Much as he'd hated it, Derek had made himself not follow, made himself let Scott take care of Stiles and see that he got to Deaton, and then home, safe. Made himself focus on the mess in the basement, the remains of two wolves... two more wolves he'd killed, and he'd wondered if his mother had ever killed. Ever looked down and watched the blood of an enemy drip from her claws. If it had left her feeling this... hollow. Empty. Soiled.
It had taken more effort than it should have to keep his cool with Argent. To agree on how to dispose of the bodies, and the story he was allowed to tell to the hunter community. Just as much effort as he'd expected to stand at the treeline and watch the house begin to burn, stay until he could smell the unique, sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh and hear the sirens in the distance, and then, finally, he'd let himself approach the McCall house, go to check in with his pack.
He'd meant to just... get close, scent them and listen in for a minute, maybe two. Make sure they were healing and being taken care of. They'd nearly knocked him off his feet when they'd charged out the back door and wrapped themselves around him, oblivious or indifferent to the blood still caking his skin, soaked into the shredded remains of his clothes. Probably because they weren't any better themselves, though some effort had been made to clean them up. He'd expected they'd want to stay with Scott, but they'd followed him into the darkness, away from the lights and sirens and back to the loft. All three of them, even Isaac, and they'd left slipped into the pre-dawn light as the fire truck pulled up, the alphas house already completely ablaze.
It had still felt like there was an empty place when they'd all gotten back and settled in, though. Like the pack... wasn't complete, even once everyone had showered, been fed, changed into Derek and Isaac's spare clothes and sprawled themselves across his bed in an attempt at finding comfort, at reinforcing bonds they hadn't even realized were important until they'd been functionally cut off by the alphas. Derek hadn't even been able to muster a spark of irritation at having his bed co-opted, had just sat at the head of it, a hand each on Boyd and Erica's heads and watched his pack, most of his pack, sink into restless, fitful sleep.
He hadn't been able to leave them, even to get groceries, the first day, and they'd ended up having pizza delivered, then sending Isaac out for more supplies. They hadn't wanted to talk about any of it, had seemed to be waiting for him to criticize or punish them for their lack of loyalty or their stupidity, but how could he? How could he blame them for leaving him? How could he do anything but everything he could to fold them back into the broken remains of Pack after what they'd been through because of him?
And so it had taken almost thirty-six hours before he'd been able to ease himself away. To leave them with assurances that he'd be back soon, that they were safe, because he had to check on Stiles. No matter if he'd likely be better off if Derek stayed away from him, staying away just... wasn't an option, not with the feel of him at the back of Derek's mind. Exhausted and jittery. Frightened, he thought. And the smell of him when Derek finally got close enough.
He's perched on the roof outside Stiles' window without any memory of the last half block, pushing up the sash and sliding through and having to hope that he actually hadn't been seen, because he hadn't been careful not to be. "Stiles?" It comes out more harsh than he'd meant it to, laden with worry and guilty.
no subject
It had taken more effort than it should have to keep his cool with Argent. To agree on how to dispose of the bodies, and the story he was allowed to tell to the hunter community. Just as much effort as he'd expected to stand at the treeline and watch the house begin to burn, stay until he could smell the unique, sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh and hear the sirens in the distance, and then, finally, he'd let himself approach the McCall house, go to check in with his pack.
He'd meant to just... get close, scent them and listen in for a minute, maybe two. Make sure they were healing and being taken care of. They'd nearly knocked him off his feet when they'd charged out the back door and wrapped themselves around him, oblivious or indifferent to the blood still caking his skin, soaked into the shredded remains of his clothes. Probably because they weren't any better themselves, though some effort had been made to clean them up. He'd expected they'd want to stay with Scott, but they'd followed him into the darkness, away from the lights and sirens and back to the loft. All three of them, even Isaac, and they'd left slipped into the pre-dawn light as the fire truck pulled up, the alphas house already completely ablaze.
It had still felt like there was an empty place when they'd all gotten back and settled in, though. Like the pack... wasn't complete, even once everyone had showered, been fed, changed into Derek and Isaac's spare clothes and sprawled themselves across his bed in an attempt at finding comfort, at reinforcing bonds they hadn't even realized were important until they'd been functionally cut off by the alphas. Derek hadn't even been able to muster a spark of irritation at having his bed co-opted, had just sat at the head of it, a hand each on Boyd and Erica's heads and watched his pack, most of his pack, sink into restless, fitful sleep.
He hadn't been able to leave them, even to get groceries, the first day, and they'd ended up having pizza delivered, then sending Isaac out for more supplies. They hadn't wanted to talk about any of it, had seemed to be waiting for him to criticize or punish them for their lack of loyalty or their stupidity, but how could he? How could he blame them for leaving him? How could he do anything but everything he could to fold them back into the broken remains of Pack after what they'd been through because of him?
And so it had taken almost thirty-six hours before he'd been able to ease himself away. To leave them with assurances that he'd be back soon, that they were safe, because he had to check on Stiles. No matter if he'd likely be better off if Derek stayed away from him, staying away just... wasn't an option, not with the feel of him at the back of Derek's mind. Exhausted and jittery. Frightened, he thought. And the smell of him when Derek finally got close enough.
He's perched on the roof outside Stiles' window without any memory of the last half block, pushing up the sash and sliding through and having to hope that he actually hadn't been seen, because he hadn't been careful not to be. "Stiles?" It comes out more harsh than he'd meant it to, laden with worry and guilty.