#I think it was inspired by Disco's Wolfsbane?

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Equilibrium

@maia-nebula enjoy 2k of lightly-angsty Mitch/Derek!

It was the waiting that wore Mitch down. He couldn’t stand it, waiting around for something to happen, unable to do anything. Logically he knew he couldn’t expect Derek to just get better after everything he’s gone through, it doesn’t work that way. That doesn’t stop Mitch from feeling like a lion pacing in a too-small cage, wanting to just do something. Fixing things is what he does, but he can’t fix this. He doesn’t know how. 

Mitch has always been shit at the emotional side of things, and he knows it. When his first - and last - girlfriend was killed, he cried for a week and only left his room for her funeral. After, he buried the grief deep enough that he didn’t have to feel it anymore, and moved the fuck on. Healthy? Not at all. Effective? Most of the time. Repression was the name of the game and he’d always been a star player. 

Repressing everything wouldn’t help Derek, though. Repression was the reason he was in this situation in the first place, after Kate got him so twisted up inside he didn’t know up from down anymore. Mitch hated it. Derek was acting like a terrified kid when he was a werewolf for fucks sake. A werewolf that had fallen in love with the wrong person when he was too young to know better, and paid the worst price for it. 

Kate had taken everything from Derek, and Mitch would kill her for it if he could find the bitch, but she’d slipped away at every turn. The authorities had no chance of catching up to her, she was too good at what she did. Her and her father, they’d made murder their business, and people like that don’t give up easy. Mitch would know.

So here he is, trying to coax Derek out of the hollowed-out shell he’s become. Trying to be delicate when he’s anything but understanding, when he doesn’t understand. Tragedy he gets, loss he gets - he’s lost everyone he loves, except for his brother - but what Kate did to Derek is something Mitch will never fully fathom. He’s glad for it, too, after seeing what it’s done to the man.. 

Derek had nowhere to go, so Mitch took him in. An impulsive decision he still doesn’t get - he does get it, he just doesn’t want to look too closely at it, he never was fond of self-reflection - but he doesn’t regret it. He had the space and didn’t mind the company, even though he was a loner through and through. Hell, it was like he still lived alone with how much space Derek didn’t take up. Like he was always trying to hide away, withdrawn into himself, trying to disappear. Waiting to make a mistake, to get punished for it.

Mitch tried not to let his frustration - helplessness - show. It didn’t always work. Not when Derek was a werewolf, who could sense or smell or whatever the fuck every change in someone’s mood. The littlest alteration in the wrong direction could send him cowering. The slightest bite to Mitch’s tone could have him devolving into a trembling mess, balled up in the corner.

For the most part, Mitch was a calm person. He prided himself on being calm and collected at all times. When others would lose their temper, he was there with cold rationale and hard facts, even when the truth was something he would rather not face. He repressed just about everything, but he didn’t lie to himself about anything. (That was a lie, he could never face the truth about Derek, wouldn’t let himself.)

Interacting with Derek was an exercise in self-control. Mitch was confident that he could get away with any outrageous lie on a polygraph now, with how careful he had to be to keep steady around Derek. He was so fucking zen.

Like usual, Derek is in the guestroom. Not his room, because Derek is so determined to fade into the background that he didn’t leave a mark on anything. Mitch didn’t even know if Derek slept, or if he just maintained that same rigid posture sitting on the edge of the bed all the time. It made Mitch want to get out and run just seeing him. 

Now there was an idea. 

Mitch got up from the dining room table, abandoning the neatly spread out gun parts he’d been meticulously servicing. When he found Derek in the guest room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed staring blankly at the wall, just like Mitch expected from him. It was as heartbreaking as it was disturbing, and made Mitch hate Kate all the more. Derek had been broken down and broken in, and Mitch was not the person to try and fix him, but it was him or no one. Derek didn’t have anyone else. 

“Hey,” Mitch said, hating the way Derek’s back tensed. There was no way Derek hadn’t heard him coming, didn’t know he was standing there before he announced himself. It was dread that had Derek’s muscles bunching and poised to bolt. Not that he would. He would stay and bear whatever pain came to him, just like he’d been trained. Mitch’s heart, black and buried as it was, broke for him. 

Derek didn’t respond. Mitch didn’t expect him to, but he tried to give Derek an opening when he addressed him just in case he was feeling up to it. It’s been three days of nothing, but Mitch was nothing if not persistent. He reminded himself it would take more than three days to undo years of abuse. 

Mitch waited him out, leaning casually against the door jam. He had nowhere to be right now, content in the silence. When he didn’t leave, Derek slowly turned to face him, apprehensive. Guarded. Mitch didn’t take it personally.  

“Wanna go for a run?” 

“Do you think you can keep up with me?” Derek’s voice was soft. Softer than you would expect, looking at him, and timid. His words were carefully deliberated and slowly spoken. He braced like he would be hurt for the question, like Mitch would be insulted by Derek implying he was in any way less. Kate would have punished him for hours for the slight. Mitch only shrugged. 

“Let’s find out.” For the first time, Mitch saw what might have become the beginnings of a smile starting to tilt the corners of Derek’s mouth up. He grinned back, pushing off from the door when Derek rose from the bed.

