Count your fingers

8. Here again

Trigger warnings: none

When they all get back to Derek's loft, Stiles is happy to change out of the green scrubs Deaton had provided them with. They're a lot better than the wet clothes he woke up in, but they smell of disinfectant and medicine even to his human nose. He can only imagine how offended Derek's sensitive werewolf nose is.

The werewolf follows him into the bathroom without discussion and Scott and the others already know better than to say something about it. They weren't gonna let the other out of their sight, simple as that. Not until they knew this was really their own world, and maybe not even after that. Inside the bathroom Stiles leans his hands on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Derek comes up behind him, not touching him but close enough that Stiles can sense his body heat at his back.

"Ten fingers," Derek says, nodding down at the digits that Stiles has splayed on the edges of the white sink.

Stiles wiggles his fingers in response, sighing. "Always had ten."

"They know us here."

"They often did, or some version of us anyway."

"They knew we were gone," Derek reasons, as he steps closer to slide his arms around Stiles's waist and slot his front to his back. They lock eyes in the mirror. "They worked hard to get us back."

Stiles swallows hard. "Do you think we finally made it back?"

Derek doesn't answer directly, but eventually he nods. "They're all real, they're all our pack. This is my house, I'm certain of it."

"I think so too," Stiles confirms, though it's said waveringly. "It just feels weird. Like any minute it'll all be taken from us again."

The arms around him tighten. "It won't. And whatever happens, I'll find you."

Stiles turns his face into the werewolf's neck and clamps his hands down over his arms. They stand like that for a good while, until Derek slowly disentangles them and gently urges Stiles into the shower, promising to get him some clean clothes.

The shower in the loft is not big enough for two people, but Stiles doesn't mind. Not with Derek waiting for him with a large towel when he's finished. There's clothes laying out for him on top of the toilet lid, a pair of Derek's sweatpants and one of his henleys. He's gonna be smelling like Derek all over, but judging by the intense look on Derek's face that's a good thing.

When they get back to the living room where the others are waiting for them, the linked fingers between them get spotted immediately.

"Yeah, that's something to get used to," Scott admits with a sheepish face. "Are you guys dating now?"

Stiles shrugs, sitting down on the empty spot on the sofa they left for them. Derek settles in next to him, their sides touching. His glare is enough to make Scott look away, scratching the back of his head self-consciously.

"I think what Scott just means is that we're very curious to know what happened to you guys in the twelve hours that you were out," Kira says sweetly while she hands them both a cup of foul smelling herbal tea. "From Deaton," she adds apologetically.

Stiles takes the tea and proceeds to nearly drop it. "Twelve hours?!"

"What do you mean: twelve hours?" Derek puts his tea on the coffee table and sits forward. "We were gone for months!"

"That witch got you right before noon," Lydia explains primly, "which is technically yesterday since it's now the middle of the night." She shows them the time on her phone, which says it's close to two AM. They woke up in Deaton's ice tubs a couple of hours ago, which makes the claim of twelve hours about right. "Now drink your tea, it helps with the recovery of the spell."