Pathos

Breaking— away from the norm

And standing near your

form

To get some sense of certainty,

Some definite anchor

Holding me firm, indefinitely.

Please,

I said.

Just hold me.

Please.

You wanted to protect me

But I wanted you to see

That I could—

That I stood—

On my own

I was alone

Before you.

I didn't want you

To fear

That I couldn't

Run with wolves.

...

Stiles sat in contemplation— no, in self-reflective isolation, introspection. Asyndetic absences felt necessary, even within his own mind; they seemed to edge the tension way that jolted frantically around his mind... Because, because they could. After all, he thought, when I've killed one parent, I've killed two. He had been shouldering that guilt since the wolfsbane 'debacle' at Lydia's birthday party. There were no tears — he had done enough of that — and he just sat there, on the edge of Derek's makeshift bed wondering. Thinking about everything that had happened. And what was going to happen. And misquoting— changing a bit of Sylvia Plath's poetry just felt right.

Stiles' face was still battered; the hues of red from the scrapes and from where the platelets were busily doing their job repairing the damaged flesh and capillaries. The bruises were purpling, fading, even though it had only been a few hours.

He touched his face with his hand, it was warm and he winced at even the light pressure. Gerard had done a number on his face; Lydia had done a number on his heart; and he couldn't help but feel... lost.

He reflected, in part upon the past with Derek and the events that had happened recently. His face, thus, was more of a reminder for the day than he had wanted, nor had he intended on his mouth causing such destruction. Alison had gone mental; Derek's pack was being picked off, partially due to their own stupidity and partially because of Derek; and Scott. Scott had thrown everything into chaos in his usual self-absorbed and selfless method that either showed a great lack of thought or a great deal of forethought. Paradoxical.

Lydia, Stiles thought. Lydia. She had torn his heart asunder, brutally, wholly, leaving no thought that there was ever a future that involved them together. Oddly enough, even though he had Derek, it still stung, as if his preteen life (which had been devoted to her) had been remorselessly rent from him. A wound had been left; emotions flooded in, unwanted.

"Oh God!" Stiles exclaimed, alone. "I scratched my car. My jeep!"

He brought his knees up to his chest and tucked his head against them. "Fuck!" He paused. "Fuckity fuck."

"Is that an offer?" Derek said, coming into the room.

Stiles lifted his head and said nothing.

Derek said down right next to Stiles at the end of his bed. His werewolf's arm wrapped around him securely, his warmth becoming his own. He just held Stiles; silent, just holding him close. He leant his head closer to Stiles, kissed his cheek (his scruff grazing him), before resting on Stiles' shoulder.

Derek lifted his head and just stared. His muscles tensed, "Who did that to you?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing, Stiles!"

"My dad said something similar," Stiles said. He (and Lydia) had left a note for his father that he was going to be staying with Scot before getting into his jeep and ramming it through a wall.

Derek growled, possessive? Stiles didn't know. He brought a hand against Stiles' cheek. "It wasn't Peter?"

"No. It was Gerard."

Derek growled, but Stiles brought a hand to meet the lips of his lover. They pressed there for a moment silencing his werewolf. Silencing his lover. Silencing the appropriate response. "Please, Derek. Don't." Derek stopped. He got from his seat, the emptiness left, shook Stiles more than he thought it would... should.

His arms wrapped around Stiles and lifted him into his arms. They were around the same height, but to Stiles it felt like Derek at that moment toppled over him and took hold of him. He lay Stiles down, after he moved aside the covers, and pushed himself against his lover. Their mouthes meeting, Stiles whimpered, wanting more connection. His hands devilishly— no they were too weak to be devilishly, they were timid and wanton, as he suggested to Derek to remove their shirts.

Within no time their shirts were off, Stiles was naked, Derek was naked, and Stiles wrapped his legs around his werewolf's waist, using his latching legs to secure himself. His words failed him, they always would at such a moment. He took a breath, none of the courage he had when he had asked to dominate Derek was left. His body wanted to be subjugated, wanted his werewolf to have his way with him. Bite him— Harm him. Did it matter. It didn't.

"Take me. Please," Stiles whimpered out, his voice soft, harmed.

