Author's Note: Double-sized chapter here, my lovelies! I couldn't bring myself to split this in half so you just get all of it.

None of you have complaints about that, right? :)

Stiles let himself into the loft to find the rest of the pack was already gathered. It was a strategic move on his part, being the last to arrive in the hopes that the combined scent of the pack would help mask his wolf a little more thoroughly.

It wasn't that Stiles didn't trust Lydia's capabilities with the small amount of magic she'd picked up from Deaton, because he did. If he hadn't there was no way he would have asked her to make him the masking charm in the first place rather than asking Deaton directly. But, after the close call the night before, Stiles felt infinitely more comfortable with the added buffer of the pack between his scent and Derek's nose.

"Sorry, had to stop for gas." he tossed out flippantly, proud of himself for having the foresight to actually stop and fill his tank so the excuse would read as the truth. He dropped onto the couch beside Isaac, bumping their shoulders together in silent greeting. "So, what did I miss?" he asked, looking around the room while determinedly ignoring Derek entirely where he was perched on the arm of Liam's chair.

"Nothing yet." Scott pushed to his feet, standing off to one side so he could see the faces of every member of his pack. With a clench of his crooked jaw and stormy set to his brows, Scott informed them, "We might have a hunter problem."

"What do you mean 'might'?" Parrish questioned, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his thighs.

Scott glanced at Chris and nodded, giving him the go ahead to answer, "The Kearney's are an Irish hunting clan that have had an alliance with our family for as far back as either side can remember. Like our family used to, the Kearney's follow the code, the original code, to the letter of the thing. Unlike the Argents, they're a patriarchal family and the head of their clan is recently deceased."

"Dissension in the ranks?" Derek guessed, brows lifted.

Chris nodded the affirmative. "The oldest grandson, Carrick, is making a play for his grandfather's position. Unfortunately, his uncle Lochlann, the rightful successor, isn't willing to surrender the title."

"What does this have to do with us?" Liam asked, looking between Derek, Scott, and Chris warily.

It was Stiles who responded, nailing the point down correctly in one go. "Carrick thinks that taking out the McCall pack, a pack led by a True Alpha and three of whose number are the last remaining Hales, discounting Peter, is the quickest way up the ladder."

"It's the theory we're running on, yes." Allison spoke up from the other side of Isaac.

"Based on what?" Parrish asked, Deputy persona settling firmly in place.

"Quinn Kearney, the grandfather, might have accepted my father and I being part of a pack but Carrick isn't nearly as open minded." Allison explained, pulling her knees up to her chest. "If he, and those who follow him, can manage it, taking out our pack would allow Carrick to overthrow his uncle and take control of not only his own family, but what's left of the Argent's as well. If he can prove that his regime is capable of wiping us out, it won't be hard to convince the others to fall in line. After all, the McCall pack is big game. Especially for hunters who don't follow any variation of the code."

"Carrick doesn't?" Erica questioned, leaning forward, shifting closer to where Boyd was sitting at her feet.

Chris made a gruff sound in the back of his throat. "Carrick's code consists of 'Kill them before they kill us'. His grandfather was the last thing keeping him in line. With Quinn gone..."

"Carrick has free reign to lose his fucking mind." Jackson supplied sardonically.

Stiles, too restless to sit still any longer, got up to pace behind the back of the couch, head down, hand rubbing at his jaw as he considered the new information. "So, your dinner with the other hunters?" he asked without looking up.

"Lochlann and his second in command, Riley." Scott said, eyes tracking Stiles' movements the same way Derek's were, though their weight couldn't possibly have felt more different. "They wanted to size us up, figure out if the stories are true, if we can be trusted. I guess we passed the test because Lochlann called another meeting this afternoon."

"Hence the impromptu pack meeting." Danny supplied, earning a nod of confirmation from Scott.

"So, they think an attack is probable." Lydia frowned, not bothering to make it a question.

"That's what we gathered, yeah." Isaac said, reaching across the small distance between him and Allison, curling his hand around her thigh.

