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Chapter Text

Stiles couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't wake up to see that this was all a dream, that his rescue was a dream and he would wake up still strapped to that chair.

"Stiles, wake up. It's alright," A gruff voice filtered through the silence and Stiles obeyed, cracking his good eye open. The other was still wrapped in bandages.

He was met by the site of soft brown eyes staring into his own good one.

"Scott?" His voice was raspy and small, a far cry from his usual vigor. "You're real?"

Scott smiled sadly and looked more like a grimace. Stiles asked him the same question every time he woke up.

"Yeah, I'm real. I promise," Scott whispered. Stiles nodded, satisfied. His head swam with pain and exhaustion. Scott tightened his arms around his friend, and Stiles realized that Scott was sitting up against the headboard with Stiles between his legs. Stiles's sore back was bandaged and up against the solid warmth that was his best friend's chest. Stiles mumbled something before passing out again.

Scott blinked furiously to clear the tears from his eyes, unwilling to let go of his friend for even a second. He watched with blurry vision as his arm darkened with black veins of pain that he was pulling from his friend. It was like drawing the poison out of a wound, poison that never seemed to stop coming. Stiles sighed and fell deeper asleep as his pain receded for now. A soft knock on the door startled Scott and his eyes flashed red as he pulled Stiles even tighter to him. Derek stepped into the room slowly with his hands up at the sight of Scott's fading red eyes.

"Sorry," Scott whispered. Derek shrugged. "What did he do to him?"

Derek sighed, passing a hand over his face. He could still small Stiles's blood mixed with his tears and sweat and the dirty water his captor threw on him whenever he passed out. It had been a week and they couldn't seem to wash away the smell.

"I think the better question is what didn't he do?" Derek sat on the edge of the bed. Scott's brow was furrowed and sweaty from draining Stiles's pain, and it wasn't enough. "Electrical burns, lashes, bruises, cuts, broken fingers. Same as the others."

Scott squeezed his eyes shut.

He would never understand how another human could do this to someone. Stiles was no stranger to being kidnapped, being the only fully human member of a strange werewolf/supernatural creature pack.

But this time, there was nothing supernatural about what happened. No werewolves, banshees, hunters, berserkers, nothing. Just a man.

A man that had been terrorizing his victims for years, moving from small town to small town all over the country and avoiding the law every time they got close. Stiles had been the latest in a long string of victims, but he was the only one to survive.

The serial killer was not so lucky. Scott didn't kill humans.

Derek made sure he didn't have to.

The string of tortured, mutilated bodies would mysteriously stop now, and no one would ever know the truth. No one but two werewolves who would never tell a soul and a teenage boy too damaged to forget.

Stiles's face scrunched in pain, and Scott looked helplessly at Derek. He couldn't drain anymore from Stiles, it was too much. Derek reached out and gently touched Stiles where his neck met his shoulder. Immediately, black inky veins appeared on his arm as he soaked up Stiles's pain. Scott nodded gratefully, sagging into the pillows that propped him up. He checked Stiles for fever for what seemed like the hundredth time. The fever they had found him with had finally broken the night before, caused no doubt the horrifying conditions of the blood-soaked room they had found him in.

"Have you slept?" Derek asked. Scott shook his head. "You should."

"I can't leave him alone," Scott said, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. "I left him alone for a minute to take a shower and he freaked out."

Derek remembered hearing Stiles's panicked screams when Scott had finally left him to wash the blood off. Scott had felt horrible, and presumably hadn't left the bed for the remaining time.

It had been a week of sneaking out of the bed for quick bathroom breaks, having food brought to him, and barely closing his eyes in case Stiles woke up screaming and thrashing and struggling to get away from his nightmares. A week of remembering the way Stiles had flinched away from his touch when they found him strapped to a chair and covered in blood, fresh and old.

"I'll take him," Derek said softly. Scott looked like he wanted to protest. "Scott, you're the alpha. You need to be healthy. If you lose it, we all lose it." Derek knew it was a low blow to bring up Scott's responsibilities, but he see that it was working.

"I'll be back soon," Scott said, to whom Derek wasn't sure. He sat up carefully and held Stiles out to Derek. They clumsily switched places until Derek was sitting against the headboard, Stiles cradled gently in the V of his legs. He let the younger boy's head fall back against him, reclining more so that Stiles was laying flatter. He tucked the blankets around the still form as Scott stretched his stiff body. With one last look at his best friend and his second-in-command, he left the room. Derek ran his fingers carefully through Stiles's hair, checking the stitches that held together a gash on his head. They seemed to be healing well.

A small pile of books was on the floor by the bed, ones he assumed Lydia had left for Scott to read while he sat with Stiles. They hadn't been touched. Derek had to admit that the friendship between the two boys was beyond anything he had ever seen.

It didn't take long for him to reach for one though. He wasn't much for sitting quietly, even with such an important weight in his lap. He picked up a paperback, one that was worn and the spine cracked. He studied the cover and his mouth twitched in what Stiles once called his "closet thing to a smile you'll ever do", and opened to the first page. Stiles shifted in his sleep, turning his head to the side. Derek waited for him to wake up, and when he didn't, he began to read softly.

Stiles woke screaming.

Chapter Text

Stiles had given up on not screaming.

He was chained by the wrists to the ceiling, his toes brushing the cement flooring beneath him. His shoulders were burning from holding his weight for too long. The whip cut into his back for the fifth time and Stiles screamed. Blood dripped down his back, staining his pants. It was agony.

"What do you want?" Stiles shook his head, trying to remove the tears gathered in his eyes. As usual, there was no answer. There had been no answer for three days. No sound at all beyond the sounds made by the instruments of torture and his own screams. "Just tell me what you want!"

The whip was his only reply. He twisted, trying desperately to get away.

"SCOTT!" Stiles screamed for his friend.

His screams went unanswered.

Stiles bolted up right screaming. Strong hands grasped at him and he struggled against them. He needed to get out, to get away. OUTOUTOUTOUTOUT! His brain was screaming at him to get out. He fell off the bed in his panic. The pain jolted his senses, and he stilled. His breathing slowed as he grappled for control of the panic in his chest.

"Stiles?" A voice was close to him, behind him, and it was gentle. Stiles rolled over awkwardly to look at Derek, the familiar unsmiling face staring down at him from the bed. Four fingernail scratches were fading on his cheek. Stiles looked down and saw the blood on his fingernails.

"Sorry," Stiles whispered. Derek shrugged and joined him on the floor. He reached for the ever present first-aid kit and found some alcohol wipes to clean Stiles's hand. Stiles was quiet while Derek gently cleaned his finger nails and then checked his other wounds. One bandage on his arm needed to be replaced because a cut had reopened. Derek was unnerved by how quiet the usually boisterous boy was being.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Derek asked, rubbing Stiles's shoulder. Stiles thought for a moment.

"Will you read to me?" Stiles asked quietly, flushing and looking away. Derek took his chin and guided his un-bandaged eye back to his own.

"Of course," Derek helped Stiles stand, taking all of his weight. Three of the bones in Stile's right foot were broken. Derek wanted to kill that bastard again. He situated them the same way, with Stiles in his lap and laying back on him. Derek picked up the book he had been reading and returned to page one. "Is The Call of the Wild alright?"

"Isn't that like your family history?" Stiles joked halfheartedly. Derek winced inwardly at the forced, tired sound of Stiles's voice, but he nudged Stiles lightly.

"Shut up." Then he began to read. Stiles relaxed against him and pulled the covers around him more. Stiles knew he was damaged. He was scared now, skittish around more than one person at a time unless it was Scott and Derek. His voice was still recovering, his vocal chords sore and cracking.

The silence suffocated him. He needed noise, he needed voices. When Derek had touched his cheek with clawed hands that showed such gentleness, the werewolf couldn't have known how much this one touch meant to him. The first touch in a month that wasn't in violence, didn't cause pain. And then Scott was there, babbling on and on about how he was safe now, no one would hurt him anymore, and so on. But not before he heard one phrase clearly.

"What did he do to his eye?" Scott had sounded near hysterical.

It was so loud.

It wasn't too loud anymore.

Derek's voice was warm and comforting, and he felt the vibrations in Derek's chest rumble through his back. One of Derek's hands had found its way to his hair and was stroking it slowly, as if he were puppy. Stiles was listening to his voice when the door cracked open and Scott slipped in the room. He saw Stiles and Derek on the bed and joined them, lying on his side next to them. Stiles reached out a hand and Scott took it, stroking the uninjured parts carefully. His index finger and middle finger were broken, as was his pinky, but Scott was gentle. He still saw the way Stiles had cried when he reset the poorly healed bones. The cracking sounds they had made haunted him.

Stiles's eye was closing, but Scott made Derek pause. Stiles needed to take his pain medication and his antibiotics. Stiles had cried and panicked when they asked if he wanted to go to the hospital. Scott's mom had gotten them what they needed from the hospital. It would have been difficult to explain how they found him, why he was so injured, and what had happened to the culprit.

Stiles laid back, his head resting on Derek's chest, and the effects of the pills kicked in. His eye drooped and he fell asleep. Scott curled around his two bedmates with a tired sigh and Derek wrapped an arm around him as well. Scott was the alpha, powerful and wise beyond his years. But he was also just a kid, a kid dealing with things so far beyond him it was amazing he hadn't gone insane already. Scott crumbled, his silent sobs shaking his well-built frame, and Derek did his best to keep hold of his book with one hand, hold Scott with the others, and continue reading. He stopped reading when he felt the shift in Stiles, his was in REM sleep. Scott was sniffling next to him, latched like a leech to Derek's side with an arm thrown over Stiles.

"He's not ok, is he?" Scott asked haltingly.

"No. But he's trying," Derek replied, stroking Stiles's hair. "He wants to be, but he can't. Not yet."

"He's trying so hard to be strong and he doesn't have to be," Scott nuzzled Stiles's neck, breathing the still-slightly-wrong smell of his friend.

"Would you expect anything else from him?" Derek knew why Scott was so affected. "It isn't your fault. This isn't something you could have protected him from."

"Does he know?" Scott asked after some silence, gesturing as his face. Derek tensed.

"He hasn't asked," Derek finally replied, touching the bandage around Stile's eye carefully. It was the only thing they had discussed going to the hospital for. "I didn't know what to say."

"I can always tell what he's thinking by his eyes," Scott mumbled. "I mean, I could."

"And now?"

Scott was silent. His eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, and dark circles ringed them. He couldn't have slept for more than two hours. Derek picked up the book and began to read again, occasionally looking at his alpha. Scott eyes were heavy, and they stayed shut longer each time he blinked. Finally, they closed and stayed closed. Derek put the book down and tucked the sleeping boy closer into his side, careful not to jostle the one in his lap. He looked at his two charges, two boys that seemed to reach out for each other's contact even in sleep. One, the damaged, broken boy who had never backed down. The other, the young leader drowning in guilt.

They were so young.

But now, their eyes were too old.

He felt the protective instincts of his wolf rising, and knew his eyes had just flashed blue. Scott might not need his protection, but he was going to have to deal with it. As for Stiles, if he had to let the boy scratch his face every night until he slept without nightmares, he would do it gladly. Scott would too, but it was going to break him if he had to do it alone, Derek knew that. He wasn't the alpha anymore, but he was the eldest. And as the eldest, he would protect his friends. His only friends.

Derek stayed this way for what felt like hours, but wasn't that long in reality.

Stiles woke screaming.

Chapter Text

The teeth of the clamps bit down on Stiles's fingers painfully. He was trembling uncontrollably, a gag shoved in between his teeth. His heart was racing and he was beginning to panic. A clicking sound was his only warning before molten heat ripped through his body. His muscles spasmed and locked and he bit down on the gag so hard that he would have cracked his teeth if the gag wasn't there.

He couldn't even scream.

The voltage was higher this time. He was certain he would die.

The electricity shut off, leaving Stiles panting and sagging into the chair he was strapped to. The leather straps around his wrists and ankles were biting into him hard enough to leave deep bruises, and his right wrist was bleeding where it had broken the skin. Tears trickled down his face leaving tracks in the dirt and blood that had accumulated there. His skin was damp and clammy in the cold air, and his heaving breaths were the only sound in the room.

He hadn't heard another voice in two weeks.

His body was weakening, sustained by enough water and food to keep him alive but not to help him heal. The deeper wounds were bandaged, some even crudely sewn shut to stop him from bleeding to death. He could smell his own coppery blood, and other smells he couldn't bring himself to focus on.

But it was harder to wake up now, even with the water being thrown on him.

The electricity flipped on again. 

"Stiles, wake up," Derek shook him slightly. Stiles had started mumbling in his sleep, a warning sign of a particularly bad nightmare that Derek had picked up on in the two weeks that Stiles had been in his loft. Stiles opened his eyes and groped his hands out clumsily as if pushing against something. Derek waited for Stiles to calm down, whispering into his ear that he was safe, that he was still here in Derek's loft. Scott was there too, looking on with the same worried expression that seemed stuck there.

Stiles settled back against Derek and sighed. He was still so tired even though all he seemed to do now was sleep and listen to his friends read to him like a child. But the smell of blood lingered in his nose from his dream, and he was suffocating in the small room. He needed to get out.

"Do you want to clean up?" Scott asked from the side. Stiles didn't question the way Scott always seemed to read his mind. He was too grateful that he didn't have to ask to care. Derek helped Stiles sit up, placing his hands gingerly to avoid pressing any injuries. Scott helped Stiles stand up with an arm around his friend's waist and one steadying his shoulder. Derek took the other side, offering his arm to Stiles in a way that reminded the teenager of an old-timey gentleman courting a lady. Usually, the thought would have made him smile and say something sarcastic.

The odd little trio made their way to the bathroom where Stiles sat on the toilet. Derek left after having a hushed conversation with Scott, and Scott turned around to face his friend. Stiles was hunched, small, different from the boy who always took up as much space as possible with flailing limbs and endless energy. Scott helped Stiles strip and then stripped down to his boxers as well. Even if Stiles wasn't too out of it to be embarrassed, he wouldn't be. Lacrosse and a friendship spanning to elementary school had eliminated that. Scott tried not to stare at the criss-crossing bandages on his friend's body and helped Stiles into the warm spray of water, sitting him down on the plastic chair they had put in there for him. He couldn't stand on his broken foot and it was easier for Scott to help him wash if he wasn't also supporting his weight.

Stiles relaxed as the water touched his skin, washing away the days. Scott started to sing pop music, badly, as he always did in the shower. Stiles had often told he sounded terrible, but it filled the silence with welcome noise. Scott was washing his hair with the shampoo that Stiles liked, rubbing and massaging his scalp with heavenly fingers, when Stiles finally spoke.

"Who's song is that?"

Scott paused. Stiles didn't usually say much.

"I think it was One Direction," He said after he thought for a bit. 

"Maybe you should let them sing it," Stiles twisted to look at Scott, a ghost of a smile on his face. Scott smiled at him.

"Don't judge me, it's catchy," Scott replied as he angled the shower head to wash away the suds. His heart constricted with sadness and hope. Derek was right, Stiles was trying to be better. It was a tiny step, but it was there. Stiles suddenly reached back and grabbed Scott's hand with his own.

"Thank you," Stiles whispered. Scott cocked his head to the side. "I can't remember if I said it when you...then. And for everything."

"You don't have to thank me, Stiles," Scott admonished lightly. 

Stiles nodded and squeezed Scott's hand as much as his broken fingers would allow.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't play lacrosse with you anymore," Stiles touched the bandage around his eye. "Can I?"

Scott froze. He knew that Stiles was going to ask eventually, but after two weeks of silence on the subject he was half-hoping the Stiles hadn't noticed.

"No, I guess not."

Stiles nodded and fell silent again. His shoulders started to shake and Scott quickly came around to his front and  Stiles wrapped his arms around Scott's waist, burying his face in his friend's stomach as a panic attack swept over him. Scott held him close, stroking his hair and trying to comfort him through his own tears.

"Hey, it's alright. I'll help you, we'll practice every day until you don't even notice anymore. Breathe with me, hey, come on. Breathe," Scott held his friend closer, sinking to his level. He cupped his hands around the bandaged face, "Hear me?"

Stiles nodded, but he couldn't seem to stop. 

"Derek?" Scott called. Derek entered the room and saw Scott being held tightly by Stiles, and Scott pointing at the sink. They kept inhalers in every room of the house now, and Derek grabbed the one they kept in the bathroom out of the drawer and handed it to Scott.

Scott encouraged Stiles to take a few puffs and the boy's frantic heart rate and labored breathing finally slowed. Derek stood awkwardly to the side, watching Stiles pull himself together with all of his will. It was amazing, really. Derek had been outside the door, waiting, pacing, and listening. He had felt uncomfortable being too far away from his guests, and had ended up just waiting for them. Hearing Stiles finally ask about his eye had made his chest hurt, the physical manifestation of sorrow. Stiles collapsed in on himself, slumping in the chair. Derek reached in a turned off the water.

When they had gotten Stiles dry and clothed and re-bandaged,they tucked him into bed. Stiles was drowsy and fell asleep with his pain medication circulating in his blood. Scott and Derek both laid down either side of Stiles. Derek's chest was to Stiles's back, and Scott was facing Stiles, holding his hands and stroking them with small circles. Stiles had taken to sleeping on his side sometimes, sandwiched in between them this way, as his wounds healed. Derek rubbed his nose into Stiles's neck, sniffing him. Scott watched him, fascinated. Two years ago, Derek would have never done something like this.

Stiles smelled like himself now. Not so...wrong.

There was no screaming when Stiles woke.

He woke crying. 

The werewolves didn't know if this was step forward.

They hoped it was.

Chapter Text

He started hearing Scott's voice three weeks into his torture. He was sitting in the loathed chair, head hanging to his chest, mindlessly observing his shredded clothes. He was covered in blood, and the smell of copper was overpowering his sense of smell. He hadn't eaten for hours, and the intervals between the food he was given seemed to stretch longer than before. But he couldn't be sure anymore.

Stiles.

Stiles squeezed his eyes closed against the tears. He didn't want to hear the voice again, open his eyes just to find empty air like he had so many times.

Stiles.

At first, hearing Scott's voice had seemed like a gift. But it was a curse. It was a reminder that he was losing his grip on reality.

Hold on, Stiles.

Stiles couldn't stop his eyes from opening only to be met not with the sight of his best friend, but his captor. Stiles began to cry in earnest, not loudly, but in soundless agony. He had stopped pleading for the man to say something to him, anything, just to hear a real voice again. The burn of alcohol stung his bicep, and its smell briefly filled his nose. He could feel a needle sliding into his flesh, the thread pulling his flesh together. He hissed as more alcohol was poured over the newly stitched wound. The man walked away, leaving no doubt to retrieve some new form of torture.

He hated the man for many thing, but none more than this. The first aid that kept him alive.

Stiles, hold on.

"Shut up, Scott," Stiles whispered. His voice was ruined. "Oh, God, I'm talking to myself."

Just a little longer. 

"I can't," Stiles suddenly leaned forward as much as he could, dry-heaving as a panic attack loomed on the horizon.

Hold on, Stiles.

Stiles didn't reply. He was mostly convinced they wouldn't hear him.

Stiles woke to a dark room. The air was still and silent aside from the sound of the outside world, muted and softened by the walls and the comforter he had drawn around himself. He reached up with his still-bandaged fingers and felt the moisture on his cheeks. At least he hadn't woken with screams still tearing themselves from his throat. The first time he had woken without screaming, two days before, he had seen the hopeful look on Scott and Derek's faces. He couldn't help the small flame of hope that burned in him too, that maybe he was getting better.

He had screamed himself awake the next morning, but not tonight.

Scott muttered something and nuzzled himself closer to Stiles's back, pulling his best friend closer. Stiles let himself wonder when Scott had become more of an octopus than even him. He could feel Derek's weight in front of him making the mattress dip down.

Both were soundly asleep, exhausted from taking care of Stiles, he knew. It had been a rough night before with little sleep to go around.

