Derek knew he liked Stiles. Liked as in, more than in a friendly way. The feelings had been there for a while, his wolf had been slowly growing attached, but Derek knew that Stiles wasn't something he was supposed to have. Stiles was pure and innocent and good, all the things Derek wasn't, and it was wrong for him to want to covet that, so he limited himself to watching and protecting.

Sometimes it got too much and he couldn't hold back. Those were the times he would shout and growl and push the boy around. Just to feel the warmth beneath his fingers, just to hear his heart speed up and his skin blush, and to hear that voice trembling with emotion. But even then he wished he could get the reaction some other way, some way that didn't have him hating himself the moment he slipped out of the boy's room and heard the stuttering breath being drawn in as Stiles sunk to the floor. He wished, and he dreamed, and he imagined, but he knew that was all it could be.

But then he lost Stiles. Then the idiot threw himself in the line of fire and died. He died for Derek. And it didn't make sense. Because Stiles should hate Derek, hell, Derek hated Derek, but then why did the fool take an arrow to the chest for him? And god it had hurt, watching the life drip from the boy as he shuddered and trembled beneath Derek's fingers, again, so close but so far from what Derek wanted. And Derek couldn't stop himself from throwing his head back and howling, before laying Stiles' body on the ground and massacring anything and everything in his path. Because in that moment he had known that he had loved Stiles. He had just realised it too late.

And then Stiles had come back to life and Derek couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it until it was the only option left to believe. It was a miracle, and that was what scared Derek because miracles didn't happen to him. But Stiles was there, smiling and laughing and breathing. Derek could feel the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart, smell the familiar scent and he thanked the gods for his luck.

But Derek wasn't lucky, and miracles came with a price, and when Stiles came to him and told him the truth, Derek's heart ached. He was so close to breaking, kept together by strings, and losing Stiles again would crack him open. He'd lost everyone he'd loved only to find one more person to give his heart to, and now life was trying to take him as well?

He wasn't going to take that.

Derek was an Alpha now. And Derek was in love. If Stiles was in danger then Derek was going to make damn sure he did everything he could to protect him, and if that failed he was going with him. Scott could be Alpha, he'd make a good Alpha if the others kept him in line, but if Derek had to suffer through losing Stiles again he knew he would go insane. At least if he died with Stiles there was a chance they would be together. But that was a last resort. Plan A was to find a way to keep Stiles alive, to keep him safe.

From that moment he was reluctant to leave Stiles alone for long. He knew that the teen was freaked out about losing massive chunks of his life, but he'd also heard Stiles when he had said that it didn't happen when a pack member was around, so he resolved to always be there, to keep the fear at bay as best he could. During the day he waited outside of the school, loathe to trust the betas with something so utterly important, and in the evenings he trailed Stiles around as he did his various chores, until finally he reached his house and then Derek settled beneath his window and waited out the night, sleeping in short sharp bursts just to make sure Stiles was alright.

He was pretty sure Stiles had no idea he was there. At least until Stiles flung open his window one night and demanded he stop being a creep and come in. Derek was a weak willed wolf, he wasn't going to turn down an open invitation into Stiles' bedroom. He told himself it was simply to keep a closer eye on the boy and ignored the skip in his own heartbeat.

Trailing Stiles had meant keeping his distance, but up close he could see how utterly wrecked he was. The bags under his eyes were almost bruise-like, and he yawned every few minutes, his mouth opening so wide that it seemed like his face would split in two. His movements were bumpy and less coordinated than normal, and his normal air of energy was gone, replaced by a bone tiredness that Derek swore he could taste in the air.

Unsure where to stand Derek remained by the window, turning briefly to pull it closed, not wanting the chill to get in. He watched in silence as Stiles pottered around his room, shuffling papers on his desk, and throwing clothes into his hamper, already having changed before inviting Derek up, and when he was done he settled onto the bed and switched off the light.

The room went quiet, Stiles' breathing the loudest noise in an otherwise silent darkness. Derek was afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, lest he disturb the weird restless atmosphere that had fallen over the room. There was something off about the quiet, as if there were noises just below the surface, begging to be heard. As if he could hear the sound of Stiles' mind working as he lay in his bed, only meters away, and Derek could only guess at what Stiles was thinking right then.

'I don't want to die.'

It was sudden and quiet, but it might as well have been as loud as a gunshot what with the way it ripped through the silence.

'I'm scared. I don't want to die.'

