Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/898142.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Coda, 3.07, First_Time, Angst, Happy_Ending, Grief/Mourning, Canonical
      Character_Death, Derek_Hale_Feels, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, coda_to_3.07
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-25 Words: 2976
****** That’s why I bring you down (so there’s no place to go but up) ******
by Finduilas
Summary
     He finds him in the bathroom adjacent to one of the bedrooms, running
     his hands under the steady stream of the tap. Derek’s hands are
     clean, save for a few scratches, and Stiles wonders how many times
     he’s washed off Boyd’s blood since Stiles left the loft earlier.
      
     “I told you to go away,” Derek says, without looking up in the mirror
     to meet Stiles’ eyes.
Notes
     Many thanks to Qhuinn for discussing the fic with me, and to
     ChasingShadows for the Beta!
     Title from Happiness, by World Without Sundays
     The amazing Bubbles made this_gorgeous_gif_set_for_it!
He’s not quite sure what happens with Boyd’s body by the time Stiles is meeting
up with Scott. Or how they even explained any of it to Ms Blake. In a way, he
can’t really bring himself to care.
The relief that Deaton is alive washes away from Scott’s face when Stiles tells
him about Boyd. There’s a lot of “but how?” and “but couldn’t they have!”s from
Scott, until he finally just falls quiet and accepts it when Stiles says that
Derek and Isaac did everything they could.
“I think your dad suspects,” Scott tells him, and Stiles feels so numb he can
only nod.
They’re quiet for a moment, and then Scott says, “He said he wanted to be like
me.”
Stiles nods, as Scott adds the unnecessary, “Boyd…”
“I know it sounds stupid…” Stiles shrugs. “But I’m kind of glad him and Erica
found each other. You know, before.”
“A lot of good it did them,” Scott says bitterly, but Stiles can see him
blinking away wet eyes.
Stiles wants to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. It’s all
so surreal.
“At least now they don’t have to go on without each other,” Scott says, and
there’s a wet streak across his cheek.
“That’s a really depressing thought, buddy,” Stiles says with a choked off huff
– somewhere between a morbid snort and a sob – as he feels his eyes sting.
Scott tries half a smile and nods. Maybe it isn’t after all.
***
By the time he makes it back to Derek’s loft, it’s empty, save for Derek and
the large pool of water. He’s not quite sure what happened with Boyd’s body,
but it isn’t where Stiles last saw it, with Cora hunched over it. His feet are
drenched as he warily steps forward, slushing through the water.
It’s the “Go away, Stiles” that betrays Derek’s position, and Stiles gingerly
walks up the spiral staircase, towards Derek’s voice.
He finds him in the bathroom adjacent to one of the bedrooms, running his hands
under the steady stream of the tap. Derek’s hands are clean, save for a few
scratches, and Stiles wonders how many times he’s washed off Boyd’s blood since
Stiles left the loft earlier.
“I told you to go away,” Derek says, without looking up in the mirror to meet
Stiles’ eyes.
“I’m not good at taking orders,” Stiles says, and he looks back at the bedroom
behind him. He wonders if the mattress on the floor belonged to Isaac. If Cora
sleeps there now.
“Get the fuck out,” Derek says as he shoves past Stiles roughly, the same
shoulder he put a comforting hand on earlier now nearly pushing him into the
wall.
“Where is everyone?” Stiles asks, standing in the doorway between the bathroom
and the bedroom, watching as Derek tries hard not to fall apart.
“They listened when I told them to get the fuck out!” Derek says coarsely.
“I’m not that easily fooled,” Stiles says, taking in the sight of the man in
front of him.
Derek’s hair is still humid, toweled out of submission. He’s shed the blood and
water soaked clothes, and put on dry ones, except for shoes. Derek’s bare toes
are digging into the carpet. The same carpet that Stiles is drenching with his
wet shoes.
“I don’t want your help,” Derek says, through gritted teeth.
“You need someone’s,” Stiles counters, and there’s a flare of anger passing
over Derek’s face.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with Scott?” Derek spits out.
“Scott is with Allison,” Stiles says, because the lines between broken up and
together get faded when facing a tragedy.
“You’re not my Allison,” Derek says, finally meeting Stiles’ eyes.
