This is the last chapter! Are you not entertained? I am. I'm not sure when I got the ability to write 70 pages worth of story in 6 days, but I'm not complaining.
Anywho, again, my official writing tumblr is acrwritings if you want to follow. =)
Also, before the Rael fans get upset about him in this chapter CALM DOWN. There will probably be an epilogue in which things are... clarified.
I absolutely love the loyal fans of this fic! Thanks so much! 3 3 3
Enjoy as I present, the last chapter of Culpa.
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or its characters.
Lupophobia: The fear of wolves.
Stiles' eyes flew open and he choked out more blood over the grass. He pulled inward, his hands touching his red soaked shirt and hoodie. Oh god, there was so much of it, thick and liquid. He tasted it in his mouth, his throat, his lips. He inhaled it and knew it was all him. But he wasn't feeling the intense pain that should have been coupled with being ran through with long, sharp claws.
He rolled onto his back and winced at the overall aching of his body. He ripped at the remains of his clothes and felt along his stomach, his hand searching through fast drying blood clinging to his skin. He touched the huge slices on the surface in horror. And then, just as quickly, he seared with pain as he felt the skin close up over them.
He blinked. What?
He breathed deeply. He should be vomiting blood and choking as it flooded his pierced lungs, his penetrated stomach. He shouldn't be okay. He should be on the brink of an extremely painful death. And he felt the blood, on his lips and hands and body. But it wasn't coming out anymore. He wasn't dead.
He heard a deep growl from about ten feet away and nearly pissed himself. He had been watching everything in a sort of dream state until getting stabbed, sure, but he had somehow completely forgot about the three hundred pound werewolf that had tried to kill him in the first place.
He sat up quickly and regretted it when dizziness hit him. Yeah, he seemed to have healed under some act of god, but he still lost a lot of blood. He looked up into weirdly familiar bright blue eyes enclosed in a fur face and muzzle, huge fangs glistening wet, one paw soaked in Stiles' blood.
The blue eyes were only that way for a half second before they returned to a glowing red and a snarl ripped from its lips. But it was all Stiles needed, all the recognition and realization. And somehow escaping the cold hand of certain death had him not even a little bit afraid of the beast that could rip him to shreds. Especially not when he knew it wasn't the beast it thought it was.
He stood up slowly, not wanted to pass into unconsciousness yet. The creature bristled as he did, without looking away from his eyes. He stared at it and took a step forward and fuck, he was totally insane. But it took a step back and let out a warning growl. He gulped, realizing what it was doing. The humanity in Derek was giving Stiles the chance to run. To get away now. And Stiles momentarily considered it, running away now. But doing that would have been giving up, saying no to what he needed so badly. And he was going to stand committed.
He took more steps towards it, squashing the fear inside of him. He stood tall and met red eyes with his own, not backing down. It stopped backing up and stood very still.
"Derek," Stiles said. It was barely above a whisper and he felt his knees shaking. He really was crazy.
It stilled and watched, the red flaring up before nearly fading away completely, leaving a brilliant blue of Dereks real wolf, mixed into the piercing green of his human form.
Stiles sighed with relief and took another step. This time, though, his leg gave out and he crumpled forward onto the ground. Derek winced like he wanted to jump forward and help him, but he didn't do it. He stood still, claws raking into the ground.
Stiles took another deep breath and pushed up off the ground. He felt so weak. He wanted to fall away and sleep. Or die, whichever offered some rest. But he couldn't, not now and not at this point. He pulled onto weak legs and took three more slow steps, staring at Derek the whole way. Two more steps and suddenly he was there. He felt hot breath against his face and stared deep into the eyes, watching him in a way that wasn't a beast at all. Not even a little bit.
He lifted his hand carefully, but Derek didn't move or do anything. He rested it slowly on the top of his muzzle, petting carefully over his head. His hand slid back, thick dark hair grazing between his fingers in a way that felt familiar, like running his fingers through Dereks hair. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding and gripped the hair at the base of the huge black ears like they would vanish away at any given moment.
"Derek," He stared at those eyes and felt pain in his chest, "Come back to me."
It looked like it understood. Stiles closed his eyes and stroked over the fur, listening to just the sound of heavy breathing from them both. He rested his forehead slowly against a wet nose and felt the breath on him. He knew that smelling like blood wasn't helping Derek fight off the animal inside of him, but he was doing this anyway.
