Work Text:
‘What the hell were you thinking? Do you realise how worried everyone’s been? And your Dad? Stiles, would you at least look at me for God’s sake.’
Derek paces in front of the couch, anger flaring in his gut. Stiles is unresponsive, staring blankly at the floor.
‘I wasn’t-‘
‘That’s right, you weren’t thinking! You just assumed you could run off and everything would be alright.’
Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He looks ill, like he needs to be in hospital, but at the moment Derek doesn’t care. Because he can’t just disappear for twelve hours and not expect people to worry. That’s not how pack works.
‘I’m sorry, Derek, I just… ‘
‘Oh you’re sorry?’ Derek shouts back, so angry he’s in danger of losing it. ‘That’s all you can say? You’re sorry?
‘Well if you’d let me finish a fucking sentence, Derek, maybe I’d be able to explain!’
Stiles looks up, looking about as angry as Derek feels. He doesn’t care. Derek wants him to be angry, wants him to talk, to shout, to do something, anything besides staring at the floor.
‘So now you want to talk, huh? What about twelve hours ago? Couldn’t manage it? Couldn’t even pick up a fucking pen and-‘
Stiles stands up and storms towards Derek, his eyes burning with something stronger than anger; it’s like full blow rage is coursing through Stiles, moving him against his will, contorting his face into something Derek’s never seen before. It’s so alien, Derek wants to take a step back, but he doesn’t. He hold his ground, allowing Stiles to get closer than he’s ever been before.
‘You want to know the truth, Derek?’ he says, his voice rising in volume with each word. ‘You want to know why I ran away? Because I went to Allison’s grave, ok!? Because I couldn’t just sit there and pretend that nothing fucking happened! She’s dead Derek! And I couldn’t lie in my own fucking bed knowing that she’s out there all alone six inches under the fucking ground!’
He turns away from Derek, kicking a chair over in frustration. Derek watches it as it falls, smashing against the wall.
He doesn’t flinch as Stiles starts kicking the wall, slamming his head and fists into it like he wants to break through, to escape. Every so often, his kicks are punctuated with an angry growl, until Derek’s worried he’s going to hurt himself and steps in to intervene.
He takes hold of both of Stiles’ wrists, pulling him away from the wall.
‘Get off me,’ Stiles shouts, trying to wrestle his arms free. Derek doesn’t respond. He just pulls Stiles further into the room, practically dragging him to the couch.
But Stiles is hysterical, fighting so hard to get away, Derek has trouble holding him. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around Stiles, holding him while he struggles.
‘I. Don’t. Need. Your. Help!’ Stiles screams, slamming his fists into Derek’s chest. ‘I don’t need anyones help. I’m fine… I’m… fine…’
Stiles’ voice cracks into a sob before he can finish, collapsing against Derek and burying his face in his hands.
Derek doesn’t know what to do. Instinct had led him up to this point, but now he’s completely lost. He never thought he’d be holding Stiles like this; like he’s fragile. He never thought he’d let himself get this close. He never thought he cared this much.
Eventually, Derek lowers Stiles down onto the couch, letting him hide his face behind one of the pillows while he cries. His whole body shudders when he breathes, but he doesn’t make much sound. All Derek hears are the occasional sobs from behind the fabric.
‘I’ll go and make you some tea,’ Derek suggests, rubbing Stiles’ back carefully before walking into the kitchen.
There’s a part of him that regrets shouting, but he knows it was the right thing to do. Nobody’s got so much as a word out of Stiles since all the nogitsune stuff blew over, and everyone’s been worried, not just Derek. Maybe he’s been more worried, but he puts that down to the fact that he used to be the Alpha. It’s instinct; it has to be. There’s no way he feels this much about him for any other reason. There can’t be.
Derek carries the tea back to the couch, handing Stiles a cup and setting his down on the table. Stiles has stopped crying, but his eyes are still red and bloodshot and hazy with fatigue. ‘I’m sorry,’ he hiccups.