"Do we need to be worried?" Malia asked, shrugging when most of the pack gave her the side-eye. "What? I mean, is this Carrick guy an actual threat? Maybe he's all talk."

"If Lochlann thought him enough of a threat to warn us, I think we'd be smart to err on the side of caution." Stiles told her, his feet carrying him back and forth without thought.

"Okay, so what's the plan then?" Kira was the next to ask, rubbing a gentle hand up and down one of Malia's legs where they were thrown over her lap. "Wait and see? Or do we have an actual offensive tactic?"

"If we make the first move we risk bringing down the entire Kearney clan on Beacon Hills." Scott said in a way that told Stiles he was thinking out loud, working through his thoughts as he went. "If we don't want to insight a war we don't have much choice in the matter."

Stiles disagreed. "We could launch a recon mission." he suggested, garnering a mix of supportive nods and hesitant stares from the pack. Scott and Derek glared particularly hard at him but Stiles wasn't deterred. "Come on, what do we really know about these guys? How can we hope to defend against an all out assault if we have no idea what we're dealing with?"

"I hate to say it," Parrish shrugged when Derek turned his dark look on him. "but Stiles is right. Gathering intel is our best option at this point."

"See?" Stiles preened, nodding appreciatively at the Deputy. "Even Parrish, pragmatist to end all pragmatists, agrees. Do we know where Carrick and his band of merry men are?"

"Yes." Allison answered, ignoring the look Scott sent her way. "They've taken over an old cluster of cabins just inside our southern border."

"Perfect." Stiles waved his arm in a wide arc as if to say "Voila!". "So, we go on a scouting trip. Get as close as we can and try to get a feel for what they bring to the table. No engaging, no offensive action." he added at Scott's obvious move to interrupt with an objection. "In and out, Scott. Unless anyone has a better plan?"

No one else spoke up and Scott rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, considering. Stiles waited as patiently as he was capable, which was to say not at all, knowing that Scott would agree eventually. He always did.

"Am I the only who is going to point out the epic fail that was Stiles' last plan?" Jackson asked, one eyebrow reaching for his hairline.

Tension rippled through the pack, gazes bouncing between Scott and Stiles apprehensively. Stiles went rigid, gaze desperately searching out Lydia's. Scott was scowling as much as his face could manage and Derek narrowed his eyes hard at the way Stiles' heartbeat had taken off in a nervous lurch.

"I don't think that's relevant." Lydia stepped in, her tone pacifying even as she pinched Jackson surreptitiously to shut him up, much to Stiles' relief. "This situation is nothing like that. Jordan thinks recon is a good idea, too."

Stiles could see the war raging behind Scott's eyes, could smell the fresh flash of pain and loss that always clouded around him whenever someone brought up the Catoblepas incident, the moment that changed everything. Derek narrowed his eyes at Scott as Stiles glanced away, and Stiles had to wonder what Derek thought of the obvious shift in the room's overall atmosphere.

Whatever he picked up, he seemed to ignore it in favor of stipulating,"If we're going to do this, we're only sending people with actual, offensive powers. No humans except the hunters." He looked to Scott for his agreement, arms folded over his chest in determination. "Stiles, Lydia, and Danny aren't going anywhere near this."

As Scott nodded his assent, Stiles felt panic starting to swell in his chest, his lungs clenching tight around breaths he tried to keep even. The only thought racing through his mind, the thought he tried to convey to Scott using nothing but strained facial expressions, was Please, please, please don't correct him.

Scott frowned, trying to understand. "Stiles isn't-"

Cutting Scott off with a flail and a sputter, Stiles rushed to say, "Going anywhere near this. Absolutely not. Sounds good to me."

Derek's glower intensified, suspicion heavy in the air around him. Stiles willingly forgoing a mission was rare. So rare that it had never happened in the history of Derek knowing him.

Scott nodded again, still oblivious to Stiles' situation but appeased by his willingness to stay out of harm's way. "We don't need to send the whole pack." he declared, looking around the pack as he doled out orders. "Parrish, Boyd and Erica, you guys will take the front line with Chris and I. Allison, Isaac, Jackson, and Malia will hang back far enough to be out of range but close enough to back us up if we need it. The rest of you go home, but keep your phones on."