After a few minutes passed that felt more like an hour, Stiles realized his hands were locked into hair instead of fur. And the wetness of the nose had vanished, replaced by the soft scrape of flesh on his.
He opened his eyes and looked up at Dereks human face, breathing raggedly and looking like he was aching in pain. His eyes were closed now, and Stiles tried to ignore the fact he was totally naked and focus on his face.
"Stiles," he said slowly, aching over the words like he was still in a battle with himself, "You need to go."
"No."
Derek gripped his shoulders and stared at him with eyes lingering with red, "I want to kill you."
"You won't." He breathed, glaring. He was impatient, he was so… done with this whole, 'I'm dangerous, stay away from me' crap.
Suddenly his knees weren't doing so well at all. He fell down and took Derek with him. He was on his back and gasping at the pain, and Derek collapsed down next to him, also apparently too weak to hold himself up. Tall grass shook up around them, stretching towards the sky. He saw nothing but the huge full moon, the glimmering stars.
"Stiles," Derek choked out, "The blood…"
"I'm fine." He moved around, removing what was left of his hoodie, which was a lot of ripped cloth. Without looking, he placed it over Derek's, uh, special area. And Dereks hand found his stomach, tracing the newly formed and thick scars there.
"How?"
"I don't know."
Derek nuzzled his face into Stiles neck, and he half-wondered if he was still kind of in wolf mode. He inhaled and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the forest. There were no howls, no gunshots or sounds of fighting deep in the night. There was only this, only breath and heartbeats and silence.
"I'm sorry." It was a whisper. Stiles had never heard those words leave that mouth in his entire existence of knowing Derek. He smiled.
"I forgive you." These were words Stiles knew he was equally hesitant about saying, ever. He hoped Derek knew how much he meant them.
And then Derek was babbling, which was hilarious. "What if I turn again? The night isn't over and-"
"I'll stay with you."
"But if I can't control it, and if I do this to you again, I-"
"I'll stay with you."
"You're so fucking stupid! I am a monster, I could totally-"
Stiles turned his head and shot out, letting his lips press down into Dereks, shutting him up. He pulled back and looked into green eyes.
"I'll stay with you."
It was a promise. Both to Derek and to himself. Because even when the Alpha wolf was shoving claws deep through his stomach, all Stiles could think about was how it would hurt him, how much he… felt. And what he felt, specifically.
Derek was watching him with an ever present scowl. The shock of everything that had happened had made him a blabby, falling-apart mess for approximately one minute and it was hilarious, but now he was just frowny, stubborn, mean werewolf Derek Hale.
"Do you feel him?" He said suddenly.
"What?"
"Rael," Dereks voice seemed like an echo, "Is he gone?"
Stiles considered. He had nearly forgot about the Demon in lieu of worrying about the werewolf he might be falling for. But now it was mentioned, he was forced to really think about that. Feel deep down inside of him. And what he felt surprised him.
"No," He swallowed hard, "I mean, I don't think so. I feel a bit… empty. I don't know."
"So, he left."
Stiles shook his head. As soon as he felt the pain in his stomach, he was awake. He was alert for the first time in days. When he screamed, that was him, but the shock and horror he felt at the time was Rael. The confusion and conflict, it was all Rael. He remembered back to when he had a panic attack and nearly rejected the Demon from his body, the pain and the smoke he saw coming right out of his soul. But he didn't see that now, he didn't feel it.
"He didn't leave. It's like he just… vanished."
Derek looked confused for a second, and then it faded into a complex understanding. He reached out and touched Stiles' bare stomach and scar tissue again.
"He saved you."
"Are you okay?" Scott asked, pulling Stiles out of his thoughtful trance. He looked over at his friend, who was staring him down with careful eyes.
"Yeah? Should I not be?" It was a really stupid question. Nothing about the past few hours had made any sense to Scott, probably. When the full moon finally vanished at 3 a.m, Stiles half-dragged Derek back to where the others were supposed to meet. Luckily Derek had foreseen the whole naked thing and brought extra clothes, so he was at least in pants and boxers by the time the others showed up.