Stiles looked over to the window. The moon was nearly full, and the sky was brightly lit. Stiles managed to somehow get himself disentangled from Scott and climb over Derek without too much pain and without waking either werewolf. He limped his way out of the room and to the living room where the moon was shining in front of the window. He sat on the floor and just looked.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there quietly, lost in his own thoughts, until a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. Scott sat down beside him and looked at the moon with him. Stiles pulled the warm blanket around him tightly and scooted over until he could rest his head on Scott's shoulder.

"Why do you always ask me if I'm real?" Scott asked softly. He had to know why Stiles only asked him and not Derek.

"I heard your voice," Stiles mumbled after a few minutes passed. "You kept telling me to hold on. That you were coming to get me."

Stiles couldn't see Scott's face, but he felt Scott tense slightly before relaxing again almost as quickly.

"It was like you were standing right in front of me. But you were never there when I opened my eyes," Stiles took a shaky breath. "Over and over, I would hear your voice and at first I knew that it wasn't real. But...after awhile, it was easier to give in to the delusion."

Scott was silent as he rested his chin on Stiles's head. Stiles could feel Scott trembling.

"But then, I opened my eyes...eye, and you were there. Really there."

Scott still didn't reply. They sat in silence again, both ignoring that they knew the other was crying. Stiles's eyes were getting heavy and Scott's head was nodding when Derek found them. He took in the sight before him, the comfortable way the boys fit together better than most romantic partners did. He turned and headed back to his bedroom. Scott was asleep when he got back, and Stiles wasn't far behind. It was almost three in the morning, only three hours after Scott had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. He briefly wondered why Stiles had woken, but beyond sadness and salt, he couldn't smell any lingering traces of the terror that usually went along with his worst nightmares.

Stiles was just about to force himself to stand and somehow get Scott back to bed without waking him when he heard the soft thumps of pillows and blankets being dumped in a pile next to him. He turned his head and looked at Derek blearily. Derek continued his work, constructing a nest of sorts around them out of the supplies he had brought. Stiles carefully laid Scott down so his head was on a pillow and carefully turned him onto his side so he could spoon around him. A warm weights settled behind him, and Derek pulled himself close to Stiles so he was snug against the boy. Stiles shifted slightly until he was perfectly comfortable in his cocoon of werewolf.

Scott grasped the hand that Stiles had draped over him and pulled it tighter around him without waking up, and Stiles last thought before he drifted off was that Scott looked much happier when he was asleep.

Scott was conscious of warm arms around him, and he let himself float in the space between awake and asleep for awhile because it had been a long time since he felt this relaxed.

Not since he had found Stiles...

His eyes fluttered open and were greeted by blinding sunlight. He groaned and closed them again, rolling over to escape the light.

"It's alive," Stiles quipped. Scott pushed him lightly and stood, stretching his muscles. His back would have protested sleeping on the hard ground in the past, but the advantages of being a werewolf had included the ability to sleep anywhere. Derek was already up and moving around. If the smell of slightly burnt bacon was anything to go by, he was attempting to cook breakfast. He helped Stiles stand and helped him limp over to the kitchen area.

Stiles was gaining weight. Scott could still feel his bones a little too much when his friend leaned into him, but they didn't stab him anymore. They didn't stretch Stiles's pale skin over them to show every hollow and dip with enhanced detail. Now, he was beginning to look like himself.

Maybe the rest would follow along eventually. Not quickly, and not all at once. Some days he would take a step forward, and some days he would take two steps back. But Scott was determined.

Because this morning, Stiles woke smiling.

Chapter Text

Stiles was in his hated chair, the one with the thick leather straps that held his wrists and ankles. He couldn't move, hadn't been allowed out of the chair for two full days, not even to go to the bathroom. It wasn't like he had eaten anything in several days though, only water that had the salty bite of electrolyte solutions. His face smelt of disinfectant wipes where the grime and blood had been wiped away during his daily "cleaning". He was disgusting, he knew it, and the man seemed to revel in this particular agony. He hot, sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes, burning them with the salt. He thought about how he couldn't afford to lose that kind of water.

He didn't know how long he'd been trapped in this dark cold place, only that he wasn't going to make it.

Scott wasn't coming for him, the pack wasn't coming for him.

He was alone.

He had lost his own voice, unable to make any noise except strangled gasps and grunts when the pain was too much. It was so quiet. Even Scott's voice had stopped. Stiles wanted to beg it to come back. Heavy footsteps made him lift his head weakly to see the man standing in front of him with a scalpel. Not-so-gentle hands jerked his head backward and moved it from side to side as if examining his face as blackness danced in his vision at the motion. The loathed fingers held open his eyelid, and Stiles was too far gone to struggle.

Derek couldn't help the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. They had left Stiles alone (at the boy's urging) at his place while they had a pack meeting to explain the situation to everyone else. Lydia looked like she was ready to throw up when Derek recounted Stiles's total injury list and Jackson was rubbing her arm soothingly while holding a frankly terrifyingly calm expression on his own face. Scott stood silently by Derek's side, unable to say the words that dripped like black ink from Derek's mouth. Everyone was silent.

"You killed him," Jackson said flatly. It wasn't a question, just a confirmation of what everyone knew to be true. Derek's eyes flashed blue. Jackson merely nodded. "Good."

"What did you tell his dad?" Lydia asked suddenly. "He's missing for a month, and then he turns up covered in injuries? What did he say?"

"He knows Stiles is back, and he knows that he's staying with Derek and I," Scott finally spoke, a rough edge to his voice. "He doesn't know the full extent of his...of what happened. He only knows that Stiles begged us not to let him see his son that way."

"He's his father, Scott! He has a right to see his son!" Lydia argued. Scott's mouth tightened minutely, but the pack felt his anger rising.

"You didn't see what I saw. Stiles begged me not let his father see him, pleaded with me until he passed out. I couldn't-" He bit back his anger when he felt his eyes flare. The other wolves turned their eyes down in unconscious submission. "I couldn't go against him."

Derek stood behind Scott, daring the others to challenge Scott's decisions. Scott might not have made the most logical choice, but there were no good options in this situation.

"Sheriff Stilinski," John's tone was measured and clipped when he picked up his phone. The wrinkles around his eyes were only a little deeper and his hair had more grey in it, but he felt far older than he looked.

"..." There was a pause on the line. John sighed deeply. He wasn't in the mood for a prank call. He was about to hang up when the most familiar voice rang in his ear.

"Dad?"

He was at the address Stiles gave him much faster than he should have. Being the Sheriff did give him an advantage with speed limits. Stiles had sounded so small and almost scared when he called, but John wasn't going to analyze this too much right now. His son needed him.

He came in the door and found Stiles waiting for him in the living room, struggling to his feet. John was there in seconds, holding his son to him, ignoring the flash of tension in his son before he returned the embrace.

"What's wrong?" John felt his son trembling.

"Scott and Derek are at a pack meeting and I didn't want to interrupt them because they haven't left this house in a month because they're taking care of me and I didn't know who else to call but I didn't want to be alone even though I promised them I could handle it and I was handling it and then I tried watching TV because I was bored and the first channel was playing that Liam Neeson movie where his daughter gets kidnapped and he straps that guy to the chair and-and-and electrocutes him-" Stiles finally manages to stop talking, mostly because he's run out of air and he needs to breathe. His father just puts a steadying hand on the back of Stiles's neck and lets his son lean into his chest. They stand like that for a long time, John listening to his son's breathing and tracing the visible wounds with his eyes. The bruises were faded and yellowing, and the cuts were scarring. But they were healing.

He would be ok.

"Where's the phone?" John asks when Stiles starts to waver. Stiles takes a steadying breath and fishes it out of his pocket. John gently deposits his son on the sofa and scrolls through the contacts.

Derek and Scott returned to find Stiles in the living room curled up on the sofa with his head on his father's chest, practically sitting in his father's lap. He was dozing, and John was just looking down at his son with a mix of relief and sorrow in his tired eyes. Scott cleared his throat, breaking the silence. John looked up at them.

"Stiles called me at work and asked me to come over," He explained quietly, feeling somewhat like an intruder in the world the three had created for themselves. "He didn't want to call you away from the meeting."

"He spent so much time convincing us he would be alright," Derek looked at the older man with guilt written in every line on his young face. "I shouldn't have left."

"Stiles is fine," John soothed. "He's asked for you a few times in his sleep."

It was at this moment that Stiles stirred, still half-asleep, and spoke in slurred tones.

"Scott?"

"No, Stiles. It's me, dad."

Stiles shook his head like a child.

"Scott?" His eyes searched the room wildly. Scott gently smoothed a hand through Stiles's hair and Stiles pulled him down to his level. Scott allowed him to do so, and Derek sat next to the sheriff on the sofa. John looked from his son to Scott as Scott whispered softly to Stiles with their foreheads pressed together.

"He was different when I got here," John whispered. Derek nodded understandingly.

"He has good days and bad days. Today seemed like a good day. What happened?" The was nothing accusatory in his voice and John relaxed, letting Scott take his son from his lap with an apologetic look. As the two boys made they're way back to the bedroom, Stiles clung to Scott like a scared kid.

"He was watching TV and..." John trailed off. "It was torture scene, a man strapped to a chair."

"We never know when or what will trigger a flashback, so we take it day by day," Derek answered quietly. "We'd been avoiding TV for this exact reason."

John almost smiled. Stiles loved watching TV. He probably couldn't resist anymore.

"I brought this," John handed Derek the Adderall that Stiles had in his room. "I don't know if he needs it, or if he's taking something for pain...I don't know!"

He buried his face in his hands. Derek didn't know how to comfort the man and just sat awkwardly next to him until Scott finally came out of the room.

"He's asleep," Scott said tiredly. "He asked me to thank you for coming over though, Mr. Stilinski. He was afraid you were mad at him."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He wasn't making a lot of sense. Something about sneaking out?" Scott looked at John for answers.

"I grounded him," John sighed. "The night he...We had a fight. He kept breaking his plans with me, and I got mad. I yelled at him...grounded him. I told him that I couldn't trust him. If was the last thing I said to him. He thinks...He thinks I'm made at him for sneaking out."

John wiped at his eyes quickly. Stiles thought he was mad. Even after everything that had happened, he was worried about his father's feelings over his own. Scott had stiffened, fists clenching at his sides. Stiles had probably snuck out to see him that night, to play video games or hang out. A new layer of weight settled on his shoulders, one that wouldn't soon be lifted.

"I should go." John stood and Derek watched him go. When had everything gotten so complicated?

Chapter Text

Stiles fumed to himself as he walked slowly to Scott's house. He knew it was a school night and all, but Scott would understand. His dad had just yelled at him for lying, and even though every word he spoke was true, Stiles was still angry. His dad had no idea that his lies were keeping him safe from a supernatural world that was a hell of a lot scarier than the Sheriff could handle. He cursed again that he had to walk to Scott's house because the Jeep was too loud to sneak out. Stiles didn't notice the man walking towards him until they collided, shoulders connecting more painfully than he would have expected. Stiles muttered an apology. He made it a few steps before he recognized the specific pain of a hypodermic needle.

"Oh, shit," Stiles mumbled as he collapsed.

Stiles shivered in the icy breeze as tears pricked in his eyes. It had been early in the last week of October (which sucked, because Stiles loved Halloween) when he was taken, and now it was freezing late-December outside, a few days before Christmas. Tall trees stood ominously around him with bare claw-like branches stretching to the sky, dark with clouds that mostly obscured the full moon. He could hear the occasional far off howl, but they were too faint to identify.

Stiles wiped a tear from his face with his thin dirty sleeve and curled tighter into himself, leaning against a tree. The pack had gone for their run for the full moon and Stiles had fallen asleep in the old Hale house while reading a book in front of the space heater. In a perfect world he would have slept until they returned. Of course, because the world hated him that hadn't worked. At least his mind could have grabbed his coat. But no.

He had woken when he tripped over a tree root and crashed into the rough bark of the tree he was sitting against. His toes hurt from the root and he could feel blood trickling down his face and he knew he should get back to the loft to clean the cuts on his feet, but he didn't know where he was. Judging by how sore and cut up his feet were, he had traveled only a mile or two before waking. A gash in his left foot was the deepest, and it stung with the dirt that had gotten in it. The bones in his foot were barely healed enough to walk without a limp, so of course the first thing his unconscious mind decided to do was sleep walk.

A twig snapped on his blind side and Stiles jumped, heart hammering in his chest until it felt like it would burst out like in that movie he had forced Scott to watch when they were ten. They had slept in the same bed with the lights on after that. Stiles snapped out the memory when he heard another twig snap. He whimpered pathetically, praying that it was a pack member, knowing it was probably a deer or a squirrel, something that wouldn't try to maul or kill him. But in his panicked state, it was that man coming back to get him. Coming to take him back to that horrible room with the chair and the whip and the knives...

"Stiles?" A familiar voice was calling to him, but Stiles couldn't find it in himself to answer through rapidly increasing breaths. "Stiles! There you are."

Stiles watched a wolfed-out version of Jackson pop out of trees, scenting the air to find what was making Stiles smell like fear. Satisfied that there was nothing, Jackson tipped back his head and howled. Answering howls sounded from the surrounding forest as he slipped back to human form.

"Jac-" Stiles coughed and wiped his face again, smearing more dirt onto his cheek. "Jackson?"

"You weren't at the house so Derek sent us out to search for you. Even the twins are out here looking for you," Jackson approached Stiles slowly so he didn't spook him further. He was shivering so badly Jackson felt bad for him. "Hold on."

Jackson slipped off the loose hoodie he was wearing and held it out to Stiles. Stiles took it with trembling hands and clutched the warm fabric to his body as Jackson slid down the tree to sit next to him.

"Thank you..." Stiles whispered. Jackson shrugged and placed his hand on Stiles's knee. He had seen the way Scott and Derek always calmed him with physical contact, and Stiles looked like he could use some as he sat miserably in the cold.

"Derek and Scott are on their way," Jackson said in a voice he hoped was soothing. Stiles let out a sob of relief. "It's alright, I called them."

Jackson wasn't expecting to end up with an armful of cold, distraught Stiles but it happened anyways. He held the shivering boy without another word, rubbing warmth back into the cold skin until Derek and Scott all but tripped over themselves as they came into view. Stiles let himself be fussed over by Scott and didn't fight when Derek picked him up bridal style so he wouldn't have to walk back on his aching feet. Stiles offered Jackson his hoodie back, but Jackson waved him off. Scott nuzzled Stiles's neck some more, arranging the hoodie that Stiles was clinging to so that it covered him light a blanket.

Derek made eye contact with Jackson before he turned away. An unspoken gratitude flowed from the older werewolf to which Jackson shrugged. Stiles was pack. They might not get along, but family doesn't have to.

Stiles sat still on the kitchen counter while Scott cleaned the scrapes on his face. Derek was kneeling so he could give the same treatment to his feet. Stiles was feeling well enough now to be embarrassed that he had been carried all the way back to the Hale house. Derek had driven him home quietly, Stiles sitting in the back seat with Scott wrapped around him like a werewolf seatbelt. His feet hurt and he winced when Derek cleaned the deepest cut. His face was sore and still with the scabbed skin and his eyes drooped. Finally his feet were bandaged and wrapped.

"Derek?" Stiles's voice sounded small even to him. Derek's deep eyes met his. "Will you...Do you think the pack would..."

Stiles trailed off, his gaze drifting to the door where Lydia and Jackson stood with the twins and Issac.

"The others are on their way," Lydia said simply.

Most of the pack slept at Stiles's house that night after a Netflix marathon, sleeping on the floor of Stiles's room and in his chairs. Derek and Scott had Stiles on the bed inbetween them. Scott was the big spoon behind Stiles and Derek's chest was being used a pillow. The sounds of soft breathing filled the air from the various teenagers, and Stiles listened to them intently. He felt safe, and warm, and secure with his friends around him. They were all so glad to see him when he showed up for the run with Derek that he had finally felt normal even though Derek had been worried about leaving him alone again after the fiasco with his dad.

So things hadn't gone that well in the end. Still, his pack had his back which was obvious. Even Jackson.

Scott snuffled adorably behind him, making Stiles smile. One of the twins, he wasn't sure which, was snoring softly in his sleep and Lydia was pillowing her head on Jackson's bicep. Stiles extracted himself from Scott's arms and turned over. Derek mumbled something in his sleep and rolled to spoon the smaller boy. Scott's eyes fluttered open.

"Hey, I can hear you thinking," Scott whispered. "Can't sleep?"

"No," Stiles answered. "Can we talk?"

"Always."

"What are we?" Stiles asked. His eyes held Scott's gentle gaze with an uncertainty that made Scott smile.

"We're best friends," Scott whispered. "I love you, man."

"Do best friends usually snuggle and touch each other this much?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" Scott asked, running a hand over Stiles's bandaged face to leach some pain, and passing over fake eye. "I don't mind."

"Are we still, I don't know...Just friends?" Stiles blushed. "I mean, this is kind of...you and me and Derek...and snuggling..."

Derek groaned.

"Stop talking, sleep," The Omega drew Stiles closer to his chest and reached out one hand for Scott's. Their fingers curled together over Stiles, briefly caging him before letting go. "You're Pack. Leave it there."

"Whatever," Stiles yawned, suddenly tired again. He giggled to himself. Scott looked at him quizzically. Stiles's laughter was becoming more frequent, but he couldn't figure out this one.

"What's so funny?" Derek mumbled.

"We're so totally platonic boyfriends," Stiles pulled Scott closer. Derek huffed a sigh. Scott could feel himself blushing. "Now roll over. Stiles-sandwich time."

Scott grinned sleepily and did as he was told. Stiles's strengthening arms wrapped around him, and Scott felt sleep pulling him back under.

They totally were platonic boyfriends.

Chapter Text

Thin bony fingers clung weakly to the fabric of his t-shirt as Scott helped Stiles lie down on the table in Derek's loft. Sties whimpered as the painful gashes on his back as he made contact with the hard wood surface, but Melissa shushed him gently. Scott tried not to look at his own hands. They were covered in Stiles's blood from carrying him out to the car and the coppery smell was making it hard to concentrate.

"I know it hurts, sweetie. But we don't know if your ribs are broken yet so you can't put any weight on them, okay?" Melissa was using her nurse voice on Stiles, the voice that normally made Scott relax. Right now, it made his skin crawl. Stiles's pale face was tight and sweaty as he attempted to fight through the pain. 

"Deaton is on his way too, Mrs. McCall," Derek's voice was strained and frail. Only Scott could see that while Derek's face was showing its usual stoic expression, his eyes were still enraged and only tight control was keeping his wolf at bay. "I still think Stiles needs a hospital."

 Stiles made a strangled sound and tried to stand, shaking his head frantically.

"Nonono please! No hospital! I can't...They'll find out about wolves and take you away...The police will come...Oh god, Dad!" Stiles started to sob, broken rasping sounds that matched the rasp of his voice. Melissa tried to make him lay back down but Stiles reached out to Scott with crooked broken fingers. Scott took his hand gently and took his pain, gasping at the continued strength of it. "Dad can't see this! Please!"

"Stiles, he'll want to see you," Scott said gently. "Please, let me call him."

"No! He can't see me like this!" Stiles started breathing faster, air whistling in and out but not enough. "Please! Promise me!"

Scott nodded. Stiles relaxed and allowed himself to be laid back down on the table. 

"Scott, his fingers need to be reset, they've healed wrong and if they aren't set they'll never regain full mobility again," Melissa whispered, knowing that Scott and Derek would hear it. Scott paled, but he nodded. He had learned to do this for his pack after one too many fights with other wolves left them with poorly healed bones. Scott leaned down and told Stiles what he was going to do, and Stiles looked up fearfully at him.

"Will it hurt?"

Scott nodded, dashing a tear from his eye quickly. Derek reached tentatively for Stiles's other hand. 

"I'll take the edge off, okay?" Stiles nodded at the Omega wolf, the trust in his brown eyes making Derek cringe inside. Stiles gripped the offered hand tightly and his thin fingers were hidden within the same large hand that first wiped the tears from his face in the hellish room. 

"I'm so sorry," Scott whispered. Stiles gave him a watery smile that looked thin and pained on his sunken face. "Ok, 1. 2-" A snapping sound filled the air. One finger, then another. And another. And another. Scott started to panic. He wasn't just re-setting Stiles's fingers anymore.

