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Chris woke up the moment the door to his condo clicked shut. He was home alone, as he always was now, and had no real friends or people he trusted. Not since he sent Isaac to France. Not since he helped the McCall pack get through their interrogations. Not since he watched the nogitsune shove a sword through his daughter's chest.
He knew that wasn’t Stiles, but you couldn’t tell Stiles that. He had heard through the pack that Stiles' nightmares were worse now than when he was possessed. How fucked is that?
Chris took a deep breath before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to rest on the floor. He gripped the edge as he leaned forward and tried to find the will to not just lay back down and see if someone is finally coming to put him out of his misery. Isaac flashed across his mind for a moment, and then a memory of Allison, not even a good one. Just one of her arguing with him about treating the McCall pack–about treating all of the wolves better. The Argents finding their humanity when up against a non-human adversary. With that thought in mind, Chris stood, but didn’t get farther than his bedroom door before finding the intruder.
“Stiles?” Chris took in the slouching frame of the teen, and was surprised more so when the boy didn’t respond to his name. The silence in the condo was deafening. Chris grabbed Stiles' shoulder, lightly shaking him as he called his name out again, but it wasn’t until he pulled Stiles further into the bedroom that he saw what Stiles was looking down at. The light coming through the window hit and Chris saw the blood covering Stiles hands and the bottom of his shirt.
“Stiles? Whose blood is this?” Chris pulls Stiles through the bedroom to the en suite and gently presses his shoulder until he’s seated on the toilet. Stiles hands shake as he watches them, and Stiles begins quietly counting his fingers as he fights back tears.
“H-He wouldn’t stop.” Stiles finally stutters out. Stiles is still tapping his fingers together and Chris knows he should reach out to Scott, or better yet Derek, but something tells him not to. That if Stiles came here, then there’s a reason he can’t go to the others.
“Who wouldn’t stop? Stiles, sweetheart, can you tell me what happened? Whose blood is this?” Stiles can only cry harder, and Chris can’t stop the rush of anxiety that the blood could be the boys own. He pushes Stiles' shoulder until the boy is sitting up straighter, checking his neck for any marks before pulling up the bottom of Stiles' shirt with his other hand, checking his stomach. When he doesn’t see anything there, he lets the boy slouch back forward and steps over to the sink. He pulls out a dark washcloth and runs in under the water, wringing it out before squatting back in front of Stiles. It’s as Chris is finishing wiping the worst of the blood off of Stiles' right hand that the boy finally comes back to himself some.
“Donovan. Donovan’s blood. H-he tried to kill me. I killed him.” Stiles' breath hitched on a sob as he continued, “He was going to kill my dad, and then I killed him, oh my god I killed him.”
“Stiles, I don’t know who Donovan is but I know you. I know you didn’t kill anyone. What happened? Tell me what happened.” Chris is firm in his tone. He knows that Stiles is freaking out, but Stiles has been and always will be a talker given the right motivation.
Stiles does manage to sob his way through the events of the evening as Chris continues to wipe the blood from Stiles hands. How he was stuck at the school alone, how Donovan had found him, and how Stiles had tried to run away. Stiles didn’t even know where he was running when he had gotten close to Chris’s condo, and Chris tried to bury the swirl of satisfaction that the boy's instincts brought him to Chris.
Chris keeps a hold on Stiles hand after the blood has been cleaned, and he runs his thumb over the teens knuckles as he tries to think through the situation. Why was Stiles there alone? Donovan was supposed to be on a transport to jail, how did he get out? Why the hell was Stiles afraid of going to Scott about this?
“Why couldn’t you tell Scott about this, doll? Or hell, why not Derek for that matter?” Chris asked without judgement. Chris knew he’d be on the boys side, once you got past the continuous stream of conversation, Stiles was the only one in the pack that actually seemed to know what he was doing. Damn that’s not a good thing probably.
“Derek is still searching for the Desert Wolf with Braeden. And Scott–” Stiles caught himself before he started crying again. “Scott won’t fucking believe me. He’s been hung up on Theo.”