According to their collective conversing on the walk back to the cars, after Rael had led Derek away, Scott had fought and chased Erica well into the night. Boyd had, in fact, run into Jackson, who put normal bullets into him until Isaac showed up to stop the raging werewolf badness from happening. But only after Boyd got a good claw into Jacksons side, which looked like it needed stitches. Stiles was mostly tuning out their words and details to care for Derek, who looked completely distant, though he wasn't physically injured. After they reached the cars, Derek insisted on driving since Stiles was completely drained. Now they were standing in Deatons lobby while he stitched up Jackson at 5 in the morning.
"You're covered in blood," Scott said hesitantly, "Your blood."
Stiles sighed and looked down. His shirt was done for and hanging off of him, the shreds of his hoodie left somewhere in the woods. He was, in fact, covered in his own blood and Scott probably smelled it.
"Yeah. I guess I am."
"Are you going to explain how you lost enough blood to kill you, but you don't seem to be hurt? Or dead?"
"I am going to. It's up there in the how-I-killed-a-harpy category, but I'm way too tired to get into that right now."
"Okay," Scott sighed. They were standing together, listening to the muffled sounds of Jackson complaining from the other room. The three Betas had gone home already without stop. They had been weirdly silent, actually. Erica and Boyd were obviously ashamed of their lack of control, ashamed that they had hurt their friends. Stiles was just glad Jackson had the smarts to bring normal bullets. It was obvious to him now that no one had any intension of killing anyone. Alison was asleep in the back of her car, and Lydia had been quiet too. She looked a little shell shocked, like she had seen some things she didn't want to, ever. And Derek was in Stiles' jeep. He had let Stiles sleep in the car on the way here and didn't say anything, not even making annoyed noises when Stiles made dumb remarks.
Yeah, it had been a long night.
"I thought you were dead." Scott said quietly. Stiles turned and looked at him.
"What?"
"I was fighting off Erica, and then Boyd was running off into the woods. And then there was Derek, and he was so… huge. I almost didn't recognize him. And he was coming after me, right towards me, and I knew I was dead. And then I heard you howling, and so did he. And he… recognized it. Like you were the only food he wanted to eat. And he ran off and I thought you would be dead; ripped to shreds by him."
Stiles saw the haunted look on Scotts face and knew he wasn't lying. He vaguely remembered this, vaguely remembered thinking it was a good idea when Rael did it. "It's not like I could let him kill you."
Scott laughed half-heartedly, "Yeah. But if Derek killed me, he wouldn't be too hurt. If he had killed you, he would have been heartbroken."
"If he had killed you, Alison would have killed him, and then I would have had to kill her and basically no one would have survived." Stiles smiled, thinking of Alison violently raging after Derek with a crossbow. He was glad to hear a chuckle come from Scott.
"You're probably right."
"Besides, I knew he wouldn't kill me," Stiles breathed, "Not really."
Scott was quiet for a moment, and then looked at him oddly, "Are you sure about this?"
"Sure about what?"
"Derek. Doing whatever… THIS is. With Derek. Because I know you somehow calmed him out of his wolf form, which is truly, truly awesome. But you can't deny that you are covered in your blood. A lot of your blood."
Stiles frowned and shifted under the cold gaze, and knew there was no point insisting to Scott that nothing was going on between him and Derek, "Yeah. I mean sure, he's a murderous wolf sometimes and he's frowny ALL the time but… It's almost instinctive. This thing. Whatever it is. I don't think I could run away from it even if I wanted to. And I don't."
"Even after he tried to kill you?"
"Especially after he tried to kill me. Because in the end, he didn't. I was looking into the eyes of the wolf, and all I saw was Derek. Please, believe that."
Scott looked hesitant, and then a small smile broke over his lips, "I do."
The door in front of them opened and their eyes shot up to Deaton, who looked a little too annoyed and exhausted to be working at 5 a.m. "You know, you all really need to stop bringing me humans to stitch up. I'm a vet."
Scott laughed, "No you're not."
Deaton rolled his eyes and Jackson stepped around him looking sour and sore. All of their clothes were dirty or ripped or caked in blood (aside from Lydia who somehow managed to look perfect always) and it was way too hard to explain that to a doctor, and Deaton was the best second choice.
Jackson shoved past them and out the door, presumably heading back to the car. Stiles turned to the vet as Scott followed him.
"Uh, what Jackson means to say is thanks for the help."
"Yeah," Deaton smiled despite the amount of obnoxious teenagers this early in the morning, "What about you, Stiles? You look, uh, bloody."
"Totally fine, not a cut on me."
He nodded, "Alright, good. Go home and get some sleep, alright? Doctors orders."
