Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/522716.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Glee
  Relationship:
      Rachel_Berry/Will_Schuester
  Character:
      Rachel_Berry, Will_Schuester
  Additional Tags:
      Strippers_&_Strip_Clubs, Alternate_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-27 Words: 12608
****** Give Me a Reason ******
by wistfulwatcher
Summary
     During a chance encounter, Will finds Rachel in New York, having a
     tough time.
Notes
     Written for glee kink meme prompt:
     "Will goes to New York (reason up to writer) and ends up going to a
     strip club. He is surprised to find Rachel is one of the main
     dancers, as her Broadway career didn't exactly pan-out. Will buys a
     private dance with her to save her from a creeper customer."
     Also, the song used that Rachel dances to is called "Glory Box," by
     Portishead, and is where the title is from.
The crunch of gravel was harsh under Will’s sensitive feet as he pulled his
leather jacket closer around him. The New York City fall air wasn’t cold, but
it was cooler than he’d expected, and he was grateful for the hard press of the
leather against his neck.
Clad now in tennis shoes, jeans and a t-shirt, he felt much more relaxed than
he had a mere hour ago in his tux. He’d been forced to dance with bridesmaid
after bridesmaid, when all he’d wanted to do was grab a bottle of champagne
(or, preferably, something harder) and head back to his hotel room for his last
night in the city.
Hunger had been the only thing that had driven him from that hotel room, once
he’d finally been allowed to go back to it, and after a quick change he hit the
sidewalk, looking for a burger place he’d been to years ago.
Will slid his hands into his pockets and looked across the street, not seeing
the recognizable green door he wanted. With a jolt he realized something was
vibrating next to his hand, and he pulled the phone out and up to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Free yet?” He smiled despite his less than stellar mood and felt his shoulders
relax.
“As of twenty minutes ago.”
“Was it everything you imagined your little brother’s wedding would be?” He
chuckled and shook his head as he walked.
“And so much more. That’s not what I want to talk about and you know it. How
was the date?”
There was a low laugh on the other end before, “It was really nice, actually. I
was surprised. I know you don’t have the best track record with relationships.”
The jibe was good-natured, and Will took it as such, even considering recent
events.
“That’s great, Shannon! What did you think of him?” Will had left for the
wedding on Friday morning, unfortunately missing the Saturday night date.
“He’s not what I expected, based on the stories. Ken’s actually really
sweet.” There was a breath, and Will waited, as Shannon tried to phrase her
next thought, “Thank you, Will. Really. I know it hasn’t been easy on you
since…Emma, but you did a really nice thing for me.”
Will smiled sadly, the disappointment still heavy in his chest. “We both knew
it was over—it wasn’t like she dumped me as much as we acknowledged we weren’t
compatible anymore.”
Shannon sighed on the other end. “You’re a good guy, Will. Did you at least get
any bridesmaids numbers?”
Grateful for the change in subject, he shook his head to the wind, hunching his
shoulders forward at a burst of air around him as a car breezed past. “Not
exactly. I just wasn’t in the mood. My little brother gets married a week after
my third relationship fails. I would have bummed them out.” He laughed, but he
knew it sounded hallow, would even through the phone.
“You gotta have some fun, buddy. You even said it wasn’t working for a long
time. I’m not saying you should jump into anything, but go have some fun
tonight. I took a chance listening to you with Ken, and that turned out pretty
good.”
Will didn’t want to admit it, but Shannon’s suggestion was sounding like a good
one. He hadn’t really had a night out in a long time, but he was also alone—no
buddies to take him anywhere. Then again, his “buddies” pretty much amounted to
the woman on the phone with him.
“I’ll think about it. You gonna see Ken again?”
“Tuesday night, actually. We’re going bowling.” Will smiled, truly happy for
his surprisingly shy friend.
“That’s great, Shannon.”
“Now get off the phone with me, and go find some fun for yourself. You’re in
New York City, try something new!”
They exchanged farewells, and Will slid his phone back into his front pocket.
He appreciated what Shannon was saying, but “new” wasn’t really him, he
realized with a humorless chuckle as he looked for the familiar green door.
Now two blocks from his hotel, he started looking at the other stores and
restaurants on the way, thinking that a few of them actually looked good.
Still, he figured it would be easier to just get the burger he’d thought about
originally, rather than try to decide on a new place.
Rounding the corner, Will caught a neon light out of the corner of his eye. It
wasn’t extremely dark outside, yet, but the dim light remaining provided a
stark contrast from the pink neon that was flashing. With a tiny blush, Will
took in the strip club before him, noting with embarrassment the proclamation
of nude girls spanning the darkened window.
Will turned back to the sidewalk and headed in the direction of the burger
place, his stomach grumbling. As the door came into sight, he felt a wave of
relief, both that it was still there, and that his appetite would be sated.
As he opened the door, he caught the neon light in his peripheral vision,
before ducking under the door frame. The restaurant was just as he’d remembered
it, the small diner feel and the smell of grease. As he ordered he was
practically salivating, anticipating the juicy burger.
The waiter left, and Will was grateful that the place was so small, so his food
shouldn’t take very long. He thought about Shannon’s advice as he waited; do
something new and fun. He was frustrated with himself, that he was in New York
City, and those words drummed up no ideas. The idea was a little appealing, he
had to admit—he honestly could not remember the last time he had a fun night
out.
Will glanced over at a couple in a small booth near the door. Make that a fun
night, period, he thought. His relationship with Emma had been a lot of things;
exciting, anticipated, but, mostly, it had felt like a victory. It had taken
time, of course—Emma was not the type of woman to enter a relationship lightly.
But Will had been patient when she divorced Carl after their first Regionals
win. He had started by renewing their friendship, and let it grow naturally
from there. By Christmas in 2011 they were officially dating, though that, too,
was a slow process.
Back then Will had figured Emma didn’t trust him like she had in the
beginning—he had, after all, made out with another woman. But now, looking
back, he was more convinced than ever that Emma wasn’t sure what she wanted.
That she hadn’t been happy with Carl for the same reason that she hadn’t really
been happy with him. That maybe, she was as messed up as he was.
He wasn’t an idiot, of course—he knew when their relationship started to fall
apart. His glee kids graduating had been hard on him, more so than he thought
it would have been. Over his first three years with glee, he realized they had
all become a family, and had helped each other through all of the big changes
(even his, as he recalled some very sweet and unorthodox Emma pep-talks from
the glee guys).
Their win at nationals had been the cherry on top of it all. Three years in an
uphill battle, but they finally won that plaque for him—their words, not his.
He’d cried, not manly, a few tears that didn’t fall, but big, wet tears that
left him red and splotchy in front of fourteen of the people he cared most
about in the world.
His burger arrived, and Will blinked, chalking the tears up to the fresh smell
of onions. He thanked the waiter and turned to his hamburger, the anticipation
mounting. As he took his first bite, he thought about that sense of victory
he’d felt with Emma, with glee. That feeling of accomplishment of getting
something right, of fitting somewhere.
The feeling he hadn’t felt for a while with Emma (years, if he was being
totally honest). He bit into the burger and cursed the onions as his eyes
watered again. He chewed slowly, really trying to savor the taste, the sense of
victory.
It never came. Surprisingly, Will’s burger was not up to his expectations. That
victory he’d been so close to now tasted like charred meat and unripened
tomato. He finished him meal, his stomach not needing the same amount of
satisfaction as his taste buds, apparently, before he paid the bill and stepped
back into the cool city air.
He walked slower now, his shoulders heavy in his thought. Will rounded the
corner, again coming to face the gaudy neon of the strip club signs. He
couldn’t help but snort when he realized he would’ve been better off trying a
new restaurant and retaining his memory of that delicious burger.
“Try something new,” he grumbled, drawing closer to the bright building. A
strip club is something new, he joked to himself.
Will paused. He’d never been inside a strip club in his life. He’d been married
to Terri so long, and then he’d had no male friends left after the divorce
(Howard would never have the balls to side with anyone other than his boss,
Phil was his ex-wife’s brother-in-law, things had been awkward with Ken since
Emma left him, Henri had been in and out of rehab so many time he lost count,
and Sandy was—well, Sandy). Will’s students were pretty much the only guys
still in his life, and a strip club wasn’t exactly an appropriate field trip
destination.
Of their own accord, Will’s feet moved closer to the door of the club, until
Will could read the flyers papering the inside of the window. Through the gaps
in the paper he could see flashing lights and movement. With a long moment of
hesitation, Will began walking to the door. Looking around, he pulled on the
handle, and was immediately assaulted by heavy bass beats, a smell of stale
liquor, and a sudden feel of grime on his skin.
However, Will had to admit that there was something compelling about this
atmosphere. It felt dirty, like Terri told him it would, back when they’d been
young, but it also felt—fitting. He felt kind of grimy, after the
disappointment of the burger and reflecting on his pathetic life, and being
around that made him feel less out-of-place and alone.
When a bouncer at the entrance nodded at him and grunted a number, Will froze.
After a beat he realized it was the cost of admission he was after, and,
embarrassed, Will pulled out his wallet, handing the man a bill. He nodded back
at the man and moved further into the club, taking in the dim lights and the
smoky air. He walked slowly, giving himself a chance to back out, but he told
himself he was doing what he was supposed to, following Shannon’s advice; fun
and new.
Will turned to the bouncer quickly, and asked, “Um, where can I get some
change?” The bouncer gestured to the bartender, and Will gave a half-smile, as
the realization he was in a strip club started to break through.
It may have felt fitting to be in there, but Will realized it didn’t feel good.
He felt sad and defeated, and that was exactly how he didn’t want to feel. He
neared the bartender, and reached for his pocket, before stopping.
“What am I doing?” was mumbled as he turned to go right back out of the door.
If Shannon asked, he technically went into a new place, so he did follow her
instructions. Feet from the door, Will heard a booming voice shout.
“And now, one of our newest dancers, Liza!” Will couldn’t help but turn his
head slightly at that, chuckling as he thought about the days when he’d had a
diva (too many, actually) in glee. Will turned more as “Liza” came out,
wobbling slightly in her heels as she reached desperately for the pole in front
of her. Still, he noted, she somehow seemed poised and graceful.
Taking a step toward the stage, Will noted that she was very fit, trim, and
that her skin was a gorgeous olive color. Surprising, then, that her hair was a
pale blonde, a stark contrast to her skin tone. Her face was obscured by the
bangs across her forehead, a shade too long for him to see her eyes when she
turned to the side. Her lips, however, he could somewhat see. He moved into the
room more, toward the stage, and stood behind one of the back tables.
The club was small, so even though he hadn’t moved much, he was now only ten or
fifteen feet from the stage. From here, he could really see her lips, her
mouth; her teeth were perfect, white and straight, and her lips were gorgeous
and full.
As she moved on the stage, he couldn’t help but notice her legs—long, aided by
the heels, but he doubted she could be taller than 5’ 3”. He smiled lightly as
she turned, and he realized her costume was supposed to be an allusion to
Britney Spears—white button up revealing a lacy red bra, tied underneath her
breasts, and a short (the shortest he’d ever seen, despite a glee club filled
with Rachel and three Cheerios) red plaid skirt that fell just below her ass.
She spun on the pole under her hands, and he could see the thinnest string
across the top of her ass, baring her cheeks as she wore a matching red thong.
Will gulped, taken aback at her revealing attire. Apparently he had not fully
processed what he would be seeing in a strip club, and as he realized he was
watching some woman dance in a room full of lonely, unhappy single men, he
leaned back against a wall, as a feeling of shame rushed over him.
And yet, Will couldn’t stop watching her. She was exquisite;  graceful and
coordinated beneath the tentative exterior that caused to her stumble in her
high, high heels. The announcer had introduced her as new, and Will figured
this must have been one of her first days on the job. She wrapped a toned thigh
around the pole and spun, her head leaning back as she lowered herself to the
floor, and Will felt a stab of guilt that she’d be new at this job for a
reason—likely a very sad reason.
Despite this knowledge, he felt blood rush from his head as the young woman on
stage ran her hands over her breasts, before pulling the white shirt off, and
tossing it to a man in front of the stage. From this distance he could see the
smile she gave him, and the way it wavered immediately, as if it was killing
her to do.
He ran a hand over his face, then, and scanned the audience, to find nothing
but glazed over eyes, parted mouths and open leers. A man bumped into him with
a grunt and he moved over, closer to the stage to get out of the way of the
burly man.
Now just eight or so feet from the stage, Will could see her better than ever.
She was even more gorgeous up close; she looked to be all smooth curves and
soft skin. As she walked slowly to the pole, she arched her back and rolled her
hips forward, pulling herself to press against the metal. Will sucked in a
breath and leaned forward slightly, watching as the dancer lifted her head up,
shaking her hair back so he could finally see her eyes.
Will’s gasp was audible, and several men around him looked up, giving him
puzzled looks. He cleared his throat, looking away as he tried to play it off,
but when he looked back, she was stepping down from the stage and walking
toward him.
Will panicked, turning around to leave, run out of the door and back to his
hotel, where he could call Shannon, tell her she was wrong, and just live in
his rut for the rest of his life. But the same burly man was standing behind
him, now, between two tables, and Will couldn’t slide past him. He swallowed
nervously, and turned back, hoping he could round the table before she got to
him.
He tightened his stomach on reflex when he turned to find her in front of him,
taking a serving tray from one of the other girls. As she rested it on her hip,
she flipped a piece of hair out of her face, and caught sight of him.
Will had nowhere to run as she looked up at him from under her bangs. “Mr.
Schuester?” She was as surprised as he was that they were standing together in
a strip club. She shifted uncomfortably before him, and he couldn’t blame her;
this was not a pleasant situation for either of them.
"Rachel, I--" he wasn't sure what excuse thought he could give, how he could
explain his presence here, other than the truth that he was lonely, just
looking for something to do, and he definitely did not want to tell her that.
Fortunately he was spared as another man walked up to them.
He was clearly intoxicated, if the sway in his step and empty glass were any
indication. The man was leering at the young woman between them, and Will felt
his skin crawl. Judging from Rachel’s face, hers was, too. She gave the man a
stage smile, like the clearly fake one he’d seen on her face earlier. As he
pulled out his wallet, Will watched Rachel’s face, his mouth tightening as her
eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Her smile wavered, and he saw her stand up
straighter, her back tightening as she slid the tray to her stomach, gripping
the edges with both hands as she turned it to lay flat against her skin,
effectively covering herself.
Will couldn’t tear his eyes away from his former student as he took in the
signs of fear and reluctance she displayed toward the skeezy man. He listened
as the man pushed the bills toward Rachel, mumbling something about a dance.
Rachel was licking her lips and glancing at Will out of the corner of her eye
as she stalled, trying not to answer the man. “Paul, I thought you’d be looking
for Amber, tonight?” She tried to offer him another smile, but this was the
least convincing one he’d ever seen from her.
He realized, as she shifted in her heels, that the man—Paul—she’d called
him—was a none-too-friendly regular, asking for a dance. From Rachel.
A private dance, if he had heard him correctly.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, and Will saw the familiar mole on her
cheek, the one he’d seen a hundred times before. Before he knew what he was
saying, Will spoke quickly, “She can’t. She already—um, I already bought the
next one.” Rachel looked to him quickly, a mixture of gratitude and hope on her
face, but something else, too.
Paul narrowed his eyes at Will, and he wasn’t sure if he was so drunk he
couldn’t see, or he was dumb enough to try to start something in the club.
Either way, Will gulped as the man rolled his shoulders and held up his money.
“I didn’t see you pay her,” he scoffed.
Will glanced at the money, pointedly avoiding looking at Rachel as he reached
into his own pocket and withdrew the same amount. Finally looking up at her, he
felt his heart pounding as his eyes softened, hoping this was what she wanted,
hoping he was helping her.
Rachel gave him a twist of her lips, more of a smile than he’d seen from her so
far, and took the money, avoiding touching his hand, before she turned to Paul
and bit her lip. “I did talk to him first. Amber should be onstage any minute,
though.” The man huffed, turning away as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
When Rachel turned back to him, Will swallowed harshly. “Rachel, I’m sorry, I—“
She was looking over his shoulder, smiling suddenly and taking his hand in hers
as she set the tray on a table. He tried to ignore the soft skin under his
fingers as she led him slowly to a chair off to the side of the club. It was
darker over here, but not less public than the rest of the club, really.
Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder as she glanced to the bar, and then
looked at him. She looked exactly as she had three years ago, when he’d seen
her for the last time at graduation, except for the completely out of place
hair color.
She led him, silently, to sit in the chair, taking the cash he’d given her and
sliding it into her bra. He coughed, then, extremely uncomfortable as he
realized how few clothes she was wearing. Will shifted in the plush chair,
resting his forearms on the arms of the chair, and pushing himself back, as if
trying to get away from her, which, if he were being honest, he still kind of
was.
Rachel glanced at the bar again, before leaning over, resting her hand on the
arm of the chair by his forearm. Her face was inches from him, and he could
smell the sweet mint on her breath he’d become so accustomed to over the years.
“Thank you, Mr. Schue. I, um, I’m going to give you your money back, but I’m
going to have to—“ she worried her lip between her teeth, before finishing,
“dance.”
He followed her gaze once more to the bar, where a man in a suit sat, and he
realized he was watching them. Will shifted, and shook his head. “Rachel, I was
just—I don’t want you to—“ She looked down, guiltily, and shook her head.
“I know, I’m sorry, and I appreciate it. But my boss is at the bar, and I
really need this job. After last night, I can’t turn down a…” she hesitated
again, and leaned away from him, before stepping back, “customer.”
Shifting, Will asked, “Isn’t this usually done in a private room, where they
can’t see us?”
Rachel shook her head, her hands resting against her thighs. “Those rooms cost
an extra $200.”
Before Will could say anything more, the music changed, and Rachel started
swaying in front of him. He turned to look at Rachel’s boss, then quickly back
at the woman in front of him. Her legs were placed shoulder-width apart as she
balanced in the heels, her hips swaying in time with the music. She stepped
closer to him, avoiding his face as she started to untie the white shirt she’d
put back on after her stage performance.
Sliding it from her shoulders, she dropped it at his feet, continuing to sway
as she ran her hands down her sides and over her flat stomach. Inhaling
quickly, Will watched as she slid her hands to the side of her skirt, and
unclasped it, dropping it on top of the shirt.
He noticed, suddenly, how stuffy and hot it was in the club, and he regretted
not taking off his jacket earlier. He knew his face was red, from heat and
embarrassment (and maybe something more, as Rachel started to roll her hips in
front of him), and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Down to her bra and thong, Rachel leaned over again, not meeting his eyes as
she placed a hand on either knee, and lowered herself to the floor in front of
him. Despite the guilt, the frustration, and the anger that they’d both ended
up in this situation, blood rushed to Will’s crotch, and he felt himself start
to swell beneath his heavy jeans.
He tried to focus on the song, focus on the lyrics as they permeated the haze
in his head. I’ve been a temptress too long, he inwardly groaned as the image
of years of short skirts and knee high socks played behind his eyes.
It was wrong, and he felt worse than the creep he’d been trying to save her
from. He clenched his jaw as he realized she’d probably been better off in his
hands, rather than having to subject herself to her teacher. Former teacher, a
small voice rang in his head, but he blinked, his hands clenching until it went
away.
Rachel’s hands on his knees applied pressure as she pushed his legs apart. He
tried to question her, but she looked up at him, and shook her head, mouthing,
“please?” before she continued, pushing until his thighs pressed against the
hard frame of the chair. Rachel slid her hands up his thighs, ignoring his gasp
as she reached behind his hips, applying pressure and dragging him forward,
toward the edge of the chair.
If he hadn’t been overheating from the temperature of the club, Will was
certain that he’d have been impressed with her strength. Instead, he just let
his head drop the inch to the back of the chair, and looked up at her. Her eyes
were focused on his chest as she reached under his jacket, glancing up at him
quickly before flicking the sides open, letting some cooler air hit his neck
and upper chest, exposed by the V of the t-shirt.
Rachel slid back down, before stepping back up, turning her back to him. Will
took the moment out of her view to close his own eyes, running a hand over his
face as the blood continued to his cock. He could feel the pressure beneath his
belt, and prayed that Rachel wouldn’t turn back around. That she would just
leave him, and not realize what a terrible man he was being, turned on by
his student. The voice echoed former student, and again he ran a hand over his
face, pressing against his eyes, willing to no longer see. When he opened his
eyes, of course, his sight was fine, and before she began to turn around, Will
couldn’t help but take in the sight of her; firm thighs, full ass framed by red
lace, and the gentle curve of her spine. Will felt his fingers twitch with a
sudden and wholly unwelcome urge to trace the line of her back.
Rachel turned around, then, and Will tried to catch her eyes, to apologize, but
she still focused on his chest. She stood before him, swaying and sliding her
hands up her body slowly, from her thighs, past her hips, to rest on her chest.
She cupped her breasts in her hands, crossing her arms over her chest as she
dipped her head down, toward him, her hair falling around her, blocking her
face completely.
She rolled back up, her hands running over her neck, lifting her hair back
before she placed her hands on his thighs, her nails gripping in on his right
leg. Rachel slid her body up his slowly, not brushing their chests, though he
realized if he made the slightest move they would be pressed completely
together.
The pressure in his jeans was becoming painful, and his hands twitched in a
need to ease the pressure. The thought was frustrating, and he cursed himself
for what he was feeling, that he was enjoying his student on top of him.
Her face neared his and he closed his eyes, terrified that now would be the
moment she’d look at him. Instead, her lips ghosted over his ear and she
whispered, “My left hand,” before she turned, her back to him, and rested
herself on top of him, her thighs on his, her legs spread to match. Her head
rested against his neck, and he couldn’t stop himself from turning into her,
his nose pressing against her cheek quickly.
He let out a harsh breath as she lifted herself off of him gently, the action
causing her ass to press against the cock straining beneath his jeans. The moan
that fell from his lips was completely unintentional, but before he could
apologize, Rachel ground her hips down, a soft groan coming from her own mouth.
Rachel’s instructions drifted back into his head, and he reached for her left
hand with his, where it rested on her hip. He wasn’t sure what she wanted, but
as she slid their bodies together, he covered her hand with his, lacing his
fingers between hers and drawing her hand to rest on her stomach.
A sharp edge pressed against his fingertips, and he realized his money was in
her hand, that she was trying to give it back. With a start he remembered what
he was doing, the haze surrounding his brain dissipating as he uncurled his
fingers from hers, and tried to sink into the chair, keep his obvious erection
away from the soft press of her ass.
Rachel rolled her head to the side, looking up at him through her lashes, and
he realized how young she still looked. Her lips were parted gently, and she
furrowed her brows gently, questioning him. She closed her eyes again, and
leaned forward, putting her hands between their legs on the chair. She slowly
lifted off of him, and he noticed a roll in her hips as her lower back came
into his sight line.
His fingers again itched to trace her skin, but he was saved by the slow fade
out of the music. Rachel continued to stand up, her hips swaying as she turned
around to face him.
She was still avoiding his eyes, but she looked higher on his chest, rolling
her lips together and shifting awkwardly. Will was very conscious of the
strained material across his erection, and the same heat flooded his face in
shame.
Will was searching for what to say, how to apologize, until he was interrupted
by Paul. He was standing next to Rachel, and if the last of his blood wasn’t
rushing through his ears, he was certain he would hear a repeat of the earlier
conversation.
Rachel was shifting again, but this time he could save her, from Paul and from
himself. Standing up quickly, Will pulled out his wallet, taking out two
hundreds and effectively cutting off the other man. “I actually just bought a
private room, so Ra—Liza won’t be available anymore tonight.”
Rachel turned to look at him, but he didn’t want to risk the betrayal he would
see on her face. He instead kept his eyes trained on Paul until he felt soft
fingers brush his hand and take the money. “Um, I’m sorry Paul. Maybe next
time?” and her hand was in his again, small and soft, and he realized just how
fragile she was, how fragile she’d always been.
The club wasn’t big, but as she led him across the way, he noticed the wobble
in her steps, the way her ankle almost bent when they passed a chair pushed out
too far. He wanted to tell her to slow down, that he wasn’t going to touch her
again, but he wasn’t sure how to get her attention without touching her, so he
just gave her hand a gentle squeeze and prayed she would get the message.
They moved past the stage and to a small room with an open door. She led him
into it, and closed the door, dropping his hand immediately. He was shocked at
the sense of loss he felt as the cold air hit his heated palm.
She locked the door and turned around, finally looking him in the eye. Her eyes
were wet, and it felt like she’d sunk a knife into his heart. “Rachel, I—“
“I can’t afford to lose $200, Mr. Schue, I can’t.” He furrowed his brow,
confused.
“What?”
She looked up at him, and he cursed those bangs, covering her eyes slightly as
he tried to understand what exactly he’d done. “The two hundred for this room—I
can’t give you the money back, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have helped me.” She
was pacing as she said it, and he looked quickly at those heels, terrified that
she was going to break her ankle.
“Rachel, Rachel, don’t worry about it, OK.” He wasn’t sure how to start to
explain himself during her dance, or where to start to apologize.
“I can give you this back,” she handed him the money from the lap dance, but he
shook his head.
“Rachel, really, I don’t care about the money, I just—“ She started to wobble
on those damn heels and she was still pacing. “Rachel,” she wasn’t listening,
and he didn’t want to do it, but he reached out and set his hands on her
shoulders.
Finally she stopped, and looked him in the eye. Her eyes were a little red, but
she wasn’t hesitant under his touch—actually, he swore he felt her lean into it
as she shook her head. He wondered if by some miracle she may have missed his
reaction during her dance. “Rachel, please stop pacing, I’m not, I don’t want
you to do anything, I promise.”
The look she gave him was confusing; a furrowed brow as she bit her lip, and
looked up at him from under those damn bangs. “What? I know you don’t want—I
just, I hate that I needed you to…” his hands were still resting on her
shoulders, but she slowly stepped back, away from him and wrapped her arms
across her waist. “To save me.”
Will still wasn’t sure how to start with her, so he looked around the room.
There was a plush couch in the middle of the room, and another chair like the
ones in the main lounge. There was also a small coffee table between the
furniture, and a small refrigerator against the wall. The room felt much
cleaner than the main lounge had, but he suspected that was an assumption that
would prove false, based on his understanding of a private room.
Rachel was still standing with her back to him, and he suddenly wondered how
long exactly she’d been here, how she’d gotten here, why she’d ended up in a
place like this. He had so many questions, that finally one bubbled free: “How
long do we have, Rach?”
He cursed the words that fell from his lips—the bluntness, the implication it
carried, even the easy use of the nickname from so many years ago. She turned
to him, but didn’t seem to be bothered by his question the way he had been,
just walked over toward him. “An hour. But my shift ends in two, so Paul’ll
probably be gone for the last hour.”
The fire that shot up Will’s back at the thought of her dancing for another
hour was forceful and unexpected, causing him to lean against the back of the
chair. Bent slightly, Will again noticed the heels on her feet, and caught her
swaying. “Uh, Rachel?”
“Yes, Mr. Schue?” He swallowed harshly, his formal title leaving a bad taste in
his mouth.
“Could you take the heels off—I’m really nervous you’re going to break your
ankle or something.” He realized that was probably the least of her worries,
but she gave him a small smile and took a seat on the couch, starting to untie
the black pumps that laced up her calf.
While she worked, Will noticed she must have left the shirt and skirt in the
lounge and he blushed at the amount of skin on display, finding it a little
worrisome that she cared so little. When she was done, she started to massage
her feet, and another question fell from his lips. “How long have you been
working?”
She shrugged her shoulders and switched feet, before tucking them underneath
herself and leaning on the corner of the couch. “Only a few hours. It was a
short shift tonight. This is nothing after all of the years of ballet.”
He brought his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing as he averted his eyes
from hers. “No, I mean how long have you been working here, as…”
“A stripper?” She scoffed, and he felt worse than he had earlier. “A week in a
half.” Her words stung him, and his stomach clenched. He went to sit at the
other end of the couch, and realized that he was still wearing his jacket.
Slipping it quickly from his shoulders, he offered it to Rachel, who took it
reluctantly. “Thanks, Mr. Schuester.”
He couldn’t help but watch as she put it on, the sleeves too long on her small
frame, but it covered her from his gaze, at least. “Can you call me Will? It’s
just—“
“It’s weird? Tell me about it.” That guilt was starting to eat him away, and he
still had no idea how to assuage it.
He sat with her in silence for a moment, thinking about the last time he had
seen her, bright eyed as she gave her Valedictorian speech at graduation. Her
brown hair curled sweetly underneath her graduation cap, and her smile
providing better light than the bright sun outside.
He had no way to broach the subject of her dancing for him, how to start to
speak to that smiling graduate, so he closed his eyes tight and asked, “You
dyed your hair?” It was lame, and he felt like an idiot.
She shook her head, reaching to the top and pulling it up, her brown tresses
falling down in a ponytail. “It’s a wig,” she muttered, as she shook her hair
out, the thick locks a welcome familiarity.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he thought she was having
the same issue, not sure how to bring up what just happened. “So, Liza? I
would’ve thought—“
“Barbra?” She laughed quietly, nothing of the boisterous sound he was used to
from her. “I felt like it would be wrong, like I was using her, or something.”
He gave her a small smile and waited for her to continue. “I wanted to go with
Sally, as in Bowles, but we already have a Sally,” she shrugged her shoulders,
“of the Mustang variety, so I went with the next name I could think of.”
He nodded, not quite sure how to follow up on her admission, the sense of
urgency her words implied in her taking this job. As he sat there, he could
feel Rachel’s eyes on him, and he waited for her question, for her to ask him
why he was there, why he had bought a lap dance from her, why he had put her in
such an awkward position. Nothing came, and he faced forward, realizing that
maybe she knew there was no reasonable explanation, that he was just as much of
a sleeze as her other customers. “Thank you, Mr. Sc—Will.”
He turned to face her, his eyes wide, not expecting that to break the silence.
She shook her head, her hair shining in the light the way he’d remembered it.
“I mean it. I can’t stand him touching me, and I couldn’t turn him down. I’m
sorry you had to, but thank you for saving me.” She looked down, a small smile
on her face, “You’ve always gone above and beyond for us.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to her, so he instead asked the question he
needed to. “Rachel, what happened?” She was playing with the cuff of his
jacket, and he wanted to reach out and take her hand, but he remembered how he
promised not to touch her. He realized though, that he could—the couch was
small, perhaps a loveseat, and with his body turned, he could rest his hand on
hers in an instant.
“What was the last thing you heard?”
“That you were going to NYU Tisch School, and auditioning at every opportunity.
That your roommate had been a nightmare, and refused to let you sing in the
room. I heard that you were cast in a one-act near campus.” Rachel was watching
him now, and he shifted under her scrutiny. He thought about everything he’d
said, and the fact that maybe it wasn’t normal for him to know all that.
“Wow.”
He cleared his throat, pulling at his shirt. “I ran into your dads at the store
a few times.” It made sense, really. It was a perfectly acceptable way to hear
about your students. Surely her other teachers would’ve asked the same
questions of their Valedictorian.
“That’s really sweet of you, Will. To ask, I mean.” His name on her lips felt
nice to his ears, musical like everything else she did, but lacking the
condescension he usually heard in his last name. She took a deep breath and
shifted, his jacket falling more open, revealing the remains of her costume to
him again. Without warning he felt a familiar surge in his groin, and he had to
focus on her words to distract him from the feeling of failure it caused in
him.
“During my sophomore year, I started going to more and more auditions, even
getting a few good parts. But there were a lot of other girls at NYU I was
competing with for these roles, and, though I love my nose, it seems it was a
little off-putting to some of the directors.” Her voice was sad, and he didn’t
blame her. He remembered the stories he’d heard about Montana or Oregon or
whatever his name had been, and how she’d stood her ground for herself and her
gleemates.
“Anyway, a few months ago there was this call for a really great part in a new
musical off-Broadway, but the auditions were being held smack-dab in the middle
of midterms. None of the girls I was competing with were going to be going, but
I’d have to miss my midterms, too.”
Will felt queasy as he realized where this was going—what happened to his
former star. “I took a chance. I figured it worked for almost every other star,
doing that thing, making that stupid choice to get cast.” She sighed, but he
noticed her eyes were dry, and he wondered, sadly, if she’d finally cried
herself out. “I missed all of my midterms because of callbacks, and hadn’t been
able to catch-up. I had to drop my classes, or completely fail them, both of
which meant the termination of my scholarship.”
“Oh, Rachel,” he reached his hand out before he realized, but gave a sigh of
relief when she took it between hers, resting his sandwiched hand on her thigh.
“But why here? There had to be other options.”
She shook her head. “I tried. I applied everywhere, but they’ve all hired their
seasonal staff by this point in November. I had a few waitressing jobs, but
nothing stuck. One of my former co-workers is the one who told me about this
place.”
Will squeezed her hand, his other hand coming to rest on her cheek, stroking
her hair back from her face. “Have you talked to your dads about this?” She
laughed, low and humorless, and he felt guilty for bringing it up.
“They told me not to audition—that I needed to focus on school.” Her eyes
shifted on his face, landing on his lips, and he tried not to notice the jolt
that ran up his spine. “I didn’t listen to them.” Her eyes were welling, and
this time they started to fall.
Before he could respond she was hugging him, her arms thrown around his neck as
she buried her face in his chest, her back shaking with her sobs as her legs
tucked under her, again. He froze, unsure where put her hands, until finally he
rested one on her upper back, the other on her lower back over the jacket. He
murmured platitudes, leaning down to press his lips against her head as the
hand on her upper back moved up to stroke her hair.
“Rachel, I—I’m sure your dads will help you if you just ask.” She shook her
head against his chest.
“I told them I could handle the repercussions—I swore that I would get cast.”
Her stubbornness, the fear she had of telling her parents she was wrong was so
juvenile, and he thought about how, for all of her maturity and strength, she
was just a kid in a lot of ways.
She sighed against him, and he listened as she struggled to get herself under
control. “I’m keeping an eye out for something new.”
He gave her hair one last stroke as she pulled away. Looking up at him from
under her lashes, she smiled shyly. “I’m sorry for everything.” He shook his
head, his guilt over his reaction to her dance still plaguing him.
She pulled his coat tighter around herself and murmured, “I wouldn’t be wearing
this jacket if I didn’t have to, you know. I’m still a vegan.”
He nodded, giving her a little smile and murmuring back, “I know.”
She looked up at him, ignoring the leather, and finally asked, “Why are you
in—“ this was it, her asking why he was in a strip club, why he was as sleazy
as the next guy, why he couldn’t just be a teacher she could trust—“New York?”
He smiled, relief bubbling over. “My little brother got married today. I was
his best man.”
She laughed, and it warmed his heart. “Of course you were. Did you have fun?”
The question was innocent enough, but at once he was flooded with Shannon’s
advice. Clearing his throat, he nodded slightly.
“It was, it was nice.”
“Ms. Pillsbury didn’t come with you?” Her eyes were wide, innocent, and he
cleared his throat.
“No. No, Emma and I broke up last week.”
“I’m sorry, Will.” He realized then how many times she’d said his name, and
wondered if she’d said it that much when she called him Mr. Schue. He watched
her as she watched him, trying to voice her next question. “And glee?” she
finally ended on.
Glee. Just the mention of it shouldn’t leave the air around them thick with
tension. His answer was as terse as her question, and she nodded at the, “It’s
fine.” He could tell she wanted to know more, and because she’d given him so
much earlier, he added, “It’s different. It’s not what it was.”
“So full of talent?” She smiled.
He smiled back, sadly. “A family.”
Rachel looked at him softly, the same mixed emotions in her eyes as in his. “Do
you miss us?”
He intended to craft an eloquent response, waxing about them being the best
students a teacher could ever ask for, but instead he heard himself say, “Every
damn day. I think, I think I’m a little lost without you all.”
Rachel took his hand, then, and ran her thumb lightly over his knuckles. “We
miss you, too. I mean I do. But I know they do, too.” She was staring at his
wrist, still, and it was starting to unnerve him, how much she was touching
him.
As soon as he thought it she dropped his hand, and he wished he could take it
back. Rachel leaned forward, grabbing her heels and started to slip them on.
“What are you doing?”
He could tell it pained her to say, “Your—the hour is up. Thank you for the
stay of execution,” laced up one shoe and started on the other.
“Please—I don’t want you to do this.” His words were bordering inappropriate,
but he was just telling her the truth. Before she could respond, he pulled out
his wallet again.
As he thumbed through the cash to pull out the money, she put her hands on his,
pushing the wallet down. Her eyes were soft when he looked up at her. “You
can’t buy my hours forever, Will. As sweet as that is. Save your money, OK?
Please.”
There was a lump in his throat as she reached for the wig, and he realized how
badly he wanted to buy those hours, how much he wanted to keep her safe. “I
don’t have to. I’m driving back to Lima tomorrow morning. I can take you back,
too.” He felt like he was begging her, and it felt wrong, felt like an
admission of something, but it also felt like his duty.
She abandoned the wig on the chair, and wrapped her arms around her waist.
Hugging herself quickly, she shook her head and pulled his jacket form her
shoulders. Handing it back to him, she stood, and dropped the jacket to the
floor. He watched the indecision play out on her face, and he took the money
out of his wallet, setting it on the table. It looked crude to him, looked too
much like a heartbreaking Lifetime movie, but he turned to her before she could
tell him no again.
He knew he looked desperate as he reached a hand out to her, but he knew the
fear in his eyes was worth it when she sighed and sat back down next to him.
“Rach, Chicago is a lot closer than New York, you know. You could get some
experience there, maybe build up some name recognition.” She looked at him with
slightly narrowed eyes, not responding.
It was making him uncomfortable, if he was honest. She was looking at him like
she knew something, maybe even something he didn’t. Before he could continue,
there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, another big guy,
perhaps a second bouncer, walked in. Will looked to Rachel, watching her
reaction to the man, and saw her take the two hundred out of her bra and hand
it to him.
The bouncer turned back to him and tapped his watch. “Times up, buddy.”
Will shook his head and handed him the money he’d pulled out. “Another hour?”
It felt wrong to ask another man, this man, to spend more time with Rachel,
especially in such a crude time increment.
The bouncer looked at Rachel incredulously, and then back at Will. “It’s three
for the second hour.” He watched as Rachel looked away, a blush rising on her
cheeks.
“Fine,” he dug out the extra and handed it to the bouncer. “Now if you’ll
please leave us.” Will was growing frustrated with the man, and the way Rachel
immediately shut down around him. He’d never seen the strong woman next to him
back down from anyone, and it was more than concerning to see her do so to
someone so beneath her.
The bouncer left, and he put his wallet away, not wanting to insult her
further. “Rachel? I’m sorry—“
“Why do you care so much?” Her head was cocked a little to the side as she
asked, her fingers interlacing with each other.
Will had no idea how to answer her question. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he
cared so much. Perhaps it was because she’d been his student, because he didn’t
want to see someone he’d been so close to hurting, because the thought of some
other guy, a guy like Paul, touching her made his skin crawl.
“Because—“
“I knew I hadn’t imagined that night.” Will stopped mid-sentence, confused.
“What night?”
“Nationals.” Will sucked in a breath, realizing what she was talking about. How
he’d hoped she’d forgotten that night—so much had happened, he’d honestly
believed she might have. “After we lost our junior year, in the guys’ hotel
room.”
Will moved to take off his jacket, cool down, until he remembered he had—that
the heat he was feeling was coming from the memory, the shame, the
embarrassment, the woman in front of him. “You remember, don’t you.” It wasn’t
a question, and in a way he was grateful that she didn’t expect an answer.
He wasn’t quite sure of his options, so he decided to play it dumb until he
knew for sure what she was talking about. “The fight over Quinn? When Finn and
Sam broke that lamp?” He was smiling, a smile to match her stage presence, but
he could tell she had him.
She nodded, pulling her knees to her chest. “And what happened right before
that.” The heat in the room was going to kill him as he remembered that night;
how he’d found her in the room adjoining the party, sitting on the bed in a
position similar to the one she held now (though she’d had more clothes on,
fortunately). He swallowed, rubbing his hand over his face as he thought about
how she’d cried, confessed that her song hadn’t been good enough, that she’d
never be good enough.
He’d known, even then, that she’d been talking about Finn and not her song, or
at least not completely about the song. And he had held her then, as he’d held
her tonight, with the same reluctance to put his hands on her, and the same
urge to stroke her skin.
She was watching him now, but he couldn’t face her, not with the memory of him
cupping her cheek, stroking the soft skin there, and wanting so badly to make
it better. It had ended with a crash both had understood immediately, as they
flew through the door to find Quinn in tears and the football players in a
heap, shattered ceramic around them.
He was still seated forward, not looking at her, his forearms resting on his
thighs as he hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. He watched out of the corner
of his eye as her hand slid over his bare forearm, her skin warm against his,
too, before she took his hand as he had earlier. He reluctantly met her gaze,
somehow knowing the question that was to fall from her tongue.
“Would you have kissed me? If they hadn’t…?” She trailed off, and he pressed
his lips together, as if that could keep the truth out.
“No. I wouldn’t have.” Rachel studied his face a moment, before unlacing their
fingers and pulling back. Her movement brought his attention to her front, and
the reality that she was in her underwear in front of him sank back in. He
suppressed the urge to pace, knowing his action would be a dead giveaway.
“You’re a liar, Will.” It felt wrong, now, to have her calling him by his name,
when she was so close to breaking all of their other barriers. Three years
without her, and he thought it would be safe, safer to break this one, but now
he realized it may have been a fatal mistake, that invitation.
He chuckled, trying to play it off, but as he stood up, she asked, “Did you
even realize that you started to touch me more after that?” He couldn’t stop
moving at that, couldn’t let her know that yes, of coursehe knew, how he’d
tried to stop himself but the feel of her under his hand had become an
addiction he was too weak to fight. He walked around the back of the couch to
the refrigerator, grateful to find bottles of water as he berated himself for
thinking he’d been so subtle, thinking he’d kept it appropriate.
As he drank, he kept his back to her, though he could hear her shifting, her
bare skin moving against the couch as she turned to talk at his back. “You
brushed my hair back one day in your office.”
He took a long drink. “You held my hand at Sectionals. Your fingers were so
warm against mine.”
“Rachel…” It was a warning and a plea, but he had to grant it was also an
admission of guilt, just a little.
“You’d rest your hands on my waist, my back.” He thought he heard her standing
up, and he wondered where this boldness was coming from after she’d been so
meek in front of the other men in the club. “I remember the feel of your breath
on my neck, the way you stood just a little closer to me than anyone else.”
He thought he could hear her talking, still, completing the list of his crimes,
and he started to think that maybe she’d always been bolder with him because
she knew that one day he would cave for her; that maybe she saw his weakness
and knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse her forever.
A shiver ran up his spine as he drained the bottle, and he felt her voice
against the damp skin of his neck. He wondered if maybe she had the heels on,
how she could be that tall, until he realized that he was bent forward, leaning
against the wall as he dropped the bottle.
She was telling him everything he’d done wrong, telling him all of his moments
of weakness, and there were too many, so many, and he broke. “You smelled so
good, Rachel, felt so good.” He turned then, thinking that maybe she would see
the anguish in his eyes and take pity on him, stop pushing him, but he also
thought she might kiss him, and finally relieve this pressure that had been
building in his chest for years now.
Her eyes were wide, watching him, and her mouth was open, her chest moving as
she took slow, deep breaths. “I tried, I tried so hard to stop, you have to
believe me,” he had tried, and he thought that if she forgave him, maybe he
could move on, make things work with someone, with Emma, with Holly, with
anyone.
He’d managed to stop constantly thinking about her for years without her; it
was only under her knowing looks that he fell apart again, but it didn’t feel
like it had when he fell apart with the others, with Emma. It wasn’t sadness
and frustration and anger, it wasn’t the same sense of failure and loss that it
had been with them.
He stepped forward, his thumb brushing the same cheek he’d brushed years ago,
and felt the same rush as he broke; the freedom, the surge of oxygen he sucked
into his lungs as he shed this old skin, this new him lighter, ready for
victory.
She smiled at him, a real smile as her eyes fluttered shut when he dipped his
head forward, breathing hard against her neck. She was breathing heavily, only
punctuated by a quick gasp as he hesitated over her skin, moving back until
their noses brushed.
“You would have kissed me,” it wasn’t a question anymore, hadn’t ever really
been one to begin with, but he breathed out, nodding, their foreheads resting
together with his movement.
“I would have kissed you.” And then he did, making up for all of those years of
unfulfilled promises, of remembering the way she’d felt, even through all those
animal sweaters and tights.
Their mouths together was those promises realized, and his hand came to rest on
her neck, hers pressing against his chest at the same time she was pulling him
closer. She was moving them back to the chair, back to their previous
positions, and he wanted to refuse but he also wanted to see how this was going
to end.
Her hand gently pressed on his chest and he sat down, his eyes stinging at the
force of the feelings coursing through him. Will took a deep breath as she
stood back, mirroring her stance earlier. This time, however, Will looked at
her, openly taking in her long legs, the curve of her hips, her flat stomach,
her full breasts, her elegant neck. He gulped, watching as she leaned over,
again, and he suddenly wondered how many dances she could have given in a week
and a half.
He watched as she opened her mouth, about to say something, but he put his
hands on her hips and pulled her to him, until she had to put her hands on
either side of his head, their bodies separated by no more than a few inches.
She smiled, then, and he left his hands on her, realizing that this might be
the longest he’d been able to touch her, ever. The thought was powerful, and he
felt his fingers digging in just a little, making sure it was her flesh under
his.
Her hair was wild around her face, and he wanted to brush it back, but he
didn’t want to let go of her, either. Her arms were bracketed around his head,
and her face was right over his. Smelling the mint again, he felt his eyes
flutter closed before he opened them again.
She was watching his lips when he looked at her, and he felt her arms move
closer to him. “Do you have any idea how often I went home ready to scream?”
She leaned forward and he followed the movement of her hips and she rested her
weight on her forearms, her hands linking together behind his head.
He was breathing heavily, but he wanted to let her finish, hear from her how it
was just as much of a struggle for her to remain strong that it was for him.
“My skin vibrating as I remembered the way your fingers touched mine, the way
your chest felt against my back, strong and solid and like you couldn’t bear to
leave those inches between us.”
“I couldn’t.” He hadn’t meant to say it and her face registered the same
surprise at his admission. But he met her eyes and didn’t back down, even when
she let her front drop down closer, resting softly against him as she
eliminated that space he so hated.
“I couldn’t either. But you were so—“ he winced, afraid of the adjective she
was about to slice him with, “strong.” Their faces were only inches apart, and
he slid his hands from her hips to her lower back, resting at the base of her
spine. “You never gave in, never touched me like I wanted you to, thought you
one day might.” He moved his head forward, brushing their lips together and he
felt her hips roll forward, over his, grinding down onto his cock, still
beneath the uncomfortable denim.
He jerked his head back when he slid his hand over the top of her ass, the lace
soft under his palm. Watching her eyes, he began to trail his fingertips up her
spine, the way he’d wanted to all night, the way he wanted to for years. His
words were as slow as his movements, and he smirked when her eyes fluttered
closed, “You never gave up, though, did you, Rachel? You’d show up in those
damn skirts that never got longer, and those heels that kept getting bigger,
and those shirts that only got tighter.”
Her brow was furrowing in concentration as he reached the clasp on her bra,
only pausing a moment to check her face as he unclasped it. Her thighs spread
when it was opened, and she leaned back, watching him as she straddled his
waist, her back arching when he dragged the straps down her arms and off.
He put his hands on her shoulder blades and sat up, keeping her from falling
back as he leaned to her stomach, kissing the skin he knew would be so smooth
there. Her small fingers were threading through his hair and he was murmuring
against her skin, placing sporadic kisses, his tongue sneaking out to taste the
olive stomach beneath him.
“You were killing me,” he was offering her something, more than he thought he
could, more than he thought he wanted to. But she was under him finally, and he
decided this was a fair trade, his honesty for hers. “Killing me, because I had
a girlfriend that I’d tried to have for years,” he pulled back, looked up at
her and caught her eyes flaring, and he realized that maybe he was discovering
how deep these feelings ran at the same time she was, discovering them as they
left his tongue and ghosted across her skin.
She was watching him when he reached her chest, and he stop tasting her to
finish the thought, the admission he was unaware he had; “Killing me because
even as I was sliding into her it was your legs around me, no matter how much I
tried to stop.”
She gasped as he took her right breast in his mouth, his tongue flat against
her nipple as he realized what he’d told her. The message felt crude and wrong,
like a betrayal of Emma, a woman he would always love, no matter how miserably
they failed. But for all that love, he also blamed her, hated her for them not
working, for her no longer looking at him like she had in the beginning, like
Rachel was looking at him right now.
He was kissing up her neck, nearing her mouth again, and the thoughts, his
words, felt like a punishment for Emma, but a catharsis for him, so he covered
Rachel’s mouth with his and smiled when her lips parted for him.
Rachel took the chance to push him back into the chair, pulling at his t-shirt
and groaning at the loss of him when he let her lips go to take it off. Before
he could reach for her again she was standing, sliding off that impossibly
small thong and dropping it to the floor before she went for his belt, tugging
it open and pulling at the material.
Both seemed to be done talking as Rachel eased the material over his cock and
past his knees to rest on the floor around his feet. Smiling again, Rachel
turned around, sitting on his lap as she’d one earlier, this time sans
audience. As she settled against him, he brushed her hair back, sliding it over
her right shoulder so he could press gentle kisses to the spot behind her ear.
He could feel her wet heat against his shaft and as she shifted forward he
closed his eyes and opened his mouth, just pressing against the back of her
neck as he breathed slowly. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat on her lower
back and he let his fingers dance against the heated flesh as she took his cock
in her hand and leaned forward, guiding him inside her.
He exhaled sharply at the feel of being inside her, and the finally that echoed
through his brain. Rachel’s hands rested on his thighs under her as she moved
forward, a moan breaking the silence as Will wrapped his arms around her waist
and pulled her back, until she was leaning against him the way she had been
just over an hour ago.
The angle was something he’d never experienced before, but the feel of her
pressed so tightly to him was worth the effort of lifting his hips up. She was
rolling down against him, her head tilted away from on his shoulder. He watched
as she gasped and bit her lip, her hand falling in front of her to press
against her clit.
“Oh, God,” he moaned, before rolling his head back and closing his eyes. He
thrust his hips up again, before opening his eyes and reaching for her hand,
threading his fingers through hers before reaching his other hand to her cheek.
“Rach, honey, look at me,” he bit out, and momentarily lost his rhythm when she
rolled her head towards him, looking him in the eye.
He’d never seen brown look so much like black, and he kissed her again, their
hands moving together over her sensitive flesh. He was barely moving inside of
her, but when the hand not laced with his came up to cover his on her cheek, he
smiled against her at the feel of her small fingers parting his fingers in the
same fashion his had.
“Please, Will, don’t stop,” and he realized that she was jerking on top of him,
trying to create some friction again, and he doubled his efforts.
“Never,” he gasped and pressed his nose to her cheek, breathing in the scent of
her hair, the silky strands smooth against his heated flesh. “Come,” he was
shaking, trying to speak but the closer he got to the edge the less he could
focus on his own words.
“I am, I’m so close,” and she moved their hands faster, not letting go of him.
He shook his head against her cheek, pressing a kiss there. “No, God, come
back,” he was desperate, asking her like this, but he needed her to agree, to
tell him that this could work, that they were fitting together like he’d wanted
for a reason, that there was something more to this.
“Hmmm?” She was moaning but she was also trying to figure out what he was
telling her, so he moved his hand with hers from her clit, resting it cruelly
above on her stomach. “Will? I just, I need,” and he was kissing her again,
stopping her from finishing her thought, from finishing anything.
He pulled back, waiting for her to open her eyes, waiting for her to look at
him. Her hips stopped moving and he watched her long lashes rise, her eyes just
as dark as he’d seen them a minute ago. “Why, Will, why did you stop?”
And he was thinking that it might have been her saying his name again, or he
was going to ask her anyway, but he choked out, “I need, I need you to come
back with me. For me.”
Her chest heaved and she blinked slowly, as if she wasn’t understanding him, so
he kissed her again, desperately. When he pulled back, he added, “I can’t leave
you, I can’t, not for someone else to watch you, to touch you,” and he realized
he sounded like a caveman, but he couldn’t argue with himself that he was
wrong, so he just squeezed the hand he was holding.
She hadn’t said anything, not since he’d revealed the last part of himself that
was secret, and he tried not to focus on the fluttering of her muscles around
his cock as her eyes dropped shut. “Will,” and he knew she was going to fight
him, she always fought him, so he begged, he pressed his mouth to hers and he
begged, until she squeezed the hand she was holding. “Yes, God, I’ll come with
you,” and he smiled against her mouth as he felt her do the same.
He slid their hands back and felt how close she was, as he thought about her
words and how close he was, too. There wasn’t a lot of friction between them,
but he decided that wasn’t what this was about; this was about her words, about
coming together, and the press of her back against him was just that.
He guided her hand faster as he thought about her coming back with him, coming
home. With that thought he fell over the edge, squeezing her hand as she
squeezed his when she broke the edge of her own orgasm.
His face was pressed hard into her hair, and he let out a shuddering breath at
the feelings still coursing through him. Rachel rolled her head to look at him
and he pulled back to look at her face. She was smiling, a real, mega-watt
Rachel Berry smile, and he realized she was the victory he was missing.
He smiled back, and she dropped his hand when he dropped hers. She leaned
forward and he immediately missed the warmth of her, despite the feverish
temperature of his skin. She sat with her back to him, that same enticing curve
of her spine in front of him.
He knew they needed to get out of there, that he needed her to quit before she
could change her mind when she started to think about the reactions she would
have to face in Lima. Will traced her spine gently until she looked at him, and
he realized how absolutely gorgeous she was as he caught the profile of her
smile.
This, he thought, was the family he’d missed, the feeling of being with her,
of fitting. He brushed her hair back over one shoulder and she grabbed his
wrist, looking at his watch. The smile fell from her lips as she reached for
her bra, sliding it on quickly and clasping it.
Will watched as she slid on her thong, and he smiled when she giggled, “What?”
“You’re beautiful, Rachel.” It wasn’t the end of what he wanted to tell her,
but it was a start, and he stood, too, pulling up his boxers and jeans. She
turned to him once he had slid the t-shirt back over his head, and he stepped
forward, brushing his thumb over her lips with a soft smile, before pressing a
soft, closed mouth kiss there.
Running his hand over her hair, he looked at her forehead before he whispered,
“I’ve missed you, Rach.”
“Me too, Will.” Her voiced wavered and he ran his hand down her arm, taking her
hand and leading her over to the couch where his jacket was.
“Put this on, and go get your things. I’m staying at a hotel a few blocks away.
I’ll meet you outside, OK, and I’ll drive you home.” She was nodding, her eyes
damp, and he took her chin in his hands. “No one will blame you for coming
home. Everyone will be thrilled to see you again.” She smiled softly and kissed
him, before squeezing his forearm and slipping past him, as she slid on his
jacket.
The door to the room closed and Will sighed. The emotional nature of the past
few hours was sinking in, and all he wanted to do was grab Rachel and get out
of there, get her packed and get her home. As he left the room, he scanned the
club for her, hoping she’d move quickly. He passed the bartender and bouncer
with a nod, before stepping back into the cool November air.
Will slid his hands into his pockets and closed his eyes, a smile on his face
as he realized how light he felt, the feelings he’d pushed down for years now
free. He leaned against the wall of the building, turning quickly when he saw
the door open.
His breath caught as she stepped out, her hair smoothed down, but her lips
still red and swollen from his kisses. Her tennis shoes were squeaky on the
sidewalk, and her jeans were old, faded and torn, but her sweatshirt looked
new. He wondered how much, exactly, she’d changed in three years.
She tucked her purse tighter to her body and smiled at him, and he realized she
couldn’t have changed that much. Will took his jacket from her hand and he
slipped it on, before opening his hand to her. Her smile softened as she took
it, and he pulled her closer to him. As he led her down the street to his
hotel, she mumbled, “This is weird,” with a small laugh.
He waited until she met his eyes, and he decided that maybe he should listen to
Shannon more often. He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “It’s just new."
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 as if he wanted to be a werewolf when it was his fault
all his friends were werewolves. Except Jackson, Jackson was an asshole.
"I'm not going to bite him, Scott." Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Then why are you there?"
"Something happened alright!"
Fuck. How did Derek know that?
"How do you know that?"
"Scott, I just know!" Derek was practically screaming into his phone.
"Jesus fuck, calm down. Why don't you just ask Stiles then?"
"He was going to say something than some dumbass called him."
"Excuse me for wanting to talk to my best friend!" Scott paused a moment, "Put
me on speakerphone."
Derek did so, begrudgingly, "You're on."
"Stiles? Can you come to my house in like an hour?"
Stiles nodded and Derek translated, "He said he could. Now, are you done?"
"I gue--"
Derek hung up the phone and tossed it on Stiles' bed. That. . . that made fear
rise within Stiles. What if he needed to call someone because Derek had gone
crazy? And he couldn't do that because Derek threw his phone far out of his
reach.
"Stiles," Derek's voice was hard, "answer me this time. Did anything happen to
you in the last two days?" He glared down at Stiles, hands resting on the arms
of the computer chair, leaning in close to Stiles. His nostrils flared,
scenting the air, and a confused look crossed his face. Derek pulled away from
Stiles and stepped halfway across the room and stayed there for a moment.
Stiles listened to his erratic heartbeat and watched again as Derek re-assumed
his position over Stiles. Derek scented the air again, his brow furrowing, and,
again, he backed up. His eyes shone with some understanding before flashing
red.
Stiles flinched into his seat when he saw the red eyes and the action was not
lost on Derek. The alpha's eyes widened, shocked. Stiles gripped the edge of
the arm rests on his chair as Derek slowly, palms open, backed to the bed and
picked up Stiles' phone. He then carefully set it on the edge of the desk and
shuffled backwards to the window. He then jumped out and Stiles felt himself
relax.
A few moments later, his phone buzzed with a new text, "Erica says she'll be at
your house tomorrow morning."
Stiles tapped out, "Thanks! I'll get the croissants ready!" his reply was
cheery, but his heartbeat was freaking out and he was sweating profusely. He
kept telling himself that he was fine, that he was home.
An hour later, he re-applied the body spray and headed to Scott's house. When
Scott answered the door, his nose crinkled, "Dude, you reek of cheap body
spray."
Stiles just shrugged, his pulse speeding up a tad because he was in close
proximity to a werewolf again.
"Oh yeah, you can't talk," Scott lead him to the kitchen where Ms. McCall was
flipping through a magazine in her scrubs, "Hey Mom!"
She looked up, "Hey Stiles, how was the family trip?"
Stiles gave her a thumbs up, grateful that she was there, and his nerves calmed
a little. She frowned.
"Stiles lost his voice and I was wondering if you knew any ways to get it
back?" Scott supplied, giving his mother puppy dog eyes.
Melissa McCall's eyes rolled at her son, then her face split in a grin, "Are
you telling me that you miss his sarcastic and witty remarks?"
Scott half-nodded, half shook his head, "Do you?"
She got up, "Well, usually honey works pretty well, as long as he doesn't try
to use it during the healing process. Also, he'll have to drink a lot of water
over the next few days." She started to pull a teacup from the cabinet and
filled a kettle with water, "I'll make you some tea so you don't have to drink
straight honey in water."
Scott nodded, "While she does that, I'm going to go get that book we have to
read over break. You have to see this ridiculous part in there!" He raced back
up to his room to do so.
Melissa looked at Stiles, "Are you alright, Stiles? You look a little worse for
wear."
Stiles nodded and gave her two thumbs up.
"If you need anything, though, you'll let me know right?"
A lump formed in his throat. He nodded again. After a few more minutes of
silence, only interrupted by the kettle screaming, Scott came down with the
book his hand.
"Sorry, I left it under my laundry-- which I will do as soon as Stiles leaves,
I promise, Mom, and I couldn't find it."
Ms. McCall handed Stiles the tea with the honey already stirred in as Scott
began reading a section from the book for English class.
Stiles and Scott hung out for a good two hours, playing Super Mario Kart,
watching some television and eating some junk food. On the second bowl of
popcorn emptying, Stiles typed out, "I've got to get going.
Dad says I have to make something other than salad for dinner."
Scott smiled, "Yeah sure! No problem!" They walked to the door and Scott opened
it for Stiles, "Hey, why was Derek trying to get you to tell him if something
happened during your vacation? Did something happen?"
Stiles stared at Scott, wishing he could tell his best friend that:
1. Gerard was, in fact, not dead.
2. He was still trying to get an alpha's bite.
3. Kidnapped, beat, raped, and tortured Stiles.
And 4. Took away Stiles' ability to trust any werewolf.
Instead he just shrugged and gestured, saying that Stiles would talk to him
later.
Scott's eyes looked worried, "Okay," he watched Stiles head down the driveway
to his Jeep, "You'd tell me if something did happen, right?"
An image of himself shoving screwdrivers into a werewolf's eye sockets came to
his mind. Stiles smiled at him, giving a slight nod. God, gestures were so much
easier to lie through.
His best friend smiled and waved him off. Stiles drove in the direction of his
house on Scott's street, and then, as soon as he was out of sight from any
vantage point of Scott's house, he directed his car toward the animal clinic.

