Stiles opened the front door, stepped in and locked the door behind him. He headed to the kitchen and got a glass of oj. He was parched. Today’s lacrosse practice had been quite grueling. Stiles got the bread out with the bottle of mayo and the packet of bacon as well as the container he keeps a few slices of fresh vegetables in to make sandwiches. He put everything on the kitchen counter and then headed to his room, lugging his bag with him. A short hot shower and then he would have the sandwich before doing his homework. Everything planned, Stiles stepped into his room and gave a start at the person who was standing there.
Stiles’ eyes went wide. It was a school day and Derek, Uncle Derek never came on schooldays, deigning to let Stiles have at least that much of a respite from whatever he comes up with by letting him have the Sunday to regain his strength. Not to mention that his dad would be coming in an hour or so, and that was totally outside the bounds that Uncle Derek had always maintained. Before Stiles could open his mouth to point these things out, Derek said, “John called me and said that he had to go to the city immediately and will be out for two days. In the meantime I am supposed to look after you now.”
Stiles gave an audible gulp. Uncle Derek, here at his home, for two days - that was horrifying. The limited time before usually meant that Uncle Derek would create havoc on Stiles’ body and mind and leave within a few hours, but now he would be staying. Maybe he should just go to Scott’s house, Stiles though hysterically. He can always call his dad from there and let him know that he will be staying there instead of Uncle Derek, no need to inconvenience him and all of that civilized stuff, maybe his dad will even be proud at his stance. He could wear Scott’s clothes no problem, so long as he manages to run.
Before he could take one step back, Uncle Derek was suddenly standing before him, all hard eyes and sharp smiles and Stiles gave a yelp at that. There was something almost supernatural about this man, something really offsetting, but he could never find out what. It didn’t help that everyone only saw the reserved and soft spoken business man in his smart suits as he went about on his day, smiling deftly at all and have everyone eating out of his hands. Even Scott was in awe of Stiles’ Uncle Derek, who had donated uniforms and equipments to the lacrosse team of Beacon Hills High School.
No, no one knew how Uncle Derek loved to hear Stiles mewl in pain and cry till tears and snot was running down his face that Uncle Derek always took great care to take pics of. Of Stiles on his knees, his tongue poking out of two bamboo stilts that made him drool onto his thin chest and eyes brimming with hurt. Stiles bent over on the bed with his hands and legs attached to the spreader bar that was cold iron and hurt his hands, it did, when Uncle Derek belted his ass till all he could feel was the pain under his skin and conscious of nothing else. Uncle Derek knew how to play Stiles till he was a perfect mess and Stiles could do nothing about it.
Uncle Derek was not a relative, or an actual uncle of Stiles, but that is how he preferred to be called – never Derek and only Uncle was not enough. Stiles was supposed to call him Uncle Derek no matter where he was and had been calling him so for 14 years or so by now and Stiles didn’t think that Uncle Derek would let him stop soon either. Derek Hale was the eldest son of Talia Hale, Stiles’s mom Claudia’s best friend, so even in a non family technicality he was not really an uncle. He was already a teenage when Stiles was born, but then some 10 years ago, Uncle Derek’s mom died in a mysterious house fire. His dad had already passed away years before that, so after his mother’s death, Uncle Derek took over his family.
The remaining Hales were Uncle Derek’s sisters Laura and Cora, his younger brother Jake and his uncle Peter. Peter got burned in the same fire that killed his sister, and now was a wheelchair bound man with stay in nurse who looked after him 24/7, apparently in a coma and unable to even eat or even move without external help. The other Hales were all very reserved, mostly kept to themselves, and were always ready to help those in need. Everyone obeyed Uncle Derek though, even Cora, who had a reputation of being somewhat of a snappish attitude, no tolerance for people talking behind her back.
When Stiles’s own mother died 8 years ago, Uncle Derek had been extra helpful to the Sheriff and helped look after Stiles, who, he had insisted was just like another brother to look after. Only one year older than Cora and thus in absolute fear of her, Stiles didn’t protest much when his father started sending him to the Hale house for some social bonding in the weekends when Scott went to the city to meet his dad. Melissa was always busy, so without Scott in the house it made no sense to leave Stiles there to fend for himself. Better to send him to the Hales and Laura, who was such a good girl, would look after him no problem.
Except that apart from receiving Stiles from the sheriff when he came to drop him and taking him out in the morning so that Stiles could leave with the Sheriff, done with his night shift to take him home so that he could go to school from there, Stiles never got to see her. He in fact did not get to see anyone else at all. Once maybe he got to see Peter, sitting in the wheelchair, one side of his face all burned tissue and scars and drool dripping down one corner of his face. For a man who was supposed to be in a coma or nearabouts, he looked really sad. The nurse had come and taken Peter away and Stiles had seen Peter look at him till Stiles was out of his sight.
