14.
Two minutes after Stiles and Derek pull up and Isaac and Kira let them into the garage, Scott, Allison, and Stiles' dad pull up behind them. Isaac must spot them approaching from half way up the street because he has the door back up before they can latch it closed. Stiles' jeep has just enough room to squeeze in beside Derek's Toyota and the Argent's SUV.
Seconds later the doors are flying open and Scott is standing in front of them, clearly relieved to have them back. He steps closer, smiling and excited.
"What took you guys so long? We were starting to worr…" Scott freezes, his eyes going shocked. Stiles grimaces.
"We ran into some trouble?" Stiles says. Scott darts toward him, hands and eyes searching. Stiles is beginning to think these body checks are quickly going to be routine whenever everyone returns from a trip.
"What kind of trouble?" Stiles tries to smile at his Dad to ease his obvious anxiety.
"Please tell me neither of you were bit!" Scott says. He grabs Stiles by the shoulders, so he can examine him closer. He bends in and sniffs, and Stiles smacks him away at the disgusted face he makes. Scott turns to Derek and looks at him like he wants to the exact same check on him. Derek shakes his head, holding up a staying hand.
"We're fine. Both of us. No bites or scratches. Stiles had to shoot one of them. Got some blood on himself. We had to stop and get him cleaned up," Derek explains. The sheriff makes a hurt worried sound and grabs Stiles up in a tight hug.
"You're sure it didn't break the skin?" he asks.
"I'm sure. It didn't get close enough. I swear!" Stiles replies.
"Well dude, I think you need to go take a shower. Because you sort of reek," Isaac says, already digging through the bags in the back of Stiles' jeep. Kira laughs.
"There should be enough hot water in the tank for one more shower. I think we can all agree Stiles deserves it," she says, slugging a bag over her shoulder and following Isaac toward the living room. She pauses at Scott, and he smiles at her a little shyly, before bending down to press a kiss to the side of her cheek. She beams up at him. They've been dating six months, and it is frankly ridiculous they are still so cutesy, but Stiles would never point that out. At least not right now. Cutesy was not something to be taken for granted at the moment.
As soon as Stiles steps into the shower, Scott tugs an unresisting Derek up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. He closes the door behind them. Then he looks at Derek with such a worried expression that Derek can't help but start talking to try to ease the anxiousness rolling off of Scott in waves. He tells Scott about the loft, about the large group of previously living people they'd had to dodge. About jumping from roof top to roof top and hearing the distant shots, about Stiles coming for him, and then seeing the blood. He details Stiles' panic attack on the road and tells Scott about the growing numbers they'd seen on the streets, how the smell of them was thick in the air practically everywhere they'd been. He tells him about the stop at Stiles' house, and about their trip to the Costco. He tells him that Stiles had handled himself well (in general). How he had good instincts (mostly), but that he'd been understandably terrified and horrified by what he'd seen and done that day. Scott listens to all of this with tense shoulders, and an uncharacteristic frown. When Derek stops talking, Scott nods in acceptance, and reaches up to grip Derek on the shoulder.
"Thank you for going with him today," he says. He doesn't make any mention of having asked Derek to take him in the first place. "Things…" Scott pauses, and drops his voice even quieter than before, "things are going to get very very bad Derek. And we need to look out for each other. Stiles is… he's my best friend, and he's the sheriff's son, and he tries his best to take care of Lydia, whether she appreciates it or not, but he doesn't..." Scott stops himself midsentence and closes his eyes. He straightens his shoulders. "He doesn't take care of himself like he should. He tries to protect everyone else, and he forgets that he needs to protect his own ass too. Can you just try and look out for him for me? Everything is just going to get crazier and scarier, and more hectic. I just want to make sure we are all watching out for one another," he explains. Derek thinks it over before agreeing. This is not a simple thing that Scott is asking him for, but he's right. They all need to take care of each other. And everyone will naturally have their first and second priorities. For Scott it would be his mother, and Kira. For Stiles his father and Lydia. For Isaac Allison, and Mrs. McCall. For Allison Lydia and Isaac. For the Sheriff it would be Stiles and Melissa. But for Derek… for Derek it would now be Stiles. He cared about the pack as a whole, but most of them could take care of themselves, or had plenty of people already watching their backs. Derek had no problem choosing Stiles to babysit. If anyone need a little extra back up it was definitely Stiles Stilinski.
"Yeah man, no problem," Derek says. Scott's grin is practically blinding. Which is of course when they hear the loud crashing bang from the shower and both bolt for the door.
Stiles takes a camp lantern with him upstairs, fully intending to enjoy his last hot shower for who knows how long. He gets in while the it's still luke warm, letting the water pound against his shoulders and back as it slowly warms up. He ducks his head to drench his hair and squeezes his eyes shut in the half darkness. The bathroom has no windows and the light from the lantern turns the whole room a misty blue white color.
He indulges in the familiarity for a few minutes then gets to work. He scrubs at his skin, then at his hair, and then at his skin again. Every inch of his body gets scrubbed and rescrubbed until his skin feels new and pink and tingles. For the first time in years he stands under a spray of hot water and feels absolutely no impulse to jack-off. If the world wasn't ending he would probably be worried about himself.
He thinks later that he might have zoned out, muscles slack as he leans against the back wall, because suddenly the water pounding against his chest is icy cold, and Stiles body is flinging itself sideways in reaction before his brain can fully comprehend the situation.
He crashes through the flowery shower curtain and lands in a heap on the guest bathroom floor, butt cushioned (thankfully) by the fluffy bath mat and legs tangled in the curtain. He's cold and dripping wet. His flailing had knocked the lantern off the counter, breaking it practically in half, and he finds himself sitting in darkness, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
"I'm ok! I'm fine!" he shouts. He pushes wet hair off his forehead and sits forward to reach for the knobs to turn off the shower spray, but freezes halfway there. He is so not ok. He is so far from fine, he's in another zip code. He forces himself to sit forward again and with a quiet groan he manages to turn off the water. He grabs the towel he'd left folded up on top of the closed toilet and flops over on his back to stare up a the dark ceiling above him.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine," he whispers, as if telling himself enough times will make it be true. He doesn't feel himself start to shake, or his heart steadily increasing its rhythm. He goes still and sort of shatters in on himself. Later, he'll call himself and idiot and a child for crying. But for now he just needs to be human, to be 17 and scared, and weak. There will be time for strength later. When they're facing down a whole slew of those things at once, when one of the pack inevitably, and it would happen eventually because that's how life works, dies. But here in this well-defended house surrounded by the entire pack and in the face of absolutely the shittiest day he has had in a long time, Stiles lets himself temporarily crumble.
When Scott's arms slide around him, he turns into Scott's body and clings. He doesn't feel any shame at all in the tears.