Sterek One Shots (manxman)

The Wolf That Heard Crying

Tags: Wolf!Derek, angsty, Comfort,  Character death (before fic begins), Knotting, Derek POV, Alternate Universe

Title: The Wolf That Heard Crying

Author: grimm

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Summary:

There was someone in Derek's house. He was on his way back from a hunt, licking blood from his muzzle when he heard the sound of smashing wood coming from inside. Derek snarled quietly, leaping up onto the back deck without a sound. He paused in the doorway to the living room, eyes burning red in the dim light. The boy whacking the wall with a moldy piece of timber was different than the ones who had come before. He wasn't laughing, wasn't enjoying himself as pieces of rotten flew from both the wall and the wood in his hands. He smelled of sadness and desperation and anger, and when the piece of wood in his hands finally splintered the boy sank to his knees and cried.

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Comment(s): I should really set an updating schedule buuuut. Anyway, I have a total of 402 one shots and this will only be the.. 30-something-ith.?.. that I've posted so..

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Word Text:

There was someone in Derek's house. He was on his way back from a hunt, licking blood from his muzzle when he heard the sound of smashing wood coming from inside. Derek snarled quietly, leaping up onto the back deck without a sound. He was sick of chasing teenagers away from the house, sick of finding them breaking the rotten furniture, sick of finding them fucking on the dirty floor. That was the worst, because it took hours for the scent of hormones to fade from the house, leaving him horny and on edge. He hated when they left the condoms behind and he had to move them while trying not to touch them at the same time, the taste of latex and spunk sour in his mouth. He knew the house was in bad shape and it was conveniently located far outside of town, but really? Wasn't there somewhere better to have sex than a half-burned, mildewy shell of a house?

Derek paused in the doorway to the living room, eyes burning red in the dim light. The boy whacking the wall with a moldy piece of timber was different than the ones who had come before. He wasn't laughing, wasn't enjoying himself as pieces of rotten flew from both the wall and the wood in his hands. He smelled of sadness and desperation and anger, and when the piece of wood in his hands finally splintered the boy sank to his knees and cried.

Derek backed away quietly. It might have been years since he was human, but he recognized the grief pouring off the boy, the need to hurt and rage and feel. He'd felt it for months after Laura died. He wouldn't drive the boy away. Not today.

In the days following, Derek picked up the boy's scent several times all over the preserve. He followed his scent trails, which meandered without purpose, reeking of unhappiness. He found the boy once or twice, followed him through the woods at a distance, strangely worried about this sad outsider. Sometimes the boy stopped for a while, sitting under a tree and staring off into the middle distance, his mouth set in a thin, miserable line. Sometimes he cried. Derek lay in the underbrush and watched him, wondering if it would be safe to approach. He felt the weirdest need to comfort the kid. It had been a long time since he'd been in a human's presence and he missed people sometimes. He missed talking, laughing, touching. He missed his family, their loss a gaping hole in his heart, and maybe that was why he wanted to comfort the boy, because he could feel the same sense of loss radiating from him. He knew, far too well, the pain of being alone.

One day Derek was patrolling the edge of the property when he picked up the scent of the boy and, almost in the same breath, the scent of another werewolf. Derek's hackles rose; the were smelled sour, unwashed, unhealthy, and dangerous, and the boy's scent was heading right in the other wolf's direction.