Now he couldn't stop breaking them, all of them.

Stiles screamed and screamed.

Scott bolted from his bed, eyes red and fangs out as he searched for a way out of his own personal nightmare. A figure with glowing blue loomed in front of him and Scott pounced, knocking him over and roaring loudly, demanding submission. 

"Scott."

He roared again, tightening his grip on the omega's throat, claws breaking the skin in a warning without going to deep. Yet.

"Scott, please."

He knew that voice. The red haze in his mind began to clear.

"You're hurting me."

Derek. The smell of Derek's blood filled the air.

Scott's eyes faded back to their chocolate brown as his rational mind finally caught up with his instincts. Derek stared up at him, Scott's hand (now without claws) wrapped around his throat tightly, and he tilted his head as much as he could in submission. Scott yelped and jumped back like he had been burned.

"Oh god I'm so sorry!" Scott crawled backward away from his friend until his back hit the wall, still shaking from his nightmare. "I could have killed you..." Scott drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face behind his hands. 

"It's okay, Scott," Derek crawled towards his Alpha cautiously so the younger man wouldn't startle back to his Alpha form. He reached out to take Scott's hands, but the younger wolf pulled away too fast.

"Don't, please. I need a moment," Scott whimpered. Derek nodded and sat back on his heels. They sat in silence for five minutes and thirty-six seconds until Scott finally lowered his hands. Bloodshot eyes met Derek's and Derek opened his arms tentatively. Scott studied him for a moment before crawling awkwardly into the embrace. Derek held him with one hand on his neck and the other wrapped around his waist as Scott scented his neck and held on to broad muscular shoulders.

Derek tried his best to soothe his friend. Fear and shame and panic had been so strong in the room he couldn't stop himself from running to Scott's room from his place on the couch.

Stiles was staying the night at his own house with his father since it was Christmas Eve. Scott and Derek had been hesitant to be away from him since the last two attempts to leave him alone had been less than successful. Stiles was adamant though, arguing that he needed to able to function without them if he was going to truly recover. Besides, his dad was going to be there and they had traditions to keep up, damn it! Scott and Derek had given up trying to convince Stiles and compromised, agreeing to come over the next morning so the McCalls and Derek could spend Christmas at the Stilinski household.

Melissa had then insisted that Derek stay at their house.

Derek had hesitated, because honestly he wasn't sure if Scott wanted him around when Stiles wasn't there. Stiles obviously wanted him around, and had cuddled Derek as much as he had cuddled with Scott, but and Derek and Scott had never cuddled each other on their own. Stiles was always with them.

He had ended up accepting the invitation though since he didn't really have anywhere else to be since Isaac was staying with Allison for Christmas (God help him if Argent caught him in his daughter's bedroom). But he stayed on the couch after another brief and awkward moment of wondering if Scott expected to share a bed with him. Without Stiles. Scott had looked like he wanted to say something, but they parted ways around midnight.

Now, with Scott trembling in his arms and Melissa poking her head into the room with a worried expression on her face, Derek was glad he had stayed. Melissa smiled at him and said goodnight again. 

"I know that we haven't always got along, but will you...I mean," Scott took a shuddering breath. "I think I've gotten too used to cuddling at night."

Derek stood with Scott and sat him down on his bed. Scott watched him with exhausted eyes as Derek straightened his sheets and comforter over him. Derek slowly got into the bed with Scott, waiting for Scott to back out. He didn't, so Derek laid down on the mattress behind him and gently pulled Scott to his chest where Scott tentatively placed his hands over Derek's.

"What did you dream about?" Derek questioned him. Scott shuddered.

"Breaking Stiles's fingers. All of them."

Derek winced and pulled him even closer.

"How long have you been having nightmares?"

Scott sighed.

"A since last week. But none were this bad," Scott paused thoughtfully. "But, they seemed to insignificant compared to what Stiles went through. I didn't want to bother him with my stupid dreams when he has so much worse."

"You could have told me," Derek rubbed his nose on the back of Scott's neck. "I'm here for both of you, you know."

Scott smiled. "I see why Stiles likes you as the big spoon."

Derek chuckled. 

"All you had to do was ask."

"Merry Christmas, Derek."

Stiles threw open the door before the doorbell finished ringing and tackled Scott and Derek with his flailing arms. Derek's scowl was playful and Scott chased Stiles through the house, not using his werewolf speed, laughing with his best friend. They passed John and almost knocked him over, apologizing even as they sped away. Stiles was taunting Scott over his shoulder and not paying attention to the man that stepped in front of him until he was right in front of him. Derek flashed his eyes and laughed when Stiles skidded to a stop, somehow managing to fall backwards into Scott's arms.

"Shit, Derek! That's cheating!" Stiles tried to look indignant as his balance was barely recovered. Scott laughed harder as Stiles tripped over his feet when he tried to walk away with his dignity. "Shut up, Scott!"

"Graceful as ever," Derek muttered. Scott and Stiles went upstairs to play xbox, and Derek started after them until John called for him in the kitchen, so he left the two friends to their videogames.

"Derek, how are you?" John asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Derek smiled at the Sheriff when he was handed a mug of coffee.

"I'm great, thanks."

"Listen, I just...I wanted you to know how grateful I am to you, and to Scott," John met Derek's eyes without blinking. "But especially to you. I know that I've been unfair to you in the past but-"

"Sheriff, no." Derek put his mug down on the counter. "I did what I would have done for anyone. But Stiles is pack, and my pack is the closest thing I have to a family anymore."

"Call me John. Derek, you have a place here with us, anytime. Without you, I don't think..." John tilted his head back to stop tears. "Well, we wouldn't be having this day. I wouldn't have been able to give Stiles his Christmas present. And I'll never be able to thank you enough."

Derek looked down at his feet, unsure how to respond to the fatherly tone of his voice. His father had once sounded like that, long ago. Stiles chose that moment to step into the kitchen, eyes red and watery.

"Dad?" Stiles threw his arms around his father. He had heard the exchange when he came down to find Derek for video games. John held his son, forgetting that there was someone else in the room momentarily. "I'm okay, dad. I'm okay."

Derek slipped quietly away.

After they had exchanged small presents (and no, Derek did not really like the wolf-eared hat that Stiles got him or the paw print covered pajamas that Scott got him), the group ate obscene amounts of food during a late lunch and settled in for a movie. Stiles, Scott and Derek piled onto the couch while John and Melissa sat in the chairs. John wasn't sure how he should feel about the two teenagers snuggling on both sides of the much older Derek, but Stiles was resting his head so peacefully on Derek's chest that John couldn't bring himself to be overly protective. 

Derek fell asleep first, head lolling to the side to rest on top of Stiles's, and Scott took a selfie of the sleeping omega with Stiles grinning goofily in the background. 

Chapter Text

Scott dared to hope that Stiles was getting better much faster than expected. He hadn't screamed himself awake for over a week, and Christmas Eve night had passed without another disaster. Scott dared to think that the worst was behind them.

Derek wasn't so sure. The wolf in him was making him restless. Like a wild animal before a natural disaster, Derek felt restless energy pulsing under his skin like static when he was around Stiles the day after Christmas. When Stiles continued to sleep through the night and jump less at noises, he tried to feel reassured. 

Everything came crashing down on New Years morning.

Pain 

Blood

Stiles woke with a scream.

"No!" Stiles struggled against the leather straps binding him to the chair. "No, you're dead!"

The chair was in a circle of light, surrounded by the darkness that shrouded his torturer in shadows.

"You can't be here! I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming..." Stiles repeated it over and over, trying to lift his hands to count his fingers to prove it was just a dream. But they were strapped down. "I want to wake up! 

Stiles felt tears streaming down his face as the man stepped into the light, his head down looking at the ground. He slowly lifted it to look at Stiles.

Stiles screamed.

Bloody gashes streaked back and forth over the man's face, pieces of his skull visible in white flashes. Dark, corrupted blood dripped to the floor as he walked towards Stiles. Stiles tried to get away, but his chair was seemingly bolted to the ground. 

The circle of light began to expand outward as the man ran his dirty hands over Stiles's face. Stiles whimpered, begging him to let go. The blood on his hands was fresh and red unlike the blood from his horrible wounds. Stiles froze as the light was suddenly too bright around him.

His head was roughly jerked to the side and Stiles's brown eyes locked on to another pair. 

They were pale and glassed over, almost milky. But Stiles would never forget what they looked like. He had received too many patented 'puppy dog eyes' from them.

"SCOTT!" 

His best friend hung from the straps that the man used when he lashed Stiles with the whip. Scott was bloody and limp, and it was too late for Stiles to do anything but scream as he saw Derek off to side, strapped to the table that the man used when he wanted to carve the knife into his victims' soft flesh. 

"DEREK!"

The man wrenched Stiles's head back, ripping his gaze from his friends. A silver scalpel hovered over Stiles's good eye.

"I WANT TO WAKE UP! PLEASE I WANT TO WAKE UP! DEREK! SCOTT!"

He couldn't stop screaming as pain flashed through his eye.

"Scott!" Derek yelled frantically as if Scott couldn't also hear Stiles screaming from the bedroom. Hell, he figured half of Beacon Hill could hear Stiles screaming.

Stiles was thrashing, fighting Derek's hold on him with a fury that was new to the large werewolf, and he worried that Stiles would hurt himself if he kept lashing out at him with his fists.

Everything had been fine. Stiles had excused himself before the official pack meeting to take a nap before they had a movie night together. Derek had gone upstairs to join him (Stiles still slept better when he was cuddled, and he was tired, so sue him). Stiles was so innocent looking when he slept, the lines of worry and doubt fading away. Derek was barely asleep when Stiles started mumbling. Derek's eyes twitched open and he watched Stiles begin to sink into what was looking like the mother of all nightmares.

He pulled himself up to sit against the headboard and pulled Stiles against him. Stiles was beginning to thrash and his mumbling was rising in volume. He rubbed at Stiles's arms and tried to wake him up gently with soothing words but nothing worked.

Then the screaming started.

Scott's feet pounded as he ran to the bedroom in the loft, tripping and falling on his face. Derek normally would have smiled but right now he was trying to hold onto a terrified teenager that was attempting to scream his vocal chords raw. Scott's eyes flashed red at Stiles's obvious distress as he screamed for them both over and over.

"Stiles, I'm right here, we're here, it's alright. I've got you. Wake up, I'm safe, Scott's safe, we're here with you," Derek was talking into Stiles's ear quickly and with growing volume, trying desperately to wake him up. 

"What do we do?" Scott all but yelled. The smells of fear and panic were burning the Alpha's nose and he was trying to focus on not wolfing out and destroying something. Derek's wide eyes met his and he looked helplessly at him.

"Use your howl!" A voice said from the door. They turned and saw the twins standing in the door. Aiden spoke again. "Stiles is pack. Your howl will wake any pack member up."

Scott shifted, his eyes glowing red, and threw back his head to release a howl that shook the panes of glass in the window. Derek and the twins ducked their heads under the weight of the howl, their eyes flashing blue as they turned their heads in submission. Stiles stilled in Derek's arms with a gasp as his eyes snapped open.

Derek held his breath, waiting for Stiles to speak Or move.

It was so quiet he could hear the heartbeats of every person in the room at the volume of jackhammers. 

"Stiles?" Scott took a step closer, his voice slightly distorted by the fangs still showing in his mouth. Stiles locked eyes with the red Alpha eyes and started to shake. Derek pulled him closer and pushed his head back to rest on the omega's shoulder while the younger man fell apart.

There was no loud sobbing or wailing, just silent relieved tears and Stiles's trembling hands gripping Derek's in a bone-cracking grip. Scott crawled on the bed whining softly to snuggled against Stiles's front, laying down on top of his friends. It was awkward and strange looking from the outside but it was exactly what Stiles needed. Aiden and Ethan looked pained, but slipped away quietly as Stiles dug his fingers into Scott's shoulder, trying to ground himself.

They stayed like this for minutes, or an hour, Scott wasn't sure. Stiles was exhausted but his grip never faltered. Scott could hear the pack arriving and the twins explaining what happened. Then Lydia trying to get past them to find Stiles, and Jackson telling her to give him space. 

Stiles's crying finally died down to sniffling as he tried to pull himself together.

"Do you want a glass of water?" Derek whispered in his ear. It was the first thing he had said to Stiles since he woke up that wasn't based on trying to calm him down. 

"Yes," Stiles breathes. He was breathless and his throat was sore. Derek nuzzled his neck and then slowly extracted himself from behind Stiles, letting Scott take his place. The scent of fear was beginning to be joined by shame. Derek made his way to the kitchen where the pack was seated, staring at him. He spared them a tired look before retreating back to Stiles with the water.

Stiles sipped it slowly, and Derek took the moment to study him. Stiles's breathing was even and his heart rate was slowing back to normal, but he could smell lingering panic. Stiles met Derek's eyes over the rim of the glass.

"Will you...um, will read to me?" Stiles asked in a small voice. Scott winced. Derek kept his features schooled. Stiles hadn't asked him to read to him for weeks. He sounded like the first week of recovery with the rough voice and thinly veiled tears in his voice. "I need to...I need to hear your voices. Both of you."

Scott looked at Derek of Stiles's shoulder. They needed to talk about the nightmare, but not right now.

"Please?" Stiles's voice cracked in a sob.

"Of course, Stiles," Derek kept his tone warm. "Anything you need."

"Anything," Scott echoed.

"I love you guys, you know that right?" Stiles sounded exhausted. 

Derek took over Scott's old spot, blanketing Stiles's body with his own.

"Of course," Scott stroked Stiles's hair. "Of course we know."

Chapter Text

The Hobbits had just left Tom Bombadil's company when Scott fell asleep behind Stiles, book sliding out of his hand to thump against the floor. Stiles couldn't help the smile that cracked his face, thankfully tear-free since Derek had wiped away the tear tracks with a damp wash cloth an hour ago after his voice became too hoarse to read to him. Scott's voice wasn't as deep and soothing as Derek's, but he did the different voices in far more exaggerated ways that made Stiles laugh.

"He literally just fell asleep mid-sentence," Stiles giggled softly. Derek's head shifted on Stiles's chest where the older werewolf had been listening to the heartbeat of his friend while Scott read as he chuckled. "Good thing I know how it ends."

"You scared us today," Derek mumbled. "I thought...You were screaming for us. What happened?"

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated by Scott's soft snores. Stiles hesitantly lifted a hand and gently carded his fingers through Derek's hair, eliciting a soft sound from Derek that Stiles decided to ignore for the moment even though he was tempted to make a dog joke. Derek didn't press further, and Stiles didn't have an answer for him. The dream had faded away to nothing but the memory of terror.

"They want to come up," Derek lifted his head to look at Stiles. "The pack. They're asking if they can come see you."

Stiles considered this for a moment. He wasn't sure if he could handle the amount of coddling the pack was sure to bring with them to the bedroom. He had never let anyone besides Jackson, and the twins now, see him break down and he didn't want everyone to see even the aftermath of such an episode.

"Actually, I'd rather go to them. Have a movie night?" Stiles asked hopefully. He wanted to do something normal to take the edge off the fear that still lingered in the room. Derek's eyes shifted to the side, presumably as he listened to the pack. Finally, he heaved himself off the bed and reached a hand to help Stiles up. Scott tightened his arms around Stiles when he tried to stand, resulting in the biggest eyeroll Derek thought he had ever seen.

"Scott, wake up," Stiles struggled in the strong embrace. "Dude, come on! Let go."

Scott cracked an eye open.

"No, sleepy..." He rolled them over, and Stiles laughed as he was manhandled into being the little spoon.

"Come on, man! I'll order your favorite pizza..." Stiles offered in a sing-song voice. Scott grumbled something under his breath about getting his own meat-lover's, but he let his friend up finally. Stiles made his way to the living room where the rest of the pack was waiting for him. He stood awkwardly in front of them for a few seconds before Jackson came in with two sodas and handed him one.

"Sit down man, we're watching the Fellowship of the Ring," Jackson sat next to Lydia on the couch and Motioned for him to Join them. Ethan and Aiden were watching him intensely from their places on the floor, which, weird. But Stiles could process that later. Right now, everyone in his pack was there sprawled on the furniture and the floor while Derek and Scott argued over pizza toppings and the best pizza places to buy. The opening credits of the movie were playing as Scott started arguing with Allison about whether or not Legolas was the most bad-ass character. The last traces of fear dissolved when Scott pushed Issac out of the way to sit next to Stiles and Derek sat at his feet, leaning against his shins and Jackson swung the arm not holding Lydia around the back of the couch behind Stiles's head.

Stiles felt safe.

He wasn't okay yet. 

But he would be.

Chapter Text

His lungs were burning with exertion as he ran faster and faster and yet he wasn't catching up to his friends.

"Stiles! Come on!" Scott voice floated back to him, thick with fear and worry. Derek streaked by Stiles, running at full speed with a bad limp as the smell of ozone filled the air. Stiles turned just as the crack of lightning hit him, sending him flying into a tree.

Howls of pain and terrified growls filled air as strange chanting filled the air.

Stiles jolted awake, visions of his friends running through the woods away from a witch. A figure loomed over him in the darkness, one hand on his shoulder. Still half-asleep, Stiles pinwheeled his arms, flinging himself back from the dark shape until his back hit the headboard. The figure retreated with inhumane speed and a small yelp.

"Sorry!" The lights flicked on, a guilty-looking Liam standing across the room with his hand on the light switch.

"Jesus, Liam! What are you doing here?" Stiles kicked off the sheets and wiped at the cold sweat on his brow. He checked the clock on his bedside table. He hadn't meant to fall asleep before hearing back from Scott. "Why didn't you go with Scott?"

"I..." Liam took a tentative step forward. "I just...I wanted to see how you were doing. Scott said the pack was going after a pair of rogue omegas and that you would be alone so..."

"Thanks, but I don't really need a babysitter," Stiles snapped, immediately regretting the anguish he saw creeping across the younger boy's face. It wasn't the kid's fault that he couldn't trust himself not to have a panic attack during a fight. "I'm sorry, Liam. I didn't mean it."

A silence settled over them. Liam was the only member of the pack that hadn't visited Stiles after the rescue, and Stiles hadn't noticed at first that the newest member of the pack wasn't around. But in the last month he had realized that the beta had been avoiding the pack meetings and movie nights and Scott was saddened by the lack of contact with his first and only true beta. Liam took the time to examine Stiles, noting the scars on the exposed skin of his arms and legs, the reduced bulk of his friend's muscles, and the young beta felt his eyes prick with tears.

"Stiles..." Liam's voice cracked. Stiles took a moment to really look at the beta. His hair was a bit too long and his wide blue eyes carried a weariness that would have been accompanied by heavy bags if he wasn't a werewolf. He looked so uncomfortable and vulnerable that Stiles took mercy on him. Stiles patted the spot next to him, remembering what Scott said about the tactile nature of werewolves. The boy looked absolutely touch-starved from abstaining from pack activities and Stiles knew he didn't get much at home either. Liam climbed over Stiles, scenting his neck and settling on his side with his face on Stiles's chest. Stiles tensed momentarily at the weight of someone that wasn't Scott or Derek, but instantly relaxed again. Few of the other pack members cuddled up to him immediately, seemingly afraid that he would break if they did.

"What's up, buddy? What's wrong?" Stiles scratched lightly at Liam's neck, ignoring the impulse to make a dog joke as some of the tension bled out of the boy.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you," Liam hid his face in Stiles's neck, unable to look at the friend he had started. "I swear, I wanted to see you! I did!

"I know. Why did you avoid me?" Stiles brushed his hands through Liam's hair briefly to show he wasn't angry. He hadn't really had much time before he was taken to get to know the newest member, but he had liked the freshman werewolf and Liam had taken a liking to Stiles as well, being much more comfortable around Stiles than most of the other pack members. Derek told him it was because he always smelled like Scott and vice versa, so he was associated with Alpha for Liam, making him open for cuddles almost all the time.

