A/N - Got a couple of people who wanted Derek's reaction to the letter. I felt like writing the wendigo scene. I hope I did both justice.

It's All Wonderfully Horrible

When they'd gotten news of a wendigo in the forest, the Pack immediately mobilized; it was their job to protect the naïve humans of their territory from the supernatural. Derek was the only born-wolf in the Pack, as well as being the Alpha, and as a result he could sense the Pack Bonds better than any of the Pack. So he knew before anyone (knew before Lydia, before Allison, before Stiles) and knew better than anyone, that those three were just as much Pack as Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, and Danny.

In all the years the humans had been involved in the Pack, Derek had involved them in training just as intense (in comparison) as the training that he had put all the new werewolves after becoming Alpha. They were weaker than the wolves of the Pack, and everyone knew it – so Derek saw it as part of his duty to do what he could to give them advantages.

He refused to watch his Pack die. Not again, and not this Pack… Not the Pack he'd built from the ground-up, himself.

Even just a Pack four-years-old, the back allies and supernatural pockets of the American continent ran with rumors about them. About how they were a Pack risen from the dead to avenge themselves on Hunters; how they stopped each and every threat to their territory, regardless of size; how no supernatural menace was ever seen from again if it teased the Beacon Hills boundary lines. The most mulled over was how they were a Pack who boasted humans of unnatural skill, though: a Hunter who never missed a target, and fought against other Hunters with the Pack; a witch with penchant for flames, and Immunity from all things Change; and a nameless one, a strange one, a full-human who wore a cloak of Red like the Old Tale, and still ran, fought, howled just like Pack.

The first time Stiles had heard the rumor was straight from the stuttering mouth of a horrified lone-Omega, (who didn't realize he'd stumbled onto Hale territory until he noticed the bow-touting, herb-scented, red-jacketed humans that stood with the wolves), as he babbled thoughtlessly for his life, assuming he was about to be gutted. When the nicknames, of himself and the girls, came up, he'd ruined their fearsome reputation by collapsing with undignified laughter in front of that same Omega. Although… even Derek could admit that the simple monikers were amusing: Hunt-Sniper, Boom Witch, and Wolf-Red. After that, it was a unanimous decision to adopt the nicknames, because they'd become just as much a sign of power in the supernatural world as the names Hale and Argent.

A small piece of Derek swelled with pride every time he hear it because, as farfetched as a whole lot (especially the farther-ranged) of the rumors were, the basics were true. His Pack was strong, uncrossed, and a mix of werewolves and capable humans. Where and what his Betas and Omegas fought, his humans did the same.

On that note, that was why when the Pack was alerted to deal with the wendigo, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison came along – armed to their proverbial teeth. The Pack had been doing well – they'd tracked the creature easily, and had it penned in. The trouble came when they found its den.

As their resident research monkey, Stiles was the one who told them to keep an eye out for its den, that there might still be living humans inside. Allison stumbled on the entrance just as the wolves were finally wearing the wendigo down. Since the wendigo's food-of-choice was human flesh, their humans had stayed a little farther back than most battles these days warranted – that was why all three ended up taking point inside the den, maneuvering the living humans out: it was the farthest point from the wendigo that still kept them in easy range of the rest of the Pack.

When it saw strangers that smelled like the wolves attacking him entering its den, the wendigo went insane. Like a man gaining unnatural strength and speed from the fear-adrenaline of a disaster, the wendigo leapt clean over the Pack heads' (a feat that, moments ago, it had been too weak to manage) and charged into its den. Before the wolves managed to get into the den, Stiles drew a line of Ash around himself, the girls, and the five still-living victims. He was holding the enraged, human-eating monster off solely with belief.

"Red!" Danny shouted.

Stiles' eyes darted to his Packmate before tracking the wendigo again. Teeth gritted with effort, he gasped, "Grab the others first! I'll hold the line!"

He had a point, and the Pack knew it: for all that the wolves trained, if they wanted to outrun the supernatural creature that had been built to outrun, out-jump, and out-maneuver even the toughest humans that got caught in the woods, out of this tiny space, they could only carry one victim at a time. Allison levered one of the victims to her feet, and hailed Isaac – as the werewolf darted as close to the Mountain Ash line as he could, she shoved the half-conscious woman at him.

