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‘Because you’re useless!’
The apartment is suddenly eerily quiet and there’s a ringing in Stiles’ ears. His anger and hurt blur his vision. He clenches his jaw, then smiles.
‘Fine. Then I’ll go.’
‘Stiles…’ Derek pleads.
Stiles doesn’t wait to hear whatever apology Derek has. He grabs his jacket and backpack, then calmly walks out the door, down the stairs, out of the building, to his car. He never feels so calm as when he’s angry. It’s easy to be angry. At Derek. At the pack. At the stupid chupacabra. Which shouldn’t even be here, because it’s too cold here most of the year. Even if it’s almost 90 degrees, right now.
It’s not until he slams the front door behind him that the calm fades and he starts fuming. He stomps up the stairs to his room, then slams that door closed behind him, too.
The room smells stale and unused. Which it is. He’s practically been living at Derek’s place lately, and he doesn’t think he’s been up here for almost two weeks. Even then it was only to pick up some books. He drops down on the bed, dust particles billowing up around him, tickling a sneeze out of him.
If Derek thinks he’s useless, then that’s what he’ll be. A useless human who spends his day staring at the ceiling instead of fighting to protect his home and the people he loves.
Some part of him knows Derek didn’t mean it, that Derek was just trying to persuade him to stay out of the fight, to stay safe. And as much as Stiles wants to stay mad about that, he can’t. He’d do the same with Derek if he thought it would work. Which it wouldn’t, and it doesn’t work with Stiles either.
Damnit.
Stupid werewolf.
Stiles rolls himself off the bed. Of course he’s not going to lie here while his friends are fighting a bloodsucking coyote-lizard-space alien looking monster. He grabs his old bat from where it’s sitting in a corner. All his other weapons are at Derek’s, and they’d cleared out his Jeep when it had to get some work done last week.
Stiles stomps all the way back to his Jeep. The engine protests the revving a little, but then Stiles is off toward the farms east of Beacon Hills. He’s pushing the speed limit, taking the turns a little too fast. When he’s outside of the town limits, he takes it up another notch. He takes the turn onto the McAllister land—where the chupacabra would most likely strike next—and he’s bumping over a dirt road, his suspension protesting loudly.
There are dark shapes moving across one of the fields. The pack is already here.
Stiles slams on the breaks, then jumps out of the car, bat in his hand, before it comes to a full stop. He jumps the little brook between the road and the field, and runs to join his pack.
When he’s almost there, one of them turns around. It’s Derek. He knows it’s Derek, even if he can’t see his face clearly yet. He runs a little faster. When he reaches Derek, Stiles can’t tell if the man is happy or angry at him being here. There’s no time to find out right now.
‘Go for its knees and stomach. Forgot about the neck, the skin is too thick there,’ Stiles says.
Derek just stares at him silently.
‘There’s two,’ Isaac says, popping up besides Stiles.
‘Good thing I came then,’ Stiles grins.
The fight doesn’t last very long, maybe a couple minutes. They quickly manage to drive the two animals apart, then split up to fight each creature in teams. Somehow, Stiles and Derek and up on different teams. It feels a little strange, not having Derek right beside him in a fight, but he has Scott, Lydia and Kira, and that feels almost just as good.
Stiles isn’t the one who delivers the killing blow on their chupacabra. He swings his bat too hard, misses the creature’s knees, overbalances and stumbles within range of its spindly arms. Spindly arms that are surprisingly strong. The chupacabra grabs him by the neck, its sharp claws digging into the sensitive skin, and it throws him.
It’s not the first time Stiles is being thrown. The feeling of weightlessness before hitting the ground. All the air is pushed out of his lungs. Pain shoots through him, whiting out his vision. He puts his head on the ground, closing eyes. He waits until the pain subsides a little and there’s oxygen in his lungs again.