***

As it turns out, Mitch could in fact keep up with Derek. He was in peak condition, proud of the fact that he could maintain a five-minute mile for ten miles. By contrast Derek was weak, still sweating through the poison in his system, recovering from years of neglect. It was enough that Derek had trouble keeping up with Mitch, and when they came back to the house half an hour later, both breathing hard and drenched in sweat, Derek was looking more alive that Mitch had seen him in the last week.

Both were too exhausted to talk, but that was perfectly fine. Neither of them were any good at it, and talking wasn’t what Derek needed anyhow. 

***

Derek’s snarl was inhuman, his eyes glowing blue. There was something about him that sent a chill down Mitch’s spine. This wasn’t the timid man that had been cowering at Mitch’s every word. He was feral. 

Derek charged, his claws extended and sweeping through the air. Mitch would have been gutted if he didn’t duck out of the way just in time, sliding up behind Derek and shouldering him into the wall. Derek fought him, but he was subdued by the knife Mitch was suddenly holding to his throat with one hand, Derek’s wrists pinned above his head with the other. The razor-sharp edge kissed Derek’s skin, slicing in so fine he didn’t even feel it at first. He felt his skin trying to knit back together, progress halted by cold steel. 

“Do you think you’re going to hurt me, Derek? Try.” Mitch’s teeth were bared in a vicious snarl, every bit the predator Derek was. It didn’t matter that he was only a human in the face of something much stronger than himself. He held Derek fast with human strength, daring him to break free and get his claws bloody. To become the monster Kate always told him he was, prove her right. 

The fight left Derek with a whine, shoulder’s falling. His fangs felt too big in his mouth, unwieldy. Mitch waited, eyes narrowed. When Derek didn’t attack, looking plaintively at him, he flicked the knife back closed, slid it into his pocket. He didn’t release Derek though, keeping a steady grip on his wrists. He gentled his touch, waiting for Derek’s labored breathing to calm. For his fangs to recede, for the glow to leave his eyes. Derek’s claws were still fisted in the front of Mitch’s shirt, ruining it. When they receded back into blunt human nails, Mitch finally released him. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek choked, staring at the floor. He didn’t want to face the damage he’d done, however trivial. Mitch touched the side of his neck, thumbed away the line of blood that had dripped down. The small cut was already healed. 

“You’re not a monster, Derek.” 

-

Feeding a werewolf was undoubtedly expensive. Even if Derek did try to eat as little as possible, trying not to be an inconvenience, Mitch wouldn't let him get away with it. He was thin, thinner than he should be, a wounded wolf. It took a few days before Mitch finally managed to cajole him into at least eating like a human, rather than a mouse. It got easier when he started plying him with steaks. Mitch shelled out for the good stuff, too; meat was one of the things he'd never skimp on. It was either top quality cuts or nothing. 

Derek noticed. And he appreciated it; Mitch was a great cook, managing to sear the meat to perfection every time, not afraid to leave it a medium-rare pink in the middle, instead of ruining the meat by overcooking it to toughened well-done. Well done, Mitch scoffed, when he finally got Derek to express a preference. Nothing about that is done well. It made Derek smile. 

So, Derek noticed the quality. It spiked memories from his childhood, his parents joking with others that he and his sister could eat them out of house and home. The Hale wealth wasn't so much a bonus as it was a necessity to keep up with their appetites, having to feed an entire pack. They even had a rotating roster of grocery stores to keep anyone from questioning large, too-often purchases. Derek's mother always had the excuse, “it's for church!” On the tip of her tongue. 

Derek also began hoarding receipts, apparently, sequestering them away in the midst of helping put away groceries. Which is how Mitch came home to find Derek at the kitchen table, slips of white paper spread out in front of him. 

“Uh, what's this?” Mitch asked, his eyebrows raised. 

“I can pay you back,” Derek said softly. “My family had—I have money. To repay for this—for taking care of me.” He said it like he thought he was a well-kept pet. Mitch knew that he probably did. 

“Don't worry about it, man.” 

“Please. I know it's a lot, you shouldn't have to—”

“Seriously, Derek, don't worry about it. Trust me, I'm not feeling the cost.” It wasn't like Mitch was poor; he was actually pretty well off, despite his average beginnings. He was nowhere on the level the Hales had been—they were old money, had practically founded the town—but Mitch made a killing in his career. 

Mitch picked up the receipts that Derek had yet to look away from, crumpled them up, and threw them away. Clearly he'd been torturing himself with them for a while. 

“Why?” Derek plainly asked. He sounded so small. 

“You deserve to have nice things, Derek.” Mitch knew the wolf didn't believe him. He was too broken. “Speaking of, we really need to get you some clothes of your own. You can keep borrowing mine if you want, but I think it'd be better to get you something that actually fits. If you're up for it.”

Mitch watched as Derek struggled with the decision. On the one hand, he would have to leave the house and be around strangers for a long time, and Mitch would be spending even more money on him; this time not related to his immediate survival. On the other hand Mitch was being generous enough; Derek shouldn't keep treating his clothes like his own.