...So this born as a result of two things me watching 300: Rise of an Empire and seeing angry, violent sex and wanting to write it and two of my friends pointing out I ignore description and setting and I was like no! NO! So tada this was born...even though there isn't angry sex and I know this concept is probably played to death but every Sterek writer should at least have one in their list so here's mine I hope you enjoy! : 3

Beated by kittiekatt, thank you! : )

A Benediction, A Salvation and A Damnation

The room is a mess, clothes scattered everywhere, lacrosse equipment tossed in different areas all over the room. The desk is littered haphazardly with papers, something written in Stiles' incomprehensive writing that somehow over the years he's come to understand, some papers threaten to fall and combine into the mess that is Stiles' floor.

There are stacks of books towering in corners and he doesn't know where Stiles keeps finding these books, or how he gets his hands on them. Somehow the posters from the walls that he had connected to the teenaged Stiles are gone, shoved into the closet. Instead pictures of creatures now clutter the walls, in connections that only Stiles would understand, and he's robbed of something he can't give back. He's robbed Stiles of the years he should have spent having fun, partying, laughing, and doing stupid teenage things, not worrying about whether his friends would live or die, not worrying whether he would m–

Derek clenched his eyes, trying to breathe deeply, trying to fill his lungs with the scent that's in the room, that's infused in every surface around him, Stiles' scent.He can track Stiles' progression from the morning days before, how he had fallen off the bed, how he had dragged his feet over to his laptop, bleary eyed as he scrubbed his face and booted up his laptop. He doesn't know when it happened, when he'd become so used to Stiles' habits that he's able to visualize what Stiles does in the mornings. Shit, when had he gotten so close? Derek dropped his face into his hands, covering himself from the world. He wants to hide, wants to hide from his world in a room that smelled like how Stiles was supposed to: a mix of grass, sweat, forest, old books, and a hint of medication under his skin. He's not supposed to smell like antiseptic and medication so strong that his nose burns and stings, he's not supposed to have machines breathing for him, he's not supposed to have bandages tinted red. He's not supposed to be in the hospital, he's supposed to be here rolling his eyes and muttering about installing a doggy door. Stiles is supposed to be here.

That's the Stiles he wants to see, the one who would turn on the computer chair of his that squeaks a little and his eyes would widen, his heart tripping over itself as he sees Derek. Not the fragile thing that lies on a bed with purple shadows underneath his eyes and bluish-green bruises all over his body, with skin so pale it's sickening to look at, that doesn't say anything, is so quiet that the only noise in the room is the beeping of machines, the sound so loud that Stiles' heartbeat is almost nonexistent and he can't be in that room. He can't look at Stiles.

His hands clench the sheets underneath him, the dread is so deeply embedded into him, it reaches into his bones. There is fear as well, the kind of fear and soul aching aguish that he'd only previously experienced twice in his life. The first time had been watching his family burn and the second time had been finding Laura's body. And then he had watched Stiles crumple to the ground like a broken toy, a sound of pure agony had come out his mouth. He didn't care about the fight waging around them. Everything was meaningless, secondary to him, all that mattered was getting to Stiles and he had looked so small then. So broken that his hands had trembled as he touched Stiles and held him close, curving his body around Stiles' unconscious one, protectively muttering words to him. He hadn't even let Scott touch him. His betas had to drag him away and he snarled savagely, the growls that ripped their way out of his chest, furious and enraged while Scott gently loaded Stiles into the car and then he, Allison and Lydia had driven off.

There's a creak and his head jerked to the side, the sheriff is standing there looking so much older than he should with sunken bloodshot eyes and ashy gray skin, worry lines so deep they spell the year's worth of misery. His uniform is wrinkled and stained with Stiles' blood from days ago but it looks fresh to his eyes, like the blood on his hands that he's washed away but is still there, he can smell it, underneath his skin, the faint wisp. The sheriff settles down next to him and he lowers his gaze to the floor, he can't look at Stiles' father.

After a minute the sheriff spoke, his tone tired and weary. "Melissa and Scott forced to me to come home." Derek doesn't say anything. "Stiles is going to wake up soon." Derek closed his eyes and swallowed wetly, his throat bobbed painfully, his body sagging. The sheriff watches him silently and then his gaze drifted to the old and worn wedding band. "There is regret when you can't say everything you want to in a lifetime because you think that nothing can happen. Regret of unsaid words that stay bottled up in your chest and as the years go by, the heavier they get and the regret grows. We both know what's that's like, don't we?"

