8: Heat and Fire - Part 3

The week of Derek's heat was indeed challenging and hard for the emissary. But he took care both of them without complaint. He made sure to sometimes give some drink and food to Derek (even if he didn't really need it right now) and washed him down whenever he was knocked out from the herb potions and Stiles had the energy to do so. He also forced himself to eat as regularly as he could, although he didn't really have the appetite. Still, it was needed both to let the healing potions and balms work effectively on him, and to keep his strength up. As much as possible. Because at the end of each day he fell asleep with such exhaustion that the few hours of sleep helped very little on the aches that have settled into his muscles and bones around day three.

The scratches and the bruises on his body grew in number too, but he could manage most of them (which he could reach on his own) with the balms. Stiles was also kinda proud of himself that he didn't break down, only cried a little under the shower when the stinging of his wounds and tender flesh and the exhaustion took a better of him. But he always reminded himself that he was doing this for Derek. Because if the heat was this bad for him with a mate around, he was horrified to think how it'd be on his own. He had to firmly believe that he was helping the wolf at least a little bit.

That thought and the updates about Beth and the outside world kept him going. When he felt that things were getting too much, he pulled up the cute pictures his dad kept sending him about Beth and him. Those stopped Stiles from sinking too low in his own darkness and the flashbacks from the more vicious matings. They were also reminders of his love for Derek. Of the love he knew was still there deep down in the wolf.

At least his mountain ash circles and runes seemed to work well and there were times when he felt rested enough to continue his magical studies too. Yes, his magic was restless and kinda "out" all the time as the week progressed. Swirling around him like a protective aura. It wasn't only because of its "need" to protect Stiles, but also because the balance was off and his control was starting to slip a bit on it. They'd have to do some damage control once Derek came to himself, that was for sure...

The eighth day's morning found himself sleeping on his side in bed with Derek, one hand on the wolf's. The last night of the rut left him too exhausted to get much further away after he made the wolf drink some of that apparently very effective potion so they both could rest some more. And at that point Stiles also didn't care if he was going to be wakened up by a wolf climbing on top of him for another round. He was too tired to care anymore. It was easier that way too. But still... he refused to leave his mate alone and kept searching for some kind of connection even in his sleep. Even if it was just their hands touching.

Waking up wasn't easy. Derek’s entire body felt heavy like he hadn't slept in a long while, muscles stiff, his eyes gritty and his head feeling fuzzy. He hated that kind of feeling, made it hard to focus on much because everything seemed far away, as if he was detached even from his own body. All he really wanted was to roll over and curl up to sleep some more but he couldn't. Not until he had checked his surroundings, until he knew where he was and with whom. Though the who wasn't so hard to guess, the loft was saturated with their shared scent. Thick and like syrup, heavily cloaking oxygen so each time he'd breathe, he'd taste them.

It stank of sex, sweat and pain. And the last emotion made him crack his eyes open, his mouth tasting of rotten herbs when he attempted to swallow. A cooler hand had been placed on top of his, lightly grasping to seek contact so Derek looked from the hand up to the face of his bed partner. He couldn't stop the sharp inhale at seeing Stiles.

Pale, heavy bags under his eyes, bruised all over from what he could see. He didn't look like the happy participant of a week full of rut, he looked like a survivor of abuse. Derek had no idea what he looked like himself, probably not the healthiest either but he was werewolf, it didn't compare. Whatever marks he had, they were long healed and even though the rut had exhausted him completely, it was nothing compared to the human. He was only going to remember flashes of what happened, he didn't even know how much time had passed, what day it was. They were both cleaned, but not clean. A shower was needed in the very near future when he was able to move and think.

His mate was asleep, he didn't want to disturb that and he was fighting against the sleep attempting to take him himself. Each time he started to doze off, he'd blink slowly, feeling the tug at the muscle in the back of his head. Eyes burned and his stomach complained whenever he moved. He needed to be awake for Stiles.

Something has shifted. Something has changed. Stiles could sense it and it took him some time to realize that it wasn't coming from the dreamless sleep he fainted into a few hours back. It was coming from the "outside". That made him somewhat more aware and his fingers unwittingly flexed around Derek's hand.

Derek...

