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Derek watched the ambulance pull away, the Sheriff escorting it with his siren blaring and lights flashing. Beside him stood Scott, attempting to convince Derek to give him a ride to the hospital, since he'd come in Stiles' Jeep, and that was currently a pile of scrap metal and rubber. Breathing in slowly, Derek tried to rein in his anger. Usually it served so well to anchor him, to keep his focus sharpened and his head clear. This anger was different, though. It made the world pulse red, made him want to reach out and break Scott.

"He could have died," Derek said slowly, quietly, his lips barely moving over clenched teeth.

Scott stopped his frantic rambling, expression going from concerned to confused in a blink. "Who? Stiles? I know, that's why I'm freaked out at the moment. Can you please just give me a ride to the hospital? You don't have to stay or anything, just drop me off."

Giving the teen a short nod, Derek stalked silently to his car, Scott trailing like a puppy. It was only once they were on the road, the Camaro devouring asphalt at a dizzying pace, that Derek felt he had regained enough control to speak without snarling. "You don't deserve to have him in your pack," he said, fingers clenching the wheel until it groaned in protest.

"What?" Scott was staring at him like he'd gone insane, and maybe Derek had. He certainly felt like he had. It really shouldn't matter to him, because Stiles was obviously not going to ever be part of his own pack, but it just did. It mattered. The human had saved him so often, even as he bitched and snarked and was a royal pain in the ass. Scott was a fool on many levels, Derek had come to realize, and one of them was in his neglect of Stiles.

"You don't understand what you have," growled Derek, and he had to take another calming breath to suppress his wolf. "Just because you're suddenly faster and more powerful, you shouldn't dismiss someone like Stiles."

Scott looked offended, his eyes flashing yellow, and that made it even harder for Derek to maintain his control. "I don't dismiss him! Stiles is my best friend! Why do you even care? You hate him."

Derek screeched to a halt in the hospital parking lot, not even sparing Scott a glance before getting out of his car and stalking towards the building. The kid caught up with him easily and stayed by his side the entire trip up to where Stiles had been admitted. The Sheriff was there, and he approached them both, talking to them like they were both Stiles' friends and equally concerned. Never once did the older man question Derek's presence. Stiles and Scott had told him over a year ago about everything, but Derek was also sure that they had explained they were not part of Derek's pack. The Sheriff was a smart man, though, and it was obvious where Stiles had inherited his sharp mind. There was rarely a time when Stiles wasn't getting entangled with whatever adventure involved Derek and his pack.

Evidently it wasn't as bad as everyone had feared at first. Stiles had managed to escape the Jeep before the vukodlak had done much damage. The injuries had been flesh wounds, they had simply produced a frightening amount of blood. Derek could still smell it. Hadn't stopped smelling it since the moment he'd arrived on the scene, the scent slamming into him and filling him with a panicked fury that had him shifting and attacking the vukodlak before he even thought about it.

"Can I see him?" Derek asked while Scott was opening his mouth to undoubtedly ask the same thing. The Sheriff shifted his gaze between them, weighing something in his mind and hesitating on his answer. "Please," added Derek, softening his eyes and willing the man to understand.

"You'll have your turn," snapped Scott, his stance rigid with defensive anger. "Seriously, what is up with you tonight?" He must not have cared much for the answer, because he left before Derek could offer him one.

Derek felt a roar bubbling up, and swallowed it down as he watched Scott enter Stiles' room and close the door behind himself. A warm hand on his shoulder snapped him back to something closer to sanity, and he turned to see the Sheriff staring at him with sympathetic understanding. "Scott's a good kid, you know," the Sheriff said softly.

"He's not cut out to be an alpha," objected Derek, eyes roaming back to the closed door. "An alpha should protect his pack. I'm always having to save Stiles." When Stiles isn't saving me, he continued in his head. It made a low whine scrape up his throat. "Stiles deserves better. Someone who sees his worth. Someone who'll always be there for him."

The Sheriff squeezed his shoulder, but didn't let go. "You saying you know someone like that, son?"

"Derek's here?" he heard Stiles say through the thin wall. "I'll believe that when I see it."

As if compelled, Derek moved towards Stiles' room, the Sheriff's hand sliding off his shoulder. "Hale," the man called softly, stopping him in his tracks and making him look back over his shoulder. "I'd warn you not to hurt him, but I have a feeling that's sort of unnecessary here. Just...do right by him. Got it?"

He gave a slow nod, then focused back on the room and Stiles' voice beyond. The boy was laughing at Scott's grumbling over Derek's behavior, both of them oblivious to what Stiles' father had managed to pick up instantly. To what Derek had tried to deny for so long that it was finally boiling over in a heady rush.

Scott was a werewolf, but he still startled at Derek barging in suddenly. Another sign that the kid wasn't competent enough yet to be an alpha. It made Derek's frown deepen and his resolve strengthen. "Scott," he said once he'd closed the door and stood there letting them stare at him with gaping mouths. "I don't care if you ever join my pack. It's entirely up to you if you want to be an idiot and stay an omega for the rest of your life. But Stiles deserves better."

"You keep saying that," Scott pointed out, scowling and rising from where he'd been sitting beside Stiles' bed.

