FIC: Teen Wolf -- Pack Up; Don't Stray (6/6)

[the_deep_magic]

Title: Pack Up; Don’t Stray (6/6)
Author: the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (this part): themes of slavery

One / Two / Three / Four / Five

Facing Chief Martin alone was always a little bit like being sent to the principal’s office – if the principal were a frighteningly brilliant, hot strawberry blonde in inexplicable stilettos.  Stiles fully expected one of those stilettos to wind up jammed between the bones of his foot, but as she took his statement, she was strangely subdued – professional, but not cold.  Not exactly warm, either, but Stiles would definitely take what he could get.  They were all exhausted.

She waited until he was finished before saying, “I’m going to have to put you on unpaid leave until we get this straightened out, since you did technically break into that psychopath’s house.”

“Yes, Chief,” he said, just glad that he hadn’t been fired outright.

“I hope you appreciate that you’ve swamped me in paperwork by doing something inestimably stupid,” she sighed.  Cha-ching – another nickel.  “But you also exposed two homicidal lunatics and probably saved the lives of 37 wers.  Chris spoke to me.  He plans to claim ownership of the wers and make sure they’re cared for.”

Stiles swallowed, terrified to ask his next question.  “And Derek?”

“He’s untagged and wearing a beta collar,” the Chief began, and Stiles’ heart sank.  “That needs to be taken care of.  But since he’s been cooperative and it appears like he’s been taken care of for a while” – she looked sharply at Stiles and he gulped – “I’m releasing him into your custody.  If he shows up here again under the same circumstances, though, you know what has to happen.”

“It won’t,” Stiles said, frantically attempting to nod and shake his head at the same time, thus managing to come off looking like he had serious motor control problems.  So, pretty much his usual behavior around Chief Martin.

“Good,” she said with finality.  “Lahey should be finished with him.  They’ll be waiting for you.”

“Th-thank you,” Stiles stammered.

“Now get out of here, Stilinski.  You look like hell.”

To say Stiles ran from the room would perhaps be uncharitable, if somewhat accurate, but he was legitimately in a rush to get to Derek.  Again, he had to stop himself from simply flinging himself at Derek, what with Isaac standing right there and the sudden uncertainty of whether it was appropriate at all.  But the relief he felt at seeing Derek, uninjured and in mostly-clean clothes, was mirrored in Derek’s face.

Isaac drove them to the gas station where Stiles had left his rental getaway car, since it was currently his only form of transportation.  He would have to decide what to do with it soon, whether to return it and get something his insurance would actually pay for… or use the giant SUV for its intended purpose.

He and Derek didn’t speak on the ride home, but it was more a fatigued silence than an uncomfortable one.  Stiles parked in the garage – the car fit, but barely, and they trudged back into the house in a way that felt strangely familiar.  It became even more familiar when Stiles realized that, once again, Derek had nothing to wear but the clothes on his back.  Stiles hadn’t thought to bring the duffel bags home from the station.

He couldn’t help laughing aloud, and Derek asked “What?”

“You’re welcome to take the first shower,” Stiles chuckled, loopy with exhaustion, “but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wear my sweatpants again.”

The smile on Derek’s face was faint, but it was there.  “I’ll live.”

Stiles dug out the sweatpants.  He’d washed them since Derek had first worn them, of course, but he wondered, once Derek had shut himself in the bathroom, whether the pants now smelled like both of them.  Stiles tried to push that thought out of his mind, but that left room for all the questions he really didn’t want to think about until he’d slept for about three days straight.

When Stiles heard the water shut off and, soon after, the bathroom door open, he counted to ten before heading in there himself.  Once in the shower, he actually moaned aloud when the water sluiced over his aching body.  It was a little awkward with most of his left forearm double-wrapped in plastic bags, but it wasn’t like he had much hair to wash.  He stood under the spray for a long time until the hot, pounding water had turned his skin a mottled pink and thoroughly drowned any train of thought.

He stayed there until the water began to turn cold, then dried off in the steam-fogged bathroom.  His wrist throbbed with ever-sharpening pain, and he decided to do one more stupid thing – why break the streak now? – and take twice the recommended dose of his painkillers.  It wasn’t like they were even narcotics.

Nearly dead on his feet, Stiles stumbled to his bedroom… and wondered if hallucinations were an unlisted side effect of those pills.  Because sitting tensely on the edge of his bed, hair still damp from the shower, was Derek.  Stiles froze in the doorway.

Derek looked at him in a way Stiles could only describe as… hopeful.  “Can I sleep in here?  With you?”

There were probably dozens of reasons why that was a bad idea, but Stiles couldn’t articulate a single one.  They were both near collapse, neither one having gotten a full night’s sleep since before the full moon three days ago, and Derek was alive and whole and sitting on Stiles’ bed, asking to stay.  Stiles didn’t think he could deny Derek anything at that point, let alone something he wanted so badly himself.

Stiles simply nodded.  As Derek pulled back the blankets and got under the covers, Stiles just dropped his towel as he grabbed pajama pants and a t-shirt out of a drawer, not even caring whether Derek was looking.  He pulled the clothes on clumsily, unwrapping his cast and climbing into bed.  With Derek.

He didn’t even have time to feel awkward, because Derek reached out and drew him close, into the comforting heat of his body.  Stiles turned and nestled his back against Derek’s front so that his cast wouldn’t be trapped uncomfortably between them.  How had Stiles never realized how perfectly they fit together before?  Derek curled an arm around Stiles’ waist, and it was only then that Stiles realized he himself was shaking.  He was glad Derek couldn’t see his cheeks flush – after all that Derek had been through, why was Stiles the one trembling? – but he pulled Derek’s arm tighter around him.  The shaking must have faded away, because without a further thought, Stiles slipped easily into a deep sleep.

