
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/697309.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Stiles_Stilinski_&_Sheriff_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Anybody_Else_I_Decide_To
      Include
  Additional Tags:
      Stiles_Is_Traumatised, Sheriff_Knows_Something_Is_Wrong, Derek_Isn't_As
      Brave_As_He_Lets_On, Graphic_Aftermath_Of_Rape
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-24 Updated: 2013-04-19 Chapters: 4/? Words: 4526
****** Violated ******
by AlphaDerekMakesMeDrool
Summary
     Warnings Non-Consentual! Stiles has been attacked, violated , raped
     by an unlikely suspect. He has to deal with that trauma, but he has
     no idea how. He feels abandoned and betrayed, nothing can change
     that..
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Alone And Troubled *****
Sheer luck had meant that his dad was at work, when he got in from school. From
Detention! His face was streaked with tears and the sobs visibly racked his
body, there was no way he could have hid that and didn't want anybody to know
what took place that day. Dumping his backpack in the middle of the hall floor,
he fled upstairs. The exertion bringing a fresh sting to the already tired and
pained muscles in his legs, making his guts, already feeling liquified, feel
like they were being sloshed around inside his body. Inside his body, it was
inside his body and he needed to get it out. It wasn't welcome inside him! He
suddenly felt like he was being invaded, it was unsettling. He felt like
somehow he'd been claimed and he didn't like that at all.
Blood, vivid and red, darkened the water in the toilet. Of course there was
blood, how could there not be blood. Pain gripped his Stomach and flowed
intensely, unwaveringly through his guts. He could feel the cold, slimy trail,
left on his leg by the semen that dripped from his insides. Damning evidence,
but he wasn't thinking clearly. How could he think clearly, when he felt so
dirty and so betrayed? Virgin status, no longer intact. Oh! How he wanted to
change that. Now that it had been ripped so ruthlessly, so brutally from him,
he wanted his virginity back. It was suddenly something special, more special
to him than he could ever recall, and to no longer be able to give it to
someone special, someone who actually cared about him, was a devastating blow.
He felt broken, overwhelmed by the certainty that nobody would ever believe
him.
He turned on the shower and stepped under the scalding stream of water, gasping
in pain at the sudden change in temperature. He didn't adjust the water
temperature though, hot water was his friend and it would destroy all the
physical trace of that man's hands on his body. He grabbed shower gel and a
loofah and lathered up his body, paying special attention to his private areas,
as he diligently scrubbed his shame away the tears return. He tilted his face
up to the water and let it wash away his tears, he was almost surprised he had
any tears left to cry. 'Don't scream. Don't even cry or I'll beat you so hard,
that all they'll find is a corpse' with the memory of the phrase, he started
vigorously scrubbing his mouth. Trying to suppress the memory of the large hand
clamped across it, to ensure his silence.
He stood under the water, letting it wash away the events of the day, until his
pained legs gave out. Sliding slowly down the wall, he curled up under the
pelting water and allowed the sobs of grief, or pain, or betrayal, or he really
didn't know what he was feeling, wrack his body. He stayed there naked and
vulnerable, until the water turned icy cold. He wrapped himself in one of the
thick, cosy bath-sheets and gathered up his clothes. Black and Yellow Batman
Boxer/Briefs, dark baggy skater Jeans, white long-sleeved t-shirt and a red and
black plaid shirt. The things he worn today, that he'd never wear again. Still
wrapped in the bath-sheet, he made his way the trashcan and threw the clothes
in. Then he went up to his room and pulled on pair of blue check boxer shorts
and a blue hoodie.
He zipped the hoodie and crawled into bed. He hoped it would be possible to
erase this day from his mind, to pretend nothing that had happened was real.
But everytime he closed his eyes, he could feel the man's fingertips on his
skin. He could feel the warmth of the man's breath against his neck, he could
feel the pain, the unbareable pain, as the man pushed his stiff penis inside
him. He felt the breath being pushed out of him, by the force of penetration,
he could hear his own voice begging for mercy. "Stop, please don't do this."
he'd said as tears filled his eyes, he was sure he'd said that. "No, please,
please! I'm a virgin please don't hurt me, please don't do this." he knew he'd
said that. He knew, because he remembered the smirk on Mr Harris' face as he
absorbed this knowledge and ignored his pleas.
***** At Night *****
Chapter Summary
     I should put in a TRIGGER warning, I guess this chapter although it
     doesn't describe the rape in full. Probably contains enough detail to
     upset or offend some people. READ ON WITH CAUTION!!
"Mr Stilinski, is there something you'd like to add?"