Derek noiselessly nodded.

The sheriff twists the wedding band around his finger."I have lots of words that I wished I said to Claudia and now they just sit there inside my chest and rot."

Words that fester and rot into a sickly weight that congeals over your chest and there are days when it becomes difficult to swallow as the burden becomes an insistent pressure over your lungs and heart. He's aware of that, he's been aware of it since he was 15 and covered in ash as he watched the fire of his sins consume his life before him.

"Don't let more pile up, Derek." His voice is small and full of sorrow and Derek doesn't know who that sorrow is for, is it for the sheriff himself? Or is it for him? A mix for both of them?

Derek manages to find his voice that somehow ends up lodged into his throat and he has to force it out, force to move. "What do you mean?"

The sheriff's fingers slip from the ring and he turns toward Derek, his eyes sharp and there's something there in his gaze that forces Derek to keep it. "Tell Stiles that you love him."

He freezes like ice has crept up and immobilized him. And he doesn't know what to do, he's so caught off guard that his hands actually shift and he hopes the sheriff doesn't see how badly startled he is. His mouth works for a second and he doesn't know how to reply. "I don't."

The sheriff stared at him blandly. "Really?"

"Yes, Stiles is a good friend, nothing more." The stare became even more dubious. "I don't."

"You're sitting in my son's room after you almost hacked off Scott's hand for even touching Stiles. You're still wearing the same shirt as you were three days ago when he got hurt. You want to know how I know? It's got bloodstains that belong to my son."

"That doesn't mean anything." When the green stare hardens and flashes with something akin to lightning he corrects himself, tripping over the words. "That doesn't mean I love Stiles."

The sheriff rolls his eyes and the sigh that slips from him is full of disappointment and Derek's shoulder's hunch, it's like he's let down his own parent. Stiles' father slowly stood and shook his head. "I'm going to take a shower and head back down to the hospital to be there for my son when he wakes up."

As the sheriff's back is turned his mouth opens and words spill out. "Why don't you blame me?"

The shoulders under brown material tense and the footsteps halt, the sheriff doesn't turn to look at him.

"For what?"

The question is loaded like the gun the sheriff carries by his side.

"For Stiles, for every injury he has every gotten. For every lie he has told. For every stitch and bandage he has to wear, for the scars he bears. For ruining his life. For dragging him into–"

"You didn't drag him into anything, Derek. Stiles decided on the day Scott was bitten that he was going to stay, that he was going to be involved no matter what happened, that includes everything from the lies to wounds. That was his decision."

"But I couldn't protect him again. I couldn't protect him like all the other times."

"Neither could I. Derek, I'm the sheriff of Beacon Hills, Stiles' father, and I still couldn't protect my son, why should I blame you?"

"Then take him and leave. Leave Beacon Hills. He isn't chained to this place like the pack is, like me, neither of you is, you can leave." The words are desperate and he smothers down the agony rising from in him at a life without Stiles, but if Stiles is safe, if Stiles doesn't have to get hurt anymore, then the agony is nothing. Anything and everything else before Stiles' life pales in comparison.

The sheriff's stares at him for a second and frowns. "Do you not know Stiles? Tell me, will you be able to break all the bonds here? The bonds that tie him down just like you to Beacon Hills? To the pack? To Scott? To you? Can you honestly tell me you could break all of those?"

"I could. I could try."

"What about his bond to his mother? Will you be able to break that?"

Derek's hands tightened. "If he leaves, he'll survive. He'll have a life."

The sheriff smiled sadly and walked back towards him. He patted Derek's back, his words gentle and stern as he spoke. "Don't look for more guilt to add. Especially not Stiles. Ask him what keeps him tied to Beacon Hills and then come back and tell me you can break those bonds."

"If I can, will you take him away?" It's a childish plea.

The eyes clear from the pain and misery that the sheriff always has and the green is more prominent as they soften. "Ask first." The sheriff ruffles Derek's hair with a kind and sturdy hand. "Don't look for anymore guilt, son, you already have several lifetimes worth of it."