&&&

It had been early afternoon by the time they’d finally gotten into bed, so it was dark when Stiles woke.  Dark and hot, like he’d fallen asleep in front of the fireplace.  But no, that wasn’t right.  He hadn’t had a house with a fireplace since he was a kid, and this heat was a living, breathing thing, wrapped around him and – oh – moving, tightening itself so sweetly around Stiles’ body.  God, how long had it been since Stiles had woken up next to another person?  It was heavenly, floating back to wakefulness like this.  It felt so good all over that it took Stiles an embarrassingly long time to realize he was not only aroused, but also rocking his hips mindlessly into the firm body against his.

Before he could even fully process what he was doing, he felt a warm hand glide up his back and a quietly amused voice say, “You’re awake.”

Stiles stilled his hips immediately.  But Derek didn’t pull away – and neither did Stiles.  He gave himself a few long moments to sort everything out before speaking.  The pathetic painkillers were wearing off, because Stiles’ wrist was beginning to hurt even more.  He couldn’t see a clock, but it was so dark that he must’ve been out for hours.  At some point, he’d turned in his sleep to face Derek and they were now pressed chest to chest.  Oh, and Stiles had until just recently been rubbing his raging erection against Derek’s thigh.  “Please tell me I haven’t been humping you in my sleep.”

“No, I could hear your breathing, and I’m pretty sure you were mostly awake when the humping started,” Derek said in that same strangely light tone of voice.

“Oh… well, that’s… only slightly mortifying.”  But Derek still wasn’t pulling away.  Why wasn’t Derek pulling away?  For that matter, why wasn’t Stiles?

“You’re not fleeing in shame,” Derek observed, damn him.

“Um, neither are you.”  Was this conversation actually happening?  It must be, because Derek shifted Stiles a little higher against his body and turned just enough so Stiles could feel an answering hardness pressed against his own hip.  “Oh, okay,” Stiles said stupidly.  “Derek, is this…”

A good idea?  Disastrous to our collective mental health?

“I know you’ve wanted me since the first time I scented you,” Derek said, his voice still quiet but much more solemn now.  “I didn’t say anything because it was none of my business, and I thought you might be embarrassed by it.”

Stiles had been ashamed, but not for the reasons Derek probably assumed.  It had nothing to do with the fact that he was a werewolf.  But Derek had never been just a warm body to Stiles, especially not now.  He had suspected that Derek had been used for that body long before Kate actually confirmed it.

Stiles’ eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, and he pulled back just enough to be able to look at Derek, touch his face gently.  “I wasn’t – I’m not – embarrassed to want you.  But I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

By reminding you of her.  By pressuring you into anything.  By starting something I can’t finish when you leave.

“I want this – want you,” Derek whispered, pressing their foreheads together.  “Is that enough?”

Stiles’ blood burned at the words, and in a perfect world, they would be more than enough.  “You don’t owe me this,” Stiles murmured brokenly.

Derek snorted angrily and ground their hips together hard, forcing a gasp out of Stiles.  “Does this feel like reluctant gratitude to you?”

“Not unless you’ve got a whole fruit basket down your pants,” Stiles moaned.  “Which – oh god – it feels like you might.”  Right, sex had a tendency to short-circuit his brain-to-mouth filter, which was flimsy at the best of times.  It had been long enough that he’d forgotten that.

But Derek just laughed.  Really, honest-to-god belly laughed, which would’ve turned Stiles on even if he hadn’t been pressed so close to Derek that he could feel it vibrate all the way down his body.  When Derek finally stopped, he kissed Stiles’ cheek, lips dragging hotly to whisper in his ear, “Don’t we both deserve something good?”

Stiles’ resolve crumbled like a shoddy sand castle.  Even if they could only have this – this one time together, this one stolen moment – it would be worth it.  And no matter what he’d been through, Derek had the right to ask for what he wanted, and he was asking now, with a slow, deep kiss and hands wrapping around Stiles’ lower back, fingers digging in hard enough to make Stiles moan.

When they broke for air, Derek asked “What do you want?” at the same time Stiles gasped, “Please, just touch me.”  Derek nodded, hands pushing up under Stiles’ t-shirt, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.

Then Derek shifted his weight, putting a little too much pressure on Stiles’ ribs, and Stiles groaned in pain.  Derek jerked back like he’d been burned.  “I forgot, you’re hurt.”

Stiles rolled back to press against Derek.  “Don’t you fucking stop, I swear to god,” he growled, as though he had any way of carrying out a threat.  “Just… be gentle with the ribs?  And the arm.”

Derek nodded again, helping Stiles get his shirt over his head, past the cast and off.  Then he carefully maneuvered them until Stiles was on his back on the bed and Derek was leaning over him, giving Stiles just the barest hint of his weight as they kissed.

But Stiles wanted to touch, too, and he pushed at Derek until they were both on their sides and Stiles could run his good hand all over that thickly-muscled chest he’d been dreaming about.  He was amazed at how smooth the skin was, and quite happily surprised at how sensitive Derek’s nipples were.  In fact, Derek sounded just as surprised when Stiles flicked lightly at one and Derek gasped, hips thrusting forward.

Stiles gave a soft victory cry and kept pushing until Derek was on his back and Stiles could pinch and tug at one of Derek’s nipples while fluttering his tongue over the other.  It was hard to hold himself up on his left elbow, but infinitely worth it for the way Derek was trying so hard not to writhe and utterly failing at it.  And then Derek started saying Stiles’ name, quietly but with such aching desire that Stiles cursed his injured body.  God, how would Derek sound if Stiles could just straddle him right now and ride him for all he was worth?

But when Derek pulled Stiles’ head up to kiss him, folding Stiles’ body carefully in those massive arms, Stiles wasn’t sure he’d survive the intimacy of Derek’s body inside his.  He was having a hard enough time producing rational thought when Derek shoved a hand inside Stiles’ pajama bottoms and got a good, firm grip on his cock.  Here, he didn’t have to be gentle, and Stiles told him so in no uncertain terms.

Through the haze of pleasure, Stiles had to keep reminding himself to check in with Derek, to watch his face for anything he wasn’t saying, any reservations he wasn’t expressing.  But he was looking increasingly needy, so with great determination, Stiles set a hand over Derek’s arm and stuttered out “W-wait.”