Stiles would sit on a chair in Derek’s office at his worktable while Derek worked from his end and eat some snacks while working on his own homework. Derek would stop working just minutes before Stiles was done with his, and this was something that puzzled him, how Uncle Derek could do it correct to the minute. Done with his homework, Uncle Derek would pull Stiles, then just 8 or so, onto the big squishy sofa and make him sit on his lap while they watched something on the TV. IT was always Stiles’ choice, what they watched, so long as he sat on Uncle Derek’s lap.
Then he would start petting Stiles, first, his head like how his dad does and how his mom used to do, and then Uncle Derek would rub his fingers on the skin of Stiles’ neck, sometimes pulling his tee or shirt aside to get at it, sending Stiles into uncontrollable giggles. Then he would poke at Stiles’ small tummy, soft under his clothes and Stiles would squirm, rubbing his ass into Uncle Derek’s crotch because it tickled him so. Last, Uncle Derek would rub his big hands and finger all over Stiles’ lower body, asking him if his legs pained or his thighs or does his peepee feel funny sometimes. When Stiles said yes, Uncle Derek would lightly press his legs and his thighs and even his chest and Stiles would laugh loudly at those funny touches.
Stiles now did not remember just why he never told his dad about the things that kept happening at the Hale house, or even Melissa who always listened to Stiles even when he was telling tall tales. Just how did Uncle Derek convince him or impress it enough on him so that he never blabbed about it. Stiles had clear memories of those times on Uncle Derek’s lap, tickled with soft fingers and hand and the scruff of his beard as funny on his skin. He didn’t have a clear idea when this started, this physical torture and abuse, where Stiles felt as complicit as Uncle Derek even though he was always saying stop and crying.
No, he didn’t remember the jump, how things progressed from tickles to being whipped, belted, decorated with needles, his cock and balls shaved and hit so hard that he passed out only to wake up to more hits. Maybe, Stiles thinks, as Uncle Derek pulls him from the open door to his room, sits on Stiles’ bed and make Stiles sit on his lap just like always, maybe it is good he doesn’t remember, maybe those are not memories he should have, maybe not remembering is keeping him sane. Even now, with a much older body, with more skin to decorate in bruises and hair longer than the buzzcut he used to keep, just like Uncle Derek likes it, Stiles feels diminished.
As he sits on Uncle Derek’s lap, still a small boy to the height and bulk of Uncle Derek, Uncle Derek slowly peels Stiles clothes away, making sure to pinch at every new strip of skin each article unearths. And it takes some time, for Stiles wears so many layers, so many covers required to not show the world what he is, what Uncle Derek had shown him again and again to be, that it does take time, but Uncle Derek seems to actually like it. ‘Like a present’ he had once whispered, making Stiles want not to put anything on his body for days. But of course he had to – you couldn’t go to school bare bodied.
Something flickers in Stiles eyes and he knows that he has lost time. He goes away sometimes, not lost in thought, not busy, just away and when he comes back he can just slip back in and carry on, letting his body do everything via muscle memory. Uncle Derek sometimes likes that and sometimes he doesn’t. Today it seems he didn’t as Stiles is back in the spreaders, an iron bar in two pieces with cuffs for two ankles and two wrists in a straight line, keeping him in an awkward bent position so that he has to push his head back so as to breath while the bar pulls at his sockets.
There is a piece of cloth shoved into his mouth and from prior experience Stiles can make out that it is his own underwear, rolled off his body and shoved in. Uncle Derek usually likes to hear the sounds Stiles makes. Stiles hates making those sounds, as if he is giving verbal affirmation to his degradation and humiliation and Uncle Derek basks in it. When he willingly puts something into his mouth, that means it is going to be bad, very bad, enough to be making Stiles scream out loud and long. Before he can panic himself as to what is going to be done to him, Uncle Derek’s favourite belt whistles through the air and lays a line of fire across Stiles’ ass.
All the air seems to be suspended in his lungs before he screams, screams loud and then continues screaming for minutes while the belt fly. This belt has all the loops rounded with small silver spikes that draw blood when it connects with Stiles’ skin. It is also heavy, double layered leather with the buckle falling so that they tip right over his hip and hit the edges of his groin. It is the hardest Uncle Derek had ever hit him, Stiles feels, while his throat feels raw and cut and maybe bleeding, that is how much everything hurts. Uncle Derek stops after 20 lashes, not really done, no, even Stiles knows that, just taking a break.