As the sheriff leaves there's this relief that's edging its way into his heart and it's wrong. It's wrong that his relief is for the fact Stiles won't leave, Stiles won't ever leave. But it doesn't go away. He's selfish when he has no right to be, he's aware of that, but still the relief won't go away and it never will.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Scott's sobbing. It's more like wailing, he's probably giving Lydia a challenge on the banshee front. "Scott," his voice croaks and breaks. Stiles works his mouth and ew, stale medicine. "Scott, I'm okay."

"You were in a coma for days. Of course he's going to be hysterical."

Stiles turned and blinked. The entire pack is there, well excluding one, but they're all there. "You're all here."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Do you have a head injury we weren't told about?"

Allison slapped her lightly. "Lydia," she chastised, she turned to Stiles and smiled faintly. "Where else would we be?"

"You care," he rasped out.

"Of course we do," Isaac replied. "So don't die."

"Not planning to." He stared at Jackson. "Even you care?"

There's a snort. "Don't tell anyone, I do have a reputation to protect."

"That went to Hell the day everyone found out you cried during the Notebook."

Jackson's head swirled. "You promised not to tell!"

Lydia crossed her arms over chest haughtily. "Don't for a second think you can stand me up for a date and there won't be repercussions."

"That's not even the most embarrassing thing she's told us." Stiles smirked, even while on a hospital bed he was still a little shit.

"Lydia, what else did you tell them!"

"Lots of things." Isaac smirked. "Lots of things."

"We all have our personal favorites, why do you think we don't attack you anymore when you're being a dick? It's hard to take you seriously when we know the things we do."

Jackson's cheeks flamed. "Fuck you Reyes."

Erica laughed. "From what Lydia tells me, no thank you."

"Oh, that had to hurt!" Stiles and Isaac both held up their hands and high fived her. Boyd let out a small chuckle. "Even Boyd laughed it was that good!"

"You're lucky you're on a hospital bed," Jackson said as he glared.

Stiles smiled back widely. "Then I'm going to milk this so hard if it means I get away with it." His smile softened. "But seriously guys, go home, you need to sleep." There are protests on everyone's tongue. "Scott will stay because there is no way he's leaving." He turned to look at his best friend, whose sobs have turned into sniffles, he gave Stiles a watery smile and nodded. "So guys go."

Everyone sulkily nodded and made their way out.

Scott quickly latched on and hugged him, not tightly though. "I'm glad you're okay, so glad."

"Me too, Scott, me too," Stiles patted his back. After a minute Scott leaned back in his chair.

"Seriously, don't do this anymore, Stiles. It's scary and I don't like it."

"I don't go out and try to get myself killed. I don't like pain; seriously, I'm a big supporter for the Stiles not getting hurt campaign, like I started that campaign and am the president of it."

"I'm the vice president," Scott said seriously. They stared at each other and burst into laughter.

Stiles wiped his eye and sighed. "How's the big bad wolf doing?"

Immediately all cheer vanished and Scott frowned. "You mean Derek?"

"Yeah."

Scott gritted his teeth and looked off to the side, glaring at the white sheet. "You shouldn't care because he hasn't been by your side, he wasn't waiting for you to wake up. He never is. Why do you–"

"Love someone like that?" Stiles finished. "I admit, it is stupid to love someone so guilt ridden, so broken but then again I have this weird fascination for deadly things and broken things it seems. But I guess it's because Derek's a really good person, Scott, someone whose had a shitty life but tries to give Isaac–Hell Boyd and Erica too-better ones. Who stepped up and took care of you even when you were an ass. That when he smiles now it's not his stupid model smile it's his dorky cute one, who laughs this deep rich laugh that's more of a full body laugh. I love the Derek that looks at his home and wants to cry, the one that sometimes smells like ash. I love the Derek who doesn't use a God damn door, whose made my room his. I just love him, Scott."

"He doesn't deserve–"

"I scare him, you know?" Stiles said wistfully.

"What?"

"I scare him because I'm so human, it frightens him. That's why he's not here, he can't handle seeing me here. Derek's a coward who's seen almost everyone he's ever loved die. He can't deal with losing anyone, more so me because he's in love with me."

Scott frowned. "Then how come you haven't called him out on it?"

"Because I'm a little shit, I enjoy making Derek uncomfortable and embarrassing him, and because if I called him out on it now, he'd run. I have to plan it out very carefully, push him into a corner where he can't run or hide."

"...Stiles, that's not a healthy way to start a relationship."

