Part 4 of the Wake Up Dead series.

The trail is clearer now, and Stiles covers ground fast, too fast for Derek or Scott to keep up. He's single-minded, focused on his goal, because it's getting too goddamn close to sunrise to do anything else.

He follows the scent up the side of an old warehouse—apparently climbing is a thing he can do now—then stops to wait for the others.

He can hear Derek not far off. Just to be a dick he sits on the ledge that runs around the edge of the roof and dangles his legs over the side of the building. "What took you so long?" he says.

Derek looks up, grins, and starts to climb.

"We had to split up," Derek says when he reaches the top. "You must have backtracked a few blocks over. How do we get in? Street level's locked up, like—"

"Like a fortress, yeah." Stiles gestures behind him. "There's a vent. I don't know if you're gonna fit, big guy."

Derek sneers, but there's no heat in it. "Is this definitely the place? I've got your scent, but I can't pick him up at all."

"I dunno." Stiles says. "He wasn't feeding when he was here, I know that much. Maybe that's it. What do I smell like?"

"Like blood," Derek says, nothing in his voice that suggests he's talking about anything more exciting than the weather. "Mine and Scott's."

Stiles gives him a 'there you go' look, then grimaces, swallowing hard against the urge to feed again. It doesn't wane at all, no matter how much he drinks. "Let's not talk about that, huh?"

Derek steps close, though, puts his hand on Stiles' back as if to draw him in. "Come on," he says. "There's time."

"It's Scott's turn." Stiles pushes Derek away.

Derek's silent for a while, though his heart's beating hard and fast. "I know you're angry," he finally says. "I don't blame you. I need you to know that I'm not leaving, though. I'm responsible for what happened to you and I'll be here for as long as I live. I just wish I could do more."

"More?" Stiles chokes. "Are you crazy? You can't go committing your entire lifespan, so that, what? So I've got something to eat? I don't expect you to do that." Stiles feels sick inside. It might be true that Stiles wouldn't have turned if it hadn't been for Derek's intervention, but it doesn't mean he wants Derek following him around for the next fifty or sixty years out of guilt.

Guilt isn't what Stiles wants from Derek.

"That's not why," Derek says. He looks pained, more than usual, like there's something he has to get out and doesn't know how to say it. "We could have had something," he says. "I mean, we had something, right? I wasn't imagining that?"

Stiles thinks of his awkward attempts to get Derek's attention in the weeks before the vampire came to Beacon Hills and he's suddenly thankful he no longer has the ability to blush. "I dunno," he says, keeping his voice neutral, holding the emotion inside. "Seemed like you were laughing at me."

"I wasn't." Derek still looks like his favorite puppy just died. "I was... I was happy. It was perfect, because I'm no good at this, Stiles. I had no idea how to tell you how I felt and there you were, looking at me like I was something you wanted and—"

"Oh my god," Stiles says. He feels like his jaw is on the ground, like his eyes are as wide as saucers. "Why the hell didn't you do anything?"

A brief smile flickers over Derek's face. "I wasn't in any hurry. You were barely seventeen—"

"I still am," Stiles says. "Seventeen. I'm seventeen. My recent level up to immortal hasn't made me ageless, you know. Still seventeen."

"Right." Derek's serious again. He drops his eyes to the rooftop. "I'm just saying that I understand why you wouldn't still want that. You were dying, and I couldn't bear to have that happen. I did what I had to do to save you. But you can't see your dad now, and you can't go out in the daytime, and you're fighting this bloodlust, and I understand why you wish I'd let you go." He lifts his head to look Stiles in the eye. "I'll always be here, and it's not out of guilt. It's because I care about you, and I'm never going to stop caring about you, and if you can't forgive me, I get it. But I'll still be here."

"Whoa," Stiles says. "You mean you'd still...?" He gestures between the two of them. "Even though I lack a heartbeat and I almost tore your throat out and I'm never going to have that growth spurt I was due where I'd finally get actual muscle?"

Derek's expression lightens, his lips spreading into a tentative smile. "I'd still. Are you saying—"

"Oh, I'm still pissed at you," Stiles says. "Mostly because I have this urge to kill my dad, but—" He looks Derek up and down. "Dude. Oh my god." Then he lunges, and Derek barely has time to widen his eyes in surprise before Stiles kisses him.

Several seconds later they break apart.

"Are you sure about this?" Stiles says. "The care and feeding of an eternal Stiles is a big commitment. Are you up for it?"

Derek licks his lower lip. It's full, a little bruised because Stiles still doesn't know his own strength. "I am," he says. "You know Scott's wandering around in the alley down there. We should probably..."

Stiles peeks over the edge. "Okay. But if this place has a daylight-proof basement, it's just you and me in there today, deal?"

"Deal," Derek says, and he smiles, bright and wide, showing his teeth.

Stiles picks up a handful of rubble from the edge of the roof and sprinkles it down the side of the building. "Hey, Scotty. Heads up, dude."