"Wait, you're going now?" Liam asked, annoyed that he wasn't on either string but used to being kept out of missions unless his involvement was absolutely unavoidable.

Scott had an overprotective streak a country mile wide, a trait Liam assumed he'd learned from Derek if the way Derek treated Stiles was anything to go by. Maybe they thought he hadn't noticed that way Derek, fully human and nearly as defenseless, had taken the brunt of his attack in the back of the prison van on the way to Mexico. But, Liam had noticed (neither of them were as subtle as they thought they were), and he'd simply filed that info away as absolutely none of his business.

"Shouldn't you come up with a solid plan of action before you go rushing in blind?" Liam asked apprehensively.

"Jesus Scott, what have you been teaching this kid?" Stiles balked mockingly. "Besides, we have a plan." he threw out, grateful for something to focus on that wasn't his own deception. "Wait for cover of darkness, get close, get info, do not get caught. Piece of cake."

"Assuming we don't get caught." Parrish sighed. Always the pessimist, that one.

"We won't." Scott said confidently as the pack rose, ready for action now that they had their orders. He turned his full attention to Stiles. "I don't want to see you anywhere near the woods." he ordered, no room for argument. "Go home, stay here, wander around the mall until it closes. I don't care what you do, Stiles, but I swear to God if I smell you in the woods tonight I will kill you myself."

"Duly noted, oh Mighty Alpha." Stiles grinned, bowing deeply just to be a shit.

Scott rolled his eyes affectionately and turned to Derek. "Keep an eye on him, will you?"

Stiles guffawed attractively, "Hey! I don't need a babysitter, Scott." he protested. "I've taken care of myself pretty well so far, haven't I?" He tried not to visibly flinch when Scott turned eyes just barely tinged with Red on him but wasn't entirely sure he succeeded. "Yeah, alright. Fair enough. But, I'm just going home, okay? I don't need an armed escort."

"I've got him." Derek said over him, ignoring his objections as though they'd never happened.

Stiles' mouth hung open, gaping like a fish out of water, as Scott nodded his approval and followed the rest of the pack slowly filtering out of the loft.

"You're not leaving are you?" Stiles practically flung himself at Lydia, eyes wide and begging as she trailed Jackson to the door. He was under no delusions that Derek was letting him out of his sight until Scott gave the all clear, meaning that his chances of leaving the loft with everyone else were slim to none. "Lydia." he said almost pleadingly.

She smiled that evilly sweet smile, eyeing him significantly. "I have a nail appointment to keep. Besides," her smile turned sharp, "you and Derek have a lot to catch up on. I suggest you take this golden opportunity to do that."

By the time Stiles recovered from the shock of his only ally apparently turning on him, the door to the loft was long closed and the silence hanging in the air was skirting the edges of oppressive. He turned slowly, and much to his surprise, found himself alone in Derek's living room. He knew full well that Derek hadn't gone far but thanked his lucky stars for the moment of opportunity.

"Where are we going?" Derek appeared out of nowhere as Stiles turned for the door. The smug jerk was leaning casually against the door, arms folded over his wide chest, eyes dancing with barely concealed amusement.

Cursing, Stiles retreated back into the living room, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He turned on Derek, heart missing a beat at the way Derek watched him like he was prey on the run rather than a fellow pack mate. "Do not, for one single moment, think that I don't know you're enjoying this." he sneered, clinging to his anger.

Derek arched a brow, smirking openly. "As long as we're on the same page."

"Are we ever?" Stiles asked waspishly, taking up his pacing behind the sofa just to put a barrier between them.

"Occasionally." Derek shrugged carelessly though his eyes tracked Stiles' every move. "We could be now, if you would just stop hiding whatever it is you're hiding from me."

Stiles swallowed tightly, the rope around his ankle suddenly a leaden weight against his ankle. "I'm not hiding anything."

"Lie." Derek noted easily.

