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“Stop with your self-righteous bullshit!”
Derek merely grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes at Stiles, not willing to budge an inch. He’d already made the decision. He and the betas would go after the wendigo and Stiles would stay at the loft. End of story.
“You can’t just tell me what to do and expect me to obey!” Stiles yelled, his cheeks blotchy and flushed bright red from all the yelling he’d been doing that night. “It doesn’t work like that!”
“Why the hell not? I’m the alph―”
“Yes, you’re the alpha! Whoop-de-fucking-do!” Stiles angrily cut him off, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis, half of his argument expressed through his wild gesturing. “Get over yourself and stop treating me like a child!”
They’d been at this for hours: Stiles screaming, ranting and raving, at Derek at the top of his lungs and Derek trying to maintain his composure and calmly respond while the rest of the pack looked on in a mix of amusement and exasperation.
A wendigo had come into town a few days prior, attacking hikers and campers on the outskirts of the preserve, leaving only their mangled, half-eaten remains behind for the sheriff’s department to find. They pack had started to track it after the first bodies had been discovered, the Sheriff officially reporting it as a tragic mountain lion attack.
They had finally narrowed in on where it was hiding in the preserve. Of course that was when the wendigo decided to venture into town in search of a late night snack.
And of course that had also been when Stiles was walking toward the entrance of the loft’s building and had gotten attacked. Derek shuddered to think what would have happened had Peter not gotten there when he did.
After getting Stiles safely up to the loft, the wendigo limping away back into the forest, wounded but not completely incapacitated, Derek had laid out the plan. Stiles hadn’t agreed, obviously, and had begun demanding to go with the pack after the wendigo. Derek wasn’t having any of it.
“Look, I’m done arguing with you, Stiles,” Derek told him, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily. “Just do as you’re told.”
“I don’t have to listen to you, Derek!” Stiles exclaimed, practically snarling―as much as a human possibly could anyway. “You’re not my fucking alpha!”
It was a stab to the guy hearing Stiles so callously reject him, inadvertent as it was. He didn’t know whether to growl or whine. Instead he did neither and sternly acknowledged, “I know. But you won’t be any help out there.”
“Why?! Because I’m just the weak, stupid little human?!” Stiles snapped, curling his hands into fists. “Huh?! Is that it?!”
“No!” Derek hurriedly tried to explain, tried to soften the unintentional blow of his words. “I didn’t mean it like that―”
But Stiles merely rushed on. “Do you really think I’m that fucking useless?!”
It was the slight crack in Stiles’ voice, almost imperceptible but heartbreaking nonetheless, that broke down Derek’s carefully maintained resolve and he finally raised his voice. “No! I’m just trying to protect you, damn it!”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Derek!” Stiles growled indignantly. “I can protect myself!”
“I know you can but I don’t want you to have to!” Derek retorted, losing the tight rein on his frustration and anger. “I don’t want you to get hurt!”
“Why not?! Why am I any different from anyone else in the pack?!” Stiles demanded, waving his hand around to indicate the others in the room. “Huh?!”
“Because I love you! Because I can’t see you hurt!” Derek howled. The loft went dead silent, the only thing audible his panting as he tried to control himself, softly whispering, “Not again.”
He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair and turning his back to Stiles, not wanting to see the rejection in his eyes. He prayed the floor would open up and swallow him whole, feeling everyone’s eyes on him, wide and shocked.
He felt vulnerable, bared open for the whole world to see, for Stiles to see. And he was sure Stiles was disgusted, was shocked and angry that Derek would dare get his messy feelings all over him, taint him like he had tainted so many others.
He waited for Stiles to leave, to yell and scream, to just reject him already and get it over with. He waited, waited for the inevitable.
And yet the only thing he heard was Stiles’ voice quietly ask, “Derek?”
He held his breath, hands flexing anxiously at his sides.
“Derek?” Stiles said again, voice just as soft as the first time.
Steeling himself, Derek opened his eyes and turned around to walk back towards Stiles, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. When he was only a few inches away from Stiles he stopped, waiting for the unavoidable harsh words that were sure to come.
