Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Derek remembers with clarity Scott McCall’s shuffled entry into his life, head down and his eyes to the floor. Derek was used to kids coming through the house like a troubled wind, his mum’s constant fostering of the ones no one else would take while they were waiting for somewhere permanent had made him accustomed to seeing different faces every month. This kid though, small for his six years and slowly shrinking before Derek’s eyes, he stood out almost because of how hard he was trying to disappear. Most of the foster kids liked to make their presence known, all trying to in some way or another leave their mark. But Scott, he was a shadow. It was so easy to forget that he was even living there with how little everyone saw him. He would appear for occasional meal or Derek would run into him coming out of the bathroom but he always shied away, fled without a word to a hiding place only he could find, always seeming scared and always looking small. Derek wondered what he had been through to make him so terrified.

            Their mum refused to tell them why Scott had come to them, apparently he was from a few towns over, something had happened to his parents and he didn’t have any relatives willing to take him. Derek was beyond curious but Talia insisted that they would know when Scott wanted to tell them and not before. Derek let it go, there was something in his mother’s eyes that stopped him from asking. Even Cora stayed quiet on the issue.

            It took Derek almost a week to realise that he had never heard Scott actually say anything. Not a passing hello or even a grunt of acknowledgement. It creeped him out slightly and his brief interactions with the boy became dosed with an added touch of haunt. It wasn’t until the tenth night after Scott’s arrival that Derek heard a single sound pass his lips.

            It was two in the morning and Derek woke up to the sudden need to pee, instantly regretting the soda he’d chugged during the family movie (which Peter had yet again talked through and Scott had been predictably absent for). With a resounding groan, he heaved himself off the bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom. The tiles were cold and zinged his brain to life in a way that meant he wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon. Taking care of business, the sixteen year old washed his hands and prepared for the dark trip back to his room.

            He made it to the door before he heard it. The attic had long ago been converted into a bedroom when Talia had first become a foster parent so that the foster kids had their own space and it sat right above the bathroom. Derek looked up in slight bewilderment as another noise came through the ceiling. Concentrating on sharpening his hearing, Derek listened for another sound. A few seconds later, he was rewarded with a quiet whimper. Then another, this one sounding more distressed. Furrowing his brow, Derek followed the terrified cries to the attic door. Hesitant, Derek pushed open the hatch and slowly made his way into the attic.

            It was pitch black, not even moonlight streaming through the curtained window, and if not for his heightened senses, Derek wouldn’t have been able to see at all. At first, it seemed like no one was in there, though the whimpers still persistently came from within the room, until Derek saw the bundle of covers stuffed under the bed covering a shivering form. Derek padded softly over to the bed, floor cold against the balls of his feet.

“Scott?” He whispered, voice tentative. The blankets continued to shiver but made no other movement. Another cry came from under the bed.

“Scott, are you okay?” Derek reached a hand slowly to pat on the quivering lump. His gesture was met with an even louder cry and a small body shooting from the covers. Derek startled, stumbling back to avoid the boy as he scrambled to the other side of the room. The room settled and Derek could hear Scott’s choked breathing, smell the bitter tang of panic in the air mixed with the salty sting of tears.

“Scott?” He called one last time.

“I’m sorry,” came the strangled reply, muffled my pyjama clad knees. “I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.”

Derek wasn’t sure why Scott was apologising and realised that Scott wasn’t quiet out of whatever nightmare he’d been having.

“Scott, it’s Derek. You remember me? It’s okay the-there’s nothing to be sorry for. Can you hear me Scott?”

The tiny boy raised his head slightly from his knees, eyes untrusting and frightened.

“D-Derek?”

Derek nodded, unsure exactly what he was supposed to do in this situation and still adjusting to actually hearing the boy speak.

            A moment passed, no more than a second, before Scott let out a strangled sob and flung himself at Derek, holding on to the startled teenager like a life ring. The force knocked the teenager off his heels and onto his butt, arms instinctively going behind him to stop himself from tumbling over entirely, Scott sliding awkwardly into his lap. Derek sat stock still for a moment, eyes wide and wondering what was happening, before he hesitantly brought his arm up to wrap around the weeping child, the other moving to softly cradle the boy’s head.

“Sh, it’s okay Scott, you’re okay. You’re safe,” Derek thought of when they were younger and Cora would have nightmares, how Laura would rock her back and forth and whisper sweet nothing in her ear until she drifted back to sleep.