"Just a critique. I've read and highlighted this entire text book already and
it's very interesting, but your delivery is too dry and you not engaging us,
your subjects. Chemistry is fun and exciting, but you Mr Harris are neither."

"Right that's it Stilinski, I've had enough of your smart-ass remarks for this
week. Detention this afternoon and the rest of the week, don't bother going to
Lacrosse practice."

The rest of the class passed without incident, along with Lunch and English
Lit. When the final bell rang Stiles returned to Mr Harris' classroom, he
hadn't even bothered fighting Harris on his latest Detention sessions.
Experience had taught him, although he'd been slow on the uptake and still
forgot sometimes, that resistance was not only futile but frequently made
situation worse. He knocked the door and waited for a response, as he was
waiting he saw Harris approaching the room and stood up straighter. Harris took
out his keys and unlocked the door granting them both access, he walked in
ahead of Stiles and waited by the door. Stiles failed to notice Harris locking
the door behind them.

"Right Mr Stilinski, you can help me set up the apparatus for first period
tommorrow."

Stiles shrugged and watched as Harris set up the apparatus for an experiment,
he then gathered up the appropriate items and proceeded to set up the same
experiment at the next station. He continued his appointed task without
interruption, until he was grabbed, the Conical Flask he'd been holding
shattered on impact with the floor. Harris held him with a strength that his
lanky, skinny frame didn't seem capable of possessing. Stiles fought to get
free from Harris' grip, but for some reason Harris was over-powering him with
ease. Harris forcibly slammed Stiles, head first, in one of the workstation
benches. Dazed and injured Stiles fell to the floor, as he struggled to get to
his feet Harris pinned him, holding a broken shard of glass, from the Conical
Flask, to his throat.

"Since you started here I've wondered what it would take to shut that smart
mouth of yours. I had one idea for keeping you quiet, but under the
circumstances I don't think I can trust you not to bite. So I guess I'll just
have to put your other hole to good use."

Stiles struggled against Harris' inhumanly strong grip, made every effort to
fight back, the older man just held him in place and waited for him to tire
himself out. Stiles whimpered weakly, feeling something, vaguely aware that
Harris was undoing his belt and pulling down his trousers. He felt the warmth
of Harris' hand against his skin, but it wasn't a good, gentle or loving touch.
It was rough and hungry and made Stiles' skin crawl, made him feel disgusting,
triggered the urge to fight back. He tried, but all he could do was buck his
hips and flail ineffectively. Harris' grip was like bear trap, heavy and
inescapable. Harris used the broken shard of glass, pushing deep enough into
Stiles' skin to draw blood and using his now free hand to cover Stiles' mouth
when the gasp of pain and fear came.

"Don't scream, don't even cry or I'll beat you so hard that all they'll find is
a corpse."
===============================================================================
John Stilinski snuggled down under his bed clothes, it had been an exhausting
day. Beacon Hills animal attack statistics had always been significantly higher
than the national average, but they seemed to be truly out of hand these days.
His head hit the pillow, but his mind was on overdrive and sleep wasn't going
to come easy tonight. Just as he started dosing off a loud scream rang through
the house. It came from Stiles' room. John was awake, he grabbed his gun and
was running down the landing with in seconds. Stiles was still screaming when
John burst through his bedroom door, gun ready to incapacitate any potential
intruder. But Stiles was alone in his darkened room, sitting on the bed
screaming. He appeared to have woken up from a bad dream.