Chris didn’t know who Theo was, but Chris knew something had to be wrong for Stiles to not even make excuses for the ‘True Alpha’ anymore. When Chris reached up to grab Stiles' other shoulder the boy flinched back with a hiss.
Chris frowned at the action before slowly pulling Stiles' jacket down one arm and pulled back the collar of his shirt. The bite was luckily not oozing blood but the two rings of teeth marks were unsettling. He hadn’t seen a creature that could do this. One ring of teeth yes, but two?
“What the hell–Stiles what did this to you?” Chris quickly stands to wring out the forgotten washcloth and redampen in.
Stiles fidgets for a moment before quietly answering, “Donovan.”
Chris wiped away the dried blood before he gave up and started pulling Stiles' jacket off of him. The boy followed his lead easily enough, and after a slight squawk when Chris grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull over his head Chris now had shirtless Stiles sitting in his bathroom, rambling about what Donovan could be and how he related to the dread doctors as Chris cleaned and dressed the wound on his shoulder.
After he had pressed the last of the medical tape down Chris held the back of Stiles' neck. A wolfish gesture but he couldn’t deny the way he saw Stiles sigh in relief at the action. Chris couldn’t help the way his eyes dragged down the teens frame either. Chris knew he wasn’t as scrawny as the oversized t-shirts and flannels made him out to be, but Chris was more than a little ashamed to admit that he liked what he saw.
Chris had spent a long time after the nogitsune hating Stiles. It seemed easy to keep the boy's face there in his nightmares, but after a while Chris knew that Stiles would hate himself more for what happened then anyone else ever could, and Stiles wasn’t even there when it happened. Just a possessed duplicate. They never mentioned it, Chris never apologized and Stiles never did either. They didn’t really have anything to apologize for, but the guilt ate at them anyways.
“I-” Chris looked down when Stiles spoke. Steeling himself as he realized how precarious their positions were, with Stiles looking up at him from his seat–still on the toilet–and Chris standing over him holding the back of his neck. It almost looked like– “I’m sorry. For showing up so late, and if I woke you. I’m sure I woke you up.”
Chris was in awe. Stiles had almost died tonight, Stiles had to kill someone to save himself–to save his father and here he was apologizing for waking up someone else while he was hurt. Chris quietly chuckled to himself before pulling Stiles up by the back of the teens neck. Chris watched as panic overtook Stiles' features at being pulled up until Chris pressed their mouths together in a slow kiss.
Stiles settled quicker than Chris expected him to, and kissed back like he had finally found a lifeline. Chris slid his hand up into Stiles' hair, pulling the short strands into his fist and using it to guide Stiles, forcing the teen to tilt his head how Chris saw fit.
Chris let out a grunt when he felt nails digging into his biceps. Stiles had grabbed ahold of both of his arms and Chris let himself be pushed up against the wall. Chris released Stiles' hair to push his chin down with his thumb, licking into Stiles mouth and reaching out to grab his waist with his other hand when the boy's knees threatened to buckle.
“Fuck! Chris,” Stiles gasped between passes of his tongue, and Chris couldn’t help but groan when he felt Stiles press his hips forward. Chris could feel him harden through Stiles usual denim and Chris’s sweats and it only proved to stir the older man further. Chris held onto Stiles' chin as he forced the boy to pull away. Stiles eyes were squeezed closed and Chris watched as a tear broke free and ran down his cheek.
Chris leaned back in and licked away the streak it left and chuckled when Stiles bucked his hips forward at the action. Chris leaned further into the teens' space until his lips brushed against Stiles' ear. “Do you want to keep going, sweetheart?”
Stiles moaned quietly, his hands squeezing Chris’ biceps again as he tried to answer. Chris waited, with a hand still holding Stiles' hip and pulling his own hips away when Stiles tried to press into them again without answering.
“Use your words, doll.” Chris whispered. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to move around too much. I still don’t know how much blood you lost from that bite wound.”
Stiles paused for a moment as though he forgot what brought him to Chris’ condo in the first place, and then finally Stiles breathed out a quiet, “Yes– yes, sir.”
Chris grinned and dropped his head down to kiss along Stiles jaw, “then let’s get you in bed, baby.”
They could figure out the rest in the morning.