Derek shifted, his body aching to move closer, but his mind knew that was a bad idea. He gripped the back of Stiles' desk chair to stop himself from moving towards the bed, desperate to know the Stiles was alright.

'I told you. I'm not going to let you die again Stiles.'

There was a pause. And then a sob, broken and breathy, followed by a bitter, cutting laugh.

'What if that isn't your choice, Derek? What if you can't stop it?'

Derek growled, his bones jarring beneath his skin as the wolf scrabbled at his control. The words tore through him, ignited every fear, every doubt he had in him. It killed him to know that Stiles didn't believe in him, that his trust ran shallow, that the uselessness that he felt towards himself, Stiles felt as well. He'd suspected as much, but hearing it was 1000 times worse. But he'd made this happen, he'd pushed Stiles away knowing full well this would be the result. It was his fault Stiles didn't trust him.

'I can and I will. You just have to trust me on that.'

There was that laugh again and Derek winced in the darkness. Stiles didn't respond further, in fact he didn't speak for several long minutes following Derek's plea, and he worried that he had done something wrong, something to offend Stiles. But eventually the boy spoke again.

'Can you come here?'

Derek startled, taken aback by the question.

'I- I don't think that would be wise.'

He hated himself for saying it, for not giving in a going as soon as Stiles asked, but it wasn't his place to take from the boy what he was only willing to offer through fear and loneliness. He couldn't take what he didn't deserve.

'That's not what I asked, Derek. I asked you to come here. Please.'

And it was as if Stiles knew he was pushing against the last remains of Derek's will, pleading his way past Derek's defences, and forcing the wolf to take control. Without much conscious thought at all, Derek found himself half way across Stiles' room before he even stopped to blink. In another heartbeat he was crouched by the boy's bed, hovering over the teen. Without speaking, Stiles slipped a hand out from under the covers and groped around until he found Derek's wrist, and tugged.

Derek stayed motionless, frozen in place, confused more than anything. His mind fought against his instinct to throw caution to the wind, climb into the bed and claim Stiles as his own, until he had no doubt in his mind who he belonged to, until he knew exactly why Derek would never let him go again. But that couldn't happen, would never happen, because he could never force that bond on Stiles. So he stayed, resisting the tug on his wrist, though each unhappy exhale from Stiles sent pain coursing through his veins.

'Derek, please.'

And god, the kid had no idea what he was doing to him. His voice so small and scared, begging to be protected, to be shielded from the world, from everything that tried to harm him. The tremble of his muscles as he pulled at Derek's will, over and over again. He was carving away at Derek's resolve as if it were nothing, and if he hadn't known it before, he knew now that there was nothing he could really deny Stiles. Not when he asked so quietly, so pleadingly, when he made it seem like Derek was the only one who could offer him the peace and safety he craved. Making Derek feel special, and like he was actually worth a damn. And so, letting his selfish longings take over, Derek gave in and crawled under the cover, pulling Stiles close until they were tanged together, his face buried in Stiles' prickly hair, the fresh shampoo scent washing over him.

He heard Stiles' heart beat stutter, fast and loud like that of cornered prey, but as he smoothed a hand down his back, he relished the happy and contented exhale Stiles let slip from his lips before he burrowed deeper into Derek's chest, hands fisting his t-shirt as if it were a lifeline.

Derek continued to rub soothing patterns into Stiles' skin while he waited for him to fall asleep, and finally Stiles' heartbeat began to slow down and even out. Just when Derek was sure Stiles was asleep he heard a muffled voice, and felt the warm puff of breath tickle against his neck where Stiles had ended up nestled against the skin.

'You know, it's better when you're around. When you hold me, I can almost forget what's happening. It's peaceful in my head, and it's never peaceful in my head, not since I died. There was buzzing, always buzzing, and now the buzzing has gone. It's so nice Derek, it's so quiet. Thank you.'

And then he fell asleep, leaving Derek to ponder the muted words and puzzle them out while Stiles drooled on his shirt. And when he looked down at the sleeping boy, so innocent and peaceful, Derek felt the last of his will shatter and he pulled the boy close, pressing his lips to his forehead and sighing, wondering what part of hell he would be sent to for taking something so pure and delicate and ruining it like he did with everything he touched.

But he couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

Not with Stiles dozing fitfully on his chest, sprawled across him like he was trying to shield Derek from the world, like the fucking martyr he was. No, Derek was fully prepared to risk hell's eternal fires, for this little piece of heaven. It was his now, and he refused to give it up.

Ahh, emotionally stunted Derek with his hero complex. My favourite. I hope it's yours as well.