Dr. Deaton was kind of annoying, well, to Stiles he was. The guy gave ambiguous
answers to straight foreword questions, who does that? Also, he was some kind
of Dumbledore status wizard or something because the guy knew things that he
really shouldn't. Regardless, he would be helpful.
"You lost your voice?" Deaton asked, just as disbelieving as everyone else was.
Stiles sighed, really done with everyone's shit about losing his voice, and
kept typing things on Deaton's computer. He typed out as much as he was willing
to give information on, so only the first night, the last night, and Gerard's
theory. There was no way in Heaven, Hell or Purgatory he was going to tell
Deaton about the second night, he had enough shame as it was, "Is that
possible?" He finished, hands hovering over the keyboard.
Deaton frowned, and that was never good, "Stiles, if what you're telling me is
true, then we need to tell Derek."
Stiles shook his head, arms swinging in front of him, mouthing, "No!" And shit,
he just inadvertently told Deaton that there was more to the story than Stiles
gave. He put his head in his hands, chastising himself.
"Stiles-" He put his hand on Stiles shoulder and Stiles immediately jerked
back, eyes wide and flinching because ow. He had bite marks there, "Stiles, are
you injured?"
He thought about lying, he thought about shaking his head and acting like
nothing happened and leaving. Instead, he dragged his hoodie, plaid shirt, and
t-shirt off his torso. Stiles saw the way Deaton's jaw fell open and then
clenched shut. His head hung in degradation, away from Deaton.
"Are you in pain from all those?"
Shrugging, Stiles thought about how many times he had to pretend that his body
didn't hurt, being slammed into many vertical surfaces, nearly clawed to death
by his best friend, holding up a werewolf for two hours in a pool, Gerard
kidnapping him from his lacrosse game, etc. He could have almost ruefully
chuckled about pain and him were becoming regular pals, or that he was used to
it by then.
"And you won't tell Derek about these?" Stiles shook his head, Deaton sighed,
"Can I at least check for infections?" Stiles looked wary, he really didn't
want to be touched, "I won't hurt you, your dad would murder me." Deaton
grinned, trying to take the edge off the moment.
Eventually, after much thought deliberation, Stiles agreed. Deaton had him sit
on a cold, metal stool while he circled around Stiles with gloved hands and a
keen eye.
"You know," Deaton tried, conversationally, "maybe you can challenge Derek to
the Silent Game and win, considering how much you kids say he doesn't talk.
You'd probably win, too."
Stiles huffed out laughter, then winced as a little too much pressure was
applied to the stitched up bite on his side. The vet then asked him to stand up
and take off his pants to check the other bites. He didn't even realize he
should be embarrassed in front of the vet, because he was human, he was safe,
but he forgot about the clearly fingerprint bruises and claw pricks on his
hips.
Deaton's jaw clenched, then released. He did that a few more times until he
could finally talk, "At least tell Scott."
Stiles picked out his phone from his jeans, "You know I can't do that."
The vet opened his mouth to convince the teenager otherwise, but the bell above
the door rang in the front. "Wait here." He left to the front, and said, a
little too loudly just for Stiles' benefit, "Well hello, Derek. What brings you
in?"
Derek! Shit! Stiles quickly started yanking on his jeans, his t-shirt, plaid
shirt and hoodie, and through it all, he kept asking himself why the fuck he
had so many God damn clothes. Derek must have known that Stiles was there, his
fucking Jeep was parked out front, and his heartbeat was going to kill him with
how fast it was beating. Just as he had pulled his shirt hems down, covering
any possible skin, Derek and Deaton walked into the exam room. Stiles knew he
was leaking fear everywhere, and it had him rooted in one place.
Derek immediately searched Stiles' being, and before he could ask what Stiles
was doing there, Deaton spoke up, "Here is that mountain ash you wanted," he
pulled a jar full of the dark powder from under the examination table, along
with a leather bag, "and let me just get you those other herbs you asked
about."
"Herbs?" Derek asked, eyes never leaving Stiles.
Deaton nodded, "For his throat and his father's health, Stiles is very worried
about him going into cardiac arrest," he pulled unmarked bottles from the
shelves in the cabinets and carefully put them in the leather bag, along with
the mountain ash. He then wrote down something on a piece of paper and put that
directly in Stiles' hand, "Do as I wrote down, and all should be fine. Come by
tomorrow and tell me how it went."
Stiles swallowed dryly, nodding. He took the bag and held it tight against his
chest. He made to go out the front door, which was behind Derek, but had a hard
time pushing past the 'Werewolf! Do not approach! Dangerous!' threat level
going off in his head. After a split second, Stiles pushed past the warning and
skirted around Derek's body to the exit.
As Stiles was almost out the door, he heard Derek ask, "Something happened to
Stiles."
Inside his Jeep, his heart was slowly going back to a near-common pace. Once he
pulled into his driveway and raced back inside, he read the note Deaton gave
him, that had been crushed in his palm all the way from the clinic. It said,
"All the names are on the inside of the caps. Boil the calamus in water and
gargle it for your throat. Rub the aloe on your bites. Give your dad some
saffron tea before dinner. You know how to use mountain ash. Go talk to Chris
Argent, he can help you. Stay safe."
Chapter End Notes
     Stiles' Jeep really needs a name, an ACTUAL name. Like how my Blazer
     is Ivan the Awesome, my sister's Custom Century is Elmer, and my
     friend Cami's Suburban is Bertha.
     Also, the Camaro needs a name too.
***** Youth *****
Chapter Summary
     Batman and Catwoman reunite!
Chapter Notes
     Song of the chapter is Youth by Daughter.
     Also, I am a bit of a douche-nozzle for not posting this yesterday,
     oops!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The boredum was palapable in Stiles' room and everything inside his room was
dimly lit by the streetlight outside. His window was unlocked, that's what he
got for having werewolf friends: broken locks, and he could hear the night
noises around him. Wind rustling the trees, cars speeding by his house, and a
light thump of feet on his roof. It was around two in the morning and he had
not fallen asleep yet. Warily, Stiles tilted his head on his pillow so he could
see the window and he saw two alpha red eyes.

Derek pulled himself through the window, feet landing softly on the floor, and
he scanned the room quickly. Red eyes landed on Stiles, and they widened a
little. There was a small huff, and the soft hush of hands sliding past denim,
"I thought you'd be asleep."

Stiles watched, heart racing, but he told himself to chill out. There was a
glue and mountain ash ring around his bed, and the chances of him actually
getting up were the same as Gerard living to see his next birthday. Therefore,
he lay there, watching Derek shuffle around his room, audibly sniffing, before
he sat down in the computer chair, tentatively.

A silence settled over the two of them, Stiles watching Derek, Derek avoiding
his gaze. Eventually, much later than Stiles would have let the silence drag on
for if he had his voice, Derek commented on the smells in his room, "It smells
like aloe, Icy Hot, ibuprophen, and pain in here. A lot of pain, and blood.
It's small, but it's still there."

The human just stared at him, unmoving.

Derek gritted out, like it physically pained him to get the words out, "If you
won't tell me what happened, at least let me manage the effects of it."

The silent 'why' hung in the air, and Derek picked up on it.

"I don't like having debts," the werewolf awkardly shifted in the chair, a
little squak escaping it, "so can I do that much, at least?"

"No." Stiles' voice wasn't all back, but the calamus stuff had really helped.
It at least got him to be able to project sound with his lip movements, and it
took away a bit of the rough scratching up and down his throat.

Derek's glowing alpha eyes narrowed, "Why not?"

"Mine."

And Derek froze, eyes wide. Stiles guessed that everytime he offered the pain-
seeper to someone they jumped on the chance, and that he was the first person
to not only deny Derek, but to say that the pain was his and his alone. A growl
rose within Derek's chest, not a menacing one, probably an irritated one, but
it still made Stiles tense up, nonetheless.

Fear was oozing out of Stiles, hands clutched at the bedspread on his stomach,
"Would you fucking stop that?!" Derek snapped, a little too loudly and he
cocked his head to listen for the sheriff's breathing, "I"m not going to hurt
you! No matter how much you piss me off, I will not hurt you, understand?"

Stiles was still, body still tense, as he watched Derek sigh exasperatedly and
get up to flip the light switch. Light flooded his vision, making his pupils
hurt a little with the sudden snap to attention. He could see Derek's jaw
flexing, like he had taffy sticking his teeth together.

"There! You can see me, now would you quit with the fear leaking?"

Snail-pace slow, Stiles relaxed his fingers and sat up in his bed, legs crossed
under him. He was about to tell Derek to go away so he could sleep, a lie, but
Derek spoke before him.

"Where is your pain?"

Uh, nope, Stiles was not letting that happen. He glared and shook his head.
Derek, frustrated, probably on the verge of giving up, tried to step foreword,
but was hit with the mountain ash barrier. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

"Stiles, I already told you I wasn't going to hurt you."

The teenager still wasn't buying it.

The pair of them stayed that way, in a tense battle of 'let me help you' and
'no werewolf boy,' so far, Stiles was winning. He couldn't help it when a smirk
found it's way onto his face a little while later after Derek circled every
possible inch of the bed for a way past it. Stiles, however, got a little too
comfortable and reached for the glass of water his dad put by his bedstand, out
of the barrier's reach, before he turned in, and Derek seized the opportunity.

The alpha grabbed Stiles' wrist, not tightly, but enough for him to start
sucking pain out, and at first he was triumphant about it. His veins took on
the black-like color and then he was physically reeling back from Stiles,
shocked, "How. . . ?" Derek tried.

In answer, Stiles headed to his bathroom, pulled two allergy pills from their
box, walked back to his room and displayed them for Derek, Vanna White style.
He then popped them into his mouth and chugged some water. After, he flicked
his lights off and climbed under his covers again.

It's not that he actually wanted to sleep, he would much rather avoid it,
really, but Derek needed to take a hint and go away. So there he was, waiting
for the drowsiness of allergy medicine to kick in and take him to sleep, which
would be plagued by nightmares, he was sure. Derek was still in the room,
Stiles could see his outline from the streetlight and his eyes, and he was just
standing there.