Derek stopped, looking alarmed, but Stiles reassured him with a kiss and refused to let him pull his hand away.  Stiles set his own hands on the waistband of Derek’s sweatpants and pushed a little.  “Is this okay?”

Derek nodded and Stiles tugged down – or tried to.  That damned cast kept getting in the way of everything.  It soon became obvious that he needed Derek’s help, and by the time they had managed to push the sweatpants down around Derek’s knees and done the same for Stiles’ pajama pants, they were both laughing, giddy with lust.  When their mouths came crashing back together, clumsily but passionately, Stiles made sure to encircle both of their cocks in his long-fingered grip.  Derek reached down to help him, and soon they were thrusting against each other in the combined circle of their joined hands.

It had been too long and it was far too good for Stiles to last.  He gasped helplessly as their cocks dragged against each other, leaking just enough to make the slide of skin pleasurable.  If Stiles had been thinking, he’d have grabbed the lube from the drawer, but he wasn’t about to let go now, not when he was so close.  “Derek,” he moaned, “I’m—”

“Almost there,” Derek finished for him, and as close as he was, Stiles’ orgasm still took him by surprise, a burst of pleasure so strong that he tightened his fingers and curled his body hard against Derek as he came.  He looked up just in time to see Derek’s eyes flash red, setting off another shudder of bliss as he felt Derek shoot against his stomach.

Derek released his grip first, but didn’t pull away from Stiles.  He lifted his hand to his mouth, and that was them Derek was tasting, together, and it had never been Stiles’ favorite thing, but he took one of Derek’s fingers and licked it clean.  The bitter flavor was worth it, because Derek growled possessively and pulled him in for a hard, deep kiss, any lingering bitterness melting away until it was just the taste of Derek’s mouth.

Stiles meant to grab some tissues – or at least a corner of the sheet – to clean them up, he really did, but Derek didn’t seem bothered or inclined to let him go, even as their kiss devolved into simply laying together, breathing the same air.  And it felt so right, drifting helplessly to sleep again held tight against Derek’s body, Derek’s heartbeat steady and strong under Stiles’ hand.

&&&

Despite all that had happened, the morning light made Stiles enough of a coward to briefly consider just leaving a note.  Derek was sleeping so soundly that Stiles hated to wake him, but Stiles legitimately had somewhere to be.  He found he couldn’t extricate himself from Derek’s arms without waking the other man, and the slight whimper of loss Derek made caused Stiles’ heart to clench.

“I have to go get my wrist looked at,” Stiles whispered, kissing Derek’s forehead and tucking the sheet back around him.  “Then I have to go back by the estate and check on the other packs.”  A half-conscious growl rumbled up through Derek’s chest.  Stiles just barely kept himself from giggling.  “It’s all right.  There’s nobody there to hurt me anymore.  You sleep as long as you need to.  I may be away a while.”

Derek made another small, sad sound, but Stiles stroked his hair until his breathing evened out and he fell back to sleep.

Stiles had to rush to the hospital to keep the appointment Scott’s mom had somehow managed to make with the orthopedist at the last minute, but he wasn’t expecting Mrs. McCall to already be on shift and waiting for Stiles when he arrived.  As soon as she saw him, she wordlessly wrapped her arms around him, and Stiles hugged her back.  She was the closest thing he had to a mom, and she rubbed a comforting hand across his shoulders.

Then she let go of him and cuffed him gently upside the back of the head.

“Ow!” Stiles yelped, more out of indignation than pain.  “Um, concussion.”

“Which you wouldn’t have gotten if you’d asked Scott for help a little earlier,” she said, obviously trying hard to hold on to a frown in the face of Stiles’ gobsmacked expression.  “You know my son would follow you into hell itself.  I know you’d do the same for him, but still, please do not go charging into hell without backup again.”

“Believe me, I don’t plan on it,” Stiles said, rubbing the back of his head mostly out of embarrassment.  At least Mrs. McCall hadn’t called him an idiot.  Well, not in so many words.  “I’m actually thinking of taking a nice, cushy desk job.”

“Liar,” she said with an eye roll, but gave him another quick, affectionate squeeze. “The doctor is waiting for you.  He’s been instructed not to give you a good scolding as long as you don’t end up back here a third time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles said, meaning it.

Sure enough, the X-ray showed that the fracture had worsened and his wrist had to be reset and recast, but at least he was given decent painkillers this time.  He couldn’t drive while taking them, but Scott, who had also been given a temporary suspension for his role in planning Stiles’ break in, had offered to chauffeur Stiles around.  They took the rented SUV.

“Allison and the baby are with her parents,” Scott said.  Since Chris now had ownership of the estate and no plans to press charges against his daughter for breaking and entering, she had been allowed to go free.  “She said they needed to talk.”

That was the understatement of the millennium, but Stiles kept his opinion to himself, as he actually pretty much owed his life to Allison.  And, to a lesser extent, Chris, which Stiles tried not to think about.

They arrived at the Argent estate just before noon, and Scott looked extremely nervous as they got out of the car.  “It’s just… I’ve never been around this many wers before.”

“Werewolves,” Stiles corrected, “and they know you helped free them.  Plus” – Stiles gave him a giant, manly bear hug, only somewhat inspired by the painkillers – “now you smell like me.”

Scott batted him off.  “And that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, yeah, werewolves love it.  Eau de Stilinski is very in this season.  David Beckham’s doing the ad campaign.”

“But I smell like Allison, too.  And does she have, like, an Argent smell?  Because I think that would be bad.”

“Oh my god, Scott, you’re not going to get eaten,” Stiles groaned.  “If you’re that scared, just stick close to me.  Or wait in the car.”

But once they’d been invited into the house – where children were running around happily, thrilled to have so much room to chase each other – Scott seemed to relax.  Stiles got very thorough hugs from everybody, adults included, and he’d never been so happy to have done something stupid in his life.

The alpha he’d spoken to that night didn’t hug him, but she did press her nose to his cheek, almost like a kiss, but Stiles knew she was scenting him.  As she pulled back, she gave him a sly look that he didn’t have time to interpret before she led him and Scott into the living room.  There, on a wide leather couch, a middle-aged man and a younger woman were waiting for them.

