Chapter Text
Late night phone calls were never a good thing, last time he got a phone call in the middle of the night was because Laura was reported missing and the time before that was because his house had burned down.
When his phone started buzzing at four in the morning he assumed that it was one of his new betas who had more news on the kanima or perhaps there had been yet another attack. What he didn’t expect was the harsh breathing on the other end or Stiles Stilinski’s broken voice whispering to him through coughs.
“Hel-help, please,” Stiles was cut off by his own hacking.
“Stiles? What’s going on?” He not so much asks, but demands of the teen, alpha voice leaking through.
Stiles wasn’t exactly pack, but he certainly wasn’t an outsider, at least not to him anyway. The teen probably wasn’t aware of his crush, it seemed that Stiles was oblivious to anything about himself, but that didn’t change the fact that his wolf had taken a liking to the hyperactive teen.
So when he heard Stiles seemingly fighting to breath and begging for help it was more than a little distressing.
All he receives in answer to his question is more raspy breathing and a stuttered address which he realizes is the Beacon Hills cemetery.
Without hanging up, he rushed to the camaro and took off in the direction of the old graveyard. The entire ride Stiles is on the other side of the phone, alternating between horrible coughing and dry sobs. He still has absolutely no idea what could have happened to the teen, but whatever it was had obviously taken quite a toll.
He barely even parks before he’s flying out of the car and running into the cemetery, looking with red eyes over every grave to try and catch sight of Stiles’ body. He hears the teen before he sees him, only a few yards away, laying still on the ground.
He rushes over to the boy and nearly throws up at the heavy smell of blood and pain that was rolling off the teen. As he approaches he feels horror settle in his gut when he sees that Stiles is only wearing a pair of boxers, the rest of his pale body on display.
Although it’s not so pale at the moment, instead it’s covered in a bright, sickening red and even under the ridiculous amount of blood he can see dozens of large purple bruises.
“Stiles,” He mummers softly, reaching gently towards the boy and fights back a whine at the way Stiles flinches when he comes in contact.
“Derek?” Stiles slurs and he watches as the boy tries to turn towards him only to give up when he whimpers in pain.
“Stiles, Jesus, what the hell happened?” He could hear the slow beating of Stiles' heart and it seemed to grow fainter with each second.
And yet again his question was met with no true answers.
“Just, just bring me home,” Stiles whispers, “please,”
He struggles to keep himself under control at the softness in Stiles’ voice. In all the time he’s known the teen, Stiles has never been quiet or small like he is now. Instead the boy seemed to take over a room the second he entered despite not being very big physically. Stiles was simply a very large presence, almost as he was an alpha wolf himself.
So to hear him so vulnerable was unsettling.
“Okay,” He whispers back and carefully scoops the kid into his arms. Stiles is far to light for a boy his age and he doubts he would even need wolf strength to hold him. He can feel blood soaking through his sleeves and reaching his skin only a few moments after picking the boy up and it causes him to speed up.
When he reaches the camaro he doesn’t even hesitate to put the boy in the passenger seat, not caring about how dirty it would get, and rushing to the driver's side. He speeds down the streets without regard for any other drivers, not that it mattered much seeing as how it was four a.m.
He gets to the Stilinski household in almost half the time it should take and is jumping up onto the roof, Stiles in his arms. Once he’s entered the boy’s room he sets Stiles on the bed and starts to look over the many injuries the teen has.
The boy looks broken, now in the light cast from his bedside table’s lamp, he can see every little scratch and bruise on the teen’s exposed skin.
The teen’s left side is covered in harsh purple and black and he guessed that at least a few of the teen’s ribs are broken. There are long gashes that trail down Stiles’ chest, some so deep he can see a sliver of bone through them although it’s stained pink with blood. He shivers at the burn marks that make up the boy’s thighs, thin and long, like a large red hot fire poker had been pressed into the skin.
He doesn’t know much about humans, but he knows enough that he is certain that Stiles needs a hospital. The cuts could so easily become infected and most likely already are seeing as how Stiles was laying on the fucking ground for god knows how long.
Reaching out, he pressed his palm against the teen’s forehead to check for a fever, but instead of the heat he was expecting Stiles was cold as ice and he knew that Stiles had been outside for a lot longer than he originally thought. Now as he realized this, he could see the blue tint of Stiles’ lips under the busted rip.
Stepping over to the boy’s dresser he began looking through the many drawers before finding a pair of thick sleep pants, plaid of course, and a long sleeve shift that seemed soft enough to sleep in.
Right as he was about to put them on Stiles he realized that Stiles hadn’t actually given him permission to touch him again. Reaching out he gently tried to rouse the boy and breathed out a sigh of relief when Stiles’ eyes fluttered open.
“Stiles, can I dress you?’ He asked quietly and Stiles’ blinked at him sluggishly, not giving any sign of understanding. “We need to get you warm,”
A second later Stiles’ nodded, and he began to get the boy dressed in the comfortable clothes he’d picked out. He gently reached under the boy’s neck and supported his head as he slipped the large shirt onto the boy. Next he softly pulled the pants over the teen’s surprisingly smooth legs. The second he thought that he hurriedly pulled the pants up all the way and stepped away from the bed.
He watched as Stiles got comfortable on his bed, or as comfortable as he could get while still covered in gunk. When Stiles’ finally seemed to find the position he wanted the teen practically passed out, eyes closing and heart beat steadying, still way too slow to be normal, but no longer unstable.
Deciding that he couldn’t leave the boy in such a fragile state, bothe because he couldn’t bear it and because he was scared Stiles might actually die in his sleep, he settled into the teen’s chair.
As he watched Stiles he tried to think of all the horrible things that could have caused this to happen. He knew that it was almost definitely supernatural related, either hunters or perhaps there was something new in town to add to the madness.
Shifting slightly, he truly got comfortable in the chair and prepared for the long night ahead.