It's terrifying, terrifying when Stiles goes still against him. The whole world seems to rise up, tower over Derek, laughing.

You think I wanted to touch him?

But Stiles catches Derek by the arms, wraps them over his shoulders, says, "Whoa, whoa, hold on to me. Just hold on to me, okay?" so whatever Derek's done, it can't be that bad. Stiles' arms caging all around him, Stiles' heartbeat like a metronome on speed against his. Stiles' lips—oh.

Stiles' lips at his ear. "I want to, okay? I just—You're bleeding."

"You pass out at the sight of blood?" Derek manages. He almost manages to hide the misery of it, of Kate's voice in his head, making him feel like an idiot for thinking—for hoping—

"No," Stiles says, "but I'm not gonna jump you when you're leaking brain matter. I think that kinda might be an indication that maybe, I don't know, something's wrong."

"When I'm—" Derek reaches up. Stiles' hand is already there, holding a balled up towel to the back of his head, and how the fuck didn't Derek feel any of that?

"The fact that this is all news to you? That's kind of my main concern right now," Stiles says, but he says it softly, even as he eases Derek back to the bed, keeps his hand by the wound Derek can't feel anymore.

Malia's gone for Melissa. Melissa is Scott's mother. Stiles seems nervous that Derek doesn't know any of this already, but he doesn't say anything about it. He just sits by the bed, securing the towel with one hand, finding Derek's with the other.

"So," he says, lightly. "I was starting to think I'd made it all up in my head."

"Made what up?" Derek says. The world is spinning gently. He doesn't really mind. Stiles keeps him anchored, keeps his wolf curled around itself in him, barely keening.

"Us," Stiles says. His eyes are worried, but there's a fond little smile stuck in the corner of his mouth.

"Us," Derek says, his whole heart seizing up at once. "We already—"

"Kissed? Not exactly," Stiles says. "Kinda the reason I thought maybe I was, I don't know, projecting."

"Projecting," Derek says, a little awed, because that means—

"We kind of saved each other's lives a bunch of times," Stiles says, like that isn't the most incredible thing Derek's ever heard. "And there was the, you know, wall stuff."

"Wall stuff," Derek says, and he's never going to be able to say anything except parts of what Stiles is saying, and his heart is so full he thinks it might burst any second. The whole room is softer than it should be, gravity lower, only Stiles' hands keeping him from floating away.

"Yeah, we—" Stiles says, but he cuts off when Scott's mom—Melissa—appears.

"I'm fine," Derek tries, but she raises her eyebrows, says, "It looks like you've lost a lot of blood there. I don't know how good werewolf healing is, but I don't think you're immune to a brain injury."

"A brain injury," Stiles says faintly. His grip on Derek's hand gets tighter.

"Are you having any trouble breathing?" Melissa asks, and—oh.

"Um," Derek says, and looks at Stiles, who is white-faced and wide-eyed, and looks like he's struggling to breathe himself. "No, it's—"

"My mom just wants to help," Scott says from the doorway. "Just tell her the truth."

"Maybe a little," Derek admits. The spinning picks up speed. "But it's—It's probably nothing."

"Oh, great, 'probably,'" Stiles says. "Yeah, sounds like we should all just go home. What's the worst thing that could happen? Y'know, besides death."

"Stiles," Scott says, and Stiles looks at him, and then he ducks his head, scratches at his eye, and Derek says, desperately, "I'm fine—"

The lie might've worked if Derek didn't punctuate it by passing out.

"'Fine,'" Stiles says, voice distant but rushing closer without moving at all. "His pain made Scott lightheaded, but apparently he's 'fine.' What exactly does not fine feel like in Derekworld?"

"He'll be okay," Scott says.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna believe that now!"

"He'll probably be okay," Lydia says.

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Stiles snaps. "Because it really isn't. At all."

"Mom's not gonna let him die," Scott says, which sets Stiles off worst of all.

"Someone did this. Someone did this to him." There's a sound like pacing, Stiles' voice oscillating all around Derek. "I'm gonna kill them. I'm gonna tear their fucking face off, andandand pour wolfsbane down their face-hole, and then I'm gonna—"

"Stiles," Scott says quietly, and the movement stops. When Stiles speaks again, the words are low, muffled.

"It's because he's an omega, isn't it. They're—they're easy targets."

"Maybe," Scott says. "But he doesn't want me as an alpha."

"Fine," Stiles says. "What about me?"

