Darkened

Derek was never a coward. Derek never ran from reality. Always took its iron shards under his very skin, into the nerves that tightened his cheekbones with pain. It seemed to Derek that he simply had no other choice. Hale has been waiting for three hours now in a vague "evening," knowing only that it lasts from four to eight. He can feel the tingle in his fingertips and can't bring himself to look away. He just needs to figure out someone else's motives, he needs to find out what it wants, he needs to make it disappear from his town. Derek is afraid to admit to himself that he's scared. A vile memory of an inky, almost real hole in the ground that resembles the grotesque face of a fox twisted in a grin pulls at his mind. His body ineptly throws up ephemeral sensations of frozen rotten air and an almost icy wind. He remembered the pain running through his veins that made him wake up. Even the space around this creature was in pain. Derek rubs his chilled hands, hoping for nothing, lighting the only candle in his house. A church candle. The faint odor of resin chains slides down his forearms, soft touches mottling his cheekbones. He hears the iron doors open, he hears the calm but irregular heartbeat, completely out of rhythm. Arrhythmia, Hale thinks. The stranger's footsteps are impossibly quiet, bones and muscles dropping soundlessly to the floor, shifting his lean body. He's still wearing the same plaid shirt with an old gray sports sweatshirt thrown over it. The reflection in the glass blurs unobtrusively. -Oh, you really did light a candle, so cute. Derek turns around to face the creature and freezes in surprise. Standing before him is a very different creature from the one he saw just a few hours ago. This creature has no aura of all-consuming terror, only an uncertain smile and thin fingers nervously picking over his own knuckles. The alpha fidgets in place, forcing himself to take an uncertain step back. -I'm scaring you. The statement blurs into the air, melting to the bottom of the stranger's alveoli. Derek is unable to agree to it, there are no signals in his emptied head capable of accepting such an unbearable call. He sets the candle on the table, sets one of the iron chairs out, clinging to the floor with a hideous creak. -It doesn't matter. Stilinski - seeming to have something of the human after all - sits down in the proffered seat. Derek, looking up and down, notices the dark patches of freckles on the nearly white canvas. He doesn't think they resemble serene star clusters, more like hordes of black holes. The burned-out amber eyes seem dimmed in the light of the dim tall lamps, Hale's looming shadow in them transformed into the twisted figure of a wolf. -So are you going to say something, if "it doesn't matter", or are you going to keep staring at my face? I didn't know I was cute enough to have someone stare at me for that long. It usually works out the other way around. Derek hesitantly sits down on the table next to the burning candle. Despite the length and funny element of that line, it essentially carried just one clear message. Wake up. Alpha claws his nails into the wooden surface, leaving scratches and remembering that he had never used punctuality for anyone before. Not even when it was absolutely necessary. In Stiles' eyes, the glare of the lamps and the wolf's silhouette. Behind the distinct tang of cigarettes and medication, almost nothing is felt. Except death. -What are you here for? The boy tilts his head slightly to the side, smiling softly. -My father wanted to transfer from the big city to a quiet place. Derek doesn't believe it. Derek knows it's true, but he can't check. Because the rhythm keeps changing, as if mocking, smirking into the edge of his ear lobe. -That's it? -And that's it. He doesn't know what it feels like. The only thing Derek realizes is that it hurts. The body in the iron chair is a broken machine, losing parts with every step. An overloaded computer, a broken chip. The human organism. If he uses all his strength, he can probably overpower it. -Then what do you want with Scott and Lydia? The non-human seems to raise an eyebrow in surprise. His expression is filled with skepticism and dissatisfaction. -Friendship? I don't have any friends here, you know. It's nice to have someone to talk to in your spare time. Heart, stuttering, beats slowly again, adjusting to someone else's breathing becoming less frequent. Stilinski doesn't lie. To him, lies and truth seem to make no difference. They are just words. Meaningless and empty. -And you're not planning anything? -Is that an invitation? Derek jumps up from the table, dropping