Stiles' Inner Demon[Sterek Fanfic]

Chapter 8

Stiles and Derek were alone, again at the hospital, staring fiercely into each others eyes. Derek’s impenetrable gaze was even stronger because right now, Stiles was nervous and a pinch of embarrassed. Derek had asked Stiles, again why he loved him and Stiles found that question hard to answer. Not that he didn’t have an answer, he had many: Stiles appreciated the way Derek took care of himself, the muscles, the hair, especially his flawless, tanned skin but perhaps that was just a few perks for being an alpha. Stiles also loved the intensity that Derek had on him: the strong, appraising look that he found so entrancing, Stiles couldn’t help but make a noise of absolute satisfaction. And Stiles just loved Derek . . .  why did there have to be a reason for loving someone? Couldn’t the answer just be that the two were meant for each other? And that Stiles was Derek’s mate, and Derek was Stiles’ soul mate? Why must there be an explanation? Stiles just loved the sour werewolf, end of the line. End of story. They were just meant for each other. 

The both of them said nothing for a long time, and Derek hid in the bathroom when the brunette nurse came back to check up on Stiles, and to put another IV drip into Stiles’ arm. After she left, the nurse closed the curtain, and the door for the bathroom swung open; Derek took his spot next to Stiles’ bedside once more. 

“You gonna answer me?” Derek said crudely. 

And for once, Stiles moved, only shaking his head side to side. “No . . .”

“Then I’m leaving.” Derek turned on his heels and walked away before Stiles sighed. 

“Wait --- Derek.” Stiles said the werewolf’s name painfully and a little tense. After all, how was he supposed to feel revealing his innermost secrets to the man he loved the most. Stiles didn’t want Derek to leave him . . . He had spent weeks alone(except for the intrusion of his demon. He hated the seclusion. 

Without turning around, Derek said, “What?”

Again, Stiles sighed. “Come back here,” he said gingerly, and Derek looked at him, walking back to the place where had stood. “Derek --- you see, I don’t know how to explain myself . . .”

“Try.” Derek said hard. 

“Derek, I’ve never felt this way before with anyone else but you,” Stiles began with no eye contact. 

Derek scoffed. “What do you make of Lydia? She doesn’t want you and you just move on to me? And if you don’t like me later on in life, you’ll just discard me like I’m disposable and easily replaced.”

Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes, and could see some pain in them. He looked away from the painful sight. 

“Derek, I just want to be with you.” Stiles finally revealed. 

Derek’s expression suddenly turned acidic, and he scoffed. “ ‘I just want to be with you’?!” He laughed. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. Who would want to spend the rest of their life with someone like me?” Derek shook his head. “I don’t share, I enjoy being by myself most of the time and people just piss me off!”

“I do,” Stiles spoke calmly as not to offend him. Derek was breathing more deeper and Stiles just wanted to hold him in his arms. “I want you.”

“Yeah --- for how long? Until you find someone better than me? Someone who you can show off to your father, someone who society thinks is appropriate for you, Stiles I could practically be your uncle, and you my nephew, how wrong would that look?! How horrible do you think I would feel when suddenly one day, out of blue, you decide that you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“I will never.”

“You say that now, Stiles but who in their right mind would want to spend eternity with me?” Derek asked. 

“I do,” Stiles repeated. Derek had looked away from the boy, fighting back the tears falling from his eyes. He had crossed his hands over his chest, and tried his best not to look back into Stiles’ eyes. 

“Yeah, eternity meaning ‘until I find someone better than you’!”

“Why do you keep on saying that?” Stiles asked confused. That would be something he should be saying, not Derek. The real question was why would Derek want to spend the rest of his life with someone like Stiles?

“Because it’s true!” Derek roared. “I’m not ever going to be Mr. Right. All anyone has thought of me and will think of me will forever be Mr. Right Now. They’ll only want to be with me for the time being, until something better comes along, and there will always be better things out their Stiles. You probably just think of me as a good thing in a bad situation. Well, I got news for you. I will never be good enough for you!” Finally, the tears Derek had been fighting to keep contained finally spilled over and he had to turn around as to not show Stiles his pain. Again, Derek walked away. 

“Wait ---” Stiles called out before Derek pushed back the curtain, I want to give you something before you go. 

Hesitantly, Derek walked back and stuck out his hand. “Make it quick, I gotta get home.”

“I don’t need your hand,” Stiles said, “I need your lips.” Derek brought his arm back to his side, and suddenly blushed. Yet, there was still an angry look on his face. “I want to give you a kiss, and maybe then you will realize my feelings for you. There’s no other way.”

Derek contemplated the decision inside of his head, but then turned away quickly, refusing to go back, and dashed for the exit, his clothes already tearing as he transformed into a black werewolf. 

The night air brushed coldly on the werewolf’s face as it dashed for the forest in back of the hospital, and ran as far as his legs could take him. He was halfway into the forest, breaking down trees, and cutting the branches off with his sharp, razor claws when he let out an enormous, and pained howl. He howled to the moon, for strength. The air passing through the werewolf’s nose was heavy like he had just ran across the world in ten minutes. His red beady eyes examined the forest, turning east and running for home. 

When the Hale house was in sight, Derek ripped out of his werewolf form, stomped up the porch steps and smashed his way into the dark hallway. He walked straight upstairs, cracking each step as he went on. Derek couldn’t help the continuos growls escaping from his chest, and he walked into his bed room, clawing the walls as he went in. 

Derek headed for the closet: there wasn’t much in it but a few tight gray shirts hanging on the right side, a pair of jeans on the top shelf, some sneakers thrown around on the bottom and a couple boxes neatly stacked on the right side. Derek yanked the closet door open, took one step inside and punched the wall once, creating rubble and a large hole. 

Derek stuck his arm into the hole and found a piece of paper on the tips of his finger; he grabbed it out and pushed away the dirt, sinking to the floor when he revealed a school photo of Stiles he had stolen from Stiles’ room the first time they met. Drops of tears fell onto the picture as Derek huddled into the corner of his closet, crying. He cried in the dark, softly, caressing the photo like it was a treasure or a family heirloom. To Derek, it was a treasure. 

Derek placed the photo against his lips, desperately wishing that he was kissing the real thing.