Stiles cursed his betraying heartbeat, fingernails digging divots into his palms with the force of him clenching them. "Oh my God, fine!" he growled with a flail of limbs, putting every ounce of fury from the last three months into the glare he shot at Derek. "Maybe it's just none of your business, Derek. Why am I the only one in this pack not allowed to have secrets?"

"Because I don't care about anyone else's secrets." Derek shot back, temper flaring bright in his eyes. "Stiles, you reek of fear and deceit. Just tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help."

Stiles snorted bitterly. "Believe me when I tell you that you absolutely can not help."

"Is it the wolf?" Derek tried, pissed at himself for pushing but even more angry that Stiles wouldn't just talk to him. He'd honestly thought they were beyond that phase of their relationship. "You know that you can always come to me or Scott-"

"No, Derek, Jesus." Stiles sighed, touched by Derek's concern despite his best efforts to stay angry. "It's nothing like whatever your twisted mind is thinking, okay?"

"Then what is it?" Derek pressed, seizing the tiny bit of wavering in Stiles' ire. "It's driving me crazy, Stiles. I just... I need to know that you're alright."

"I'm fine." Stiles sat sullenly on the edge of Derek's coffee table, his head hanging limply down toward his chest. He was wearing down and he knew it, Lydia's words from earlier ricocheting around the inside of his skull.

You're not a coward, Stiles. Stop acting like one.

"Listen." Stiles looked up as Derek sat down on the sofa, just a few inches away, so close that Stiles could feel the heat of his body. "I have to talk to you about something but I need you to promise me two things, first."

"Because starting a conversation with that always ends well." When Stiles' wide-eyed expression didn't so much as flicker Derek hesitated, eyeing him warily, but ultimately nodded his consent.

"One, you have to swear not to freak out." The crease between Derek's brows deepened but he waited for Stiles' second stipulation. "Two, you can ask whatever questions you want. But when I tell you to back off, you need to back the hell off."

"Fine." Derek agreed, his chest tightening with worry as the anxiety-ridden scent hanging around Stiles thickened and condensed.

Stiles looked down at his hands, wringing his fingers together in an attempt to distract himself from the nausea rolling through him. "Something happened while you were gone." he said, glancing up in time to see Derek's eyebrows draw together, a weird mix of concern and confusion pulling them up in the middle. Stiles looked down at his hands again, steeling himself with a deep breath. Letting the Beta Gold bleed into his eyes as he lifted them, he forced himself to say, "I got the bite."

Derek went eerily still, his shoulders going rigid as his heart gave a heavy thud and his stomach sank down toward his feet. "No you... You were supposed to stay human."

"It wasn't a choice, Derek." Stiles defended weakly, scraping his teeth across his bottom lip. "There was a thing that happened and, as it turns out, sarcasm as a defense is severely lacking when horns are involved."

Derek blanched. "Horns?" he asked, the question seeming to leave his lips without his consent, sounding strangled and tight.

"Long story." Stiles waved it away, a humorless smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Blinking seemed to be the only thing Derek was capable of for a moment, but Stiles heard his pulse skip and skitter, could smell the disappointment that cut into him like Kira's blade slicing through air. Stiles felt sick, his stomach clenching and rolling around nothing. He'd hoped Derek would accept him as a wolf, the way the rest of the pack had, instead of whatever weird mix of disappointed and mournful he had going on.

"I know that I'm not the best candidate for lycanthropy-" Stiles started haltingly, only to have Derek regain the use of his voice.

Of course the second question out of his mouth would be the one question Stiles dreaded having to answer, feared where it would lead. "Can you control it?"

Realizing that his eyes were still shifted, Stiles let them flicker out and dropped his gaze away from Derek's. "You bet your ass I can control it." he deflected, his heart throbbing in his neck. "I'm the best wolf ever, dude. Do you think Scott would just let me wander around if he thought I was dangerous?"

"So... That's what you meant? About Scott picking up my slack?" Derek asked, something jagged and tormented in his tone. "He turned you."

Stiles kept his eyes down, unable to formulate a response that didn't make guilt rise up to burn his throat like bile.