“My pack, the Lopez pack, is the largest here,” she said, “but these are the alphas of the McCaimbridge” – she nodded to the man – “and De Luca packs” – she nodded to the woman.

Stiles shook their hands warmly, trying to show due deference.  “Pleased to meet you.  This is my partner, Scott McCall.  He’s also one of my oldest friends and he— well, the other night would have ended very differently if it weren’t for his help.”

“Our thanks to you, Officer McCall,” said the McCaimbridge alpha, and Scott beamed like a happy puppy.  Stiles had to hand it to him – he could take the tension out of a room like no one else.

“Please, sit,” the De Luca alpha said, gesturing to the love seat, which was easily large enough for both Stiles and Scott.

“I’ve come to find out what you all need,” Stiles began.  “I know there’s some food and clothing in the house, but I think you should plan on staying here at least a week before we can safely transport you.”

“And we’ll be kept together?” the younger woman asked pointedly.

“I can’t guarantee your packs will all be in the same vehicle or leave at the same time, but you’ll all be headed to the same place.  Once you’re there, your living arrangements are up to you.”

“Please don’t think me ungrateful,” the McCaimbridge alpha said, “but how do we know our destination will actually be a safe one?  You’ve offered so little in the way of details.”

“And I wish I could offer you more, but I don’t know them,” Stiles admitted.  “So much is kept secret for a reason.  I can only say that the man who will be arranging this… my parents trusted him, and I’d trust him with my life, if I were in your position.  He’s been helping werewolves for years.”

“Albert, what choice do we have?” the De Luca alpha asked softly.  “The only other option is being sold off and split up.”

“Trust me, that’s the last thing I want to happen,” Stiles said as reassuringly as he could.  “And with the Argents down, people like them will be lying low for a while.  Even Services will want to keep a good image in the press.  It’s the perfect time to transport you all.  Still, traveling in small groups is faster and staggering them will draw less attention.”

The Lopez alpha nodded.  “Officer McCall, will you take note of the McCaimbridge and De Luca packs’ requirements?  I’ve already composed a list, and I wish to speak to Officer Stilinski privately for a moment.”

Stiles was happy to see that Scott nodded without hesitation, but he didn’t quite know what to expect as the older woman led him into a small hallway behind the living room.  When they were alone, she said, “I knew the Hale family very well.  You’ve neglected to mention what will happen to Derek.”

Stiles’ mouth suddenly went dry.  “I, um.  He may be needed for testimony against Gerard, but the plan is for him to go up north, too.  I’m not sure if I’ll be taking him or if he’ll be going up with some of you, but he’ll be with you in the sanctuary.”

“Are you sure that’s what he wants?”

That threw Stiles for a loop.  “Of course.  Why wouldn’t he?”

“Have you asked him?”

“I—no, but—”

“Don’t be foolish.  I could hear your heart when you spoke of sending him north just now.  More importantly, I can smell him on you, and not on any fabric this time.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped open and he could feel himself flush bright red.  He hadn’t had time for a proper shower that morning; he’d just wiped down the best he could with a wet cloth before getting dressed.  It never even occurred to him that he’d be walking into a house full of people who could smell—

“Relax, boy,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder.  “It’s only up close that it’s noticeable, and then only because I’m familiar with his scent.”

“It— We— I didn’t mean—”

“I can’t speak for him,” she said firmly, “but the Derek Hale I knew doesn’t need the tentative promise of freedom alone in a strange place.  He needs someone who cares for him.  Whom he can care for.”

It was as if she were cracking open Stiles’ head and laying bare all the thoughts he’d been trying to push aside.  “But what about building a new pack?  A family?  I can’t give him that, and even if I could, he’d have to be tagged.”

“Which is why you need to ask him yourself, and be prepared for either answer.”

Stiles didn’t know what else to do but nod.  The alpha reached in her pocket and handed him a sheet of paper, which he was relieved to see was simply the list of her pack’s needs.  But before they headed back to the others, she squeezed her hand over his, and he could easily feel the superhuman strength there.  “The kindest thing you can do for him right now is ask him what he wants, let him make up his own mind.  And tell him what you’re willing to give.”

Back in the living room, the other two alphas had taken Scott’s pad of paper and were making their own lists – because Scott was being swarmed by children.  One little boy stuck his nose in Scott’s armpit and sniffed.  “You smell like baby.”

“Hey, you’re right!” Scott said, any awkwardness of the situation immediately overtaken by delight at having a new audience to tell about his daughter.  “My wife just had a little girl.  What else do you smell?”

The boy sniffed Scott’s shirt collar and grimaced.  “Baby puke.”

“Yeah, they do that a lot,” Scott said solemnly.  “And that’s probably the least gross thing they do.”

&&&

Scott helped Stiles fill the SUV with provisions for the three packs.  Stiles was pretty sure his credit card was suffering from friction burns by the end of it, but Chris would be paying him back before the bill came in; Allison would make sure of it.

They went back to the estate to deliver the food and clothes (and toys for the kids – that’s what Stiles got for bringing Scott with him: Please?  Henry will love this, I just know it).  The alphas thanked them, and Stiles gave them his and Scott’s phone numbers and a promise to be in touch soon about the travel.

Then he had to go to Deaton.  He didn’t want to do this over the phone, and Scott knew practically everything anyway.  Besides, he could use Scott’s help in coordinating things, as the orthopedist had also figured out about Stiles’ bruised ribs and ordered bed rest.  But before Stiles told Scott their destination, he said, “Listen, I’m not asking you to lie to Allison, but I don’t want you to tell anyone who my contact is.  I haven’t told anybody – even Derek only knows his name.  They’ve never actually met.  Just… I made a promise that no Argents would be involved in this part, not even Allison.”

“Dude, I don’t tell Allison everything.”  Stiles leveled Scott with a significant look.  “No, seriously, that thing senior year with the vat of pickles and the goats?  She doesn’t know that was us.”