‘Nonononono,’ Derek says, his voice the only thing coming through the pounding in Stiles’ head. His large hands cradle Stiles’ face and gently probes at the back of Stiles’ head with his fingers.
Stiles winces. It hurts, not too badly, more like he has a large bump. He blinks open his eyes.
‘Thank god,’ Derek breathes out. ‘I’m sorry. I love you. I shouldn’t have said you were useless. I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door without saying I love you, like we said we wouldn’t. You’re not useless. I know I can be overprotective. I’m gonna work on that I promise.’
Before he’s able to say anything, Stiles is being pulled into a hug. Derek’s arms wrap tightly around him and Derek’s face presses into Stiles’ neck.
‘You’re not useless. I get useless, because I’m always worried about you. I can’t lose you.’
Something wet is trickling down Stiles’ neck and he’s pretty sure it’s not blood. He quickly wraps his arms around Derek and presses a kiss against Derek’s neck. He feels Derek shudder against him in relief.
‘I’m not gonna die from a little bump to the head, you overdramatic asshole,’ Stiles mumbles.
Derek pulls back, eyebrows so high their practically in his hairline. There are tear tracks running down his cheek.
‘Little bump?! Stiles, you flew ten feet through the air. It’s a miracle you’re skull didn’t crack!’ There’s an edge of hysteria to Derek’s.
‘I’m fine,’ Stiles insists. ‘Maybe a little concussed, though.’
‘And don’t forget the holes in your neck.’
Stiles gingerly touches the side of his neck. The punctures aren’t very deep, barely deep enough to break the skin.
‘Nothing some band-aids and disinfectant won’t solve. Now, let me go so I can get up.’
In response, Derek slides one arm under Stiles’ legs and keeps the other around Stiles’ back. Before Stiles can register what’s happening, he’s being lifted and carried out of the field.
‘What are you doing?’ Stiles glares up at Derek. He doesn’t try to wiggle out those strong arms, though. They’re pretty comfortable.
‘I’m taking you home.’
‘I can’t leave my car here!’ Stiles protests.
‘Right.’ Derek stops walking then turns around. ‘Liam! Can you drive Stiles’ Jeep to my place?’
‘What? No! Liam already scratched it once when he was a passenger. He’s not—‘
‘Sure,’ Liam grins as he jogs up to them. ‘Keys?’
Derek looks expectantly down at Stiles, and Stiles knows he’s not going to win this.
‘They’re in the ignition,’ he grumbles.
‘Great. I’ll drive it there when we’re done cleaning up,’ Liam says before sprinting back to the others.
‘Shouldn’t we help them?’ Stiles opts. Not that he actually wants to. Monster clean-up is always the worst part.
‘You can’t clean up in your state,’ Derek says.
They’ve reached Derek’s car. Derek easily opens the passenger side door and sets Stiles down in the seat without having to put Stiles on the ground. He buckles Stiles in and that’s the last straw. When Derek is in his own seat, putting on his seatbelt, Stiles grabs his hand before Derek can turn the key.
‘Derek, I’m fine,’ Stiles emphasises again.
Derek closes his eyes, then stares at his knees. Stiles isn’t having any of it. He grabs Derek’s chin and turns his head so Derek has to look at him.
‘I love you, too,’ Stiles says softly and with as much feeling as he can. ‘And I’m scared every time we go out there, too. I’m scared you get hurt. Scared that I get hurt.’
Fear flashes across Derek’s face and his eyes drop to the wounds on Stiles’ neck. Stiles squeezes his hand.
‘But I’d rather be out there with you, to make sure you stay safe, to have you keeping me safe, then being home alone, pacing and worrying. Okay?’
Derek takes a breath, then nods.
‘Me, too,’ he says. ‘And now I’m taking you home and you’re not moving for two days.’
‘You realize you’re gonna have to hold me down for that right, because not moving is not something I’m good at,’ Stiles points out.
‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ Derek grins.
Stiles relaxes into the seat and holds Derek’s hand all the way back home.