"I thought you didn't want to be a wolf. You turned Peter down." Derek said, voice heavy. He still hadn't moved a muscle, holding himself stiffly as though waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Well yeah, but Peter is fucking psychotic." Stiles scoffed. "Like I said, it wasn't a choice that I got to make. Scott did what he thought was right in an impossible situation. I never wanted to be a werewolf, sure, but I also didn't want to be dead. Werewolf is definitely the lesser of two evils."

Derek finally moved, sinking back into the couch cushions and scrubbing a hand over his face. "The wolf I smelled..."

Stiles sighed, shoulders sagging. He stood up from his seat on the coffee table just to drop down beside Derek, deciding that if the jig was up he might as well let himself enjoy the proximity. He reached down, extending the claw of his pointer finger, and cut through the rope around his ankle with a snick. As soon as the charm was broken, Derek inhaled deeply beside him. Stiles thought he saw Derek's eyes flash electric blue but they were their normal blend of green and reddish-brown before he could tell for sure.

"I'm an idiot." Derek laughed humorlessly as the scent slammed into him.

"Obviously." Stiles held the rope out for Derek to examine. "It's not entirely your fault this time, though. I asked Lydia to make that for me. It acts kind of like a signal scrambler, creates a blockage between my scent and your senses so that you can smell the wolf but you can't connect it with my human scent. She's gotten pretty good with the magic stuff, you know. She's a total badass."

"Is asking why you wanted to mask your scent part of the 'back the hell off' clause?" Derek asked, rolling the charm between his fingers and glancing at Stiles from his periphery.

"Yeah, it is." Stiles admitted, leaning away when he realized exactly how close they were sitting. "I don't want to talk about it. At least... Not right now. But, I would be glad tell you all about how I became the glorious werewolf you see before you."

Derek laughed again, this time with a trace of actual amusement. "Alright, I'm listening."

Stiles repositioned himself on the couch, turning to face Derek while tucking his feet under his ass, and began, "So, I had this totally awesome plan, right?"

Waiting for word from the pack was normally torturous. Stiles was surprised by how much having someone to listen while he babbled made the wait easier. He hadn't intended to fill Derek in on the three months he'd missed, wanting to hold onto his anger a while longer, but he found the words flowing out of him like an open tap, smooth and gushing.

Something about being near Derek put him at ease, had the tightness in Stiles' skin loosening and soothed the wolf into snoring lazily, curled up adorably behind his sternum.

"Hold on." Derek cut Stiles off with a frown. "Your wolf didn't like her?"

"Nope." Stiles popped the P, sipping from the mug of coffee wrapped in his palms as he leaned more solidly against the arm of the couch and tucked his toes beneath Derek's thigh. "No idea why. Deaton said it was something about power dynamics or something, but I think it was just instinct or whatever. As soon as we broke things off he settled down. He still gets annoyed with her but I no longer feel the urge to rip her throat out when we're in each others space for too long, so that's a win in my book."

Derek hummed, but his face was pinched, his mouth set in a hard line.

"What?" Stiles asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

"Nothing." Derek brushed him off, shaking his head. "I'm just sorry I wasn't here to see all of it."

The twisted part of Stiles' heart clenched a bit tighter. "Sorry you missed all the fun of me turning, or sorry you didn't get to see me gored to death?" he joked, shooting for offhanded but falling just short of managing it.

"I'm just sorry." Derek looked away, his eyes finding the waxing moon beyond his giant window. "I should have been here for you, should have been here to help walk you through the transition like I was for the others."

"Yeah, well." Stiles shrugged, ignoring the way his stomach flipped at how eerily Derek nailed down Stiles' own thoughts. "I had the whole pack backing me up, you know? I think Scott forgot that I went through the change with him the first time, though. He was cute, spouting off werewolf facts like he was the Encyclopedia Lycan."

Derek huffed a thin laugh. "Sounds like Scott."

They fell into a silence that was almost comfortable, uncomplicated and easy, until Derek had to go and make it heavy.