Fifteen minutes passed and Stiles' eyelids were drooping. They slipped closed
and he was in the state of half-awake, half-asleep when he heard Derek quietly
say something.

"I'll find out what's giving you so much pain eventually, Stiles, you know
that, and when I do. . ." there was a sigh, "I don't know how to fix this if
you won't let me help you."

Stiles barely managed a word before he completely fazed out, "Mine."


He was trapped inside of a box with sharp claws poking out on all sides, and
the box was steadily getting smaller around him. Stiles tried to push on the
edges, but he ended up getting his hands sliced open in the process.

There was blood everywhere, dripping and forming a pool in the shrinking box.
Stiles thought he was going to drown in his own blood or he was going to be
impaled by claws. Luckily, he was given a rough shake and a female voice called
his name.

Honey eyes snapped open, chest heaving, as he looked up at Erica, who had her
eyebrows knitted together in concern, "Stiles! I've been trying to wake you up
for an entire minute. Did you not hear me?"

Stiles shook his head, slowly pulling the covers off his sweat-damp body. He
headed to the bathroom, to brush his teeth and use the toilet, and when he came
back, Erica was sniffing the air worridly.

He awkwardy gestured to his bed for them to sit on and she sat next to him.
Stiles studied her, he hadn't seen her in about a mouth and a half. Her blonde
hair was perfectly in place and there was no scratch or scar on her body,
werewolf's were lucky. but underneath all that, her eyes looked worn out, like
there was nothing that could freak her out any longer. If Stiles had to venture
a guess, he would say that she was resigned to something, he couldn't pinpoint
what, but he had a guess that it wasn't anything good.

Her hands were clasped in her lap, "Stiles, how are you? And don't give me the
same shit you've been giving to everyone else since the big lacrosse game. Tell
me, how are you really?"

Stiles knew that he couldn't lie to her, she was there when he got his ass
kicked by Gerard the first time, but he also knew that he couldn't risk telling
her what happened. He pulled his phone from his nightstand, "Nightmares
sometimes, but I'll be fine."

"You were having one when I got here, and Derek said you were having them last
night too."

Stiles' head snapped up. Derek had stayed long enough for him to see Stiles go
into REM sleep?

"He wanted to make sure you were okay." She leaned back, casually, "He also
said that you put a mountain ash ring around your bed to keep him away."

Hey, he did. Wait, then why wasn't it working now? Bending foreword, he
examined the line running around the bed and saw the culprit: his dad's
footprint in the thin line. His dad must have come in, shuffled his feet
around, like he sometimes does, enough times to break the glue line, it was
only Elmer's, and went on his merry way without realizing what he did.

"It broke, huh?"

He sighed, nodding, "How are you, then?"

Smiling tightly, she flipped her hair over her shoulders, "Just fine."

"What happened?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

She wouldn't budge past that, it was written all over her face, so he changed
the subject, "Is that the only reason you came over? To see how I was? Or did
you come here because you've finally decided to leave Boyd in favor of all
this?" He gestured to himself ridiculously, eyebrows waggling.

A laugh escaped her throat, "Boyd would have your hide if he knew you said
that!"

Unconsciously, he stiffened.

"Whoa! What was that for? I didn't really mean that, it was , you know,
metaphorical. Boyd would never purposely hurt you, you know that." Stiles
nodded, his body relaxing. Erica took one of his hands in hers and held it,
"Derek said that you smell like pain, a lot of pain, and blood. While he isn't
wrong, you also smell like sadness and anger."

Stiles made a face.

"I know you don't like when we sniff you, but I need to know, Batman, what can
I do to help get rid of that smell."

Stiles looked at their hands, her thumb was stroking over his knuckles, and it
dawned on him. He wasn't afraid of being near Erica, a werewolf, but he was
afraid of being near Derek, and he was uneasy around Scott. Using his powers of
deduction, he found out that it was because there were no females during those
nights. Erica was a girl, and that meant that she was safe.

His shoulders relaxed fully and he rested his head on her shoulder, "Just let
it pass, Catwoman."

As soon as she read that, her fingers tightened on his, "I can't just do that!
You're my friend and I want to help you! Derek wants to help you! Why won't you
let us take away some of your pain?"

"It's mine."

"Derek said you said that last night, too. Which was after he got a snippet of
it from you. I asked him how bad it was, and do you know what he said?" She
didn't wait for Stiles to say anything, "He said that it was excruciating and
he didn't understand how you're still standing with it."

"Pain is all in the head, my dear."

"Stiles! I'm trying to be serious here!"

"So am I." After she read that, he typed out a long explanation, "Pain is all
in our heads, that's why everyone has a different pain tolerance. If someone
says that getting hit with a baseball hurts like a bitch, then when you get hit
by one, you'll automatically say it was hurt like a bitch. Well, most of the
time. Monks in China have learned to suppress their pain so much that they can
balance on the tips of spears by their stomachs and have bricks broken on top
of them while they lay on beds of nails. Now, I'm not saying that I'm a Chinese
monk, but I am saying that running around with werewolves has taught me to keep
my pain to myself. I learned to push it aside and keep going because I am
human. Holy shit balls, this would be so much easier to say."

Erica's lips quirked up at the end, and then, "You know Scott, Boyd, Derek and
I don't hold that against you, right? I can't say anything for Peter, Jackson,
or Issac, because I don't know, but I would think they feel the same way. Being
human isn't bad, alright? But neither is not telling anyone something hurts."

Stiles nodded, half believing the human bit. Derek sure seemed like he held
Stiles being human against him. Hell, he often liked to display that he was
stronger, faster, better than Stiles was, if all the shoving into walls and
steering wheels were anything to go by.

"Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Something didn't feel right two
days ago."

"Derek said that too. What do you mean by that?"

"I can't say anything about how Derek felt, but when you were gone I didn't
feel right. I woke up in the middle of the night needing to puke for two days,
and I somehow thought it was something concerning you. Everytime I thought I
would hurl, nothing came out, but the nasty feeling stayed in my stomach until
dawn." Erica paused, "Did Scott say anything about something like that?"

Stiles shook his head, but he did realize how weird it was for Scott to want to
invite him over so soon after getting back from a trip. Usually, they let each
other rest for a day before calling each other over. Also, he realized, Scott
didn't let Stiles out of his sight for most of the time they spent together,
and his eyes were always trained on Stiles' person. It was as if he was
searching for an explanation, or that he was making sure Stiles was still
there.

"At any rate," Erica sighed, standing up, "I just wanted to make sure that you
were alright," she moved toward Stiles, unsure.

Stiles stood up next to her, catching on, and wrapped his arms around her
shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. "You're a good person, Catwoman," Stiles
rapsed out.

Erica pulled back and punched him lightly on the arm, "You're not so bad
yourself, Batman." They smiled at their nicknames, then, "Stiles? You'll tell
me if this," she gestured to his bed and him, "gets any worse, right?"

Stiles nodded, giving a not-so-convincing smile. She gave his hand one last
squeeze and then she was dashing out the window. He couldn't help but think, as
she landed on the grass below, that he had a front door and she was welcome to
use it. Hell, all the werewolves he knew could use it.


He kept telling himself that it was just a doorbell, it wasn't going to hurt
him. It was just a doorbell. . . that was attatched to a very scary, very
threatening, badass, handsome, werewolf hunter that had a crazy father.
Gulping, Stiles sucked it up and pushed the bell. Moments later, Allison
answered the door, looking as beautiful as ever.

"Stiles?" she looked around behind him, "What are you doing here?"

Coming prepared was severely underrated, in Stiles' mute opinion, and he held
out his phone for her to read, "Hey Allison! I lost my voice, hence the phone,
and I was wondering if your dad was home?"

"My dad? Why do you need him?"

He skipped ahead in his pre-planned responses, "I need to ask him some things."

"Uh sure," she frowned, "Come in, and I'll go get him." She walked off into the
house and he stuffed his hands in his pockets waiting for her.

As Stiles was contemplating just bolting out the door, Chris Argent and Allison
returned, "Mr. Stilinski," he nodded and Stiles held up a hand in a wave,
"Allison tells me that you want to talk to me, as well as that you have lost
your voice." He smiled, "Not much talking will be going on then, I suppose."

"Dad," Allison warned, "be nice."

"I apologize," Chris held out his hands, "let's talk in the living room." They
headed to the comfortable couches and sat down. Allison stood awkwardly at the
edge of the couch.

"I'll be up in my room if you need me, both of you."

They nodded and Stiles watched her leave and waited until he could hear
footsteps above his head before locking eyes with Chris Argent. Truthfully,
when Stiles had been driving to the house, he had an outline of what he was
going to say, how he was going to say it, and all these other things, but as
soon as he was there, he realized he couldn't remember any of it.

"Could I offer you a drink?" Chris ventured, equally unsure.

Stiles began to shake his head, and then changed for a vigorous nod, "Could I
have some very hot water and honey, with a spoon?" Chris looked at him oddly,
but aquiesed to the request. Minutes later, Stiles was pulling out the bottle
of calamus and pouring a little into the hot water with honey already poured in
it. He used the spoon to stir it up and had the cup halfway to his mouth when
Chris asked, "What did you put in there?"

Stiles pushed the cap of the bottle to him as he drank. The stuff was magic on
the throat and he would praise Deaton everyday for giving it to him. He set the
cup down and scrolled through his phone to a very long message. Stiles then
held it out for Chris to take, which he did, and he waited while the older man
read the gist of Gerard's escapades.

"And he said this to you?" Mr. Argent asked, looking up from the phone,
finished, "He said that he was using bitten hunters to try to make an alpha?"
Stiles nodded and watched as he put his face in his hands. While Chris tried to
wrap his head around his father's antics, Stiles downed the last of his tea and
waited. "And he tried to use you as the guniea pig bite subject?"

Stiles had not explicity said that he was the guinea pig, but it was implied
pretty heavily, so he just nodded at the man.

"Do you know where he is now?"

Stiles shook his head.

"Thank you, Stiles, really, for tell me this. I'll have to be on guard for when
he does come back to town, and thanks to you, I'll be ready."

Chris got up to escort Stiles out, thinking they were finished, but Stiles held
up a hand. He retrieved his phone from where Chris Argent had put it on the
table and scrolled through his planned messages to the one he was most
conflicted about writing, "There's one more thing. I am asking you, and you can
say no, to teach me some basic fighting moves."

"You want to know how to fight? Like a human or a werewolf?"

Stiles held up two fingers, skipping to another message, "I don't know if I was
chosen because I'm human or because he has some personal beef with me, but I
want to be able to protect myself when he does come back. Even if it's not for
me."

Mr. Argent nodded, "Of course, uhm," he looked around, "I'll have to see when I
can help you, but I should be able to tell you by tomorrow. That sound okay?"

Stiles nodded vigorously and they rose for Stiles to leave. The last message on
his phone read, "Thank you so much for this, and I'll try not to break things."

"No problem," they reached the door and Chris stuck out his hand for Stiles to
shake it. Stiles took his hand and they shook, "If I may ask, and I hope I'm
not being rude, but how did you get out of a cage full of twelve rabid omegas?"

The teenager's hand dropped to his side and he smiled tightly, almost like a
grimace, and left the house with a final wave. He felt a little better, in the
fact that he would be able to learn some proper defense moves, and that Chris
Argent, badass, handsome, werewolf hunter, was in the know about his father.


Back in Deaton's clinic, after hours, Stiles was having his wounds looked over
again. Well, the ones below his hips because there had been an interruption the
first time. Deaton was going over the stitches on his thigh when he spoke,
"Derek's really worried about you."

Stiles scoffed, he really couldn't imagine Derek really worried, possibly
begrudgingly concerned, but never worried.

"Really," Deaton moved to the next bite farther down his legs, "He wanted to
know if I had told you anything and I had to circle talk him around the truth."
Stiles laughed, liking that Deaton admitted that he spoke weirdly, "Well,
you've taken very good care of them and I don't think I'll have to fix them up,
but just keep an eye on them for a few days and keep rubbing aloe on them."

Nodding, Stiles picked up his clothes and started to put them back on. He was
thinking about how much easier it was to sneak around town when he didn't have
school to worry about. It was nice, no Harris, no homework, no werewolves
trying to lock him in the school. God, he loved summer vacation.

"How is the calamus treatment?" Deaton's voice cut through his thinking
abruptly. He noticed that Deaton turned away while he was dressing, which was
nice, and only turned back when he was sure Stiles was done, even nicer.

Stiles held up the 'okay' sign used in scuba diving and smiled. "How long will
it take to get my voice completely back?" he wrote on a piece of paper on they
had been using since the exam started.

"Only a few more days, a week maximum. As long as you haven't torn your vocal
chords beyond repair, but I don't think you'll have to worry about that. It
just sounds and looks like you over-exerted your voice and scratched it raw.
You'll be able to talk very soon, I guarantee."

Beaming, Stiles pumped his fist in the air once, just as a darkly handsome
werewolf came in the back door. Welp, time for Stiles to hit the road, and he
was almost to the door when Derek put a hand softly on his shoulder. Regardless
of how soft it was, it could have been a fucking cloud for God's sakes, he
jumped and was instantly on alert.

"Derek," Deaton warned, "I advise you not to touch Mr. Stilinski without his
permission."

Derek's eyes were confused, then they faded into a commanding stare, "Stiles,
we need to talk about--"

The teenager shook his head firmly and backed out the door. Nope, nope, nope.
He was not going to talk to Derek. Derek was an alpha with red eyes, sharp
teeth, bloodlust. Derek was a werewolf. Derek was a man. It just wasn't going
to happen, even if he did have a witness.

"Mr. Stilinski has had a long day, Derek. Let him leave." Stiles thanked Deaton
with gestures and his eyes, "Make sure your father keeps drinking the saffron
once a week, at least, and here is something to help you stay asleep throught
the night." He handed Stiles another bottle of mixed herbs, "Good-bye, Mr.
Stilinski." Deaton called as Stiles was bolting out the door to his Jeep.

Stiles knew that there would be a time and place to tell Derek snippets of what
happened, but it was not that time. Maybe it'd only be time when Stiles was
graduated from college, or in his eighties, or never. He also knew that sooner
or later, Derek would get fed up with Stiles dodging his every question and
force Stiles to tell him. He shuddered, he didn't want anyone forcing him to do
anything ever again.

Derek was only trying to help, he acknowledged that, but Stiles didn't think he
deserved or wanted his help. Life didn't work that way for him.
Chapter End Notes
     Teen Wolf is the reason I now have a Life Ruiner list of people
     BECAUSE THE ENTIRE CAST IS ON IT!
***** Bleeding Out *****
Chapter Summary
     Greenberg is kind of a creep, and Finstock is crazy.
Chapter Notes
     Title is Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons. Seriously my favorite song
     by them, hands down.
     Finstock is wonderful and I just want to have a mini Finstock that
     bitches all day and I call him Cupcake.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was three-thirty in the morning and Stiles was walking around his house as
quietly as possible, unable and unwilling to sleep. He knew Deaton gave him the
sleeping stuff, but what if the stuff still had him dreaming and he couldn't
wake up from it? What if he was trapped in his own  head until it wore off? He
wasn't brave enough to find out until he asked those questions to Deaton.

Therefore, there he was, shuffling softly around his father's door for, what
felt like, the hundredth time that night and slowly making his way around to
the kitchen, living room, and back to his room. About an hour prior, he
contemplated going outside and circling the block, but he didn't want to have
an accidental repeat of. . .

He reached his room once again and went inside at the same time Derek was
hopping through the window. They both froze, Stiles in fear and Derek in
confusion.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Stiles slowly shut his door and turned on the light, his retinas burned at the
sudden change. His feet skirted around Derek, giving him a good three foot
radius around the werewolf, to his desk chair. Plopping down, he grabbed the
white board and wrote out, "What do you want?"

"I asked you a question first," Derek said childishly.

"Too fucking bad." Stiles wasn't taking any of his shit, "What do you want?"

"Nothing," and that was the 'nothing' that rang with a thousand reasons why he
was there. Derek could tell Stiles knew that and wouldn't meet his eyes. He was
also substaintially pissed at being blindsided by Stiles' fury at him and
didn't really know how to react to that. The alpha tried breathing to calm
himself and not cause himself to lash out at the teenager, and in the process,
he caught hints of fear, heavy herbs, and very strong, negative emotions, "Why
do you smell like that?"

Stiles waved his hand, clearly telling him to elaborate on what exactly he was
talking about.

"Like. . ." Derek searched for the words, "an apothecary threw up on you, like
resentment and anger-- no hatred."

"Twelve words, I'm impressed." Stiles jeered, then licked his lips, "Am I not
allowed to try to get my voice back or have hate toward things and people? Or
is that strictly reserved for werewolves?"

He rolled his eyes at the teenager, "You can do what you want and hate whoever
and whatever you want." Silence settled over them for a good ten minutes. The
alpha totally expected the quiet to be broken by the hyperactive teenager, but
then he rememberd that the aforementioned teenager couldn't use his voice.

Stiles was, however, getting restless with the silence as well, "First you tell
me I smell like pain, then apothecary shops, resentment, and hatred. What's
next? Gonna tell me I smell like Teen Spirit?" Stiles could do it, he could re-
teach himself not to be afraid of Derek.

The werewolf's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile, "That's a girl's
deodorant."

"Congratulations."

"Go to sleep."

"No."

"Deaton gave you stuff so you could go to sleep, take them."

"Why?"

"Stiles."

"Gonna tie me up and make me do it?"

Derek was taken a back by that. He physically recoiled a bit, as if he had been
slapped, "I would never do that, you know that."

Of course Stiles did. That's what Kate Argent did to him, what Gerard Argent
did to Stiles. Suddenly, the urge to tell someone, anyone, that knew the extent
of Gerard's malevolence became almost impossibly strong. His fingers itched to
write the story down on the whiteboard and he felt Derek watching his jaw set
and the uncertainty in his being.

"Stiles," Derek's voice was softer and closer. He was crouched in front of
Stiles, a hand hovering above his knee, "you do know that, right?"

Before Stiles could swallow the forming lump in his throat, his father lightly
knocked on his door.  "Stiles? Are you still up?" Derek was jumping behind the
door as Stiles sat frozen in his chair.

The door opened a foot or two, "Stiles?" the sheriff pushed his head in and
shook it, forgetting, once again, that his son couldn't talk, "sorry, forgot
you couldn't answer yet. What are you still doing up?"

Stiles pulled himself together, "Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Bathroom."

Stiles nodded, "I'll turn off the light and climb in my bed soon, don't worry."

"Please do, I don't want you going anywhere tired. You know that driving tired
is like driving with a point oh-seven blood alcohol level, right?"

"So you've said."

"Okay, well I'll see you later. Go to bed."

"Later, Dad."

His dad closed the door and Derek watched Stiles do as he said he would. Stiles
took a pinch of the magical sleeping herbs and swallowed them with a glass of
water. He then switched his lights off and crawled into bed, limbs suddenly
heavy.

Derek was still there, watching him, even as he crept to the bed and sat on the
edge, "You know I'll find out, and in the meantime, I can pester you like you
pester me sometimes."

Stiles sort of caught the words and reached blindly for Derek's hand. He patted
it twice, lightly, and then the herbs took their toll and Stiles' hand rested
on top of Derek's until the werewolf was sure Stiles was asleep. The werewolf
then slowly stroked Stiles frail, human hand and set it on the mattress next to
his body. Derek then climbed out the window, back into the solitude of the
night.


Stiles woke up to 'Hungry Like a Wolf' blasting by his head. Blindly, he
slapped his hand around until he found his cell phone and answered the call by
blowing into it.

"Stiles! At least, I hope you this is you," Scott paused, probably listening
closely, "yep, it's you! Anyway, Finstock wanted to get the lacrosse team
together for a summer training thing. He said that he doesn't want to suck next
year and then something about Greenberg, so you in?"

Tiredly, Stiles turned on his computer while Scott talked and when he needed an
answer, Stiles found a video of someone saying his answer, "Yes!" a cheerful
woman's voice answered, very happy about something or other.

Scott's voice had the hint of a smile in it, "Okay, awesome. Glad you found
something to help you communicate with while your voice is AWOL," there was a
rustle of something in the background then, "So, it's from noon to four at the
field. Finstock says to come ready to go or he'll make it all suicides, and
could I get a ride with you?"

Hitting the replay button, Stiles answered via the video.

"Cool, so I'll see you in an hour-ish?"

Again, Stiles played the video.

"See you then!" And Scott hung up.

Stiles pulled himself to the bathroom and examined the contusions and wounds
under his pajamas. They still hurt a little, especially the ones near his ribs,
but they looked well on their way to healing. The welts from the first night
were already turning an ugly green, the bruises from the second night were
smaller and therefore already yellowing, and the bites and claw streaks were
healing properly. The two that had stitches were close to being taken out of
the stitches, for that, he was thankful.

He turned around to see the extent of his back and found that many of the
bruises and scratches there were larger and fewer. When he first examined
himself, he didn't really pay attention to his back, but he saw that there was
damage on there as well. The contusions looked horrible on his pale skin, but
he was thankful that he didn't take off his shirt a lot.

Regardless, Stiles went through his morning routine, sans shower because he was
just going to get sweaty and gross anway, and bounded down the steps to the
kitchen. His dad was in the kitchen drinking coffee and purusing the fridge
when Stiles sat at the counter.

"You would think that after checking the fridge for the fourth time, I would
realize that there is nothing that is readily available to eat." The sheriff
sighed and turned to his son, "Did you get to sleep last night, or this
morning?"

Stiles nodded and gestured toward his father in a 'Did you?' gesture.

"Yeah, I got back to sleep for three hours, went into the office until fifteen
minutes ago, and now I'm trying to find something to eat before going back."

Stiles got up and rummaged through the cabinets and fridge. He produced all the
fixings for a sandwich and immediately made his father the healthiest sandwich
he could muster. Setting it in front of his father, he grabbed some energy bars
and stuffed them in his pockets.

"Thanks," his dad examined the meal and conspiratorily looked to the fridge,
probably to see if he could sneak on some mayonaisse or something equally as
bad, "going somewhere?"

Stiles nodded and mimed lacrosse movements and a puppy face.

"Season doesn't start for another ten months or so, and aren't you two doing
cross country? Shouldn't you be running long distances instead?"

Shrugging, Stiles tried to do his best Finstock charade.

"Sometimes I think Finstock is losing it."

Stiles laughed, a little sound coming out, and nodded.

"Be safe, alright? And I promise to do the same." He then muttered into the
bread, "because paperwork is so dangerous."

Patting his father's back empathetically, Stiles gathered his lacrosse gear and
headed to his Jeep. The drive over to Scott's he wondered how they weren't
going to die in the heat. It was already around seventy-five and it wasn't the
hottest part of the day yet, so that afternoon was going to suck.

Scott seemed to agree too, "So since it's already hot and it's only going to
get hotter, today is going to suck major balls. Why couldn't Finstock have
scheduled this for later in the day, like seven or something?"

Stiles patted his friend's shoulder, and in that pat, Stiles realized that he
was becoming alright with Scott again. Scott was his buddy, his best friend,
his bro, and he would never hurt Stiles. He mentally relaxed.

A few moments passed and then Scott said, "Your scent just changed. Like it
smelt like you were scared and now it's more like you're. . . I don't know. . .
not scared?" Scott frowned, "Finstock's terrifying sometimes, but it's nothing
to get worked up over."

Stiles blinked at the road ahead of him, trying not to convey anything that
would belie what Scott said.

"Sorry," Scott amended, "I know you don't like it when I sniff you like that."

Thankfully, Stiles pulled into the parking lot at that moment. He smiled at
Scott and they both hopped out, gathered their gear, and headed to the field.
Jackson, Danny, Greenberg, Issac, Finstock, and everyone else was already
there.

"McCall! Stilinski!" Finstock bellowed across the field, "You're late!"

Scott checked his phone, "You said noon! It's only eleven fifty!"

"Everyone else is here, so you should be too!"

Jackson smirked behind Finstock and watched them approach with cool eyes. Danny
looked bored, but smiled a little as they apporached. Issac gave a wave to
Scottt, but not to Stiles. Greenberg eyed Stiles critically, like there was
something wrong with his face.

Stiles tossed his stuff down and pulled out an energy bar when Finstock
summoned him. "Stilinski! Get over here!" Stiles walked over, chewing, "Because
of your unexpectedly outstanding performance last season, I expect you to be
first line next season; therefore, you're going to practice like you are."

Nodding, Stiles kept chewing, glancing to Jackson's unhappy face.

"Keep up with Jackson and Scott, can you do that?"

He nodded again, Jesus, no talking was really a pain in the ass.

"You gonna answer me, Stilinski, or are you going to reenact a bobblehead all
day?"

Scott's voice rose from behind them, "He lost his voice, Coach."

"What? How the hell did you do that? No, you know what? Nevermind." He blew his
whistle, "Ten laps around the field! Let's go!"

And so it went. They ran, did full field suicides and ply-outs, and practiced
passing for a good half hour. When the heat reached it's maximum, many of the
guys tugged off their shirts and threw them on the grass. Since they weren't
doing any tackling yet, Finstock didn't reprimand them. All but Stiles,
afterall, he couldn't.

Instead, Stiles fanned himself with his damp shirt, hoping to get air
ciruclating past his skin. He took a swig from his water bottle and caught
Greenberg giving him an odd look, so, naturally, Stiles gave him one right
back. That got Greenberg to look a little bashful and head back to the field
right before Finstock yelled at him, "Greenberg! Get your ass back on the
field! Suicides go!"

They continued being put through Finstock Hell and when four o'clock came
around, everyone, omitting the three werewolves, fell to the ground in
exhaustion. Finstock took that opportunity to compare the two groups.

"Maybe if you jack wagons practiced as hard as these guys," he thumped Issac on
the back, "you would still be standing, and hey! You'd be first line! Except
Danny, Danny is the best goalie we've ever had and is already first line."

There was a collective grumble from the boys on the ground and many middle
fingers held up in the werewolves' directions. Eventually though, they all
pulled themselves to a movable postion and manuevered their way to their bags.

"Locker rooms are open for any of you that want them," Finstock informed them,
"Same time tomorrow, be here," turning to Scott, "on time!" and he headed to
the school locker room.

A few of the guys immediately went to their cars, but others, like Scot and
Stiles, trudged up to the school. It was only when they were in the locker room
did Stiles realize his problem. How was he going to shower without showing his
skin? Greenberg then showed up next to him and awkardly got his attention.

"Hey, Stiles, do you want to shower?"

Stiles looked at him, creeped out. Sure, Greenberg was good looking, but he was
also kind of creepy, not Matt creepy, just awkward creepy.

"Not with me! I just thought that you would want to shower in privacy, you
know?"

Stiles squinted, suspicious.

"There's a couple single showers in the old locker room. They still work, and
it's still kept clean, just, nobody uses it." He huffed, embarrassed, "I just.
. ."

Snapping, Stiles got his attention, and he motioned for Greenberg to lead the
way. There was, in fact, single showers in the old locker room, which was
really clean, and Stiles smiled at him, thankful. He dumped his stuff on a
bench and grabbed a towel, his change of clothes, and his body wash.

"Stiles?" Greenberg asked, watching him, "Are you alright? Really alright?"

Why would Greenberg, of all people, ask him that? They weren't good friends,
they hardly spoke to each other, and the only connections they had were
lacrosse and getting harassed by Finstock. Naturally, Stiles lied and smiled
affimatively at Greenberg. He then went to a shower, hung his clothes on a
hook, then his towel, closed the curtain, stripped and washed the sweat and
grime from his body.

It didin't take him long to wash and he was finished quickly, giving his
injuries a quick once over before he was toweling off.

"Stiles?" Scott  yelled through the room.

Greenberg answered for him, "He's in here!"

"What's he doing in here?"

"Showering."

Stiles could practically hear the eye roll from Scott, "I know that, but why
here?"

"Privacy?"

"Privacy?" Scott sighed, "Whatever."

Stiles pulled on his clothes quickly and pulled the curtain back. Scott was
fresh and ready to go and Greenberg looked pained to be caught in an odd
situation. Stiles packed away his things and gestured for Scott to lead the
way. On the way past Greenberg, he gave him a 'thank-you' squeeze on the
shoulder.

"Greenberg is kind of weird." Scott said as they headed to Stiles Jeep. Stiles
didn't deny it, but he also didn't say that he was grateful Greenberg offered
to show him that, even if it was sketchy. "You wanna go for pizza? Or tacos? Or
burgers? Anything really, I'm just hungry!"

Stiles smiled and headed to the mall, figuring they would decide when they got
there. When he pulled into the parking lot, they grabbed their wallets, phones,
and keys. While Stiles was reaching into the depths of his bag for his phone,
he felt a crinkle of paper and pulled it out.

It was from Greenberg, he could tell by the handwriting at the top. It said,
"Chris Argent told me to give this to you." On the back, there was an elegant
scrawl that said, "I can start you tomorrow morning around eight. Contact me
for your confirmation." There was a number written next to it and Stiles
quickly fished out his phone and added it into his contacts.

"You coming?" Scott said over the hood of the Jeep.

Stiles shot out a thumbs up and put his wallet and keys in his pockets. As they
walked inside, Stiles texted Mr. Argent, "Got your message, I'll be there."

A few minutes later, he replied, "I'll see you then."

"Do I need to bring anything?" There was a longer delay as he waited for the
reply and Scott decided he wanted Mexican food and they stood in line at some
obscure Mexican joint. Stiles was pointing to the things he wanted, for Scott
to order for him, when his phone went off again.

"Running shoes and comfortable clothes."

"Will do. Thank you." Stiles pocketed the phone and Scott ordered their food.
They ate in the food court, watching people pass and Scott talked about how he
was working more at the clinic, how he was doing some independent studying on
various subjects, including werewolves, and how he was trying to get better at
controlling himself on his own.

Stiles nodded in the appropriate times, offered the right advice, and tried to
be as supportive as possible. He was genuinely proud of his best friend for
getting his shit together after the spring.

It was around ten when Stiles dropped Scott off at home and drove himself to
his own house. He was beat and immediately got ready for bed, making sure to
drink the calamus stuff. He nearly missed the bed when he fell into it and was
asleep within minutes.
Chapter End Notes
     Does Greenberg really exist? I mean, we've seen the posts on tumblr
     about Greenberg being a girl, but Finstock refers to Greenberg as a
     guy. JEFF DAVIS! I REQUEST THAT THIS GETS CLEARED UP!
     Also, not a lot of differentiation between Give Me A Reason and Not
     Broken Just Bent for this chapter, but the changes are a-coming!
***** Sweet Nothing *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek can't draw trees.
Chapter Notes
     Song is Sweet Nothing by Calvin Harris feat. Florence Welch.
     I have such a crush on Florence Welch. DAT HUR!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was one of those dreams where he was running, running without moving very
fast. He tried to get away from the omegas, but he couldn't get his limbs to
cooperate. Quickly, they caught up to him and started to rip his clothes off,
claws carving into his skin. Stiles could hear his heart hammering in his chest
in the dream and he opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Instead,
he tried to pull away, frantically, and he was suddenly being shaken awake.

"Stiles! Jesus Christ!" Derek watched him open his eyes, chest heaving visibly
in the lamplight Derek turned on, "You were dreaming, you're fine." His hands
held on to Stiles' biceps, putting him into a half-reclined position.

Stiles choked down the terror in his throat and launched himself at Derek's
chest. Derek stiffened, not used to the teenager showing him affections or
gratitude. He really didn't know what to do. Stiles' hands were clutching at
the back of his t-shirt and his head was resting on his collarbone. The teen's
breathing was frantic and his heartbeat was still at dangerous heights.

Swallowing, Derek's hands tentatively encircled Stiles' back and softly rubbed
small circles on his spine. He did that until Stiles pulled back and smiled
awkardly at him. Subtley scenting the air, Derek smelt the panic subside and be
replaced with the warm smell of comfort.

That was a first. Stiles, up until a few moments ago, had never smelt like
comfort around Derek. Annoyed? Yes. Pissed? Definitely. Worried? Plenty. But
never comfort. It was. . . nice. Derek almost verbally complained when Stiles
got up from his bed and away from Derek. He had restraint, really.

Stiles got up to get the whiteboard and marker and returned to his bed, sitting
cross-legged with his back against his headboard. "Sorry," was the first thing
Stiles wrote, embarassed.

"For?" Derek asked, watching the pink spread across his cheeks.

"Leaping into your arms like that? Touching you?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "You don't like to touch me?" Ooh, that sounded dirty,
and Stiles knew it.

Stiles' mouth hung slightly open, flush spreading a little further. He tried to
write something on the board but kept erasing it every time because he couldn't
find anything to say to that. Eventually, he settled on, "I don't know how to
react to that."

Smirking, Derek took the board from Stiles' hands, along with the marker and
drew on it while he talked, "Does this have to do with the reason you smell
like pain?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles reluctantly nod. "You
still won't tell me?" Stiles shook his head, "Alright, you won't tell me now,
but will you tell me one day?" Stiles was still, considering it and he
eventually shook his head affirmatively.

Derek nodded, satisfied with the answer and continued drawing on the board.
Soon enough, Stiles shuffled over to him and put his chin on Derek's shoulder,
looking over it. He watched for a little bit, hands steadying himself on
Derek's shoulders. He thought about how good it felt to have him pressed
against him like that and how nicely he seemed to fit there,  and then he
snorted.

"What?" Derek said indignantly.

Stiles stole the marker back and wrote, "What the hell is that?"

Derek frowned, "It's a tree."

"It looks like a squid!" Stiles wrote frantically around the drawing,
connecting his thoughts with arrows, "This is the head," indicating the trunk,
"because it's all round, and these 'branches' are the tentacles! Look!" he
pointed out, "This is the mantle, the eyes, and this little thing right here is
the beak!" Stiles turned to smile at Derek when he finished reading and
realized that he was only a mere inch or two from him.

Derek watched Stiles nervously lick his lips, "It's a tree." Derek said softly,
licking his own lips and watching Stiles track the movement intently.

They pair of them stayed like that for a minute until Stiles bashfully pulled
away and settled his head on his pillow again. He fidgeted with the hem of his
t-shirt, glancing up at Derek every few seconds before jumping around the room.

The werewolf expected to smell arousal coming from Stiles, but that wasn't the
case. He smelt like comfort still, and a little panic. In fact, he didn't smell
like a teenage boy that jacked off at all. Uncomfortably, Derek asked, "Have
you masturbated since you got back?"

Stiles head jerked up, shocked at the abruptness of the question, and yet. . .
Truthfully, Stiles hadn't. Every morning he would wake up with morning wood, as
was the male commonality, and he would ignore it. No matter how painful or how
much he wanted to touch it; he wouldn't. It felt wrong and dirty to him. Which,
in fact, sucked because he really liked to beat off at least once every day.

Stiles shook his head, ashamed.

Derek connected the pieces in his mind and realized that was also part of the
reason that Stiles didn't smell right. He didn't smell like cum or arousal. He
also figured that it had to do with Stiles' secret.

"Go to sleep, Stiles." And he got up to leave, but Stiles held onto his arm and
tried to convery a message to him. After a few moments, Derek understood, "You
want me to stay?"

Stiles nodded and scooched over for Derek's body to lie next to his on the bed.
He also picked up the board and said, "Just in case I have another bad dream."