She and Lydia did the same with the other four victims, passing them off to random wolves as quick as they could, while the others menaced the wendigo, drawing its attention and keeping it from reaching the exit and reclaiming the humans. Allison launched herself at Boyd, the closest at the time, and he pulled her away without a hitch. But when Lydia jumped out at Erica, the wendigo slipped past Derek, its freakish fingers snatching at her blouse. Danny and Jackson both roared, and it didn't lay a finger on her, but as Erica drew her away, her heel broke the Ash line.

The desperate wendigo made a lunge for the body closest, and ended up with Stiles. It grabbed his left wrist too tight, hauling it above their heads, and sunk it's teeth into the meat of his right shoulder. It might have been stripped of most of the intelligence that it had once possessed as a human, but it apparently knew enough to hold a hostage. Stiles' abortive scream wrenched the Pack's hearts. Derek snarled furiously, eyes bright red, and black fur rippling over his body as he dropped into the Alpha form – a black, red-eyed wolf as large as a bear.

Already, the anesthetic in its saliva was taking effect, as Stiles' head lolled loosely on his neck. He moaned faintly, eyes fluttering shut. The Pack shifted on uneasy feet, chests' rumbling with growls, stuck in a stalemate.

A hum of pent up energy surged through the Pack as a whole when Boyd's voice whispered in warning, "Sniper's up." Danny and Erica shifted to shield her from its line of sight, without impeding her own, or giving away their intentions by looking back.

In the small space, the twang of the bow reached their ears only after the wendigo sprouted an arrow in its forehead. Derek took advantage of the surprise, and rushed it with a howl. He rammed into it while its grip was still slack on Stiles, sending it and himself crashing into a tangle on one side of the den, and accidently tossing Stiles into the ground in the process. It was a temporary tussle, filled much more with the wendigo's noises of discontent than Derek's grunts of effort. As he freed himself, Isaac and Danny – the quickest in the Pack – braced it on either side, setting it in Lydia's sights.

The impact with the ground had roused Stiles somewhat, so Derek gripped his waist and hauled him up, hoping the other male could walk. Caught up in the sight of Stiles' scraped up arm and face, Derek missed the moment when the wendigo broke free. With a yelp, he tightened his grip, in order to swing the other onto his shoulders fireman-style, and flee the advances of their enemy. Lydia couldn't have picked a better time to launch one of her signature Molotov cocktails.

As it and its den burned, the Pack settled back and attended to the wounded, keeping an eye on the blaze and the forest around it. When Allison was sure the beast was done, Lydia began to direct the others to put out the fire, while Isaac made sure none of the victims were badly enough off to not survive a trip as-is to the hospital. When the fire was gone, Derek sent the Pack on their way to deal with the victims as needed, and he scooped Stiles' once-again unconscious body up.

It was… uncomfortably familiar to deal with Stiles' injuries and then tuck him into bed. Derek hated that he got hurt so often; Stiles would hate Derek, however, if Derek tried to prevent him from fighting alongside the Pack. Derek made sure everything was as in-order as it could be, dropped by John's room to inform the Sheriff that his son was home and safe, and left.

-IAWH-

Derek had expected Stiles to come by with his things any day now, since the house was finished and the majority of the Pack was settled in, and wasn't surprised when he showed up late the next afternoon, personal affects in tow. He hadn't expected Stiles to press a folded letter into his hands before marching upstairs to put up the first of his things.

He glanced up at Stiles' retreating back, brow furrowed a bit more than usual, and then sat down to open the unsealed, reminiscence of school yard note-passing. Over the course of the five minutes it took to read Stiles messy scrawl, Derek's emotions rocketed all over the place.

… I almost made the decision to leave Beacon Hills behind… nothing said I had to go to the Pack…

Derek's heart stuttered, and his hands – suddenly claws – bore tiny holes in the paper. It was only the fact that, as it stood, he could literally hear and smell Stiles' current presence in the house that kept him from leaping up and panicking. His instincts still demanded he race up to Stiles and hide him away, safe and sound and right where Derek would know he was. Only the rest of the letter kept him sitting (and the knowledge of what an ornery Stiles was capable of).

