Derek's usually careful not to touch, or at least not too much, no more than a brush of fingers or a hand on Stiles' shoulder in passing. Things that used to be just the tip of the iceberg and come as easy as breathing, but it's been so long since getting close had been a risk worth taking. Since there'd been anyone who'd welcome his touch even if he wanted to put himself out there like that. He knows that's part of the reason his attempt at Pack has failed so badly, that no matter how good his intentions were, how much he'd wanted to help his betas, provide them with strength and safety and family, he doesn't know how to open up like that anymore. Doesn't know how to be the kind of Alpha his mother had been. Or even Laura. But he's been agitated as hell for almost two days now, feeling his Pack still broken and scattered, feeling Stiles here and trying to give him the space he probably needs and wants. He's not a wolf, and no matter how Derek feels about it he has no doubt that Stiles doesn't want to be Pack. Or at least not his Pack.

Derek can't fight the wolf anymore, though. Not with Stiles right there, radiating pain and fear and exhaustion, and where the fuck is Scott? How is he not here, after everything that happened? His scent's no fresher in this room than it had been three days ago, and Derek moves without thinking. Again. Drops heavily onto the edge of Stiles' bed and curls a hand around his shoulder to tug him over so he can see his face. "Where's Scott?" he demands. "Why are you alone?"