i’m not a hero

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The Principal Thing by fuchs

(1/1 I 4,184 I Teen I Sterek)

Third try posting

Artwork for Cornerstone by Vendelin (Blind!Stiles/PTSD!Derek, 84K)

“Can I touch your face?” “If you want.”

Stiles nods and turns fully towards him on the couch, pulling one leg up under him. “I just want to get an idea of what you look like. Besides from what people tell me.”

****

Stiles’ eyes widen slightly, as his fingertips make contact.

“What?” Derek asks immediately.

“I just didn’t expect stubble,” Stiles mumbles, mostly to himself it seems. Then, his second hand finds the other side of Derek’s face, and he closes his eyes, like he’s trying to create a picture on the inside of his eyelids. His fingers trail gently down Derek’s jaw, thumbs grazing the underside of his bottom lip. Then they find their way across his face, mapping his eyebrows, sliding down the bridge of his nose, trailing his hairline. Palms rubbing his stubble, fingertips investigating the shells of his ears.

He does it on his own, for the first few months. Rarely sleeping, eating the bare minimum, hardly ever leaves the house. It’s too much hassle even for a walk around the block -too much things to take, too many people, too many sounds.

One particular afternoon Eli cries. He cries for hours and hours. He’s a particularly colicky baby and usually Derek has it together enough to deal with it and comfort his son the best he can but he hasn’t slept he can’t remember his last meal he hasn’t exercised in god knows long. Eli is fed, dry, not too hot or cold. He’s changed his scenery moving him from nursery to living room to kitchen. Nothing is soothing him today.

Derek puts him back in his crib where he’s safe and shuts the door. He leans on it, slides down and cries. Out of frustration, out of failure, out of guilt. He cries about how stupid he was to think he could have done this on his own.

He’s still not sure why, but he fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials and old saved number he hasn’t had to call in years.

Much to his relief it answers on the second ring, the old familiar voice full of concern and confusion as they greet, “Derek? Is everything alright?”

Words spew out of him. He hasn’t spoken to another adult in months (with the exception of his son’s paediatrician and the lady at the local grocery store). The words tumble from his lips. He tells him everything. From the move, to the mindless job he had at the coffee shop down the road, how he cleaned up his and Laura’s old apartment, the surrogacy process and Eli’s birth, to now.

He takes a breath and wipes his face as a chuckle breaks their silence on the other line, “Well first I think congratulations are in order. You sound like you could use a friend or two.”

Derek huffs a sad breath and agrees.

“If it wasn’t for the supernatural hearing and all I’d say put him in a safe space and walk away for a bit, collect yourself, and go back. When Stiles was colicky, Claudia had to do that a few times,” the sheriff says with a fond sort of softness in his voice.

“I’d have to walk a fair distance away… I don’t think I can do that,” Derek sighs.

“My other suggestion would be to ask a trusted friend to watch him for a bit so you could have some space for yourself. Four months is a long time to be isolated. It can’t be doing either of you very well.”

Derek swallows and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help for you, kiddo. But if you ever need someone to talk to…”

“How’s-” he starts but cuts himself off. He hadn’t spoken to Stiles in years. He’s not sure if should have even called the sheriff if he hasn’t had any contact with his son.

“He’s doing okay,” the sheriff answers knowingly, “but I think he’d appreciate a text or a call when you get some time.”

Derek sighs again, an ache pulling deep in his chest. The familiar scent of his own guilt suffocating him.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Derek. I’m sure you’re doing a great job,” there’s a ringing and rustling in the background, “I’m sorry, we just got a call, If I can tell you anything, it’s this, he’s not giving you a hard time, he’s having a hard time. I gotta go, but call me anytime, okay.” And he hangs up.

Derek leans his head against the door and takes a moment to breathe before he goes back to his wailing son.

Derek takes him up on that. He calls the sheriff every few days. Leaves a crying Eli in his nursery while Derek sits on the porch and distracts himself with the sheriff and the criminality of beacon county.

Days turn to weeks and weeks turn into a month and after much thinking and talking, Derek makes the decision to move back home.

It takes a while to get everything together; finding a rental that would take a jobless nearly 30-year old with a 5 month old infant, selling his apartment and the cruiser, organising movers, and packing his life away once again.

He flies in on a Tuesday night and by the weekend he has the keys to his new place, the Camaro out of storage, and all the weekend to unpack. They don’t have much but he already feels a calmness that he didn’t feel in the city.

Eli is still colicky and his paediatrician said he should have calmed down by now, but some babies are late bloomers. He runs some tests anyway and declared Eli is perfectly healthy and gives recommendations to some parenting support groups.

Nothing helps still.

On another particularly hard day, Derek calls the sheriff again. He tells him to come over.

He’s there in minutes.

Noah greets him in the driveway and pulls him into a bone crushing hug. Derek freezes. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this. He cried again.

“Go inside, make yourself comfortable. I’ll take him for a few hours.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Derek protests pulling away

“Well it’s a good thing you’re not asking then.” And nudges him in the direction of the door.