Derek contemplated it. He didn't want to send Stiles the wrong message about
him being interested in Stiles, but . . . Derek was interested in Stiles. He
was smart, clever, loyal, and protective, not to mention that he smelt like
Sunday mornings when his family was still alive: Pancakes, waffles, and French
toast, because they could never decide on just one, strawberry syrup and mounds
of bacon. Also, Stiles was very handsome, especially since his he started to
grow his hair out, but he was also only seventeen.

Whatever, Derek decided. He was just going to make sure Stiles didn't panic in
his sleep, nothing else. It wasn't like they were really, really sleeping
together.

Toeing off his shoes, Derek turned the lamp off and crawled next to Stiles,
laying very board-like next to the teenager. When Stiles was sure Derek was
settled in his bed, his eyes dropped closed and he was soon asleep. The alpha
watched him quickly drop into REM sleep, faster than normal for a human, and
turn onto his side, away from Derek.

Derek thought he could catch a few z's himself closed his eyes and was asleep
moments later.


Stiles' eyes opened a few minutes before his alarm was supposed to tell him to
get up and he just about had a heart attack when he felt someone's body pressed
firmly against his. His heart beat shot up for a moment before he heard a
snuffling behind his neck and realized that it was Derek.

Derek Hale. Was in his bed. Derek fucking Hale fell asleep in his bed. Shit.
Very subtley, Stiles tried to wiggle out of Derek's arm, but it only encircled
his waist tighter and pressed him more against the werewolf who was still
alseep. Unsure of what to do, Stiles lay there, engulfed in Derek's larger
body, and waited for his alarm to wake them up.

While he waited the short minutes, he felt almost serene with the heat behind
him, and then Derek's hand lazily dragged under Stiles t-shirt and settled over
his abodomen. Code motherfucking red! Just as Stiles was about to shoot out of
his bed in a panic at the sudden intimate touch, his phone screamed at him to
wake up.

Instantly, Derek recoiled his arms and nearly rolled off the bed as Stiles
reached out and shut his phone up. Without looking back, he quickly went to the
bathroom for his morning things and to tell himself to calm the fuck down.
Derek was asleep and there was no way that he would ever purposely do something
like that to Stiles. He breathed a few times and then went out to see Derek
still trying to blink sleep from his eyes.

Stiles gave a tentative wave, which Derek looked at very confused-like. He then
pulled some workout clothes from his drawers and his running shoes from his
closet and retreated back intothe bathroom to give Derek some time to wake up
more, and because he didn't want to reveal his scars until he was ready to do
so.

Making sure that everything was all in place, Stiles went back to his room and
Derek had finally extracted himself from Stiles' bed and looked. . . absolutely
adorable. He had mused, bed hair, sheet wrinkles on his cheek, and his face was
still relaxed to the point of him looking a few years younger. Stiles bit the
inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, but Derek must have seen it and he
scowled, "Why are you up so goddamn early? It's the summer."

Stiles rolled his eyes and wrote on the whiteboard, "I've got to go see a man
about a monkey."

"Meaning?"

"I've got shit to do today; hence, I got up early. You can go back to sleep
when I leave. My dad is leaving around the same time I will and you can stay
and leave if you need to." As soon as Derek was done reading that, he erased it
and continued, "Unless your abandoned places have a luxurious mattress with
memory foam that none of us are aware of. . ."

Derek bitchfaced, apparently insulting his hideouts were a no-no. While Derek
held his bitchface, Stiles shuffled around his room and gathered his phone and
his keys and pocketed them, "I have a place to stay," the alpha gritted out,
seemingly strained by the effort to say so.

Stiles abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow, mouth hanging open.

"It's a loft."

A loft? That sounded very prestigious, and kind of unsuited for Derek. He
imagined it had very few pieces of furniture, interior decortating didn't seem
like his thing, and in very neutral colors. The place was probably really cool
looking, exposed brick, large space, staircase to the actual loft part, all
that jazz. Damn, Derek, no matter how begrudgingly Stiles admitted it, had so
much cool shit: the Camaro, werewolf powers, awesome leather jackets, and now a
fucking loft. Jesus.

"Or you could go there." Stiles wrote, a small smile on his face.

They stood there awkardly for a bit, as close to the morning after as Stiles
was ever going to get for a while, before Stiles gestured to the door. Derek
nodded and moved to the window. Just before Derek and Stiles parted ways,
Stiles gave Derek a little wave good-bye. The last thing Stiles saw before he
closed the door behind him was Derek looking dumbstruck at the little gesture.

Stiles chuckled to himself as he bounded down the stairs and found his dad at
the table, coffee and paper in hand. "Stiles? What are you doing up so early?"

The teenager typed up, "I'm going for a workout," gesturing to his attire.

His father raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, "A workout, huh? Alright then, just
don't hurt yourself on any weight machines."

He patted his father's shoulder and grabbed some energy bars. He then turned
and headed out to his Jeep, giving his father his best 'stay safe' look.  When
he pulled up to the Argent household, his heart was pounding a little harder
than usual, kind of terrified, but he swallowed it down and walked up to the
door.

"Right on time, Stiles." Mr. Argent greeted him and ushered him inside, "Thank
you for doing as I asked," they moved farther into the house and out into the
backyard, "and I thought we would start with the basics."

Nodding, Stiles followed and stayed when Chris held up a hand for him to.

"If you have anything in your pockets, please remove them and we'll warm up,
alright?" Stiles did so and they started with some plyometrics across a small
part of the lawn. To his not-really suprise, Chris Argent kept up with him
while he called out what to do. After, they stretched, and Stiles found that he
was much more flexible than the Argent. Then, they really got into it.

Chris Argent had him hold up his forearms and brace himself in a half lunge,
while he used a soft noodle to hit him. Once Stiles got down the pattern of the
hits, he was allowed to move with them, still keeping his stance. He was able
to duck down and avoid all the noodle hits by the end of five minutes.

"Good, good," Chris Argent said,  "Now we go for the mobility, same thing but
try to anticipate the hits without holding up your arms."

Stiles did so and he found that his awkward lank, that usually hindered him,
was used to his advantage because he was able to jerk in just the right way for
him to avoid being hit. And then Chris Argent dropped the noodle and used a
wooden rod. Stiles was a little terrified of getting more bruises, but he found
that when he concentrated enough he didn't have to worry. He could easily dodge
them all.

Chris gave a satisfied smile, "You have great potential, you know that?" Stiles
looked embarassed and munched on an energy bar as they rested. "Next, I'll show
you how to go on offense."

After a few more minutes of rest, Stiles was instructed to hold his arms close
to his sides and punch from his waist, then by turning his torso with him, then
by bringing his fists under and up in front of him. Once the hunter was
satisfied with his reptitions, they started on legs. The teenager kicked front
bottom up, around his body using his hips, and by various form of throwing one
leg over the other mid-air. Each movement was corrected by Chris until he
deemed it worthy of completion, and Stiles could feel his muscles screaming in
protest, yet he was absolutely okay with that.

"Now, I'll be on defense while you're on offense, and you try to land a few
hits on me. Sound good?"

Stiles nodded and made his moves. A left hook to the oblique that was swatted
away. An uppercut to the jaw that he caught and pushed away. A roundhouse kick
to ribs that was grabbed and then he was pushed down on the grass.

Groaning, Stiles got up and tried again. A jab to the stomach that was avoided
and a front kick to the hip that knocked himself off balance. Frustratingly, he
slapped the ground.

"Come on, Stiles! I know you can do better than that. Focus!"

Stiles got up and breathed for a moment, trying to find that something that got
him through the last night. He could feel the omegas around him, touching him,
and rage welled up inside him, but instead of letting the emotion overtake him,
he honed it until it was the one thing he could focus on to get him through.

The teenager tried again. He did a quick succession of jabs to Chris Argent's
stomach, one or two landing as the hunter backed up. He used his foreword
momentum to sweep his leg under the hunter's feet, something he had seen
multiple times in video games, and he was shocked to see the hunter go down.
But he quickly sprung up on his feet and Stiles gave a roundhouse kick to his
ribs, and Chris caught it again. Instead of letting the older man throw him
down, Stiles used the grip on his leg to swing himself up and kick Chris Argent
squarely in the head.

Immediately, the man let go of his leg and stumbled down into the grass. Stiles
instantly crouched beside him, worried that he gave him a concussion or
something, but he was laughing. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Stiles slumped in relief, and gave his own breathy, no-voice laugh.

Chris Argent slapped him on the back, "You've got serious hunter potential,
kid. I've haven't seen someone take so quickly to fighting since my sister
did." He didn't even falter, he didn't even stutter at the mention of Kate.

The teenager didn't know what to say at that, so instead he nodded at him,
embarassed a little at the praise. Stiles then found his phone and typed, "So,
Greenberg?'

Chris let out a laugh, "Yeah. I realized that I couldn't exactly ask Allison
for your number, we got rid of all of Allison's phone tracking information
after. . ." he trailed off, leaving the 'my wife died' in the air, "anyway, and
I saw Greenberg at the grocery store an hour before your guys' practice."

"Did you threaten him to get him to give me the message?" Stiles typed out.

"Oh, ha ha." he joked, "No, I didn't. He was already terrified when I saw him.
I just had to nudge him in the right direction. . . and then pay him five
bucks."

"That's Greenberg."

They sat in silence for a bit before Chris offered Stiles a drink and they went
inside. Stiles still had another hour and a half to wait before practice and he
didn't really want to face Derek, if he was still there. While they sat at the
counter and Chris told him about little things he should watch for in a fight,
Allison came down, blearily blinking sleep from her eyes.

"Stiles?" Allison asked, yawning, "What are you doing over here?"

"Good morning Allison," her father greeted. Stiles gave a wave and gestured for
her to sit next to him.

She sat down and her dad set an English muffin with jam in front of her.
Allison dutifully spread the jam on and ate in silence until it was all down,
waking herself up. "I hate that English assignment we have."

Stiles smiled and typed out, "So, you got to that part, did you?"

Allison nodded grimly, "Why do they pick the most bizarre books for us to
read?" She watched Stiles shrug and she turned to her dad, "So, why were you
two chatting it up a little bit ago?"

Chris and Stiles exchanged wary looks and Stiles gave a shake of his head,
"Some things happened that we're trying to sort out, and you said that you
don't want to be invovled in the family business so I don't think I should tell
you."

"Werewolf family business?"

They nodded and Allison sighed, "Fine." she was silent for a moment then asked,
"Would you be willing to go to the mall with me tomorrow?"

Taken aback for a moment, Stiles stared dumbly at her, then he nodded.

"Good, what time can you go?"

Stiles held up a hand with all his fingers splayed.

Allison wrinkled her nose, "Why so late?"

"Lacrosse practice." Chris cut in, "I saw Greenberg dressed up in his gear at
the store yesterday, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Allison recalled, "Weird kid, Greenberg."

They all nodded and Stiles got up to leave. He non-vocally expressed his
gratitude and shook Chris Argent's hand as they moved to the door. On his way
past Allison, he gave her a wave and a smile.

"Same time tomorrow?" Chris inquired silently, opening the door.

Stiles nodded and smiled. He then stepped out the door and hopped into his Jeep
back toward home.
Chapter End Notes
     I wrote this while waiting for my little sister to get out of back
     surgery. While all the parents were surrounded by child-friendly
     things, I was counting down the chapters until the sexy times happen.
     I regret nothing.
***** Don't Say A Word *****
Chapter Summary
     The dominoes start to fall.
Chapter Notes
     Don't Say A Word by Ellie Goudling.
     In order to make up for my terrible blunder of not posting a chapter
     last week, I'm going to try and put one up around Thursday!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The next day and a half were a lot of the same. Stiles woke up early, headed to
the Argent's for "fight club," went home for lunch, then to practice, and
headed home, barely getting himself on the bed at night. Somewhere around
midnight, Derek wandered in, stopped the nightmares, tried to leave, and then
ended up curling around Stiles to sleep.

It wasn't bad, per se, to have Derek touch him, but it took him a bit each to
ease himself back to sleep. In the morning, Derek would be flush against him.
The first morning, Derek was spooning him, and the next morning, Derek had his
legs tangled in Stiles' with his lips pressing into Stiles' collarbone. The
teenager, of course, woke up before his alarm, cursing his biological clock to
high heaven, and then Derek snuffled at his collarbone and he almost jolted
backward.

Derek's arms were wrapped around Stiles' waist, his hands bunching up the
fabric of his nightshirt, and his lips pressing wetly to Stiles' skin. Stiles
hands, on the other hand, were curled into his own chest, afraid to touch, and
his body had unconsciously decided that it wanted to move away from Derek, but
couldn't quite manage that. Therefore, his ass was pushed out while his torso
was trapped by Derek and his legs were trapped between Derek's.

Same as the day before, Stiles' alarm shocked Derek out of dreamland and he
instantly recoiled with a frown. He yanked Stiles' pillow from his side of the
bed and threw it over his head while Stiles got up to start his day. Derek
grumbled into his pillow sandwich, "How the fuck can a teenager get up early of
his own fucking will?"

Derek was not a morning person, clearly, and it made Stiles want to laugh at
him.

Stiles got ready for the day, Derek woke himself up, they parted, and Stiles
went to the Argent's. There, he learned to how to properly weild weapons of
various lengths, including a daggar, a knife, a medium branch, a sword, a long
branch, and a baseball bat. Chris Argent helped him not hurt himself and they
made it through without Stiles having more than a three inch cut on his forearm
from the knife.

After some talking, Allison came down, ate, then confirm that they were going
shopping later. Stiles nodded and had to head of to practice, otherwise he
would be late. He said his good-byes, promising Chris to be back the next
morning.

Practice sucked, as usual. Greenberg called Finstock 'Cupcake' and they had to
run suicides for a really long time. Needless to say, Greenberg was ostracized
the rest of practice, and tripped, elbowed, and glared at.

During a four-way passing drill, Lydia was suddenly standing next to Stiles. Of
course, Issac, Jackson, and Scott already knew she was there, but hadn't felt
the need to tell the human in their group. Stiles, therefore, didn't catch the
ball and it skimmed over a bite on his side, he choked a little and turned to
her, an eyebrow raised.

"He lost his voice, Lydia." Scott told her and tried to hide a smile at Stiles
being hit with a ball.

"Did he?" Lydia narrowed her eyes, not even glancing at Scott.

"Miss Martin," Finstock's voice boomed out, souding pleasantly pissed off,
"what are you doing on my field with your high heels?"

Spinning, Lydia gave her best sass-face, "They are Jimmy Choos, Mr. Finstock,
and I need to talk to Stiles for a few minutes."

"Stiles?" He parroted, "Stilinski, you mean?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, Stilinski." Jackson tittered behind them.

"Well, you're just going to have to wait until practice is over, sweetie,
because Stiles is a bit busy right now, Miss Martin."

"Oh, but, Mr. Finstock, these practices are not mandatory; therefore, Stiles
can be pulled off the field to discuss things with me if I damn well please."
She gave her best sweet smile, accompied with her best 'I will rip your balls
off' voice, "Now, excuse us." She grasped Stiles' elbow and pulled him along to
the edge of the field.

Stiles could hear Finstock trying to protest. Turning, he saw Jackson put a
hand on his shoulder and heard him say, "Just let it go, Coach. You won't win."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Finstock look dejected for a moment before he
swatted Jackson away, "Twenty laps around the field, let's go!"

The red head pulled him into the parking lot and spun around to face him,
"Erica told me that something happened to you a few days ago and you won't tell
anyone. I asked." Stiles stared at her, unsure of what to do, "Jackson said
that you now shower in the old locker room because, and I quote, 'Stilinski's
too much of a pansy to show his face next to all my werewolf glory,' and I
would believe it, if Erica and Derek had both said that you smelt terrified,
angry, sad, in pain, and a myriad of other things that aren't good. I've come
to a conclusion that I need you to varify."

She was smart, he of all people knew that. Regardless of how smart she was,
there was no way that she would be able to figure out what happened to him,
right?

"Who touched you, Stiles?"

How the fuck did she do that?

Sweat started to form on his brow that wasn't related to practice and his
breathing increased. Images of blood, faces, bodies, werewolf eyes, claws,
Gerard, all flashed through his mind and he started to back away from her in
stumbling steps.

"Stiles!" Lydia gently caught his wrist in her hand and held him steady, "I was
just guessing! I didn't actually think that someone had. . ." she swallowed,
her bitch-facade dropping into the ones he saw in her car and his room all
those months ago. "What did they do to you?"

His breath left him in a huff and he brought her hand up to his throat and
rested it their until she understood. Her eyes lit up, darkened, and narrowed,
"Give me a name and I will personally tear them a new one."

If he was being honest about what happened to his throat, he might as well be
honest about how many there were. The brunette shook his head and he held up
his hand, fingers spread, twice and then two fingers.

"Twelve." She dead panned. "There were fucking twelve of them?" Her voice as
approaching dangerous heights and he tried to silence her with a finger to his
own lips. "I'm sorry, but twelve? You just give me their descriptions and I
will take care of it, vengefully."

He stepped away from her, looking away from her for a moment. Miming for a pen
and paper, she produced them from her purse and he wrote, "You don't have to."

"You already did? Good. I'll have Jackson haul out the bodies with Derek."

"No!" He rasped, terrified of the thought of Derek knowing anything.
Scribbling, he produced an explanation, "Don't tell them! Not anyone! I don't
want anyone to know!"

"Why not?"

"I know I'm just a human and I really don't have any special skills other than
copious amounts of sarcasm, but I don't want anyone to look at me differently."

"Stiles. None. Of us hold you being a human against you! Not Derek, not me, not
Scott, not even Jackson! You have been more helpful than you can imagine,
sarcasm included, and I will not tolerate you saying differently."

He swallowed around a growing lump in his throat, "Just, promise you won't tell
anyone?"

She looked like she wanted to argue, but he gave her a pleading, kicked puppy
look and she caved, "Fine. I don't know anything."

He threw his arms around her in a quick hug, then realized what he was doing
and quickly retracted himself. Stiles flailed around, trying to give
apologizing gestures. She cocked her head. Raising an eyebrow, she stated, "You
have to get back before Finstock comes and finds us."

They stepped in line with each other and walked back to the field where the
boys were finishing their twenty laps. The guys shot him various glares, but
the werewolves just slightly cocked their heads at him, confused looking.

Everything was relatively normal afther that, up until Stiles was heading to
his Jeep after practice, fully washed and dried. Someone, Jackson most likely,
had rammed really hard into Stiles. It not only knocked him to the ground, the
brunt of the push had landed on the middle of Stiles' stomach where there were
many bruises still healing.

The teenager had put his bag in the passenger seat of his Jeep and then pulled
his t-shirt up enough to inspect his stomach. They didn't look any worse than
they had in the morning, but they hurt like hell. Stiles sighed, dropped his
shirt and looked up straight into Issac's eyes.

Issac stared open-mouthed at Stiles through the passenger side window at
Stiles. His eyes were golden and Stiles felt his heart rate spike. Instantly,
Issac was in behind him. The werewolf turned him around, pushed him against the
side of the Jeep and yanked his shirt up. All Stiles could do was take it,
convinced that he was going to get attacked again, and he closed his eyes,
waiting for Issac to hurt him, his mind going blank of all the moves he learned
in the past two days.

After a minute of his heart going wild, Stiles opened his eyes to see Issac's
jaw clenching and unclenching methodically. Tentatively, Issac's fingers
ghosted over the injuries and he whined low in his throat.

It was completely understandable. Mr. Lahey had beat him countless times after
his older brother died and before he himself died, so seeing an aquaitance with
bruises, like the ones he nursed for years, probably sent him back to the days
where he was helpless.

"Where did you get these?" Issac's voice was strained, angry. His hand curled
into a fist and rested lightly on his stomach.

Stiles still couldn't speak more than a few words without his throat screaming
at him, and he didn't want to tell the truth, so he typed out, "Some douchebags
didn't think I was funny during my vacation." Which was kind of true, the
omegas were douchebags, but Stiles wasn't trying to be funny with them.

Issac growled, "Who?"

"The twelve dancing princesses."

"Stiles! I'm serious." Issac barked, hands pressing into Stiles' skin lightly,
"Who were they?"

"No clue."

Issac growled, frustrated, then pressed more firmly against Stiles' stomach and
his veins started to turn black. Stiles instantly swatted his hand away and
fixed him with a glare. "What the fuck was that for?"

"It's not your pain to take." He rasped out.

"What?" Issac stood there, disbelieving, as Stiles yanked down his shirt,
"You're human! There's no way you can-"

Stiles had Issac against the side of his Jeep in a blink, "It. Is not. Your
pain. To fucking take. Got it?" he tried to make his voice as forecful as
possible whilst pushing a werewolf into the metal of his car.

"You can do better than Stilinski, Lahey!" Jackson shouted over to them,
smirking at them as Danny tried to get him to shut and get in his porche. Lydia
slapped Jackson from inside the car, angrily.

Stiles turned and put all his hate and anger into his stare and took a step
foreword. Jackson's eyes widened a little before his eyes flashed blue, sensing
a challenge. Issac put a hand on Stiles' shoulder and Danny did the same to
Jackson. Danny ushered Jackson into his porche, breaking the eye contact, and
sent a confused and apologizing look to the other teenagers.

The human turned around and faced the werewolf, face still set in anger. Issac
searched his face and sighed, "Alright, no werewolf ju-ju. Just. . . would you
at least tell me if they do it again?"

Stiles cocked his head, asking a silent 'why'?

"I don't like people I find useful to be in pain."

Stiles dramatically clutched his chest and typed out, "You find me useful? Oh
sweet lawd, what will the girls at the salon say about this?"

The werewolf rolled his eyes, a little peeved, "Whatever, just don't complain
when Jackson barrels you over again and you start crying."

"You got it, sweet cheeks." He winked and hopped in his Jeep. He gave Issac a
quick wave as he peeled out of the parking lot to Allison's house. He didn't
even think to remember to tell Issac to refrain from telling Derek about what
he saw.

Almost in a panic by the time he reached Allison's house, he saw that Issac had
texted him already, "Don't worry, my lips are sealed." His heart came to a
steady, even pace because Issac understood. He knew the shame of wearing
bruises that he didn't want, and Stiles was grateful for that.

Jogging to the front door, a large, hulking, male, hunter exited the house as
soon as Stiles bounded up the stairs. Chris Argent just caught sight of him
before he closed the door on the hunter. As Stiles passed him, the hunter gave
Stiles a calculating once-over, then nodded politely.

"Stiles," Chris greeted, "long time no see." He joked and let Stiles into the
house, "Go ahead and get Allison, I have something I want to give you when you
get back down."

Curiousity spiked, Stiles ascended the stairs by two and knocked on Allison's
door. She answered, looking like a super model, as always, and she smiled, "Hi
Stiles! Ready to go?" She pulled a purse from the hooks by her door and moved
into the hallway with him.

He nodded vigorously and they headed back downstairs where Mr. Argent was
waiting for them, empty-handed. Smiling he reminded them, "Drive carefully,
don't over spend, and don't buy anything out of season."

That was not what Stiles expected to hear from badass, werewolf hunter Chris
Argent, but then he remembered that Allison's mom had been a buyer for H&M a
few years ago, so she must have instilled various fashion laws in her family
before she passed.

"Of course, Dad," Allison smiled, "We shouldn't be too long, so I'll see you
when I get back." They moved to the door and Allison quickly swung it open, "I
love you."

"I love you, too," Chris said and the moment she turned to walk down the steps,
he handed Stiles a cloth wrapped bag of something rigid, "As a starter." He
smiled and Stiles shoved it in his jeans pocket, liking how deep the pockets
were so he could fit it.

At the mall, the pair of them wandered around to Macy's where they found the
ugliest things they could and took turns trying them on and showing them to
each other. Some of the things they found was a hawaiian shirt in orange,
purple suspenders, bright red jeans, and a paisley bowtie for Stiles, and a
tutu-like, lemon yellow skirt, black and red stripped tights, and a misprinted
graphic t-shirt for Allison.

They laughed at themselves, took pictures and found their way to the food
court. They ordered ice cream and fries and sat down with them. Stiles found
that if he could whisper without making his throat vibrate, which is actually
what a whisper is, they could actually talk.

"What do gay guys get at the bar?" Stiles asked, an eyebrow raised, smirking,
"Penis coladas." He then smiled wide, pleased with himself.

Allison then leaned in, looking him dead in the eye, she responded to the
question, "Cocktails."

Stiles made the mistake of putting food in his mouth while she answered and
ended up spitting it back out in surprise. His smile was wide as he used all
their napkins to clean up the mess he made. When he sat back down from
retrieving more napkins, Allison had a sad, contemplative look on her face.

"I miss Scott."

"He misses you."

"Does he really? He sure doesn't seem like it."

"He just knows that you need your space right now and he'll be waiting when you
want to see him again."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Didn't have to." Stiles ate some ice cream, "He's crazy about you and the
whole world knows it."

She smiled, "What about you? Still head over heels for Lydia?"

Sputtering around ice cream, Stiles tried to remain calm, "I have never been
head over heels with. . ."

Allison fixed him with a look, not buying anything he was trying to sell.

"It's complicated now."

"How so?"

"Ahm, remember when your dad told you that something happened with me and it
involved werewolves?"

"Yes. . ."

"It has something to do with that, and when Jackson turned into an actual
werewolf instead of serial killing lizard."

"So, Lydia's out. Who's in?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?" She feigned indignance.

"Because you won't approve and you'll try to convince me to get away as far as
I could."

"I wouldn't do that," she waved her hand dismissively, "unless it was Derek. Oh
shit," she realized, "it is Derek, isn't it?"

His silence was his answer.

"Stiles! He's dangerous and you know it!"

"I know, I just. . . I guess I have a thing for people that are out of my
league, you know?"

She clenched her hand, and resigned, "Yeah, I do."

They finished their fast food in silence when Stiles said, "Come on, I actually
have to buy something."

"Like what?" Allison caught up to him.

The cashier rang up the total and said, "Five, thirty-six, please."

"Bells? You need to buy bells?" Allison asked, incredulous.

Stiles handed over the money, "Have you ever had every fucking werewolf in the
town sneak up on you in your own room via the window without being invited?"
Luckily, Stiles had spoken so low that the cashier hadn't heard him and handed
over his change, "No, you haven't, and let me tell you something. It sucks."

They began walking out of the store and back into the main mall area to head to
the Jeep, "Are you going to hang them on your window then?"

"And possibly their necks."

Allison giggled, "That's a good idea."

They both giggled a little. Stiles safely dropped her off at her front door,
Chris Argent giving him a slight nod, and he was in his driveway when Lydia
texted him.

"Road trip tomorrow. You, me, and Erica. We leave at nine, pack your wallet,
sunglasses, water, and snacks."

"Do I not get a say in this?"

"No."

"Does Erica agree to this?"

"Yes."

"How do you do that?"

"Magic, Stiles, magic."

At that point, Stiles would have believed that Lydia was a witch, not just a
mean girl, but a real witch. Spells and all.

Inside his house, Stiles' dad was pulling on his jacket when he walked into the
living room, "Hey Stiles, the station called and I have to go in for a bit. I
should be back before midnight, don't stay up." He paused, "Well, I guess you
could, since you don't have school, but don't leave the house."

Stiles nodded, giving a thumbs up, "Stay safe," he whispered.

"You can sort of talk now! That's. . . great," he jokingly grimaced, "but don't
over exert yourself. I'll see you later." He was out the door with a wave from
his son.

Stiles went to his bathroom and pulled out what Chris Argent gave him. He took
out the rigid object and found it was a simple dagger. It just had a the hunter
saying carved into the handle, "Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent." It felt
sturdy in Stiles' palm, like it made him that much more capable of handling
himself. Quickly, he stowed it back into its wrappings and he put it under the
sink to get it later because he heard Derek's leather jacket creak in the
silence of his house.

Sure enough, the alpha werewolf was standing by the window, looking around in
the fading sunset. Did the guy have to look like he was CGI'd every time the
light hit him. He looked like someone had mapped his body for a video game and
Stiles was insanely jealous of that fact.

Derek's eyes roamed over Stiles and he let out a breath, "Stiles."

It didn't sound like anything but a greeting, maybe a little tired, but, all
the same, Stiles knew that he was fucked because he had a massive crush on a
werewolf. And all he did was say his name. Shit.
Chapter End Notes
     WHO THE FUCK DECIDED THAT GIRL'S JEAN POCKETS NEED TO BE TWO INCHES
     DEEP WHEN GUYS GET A FULL HALF-FOOT?! I will find them and gut them
     like a fish.
     I've started watching Hannibal. . . and I should really be more
     concerned over the fact that Hannibal's cannibal meals don't gross me
     out as much as they should. Also, I ship Hannibal/Will in all the
     dirty-bad-wrong ways.
***** Teen Idle *****
Chapter Summary
     Always check for a pulse.
Chapter Notes
     Teen Idle by Marina and the Diamonds.
     I lied about that extra chapter. . . DAMN YOU FINALS!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles wondered if Derek could feel it as well as Stiles could. That
underlying, unresolved sexual tension they always seemed to have. Regardless if
it was there or not, Stiles refused to have his body aroused at the moment
because he needed to get ready for bed, even if it was only around nine
o'clock.

He snagged a pair of pajamas from his drawers, retreated back to the bathroom,
changed, and reemerged seeing that Derek had taken off his jacket. Stiles sat
down on his bed and waited for Derek to speak.

Derek took his sweet time. The werewolf meandered through the room, aimlessly
looking at things Stiles had, sometimes picking them up. When he circled back
to where he started, he frowned, "What do you know about alpha-beta-omega
dynamics?"

Unwillingly, Stiles' heart rate spiked and he took a large inhalation of air;
however, he wrote down, "Not much. Why?"

The werewolf's brow creased, "You know that alphas are the head of the pack and
betas are beneath them, and omegas are lone-wolves, essentially." Even though
it wasn't needed, Stiles nodded and Derek continued, "And an alpha can become
either an omega or beta, a beta can become an omega or alpha, and an omega can
become an alpha or beta. A cycle."

With a white knuckled grip on the white-board, Stiles asked the most obvious
question, "Why tell me this?"

Derek blew out a breath, frustrated, "I keep. . . smelling a wolf around town,
but I can't tell what rank he is. He smells. . . different."

Different as in a wolf that slaughtered their way through many other wolves to
gain power for a power-hungry madman? Stiles, of course, didn't say that, but
he sure thought it. Instead, he wrote, "Is it dangerous?"

"Not sure yet," Derek shrugged, "but could you do some--" Derek abruptly
stopped, eyes on Stiles body. His red eyes flashed and his look took on a
menacing one, "Why do you smell like Argent."

Stiles tried to brush it off with a side-ways grin, "Allison is still my
friend, you know." Positive that that was what Derek was referring to.

"Not. Her."

Oh. Oh! . . . Shit. There wasn't any other way around saying that he was
hanging out with Chris Argent, so he stayed silent.

"Stiles." Derek glowered, teeth gritted together.

A minute of silence passed. Then two, three, four, and at minute five Derek
stormed toward the bathroom. Stiles could hear cabinets being ripped open,
bottles being knocked over. A moment later, Derek re-emerged with the dagger in
his hand. He held it up like it was a personal offense on his part.

"What the fuck is this, Stiles?"

Still, Stiles said nothing, eyes wide and terrified.

"Becoming a hunter now, are you? Going to learn all about how to kill your
classmates? Gonna learn how to kill me? Gonna learn how to kill your best
friend? What would Scott say about you hiding this away from him?"

Stiles hand closed into a fist on is knee, holding himself together as best he
could. He would never try to get any of them killed! They weren't the problem,
and Stiles thought that he had taken care of it. Evidently, he didn't. Somehow,
someway, one of them must have survived. Stiles knew that he hadn't taken
pulses on any of the bodies, but there had been so much blood that he didn't
feel like he had to. Rookie mistake.

"Were you planning to get us all together on the full moon and then have Chris
Argent and his buddies burn us all to the ground?" Derek was furious, and he
had every right to be. Hardly anyone actually let him in on anything for
whatever reason. The amount of betrayal the guy had gone through was
staggering, but some of the things that were spilling out of his mouth were
uncalled for. "Would you like for me to get the invitations together now, so
we're all there. Don't wanna inconvenience you or anything."

It wasn't like that.

"Or would your rather drug them and make it a surprise, right before you light
the match?"

Derek threw the dagger on the ground. Stiles jumped.

And the last thing that Derek said was possibly the worst thing he had ever
said to Stiles, or anyone for that matter.

"Your father must be so proud."

Stiles' jaw ached with how hard he had it clenched, and he was pretty sure that
his palms were bleeding from the force of his nails in them. His throat felt
constricted, his eyes downcast.

And like the drama queen he was, Derek leaped out the window, jacket in hand.

Stiles sat there, forcing himself to not cry. Men didn't cry, society said so.
He breathed, forcing air in and out of his lungs. Once he felt like he had
calmed down enough, he texted Scott, "Hey, could you come over?" And would you
look at that? Stiles' palms were not bleeding! Hoo-rah.

Scott immediately replied, "Already out the door! Be there in ten."

Stiles closed his eyes, cementing the cracks together, once again. He then
gathered the dagger and stowed in his chest of drawers, under the contents of
one drawer Scott would never touch: the geek t-shirt drawer.

Scott, like an actual human being, walked in the front door and up to Stiles'
room. Stiles was sitting on his bed, elbows on knees, hands clasped, and
staring at the wall. "Stiles?"

The human snapped his eyes to him and covered up his sadness with a smile,
"Hey, bud."

Scott sat down on the bed next to Stiles, "Hey! You can sort of talk! Awesome!"
there was a moment of silence, "What's up?"

Stiles let out a shaky breath, hand running through his growing hair, "I'm. . .
it's. . . you know I would never try to hurt your right, intentionally?"

"Course not! Bros until the end."

"I've been hanging out a little with Allison."

Stiles braced for impact and explosion, but all he got was ,"I know."

His head jerked up, "You know? How?"

Scott tapped his nose.

"Right. Werewolf."

"I'm not mad, really I'm not," Scott blew out a breath, "I miss her, you know?
And I wish we could be together without all this shit in the way, but I get it.
And just because we're not together, that doesn't mean that you two can't still
be friends."

"Thanks, I need all the friends I can get."

Scott looked insulted, "Are you insinuating that I am a horrible friend?"

Stiles laughed loudly and coughed, "Never, you are the best, best buddy in the
entire world! You're the Pepper to my Tony, the Robin to my Batman, the--"

"I got it!" Scott laughed, "So, video games or movie?"

"Video games," Stiles decided, "Jackson rammed me pretty hard today and I have
a little bit of anger to mash buttons with."

They played well into the night, yelling at the screen, shoving each other, and
being complete trolls on Mario Kart. Stiles didn't even notice that his dad
didn't come home that night until five in the morning.


Scott woke him up at seven with a kick to his hip. They were squished in
Stiles' bed together because sharing a bed stopped being weird after seventh
grade and Scott was a severe bed hog.

"Stop freaking out, dude." Scott mumbled into his pillow.

Was he freaking out? He didn't remember any nightmares, but he also didn't
recall a lot of his dreams. Anyway, Stiles rolled out of bed and did his
morning things. When he got back, Scott was snoring happily, and Stiles, being
the little shit he is, ruined it. He picked up the dog whistle he bought over
the week of finals, because Scott hadn't been getting enough sleep and needed a
way to stay awake, and blew it.

Instantly, Scott flew out of bed with a screech, "Dude! What the fuck!" Stiles
laughed wheezily, "Fuck you, man. Not cool." Scott groaned and flopped back on
the mattress. Then, like a snake, he slithered from the bed to the floor and
over to his clothes. As he was changing from his, actually his that he kept at
Stiles' house, pajamas he inquired the time.

"Seven oh-nine."

