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The first one is for his mother. Stiles doesn't tell the pack because it's not really any of their concern. It's his skin that's been inked upon, not theirs. He does tell his father though, because it's for him too. It's for Stiles and John and the Claudia shaped hole in their lives. John takes him to the parlor. When the artist presses the stencil against his skin they both cry a little. It's only seven little words, but they were his mother's and they're written in her handwriting and they have every right to cry. John holds Stiles' hand as the needle moves across the skin of his ribs, even though it barely hurts. And when it's finished they hug tightly, with their damp cheeks pressed together. John takes him to the store and together they buy unscented lotion, Aquaphor, and antibacterial soap and Stiles has a tattoo. A tattoo. It doesn't really fix anything, or mend the hole in his chest, but it helps a little. He feels a little less like breaking down and a little more like listening to David Bowie (his mother's favorite artist). The whole thing is so close to his heart and his family, and it's painfully intimate, so he doesn't tell the pack. When he walks into Derek's loft three days later for a pack meeting, he's not really counting on the whole werewolf senses thing revealing his secret. But, the minute he steps in, Derek looks up with flared nostrils.
"You got a tattoo?" Scott asks, one eyebrow quirked. Stiles shifts on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets. Everyone is looking at him now.
"Uh, yeah." He shrugs.
"Can we see?" Isaac looks so genuine, Stiles almost says yes.
"It's kind of...personal." Stiles rubs the back of his neck, avoiding those angelic blues eyes. Isaac looks slightly disappointed, but he just says "Okay, that's fine."
Stiles takes a seat next to Lydia and no one mentions his tattoo for the rest of the evening. Derek and the rest of the wolf population talk about the weird smells they've been picking up around town, but no one thinks anything of it because Lydia's spidey sense hasn't been tingling. Derek orders enough pizza to feed their little ragtag group of supernatural beings and all is well. People start clearing out around ten. Stiles, as always, helps Derek clean up crushed soda cans, pizza crusts, and packets of red pepper flakes. He's getting ready to leave when Derek places a hand on his shoulder.
"Show me."
It isn't a question, and fire burns in Stiles' blood. He's pissed.
"No."
Derek's eyes blaze red.
"Stiles." He growls.
Stiles crosses his arms stubbornly and mocks. "Derek."
"Show me." He uses his alpha voice, and Stiles isn't a wolf but it still makes him want to obey.
"Derek, I'm not showing you."
"I need to see it." Fangs peek from Derek's mouth.
"Why?"
"I-" He seems to struggle with himself, "I just need to see it." He steps forward and tugs at the hem of Stiles shirt.
Stiles slaps his hand away angrily.
"Well it's not yours to see asshole. It my skin-mine. So fuck off, unless you're going to force me?" Its a low blow for both of them, Stiles knows that. He's rubbing metaphorical salt in a Peter-inflicted wound, and he'll feel bad for it later, but right now he doesn't care. Anyways, his point has been made. Derek looks utterly haunted, eyes wide and mouth drawn in horror.
"Stiles, you know I wouldn't ever-I'm not him."
"Yeah." Stiles mumbles and leaves.
...
The second one is for protection. It turns out that weird smell around town? It was something. Specifically it was a ghoul, and it for some reason thought it would be great to posses Stiles. Its worse than the Nogistune, because while he's possessed Stiles remains aware. He sees all the terrible things it does in his body. He has to burn it out from the inside and it hurts like a bitch. Once it's gone Stiles comes back to himself, in control of his body, and promptly loses all control again in a panic attack. He sinks to the ground, hyperventilating and crying, trying to breathe. Derek gathers him up in his arms and everyone else shuffles out of the loft. Whatever tension remains between them is forgotten in the rabbit beat of Stiles' heart.
"Shh, it's okay. It's gone. I've got you."
Stiles grips Derek's shoulders tightly with shaking hands.
"I remember Derek. I remember it all."
He remembers the ghoul using his body to force Derek back onto the bed and-and he can't breathe again. Derek doesn't stiffen or stop his litany of comforting words.
"It's okay. It wasn't you Stiles, it wasn't you."
The next day Deaton tells Stiles that because he's a spark, he's more open to possession and spiritual manipulation.
"And you didn't think to tell us this before?" Derek looks like he might rip the healer's throat out. With his teeth. Deaton remains infuriatingly calm.
"I thought maybe the Nogistune was a one off situation. If I thought Stiles was in any sort of danger, I would have let you know."
Stiles believes him, and it really doesn't matter anyways. It happened, it's done.
"One off? One off?" Stiles can see Derek's claws elongating.
"Derek," Stiles sighs. The older man turns to look at him, and seems to deflate.