That thought jerked his mind closer to the surface and his breathing changed, signaling that he was about to wake up. When that finally happened, he carefully blinked his eyes open (half-expecting a horny and hungry werewolf). But instead it was Derek who was trying to stay awake next to him, looking back at him. It was really him. Without a word uttered, Stiles could tell just from the look. Finally gone was the feral need to fuck. There were more complicated emotions in the green eyes. It was his mate.

That made Stiles smile at him warmly and with relief.

"Derek..." he whispered hoarsely and laced their fingers together but otherwise didn't move an inch. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?" he asked as if he couldn't feel the dizziness and tiredness on his mate. But he wanted to hear him talk. He wanted that so desperately after 8 days of silence. (If we don't count that one word he managed to utter while in rut.)

He nodded at first, not realizing his mate was wanting to hear him speak, not even realizing he hadn't spoken at all in days. It wasn't that unheard of for Derek Hale to be utterly silent for weeks on end if he had been by himself. As important as it was for him to be able to hear Stiles' voice, he forgot that the other would enjoy it as well. The nod wasn't a lie though, he was fine, it was exhaustion and the herbs in his body. Nothing a few days of sleep and food wouldn't cure. Who even cared about how he was feeling? He wasn't the one looking like death warmed over. Probably.

Reaching out, he touched a pale cheek with his thumb, while his other hand was tightly clasped. "I should be asking you that," he rasped, his throat not used to talking anymore, the rawness of his growls and shouts long healed. The ruts in Hell had left him injured for days, because of all the damage he had done to himself, and they had always made him feel lonely, abandoned, unwanted.

Might be preferable to this though, seeing the human's body so damaged by his hands was incredibly hard. Expected of a sight to wake up to, but that didn't make it any easier. "I shouldn't... I'm sorry."

For whatever he had done, none of it could have been something Stiles had enjoyed. The magic felt off, the human smelling of pain.

The tension broke and suddenly bled out of Stiles' whole being, leaving waves of relief rush through him. It was Derek! And he was alright. That's all that mattered to the other, so no wonder his eyes welled up and he sniffed as he leaned into Derek's touch on his face, its warmth filling him up with that too. He immediately felt less tired and moved his upper-body closer.

"I've missed you so much..." he rasped then gently kissed the other man's lips a few times. "Welcome back," Stiles added and smiled softly and with quiet happiness at his mate. Words would fail to express just how glad he was for getting the real Derek back. Now he understood what Derek had meant during their first quarrel about spending the rut together. Even Stiles will need time to process and work through the last week.

"I know, don't worry," he caressed the longer beard once he let Derek's hand go. "I'll be fine. I promise," the human said in a much better mood than for the last few days. "You must be thirsty. Let me get you some water." With that Stiles – pointedly ignoring the pains in his body – pushed himself up on his hands to turn around and reach for the bottle of water by the bed. He just couldn't seem to be able to stop wanting to care for his mate.

But as he did turn his back on Derek, he quickly realized that he had made a mistake. The gasp behind him tipped him off. Aside from some smaller bruises, there was a longer and somewhat deeper claw mark on his lower back, but he remembered now the cause of the constant burning throbbing by his nape and why he could feel the shock through their bond too.

"I'm fine!" he hurried to reassure Derek as he whipped his head back to look at him. "Please, don't start to panic..." he grumbled and fetched the water either way, needing to occupy his hands with something.

There was no way Derek was going to stop worrying, not even when those marks had all faded. The human was going to be fine physically sure, but that didn't erase what happened. He wanted to protest at the offer of a drink, he could get it himself eventually. Stiles didn't have to care for him anymore, if anything, it should be the other way around. But he was already moving to reach for the water, the pain heavier in the air. That wasn't what was drawing his attention though.

"You're not fine! You're..." The claw mark was deep, gaping open and probably needed some stitches. It had been an injury he had been expecting to see, had dreaded to find it but he had known it was a very real possibility he had prepared himself for. Stiles had done a good job of preventing life threatening injuries on himself, almost. Because on the back of his neck was the deep indent of Derek's teeth, his alpha teeth, looking angry and pulsing, it wasn't dripping blood so it wasn't from last night but how old was it? How long ago had the bite taken place?

"I bit you."