"Shit!" Frantically, Scott pulled on the remainder of his clothes, "I have to
be at the clinic by seven thirty!" He was lacing his shoes when Stiles threw an
energy bar at him, "Oh dude, thanks! You're a life saver!" He then hurriedly
brushed his teeth with the supplies he kept at the Stilinski household.

"See you later!" Stiles said as he held the door open for Scott to leave.

"Yeah, see you at practice!" Scott said, unlocking his car door.

"I'm not going today!" Stiles whispered after him, knowing Scott would hear
him.

"What?!" Scott looked betrayed, "You're leaving me? With Finstock?"

"Yeah, sorry buddy! Lydia is taking me somewhere! I'll text you later!"

"Bye buddy! Love you!"

"Love you too!" God, they were so much like a married couple it was sickening.
Once back inside, Stiles cleaned himself up in the shower, then assessed his
body. So far, the bruises were that hideous yellow color and the lacerations
were healing nicely. He wasn't too worried about them. Also, the stitches
looked like they would be able to come out in a few more days.

Getting himself dressed, Stiles realized that he promised Mr. Argent to go over
for training. He scrambled for his phone and dialed the number.

He picked up on the second ring, "Stiles?"

"Yes! Mr. Argent, can you hear me?"

"Just barely, but go on. Is everything alright?"

"Ah, yeah. I just called to tell you that I won't be there today because I've
got other plans. They were really last minute last night and I totally blanked
on telling you. Really sorry!"

"No problem, really. Did you look at what I gave you?"

"The dagger?" Of course he had, and thinking about it made him remember what
happened after he looked at it, "Yeah, I did. Thank you so much. I promise not
to get it too dirty and keep it really clean."

"Glad you liked it. So, I'll see you tomorrow morning then?"

"Yes, and, again, I'm really sorry about canceling so late."

"No really, it's fine. You have fun with what you're doing today."

"Thanks sir, you too."

They hung up and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief. He went downstairs and sat
at the table with a bowl of cereal. As his leg bounced under the table, the
sheriff walked in looking worn out.

"Morning Stiles," he mumbled, fumbling with the coffee maker for a moment.

"Hey Dad, why are you so tired? I thought you got back at, like, midnight?"

The elder Stilinski yawned, "Nope,  got back way, way early this morning. You
and Scott were already asleep by then."

If he was getting in late again, that only meant that something dangerous was
happening again, "What's going on?"

"It's nothing real-"

"Dad."

"There was. . . another animal attack. Whatever it was took out two campers up
north of town. They were found by a hiker around eight forty-five last night,
dead."

Stiles swallowed. He already knew the answer to his question, but he needed to
keep up appearances, "Do you know what attacked them? What kind of animal?"

"We think it might be another mountain lion."

There was a silence as they both recalled the past winter attacks by an alleged
mountain lion, when things turned to shit between them.

Stiles coughed lightly, "When do you go back in?"

"Ten today."

"You'll be careful, right?"

"Always am."

Stiles nodded and went back to his cereal as the sheriff poured his coffee and
joined him at the table. They sat in a comfortable silence, each absorbed in
their own thoughts.

The teenager couldn't stop thinking about how dangerous it was for his dad to
be out there with a rogue werewolf on the loose. Especially one that pretty
much wanted Stiles' intestines on a stick, Stiles guessed. He wished he could
keep his dad from harms way, but he couldn't do that without divulging how he
knew it was dangerous for him.

"Have you had anymore panic attacks since Sunday?"

Stiles shook his head, drinking the milk from his bowl.

"Any nightmares?"

He considered lying, but opted for honesty. He hesitantly shook his head
affirmatively.

"Thought so. I keep waking up in the middle of the night to whimpering and I,
at first, thought that it was a dog outside that wanted in, but I guess not."
He took a sip of coffee, "Anything you need to talk about?"

"Not really, they're just the same old stuff. Clowns. Zombies. You know, the
norm of nightmares."

"Uh-huh," the sheriff rolled his eyes, "Well I'll see you later, I've got to
get ready and it looks like you're ready to shove off."

Stiles nodded and the sheriff retreated back to his room for a shower. He, on
the other hand, snagged his wallet, sunglasses, grabbed a pack of Oreos he
stashed away, and filled a water bottle up just in time for Erica to knock on
his door.

"Hey Stiles! Ready to go?" And didn't she look stupendous again? She still wore
the short skirts and corset-like tops, but she rocked them, hard. Lydia was
waiting in the front seat of her car, a very nice Bentley convertible that she
guilt tripped her parents into buying for her, looking flawless as always.

"Stiles," Lydia greeted, "nice of you to join us." She reversed the car and
headed out of town. "I know you're wondering what we're doing today, and quite
frankly, Erica and I need dresses."

Erica jumped in, "Jackson's having some sort of party tonight and we decided
that we wanted new dresses. I haven't been dress shopping in a long time and
I'd like to make Boyd go wild."

Stiles snorted, "There's a joke in there somewhere."

Lydia shot him a mild bitchface, "And the reason we brought you is--"

"I remember the Winter Formal, Lydia, you don't have to trouble yourself."

"Good, then you should know what's expected of you."

There was silence as they raced down the road, then a thought struck Stiles,
"When did you two become buddy-buddy? Why didn't we just go to Macy's in town
for a dress?"

Erica smirked, "We've had to spend a lot of time together since Boyd and I got
back, and we begrudgingly accept each others' persistent existence in our
lives."

Lydia nodded, changing lanes, "And we already checked Macy's, so we're going to
a boutique two hours away."

Stiles knew that if they had already checked Macy's that meant that they went
through every available option and decided against them all. Shit, he was in
for a long day.

Turned out, they went to the town where his cousins lived to shop. Stiles
didn't mention that, but he was a little surprised. In the actual store, they
ended up trying on more than thirty dresses each and only bought one each. It
took four hours to decide on one. One dress for each of them. By the end of it,
Stiles was munching on the Oreos like there was no tomorrow, trying to keep
himself from going crazy.

They stopped for a bite to eat at a cafe and then were back on the road. As
they passed empty warehouses, Stiles had a knee-jerk reaction, "Stop the car."

"What? Why?" Lydia demanded.

"Lydia, stop the car." His voice was grave enough for her to listen. They
pulled off to the side of the road, in a large empty lot where a building once
stood. Stiles then scrambled out of the car.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lydia yelled after him. "I will leave your
ass here, Stilinski!" She would have done it too, if it hadn't been for the way
Stiles was so focused on a particular building.

Erica and Lydia hopped out of the car and followed him. Stiles didn't really
pay attention to them as his feet pulled him to the right one. He knew it was
the right one. After all, there was a blood smear on the door siding.

Immediately, Stiles pushed through it and braced himself for what he expected
to see. He was stunned into immobility, which caused Lydia and Erica to knock
into him.

"You mind explaining what this is all about?" Lydia snipped, "I have only a
limited amount of time to get ready for tonight, and if I don't--"

"Lydia," Erica elbowed her, nose in the air, "hold on a minute."

The red-head huffed, irritated with the pair of them. She then watched as
Stiles slowly traveled into the clean, non-bloody, non corpse-ridden, un-caged
room. He circled the room, mouth agape, eyes wide.

"I-I don't understand." He said softly. He searched around the room for the box
of weapons, but found nothing. It was just an empty warehouse.

"Stiles?" Erica asked, sniffing the room with a creased brow, "What don't you
understand?"

"Oh for heaven's sake! Can we just get out of here?" Lydia snapped.

Erica turned on her heel, blond hair flying around her shoulders, "Lydia, shut
up. It smells like blood in here."

Her eyes widened a little, then she put on a level four bitchface, "I don't see
any blood. This is possibly the cleanest, abandoned warehouse I have ever
seen."

Erica searched the room right along Stiles, "No, there was blood here. A lot of
it. But. . . it was cleaned up with bleach. . . and Febreeze." She wrinkled her
nose. "I'm smelling at least ten different bloods here."

It clicked in Lydia's head, "Stiles," she said slowly, "is this where they
raped you?"

Erica's eyes shot between her two companions, "Who raped Stiles? When?"

Stiles didn't say anything. He couldn't. Again, his skin constricted around
him, chest compressing, and eyes tunneling. His heart rate accelerated as he
fell to the ground, unable to keep himself up. His head rested in his hands,
and he rocked back and forth, unable to comprehend the situation.

"Stiles!" Erica yelled, falling next to him as Lydia ran up as well.

Their voices sounded muffled to his ears, what with all the blood running past
them. Only a few moments had gone by before there was a resounding slap across
Stiles cheek.

"Lydia! What the hell!" Erica screeched, wanting to strangle the red-head.

While Erica was questioning Lydia's sanity, Stiles had snapped out of it, quite
literally.

"Good to have you back." Lydia said, cocking her head. She waited a moment,
then continued, "So I'm going to go with a yes, this is where it happened, and
considering how much Erica has detailed of the bloodbath, you weren't kidding
when you said you had taken care of it."

Stiles greedily drew in a breath, "Not even a little bit."

After a moment, they all got up and went back to the car; Lydia having enough
sense to lock it before they ran off. They drove in silence for a ninety
percent of the way, then Lydia sighed.

"Well, what else do you have to say, Erica?"

The blonde's face had been screwed up in confusion since they left, "It's just.
. . it didn't smell right."

"Bloodbaths and rape are supposed to smell a certain way?" Stiles grumbled,
shoving another Oreo into his mouth.

"No, it's. . . something was different about it, and I know what it is, but I
just can't think of it right now. It's like when you hear a song all throughout
your childhood and then you think of it again, years later, and can't remember
the name of it."

Stiles, again, knew what she was referring to. It smelt like werewolves,
confused and fighting for their rank.

Erica blew out a breath, "Whatever. Stiles, pass me some Oreos."

"They have a lot of sugar in them," Lydia warned, but Erica just shrugged, and
Lydia reached back her hand for some as well.
Chapter End Notes
     Today, my mom said, "I can't even imagine what it's like to come up
     with stuff like that." After I told her about the first two episodes
     of Hannibal. And I just kind of thought, "Oh really? Because I'm
     writing a story where one of the characters gets brutally raped and
     then they slaughter the rapists. Lol oops!"
***** Play That Funky Music *****
Chapter Summary
     Ain't no party like a Whittemore party.
Chapter Notes
     Play That Funky Music by Wild Cherry. Seriously awesome song! If this
     doesn't get you dancing, I don't know what will.
     Also, this was supposed to be a fun, light hearted chapter. Oops.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Lydia dropped him off at his house, thanking him for playing horse, and she
sped off with Erica in tow. But not before promising to see him at the party.
He walked into his house, texting Scott.

"How was practice?"

Scott replied with button mashing, "ghoagioaehghwi"

"That bad, huh?" Stiles couldn't help but smile.

"You are a dick for leaving me."

"Says the werewolf with super athletic ability." Seriously! At least the guy
could build muscles properly!

"It doesn't stop the pain, you ass!"

Fair point, but, "You'll live."

"You suck."

"Kisses, sweet cheeks." Stiles found his way to his room and turned on his
computer.

"You going to the party tonight?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"Do it. No balls."

Stiles rolled his eyes, unlocking his desktop, "How does that constitute a 'no
balls' reply?"

"Yolo."

If Stiles could scream, he would have, "Not you too! Stay away, you heathen!"

"I'm at your front door."

Stiles was moments from replying, but Scott was, in fact, at his door. He
casually let himself in and up to Stiles' room.

"Not cool, man."

Scott laughed, "That's what happens when you leave your best friend at practice
alone."

"You had Issac there, don't complain to me."

Scott smiled a little, "Yeah, but still." He watched as Stiles opened up Google
and typed in, for the umpteenth time, 'how long does it take for my voice to
return.'

"You know, I could just take the pain from your throat and it wouldn't hurt to
talk anymore." Scott suggested, flopping onto Stiles' bed.

"Not happening."

"Dude, come on! I've been practicing!"

"On dogs. You've been practicing on dogs."

"Cats too," Stiles allowed,  "but that's not the point! I can totally fix it
up!"

Stiles sighed, exiting Google, "Thanks, but no thanks."

The werewolf grumbled unhappily, "Fine, but are you really going tonight?"

"Yeah, Lydia threatened me with bodily harm and other things if I didn't go."

"Speaking of the Queen herself, where did she take you today?"

"Dress shopping."

"Oh man!" Scott laughed mirthfully, "That might actually be worse than
practice."

"Four hours, Scott! Four hours to pick out one! One dress!" Stiles grimaced
down at his feet that ached from standing so long with pounds of dresses in his
arms.

"Sucks, bro." Silence settled over them, then Scott asked, "Has Derek been
sleeping in your bed?"

Again with the heart rate, "Uh, yeah."

Scott narrowed his eyes, "Why?"

"I-I asked him to."

"Dude. Please tell me you do not actually have a crush on him."

"Well. . ."

Scott groaned, "Why him? Of all people to move on from Lydia to, you choose
Derek Hale."

"I clearly desire the unattainable."

Scott frowned, "I didn't mean it like that." he tried to back track to fix it,
"I just meant, why didn't you pick someone like Danny? Danny's a good guy! He's
smart, you both play lacrosse--"

"He's not attracted to me, remember?"

"--begrudgingly accept Jackson into your lives--"

"I do not accept--"

"--and you would make an adorable couple."

Stiles thought about it, but then shook his head, "No. He isn't interested."

"There has to be someone besides Derek!"

"It's not going to amount to anything, anyway. It'll be another Lydia Martin,
but with different genders."

"Alright," Scott said, letting it drop.

They ended up goofing around for an hour before Scott rushed home to get ready
for the party. He said that he wanted to 'look his best' because Allison was
going to be there. Stiles had rolled his eyes and let him leave.

Stiles, on the other hand, texted Lydia, "Do I really have to go?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I said you are."

"You don't control me!"

He could practically see the raised eyebrow and disbelieving look, "Don't I?"

Stiles sighed, "I just don't think I'm ready yet."

It was a few minutes before Lydia texted back, and when she did, she said,
"You'll never be ready unless you try. You'll have me, Erica, Scott, Issac,
Boyd, Allison, Danny, and Jackson there if you need one of us."

"That's nice and all, but Jackson being there isn't much of a comfort."

"You two are friends and you know it. Why else would he let you drive his car?"

She. . . had a point. As far as Stiles knew, nobody was allowed to drive
Jackson's car unless he trusted them, so that was something, right? "I wouldn't
know what to wear!"

"Now you're just making up excuses."

"Am not!"

"Why would you suddenly care about what you wear to a party now of all times?"

"Truth is, Lydia, I am studying to become a fashion designer for Dior."

Even though he couldn't see her, he knew that she was calmly collecting herself
enough to reply to him, "Plain t-shirt, wine jeans, Vans. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"Be here at eight-thirty or I will cut you."

And there was the end of Lydia's patience with him! "Yes ma'am!"

He showered at a leisurely pace, checked over everything again, applied some
aloe on the worse ones, and retreated back to his room. Stiles was pulling on
his pants when his dad knocked on the door.

"Stiles?"

Almost tripping, Stiles yanked on his jeans and pulled on his shirt to cover up
the incriminating evidence. Just as his father was about to knock again, Stiles
flung the door open.

"Hey Dad!"

"Going somewhere?"

"Uh yeah, Jackson's having a party and invited everyone on the team, so. . ."

The sheriff nodded, "Alright. Well, they found two more bodies in the woods,
alive this time, and I have to go in. Even if you're going to a party, I expect
you to be home or at Scott's before I get home. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, and Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything reckless. I don't want to arrest my own son for intoxication
or something, alright?"

"Well I never!"

"Uh-huh."

"Fine! I won't be reckless. Promise."

"You have a good time, then."

"Yeah, you too! And don't forget to eat something. No burgers, no fries, or I
will call Rita and have her put the fear of God in you!" Rita was an old,
Korean War Veteran's wife, that worked as a secretary at the station part-time,
and she was terrifying.

The sheriff chuckled, "I don't doubt it. I'll see you later."

"See ya." Stiles reeled his father in for a good hug and they parted ways.
Stiles glanced at the clock, he was good, and pulled on his shoes.

Bounding down the steps, Stiles walked into the kitchen and ate something. He
didn't want to go there on an empty stomach when he knew there was going to be
food and booze. Otherwise, he would end up nauseous the whole night because
teenagers ate a lot of food, especially athletic ones.

When it came time for him to leave, he checked himself one last time in the
mirror and headed out.

Jackson's place was lit from top to bottom and the music could be heard halfway
down the street. Clearly, his parents were not home. Stiles parked a block or
two away, not wanting get Jeep vandalized by some drunk kids, and walked up the
door.

As per party norms, he let himself in and headed straight for the kitchen where
he knew there would be someone he knew. And there were, but it was Greenberg,
already guzzling down a beer.

"Stilinski!" he cheered, "My man! What is up?" Greenberg kind of turned into an
affectionate I-love-everyone-in-this-bar person when he got drunk.

Stiles politely smiled and snagged a bottle of water. He wasn't planning on
getting drunk, he was not a fan of hangovers, and he drank it while heading out
to the back to find someone else to talk to. Anybody but Greenberg.

Wild Cherry thumped through the speakers around the pool and kids swayed with
it, holding plastic cups and bottles. Boyd and Erica were among them, standing
really close and staring lovingly, sickeningly, into each other's eyes. Issac
was talking with Scott, probably about wolfy things. Danny had some guy pushed
up against the wall of the pool and they were really going at it. Jackson and
Lydia were linked arm-in-arm and were talking to Allison.

Stiles squeezed through the masses of people to them. When he passed Scott, he
slapped him on the shoulder, letting him know he made it, and waved at Erica.
Boyd also gave him a nod. Allison saw him first, though.

"Stiles!" she shouted over the music, "glad you made it!"

Lydia eyed him up and down and he spread out his arms and spun. She nodded
approvingly, and he let out a grateful breath. Everyone was being friendly,
just like Lydia said, and then Jackson opened up his mouth.

"So Lydia. Did you know that Stiles and Issac were seconds from making out in
the parking lot yesterday?"

Stiles' eyes widened and Lydia said, "I was there, and no. They were not going
to make out."

Allison also put in to the conversation, "Issac isn't interested in Stiles."

Jackson smirked, "Maybe if Stilinski put out that would change."

Lydia was horrified, "Jackson!"

"Maybe if you bent over the table for him you might actually get some."

"You need to stop!" Allison warned, eyes wide.

"I bet that's what you and Greenberg were doing in the "old locker rooms."
Weren't you, Stilinski?"

Stiles' hand twitched restlessly.

"You probably got bored with just one and you decided to let Issac in on it,
didn't you? Wanted to have a little extra fun? I bet Issac would do it too! The
two of them would probably make you do it."

Fuck that. Stiles jabbed Jackson right in the solar plexus and turned away from
them. He could faintly hear Lydia furiously yelling at him to never say things
like that, and Jackson telling her to calm down and it was just a joke. Jackson
also said that he knew Stiles wouldn't take it personally and only hit him
because he was a little bitch.

The thing is, he did. He did take it personally, and he fled back to the
kitchen, needing something stronger than water to make him forget.

Stiles just wanted one night, one, where he could forget all about the
abductions, the bruises, the pain, and the rape. He was going to get it, too,
one alcoholic drink after another.
Chapter End Notes
     The next sevenish chapters all happen within the same night. Shit is
     about to get crazy.
***** Drinking From the Bottle *****
Chapter Summary
     Buzzed means that there is a colony of bees living in someone's head.
Chapter Notes
     Drinking From the Bottle by Calvin Harris feat. Tinie Tempah.
     If you actually listen to these songs, in the second "bring the veuve
     clicqot" there is one random beat that is substantially louder than
     the others, and it frustrates me. Like: What are you doing there,
     random beat? Are you lost? Why you gotta be so loud?
See the end of the chapter for more notes
By the fourth or fifth shot of tequila, the alcohol just slid right down his
throat, no burn at all. He was hanging off people like it was his job and he
hadn't seen any of his friends since he walked in two hours ago.

Stiles had paced himself with his alcohol, really, he drank at least a bottle
of water with every shot, but that didn't stop him from enjoying the buzzing in
his brain. He somehow wandered out into the backyard again and nearly fell into
the pool. Scott, being the great guy that he is, caught him before he was going
to plunge in.

"Hey! Scotty! My man!" Stiles flung an arm around his best friend and rested
his head on the juncture between Scott's neck and shoulder. "How have you been
buddy?" His voice was steadily returning throughout the night and he could talk
louder and louder with each passing hour. It was nice, not having to whisper
all the time.

"How drunk are you?" Stiles thought he sounded exasperated, and that wouldn't
do!

"Have a drink!" Stiles held up his glass, filled with more tequila, "You sound
a little grumpy, like grumpy cat. If cats could talk. Hey wouldn't that be
cool! Talking cats."

"I can't get drunk off this stuff, Stiles, you know that." Scott sighed, "What
happened?"

"Happened? Whaddya mean?" Stiles rolled around from his place and precariously
balanced on his feet in front of Scott.

"With Jackson."

Stiles frowned, a confused look on his face, "Jackson?"

"Yeah, you punched him and went back inside, like, two hours ago."

Oh! "Oh yeah! Jackson said some not so nice things, you know? He's really kind
of mean. I don't have a clue why Lydia stays with him," he leaned in to stage
whisper, "but I think she may be co-dependent with anyone she's in a
relationship with. Speaking of relationships. . ." Stiles blinked, thinking he
saw a dark haired guy with stubble looming in the back of the party.

"Speaking of relationships?" Scott prompted, keeping Stiles steady with hands
on his elbows.

"Are you and Issac in a bromantic relationship? I feel like you are and I can't
relate to you anymore because I'm not a werewolf. I could've been one though!
There was that time with Peter, and that time with the crazy experiment in the
warehouse." A goofy grin spread across his face, "I could have been just like
you! All awesome at lacrosse and getting some action. Maybe Allison would have
dated me. She's pretty, you know? I hope you get back together, you're kind of
made for each other. It's gross, really."

"Whoa, whoa, wait! Back up a second! What time with Peter? What warehouse?"
Scott shook his shoulders lightly, "Stiles!"

Stiles wasn't listening anymore. He was watching the water of the pool dance in
his vision. There was something really pretty about it and he just watched it.
Meanwhile, Scott kept trying to get his attention.

"Stiles!" Scott snapped his fingers in front of his face, finally getting his
attention, "Jesus! What were you talking about earlier? Peter and a warehouse,
remember?"

Stiles stared at him blankly, then chuckled, "You've got a crooked jawline." He
tapped the aforementioned crooked jawline and then walked away, swaying with
the music and alcohol.

He wandered back into the kitchen and grabbed an entire bottle of whiskey, his
dad's favorite, and trudged back out the door with it, high-fiving Greenberg on
the way out. Greenberg was alright when Stiles was drunk, they could become
best friends five-ever!

Twisting off the cap, Stiles sat in a lawn chair and took a huge gulp. Issac
was frowning at him from across the way, so Stiles smiled and waved back.
People passed in front of him to get to the house, and Issac was suddenly in
front of him.

"You really shouldn't do that." His frown deepening. The guy must have taken
frowning classes from Derek.

"Do what?" Taking another drink.

He gestured to the bottle, "Drink so much."

"It helps me." Stiles clutched the bottle to his chest, afraid Issac would take
it away.

Shaking his head, the werewolf disagreed, "No, it's hurting you! You can't even
see straight!"

"So?" Stiles rebutted with, "I don't need to see at all! I just need to
forget." His eyes slipped closed.

"Forget what?" His tone was angrily concerned.

"Hmm?" Stiles mumbled.

"What do you need to forget?"

Stiles was puzzled. Had he said that? He couldn't really recall that, but he
replied anyway, "About you stealing my best friend away from me! That totally
goes against the bro-code!" Stiles then started to laugh for no apparent
reason.

Issac let out a huff and walked off. Lydia, Erica, and Allison soon replaced
him.

"Hey, my ladies!" Stiles winked at their unhappy faces.

"Stiles?" Allison tentatively asked, "Are you alright?"

"Sure, sure! Fine! Super dandy, in fact!"

"Bullshit." Erica crossed her arms over her chest.

Lydia narrowed her eyes, "You did not punch Jackson because you were 'super
dandy,' now, answer the question: Are you alright?"

Stiles' smile fell and he grumbled, "No. Why would Jackson say those mean
things! I hardly ever do anything to him, and he goes and says that I would
take any penis offered or shoved at me!" His eyes started to leak.

"Stiles," Allison put a hand on Stiles' leg lightly, "we know you would never
do that."

"Nor did you deserve it," Erica added.

"Wait what?" Allison spun to Erica.

Lydia and Erica exchanged confused looks, "You didn't know?" Erica glanced at
Stiles to make sure.

"Know what?" Allison twisted her head between the three other teenagers.

Lydia looked expectantly at Stiles, asking his permission to tell her. When
Stiles waved it off with his bottle, she spoke, "Stiles was raped on his
vacation with his father a few days ago by about ten?" she glanced at Erica who
nodded, "Ten guys."

Allison's hands clenched at her sides, "What." It wasn't a question and she was
furious, "I just thought that what Jackson was saying was really inappropriate
and he shouldn't make rape jokes at all. Now that I know what happened. . .
shit, Stiles. I'm so sorry."

Stiles slurred out a response with a smile, "S'all good! That's why I've got
your daddy helping me out!"

A spark lit up in Allison's eyes, connecting the pieces together, "Oh. If I had
known--"

"You would have what?" Erica shot back, "Saved him? It's too little too late
for that."

Allison glared, "I would have helped him! You don't have to be such a bitch!"

Erica rolled her eyes, and just when Allison was seconds away from saying
something else, Lydia interjected, "Shut up. Stiles, do you need anything?"

But Stiles wasn't there. He had wandered off into the party again. There were
people all around him, dancing, grinding, kissing, but Stiles just sort of
swayed, bottle still in hand. Boyd found him like that.

"Stiles."

Stiles face split into a grin, "Boyd! Having fun?" He tried to step foreword so
that he could hear Boyd's response better, but ended up tripping right into the
guy's chest, "Oops! My bad!"

"Stop that." Before Stiles could ask what he was supposed to stop, Boyd
snatched the bottle from Stiles' hands and gave it to some kid walking past
them.

"Hey! That's no fair!"Stiles' face took on a kicked puppy look, "I wouldn't
cock block you from your alcohol!"

"Maybe because I don't drink alcohol."

Honey eyes turned confused, "You don't? Well, you should! It's like a colony of
bees pleasantly buzzing around in your head. They don't even sting!"

Boyd simply looked at him exasperatedly. Stiles made a mocking face and turned
away from the darker male with a wave. Next, Stiles found Danny, but, this
time, it was on purpose.

"Danny!" Stiles cheered, sidling up next to the goalie.

"Hi Stiles."

"I was wondering something--"

"I'm still not going to answer if I find you attractive."

Throwing back his head, Stiles laughed, "No, no, no! Not that! Although, I'll
get it out of you one day! I was just wondering if you would take me to the
club."

Danny was disbelieving, "The club?"

"Yup! I wanna get my groove on!"

The tanner teen rolled his eyes, "You can get your groove on here."

Stiles turned whiny, "But everyone keeps asking me mean questions! I just want
to forget and get lost. . . you know?" Stiles' eyes were trying very hard to
concentrate on Danny's, attempting to convey that he was serious.

The goalie searched Stiles' eyes for a long time before he sighed, "Alright, I
was going to head over there anyway."

"You're the best!" Stiles threw his arms around him.

Danny retaliated by yanking Stiles' arms off, "Yeah, yeah, but you'll owe me."

"Whaddya need? Money? My bank account number? Social security? First born?
Soul?"

Stiles thought he heard Danny mutter, "I'm not a crossroads demon," but quickly
he forgot he said anything as they approached Lydia. "Hey Lydia," Danny said
over the volume of people and music, "thanks for inviting us. It was lots of
fun, but we're going to head out. Okay?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes, "And where exactly are you going?"

Stiles happily chirped, "Da club!"

Lydia turned to him and cocked her head, "'Da club,' huh?" she turned back to
Danny, "Have fun, and keep an eye on him. He looks about ready to blackout."

Danny groaned and nodded, "Yeah,yeah. I'll see you later."

"Bye Lydia!" Stiles waved frantically.

Lydia had one eyebrow raised halfway up her forehead as she watched them go.
Once they disappeared in the kitchen she sought out her boyfriend to have a few
choice words with him.

Stiles followed Danny, "Hey, why did you thank Lydia? Isn't this Jackson's
house? Wait, I know it's Jackson's house. There are pictures of him
everywhere!" There really were. All the the available wall spaces were filled
with pictures of teeny tiny Jackson, elementary school Jackson, middle school
Jackson, and current Jackson. Tons of pictures, and none of them were
embarrassing looking at all. Apparently the guy had great cheekbones from
conception. Fucker.

Danny closed the door behind him and stood outside the door, "Because she's the
one that puts them on, and Jackson just hosts because he's got the space, and
his parents aren't in town." Danny then gestured to Stiles' body, "Where are
your keys?"

"Keys?"

"Yes, keys. I don't have a car yet, you're not driving, and we're not walking.
Keys, Stiles."

Realization lit up Stiles' eyes, "Right!" He quickly fished out the Jeep's keys
and started to walk down the angled stairs to the road, "I parked that-a-way!"

Danny nodded and they trudged to the blue Jeep. Stiles slid in the passenger
seat as Danny started the engine. They were pulling out when Stiles said, "Hey,
could you stop at my house? I've got to get somethings."

The goalie side-eyed him, "If your dad is there, we're both fucked."

"Nope, night shift! Something about another mountain lion."

Danny's jaw tightened a little. He looked as if he was going to say something
with the concern evident on his face, but instead he said, "Don't take too much
time." He then directed the Jeep to the Stilinski household.

Within minutes they were there and Stiles was scrambling in his nerd t-shirt
drawer for the dagger. He didn't know why, but he felt like he should have it
that night. A kind of just-in-case thing. Stiles stuffed it into one of his
pockets, it easily descended into his pants. He snagged his fake ID on the way
out of his room.

Back in the Jeep, Stiles turned to Danny, "What happened to the guy you were
making out with in the pool?"

"He's at the club we're going to."

"Why'd he leave?"

"He had to work."

"Are you dating a stripper?"

"Stiles." Danny sighed, "No, he's a bar back. He restocks the alcohol."

"Woo! More alcohol!" Stiles fist pumped in the air.

"Yeah, speaking of, did you bring a fake ID for it because I am not using mine
to get drinks for you. That shit can get us both thrown out and your dad called
on us."

Brandishing the plastic, Stiles smiled, "Yup! All prepared!"

Danny just nodded and they were in front of the club in no time. Danny had
connections so they were able to get in really fast with no problems and just a
cursory glance at Stiles' ID.

Once inside, Danny said, "Call me if you plan on leaving early so I can get a
ride with someone." Stiles nodded, and Danny said, "Have fun," as he drifted
toward the bar.

Stiles was definitely planning on having a lot of fun.
Chapter End Notes
     No more public education, so hopefully that means more chapters in a
     week!
     Also, whoever made mixtapes a thing? I would like to thank you in
     anyway possible. Money? Bank account number? Social security? First
     born? Soul? Really, name it and it's yours, mysterious maker of the
     mixtape.
***** How We Do (Party) *****
Chapter Summary
     Gay clubs have some shitty screening and security procedures.
Chapter Notes
     How We Do (Party) by Rita Ora
     Readers! Please pay attention to the tags! There is a certain amount
     of spoilers in the tags if you look hard enough, squint a little,
     tilt your head to the side. . . the like.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The music was nearly deafening as Stiles got closer to the center of the floor.
Male bodies were smashed together, many of them shirtless, and they reached out
to Stiles as he smiled back at them. He pushed his way through and found his
way to the edge of the large mass of people. That was when he heard a familiar
voice.

"Stiles! Baby, is that you?"

Stiles spun around and found himself staring at wild, teased hair, lined lips,
dark eye shadow, a sequenced dress, and elbow length gloves. "Jezebel? Is that
you?"

"In the flesh!" Jezebel pulled him into a hug, which he gratefully accepted,
"What are you doing here?"

Shrugging, he said, "Not much, partying I guess."

She eyed him critically, "Did you drink before you came here?"

Reluctantly, he nodded.

She sighed, "I thought so, well looks like I can't get you drunk on my own."
She waved it off, "Ah well, c'est la vie, as they say." She smiled at him,
"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"The ladies haven't seen you in months! I know that they miss you!" Jezebel
lead him over to the hoard of drag queens that were lounging on the couches in
the corner of the club. When they approached, they all threw their hands up in
the air and screamed, "Ladies! Look who I found!"

"Baby doll!" Deandra screeched, "Where have you been?"

"We've missed you!" Monica pinched his cheeks.

Raquel kissed his forehead, "You really must call us more often!"

"Is that girl having another party?" Glenda asked, probably already on her
fourth or fifth drink of the night, "That punch was hella good!"

"Still as cute as ever!" Mimi complimented.

Stiles endured the regulation amount of affectionate touching from his drag
queen friends, even the cheek pinching. "It's nice to see you ladies again. How
have you been?" He sat down on the couch next to Deandra and Jezebel.

Raquel instantly started her gossip, "Well, Mimi was visiting a friend up in
Washington when some lazy-ass fucker tries to hit on her. He tried to take her
back in some creepy ass alleyway and have sex with her."

Stiles' eyes widened, "What?" He turned to Mimi, "Are you okay? He didn't do
anything right?"

Mimi flipped her curled hair over her shoulder, "Hell no, I pulled out my
pocket knife and sliced so close to his junk he was afraid he was going to
become a eunuch."

Monica smiled, "That's our girl. Ain't nobody be touching any of us without our
permission!" There was a chorus of 'hell yeahs' and 'damn straights' from all
the queens.

Glenda patted Stiles on the shoulder, "Hey, baby doll, you alright? You got
real quiet?"

Stiles smiled, head swimming in the buzz of alcohol still in his system, "It's
just-- I don't-- never mind."

Jezebel hooked an arm around his shoulder, "Baby, you can tell us. We don't
judge here."

Stiles leaned into Jezebel's large hair, and with a small hitch in breath, he
verbally said what happened to him for the first time, "I-I was raped."

A huge collective gasp went around the ladies, and then they got mad. Jezebel
promised to castrate them, Monica would set them on fire, Mimi would have the
same thing happen to them, Raquel would beat them to death, and Deandra would
slowly drain them of blood.

Deandra squeezed Stiles shoulder, "Stiles, we're here for you, always. If this
fucker finds you again, you just call us and we'll fuck him up." The others
agreed.

Stiles smiled, "Thanks, you ladies are awesome."

They all flipped their hair over their shoulders and said, "We know." They all
went on in their gossip and general chit chat. Eventually, they found
themselves on the topic of boys.

Glenda fanned herself, "Girls, I swear, if those Puerto Rican boys were any
hotter, my panties would have been incinerated right off of me!"

Mimi asked, wide-eyed, "You were actually wearing panties?"

"Hell no!" There was a collective giggle around them all.

Deandra knocked her shoulder against Stiles', "So Stiles, any cuties we should
interrogate for you?"

"Interrogate?" He asked, gulping down some water to flush out some of the
alcohol in his system.

Monica nodded, "Yeah, to make sure that they know that if they hurt you, we'll
kill him and make it look like an accident."

"That. . . that's a little violent, but I get what you're saying," Stiles
laughed a little awkwardly, "Well, there was this guy. . ."

Jezebel inhaled sharply, "I'm sensing a but coming."

"But," Stiles continued, "I kind of ruined it."

They all consoled him, telling him that there was no way that he could have
done something like that, and they asked how he thought he ruined it.