Derek nods, giving a nervous glance back to the screaming infant in the back of the car.

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

Derek nods again and watches as the sheriff backs out of the drive and takes his son away.

He feels guilty as the sounds of his son’s cry fade until he can’t hear it over the disappearing rumbling of the engine. The relief washes over him as he walks into the house and the silence engulfs him. No city traffic, no washed out conversation, no heartbeat but his own. Nothing but the gentle hum of the refrigerator. For the first time in a while he breathes, and it feels lighter. He walks further into the familiar house and sits on the same old worn out couch and undoes his shoes, toeing them off and neatly setting them aside. He leans back and closes his eyes, the tiredness settling deep in his bones, weighing him down and making him feel like he’s made of lead.

He allows his body to sink down, laying on his side and get comfortable. Just a few minutes he tells himself as he shuts his eyes and breathes in the familiar scent of the Stilinski house hold. Noticing that it hadn’t changed all that much. Nothing here has.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But when he wakes to the sound of the door opening and closing and a buzzing of energy. He sits upright fast and blinks into the dimly lit room, the sun setting casting everything into a dull orange glow.

“Derek?”

Derek’s swears his heart stops. He turns around, eyes wide, breath hitched. He doesn’t need the light or supernatural senses to recognise the man in front of him. He could pick him out in a crowd without it.

“Stiles?”

“Derek, what the hell?” He asks angrily, storming towards him. Derek flinches and recoils as his arms reach for him, picking him up off the couch easily and forcing him into another bone crushing Stilinski hug.

Through the shock and contradiction of Stiles’ tone and actions, Derek hugs the man back and draws in a deep breath. He really hasn’t changed all that much. He’s filled out plenty since high school, has the stubble of a dark beard that frames his face very well, and wore clothes that actually fit, he still smells the same, and it brings him a comfort like it always did.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek whispers and Stiles holds him tighter.

“You look like shit,” Stiles says pulling away.

Derek actually laughs as they both sit back on the couch, “you look great,” he admits and watches as the blush rises to Stiles cheeks.

“What happened?”

Derek fills him in on everything. The same way he did with the sheriff. Stiles does the same, how he never made it out of training with the academy due to his anxiety and panic attacks and now he’s a data analyst for some big high tech company. How he works from home most of the time but would have to travel to and from LA on occasion for meetings. How he fell in love, got engaged, moved away and had it all fall apart and now he’s back living with his dad for now.

In between it all, Stiles turned on the lamp beside the couch so they weren’t sitting in complete darkness, “seriously, dude, you look terrible. Still hot as fuck, but when was the last time you ate? Or worked out? Or went outside for that matter, you’re nearly as pale as me.”

Derek scoffed, because no one was as pale as Stiles, or as honest, “thanks.” He was right though. Derek had noticed that he lost a considerable amount of weight, his clothes hang too loosely on him and nothing fit right anymore.

“Sorry, but how do you expect to take care of another human when you can’t even take care of yourself.”

Derek frowned, but he knew he was right. He just hadn’t had the time. He knows it’s a poor excuse but it was his truth.

Stiles got up then, saying that it was his turn to cook for them tonight anyway. Derek followed him to the kitchen and sat at the island as stiles prepared the roast veggies, seasoned their steak, and chopped up the salad.

“Is Eli on solids yet?”

Derek shakes his head, the guilt and worry swimming low in his gut. His doctors said it was completely normal, but as a werewolf, Eli should have started showing signs a month ago the latest. Derek wasn’t even sure his son inherited lycanthropy yet.

Dinner was nearly ready when the hum of the Camaro was within Derek’s range of hearing. He perked up, anxiety increasing as the car pulled into the drive, but he couldn’t hear his son.

He resisted the urge to run outside as he listened to the sheriffs careful movements. He forced himself to remain seated and silent as he walked in, baby in one hand, Eli’s bag in the other.

“I think you have a future deputy in your hands,” he exclaims and places the bag gently on the floor by the couch, “The guys at the station loved him!”

All Derek could do was watch him wide eyed, heart stuttering, willing everyone to be as quiet as possible, because his son was asleep. Snoring, thumb sucking, passed out cold, asleep.

Noah tried to pass him off to his dad but Derek shook his head, not able to take his eyes off of Eli, “how did you- what did you-? How is-?” Derek couldn’t think of anything coherent.

Noah chuckled as Stiles dropped what he was doing to get a look at the baby Hale, “oh my god I’ve always wanted one of these,” he says quietly coming over to stand next to his dad.

“Can I?” Stiles asks looking at Derek who shakes his head in a panic. It’s not that he doesn’t want Stiles to hold him, that doesn’t bother him at all. He doesn’t want him to wake, because as soon as he wakes, he’ll cry, and he doesn’t know how much more of the constant crying he can handle.

“Kids been passed out for hours now,” Noah says but respecting Derek’s wishes regardless.

