Payment (revised)

Chapter 23

Find me on tumblr under the username @ kca1516 for news about updating and the likes and as always thanks for reading

edited: 5/14/20

edited: 8/17/23 (I tried to fix the weird internalized fatphobia that happened up in here, but bc this is a product of it's time I didn't change it entirely)

Thrashing.

Derek woke up to a sweaty body next to his thrashing about as if being murdered.

Somewhere in his sleep muddled brain Derek recalled the person's name. Stiles.

Small fists pounded on his back. Stiles was trying to get away from Derek, but the sheets surrounding his lithe body had tangled around him, trapping him in place.

A piercing cry slashed at Derek's consciousness, and he found the tormented whimpers weren't calming down. Something was wrong.

"Please. Stop," Stiles kept calling out, pushing at Derek's body, trying to break free. Tears were steadily rolling down his face and he was barely able to take a solid breath.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Stiles.

Derek's eyes flew open and he sprung out of bed, but he had no advantages. Stiles was the last person to have Derek's gun, he didn't know where it had ended up.

Derek was unarmed with an intruder in the room.

He could still win if he played his cards right, but he cursed his luck. He didn't like such low odds of survival when Stiles's life hung in the balance.

Derek couldn't help but think this attack had something to do with the docks. Someone might have seen Stiles; The Argents might have seen him. They could have been hiding in the warehouse where Stiles came across Lydia; they must have seen how Derek acted around Stiles and figured out the boy was important to him. Now they were here to break Derek apart from the inside out.

This was why Stiles should have listened to him.

Now it was too late.

But as Derek scanned the room, preparing to launch himself at the perpetrator, he realized he was alone in his surroundings. No one, least of all an Argent, had broken into Derek's home.

Even the blackened corners of the room were innocent tonight.

Yet, Stiles was still crying out in fear. The sound made Derek's blood turn cold. The Alpha switched on the lamp next to the bed, afraid of what he would find.

For a paralyzing moment Derek pictured Stiles covered in blood, a bullet through his heart. What if he had woken up too late? What if the attacker had already been there before Derek came to? What if Stiles was bleeding out? Derek turned to his lover expecting the worst.

He was shocked out of his sleep induced panic to find Stiles physically unharmed.

Physically.

Derek knew enough to know what was wrong with Stiles.

The boy was having a nightmare. Derek ran a hand down his face, punched with relief.

He remembered the first time he ever witnessed a murder.

He had been thirteen and had nightmares for weeks afterwards. He would wake up in a cold sweat every night, dried tears on his face, and his throat scratched raw from screaming himself hoarse. Of course, being who he was, Derek never let anyone know what was happening. He had been afraid his family would perceive him as weak for his mind's betrayal.