John flicked on the light and approached Stiles bed, he sat down and reached
out a comforting hand to his son. John finger had barely reached Stiles' arm,
when Stiles flinched away and scrambled to move further down the bed, away from
John. John notice the tears in Stiles' eyes and the dark, angry bruises on his
wrists, then he noticed the vicious, scabby cut on Stiles' neck. Stiles
whimpered helplessly and pinned himself against the headboard, his knees were
drawn up into his chest and he seemed to actively be trying to appear small.
John reached out to comfort his son again and noticed as Stiles' eyes focused
on his hand, he watched as terror spread accross his face. John had never
raised his hand to Stiles and he wasn't about to start now, Stiles had no
reason to be this scared of his own father.

"Please don't touch me, please. I don't want this, it hurts please, please I
don't like it. It Hurts, It Hurts! Please not again, not again. Don't touch me,
please don't touch me."

John watched in alarm as Stiles pleaded with him, his voice rough from
screaming, sounding pitifully helpless and utterly broken. Stiles started to
cry harder, heavy sobs racked his body and John noticed where Stiles' boxer
shorts and sheets had darkened. Stiles had wet himself. John recalled how
quickly Stiles had been potty trained as a toddler, he was all too aware that
the last time Stiles wet the bed was when he was told his mother was dead. If
it hadn't already been apparent, it was now brutally obvious that something
traumatic had happened to Stiles. John had been in law enforcement long enough
that he could analyse Stiles' behaviour and come up with only one outcome, he
couldn't bring himself to admit that Stiles had been raped. No matter how true
he knew it to be.

So reached out, ignoring Stiles' pleas, and pulled Stiles into a tight embrace.
Stiles wriggled and fought hard making every effort to pull away, but John
couldn't let him go, wouldn't let him go. His son needed comfort and hugging
him, whilst saying reassuring thing was the only way he knew how to do that.
All his training abandoned him. He couldn't sit cold and vacant, agreeable and
approachable while Stiles was fighting for a way cope. His son was fighting a
losing battle, struggling for a way to process and deal with this horrible
thing that had happened to him. There was no way in hell John was going to let
Stiles do that on his own, even at his most stupid and reckless John had Stiles
back, as much as he could with bringing his competency as Sheriff into
question, this would be no different.

"Shhh Baby Boy, it's only me. It's dad and I don't want to hurt you, I just
wanna take the pain away."

"Shh it's OK Baby Boy, I love you and I'll protect you."

"I'm here, you don't have to be afraid now."

John whispered gently to Stiles, in the softest most reassuring tone of voice
he could muster. Watching as Stiles slumped heavily in his arms, not asleep but
simply too tired to keep up whatever fight he'd been waging against John's arms
and his own inner turmol. He'd stay here with Stiles. He knew that trying to
change Stiles' boxers, would make Stiles feel vulnerable and probably put them
right back to square one. So he supported the now dead weight of his barely
conscious son and passed the time, by plotting elaborate way to torture and
kill Stiles' attacker. He knew he shouldn't be investigating his own son's
attack, to close to be impartial and unattached, his deputies were good, but
this was too important to entrust to them with. He wanted the best he had
working on this, that was himself, he wanted to find the person who destroyed
his son and he wanted to make them pay.
***** Uncertainty *****
"Yes, Mr Flutie - I do realise your only acting Principal until such times as
Mr Argent returns, or the school board appoint a new Principal. But I'm a busy
man and you appear to be mistaking me for somebody who cares. My son Stiles
Stilinski has been assaulted on or near school premises and he won't be
returning to your fine establishment, until his assailant is brought to justice
or his behaviour indicates, to me, that he's ready to return. That's my
position as a parent and I stand by it, even if it means Stiles has to repeat
the year."