"You?"

"He said I was pack," Stiles says. "Just before he—just before he kissed me. Cora and Braeden are pack, right? Well how is she an alpha? Braeden's not her beta, they're equals. But they're not omegas, no one's gonna fuck with them, pick them off for fucking sport—" He takes a deep, shaky breath, and Derek just knows Stiles is watching him. He tries to move, open his eyes, anything, but his body won't take direction. "So what about me?"

"So when he's hurt, he'll howl for you?" Lydia says. "Great plan."

"No," Stiles snaps. "He'll howl for our pack."

Derek can practically hear Lydia raising her eyebrows.

"Scott doesn't have to be his alpha, okay? He can be, like, his alpha-in-law."

"You wanna get werewolf hitched to Derek," Lydia says.

"If it'll keep him safe, why the hell not?" Stiles says. "It's not like I can't stand the guy."

"You're seventeen," Lydia says. "He's sixteen. You haven't even kissed him back yet."

"Yeah, well, I will," Stiles says. "And it's gonna be awesome."

Derek really needs to open his eyes now. See the look on Stiles' face, so he can lock it in his memory, forever. So he can pull it out any time Kate's stupid voice comes back. But he can't make his body listen. He might as well be buried alive, listening to his eulogy.

"I just really," Stiles says, and his voice shakes. "I just really need him to be okay."

I'm fine, Derek starts to say, before remembering exactly how much he isn't. Guilt comes heavy, crashes into him, pins him down under it.

"Something's happening," Scott says.

Derek just knows when Stiles goes still. "What? Is it bad?" He's really close, maybe touching Derek by now. Derek really hates that he can't feel anything.

"I don't know," Scott says. "His heart's just beating really fast."

"Fast," Stiles says. "Like a heart attack? Scott, tell me he's not having a heart attack."

Scott doesn't say anything.

"He healed Cora," Stiles says. "When, when she had that head thing, he gave up being alpha for her. It's time she freakin' returned the favor."

"We don't even know where she is."

"Yeah, well she does," Stiles says. "And we have her number, and Braeden's, they can postpone their honeymoon long enough to make sure he doesn't die—"

And then Derek's gone again.

When he comes back, tiny traces of light are filtering through his eyelids, and he can smell Stiles and his father, sweat and exhaustion and tears and packpackpack, before he hears them.

"—but it's also a school night."

Stiles gapes noisily. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Stiles, I actually—"

"Derek could be dying—"

"Melissa's doing everything she can to help him. That's her job. You need to do yours."

"My job," Stiles says. "Yeah, you'd know about putting your job first."

"I'm sorry?" Stiles' father says tightly.

"You just left her," Stiles says. "You didn't even say goodbye. I was there, but you were—you were—"

"Stiles," his father says, so quietly. Sadness swirls all around him like fog. But Stiles isn't listening anymore.

"And now you want me to just leave too?" He scoffs darkly. "Forget it."

Derek almost thinks he can feel Stiles' fingers, light, on his.

Pure sunlight hits Derek's eyes, blinds him. He's surrounded by pain. He is pain, there's nothing else about him. Every inch of him is screaming—he's screaming—

"Derek!" The whole world screams back at him. How are his ears not bursting from the pressure? "Derek, hey, what's wrong? What hurts?"

"Loud," he manages. His own voice slams into him like a Mack truck.

"Sorry," Stiles whispers, loud as the ocean. "Sorry, sorry—Scott, can you—"

There's a hand on Derek's wrist, a thin layer of pain stripping away, and Stiles going, "Shit, that bad?"

"Shhh," Scott moans.

And then Stiles' hand is on Derek's, and he's murmuring, "Hey, just hold on to me. Just hold on to me, okay? Like—like a stress ball."

Derek looks at him through his eyelashes. He's very bright, almost glowing, but not painful to look at.

"You know I have super-strength, right?"

"You're not gonna break me," Stiles says, and he's sure, and he's not letting go of Derek's hand, and Derek doesn't want him to.

Derek doesn't break him. He holds his hand human-tight and breathes, breathes, breathes through it. Focuses on Stiles until the pain is background static, until his eyes are full for an entirely different reason.

When it comes back Stiles hugs him, climbs onto the bed and lies beside him, their sides just touching. Hands still gripped tight.

Stiles falls asleep with his head against Derek's shoulder. It's the warmest feeling in the world.

Derek can't stop looking at him.

