of the boy. It was obvious to anyone who looked at Stiles that he was not in any state to properly take care of himself.

"You alright, Stiles?" Derek asked the boy softly, though it might have been a stupid question.

He was curled in on himself and seemed lost in his own mind.

Stiles answered him with an affirmative nod, nonetheless.

Under the shock from the evening's events, Stiles was still there. It was something Derek wouldn't take for granted.

"Is it okay if I help you get into the bathtub?" Derek said, willing Stiles to understand the part of the question he wasn't saying. The boy made eye contact with the Alpha for the first time since he had been found. A mocking smile tugged at Stiles's lips. He understood alright.

"Oh, shut up," Derek said, secretly pleased when Stiles's smile widened. After that, they fell into a rhythm as Derek stripped Stiles of his clothes and helped him climb into the warm water.

"You're going to see a lot of blood," Derek murmured.

The water was already turning a murky brown.

"Just remember you're going to be okay. You have the control."

Stiles nodded, not having the energy to reply even if he wanted to. As soon as the steam glanced against Stiles, it ignited sparks throughout his body. For the first time since this all started, his muscles relaxed.

Derek got hold of a bar of soap, and lathered a washcloth before scrubbing down Stiles's body. The boy cringed as he watched Scott's blood rub free of his skin. The sight made bile rise back up in his throat, but Stiles pushed the acid down.

As Derek started to wash Stiles's hair, the boy allowed himself distance from the night's trauma.

The older man was right, Stiles was in control.

The Alpha's rough fingers massaging into his scalp felt amazing, and Stiles leaned into the touch. He didn't know what it was, but being there with Derek made Stiles feel safe from the world, and the newly discovered monsters that lived in it.