Stiles was half-tempted to make Scott pinky swear – it had apparently worked with the Great Goat Caper of 2005 – but he knew he didn’t need to.  Despite Scott’s occasional tendency to blab about personal information, Stiles couldn’t actually think of a single instance when he’d specifically told Scott to keep something to himself and Scott had failed him.

“Take me to Dr. Deaton’s office.  It should be just about closing time when we get there.”

Scott just gaped.  “Dr. Deaton, as in the vet?  As in the guy I worked for all through high school?  He’s the one running the wer…wolf underground railroad?”

“He’s not running it, he’s just the local contact for this area.  Now will you just go already?  The painkillers are starting to wear off and I’m beginning to wonder if I should have told you at all.”

Stiles was mostly joking about that last part, but Scott looked affronted.  “You can trust me, Stiles.  I know how important this is to you.”  Then, quieter, “I remember your mom.  I remember how passionate she was about this.  Your dad, too.  I just didn’t understand because I didn’t know any werewolves.  I didn’t know what the big deal was.”

“Me neither,” Stiles admitted.  “I don’t think I’d ever spoken more than a few words to a werewolf before Derek.”

Scott looked like he wanted to ask something, but mercifully, he just said, “So, Deaton, huh?  I can kind of see that.  He always seemed like he knew more than he was telling me.  I just thought it was because he thought I was a spazz.”

“You were a spazz,” Stiles chuckled.  “Still are.”

When they got to the vet’s office, the last customer of the day was just leaving with a stitched-up, pissed-off looking Pomeranian.  Deaton looked at Stiles first, so he knew what the visit was about, but he immediately turned to Scott.  “Mr. McCall!  It’s been a long time.”

“Uh, please just call me Scott, sir,” Scott said, blushing.

“Fair enough.  As long as you don’t call me ‘sir.’  Come back to my office.  I’ll make us some coffee.”

But when they got back to his office, he didn’t even reach for the coffeemaker.  He just looked at Stiles.  “I don’t see any more kittens.  And I assume this isn’t a social visit.”

“Not as such,” Stiles said, suddenly worried.  His entire plan hinged on Deaton’s willingness and ability to help.

“Well, I know what I’ve seen on the news,” Deaton said, dropping into his desk chair.  “But why don’t you two tell me what actually happened?”

They did, from the ramming of the Jeep on the first getaway attempt to Stiles’ proposed plan for the werewolves at the Argent estate.  “I know I should have checked with you first before promising them anything,” Stiles said, “but I had to get something in motion before Services got involved.”

Deaton nodded evenly.  “I think you were wise to keep Chris out of the transport process, no matter how good his intentions may seem.  And I believe you’re right – while this is still in the papers, we’ve got a better chance of moving those wolves without interference.  There’s just so many at once.”

“I know, and if you need me to drive—”

Deaton laughed.  “Stiles, you’ve done more than enough.”  He inclined his head at Stiles’ cast.  “Rest.  You were also wise to go to Scott for help.”  Beside Stiles, Scott preened a little.  “Let him help you coordinate with the packs.  You’ve got other things to think about.”

Stiles nodded wearily, and they left soon afterward, Scott still grinning and Stiles already starting to feel tired and achy again.  But with the effects of the painkillers wearing off, Stiles was good to drive again, so they went back to the hospital where Scott had left his car that morning.

On the way there, Scott finally breached the topic that Stiles could tell had been burning on his tongue all day.  “So, I couldn’t help but notice that neither you or Deaton mentioned getting Derek to the sanctuary.”

“That’s still the plan,” Stiles said, staring straight ahead.

“But I was half-right before, wasn’t I?  About the secret boyfriend thing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Stiles snapped.  Then he reconsidered and sighed.  “I don’t know what to do, Scott.  None of this was supposed to happen.  I was supposed to quickly get Derek up north where he could be free, not be a burden to him.  All I can do here is be a constant reminder of his old life.  Of all that pain and death.”

Scott took a moment before speaking again.  “Those first couple of weeks before he ran off into the woods?  You were happy, Stiles.  You were more centered than I’ve seen you since… well, since even before Danny.  And if Derek made you happy, imagine what you did for him.  That’s not even counting the part where you risked your life to save his.”

“So what?” Stiles sighed.

“So maybe you make him happy, too.  You make me happy, and we’re not even… finishing that sentence.”

It wasn’t helped by the returning pain in his body, but Stiles was suddenly annoyed at how lightly Scott seemed to be taking the whole thing.  “Is happiness enough?  When the price is captivity and someone else’s mark of ownership on your skin?”

Scott lifted his left hand from the steering wheel and wiggled his ring finger at Stiles, who laughed bitterly.  “Please tell me you’re not comparing your marriage to actual slavery.”

“C’mon, I’m not that clueless.  I’m just saying… this is a kind of mark of ownership, in a way.  But it’s symbolic.  It’s a legal thing, too, but it means what Allison and I want it to mean: that we belong to each other.”

Stiles scoffed.  “There are so many things wrong with that analogy that I don’t even know where to start.  For you and Allison, it goes both ways.  One of you doesn’t own the other one.  And it was both of your decision.  This isn’t mine.  I shouldn’t even factor into it.”

Scott looked like he wanted to refute that, but he didn’t, and they rode the rest of the way to the hospital in silence.  But before Stiles could get out of the car to switch to the driver’s seat, Scott put a hand on his arm.  “Hey, I know I haven’t been around much because of the baby, but I’m always here if you need me.  Not just for organizing werewolf stuff.  And if you want me to just come over and shut up and play Super Smash Brothers for a while, I can totally do that.”

Stiles smiled weakly.  “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.  I mean it.”

&&&

Stiles was half-hoping Derek would be asleep when he got home, even though it was barely dinner time.  Or maybe just gone, leaving a note telling Stiles he’d found a way to go north, sparing them having to drag this out.  Still, he picked up two cheeseburgers on the way home.