"Yes, because you know all about healthy relationships, right?" Stiles narrowed his eyes."May I remind you that you stalked Allison, creepily smelled her, eavesdropped and let's not forget, howled under her window." He let out a snort. "And it's me and Derek. Did you really think anything we would do would be healthy?"

Scott slid down on his chair, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment."You can stop talking now. I was only just bitten, I didn't have good control," he muttered.

Stiles blandly stared."We both know it wasn't about the bite, it was about your teenage control, you honestly were just very creepy about all of it."

"Please stop talking."

-.-.-.-.-.-

A few days later, Stiles is released from the hospital. His dad and Scott carry him to his room, the rest of the pack wouldn't leave him alone until he made them promise to just give him one day without them. Seriously, their care was borderline smothering. He had to fight to get just one day. Scott's a different story-,they're like conjoined twins in the soul sense, soul brothers, soul twins? Something related to the bonding of the soul in a platonic/familial way. Even then, his dad and Scott's mom were the only reason it worked. Stiles let out a harsh breath as he was set down on his bed, he glanced around his room. "Was Derek here?"

"Yeah," both Scott and his dad answered.

The sheriff turned to look at Scott oddly. "I still can't get used to that."

"Scott knowing things? Yeah, it's weird, but remember it's his werewolf senses, nothing else."

"Hey!"

Stiles grinned. "But we love you regardless. Soup please for the injured and hapless human being?" The sheriff rolled his eyes fondly, ruffled Stiles' hair and went to make soup.

"Do you need anything else?" Scott questioned softly.

"We can lay in bed all day and watch movies if you get everything we need, because no one is letting me move today."

"That is true, I'll be back in a bit!"

Stiles watched his friend run down the stairs, the sound echoing loudly. At least Scott didn't trip down them anymore when he was in a hurry...the same could not be said about him. Stiles let out a sigh and let his eyes drift to the window. So Derek was hiding and running away at the same time, were things about to come to a head now? Derek would usually lurk in a corner and silently demand to see all of his wounds then in equal silence, stare at the wounds like he wanted to burn them off, or will them away, and on the rare occasion Derek found the wound to be particular gruesome, he would make a soft sort of sound at the back of his throat and lightly touch the injury, letting his fingers run along the uneven and pink flesh and he'd place his hand there against it. Derek's hand looked odd there, big and large without calluses and not dry or rough. His hand's don't tell you anything about him. Not his suffering, not his grief, not all the pain he has endured, his hands don't tell you anything about him and that's the thing about Derek, he doesn't want you to know. And that's the unfortunate thing, because everyone does know. Whether through word of mouth or from his silence, everyone knows. That's the reason why Derek doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't venture into town, why he'll go early in the morning or late in the evening, when there's too little light to see anything or none at all. Derek hides.

Faint wisps glide over him and form the memory of Derek's hand and his mind drifts back. There would be this heat that would radiate and soak into him, into his bones all the way down into his toes and there would be warmth and safety that would lull him into a weird place where he wouldn't talk or move and Derek's the only one capable of doing that to him.

The weight of Derek's hand steady on him, and sometimes he would place his hand on top of Derek's and tangle their fingers together.

What if he kissed Derek then, in that room where there was no noise, just them and the warmth between them? Would Derek have let him? Would Derek have let himself fall? Would Derek give in just once and kiss him back?

But he'd done nothing and with a sigh he'd let his fingers reluctantly fall from Derek's and the spell was broken and then Derek left.

Stiles rubbed his eyes and dug his fingers into the sockets. Are they both cowards to some extent? Stuck in some limbo where neither does anything? Where there is a chance for more but neither reaches out to take it? Stiles fell backwards on his bed and stared up at his ceiling. Was it time to stop and finally push?

-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time he finally manages to heal, a month has gone by because, hello, human healing is very very slow and he's off to see Derek.

At a house of ash and smoke. A shadow of a great and prominent home that had been filled with a large and loving family. He has vague memories of the home before and there are black and gray pictures that don't show much but the house that stands before him is miserable and a ghost of what it once was. Dark and bleak, the windows are covered in ash, soot and dust, cracked and missing glass, the wood is falling and half the house is just bare beams and empty spaces, the wooden floor boards are rotting and in some places it's dangerous to put your foot through, mold has grown in some areas and it's nearly impossible for the humans to get to the second floor. The staircase creaks ominously when weight is put against it. There are darkened places inside that he can't tell whether they are from the fire or the constant years without a roof. Even though it's not possible with all the years that have gone by, the place smells of smoke and ash and Derek's regret, bitter and heavy over the home.

