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He expects the threats. Or, at least he thinks he does. What he doesn't expect is the punch of fear in his gut, the bubble of something almost like hurt, but more bitter, twisting and turning and burning like bile in his throat.
The words are said through curled mouths and sharp teeth, spit from lashing tongues, and he knows they're not friends, but he thought they were meant to be pack, and even though he knows they're only looking out for their alpha, he can't help but feel the sting of betrayal in its wake.
--
Derek doesn't know, and Stiles wants to keep it that way for as long as he can, wants to relish the semi truce between them all, the small kisses Derek leaves on his head and behind his ear when he thinks no one is looking.
They make it clear though, clear with looks and words, they say "If you hurt him we'll make you regret it." And "Don't make us regret trusting you, Stilinski."
And no matter how many times Stiles says, "I'd rather die than hurt him." with his heartbeat steady and true, they still curl their mouths, the threats hanging in the air.
The problem is though, is that Stiles gets it, he does. Knows what Derek's been through, the way he still has nightmares, the way he shifts and shudders with the slightest scent of smoke and fire, how he can taste ash on his tongue and guilt in his stomach.
And Stiles wants to make it better. Wants to curl around Derek and protect him from unseen things, wants to kill Kate Argent all over again, and he loves Derek so much that it aches, sweet and full, the words ready to fly from his lips.
So Stiles gets it, knows it's only Erica's and Isaac's way of looking out for their alpha, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.
--
Scott says, "If you hurt him, I'll get Allison to shoot you with wolfsbane arrows and then I'll rip your throat out." and Derek almost smiles, nods his head and says "And I'd let you." Scott looks like he didn't expect anything else from Derek, grins and claps him on the shoulder, before winking at Stiles and jogging back over to Allison.
"He's a great friend." Derek says, walking over to Stiles, and Stiles lets himself curl into him, holds a little tighter.
"The best," He mumbles into the fabric of Derek's shirt, throat clicking and fingers clenching when Derek pulls him closer.
Stiles is aware he probably seems clingy, going out of his way to make Derek happy and flitting around, lips almost constantly bitten raw, but it's not because he's scared of Erica or Isaac, but more the small voice in the back of his head telling him that what if he isn't good enough for Derek, what if he doesn't make Derek happy.
He's almost more anxious to be around Derek than he is to not be around him. Because what if he does mess it up? What if he does hurt Derek? And the amount of power Stiles holds over Derek, the way Derek looks at him like he hung the moon, terrifies him as much as it fills him with warmth, because he knows himself what it feels like to place yourself in someone else’s hands, only for them to crush you, and he won't, can't be that person to Derek.
--
It's a stupid argument that sets it all off. Stiles is sure it's over something petty, but he can't remember because Derek's jaw is clenched and he won't look at Stiles. Stiles, whose throat is raw from shouting, his eyes stinging and he wants nothing more than to step over to Derek and cup his face in his hands, kiss him until they're both breathless and the ache is gone, but he knows he can't, the gap between them feeling like miles.
"I'm sorry." He says, and he's not sure what for, the fight, everything, but Derek still doesn't look at him, instead only his throat bobs and fingers bend and hide in the too long sleeves of his jacket.
"I'm going out." It's clipped, brittle and raw, and Derek turns, pushes past Stiles without looking at him, the click of the door echoing through the room and Stiles is left, air still feeling thick.
"Okay," he says to the empty room, "Okay."
(He doesn't mean to, but he stays, stays in the loft until its dark and the moon shines through the large window, until he's sure that Derek won't be coming back tonight, before he finally leaves and gets into his Jeep, clothes feeling wrong against his skin, head buzzing and bed feeling too big when he curls up into it.)
--
Stiles doesn't hear from Derek all weekend, not that he doesn't try. He texts and calls and leaves several voice messages, but he only gets one reply on Monday morning a curt "I'm fine" and Stiles isn't sure if he should feel relieved or more worried.
He goes to school in a blur, tries to forget his dads worried face, smiles at Scott's attempts at cheering him up, laughs with Allison and works with Lydia and he's fine, it's nothing he and Derek can't work through, he tells them, hopes he believes himself as much as they seem to.
So of course he gets cornered at lunch, Erica and Isaac dragging him into the old girls toilet and locking the door.
"He's a mess because of you, Stilinski." Erica says, red lips curling up at the corners, and Stiles wants to bite back, because this isn't fair, it's not only his fault, and as much as the words sting, as much as the truth rings through, the knife twisting guilt a little deeper, it isn't.
"We don't know what you did, but it must have been bad, and we warned you Stiles, what would happen if you hurt him." Isaac steps forward, and for all it's worth, Stiles reckons he sounds a little regretful.
"And what about me?" Stiles bites out, and both Erica and Isaac falter.
"What?" Erica says, pausing.
"What about me? It wasn't a one way fight. Do you think he just stood there and didn't say anything? I get it, he's your alpha, and you're trying to look out for him, but he's not the only one hurting, and I'm not the only person in the wrong."
"But that's the thing, you don't get it, you're not a werewolf-"
"No, I'm just the human," Stiles cuts in, taking a step forward, "Who gets in the way, who isn't good enough for your alpha, believe me I know, you've reminded me enough times!" He takes a breath, but now he's started he can't stop. "But it doesn't look like it matters anymore, because he won't talk to me, and I want to fight for this, I do, but it's difficult fighting for someone who won't talk to you."
