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“You know you’ll eventually have to tell someone.” Stiles’ fingers gently rake through dark locks, the weight of Derek’s head on her thighs warm and comfortable.
He stills. The silence gains in tension until, “I told you.” petulant, but laced with underlying, ground shaking fear.
She sighs. “I know Der, and I’m so grateful you opened up to me. But – this is greater than you and me. Your alpha- “
Derek starts whining, high and distressed, into the meat of her belly. She shushes him as reassuringly as she can, soothes the small tremors before they can become more than that.
“Not your mom, then. But Peter,” part of the tension in the ‘wolf’s shoulders alleviate, “Peter needs to know. I’m not allowed to exert justice for you on this, and I wouldn’t take that privilege from Pete – or your mother - even if I could.” She explains calmly.
Derek’s nose leaves her navel so he can turn to lay on his back. His neck is resting a few inches above her knees and from where Stiles is leaning against a tree, his hair contrasts with the luscious green under their bodies.
“You’re pack, you know. Mom wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to… go after her.” He mumbles lowly.
Stiles' lips lift up at the casual claiming. “I know, pup.” She caresses the side of his face and he pushes against her palm, nose clad to the inside of her wrist where her scent is the strongest. “But I wouldn’t want to go behind her back either.”
Derek’s eyes narrow back onto hers, shades of summer green and blue holding her gaze suspiciously. “You and Peter always deal with threats mom doesn’t know about.”
Stiles smiles indulgently. She forgets he is not that young anymore. Out of all the Hale children, Derek is quietest and – or maybe, thus, - the most perceptive. “Threats against the pack as a whole are our responsibility as Left Hands. But this is personal, before anything else. If – when – Peter and I have our own children, I won’t want anybody but us having the satisfaction of tearing apart those who hurt them that deeply.” Derek looks away, glassy-eyed and red-cheeked.
She shakes her legs to make him sit up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He comes to her chest easily and returns the embrace.
“I’ve said it before and I’m going to say it again. It was not your fault.” Her heart shatters when she hears his muffled sob. “You were the victim, and she’ll be punished for hurting you like that. You have my promise.”
In the middle of the Preserve, sat against a large trunk as she rocks them back and forth, Stiles makes the silent vow to be the catalyst of Kate Argent’s painful death.