He winced when Stiles raised a hand, bracing for the slap that never came. Instead, Stiles tenderly brushed aside a lock of hair from Derek’s forehead, running the flat of his palm down over Derek’s stubbled cheek afterwards, softly reassuring, “Hey, it’s okay.”
“Derek, look at me,” Stiles urged gently, running his thumb over Derek’s cheek. Reluctant but eager to give Stiles whatever he wanted, Derek lifted his chin to look at Stiles, meeting his eyes for a split second before staring down at the floor. He basked in the warmth that spread through his chest when he saw the small smile Stiles had offered when he’d met his gaze, fleet though the moment had been.
Stiles slid his hand down lower, over Derek’s neck to lay his index and middle finger in the hollow of his throat. Derek could feel his pulse thunder against the cool pads of Stiles’ finger, the touch, innocent as it was, lighting a fire deep within him. It was an urge to protect, the shield Stiles from anything that could possibly hurt him, to hide him away from prying eyes and ears, to make him as deliriously happy as the mere touch of his hand made Derek.
“Say it again,” Stiles requested, his voice sounding oddly like a plea.
There was no need to ask what it was. Derek took a deep breath and confessed again, “I love you.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles gasped under his breath. Derek could hear his heart begin to beat faster and faster as a rush of happiness flooded his scent. He absolutely beamed up at Derek, his eyes sparkling. “You do. You mean it. You’re not lying.”
Derek looked up sharply to look at Stiles in confusion, brow furrowed deeply. Of course he meant it, of course he wasn’t lying. How could Stiles think that?
He didn’t get a chance to ask because the next thing he knew Stiles was wrapping his long arms around his shoulders and hugging him tight, pressing his face into Derek’s neck and breathing, “I love you too, you big idiot!”
“What?” Derek asked, awkwardly looping his arms around Stiles’ waist to return the hug. He couldn’t decipher the mix of emotions he felt. There was fear and apprehension and a good deal of confusion, sprinkled with some bittersweet sadness he couldn’t quite understand, but it was all overshadowed by the most spectacular sense of elated astonishment.
Stiles pulled back a few scant inches to look up at Derek, still grinning from ear to ear. “Why do you think I wanted to go with you so bad? Yeah, to help the pack but because I can’t see you hurt either. Not again. Not anymore.”
He lowered his eyes to Derek’s chest, voice much softer as he whispered, “It hurts too much.”
He moved closer to bury his face in Derek’s chest again, squeezing him tighter and laughing for no reason at all, just because he could. And because Derek was hugging him back, resting his cheek on the top of his head and squeezing his eyes shut, reveling in the feel of Stiles in his arms, in the scent of him, warm and happy.
“Uh, guys?” Isaac asked, eyes flitting between Derek and Stiles as they embraced, having seemingly forgotten about the situation at hand. When they very reluctantly parted, arms still wound around each other, and turned to Isaac who reminded them, “Wendigo?”
Stiles turned to Derek. “I’m going.”
Derek smiled widely. “I know.”
“As absolutely touching as this is, we should probably go before it kills some other poor idiot,” Peter quipped as Erica made over-exaggerated gagging noises. He rolled his eyes and stood from his seat, leading the others to the door of the loft.
Stiles loosened his arms from Derek’s neck, Derek’s face dropping as a low unbidden whine rose from his throat. Stiles immediately picked up both of Derek’s hands, intertwining their fingers and leaning up to press a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Ooh! I’ll go get my bat,” Stiles remarked excitedly, letting go of one of Derek’s hands and turning to make for the door.
Derek tugged him back by their still joined hands and cupped his cheek to lay a quick, gentle kiss on his lips. He softly breathed, “I love you.”
“Love you too, big guy,” Stiles returned immediately as though it was the easiest thing for him to do. “Now c’mon, we’re gonna kick that wendigo’s ass.”
Derek let himself be towed out of the loft by his hand, smiling brightly as he looked at the back of Stiles' head. Yeah, that wendigo wasn't gonna know what hit it.