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Stiles isn’t sure how long it takes but he’s naked when he comes back to himself, when the scales recede beneath his skin and instinct fades down a bit.
Naked and wrapped around Derek.
He’s also, unbelievably, unbothered by both of these things.
It’s as if something inside of him has completely shifted in a way that goes beyond what the bite has done to him. It’s as if that tiny anxious voice in the back of his head that always told him he wasn’t good enough had been driven out right alongside the nogitsune.
He feels settled, feels at peace.
Like the transformation, like bonding with Derek, was what he was meant for all along.
“Stiles,” Derek’s voice is rough, raspy like he’s been crying.
Stiles finds himself torn over that because one part of him wants to rip anything that makes Derek cry apart with his bare hands. Wants to sink fangs and claws and venom into whatever or whoever it was until they’re unrecognizable.
The other part of him, the one that’s less instinctual and more logical, remembers Derek crying over his bleeding body and is infinitely pleased that Derek cares enough to be so broken up over what had happened to him.
“Yes, Derek,” Stiles stands to his full height and turns until he’s fully facing Derek, unashamed at his nudity. Instead all he does is roll his shoulders languidly, takes moment to feel the more defined muscles and bones shift beneath skin he knows could become armored scales at a thought.
“Are you,” Derek clears his throat and turns his eyes towards up towards the sky like he’s trying to preserve Stiles’ now nonexistent modesty, “you alright?”
He doesn’t fool Stiles though, not any more, not ever again.
Stiles had seen the way Derek’s eyes had tracked over his body, over his pale, mole dotted skin.
Derek wants him.
Stiles knows he does.
He can smell it.
Feel it.
Taste it on the back of his tongue.
“I’m perfect,” Stiles smiles even as he takes a half step forward to hook his chin over Derek’s shoulder and plaster himself against his back. He leans close until his lips are directly against Derek’s ear. “Don’t worry Derek, nothing’s going to take me away.”
Derek stiffens slightly in his arms but almost seems to melt back into him a second later. Like his body knows what his head hasn’t come to terms with yet. Like his instincts know that he can trust Stiles with anything and everything now, even if a part of him might have always doubted before.
Like Stiles’ words are the sort of confirmation he’s been waiting for without even realizing it.
It’s the sweetest thing Stiles has ever felt, Derek’s body yielding to him like that, so warm and trusting.
It’s perfect and Stiles wants more of it, will have more of it.
Because he wants Derek too, always has.
Stiles loves him.
The bite hadn’t changed that about Stiles, his love for Derek. Hadn’t tainted it or erased it. If anything it had made it all the more real.
Had made it firmer and more solid.
And now … now any reservations he might have had are gone.
Derek is his.
And Stiles belongs to Derek in turn.
They’re bonded in more than one way.
Sealed into a contract that Stiles will never allow anyone to break.
Stiles is a creature of vengeance and protection both and he will protect Derek against all who would seek to hurt him.
And, in turn, he knows that Derek will give him the devotion and care he’s always craved. Will give him the purpose he’s been looking for his entire life.
All he has to do is be patient and let Derek adjust.
And then … then they’ll give each other what they’ve both always wanted.
Purpose, protection, pack.
Love.
All in all, Stiles is certain of one thing.
He picked his master well.
~~~
The peace of that moment doesn’t last forever of course.
Scott, who Stiles remembers swatting aside like a particularly annoying insect, interrupts his moment with Derek a few seconds later.
“Stiles!” Scott practically screams as he skids to a halt a few feet away from where Stiles is still standing draped over Derek’s back, his chin on his shoulder. One of his arms is comfortably settled around Derek’s waist while the other has come up to trace delicate patterns against the front of Derek’s shirt, just over his heart.
Derek doesn’t even flinch at the sight or feel of the claws Stiles is currently sporting.
But Scott does.
“ Stiles,” Scott sounds agonized, devastation written across his face like he’s staring at a corpse instead of his best friend.
Stiles is almost offended.
“Hey Scott,” Stiles butts his head up against Derek’s jaw line, relishes the feel of his stubble and musky scent of his arousal that grows every time Stiles touches him.
Stiles should probably stop, should probably at least find some pants, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care about either.
“We’re going to fix you Stiles,” Scott tells him vehemently, “I swear we will.”
“Might want to get Allison to a hospital first,” Stiles points out with a glance in her direction.
Scott, predictably, switches tracks with ease. He’s on the ground at Allison’s side in a flash. his veins stark and black against his skin as he takes her pain. Kira is a step behind him now that she’s over her shock, her cell phone already at her ear as she calls for help.
For her part Lydia’s still sitting on the ground at Allison’s side, hands clamped over the wound on her stomach. But her eyes and most of her attention are locked on Stiles and Derek.
Stiles flashes her a smile and she nods in return, expression wary but not outright disgusted or disapproving, before she turns her focus back down to Allison.
“Hmm,” Stiles hums into Derek’s ear and is rewarded with small shiver that makes him smile. “That was easy.”
