Isaac had sent him to meet the rest of the pack at the porch once he heard their footsteps approaching. He grinned at them and hoped that the other boy had been able to dispose of the deed.

"Hey guys," he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and definitely staggers a bit, 'cause yeah, he clearly doesn't have the devil may care aloofness for such a move. "So did you finish howling at the moon? Awesome, that's so cool just – like, don't enter the kitchen, it's now a no-wolf zone. Like, permanently. Like, if you get claws at any point in time you're not allowed in and that means you too Allison, 'cause you keep your nails long and that's kind of the same thing as claws."

Danny's the first to realize something's wrong and Stiles really doesn't know what gave it away. He's not twitching...much.

"My cupcakes!" Danny shouts and pushes past Stiles.

"ISAAC, HIDE THE EVIDENCE!" He shrieks and then runs up behind Danny and jumps on the other boy's back. He covers Danny's eyes with his hands and clings on for dear life. Danny tries bucking him off, which fails miserably; because Stiles is a pro at latching onto things - it comes with the art of annoying people into submission. It's not until Danny slams his back against one of the walls of the kitchen that he's able to dislodge Stiles.

Stiles let's out a loud humph as he falls towards the floor, rubbing the back of his head and glaring - which immediately turns to him throwing an arm in front of him and the other over his eyes, peeking through his fingers at the expression he's met with.

Danny glares - trademark werewolf frowny-brows - his fangs come out.

"I swear if you ate all the cupcakes, I'm ripping both you and Isaac's throats out. With my teeth."

"Wow, you guys seriously need new material."

Allison's face pops up next to Danny. Her hair is all tied up in a tight bun, making her face appear sharper and her eyes looks slightly crazed.

"How about we find out how long it takes for the human body to drain all of its blood after being punctured with arrows?" Stiles nervously gulps and babbles.

"Allison, Amazon princess – no, no, Queen, definitely a Queen, Queen of all the forest creatures, Ali dear, the apple of my eye, fruit of my loins, the, the – you wouldn't kill me!"

"It is debatable."

He hears a groan from somewhere in front of him and he wonders when Danny had left his crouched position.

"All of them, Stiles! All of them, gone."

"What's gone?" Isaac says, gliding into the kitchen from the living room, his impossibly blues eyes blinking slowly, his eyelashes brushing against the tip of his cheek bones and wow, he's good, Stiles thinks, he's really, really good. It's like Bambi on steroids.

For a moment he really thinks Isaac's going to get away with it and that they're both saved. It is not until Danny strides up, the frown on his face deepening and pokes at the pocket of Isaac's dark blue jeans - where tadaa! one cupcake wrapper is inconveniently sticking out. He hears the outraged scream that rips through Allison.

Believe him when he said that it brought shame to the war cry of a Banshee.

There is no God and he's going to die.

He sees Allison make her way towards him as Danny scolds Isaac - his hands clutching to the front of Isaac's shirt as Isaac throws his head back - and he really, really doesn't want to know how long it will take to drain out all of his blood - so in desperation he croaks out a plea to Scott.

Which yeah, he admits, a really bad idea, but he's running out of options here.

So when a very broad and very firm shoulder magically appears in front of Stiles, he did the one thing that he believes anybody, werewolf hunter or human, would do when faced with a very pissed off Allison – he cowers behind it. Well, he doesn't actually cowers cowers, it's more like strategically placing himself behind said broad and firm shoulder. For protection purposes only.

It's only when he hears a deep and very Alpha-like voice calling, "Allison," and the sight of Allison stopping mid-march to Stiles, that he realizes that the very broad and very firm shoulders belong to Derek.

On second thought, he thinks, I'd rather die than be saved by Derek Hale, thank you very much.

"Der-ek." She breaks his name in a whine.

"No." Derek says, his voice low and menacing.

"But,"

"I said, no!" Allison clearly takes it to the heart, if the sight of her wearing her infamous Pouty-Allison face is any indication. "Isaac you're going to drive everyone for dessert. Stiles, you'll clean the mess you've made in the kitchen."

He see's Isaac nod where he's still standing, eyes downcast as Danny directs glares that speak of disappointment. At least he's not wolfed out anymore.

The sound of movement is all he hears and then he realizes he was left alone with Derek Hale.

Alone with Derek.

In the kitchen.

Alone.

With Derek Hale.

He shakes his head to clear it a little bit before racing to the other side of the counter to clean up. If he's quick enough he can get back home with the smallest possible amount of awkwardness. He's bent over picking up wrappers from where they laid on the floor, and when he stands up to throw them away, his own traitorous hands conveniently drop them back to the floor at the sight of Derek's chest.

Fuck him.