Stiles isn’t quite sure what he sees in Derek’s eyes, but he’s pretty adamant
that he doesn’t want to leave Derek alone right now. He doesn’t even need the
memory of Scott at the motel to see the vast amount of guilt resting on Derek’s
shoulders.
“Why can’t you all just stay away from me?” Derek asks, his voice a frustrated
rumble. “Do you all have a death wish?” His fingers are clenched besides his
body, flexing every now and again.
“You’re not to blam – ” Stiles starts, but stops short as Derek grabs the
pillow from the mattress and hurls it straight at Stiles in a fit of rage.
“Don’t you dare!” Derek yells, the pillow hitting Stiles square in the chest,
soundlessly falling to the ground.
There’s a glass bottle on the floor next to the mattress, closer to Derek’s
reach, untouched.
“If you think you can push me away, you’re dead wrong,” Stiles says sharply,
not even sorry for his choice of words.
“Then you’re a stupid son of a bitch,” Derek grits through his teeth, taking a
few steps closer to nearly spit the words in Stiles’ face.
“And you’re a stubborn asshole,” Stiles barks back, his head held high as he
looks Derek straight in the eyes, “But I’m still not leaving.”
There’s a twitching movement that makes Stiles think for one split second that
maybe Derek is going to punch him in the face, but it’s like something snaps
and midway through Derek bringing his hand up, he’s changed his mind, and the
hand clasps roughly at the side of Stiles’ neck and then Derek is crushing his
lips against Stiles’. It’s almost bruising, and their teeth clash for a second
as Stiles opens his mouth underneath Derek’s. Stiles’ fingers grip into the
front of Derek’s shirt, pulling him close, as Derek’s other hand grips his
shoulder just this side of painful. But Stiles tugs sharply at the fabric of
Derek’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer as he drags his tongue over
Derek’s, hungrily taking everything Derek has to give.
Derek makes a sound, a rumbling whine low in the back of his throat, vibrating
into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles releases his grip on Derek’s shirt, instead snaking
his arms around Derek’s back, pushing himself flat against Derek’s chest. He
thinks he’s trembling slightly, until he realizes it’s Derek, and Stiles wants
to say something but he’s too busy trying to keep up with Derek’s kiss.
Derek pulls his head away then, just long enough for his mouth to latch onto
Stiles’ neck. There are teeth scraping along Stiles’ jawline, and somewhere in
the back of his mind he wonders if maybe he should be afraid of Derek getting
carried away, but then a tongue replaces the sting of the teeth, laving over
Stiles’ skin.
“Ah,” Stiles says, fingertips digging into the muscles of Derek’s back, and
then Derek is swinging them around, pushing Stiles down on the mattress. They
break contact for a second, as Stiles’ back hits the mattress, and then Derek
is plastered on top of him.
Derek bites down on Stiles’ bottom lip, not unpleasantly, before running his
tongue along  the line of Stiles’ lips. Stiles is not sure if it’s meant as a
request for his permission, but he opens up either way, eagerly inviting
Derek’s tongue back into his mouth. There’s a very faint taste of blood and
sweat, but mostly there’s the taste of Derek, and Stiles can’t help but find it
quite intoxicating.
Derek’s hands are tracing underneath Stiles’ shirt, fingernails scraping and
sometimes digging slightly into his skin. Derek rolls his hips down, right on
top of Stiles’, and there’s a hard line against the crease of Stiles’ hip.
Stiles is completely hard as well, the weight of Derek’s vast body reassuringly
on top of him, Derek’s lips on his.
When Derek pulls away slightly, Stiles seeks out his eyes to find them
glimmering with unshed tears. Derek’s hand comes up to Stiles’ cheek, his thumb
rubbing over Stiles’ bottom lip, before pressing down his lips to replace it.
“It’s okay,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s mouth, and he isn’t quite sure what
exactly is supposed to be okay, but Derek nods anyway, burying his face into
the crook of Stiles’ neck as he grinds down his hips, aligning both their
cocks, only separated by their clothing.
Derek’s knee nudges its way in between Stiles’ legs, and he pushes up,
eliciting a moan from Stiles with the friction is creates. Derek puts his hands
on Stiles’ hips, pulling him up to meet his hastening thrusts.