Derek looked down into Stiles eyes, they were red, Stiles' were puffy and his cheek enflamed under both blush and bruise. He knew what Stiles wanted, and he couldn't help but relate; his family had been killed, it had been his fault, and so under the same weight in which they both carry, Derek hardened as if on cue, forcing Stiles to gasp and his own member follow the same direction.

"Give me the bite— or just bite me. Take me. Just... I want you. I need. I—"

Derek's mouth met Stiles' again, preventing more words etched with such depression from resurfacing and leaving its melancholy-heart-wrenching aura clinging to them both. His wolf wanted to give his lover his particular gift, but Derek had himself under control and only brought his mouth to suckle gently on the side of Stiles' throat.

Stiles squirmed under his pressure, under his body, and Derek soaked it in, enjoying it. Stiles blush out-shaded the bruise and he wriggled loose from his werewolf's grasp, long enough to bring himself to Derek's manhood and putting his mouth against the tip. He coyly let his mouth linger there, agonizingly, and guided his tongue along the underside of shaft. He whimpered (deliciously) as Derek pulled gently on his hair, but not forcing Stiles to take him deeper. Stiles, however, pushed himself down on his lover's impressive manhood, not gagging, but having trouble breathing momentarily before he found his 'sea-legs' so to speak. He hummed and swallowed rhythmically, before Derek couldn't handle it anymore, particularly when drool had only slightly escaped the corners of Stiles' mouth.

He withdrew himself, looking again into Stiles' eyes, noticing the pathetic look in his eyes and the whimper from the newly created and gone void. He looked up to Derek's red eyes before moving to be right next to Derek near the head of the bed. He rested his head against a pillow before letting his arse rise and present itself to his werewolf. Derek took no time to press his manhood against his entrance, not spending unnecessary time stretching Stiles, because he knew that Stiles would accept him wholly particularly when he was so wanton.

He thrusted continuously in a pace that allowed Stiles to adjust, and to push back into each pounding forcing to deepen their union. He screamed, Derek grunted, and he whimpered over and over in rhythms and patterns. Derek withdrew himself, his erection bobbing as he moved Stiles to face him before forcing himself back in with a delicate, seductive gasp.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, letting one hand dig nails into his werewolf's hand and the other to card through Derek's hair. His legs brought themselves against Derek's waist and tighten. Meanwhile Derek clasped Stiles' erection and let his hand bring Stiles close to completion while he increased his pace and brought himself there.

Stiles spilled between them and on Derek's hand who brought it to his mouth and tasted what his lover had left him. He brought his mouth to Stiles', and kissed him, his tongue darting around. He gave a sinister growl and smirk before thrusting harder and quicker, before coming into his lover. He gave two or three completed thrusts before pulling out, his member still hard, but the rest of his body wanting to just cuddle next to his lover. They could go again later, but for now he wanted to hold Stiles. Hold him close, and not let the evils of the world touch him again.

Stiles missed the void left him Derek's hardness, but he embraced and revelled in the fact that Derek was his, and was wanting to cuddle again him. He took Derek's mouth before adjusting himself, in an embrace. They were pressed together, Stiles' left leg around Derek's body; their manhoods pressed together, wet, and wanting; their hands intertwined; and their heads forehead to forehead, sharing each other's breath.

Hours, those fickle bastards flew by without either of them really intending them to. Stiles lay wrapped in Derek's arms. He shuffled, waking his werewolf from his slumber. The teen sighed, "I left my bag in the other room with my phone. I'm gonna check if my dad's left me any message. Go back to sleep."

Stiles unlatched himself with only little resistance from his hulking boyfriend who wanted nothing but for him to stay there. Stiles to wanted that, but he needed to check his phone. He had a feeling his father was searching for him, but the message was clear and straightforward and Scott was going to play along.

He quickly pulled one of Derek's leather jackets on; the jacket had miraculously managed to rest on the dresser, how it had managed to be thrown there during the unclothing of them both was beyond him. Derek smiled before he nestled down on to the pillow and closing his eyes.

Stiles left and searched the room for his backpack; he had left it in the subway car.

"Looking for this," Peter whispered. Stiles' backpack was in his hand.

"I was," Stiles said, wondering if he should shout out for Derek because he knew that running was pointless, although he knew that Peter was weakened.

"So your sleeping with Derek, hm? Regret not taking the bite?" Peter's tone seemed to encapsulate several of Stiles' thoughts, and yet he didn't want to admit or shown any form of recognition.