Malia gets a strange expression on her face when she sees them, fondness and sadness, love and loss. Lydia puts her arm around her, tries to take her outside.

"No," Malia says. "I have to ask Derek something."

Derek tenses.

"Did my father do this?" Malia asks.

Derek shakes his head quickly, regrets it immediately. He swipes at his eyes with his shoulder to keep from letting go of Stiles' hand. "No," he says, as loud as he can stomach.

"It's just—" Malia says uncertainly. "Who was it? Because Kate's gone, and my father ha-hates us. What we are. And he called you a murderer—"

"It wasn't him," Derek promises. "It was a werewolf."

"Just some werewolf," she says. She doesn't look like she believes him.

"Not your dad," Derek says. He already feels like he took something from her, put the new sad look in her eyes, but she waves it away.

"It was always going to be you," she says. "It's instinct."

Instinct and need and Stiles' head against Derek's shoulder, Malia's sad soft smile. If it wasn't the rightest thing in the world it wouldn't feel right at all.

Once Derek can talk without wincing at the sound of his own voice, everyone wants to know what happened. Stiles is desperate for answers, for a target. His father reminds Derek that his job allows him to use a gun about fifty times.

"And I've got some special bullets," he says. "Alan Deaton says wolfsbane if it's a werewolf, or silver for just about anything else, and if he's human..." Stiles' father makes a face. "Well, they're still bullets."

But Derek can't tell him. Can't risk them, can't do that.

If you were human, you'd be dead.

Peter can't touch them. Peter can't go near them, and they can't know it was him.

It's over. And even if it isn't—Derek can settle this on his own.

He's not gonna let anyone else die for him.

When Melissa looks at Derek's wounds again, Derek swears it's fine, it's nothing, it looks worse than it is. It's just how werewolves fight, we can come harder because we heal. It just looks bad because it's an alpha, alpha wounds take longer—

"An alpha," Melissa says. "Not Scott—"

No, Derek says, no no no. Scott wouldn't.

"I thought it was normal for werewolves," Melissa says.

"For Hales, okay," Derek says, because he's an idiot.

"It really was nothing," Derek pleads, when Stiles hears. His dad's actually cleaning his gun in the kitchen, his jaw very tight. "I attacked him. He wanted to be my alpha and he killed Laura and I couldn't stop hitting him and he stopped me."

"He could've killed you," Stiles says. His eyes are very dark. Derek's sure that if he had a gun, he'd be cleaning it too.

"Could've," Derek says pointedly. "But he didn't. He just—"

"He crushed the back of your skull," Stiles says. "He broke your ribs and your wrist and, and I don't even know what else because that's just what you didn't heal, and then he just left you. I wanna feed him to a meat grinder."

"You can't go after him," Derek says. Panic rises in him, makes him tug Stiles closer against his side.

"Watch me," Stiles says, but he shuts up when he sees the look on Derek's face.

Cora offers to come back, tear Peter's throat out, give Derek the last cut so he can be alpha again. But Derek doesn't want to be an alpha. He doesn't want to be a beta. He just wants to be a person, not above or below. He's a pack-adjacent omega, and he's not alone. And that's all he wants to be.

Cora's in Managua with Braeden, and Derek refuses to pull her away. He's got one sister left. He's not gonna lose her too.

He's not gonna do that.

In the end, Peter comes to them. Tries to make an offer.

Derek's still healing. It's a long, painful process. Peter can take it all away.

"And you'd just do that," Stiles says, standing in front of Derek's bed like an armed guard.

"I'd do anything for my family," Peter says, and Derek wants to punch him again.

"Yeah, I've seen what your family looks like after you're done with them," Stiles snaps. "Twice now."

"I'm just extending an offer," Peter says calmly. "But if you prefer the pain..."

"That you gave him," Stiles says. Peter looks at him like a bit of dirt on his shoe. Looks at Derek again.

"I am sorry," Peter says. "I was... overenthusiastic. The rush of alpha power running through you? It makes you do crazy things. Surely you remember, Derek. What you were like. When you were an alpha."

"Shut up," Stiles snarls. "He was nothing like you."

"How many betas did you lose again?" Peter says innocently. "All of them? All children, weren't they? And how many of the runners survived?"

Derek can't breathe.

"Don't listen to him," Scott says. "He's just trying to get in your head."

But Peter isn't lying.

"What'd I do?" Derek says. "What happened to them?"

"It wasn't your fault," Scott says.

And that is a lie.