Derek was curled up on his couch, reading Asimov this time.  He waited for Stiles to set the food down and sit beside him before putting the book down and – shit – leaning into Stiles to kiss him.

Derek’s mouth was so warm and soft and inviting that it was almost physically painful to push him away.  And the hurt in Derek’s eyes was even worse.  “I’m sorry,” Stiles said quickly.  “Not for last night.  I mean, maybe I should be sorry for last night, but I’m not.  I can’t be.  But if we keep… doing that, there’s no way I’m going to be able to let you go.  I mean – fuck, that didn’t sound right – I’m not going to try to keep you here.  I would never do that.  I just meant… for my own sanity, I can’t do this knowing you’ll be leaving soon.”

Derek nodded slowly and, after a moment of silence, looked at the drive-through bags on the coffee table.  “Is one of those for me?”

Stiles nearly groaned with relief.  At least they could put off talking about it for a little while longer.  He turned on the TV and flipped to the station that sometimes played old Warner Brothers cartoons.  Derek didn’t like most sitcoms – too many pop culture references he’d never been exposed to – but he liked cartoons.  Even that made Stiles’ heart hurt a little, that through everything, there was little bit of childlikeness, of innocence, that had survived in Derek.  It made Stiles want to wrap himself around Derek and never let go.

Instead, he ate his cheeseburger.

Nearly two hours later, Stiles was debating whether to get up to take another dose of painkillers or see if he could just pass out on the couch for the night when he heard Derek say, very quietly, “You could, you know.  Keep me.  If you wanted to.”

Stiles immediately sat upright and shut off the TV.  “Derek, you’re not mine to keep.”

“But I could be.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Stiles asked, genuinely confused.  “I don’t want to own you.  You know that.  You have a chance to be free up north, live however you want.”

“I’m already free.”

“What?  No, you’re not.  You think you could just go walk down the street right now?  Yeah, the Argents are out of the picture, but without the right collar and a tag, you could get picked up by Services at any moment.”

Derek looked at him a long time.  “Is there a part of you that wants to tag me?  Not own me, not have me serve you, but permanently write your name on my skin?  So that even if I went away, I’d still bear your mark?”

Stiles shut his eyes tightly, suddenly holding back tears.  He wanted to lie so badly, to make Derek think there was at least one decent human being in the world.  But he had to tell the truth, to let Derek know what kind of person Stiles really was.  At least it would make Derek’s decision easier.  “Yes,” Stiles gritted out.  “Part of me wants that.  And it makes me sick to know that any part of me is just like the Argents.  That’s why you need to go.”

“Look,” Derek said, but Stiles kept his eyes shut.  “Look.”  When Stiles finally opened his eyes, Derek was holding out the bare underside of his left wrist – where the tag would go.

“I did believe that Kate loved me.”  He said it so matter-of-factly, but still Stiles winced.  “She made me believe it, but never once did she want to put her name on me.  I knew most werewolves were tagged, but I didn’t know yet why my family wasn’t, so I asked her once.  If she’d claim me.  She laughed in my face.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The Argents owned me but hated the idea of claiming me.  You’re disgusted with the idea of owning me, but you’d want to claim me as yours.”

“Is there a difference?” Stiles asked miserably.

“To werewolves, yes.  We mark our territory, our family, our mates as our own.  Except we do it with scent.  It doesn’t mean we respect those things any less.”

“I’m not a werewolf,” Stiles said, not knowing how else to respond.

“You’ve still marked me with your scent,” Derek said, voice softer than Stiles had ever heard it.

Stiles’ head was buzzing, too full of new information and old emotion to process anything properly.  “Okay, let’s say I… I do tag you.  You’ll have to get locked in an alpha collar.  You won’t really have to be confined to the house anymore, but when you go out on your own, you’ll be looked at with suspicion.  With fear.”

“Not by your friends.  Not by your colleagues.”

“Derek, what are we arguing here?” Stiles asked, suddenly exasperated.  “You have a chance to be free, to start a pack of your own.  You can’t honestly tell me you don’t want that.”

“Of course I want that.  But there are no guarantees, not even at this mysterious sanctuary.  I’ve been chained up, Stiles.  I’ve been hunted.  And I’ve been ‘free’ in the woods, if you could call it that.”

“But you’d be safe up north.”

“I’d be alone.”

“But you wouldn’t have to be!” Stiles said, surprised at the volume of his voice.  “Some of the wolves in the Lopez pack still know you.  And you could… you could meet someone.  Fall in love.  Start a family, have a real pack.”

“And what about you, Stiles?”

That threw him.  “This isn’t about me!”

“Isn’t it?  Because I don’t remember you ever asking me what I want to do.”

Fuck.  Stiles realized he’d pretty much spent this whole time telling Derek what he thought Derek would want.  Should want.  “I’m too afraid of the answer,” Stiles said, far more honest than he meant to be.

“Why?”

“Because the answer will either break my heart or feel like I’m putting you in another cage.”

There it was.  A little obtuse, maybe, but Derek surely knew what Stiles was implying, even as he was trying his hardest not to say the words.  He wanted this to be Derek’s decision and Derek’s only, not muddled by Stiles’ feelings – and he was fucking that up gloriously.

But then Derek asked, “How about you, Stiles?  What do you want?  Not for me, I mean.  Just for yourself.”

I want you.  “I want… I want to stop feeling sorry for myself so much and do something good with my life.  I want to feel like I’m more than just my job.  I don’t want to be lonely.”  And I want you.

Derek peered at him closely.  “You don’t want to go back to the way things were before you met me?  Before you saw how badly my kind are treated?  Before you nearly got yourself killed – twice?”

“What?  No.  I mean, yes, I could really do without the bruised ribs and the busted wrist and I think I’d give my left nut to have my Jeep back, but I was so blind before.  So stupid.”

“Blind, yes.  Not stupid.” Derek took Stiles’ good hand in both of his.  “I’ve asked myself over and over again how Isaac caught me that night, how I could have been so careless, why I gave in without much of a fight.  I think… I didn’t know it at the time, but I think I was tired of running.”