He rubbed his hands on his jeans, "Um, well, after the. . ." he waved his hand
around, "you know, happened, I found someone that could teach me how to defend
myself, right?" They all nodded, "Which is great and all, but this guy doesn't
really like my teacher all that much. Actually, he would rather set him on fire
than be around him for too long."

Collective disapproval noises could be heard from them.

"I, naturally, kept it a secret from him while he would stay the night in my
bed and--"

"Wait!" Mimi interrupted, "this guy stayed in your bed?" When he nodded, she
asked another question, "Did you tell him any of what happened? Also, did you
two have sex?"

Stiles flushed, "N-no! We didn't have sex! He just. . . sort of, I don't know,
consoled me while I slept? I guess. And no, I did not tell him any of what
happened, nor do I plan to."

Mimi spoke up again, "But if you like this guy, why didn't you tell him or
something."

"I'm getting there if you wouldn't interrupt," Stiles said pointedly. Mimi
looked sheepish, and Stiles continued, "Anyway, he would stay the night and
things were going alright. There was a moment when I think we almost kissed? We
were really close, physically, and it looked like he wanted to. I definitely
did, but it didn't happen." The ladies groaned, sad about his almost kiss,
"Then, yesterday night, he found out that I was getting training from his arch
nemesis. He freaked out, without letting my explain. Not sure if I would have
explained or not, though. He said some things, really mean things, and he left
in a dramatic flair, kind of his MO."

"He just peaced out, just like that?" Monica asked.

"Yeah, just like that."

Jezebel frowned, "He wouldn't even let you explain?"

Stiles shook his head.

Deandra stated, "You're better off without him."

"Deandra!" They were all appalled at her statement, and all the queens gave
exclaimed her name.

"What?"

"Stiles obviously really likes this guy!"

"The least you could do is offer a way to explain it to him!"

"Seriously!"

"What if this is true love?"

"Apologize!"

They spoke over each other until Stiles held up his hand, "It's alright. I
don't really blame him. I'm not going to be upset with him over something he
didn't know about, but it still hurts, you know? I don't think it would have
worked out anyway, regardless if I had told him or not." Stiles ran a hand
through his hair, "Things are complicated between us."

"Un-complicate them." Raquel said.

Stiles scoffed, downing the rest of his water, "Easier said than done." They
chatted a little more and then they announced that they had to leave because
they were going on a road trip to Las Vegas and they needed their beauty sleep.

They all gave Stiles a kiss on his cheek as they left, reminding him to call
them if anything note-worthy happened, and they were gone. He began to nurse
another water when he had a horrible, awful, illegal idea.

Naturally, he decided to pursue it, and within minutes of having the idea,
Stiles found what he was looking for: drugs.

There was a shady guy giving off a weird vibe, hands stuffed in his jacket
pockets, and glancing around nervously. Stiles thought that if there was anyone
in the club that would be selling drugs, it would be him.

"What's up man?" Stiles asked the guy, all smiles.

They guy twitched around a bit, trying to see if Stiles was genuine, "Uh, not
much. You need something?" He sounded like he knew Stiles was there to waste
his precious time.

"Depends, what have you got?"

His eyes lit up in excitement, "Oh-oh I've got all kinds of stuff! I've got
some X, grass, dots, angel dust, white lady, no Tina though. Ran out earlier."

Stiles nodded, pleased he decided to check out the sketchy guy, "I'll take some
dots and angel dust." Stiles reached for his wallet, but the guy stopped him.

"Nah man," he licked his lips nervously, "my supplier and I ain't about that
shit. We distribute on a non-profit basis."

"That's. . . kind of dumb, actually." Stiles frowned, putting away his wallet.

"Nah man," they guy pulled out two small baggies with half doses each, "the way
we see it is that we just want people to have a good time, and if they don't
have to spend money to do it, they'll keep coming back."

"So how do you buy the drugs?"

"My supplier has some fancy, high-paying job and he lives alone. Said something
about getting into the business because he was bored. Rich people stuff, I
guess."

Stiles shrugged, "Whatever, man." He took the baggies as discreetly as he could
and walked away. As soon as he was in the thick of the dance floor, he opened
up the dots baggie and put one on his tongue. The thing dissolved fairly
quickly. While it took its time to take effect, Stiles threw his body against
anyone close to him, gyrating against them.
Chapter End Notes
     I graduated on Friday and from Thursday to Sunday, I went to 17
     different graduation parties. That means I am done socializing for
     the rest of the year, right?
     Also: *violently kicks down your front door, finds you in shower,
     rips curtain/door aside* TEEN WOLF TONIGHT, MOTHERFUCKERS! *hip
     thrusts vigorously*
***** Give Me Love *****
Chapter Summary
     Drugs can fuck a person up.
Chapter Notes
     Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran (I know, I'm repeating artists, YOLO and
     all that shit).
     Pro-tip for this chapter: If you listen to the songs while reading,
     right when the middle 8/collision part of the song is (3:05 for the
     official music video, it has an angel in it.) right when Stiles is
     running in the streets, you'll get a taste of what I experienced when
     I wrote this chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The effects started off slowly. While some muscled guy was grabbing Stiles'
hips and grinding into his ass, he felt like he was being touched softly by
feathers. Another guy moved in front of Stiles and mouthed at his neck. Stiles
tilted his head back and opened his eyes.

There were little fireflies in the ceiling. He giggled and the two men hummed
against him.

"You like that?" One of them huskily whispered into Stiles' ear.

Despite the panic and bile rising in his throat, he nodded. They continued
ravaging his body. Meanwhile, the feathers from before were no longer soft. It
suddenly felt like they were drilling into his skin, causing him to wince a
little.

He must have tensed up because the guys were rubbing their hands down his
sides, "Shhh, baby, we're going to take good care of you tonight."

"Fill you up with our cum."

"Bite down on your pretty, little neck."

"Make you cum until you can't walk anymore."

Hands wandered their way up Stiles' shirt and he swallowed down his discomfort.
Truthfully, he wouldn't mind what they were suggesting, but not from them. He
wanted that from someone else. Well, he did, until a few days ago.

Fingers deftly unbuttoned his jeans, slid down the zipper, and traced the
waistband of his boxers. Stiles' hands clenched and unclenched at his sides,
and he waited for what he knew would happen next. However, it never came.

Instead, they two guys were roughly jerked off of him, "Get lost guys!" Danny's
voice said, irritated.

One of them said, "He was enjoying it!" A few people turned around to see what
all the noise was about.

"Like hell he was!" Danny peered into Stiles' eyes, and had both of the guys
against the bar by their collars in a blink, "What the fuck did you give him?"
People stopped dancing and formed a semi-circle around them.

Both of them pushed at Danny, but he wasn't budging, "We didn't give him
anything! He was like that when he got on the floor!"

"Yeah man! Honest! We didn't give him anything! But he was enjoying it, weren't
you?" They all turned to look at Stiles, even the crowd.

Stiles hadn't really been paying attention. The feathers were digging more
painfully into his skin, and kept seeing huge, hulking shadows sneak around the
room at the peripheries of his vision. His heart was beginning to pick up
speed, and there was a slight tremor in his body.

"Danny," the bartender urged, "you can't fight in here! You'll get thrown out!"

Danny worked his jaw in frustration for a moment, "Stay away from him,
understand?"

"Whatever man," they pushed off of Danny and went back into the crowd. The
people that were gathered slowly dissipated when they saw there would be no
fight.

The goalie went over to Stiles, "Stiles?" He gave a shake to his shoulders,
"Stiles! What did you take?"

Honey eyes swiveled over to chocolate eyes, "Hey Danny! What happened to your
boyfriend? Where did those guys go? I think they wanted to have sex with me."
Stiles scratched viciously on his arm, "Have you seen the guys with the yellow
eyes walking around the club?"

"Never mind about my boyfriend, and a bigger never mind about those assholes.
They were going to take advantage of you! You don't want your first time to be
with those sleazeballs, do you?" Danny swiped his thumbs under Stiles' eyes,
wiping them of tears.

Had he been crying? When did he do that? "First time?" Stiles swayed a little,
digging a little harder into his skin, "They wouldn't be my firsts," he frowned
deeply, "or seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or fifths, of sixth-"

"What do you mean, Stiles?" Danny interrupted, separating his arms from each
other to prevent him from scratching more. The Stiles Stilinski he knew was an
awkward virgin that had absolutely no-game with Lydia, no matter how hard he
tried. He never would have had sex with Lydia. Partly because she would
outright refuse to, and partly because the last weeks of school, they had been
very buddy-buddy with each other. Platonically buddy-buddy, though.

"What's today, Danny?"

He shook his head, thrown for the sudden question, "It's Thursday."

"No, like the date." Stiles lightly tugged at his confined limbs.

"It's June 13th, you know, we just got out of school last Friday? Beginning of
summer? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Stiles hummed in his throat, "We've been out of school for only six days?"

Danny snapped Stiles back into focus, "It doesn't matter, Stiles! What do you
mean when you said they wouldn't be your firsts and whatevers?"

"It does matter though!" Stiles insisted, "A lot can happen in six days!" Six
days ago, he and his dad drove directly from his last day of sophomore year to
the motel two hours away. In the back of his mind, he asked himself how
everything got so fucked up since then. Well, more fucked up than they had
been.

Stiles realized that Danny was still expecting an answer."Some guys are really
mean, you know that?" Stiles mumbled, "Some of them chain you up and force you
to do things you don't want to do. It's not nice. It's not fair!" Stiles stared
wide-eyed at Danny after a pause, "Have you seen the guys with the yellow eyes
walking around?" He asked again.

Danny blinked, trying to acclimate himself to the sudden direction change in
topics, "What guys?"

"The not nice ones."

"Stiles, were you--?"

Stiles started to ruthlessly tug on his arms that Danny still held captive.
"They're getting closer! Danny! Danny, please! Let me go! I have to--"

"There aren't any yellow-eyed people here, I promise."

"No Danny! There are! They're right there! Please let me go!" Stiles yanked
himself free and tried to bolt to the door, but was instantly blocked by a
muscled chest. He looked up into Derek's eyes, which glinted red for the barest
of moments, "No!" Stiles' voice rasping out, and he clawed at Derek's chest and
past him, running for the exit.

He nearly tripped over his feet running, and he didn't stop until he was a good
two and a half blocks away. Even then, he didn't stop because he wanted to, he
stopped because Derek made him.

Stiles thrashed against him. The prickles against his skin turned excruciating
and the yellow-eyed men were nearly on top of him again.

Derek held onto Stiles' hands, "Stiles! Would you listen to me for one goddamn
minute?" Derek huffed, a yellow eye right behind his left ear, "Boyd and Issac
said you were acting really--"

Stiles kneed him in the stomach and bolted. His feet carried him to the tree
line, not far from him, and he plunged into the foliage. He could feel the
yellow-eyed omegas' breath on the back of his neck, which only caused him to
run faster.

"Stiles!" Derek called after him, catching up fast.

His brain somehow connected Derek chasing him with the omegas, and Derek was
there to finish what they started. Stiles was terrified, he didn't even see the
wayward roots in the ground and ended up flying through the air for a moment.
He landed on his stomach, hard, just as he felt the omegas and Derek close in
on him.

Stiles frantically shook his head, voice paralyzed, as he felt the omegas rip
into his skin anew. Salty tears leaked from his eyes, writhing on the leaves of
the forest floor, Derek knelt next to him, unsure of what to do.

The alpha's hand hovered awkwardly over the teenager, torn between letting the
fear ride out on Stiles, and trying to snap him back to reality.

Meanwhile, the omegas were tearing off his clothes again, shoving themselves
into his body, and biting everywhere they could reach. A whimper slipped past
his lips as he swore he felt one of them stick his claws straight threw his
stomach. He curled himself on his side, drawing his knees to his chest.

Derek watched, mouth slack. What the hell was happening to him? He vaguely
remembered that certain drugs were hallucinogens, thank you sophomore health,
and he figured that was what Stiles had taken at the club. But why? Why would
he need to take something like that?

He swallowed guiltily and realized that it probably had something to do with
what he said. He knew that saying the thing about Stiles' dad was low, even for
scum it was low, and he regretted it as soon as he said it. But Stiles was
still training to be a hunter, what was he supposed to do? Just idly sit by and
let Chris Argent train Stiles into becoming a brutal killing machine against
his kind? Hell no!

The alpha did not regret saying anything, except for Stiles' dad being so proud
of him. Derek hated traitors.

Stiles wanted to scream, call for help, but he could feel a gag of anatomical
nature in his throat, preventing any speech. He didn't want this. Not again.
Not ever. He just wanted to go curl up next to his cousins and play.

He swore that he could feel claws raking slowly down his skin, fangs clamping
over any part of his body, penises shoved in any available space the omegas
could find, and blood and omega semen running down his body in streams. Not
even a moment later, Stiles quickly uncurled himself from his fetal position
and puked all over the dead leaves, twigs, and grass.
Chapter End Notes
     Lots of differences between the two versions this time!
     Running the Tough Mudder and Color Run this coming Saturday and
     Sunday, so I'm hoping to have a chapter finished before I leave so I
     can just copy, paste, and post! THEN on Monday I go to orientation at
     UW until Tuesday, which I will be wearing my Teen Wolf fan-made
     shirt, and Dean Winchester, "Driver picks the music," shirt! I'm
     hoping to find a college buddy to watch Teen Wolf with!
***** Battle Scars *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles' phone really hates water.
Chapter Notes
     Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco & Guy Sebastian --- Every single time I
     hear this song on the radio while I'm driving, I would play out this
     chapter in my head. And then try and not drive off the road!
     If you ever say Scott McCall was a shitty friend, I will find you and
     cut you. (◡‿◡✿)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek bent down and picked up Stiles, who, surprisingly, let him without a
fight. Stiles was still conscious, but he was also so tired. So very tired, and
letting Derek carry him to a safer place sounded fantastic. He was still upset
with Derek, though.

"Did you drive yourself to the club?" Derek's voice was rough, uncomfortable,
as he carried the teenager bridal style back onto the paved roads.

Stiles minutely nodded, not saying anything else. He was beating himself up
again. Why would he do that? Why would he risk his father's career like that?
If he was arrested for intoxication, his dad would lose his job because of him,
again. What if he spilled about what happened to him to Danny? Oh shit. Had he
accidentally gotten Danny mixed up in the werewolf business? Danny didn't
deserve that.

Quicker than he thought, they were back at Stiles' Jeep. Stiles reached in his
jeans and pulled out his keys, relinquishing them to Derek. Derek opened up the
passenger side, carefully set the teenager down, and then hurried around to the
driver's side. He started the car and they were quickly on their way back to
Jackson's house.

As they were speeding down the roads, Stiles could audibly hear Derek's hands
squeezing too tightly on the steering wheel. He chanced a glance over to the
werewolf and saw Derek's eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a firm line, and his
entire body language was tense and angry. Great. Stiles averted his eyes from
Derek, clutching at his still rolling stomach, all the way to Jackson's.

At Jackson's house, there were only a few cars, all of them Stiles recognized
as his classmates', so they parked very close to the front door. Derek parked
and turned off the engine, and Stiles struggled a bit trying to grasp the door
handle to get out. After some failed attempts, he got it and he stumbled out
onto the pavement.

Scott appeared at the front door as Stiles was halfway up the steps, "Stiles!
Glad you're here! Jackson needs help cleaning up from the party, and the rest
of the lacrosse team dipped out." When Stiles was within arms reach, Scott
carefully took his elbow and lead him to the backyard where it was horrendous.

There were beer cups in the pool, chips everywhere, someone's pants in the
tree, bras underneath chairs, and tons of shoes left everywhere. Stiles turned
to his best friend and gave him an incredulous look.

"Dude, I know." Scott sighed, "Two guys were getting into a fight and a girl
called 911, so everyone ran like hell. Why would she do that? You know that
when guys fight, as soon as eye contact is broken, fight is over. Anyway, can
you stay and help?"

Stiles sighed too, but nodded.

"Great!" Scott beamed, "Here's a trash bag for actual trash and here's one for
recyclables."

Stiles raised an eyebrow in question.

"It's part of my summer-long 'be a better me' thing," Scott shrugged, "save the
earth and whatnot."

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and ended up starting to pick up all
the bottles, cups, and chips he could. Every so often, he would lift his head
and find Allison or Lydia inside the kitchen wiping everything down, or Erica
and Boyd collecting all the bras together, or Issac gathering the shoes. He,
however, did not see hide nor hair of the esteemed host: Jackson Whittemore, or
Scott, or Derek, but he probably went to his fancy loft.

After ten minutes of sweeping chips into trash bags, Stiles could hear two male
voices yelling at each other from inside.

"How is any of it your business?"

"It is my business!"

Stiles quickly realized that it was Derek and Scott having another row.

Scott yelled back, probably throwing his hands up in the air, "Why? Because
you're the alpha of all in Beacon Hills? Newsflash! You're not my alpha. You're
not Stiles alpha. End of story."

"Like you're actually his alpha?" Derek snorted.

"No! You don't have to be the boss of someone to get them to like you! Stiles
is my friend, my best friend, and I don't need to start controlling his every
move."

"Maybe you should."

Scott most likely crossed his arms in offense, "And what is that supposed to
mean?"

"It means that something happened to your best friend that he hasn't told
anyone the whole truth about. Not to you, not to his dad, not to anyone."

"Stiles is allowed to have secrets."

"Not when he's this close to danger! He could get killed! Or accidentally
turned into a werewolf!"

"You mean like how I was?"

"Peter was not my fault. You shouldn't have been in the woods that night
anyway!"

"Sorry 'bout it! Stiles wanted to see the body and I didn't want him to go
alone. That's what best friends do! They trust each other enough to let the
other have secrets and not let them go alone places where the could get hurt!"

"Clearly you've been a shitty best friend, then."

That was it for Stiles, he burst into the room where the two werewolves were
arguing. Scott had never been a shitty friend. Ever. Scott McCall was the best
friend that anyone could ask for. But as he was about to say something, Jackson
appeared in behind them.

"Stiles!" a suspicious grin spread across his face, "Just the guy I've been
looking for!" Jackson stepped between the two other werewolves and looped his
arm around Stiles' shoulders.

Stiles was instantly displeased.

"Listen, since you ditched out on the party before a near riot happened, you
get the honor of fetching all the shit in my pool out." Jackson picked up the
pool strainer and thrust it into Stiles hands, "Got it."

"Hey!" Scott turned around to face Jackson, "That's not cool! It'll take him
hours to do that!"

"Well," Jackson nonchalantly pushed his hands into his pockets, "he better get
started then, shouldn't he?"

Scott's eyes flashed the gold and was over at Jackson in a heartbeat. Jackson
instantly flashed his blue and they were pushing each other's chests.

"Watch it!" Scott yelled.

"How about you watch it, McCall!"

"Jackson!" Lydia screeched from the doorway.

Derek yelled, "Scott!" trying to stop him.

They had gripped each other's biceps and were twisting away from each other.
They had also forgot to realize that Stiles was still standing next to them.
One good, far enough twist to the right sent Stiles straight into the pool,
strainer in hand. The last thing Stiles saw was Derek walking back into the
house, shaking his head in frustration.

Instantly, the water rushed around him and he kicked his way to the surface. He
neared the edge and with the help of Scott and Erica, Stiles hoisted himself up
and out of the pool.

Water dripped into his eyes as he began shucking his clothing. He quickly undid
his belt, as Erica  got Boyd to go get a few towels for him. He threw the belt
on the ground. He then pulled out his water-logged phone and handed it to
Scott. With difficulty, he wedged the button out of the hole on his jeans,
unzipped the zipper, and shucked the pants right off. Stiles then pulled the
clinging, cotton shirt over his head, at the same time Boyd came back with the
towel. Stiles reached for it, nodding, but he was frozen in place, eyes on
Stiles' body.

For a moment, Stiles couldn't think of any reason why anyone would want to see
his gangly form, but then he remembered what it looked like, and how it was so
much worse than normal. Once realizing his horrible mistake, he thought about
trying to cover himself up, but he was already exposed. Steeling himself, he
looked up at the rest of the rag tag group.
It was devastating.

Lydia had her teeth clenched with tears forming in her eyes. Allison held her
hand over her mouth, as if she were going to scream, or worse, throw up. Boyd
had his jaw hanging open a little, and Erica looked like she was frozen trying
to reach out to him with a disbelieving look on her face. Jackson swallowed
when Stiles met his eyes and looked away, a little afraid. Issac had his arms
crossed protectively over his chest, avoiding looking at the extent of the
scars Stiles sported. Scott had his jaw hanging open, and his eyes were
flashing from revenge gold to pained brown.

Stiles tried to hold his chin high through their scrutiny, but it became more
and more difficult with each passing moment. He just wanted to curl up into a
ball, hide under a rock, and live there for the rest of his life. He had never
been so humiliated in his sixteen years.

"Stiles. . ." Scott tried, "How. . . When did. . . Why. . . ?" words failed him
as he tried to grasp the sight in front of him. His eyes kept flitting over
each new mark on his body, trying to find something less painful for him to
look at. It wasn't working.

Allison also tried to say something, "Was this from-- Did he do--." she ended
up covering her mouth again and letting out some tears.

Lydia sniffed, "When you said you took care of it, you weren't kidding."

"But," Erica continued from where Lydia left off, "you never said what they
were."

In a flurry of heightened senses, the werewolves all cocked their head and then
looked down, obviously caught doing something they shouldn't have been doing.
The humans were confused for a moment, then Derek walked out like he had
something very important and alpha-ish to say to everyone. Except the words
died on his lips as he was glancing around and his eyes got stuck on Stiles.

It took three quick, long strides to approach Stiles, two deep breaths to calm
himself, and one action to send everyone into an uproar. Derek's hand latched
onto Stiles' upper arm fast and hard, and the girls were on him in a moment.

"Don't touch him!"

"Get off!"

"Step back!"

Derek's eyes flashed at Erica, getting her to submit, but Lydia and Allison
stood firmly in Derek's way. The alpha, however, ignored both of them, "What
happened, Stiles?"

Stiles didn't say anything, but he did self-consciously rub his upper arm,
right where Derek grabbed him.

"Stiles!" Derek bellowed, getting Stiles to flinch, "I can see the wounds! Tell
me what happened!"

"Back off!" Allison spat, furious.

Derek suddenly directed his attention to her, "Oh? And why should I? Because
some teeny, huntress-wannabe says to? Get out."

"You need to stop right now." Lydia said firmly, tears spilling down her
cheeks.

Derek realized what they were getting at, "I didn't do any of that to him! I
haven't seen him since Jackson's turning."

Erica's eyes shot up, "That's a lie."

"You were in his room," Scott put in, "I called Stiles as soon as I was sure he
was back from his vacation and you were in his room."

Allison spewed venom, "And why would an alpha werewolf be in a teenage boy's
bedroom? Did you get too angry and needed a punching bag and Stiles was the
first available, breakable option?"

Her words rang in the air for a moment, letting them sink in to that
possibility, but Issac stammeringly spoke up, "H-he didn't do it."

All eyes went to the curly haired teenager.

Issac clutched the sides of his shirt in his hands, "If-if he had don't it,
Stiles would have been a werewolf days ago because Derek's an alpha. There are
tons of bites on him, and they haven't healed all the way. Besides, all those
bites are different sets of teeth, and unless Derek can change his dental
structure at will, he didn't do it."

Everyone knew he was right as soon as the words processed. Suspiciously, Derek
slowly spun around the group. He pointed at the three girls, "You knew
something too, didn't you?"

"So?" Lydia said defiantly.

Derek rolled his eyes, "So, that could have been useful information days ago!"

Allison swallowed, "It wasn't our story to tell."

Derek blew out through his nose heavily, and pointed at Jackson, Boyd, and
Scott, "None of you knew anything."

Numbly, the three werewolves nodded. Scott looked heartbroken and betrayed.

Derek swiveled around to Issac and narrowed his eyes at his beta, "You knew."

Issac averted his eyes. Hesitantly, he nodded quickly, "I knew about some of
them."

"Them?" Derek asked for clarification.

"I knew about some of the scars. J-just the ones on his stomach and chest."

"And you didn't think to say anything?" Derek took one step closer to his beta
with each question, "To ask what happened? To take away some of the pain?"

"I did!" Issac practically whimpered.

Derek, noticing how he had been acting, straightened himself, "Did you?"

"He wouldn't tell me, alright? I tried to take his pain away and he told me
that it was his." Derek's eyes bored into his beta for a moment longer. Issac
suddenly lunged at Boyd.  Issac yanked the towel from the darker skinned male
and threw it at a ready Stiles. "Just let him dry off, for fuck's sake!"
Chapter End Notes
     You ever have that thing that you do and when you're done it makes
     you feel like a giant bruise? Yeah, that's me at the moment. On the
     bright side: My Sterek and Dean Winchester shirts were only two hours
     away. I am excite!
     Oh! And Peter shows up in the next chapter!
***** Post Blue *****
Chapter Summary
     Pictures are worth a thousand words, but videos are worth a million
     more.
Chapter Notes
     Post Blue by Placebo. I heart this song so much! I kiss it! MWAH!
     Last week I went to Anaheim, California for my FBLA National
     Leadership Conference, hence no chapter, but I did work on it at the
     airport. It was kinda nerve-racking because 1. I have a huge 17inch
     laptop so it's pretty evident I was doing something 2. I was
     surrounded by chapter members that have no clue I write, 3. Some
     friends kept asking what I was writing and if they could read it.
     GAH! NO BAD STOP! Like: What do I say to that, "I'm writing a chapter
     for my Sterek fanfiction that features rape, torture, depression,
     panic attacks, and porn in future chapters. Sure you can read it
     after I finish! :D" . . . NO!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jackson had gone upstairs to get some dry clothes for Stiles. He didn't need to
be asked to do it either, he just got up and helped out. Stiles was sitting in
a very fluffy towel on Jackson's couch, pushing the dagger lengthwise into his
thigh. He could feel it in his bones that he would need it very soon, but he
couldn't exactly say why.

In the mean time, Allison, Erica, and Lydia snagged the First Aid kit from Mrs.
Whittemore's closet and were checking over Stiles' worst. Scott flinched every
time they dabbed something on him, or when they even touched him lightly. Many
times he asked if he could help by taking the pain away, but each time Stiles
adamantly shook his head, just like he had been doing to any other werewolf
that tried to do the same.

Issac kept his arms firmly wrapped around himself, occasionally glancing over
to make sure Stiles was still alive. Boyd sat in a plush, arm chair, hands
firmly clenched together and his eyes trained on Erica and Stiles. Derek. . .
well Derek was outside pacing.

Stiles could see Derek walking furiously back and forth past the doors. If he
kept at the pace he was going, Derek would have a rut in no time, Stiles was
sure of it. He could see Derek's hands clench and unclench as he walked, as
well. His broad shoulders were tense and drawn close to his ears.

"Here." Jackson had come back down and gently handed Stiles a pair of
sweatpants and a Henley. He then stepped back near Boyd, looking uncomfortable.
Not uncomfortable at Stiles' near nudity, but uncomfortable at the fact that
he, Jackson Whittemore: all-knowing, self-proclaimed best-at-everything guy at
Beacon Hills High School, had not realized that anything happened to Stiles at
all.

The girls moved away, deeming him as good as he would get in his state. Stiles
pulled the Henley over his head in jerking motions, carefully setting the blade
next to him. He then clutched the towel to his waist and stood up. The teenager
fidgeted around a little, trying to figure out how he would get the pants on
without dropping the towel.

"Here, dude, let me help you," Scott immediately volunteered, anything to be
helpful. He held out his hands for the ends of the towel. Stiles turned toward
the couch, held out the ends, and Scott took them, blocking anyone from seeing
him. Scott also turned away as to respect Stiles' privacy.

Stiles really could have gone to the bathroom, but he really didn't want to be
alone after a big reveal like that. He needed everyone there, even Jackson, for
comfort. He couldn't put it into complete sentences, but after accidentally
revealing that he was used as a scratching pole, he just wanted to know that
his friends didn't find him repulsing. He needed to know that regardless of
what happened, they would still accept him, fragile human skin and all.

He gave Scott a nod in appreciation and sat down. The moment his butt connected
back with the couch, Peter Hale waltzed in the front door. He stopped abruptly,
peering at them all, and cocked his head. "Was there a party I missed?" He
acted confused, but he knew that there was a party. Jackson had been raving
about it for days beforehand, and he was a werewolf. There was no way that
Peter wouldn't have been able to smell them and hear all their heartbeats
coming up to the house.

Before anyone could react, Derek was poised inside the living room, ready to
pounce, "Get out."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Calm down, Derek, I'm only here to show you something."
He gestured around the room, as if seeing everyone there for the first time,
"In fact, to show you all something."

"What is it?" Derek bit out.

Ignoring his nephew, Peter turned to Jackson, "Is there a computer I could
use?"

Jackson, taken aback, confusedly nodded, "Uh. . . yeah. It's in the basement."
He got up and showed them all downstairs.

Of course Jackson would have a projector in his basement that he could hook up
a computer to, of course. While Peter logged onto his email, everyone found a
seat among the fancy furniture.

"So," Peter started nonchalantly, typing calmly, "I'm assuming you know what
happened to our dear Stiles."

Scott's head shot up to the elder Hale, "How do you know what happened to
Stiles?"

Lydia muttered, "He probably did it."

Peter put on his best bitchface, "Someone is still holding a grudge. You
weren't turned and you probably would never have realized your immunity if I
hadn't bitten you."

"Did it every occur to you that I didn't care to know of my immunity?" Lydia
smiled tightly.

"Yet look at all the fun you've had."

"Yes, it's always fun to be hospitalized, have hallucinations, be manipulated,
and defy the laws of nature."

"There is no need to be cross about it." Peter pouted.

Lydia exploded, "There is every need to be--"

"Enough!" Derek interjected, "Just show us what you came here to show us."

Peter sighed, "Very well, and no, I, in fact, had nothing to do with what
happened to Stiles. I'm only the messenger, and you know what they say about
messengers?" Peter opened up an email with a subject line saying, 'Three:
Observation,' clicked on the attachment, "You're not," the attachment
downloaded and opened, "supposed to shoot us."

The video opened up with someone very close to it, turning it on presumably,
and as they backed away, they were revealed to be Gerard Argent. Gasps and
growls surrounded the room.

"Shhhh," Peter chastised, "Oh, none of you have eaten within the last forty-
five minutes or so, right?"

Allison glanced worriedly to Erica and Lydia.

Gerard Argent moved out of the way to reveal Stiles dangling from his wrists,
unconscious. There were also twelve men lurking behind Stiles' body, and they
were practically vibrating with energy. Gerard moved off screen and reappeared
with a Taser, he took his time turning it on, he was even humming, and finally
jabbed Stiles side with it.

Stiles woke with a jolt and grunt. As he got his bearings, the video picked up
the realization in his eyes, "Oh shit." Stiles on the video said.

"Awake, are we?" Gerard had said, "Good." He gestured for one of the men to
come foreword, "Strip him." One did as he commanded, and his claws extended to
tear Stiles clothes off his body.

Derek stood immobilized by the sight in front of him. For, probably, the first
time, Derek realized what danger Stiles was in being associated with werewolves
and even having a best friend that was one. How could he have been so blind to
the fragility of a teenager he inadvertently got involved in his werewolf life?
Once again, it was another thing he had done wrong in his time as alpha.

They all watched as Gerard spat insults at Stiles, Scott let out a growl as the
bastard insulted Stiles' mother. Stiles knee connecting with the old man's
stomach, claws, werewolves. They saw Stiles try to reason with them before the
first one violated him. They saw Stiles being lowered then another werewolf
shoving into his mouth. They saw all of the omegas ejaculate all over Stiles.
They saw the moment Stiles lost his voice. They saw Gerard try to recruit him.
They saw Stiles refuse, and they saw Gerard knock him out.

As soon as Stiles body went limp, Gerard pulled out a remote that dropped the
chain far enough for Gerard to reach Stiles hands. The man went over to the
teenager, the omegas shying away immediately, and he unchained his wrists.
Gerard then retrieved a bucket of water and he thoroughly wiped Stiles down.

"Shame that he loves those vermin so much. He'd be a nice addition to the
hunting world, and if not an informant or an actual hunter, a concubine."
Gerard laughed to himself.

The whole time, Stiles had sat in silence, reliving the horror of what happened
to him, gripping the handle of the dagger so tightly that his knuckles were
aching, but as soon as Gerard has spoken, he was on his feet.

"Stiles," Lydia tried, "I'm--I. . ."

Scott looked at his best friend with a mix of adoration and disgust. Stiles
knew in the back of his mind that the disgust was not aimed at him, but it
didn't stop it from hurting.

"But wait!" Peter called out, "There's more!" he switched over to another email
message with the subject line of, 'Four: Research,' and he had just clicked on
it when a loud howl broke through the walls of the house.

The wolves were instantly on alert and were rushing up the stairs, everyone
else following quickly behind. Peter kind of begrudgingly trudged up the stairs
like a pre-teen and slowly walked outside where everyone else was, the video
playing as he ascended.

"It's the rogue, right?" Issac asked.

"Definitely," Derek confirmed, scenting the air, "he's close and he's covered
in more blood."

"Whoa, what rogue?" Allison asked, pulling her bow and quiver out of the trunk
of her car.

Boyd stepped into the conversation, "There's been a rogue killing off campers
and hikers for a few days and it's been able to evade us until now."

"But why now?" Erica asked, scanning the street, "Why pick now to suddenly
announce his presence?"

"It's probably found a specific target." Peter supplied, casually leaning
against a car. He knew more than he was letting on, everyone could tell.

"We can totally stop him," Scott assured, "I mean, he's outnumbered six to
one."

"Excuse you." Lydia interjected.

Jackson stepped in, "Oh no, you are not getting involved in this. You are going
to go back inside and stay safe until this is over."

Lydia patted Jackson's cheek, "I don't think so, sweetheart." Lydia also
reached in Allison's trunk where she pulled out an ordinary cardboard box.
Opening it, it was revealed to be filled with packing peanuts and bubble
wrapped objects. Lydia extracted one and unwrapped one out many old perfume
bottles with Molotov cocktails swirling in them.

Peter smirked, "Molotov cocktails. Such effective weapons on more than one
occasion."

Scott muttered, "As long as Jackson didn't help make them."

Jackson, in turn, punched Scott's arm, "Shut up, McCall."

"Shut up, both of you!" Derek snapped, neck craning. He attempted to pick out
where exactly the howl had come from, but he need less noise than the teenagers
constantly provided. After a moment, he caught on to the general area,
"Alright, he's in the woods. Alone." Derek turned to his betas, "Boyd and
Issac, you go left and Erica and I will go right. Jackson, you try to get
behind it. Got it?"

"Hey!" Scott exclaimed, "What about me?"

Derek suppressed a grumble, "Go with Jackson."

"And us?" Lydia gestured to Allison and herself with an annoyed expression.

"You're going home." Derek informed them.

Allison laughed, "Like hell we are! We're involved in this as much as you are."

Derek's eyes hardened, "You're going home!" He used his commanding alpha tone,
complete with red eyes. The echoes of his voice reverberated around them.

Lydia let the last of the echoes die off, casually glancing around until they
did, "Jackson," she said, "where is this beast?" she smiled sweetly at him.

Jackson's eyes widened, "Uh. . . he-he's--"

"Don't you dare!" Derek shouted, alpha-ed up.

"A mile into the preserve." Scott explained, "He's north, northwest, not
moving."

Derek turned to Scott, outraged.

Scott rolled his eyes, "Allison can take care of herself, and Lydia could rend
someone just by looking at them."

Lydia and Allison nodded in unison, pleased with his answer.

"Lead and we'll follow." Allison informed Scott.