Stiles pauses and stares at Erica and Isaac, watches the way their eyes flicker away, before he swallows and rolls his shoulders, ducking his head and stepping around them.
They don't stop him.
--
His dad is meant to have the night off, but when he gets home from Scott's later that night, the lights are off and the police cruiser isn't in the drive-way. He's about to panic, fingers already going towards his phone, because things have been quiet lately, and he's not losing his dad, not again, but the porch light flips on and the door opens, and Stiles has to squint to make out the figure in the doorway and when he does, his breath stutters in his throat.
Stiles manages to cut the engine of his Jeep, and clamber out, legs leading him up to the door before he realises what he's doing.
"What are you doing in my house?" Are the first words out of his mouth and Derek flinches before catching himself.
"I wanted to surprise you."
"I don't understand." Stiles admits, because he doesn't. "You ignored me all weekend and now you're in my house, and I'm tired, Derek."
Derek doesn't say anything, but he lifts his arm and curls his fingers around Stiles' wrists, loose enough that he can break free, but tight enough so when he tugs, Stiles moves forward, following Derek through the door, stopping to toe of his shoes before he's pulled along to the kitchen.
Stiles doesn't know what to expect when they enter the kitchen, but it isn't what's actually there. There's plates with pizza and curly fries and Stiles is pretty sure there's a candle, but all he does is blink and stare, even as Derek continues to pull him into the kitchen, and pushes him down into a seat, Derek sitting opposite.
There's an awkward silence before Derek speaks, and Stiles thinks he should prepare himself to be surprised tonight. "I know what happened with Erica and Isaac."
Stiles freezes, tongues at the inside of his mouth before, "How?"
Derek looks up at Stiles, hands playing with his fork, "Boyd." He murmurs.
"He's always been your favourite." Stiles says, quirks his mouth in a half smile and Derek huffs.
"Don't let Jackson hear you say that." But then, "You should have told me." And Stiles has to look away, ducks his head and chews on a curly fry, doesn't even flinch when it burns the roof of his mouth.
"It wouldn't have made a difference."
"What?" Derek hisses, and Stiles can see his hands clench, the way his brow furrows and he grits his teeth, before forcing himself to relax. "Of course it would! I would have spoken to them, made them stop."
Stiles doesn't say anything, the silence ringing through the room, and he wants to run, to hide away somewhere, away from Derek's piercing gaze, the way he stares at Stiles like he can figure him out if he looks long enough, that he wants to figure Stiles out.
And isn't that something?
It's not that he doesn't trust Derek, because he does, trusts him with his life even, but Stiles thinks that maybe he doesn't deserve Derek, that he doesn't deserve to see the person Derek is becoming, softer and more open, the way his whole face lights up when he smiles, his adorable sleep hair in the morning.
Because Stiles is only Stiles, and what does he have to offer Derek really? Sarcasm and his ability to get himself and everyone he cares about in trouble. A basket full of insecurities that they've only touched the top of, and how long is it before Derek realises that he could have anyone? That Stiles isn't worth it?
"You know though, right?" Derek says, suddenly sounding small, and Stiles' head snaps up, neck clicking.
"Know what?" He asks, is surprised by how raw he sounds.
"That you're- that I." Derek breaks off, frustrated, his face clouding over, like he's trying to put his thoughts together.
"You make me happy." He settles on finally and Stiles' mouth parts, "I couldn't believe it when we finally got together, that you'd want to be with me, but you do."
Derek looks up at Stiles, and Stiles can see his eyes flicker across his face, can only imagine what expression he must be pulling, if its anything like Derek's, wrecked and yet so hopeful.
"I know we need to work through some things, and I know things wont -haven't been easy, but I want to try, with you, I want this to work, because you mean so much to me Stiles."
And Stiles- Stiles can't help it, stretches across the table, doesn't care that his shirt is probably in sticky greasy food, and kisses Derek, eyes squeezed shut and hand curling in the fabric of his t-shirt, gasps wetly when Derek kisses back, large palms curling around his face.
"I love you." He says, when they break apart, licks the taste of Derek on his lips, and tries not to hold his breath, and fails.
"I love you too." Derek mumbles around a smile, cheeks pleasantly flushed before he leans in and kisses Stiles, and Stiles would be embarrassed by the noise he makes if Derek wasn't pulling him around the table, impossibly closer and tight, until their hips are flushed, and the kiss is slow, careful and sweet,
and Stiles breathes.
--
("How did you get into my house when my dad was meant to be here?" Stiles asks, absently curling the dark hairs on Derek's stomach, later, when they're curled together in bed, after they've talked about Erica and Isaac and insecurities.
Derek mumbles something Stiles can't hear, pulling Stiles further against his chest and burying his nose in Stiles' hair, snuffling.
"What was that?" Stiles grins, butts his head against Derek's chin.
"I came round to speak to him, told him I wanted to make something up to you," Derek groans, like that'll be enough, but Stiles pinches his hip, "and he told me where the candles were and that we better not do anything in the kitchen, after he threatened me with wolfsbane poisoning and several bullets."
Stiles pauses, before muffling his laugh into the sweaty skin of Derek's neck, places a kiss there when Derek swats at him, pulls the covers around them and enjoys them.
"We didn't get to eat the pizza."
"There's always breakfast?"
"Mm, with my dad, because we're in my house."
"Go to sleep."
--
"Thank you." He whispers later, head fuzzy with sleep, but he doesn't think he imagines the kiss on his temple, or the whispered "We're going to be okay."
They will be.)