            They sat huddled on the floor for longer than Derek can remember and, when he thought Scott had drifted off, he lifted him gently and laid him on the bed, reaching for the covers still stuffed underneath. He tucked Scott in, bundling him in blankets and moving the hair back from his forehead before turning to tiptoe his way back to his own room. He took a step before a little hand reached out to snatch at his fingers, gripping with a strength Derek didn’t think someone so small could possess.

“Please stay,” Scott’s voice was hoarse and desperate, slightly muffled by the blankets he was buried in “I’m scared they’ll come back.”

“Who’s going to come back Scott?”

“The nightmares. They make it hard to breathe when I don’t wake up right and they make me hurt inside. I don’t want to hurt,” shiny tears built in the child’s eyes and Derek gripped Scott’s hand in his own.

“It’s okay Scott, I’ll stay right here. I’ll always wake you up, Scott.”

Scott looked reassured and shuffled his little body to one side of the bed, tugging at Derek’s hand until the older slid in beside him. Curled up into the teenager’s side, Scott didn’t have any nightmares that night.

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Scott remembers the first time his father ever laid hands on him. He doesn’t remember when or why but he remembers the smell on his father’s breath and the sharp sting of a hand connecting to his face, the feeling of being shocked like someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water over him because ‘daddy hit him’. He remembers the look of Raphael’s face as he pulled his hand away, the sheer regret and remorse, emotions he would learn to recognise. Scott forgave him. He doesn’t remember so much the other abuse but he remembers the slow decline of the care his father gave. At first, he always said sorry straight afterward. Then he had to sober up first, and even though that sometimes took days he still said sorry, he still begged for forgiveness. Then he stopped saying sorry at all. Scott thinks maybe it was because he stopped sobering up. He started taking away Scott’s inhaler, said he didn’t need it, that he had McCall genes and he was perfectly fine without it. No son of his was going to be dependent on a piece of plastic. Scott doesn’t remember the literal push that sent everything over the edge but he remembers waking up to find his mom crying in the kitchen with a mug of cold coffee clasped in her hands and he knew, in that moment, that daddy was gone. His mom cried a lot after that when it was late and she thought Scott couldn’t hear her. He always did though, laying in bed in the dark wishing for daddy to come home, he heard the sobs bleed through the walls of his bedroom to soak stains onto his brain.

Scott remembers the shots that ended the world. He remembers the red on the walls and the grip on the gun in his father’s hand and daddy had come home but daddy didn’t look like daddy anymore. Scott dreams of the red, like fresh paint splattered over walls and carpets, it coated the room, coated the bodies, dripped from the open wounds. Mommy was still gasping when the police arrived, holding Scott’s hand and drowning him in the red. Daddy was lying on the floor with the gun still in his mouth. Scott remembers when the gasping stopped as the sirens sounded outside and mommy never moved again. Scott wishes daddy had never come home.

Chapter Text

Derek is still awake when the sun comes up. Scott is curled into his side, small and quiet with bruises Derek hadn’t noticed surrounding his eyes. He looks so tired, like he hasn’t slept properly in months. Derek wonders how, in a house full of wolves, no one noticed the nightmares. Wonders how long it’s been since anyone noticed. But he’s noticed now, and he’s not letting Scott go through it alone. Not anymore.

They settle into a kind of pattern after that night. The days remain mostly the same, Scott stays in his room a lot though he can be found shadowing Derek far more than he used to. Then, when night comes, Derek brushes his teeth, pulls on pyjamas (which is actually just a worn t-shirt and boxers) and heads up to Scott’s room to sit with him through the night. Scott wakes up more nights than he doesn’t, mouth open in an empty scream Derek sickeningly thinks Scott’s learned to silence. On bad nights he won’t sleep at all, just stare at the ceiling with his fingers gripped tightly to Derek’s shirt. Derek feels slightly helpless, lying there with a soothing hand on the boys back and nothing much else to offer. The circles under Scott’s eyes seem to have faded slightly tho so Derek hopes he’s making at least a small difference, even if he can’t take all of Scott’s pain.

Scott never talks about the nightmares, tho Derek has asked. He mostly just shakes his head, a haunt in his eyes too deep for his years. Derek knows not to push, if Scott is going to tell him what landed him in care, it’ll be on his own time. Their nightly routine continues for about three weeks before they have a problem during the day.