“It’s okay,” Stiles whispers again, and as Derek rubs his face against Stiles’
neck, he can feel it come away wet.
Derek lets out a choked off sob before he captures Stiles in another frantic
kiss. There’s a familiar tightening in Stiles’ balls, as Derek keeps thrusting
his hips down, each push sending spikes of pleasure up Stiles’ spine. Stiles’
hands roam over the back of Derek’s body, caressing over his shoulder blades,
encouraging the rhythm of Derek’s hips.
“Oh God,” Stiles mutters, and he’s not even sure Derek hears him, but that’s
alright.
But then Derek grunts, snapping his hips down, grinding his cock against
Stiles’ in one more long drag, and Derek stills against Stiles’ body, pressing
his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck again, his mouth open against Stiles’
skin. And Stiles knows that Derek just came, and he squirms underneath Derek’s
body, bringing a hand down between the two and them and palming himself over
his pants. It’s all it takes for Stiles to follow suit, dragging out a long
moan as he reaches his climax.
There’s the sound of heavy breathing filling the air, and the unmistaken scent
of sweat and sex. His boxers cling uncomfortably to his skin, but Stiles makes
no effort to move from Derek’s grasp, instead bringing his hand up to rub
carefully in the hair at the back of Derek’s head as he feels Derek’s eyelashes
flutter against the skin of his neck.
Derek doesn’t say a word, like he hasn’t all this time, but he presses a kiss
on Stiles’ lips, his eyes closed but wet.
Stiles isn’t quite sure when Derek falls asleep, his head resting on Stiles’
shoulder, exhaustion finally taken over, but Stiles simply tightens his arms
around Derek’s frame and closes his eyes.
There’s a physical and emotional fulfillment deep inside Stiles’ body that
stands in sheer contrast with the overwhelming sadness he feels when his mind
fills itself with thoughts of Boyd.
***
When Stiles wakes up, there’s a vast emptiness beside him. His boxers are
sticking to his skin, his feet are uncomfortable and itchy inside almost dried
shoes, and Derek is nowhere to be seen.
Stiles groans as he sits upright on the mattress, looking around for a sign of
Derek. He closes his eyes for a second, thinking of how maybe this wasn’t
exactly how he’d pictured this going. He represses thoughts of Derek doing
anything stupid – well, stupider than usual – because he convinces himself that
he would know.
“Derek?” Stiles asks as he reaches the spiral staircase, looking down on the
shallow pool that is Derek’s loft.
There’s no answer.
Stiles sighs as he walks down, hesitating for a second when he reaches the last
dry step, before setting his foot firmly in the water again. The loft is empty,
the giant triskele on the window a gruesome reminder of what went down here
last night.
He looks at the spot where he last saw Boyd. He tries hard not to think of
Erica, but fails miserably.
As he slushes through the water towards the front door, he wonders where Derek
is.
***
Derek manages to avoid Stiles for a whole day and a half, until Scott gets
Isaac to spill the beans and admit he went back to the old Hale house.
Stiles knows Derek hears him long before he pushes open the door with a
screech, Scott’s claw marks still visible in the paint.
“Didn’t the County take this place?” Stiles asks into thin air, knowing Derek
will hear him anyway.
There’s a beat of silence before Derek appears from behind one of the scorched
walls and says, “They haven’t started the demolition yet.”
Stiles doesn’t even want to think about how everything Derek has gets taken
away from him.
“You can fix up the loft again, you know,” Stiles says, decidedly ignoring the
way Derek avoids looking at him. “You just need to have the water pumped away.
Treat the floor again…”
Derek just walks past him, keeping his distance.
“Waterproof it…” Stiles mutters.
Derek doesn’t speak, just stares at the burned out wall in front of him.
“Unless, of course, you don’t want to live in a place with those kinds of
memories,” Stiles says, eyeing the house surrounding them – or what’s left of
it – and he wonders if it’s even possible for Derek to ever feel at home
somewhere ever again. “You can always find yourself something else.”
“Go away, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice almost a sigh.
“I feel like we’ve had that conversation before,” Stiles says, and he knows
that Derek can hear his heart beat almost out of his chest, but he’s putting on
a brave front anyway. “And look where that went.”