"Well, is there any way we can prevent this from happening again?"
"Oh yes, there are many thing we can do." Deaton nods.
"Such as?"
Derek is no longer furious, but he has never been a patient man. Stiles places a calming hand on his shoulder. Like magic, the tension fades from his shoulders.
"Protective amulets work, as do runes placed on the body, but what I find is protective tattoos are most effective."
Deaton gives Stiles a book filled with protective symbols from all sorts of cultures. Derek looks at it over his shoulder. Stiles stops on the Hamsa. It a stylized palm shaped symbol and it calls out to him. That's the one he wants-no, needs.
Derek helps him crush up chrysanthemum and brimstone to add into the ink. Stiles decides to have it placed on the center of his upper back, just below the notch between his neck and his spine. Deaton doesn't use a stencil, and it hurts a lot more than his first one. It probably has something to do with the magic. Derek holds his hand and rubs his back and Deaton orders him to stay still. When it's finished Deaton gives him a tiny hand mirror. The Hamsa is a fairly feminine symbol in Stiles' opinion because it's so pretty, but he loves it and he feels safe. He sleeps in the loft that night, with Derek in his bed. They don't talk about it in the morning.
...
The third one, well, that one's for Derek.
New hunters come to town, not Argents, and they're a nasty bunch. When the pack is having a meeting, they gas the place with wolfsbane and take all the wolves. Lydia is a mess and absolutely no help at all. Allison is better, but can't do magic for shit, so most of their little search and rescue mission is left to Stiles. Deaton gives him a book with the page for a locater spell dog-eared and not much else. As always, Stiles turns to the internet for help because the spell is in some dialect of archaic fucking Latin that no one seems to know. It takes three days for him to translate it. Three days of his pack enduring God knows what at the hands of some bat shit crazy hunters. Stiles doesn't sleep for three days. Then, when he finally has the spell, it's basically useless. It says he can locate an alpha if he binds one of the alpha's personal objects to his skin and what the fuck does that even mean?
He goes to Deaton and asks. The dark-skinned man gives him a grim smile and taps the Hamsa etched into his skin.
"A tattoo?"
"Yes."
"Well, what kind of object do I need?"
Deaton gives him a serious look.
"Stiles, this is more than just a locating spell, it's a binding spell." His words mean nothing.
"Okay, what do I need?"
"If you do this, you and Derek will be bound for life. It isn't a spell you can break. And Derek-his wolf...Stiles, this is the same spell werewolves use at weddings. It's to bind mates."
Stiles doesn't say he's pretty sure they're already bound. He doesn't say he wants to be Derek's mate. He doesn't say he's in-fucking-love with the red eyed asshole. Instead he says, "What do I need?"
It turns out he needs a claw, and somehow Stiles ends up digging around in Derek's shower drain with a pair of Lydia's tweezers. He has to hold his breath while he washes the hair and gunk off of Derek's shed claw. And that's not even the worst part. The worst part is grinding it up in a bowl with Stiles blood and urine and bits of his hair. It's really, really disgusting, but Stiles wants his wolves back, and he'll do anything to get them.
It doesn't happen all at once, but gradually and Deaton inks in the silhouette of the howling wolf across Stiles' heart. He picks up sounds in the room where Derek is, then smells, and then he gets Derek's pain. Allison and Lydia have to hold him down, but in the end Stiles finds them. And when he does, Derek is weak and nearly dying, but he still presses his lips against Stiles' and grumbles, "We'll talk about this later."
And they do.
The rest of the pack go to their respective homes, Isaac going with Scott. While Derek showers, Stiles gets them both McDonald's. It's really kind of pointless, because when he walks back into the loft Derek is showered and dressed and he crowds him against the wall.
"Do you know what you did?" He demands.
"Yes." Stiles breathes when Derek nuzzles his neck, scruff scraping his delicate skin.
"We're bound, Stiles, like-"
"Mates, yeah I know."
A possessive growl rumbles from Derek's chest into Stiles'.
"It's marriage, werewolf marriage, you idiot."
Stiles gathers up his courage.
"I know, so can we like consummate it or what?"
Derek comes on Stiles' chest, and rubs the mess his tattoo. Stiles loves it.
...
"What does it mean?" Derek asks, rubbing a thumb across the Polish words on Stiles ribs.
"Grasp all, lose all. My mother used to say it to me all the time. 'He who wants everything, may lose it all.'"
"That's a little cynical." Derek says.
"Not really, because all I want is you."
It's cheesy, but it makes Derek grin. And Stiles understands why Derek needed to see the tattoo. Its the same reason Stiles needs to see all the marks the hunters made on Derek's skin. It's because they're mates.