Stiles continues their dinner and Derek watches in amazement at his still sleeping son. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept for longer than 2 hours at a time.

Dinner is ready and Noah set Eli up in a pile of blankets on the floor while they all eat and catch up as if no time passed at all.

Derek insists on cleaning but Noah stops him with a hand on his shoulder and claims he should sleep while he can.

Stiles offers him his bed and Derek agrees, with a full stomach and tired eyes he falls asleep easily with the familiar scents around him.

When he wakes again it’s early morning. The sunrise creeps in slowly through the open window, a gentle breeze flows cool and fresh. There’s a soft rattling beside him and Derek blinks the sleep out of his eyes and watches as Stiles rummaged through his drawer, in nothing but shorts and joggers, dripping in sweat. Derek’s eyes rake over Stiles’ toned stomach and blushes as their eyes meet

“Sorry, sourwolf, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Derek sniffs, brows knotting together, “did you run?”

Stiles chuckles, “yeah, I do that now.”

Derek sits up and listens to the quietness of the rest of the house, “dad’s with Eli.” Stiles says taking in the concerned look on Derek’s face.

“Why don’t you shower and change and come downstairs.”

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Derek says timidly.

“Well lucky for you, I have plenty. You know where everything is, help yourself and I’ll set some aside for you.”

Derek thanked him and refreshed himself. As stiles had promised, everything was where it was the last time he was here, spare toothbrush and all. He took his time and emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist 20 minutes later. Stiles was no longer in his room but there was a pair of black sweat pants and a grey t shirt folded at the end of his bed. He pulled them on and chuckled to himself at the ‘FBI Training Academy’ written across the back.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror he noticed how the clothes sagged more than they should. Before he could analyse himself more though, the sweetest of sounds cut through his thoughts. His head snapped to the door as the sounds of Eli’s laughter filled the house and his heart.

Racing down the stairs, Derek’s heart could have exploded at the sight before him - Eli on the floor on his back, Noah on the couch in his PJs coffee in hand and newspaper in the other, and stiles on the floor pulling the craziest faces at the kid.

“Morning,” he greets and stiles looks up to where Derek is still standing at the foot of the stairs, “how did you sleep?”

Derek descended the rest of the way and sat on the floor across from stiles, “really well actually. I can’t thank you enough for this. I haven’t- we’ve had- I just- thank you,” Derek stutters, eyes warming with unshed tears.

“You’re not alone anymore, Derek. Let us help you,” Noah said leaning forwards.

“Yeah, please!” Stiles adds, “I have today off. I’d love to get to know this little man more, if that’s alright with you?”

“I’d like that,” Derek says softly and watches as Eli’s face lights up at another demented one stiles pulls.

“Well boys, I gotta get ready, but you two enjoy your day. He’s had 6 ounces this morning. Bottle is washed and drying by the sink. I expect to see you and Eli around more often,” Noah polished off the rest of his coffee and clamps Derek’s shoulder as he walks past.

“Eggs?” Stiles asks and makes to stand but Derek stops him with a hand on his leg, “may I?”

Stiles nods and Derek pretends not to notice the stutter in the other man’s heartbeat or the hitch in his breath.

'cause i feel so high school every time i look at you

read on ao3

part 13 of snakes around my stomach - derek gets stomachaches 'verse

Derek refuses to speak any more of the pain he’s in, thinking it will curse him more and make him worse, that he’s brought this on himself. Stiles fills in the gaps.

“Derek, just talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, what’s stopping you?”

Derek shakes his head minutely where it’s bowed between his shoulders. He can’t talk, can’t look Stiles in the eye, can’t focus. He just can’t.

“Derek.”

It’s not like Stiles ever forces Derek to speak when he doesn’t want to. It’s just that something is clearly happening here and Derek looks like there’s been a tongue-tied spell cast upon him, mind whirling and eyes frantic but lips clamped shut. 

He’s obviously in pain, his stomach, most likely, and if Stiles knows him, which he does — Derek’s doing his stupid self-loathing thing again, refusing to talk about what’s bothering him so he doesn’t come off as a burden. Which — Stiles gets, of course, but why hasn’t Derek learned after all this time?

All he can do is sit stiffly beside Derek on the couch, waiting. He wants to reach out, take Derek’s hand in his own, offer him some sort of comfort, but he can’t risk upsetting Derek any further. 

Derek seethes silently next to him, arms crossed tightly around his stomach, eyes clenched shut, and it takes everything in Stiles’ power not to wrap his own arms around his husband. Whatever Derek’s going through right now must be torture, but it’s torture on Stiles’ part just to watch him.

Still, he’ll sit here the whole rest of the day if he has to. Fuck the rest of his plans; Derek needs him, no matter how much he’s restraining himself from saying so. If Derek really hated the closeness, he’d go into the other room. Unless — unless he’s in too much pain to walk, it’s happened before—

“Fuck, do you want me to leave?” Stiles gets out in a sudden panic, wondering if he’s been misreading Derek’s signs this whole time.