“Yeah, well, sleeping with you didn’t make Boyd any less dead, now did it?”
Derek spits out, and Stiles tries hard not to recoil back as if he’d been
slapped in the face.
“You know, being an insensitive asshole isn’t going to make me go away,” Stiles
says instead, his jaw clenched. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”
“What do you want from me, Stiles?” Derek asks, and Stiles can see he’s still
exhausted to the bone. “Is it an apology? Fine, I apologize for doing that to
you – ”
“Why would I want an apology?” Stiles asks, frowning.
“I know what I did to you, alright?” Derek says. “Jesus Christ, were you even…
That was your first time, wasn’t it?” 
And the look on Derek’s face is horrified, and Stiles is slowly beginning to
understand that it’s not for his own sake, but for what he thinks he did to
Stiles.
“I don’t know what it is that you think you did to me,” Stiles says slowly,
deliberately. “Actually, no, I think I have a pretty good idea now, but I need
you to listen to me.”
“Stiles – ” Derek starts, exasperated.
“No, you’re going to listen to me,” Stiles says, and he thinks his voice must
have conveyed enough determination to at least get Derek’s full attention.
“Boyd isn’t any less dead because of what we did,” Stiles confirms, and it
still stings to think of, “But I can at least hope that it offered you a tiny
bit of comfort. And you know what? I sure as hell felt more comfort being with
you than from sitting alone in my room, thinking of Boyd’s dead body in a pool
of water, alright?”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Derek says, shaking his head slightly.
“You weren’t alone. You didn’t do anything stupid. I’d say it changed a lot,”
Stiles counters.
“So, what?” Derek asks, with a huff. “You slept with me so I wouldn’t go out
and kill the rest of my pack? Or myself?”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a stubborn ass,” Stiles sighs. “In case you hadn’t
noticed, I’m not that selfless, alright? And you can be offhand about it all
you want, but we both know there’s more to it than that. And if you can’t deal
with what happened between us, then you at least need to deal with Boyd’s
death, and with what’s left of your pack.”
“That’s not a whole lot,” Derek says.
“I think there’s more than you think, but you just don’t want to see it,”
Stiles says.
Derek lets out a sigh, tilts his head back to look around as if he’s
contemplating what to do next.
“I don’t need to live in the place where he died to live with those kinds of
memories,” Derek finally says, and Stiles nearly lets out a breath of relief at
Derek finally opening up.
“I know,” Stiles says, softly, carefully. “I just hope that his death is not
the only thing you’ll remember of him. Of them.”
Derek nods, and Stiles thinks that maybe it’s a silent promise to work on it.
“I’m sorry,” Derek says, eventually.
“I told you that I didn’t want an apology –” Stiles starts, but Derek cuts him
off, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry for leaving before you woke up,” Derek says, and his eyes meet
Stiles’.
“Oh,” Stiles says, his lips forming a perfect “o” as he stares at Derek.
“You’d never…” Derek hesitates, “And, it was a crappy thing to do.”
“Yeah, well, don’t do it again,” Stiles shrugs, as if he’s trying to make light
of the situation, until he realizes what his words might imply.
Derek nods again, and Stiles worries his bottom lip between his teeth, trying
to stop himself from saying…
“’Cause that’s never gonna happen again, right?” Stiles says anyway, his eyes
everywhere but Derek, “Because you were at an all-time low and otherwise you
wouldn’t have… Not with me. I mean…”
“Stiles,” Derek says, his hand on Stiles’ shoulder to stop the rambling.
Stiles looks up, meets Derek’s eyes.
“I’m thinking maybe in the future I could be a little less self-absorbed and
pay you some more attention,” Derek says, and if Stiles didn’t know any better,
he thinks he might see a blush on Derek’s cheeks.
Stiles’ face breaks open in a tentative smile, and he says, “I don’t mind
taking care of you.”
Derek nods, and softly brushes his lips against Stiles’, before wrapping his
arms around him protectively and burying his face in the now familiar crook of
Stiles’ neck. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and closes his eyes,
letting the tension seep out of his body.
He isn’t entirely sure but he thinks he hears Derek’s murmur, “Maybe we can
take care of each other.” 
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