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Stiles slams through the door to Derek's loft, panting, with his eyes darting around the giant room. It takes him a second to actually grasp what he sees, but when he does he has to stop and collect himself.
There he is, Derek Hale, all clean and healthy. In bed. Naked.
Stiles doesn't even take in the figure occupying the other side of Derek's bed.
He can feel the rage and disgust building up in the pit of his stomach, stopping to rest on the tip of his tongue. His entire mouth feels sour and gritty, dry with the understanding that Derek freaking Hale had felt it more important to get his dick wet than help deal with the clusterfuck that was last night.
The weight of that implication pushes all rational thought from his mind and forces him to lower his head to his chest. From that angle he can no longer see Derek's piercing red eyes focused entirely on Stiles' unmoving form, but for once, he feels no fear with the Alpha in the room. What he does feel is the need to give Derek a bit of the hopelessness and violence that he had missed last night.
Stiles slowly takes out the brass knuckles that he has taken to carrying around with him and carefully slides them onto his hand.
He can feel Derek's eyes following his movements and feels a sick satisfaction that the Alpha knows instinctually that Stiles will not back down from this. Gripping the knuckles tight and pressing down on the small latch on the right hand corner, Stiles starts moving towards the bed. He can feel the vials full of wolfsbane and mountain ash start to break apart and settle along the ridges of the brass, giving him that extra burst of cold confidence that he needs.
This man, this wolf, this alpha, who has betas and humans and crazy uncles to look after had chosen the worst possible time to take a breather. Stiles understands that responsibility for other people's lives is the worst thing to have on one's shoulders, he gets that everyone has to take a moment to themselves to stay sane. And, if this were any other day, Stiles would be congratulating Derek on finally doing something other than glaring people into submission.
But now, now Stiles is pissed. He not only saved a rival Alpha from cutting himself to pieces, but his tiny little human ass also took care of Derek's betas while he was having a little downtime. He kept his best friend, his brother, from committing suicide in one of the only ways that a werewolf can be killed. But worst of all, Scott had to deal with all of that pain, all of that guilt, and all of that crippling misery because of Derek fucking Hale. The same Derek Hale who was now looking at him like he had never seen him before, completely unaware of the fact that Stiles is in no mood for rationality.
Finally reaching the bed, Stiles recognizes the face peering up at him next to Derek.
"Ms. Blake," Stiles mutters, coming to a stop with his knees barely touching the mattress.
"I would have thought that you'd prefer the goofy nerds rather than the strong idiots." Stiles sees Derek's shoulders tense as he hears his tone and takes in his words.
"He's not the best influence," he says conversationally, bringing the hand with the knuckles up to his face, peering at them, "tried to rip a couple of people apart more than once. Succeeded too. But, what 'cha gonna do, right?" Stiles slowly turns to let his eyes rest on Derek, "nobody's perfect."
With that Stiles thrusts his knuckles into Derek's face, knowing that the wolfsbane let off by the brass will have already impaired Derek's reaction time.
The howl that rips through the room would scare any sane being, but Stiles is far past that point. If it weren't for Derek, Scott would have never tried to commit suicide the way he did, and Stiles has no inclination to forgive the Alpha for that.
With the force of Stiles' punch, strength that he had worked hard for over the summer, combined with the powerful wolfsbane and mountain ash, Derek topples off the bed, landing hard on the floor.
Stiles scrambles over to the prone wolf, ignoring Ms. Blake's pleas for him not to hurt Derek.
He plops himself right onto Derek's legs, forcing a groan from the man and then a yowl of pain as Stiles' knuckles find the softness of his underbelly, digging into the vulnerable flesh.
He doesn't say anything as Derek's whimpers die down and Ms. Blake sits back on her legs, watching. But when the room is blessedly silent he leans down until he is level with Derek's ear.
From here he can feel the soft growl emanating from Derek, one full of anger and a promise of revenge. He can also feel the stiffening of Derek's muscles as the man prepares to throw Stiles off and supposedly attack him.
Speaking softly into Derek's ear, Stiles responds to the wordless threat. "Now, now, none of that, big guy. I've got something to tell you." He pauses, making sure that he has all of Derek's attention. Starting up again, he sighs, "you know how you're supposed to protect your pack and be there for them? Provide that helping hand to wolves who are not only younger but have less experience than you? Well, last night while you were... having fun, your little band of misfits got a free joyride." He stops for a second, trying to reign in the anger that wants to punish Derek until he cries. "Last night, Boyd, sweet Boyd, tried to drown himself." Derek froze, his entire body radiating confusion and pain. "And Isaac had flashbacks about his father. He thought that he was locked in that freezer again, alone and scared of death. But guess what else?"
He waits again, wanting to hear Derek's voice.
After a moment, Derek speaks, and the guilt in his tone eases some of Stiles' rage. "What happened?"
"Scott McCall, my brother, tried to set himself on fire."
At this, Derek's shoulders slump and a soft whine comes from his throat.
Stiles supposes that he should feel some victory, some pleasure, but all he wants to do is make Derek feel his pain, make that damn stupid Alpha understand how big of a fuckup he made.
"That's right, you selfish son of a bitch," he hisses, "he tried to commit suicide by setting himself on fire. And while he may not recognize the implication of that, I do. I get that he was trying to do that in your honor, in remembrance of the family that you've lost, and in remembrance of the family that he thought he took you away from."
Leaning back, Stiles twists his brass knuckles again, watching the pain crawl across Derek's face.
Only marginally satisfied, he got up and stretched. "The pack will be here in a moment, they had to drop Allison and Lydia off at home. I offered to come and make sure that you were alive, but I see now that there was no need." Stiles smirks as he notices the glazed look in Derek's eyes, meaning that the liquid wolfsbane was finally settling in. "I suggest you do something to fix your mistake."
With that, Stiles turns on his heel, marching silently towards the entrance. Two feet away, the giant door swings to the side, showing the pack gathered in a group. Scott is the first to burst through, grabbing Stiles' shoulders to momentarily grin at him before rushing to Derek's side and wrapping his arms around the older man. By this time both Derek and Ms. Blake are fully dressed and presentable and Derek has his facade back in place, hiding his pain and listening carefully to what everyone has to say.
Stiles is long gone.