Stiles laughed, "But you're a vet."
He turned and left the building, letting the door close quietly behind him. He saw Scott and Jackson getting into Alisons car, and headed towards his own jeep. Derek was sitting in the driver's seat, eyes drooping dangerously low. Granted, he looked kind of adorable.
"Hey," Stiles said, opening the passenger door, "Do you need me to drive you home? You look really exhausted."
Derek snapped back into alertness with a jolt. He glanced sideways in a glare, "No. I'll be fine. Get in."
Stiles shrugged and did as he was told. God, he just wanted his bed. The drive from the clinic to his house wasn't too bad, thankfully. But it felt awkward because Derek was tense and silent and Stiles felt like he had done something wrong. Or everything wrong. So when they finally pulled up to his house, he was hesitant to leave the car.
"Stiles," Derek rubbed his eyes, "Go to bed and sleep."
"Only if you come with me."
Derek stilled and looked up at him, "What?"
"It's early. You're tired. Too tired to walk all the way home, so, Derek. Please come upstairs and sleep with me." He said it fast, meeting the Alphas green eyes. He was basically asking Derek to stay in his bed, and not really expecting him to say yes or anything.
"Okay."
"Pl- wait, what?"
Derek rolled his eyes and opened the car door, "I said okay, Stiles. Don't make me regret this decision."
Stiles tried to hide his grin and got out of the car, practically skipping up his porch and through the front door.
"Where is your dad, anyway?" Derek asked, glancing around nervously as if he was expecting Stiles' dad to pop out with a shot gun at any moment. Truthfully, Stiles didn't really remember what Rael told his dad to let him go on this fun little trip, but it must have worked because he didn't have a thousand missed calls or the feeling he broke his dads heart.
"At work. Something about a serial killer. And before you ask, yes, it's actually a human this time." Stiles darted up the stairs before Derek could even get a word out. He smirked at his ability to outrun a nasty old werewolf, even though they were both too tired to function right now. He walked in and started digging through his dresser drawers. Derek walked in looking annoyed and immediately started undoing his pants.
Stiles blushed and grabbed a clean t-shirt and his most attractive low-hanging lounge pants. Derek was watching him carefully.
"What?"
"You're going to shower before you get into this bed," Derek basically commanded, "You smell like death."
Stiles groaned in exhaustion, "But-"
"Now." Derek barked. Stiles trudged to the bathroom, watching Derek slip his jeans to the floor and get into his bed. The thought that yes, Derek Hale was getting into HIS bed, was more than a little pleasing to Stiles and might have sent shivers through him.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he could have died from embarrassment. Blood and ripped clothes and tired eyes and new scars would have looked good on Derek, maybe, but definitely not him. So, in a weird hope that sexy times might ensue with Derek in his bed, he decided a thorough wash in hot water was what he needed. He showered quickly, getting annoyed when he had to scrub particularly hard at patches of dry blood all over him. He ran his hands through hair, hardened by sweat. When he was done, he brushed his teeth, got dressed, and quickly skipped back into his room.
To his small dismay, Derek looked fast asleep. The sun was peaking up over the mountains now, and shining through his window spreading light over the bed. He adjusted his pajamas and walked over, keeping his eyes on the sleeping form. Dereks face looked totally peaceful, but his arms were folded over his chest in a defensive way. Stiles smiled a little to himself and pulled off the covers on the opposite side, getting in.
Derek was warm, and Stiles didn't realize how cold he had gotten from running in the woods all night. He pulled up close to him, pressing his chest to his side. He rested his chin on a huge muscular shoulder and inhaled. Derek smelled like nature. Like grass and bark and water on rocks. It reminded him of his mother, who used to always spend time gardening and teaching him how to climb trees. And maybe it was the fact he hadn't gotten any sleep, but tears were forming in his eyes.
"Stiles," Derek grumbled, half asleep, "Your feet are fucking cold."
Stiles choked out a laugh. Dereks eyes fluttered open and he turned to look at him strangely. Stiles laughed again because he looked so silly, so perfect even though he had been murderous wolf six hours ago and then naked and now he was here, in his bed. And Stiles couldn't tell if he was laughing or sobbing, but tears were streaming down his cheeks.
And then Derek was holding him. Pulling him deep into his chest, and into his arms, and Stiles was crying tears into his nice clean grey T-shirt. And he gripped Derek like he was the only thing left on earth, and at some point he fell asleep.