John hung up and groaned, he was aware that he'd been an obnoxious ass. He
barely gave Mr Flutie a chance to speak, he wasn't going to let some
bureaucratic pencil-pushing educator determine was best for Stiles. He was
doing his best in all of this to preserve Stiles' dignity, he hadn't mentioned
the bed wetting or the screaming, but that was at least partly because he
wanted to forget those things. He wanted to be less certain what had happened
to Stiles, he wished for doubt, because that would mean that Stiles on some
level was still the smart-ass, chatterbox kid who looked younger than he
actually was.

Instead Stiles was broken and John was going to do everything in his power to
fix Stiles. When he found the prepetrator of Stiles' assault he'd but a bullet
in their head.

Stiles shuffled into the Kitchen wearing baggy sweat pants and an even baggier
hoodie. John forced the fact that Stiles would ordinarily come down for
breakfast in a t-shirt and baggy plaid boxers to the back of his mind, he put
plate of eggs and bacon down in front of Stiles and watched, completely
disheartened, as Stiles pushed the food around his plate. It was a vague
gesture, it lacked any real sort of energy, in reality it didn't even appear to
come from distraction or lack of appetite. It was just a way for Stiles to kill
time until the Sheriff went to work.

John had tried to take the day off, but Stiles insisted he'd be fine, as much
as it's possible to insist when you're speaking so little, you make Derek Hale
look like a great conversationalist. As much as it pained him, John didn't
press the issue - understanding how damaging it could be for Stiles to face his
demons before his mind was ready. He quietly prayed that he'd still have a son
when he came home that evening, pushing to the back of his mind the multitude
of images of Stiles' broken body. John desperately tried to find something to
focus on, instead of imagining the noose fashioned from bedsheets or the
bathtub filled with blood.
===============================================================================
After his father left Stiles trudged upstairs and switched on the shower,
stepping into the stream he allowed the water to scald him yet again. Stiles'
father had never struck him, in all these years, he'd certainly never touched
him in a manner, that even remotely resembled something sexual. But the
closeness that came with physical contact, was a burden and Stiles needed to be
free of it. He needed to remove all traces of his father's touch. Stiles knew
his father was only trying to comfort him and didn't know any other way, as a
child Stiles had always found comfort in hugs and held hands, however in the
darkest recesses of his subconscious Stiles feared the strong hands on his
shoulders. He couldn't escape the imagined terror of those hands wandering
lower, or the imagined pain of the thick fingers pushing their, unwelcome, way
inside him.

When the water started running cold Stiles returned to his bedroom. He tugged
on enough clothes to conceal his physical form, he knew he feel safer once he
was cocooned in heavy, shapeless fabric. Baggy Plaid boxer shorts, running
shorts and baggy sweat pants hid his legs, while his torso was hidden under
multiple layers of t-shirts and a baggy and completely shapeless hoodie. He
collapsed on to his bed and desperately tried to rid himself of the mental
echoes, he had no desire to recall Harris' voice or touch or anything about
him. Stiles had put up no fight on the issue of remaining off school. But
getting his dad to go into work had been exhausting, against his will he closed
his eyes and drifted to sleep.
===============================================================================
Derek climbed silently through Stiles' window, his feet fell noiselessly on the
plush dark carpet and then he was assaulted by Stiles' scent.

He'd known Stiles was home could smell him and decided he could pass off being
here, under the pretense of needing Stiles to do research. He came to Stiles'
room everyday and lazed in the scent of the mate, who he was keeping in the
dark about being his mate. Ordinarily he wouldn't have gone into Stiles' room,
unless he genuinely needed him to do research but this was important, Stiles
should be at school and since he wasn't Derek needed to know why. Something in
Stiles' scent, (delicious with Vanilla, Honey, Turkish Delight and the light
muskiness unique to Stiles) had changed.

But Derek couldn't say what it was for sure, because the air was thick with the
heavy metallic stench of anger and betrayal.

