"Hey. Hey."
And Stiles turned. Halfway turned back already because… because Derek with blood on his lips and death in his eyes and half of Stiles was turned already and—
"Save him."
Like Stiles could do anything else. Like there was ever anything Stiles could do but save Scott.
There wasn't though. Of course there wasn't. There was only the Stiles who would save Scott, who would die to save Scott, who would kill to save Scott. And if there was anyone who knew what he'd do for Scott, how far he'd go, it was Derek. Because hadn't Derek done the same?
Hadn't it been Derek time and again to risk life and limb, to fight when there was no hope of winning, to throw it all aside just in the hope of saving Scott? If nothing else
(if everything else)
wasn't that what Stiles and Derek shared in a way no one else understood?
Save him.
That's what they did. That's what Stiles and Derek did. That was a thing between the two of them that never needed speaking. Never needed words because it was unspoken, it just was.
And yet, here Derek was with blood on his lips and death in his eyes speaking it like it wasn't already the only thing on Stiles's mind so why speak it?
Stiles didn't nod. Didn't need to. Met Derek's eyes for a second, an eternity, then turned back to the church. Back to Scott.
Save him.
Why speak it?
Because—because what else could Derek say? What else said to Stiles: I know you. I know you. I know you and—
I love you.
He turned back, the shock of it hollow in his chest, raw in his heart.
Save him.
I love you.
Blood on his lips and death bleak in his eyes.
Save him.
I love you.