Yeah so. . . don't hate me. . .
"Stiles, what the hell are you doing?"
He honest to God jumped a mile when Scott appeared at the end of the hallway. He hadn't been expecting to see anyone in the house, but he should have known that they had been. He had sort of forgotten that Derek's Pack would be sleeping inside the house, concentrating mainly on not having his own Pack waltz up here and freak him out.
There was a reason that he permanently kept half an ear on Jason's heartbeat, tracking his whereabouts.
"Um. . ." he didn't exactly know the answer to that, because announcing that he was following Maggie's orders and maybe getting laid didn't sound all that good. So he just shrugged. "It doesn't matter, what's up dude?"
He didn't know what it was about Beacon Hills that made him feel like he was being knocked back several years. All the progress he'd made with not being a complete rambling idiot seemed to be permanently ruined now that he'd stepped foot in this town again. He wondered if maybe there was something in the water or maybe it was just the people. Something in him was probably just reacting to being close to them again. It was turning him into the person he'd used to be just a little bit.
"I just. . ." Scott frowned and Stiles had to admit that it did make him feel more than a little bit better that he wasn't the only one who seemed to be at a loss. He suspected maybe that there was just something about nine years of being apart that caused that. An inevitability. Stiles didn't think that it was in any way strange for him to feel regretful about that. Scott had been his best friend, they'd had each other's backs, or at least they had until Scott had become a werewolf and after that it had pretty much become a one-sided relationship.
"If you wanted to become a werewolf, you didn't have to leave," Scott blabbed out, looking down at the ground like he was afraid of what Stiles' answer to that statement was going to be. Except, for once, Scott was taking a leaf out of Stiles' book and was talking again before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "I mean, I thought you'd left because you were fed up of being around werewolves, but you asked for this, you asked for the bite, so it doesn't make sense. And I mean, I get that maybe Derek and you don't always see eye to eye, but he isn't a bad Alpha really and you didn't have to leave just because you wanted the bite."
And all of that, every single bit of that was so far from the truth that Stiles couldn't help the bark of laughter that bubbled up out of his throat, escaping before he could clamp down on it. Scott's eyes shot up in alarm and Stiles thought for a second that maybe he should feel a little ashamed, because there was red colouring Scott's cheeks now and he looked nervous. But he didn't look away, he didn't back down. He just met Scott's eyes and took a deep breath, because he knew he should have explained this. He knew it wasn't obvious.
But that didn't make actually doing so any easier.
"That's not it at all," he replied, fighting to keep his voice and heart rate level, because he was all too aware that Derek was right on the other side of the door and he also knew that the guy wasn't asleep, "That's not why I left, I didn't plan any of this, I didn't plan to become a werewolf, I just met Maggie and it happened."
Scott scowled. "You shouldn't have left," he said stubbornly and Stiles wasn't at all surprised, because as much as he loved the guy, Scott had never been the sharpest tool in the shed and he knew there were just some things that Scott would never really understand. Stiles leaving was no doubt one of those things.
"I had to."
"No you didn't," Scott practically spat at him, eyes flashing and his expression twisted up in anger, "You didn't have to leave and you didn't have to get bitten, because honestly Stiles, what the hell were you thinking? How could you become a werewolf?"
And then it was Stiles' turn to scowl, because that had always annoyed him. Scott had always taken a gift and seen it as a curse. He'd always seen being a werewolf as the end of all things, had sought a cure and had never understood why anyone would ask for this. But Stiles, Stiles understood it all completely.
"Because I think I was born to be this," he replied honestly, knowing that both Scott and Derek could hear his heartbeat verifying that his words rang true, "This person, this is me. I'm a werewolf and I fucking love it. I love the freedom and the power and the pull of the moon on my wolf. I love every single thing about it, but that wasn't the reason I asked for it. I didn't know it was going to be like this, I asked for it because I was fed up of being the one on the side-lines."
He stepped up to Scott, the picture of calm, but he could feel the old anger, the old resentment burning just below the surface. "I wanted to be included, I wanted to be part of a Pack, to be a part of a family," he didn't like the look on Scott's face when he spoke, but he knew that he had to get this out, "And no, I didn't have that here. I had a Dad who was so wrapped up in work that he was never home and I had a best friend that couldn't pull his head out of his girlfriend's ass long enough to see that I was drowning under the weight of everything in my life. You and my Dad were all I had and it wasn't enough. I wasn't Pack, I wasn't family and it felt like it was choking the life out of me because I didn't know how to be included in that."
He felt some sick sort of justice when Scott looked away first, when he cowered slightly under the force of Stiles' bitterness, under the weight of all of his old pain. Because it was still there, of course it was. It had never gone. And it had only ever made it worse that Scott hadn't even done any of it on purpose. It would probably have been easier if he'd simply woken up one day and though, "I'm going to push Stiles away today", but instead he'd done it intentionally and it had eaten Stiles up inside feeling like he was just something that could be pushed onto the wayside so easily.