… not even bulleted… seven pages full of reasons why… ready to leave… drive 'til I ran out of gas…

His teeth were quietly, painfully grinding in his mouth. All he could think of was how he was the Alpha – it was his job to notice problems in his Pack, and then fix them! Why the hell had he not noticed this in Stiles?!

… And then I thought about all the good stuff…

A small knot in his chest decided it was time to loosen. It was only one of many, and it could re-clench at any time, but at last it seemed like he had reached the positive portion of this letter. As long as he breathed, kept a cool head, and read this, eventually he would get to the core of whatever the hell Stiles was trying to say.

… you're a good thing in my life, Sourwolf…

That… had been unexpected (well, that stupid nickname, not so much, but still).

… Just one more… I'd have been gone…

His wolf whined pitifully, and his heart clenched again. And then he read the next line and… kept reading, for lack of anything else to do, shocked. The wildly shifting emotions kept him unbalanced, and as the news grew… positive… he was torn between elation and despair.

… But… The thought of life without you is what really decided me…

Just—What the hell, Stiles…?!

… I'll spell it out… I'm Pack, from here on out, no matter what...

As much as he hated the patronizing tone – audible even through the ink, just because he could almost hear Stiles reading it out loud as Derek's eyes followed the lines – he was grateful for the reiteration. It made the tension bleed out of his body. No matter what else he read in this – what, confession? diary entry? prank? – Derek could relax, because obviously it ended well.

… Because I know I'm Pack…

That declaration still made Derek warm inside. For all that Stiles had known about werewolves since he was sixteen, it had taken until he was almost twenty to admit what everyone else knew: that he was a useful, valued, and trusted member of the Pack. And not just the token best friend of one of the Pack members of a tolerant Pack who indulged in human-werewolf co-mingling.

… Because you… Because I realized we might

Seeing Stiles struggling to speak – even if it was just on paper – got Derek's attention, and his focus sharpened. It was getting down to the nitty-gritty, then – the reason for this letter, the point that the ever-vocal Stiles couldn't bring himself to mutter.

The only thing standing in the way of me leaving was love… I love you… loved completely and irrevocably…

Wait.

What?

Derek blinked, and re-read those last lines.

The rapid beating of a nervous heart in front of him finally registered – along with the calm scent of satisfaction, and a small tang of triumph, from the familiar collection of scents that meant 'Pack', just in the next room. Slowly, Derek put down the letter, smoothing the crinkled edges, and then stood. Stiles swallowed nervously, and stumbled, "So – ah. Yeah. That's—that's it, then. Are you—I mean, is this… okay?"

Derek looked Stiles in his nervous honey eyes, drawing the moment out until sweat popped out on Stiles' forehead, until his pounding heart had begun to run double-time, until a nervous chuckle wormed its way passed his lips. Then he quirked the corner of his mouth in something that – in another life – might have been a smile.

He grasped Stiles' shirt-front and thrust him against the wall (gentle, easy, always careful – the old-blood scent of bruising, and new-blood scent of the scabs of a deep wound were still too fresh), bringing their faces nose-to-nose. Distantly, he could hear his Pack tittering, laughing, and groaning in long-awaited relief. What, had they all seen this coming, except Stiles and himself?

"You're an idiot."

Then he leaned forward and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to the right corner of Stiles' mouth, avoiding the still-tender skin on his left cheek. It was a fleeting touch, barely a brush, but it was enough to blow Stiles' pupils wide, bring a flush to his face, and make him breathless. So he didn't lunge after Derek as soon as the older man pulled away; Derek could deal. Especially when, as he leaned forward again, Stiles shifted just enough that it was an honest meeting of lips.

Where they would go from here, Derek didn't know. His own history of dating consisted solely of Kate, and so he knew he was probably more than a little messed up, relationship-wise. And Stiles, for all his bravado on normal days, was still new to all of this – had never had a second date in the history of the Pack. They were either going to be horrible for one another… or absolutely wonderful.

But they would make it. They were Pack. He was the Alpha wolf. And Stiles was the Red that drew the wolf. They would make it (even if Lydia, Isaac, and Erica, tired of the UST in the Pack, had to shove the two of them in a locked closet for their first fight, until they made up).

It was going to be wonderfully horrible, and Derek was never going to let it go. Ever.