"At first, Scott told me not to come over because you were in such bad shape and you were scared of everyone," Liam paused and took a shaky breath. "But then...when Scott said you were feeling better, I was afraid that..."

"Afraid of what?" Stiles settled deeper into the pillow to find a more comfortable position.

"I was afraid I would lose control and...and scare you or, or worse. I didn't want to be someone that hurt you," Liam finished in a whisper. "I didn't know how I'd react, and you didn't need me like you need the pack."

"Liam, you are pack. I do need you, and you need the pack. Scott said you've been avoiding him and that you started a fight in the grocery store last week," Stiles said without a trace of admonishment. The boy had gotten enough of that from Scott. "Don't do this to yourself."

"I just...Stiles..." Liam took a shaky breath and Stiles saw ashamed tears filling his eyes as his bottom lip trembled. "I miss being around Scott and you and everyone so much but...I couldn't face you, and I didn't want everyone to see how weak-"

Stiles sighed. Liam looked like a little boy that had gotten lost in the supermarket with his wide tear-filled eyes and heartbroken expression. So that was why Liam had been avoiding him. He didn't know if he could control his IED around his injured packmate.

"No, Liam, you're not weak. Don't say that. Just...come back to us. Don't shut us out. Especially Scott. He misses you. He looks like a wet puppy whenever he mentions you," Stiles smiled at Liam's small smirk.

They laid on the bed for awhile, talking about school and gossiping about people so Stiles would be up to date when he went back after winter break ended. The school had been persuaded to give Stiles time to catch up so he wouldn't be held back and could graduate with his friends next year, and Liam pointed at the stacks of completed and incomplete work. Stiles let out a disgusted sound, his good eye rolling. Liam froze, and Stiles noticed of course.

"Pretty weird, right?" Stiles pointed at the glass eye. "Derek paid for it. Who would have known that realistic-looking fake eyeballs were so expensive?"

Liam didn't smile, and Stile's attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

"He said you were a drug dealer that was in jail, or faking a disease, and that's why you weren't in school," Liam muttered suddenly. "The guy I beat up. He was saying stuff about you and laughing and I just...lost it."

Stiles wasn't sure if he should be touched that Liam cared about him enough to do that or scold him for starting unnecessary fights. He decided to let it slide. Stiles's phone buzzed.

TO Stiles: We're fine. Omegas gone. Derek's making sure they're gone with Erica and Boyd. Coming home now. Is liam there

TO Scott: He's here. Glad you're ok

TO Stiles: Be there soon

"Are you tired? You look like you could use some sleep," Liam asked as Stiles yawned with jawbreaking force. "Scott and Derek are fine."

"Only if you get some sleep too. You look exhausted," Stiles lifted the covers, slipping into them with Liam still attached to his side. "I sleep better with a cuddle buddy."

Liam shrugged and snuggled closer.

"Will it help with nightmares?" He whispered. Stiles ran comforting hands over his back.

"Still having them?" Liam nodded. Stiles squeezed his bedmate lightly to show he wasn't going anywhere. "It helps me with mine."

"Ok, then. I'll try."

"Goodnight, Li."

"Don't call me that."

Scott returned to the Stilinski home and jumped onto the roof and climbed into Stiles's room through the window. Stiles was in bed with Liam wrapped protectively around him. As his feet hit the ground, Liam stirred, a growl in his throat and his eyes blazing gold. Scott held up his hands and made a shushing motion. Liam nodded and carefully began to extract himself from Stiles's long arms. Scott just shook his head and stripped to his boxers and pulled on one of Stiles's t-shirts and climbed in behind Liam. The alpha's presence calmed Liam in a way that he had almost forgotten about. Scott fell asleep almost immediately, sore and tired from fighting and running all night but no one was permanently hurt, and he had two of the most important people in his life right there with him.

"Stiles? Stiles where are you?" Scott was running in darkness, complete and utter blackness as screams assaulted him from all sides. Flashes of pale skin and glinting blades passed him on both sides, and the Alpha tried to turn around to find their source. "STILES!"

"You didn't find me." Stiles's accusing voice filled the air, not loud but reverberating through Scott's skull like a fog horn.

"I tried! Stiles, please! Where are you?" Scott was crying now as a hollow, dry laugh filled the darkness. "I can save you!"

"But you didn't! You failed me!"

"Stiles, please! Where are you? I can't find you!" Scott's head spun with the laughter filling the silence. The inky blackness began to move and squirm with undefinable shapes.

"You'll never have the chance to fail again."

Scott collapsed as unseen hands clawed at his legs.

"STILES!"

He screamed his friend name as the darkness consumed him.

"Scott wake up!" Liam held the struggling Alpha pinned to the floor in a fight he was rapidly losing, Stiles breathing heavily through pain filled eyes in the corner of the room. He wasn't hurt when Liam suddenly pushed him from the bed because Scott was thrashing with his claws out, yelling Stiles's name, but his friend's panicked cries were cutting him to the bone. Derek had warned Stiles that Scott was having nightmares that sometimes turned violent, but he had never seen one up close. Liam roared in pain as Scott's claws grazed his chest, drawing blood from scratches that weren't too deep to do lasting damage.

"Scott?" Stiles's broken whisper caused Scott to open his blood red eyes and shove Liam off with great force. Liam cried out as his head connected with the bed frame. The alpha advanced on Stiles, feral and predatory. Stiles closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, bracing for whatever was next. He felt the hot puffs of breath on his hands as Scott drew close, but nothing else happened. He risked a peek from behind his hands to find Scott an inch from his face with raw pain in his red eyes and tears gathering in their depth. A clawed hand reached for his cheek and rested there, trembling slightly like the rest of Scott. Stiles reached out a careful and placed it on Scott's neck, pulling him forward until the other boy was resting comfortably against Stiles's shoulder.

Scott shattered in the feather-light embrace. Sobs racked his shaking body as he tried to crawl impossibly close to his best friend, settling with sitting in his lap like a lost puppy that just found its mother. Stiles ran his fingers through Scott's hair, whispering nonsense and clutching his friend with the express wish that he could just hide Scott away from whatever he had dreamed about. Stiles caught Liam's eye over Scott and motioned to the light switch. The lights flicked on and Scott relaxed minutely, clinging to Stiles with fistfuls of his t-shirt clutched in his hands. Stiles realized he could feel wetness on his collarbone where Scott was crying.

"I failed you," Scott whispered after several minutes, still at the edge of his dream and reality. "I-I failed you, Stiles. How can you...how can you look at me?"

"No, Scott, no. You didn't fail me, you saved me. You're ok, I've got you, I'm right here because you didn't fail me," Stiles cooed into Scott's ear. "Never, you never failed me. Ever." An edge crept into his voice at that. He needed Scott to believe him. Liam watched the exchange with horrified eyes. He had never seen his Alpha so cracked and broken, even in the aftermath of fights gone wrong.

"Did I hurt anyone?" Scott whispered to Stiles. Stiles looked at Liam. Liam covered the healing scratches on his chest even as he replied.

"I'll heal," Liam knew Scott felt bad, but the alpha just reached out an arm blindly to find his beta. Liam obliged the unspoken requested and wrapped himself around Scott where the older boy sat trembling Stiles's lap.

"I'm sorry," Scott mumbled. Liam nosed Scott's neck.

"We all have nightmares. But you know who always save me in mine?" Liam waited for Scott to reply, and was met with silence. "You do, Scott."

Scott sank boneless into his friends' grip, letting himself be comforted even as the last vestiges of his dream told him he didn't deserve it. But his friends' heartbeats had been steady. They believed what they said, so Scott did too.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure about this? The principle would understand if you-" The Sheriff was cut off by a wave of Stiles's hand.

"Dad. I'm going to be fine. The longer I'm gone, the harder it will be to finish the year on time," Stiles looked out the window at the high school. "Besides, I have a pack member in every class."

That was true. Scott was in three of his classes, Lydia in four, Issac in one, and Jackson in two with various overlapping. The only class he wasn't sure about was first period study hall. He wouldn't have personally chosen that slot, but getting his classes scheduled so late meant his options were limited if he wanted take the honors classes he qualified for and have pack members in each class. Unfortunately, first period study hall was the only class without a pack member to watch out for him. Apparently, there had been many rumors going around about why the school spaz was missing and many were not kind. Not to mention Stiles wasn't really people's favorite to begin with.

His dad had insisted on dropping him off at school for his first day back since he was no longer confident in his driving ability, much to his dismay. His beloved jeep sat forlornly on the driveway collecting dust until he could find a way to drive safely again. Scott had offered to drive Stiles instead, but the Sheriff was adamant. Now, Stiles realized his father had just wanted to give him once last chance to stay home. And he appreciated that, he really did. But if he was going to convince everyone he was fine, he had to risk the stares of his classmates.

Scott waved at him from outside, and Stiles took the opportunity to get out the car, returning his dad's "I love you, have a good day" with a half-hearted smile. He was already feeling tired just looking at the school. The air was warming up quickly after the unusually cold Christmas, but there was chilly breeze trying its best to chill the resisdents of Beacon hills, and Stiles shivered as he pulled his coat tighter around him. The red hood of his favorite zip-up peeked out of the collar, instantly recognizable to anyone that knew him. And everybody noticed him. Almost immediately, the whispering started. Scott clapped him on the shoulder and steered him toward the school with his usual level of subtle-yet-not-subtle-at-all concern that had become a permanent addition to their friendship.

"Come on, we're going to be late," Scott pushed him lightly towards his locker where Lydia was waiting for him, having arrived far earlier than the boys as usual. 

Stiles grinned at Lydia and listened to her complain about the reading list for AP English being too watered down as they walked to his study hall. Lydia left him there as the minute bell rang and strode off to class with one perfectly manicured hand waving goodbye at him. If Stiles didn't know her as well as he did, he would have missed the concerned look she gave him at parting. Stiles sighed as he sat in the second row of the classroom (no one sat near him) and pulled out his book to read. He didn't think he could concentrate enough to actually do any of the few remaining makeup assignments he hadn't finished yet. He was five minutes into class when the first crumbled ball of paper hit him in the side of his face, on his blind side. Stiles ignored it, and the stifled giggling from the students around him. The teacher gave a light reprimand and returned to her bored internet surfing. Stiles was still trying to block out the stares he could feel digging into his skin when something bounced against the same spot on his face. It was a pink eraser. The laughter was louder this time when he had to turn and look to see what had hit him. Stiles felt tears pricking in his eyes. The door opened, but Stiles didn't look up to see who entered. It would give them a bigger target.

"Aw, he's gonna cry," Someone stage-whispered. Stiles tried to get back into his book, but he felt the class's amusement and it was getting to him. He heard someone crumple paper, and had resigned himself to his fate when an arm shot out and caught the paper.

In his line of sight, Ethan stood holding the paper ball in his tightly clenched fist and Danny stood next to him with an expression of rage marring his tanned features. He had been in Hawaii for Christmas but everyone knew what happened to Stiles (or at least, the story the Sheriff fed them about abduction and Stiles's escape). Stiles met Danny's gaze when the other boy turned to look at him and gave a weak but grateful smile. Ethan dropped the paper and took his seat next to Stiles and Danny sat on his other side. Stiles nodded at his friends, grateful to see them, and somewhat amused when he noticed the slight swelling of Danny's lips. So that's why they were late. Apparently, absence had made their hearts grow fonder. The rest of the class passed in relative silence until the last ten minutes when the teacher decided she didn't care and allowed them to socialize. 

"How are you, Stiles?" Danny asked tentatively. "I heard about..."

"I'm...getting there," Stiles answered honestly. "This class was not a good start to the day, though."

Ethan snorted, still giving the evil eye to his earlier tormentors. He had been sitting there practically radiating a challenge to throw something else the entire period.

"I'm glad you're ok," Danny suddenly turned to Ethan. "This is why you wanted to take this study hall, isn't it? It had nothing to do with me, did it?"

Ethan finally broke his stare to look at Danny with a wolfish grin.

"Well...you had something to with it," Ethan smirked at Danny and then dropped it when he looked at Stiles. "Scott told me you'd be in this one and I figured you could help me with my...stuff." Ethan's lie was blatant. He never asked Stiles for help and probably never would. The unspoken "You were going to be alone" hung in the air between them, but was broken by Danny's mock-surprised gasp.

"Stiles, are you trying to steal my man?" Danny joked, trying make him smile. Stiles grinned.

"Aw, Danny, you know you're the guy for me," Stiles returned with a waggle of his eyebrows. It was weird, trying to talk to them both because he had to turn his head to change conversation partners. Ethan seemed to notice and switched to the seat in front of him so Stiles could see them both at the same time, but Ethan could still block any projectiles without using too much wolfy speed. "But alas, it seems I've be thwarted."

Danny blushed and tried to weakly deny it, but Ethan looked so smug that it confirmed Stiles's earlier suspicions. By the time the bell rang, Danny was beet red from the numerous double-entendres Ethan and Stiles had managed to come up with. Stiles walked to his next class with Ethan, and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Scott and Lydia look at him from their seats in calculus. One down, six to go.

Chapter Text

Derek sighed irratiably and began to once again read the same page in his book. He had been attempting to occupy his time alone in his loft during the school hours but was failing at distracting his mind from worrying about Stiles. Stiles hadn't sounded like he was completely ready to go to school the night before when he called in the early hours of the morning.

"Stiles? What's wrong?" Derek rubbed sleep from his eyes, adrenaline starting to course through him. It was late, or early, he wasn't sure.

"Nothing's wrong, per se, you know, nothing supernatural or bitey or injury-making. Why did you assume I was calling because something was wrong? Can't I call my best cuddle-buddy at two in the morning just to say hi, how's it hanging, whatcha doing-"

"Stiles. Why. Did. You. Call," Derek sighed and reclined back into his pillows. He had never removed the extra pillows after Stiles stopped sleeping permanently at his loft, and he would never admit he never knew what he was missing. "Are you alright?"

Stiles was silent for a few moments. Then Derek heard the rustling of papers.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, sleep clawing at him now that the initial shock had worn off. "Reading?"

"No, just...going through all of the homework I had to do so I could catch up. Looking for mistakes," Stiles replied, weariness apparent in his voice, tinged with desperation. "I've checked everything three times for mistakes because I haven't done all this work and tried so hard just to mess up and have it all be for nothing. i know Harris is just begging for me to be held back and the principal took two hours of my father and Mr. Whittemore to convince him to even let me attempt all the make up work and hours of Lydia tutoring me and Scott feeling bad for not being able to help me-"

"Stiles! Breathe, Stiles," Derek soothed over the phone, wishing he could do so in person. Stiles took a shaky breath and with Derek's urging took a few more before speaking again.

"Sorry, I just..." Stiles trailed off, lost in thought most likely. Derek waited for a few seconds before prodding.

"You're not sure you're ready for this?"

"Derek, I'm scared," Stiles whispered and then he yawned. Lighter rustling came over the speaker, the rustling of sheets.

"I know," Derek whispered back. "But I'll be right here when school's out, and Scott and you can take over my place and do homework and destroy my kitchen or whatever you have to do until you feel better, ok?"

They talked for a few more minutes until Stiles finally felt tired enough to sleep.

The pounding of feet and the rattling of his loft's door alerted him to the presence of the two teens that had taken over his loft at least twice a week. Derek found himself buying their favorite foods at the supermarket, patching up the holes in the walls, buying new furniture, and installing a gaming system with a brand new TV, all without really thinking about what he was doing until it was already done. Stiles had laughed and called his loft a den when he walked in on Derek struggling to install a cablebox, whereas Scott seemed mostly unaffected by the sudden changes in Derek's loft.

Derek had just placed the book on the couch next to him when the door burst open and Stiles flew into his arms, barely bothering to drop his backpack heavily on the floor. Scott wasn't far behind, but he didn't look happy, and Derek tensed. Stiles was seemingly trying to bury his face as far into the crook of Derek's neck as humanly possible and Derek tried to sooth him by rubbing his back allowing Stiles to cling to his preferred source of comfort.

"What happened?" 

Stiles wouldn't answer, so Derek gave Scott a pointed look. Scott sighed.

"Finstock won't let Stiles quit. He wants him to be the lacrosse team's manager," Scott replied. "Stiles thinks Finstock's only doing it because he feels sorry for him."

"That asshole? Pitying anyone? Really, Stiles?" Derek laughed as Stiles shoved away from him petulantly without breaking contact.

"Why else would he ask? He's never had a manager and now suddenly he needs one?" Stiles crossed his arms and twisted to lean his back against Derek's chest. "I just want to be treated like nothing happened."

"Dude, Finstock chased you out of his office and threatened bodily harm if you pranked him again. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't do that if he pitied you. The only reason he doesn't have a manager is because he scared the last kid that wanted to do it so bad he cried," Scott pointed out. Again. "Seriously, it would be nice to have someone else for him to yell at instead of us. Just think about it, ok? For me?"

Stiles did consider it. He considered it while he and Scott did their homework (homework on the first day back? seriously rude!) on Derek's floor, and he considered it while he rode back to his house in Derek's car when it was time to make dinner for him and his dad. He considered it even as he and his dad ate dinner together with Derek and bickered about bacon. He considered it as he showered after reading through and reply to texts from his friends asking about his first day back. He considered it when he walked back into his room to find Derek lounging on his bed like he owned the place ("Jesus! Someone should get you a bell!"). As he crawled into bed and laid his head on one strong bicep and felt the other curl around him, Stiles stopped considering.

"I think...I think if I want people to stop pitying me, I need to show them there's nothing to pity," Stiles whispered. Derek nodded, his stubble scraping lightly over the back of Stiles's neck. "So, what better way than letting a crazy lacrosse coach yell at me in front of the entire town and replying with perfect sarcasm?"

Derek snorted, and Stiles giggled. 

"Laugh it up wolf-boy, I'll show you. Stiles Stilinski can give as good as he gets!"

"Believe me," Derek nuzzled him gently. "I know."

Chapter Text

Derek's eyes were bloodshot and haunted from spending only one or two hours a day at the most asleep for the past month. He was no closer to finding Stiles now than he had been thirty days ago. Scott was in the passenger side of his Camaro, dozing fitfully as the exhausted boy tried desperately to stay awake. Derek was pretty sure the kid had slept even less than him. The stress from breaking up with Allison and then losing his best friend so close together had taken a heavy toll, leaving him thinner, paler, and weaker than the true alpha was meant to be, and Derek was terrified. The pack was losing itself as Scott became more and more distraught and distracted, becoming more aggressive with each other and anyone else too unlucky to cross their paths. The week after Stiles, disappeared Jackson had nearly killed Isaac during the training sessions Derek forced them to undertake and then tearfully apologized. Lydia's emotions had become explosive and swung from overly optimistic to full-on rage in seconds and lasted for hours, even days. The twins had come back to Beacon Hills to help them look for Stiles and had ended up becoming so tangled in the pack bonds that they were now Pack, much to Derek's wolf's half-hearted enthusiasm. 

Scott though. Scott had torn through every inch of woods, every building, every home and every dark corner in Beacon Hills and every bordering town twice trying to find his friend. His rages were murderous and his lows were paralyzing to the point of Derek taking Scott to the hospital because he was catatonic. Every wolf in the pack could smells the never ending waves of fear and depression rolling off of their leader, and Lydia and Allison didn't need to smell them to see the ever-present hunch in his shoulders and frantic eyes.

Derek and Scott were driving on a back road two towns over that was rarely used to hunt down a witch that had offered to try yet another locating spell. So far, every locating spell had been inconclusive. Deaton had theorized that Stiles was too hard to track due to his active training against witchcraft.

Derek's wolf was being set on edge by the anguish rolling off of Scott, and he had insisted on driving when Scott nearly drove off the rode. He rolled down the window to try to chase out the sour sickly smell of guilt and self-blame and Scott stirred slightly before slumping against the window again. They drove many miles in silence, wind rushing through window and bringing with it the scents of fallen leaves, fresh earth, a tinge of rain from an approaching rainstorm, and then a whiff of cinnamon, a touch of-

Wait.

Cinnamon?

Derek's heart started to pound as he pulled the car over so he didn't crash in shock. Scott perked up, instantly more alert than he should have been with the lack of sleep.

