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The moral of the Stiles Christmas Carol - or whatever Stiles would later call his tragedy of a trip home - was to: never underestimate the power of stories, never, ever take a winter course from a flighty magician, and probably something about always bringing a towel with you. Sadly it wasn't the funny, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy version, oh no, it was the 'that will help stop the bleeding a bit' moral. Crap. Stiles considered himself a good kid, not usually on the naughty list when it came to the Santa Claus stuff, and so he wasn't expecting his very pricey but impromptu visit home on Christmas Eve to be interrupted by him getting kidnapped by a Krampus. In his defense, he hadn't exactly put Krampus on the list of legitimate things to be worried about when it came to holiday travel.
So Stiles had found himself kidnapped by a terrifying Christmas goat demon, and then - because myths and legends seemed to make it a point to harry Stiles endlessly - he had gotten himself beaten with a switch before he was finally able to use his mind, or his stupidity, to make a compelling argument for why all of the various horrible things he'd done: breaking and entering, kidnapping, theft of police property, and so on, had all been in the name of good and really good and evil were social constructs and really he was if not on the side of the angels at least on the side of less naughty thankyouverymuch. Sadly that didn't change the fact that he still looked a bit like a very pounded piece of meat, and there was no way in hell he could wander into his house looking like that. Dad would pitch a fit, holiday or not, and run off half-cocked with every sort of bullet known to man. Derek would hopefully just growl protectively, hopefully. At least he'd gotten kidnapped in Beacon Hills instead of back at college.
There was always the possibility that Derek would declare some sort of pack war on Christmas and Christmas would be ruined. At this point, Stiles was pretty much prepared for anything.
His destination would have to be the small house at the edge of town where Derek had finally set up the pack a little before Stiles had gone off to college. Most of the rest of the pack, the ones who had been there in Stiles's time in high school, had done the same, and Derek had filled out the rest of the pack with a few adult omegas from other packs, and Peter. It wasn't a bad place to leave Derek as the pack alpha, which was good because Stiles liked his boyfriend safe. He also liked his boyfriend to not declare war on Christmas, but only time would tell on that one.
Stiles fumbled with his keys, dropping his back so he could keep his towel pressed to the side of his face, only to have the door snap open before he could even get the keys out of his pocket.
"Stiles!" Derek did not sound pleased; mostly he sounded pissed off, probably because while he greatly enjoyed the scent of Stiles anywhere near Beacon Hills, there was definitely a bit of a shadow over it given that there was also the added scent of 'Stiles's blood' in the mix. "What the hell happened to you? I thought you were staying in Boston."
"I love you," Stiles said. It was the absolute best way to keep Derek in a good mood that didn't involve something that would be a bit perilous given Stiles's currently bloody condition. "Promise me you won't declare war on Christmas."
"That did not happen while you were holiday shopping, Stiles."
It wasn't exactly a promise, but Stiles would have to take it. "I got attacked by a Krampus - no, seriously. Right now I'd settle for a hug and some bandages because this should not be my life. I was trying to share the holiday cheer, you know, see my dad, see my boyfriend, see my pack?"
Derek looked like he was seriously considering going into the center of town and declaring his very own war, possibly with knocked over trees, and then there would have been a disturbing the peace charge, and then his dad would arrest his boyfriend for Christmas and that was not at all what he wanted... so Stiles might have played a little dirty by stepping up into Derek's space and dragging an aching arm around Derek's neck and tugging him down, just so he could kiss the hell out of him.
Several seconds later, both of them breathless, Stiles broke their kiss.
"Fine. No war on Christmas. Get upstairs though, I want to make sure you're alright."
Stiles was, in point of fact, not alright. He was bruised and battered and he had a lot more cuts on his back than he ever wanted to have again, but he did make it upstairs and curled up on his and Derek's bed. Derek stripped him and left a soft nip at Stiles's collar before he retreated to the bathroom and came back with the first aid kit - human edition. Derek started by carefully cleaning the bruises and cuts, every hiss from Stiles met with a soft touch of nose or lips to Stiles's throat, sometimes accompanied by a whispered 'sorry' from Derek.
"Does it ever bother you...?" Stiles asked.
"That you come home looking like mincemeat and then tell me I'm not allowed to go tear the throat out of whatever harmed you?" Derek asked. "Of course it does. Do you think I could possibly like seeing you like this?" Derek punctuated the thought with another kiss low at the junction of Stiles's neck and shoulder, and as much as Stiles's back still hurt - pretty painfully - that did make him feel just a little warm... a lot warm. Derek wasn't much for words, but when he did they were usually that delightful mix of loving and irritated that Stiles had grown to love over the years.
"I meant..." Stiles turned enough to pull almost every cut and bruise on his back, enough to make him wince and really mean it. "I meant me being squishy and human and breakable in the first place."
"As long as it doesn't bother you." Derek moved so that he could straddle Stiles's waist, legs splayed across Stiles in a way he couldn't help but slide his hands up Derek's thighs. "As long as you are out there fighting Christmas like an idiot, I will be here to patch you up."
Even though Stiles wasn't really fighting Christmas, it was hard to disagree with the sentiment. It was also hard to disagree with an excuse to run his hands over his boyfriend, so he did that for a little while before he leaned in, forehead pressed against Derek's chest, eyes closed, finally allowing him that quiet moment of freak out that he had gotten kidnapped, again, and beaten around, again, and escaped, again. Instead he tried to focus on the fact that he was with Derek, he was home for the holidays, and they would have plenty more where that came from in the future.