Stiles looked between them, eyes alight with curiosity. "Dude. I totally thought you were pulling my leg, but he is seriously saying shit like this. What's going on?"

"Stiles." Derek moved to stand on the other side of Stiles' bed from Scott. He looked down at the boy (no, the young man, he'd already turned eighteen, hadn't he), and the bandages that kept his stitched flesh protected. Was it really so strange, he wondered. Hadn't they both been dancing around something for two years now? Hadn't Stiles noticed that he wasn't the only one whose breath caught and heart raced when they were thrown together, gripping at each other to protect and guide and support? Maybe Stiles had noticed, but would go on ignoring it forever because of his loyalty to Scott. Scott had decided not to trust Derek, to reject him and his offer of being pack, so Stiles had to go along with it.

Stiles was studying Derek in a way eerily like his father just had outside his door. Without turning away from Derek, he addressed Scott, telling his best friend to leave for a bit, give them a few minutes. When it looked like Scott was going to protest, Stiles finally snapped a glare over to him that had his uneven jaw clicking shut. Derek suspected that the only reason Scott didn't slam the door behind him on his way out was because this was a hospital.

"What's up?" asked Stiles, leaning his head back against his pillows. His hospital bed had been adjusted so that he was mostly sitting up. A tube ran from his arm to a bag of blood hanging beside the headboard.

Derek reached out, but wasn't brave enough to go any further than fisting the stiff cotton sheet at the edge of the bed. "Join my pack," he demanded more than asked, voice gone hoarse with the overwhelming need for Stiles to agree.

Humming in contemplation, Stiles tilted his head on the pillow, causing his hair to rumple in a way that made Derek's chest feel tight. It had been strange at first when Stiles stopped maintaining his buzz cut, but then it had just become distracting. "What's in it for me if I do?" Stiles asked with a cocked brow, licking his lips. That was a compulsion of his, it seemed; Stiles was always licking his lips. Derek found it even more distracting than the hair.

Feeling more terrified than when he faced off with the feral vukodlak earlier, Derek leaned down until his mouth was practically brushing Stiles' ear. "Come to my place once you're released from here, and I'll show you."

When he pulled back, he saw that Stiles' eyes had gone wide, and he could hear the younger man's heart pounding hard and fast. His own heart echoed the beat, and he let the hand gripping the sheet slide up beneath it to run greedily against warm flesh. Stiles' lips parted, his breathing hitching into gasps. "Jesus, Derek. You can't just. You can't say things like that and touch me like this, and then expect me to actually wait."

The scent of want and the color rising in Stiles' cheeks had Derek smiling in delighted relief. He leaned in again, this time letting his lips brush skin as he spoke. "You're father's right outside. Now is really not the time."

"Fuck," gasped Stiles, before turning his head to steal a kiss. The hand not plugged into an IV buried itself in Derek's hair and kept him in place while Stiles took as much as he wanted. Derek gladly gave it all to him.

----------

A few days later, Derek came home from his morning jog to find Stiles reclining on his couch. Glancing back at his door, he recounted his steps and was certain he'd locked it when he left, and he had just unlocked it to get in. So then, how did... "Should I even ask?"

Stiles grinned, and it twisted something deep inside Derek, like it always did. "Nope."

"How are your wounds?" he asked as he made his way to the basket of clean clothes he still needed to fold, pulling out a small towel.

Watching Derek towel off the fine sweat from his run, Stiles licked his lips and draped bandaged arms over the armrest of the couch. "Might have a few scars, but I'll live."

"Good." Derek draped the towel over his shoulders and moved to kneel beside the couch. They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, and then Stiles was reaching out to run fingertips along Derek's stubbled jaw. "I can't promise you'll never get hurt as part of my pack," Derek eventually said, fighting hard not to lean into the touch even as he wondered why he didn't just give in.

"But you'll do whatever you can to keep me safe," Stiles continued for him, a soft smile on his full lips. "My dad was playing matchmaker the entire time I was laid up in recovery. It was a little creepy."

"Scott won't like it." Unable to hold back any more, Derek turned his head to nip and lick at Stiles' fingers. "He'll be furious if you join my pack."

"He'll live." The smile grew, and Stiles' chest began to rise and fall a bit quicker. "He already knows I have a ridiculous crush on you. Granted, he didn't know until I told him the other day, but still. I think he's starting to realize exactly why you were so pissed at him."

"He doesn't deserve you."

"Hey now. He's my best friend. He may be a bit of an airhead sometimes, but he has a good heart."

Derek didn't want to hear about Scott. He wanted Stiles to finally just say yes, that he'd be part of Derek's pack. That he'd be Derek's. Reaching out, he returned the facial caressing. It felt weirdly tender. Too tender for what he had in mind.

Without warning, he was leaning in to capture Stiles' lips like the kisses they'd shared in the hospital. Except this time it was harder, more demanding, and Stiles arced his entire body as a moan rolled through him and into Derek's mouth. There was nothing Derek wanted more in that moment than to crawl onto the younger man and satisfy the fire deep inside threatening to consume him. The flash of white bandages, however, had him slamming down on his impulses and forcing some degree of calm.