"What? Derek what is it?" Scott demanded. Derek held up a hand and took a deep breath, looking for more of the smell. 

"Stiles smells like cinnamon, right?" Derek asked breathlessly. Scott caught on after a moment and shift partially, uncaring if a passing car saw his face. His nose could just pick out the scent.

"That's him! That's Stiles! Derek what the fuck?" Scott jumped out of the car and let instinct take over as he bolted away. Derek shouted after him and managed to grab him by the back of his shirt. 

"Scott! Control yourself and kill the eyes! There's no way to tell where the scent is actually coming from, and it's too faint to justify running off in the wrong direction because we lose control! We need to think about this, and call the Alpha of this territory. We need more people to track him quickly and efficiently," Derek shook Scott when the younger boy tried again to twist away. "Scott! Stop it!"

"Why do you even care? You barely spoke to him at all before he-before! Why the sudden interest? LET ME GO!" Scott snarled and yanked himself free. Only the sudden spike of grief from Derek made him pause long enough for Derek to tackle and pin him to the ground on the side of the road and they tumbled into the ditch and out of site of the road.

"He's family!" Derek roared, eyes blazing ice blue and fangs dropping as Scott's eyes blazed red as he fought for dominance. But Derek was fueled by adrenaline and anger and pure desperation to get through to his Alpha. "Pack is family, and the pack is all I have left! Stiles is my pack and he is my family just like you! Don't you think I want to tear off into the woods as much as you do? I want to run to him and protect him and take him home and never let him leave again! But you know what, I can't! Because we might lose him if we do that! So CALM THE FUCK DOWN and USE YOUR HEAD!"

Derek didn't even notice the tears in his eyes until one slipped down his cheek. Scott was still red-eyed, but he was looking at Derek as if he was seeing for the first time. Both were breathing raggedly, the anger that was once thick in the air starting to dissolve as Derek shifted back.

"I don't want to lose anyone else," Derek ducked his head down, hiding from his alpha's gaze and the broken tone of his voice. "Please, Scott. You have to think rationally."

Scott finally nodded and signaled to Derek that he could be let up. Derek helped him stand and they made their way back to the car. Derek pulled out his phone to call in reinforcements. They had a sealed bag with one of Stiles's shirts to give his scent to the searchers. For the first time, Scott felt like maybe he would see his friend again.

It took a full twenty four hours to find the trail instead of just random traces of Stiles's scent. It seemed that someone that smelled like Stiles had been in and around a small town that Derek and Scott had been close to when they had their argument, and once in town, the closest searchers including Scott and Derek split up and followed the three strongest trails.

Scott and Derek found themselves just outside the border of the town at an out of the way house on a side road that looked like it saw very little traffic as the sun was setting. Derek almost fell to his knees as the smell of blood and misery slammed into him when the wind changed, and judging by the harsh whine from Scott, the other boy was just as affected if not more. He had known Stiles for most of his life and it was hard to smell the cinnamon smell of Stiles diluted by pain but strengthened by the sheer amount of blood. 

"He's in there? But there's so much blood..." Scott whimpered. Derek clutched his shoulder tightly to ground himself as much as it grounded Scott and motioned for them to move forward slowly, keeping hidden in shadows. It started to rain lightly as Derek made it to the door and pushed it open silently after listening for a heartbeat. There was nothing, but the distinct chemical smell of sound-proofing foam all but burned his nose. Scott's red eyes flared to life with Derek's blue ones as the made their way to the back room where smell of blood and soundproof foam was strongest. Derek listened again and heard nothing, and the door creaked open to reveal...

Nothing.

It was the supply closet.

But something was off. The closet was shallow, too shallow to match with the outside of the house. Scott felt cool air breezing in from behind a wall of shelves holding alcohol and cleaning supplies. The draft whispered over Scott's hand when he passed his hand over the edges of the shelves, and Scott pointed to the wall and motioned for Derek to help him pull. The shelves swung inward, the locking mechanism popping under the combined strength of two werewolves. Stairs led down to the basement.

The rank smell of old rancid blood and sterile alcohol mixed with fear and agony and tears suffocated the wolves, and almost brought Derek to his knees. Scott wolfed out and silently stalked down the stair with Derek right behind him. Gone was the graceless, goofy puppy that was Scott McCall. In his place was a predator, a fanged killing machine bringing certain death to those who had dared to hurt one of his own.

At the foot of the stairs, Scott let out a heartbroken howl. 

Stiles was strapped to a chair, hunched over and motionless. Only the stuttering of his heartbeat and raspy breathing revealed that he was alive. Everything around him smell like death. Scott fell to his knees in front of Stiles whining, struggling to control his shift so he wouldn't destroy the room or scare Stiles further as his hands fluttered uselessly over Stiles without touching. There were so many injuries visible under the rags that once were clothes. Underneath the intangible scents of fear, hopelessness and misery were the scents of urine, sweat, and unwashed hair. 

Stiles moved, and made a small sound.

Derek was beside him instantly, his still clawed hand finding its way to Stiles's face and lifting to look at Stiles's face. A strangled sound of grief ripped from his throat at the sight of Stiles's face. His other hand stroked the other side of Stiles's face gently, wiping away some of the fresher tears and blood and sweat. Derek had to struggle to keep from gagging at the smell of infection and wrong emanating from the boy, but the true horror was his eye. A gaping hole gazed back at Derek where one of Stiles's whiskey-brown eyes was supposed to be. The other was glassed over with fever and delirium as it focused on Derek and recognition filled it.

"Oh my god, what did he do to his eye?" Scott sobbed. "It's ok, Stiles, we're here, Derek is here, I'm here and you're safe now, we've got you don't be scared oh my god we found you..."

"D'rek," Stiles rasped. "Sc't."

If they weren't werewolves, they wouldn't have heard it.

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs. So overwhelmed by their grief, they hadn't heard the man come back. Stiles sobbed brokenly and Scott took a defensive stance in front of his friend. The man was average, no one you would look at twice on the street, but the complete lack of emotion coming from him set Derek's teeth on edge. The man stood in front of them silently, scrutinizing them with empty, soulless eyes. Scott was growling openly, his eyes blazing and his face shifted to show fangs. Derek snarled at him, moving to hold onto Scott's shoulder.

"Why?" His voice punched out of his chest, deep and rumbling in Derek's beta form. The man cocked his head to the side as if considering the question. Derek's rage was building within, accented by Scott's grief and guilt. There was no answer, just an evil smile and a pointed stare at the wall where bloodstained instruments were hanging. Derek stared at them with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Scott suddenly growled. Derek snapped his attention back to the man, and then followed Scott's gaze to the wall behind the man.

A steel table with bloodied straps was still covered in days old blood.

The next thing Derek knew his claws were sinking into the man's neck and hot blood gushed out as the artery was severed. The man gurgled and laughed, madness shining in his eyes and blood bubbling up between his lips. Derek roared with his full power and threw the corpse across the room. Scott was still beside Stiles, releasing his hands carefully as if Stiles were made of tissue paper. Stiles was making a strange keening sound low in his throat as Scott quickly checked him over using the limited skills he'd picked up. Derek gently pushed him away after wiping his hands off on a stray hand towel by the sink in the corner and took over. He had a lot more experience with injuries. 

"Scott, he needs a doctor," Derek muttered, his nose overpowered with the smell of the monster that had done so much damage.

"N'-h'me," Stiles gripped weakly at Scott's shirt. His fingers were at strange unnatural angles.

Derek started to pain drain and Stiles slipped unconscious. Derek almost followed him into the darkness at the strength of Stiles's pain until Scott also sported blackened veins to lessen the load. It didn't take long to get Stiles to the car and start the drive back to Beacon Hills with Scott in the back seat with Stiles to keep him calm and give him the smallest sips of water when he faded into consciousness. Everything in Derek's body screamed at him to speed as fast as he could back to his home and his pack and to wrap Stiles up in blankets to hide him away from the world, but he knew he couldn't be pulled over so he gritted his teeth and managed to stay only five miles over the speed limit all the way back to Beacon Hills.

During the car ride, the only thing Stiles managed to say was to Scott.

"You're real."

Chapter Text

By the time Deaton arrived with a large leather bag in hand and a slightly perturbed expression on his stoic face, Derek was about to burst out his skin. Stiles's scent, once spicy and sweet like cinnamon and brown sugar and Gain laundry detergent, was soured with pain and fear and blood. Scott was beside himself, trembling in his mother's arms and mumbling quiet apologies and self-blame in between gasps for breath. Jackson followed Deaton through the door with a question about following the smell of blood and immediately lurched to the side to lean against the wall with glowing blue eyes at the first unfiltered whiff of Stiles in his current condition.

"What-" The jock managed to gasp. "Sti-"

"Jackson, you should not have followed me. Now, I have something that Stiles needs to drink to overcome his ordeal," Deaton said quietly, as if discussing the weather. "You'll need to hold him down, gently. Derek."

"What the hell-" Derek started. The smells of herbs and magic filled the air, fresh and clean like a summer breeze in Hell. "What's that?"

"The wounds you described over the phone are serious, but not my main concern at the moment. The true danger for someone in Stiles's condition," Deaton paused to check Stiles's temperature and his pulse. "Is the infection in the older wounds. The skin has healed, trapping the corruption inside his body where it has caused sepsis. His organs are slowly being cooked by the fever and overrun with bacteria."

"Oh my-We have to get him to the hospital!" Melissa reached for Stiles, only for Deaton to motion her back.

"It is too late for that, and you know it," Deaton replied matter of factly, pulling out a jar of something that was the source of the cleanness in the room. "Stiles's spirit has been damaged by what he has experienced and he has given up hope. This will purify Stiles's spirit and give his body the energy to fight off the infection and repair the damage to his internal organs. It may also speed the healing of the rest of his injuries slightly."

"Then why do we need to hold him down?" Derek asked suspiciously. Deaton sent him a pointed look.

"Purification can be achieved in one way," Deaton uncapped the jar and the smell got brighter. That was the only way Derek could think to describe it. Brighter. "By fire."

Scott whimpered and fell deeper into his guilt. Derek's heart clenched. Deaton motioned Derek over and had him hold Stiles up so he could feed Stiles the liquid in the jar. Derek cradled the thin boy gently in his arms, his natural body heat seeping into Stiles's unnaturally clammy skin. The smell of blood would never come out the shirt he was wearing. Derek would end up frantically bleaching everything he had worn that day until Melissa gently led him away from the sink and disposed of the ruined clothes herself.

"Stiles will begin to feel the effects soon but he needs to finish the elixir for it to take full effect," Deaton continued as he tipped the jar gently so that the contents ran faster and allowed Derek to take over feeding Stiles. Derek whispered coaxing words into Stiles's ear even though he was still on the verge of fever-induced delirium. "Derek, restrain your friend, and Scott, your control is slipping and you will leave the room. Jackson, please take Scott outside and away from this house."

The first scream was the worst, that's what Scott told himself as he flung himself outside to the backyard with Jackson hot on his heels, the furthest he could bear to be away from his friend no matter what Deaton had said. Jackson kept strong hands gripped on Scott's shoulders, flinching with each scream and answering sob from Scott.

When the screaming stopped, Scott re-entered the house wearily to find a tear-stained Derek crumpled next to the table where Stiles was resting. The smell of infection was lessened somewhat, but still present. However, the scent of cinnamon was stronger than it was before and Scott was by his friend's side before he realized what he was doing. Stiles was resting somewhat peacefully, still feverish but quite as close to death's door as before. Derek felt the presence of his Alpha next to him and in his raw emotional state, he tentatively leaned against Scott's legs and hooked an arm around them, trying to glean some comfort from his grief. 

Stiles's screams rang in his ears.

Scott didn't say anything when he felt Derek lean on him. He just went with it.

Chapter Text

Derek caught himself humming a tune he used to hear his mother hum in the kitchen one morning while he made coffee for himself and the sheriff while they waited for Stiles to wake from his Saturday morning coma with Scott and the rest of the pack where they slept in the living room. The band of teenagers had managed to pass out in various places on the floor and furniture after a long Marvel movie marathon and a surprisingly spirited debate between Boyd and Stiles about which Avenger was the real leader. Derek didn't think he'd ever heard Boyd string so many words together.

He felt Stiles press up against his back and the teen's hands were tucked under his chin which left his elbows to press against Derek.

"Coffee..." He moaned. Derek chuckled, filling the Captain America mug with the half-caf coffee he had brewed. He had made the mistake of buying Stiles a fully caffeinated Starbucks the Friday before when he picked Stiles and Scott up from school and met up with the rest of the pack to celebrate the end of Stiles's first week. The boy had launched into a full history of the domestication of wolves to dogs, genetics and breeding practices included. Derek turned, still pinned against the counter by Stiles who now leaned on Derek's chest, eyes closed and fists curled in the collar of the t-shirt he wore to sleep in.

"Here you go, grumpy," Derek handed the steaming cup, sweetened far past his own tastes, to Stiles and the boy stumbled to the table to sit with his father. The rest of the pack would file in within the hour, grumpy and bleary eyed. Except for Liam who was annoyingly full of energy and already returning from an early morning run. The youngest pack member had begun to thrive again with the return of Stiles to his life.

Everyone touched Derek in some way as they went about the morning. Not in a sexual way, obviously. But, in a we're-pack-and-I'm-glad-to-have-you-in-my-life kind of way. They touched his arm, hugged him after pack meetings and brushed their fingers over his shoulder in passing. Derek was used to it now, but in the beginning, the near-constant contact that the pack seemed to need with each other after Stiles's return was alien and strange. The smell of death and infection had clung to Derek for days, and the pack had instinctively started to try and mask the smell with their own. Derek hadn't felt this content and...loved since before the fire. He had a family again. A strange, sometimes dysfunctional family full of different kinds of supernatural beings. But it worked.

"So, tell me Derek. How exactly do you pay for the obscene amounts of food these teenagers eat when they meet at your house?" John asked him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Believe me, if they started coming over every night I'd go bankrupt. The pizza place knows my order by heart and they still won't let me put bacon on my pizza."

Derek smiled and Stiles scowled playfully at his father. Jackson wearily raised his head from where it was pillowed on his arms on the table.

"It's been really hard explaining to my parents why I bought twenty pizzas for a small movie night. My parents were convinced I had a huge party," Jackson laid his head back down and Stiles giggled, running his hand over Jackson's hair as he draped himself over Jackson's back. That was a relatively recent development as well. Jackson's hard edges were smoother, and he was protective and touchy with the pack members now, especially Stiles and Isaac.

"Wakey-wakey, Jacks. Training time in an hour," Stiles laughed again when Jackson flipped him off without raising his head. "Don't be like that. You promised you'd help me with my hand-eye coordination with everyone else."

Jackson gave a long-suffering sigh. Scott high-fived Stiles on his way outside and Derek finished washing the dishes with John before joining the rest of the pack in the yard. It was a chilly morning, but not freezing, and Stiles was wearing the hoodie that Jackson had lent him the night he sleep-walked that Jackson had never bothered to retrieve. It hung of Stiles's lean form, but not as much as it used to. Everyone piled into the Camaro and Stiles's Jeep, driven by Scott, and Erica's car and drove to the preserve where they could train without being observed by curious neighbors. Derek, Erica, Boyd and the twins were practice-sparring, while Scott and Jackson planned to practice with Stiles. The plan was to help him work on using his remaining eye more efficiently and maximizing his field of vision by turning his head more to catch and using his hearing to pick up on the location of other people. They were using lacrosse.

Jackson was just excited to throw stuff at Stiles.

Stiles was busy focusing on the finding his friends before they hit with the ball. Derek worked with his wolves on breaking different kinds of chokeholds and finding ways to get loose without expending too much energy or twisting themselves into positions that only tightened the hold. Boyd was big and stronger physically than Derek, but he wasn't flexible and had trouble twisting out of Erica's agile grip. The twins ganged up on Isaac who seemed to slide easily as a snake from their combined strength using moves that Derek had him show the rest of the group. Stiles, flush with victory and improvement in his coordination, joined the others in watching Isaac take down Scott, then Derek, and then (most amusingly) Jackson while cheering for Jackson as he went down. The young omega wolf grinned up at Isaac with a challenge in his eyes and lept again at his friend. Everyone was so engrossed in watching the sparring that no one was prepared to react when Isaac managed to throw Jackson off of himself, sending the larger boy flying right at Stiles. Jackson managed to twist himself so that his full weight didn't hit Stiles dead on, but Stiles was still knocked off his feet and skidded a few feet in the grass with his friend partially on top of him.

Scott was immediately at Stiles's side, checking him for injuries and hauling a dazed Jackson to the side. Isaac was there too, silent and scared as Stiles sat up staring blankly as the blood dripping from his arm where a stone had cut open the skin on the tender pale skin of his palm. It was going to need stitches.

Stitches.

Stiles!

A needle going into his skin, pulling the thread tight and shoving two poorly matched halves of sliced flesh back together.

Stiles!

Black thread feathered over his skin like a horrifying insect.

Stiles!

Alcohol stinging his nostrils, coating the thread. Stitches.

"Stiles!" Derek sounded scared, enough to snap Stiles out of his trance enough to register that there was a strong arm wrapped around his chest, another was holding a paper bag to his mouth and coxing him to breathe in and out. His pack stood frozen around him, Derek kneeling in front of him and Lydia behind his left shoulder. Erica and Boyd were blurry shapes in the distance, and he was pretty sure that the twins were the ones siphoning off his pain by the feel of identical left hands on his arms.

The first full breath of air rushed into Stiles's lungs at the realization that he was safe, and he was surrounded by friends and he wasn't scared anymore.

"Scott?" Stiles rasped, curling shaking fingers around the muscular arm holding him tightly.

"He had to take Isaac away. He was freaking out about hurting you," A familiar voice softly replied in his ear. Stiles craned his neck and saw the angled cheekbones and blue eyes of Jackson staring down at him. Stiles felt panic starting to rise. it was nothing against Jackson. He had proven a loyal and worthy friend, but he wanted Scott. Or Derek. They knew how to avoid the areas he didn't like touched, and never held him too tightly like Jackson was.

"Is Isaac-Is he okay?" Stiles asked, shrugging out of the hold Jackson hand on him. Derek sighed.

"He's sad. And scared that you'll be mad at him," Derek ran a hand through his hair. "He wolfed out when you started crying."

"I cried?" Stiles asked shakily as he raised his uninjured hand to his face and found the liquid on his cheeks. "oh."

"I need to take care of that," Derek reached for Stiles's injured hand. "There's a kit at your house."

Stiles felt his heart rate double and so did Derek. He had been unconscious for most of the stitching of his wounds and delirious for the rest when he was rescued, so the only memory he had of stitches was that of the man in the basement crudely sewing him back together like a rag doll.

"It won't hurt," Aiden soothed. Ethan nodded. "We'll take care of it."

Stiles gritted his teeth and nodded. He could handle this.

Stiles could not handle this.

The needle was long and curved and wicked-looking. It's tip glinted dully as Derek sterilized it. Isaac knocked on the bathroom doorframe.

"Stiles?"

"Hey," Stiles returned the greeting, waving weakly at him. Ethan and Aiden were positioned on both sides where Stiles was perched on the sink with one hand each on Stiles.

"I just wanted to apologize. I wasn't thinking and if there's anything I can do..." Isaac trailed off when Stiles held out his uninjured hand. "What?"

"Come here and let me squeeze your hand while Derek does his needlework. That's what you can do," Stiles waved him over impatiently. "Well, come on. Your wolfy healing will take care of anything I break with my manly strength."

Isaac smiled and made his way into the room, taking Stiles's hand. Stiles took a deep breath and nodded for Derek to start. It took about half an hour of meticulous stitching and distraction tactics to get Stiles fixed up. Aiden and Ethan took his pain, which was overkill with both wolves taking the pain but there was no way Stiles was going to feel anything but numbness. Isaac only winced once when Stiles squeezed his hand hard when he accidentally looked at the needle sliding in and out of his skin. Isaac had quickly distracted him with the story of how he had first tried to talk to Chris Argent about being with Allison and could barely stutter out a coherent sentence fragment. Stiles had forced himself to focus on the story and laughed at Isaac's blush when he told Stiles how everything he did manage to say sounded sexual.