“You’re …” Derek’s throat clicks as he swallows, “not … you’re acting strange Stiles. Different. I think … I think we might need to go see Deaton.”
“Deaton’s not gonna be able to do anything,” Stiles tells him softly. “We both know that Derek. But if it’ll make you feel better I don’t mind.”
He doesn’t either. Doesn’t mind much of anything that’ll give Derek peace of mind.
It’s one of Stiles’ new goals now after all, making sure that Derek gets what he wants.
Making sure that he’s safe and protected and cherished.
“We should get the others up and out of here before the ambulance arrives,” Derek says as he shifts in Stiles’ arms. Stiles sighs and lets him go reluctantly. He’s rewarded though when Derek strips off his own shirt and hands it to him, a line of red dusted across his cheeks above the lines of his stubble.
“Here,” Derek flicks another quick look down Stiles body and he has to resist the urge to display. Derek clears his throat and turns away a second or so later. “Your clothes are … wrecked. You’re a lot bigger as a … in that other form. Ripped them completely apart when you shifted.”
“You can say it, you know,” Stiles tells him as he folds the shirt and ties it around his waist, more for Derek’s sake than his own.
“Say what?” Derek asks as he starts towards where Isaac and the twins are still lying prone on the ground thanks to Stiles’ venom.
“That I’m a kanima,” Stiles blinks, tilts his head, and then smiles at the slightly surprised look on Derek’s face. “I know what I turned into Derek. I remember everything.”
“That’s,” Derek frowns as he bends down and picks Issac up, “that’s not how it was before, with Jackson. You’re a lot more aware than he was. He didn’t even know he was a kanima until right there at the end.”
“I’m an entirely different breed of animal than good old Apple Jax was,” Stiles tells him breezily as he reaches down and grabs each of the twins by a wrist. When he tugs in the direction of where the cars are all parked they move easily enough. So he shrugs and heads towards the cars, the two of them dragging along behind him like the unwanted luggage they are.
Derek stares at him for a long moment, clearly surprised by the show of strength, but shakes his head and starts walking. If Stiles can already hear the siren in the distance then he’s sure Derek can too.
“Jackson had issues,” Stiles tells him as they move and can’t help the bark of laughter he gives off at Derek’s unimpressed snort and eye roll. “Yeah, I know, understatement of the year. But, yeah, he had like … identity issues. I think that’s what made him become a kanima like he did. But me? I’ve got issues too but I’ve always known who I am. Not counting the nogitsune that’s never been one of my problems.”
“Does it bother you?” Derek asks softly, hesitant in a way he normally never is. “Not being … having the bite change you like this?”
Stiles doesn’t answer, takes a bit to really think about how to respond.
There’s a moment of silence between them as they finally make it to the car. Derek hefts Isaac into the backseat with a gentleness that speaks volumes while Stiles shoves the twins inside with a deliberate lack of care.
He hasn’t really hurt them but he will if they give him any further cause or opportunity in the future.
He doesn’t have the fragility of his humanity or any other moral misgivings holding him back any more.
They’d hurt Derek, had hurt the entire pack. Had a hand in Erica’s death and had then forced Derek to kill Boyd.
Stiles will happily destroy both of them if given the chance or if Derek even hints at wanting it done.
Either way they’re only his rapidly forming list of People To Be Handled™. Their actions, or Derek’s whims if Stiles is being honest, will either bump them up a few notches or knock them down a bit.
“Here,” Derek’s at his side again, a small stack of clothes in one hand. “Always try to keep something in the trunk these days.”
“Such a Boy Scout,” Stiles teases as he reaches down and tugs his makeshift loincloth loose without ever looking away from Derek. He reaches out and takes the sweatpants from the pile and tugs them on lazily.
He ignores the offered shirt, too in love with the way Derek keeps tracing his eyes over the dips in his collarbones to want to cover them up again.
Derek goes to step back a second later but Stiles doesn’t let him.
Instead he crowds up into Derek’s space, presses close to him until their chests are touching and their breath mingles.
“I told you I remember everything,” Stiles whispers, mouth a hair’s breadth away from Derek’s, “and I meant that. I know what you said to me, when I was bleeding out. And I’m sorry I can’t be a wolf for you Derek.”
“You’re alive,” Derek rasps, eyes blown and cheeks flushed. “That’s what counts Stiles.”
“I’m alive,” Stiles agrees and then he grins, wide and sharp and just a tad too feral. “And I’m yours now. I’m going to tear anyone who tries to hurt you apart,” Stiles goes up onto his tiptoes, leans forward until his mouth can press against the side of Derek’s neck and then slide up to hover over his ear. “Master.”
He pulls back enough to see the way Derek’s cheeks are flushed and his breath shudders just a bit in his chest.
To see the way his eyes flash that bright and vibrant blue.
They’re going to be red again soon though.
Stiles will make it so.
Derek is his, after all, and Stiles will make sure he gets exactly what he needs and deserves.