Sometimes it seems as if Derek's guilt, shame and regret are a physical miasma, thick, dark, and suffocating, that threatens to devour him and everyone who comes even remotely close to him. It's going to collapse one day, he's unsure if he means the home or Derek, but when the house of the sins that never belonged to Derek comes down, will it take Derek's guilt with it? Or Derek himself?

He spends a few minutes staring at the house, trying to collect what bits of courage are left floating in the sky. Stiles filled his lungs of air that tasted of charred wood and resolutely marched up the steps. He shoved open the door kicking up dust and leaves, his eyes searched for Derek in the dimly lit room. He always liked to guess which rooms were housed where, what games Derek must have played, what things he must have broken, the chairs he might have tipped and the couches he tumbled off. How happy and free he must have been, so different from the chained and burdened man he became, but he loves him all the same, broken and flawed, imperfect.

"Derek?" His voice echoes and bounces off the walls. "I know you're here!" he called out.

Stiles walked forward carefully. "I just got out of the hospital. We both know if I keep going, I'm going to end needing to go again!"

"Then leave."

He whirled around and turned to look at the stairs, trying to make out Derek's form from the shadows. "Not going to happen." Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. "Either you come down here or I come up there." He waited, only the silence answered him, when he heard no moment, he gritted his teeth and made his way over to the decaying staircase and started to climb the creaking and rickety steps that shook and quivered underneath his shoes. Once he reached the top, he glanced around, peeking into desolate rooms, by the time he got to the fourth room, he paused. There was a mattress on the floor, with no sheets or blankets just a mattress but it was actually the most lived room. Before Stiles could enter, his arm was roughly grasped and he was yanked down the stairs back the way he came, abruptly the hand withdrew and shoved him against a wall. He winced still tender.

"Why are you here?"

"Well let's see the moon is lovely tonight and I thought we'd go for a picnic."

Derek growled, his mouth filled with sharp and glinting teeth.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Put those away before you cut something."

Two hands placed themselves by his head and Derek leaned closer. "Why. Are. You. Here?"

"You don't know?"

The claws dug into the wood paneling. "I don't."

Amber eyes flashed in a proclamation of war, Stiles leaned closer and let his lips brush against Derek's. "You love me," he hissed.

The wood behind him creaked as Derek's nail dragged. "I don't."

"You don't?" There's a challenge there, in those two little words and he won't accept it, he won't.

"I don't."

Stiles' smirk is playful and dangerous before he surges forward and kisses Derek. It's not really a kiss but more of an attack. Their teeth clatter against each other, Stiles biting into his mouth, tasting blood and he doesn't know whose it is.

It's violent and dirty, filled with anger and fury, and he shouldn't respond to it, he should just shove Stiles back and tell he doesn't love him. But he can't. He can't stop himself from kissing back just as aggressively, can't stop himself from giving in and fighting back. Can't stop from prying open Stiles' mouth and slipping his tongue inside, can't stop himself from letting his tongue brush against everything and he shouldn't do this. He shouldn't mark Stiles. He isn't allowed to. But he can't stop. He doesn't want to. Stiles gripped the back of Derek's head and yanked him back, he panted and let his lips drift over to the shell of Derek's ear. "Say it."

Derek clenched his jaw. "Shut up, Stiles."

"Say it!"

"No."

Stiles leaned back and glared, he came closer and it shouldn't be possible to be any closer than they already are, his lips hovered over Derek's. "Don't be a coward anymore, Derek, don't. You love me and it scares you. You're a coward and you love me."

Stop talking. Stop talking. Derek lunged forward and covered Stiles infuriating red mouth that never knew when to shut up, or stop taunting, that moved in a way in which he couldn't look away. He's kissing Stiles savagely, unrefined but there is years worth of pent up frustration, denial, want, so much want. He can't be gentle, not right now. He kisses Stiles like he wants to engulf him, like if he tries hard enough, it might happen. His beard is leaving a wake of red agitation as it rasps against Stiles' skin, but he doesn't care, Stiles brought this upon himself.