Stiles is crying and struggling to breathe with the cloth shoved into his mouth as his nose is running as well. He can feel sluggish blood oozing from the welts on his lower back and realizes that he peed himself in utter fear and pain when Uncle Derek says, “Tsk, tsk, Stiles, baby, you wet your bed. I will have to punish you for that too now. Dirty little boy.” Stiles cries and shakes his head, making begging sounds. He can’t anymore, not anymore. He is heaving, his blocked nose and mouth making him see dark spots in his vision. Uncle Derek takes pity on him perhaps because he pulls out the cloth from his mouth.
Stiles coughs, feeling like he is going to barf too, but he doesn’t want any more punishment so he just takes quick swallows and turns to Uncle Derek with fearful eyes, saying, “Please Uncle Derek no, *hnngh* please, I be good, I swear I swear please no *sob* no more please, please.” Uncle Derek’s answer is to lean in, lick at his tears while pinching his nipples viciously and say, “Happy Birthday baby.” Stiles stills at that. It, it is his birthday, today, which means that it is after midnight, he had been out and then back and it had been more than 6 hours. Stiles hiccoughs, stares at Uncle Derek with shock on his face and remembers.
Stiles remembers what Uncle Derek had promised on his 16th birthday, he had and as Uncle Derek starts taking off his clothes, Stiles stares stockstill. How there will be no sex till the moment he is 16 and he forgot, he totally forgot and now on the night of his 16th birthday, Stiles who was still a virgin, was going to be raped as his birthday present. Stiles lets out a strangles scream and tried to sidle across his bed, the spreader bar still on. He has to get away, he has to, he can’t he won’t endure that he won’t he won’t won’t!
Stiles comes to at the hard slap that Uncle Derek gives him, realizing that he had been shouting ‘won’t’ again and again. He is on his back, the spreader bar being taken off his hands and legs and Uncle Derek is suddenly there, bare, naked, with his engorged cock in his hand as he pulls lazily on it and grinds into Stiles who lets out a breathy hiss as the bleeding lines on his ass protests. There is a look of absolute bliss on Uncle Derek’s face, happiness that is wrong through and through, making him look ugly. He pushes Stiles back on to his front and Stiles is losing his focus again, as if he is going to sleep, but it is not sleep, just a sense of nothingness.
He can feel Uncle Derek rub his hard cock into his stinging flesh, leaving drops of precum amidst the blooddrops. This is it, Stiles thinks, this is it, this is the end. He cannot go on anymore. He will run, run away and as far he can go because this was his limit. This rape fuck of a birthday present this was the absolute last, Stiles decides fuzzily while Uncle Derek fucks his hand till he comes on Stiles split skin, and rubs his cum into the welts, making Stiles hiss. He leans over, licks at Stiles neck and says, “Mine, forever mine now Stiles, you will never be free from me, never be able to escape me. You are mine for as long as I want, all mine.”
Next thing Stiles knows, he is on his bed, with the windows drawn wide and the morning sunlight streaming in. He is lying on the bed on his side with a pillow shoved between his legs. When he tries to move, his whole body pulls at a whole network of pain and Stiles cries out. Tears fill his eyes again as he becomes more aware of his body. His back and the cheeks hurt. But his asshole hurts even more. Stiles gingerly puts his hand there and finds that his skin is all swollen and hot there, like something had been shoved in roughly. When he pulls his hand back, there is a slight smidge of blood on the tip of one finger.
Stiles starts to cry in earnest now. It is his birthday and he just got raped. And he is in so much pain that he cannot even move. He can’t go to school, his dad will come back and find out about it, and then where will he go? All those years, all those years he didn’t tell anything, didn’t even realize how things had escalated so bad and now, Stiles thinks, hiccoughing as he tries to wipe his face into his pillow, now things had gone irrevocable. He clutches the pillow between his legs to him and feels absolutely wretched. Maybe he should have died with his mother too, maybe then his dad would have gone on to have another family and Stiles himself would not have had to endure all these.
If only, Stiles weeps, if only. He has to get up soon, take some pain meds, which, of course Uncle Derek provides. He turns to his front and then stills immediately, his mouth open in dismay and fear. Uncle Derek is sitting at his computer chair, a tray of breakfast food near the computer and a horrible smile on his face. It is perhaps the first time Stiles realizes that Uncle Derek is not sane, not even a bit perhaps. Uncle Derek smiles at him so Stiles smiles back at him too, mimicking him, shivering in abject fear. “Good morning sweetheart,” he coos, “welcome to your new life.” And Stiles can feel the spidery hold on his own sanity tipping over.
Maybe that’s good, maybe that will be nicer, to be insane together, as he lays still while Uncle Derek kisses his lips. Maybe that is the only way he will survive in the end.