It was then Stiles realized how much Derek was speaking about this, speaking at all.  Not easily, exactly, but he was articulating himself like these were the all the words he’d been storing up, and whatever had been holding them back was gone now.  Stiles still couldn’t force himself to look Derek in the eye, but he did squeeze his hands.  “And now?  What do you want, Derek?  Just for you.”

“I want a home.  I’ve missed that so much.  I miss it more than living in the woods.  I can’t have my family back, but I can have a home.  You’ve given me that.  Stiles” – he tilted Stiles’ chin up until he was forced to look at Derek – “if I asked to stay here, would you let me?”

“I don’t want to chain you here,” Stiles said, trying to keep the pain rising up in his chest from spilling into his voice.  “I don’t want you to stay because you think that’s what I want, because you think you’re in my debt.  And most of all, I don’t want you to stay” – his voice broke – “and then resent me for it for the rest of your life.”

Derek was silent for a moment, face unreadable.  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began gently, “but if we tried this and it didn’t work out, would you let me go up north?”

Stiles knew the tears were falling now, but there was nothing he could do to stop them.  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.  I can’t… I think it would break me if we tried, really tried, and you left.”

“But you’d let me go?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’d have every legal right to keep me here if you wanted.  You could force me to stay in the house all day, always be waiting for you when you got home.  But a month from now, a year from now, ten years from now, if I changed my mind, you’d let me go up to the sanctuary.  You’d do everything in your power to make that happen, even drive me there yourself if you had to, wouldn’t you?”

Stiles couldn’t do more than nod.

“That’s why I want to stay.  A month from now, a year from now, ten years from now,” Derek said, kissing Stiles lightly, and Stiles finally fell apart.  His whole body was wracked with sobs, all the emotion he’d kept under tight control for the past month – especially the past few days – finally boiling over.  He’d killed someone, for fuck’s sake.  Even though he had no doubt he’d done the right thing and he’d do it again if he had to, that didn’t erase the fact that he’d taken a life.  But Derek just pulled him close and held him tightly, let him cry and cry until he couldn’t anymore.

When Stiles could finally breathe without shuddering, he realized he had both hands fisted in Derek’s shirt, which was damp with tears and snot, and Stiles was so embarrassed he hid his face against Derek’s shoulder.  “’m sorry,” he muttered.  “You’re the one that’s been through hell and you’re sitting here comforting me.”

“You’re scared,” Derek whispered, kissing the top of Stiles’ head.  “You didn’t ask for any of this, and now you don’t want to lose someone else you love.”

Stiles hadn’t even fully admitted it to himself yet, but it was true; he loved Derek.  “How’d you know?” Stiles asked, trying not to sniffle.  “Can you smell it on me?”

“That you love me?” Derek asked incredulously.  “No.  Love’s not a smell.  It’s you hopping an electric fence and breaking into a fucking dungeon when you couldn’t even be sure I was alive.  That’s either love or a serious mental illness.”

“Might be the same thing,” Stiles muttered against Derek’s chest.

“I love you too, you idiot,” Derek said with a laugh, nuzzling into Stiles’ short hair.  “You make me feel like I’m worth something again, and I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.  The rest is just details.”

There were still some pretty major details to work out, but if Derek had decided to stay, then Stiles would do everything in his power to make that happen.  He self-consciously wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, wishing Derek didn’t have to see Stiles’ blotchy red, post-crying face, but Derek didn’t seem fazed in the least.  He kissed Stiles long and deep, and Stiles scrambled until he was properly straddling Derek’s thighs.

The kiss heated up quickly, burning away the last of Stiles’ fear, and Stiles pressed his hips down into Derek’s until the entire world started to shift beneath him.  Stiles nearly yelped in alarm until he realized it was just Derek standing up, hands firmly gripping Stiles’ ass and supporting his weight like it was nothing at all.

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist and nipping at the underside of his jaw.  “This should not be so fucking hot.”

Derek’s laughed morphed into a groan at the feeling of Stiles’ teeth.  “Bedroom okay?”

“Bedroom perfect.”

Derek didn’t stumble at all, despite the fact that Stiles couldn’t stop kissing him.  He gently set Stiles on the bed, and Stiles twisted so eagerly toward the bedside table that his bruised ribs protested sharply.  Stiles let out a pained hiss.

Derek pushed him to lie back against the pillow.  “Will you let me take care of you?” he asked with a soft kiss.

Stiles’ heart swelled at the look in Derek’s eyes, but all he could manage to say was “Top drawer, left side.”

Derek dug around for a moment and came up with a condom and a bottle of lube.  “For you or for me?” he asked, holding up the condom.

Stiles grinned up at him sweetly, pushing Derek’s hand back toward his chest.  “Thought you said you were going to take care of me.”

Derek looked like it was taking everything he had not to just pounce, and Stiles felt dizzy with lust, with the thrill of being wanted.  But Derek was shockingly gentle, mindful of Stiles’ injured body.  He helped Stiles pull his clothes off, hands gliding over every inch of pale skin they could touch.  He eased Stiles out of his jeans and underwear, something indefinably sexy about the care he took in removing them.

In truth, Stiles didn’t need quite so much pampering, as the way he’d rutted against Derek’s body the previous night had proven, but it felt good to be touched so tenderly.  Especially by Derek, who could rend flesh from bone without a thought but was being so deliberately careful it made Stiles ache, especially in contrast to the way Derek tore off his own clothes as if they’d offended him.

“Come here,” Stiles murmured as he reached out for Derek, and oh, fuck, the feeling of so much warm skin took Stiles’ breath away.  He’d had a little taste of it last night, but it was like comparing a candle to a bonfire, nothing separating their bodies at all, and Stiles tried to put his hands everywhere at once.

Derek kissed him with more patience than Stiles thought possible, arms sliding beneath Stiles’ upper back to pull him closer.  Soon, though, need won out and Derek was sitting back on his heels, circling Stiles’ hole with one slick finger.  Stiles tried to relax, breathe deep, but it was still slow going.  He didn’t usually bother with this when he was alone – and he’d been alone for a long time.