Peter huffed a chuckle out. Derek immediately shot him a disdainful look,
"Don't give me that. You know they would have followed anyway."

Derek took a few deep breaths, promising himself to not rip off his uncle's
head, "What about you? Are you coming?" He didn't think Peter would want to
come, but he asked regardless.

Peter casually slid his hands into his pockets, "Mmm can't. A new episode of
Intervention is on tonight. Have fun getting maimed though!" He then turned and
walked away.

"I don't like him." Issac stated.

Derek huffed, "Nobody likes him."

While everyone else had been negotiating, Stiles was moments from doing
something irrational. His veins were being pumped with adrenaline. The fight or
flight response coursing through him, and he knew his decision.

He flew over to his Jeep and jumped in, snagging the extra set of keys from
under the back bumper, and drove for the forest. All before anyone noticed he
had moved.

The human set the dagger on his lap for easy access. He could hear everyone
yelling at him to get back there when his tail lights reflected off their eyes,
but he knew that howl. He knew it. It had been haunting his nightmares for
days.

As he drove, his teeth were gritted together and he promised, "This ends
tonight."
Chapter End Notes
     Fun fact: I went to California with one pair of sunglasses and came
     home with seven total. I only bought two more and the other four were
     giveaways at campaign booths. I do not have a problem.
     Next chapter predominately features one of my favorite tags:
     BAMF!Stiles. I am excite!
***** Hysteria *****
Chapter Summary
     Human does not equal fragile.
Chapter Notes
     Hysteria by Muse as my muse. HA! See what I did there?
     By far, this is my most favorite action chapter in this story.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Downstairs in Jackson's basement, the video still played, explaining to an
audience that wasn't there about a friend that was more than some pathetic
human.

Glancing in his review mirror after a bit, he saw the wolves running right
along with the Jeep, and Allison's car speeding along behind him. He drove well
into the preserve, far enough away that neighbors wouldn't get suspicious, find
out, or try to find the monster.

Gerard turned the camera on from the side this time. He then moved from the
left to back of the room, walking past Stiles' unconscious body and the twelve
omegas standing blankly around.

Stiles threw the Jeep in park and scrambled out, blade in hand. There were
growls coming from his left, so that's where he turned. There was a set of
yellow, gleaming, glaring eyes turned on him.

The old man produced a battery operated humidifier from a box in the back of
the room, which he walked to back to the front of the room.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled, frantic, "Don't do anything!" They were all a little
ways away, too far to do anything.

Gerard produced a plastic bag of wolfsbane from his pocket and emptied the
contents into the device. The wolfsbane was the last thing he needed before the
humidifier could be turned on.

The werewolf approached slowly, stalking toward Stiles. His fangs were extended
fully and his claws were twitching, "You." The omega said just before he leaped
for Stiles.

Stiles body started to move, dragging his mind from the depths of sleep when
Gerard started to wave the vapors toward the werewolves. The smell caused the
werewolves to show their natures and their unstable mentalities.

All the werewolves' voices rang out with, "No!" as they tried to reach Stiles
in time.

The teenager's head lifted off the floor of the warehouse, gathering his
bearings. The wolves snapped their jaws at each other and swiped the air with
their claws, getting riled up.

They were not in time. The omega was on top of Stiles, snarling and snapping
while Stiles threw the cover off the blade and held it against the werewolf's
throat. He tried to slice deep into his neck, but the werewolf rolled off
before he got the chance. Taking the a third of the front of Stiles' shirt with
him.

Gerard's words echoed off the basement walls, "There's a hierarchy in werewolf
packs: alpha, beta, omega."

Derek intervened then. "Get out of the way, Stiles!" He pushed Stiles back, who
fell into the dead leaves below, as the alpha's features shifted.

"Only an alpha's bite can turn a human into a werewolf, and the bite can cure
countless things."

The alpha lunged at the omega, tackling the wolf to the ground.

"Asthma, epilepsy, excess weight, even cancer, but I'm sure you already knew
all of this."

The omega, however, was at an advantage. He used his anger and threw Derek off
of him and into the nearest tree. A resounding crack of the trunk could be
heard by everyone there, and they all winced.

Stiles eyes hardened, angry, "Then why tell me what I already know?" His voice
causing his statement to lose most of its gusto.

Boyd leaped in as Derek flew out. He got a swipe right across the omega's
cheek, but the omega plunged his claws through Boyd's stomach.

"Omegas can become betas, betas can become alphas, alphas can become omegas,
and the opposites of those facts are also true." Gerard's form was twisting a
small blade in his hands as he walked toward Stiles.

Boyd spit up blood onto the ground, falling away. Issac and Scott leaped in at
the same time.

"Usually, the power of an alpha has to be either inherited or killed for,"
Stiles backed up with every step Gerard took toward him, "but what if there
isn't an alpha already established?"

Scott attacked from the bottom, swiping along the omega's calves while Issac
went from above to push the omega to the ground.

"What if there is a group of omegas,  of lone wolves, that are gathered in one
place? Would they eventually establish a pack dynamic or would they continue
being pathetic omegas?"

He did fall to the ground like Issac had hoped, but he threw Issac off. Issac
went somersaulting into the trees.

"What if they were pushed into fighting for power? Would an alpha be
established then?" Stiles had hit one of the chain-link walls of the cage and
Gerard was half a foot from him.

Scott scrambled below the omega. He used his claws to cut deep into his rips.

"All those silly questions aside," he took the last step toward Stiles and held
up the blade next to Stiles' neck.

Blood poured from the wound, but the omega was smiling.

"How strong is a wolf's blood lust that he would start to kill all around him
in order to get to it?"

The omega snatched Scott's arm and bit down as hard as he could.

Stiles could be seen swallowing dryly, making his voice even more scratchy, "Do
werewolves even have blood lust? Isn't that vampires?"

Stiles could hear a snap as Scott's arm was broken by the omega's jaw. He let
out an audible gasp at how painful it sounded.

Gerard laughed darkly, "Of course werewolves have blood lust, and the closer it
is to the full moon, the stronger it is."

The omega heard him and immediately turned to his voice.

He pulled the knife down to Stiles' chest and pressed through the cotton of his
t-shirt in a five inch sweep.

"You!" he repeated, bringing himself to his feet.

"The fresher the blood, the better it is."

Stiles pushed himself back among the leaves, fear overtaking his system.

The omegas behind Gerard started snapping ferociously, stalking foreword.
Stiles pressed himself into the cage wall.

He stalked foreword to Stiles, hands twitching in anticipation.

The blade cut into his stomach, just below his ribs, "I think an alpha can be
made through a tournament, of sorts, and that alpha can have the power to give
a human the bite."

He was a mere five feet from Stiles when a whistling sound came above Stiles'
head.

"A human that was so cruelly tricked by his granddaughter's boyfriend."

An arrow embedded itself into the omega's chest, and the omega growled at it.
He then lifted his head to see Allison with another arrow nocked.

"After all, all he wanted was for himself to live to see the world rid of the
menace of werewolves." Gerard slipped the blade along Stiles' sides a few more
times, drawing more blood.

Allison didn't wait for the omega to charge. Instead she fired another arrow
into his chest, right where his shoulder met his chest.

"Shall we see if I'm right?"

Jackson then charged from behind Allison. He had ridden in Allison's car if the
open passenger doors were anything to go by.

Stiles saw the omegas stalled right behind Gerard, trying to push past an
invisible barrier. His palms were sweating, desperately clutching the chain-
link, and his legs were trembling a little.

Jackson and the omega dodged each others attacks. When one would send a
potentially grueling blow, the other would swipe it out of the way. It was
frustrating for both of them.

An omega snarled by Gerard's ear, and Stiles gave a confused look, "You're not
the only one that knows how to use mountain ash."

The omega then used one hand to reach into his pocket and pulled out a small,
plastic bag filled with purple powder.

Gerard gave one last arc of the blade across Stiles' skin, the longest one yet.
It extended from the middle of his back to his hip bone, and suddenly, Gerard
was gone. In his place came the omegas.

It was Lydia's voice that rang out the loudest, "Wolfsbane!" She screeched,
warning everyone, but she was too late.

The first one to Stiles immediately bit into his side, Stiles howled. Another
omega knocked the first biter off and they started to battle for who got to eat
Stiles.

The powder took Jackson by surprise, and he stumbled backward, allowing Boyd
and Issac to charge again.

While two were fighting, ten other omegas bit all around Stiles' body, any part
they could reach, and when one realized that another was trying to infringe on
his territory, a fight ensued.

Boyd's hands were caught in the left hand of the omega's, Issac's the right.
They struggled maddeningly, but to no avail.

Every few seconds, an omega would get close enough to bite at Stiles again.
Stiles tried his best to move away from the main focus point of the fights in
the cage to a better place, but they always followed.

The omega's lips curled back in a menacing smile as he smashed two baggies over
the wolves' heads. The pair of them immediately stopped struggling and tried to
shake the deadly stuff off, but the shaking only caused it to enter their
airways faster. They were down and out for the count.

After about five minutes of watching hunters-turned-omega werewolves maul each
other, three of them lay dead in their own blood.

With his shoulders drawn up to his ears, the omega stalked to his next victim.

Their claws raked across Stiles' clothes, shredding them, but not enough for
him to be naked again. They would get offended by the others and start
battling, but the would always come back.

Derek locked eyes with the beast, "Come on!" he snarled.

They always came back.

While the omega was distracted with advancing on Derek, he stuck his hands into
his pockets and withdrew a few more wolfsbane pouches. That was when Erica made
her move.

Stiles was backing away from two omegas that were pushing each other when he
fell over backwards on a box.

Erica slid in and swiped her claws down his legs, causing the last of the
wolfsbane pouches to go flying; however, it also caused Erica to make one
explode on her face, taking her out.

Inside the box were things like iron lug wrenches, crowbars, strips of metal,
PVC pipe, and an assortment of screwdrivers.

Derek was also distracted by his beta's brave, self-sacrificing move, and it
caused him to get a load of wolfsbane straight to the face for the second time
in his life.

He didn't hesitate to grab a few of the items and hold them in his defense.

While the omega had left the wolves he took out alone, Allison and Lydia had
been dragging them to a safer area. They were dragging Derek when the omega
noticed them.

An omega lunged at him and he smashed the lug wrench right against his skull,
it sent the omega sprawling.

The omega roared at them, causing Lydia to drop Derek's arm. Thankfully, Scott
pounced onto him.

The other omega also lunged, moments after the first, and had latched onto
Stiles' shoulder. Stiles thrust a screwdriver in between the omega's ribs and
jerked it in all directions. He went still and then slumped onto Stiles, dead.

Scott let out a flurry of punches, "You. Raped. My. Best. Friend. You. Mother.
Fucker." Each word was punctuated by a punch to the jaw, breaking it every
time.

Stiles looked directly at the camera and scowled at its existence.

The last werewolf was doing pretty well until Stiles made an involuntary groan
standing up and Scott got distracted.

Anger swelled up within Stiles' eyes, and he pushed the dead werewolf off of
him. He slipped a few more screwdrivers and some metal strips into his pockets
of his pajamas and took hold of a crowbar, eyes steeled over.

The wolfsbane coated Scott's face and he fell into Lydia's and Allison's arms.

Seven omegas were still going at it around him, still trying to turn Stiles
into a chew toy.

"Come on, Scott!" Allison encouraged, "Stay with us, were almost to the
others!"

He brought the crowbar down onto the back of the first one he saw.

"No use," Derek grunted, "wolfs bane has left us helpless." He heaved in a
breath, guilt written all over his face for someone he couldn't save, yet
again, "Stiles is going to die."

The struck wolf stumbled, but was still able to move and Stiles used the prying
end of the crowbar to wedge it under his jaw. Stiles then used his entire body
weight and tore the werewolf's jaw roughly off.

"Stiles!" Scott let out weakly as he slumped against Issac. He was the last
wolf set down by the girls, so he could see that the omega was charging right
behind his best friend. Stiles spun and managed to fling himself out of the way
just in time.

Blood splattered everywhere on Stiles, but he was too busy using one of the
metal strips to slit deeply into the other werewolf's throat to notice.

He had picked up a substantial looking branch and tried to implement what Chris
Argent had taught him. He was doing alright, considering he wasn't dead yet,
but life had a way of reminding him that he was up against a werewolf. The
omega caught the end of the branch and flung it.

Three werewolves were beating at each other at once, a little too occupied to
notice Stiles coming. They didn't fully realize he was there until Stiles had
bashed the lug wrench and crowbar into one of their legs, sending the omega to
his knees. Stiles then drove a Phillips head screwdriver through his forehead.

The branch arched across the air, completely out of Stiles' reach. He thought
for sure he was doomed.

The body stilled a heartbeat after the tool was inserted and it fell over,
blood draining out onto the floor. Stiles dropped the crowbar and lug wrench
and threw a metal strip like a Frisbee at the head of one of the other wolves.

He just needed something. Something that could stop a werewolf. . . Something
that had stopped all the werewolves he knew.

The metal lodged into the  werewolf's head right between the eyes. The werewolf
jerked back, stilled and then fell back on to the floor, dead.

Of course! When Erica had ripped open his pants, the wolfsbane had gone flying
out! The only thing was, where had it gone? As Stiles moved around a tree to
avoid being gouged, he spotted it about thirty yards away.

The werewolf that was the most recent kill that he had been fighting curled his
lips at Stiles. He then closed the space between them, claws extended, but
Stiles was poised with another metal strip, using it as a sword. He slashed at
the wolf in every direction it came and the wolf dodged the swipes.

If he could just get to it in time, he had a chance. Stiles sprinted to the
last bag of wolfsbane and dove to get it. He would have gotten it if it hadn't
been for the omega catching the collar of Stiles' shirt.

Stiles was just trying to keep it at bay a little longer before making his
move, but the wolf was having none of that. He latched his teeth onto Stiles'
collarbone as Stiles drove the metal through the werewolf's stomach, where it
could clearly be seen on the other side. Dead, Stiles threw the body onto the
ground and advanced to the final two.

The omega clawed the remainder of his shirt off, causing him to bleed from new
and old wounds, as Stiles' hand closed around the baggie of purple dust. He
tore open the top and spun behind him, letting the wolfsbane out.

As he was walking, he swayed.

The wolfsbane dust flew straight into the airways of the omega.

While Stiles steadied himself, the last two had ceased their fighting and were
growling at him, one falling behind the other as they came closer.

He was panting, finally getting the omega onto the floor of the forest.

Stiles stumbled back and nearly tripped on the abandoned crowbar and lug
wrench. Snatching the crowbar back up, the three of them circled each other.

He sat on the immobilized omega's chest. Stiles coated the dagger in wolfsbane
and began sawing into his neck.

The werewolves snarled at him, eyes flashing, and Stiles growled back, more
animistic than human.

Stiles heard the omega gurgle, attempting to say something with his last
moments, but Stiles had hacked through the bones, muscle, fat, and skin before
any sense could be made of it. Blood poured everywhere onto Stiles hands, arms,
and chest before the rest of the body dropped to the forest floor.

The one closer to Stiles must have took that as a threat and he sprung. Stiles
was ready though, as the werewolf came toward him in the air, Stiles batted the
crowbar up into his neck, causing the omega to fall to the ground, not dead
though.

Stiles examined the head of the monster that had been haunting him, and he
tossed it up in the air.

The last omega charged for Stiles, and Stiles dropped the crowbar and used the
last of his pocketed screwdrivers to shove them into the werewolves eye
sockets, pull them out, and plunge them into his chest. The werewolf was dead
soon after.

The head hadn't dropped to the ground before Stiles was moving to Allison's
car.

Breathing hard, Stiles retrieved the crowbar for the final time and
continuously, ruthlessly brought it down onto the body of the werewolf he had
just swung at. Even long after the werewolf was dead, Stiles kept beating him.

Everyone watched him as he opened Allison's trunk and took Lydia's box into his
arms.

After a while, he threw the crowbar onto the dead werewolf's body. He then
slowly walked to the box and retrieved another metal strip.

The car trunk clicked shut as he trudged back to the body with the box in hand.

Stiles then went to every single werewolf and cut of their penis.

Stiles set the box down on the ground.

Stiles ran his fingers along the fence, searching for a way out besides the
door, which was chained and locked on the outside.

Reaching into the box, he methodically unwrapped all the perfume bottles as
carefully as possible so he wouldn't waste them.

Shuffling around the eight sides, he found a just big enough hole for him to
fit under. Holding his breath, he wriggled out of the torture cage and set out
to find the exit. In his haste to get away, he completely forgot about the
camera.

Stiles furiously smashed the last Lydia's Molotov cocktails onto the corpse.

The video kept rolling, showing the horror of the cage for a minute or two
more. Just when nothing seemed like it would happen, an omega struggled to get
himself up. It was the first omega.

The headless body sizzled and popped in the fire. All hair from the body fully
incinerated by that point.

There was a slam of a heavy metal door, opposite of the way Stiles exited, and
Gerard's voice cut through the silence.

The smoke rose off the body in powerful clouds, releasing their retched smell
into the air.

"What a mess this is," he tutted, moving into view. The omega hobbled toward
Gerard, who was behind the safety of the fence, and growled.

He threw the head in last, hearing it thud against the forest floor.

Gerard didn't even blink, "Hush! You're interrupting my thinking." The omega
turned silent.

"Stiles?" Lydia asked, cautiously.

A slow, sick smile spread across the hunter's face while he walked to the
camera.

Stiles watched the mutilated body burn in the flames.

Gerard moved off camera, but his voice was heard loud and clear, "We will have
much more fun than this in due time. All in due time." Then, the video ended.

His eyes reflected the dancing flames before him.

The projector showed a relatively blank email as if nothing had happened
moments before on its screen.

He was calm.

As if an old man had not kidnapped Stiles.

He was finally at peace.

As if an old man forced Stiles into a flight or fight situation.

Stiles finally turned away from the fire and faced the rag-tag group behind
him. All of the scars on his upper body were exposed to them.

As if Stiles had not brutally destroyed eleven peoples' lives.

"Fuck you, Derek." Stiles bellowed, throwing the dagger into the closest tree
to Derek. The blade stuck fast and wobbled in the periphery of the alpha's
vision.

As if Stiles was nothing more than a weak, pathetic, fragile human.
Chapter End Notes
     He speaks! With Derek present! Whaaa?
     Also, you know what, you sassy motherfucker, you are awesome, and I
     hope each and every one of you fuckers has a great fucking day. Fuck
     yeah!
***** This Is War *****
Chapter Summary
     Not Stiles, anyone but Stiles.
Chapter Notes
     This Is War by 30 Seconds To Mars. If you have not seen any of the
     fan videos to this song for Teen Wolf, I highly recommend checking
     them out.
     GUYS, I WARNED YOU! I warned you to pay attention to the tags, there
     was one tag left that hadn't been shown, and now it is.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Stiles. . ." Lydia cautioned again, trying to understand the change in his
eyes, the murderous intent brimming over them.

Allison swallowed, "Looks like you've been putting my dad's lessons to good
use," she tried to smile, but she was terrified, "I'm-I'm glad."

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but a roar broke out to the left of
Stiles, deeper in the forest. Stiles was instantly running to the dagger
embedded in the tree, "Why the fuck did I throw that?" He muttered to himself.
After some yanking and pulling, he got it out and held it at the ready as a
large cougar ran into their vicinity.

"Allison!" Stiles yelled in warning.

"On it!" Allison scrambled after her bow, nocking an arrow immediately.

Stiles, tired of running, tired of being known as the fragile human, charged
directly at the mountain lion with a roar of his own.

Behind him, where all of his incapacitated werewolves were, there were grunts
of protest for him to not go. Scott found something inside himself to yell,
"No!"

But he was too late, Stiles had come face to face with the big cat and was
getting deep scratches directly over his mostly healed ones. The mountain lion
even bit where the omegas had, causing the wounds to reopen and spill blood.

Allison fired arrows as fast as she could nock them, but the cougar was still
scratching up Stiles. He was using the dagger to stab in any vulnerable place
he could find, which was good, but it wasn't fast enough. They rolled in the
leaves and needles on the forest floor, blood spilling everywhere and dirt
getting in every wound.

The mountain lion had dug their claws in nearly every old wound Stiles had by
the time that he had pushed the dagger in his chest and pulled upward, gutting
him. There was a moment, just before the cougar's eyes dimmed, where Stiles saw
thought he saw the cougar look thankful as Stiles killed him.

He collapsed on top of Stiles, his last breath pushing out of him, and he
closed his eyes. Stiles turned his head and in the distance he saw flashing
lights cutting through the trees.

Allison ran over to him, Lydia right behind her, and they pushed the mountain
lion off him, "Stiles, oh my God, Stiles, are you okay?"

"Doesn't matter, you need to--"

"Doesn't matter?! Like hell it doesn't matter! Stiles, you could bleed out if
you don't--"

"Lydia! Shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds, oh my God!" Stiles bellowed,
"Now, you see those down there," he pointed to the lights, "those are the
lights of police cars and you need to get the werewolves into my Jeep and
Allison's car," he pointed in their directions, "and get the hell out of Dodge
if you know what's good for you, got it?"

Lydia nodded, "What about you?"

He smiled sadly, "Someone has gotta take the blame for this," he gestured
around them, complete with a burning corpse and a dead mountain lion. "Now go!"

Allison and Lydia quickly pulled Scott to his feet and dragged him into Stiles'
car, then Issac, and Derek. Allison's car was piled with Erica, Boyd, and
Jackson. Before they knew it, they were driving in a large arc around the
incoming police cars and back to Jackson's house.

Stiles was standing right where they had left him, looking around himself and
seeing what a mess he had gotten himself into, again. He was sure to get his
dad fired for good, he could feel it.

He could also feel his heartbeat going wild. That wasn't right. Sure, he was
scared of the huge punishment he'd get for the evidence around him, but that
didn't explain the panicked pounding going through his chest.

Searchlights swept a few yards ahead of him and then swept back up on his
level. One passed right on him, went away, and then came back, focusing on him.
He couldn't hear anything anymore, except his incessant beating heart, but he
saw people running. Stiles recognized one person for sure and he smiled when he
came into focus, "Dad. . ." Stiles said before his eyes rolled back in his head
and he passed out.


Back at Jackson's house, the girls found the hose and sprayed them all off as
best they could. For Derek, they gave an extra spray, just for good measure,
which he was none to happy about.

Once they had washed the majority of the wolfsbane from their bodies, the
werewolves got up and moving again.

"We have to go back!" Erica insisted, "Stiles shouldn't take the full blame for
this!"

Scott was in complete agreement, "Yes, exactly!"

"We can't," Derek firmly stated.

An uproar started from everyone else.

"Why the fuck not?" Boyd yelled.

"If it wasn't for Stiles, we'd be dead by now!" Jackson threw in.

Issac butted in as well, "He deserves at least our support!"

"Is it because he's human?" Lydia challenged.

"I swear," Allison explained, "if it's because he's human, I will put an arrow
through your skull."

Derek's teeth bared, "It's not because he's human!" Everyone quieted while he
took a moment to regain his composure, "Did you see the way he looked killing
that omega?" Derek didn't mean it in a bad way, he just wanted to make sure
that everyone else saw it too.

But Scott didn't understand that, "Did you see the way that omega raped him?"
he snapped at Derek, "Bastard got what was coming to him."

"And," Lydia added, "we can only assume that he was part of the reason Stiles
had so many injuries."

Allison nodded, "She's right, we didn't stay to watch the second video. We
would have known so much beforehand if we had seen it earlier."

Erica flicked water droplets off her fingers, "But we didn't and Stiles need
our help now."

"Uhh," Scott suddenly said, staring down at his phone, "no he doesn't." He
looked up at all of them, "Stiles is in the hospital."


Melissa McCall had texted her son as soon as she got a moment to say that his
best friend was currently headed to the ICU, she left out the part where the
sheriff was pacing in the lobby just outside the large windowed room that his
son was staying in. "Sheriff," she came up to him, "I know you're worried, but
the best thing for you to do right now is sit down. Walking a rut into the
tiles won't take you anywhere."

Mr. Stilinski smiled at that, "I know, it's just. . . you didn't see what was
around him."

Ms. McCall was intrigued, "What do you mean?"

The sheriff sat down in a chair, hands holding his head up, "There was a. . . a
mountain lion, you know the one that we think has been doing all those attacks,
dead by being stabbed by a dagger that has my son's blood all over it. Not only
that, but there was a burning something next to him."

"It doesn't look good for Stiles." Ms. McCall stated, watching the doctors rush
into the Stiles' room.

"No it doesn't, he could be put up for murder charges and I could be fired."

Melissa's eyes snapped to her friend, "I don't give a shit about your job right
now, you got that? Because a boy that I have known ever since my son brought
him home for a play date, a boy I unexpectedly started to raise of my own
accord, is having heart failure. If the first thing on your mind is how this
will reflect on you, then you need to go home and re-evaluate what's important,
understand?"

Mr. Stilinski's jaw snapped shut, and he managed to choke out, "He's dying?"

Her eyes softened, "Yes, but we can make sure he doesn't as soon as we find out
what happened, other than severe blood loss."

"I just. . . I don't know what happened. I really don't. He just said he was
going to a party at Jackson Whittemore's house tonight and that was it."

"Could it have been something he ingested? He could have been drinking, taken
drugs, or both and that can cause adverse reactions in the body. Especially
with his ADHD."

"No," the sheriff firmly stated, shaking his head, "Stiles would never drink or
take drugs. He knows the rules, especially at parties where he is likely to get
busted."

"I know, but something had happened to Stiles and I don't think he felt like he
could--"

"Mom!" Scott yelled across the lobby, rushing to her with everyone else in tow.

The sheriff was instantly on his feet and pushing Jackson against the nearest
wall, a finger pointed in his face, "Did you give my son drugs?"

"Wh-what? Sir, I would never do that!"

"You better not be lying! I will not have my son die because some punk ass kid
thought it would be funny to put the kid with ADHD on drugs."

"I didn't give him anything!"

"Sheriff!" Scott pulled on his arm, "It wasn't him! Jackson would never, ever
give anyone drugs. You know him, they would ruin his Porsche seats." Scott
smiled a little, hoping that some humor would get the sheriff to not threaten
Jackson.

It worked, sort of, "Alright, alright," the sheriff backed away, rubbing his
face with his hands, "Is there anything you can tell me about what happened
tonight that might have put Stiles in the hospital."

Melissa was handed a folder, "He has a high concentration of alcohol and
lysergic acid diethylamide in his system."

"What's that?" Issac asked, "The long scientific thing, I mean."

Erica supplied with, "LSD or commonly known as acid. Stiles took acid."

"Why would my son take acid?"

Everyone looked at each other uncomfortably, all knowing why, but not willing
to tell.

Boyd unexpectedly said, "Maybe he wanted to forget."

Mr. Stilinski stilled, "Forget what, exactly?"

Scott held his hands up, showing he wasn't threatening in anyway, "Mr.
Stilinski, I know this is hard to hear, but Stiles was raped."

"No, no he wasn't," the sheriff adamantly denied.

Derek gave the next bit, "During your vacation."

"He couldn't have! I was with him the whole time!"

Lydia continued, "By twelve men."

"No, no, no!"

Allison finished, "And they were the first ones to put all the scars underneath
the ones the mountain lion gave him."

"No!" Mr. Stilinski screamed, "Not my son!" He went directly to the window
where doctors were racing around Stiles with IV drips, papers, bottles, and
anything else that they thought would help him. He watched they tried to get a
breathing tube down his throat, and staunch the bleeding on many of the wounds
that still bled.

Melissa came up next to him, "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but it's
true. The best we can do for Stiles is. . ."

"Mom," Scott suddenly said.

She turned to look back at him and saw that everyone was looking at the ground
shocked.

Erica let out a sob and held tight to Boyd, who had his face buried in her
hair, shoulders shaking.

Issac fell to the ground on his knees, unable to say anything.

Allison had a steeled over resolve on her face, but tears were streaming down
her cheeks.

Jackson wiped at his eyes and reached for Lydia, who had a hand covering her
mouth. He grabbed her and held onto her as she nearly screamed into his chest.

Derek was shaking his head, muttering, "No, no, no. Not Stiles. Not him." over
and over again, hands braced on his head like it was too much to take.

Melissa McCall turned back to the hospital room and saw the heart rate monitor
showing a flatline that she knew had a low drone note coming from it. The
doctors were trying to perform CPR, attempting to revive the teenager in front
of them, but they ended up pulling the guards up on the bed and wheeling him
out of the room.

As the bed rolled out the door and down the hall, the sheriff saw that his son
was not breathing and tried to rush to him. "Stiles!"

Melissa took one side of the sheriff's body while her son took the other and
they held him back while Stiles disappeared down the hall.

"No! Not my son!" the sheriff sobbed, still struggling to get to him, "Stiles!
Please wake up! Please! I can't-- I can't lose you too! Stiles!" Mr. Stilinski
begged, collapsing to the ground, bringing the McCalls down with him.

Scott tried to stay strong for everyone, but he just couldn't, not that time,
"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I wish things were different, I'm sorry." Scott
sobbed, letting go and curling into himself.

Melissa held onto her friend as she too let loose some tears, "I know, I know.
. . I'm sorry."

The big, bad sheriff, Stiles hero, was on the ground, pounding at it to bring
his son back, to take him instead of Stiles. His shattered voice could be heard
throughout many halls of the hospital, "Stiles, please wake up!"


Down the halls of the hospital, Stiles body was still as the doctors tried
everything they could think of to bring life back into the teenager, but as the
seconds ticked by, they grew uncertain.

Underneath the eyelids of the sarcastic, honey eyed boy, Stiles found himself
in a blindingly bright room. He blinked getting used to the whiteness, and sat
up. As he was sitting up, he noticed someone, a girl, walking around casually.
She turned to him and her honey eyes lit up, "Oh good! You're awake." She
walked over to him and helped him up, "I'm Stiles, the girl, and you must be
Stiles, the boy."

"What?"
"And we must be dead." She said.
"Again I say, what?"
Chapter End Notes
     That was heartbreaking, I kept crying while writing it.
     Fear not, my young'uns! This story is not over!
***** The Devil's Tears *****
Chapter Summary
     Parallel universe twins are totes adorbs.
Chapter Notes
     The Devil's Tears by Angus & Julia Stone
     I think it would be supes totes awesomes to meet my parallel universe
     self! Like, do they like Iron Man as much as I do, can they make
     flower crowns like me, what are their feelings on Nutella? I NEED TO
     KNOW BECAUSE OF REASONS AND SCIENCE!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles stared at Stiles in a staring contest starring Stiles. "God, my brain
hurts," male Stiles muttered, rubbing at his temples.

Females Stiles sat down in front of him, "Why?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Girl Stiles rolled her eyes and smiled, "Humor me."

Boy Stiles huffed a little in laughter, "Alright then. You get that this is
completely crazy, right? I mean, you say we're dead and we've suddenly collided
into the opposite sex of ourselves! Like, how the fuck does that work?"

"Crazy like parallel universes?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh ha-ha, you're so fucking funny."

"I know," she flipped her long hair over her shoulder, "as for our sudden
collision, beats me, I just know that we're the same person, just different
body parts." She leaned back on her hands, "And I'm pretty positive that we're
breaking some sort of time and space rule right now."

"Tell me about it!"

They were silent for a moment, taking in the bland brightness of the room and
the companion across from them.

Boy Stiles then asked, "So, how did you end up here?"

"Well, it's pretty complicated and kind of a long story."

He held up is arms, gesturing around the room, "I've got all the time in the
world."

She laughed, "Yeah, it seems we do." She scratched her nails against the ground
a few times, "I guess it started when Scott was bitten by a werewolf--."

"Scott's a werewolf in your world too?"

"Yeah!" An idea formed in girl Stiles' mind, "Hey, does that mean that you were
found by Derek Hale in the woods looking for Scott's inhaler?"

"Yup! And Scott immediately became head over heels with Allison, who turned out
to have a hunter family that wanted him dead?"

"And we almost had to cut Derek's arm off?" She shuddered just thinking about
it.

"But we didn't and we found out that Peter was the alpha and he offered us the
bite."

She was smiling, "Then Jackson was bitten, but became a kanima instead."

"Then Issac, Erica, and Boyd were bitten," he was smiling too, "and Jackson was
saved by the power of love."

Her smile turned sad, "I guess that means that practically everything we've
been through has been the same."

Getting what she meant, Stiles sobered up too, "I guess so."

"I had to get Lydia to bring me a Plan B pill after I got back," she said, then
quickly added, "I wouldn't have gotten pregnant anyway! I'm on birth control
and I got my period, literally, the day after that."

He grimaced, "I'm sorry, that must have sucked."

"It's fine, Lydia and I took care of it, thankfully."

"That's good," he nodded, looking away with a conflicted look on his face, "Did
you-- are you--," he grumbled, unhappy with how he couldn't finish his
sentences.

"Did I get close to Derek? Am I in love with him?"

He sighed, "Yes, that."

"I would think you know the answers to those, after all, we are each other."

"Well, you never know! You and I could be totally at odds when it comes to
Derek." He insisted.

"Yeah, I don't think so."

"Alright then." He stated, smiling a little.

She turned to him abruptly, "On a scale of one to our OTP becoming canon, how
awesome was it when you gave Derek the big 'fuck you'?"

He let out a bark of laughter, "I'd say a solid making a royal guard laugh."

She also laughed, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek on
them, "Yeah, it was."

"We have to go back."

It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway, "Yeah."

He sighed, "Is it bad that I kind of don't to?"

She shook her head, "No, I don't really want to either. I mean, there has been
so much shit going on for the past six months that I don't know if it's really
worth it to go back."

"Scott would miss us, Dad too, Melissa, Erica and maybe Boyd. Tough call on
everyone else though."

"Allison would miss us, we're bros, remember?" She prompted.

"That's true," he sighed, "How do we even get back?"

"The same way we got here?" she guessed.

"We have to die?"

"Considering that there is literally nothing in this room besides us, I'd say
no, but I do think we do have to be unconscious to go back."

"I don't know if I can fall asleep with someone next to me."

"Hey!" she squawked indigently, "I am not just someone! I am you from another
dimension, you insufferable twat!"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

They mock glared at each other for a moment, then she smiled, "Well, it was
really cool to meet my other dimension self. We should meet up again, you know,
except with the dying part."

"Yeah, if we could go to each others dimension, think of how people would flip!
It's be great havoc to have!"

"Another time, perhaps." She shuffled over on her knees and brought her male
self into a hug.

"We're gonna be fine."

"Yeah."

"We'll ask him, and everything will go back to how it was, I promise."

"Okay." She squeezed him tight once more before letting go. The two of them
arranged themselves so they were lying next to each other, facing opposite
ways, and holding onto each others left hand.

"Bye Stiles," she said, closing her eyes.

"Bye Stiles," he said, squeezing her hand.


Stiles took a huge inhalation of air around the breathing tube in his mouth,
his ears picking up his father yelling, "Stiles, please wake up!" but his eyes
were still firmly shut, an out of body experience of sorts.

One of the nurses noticed he was awake, "He's conscious and breathing on his
own."

"I've got the breathing tube," another one said as he pulled out the vile
contraption from his throat.

"We've still got to get his wounds cleaned, now." He was wheeled into a room
where there were a lot of nurses and doctors barking orders as they put him on
an anesthetic and prepared all the thread and needles needed to heal him back
up. After a few minutes, the drugs did their work, and he was out.


Melissa McCall had been summoned to tend to other patients, and had to
reluctantly leave her son's friends in the waiting room, well, most of them.
Derek had bolted as soon as Stiles' father fell to the ground.