"Stiles, I really am sorry for the way I left things. I wanted to say goodbye in person I just... Couldn't." he tried to explain, frustrated that he couldn't find the right words, wasn't able to string together a sentence capable of fixing things between them.

"You did what you had to do." Stiles shrugged, staring down into the beige milkiness of his coffee.

"You say that, but you still smell angry." Derek pointed out, his tone shot through with sulkiness.

Stiles sighed, scratching the line of his jaw. "Yeah, I'm still angry, Derek." he admitted, heat creeping into his words. "You left again, dude. We all needed a break, some time to get our shit together after the epic clusterfuck that was La Iglesia: The Sequel. But..."

"No one else abandoned the pack." Derek said, recalling the way Stiles had hurled the words at him like a punch.

"I just don't understand." Stiles grated, climbing off the couch to set his coffee down and put some distance between them. He was on the opposite side of the room, practically vibrating out of his skin, before he turned hard eyes on Derek. "It's not that you left, Derek, it's that you keep leaving. How can you keep doing that to your pack? How can you just leave like none of us are important enough to stay for?"

"I didn't just leave, Stiles." Derek snapped, his own anger rising up, bitter and burning in his throat as he thrust himself upright from his place on the sofa. "Leaving was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. But I had to! I was no use to any of you with my head the way it was. I was a mess, Stiles, you know I was."

"You could have been a mess here, Derek!" Stiles shouted, throwing an arm out accusingly. "You could have stayed. Don't look at me like that, you could have. You chose to leave. You always do! The rest of the pack might be okay with it, might accept that you won't ever be the guy that sticks around when shit gets tough, but I don't. I refuse to be okay with watching you leave, Derek."

"So don't!" Derek yelled, losing his grip on his barely restrained temper. Why was it always Stiles that broke through his walls, tearing them down like the bulldozer he was until nothing was left but dust and rubble? Why was it this pain in the ass kid that always burrowed under his skin and drove him mad in all the best and worst ways possible? "No one asked you to be okay with it. But Jesus Christ, stop fucking harping on me for it! I apologized, Stiles. What more do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop acting like you don't have anyone here who cares about you!" Stiles surged into Derek's space, shoving hard at his chest. He could feel his pulse thudding wildly in his head but the floodgates were open now, letting every painful, angry thing he'd ever thought spill out and it felt too good to try closing them again. "Every time I think you've outgrown your 'I am an incredibly surly island' bullshit, you regress back into it. I'm sick to death of watching you talk yourself out of letting people in, of watching you run away from the people who actually do give a shit. I get that Cora is your sister and you love her, and you need to visit her every once in a while, need to run with her and talk about the family none of the rest of us ever got a chance to know. I get it, okay? But stop pretending that she is all you've got! Our pack loves you, too, you thick-headed, stubbornly obtuse jackass!"

"I never-"

"No!" Stiles shoved Derek back again when he tried to step closer, eyes flaring Gold though the rest of him stayed human. "You don't care about me? Fine. I can deal with that, Derek. I think you made that fact abundantly clear when you left with hardly a word, and again when you were nowhere to be found when I needed you the most. But I know that you care about this pack! So, pull your head out of your ass and start acting like it."

"I didn't say goodbye because I couldn't, Stiles!" Derek snarled, grabbing Stiles by the biceps, dragging him in. He was taken by surprise by the sheer strength Stiles had now, struggling to get free, but Derek was still stronger and he refused to let go. "Do you understand that? I physically could not look you in the eye and leave. Do you have any idea how hard it is to willingly walk away from your anchor, from the only thing that keeps you human?"

Stiles stopped fighting Derek's hold the second his brain registered the word "anchor", his body going limp. His jaw dropped before he could catch it, his eyes going wide and startled as his heart lept into his throat and his wolf yipped excitedly. "What did you just say?" he choked, staring at Derek in shock

"You heard me, Stiles." Derek said, his voice much gentler than it had been the instant before. His eyes were softer too, no longer burning with rage but simmering with something else entirely. He leaned in close, his nose nearly brushing the upturned tip of Stiles' as one hand came up to cup the side of Stiles' neck. Derek and his wolf shared a hitched breath at the way Stiles' pulse thundered against their skin. "Don't make me say it again."