Derek woke up around noon before Stiles did. So he lay quietly and watched him. He watched his chest go up and down for a while, his lips slightly parted. After about twenty minutes, he figured Stiles should wake up before his dad came home. So he leaned forward and brushed his lips against his.
Stiles whimpered slightly and kissed back, sliding against him and opening his lips, inviting him in. Derek let his tongue slide inside, exploring. He tasted faintly of tooth paste and blood, and images of the night before flooded his head. So Derek pulled back.
"Mmmm more please," Stiles muttered without opening his eyes. He pressed his pelvis upward and Derek looked away.
"No," He pushed a pillow into Stiles' face, "Get up."
Instead of doing that, he watched Stiles wrap his arms around the pillow and kiss it loudly. Derek growled.
"At least the pillow loves me back." Stiles said, muffled. Then he froze. So did Derek. The pillow was slowly removed, and Stiles' look of sheer horror would have been funny if the circumstance was different.
"St-"
"I didn't mean that," Stiles sat up, babbling, "I didn't mean to insinuate that you don't love me back. Or, that you love me at all. Because that would be totally silly, why would you love me? Why would anyone love me? I'm just an idiot, really. I'm not saying you DON'T love me or that I love you or anything, either, because I don't know. It was just a joke, and I really didn't mean-"
"STILES!" Derek said as loud as he could, and Stiles shut his mouth with an audible click. They stared at each other for a long time, searching each other for some sort of reaction that neither was willing to give.
"Do you love me?" Stiles blurted, "Uh, not that it matters. Obviously."
Derek blinked, "If I didn't, I really think I would have torn you to pieces last night."
"Oh," His big brown eyes looked shocked, "Okay."
Derek frowned and walked around the bed to retrieve his jeans. He pulled them on, secretly trying not to be disappointed. He might have possibly expected his confession to have a very different reaction, or at least a more dramatic one. Like Stiles throwing Derek out on his ass and never wanting to see him again. He guessed he should have foreseen this. He did nearly claw him to death, and just because they were kissing or sleeping together or saving each other's lives and it meant something to Derek, didn't mean it meant a damn thing to Stiles.
He buttoned up his jeans and prepared for some sort of walk of shame out of the house when he felt arms lace around his middle, hugging him tight from behind. He felt a head rest against his neck.
"I love you too." Stiles whispered. Dereks heart sped up in his chest and he couldn't help the tension leaving his body; he was relieved.
"Oh." He said, suddenly understanding the speechlessness.
"It'll be kind of complicated. I might be in danger sometimes, but I don't mind. And I need this, Derek. Trust me. If you go now, then… Then it's going to be a lot worse for me. I might be dead anyway, inside."
Derek nodded, "You're my mate."
"Yes."
"So, what do you… want?"
He felt one of Stiles' hands drift down from his chest to his lower stomach and fought off the urge to shiver. "I want to be your mate. Or your boyfriend. Or both."
"Okay."
"And I want to tell people. I want to tell Scott everything. And I want to tell my dad, even, maybe."
"Okay."
"And I want you to mark me. I want to be yours."
Derek gulped, feeling genuinely aroused, "Okay."
"And I want you to stop saying okay."
"Ok- Uh, alright."
Stiles laughed and pulled back, circling around him and looking up into his eyes. Derek looked down over him. His wrinkled shirt clung to his body, and his pants hung low on his hips, giving Derek a clear view of his stomach, and the hair there, and one of the huge white scars. His heart caught in his throat. Stiles frowned and looked down, touching the scar.
"Derek, it's fine. I'm fine." He said. He sounded genuinely scared that Derek was going to get up and leave, but it was really the opposite. Derek had been the Alpha last night. He might have killed everyone in his way, pack or no pack. But when he heard Stiles scream, he wasn't a wolf anymore. He needed Stiles right now, maybe because it was his anchor; that love. He took a step closer and pulled Stiles into his arms.
"I hope you never have to see me like that again. Like a monster."
"Believe me, me too. But I'd love you either way, monster or man. All that bullshit."
Derek smiled and leaned down, pressing his mouth against Stiles' ear and lowering his voice to a deep whisper, "So when did you want that marking thing to happen?"
Stiles laughed nervously, hot against his face. Then he shoved Derek playfully down onto the bed.
"Immediately."