‘I don’t know what happened, I just…’
‘It’s ok,’ Derek says, putting his hand on Stiles’ thigh, and wow, yep, that feels right. He knows Stiles feels it too; the sudden electricity in the room. He can see it in his eyes.
Derek pulls his hand back because this is Stiles he’s talking about. Stiles who’s been the biggest pain in his ass since he arrived in Beacon Hills. Stiles who’s fought him at every turn, challenged his every decision. This is Stiles. He shouldn’t be thinking about him at all; especially not like that.
‘I err…’ Stiles says, cleaning his throat. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone. I just… I needed some time. To just think things through, you know?’
‘I know,’ Derek replies, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘We were just worried. I was worried,’ he corrected without thinking.
Stiles glances sideways at him, a small smile curling in the corner of his mouth.
‘You were worried about me?’ he asks.
‘Don’t get used to it,’ Derek jokes, punching Stiles’ arm softly. ‘Next time, I’m leaving you to find your own way back.’
Stiles laughs and something inside Derek’s chest relaxes, like he was holding his breath the whole time. He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen Stiles smile. It’s comforting; like things are slowly going back to normal, well whatever normal is round here.
‘Good to know,’ Stiles sniffs, rubbing his eyes again with the sleeve of his hoodie. ‘I’ll start getting lost closer to home from now on.’
‘You could try not getting lost,’ Derek suggests.
‘Or that,’ Stiles says, smiling again.
‘You know, you don’t have to run away from everything,’ Derek says, pulling threads out of an old pillow, suddenly very interested in the stitching.
‘Oh you know me, Derek,’ Stiles sighs, looking down into his lap. ‘I run from things. That’s all I ever do.’
‘You could try talking,’ Derek suggests, pulling a particularly long thread, his hands trembling with nervous energy. He rolls the thread through his fingers, feeling it twist into knots in his hand.
‘To who?’ Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows. ‘You know I won’t go to my Dad, and Scott’s definitely out of the question-‘
‘What about me?’ Derek asks, a little faster than he wanted. He can feel the heat rush to his cheeks and he knows he’s blushing.
‘What about you?’
Derek rolls his eyes. He can’t help it.
‘You could talk to me, dumbass.’
Stiles looks up and Derek can feel his eyes burning into him. The heat in his cheeks intensifies until it’s almost unbearable. He avoids Stiles’ eyes, concentrating on his hands, which are clenched tightly in his lap.
‘Why would you want to talk to me?’ Stiles asks. ‘I mean it’s not as if you exactly enjoy my-‘
But Derek doesn’t let Stiles finish his sentence. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s moving across the couch, pulling Stiles’ mouth round to face his. Then they’re kissing and for a moment, Derek thinks Stiles is going to pull away, but no, he’s moving towards Derek, wrapping his hands around his back, running them through his hair. It’s everything that Derek wanted, and more because he knows that Stiles feels the same way. He knows because Stiles isn’t shaking anymore. His hands are steady as they find his shoulders and back. Steadier than Derek’s, anyway.
‘Is that your idea of talking?’ Stiles murmurs when they pull away, eyes still locked on Derek. ‘Because if it is, I’d like to talk some more. A lot more.’
‘That’s fine,’ Derek replies, surprisingly breathless. ‘Really fine, actually.’
Stiles blinks, moving slightly closer to him so their knees are almost touching. There’s so much energy in the room, it’s almost hypnotic and Derek doesn’t know how he suppressed it this long. Because he loves Stiles, and it’s only now that he’s not afraid to admit it.
‘Do you wanna talk some more?’ Stiles asks, nervously biting his lip. ‘Like, right now?’
Derek nods, tentatively leaning in again, kissing the side of his mouth softly.
‘Don’t ever run away again,’ he says, breaking the kiss to look Stiles dead in the eyes.
Stiles smiles, and this time it’s almost like the old Stiles is with him, happy and carefree, and finally things are starting to feel right for once.
Stiles kisses Derek once, long and slow and beautifully passionate before he leans forward and whispers in his ear.
‘You know me,’ he breaths, caressing Derek’s jaw.
‘I never run away from anything.’