Their teeth click and clack against each other's viciously because they can't get the fluidity of it right, but they don't care about being in sync right now, this a battle, this has been building for years and it's a surprise that it hasn't happened sooner. Derek gripped Stiles' thighs and there are going to be bruises there that will form, will match his fingers and the thought just spurs him and he shoves Stiles up against the rough and blackened wall, uses his grip to pin Stiles there. Legs immediately wrapped themselves around his waist and hands wound into his hair, tugging harshly. They rock against each other and keep kissing with just as much violence and hunger as the first. Stiles' hand dropped down to claw at the back of Derek's shirt where he fists it between his fingers and his other hand digs into Derek's hair and tangles itself there. There is no space between them anymore, their chests crushed against each other, every breath they take, the other can feel. Stiles jerks back and greedily takes in mouthfuls of air. He tears at Derek's shirt. "Off."

Derek lets him do it, lets him rip off his shirt and toss somewhere behind them, and then he attacks Stiles' neck with bites that draw blood and digs his teeth in so they leave imprints. Stiles' head bangs against the wood, rattling the old wooden panel and he tilts his head back and lets Derek mark him. He trusts Derek to keep his teeth human and that's a lot of trust considering that the hands currently hoisting him up in the air aren't exactly human. "So what was that about not loving me?" He says between harsh breathes.

The teeth on his neck freeze and the body under his fingers tenses, the muscles in Derek's neck stiffen. Derek breathes and he can feel the hot puffs of exhaled air against his skin.

"Derek, come on, say something."

The claws dig into his skin as Derek's hands tightened around his thighs. "Why do you stay in Beacon Hills?"

...He was not expecting that. Stiles lets his head thud back against the wall behind him. "Really? That's what you want to ask me now? Now?" When Derek failed to respond, he sighed. "Because Scott, my dad, Lydia, Allison, Jackson, Boyd, Isaac, Erica and you are all here." Although his name is said last it is uttered with such importance that it sounds like it was said first.

"If you leave, you'll survive."

"If I leave, you'll die."

Derek's throat bobs and the words tremble. "If you stay so will you."

"No, because you'll save me, you won't let me die. And vice versa."

"You're human." There are unsaid words that drift in the air. You're fragile, you don't heal as fast, you break too easily. You're human and it scares me.

"But I make you human." Stiles gently takes Derek's hands between his fingers and lifts his face up, he lets his thumbs brush against the hallow of Derek's cheeks. The touch is such a contrast, such a contradiction from the touches they exchanged just moments ago that Derek's eyes close. Stiles leaned down and kissed Derek sweetly, softly, barely a flutter of lips against his, and Derek kisses him back just as slow and unhurried, tender and kind. The violence and aggression from before has vanished. Stiles let go of their kiss and placed his forehead against Derek's. "Please, Derek, answer my question, please." His voice quivers and there's scarcely a restraint of a sob in there and it has Derek's eyes snap open. He stares into the depth of amber that he's going to drown in, that already he has. "Do you love me?"

The words are supposed to be a damnation to him but they sound so much like a benediction, so coyly sweet and inviting. He stares, he remembers the kid he had seen four years ago who was bumbling onto a body on the borderline between child and adult, who he had seen grown into an infuriating and infatuating man. Who never knew when to shut up and stop talking, who charms everyone with smiles and a smart mouth, who doesn't know how human he is, doesn't realize how breakable he is, who keeps throwing himself in there with them. This man who conquers his fears each and every time and it's Derek who he frightens with it.

The annoying, smart mouthed, cunning kid had grown into an annoying, smart mouthed, cunning, charming, agitating, beautifully flawed and gorgeous young man that somewhere along the way forced himself into Derek's life. All the years spent working together, the years they spent together, where trust, secrets, fears and hopes were shared and kept, where touches had been welcomed and accepted, he'd fallen in love with Stiles. He'd fallen in love with the man Stiles had become–no, he'd fallen in love with Stiles before that. He'd fallen in love with a man that made him human. And that's why it's a damnation. He's human and he could lose everything again but this time, he wouldn't survive, he wouldn't have it in him. It's a damnation but a benediction and salvation all in one.

He lets himself fall.

"I love you."

Stiles lets out a small laugh and smiles as if he had been given everything, but all he gets is Derek and his heart stutters because that's how much he means to Stiles. Derek kisses the fragile bird thrumming of a pulse in Stiles neck and lets the words wash over him.

"I love you, Derek." He smiles against Stiles' neck and his heart beats, more alive now than in over 12 years. A benediction, salvation and a damnation, but he loves it all the same.

I don't even know what the Hell this became...