He looks up and his heart stutters at the explosion of a flower blooming in the pit of his stomach. Derek has that careful smile on his face; not the bright one he would give after a particular good full moon, but the one that always made Stiles believe that maybe, just maybe, Derek did loves him back. It always laid there in the corner, tucked away with the light of night, a latter between the realms of magic and the secrets of the camp fire.

His eyes snap back to the floor as he bends back down to pick up the fallen wrappers. Derek's hand covers his own. It's a sight to behold, the difference between them: Derek's hand are rough from the land - big, the type of hands that a man would have; while Stiles are thin and long - an artist's hands.

"Let me help you." It's whispered and fleeting like the dew that shined in morning.

"No." Stiles speaks without thinking and just like that, the dam breaks and he can't stop talking.

"No. You don't have the right." Stiles says standing up and throwing himself back, trying to dislodge himself from the situation. He's shaking his head and he feels his body vibrate as though all of his organs have just picked up speed, his flight-response clearly kicking in.

"You don't get to smile at me and make me fall in love all over again, oh my God, oh my fucking God. This isn't a fucking movie, I'm not fucking Bella Swan, fucking desperate to take you back. You hurt me. You hurt me. I don't think you fucking understand, Derek, that sometimes the only way I could even get in a few hours of sleep at night was to recreate your body around me, the weight of your head on my shoulder, to have yourscent surround me. I had to heal myself, this stupid little broken thing that you made me - and God, Derek, I really hope she was worth it, I really hope that you felt so fucking good inside of her."

Stiles glares and damns this moment, this moment of limbo. Where the future is right before them but they can't seem to cling onto it - but you could never go back to pretending that this didn't happened. The moment of goose bumps and fingers clinging to keep something that would slip away because time always manages to run out.

Derek presses forward aligning their bodies, synchronizing their breaths, orchestrating the rhythms of their blood flow - one steady and one frantic. Stiles growls meekly, lunging forward and buries his nails into the veins on Derek wrists, where the blood collects warm and thriving and for an instant, he desires nothing more than to kill Derek.

He can't hold it in - this toxic - as it spills from his body; he wants to get it out. It chokes him, this love and he's a walking book of emotions - a fool. He loved in the most foolish of ways; he divulged his love into strings of light and ribbon for all the world to see, as he transcended the reality of his situation through his imagination. Many of his actions had been done on impulse and with the sheer last minute catch-your-breath- hope-that-they-will-come-out-right; that it would be worth it all in the end.

He lashes out and gives a swift kick to the others groin. Derek crumbles a tight gasp, the only sound he makes as he leans over. It pulls Stiles apart as much as it gives him strength. He yanks Derek's hair back so he has to look at him and it vibrates through him this power, this satisfaction of seeing the other on his knees.

"Tell me when it hurts, lover." And he bites down on Derek's lip until the metallic taste of blood swarms into his mouth; he pulls back grinning and with his tongue wipes the blood from his teeth.

"Because, you know what? Maybe I never fucking shook you, and now you're like this fucking disease in my veins," He digs his nails deeper leaving crescent-moon marks and smirks as Derek's eyes flash red. He's been damned to hell because of this obsession, so what's another dance with the devil?

"I thought I was okay, and then I hear your voice and every memory comes back. You clawed yourself in, you stupid fucking bastard, and you broke me! I thought maybe if I tried more, got better grades, spoke less, I would be good enough, maybe I could finally fucking get what I want. But how do you just walk away? How do you go from fucking me against walls, from breathing down, how I was yours to acting as though I'm an infection? I WANTED EVERYTHING WITH YOU!" And it's him breaking so beautifully as he cries for every pulse of their heart beat, every unspoken word. It's shattering and he crumbles as if it cripples him. He leans forward licking the prominent blue veins against the alabaster skin, tasting the sweat, feeling the ragged thump and good, he thinks, he wants this to kill Derek just as much as it killed him. As he creeps up and speaks his secrets - the ones that lied in chambers of his hearts, marred by blood - the ones that hid in the spaces of his bones into the shell of Derek's ear.

"I thought I could lose myself in all the pretty things you would do, like make me coffee in the mornings, put flowers on my mom's grave, and come up behind me and wrap me up in your arms.

"I thought I could live in the safety of your arms."

For once, Stiles lowers his gaze from Derek's stoic face, falling into the inevitable space that had created itself between them. For once, Stiles didn't know what to tell, for all of his secrets have been spoken of. He could hear Derek's heavy breathing; he could hear his own blood pumping fast within his very human body.

He pushes Derek back by the shoulders and watches as he stares up at him warily, defeated. A bitter laugh falls from his mouth - it sounds all different types of wrong, coming from him, but it's been so many years since Stiles was anywhere near right.

He hears Derek call for him but he just runs. He's gotten good at that.