He watched as Stiles slept, he was buried in layers of fabric and his position
was practically fetal. It concerned Derek that the smell of Stiles' anger
lingered, usually sleeping dulled the scents of even the most powerful
emotions. He crossed the room with his usual werewolf stealth and sat in the
desk chair, Stiles was pack, he was Derek's mate and Derek would get answers.
He needed to know what was troubling Stiles, it was his job, as both an Alpha
and a mate, to help the pack with any problems that they had. So he waited
patiently, watching with fondness, as Stiles slept.

He could hardly believe that Stiles could remain so still. If wasn't for his
heartbeat and the almost imperceptible motion of his chest rising and falling,
Derek would actually believe that Stiles was dead. A panicked moan escaped
Stiles lips but he didn't wake up. Derek wondered what Stiles was dreaming
about, when he heard another distressed moan he deduced that it wasn't a good
dream. Luckily that was a problem that was easy to solve, Derek stood and
reached out his hand, gently shaking Stiles awake. Stiles looked confused for a
second. After he processed that Derek was in his room, he pounded his fists
against Derek's chest and sobbed.

"You didn't save me, I needed you and you didn't save me. Nobody saved me,
nobody cared."

For a moment Derek thought Stiles was taking about his dream, had he dreamt he
was in trouble and Derek didn't save him. How could he possibly think that he
didn't mean anything to the pack, he was good friends with most of them and it
had been weeks, possibly even months, since Derek had forced him into a wall.
That was essential, since close proximity to Stiles created arousal and Derek
didn't want to force himself on anybody, especially Stiles. Derek gripped
Stiles' wrists to stop him from beating them against his chest, it was a
mistake and there was no way Derek could have predicted Stiles reaction.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me. Please don't touch me, I'm sorry, don't touch
me."

Stiles continued pleading, but he wasn't just asking Derek to release him. He
was panicking and it wasn't just a panic attack, his breathing was irratic and
voice had an edge to it. Like he was trying to tell Derek something, but Derek
would have to figure it out, he'd have to break the code. Derek's instincts
kicked in, his desire to please his mate rushed to the forefront and he
released Stiles' wrists, because that was what his mate desired. Stiles pushed
himself off the bed and backed into a corner, he shifted his gaze to the floor
and slid down the wall. He gripped his knees and started sobbing, it wasn't the
chesty sob that escaped when Stiles had first woken up.

It was competely different heavy and deep, forced out of Stiles body while he
struggled to find breath. Tears ran in rivulets down his face.

"Stiles what happened? I can't fix it if you don't tell me. Stiles, what is it?
I want to help you, but I can't unless you tell me how."
***** One Day At A Time *****
"Beacon County Sheriff's Department has requested that all Beacon Hills High
School students attend an emergency assembly today." The annoucement squawked
out over the Public Address System.

"Well that's weird, hey Danny have you seen Stiles yet today."

"No Scott, I'm just his lab partner. You're supposed to be his friend, so you
need to start keeping better track of him."

"Hey Scott." Allison said brightly, as she kissed Scott lightly on the cheek.
"What's the matter?"

"Nothing major, just Stiles is a no show."

"Mr Stilinski isn't in today, I guess I'll have to reschedule his detentions."

"Mr Harris, do you know why the Sheriff's department are holding a special
assembly?"

"No Miss Argent, I have no idea. Shouldn't you all be in home room?"
===============================================================================
"Stiles, I can't help you if I don't know how."

Stiles cowered in the corner, his sobs had quietened and his raw, red,
bloodshot eyes stared questioningly at Derek. When Derek reached out to rest a
comforting hand on his shoulder, Stiles shrugged away. Making it clear that
physical contact was unwanted, if people wouldn't comply when he asked them not
to touch him, then he would keep them from touching him. Derek hunkered down in
front of Stiles, he managed to refrain from rest a hand on Stiles' knee after
the noticed the icy death glare Stiles shot at him. It was clear Stiles was in
distress, his reaction to physical contact made it apparent that he'd been
involved in some sort of physical altercation. But Derek couldn't smell another
person's scent on him, in fact not the he was trying to scent the person who
hurt Stiles, he noticed that he couldn't even smell the Pack on Stiles anymore.