A mating bite, claimed in the right spot, a very feral thing to do, a very dangerous thing to do. It was a good reason to panic! "How long ago?" he demanded to know before he'd really panic. The thought of turning his own mate against his will not one he wanted to have, the thought of having to see him reject it... He'd stay, of course he'd stay, even though his stomach was already plummeting with possible flashbacks of having to lose another love of his life like that. And even if he was immune to the bite, it still meant Derek had crossed a line he never had wanted to cross. The bite was a gift, he wouldn't give it to somebody unwilling. Not if he had a say about it, which he hadn't with Victoria or Gerard. Those had been wrenched out of him and he had to feel one of them die. Like most of his pack had died. Over and over.

He couldn't with Stiles, he couldn't lose him. Not him.

He frantically reached for the bite, to feel it, to... what… it was too late to do anything. "Stiles....." His mate had given his body for the rut, to lessen Derek's suffering and he had rewarded him by biting him. He was a terrible person. The worst. Everyone around him got hurt. He did that.

"Around last dawn. Along with the claw mark. I think that was the hardest day on you," he started to shrug but stopped himself with a quiet wince as it pulled on the bite. "It's not spreading. My magic prevents it and I can feel it burning the bite out from the inside out," he explained. Derek was so very much panicking already. Of course, Stiles hated to feel that on him as he was sitting there and took a hand in his. Strangely, Stiles stayed calm. No panic attack on the horizon. Maybe he was just too tired for that. After all, he knew he could've slept for at least three days in a row from the exhaustion and the relief that Derek was himself again only added to that feeling.

He took Derek's hand in his and kept his grip firm, not allowing for his mate to pull away or close him out. "I wanted it. I wanted your mating bite on me." Stiles knew he had to state that because he remembered how Derek was with consent. "It'll be my favorite scar," he attempted a smile then sighed. "Okay, fine... I actually enjoyed it." Which wasn't a lie. That mating was brutal with lots of fighting for dominance (hence the deep claw mark on his lower back). But when the knot popped in and soon squeezed a good orgasm out of Stiles, the burning bite only added to his euphoria.

"I think once you took some pain away and I borrowed some of your healing... the magic will tip back in balance and slowly burn the rest of it out. Right now it's stagnating because of my low energy levels," the emissary explained, his other hand stilling on the water bottle as he looked at Derek again. "I'll be fine," he repeated.

It was hard to breathe for a moment, Derek’s thumb gliding over the angry bite where glimmers of ember were shining through the damaged skin where normally blood would be, or the inky dark fluid of rejection. He remembered how he had freaked out when it had happened to Jackson, how he had all but ran from the bathroom at school and had abandoned the beta, too caught up in what happened to Paige in the past, not a move he had been particularly proud of. Jackson hadn't wanted Derek around but it had been his job to see it through, not to be huddled up in the corner of the train station to block out all the bad. It’s not spreading. He reminded himself, attempting to let the words sink in fully.

It’s not spreading. Stiles wasn't going to die, he wasn't going to be a werewolf, Derek didn't add him to the beta curse. A choked up gasp left him, breathing again. Stiles had wanted it, and there was no uptick in his heart, he wasn't lying with that. Unfortunately, that was all he had to go on, his memories might come back in some flashes at some point. Mostly he had Stiles' countenance of this week to go on, if he was even willing to tell him. It wasn't a perfect truth, because Stiles had wanted to help Derek so that's where the truth came from, he had wanted to help and therefor was willing.

Stiles’ breathing came out squeaking, but he was fine, he wasn't panicking, it was fine. The bite didn't take, it was going to scar but it didn't take. That was all that mattered at the moment.

"So take my healing," Derek demanded because he wasn't going to even eat or sleep or drink until his mate was more or less fine. Not this painting of pain and demand and mating. His fingers slid around Stiles' neck to pull pain because that's what was needed, black tendrils shooting up his arms, his shoulders, up to his face. There was a lot of pain.

"Slow down, Derek," Stiles warned him, making a half-move to pull away, but the ebbing down of the constant pain felt too good to really go through with that, so he settled back once he saw the black veins retreating somewhat. He knew it could get dangerous for Derek to take too much pain at once. It would dim or even completely extinguish the alpha spark in him. Saving Cora did that to him in the past and Stiles didn't want to be the cause of that. No, they needed a strong alpha. His magic needed that too. The druid didn't dare to think what'd happen to Derek or him if he was no longer alpha. He didn't want to guess if Derek would be able to handle this amount of magic as a beta or an omega. After all, their life could depend on that.