Stiles gulped hard around the swollen feeling behind his Adam's apple, his eyes searching Derek's as though seeking the lie. "I'm your anchor?" he asked, his crackling voice barely a whisper in the sudden stillness around them as both of Derek's hands curled around either side of Stiles' neck, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles just below the cut of his jaw.

"I was surprised, too." Derek murmured, so close Stiles could taste his breath dancing across his taste buds. "It doesn't make sense for someone so infuriatingly annoying to be the thing that's supposed to help keep me human, but it's you, Stiles. You got me through what happened in Mexico, you're the reason I was able to shift back after my wolf took over... You are what brought me back, what always brings me home, Stiles." he said, the words low and gentle. "Just you."

"I..." Stiles' breath caught in his chest when he tried to inhale, his senses flooded with the spine tingling scent of Derek, of pack and safety and a trust so implicit it made Stiles' lungs ache. His head felt fuzzy, a heaviness swirling around inside his skull where he could feel every throb of his heartbeat echo hauntingly. "You never said-"

Derek's chuckle was low, gravel rough and shiver inducing. "What was I supposed to say?" he asked softly, each word ghosting Stiles' lips as they left Derek's tongue. "Hmm? Would you have even believed me if I tried to tell you that you are the one thing, the one person in the entire world that bonds me to my humanity?"

Stiles' brain sort of felt like it was short circuiting. He couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, could only stare at Derek as if seeing him for the first time and hope to God his legs deemed fit to keep him upright.

"I understand if this doesn't change anything for you, Stiles." Derek said, the rumbling warmth of his voice stealing the last of Stiles' breath from his lungs. He shifted forward, closing the minuscule distance between them until they stood flush, thigh to thigh and belly to belly. He lowered his head, his lips just barely brushing the plush pink fullness of Stiles' mouth. Electricity zinged along Stiles' nerve endings and he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating all together as Derek whispered, "But can you blame me for wanting it to?"

Forget short circuiting.

Stiles' brain flat out melted into a puddle and gave up the fight when Derek's lips pressed firmly against his own. Heat exploded in the pit of Stiles' stomach, spiraling out along his limbs and rising to the surface of his skin in a dusty crimson flush. He didn't think, didn't even breathe, just gripped Derek by the hips and tried desperately to hold on as the world tilted out from under him.

Derek kissed him hungrily but with attention paid to every slide, every graze; A teasing nip at the curve of Stiles' bottom lip, a greedy suck to his Cupid's bow as fingers burned their prints into the skin at his nape. Stiles was drowning in it, the rush of arousal roaring in his ears, the mind bending realization that he was kissing Derek, was being kissed by him.

A low whimper snagged in his throat as Stiles plastered himself to Derek's chest, pulling at his hips to get closer. Derek growled in response, his tongue begging at the seam of Stiles' lips for entry. When Stiles obliged Derek pushed in, ravenously tangling his tongue with Stiles', a steady rumble vibrating in his chest when he felt Stiles push back just as eagerly.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours, in which the only thing that existed in all of time and space was them. Stiles lost all grip on reality outside of the way it felt to be so tangled up in Derek. He was having a hard time remembering what it felt like to not be fitted together like two people who couldn't possibly belong anywhere other than exactly where they were. It wasn't until Derek's hands spread wide on his ass, fingertips sinking into the soft mounds of flesh and kneading, that Stiles snapped back to himself.

One second he was fully committed to death by Derek's blazing kisses, and the next he was on the other side of the room, panting and swaying in place.

The look on Derek's face was dazed, pupils blown so wide they ate up all the green around them. He made an aborted move, a single step forward that he stopped halfway to the floor. "Stiles?" he questioned.

Stiles was pretty sure that that high, breathy tone was going to kill him on the spot. He fought the blush crawling up his cheeks at the sinfully debauched disaster that was Derek's usually artfully shaped hair, a mess his own fingers had no doubt created without his expressed permission, and tried to make the jumbled mess of words on his tongue come out in something that resembled sense. "You." he tripped over the single syllable, tried again. "You kissed me." he said, hoping the sentence sounded the same to Derek as it did inside his head.