"You did not," Stiles giggled, ignoring the rasping of the needle.

"I did. I was mortified! He looked like he wanted to shoot me!" Isaac was laughing. Allison popped her head for a moment.

"He did want to shoot you. Pretty sure he still does," Allison blew a kiss at him and turned to Stiles. "He's telling you about how he told my dad I was eating for two right?"

"Yup."

"I just meant you could eat a lot!" Isaac pouted. Stiles laughed again with the twins and even Derek looked amused while he focused on finishing his task. "I was nervous, ok? I tried to make a joke!"

"I wish I had it on camera," Allison left with a wave. Isaac rolled his eyes blushing, deeper as the twins stifled their laughter.

"So...you and Allison then. How's that going?"

Isaac sighed.

"It's been a little rough lately. It's hard sometimes, you know? Wondering if I'm just the consolation prize," Isaac waved off Stiles's attempt to tell him he wasn't. "When you...well, we were just starting to date right? And then, suddenly Scott's all psycho and Jackson tried to kill me, we spent all of our time either fighting each other or searching for you. We haven't had a lot of time to get that serious yet."

"Well, hold out buddy. The fact that you're not dead is a pretty good indicator that Argent doesn't hate you too much," Stiles hopped off the counter when Derek finished wrapping a gauze bandage around the wound. "And, about Scott."

"Yeah..." Isaac looked down at his feet. "I know that they were, like, the perfect couple. And I'm not jealous."

"I was just going to say that you aren't his replacement," Stiles patted his shoulder. "Now tell me, how guilty does Jackson feel for being the projectile you hurled at me?"

"I'd say you have about three hours of total slavery from him," Isaac replied after doing some mental calculations.

"I will be a kind and gentle master," Stiles replied solemnly. Derek rolled his eyes at Isaac.

"I heard that, Stilinski!" Jackson shouted from the living room of the Stilinski house. "There's no way I'm doing shit for you!"

"You got me curly fries!" Stiles squealed (in a manly way) as he rounded the corner and entered the living room. Jackson scowled at him.

"I'm doing shit for you except feed you," He growled.

"Aww look at the angry puppy," Scott teased from the sofa. Jackson threw a pillow at him.

"Thanks Jacks," Stiles sat down next to the jock, forcing the still pouting boy to look at him. "I forgive you guys."

A little tension melted from Jackson's and Isaac's shoulders. Derek squeezed into the small space next to Derek and let Stiles lean on him, not commenting on the way Stiles was still pretty tense and the panic that was bubbling under the surface was only just receding.

Chapter Text

Stiles jerked awake with a scream trapped behind his lips. His eyes darted around the room taking in the shadows, the corners, everything that had seemed innocuous when he fell asleep now casting threatening shapes in the moonlight. He felt like a tap dance was being performed in his chest. Stiles sat up and hugged his arms around his chest, shaking with bone-deep tremors. He hadn't had a bad nightmare for a month. School had been going well, Derek and Scott and the rest of the pack had stopped the last traces of tiptoeing on eggshells around him. Finstock had dominated much of his spare time once he found out how well Stiles could predict the moves of the players on both the Beacon hills team and any other team. They went over new plays, new lineups, and the possible new players over and over in preparation for the new season. The screaming and general manic behavior of his coach let him for a time forget what scared him.

But Stiles wasn't naive. He knew he wasn't back to where he was before the incident. He still shied away from being alone for long periods of time, and he always had music or the TV playing to fill the silence when he was alone. His dreams came and went, sometimes memories of the month in the basement and sometimes new versions made up by his overly-creative mind. They were fewer, and less intense, and Stiles was now able to sleep for an average of six hours when he slept alone and more when he slept with a cuddle-buddy. Tonight though, tonight his nightmare had been intense. His sleeping mind had conjured up particularly vivid depictions of the whip and chains and the pain they caused with a spectator crowd of the pack, watching with wide horrified eyes as they tried to speak to him. But there was no sound. Only pain.

Stiles crawled out of his bed and shakily dressed himself. It was almost two in the morning on Sunday and there was no one on the road when Stiles climbed into his Jeep and fired up the engine. His dad's cruiser was absent from the driveway.

Derek writhed in his bed, sheets clinging to and tangling around his limbs like the ropes he was dreaming of holding him down while fire raged around him and Stiles sat strapped to a chair in front of him. Derek was yelling reassurances to Stiles, promising that everything would be alright even though he knew it wouldn't. Just as the fire reached his feet he snapped awake. It was dark and cool in his room, and most of all it was silent. Well, it would seem silent to a human. To Derek, he could hear the insects outside, the rasp of the air conditioner, and the creaking of the floorboards. He sat in silence, contemplating his nightmare.

He had been so focused on fixing Stiles and being strong for Scott that he hadn't properly let himself grieve. 

He had almost lost Stiles.

Another family member, packmate, friend. Gone. Almost.

It was enough to make him shudder. But the true tragedy of his life was that even though finding Stiles had been traumatic, and painful, he was used to pain. He could deal with his own pain, physical and mental. It was the pain of his packmates that threatened to suffocate him.

Derek wondered what had woken him and focused his senses on his own loft, zeroing in on the slightly elevated heart rate that accompanied the soft pattering of socked feet in his kitchen.

Stiles had almost finished the mug of tea he had made from his favorite brand that was also Derek's favorite when said person walked into the kitchen barefoot and sleepy. Derek took one look at the expression in Stiles's eyes and pulled him gently into a hug, letting Stiles sag against him as much as Derek held him close to reassure himself that Stiles was there. Really there, not still missing from his life and hurting all alone in the basement.

Stiles sniffled and pulled back.

"Of course I'm here, you made sure of that big guy," Stiles whispered, making Derek realize he must have voiced his inner feelings. He cast his eyes downward, not wanting to upset Stiles. "Hey, hey it's okay. I'm okay, I just had a bad dream and wanted to be somewhere that I wasn't alone."

"You were all alone," Derek repeated. Stiles swallowed back the fear that was rising from the memories filling his head. "How did you do it? Stay...you?"

"I had a lot to come back to," Stiles shrugged.

Chapter Text

"Derek! Come on!" Stiles yelled from his place on the sofa. Grumbling could be heard from the kitchen where Derek was stalling for time. He really, really,  really regretted arriving late to movie night because as such he had lost the right to vote on the movie they watched. This stupid thing had won by only one vote. One vote. Seriously, Derek grumbled to himself, movies this bad shouldn't exist. Derek threw a package of gummy sharks that he had picked up at the gas station on the way to Jackson's house where they were all camped out. Ironic, considering. Of course, knowing Stiles he had probably asked Derek to stop for him after they had already voted.

"Why did you guys agree to watch the Sharknado movies?" Derek asked as he flopped down next to Stiles where he sat on the floor leaning back against the couch where Lydia and Jackson were perched. "What the hell is a Sharknado?"

"Dude, it's Liam's turn to pick and he has a shitty scifi fetish," Jackson rolled his eyes as he lazily curled an arm around Lydia's waist. "Trust me. It was this or Remember the Titans. Again. At least none of us have seen this a million times because Mister True Alpha over there likes sad movies."

Derek groaned as the opening credits rolled. This was going to be torture.

Stiles had been banned long ago from talking during movies, since he had a bad habit of spoiling the action scenes and pointing out scientific inaccuracies. Scott snuggled into Stiles's side even as the other boy was pressed up against Derek's side, nearly vibrating with the effort to contain himself from correcting every single scientific inaccuracy. Derek looked down to see a pained look on Stiles's face and the boy's fingers danced in his lap nervously. 

"Oh my god, Stiles! Just talk before you pass out!" Lydia groaned. Stiles looked around and, seeing the agreement on everyone's faces, launched into his first factoid. The others eventually joined in, pointing out ways that science could maybe explain everything. Much to Derek's surprise, the night was hilarious. Near the end, Stiles and Erica had teamed up to argue that there was no evolutionary or supernatural way for a sharknado to exist and Liam and (surprisingly) Lydia had teamed up to argue the opposite. It was all good fun, fueled by nothing but gummy snacks, popcorn, and dangerous amount of caffeinated soda, some of which was lightly laced with a safe wolfsbane powder so it would affect the wolves. Scott had become so hyper after the first movie that Stiles kicked him out of the house and told him to run some laps to burn off some energy. Then pizza had arrived, and Jackson and Isaac moved the coffee table so they could wrestle for a slice of meat lover's even though there was plenty for everyone. Stiles joked that Jackson was just pissy that he had lost to Isaac again during training only to find himself pinned in a headlock by Jackson while the other boy ate pizza with his free hand. 

"Derek! Save me! I'm a damsel in distress!" Stiles cried out, trying to hold his hysterical giggling when Jackson finished his slice and started to tickle him. Derek just grinned and shook his head. "Allison! Shatter gender roles! Save me!"

And that is how Jackson found himself face down in the carpet with Allison, Stiles, and Erica sitting on him to hold him down and eating meatlover's pizza. Isaac laughed so hard soda squirted out of his nose. Lydia fell off the sofa because she was laughing too hard when she leaned over to Isaac with a napkin. She landed hard in a tangled mess on top of Scott where he was on the floor pretending to count down like a boxing referee and they both giggled stupidly. Liam sat on the floor laughing as tears ran down his face and Boyd observed the whole thing with a bemused smile on his face as he ate his weird pineapple and pepperoni pizza. Finally, everyone managed to get a hold of themselves enough to settle down and watch the second movie. Everyone rode the high of endorphin from what had happened for the rest of the night until it was time to go to sleep. They all curled up in sleeping bags and Jackson's guest bedroom for the night. Soft snores filled the silent house.

Stiles woke briefly with a faint sense of dread filling his heart when he didn't immediately remember that the things holding him down were not leather straps, but the strong wolfy arms of Erica, who had somehow become the big spoon with him that night. "Big spoon" meaning she had rolled over out of Boyd's embrace and splayed her limbs on top of him in her sleep and Stiles didn't have the strength to push her away. A light snuffling behind him made him relax and he fell back to sleep after a few minutes.

Everything was perfect.

"No no no nononono!"

Across town, in her bedroom, one of their classmates was huddled in the corner of her bedroom hiding under a blanket. She was shaking violently and sobbing as she held on desperately to the corners of her only protection from the monster in front of her.

The blanket was ripped away and she slowly lifted her teary eyes to look at the thing in front of her. Eight beady eyes stared back her with a cold detached manner that made her whimper.

Across the hall, her parents heard a scream. 

Chapter Text

"Stiles, did you know Sarah Anderson?" John asked his son. Stiles looked up from his post-sleepover snack of fruity pebbles and nodded. "How?"

"She's in my grade, star of the girls' volleyball team, and we had a few classes together in middle school. Why?"

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had only just gotten home from his extended shift and he was exhausted. Stiles looked more closely at his father, noticing the wrinkles that weren't there all that long ago and the sagging of the man's shoulders. John watched the questions forming in Stiles's eyes and decided to beat him to the punch.

"Stiles, last night she was found screaming in her room by her little brother before suffering from a heart attack. She's in a coma," John sat heavily at the table. "She won't wake up and her condition is deteriorating faster every day."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"She's the third inexplicable heart attack in a month. I think it's something more your speed. Call Derek."

"What did her brother say about the screaming?"

"Apparently, she was screaming something about a huge spider trying to get her," John pulled out the little boy's statement. "She was saying 'Get it away from me!', 'can't you see it', 'it's right in front of you'."

"Was there a spider?" Scott asked. John pulled out a photo. "The hell is that?"

"It's a spider."

A stylized yet crude spider was carved deep into the side of a gold coin with a crude face stamped into the metal on the other.

"Oh shit," Derek muttered. Everyone looked at the elder wolf. "I know this."

"Derek?" Stiles moved closer, scared by the look on the wolf's face. "Derek, what's wrong?" 

Derek took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"When modern witches want to hex someone, they use a spell, or most commonly a hex bag."

"Like Supernatural? Oh for fuck's sake! What part of that show isn't real?" Stiles blurted, then blushed. "Sorry, continue."

"Hexes are like surgical scalpels compared to this. This...this is different," Derek tapped the picture of the coin. "This is a dead man's coin. They are placed on the eyes on the dead to hold the eyes closed after death. If removed post-burial they can be used to curse others. The stronger the curse, the longer the death."

"How?" John asked curtly. Derek shrugged.

"I don't know how they do it, but they bring forth the fear of the person they used on. The user carves the markings to represent the victim. The face is that of the victim, and the other side shows that which they fear the most. Few have ever survived. Even if you stop the curse, usually the damage is already done."

John pulled out two other photos. Each one one showed a coin, one with what looked like a clown on the picture side and the other seemed to have a bee on it.

"Well, Sarah is alive because he father gave her CPR until the paramedics got there and managed to revive her. But she was technically dead for a few minutes," John pointed at each coin individually. "These were found by the bodies of two other victims, one man and one woman. Both were healthy, physically fit, and seen screaming hysterically before their hearts gave out. In fact the Anderson family doctor said that Sarah had a remarkably strong cardiovascular system. No poisons, allergic reactions, clots, blockages, or other defects were found during their autopsies. They aren't in my jurisdiction but they caught my attention."

Stiles felt the unease he had felt during movie night creeping back into his heart. He looked around at the somber faces around him. He knew the fears of each person in the pack, and they were bad.

"Once a coin is used, it is safe to handle, so that's something," Derek sighed. "But before it's inert...One touch to bare skin will start the curse. If the caster touches it with bare skin the curse will rebound and affect them instead. It's an extremely crude but efficient way to kill the person you hate or get yourself killed trying."

"How do you stop it?" Scott asked. 

"You can kill the caster or melt down the coin before the curse is complete," Derek explained. "We need to figure out how the victims are being chosen."

"But the victims have nothing in common. Different home towns, different genders, ages, appearances. What's the connecting thread?"

Stiles stared at the photos, trying to find the pattern.

"They were practice runs," He whispered suddenly. Then he spoke louder. "Look at the drawings. They get better each time. The deaths take longer with each victim. Each victim is healthier than the last, and each dies quicker than the one before."

"Practice for what?" His father asked.

"I don't know. But whoever is the real target...they must be very healthy to warrant such practice. Probably a teenager based on the age of the last victim. Someone with fears that are strong enough cause..." Stiles trailed off as a horrifying realization hit him. "Scott, contact the pack. All of them! Make sure everyone is okay and tell them to meet at Derek's loft!"

"Stiles, what's wrong?" Scott asked, already reaching for his phone and typing out a message.

"What's harder to kill than a healthy teenage athlete with a remarkably strong cardiovascular system?" Stiles looked around at Derek, Scott, and his father. "What if the target isn't just a healthy human? What if the real target is something much stronger?"

"Guys...Liam, Issac, and Jackson won't answer!"

Liam whimpered pathetically as the water crept higher, craning his neck away from the water. He had been lying in the water for almost as hour and he couldn't get out of the bathroom. The door wouldn't open and his feet wouldn't move.

Taped to the inside of the water spigot was a gold coin about the size of a fifty cent piece. Liam had touched it when he turned on the shower, and when he tried to turn it off the shower wouldn't drain. He had tried to make it to the door before he collapsed and couldn't get up.

And the water kept creeping higher.

On his mirror in red liquid were the words:

Feel the fear that you invoke in others

Isaac cowered in the closet behind his clothes. Heavy footsteps moved around downstairs and bottles broke against walls.

"Boy! Get down here! Don't make me find you!"

Isaac tucked his head into his arms and cried.

"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead," Isaac whispered over and over. His heart raced and his head spun.

The golden coin that had been in the pocket of the jeans he put on that morning was clutched tightly in his hand, the edges digging in and drawing blood. Scratching in the closet door facing him were words:

Feel the fear that you invoke in others

Jackson clawed at his arms and legs, trying to rip the scaled flesh off. The water from the shower beat down on him, but never hard enough to wash away the blood.

"No, no no no no NONO! I'm not the kanima! I'm not a monster!" Jackson felt hot tears stream down his face to splash into the blood on his hands where it mixed with both his own blood, and that of his victims. "No!"

His vision began to tunnel as his heart rate skyrocketed. He felt the first skipped heartbeat and panicked harder. On the marble floors of his huge bathroom were the words:

Feel the fear that you invoke in others

Stiles, armed with a butane torch, walked cautiously through the Dunbar home. He had convinced Scott to let him help search for their missing packmates, even if he was sent to the place that was deemed least likely to be dangerous. He had scanned the house with an infrared scanner he borrowed from the police station before entering and only found one heat signature upstairs. He cautiously made his way up the stairs until he reached the door leading to the upstairs bathroom. Shuddering breaths and panicked whimpers came from behind the door. Stiles tried the knob and found it unlocked. The door swung open, revealing a (very naked) Liam breathing erratically and staring off into space where he had collapsed on the floor, a towel half-covering him. Liam didn't even seem to notice Stiles presence at first. Suddenly the younger boy's eyes locked onto Stiles.

"Help! The water-it's so-I can't get out-" Liam stopped cutting and started making gasping, choking sounds. Wide teary eyes begged Stiles for help. Stiles ran to the shower and ripped the door open. Liam grasped feebly at his heart and screamed, choking and coughing. Stiles searched desperately for the coin and found it. The butane torch burned blue as he melted the coin, leaving a scorch mark in the floor and a puddle of melted gold as the water drop carving was destroyed. Liam gasped and rolled to all fours, coughing and sobbing. Stiles grabbed the towel from the floor and wrapped it around his friend and held him tight to his chest where they sat on the floor.

"It's okay, you're safe, I found you," Stiles murmured into the distraught boy's damp hair. Liam nodded but continued clinging to Stiles like a lifeline with enough strength to bruise Stiles's delicate skin. He had never been so happy to feel pain. "It's alright, pup. I've got you."

After Liam had calmed enough to talk, Stiles asked him what happened.

"I was taking a shower and when I got out, the water wouldn't turn off. It kept going and I tried to get out of the bathroom but I couldn't move. I was tr-trapped," Liam shuddered and clung tighter to Stiles, burying his face in Stiles's neck to inhale his scent. "I was drowning."

"I have to call Scott."

Derek kicked open the door to Isaac's room in the McCall house and followed the overwhelming smell of fear and pain to the closet. Isaac's heart was beating to fast it was skipping beats and he could hear that Isaac's blood wasn't being pumped regularly. Brain death caused by lack of blood to the brain would kill him. Isaac threw up his hands to protect himself when the closet door was ripped off its hinges.

"Please no!" Isaac screamed. "You're gone!"

"Isaac, where's the coin?" Derek shouted. He grabbed Isaac by the shoulders. "Look at me! Where's the coin?"

"Not the freezer! Please!" Isaac wouldn't open his eyes. Derek saw the blood oozing down his arms and pried Isaac's fingers open to reveal the gold coin with a crude drawing of a man as the picture. He grabbed it and held it up to the butane torch, wincing as the flames bit his skin once or twice until the coin was nothing more than a puddle of gold.

"Derek?" Watery blue eyes met Derek's green ones and instantly the beta threw himself into Derek's arms, seeking comfort from his old Alpha and original rescuer. "Derek he was here!"

"No, shh, he wasn't here," Derek ran his hand through Isaac's curly hair and rocked him back and forth. "He's gone."

"He was! He was here! I saw him..." Isaac whimpered. "Didn't you see him?"

Scott froze at the thick scent of blood wafting out of the Whittemore residence. He sprinted inside, eyes red and fangs out, ready to take out what was hurting his beta. Jackson was screaming.

Scott pushed open the door to the bathroom and ran inside. Jackson was in the shower with the water running, the rags that remained of his clothes soaking wet with water and blood. Deep scratches were healing on his torso, legs, arms, and face even as Jackson made more with sharp claws. 

"Jackson stop!" Scott shouted, running to him. Jackson saw him and scrambled as far back into the shower as he could go.

"No! Get back! I don't want to hurt you! please! Don't let me hurt anyone!" Jackson sobbed and kept scratching at his skin. "Alpha please! I don't want to-want to-"

Jackson started hyperventilating and grasped at his arm as his heart struggled to cope. Scott searched frantically for the coin.

