There is a long, awkward, pause in which Derek just stares at Stiles.

"Derek?" Stiles' voice breaks.

"What're you doing here, Stiles?"

"Me? What're you doing here, covered in blood, and is that- oh god, is that a fingernail in your hair?" Stiles quavers, he leans over and pulls the fingernail gently from Derek's blood-matted hair.

"Don't worry it's not mine," Derek's warm breath plays across Stiles' face.

"I wasn't worried. At all." Stiles coughs and steps away from the taller man. Rubbing the back of his neck and looking down.

"Can I ask what the hell you're doing in my house, looking like you've just killed someone?" Scott had watched their exchange with interest, but turns his curious eyes from the discomforted Stiles, to Derek. "Have you? Killed someone, I mean."

Derek avoids the question all together. "The cops were chasing me," he says it as if it's no more than a general comment on the day's weather.

At the sound of more sirens, closer this time, he walks further into the room, and away from the open window. The curtain blows out in the wind and the hair of all the men in the room is tousled.

"WHY were they chasing you, Derek? And why did you lead them to MY house?" Scott's voice rises with each word spoken.

Derek opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He attempts a few more times, issuing only little croaks.

Quietly, from the corner of the room, Stiles speaks, "What have you done Derek?"

"Nothing-I-it wasn't-I didn't do anything. It was her."

"Who?" Scott's tone had gone from angry to worried.

"Kate. Kate Argent."

"Kate Argent?" Stiles is dumbfounded. "But…she died in some dusty hole in Mexico. Right?"

The other two men in the room avoid his eyes.

"Right?" he says again with more force.

Scott looks sheepish as he says, "Well, technically…"

"Jesus. Just can't catch a break in this town. And you know she's gonna be seriously messed up after dying. It's unnatural to come back from the dead."

"You mean like we did?" Scott asks.

"That, that was different. We didn't have our whole throats thrown on the floor did we?" Stiles mimed his own throat being torn out and thrown on the cream carpet.

"You died?" Derek is stunned.

Stiles rolls his eyes at Derek and speaks at full speed, "Only quickly. Well…actually about half a day. But that's not the point. The point is that crazy she-bitch is back." Stiles drops onto the bed. He shouldn't have been surprised. He'd thought nothing could shock him anymore, not after everything he'd seen, and endured. He'd trusted Chris to put an end to Kate. But really, he should have guessed what the hunter would do. If he put himself in that position he wasn't sure what he'd have done. To kill a loved one. Not that Stiles can understand how Kate could be loved by anyone.

Then he remembers that Derek loved her once, that they're probably kissed, most definitely, he thinks. But what else did she get her claws into? Stiles wonders, sending his body into a flush of desire. He shakes himself both mentally and physically.

"That's what I was about to tell you." Scott sits down in the desk chair and inspects the arms, bent and warped.

"Not something you wanted to mention at the start of the conversation? Or maybe even text me? You do still have my number right?" Stiles clenches and unclenches his fists.

"Stiles, I was…busy." Scott has a guilty look about him.

Stiles takes a deep, shuddering, breath, sighs. "It's cool. I get it."

"Stiles did you do this?" Scott motions to the chair's arms.

"Yeah I- well, I've been meaning to speak to you too. I'm strong now." Stiles flexes his muscles.

"Still look like the skinny bean pole I saw hiding from Oni." Derek pipes up from near the window with a smirk.

In a few steps Stiles strides over to him and lifts him up by the collar. "Still weak?" He grins.

Derek doesn't grin back; there is something wrong about Stiles' smile. It unsettled Derek's stomach and his brain screams out to run.

Stiles puts Derek down. Since when had he wanted to wrangle people's necks? Since when had he been able to? While Stiles ponders his new found temper the other two men in the room stare at him silently.

"I can't help this…feeling. The cold." Stiles puts his head in his hands and sighs. "What the hell is happening to me?" Desperation fills his voice and it breaks slightly.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a burst of adrenalin, excitement, and heat flows from the connection. He turns to speak to who he thinks is Scott.

Instead he's an inch away from Derek's face. His blue eyes searching Stiles' frantically. Trying to drink in every freckle of Stiles' complexion. Their breath meets in the air between them and flurries up. Their breathing becomes laboured, and Derek has begun panting once more.

Stiles' eyes shake and take on a hunger, a need. He quivers from head to toe.

Scott clears his throat loudly. The intensity in the room breaks. Both Stiles and Derek take a step backwards.

"Fuck," Stiles breathes, and then more loudly, "I gotta go." Instead of using the door Stiles launches through the window and lands lithely with a roll on the lush front lawn.

Derek watches from the window as Stiles runs down the orange-lit road into the blindness of distance. He keeps staring for a while, until Scott says, "Dude, what just happened? And whose freaking blood is that?"