Stiles closed his tired eyes and stayed motionless for a couple of minutes. Each breath came a little bit easier as the pain was finally receding. It made his head clearer and his being more aware, able to focus better. With a sigh, he reluctantly slid his hand from Derek's and up on his forearm so their runes could align. He wasn't surprised that his powers seemed to latch on that opportunity to move like a pouncing eager beast for the connection. He had to use a considerable amount of his remaining energy to hold it back and slow it down so it wouldn't hurt their arms as it traveled back and forth between them.

He grunted in displeasure but then tightened his hold around the warm forearm and began his low chanting to open up their connection and focus on finding a thread of healing energy to gently tug on. Because of the 'rushing all over the place' and barely contained magic, it felt like swimming in a strong current. But it wasn't painful at least. He even had a small fond half-smile in the corner of his lips, because the magic acted like an eager puppy returning home after a while.

The pressure in the druid's head lessened as well as the pain in his body and when he finally found a suitable thread, he latched onto it with his amber one and began pulling the healing energy into his own body through their arms. It was a strange sensation. Both cooling and warming wherever that energy went, starting to heal the worst of his injuries.

"It's fine." It wasn't an illness or poison like Cora had been suffering from, she had been dying and that was why Derek had lost his spark when he had taken her pain. It hadn't been just a pulling of pain, it had been him healing her and giving her everything he had to give, including his spark. Which is something he'd do for Stiles without hesitation but right now it wasn't needed. He was, however, appalled, at how much pain the human was feeling, the deep bruises, the claw marks, the wounds inside of him from the rough sex. Derek had done it all so he had the right to undo it all as well. He needed to for his own peace of mind.

It would be a risk to give his spark away for their connection. The Hale wouldn't be beta, he'd be omega, it would be another strain on Stiles and it might even ruin the strength of the magic. So that was a choice he didn't make lightly, if it would ever come to it. Not one they had to make right now.

Right now, the magic came rushing forward, welcoming him in with an embrace of warm lava. Almost like an abandoned pet, it explored with this sense of glee, probably had been unable to connect this entire time the alpha had been in rut. Stiles hadn't been kidding when he had missed his mate, he must have felt incredibly lonely this entire time. Derek focused on letting Stiles take what he needed, never once resisting the magic and his mate, quietly sitting there on the bed so the younger man could use his healing.

With the pain he had already pulled, the healing didn't feel all that different. Everything Stiles felt, he felt, it didn't show on his body, like pain pulling wouldn't. Essentially Derek took the pain of the other in himself so his body could heal it. Werewolves could withstand more pain, their healing could take on a lot, even what would have killed a human. It was a good thing there were no life threatening injuries though, he wasn't at his strongest at the moment. Nevertheless, he welcomed his mate and the magic home, to heal him all the way, every little scratch, every small bruise, all the much worse injuries. Everything.

It took a while for the energy to patch and heal Stiles up, but it was working. He could feel muscles and tissues and skin re-knitting, leaving a little soreness and tingling in its wake. He knew that all injuries would completely heal – except for the bite on the back of his neck. That would be the "crown jewel" of his collection of scars which he was going to wear proudly. He wasn't kidding when he had told Derek that he wanted it. He wanted it for a while, but knew his mate wouldn't give him such a scar when he was conscious. Derek was too concerned about his safety and would've refused in fear that it might kill Stiles. Well... the rut took care of this wish after all. And it was a kind of reward for enduring this week that the emissary was going to treasure. He belonged to Derek and this was the visual proof of that next to their mingled scents and (to most) invisible bonds.

The pale skin was glowing from magic and slick from some sweat because of the healing process, but mostly because Derek's energy had a lot to do on him. Especially around and in the bite. That was the most fascinating (and only painful) area to receive that energy. As Stiles closed his eyes and focused on the quiet chanting and to keep his breathing even, he could feel the wolf's energy melt into his own magic to help it burn out the wolf bite. It caused the smoldering amber glow to intensify and even sizzle a bit around the angry red flesh as they were working together to heal the bite so it could scar over.