"I love Derek." Was Stiles' honest and short reply. "He's mine."

"Possessive are we?"

"Very," Stiles said, his eyes glaring.

"Regretting?"

"No," Stiles said. He lied. Peter knew.

Peter chuckled. "I could—"

"No," Stiles interrupted. "If I was ever to accept the bite it would be from Derek."

"It could kill you," Peter said.

"No. It won't."

"You seem sure."

"If he did it, I know."

Peter puttered for a moment. "You're underage you know..."

"Only in prudish US," Stiles grumbled. "No animosity? I— we killed you."

"Why revel in the past?"

"Sounds rehearsed," Stiles said.

"I had a lot of time to think about."

"I bet."

Peter gave Stiles back his backpack, before Stiles retreated towards Derek's door, before Peter spoke again. "Tell Derek I'd like to speak with him."

"Will do," Stiles said, weirded out that he had just had a normal... ish conversation.

He returned to Derek's room with his backpack. He rustled through his bag, retrieved his phone. No message from his father, he sighed, he frowned.

"What's wrong?" Derek said. "Was it what Peter said? Or was it your dad?"

"Peter didn't say anything, but you heard all of it anyway. I was just hoping that my dad would have left me message." Stiles crawled into Derek's bed and put his chilled feet against Derek's warm ones.

"Not upset that I've thought about the bite," Stiles said.

"No. You know my opinion," Derek said.

Stiles smiled, somewhat sadly. He cuddled into Derek and let the warmth of his body draw him back to sleep.

Stiles pulled up in his jeep. Derek's family home still remained — burnt out — still there. Peter, Isaac, and Derek stood by the house, a mark on the door. To Stiles it was a bastardization of his lover's triskelion, but he took a moment to think, going back to his research and realizing the origins and meaning behind this other pictogram. He got out of the car.

"Stiles!" Derek said, he was upset, that was evident.

"What?" Stiles said, confused.

"You shouldn't be here!" Derek complained, his voice commanding, rough, like they hadn't had a relationship at all... Going back to that moment with the bullet in his arm.

"Why..." Stiles said, hurt.

"I'm sorry," Derek said. He stopped himself from saying more for a moment.

Peter spoke up, "He's worried about you, because the alpha pack might use you."

"To get to Derek?"

"Might be the case."

"It could happen," Isaac said.

"I'm more concerned of what they could do to you, Stiles," Derek said, worry on his face.

Stiles grew frustrated for a moment, came up to Derek and just planted a kiss on his lips making Derek fluster and draw back, but Stiles broke first and then stood back for a moment. He tempted fate itself at that moment. "Derek, you don't have the right to leave me, break from me, or to think your protecting me from whatever by staying away from me. I'm not some hero, but I'm not some defenseless child either."

Derek attempted to speak, but he didn't get anything out before Stiles.

"I watched helplessly as my mother died. And if you think for one moment I'm gonna let some alpha pack come into this town and fuck everything up then you have something else coming. I'm Stiles Stilinski and I run with wolves!"

The evening came. Worry enveloped them all, and yet Stiles spent it in his own bed, with Derek pressed against him. They attempted to not worry about the future, and for only a brief moment forget that there was something going on that they couldn't control, or at least not control entirely. This was going to be war... This was going to hard, but they were going to ensure that everyone they loved was going to come out of this alive.

...

A/N: I felt momentarily that this would lacklustre — but... I feel like it was appropriate to end it where I did and of course, having Peter have that one little moment with Stiles. That moment, I wanted to contrast with that of season 1. Regardless...

I'd like to quickly send my regards to Yuki90, Witch20, and Chris, and all those who commented. Thank you. Thank you all.

This story will probably continue when season three comes out and I have an idea of where it is going.

I'll attempt to release the alternative ending that I was mentioning... But I'd like to put at least one chapter of a Vampire Diaries Deremy story that I've been thinking about. That story is mostly for myself because, as hard as I've tried, I have not found many Deremy stories that I love.

Please leave any comments - concluding statements or what not... below or send me a message on my tumblr... twsterek (so .com)

Tata

P.S. I wrote the poem for this chapter specifically for this chapter, and this chapter alone should it be used.

P.P.S. Only went through this chapter once... I've got loads of school work, but I wanted to end it so I could have it off my mind. Thank you all for reading :D