"Sit up," he murmured against Stiles' lips before pulling back to give the man room.

No sooner had Stiles complied when Derek shifted so he was kneeling between Stiles' spread legs, nosing at the juncture of his hip and thigh. He felt Stiles shudder before fingers were carding through his hair, twitching against his scalp. His name fell from Stiles' lips in such a reverent way that it made the last of Derek's restraint snap. Snarling, he practically tore open Stiles' fly, attacking with his tongue the erection he found that was still confined beneath the thin fabric of tight briefs. He licked and sucked until the fabric was translucent with spit and precum, and Stiles was cursing ceaselessly through gasping breaths.

By the time he finally found the patience to remove his mouth long enough to pull down the obstructing clothing, Stiles was showing signs of already being on the edge. Looking up, Derek saw hooded eyes dark with want even as a line carved itself between curving brows to suggest a lingering disbelief. Derek knew he had to banish that doubt, had to show Stiles exactly how much he was wanted.

When Derek went down on him properly, lips making a tight, slick ring and his tongue twisting and writhing, Stiles tossed back his head and released a sound between a whimper and whine. It pulled a rumbling groan of pleasure from Derek, the vibrations making Stiles jerk and curse and spread his legs further. Derek tried to keep his eyes open while he worked, wanting to watch as Stiles came apart all because of him. It struck him with a jolt of painful pleasure that he hadn't ever wanted anything more than Stiles to be part of his pack, part of his life. That he hadn't ever wanted anyone more than this barely-a-man, who used sarcasm as a shield and hid his brilliance and strength beneath self-depreciation and ill-fitting clothes. Somewhere along the lines, he'd become addicted to this person, to his words and gestures and calculating eyes and determination.

"Derek," Stiles tried to warn, tugging uselessly at black locks. Then he was splaying those fingers through that same black hair, pressing Derek's head forward and holding him there while Stiles shuddered and came with a choked-off sound.

Derek swallowed half of it, reaching up to catch the rest as he intentionally let it dribble down his chin. Pulling out of Stiles' suddenly lax grip, he tugged down his sweatpants and wrapped his cum-covered hand around his own cock. Stiles slowly blinked open his eyes and stuttered in his breath when he saw what Derek was doing.

"Come here," beckoned Stiles, biting and licking at his own lips while he continued to watch Derek working himself.

Rising quickly, Derek shucked off his pants and straddled Stiles on the couch. He let Stiles grip his hips and direct him into standing on his knees, placing his glistening dick at mouth level with the young man. Watching those lips he had been compelled to stare at for years suddenly wrapped around his cock was nearly enough to kill Derek right there on the spot. Then he remembered that he was coated with Stiles' own cum, and he had to close his eyes and think of baseball not to end it too soon. He wanted to last a little longer, feel more of that mouth on him. Stiles seemed to know exactly what Derek was thinking, because the vibrations of a chuckle traveled from Stiles' mouth through Derek's dick and to his balls.

"Christ," he gasped, daring to bury his hands in Stiles' hair like had been done to him. That seemed to please Stiles, because he began working in earnest to deliver as much pleasure as possible with his mouth. Then the hands on Derek's hips moved around to his ass, kneading and squeezing the cheeks. "Yes," Derek hissed, tossing his head back as he thought of all he wanted with Stiles. "Later," he babbled, words like sobs as Stiles slurped and sucked and made himself swallow deeper each downward bob, "later I want you to. Please. I want. So much. Stiles. Please. Mine."

Fingers slipped between Derek's cheeks to prod at his hole, and he keened. Stiles pulled back, gasping and eyes blazing with renewed heat. "That will go two ways," he said, pressing a fingertip teasingly into Derek and watching how that made the werewolf shudder and whine. "You'll also be mine."

Derek forced his eyes open enough to lock gazes with Stiles, choking with too much feeling, both emotional and physical. All he could do was nod and rock his hips in silent plea. Stiles took pity on him and swallowed him back down while pressing his finger in deeper. It was finally too much for Derek to restrain, and he came with a howl that was so stereotypical that it made him blush as soon as it was finished, Stiles chuckling even as he swallowed his cum.

Panting, he slid down to sit on Stiles' lap instead of kneel, and he tried not to pout when the movement caused Stiles' finger to leave him. Alphas did not pout.

"You're pouting." Stiles was grinning at him, and he leaned forward to nip Derek on the nose. "I'd think you'd be smiling in blissed-out joy at having your long-time crush give you phenomenal head." Those wonderful lips moved to kiss along Derek's neck, and he felt the grin that still lingered on Stiles' face. "I know I am."

"Was." Derek licked his lips and swallowed and tried again. "Was this, all this, a yes? Are you mine? My pack?"

"Well," Stiles said, drawing out the 'e,' his eyes gleaming. "I'm yours. And you're mine, because you totally promised even if you were too busy being overwhelmed by my greatness to verbalize it. So, if that also means I'm your pack, then I'm your pack."

Allowing a smile, Derek nodded and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Stiles'. "Good."

Chuckling softly, Stiles gave Derek's ass a playful pat. "I'm liking it so far, yeah."