"Jackson where's the coin? It's gold and about this big! Where is it?" Scott reached for Jackson and hissed when Jackson's claws dug into his skin. "Jackson, you touched a coin! I need to know where it is!"

Jackson clung to him and gasped for air like a dying fish. He pointed a shaking finger at the air vent where the gold coin he had found in his mailbox had fallen from his fingers when he caught sight of his scaled reflection. Scott ripped the vent off and reached down into the vent. Jackson's vision went black and his chest exploded in fiery hot pain. The next thing he knew, strong arms were holding him around the stomach so his back was pressed against a warm chest. His Alpha.

"S-sc-scott?" Jackson rasped. Scott hugged him tighter. "What happened?"

"I think we need to get out of here."

Stiles pulled out his keys and unlocked the Jeep. It had been outfitted with special mirrors for people with only one eye so that he could drive. He hadn't practiced much yet and he was pretty sure he looked like a new driver again, but it had been an emergency. Liam was clinging tightly to him, unwilling to let go until Stiles reminded him he needed both arms to drive. Liam was curled up in the passenger side when Stiles got the texts from Scott and Derek that they were okay and so were Isaac and Jackson. Liam read them to him softly so Stiles wouldn't text and drive.

When they reached the loft, Stiles helped Liam out of the car and met with Derek and Isaac who were also just pulling in. Scott and Jackson were already there and Jackson grabbed both Isaac and Liam in a tight embrace. The three clung to each other for a few moments before letting go and going back into the building.

"I don't understand," Isaac whispered from his place on the sofa from under the blanket he was cuddling under. "What fear do we invoke in others?"

"I don't know," Scott answered truthfully. "But it's pretty obvious we're the targets. And so far we've managed to hold it together but this is just the beginning. From now on, we do the buddy system. No one is ever alone and everyone has a way to melt the coins at all times. Until we catch this person, we need to take care of each other. Right now the loft is the safest place for us."

"We can't stay here forever, Scott," Stiles stood. "Derek, I need your laptop. Lydia, you're with me. We're going into full research mode."

Chapter Text

"Look how cute they are," Lydia giggled into her fist to muffle the sound. Derek nodded silently, biting back a laugh. "I have to take a picture."

"He's going to kill you," Derek whispered, not even trying to sound like he cared.

"Which one?" Allison snapped the photo on her phone. Somewhere in the loft Erica's phone dinged with a new image.

Jackson snuffled and rolled over in his sleep when the flash went off, but resumed sleeping. All of the wolves crammed into Derek's bed, which thankfully had been custom made to be giant enough to hold multiple people, stayed asleep. They were exhausted from yesterday's events, three in particular. In the middle of the bed was Scott, and Isaac and Jackson were on either side of him curled up and sleeping under the protective arms of their Alpha. To the side, Liam was basically on top of Stiles, and the former alpha twins were sleeping on the edges, keeping guard even in sleep. Derek had awoken where he was sleeping on the other side of Stiles to find Allison and Lydia grinning next to the bed. Somehow during the night every werewolf had found their way into the bed except for Boyd and Erica, both of whom had stayed up as the night watch to keep unwanted visitors from placing coins. Stiles grumbled and blearily blinked his eyes as he woke.

"Jesus...like a furnace," He grumbled as he tried to extract himself from Liam and the bed. When he realized his situation, he turned to the others watching them. "Aww, puppy pile! There better be a copy of that picture in my phone too."

Allison grinned and fired off the text.

"Ok, help me up," Stiles reached out and Derek helped him get out of the bed. "What is with the wolfy cuddling?"

"The pack is under attack and we almost lost three members," Derek explained as they walked into the kitchen with the girls. Boyd and Erica were already at the table drinking orange juice and eating cereal. "The damage to their hearts would have killed a human but the rapid healing during the curse extended the process long enough to save them, and healed any lingering effects. But...they almost died. The bonds to the Alpha were weakened and now they're also healing."

"So snuggles all the time?" Stiles quipped. Boyd snorted a laugh. "Not you, tall dark and stony."

"What did you and Lydia find out?" Derek steered the conversation back to business. "Stiles, you first. You were on lore." Stiles shrugged helplessly.

"Nothing. There's nothing more than what you know on the internet except for half-baked theories on websites with the words modern wiccan and nature in the names," Stiles shrugged. "There's not enough lore."

"I was just as helpful in tracking the potential caster. There's no link between the first victims, and no leads on who would attack us. Hunters are the most likely suspects, but even that's a stretch since hunters are generally too smart to use such dangerous methods and most won't resort to witchcraft. There are no witnesses, and we can't exactly ask the normal law enforcement tracks for help," Lydia looked frustrated, a bad sign. "We have nothing to go on."

"That's just awesome," Stiles groaned. "I spent all night researching just to get a few hours of sleep under a living furnace. For nothing."

"We just need to stay vigilant. They will try again, and we will be prepared," Derek stated. Stiles stared blankly into his coffee cup until Derek nudged him. "What's going on in your head?"

"Liam has a fear of water. Isaac is terrified of his father, even now. Jackson saw himself as the Kanima again. Their fears became real," Stiles looked around at the people seated at the table and dropped his eyes again. "What happens if I touch a coin?"

Derek broke the mug in his hand. The spell was broken and Stiles helped to clean up the coffee that had spilled. The other wolves slowly trickled into the room, each refusing to look at the picture that Allison so gleefully showed them. Jackson grumbled about personal space and sleepwalking all through breakfast.

"It's okay to have feelings, Jackson," Stiles teased, then chased him around the loft. "I want snuggles too!"

"Get away from me, you freak!" Jackson grumbled when Stiles managed to corner him and wrap his arms around him. But he didn't push Stiles away.

Later, when Stiles was alone in the kitchen making lunch and everyone had been called out of school, the three wolves wrapped him in a group hug. Jackson clung tightly to him and whispered "Derek told us it was you that figured it out."

"We'll keep you safe," Isaac nodded to emphasize his point.

There were only three coins left. One with carving of flames, another with the carving of skulls, and one unmarked on one side. The third was a challenge. What to draw?

The dark? Blood? Pain? Each fear passed by without substance, without worth. Each previous coin was easy. The visions came naturally, easily. It was the drawing that was hard. Everyone is afraid of something. 

There are no exceptions.

Chapter Text

A dead man's coin is not a simple matter to find. They cannot be found at all. They must be forged by hand by the caster to be unmarked gold disks. The carvings are added later. They must be placed on the eyes of the deceased before burial, and then they must be dug up again after three days in the earth. But even that is not enough. The dead that are used to activate the coins must have done terrible things, or have died horrible deaths. The carvings must be made while focusing hard on the victim, and after the etching representing the victim's face is done, their greatest fear will be revealed in a vision if the following steps have been followed properly.

There are many dangers associated with this type of dark curse. Touching a finished coin with bare skin will cause your curse to rebound back onto you. Poorly done etching will nullify or weaken the curse. Burying the coins with the wrong dead will inactivate them forever. 

The journal page was ripped and the rest was lost, but the instructions were clear. It was destiny, that he found it while rummaging around in grandfather's attic after his passing. It was tucked away in the folds of a journal detailing the rise and fall of their family, brought about by their own greatest weapon by the monsters that ran in the night.

Werewolves. 

They had killed the elders of their coven with their own dead man's coins after a long an bloody battle. Three packs joined forces and drove them out of their homes, took their wealth, and burned their spell books until all but one small journal and a scrap of parchment was all that was left. The once powerful coven scattered in the wind with warnings to never use their spells again. 

And now, he lived in a hovel. A small apartment, if it was even that, above the Chinese food place he never ate at. He worked as an assistant at the local morgue and funeral home. There was nothing in his life worth having, until he inherited his grandfather's small house, and his debts. The journal showed him that his feeling of being cheated was real. He was supposed to be living a life of luxury, a descendant of the leader of the coven. It didn't take long to track down one of the main packs that interfered all those years ago. It was small and fractured, but powerful and dangerous if the local news stories were to be believed.

And they were all so afraid. 

At least, they soon would be.

The first three had been failures, in a way. Saved at the last minute by others. The curly haired boy, so afraid of his father, got the coin buried with a child abuser that drank himself to death. The young one terrified of the well, got the late night swimmer that died alone in the water. The athlete who was scared of monsters, got the suicide victim that heard voices whispering in his ears.

But these last three, the most important, had special coins. They had required special trips and a job change to be the assistant at the prison morgue. One coin, buried with a convicted arsonist, for the damaged remaining Hale. The other, buried with the man who killed a family of four behind the wheel during a bender, for the leader. And lastly, the human. The one that kept them glued together.

He was they key. They key to everything. And he sensed he needed something special.

Someone special.

The victim of a particularly brutal serial killer ended up in his town, cut and beaten and bruised. The coin fit perfectly over the remaining eye. It was destiny. It took a year to prepare the materials, and another six months to work up the courage to get his his nerve up to take his family's revenge.

"We all need to go home and get our own clothes. Seriously, this is getting ridiculous," Stiles said from his place on the couch. He was swathed in Derek's sweater, thumbs poking out of the thumb holes so they could feel the warmth of the hot chocolate mug he was holding. Lydia immediately agreed. There was only so much one person could take of living in someone else's clothes. They couldn't take the chance of sending someone back to their house for fear of coins, and they couldn't let someone bring them clothes in case they had been tampered with. The looks on Liam, Isaac and Jackson's faces when the subject was brought up were persuasive and they had decided on no excursions for the time being. But three days cooped up inside a small loft with a banshee, two humans, and nine werewolves was too much. 

"Yeah, I agree. I need my clothes back and my water bill is going to be ridiculous after all the laundry I've done," Derek groused. His packmates had of course been welcome to borrow what they needed, but he was a man of few possessions. And the food was running low even though the Sheriff had brought by some groceries after thoroughly checking them. "Speaking of which, someone else is one laundry duty."

Scott looked around at his pack and suddenly felt very young again. How was he to be expected to protect all of these people? They were stuck here because he couldn't come up with another way to completely avoid finding coins. He didn't know who was next, why they were being targeted, or how to find out who they up against. Internet searches didn't reveal any matches to the words found in each home. The gold could have come from anywhere. There was nothing to go on.

"Derek, how did you know about dead man's coins?" Lydia asked suddenly. "You said you knew about them, and you seem to know more than the internet."

"Peter used to tell me a story about them," Derek sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. "It was like...a scary bedtime story. My mom used to get so mad when she caught him telling it because it gave me nightmares. But I liked it. The wolves chased away the bad guys in the end, even though it was too late to save the humans."

"It there any chance Peter knew more about what's happening?" Lydia pressed, already uncomfortable talking about the elder Hale. "He wasn't exactly known for being forthcoming."

"I don't know, probably. It isn't exactly a G-rated story," Derek shrugged. "I never asked about it after the fire."

"It sounds less like a scary story and more like a non-fiction series of events," Stiles said thoughtfully. From where he was laying his head in Stiles's lap, Liam groaned.

"So, the only lead we have is the scary bedtime story told by a power-crazed werewolf that we can no longer talk to," Liam sat up, almost spilling Stiles's drink. "This would happen to us."

Derek was silent, his eyes still far away. He glanced of at the book shelf that held his few books and knick knacks, as well as a smoke-stained photograph of his family resting on top of a wooden box. Stiles followed his gaze and climbed over a protesting Isaac to sit next to Derek.

"What is it?"

"There...might be one option left," Derek squeezed Stiles's hand when he felt it slip into his own. "After the...I found a tome under the ashes. It...it belonged to my great-grandmother, then my grandmother, and then my mother. It was part of a detailed history of our family stretching back generations. This was all that survived out of many volumes. It's...like the index. Each Alpha writes a summary of the most important events during their time as alpha and then in their own personal volume they write more detail. The diary I found contains the writing of three previous Hale alphas. I haven't...I never read it."

Scott walked to the shelf and gently pulled out the box, surprised by how heavy it was, placing the photo back on the shelf with great care. Derek shook his head when Scott offered his the box.

"It was the family rule. Only the Alpha reads the history. There are some things in the Hale past that are not good, and it was the family rule that only the Alpha may read or write in the history," Derek met Scott's eyes, looking broken and sad. "I couldn't bring myself to read it when I found it as the alpha, and now..."

"Derek," Scott said softly. "It's your history. It's your family's history. You have the only right to it."

Derek finally nodded and reached out with shaking hands to open the chest. Inside was a leather bound book with a strap holding it closed. Bits and pieces of paper stuck out at odd angles as if they were added like bookmarks. He pulled it out and softly ran his fingers over the scorch marks and ash stains on the leather and the sides of the pages. The strap was held closed by magic, not a lock.

"Scott, I need you to open it. It can only be opened by the blood of an Alpha," Derek held out a claw and Scott pricked his finger on it. A drop of blood landed on the strap, bubbled, dissolved, and the strap popped open. Derek hesitated before reverently opening the journal. The paper, though it must have been extremely old, was white and supple as if it were new, a result of the spell on the book. Unfortunately, it wasn't fireproof. There had never been a reason. Derek left out a shaky sob and smiled a watery smile when he reached the back of the book.

"What's wrong, big guy?" Stiles whispered, rubbing Derek's shoulder. Everyone was silent and respectful, waiting for Derek. 

"I..." Derek laughed tearfully. "I had forgotten how terrible my mother's handwriting was."

Derek retired to the bedroom to give him some privacy with his memories while he searched for anything that matched Peter's story. The loft was quiet except for the soft background sound of the TV. Everyone was sitting with their own thoughts. The Hale fire was a well known fact, but no one ever brought up and especially not around Derek. It took almost two hours for Derek to make it through every story, since he started with his mother's part even though he was sure it wouldn't be there. He had to.

"I think...I think I found it," Derek said when he reemerged. "It was a coven."

"So now we know why. And we mostly know how. The only thing we don't really know is who. Obviously, it's a remnant of this old coven that your grandmother helped dismantle as a new Alpha. But-" Scott blocked Stiles flailing. "What?"

"Ok, so the spell that was tacked into the diary for dead man's coins says it needs specific dead people for activation, right?" He looked around wildly at his friends. "Well? They must be digging up the graves! We need to look for grave robbery or desecration of something, right? And they need access to the bodies to place the coins before burial. So, people who work morgues, funeral homes, that sort of thing?"

Lydia looked two parts intrigued and one part annoyed that she didn't think of it herself. She didn't answer but pulled her laptop from the coffee table into her lap and began researching. Stiles looked over at Derek, who looked smaller and older than before, tired as if the weight of the world was again on his shoulders. His heart fell when Derek gently placed the book down in the chest, careful not to restrap the book so he could read it when ever he wanted. Stiles took Derek's hand and pulled him to his feet. 

"Come on, they'll be busy for awhile. You look like you need a nap or something," Stiles got Derek to climb into bed and tucked him in, giggling at Derek's questioning stare. "Dude, you took care of me for weeks. I picked up on a few things you used to do. Stay here."

He left and Derek waited in a sleepy state for him to return, which he did with a mug of tea and the journal, which he held carefully. He gave the tea to Derek and climbed up beside him, managing to get Derek into the same position they used to use to comfort him after nightmares. Once Derek's back was to his chest and he was resting comfortably, Stiles started to read.

"My son, Derek Hale, was born today. He is a small baby, even for a human child, and for a moment when I went into early labor I was certain I would lose him. But he is fierce already and fought for himself, just as I believe he will always fight for his family. If he had been born first he would have made an exceptional alpha. Perhaps he will become the Alpha of a new pack someday, one of his own creation that will become as strong as the one he comes from, and start his own history. His father and I...." Stiles continued to read, letting Derek cry softly in his arms as the words of love and stories of his siblings' births and his own name coming up often. Stiles carefully placed the volume to the side so it wouldn't close and wrapped his arms around the sleeping werewolf.

When Derek woke a few hours later with dried tear tracks and a splitting headache. Stiles woke too and pulled at Derek's face to see his eyes.

"Derek! Your eyes! They're flashing blue and red! What's happening?" Stiles sounded frantic. Derek jumped out of the bed and fell painfully but was on his feet immediately.

"Where's Scott?" He shouted, stumbling again as the pain in his head intensified. Everyone jumped where they were in the loft.

"He-he was here!" Liam looked around like he hadn't noticed. "He said he was going to call his mom so he went outside to get better service."

"Derek what's happening!"

"Scott! He's in trouble!"

Chapter Text

"Look, it's not entirely your fault. I mean, we did choose to follow you," Stiles shrugged as if they were discussing a bad fantasy football draft. "So we're partially to blame for your shitty Alpha-ness. I mean, god knows I should have known better since I was the one that had to train you to be a werewolf. Seriously, you would probably still be trying to figure out why you sometimes woke up naked in the woods with rabbit in your teeth. Or human." Blood dripped from Stiles's many wounds onto the floor as he spoke.

"I would have killed him before then, don't worry," Allison inspected her nails for grime and looked up at Scott, trailing her eyes disdainfully over him where was backed into a corner. Isaac came up behind her and began to lightly suck a hickey onto her neck. "Jesus, he looks like he's about to cry. We're just telling him the truth."

"Yeah, I finally become a werewolf, and this is who I'm supposed to follow? The loser with asthma? At least Stilinski is smart," Jackson spat.

"Please...please..." Scott clutched desperately at his throat, air trying to claw its way into his lungs. "Stiles, we're-we're friends-"

"No, Scottie boy. We aren't. Not really."

"We've discussed it enough times at pack meetings when Scott's late," Erica snarled, her features feral. Boyd stood with a hand on her shoulder, nodding and looking at him with pity. "I say we take a vote."

"Yeah. Let's vote. Scott or the rightful heir to the Hale pack?" Isaac loomed over him menacingly. "I can't stand watching you make mistake after mistake anymore. You don't deserve the title."

"I don't think we need a vote," Liam knelt down in front of Scott and grabbed his chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "The answer to our problems is clear."

"L-Liam?" Scott felt claws digging into his stomach and screamed. "W-Why-"

"As your only true beta, I get first blood," Liam snarled, flecks of spittle flying into Scott's face from Liam being so close. "You ruined my life when you turned me! You turned me into a monster like you!"

Isaac sneered at him.

"You should have known what my father was for years! I had to wait for Derek to save me when you could have ended it way before then!" Isaac fulled shifted. "You didn't even say hi to me until I was too good to even look at you."

"That's enough," Derek thundered, slinging an arm around Stiles's shoulders. "You stole my birthright. You almost fucked up finding Stiles, too! Your incompetency in the role of Alpha knows no bounds, does it?"

"Ple-ea-ease! I'm-I'm-pl-please!" Scott could barely hear the poisonous words over the beating of his heart as it stumbled over beats and 

"I feel a scream in my throat, and it's-" Lydia leaned in to whisper each word. "Just. For. You."

"Your father must have seen what was coming and left when he still could," Stiles pointed at his eye. "Guess I couldn't see it with my own two eyes. Get it? Two eyes."

"N-no, d-don-don't l-lea-leave me!" Scott reached for his pack as they backed away, leaving only Derek and Stiles in his space.

"Ah, don't worry, Scottie boy. We aren't gonna leave you," Stiles cooed in a mockery of comfort.

"I am relieving you of your alpha status," Derek hauled Scott to his feet and jammed his fist into Scott's chest, grasping his heart. "But Stiles is right, we won't leave you."

Derek staggered outside his loft with Stiles right behind him along with the rest of the pack. He stumbled out into the night and desperately scented the air. 

"Everyone partner up! Split and look for Scott!" Stiles shouted, grabbing Derek, still flashing his eyes. "Go!"

Pairs went of in different directions, each with a butane torch. Stiles and Derek took off down the alley behind the building, looking for any sign of their Alpha.

"Stiles..." Derek groaned and pointed further down the alley. 

"Is it Scott?"

"No, but-" Derek dropped to his knees, howled and beta shifted as he lost control. Stiles jumped back out of range of his arms, knowing it was useless if Derek tried to attack. "There's a distinct-lack of anything at the end. Look for-Look for a rune and destroy it!"

