After the pack house has caught fire, stiles races in to save something that's 'one of a kind'
--
"Holy shit," Stiles wheezes, stumbling down the steps, barely keeping on his feet.
Derek grabs his shirt as another part of the house collapses behind them. He drags Stiles further out and only stops when his own legs finally give out and he falls down on his knees.
"Fuck," Stiles says, and then starts coughing and can't seem to stop. His lungs are on fire and his throat feels like he swallowed rocks. This is surreal. He was asleep, like, ten minutes ago, and now the house is on fire.
It's so loud. Stiles never knew fire could be so loud.
"What were you thinking?" Derek growls at him, looking murderous.
Derek is the king of misplaced anger, so Stiles doesn't take it personally. It's just how he deals with things. Growl first, ask questions later.
"I had to get something," he rasps out, fingers closing around the small box instinctively.
"You had to get something," Derek repeats, incredulous. "You ran back into a burning house because you had to get something."
"It's sort of-" His explanation is interrupted by another coughing fit, his lung coming halfway to his mouth this time. "-it's sort of one of a kind."
Derek runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even worse if that's possible, and lets out a bitter chuckle. "Right," he says, sitting back and resting his arms on his knees. "One of a kind."
He's wearing sweatpants, which is weird because he wasn't wearing them when they went to bed. He must've woken up to the sound of the fire and put them on. Talk about priorities...
"You know what else is one of a kind?" Derek asks him, head tilted mockingly.
Stiles automatically turns to the house. The house was one of a kind. Derek and the pack built it by hand, brick by brick. Allison personally designed the security system. Stiles and Lydia put down wards right into the foundation, painstakingly carved runes into every door and window frame. He can hear the sirens approaching, but it's already too late to save the house. All they can do now is keep the flames from spreading to the preserve. The house, their home, is already lost.
"You," Derek interrupts his thoughts.
Stiles gives him an uncomprehending look.
"You are one of a kind," Derek explains. "So I would really appreciate it if you didn't run into any more burning buildings."
"That is so romantic," Stiles tells him. "Especially with the glare." And he's not even kidding. The most romantic moments of Stiles' life so far have been shared with Derek, and a surprising number of them feature that very same glare. Usually there's less soot on Derek's face, but still...
"Stiles!"
And that would be his dad. Oh, wow. It didn't even occur to Stiles that his dad would show up. He tries to stand, make himself look less pathetic than he's feeling right now, but it's not meant to be. His legs give out after only seconds, and he finds himself in Derek's arms.
He's swooning, literally, in Derek's arms. This weekend is so not going the way he planned it. Any swooning was supposed to go the other way around.
"Dad," he croaks, his voice probably doing nothing to alleviate his dad's worry. "I'm fine. We're fine. We got out in time."
"And then went back in and got out again," Derek grumbles behind him.
Stiles elbows him in the gut.