"Stiles you don't smell like Pack."

"I showered!" Stiles snapped.

"OK, I know something's wrong. I wish I knew what, but I'll be there when
you're ready to talk. I know you don't think so, but you are Pack and it's my
job as Alpha to sort out your problems. If you're... ya know unable to sort
them out yourself."

"You wouldn't believe me, nobody will ever believe me."

"Stiles, I'll always believe you. I'll hear it in your heartbeat, remember."

Stiles shrugged, a clear indication that he wasn't going to talk about what had
happened, so Derek strode back over to the window and climbed out. He couldn't
be with Stiles, while depression hung so heavily over his head. Not if Stiles
couldn't talk about his problems and enable Derek to fi them, or at least
comfort him while he got his head back on straight. Derek crossed the street,
shifting into his beta form as he past the tree line, he dropped to all-fours
and ran. Without a scent there was nothing he could do, without a name, which
only Stiles could provide, it was hopeless. All he could do was run, expell
some of his energy, maybe punch holes in walls in the hope his anger might
dissapate. He could maybe use his Alpha voice, command Peter to let him punch
him in the face. But those were only temporary measures, he was the Alpha and
his mate was both physical hurt and upset, his only real solution was to find
the culprit and make them pay.
===============================================================================
"Hello! I'm Sheriff Stilinski, which I'm sure you all already know."

The sea of faces in front of him, remained blank and epressionless.

"Anyway, there has been a serious physical assault on a Beacon Hill High
student. This means that the Sheriff's department will be carrying out an
investigation and your full co-operation will be required. Along with
questioning the faculty and student body, taking statements and such, students
are being advised not to go anywhere alone. Stay with your friends, make sure
to be in a group of at least two at all times. There is no curfew in place at
present, for now this is an isolated incident, but your help and viliglance
will be required to keep the offender from becoming a serial offender."

The sea of faces in front of him, was suddenly more animated and lively
probably discussing the new develop either as gossip or in a manner that might
actually prove helpful.

"Thank you for your time, there will be deputies in the school tomorrow to take
statements. If you wish to give information before then, come and see me at the
Sheriff's office after school and please don't go anywhere alone."
===============================================================================
"Mr Stilinski."

"Scott, it's Sheriff Stilinski just now. I'm on duty."

"Sorry, but it's important. Is Stiles OK, he's not in today, it was him who got
attacked wasn't it?"

"Scott, Stiles is very upset right now. You can't tell anybody. I'm keeping him
off school and they'll get suspicious, eventually on their own. I'd like to
spare him the gossip for as long as possible."

"Is it bad? I mean, was it definitely a person or was it like those weird
animal attacks, that you pretend nobody's aware of."

"SCOTT!"

"Sorry Sheriff, but he's my friend and I know I haven't been a great friend
lately. Is it OK if I skip Lacrosse practice and check in on him after school?"

"Actually, Scott that would be great, maybe he'll actually speak with you.
Provide some information that will be help. Right at the minute all I can do is
try and build a case, but what I really wanna do is put a bullet in the
bastard's Brain. Sorry.. I shouldn't be bothering you with this Scott, please
forget I said anything. Call for Stiles this afternoon, I'm sure he'll be glad
to see you or something."

"What do you mean, or something?"

"Scott, I'm not going to discuss the details with you, I'd like to preserve
Stiles' dignity. But his assault was really bad, he's pretty traumatsed at the
minute and he may not seem like himself."

"OK Sheriff, I understand, I'll keep him company and try and help him get back
to normal."
"Thanks Scott!"
End Notes
     There's a point I want to make, that being I've never been raped. But
     that's only because I was strong enough to fight back, even though I
     very nearly wasn't. I sometimes wonder how I would have felt and how
     I would have dealt with the situation, if I'd been less fortunate.
     This story is a response to that..
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