“Okay?” Derek asked, working the tip of his finger in.

“It’s, uh, been a while,” Stiles admitted, cheeks burning.  “Before last night, I mean,” he added, although both were obvious.

“Me too,” Derek said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.  “Before last night.” 

Stiles carefully searched his face for any sign of hesitation, of fear or uncertainty.  For all Stiles knew, the last and only person Derek had been with was Kate, but if he was thinking about her at all, he gave no sign of it, just gentle determination as he worked Stiles open.  That alone was enough to make Stiles relax until Derek could slip in another finger.

Stiles was getting impatient, but he let Derek get three fingers in him because Stiles had felt Derek’s cock in his hand last night, and he was going to need all the prep he could get.  But for all Derek’s patience, when Stiles finally gasped, “Ready,” Derek was rolling on a condom and slicking himself with lightning speed.

He pushed a pillow under Stiles’ hips and ran a gentle hand down Stiles’ side where the skin was mottled with bruises.  Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ hip.  “Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said with genuine concern.

Stiles reached down and ruffled his hair.  “Believe me, you’ll know.  The key phrase will be ‘ow, ow, stop that.’”

“That works,” Derek chuckled as he climbed over Stiles to kiss him and began to push in.  The stretch made Stiles’ breath catch in his throat, and Derek waited for Stiles’ nod before giving him more.  Fuck, Derek felt huge, but Stiles slowly adjusted until the burn began to subside and he just felt full, so deliciously full that he couldn’t do much more than gasp and cling to Derek’s shoulders.

Finally, he was able to get a leg up around Derek’s hip, rock back onto him, and with a groan, Derek stuttered into motion.  Everything after that was a bit of a blur.  Stiles was thankful that the night before had taken some of the edge off, calmed the urgency enough that they could start off rocking together slowly and build up from there.  Stiles only had to call a time out twice, and Derek readjusted their position and kissed and sucked at Stiles’ neck until he was ready to go again.

Things got a little rougher toward the end, both of them less able to control themselves, but Stiles was so lost in the sweetness of Derek filling him, Derek stroking him, Derek panting soft moans against his skin that any pain felt far away, somewhere apart from Stiles’ body.  He slowly realized that the breath against his neck was coalescing into words, into Derek gasping his name and asking him to come.  Once again, Stiles couldn’t refuse that warm, earnest voice.

Derek gave a shocked moan when Stiles went over, shuddering and clenching around Derek’s cock, and Derek quickly followed him.  The last few thrusts were a little too rough, Derek holding onto him a little too tightly, but it was worth it for the helpless little sound Derek made at the end, the flat of his teeth pressed against Stiles’ jaw.

What Stiles was really dreading was the moment when Derek eased out of him, and though Derek was as careful as he’d been all night, Stiles still wasn’t fully prepared for the emptiness.  But Derek stayed close, lying on his side next to Stiles, cupping Stiles’ face for a long, lazy kiss.

Then Derek did pull away, and Stiles let out a truly mortifying whine before he could stop himself.  “I’ll be right back,” Derek said, his voice teasingly placating, and Stiles half-heartedly tried to nip at his chin when he kissed the tip of Stiles’ nose.

Moving turned out to be far more difficult than Stiles had imagined, and he gave it up after a few tries.  But when Derek came back with not only a washcloth, but also a cup of water and a pill bottle, Stiles suddenly found just enough strength to sit up, even though it made pretty much everything below his neck groan in protest.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moaned, reaching out.  “I so totally love you.”  Then he realized what had just come out of his mouth for the first time.  “I mean, you know I do.  You said it yourself, that I love you.  And not just when you bring me happy pills.  Don’t get me wrong, I could really use the happy pills, and I love you for getting them for me, but I also just love you, y’know.  Independent of pain medication.  But also in conjunction with it.”  He attempted to illustrate by meshing his fingers together.  “It’s all very… congruous?  That’s a word, right?”

Derek frowned and looked at the label on the bottle.  “You’re only getting one of these.”

“But I’m allowed two every twelve hours!  It’s just the sex making me stupid, I swear!”

“One and a half,” Derek said, setting down the cloth and the glass and shaking the pills into his hand.  “And I’ll have to remember that.”

“I’m sure you’ll get plenty of reminders,” Stiles sighed, downing the pills (well, pill and a half) in one gulp.  Derek proceeded to gently wipe him down, though he did take a quick lick at Stiles’ belly before cleaning it with the cloth.  Once he’d settled back down by Stiles’ side, Stiles turned to him and bit lightly at Derek’s lower lip.  “Don’t always expect me to be this passive,” he said, grinning.  “I’m normally a force of nature in the sack.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Derek said, laughing as he nuzzled down Stiles’ neck until he got to the junction of his shoulder.  “So,” he said, not looking up, his voice betraying the slightest amount of uncertainty.  “Does this mean I can stay?”

Stiles very nearly made a crack about Derek asking to stay right after bribing Stiles with really awesome sex, but he caught himself just in time.  Nothing about this was trivial for Derek.  Hell, it was far from trivial for Stiles, too, if he was being honest.  So he just bent his head to kiss the top of Derek’s.  “Of course you can stay.  This is your home, for as long as you want it to be.”

For once, Stiles must have managed to say the right thing at the right time, because Derek surged up and kissed him, hard and messy and grateful.  When they came up for air, Stiles figured he might as well go for broke and murmured “I love you” right up against Derek’s lips.  “Just wanted to get that out there before the narcotics kick in.”

Okay, so he probably should have left that last bit in his head where it belonged, but it made Derek laugh as he pulled the covers up over both of them.  “I believe you,” he said, turning Stiles gently until Derek was spooned at his back.  “And I love you, too.”

This time, Stiles didn’t fall asleep right away, even as deeply relaxed as he was, body and mind.  Instead, he just twined the fingers of his good hand with Derek’s and let himself focus on Derek’s heartbeat, Derek’s breathing.  Eventually, sleep overcame him, but not before he smiled into the darkness and whispered, “Welcome home.”

Continue to epilogue.