"I'm the Alpha," he points out quietly. "It was my responsibility, no one else's." He doesn't like it. Doesn't like the sticky itch of blood on his hands, no matter how often he washes them, or the stink of it clogging up his nostrils, but he does know it was necessary, and that it inarguably fell to him to take care of it. He might be the monster his mother had said he never needed to become, but those deaths have no part in it, and he knows she would have done the same if it had come to it.
And, god, Stiles hadn't denied it. Not that he's the Alpha, but that he's his. Even now, with everything else, he'd expected an instant, kneejerk protest or correction, but it hasn't come, and that combined with the way Stiles hasn't pulled away, the way he's added to the contact with the hand at his wrist, uncoils something in Derek's chest. He slides his hand around to the nape of his neck with automatic care and pulls, gently but steadily, until Stiles' forehead rests against his shoulder and he can press his nose into the hair above his ear and breathe him in. Like he's done repeatedly for Erica and Boyd these last couple of days.
"They're... they're recovering." It would be a stretch he can't make to say they're okay, but he thinks that, at least, is the truth. "All the physical damage is gone, but-" He shrugs. God knows how long it'll take before they can sleep through the night, or bear to be out of each other's sight... or set foot in the woods again. "You could bring it to them yourself?" he suggests before he can talk himself out of it. "They've been asking about you, but I... I told them we needed to let you rest. Let you have your space." He thinks now, after the way he found Stiles, that that had been a mistake, and he lowers his voice a little. "But Pack should be together. Everyone heals faster when they are."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-10-04 02:50 pm (UTC)And, god, Stiles hadn't denied it. Not that he's the Alpha, but that he's his. Even now, with everything else, he'd expected an instant, kneejerk protest or correction, but it hasn't come, and that combined with the way Stiles hasn't pulled away, the way he's added to the contact with the hand at his wrist, uncoils something in Derek's chest. He slides his hand around to the nape of his neck with automatic care and pulls, gently but steadily, until Stiles' forehead rests against his shoulder and he can press his nose into the hair above his ear and breathe him in. Like he's done repeatedly for Erica and Boyd these last couple of days.
"They're... they're recovering." It would be a stretch he can't make to say they're okay, but he thinks that, at least, is the truth. "All the physical damage is gone, but-" He shrugs. God knows how long it'll take before they can sleep through the night, or bear to be out of each other's sight... or set foot in the woods again. "You could bring it to them yourself?" he suggests before he can talk himself out of it. "They've been asking about you, but I... I told them we needed to let you rest. Let you have your space." He thinks now, after the way he found Stiles, that that had been a mistake, and he lowers his voice a little. "But Pack should be together. Everyone heals faster when they are."