the candle to the floor. The wax spills over the concrete slabs with cooling tears. The alpha inside is no longer afraid, the alpha inside is angry again. He presses his palms into the cold metal of the armrests, hovering over the frail figure, shadowed against the chair. But Stiles isn't confused, surprised, or scared. Stiles throws his skinny arms around the other man's neck, interlocking his fingers in his disheveled dark hair. -I'd prefer to take it slower, but if you insist... Derek sees the cracked lips, sees the chiseled line of her cheekbones, and can't move. Stilinski's grip is so weak that he doesn't need the strength of a werewolf or even the strength of a human at all. He just has to lean back. And so Hale doesn't understand at all why he can't move, take just one step. The creature in front of him is beautiful to the point of petrification. It slides its tongue in, stripping away the dry film and coloring the pale but now almost bloody lips. Derek draws in another man's death-soaked breath. -Even if you're not hurt,- the husky voice is maddening, making him lean closer, -you're still hurting inside. He feels cold fingers on the back of his neck, feels his heart slowing down, trying to make all the sounds disappear. Except for one. Derek feels a lightness he's never felt before, as if the dirt-clogged veins are clean again, someone has removed the lump of tears from his throat. -You're an alpha, but your eyes are blue. No matter how hard you try to fool yourself, I can see it. -Hale is silent, looking into the dusk-covered eyes, lightly touching the edge of his lips. -Let me take it away, Derek, take away your pain. He sees the black web beneath the pale skin, its endless loops climbing up Stiles' cheekbones, and it makes him recoil. It smiles slightly sadly, licks itself, squints its eyes, and just shrugs. -What were you trying to do? - Derek wants to scream, but his voice trails off into a hysterical shudder that turns to a whisper. The creature laughs, and he's sure it can't be human. -There's so much rot in you, Derek,- Stilinski threw his leg over the side, pitching forward, -and it smells so sweet, luscious. I couldn't help myself. Alpha shakes, but he clenches his fingers into a fist, bringing it over the boy, who only tilts his head slightly to the side. The corners of his lips are ready to part. Stiles shakes his head unhappily from side to side. His hands rest calmly in his lap, and Hale sees something different in those features. -It's just a misunderstanding. I- he rises slowly from his chair, shaking off the invisible dust from his nearly faded sweatshirt, didn't mean to hurt anyone. In fact, there are those in this town who bother me, though. Stilinski lightly touches Alpha's wrist, taking his hand aside, bends over, leisurely picks up the extinguished candle, and unhappily clucks his tongue. -You're the master of this territory. You've kept some nasty but powerful thing from going full blast. He puts the candle on the table and his hands in his pockets. The look on his face is unreadable. -I wanted to thank you and eat at the same time. -You know, it's been so long since I've eaten. You know, it's been so long since I've eaten. Could you not eat for almost a month? Stiles sighed heavily, grinned wryly to himself, and headed for the door. Derek, hovering in space, gropes convulsively for air with his mouth, finally dying off. He feels like the world around him is going crazy. Because he keeps waiting for something. Waiting for it to speak again, waiting for it to touch. Hale doesn't believe his body, doesn't believe his mind, which has found a near-perfect balance out of fear of the unknown and the pleasure of losing something unbearably heavy. -By the way, Wolf,- Stiles stops smiling, the shadow that had been a blur of semi-darkness now an almost tangible nightmare, -I've decided to end my charity work. He's gonna leave. He's going to slam the damn door and walk out. Derek's convinced Stilinski's a liar who only tells the truth when he feels like it. And right now it was the truth, the plain, ugly truth. -What? -The Alpha screams, trying to stop the creature from turning around for the last time. -What are you talking about? Stiles looks like he's ready to burst into tears, but Derek only hears a muffled laugh. -It hurt a little when you tried to hit me. I didn't realize it could hurt so much. Hale sees a pale hand slide down his shirt-tight chest, as if looking for a place to strike. -What could be worse than being content to have your heart broken? Derek didn't answer, even as the door slammed shut. When he got his heart broken, he just cried.