"But I didn’t," he shrugs, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continues to slowly cross the floor to where Stiles is pacing. "Besides, it’s not the first time."
Stiles scoffs. “And it won’t be the last, right?”
Derek frowns, steps slowing down as he approaches. Stiles steps backwards in sync, maintaining a certain distance between them. Derek stops, confused, watching Stiles move around the loft with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. First then does Derek catch the stench of distress and anger filling the air.
"What—” He begins, but is cut off.
"You’re unbelievable, you know that? Do you possess some level of self-worth at all?" Stiles stares at him from across the room, chest heaving, eyes glazed with emotion but his voice spits venom. "How many times will you run head first into danger, like you’re the pack’s human shield or some shit?"
"Not human," is Derek’s automatic reply, which apparently is the wrong thing to say because the next second Stiles is stalking towards him with fire in his eyes.
"I’m sick of your furry excuses!" He exclaims. "I’m sick of hearing you and Scott talk as if you got every reason to sacrifice yourselves because of your damn healing." Derek doesn’t realizes he’s taken a step back until his back hits the pillar behind him. Stiles walks right up to his face, close enough to feel the heat of his breath as he keeps yelling. "Like it’s a reason for you to take bullets that were meant for me."
His breath is ragged once he stops, his chest heaving. Derek’s gaze darts between Stiles’ eyes, wide and so close. Stiles ducks his head down, swallowing as if he’s trying to calm himself. Derek doesn’t move, too overwhelmed by Stiles’ outburst. Because it means something; it means so much, and his chest tightens when trying to figure out what.
When Stiles lifts his head back up, the anger has been replaced by pure concern, and it hits all of Derek’s senses so hard his breath hitches, nostrils flaring.
"You’re not monsters," Stiles says lowly. "You’re people. The claws don’t change that.”