It starts with Scott helping in the kitchen. Talia has started trying to get Scott involved in more things around the house in the hope of bringing him out of his shell so, when it’s his turn to cook dinner, Derek enlists Scott’s help. They’re doing fine, spaghetti and meatballs is one of the easier things Derek knows how to make and Scott enjoys using the grater for some reason. Derek grabs the jar of tomato sauce to pour into a pan when the condensation on the sides makes it slip from his grasp and shatter on the floor, sauce spilling on the floor and splashing onto the cupboard doors. It all goes downhill from there.

“Shit,” Derek jumped back from the spray, drops of sauce landing on his socked feet and onto the bottom of his jeans. “God damn it,” he muttered, surveying the damage. The kitchen was covered in sauce.

“Scott, can you hand me a cloth? Be careful of the glass,” Silence, “Scott?”

Scott is still as a statue, eyes glued to the broken jar. It takes Derek a second to realise that Scott’s not breathing.

“Scott? Scott, what’s wrong?” He approaches slowly, hands slightly raised in placation as he’s learned to do with Scott when he zones out like this after his nightmares.

“Scott? Can you hear be buddy?” Scott remains still, eyes fixed on the red splattered across the floor.

“Scott, you need to breathe,” Derek resists the urge to grab Scott when he reaches him, to clutch him tight and never let him go. Instead, he gently lays a hand on Scott’s shoulder.

It’s like he’s flicked a switch. Scott goes from still to screaming in an instant, breath coming in short gasps and body curling in on itself like a wounded animal. The change shocks Derek into silence for a moment before he kneels in front of the boy bent double, his eyes still fixed on the broken jar as he screams.

“Scott, calm down, it’s okay, Scott? Come on, talk to me,” Derek feels lost, Scott just keeps screaming, loud and piercing.

“What’s going on?” Talia is at the door and Derek doesn’t know whether to feel grateful or wish she was gone because he doesn’t know exactly what Scott needs right now but he knows it’s not more people.

“It’s okay Mum, you need to go I can handle this,” Derek makes his voice as kind as he can as he keeps his focus on Scott.

He thanks god that his mother is so understanding as she backs out of the kitchen, no hint of panic on her face. She trusts him. Derek needed that.

“Scotty, can you look at me?” Derek calls over the screams, moving his hands up to Scott’s face to try and coax Scott’s eyes into looking at him.

Scott’s gaze is fixed on the puddle of sauce, his stance protective, like he’s trying to shield himself while his mouth hangs wide in terrified howls. Derek feels lost, he hasn’t seen Scott this out of it before and the screeches launch missiles into his gut with the pure terror within them, but he forces himself to stay calm. He won’t lose it. Not when Scott needs him. Steeling himself, Derek pulls his hands from Scott’s face and pulls the boy to his chest, lifting the small six-year-old with ease and carrying him out of the offending room, still feeling lost but knowing somehow that he needs to get Scott away from the kitchen, away from the mess. Away from the red.

Scott is rigid when Derek brings him to his own room, grateful that his mum had kept the rest of the household away from the incident so Scott didn’t have any more curious eyes on him. He’s torn between keeping Scott held to his chest and putting him down, wracking his brain for how to make Scott see him, see that he’s not wherever his torments have taken him. See that he’s safe.

He settles for the floor, placing Scott in front of him where the boy shows no signs of falling. Scott’s screams are fading to whimpers, lost and hopeless and desperately, disgustingly scared. Derek thinks this is almost worse than the wailing.

“Scott,” Derek strokes gently at the boy's cheek with the pad of his thumb “Can you hear me? It’s Derek, I’m here, you’re safe, Derek’s here, remember me?”

Scott continues to mewl, his breath short as he makes choked sounds in the back of his throat. Derek frowns, Scott needs to breathe, and reaches a hand to run is gently through the boy's hair. Scott blinks, taking in a great gulp of air as his eyes stare blankly. Derek wonders what horrors those young eyes have seen. Maybe he doesn’t want to know.

They stand in the middle of Derek’s room, Derek never losing contact with the other as he keeps up a mantra of words he hopes will comfort. Hours pass. Somehow Scott ends up back in his arms, eyes still void but breath calmer and Derek sits them both on his bed, cradling the lost child as he waits for Scott to be released by his demons. His mother looks in but Derek simply shakes his head, never stopping his litany of reassurances as he rocks Scott slowly. Eventually, after what feels like days, Scott drifts into sleep. Derek doesn’t dare let him go. The room goes dark. The sun has set. Derek stays perched on the bed, arms held tight around the sleeping child. Derek doesn’t think he can ever let him go.