[ derek spends the rest of the day trying to exhaust himself. he runs, mostly - a non-stop marathon of feet hitting the ground, faster and faster, as deep into the woods as he can go before getting lost. his arms burn from lifting weights all afternoon and his knees are getting sore, there's a tightness in his hamstrings that gets worse the longer he ignores it. and his throat is still dry - he never did get that drink. his clothes feel stuffy and uncomfortable, it feels like there's a vice around his skull. he runs, and he runs, and he runs.
the woods don't make him feel safe. they're not what he needs. by the time the sun is setting and the moon is breaking through the higher branches, silver light filtering down through the canopy above him, derek feels like he's in freefall. his skin is prickling like it's covered in sweat or bugs or something, and he peeled off his shirt at some point to try and get some more air, leaving it in the dirt to collect later. his heart is hammering hard inside of his chest, his lungs feel like they're being torn into strips. his vision keeps blurring and going red, and he can hear things clearer and further away than he should be able to. he's losing his grip on his humanity, bit by bit.
it's scary.
derek feels similar to how he did after paige's death, when mantras and anger were all he had to ease every full moon. he has stiles now, and stiles is supposed to make him better - stiles does make him better - but derek ruined that, by yelling at him and being stupid, cutting off ties with the one person he can turn to when he needs help. the moonlight feels like needles on his back and he can't stay out here in the dark anymore, but he's terrified of going home and fighting with stiles again. he's terrified of losing him just because of some-- dumb fucking mood he's in.
but he needs to. being out in the moonlight is more than irresponsible, it's dangerous, and he can't do that to himself. to anyone. derek gets home, eventually, dragging his feet up the steps. the moon makes him feel like he's staring into floodlights, too bright and searing. when derek drags himself into the den, closing the door slowly behind him, it's obvious that he's not doing well; his shoes are covered in dirt and dust, and so are his pants from where he skidded and fell at one point. his bare torso is covered in nicks and scratches from low-hanging branches he ran through without caring if it hurt, his skin is clammy and pale. he's breathing hard, like he's close to having a panic attack.
derek's still angry. he's worse, actually; he's not just dealing with this creeping feeling of mild annoyance anymore, he's not just insecure and full of self-doubt. there's this high-burning rage in him that doesn't have anywhere to go, and it makes him want to rip and tear and hunt. derek doesn't want to do that, he just-- he just wants to watch a movie with his boyfriend, he just wants to apologize for yelling, he just-- he just wants stiles.
derek lumbers through the den until he finds stiles, sitting at the counter and eating, and he feels this horrible wave of guilt and relief wash through him. derek's a little helpless when he wanders up to the counter, and he knows he's asking for too much, he knows that stiles has to hate him for how he's been treating him, but that's-- not something derek can think about, not right now. he just. ]
Stiles.
[ he just needs him. derek paws at stiles' waist clumsily, just trying to get his hands on him. he smells clean and safe and warm, he feels safe and warm, and derek missed him. derek missed him, and derek's sorry, and he doesn't know how to say that right now, he doesn't know how to string two words together. he's panicking about the moon, scared of how badly it's affecting him.
this is needy, but derek pulls on stiles' waist, dragging him to the edge of the counter. he slides his hands up his shirt, curling his fingers over his lower back, and he presses his nose into stiles' chest, taking a deep breath. he's shaking, a little, with the effort of staying human. his teeth itch and want to grow. ]
I need - help.
[ he doesn't know how, he doesn't-- know anything. it's instinct that has him wrapping his hands tighter around stiles' waist, around the back of his chest, just touching beneath his shirt wherever he can. he repeats himself. he's frustrated, he can't think. he just knows what he needs. ]
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the woods don't make him feel safe. they're not what he needs. by the time the sun is setting and the moon is breaking through the higher branches, silver light filtering down through the canopy above him, derek feels like he's in freefall. his skin is prickling like it's covered in sweat or bugs or something, and he peeled off his shirt at some point to try and get some more air, leaving it in the dirt to collect later. his heart is hammering hard inside of his chest, his lungs feel like they're being torn into strips. his vision keeps blurring and going red, and he can hear things clearer and further away than he should be able to. he's losing his grip on his humanity, bit by bit.
it's scary.
derek feels similar to how he did after paige's death, when mantras and anger were all he had to ease every full moon. he has stiles now, and stiles is supposed to make him better - stiles does make him better - but derek ruined that, by yelling at him and being stupid, cutting off ties with the one person he can turn to when he needs help. the moonlight feels like needles on his back and he can't stay out here in the dark anymore, but he's terrified of going home and fighting with stiles again. he's terrified of losing him just because of some-- dumb fucking mood he's in.
but he needs to. being out in the moonlight is more than irresponsible, it's dangerous, and he can't do that to himself. to anyone. derek gets home, eventually, dragging his feet up the steps. the moon makes him feel like he's staring into floodlights, too bright and searing. when derek drags himself into the den, closing the door slowly behind him, it's obvious that he's not doing well; his shoes are covered in dirt and dust, and so are his pants from where he skidded and fell at one point. his bare torso is covered in nicks and scratches from low-hanging branches he ran through without caring if it hurt, his skin is clammy and pale. he's breathing hard, like he's close to having a panic attack.
derek's still angry. he's worse, actually; he's not just dealing with this creeping feeling of mild annoyance anymore, he's not just insecure and full of self-doubt. there's this high-burning rage in him that doesn't have anywhere to go, and it makes him want to rip and tear and hunt. derek doesn't want to do that, he just-- he just wants to watch a movie with his boyfriend, he just wants to apologize for yelling, he just-- he just wants stiles.
derek lumbers through the den until he finds stiles, sitting at the counter and eating, and he feels this horrible wave of guilt and relief wash through him. derek's a little helpless when he wanders up to the counter, and he knows he's asking for too much, he knows that stiles has to hate him for how he's been treating him, but that's-- not something derek can think about, not right now. he just. ]
Stiles.
[ he just needs him. derek paws at stiles' waist clumsily, just trying to get his hands on him. he smells clean and safe and warm, he feels safe and warm, and derek missed him. derek missed him, and derek's sorry, and he doesn't know how to say that right now, he doesn't know how to string two words together. he's panicking about the moon, scared of how badly it's affecting him.
this is needy, but derek pulls on stiles' waist, dragging him to the edge of the counter. he slides his hands up his shirt, curling his fingers over his lower back, and he presses his nose into stiles' chest, taking a deep breath. he's shaking, a little, with the effort of staying human. his teeth itch and want to grow. ]
I need - help.
[ he doesn't know how, he doesn't-- know anything. it's instinct that has him wrapping his hands tighter around stiles' waist, around the back of his chest, just touching beneath his shirt wherever he can. he repeats himself. he's frustrated, he can't think. he just knows what he needs. ]
I need-- I don't-- Stiles.