"I moved away and I found people who wanted me around," he explained, calming his voice now, keeping it even because none of this was really Scott's fault even if it felt like it sometimes. He wanted Scott to understand. He didn't want to blame him. Or at least not completely. "I found Maggie and Rory and even Jason who on most days I could tell you some pretty inventive ways I'd like to murder him. And they, they wanted me around for me. They didn't care that I was human or that I was good at research. They asked me out to do stuff, just because they liked having me around. There was no obligation, no necessity and nothing making them do it, but they took me in, made me family, made me Pack and that's more than this town has ever done for me."
And there it was, that brutal honesty. The facts, all laid out on the table for everyone to see. It felt strange, because Stiles had been hiding things from Scott ever since they had become friends. He'd hidden what he didn't think Scott could deal with, what he wouldn't understand. He'd dampened things down, softened threats and cut back on harsh truths. He'd essentially mollycoddled the guy, because he knew it wasn't Scott's fault he could be a bit dense. It was just the way that he was.
But that didn't stop the secrets from chipping away at pieces of Stiles, didn't stop them from robbing pieces of him and making him feel so incomplete. So broken.
"I didn't–"
"I know," he said immediately when Scott cut off, "You didn't mean to, I know, but it still happened."
Nothing would have stopped him from leaving. He always would have done it. There had always been something in him driving him to do it, Erica had just given him that extra needed push that had been necessary to start the ball rolling. And God how he hated her for it, for making him finally shatter inside, but he also kind of wanted to thank her. In some stupid inexplicable way, Stiles wanted to thank her for forcing him away because he would still be broken otherwise and right then, Stiles felt more whole than he ever had been in a long time. Not quite complete, but definitely getting there.
He escaped into Derek's room before Scott could say anything else. He was too terrified to hear what Scott had to say and he wasn't ashamed to admit that even if he didn't completely know why he was afraid. He knew that Scott wouldn't follow him into the Alpha's bedroom, knew that he'd walk away and sure enough a few minutes later that was exactly what Scott did.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, he fell back against the door, his eyes dropping closed and just stayed there for a minute, focussing on his own heartbeat so that he didn't have to pay attention to the one thundering across the room.
He only opened his eyes when the scent of salt reached his nose, was drawn into his lungs with a shaky breath. He stared at Derek, eyes blown wide and even without supernatural vision he would have been able to see the tear tracks glistening down Derek's face. He was staring at Stiles, completely unashamedly, but looking so broken that it would have been impossible for Stiles not to go to him.
Derek seemed to fold inwards at his touch, reacted almost like Isaac would when he curled around him, resting his head against the curve of Stiles' neck and pressing almost impossibly close. It didn't even feel like there was air left between them, Derek's fingers digging into his hipbone as he pulled them together. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulders, trying desperately not to think about the fact that the guy was only wearing boxers.
He knew because somehow he'd managed to slid in under the covers, some of them twisted up around one of his legs. He hugged Derek closer than he ever thought could have been possible and even then he kept waiting for the rejection, kept waiting for Derek to suddenly come to his senses and push him off.
"I'm sorry," Derek whispered, his face pressed into Stiles' collarbone, his arms wrapped tight around Stiles' middle. It felt strange, unnatural to be the one that comforted Derek because that just wasn't the image he had of the guy in his head. He hadn't even been completely sure that he had tear ducts and it didn't make him feel any better now that he did know for sure.
"I know," Stiles muttered back, tightening his grip on Derek's shoulders, digging his fingers into flesh just to prove that this was really happening. Just the ground himself. "I know," and he was surprised that he did, because he wasn't entirely sure of what he was forgiving Derek for. But he thought that maybe that didn't matter all that much.
He stroked his fingers over smooth, hot flesh, rubbing circles into Derek's skin and tracing patterns that seemed to be engraved onto both of their souls. He could feel the scratch of Derek's stubble against his neck and the wetness of tears soaking into his shirt. He could feel soft hair against his cheek and air puffing across his skin. He could feel it all, memorised every part of it because this wasn't how he'd expected this to go down, but he wouldn't change the way it had. Not for anything. He wanted to remember this, to remember the way that Derek's heartbeat thudded in his ears, private and so completely his, just for that moment.
He didn't even want to breathe for fear of shattering whatever it was that was lying between them, whatever was hovering unsaid and yet what was being screamed with every brush of Derek's thumb against Stiles' ribcage. He didn't know when Derek had slipped his hands up under his shirt, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The press of palms against his flesh made him want to squirm, but it made him feel so completely relaxed it was practically alien.
"I know," he mumbled one last time into Derek's hair when he felt the older werewolf's breaths even out, his heartbeat steady and sure as he fell asleep. Stiles shut his eyes and wrapped the scent of Derek around him like a comfort blanket, his wolf sinking its fangs into that feeling like that would help them cling on longer than they were allowed.
Like that would stop the inevitable.