"Still beautiful," Derek says finally, "just like the rest of you."
Those words are like a punch in the gut, and Stiles does the only thing he thinks would be fitting: he falls into Derek's arms and clings to him as much as humanly possible. Then, he remembers that he isn't human anymore, never will be again, and clings tighter. He shudders out a breath; once, twice, and a third time just to be safe. Wills the tears to not spill over again. They don't.
It feels so natural to be in Derek's arms. Not in the sense of attraction, even though that's been there for a while, but in the sense that it's comforting to know he isn't the first. Stiles feels Derek tighten his grip and squeezes his eyes shut even more.
Stiles realized Derek, too, isn't alone with this sort of burden anymore. They're together in solidarity with this pain. Derek didn't want to kill Paige, shouldn't have had to kill Paige; Stiles... Stiles was possessed by a damned Trickster and couldn't have moved his own pinkie at any given time. It's such a scary thought. But it was over and he had his Pack, and he thought he could get through any darkness with them.
Stiles and Derek pulled away when they heard Scott, Isaac, Allison, Lydia, and Kira come into the bathroom. 'My Pack,' Stiles thought weakly. He gave Scott a tentative smile, and suddenly they all descended upon Stiles and Derek in an impromptu Pack-pile.
Hands were going through his hair, along his arms and chest as if looking for injuries, and one hand traveled from his left shoulder and down his arm to intertwine their fingers. With people whose faces he could see, they gave him smiles, and not the pitying kind. Stiles breathed his friends in, scents entering his senses he had never, well, smelled before. It felt like home, all of their body heat coalescing into one large furnace. He heard music in the individual beats of their hearts that slowly became one strong pulse, and Stiles knew the meaning of Pack.
Blue eyes or brown, Stiles was Pack and he could feel that in his bones.