"You kissed me back." Derek breathed, licking his lips as though chasing the taste from them. "Enthusiastically." he added with a slight quirk to one corner of his mouth.

Stiles reached up to press just the tips of his fingers to lips that felt like they were raw and swollen. He could feel the stubble burn pinking his face and couldn't help but smile a little himself before he caught it and schooled his features. "Yeah. Yes, that, uh, that happened."

"It did." Derek's smile was enough to knock Stiles back another step, had his blood singing in his veins.

"I have to go." Stiles wanted to rip his own throat out when Derek's face fell, his smile slipping into a puzzled frown. "This is. I can't. We can't. I gotta go." Stiles stuttered painfully, backing toward the door on legs that shook with every step.

If those sickly green-black clouds the preceded a tornado could be condensed into a vaguely face shaped arrangement, that would be the way Stiles would forever describe the expression Derek wore. "Now who's running away?" Derek asked through clenched teeth, jaw set hard but eyes wounded.

"Me." Stiles admitted, unable to think of anything more insightful to say while his mind was telling him to get the hell out of there, waging battle with his wolf who wanted nothing more than to launch itself back into Derek's arms. "Definitely me."

He didn't look back when he reached the door. Wrenching it open, Stiles flung himself into the hallway, not even bothering with the elevator in favor of fleeing down the stairs. He was man enough to admit that fleeing was exactly what he was doing. Things with Derek had gotten too intense, shifted from one extreme to the other way too fast, and Stiles couldn't get his equilibrium back.

One epic make-out session did not a relationship make, but it did change absolutely everything. Finding out he was Derek's anchor was a lot to take in, a lot to try and comprehend without running the risk of his head exploding. What did it mean, them being each others anchors? Isaac and Scott were each others anchors, but they were well on their way to being proper mates. And then there was Allison who, while human, was still every bit the anchor each of them were to one another.

Was it just a fluke that Stiles and Derek grounded one another in ways no one, nothing else could? Was it just the luck of the draw, the hand they were dealt, that they alone tethered each other to everything human about themselves? A coincidence, a random occurrence?

Or was it more than that? Did being Derek's anchor, and Derek being his, make them like Allison, Isaac, and Scott? Was it some kind of cosmic inevitability, something written in the stars way before either of them had even been thought of? Did anchoring one another to their humanity effect them in other ways? How they felt about each other, for instance. Did the fact that they centered and balanced one another, kept each other from losing themselves to the wolf, did that somehow influence their attraction, their emotional connection, as well?

Question after question wracked Stiles' mind, had him floundering to make sense of anything at all.

Stiles felt sick when he realized he hadn't actually told Derek any of his side of things, hadn't even told him that their feelings appeared to be mutual. He'd been so focused on getting away, on the complete upheaval of everything he thought he knew, that he'd given into blind panic and done exactly what he'd been so furious with Derek for doing.

He ran.

His stomach rolled as he neared his house, only just figuring out that he'd driven all the way home without paying one single iota of attention to the world around him. Grateful that he hadn't caused any accidents- Not that they would have killed him but he could have hurt someone else and that was not any kind of okay. -Stiles slammed the Jeep in park and practically sprinted for the house.

By the time he collapsed, fully clothed and face first onto his bed, Stiles was willing to admit he might have slightly overreacted to the whole making-out with Derek thing. Getting out of there, putting distance between he and Derek, had been the only clear thought in Stiles' head when he bolted. It had been the only reaction he could be absolutely sure of in that particular moment, the only thing he could possibly think to do. While he was sure that getting away and giving himself some time to think things through was a good idea, the way Derek had looked at him, so reminiscent of a recently kicked puppy, made Stiles feel like the unrivaled winner of the Asshole of the Year award for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

"Fuck my life." he groaned pitifully into his pillow, wrestling down the wolf who was snarling and whining in his head, desperately trying to go back to Derek's.

P.S: I HOPE IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT!