Gritty Tears - 6/?
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Category: Angst, Romance
Disclaimer: I don´t own them. Nobody is capable of owning them.
Summary: Stiles doesn´t care that Derek is dead.
Warning: M/M, Slash, Spoiler for "Frayed"
Feedback: Doesn´t scare me.
Released: July 2013
Revised: January 2014
Word Count: 1.224
I won´t be fooled.
Sucking air in heavy gulps but otherwise stock-still, Stiles was lying on his bed, which was quite an achievement considering his medical condition, staring at the ceiling. Since the frantic phone call from Scott a few minutes ago he had lapsed into a state of strange numbness. He didn´t even have the energy to tear his eyes away from the ceiling when his father came in ready to leave for work.
"Hey? What´s wrong?"
"Nothing," he murmured barely audible. "Why?" The ceiling´s dull color had always bothered him.
"You already being in bed instead of typing away at your laptop is a dead giveaway."
"I just don´t feel like it. I´m a bit tired and tomorrow I have to go on this trip with the lacrosse team." Such a sad color.
"Good for you, son. Have a good night then."
"Yeah. Be safe, dad." He heard the door click shut. He blinked a few times but kept staring at the ceiling.
Derek is dead.
No. Ridiculous. He just didn´t believe it. Not the big scary wolf who used to smash him into whatever was available. Not the I´m the alpha now werewolf bully. Not the one who made him feel like no one ever had before...no...not that one. It wasn´t the first time he was presumed dead anyhow. There was every chance of him turning up pretty much alive again. Derek wasn´t dead. Stiles wouldn´t believe it until someone showed him his mutilated body as sincere proof.
Maybe cut in half like Laura.
An icy current ran through his veins chilling his blood to the bone. Why was he thinking about Derek anyway? Why should he be bothered by his death? Why should he be sad? He didn´t like Derek. He was a pain in the ass. Derek didn´t care about him. He didn´t accept Stiles as a member of the pack. He never ever said anything nice about or to him...so why did he even...? Yeah, well, he was pretty nice sucking you off. Gah! Really? I am that person? Damn you, sourwolf. It´s your fault I´m pining for you like this.
A creepy scratchy sensation in this throat disturbed his brooding and he was forced to gulp a few times which helped not a bit. Shit!
He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow. Considering he could barely breathe like that this wasn´t a clever idea. Not your concern that Derek is dead. Not your fault since he didn´t want you around anyway. He just left. He doesn´t trust you. He never let you in on his plans. Maybe I could have helped him to win a fight for once. Maybe I would have saved him from getting killed. Hey! He´s not dead. Like NOT. So? Think about Scott instead. Scott is alive. That matters. Derek doesn´t matter. The scratchy sensation didn´t go away but increased to torture him tremendously. The most miserable sound slipped over his lips and sudden, unexpected tears streamed out of his eyes like a levee was broken, drowning his sight without a warning in salty wetness. For God´s sake! You don´t know if he´s dead. You can´t be sure. Stop this nonsense.
Frantically he wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. The red one. Why did he put this one on? Why did he feel so crushed? Why did he make these choking sounds?
You know why.
"...oh my god..."
He couldn´t breathe.
No. I don´t.
Yes. You do.
I´m not lying.
Why was he suffering? Why was he wasting his breath by hurting so much? Why did he care about someone who didn´t care one bit about him? Who hurt him many times. Who even hit him, literally hit him. No. Derek doesn´t deserve any concern, least of all mine. He´s a bully. He´s a criminal. That´s why I can´t stand him.
Sure. That´s why you´re lying here, crying.
I´m not crying.
It´s true. I hate him so much.
Okay. Go to sleep then.
I said I WILL.
Go the fuck to sleep.
OH GOD! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!
He grimaced and rubbed his face dry, rubbing long and hard to erase the proof of affection as if it was as easy to turn off a feeling as turning off a switch. Of course it wasn´t. He couldn´t get rid of the lump in his throat or the twinge in his heart. He remembered the Derek who kissed him like he meant it. The Derek who held him tight and licked up his come. The cuddly wolf who watched him fall asleep. The Derek who was soft and warm and was looking out for him. He kept struggling until he had the feeling he would break into pieces. A very different Derek from the grumpy faced macho bullshit he showed out there on the streets. Crap! He rolled around and around in his bed telling himself over and over again to stop this self-torture. Finally the alarm clock had mercy and gave him the permission to get up and end this. He had to go to school. He had to go on a crazy trip into nowhere listening to coach Finstock´s lunatic speeches.
His eyes were finally as dry as sandpaper but were itching madly from his unkind treatment. The sour burning in his stomach also reminded him of the trauma he had to bear. Easy to get rid of that by eating something. Yeah. He was hungry. He couldn´t wait to fill the hole in his stomach. He chuckled darkly. He was fine. He would make it through the day. He was stronger than this. Eat that, sourwolf.
Tired out and half-crazed with bottled up feelings he met up with Scott. His best friend looked devastated.
"I can´t believe that Derek is dead."
I won´t give up because of you leaving me. Stiles nodded silently, blinking rapidly to chase away the bitter sting still hiding behind his eyes.
"What´s going on with you?"
Stiles shrugged. "Nothing. Why?"
"Didn´t you understand? Derek is dead."
"You expect me to cry? Really? Have you met Derek and me?"
"Okay." Scott looked slightly offended. "Forget about it. Let´s do this shit. Get it over with." He entered the bus, reeling slightly.
Stiles followed rashly and tripped over the last step. He barely avoided falling face flat on the ground in the aisle but flailing his arms like a crazy person kept him on his feet.
Stupid clumsiness. "Idiot," he murmured to himself, and the sound of that particular familiar insult stung deeply. Hey. He just tripped. This had nothing to do with a pain in the ass alpha being dead. Nothing. Absently he tugged his hoodie back into place. I won´t perish like that.
He loved his red hoodie. He felt better wearing it. He felt braver than without it.
Hours later he was proud of himself for keeping this calm. He was proud about not being in the slightest affected by Derek´s death. Ain´t I fucking good at lying? Well. I´ve had a lot of practice.
Human. Red Riding Hood...
Oh. Cut the crap!
Don´t be dead.
...lost in the woods.