Stiles ran down the alley, searching the wall for a rune. He found a strange symbol scratched into the side of a dumpster and flicked on the torch. As the rune blackened and flickered with light, Scott suddenly was there.

And he was unconscious.

"No, no nonono come on buddy!" Stiles yelled, running forward and slapping Scott's face to try to get him to wake up. His best friend's skin was clammy and cold and he wasn't breathing. He looked around frantically as Derek appeared at the alpha's side, cradling him while whining. The blue in his omega eyes was being eclipsed by red. "The collar!"

Stiles ripped the dog collar that Scott had in his hand for some reason and flicked the torch to life. Scott didn't wake up.

Derek turned to Stiles, his eyes an electric blue that shone like a search light.

"He's stabilizing," Derek clutched Scott closer. "His heart is damaged and it will take time to heal."

Stiles fell to his knees and buried his face in the hard plane of Scott's stomach. He started to sob as the weight of the day's events crashed down on him. Derek sniffed the air and growled.

"He's still close. Hold him," And with that, Derek was gone. Stiles wanted to go after the half-feral werewolf but he couldn't just leave Scott. He was still crying like a baby as he typed out a group text and told them to go after Derek.

"It's okay, buddy. I'm not going anywhere even though a certain SOURWOLF IS GOING TO GET HIMSELF KILLED!" Stiles yelled the last part so Derek might here him in between sobs. He pulled Scott up so he could lean against the filthy alley wall with Scott between his legs and head under chin. "I'm so never making him pancakes ever again!"

"Mmm...liar. Stray...saw it...followed....," Scott whispered, cracking eye open briefly as his head lolled on Stiles shoulder. "Don't...leave...me."

"Never," Stiles murmured into Scott's hair, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "You and me, bro."

Scott passed out again as his body struggled to heal.

Derek came up empty handed that night. The trail went cold when he got a to the old Hale house. Lingering traces of the pack reached out to him, soothing the rage inside of him. He carefully schooled his features back to human and killed the blue eyes. He slowly searched the remains of the building, remaining outside and cautious of any patches that screamed cloaking rune. Suddenly, pain shot through his shoulder. He reached back and found an arrow protruding from the muscle. It wasn't deep and it didn't smell of wolfsbane. It smelt of gold.

He looked for the source, fangs bared and eyes blue.

"Hello, Derek."

Derek whirled on the spot.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Chapter Text

Scott was resting comfortably on Derek's bed with the twins guarding him (one by the bedroom door and one patrolling outside) and Liam curled up next to him and Lydia monitoring his vitals while they waited for Melissa to arrive with Allison. In his weakened state, he was vulnerable to attack by other creatures and with a murderer on the loose there was no way they could leave him alone. Boyd, Jackson, and Erica took over tracking when everyone got the call about Scott, and Isaac was driving Stiles out to their location in Stiles's jeep. Stiles had wanted to stay with Scott, but he had a bad feeling about Derek. Something was really wrong.

"Get away from me!" Derek swiped his claws. "You aren't real!"

"Derek Hale, of course I'm real," The woman said soothingly. "This is where you killed your family. Do you remember that?"

"Shut up!" 

"Derek, baby. There's nothing here for you," Kate Argent came from behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "You made sure of that."

"You! You burned my family!" Derek roared at her. "I should kill you!"

"Derek, I didn't kill your family. That's just a delusion you've convinced yourself of to hide from the truth," She stepped back from the snarling wolf. "Think harder. Who killed your family?"

"You did!" Derek shouted.

"I might have lit the match, but I didn't kill your family," Kate purred. "You did."

"No!"

Derek turned to flee, only to see his house on fire.

"Remember now? How you stood and watched the flames as they consumed your home? Your family?" Kate laughed. "You stupid little boy. You killed your family for no reason. I didn't love you. You're all alone."

"This...no! I didn't...I'm not alone anymore! My pack will-" Derek dropped to his knees as sharp pain shot through his arm.

"They aren't your pack!" Kate spat. "What could you possibly offer them? You're a failed Alpha with blood on his hands! Every time your eyes flash they're reminded of the truth."

"Stop!"

"You'll only kill them the way you killed your family!" Kate grinned and cocked her head to side like she was listening to something. "Can't you here them screaming?"

Derek's eyes widened in horror as his hearing went past the crackling flames and heard the heartbeats of his pack stopping one by one. He lurched forward and tried to get into the house, only to be stopped by a ring of mountain ash. He pounded on the barrier uselessly.

"Silly boy. Only a true Alpha can break the line, not a broken monster like you," Kate giggled behind him.

"NO!"

"They were doomed from the moment they met you. You destroy everything you touch, don't you sweetie?" Kate stroked his hair with sharp fingernails. "They didn't deserve to die, but since when does that matter to you?"

Derek let out a heartbroken howl and whirled on the laughing woman. His claws connected with flesh and he attacked, eyes blue and face morphed into a rage.

Isaac staggered against a tree, clutching his ears. Stiles felt his soul rip in half at the sound of Derek's pain. Boyd had stiffened, and Erica sprinted away with him. Isaac grabbed Stiles and put him on his back piggyback style and followed. When they broke into the clearing that contained the burnt Hale house, they were greeted by a terrible sight. 

Jackson was on the ground with slashes on his chest and face with Erica helping him scramble back, and Derek's claws dripped blood. He was snarling and trying to escape the strong hold of Boyd. 

"He thought I was Kate!" Jackson shuddered in pain. "He attacked me! We have to find the coin, his heart is starting to skip beats."

"But it could be anywhere!" Stiles cried, waving at the open grassy area. "Where do we even start?"

"You won't find it," A voice came from behind them. Stiles turned to see a hooded figure with gloved hands. "He's dead already."

"You bastard!" Erica lunged at him, only to be pushed back by mountain ash. They were barricaded in the clearing "What did you do?"

"I have the coin that I used on the last Hale," The man said smugly. "The mighty Hale family, brought to its knees."

"By a weirdo in a robe," Stiles muttered. The man shot him a look. "Seriously, cliche much?"

"Watch your friend die. It won't be long now. He's not an Alpha," The man laughed and shrugged off the robe. He was so ordinary looking. "There's nothing you can do."

"Wanna bet?"

Stiles launched himself over the line and tackled the man to the ground, grappling for the arrow in the man's hand. A hard punch landed on his temple, stunning him. He was flipped onto his back and the man held him down by the throat and reached for something in his pocket. Stiles caught his wrist as he tried to lower the gold coin to Stiles's skin, pushing back as his windpipe was constricted. Distantly, he could hear the pack screaming for him, and he saw Derek. He was slumped in Boyd's arms. He might already be dead.

"NO!" Stiles, with a last burst of strength, shoved the man's hand back into his face, the coin brushing his cheek. The caster fell backwards, screaming as images and feelings and smells flooded his brain, and a dirty basement became his reality. Stiles stared at him, then stumbled blindly for the mountain ash line, brushing it away. Isaac shot ver and grabbed the fallen arrow and motioned for a torch. But it wasn't needed. As the caster died, overcome by fear in his weak heart, Derek gasped and sat up quickly, locking eyes with Boyd. He looked at each pack member in turn and then passed out.

"Good thing you didn't touch the coin," Jackson bent down and hauled Stiles to his feet. Stiles wrapped an arm around his neck and let himself be walked to the car. The others were carrying Derek. "He only lasted a minute."

Stiles didn't reply. His pack didn't need to know that for just a fraction of a second, he had touched the gold surface and been sucked into a nightmare of his own memories. What lasted a second felt like a week. But he wasn't really that afraid. Because he knew that in the end, Scott and Derek came for him. His attacker did not know that.

Chapter Text

The bruises on Stiles's neck were a dark purple and wrapped around his throat with distinct fingerprints. He prodded at them, wincing at the twinge of pain. His voice was raspy and it hurt to talk which brought back unpleasant memories of when he was first recovering. Scott had finally awoken halfway into the night and he had insisted (against his mother's wishes) that he wanted to be in the main room with everyone else for a debriefing as to what happened. Derek, still pale and weak, was stretched out on the couch and Scott sat in the armchair. Liam had helped him walk and he was out of breath and sweaty by the time he sat down. Stiles had tried to recount the tale, but his throat was sore and it hurt too much to talk so Boyd took over. Scott whined when Derek recounted his hallucination and Jackson waved off Derek's guilt about attacking him, saying he forgave the older werewolf. It wasn't really him. Scott was exhausted but smiling at his pack as they crowded around him after the seriousness of the debrief was over, and they scented him and pet his hair like a puppy, which Scott laughed at. Melissa had eventually gone home to sleep for a few hours before going to work.

Now, Stiles was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom looking at his reflection, something he tried to avoid doing because frankly it was depressing. He had been meaning to take a shower since he was dirty from being choked on the ground, bloody from leaning on a recently healed Jackson helping him walk, and tear-tracked from breaking down during the car ride back to the loft. Melissa had taken one look at the frazzled group of teenagers and their cargo (a recently conscious Derek) and sighed before treating Stiles's throat with a warm compress. It was nice, but the bruises were deep. Stiles took in the rest of his appearance. His glass eye was on the counter in front of him soaking with a tissue to remove build up, so only one eye stared back at him. His torso was scarred where scalpels and knives had sliced the skin, as were his arms. The first cuts had scarred badly, angry lines of raised tissue. The more recent ones were thin lines thanks to Melissa's care. Even his weight and  muscles, while more pronounced, were not where they were before and probably never would be. Stiles turned and looked over his shoulder into the mirror again.

His back was a mass of criss-crossed ropes of scar tissue. It was raised and bumpy, and these were still a deep pink color. Stiles was so lost in his contemplation of his body that he didn't notice the second reflection in the mirror at first. He touched one of the lines he could reach with a shaking hand.

He was hauled roughly to the corner where the metal table was. He was flung onto it, bashing his nose, but the pain barely registered over the others. 

This is new, Stiles thought, and he started laughing hysterically, which came out a strange keening. His wrists were strapped down tight and his ankles were likewise restrained. The first cut dragged from the top pf his shoulder down his shoulder blade and ended over his spine. Briefly, Stiles thought about how easy it would be for the man to paralyze him. 

Then he started to scream.

"Stiles..." Someone cleared their throat.

Stiles snapped out of his flashback and felt tears rolling down his face and his pounding heart.

"Sorry, just...lost in thought," Stiles muttered. It wasn't technically a lie. Lydia stepped closer, her delicate hands raising to hover over Stiles's skin. Her eyes darted from injury to injury. "Hey, I'm okay Lyds. I'm fine."

"I know you are," Lydia said softly. "It's just...no one's seen you shirtless since..."

"Scott and Derek have," Stiles pointed out, his voice still painful. Lydia shook her head.

"You don't have to hide from us, you know that," Lydia's eyes were shiny, but she refused to cry because it would make Stiles feel bad. "Right?"

Stiles almost answered with an automatic "yes", but stopped himself. He had been trying so hard to make it seem like it never happened. When his fake eye itched, he powered through it until he could take care of it alone. Melissa had lectured him about the proper way to maintain it, but sometimes...the way Scott and Derek looked at him at first when they walked in on him shirtless or running the smooth sphere under warm water was devastating. Stiles wasn't sure if he could take it from the whole pack. Then again, it would be nice to stop walking on eggshells around them, always making sure he was covered up and "normal"-looking so no one would be upset. Scott and Derek had gotten to the point where it was no longer shocking. The rest would too. 

"Stiles wants to talk to us," Lydia announced once Stiles had reemerged from his shower clean and damp. He was only wearing a zip-up hoodie without an undershirt. His eye was still in the bathroom but his head was down so no one could get a good look at his face.

"Um..." Stiles took a deep breath and unzipped his hoodie, still holding it closed. "I know you all know what happened to me, but you don't really know what happened physically. And that was what I wanted at first. But...it's just so...tiring, keeping everything hidden when what he did is all over my skin. I don't want to hurt you guys and I know this will, but I can't keep pretending nothing is changed."

Stiles's hoodie fell to the floor and he lifted his face to make eye contact with each person individually. Liam had seen his arms before, and everyone had glimpsed flashes of the marred skin every now and then, but to see his entire torso (not even his legs, which were also scarred) shocked them.

"Yesterday, I sort of took back my power, I guess. I was so powerless, but I'm not anymore. I can still save the people I c-care about and-" Stiles's breath hitched. "And I don't have to hide from you."

Derek and Scott looked proud and the others were trying hard to school their expressions away from pity and sadness. Only one person managed to accomplish that. Boyd, as usual, was somewhat impassive after the initial flash of horror, and Stiles was grateful to the big guy. 

"So...that's it, and I'm going to go put some clothes on now," Stiles rocked on his heels. "Be right back."

"Somebody run to McDonald's and get us breakfast!" Erica declared. "Nose goes."

Jackson was the lucky winner.

"Damn it! Why me? Why can't Derek go?"

"I'm hurt," Derek grumbled. "Mrs. McCall told me and Scott no strenuous activity."

"Yeah, and she also said nothing unhealthy," Jackson sneered. Scott leveled him with a look that would have been intimidating if he wasn't still unnaturally pale. Or Scott McCall, puppy incarnate.

"I'm the Alpha. Bring me a few McMuffins and six hash browns."

Stiles happened to reenter the room during this little exchange and started giggling.

"Oh my god, I wish I had that on camera," Stiles slumped down on the floor next to Isaac, who to his credit, only looked at him with a tiny bit of pity. "I'm the Alpha, hear me roar and bring me food."

"Whatever. I'm just going to get a few orders of everything. Someone come with so I don't look like such a freak," Jackson pleaded. Isaac shrugged and stood. "Thank you! Extra hashbrowns for you. Stiles, can I borrow the Jeep?"

"What? Why? That's my baby and you drive like you got your license from a cereal box!"

"Because there is no way I'm putting that much crap in my car and your car already smells!" Jackson and Stiles argued for a few minutes, easing the rest of the lingering tension out of the room. 

"Say the magic word," Stiles said finally. Jackson pouted and mumbled something. Stiles put a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Please let me take that crappy Jeep you insist on calling your baby so I can get enough cheap processed fast food to give you all high cholesterol," Jackson repeated loudly. Stiles saluted him and point to the counter where his keys had ended up. "Let's go."

When the two boys had left, Stiles started a load of laundry for the pack so they could eventually return all of the clothes they had borrowed from Derek. By the time the food arrived, he was almost dead on his feet from pulling the all-nighter but he was also ravenous. Food first, nap later, he decided. It seemed to be the general consensus among the others as they lazed around watching television. Scott, still woozy, asked Stiles to bring him some water, which his did, along with some gatorade. He saw how much Scott had sweat during the healing as his metabolism ramped up. Before Melissa left, she had made her son eat oatmeal so give his body energy, but he was still starving. When Jackson and Isaac stumbled in, laden with paper bags from both McDonald's and Taco Bell ("They said they would run out of food if they gave us everything we asked for so we went to Taco Bell. They thought we were high!") everyone cheered.

After breakfast, the pack filtered out in ones and twos until only Stiles, Scott, and Derek were left in the loft. Derek was napping on the sofa, Scott was stretched out on the armchair, and Stiles was tidying up just a little bit. He took one look at the slumbering, Taco Bell-filled werewolves on the furniture and smiled softly. Derek snuffled and rolled to his side, and Stiles considered climbing onto the couch with him. But instead, he squeezed into the armchair next to Scott. He had to turn on his side to fit and wrap himself tightly around his friend to be comfortable (-ish), but when he laid his head over the steady thump-thump of Scott's heart, he was lulled to sleep.

In the car to McDonalds

Jackson and Isaac drove in comfortable silence. They had come to an understanding after Jackson barely stopped himself from clawing out Isaac's throat during a sparring match. Isaac had a deep cut on his cheek and Jackson was on top of him, and only the fearful whimper and strangled "Please don't" stopped him. It was a plea that Jackson had realized through the angry fog that Isaac had probably made to his father on bad nights. Jackson could sense that Isaac wanted to say something and waited for him to do so.

"I used to have scars too, you know," Isaac said suddenly. Jackson nodded. They had all seen them when Isaac changed for gym or lacrosse when he wasn't too bruised. "I mean, nothing like what Stiles has, not saying they were. They're gone now, but..."

"That stuff stays with you," Jackson finished for him. "I never...I'm sorry. Back then, I knew and I never said-"

"Don't. That's the past, and you were an self-absorbed jock. But if it makes you feel better," Isaac sighed. "You should know I forgave you a long time ago."

They drove in silence again until they reached the long breakfast line at the drive thru. 

"You're still a self-absorbed jock though," Isaac said suddenly, smiling at Jackson's offended look. "What?"

"I am not self absorbed!"

"Right. And we're in Stiles's jeep because?" Isaac waited for Jackson to stop spluttering. "That's what I thought."

"Yeah yeah, whatever asshole."

Isaac waited for Jackson to finish ordering, and then to finish arguing with the manager about quantities, to speak again. Jackson was still pouting a little bit.

"You can still be a good person and be self-absorbed," Isaac poked Jackson's arm. Jackson rolled his eyes, but appreciated the sentiment. "So who's the yogurt parfait thingy for?"

"Lydia always gets it and then orders something else when she's done," Jackson shrugged. "It's a weird habit of hers."

"Yeah, there are two them." Jackson blushed. "And I know Allison hates yogurt and Stilinski never gets anything that isn't fried for him and Scott.

"One's for me. I like yogurt, okay?" Jackson pulled into the Taco Bell.

"Aw, sweet just like you," Isaac teased. Jackson shoved him.

Derek was sitting outside the door, his back against the wood. Inside, he could hear two heartbeats. One was strong and slightly too fast, Scott McCall. The other was slower, more normal, but still indicative of fever. Scott had barely left the room for two days, and Melissa came and went. Derek couldn't bring himself to leave his distracted Alpha unprotected, so he sat outside the door, unsure if he was welcome in the space. He heard Scott's stomach growl through the door, and tried to recall the last time his Alpha had actually eaten. Melissa brought him food, but it seemed like he much more concerned about making Stiles eat than helping himself.

Derek stood stiffly and made his way to the kitchen. He looked for something easy to digest and found a canister of oatmeal. He prepared a double serving even though he knew that usually Scott would have needed much more. But this was a good start. He sweetened the oatmeal which he had always found bland with brown sugar, cinnamon, and some chunks of a green apple he found in the fridge. He needed to go grocery shopping if he was going to be feeding three people.

Scott snarled when Derek walked into the room, his face still tear stained from the day before when he had snuck out of the bed to finally shower the days off and Stiles had panicked when he woke alone. Derek managed to keep him from hurting himself by gently holding his hands and keeping him from falling off the bed until Scott was back. Since then, he hadn't left his friend's side.

"Hey," Derek moved slowly to the bed, showing Scott he meant no harm. The feral look in Scott's eyes faded and he looked at him questioningly.

God, he's just a kid, Derek thought to himself.

"I brought you some food," Derek held out the steaming bowl. "Don't say you aren't hungry, I know you are."

Scott still refused, looking down at Stiles.

"I can't..." He whispered brokenly. The oatmeal smelled a little like pie, and Scott's body repelled against his resolve.

"Don't punish yourself this way," Derek sat on the bed next to Scott. "It won't make anything better to starve yourself as punishment. The guilt doesn't go away. I would know."

Scott looked up and Derek and nodded, reaching for the bowl. Derek was going to leave him to it when Stiles stirred and mumbled his name.

"You should stay," Scott ate a few spoonfuls of the food, and once the initial reluctance wore off, his hunger roared back to life with a vengeance. "This is really good, thank you."

"Do you want more?" Derek asked, noting the already empty bowl. Scott considered this for a moment. 

"No, not right now. Just...stay here with us. It's too quiet," Scott pleaded with his eyes, and Derek sighed. He sat quietly for awhile before reaching for the book on the nightstand. He didn't have many books, but he had started reading the Lord of the Rings right before Stiles disappeared after hearing the boy talk about the differences between the movies and the books after a pack LOTR marathon. He opened the book and started from the beginning, his rich voice carrying the story into the recesses of Stiles nightmares, soothing the darkness for a small time.