Stiles' breathing hitched and he paused for a moment, leaning on his free hand on the bed to draw in a few breaths to steel himself against the pain. It wasn't that intense, he could've taken it easier any time, but he was worn down and exhausted after spending the week with his in-heat mate. To prevent Derek from worrying even more, he quickly collected himself and resumed to the chanting, letting the burning wash over him until it started to ebb down and give way to the cooling and healing werewolf energy.

Derek couldn't change the pain, because pulling it wouldn't do much, with the way they were linked, Stiles would feel it as much as he did now. It was the wolf venom being burned out, rejected. Normally it would have hurt far more if there hadn't been magic involved, if his healing wasn't borrowed. They shared the pain together, suffered both through it as their bodies worked on healing. Until it all faded away into nothingness and only a pink scar remained. That wasn't going to go away, Stiles was preventing it from fully healing and Derek wasn't going to push him into it either. If that's what he wanted, then that would stay. As long as the pain was gone. As long as the injuries he had inflicted had healed.

The exhaustion pulled at Derek, not sure if was his or his mate's. Probably both because it had been a strenuous week, even for a werewolf like him. The need for sleep trumped the need for water or food. All he really wanted at this point was to sink into the soft mattress and only wake up until he was rested enough to be able to function instead of this fuzzy-headed feeling. The magic still connected them though and he wasn't the one able to break it.

This was Stiles' show, his ability, Derek was merely a conduit for it and sure, it liked him enough to accept him but it wasn't something he could wield. It was controlled within him, stored. That was all he did. Having no idea what would happen if he broke the connection without the proper ending, he decided he didn't want to know. Stiles was no doubt feeling it as well, the insistent need for rest, both their bodies were ready to pass out if they weren't careful. He couldn't speak, maybe it was an automatic ward to not interrupt his mate from chanting so he prodded at their bonds with some urgency. The unsettling hum in his ears, the rolling of his stomach were all signs he was going to pass out.

Although the magic and Derek's healing helped on both of them, they also put a strain on their bodies, leaving them even more exhausted than before. Stiles could feel it. How Derek was drifting once the pain was finally gone. He had no idea either how the magic or the connection would react if Derek passed out in the middle of the ritual, but he didn't wish to find that out.

Checking on the magic, he felt it balanced enough to gently push back and let the healing thread go, silently thanking it in his mind, even if he knew it wasn't an entity. But if there was something he had learned about any kind of magic, it was that you had to be respectful towards it. Plus his own magic was kinda "alive" too. Unconscious, but still reacted sometimes as if it had a mind of its own. So who could tell if Derek's healing didn't have such a "consciousness" – even if it was a lesser form of magic?

Either way, Stiles nodded to the light nudging he felt through the bonds and finished the chanting just when their connection broke, his magic reluctantly pulling back into him, the Spark dimming but content after the successful exchange. Given the special circumstances of being just after a rut and serious healing session, the druid had no idea if this time was going to make Derek high again or not. But it didn't really matter either because all the two of them were going to do now was sleep. Everything else can come after that.

The exhausted human took a long swig from the water once he let Derek's arm go. He ignored the by then uncomfortable feeling that always lasted a couple of minutes after these rituals. It was caused by the lack of physical contact with his mate. Though that was something he could easily solve now, so he dropped the bottle on the bed, not caring if it rolled off onto the floor or not. All he was focused on now was lying down next to the already half-asleep man and cover their naked bodies up.

"Sleep, my wolf. Thank you..." he whispered to Derek, his own fingertips lingering on the freshly healed and sensitive scar by his nape. Stiles stomped down on the urge to go take a look in the bathroom mirror. He can do that later. Derek's eyes were closed, but he did pull Stiles closer so their bodies could mold together. Arms and legs around each other.

The familiar warmth and smell, but most importantly the gentle arms around him drew a relieved sigh from Stiles. He was home again. He could finally relax and sleep for real after eight days. And that he did in the next moment, knowing that his wards and the ash would keep their sleep undisturbed.

BEAST WITHIN

Szólj hozzá te is!

Név:
E-mail cím:
	Amennyiben megadod az email-címedet, az elérhető lesz az oldalon a hozzászólásodnál.
Hozzászólás:
Azért, hogy ellenőrízhessük a hozzászólások valódiságát, kérjük írd be az alábbi képen látható szót. Ha nem tudod elolvasni, a frissítés ikonra kattintva kérhetsz másik képet. Írd be a fenti szót:

Súgó Még nincs hozzászólás.