He couldn't do it, not again. He wasn't going to be a bystander while Stiles
died. So he ran anywhere he could let himself forget.

If he had stayed he would have known that Stiles was, in fact, alive and
breathing and was being repaired as Scott impatiently bounced his knee to keep
himself from exploding.

Mr. Stilinski nudged him, "Hey, go home," he checked his watch, "It's nearly
five in the morning, and he'll still be here when you come back."

"Promise?" Scott asked, wide eyed.

"Cross my heart, kid, now go home and take everyone else with you," he gestured
around the room where everyone else was sprawled out on the furniture. All the
wolves had their heads cocked to listen to Stiles' heartbeat.

Scott nodded, "Come on, guys," he gently ordered, "let's go so actual patients
can get care."

There was a chorus of protests and grumbles as they disentangled themselves
from the chairs, but they were all out of the hospital shortly. They silently
walked to the parking lot, minds heavy with what they knew they had to do.

Without consulting each other, they all headed back to Jackson's house in the
approaching dawn.

It was Erica that first spoke, "Should we call Derek?"

"He does have a right to know, just like we do." Boyd reminded them.

Allison added, "And Stiles and him have gotten really close within the last few
days."

Scott nodded, "Yeah, he's got a crush on him."

"So," Issac said, pulling out his phone, "I'll call him." He dialed Derek's
number, but got the voice mail after numerous ringing, "Hey Derek, it's Issac,
and we're all at Jackson's house to watch the second video, so call me when you
get this." Issac sent the voice mail and gestured for Jackson to lead the way
to the basement.

Anxiety rolled in everyone's stomachs as they all sat down and Jackson pressed
play.


It was almost eight in the morning and the sheriff was on his third cup of
coffee, desperately wanting something a little stronger, preferably with a more
gold color. He was frowning at the cup when his cell phone buzzed in his
pocket.

"Sheriff Stilinski, how can I help you?"

"Ooh! Sheriff! That sounds so formal!" Leslie's voice filtered through the
phone.

He laughed, "Didn't you know that's my first name?" He listened to her laugh,
"What's up?"

"Well, as to not beat around the bush, we're all heading up to Washington for a
week for vacation and were thinking of stopping by for a day or two."

He sighed, "You know I would love it if you guys could, but now's not really
the best time. Stiles is in the hospital and I don't know if he'll have the
energy to entertain four kids."

"Oh no! What happened to him? He's not sick is he?" The fear was nearly
palpable from her.

Quickly reassuring her, he said, "No, no, nothing like that, but he does have
quite a few injuries that were stitched up earlier this morning from a mountain
lion attack." He nearly couldn't say the words, thinking of what Scott and his
friends had told him.

Melissa McCall came down the winding hallways, looking for someone, and once
she saw the sheriff, she immediately went to him, "Hey."

"Leslie, hang on a moment," he pulled the phone to his shoulder, "How is he?"

She smiled, "He's good, better than good, actually. He's awake right now and
asking for some, as he put it, 'damn curly fries, but don't give any to my
dad.'"

"Can I see him?"

"Yeah, sure, just follow me." They walked down the hallways and to the elevator
where they went to the sixth floor.

Stiles was in a single room, picking at the IV line as they walked in. He
looked up and said, "My dad is not curly fries, I would know, otherwise I would
have Hannibaled him ages ago."

Melissa rolled her eyes, "He's obviously going to be fine," she smiled and
closed the door behind the sheriff.

Remembering that he was on the phone, he pulled it back up to his ear, "Hey
Leslie, you still there?"

"Yeah, still here, I'm assuming you got good news about Stiles?"

"Yeah, he's sitting here in front of me."

"Could I talk to him?" She asked.

The sheriff handed over the phone to his son, "Hey Aunt Leslie, how goes it?"

"Oh, same old, same old. We're actually going to be passing through town today
and we wanted to stop by for a day or two, but it seems like you're in the
hospital."

"Yeah, it's been a series of unfortunate events, if you catch my drift, but
that shouldn't stop you from coming by."

"Stiles," his father warned, worried about his son exerting himself.

"Really?" She asked, "Are you sure you're up to the kiddos?"

"Bring 'em on! We'll see how many cousins we can fit in the bed! It'll be
great!" Stiles exclaimed.

"That's great!" Leslie said, she then spoke to someone on her end, "Yeah, they
said it's fine, but we'll have to go to the hospital instead. Yeah. . . no he
says it's fine. . . I'll check. Hey Stiles, could you give the phone back to
your dad?"

"Dad!" Stiles handed the phone back.

"Hey Leslie."

"Are you okay with us coming to visit?" She asked, serious.

"Stiles says it's fine," he said rubbing his forehead, "so I guess it's fine
with me. What time will you be here?"

"River says in about an hour. Is that alright?"

"Yeah, it's all fine. We'll see you then."

"Bye Leslie!" Stiles shouted to the phone.

She heard him and shouted back, "Bye Stiles!"

Mr. Stilinski pulled the phone back from his ear, "Thank you, I will now be
needing hearing aids."

Leslie laughed, "We'll see you soon."

They both hung up, and the sheriff pocketed the phone. He then stuffed his
hands in his pockets, unsure of how to approach the situation at hand.
Truthfully, he had never had to do this kind of thing with Stiles, retraining
orders sure, but never anything of this caliber.

"I would go out on walks during our vacation at night." Stiles said.

"Huh?"

"I was sitting outside by the motel when I was chloroformed and brought
somewhere. When I came to, I was strung up and there were these guys all around
me. First they hit me and beat me and scratched me, and then they. . ." Stiles
swallowed thickly, fidgeting with the comforter in his hands, "Anyway, there
were twelve of them, I remember that, but they had their faces covered. I
passed out and woke up back outside the motel."

Mr. Stilinski had sat down in the bedside chair, looking distraught, "Wh-Why
didn't you tell me this?"

"And ruin a perfectly good vacation?"

"Fuck the vacation--"

"Dad!"

"I mean it, ever since you--" he sucked in a sharp breath, "Ever since you went
missing after the lacrosse game, I just worry about what you don't tell me."

"I didn't want you to worry, that was the whole point of me not telling you. I
was going to keep it to myself because there's no point in trying to catch them
if I can't tell what they looked like, and you're under enough stress because
of me as it is, and I didn't want to add to it."

The sheriff's eyes shot up, "Don't you ever say that again. Ever. You hear me?
I am your father and I will stress and worry about you even if you're in a
padded room inside a bubble. It's my job to worry about you, and to protect
you."

"I know," Stiles said.

"No, I don't think you do. I spend more time thinking about how I can keep you
safe than about my work, than I do sleeping, than I do breathing. Stiles,
you're my son, my boy, and I need to keep you safe. I can't do that if you
won't tell me what happens to you."

Stiles blinked back some tears, looking up at the ceiling, "I wanted to protect
you."

"From what?"

"From being ashamed? Disgusted?" Silently, he added on killed and hurt.

"Of what? You?" When Stiles didn't answer, he got up and paced around the room,
"There is no way in hell that I would ever be ashamed of you, annoyed yes, but
never ashamed. Ever." He then stopped and wiped his wrist over his eyes, "What
happened to you wasn't your fault, and don't you ever think that what happened
to you makes you disgusting, because it doesn't. It makes those vermin
disgusting and if I knew who they were I would--." He let out a frustrated
sound.

"Thanks," Stiles mumbled after some time passed.

Mr. Stilinski looked at his son,  "Get some rest, Stiles. I'll wake you up when
the family gets here." He watched as Stiles nodded and pulled the covers up
over himself and almost immediately nod off. Walking over to his bed, the
sheriff kissed his son's forehead and silently left the room to start on the
paperwork.


When Stiles' cousins visited two hours later, Stiles found out that he could
fit all of the cousins, their parents, and his dad in the bed if they all
awkwardly squeezed. He laughed as the adults tripped trying to get off the bed
and he wished he had a picture to capture the moment.

They stayed for a few hours, Maila, Bentley, and Josh fascinated by Stiles
stitches, and Chelsea on the verge of throwing up after seeing them, but their
parents decided to browse the town while Stiles recovered.

The kids, and Stiles, made a symphony of protest when they said they were
leaving, but it turned out that they were staying at the Stilinski household,
so it didn't really matter.

When they left, Stiles learned that he had to stay the night and he would be
released tomorrow morning, depending on a few things he didn't really pay
attention to. Shortly after that, the sheriff went back into the office and
left Stiles alone.

Truthfully, he had been planning on sleeping, but his friends had other plans.
They whole lot of the came rolling in at four in the afternoon with entirely
too much energy.

"God, you all are so annoying." Stiles commented as Scott sat at the end of his
bed.

"Shut up, Stilinski," Jackson rolled his eyes, setting a vase of flowers and a
card on his bedside cabinet. "Finstock signed it, by the way."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles asked, intrigued, "What's it say?"

Jackson picked up the card, "'Stilinski, I will punch your nuts out if you stay
off the field too long. Get your ass back to practice, Finstock.'"

"What a sweetheart!" Stiles exclaimed, clutching his chest in mock flattery.
"So, what's up?"

They all nervously glanced at each other, then Scott blurted out, "We watched
the second video, and I think that was the most badass thing I've ever seen.
Also, I would like you to bear my children."

Stiles blinked, completely stoic, "I thought we already decided we were doing
that?"

"I want eight kids."

"Eight?! I don't know, buddy, I've gotta keep my figure."

"You guys are sickeningly adorable," Erica commented, "But seriously, damn
Stiles. I didn't know you had that in you!"

"It looked like you didn't need my dad's help in the first place," Allison
smiled at him.

"So. . . you guys are not revolted by what I did?"

"Well--" Jackson started before being elbowed in the pectoral by Lydia, "No, it
was pretty horrific with all the blood, but it was kind of awesome at the same
time."

Lydia smiled maliciously, "I personally would have burned them alive after
cutting their penises off, but that's just me."

Stiles laughed, "I thought about it, but didn't have anything to start a fire
with."

They all nodded in understanding. Issac the brought up the other thing on
everyone's mind, "What did you tell your dad?"

Sighing, Stiles stretched, accidentally kicking Scott, "A version of the truth,
and that's all I'm giving him."

They all accepted the answer and they chatted for a while. Boyd and Issac
fought over the remote while the girls talked to Stiles in hushed tones under
the television. They mostly gossiped.

After a while, Ms. McCall came in to kick everyone out because visiting hours
were over, and Stiles was supposed to rest. They left, saying their goodbyes,
and Melissa checked Stiles over before closing his door.

While the teenagers left, Derek had just finished listening to a voice mail on
his phone. He slid the phone into his pocket and raised a hand to knock on an
apartment door.

"Derek," Peter greeted, "good to see you. Come in."

Without further pretense, Derek asserted, "I need to see the second video. Show
it to me."

"A little please now and then wouldn't hurt, dear nephew."

"Please."

"Very good!" Peter smiled, and woke up his laptop.


Around two in the morning, Stiles faded back to the real world and found a pair
of red eyes in the corner of his room, "Jesusfuck, Derek! Waking me up! That's
what you're supposed to do, not creep in the corner!"

"Sorry." Derek apologized, moving to sit in the chair, obviously meaning to
stay.

"So you saw it too?" When he didn't answer, Stiles moved along, "Yeah, it
really happened. Scott said it was the most badass thing he's ever seen and he
wants me to bear his eight kids. Eight! I'd never keep my figure that way!
Everyone else thought it was gory, which is to be expected, but also kinda
awesome. Now, I don't expect you to think either of those, but if you think
that it was--."

And that was where Derek leaned up and pressed his lips to Stiles' softly. When
Derek pulled away, Stiles chased after him for a moment.

"I thought you looked strong and capable."

"Thanks," Stiles could feel heat rising in his cheeks. "but why did you do
that?"

"I wanted to." Derek shrugged, moving to the door.

"Derek?"

Derek turned around, a closed off expression on his face.

"When i get out tomorrow, and after my family is gone, I want to-to talk to you
about some things."

He nodded, "I'll stop by once you text me."

"Thanks."

Derek's lips pulled into a small smile, "Goodnight Stiles."
Chapter End Notes
     See? Everything is all good! Not dead! I REPEAT! STILES IS NOT DEAD!
     That wouldn't work with the ending I've got planned!
     Oh, guess what happens next chapter! Just guess! It rhymes with vex!
     And it could be described with a word that rhymes with horn!
     In other news, I have made two flower crowns and I need more. I have
     my life totally under control.
***** Touch *****
Chapter Summary
     It may not be what's really wanted, but it's what's needed.
Chapter Notes
     Touch by Daughter
     Don't go to college. It's a trap. A trap that takes up all your time
     so you can't put out fic chapters on time because you'd rather put
     out nothing than put out a piece of shit.
     Seriously, 90% of the reason that this wasn't done a month ago was
     because I wanted to do it right, and doing it right took time. Time I
     didn't have anymore because college is full of lies. The other 10% is
     because it's really awkward to write porn when my roommate is in the
     room.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Turned out that Stiles and Derek couldn't meet up like they planned because
Stiles had to be questioned by the police and explain what was happening when
they found him. They said that there a burning wolf's body next to him when he
passed out and a mountain lion carcass a little ways away.

His statement said that he had gone into the woods for a walk to clear his
head, and the fire was there before he got there. The mountain lion came after
him when he walked farther in the woods, to get away from the fire because he
was afraid that the person that set it would be back. Stiles said that he took
out the dagger he got as a gift in the mail-- "As a prank," he said --and
defended himself. When they asked where he got the skills to do that, he said
that he was taking self defense lessons with Mr. Argent. One newer cop asked
him where he had gotten the older wounds, and the older cop, along with the
sheriff shot him a look, already knowing how he got them. Stiles answered
anyway and said that he was roughed up and raped on his vacation and, "If you
have anymore invasive questions, kindly get the fuck out."

While the sheriff suppressed a smile, the other two officers thanked him and
left him alone. Once they were gone, Stiles and his father drove home in the
cruiser, Stiles' Jeep was still at Jackson's house.

Mr. Stilinski set the keys on the kitchen counter, "Stiles. . ."

Stiles knew this was coming. That didn't stop him from hoping it wouldn't.

"I just. . . I'm glad you're still here." he said, swallowing thickly around a
smile.

Stiles wrapped his arms around his father and held on tight, "Me too, dad. Me
too." That was about the time that his cousins came back in the house from the
backyard, dissolving any tender moment the Stilinski's had.

In all the playing with his cousins, feeling himself be genuinely happy since
before school ended, and forgetting all about lycanthropy, he completely
blanked on talking to Derek.

Derek didn't really mind either, he was trying to chase the trail of the alpha
pack that barreled into town a couple months ago, anyway. Also, he wanted
Stiles to have some peace and happiness before they talked.

Two days after, Stiles' cousins left with many tears from the little ones, and
Bentley begging to stay with Stiles because he had superhero movies. Eventually
all four kids were loaded into the car after many hugs and kisses, and the
taller companions hugged it out and promised to visit and call more often.

Stiles and his dad had the night to themselves and decided they wanted to get
wild. And by wild, they meant watching really bad, D-grade, movies until
midnight when the sheriff fell asleep on the couch.

Kicking his dad in the calf, he groaned, "Dad! Get up, you're on my arm!"

"Chop it off. . ." the sheriff mumbled into the couch cushions. Mr. Stilinski
rolled over and got slowly to his feet. "I'll see you 'n the mornin'." He then
shuffled off to his room and Stiles to his.


The next morning, technically the afternoon, Stiles got a text from Derek, "We
still having that talk?"

"Oh shit! Yeah, sorry! Family was in town, but I'm ready whenever you are."
Stiles groaned and stretched on his bed, carefully assessing his wounds.
Luckily none of them required stitches and the old stitches were taken out when
the cougar chomped on him. Getting out of bed, he brushed his teeth, showered,
and got dressed. By the time he returned to his phone, Derek had replied three
times.

"Where do you want to meet?"

"Never mind, come to my place."

"Here' s the directions: . . ." and a link to Google maps.

"The illustrious loft," Stiles muttered, gathering everything he needed and
headed to the door. His dad was eating a hamburger guiltily.

"Hey there, Stiles, this-this isn't what it looks like."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, "I'm letting you slide just this once if I can go
out?"

Nodding with a big bite in his mouth, the sheriff rummaged in his pocket and
tossed Stiles a set of keys, "Jackson brought back your car early this
morning."

Catching the keys, Stiles said, "That was nice of--"

"At five-thirty, Stiles."

"I'll punch him next time I see him, promise." He was totally kidding, and the
sheriff knew that, and his dad waved him goodbye.

The sheriff shouted after his son, "It's going to rain soon, so be careful on
the roads!"


Derek's loft was in the next town over, a more metropolitan town, in, of
course, an abandoned-like building. Stiles rode the elevator up, heart
pounding, nerves on edge. As he stepped off, he saw the gaping hole in Derek's
wall and the nerves eased a little.

Rain pattered lightly on the huge window, the storm making the sky darker than
it should have been at five at night. There was a table, a couch, a bed, and a
spiral staircase, that Stiles guessed, didn't see much action. There was also a
Derek sitting on the bottom stairs, watching him take in the place.

"It's different," Stiles commented, "very werewolfy."

"Werewolfy?"

"Yeah, you know, the whole bat-cave feel of the place. Definite upgrade from
the abandoned train car."

"Thanks," Derek deadpanned, hoisting himself up from the stairs and slowly
walking over to Stiles. "So, what do you need to talk about."

Stiles smiled and set his phone, wallet, keys, and hoodie on the table by the
window, "A few things actually, but we'll get to those when they come up in
importance."

"There's an importance scale, is there?" Derek crossed his arms, amused.

Stiles smirked in return, and turned to face Derek fully. He took a moment to
take Derek in as a whole. The way his hair swooped up in the front, the complex
colors of his irises, his rabbit teeth, the perfect amount of stubble on his
face, broad shoulders, strong arms hiding under the Henley, firm ass, strong
legs, and big feet. He took it all in.

Derek's expression flitted quickly to unsure then back to a stoic look before
Stiles had looked back at Derek's face.

"Have sex with me."

Derek's face then took on a look of shock, then anger, "No." He turned away
from Stiles and walked away.

"Please Derek!" Stiles grabbed onto Derek's arm and turned him to face Stiles.
"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have a good reason! You know that!"

Derek made a 'Well, I'm listening' gesture.

Inhaling, Stiles explained himself, "I don't want to go through life knowing
that the first time I had sex, I didn't want it. Or the time after that, or the
time after that, or the next nine times after that! I just want one good
experience so that I can hold onto it to cancel out the bad and know that at
least one person knows how to treat a person right while penetrating them."

Derek's face took on a pained look when Stiles said 'penetrating,' but he
pushed past it, "Consensual sex should be with someone you love not someone you
barely--"

"No it shouldn't! I mean-- yeah that's a good thing, but it should also be with
someone I trust, and I trust you." Stiles didn't allow Derek to rebuttal,
"Listen to my heartbeat, I know you can hear it. I. Trust. You. Derek Hale. I
do. I want it to be with you."

"You're not old enough."

"Do you think that stopped the twelve omegas from raping me?" Stiles knew what
his words would do, he planned them all carefully.

"Stiles," Derek sighed, "I can't get into a relationship with you."

"I don't want a relationship, I just want this one night. Just this one, so
when I am in a relationship, I won't start crying every time they touch me."

Derek was silent, thinking it over.

"I know you haven't had sex in a while, and I also know that being around a
bunch of constantly horny teenagers does nothing to help. I want you to feel
good too, and I know that I won't be all that great, but you will be. You know,
because you've done this before!"

"Not with a guy."

Stiles suddenly looked up, "Does that matter to you? Oh god, what if it does? I
am so sorry! I didn't mean to imply that you're gay!"

"I kissed you, remember?" Derek smiled slightly.

"Right!" He said, drawing out the word. Getting a determined look on his face,
Stiles stepped toward Derek, hands held up in a non-threatening way, "Please
Derek? Only you can do this. I want only you to do this. Please."

Derek looked into Stiles' whiskey eyes, searching for assurance that that was
what Stiles really wanted. When he found it, he sighed and gently cupped
Stiles' face in his hands, and firmly pressed his lips against Stiles'.

Stiles grasped onto Derek's shirt, letting Derek take direction of the kiss,
and letting Derek hold Stiles fully against him. He deepened the kiss, tracing
Stiles lips with his tongue, causing him to open his mouth.

"Derek," Stiles sighed into his mouth, threading his hands into Derek's hair.
Derek mapped Stiles' mouth with his tongue, trying to memorize every dip and
valley of him.

Derek's hands slid down his torso to the hem of his t-shirt. He was torn
between going up or down with his hands, but he ultimately decided up because
he would have plenty of time for down later.

His hands lightly traced over Stiles' abdominal muscles, the wounds, bites, and
his thumbs rubbed over Stiles' nipples. He groaned in response, slightly
pulling away and saying, "More," and dove back in.

Stiles pulled his hands from Derek's hair and started to yank Derek's shirt
over his head in a rush. Derek pulled away and released himself from his shirt,
also pulling Stiles' off as well. He then reattached himself to Stiles' lips,
slowly, languidly kissing him as he backed Stiles up to the bed.

Stiles easily fell down, bringing Derek with him, and he hastily unbuttoned his
jeans, throwing them down his thighs. He kicked them off, hands busy with
Derek's fly, while Derek softly peppered kisses down Stiles' throat. His teeth
were clenched as he mumbled, "Come on, come on, come on." Stiles' hands were
shaking, preventing him from getting a good grip on the small metal of Derek's
zipper. It took him a moment to realize that Derek was saying his name.

"Stiles, look at me. Stiles," Derek coaxed, eyes searching Stiles' face, "You
don't have to--"

"No! I want to-- need to do this!" Tears formed in the corners of his eyes,
precariously perched on the edge of eyelids, awaiting their time.

"I know, I know," Derek  moved his head down Stiles' eye level, "Stiles, look
at me," when Stiles did, a hint of a smile appeared and vanished just as fast,
"I was going to say that you don't have to do that, I can do it, and we don't
have to go so quickly. We can go slow, make it last as long as you need it."

Stiles choked around a sob, nodding, "Okay, just. . ."

"I will," and Derek pressed his lips back to Stiles' neck. He eventually went
back to Stiles' mouth, making sure that Stiles was practically shaking by the
time he was done.

Derek pulled away from Stiles and slowly shucked his pants, maintaining eye
contact. He then hovered back over Stiles' body, not touching him, and asked,
"Last chance Stiles, do you really want this?"

Stiles brought his hand up to Derek's cheek, stroking the bones underneath,
"Yes, I want this." He stayed quiet, letting Derek listen to his heartbeat to
affirm his words. Once he waited the sufficient time, Stiles pushed himself up
to kiss Derek, bringing him flush to his body.

One of Derek's hands steadied himself by Stiles' head, while the other soothed
down his body, lightly tracing over the scarring tissue unconsciously. Once he
reached Stiles' boxers, he thumbed along the elastic band, asking for
permission.

Stiles pressed his hips up into Derek, "Yes," he whispered.

Derek raised his hips from Stiles' body, giving himself room, and stuck his
hand inside, wrapping around Stiles' semi-erect cock. Stiles shuddered beneath
him, breathing Derek's name into his mouth.

He closed his hand lightly around Stiles and gave a few languid strokes,
bringing him to complete hardness and then some. Derek pulled off and out, not
without protests from Stiles. So Derek lightly tugged on the dark hairs,
sending a thrill down Stiles' spine, and pulled Stiles' boxers off of him. He
threw them somewhere in the room.

Getting up, Derek rummaged through the drawer in his bedside table. He pulled
out a bottle of lube and a condom. Tossing them up by the pillow, Derek crawled
back up Stiles' body, Stiles giving a shiver of anticipation at the action.

Derek paused at Stiles' cock, and quickly engulfed it in his mouth without
warning.

Stiles' hands gripped the sheets as his legs jerked roughly, "Derek! Oh my
God!" He could feel Derek's tongue swipe up the side, circle the head, dip in
his slit, and then down the underside as he swallowed him down again. He did
that a few more times, and then he reached the head and pulled off, darting his
tongue out as he moved lower.

When Derek's tongue traced over his balls, Stiles thought he was going to die
of sensory overload. His lower back tightened as he arched into Derek's touch.
Derek took his time, laving over each one in soft, slow strokes. He then
decided to turn Stiles brain to fritters as he alternated, at random intervals,
between Stiles' cock and his balls.

"Derek. . . Derek, I'm going to come if you don't st-stop!" Stiles warned toes
curling and body bowing.

Derek pulled away just enough to speak, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No! It's just. . . I don't want you to-to be disappointed that this is over so
fast. I mean, you're really good at that, and I," he huffed, "I've never had
this done to me before, and I don't want you it to be over before it st--,"
Stiles broke off in a moan as Derek swallowed him down again, bobbing while his
hands rolled his balls.

The only physical warning Derek got was Stiles' moans being completely cut off
and Stiles came, coating Derek's lips. As Stiles descended from his orgasm,
Derek licked what he could reach off his face and then wiped the rest off. He
then went back down and laved over Stiles' cock one more time, very thoroughly,
before Stiles got too sensitive.

A moment of heavy breathing passed, "Do you want me to--?" Stiles asked,
gesturing to Derek's tented boxers before his words were cut off.

"No," Derek said, voice a bit raspy from his previous activities. When he
realized that his word came out sharply, he amended it, "No, it's okay."

Stiles nodded, dumbly as Derek shimmied out of his underwear and the sight of
his very hard, very red cock made Stiles' mouth salivate. "Ar-are you sure?
That looks uncomfortable."

In answer, Derek reached over Stiles' head, snatching the lube up, and went
back down to Stiles' cock. Stiles prepared himself to tell Derek that he needed
more time to rest, but Derek by-passed it and gently spread his thighs.

Very quickly, Stiles understood what was going to happen, "D-Derek?"

Derek looked up, his face surprisingly open.

"Just. . . just be gentle?"

In answer, Derek pressed his lips down both of Stiles' thighs, fingertips
ghosting over where his lips lingered. There was a flick of a cap, and Stiles
felt a small pressure on his hole.

He tensed up, almost without thinking about it, but he breathed enough to relax
himself that Derek slowly, very slowly worked his middle finger in to the
second knuckle. Stiles was gripping onto the sheets fiercely, trying to stay
still, while Derek pushed all the way in with his finger. It was odd, but it
wasn't too bad.

Derek made sure that he didn't rush it, so he curled and swirled his finger
inside Stiles, making sure could adequately take the next finger. As soon as he
felt like Stiles was ready, Derek pulled out his finger, lubed two up, and
slowly pushed back in. He made sure to stretch with every foreword movement to
not hurt Stiles, but he could tell Stiles was uncomfortable.

"Stiles?"

"Mmm?" Stiles grimaced, face pinched as he tried to relax.

"Would you be alright with me. . ."  Derek's free hand fluttered over Stiles'
abdomen, eyes flicking up to meet Stiles' as he opened his eyes, "taking the
pain away?"

Stiles nodded, grateful for Derek asking before he did it.

Derek pressed his free hand under the small of Stiles' back, arm looping over
his hips, and drew little tendrils of pain out as he slid farther in with two
fingers. It worked in letting Stiles enjoy it more.

As Derek stretched out his fingertips, he pressed over Stiles' prostate. Stiles
retaliated by letting out a pleased cry, "Derek, there!"

Derek nodded and made a point of pressing against that spot every time he
stretched Stiles more. In the meantime, he watched Stiles' face carefully,
memorizing the micro-expressions Stiles let fall across his features.

Slowly pulling out, once again, Derek  gathered more lube onto three of his
fingers, "I'm adding another one. It might hurt for a moment before I can catch
it, okay?"

"Do it." Stiles stated, sweat starting to gather on his brow.

Derek pressed inside, other hand drawing out the pain, continuing to stretch
all the way in. Stiles winced for a fraction of a second before Derek drew it
out, and before he knew it, Derek was rubbing purposefully over his prostate.

Stiles moaned outright after the third or forth swipe, his cock beginning to
stand tall again. Without even realizing it, Derek had bent close to it and was
letting hot breath ghost over Stiles cock, causing Stiles to be even more
aroused.

"Derek, Derek, come on! I can take it!" Stiles insisted as Derek pulled out his
fingers for the last time, lubed them all up and slowly inserted them all. "You
don't--" he broke off in a hitched breath as he felt the fullness of the digits
inside him, "d-don't have to keep stretch-stretching." He let out a few labored
breaths, "I can take it."

"No." Derek gruffed, continuing to stretch, rub, and fill Stiles for another
minute or so, until Derek took his hand away. He sniffed for the acrid smell of
pain to curl in his nostrils whenever he moved his fingers, but all he could
smell was the sweet spice of arousal.

If the smell hadn't been convincing enough, when Derek retracted all of his
fingers, Stiles whining out a little as every one of them left, the sight of
Stiles' cock standing tall once again was enough to cause a shudder run through
him.

"Derek. . ." Stiles mumbled, reaching above him for the condom, "Derek I'm
ready." He dragged the foil down the sheets and pressed it into his fingertips.

He knew, Derek knew that Stiles was ready, but he wanted to take in the image
of Stiles at that moment. His pale legs were spread, hole practically begging
to be filled, cock hard with pre-cum ready to drip down the side, chest
heaving, cheeks flushed, and honey eyes sure. Derek surged foreword and pressed
his lips to Stiles'.

Stiles groaned and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, accidentally bringing
their cocks nudging at each other. While Stiles wanted to keep rubbing against
Derek like that, Derek forced himself to pull away and take the condom from
Stiles.

Ripping the package open, he threw the wrapper on the floor, placed the condom
to the head of his aching cock, and he chanced a glance at Stiles. Stiles had
raised himself to his elbows and was intently watching Derek's hands, "Do you
want to. . .?"

Stiles nodded dumbly, and sat up to gently roll down the condom down over the
hard length and then added lube all over it. Derek shuddered at Stiles' deft
hands and fingers traced the vein on the underside of his cock once, twice,
three times before laying back down.

It took Derek a moment to regain his ability to think, but once he did, he
stared down at Stiles with a primal hunger. "Hold the underside of your knees
for me." His voice was absolutely wrecked, but Stiles bit his lip and complied.

Derek then guided the head of his cock to Stiles' hole and slowly pushed
inside, using one hand to steady himself and the other to draw out any pain he
could catch. There were trace amounts of it, too, but thanks to Derek's
prepping, Stiles barely felt anything painful.

Instead, he felt an incredible fullness. A drawn out moan escaped his lips,
hands pulling his knees farther up to his chest. Once fully inside, Derek bent
low over Stiles, head resting on his collarbone, waiting.

"Derek," Stiles whined, "come on! I'm ready!" To prove his point, he
purposefully clenched around Derek inside him. "Please--"

Derek's whole body clenched, and he let out a ragged breath, "Stiles. . . just
hold on." He focused his attention on their breathing and heartbeats, "You may
be ready to go, but I need a moment."

That little tidbit caused Stiles to release on of his legs in surprise. The
limb flew down  around Derek's hips and stayed there while Stiles attempted to
articulate what he was thinking, "Derek. . . you need to. . . oh my God!"
Stiles brought his free hand up to the back of Derek's head, "That is so hot."

Stiles could practically hear the eye roll, "Shut up, Stiles."

"No, I'm serious!" Stiles scratched his nails down Derek's scalp,
unconsciously, "As far as I know, I've been a boner killer and not a boner. . .
whatever the opposite of that is."

Derek pressed into Stiles fingers, and lifted his head, "As far as you know."
Derek repeated. He then slowly pulled out, listening to every hitched breath
from Stiles, and slid back in, memorizing every moan.

"Faster!" Stiles demanded, but Derek didn't do anything of the sort. He
continued to push in and pull out as slowly as he could stand, lightly brushing
over his prostate occasionally. He made sure to take extra time to let Stiles
feel the fullness.

Derek even hooked Stiles leg, the only one still up to his chest, over his own
shoulder to reach a different angle. The new angle had Stiles' hands scrambling
for something to hold on to while he moaned words like, 'shit,' 'fuck,'
'Derek,' and 'yes' until Derek could have sworn the words no longer sounded
real.

Once that happened, Derek grunted out, "Hold on to me," and before Stiles could
ask why, Derek had wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and hoisted him up
into his lap. He had to awkwardly unfold his legs, but he eventually got Stiles
sitting on top of him, and all without pulling out of Stiles.

At first, neither of them moved, Derek was panting, hair wild, eyes hungry,
hands lightly grasping Stiles' hips, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his
body. Stiles' mouth was open in a silent moan, reveling in the deepness of
Derek's cock inside him. Eventually, though, Stiles locked eyes with Derek, and
he got an idea.

He wound his arms around Derek's neck, threading his fingers into Derek's hair,
and he pressed their lips together in a heated kiss, while moving his legs to
be folded underneath his thighs. When Stiles thought Derek was sufficiently
distracted, he quickly pressed on his knees upwards. Stiles then slammed back
down.

Derek jerked away from the kiss, "F-fuck!" He groaned as Stiles picked up the
pace. Soon enough, he was bouncing up and down on Derek's hard cock. Every
other word between them was an expletive, and the others were each other's
names.

While Stiles rode Derek's cock, his own cock bounced against Derek's stomach
every chance it got; pre-cum making a slick path for it to slide against. Every
movement against his cock caused his muscles to clench around Derek inside him.

"Stiles--Stiles," Derek warned, "if you keep doing that, I'm gonna. . ."

"Me too." Stiles planted himself all the way down and started to grind down
Derek's cock, loving the way it pressed his prostate just right, so he kept
swiveling his hips around.

"I-I can't w-wait." Derek grunted.

Stiles' head shot up to meet Derek's eyes, "Do it." Stiles pressed their
foreheads together, "Come for me, Derek-- come inside me."

Derek moaned outright just as Stiles clenched around him a few more times. He
then could feel himself come, and so could Stiles.

Stiles felt the pulsing of cum shooting into the condom, and he felt the
stuttered twitching of Derek's hips, and even though all of that was extremely
erotic, it wasn't what finished Stiles off.

Letting one last shot echo through them, Derek breathed out, "Stiles. . ."

That was what caused Stiles to come all over both of their chests and stomachs.
His back arched into Derek, toes curled, neck drawn backwards, and his mouth
lolling open. Stiles shuddered, "Derek, Derek, Derek. . ."

After they were both calmed down from their highs, Derek pulled out of Stiles
slowly, Stiles was too blissed out to care, and drew the condom off. Tying the
end, he disposed of it properly, and he got up and got a few rags to clean them
off with.

When he got back, Stiles was still pretty motionless, but his eyes were sharp
as Derek took care of him. He watched the werewolf slowly go over every inch of
his body with the cloth, not moving to make it easier for him. Derek wiped
everything away from Stiles' body and was about to do his own when Stiles made
a sound.

"You wanna do it?" Derek rose and eyebrow.

Nodding, Stiles moved with kittenish strength, at first, and took the rag from
Derek.  He cleaned his own cum off Derek's abs, even tasting it once, which
made Derek close his eyes like Stiles was trying to kill him, and made sure
that he was spotless.

"Thank you." Stiles said, eyes catching Derek's and conveying how thankful he
was. Neither of them had to say what Stiles was really thanking Derek for.

Derek nodded, awestruck, "You're welcome."

Stiles smiled happily, and gave back the dirty rags, and watched as Derek
tossed them by the end of the bed. Derek crawled up the bed. He flopped down on
his back and closed his eyes.

Silence reigned over them for a good while before Derek asked, "And the other
things you came here for?"
Chapter End Notes
     Was it worth the wait? I certainly hope so!
     Are you ready for the end?
     Hint: You're not.
***** Stay *****
Chapter Summary
     As much as they wish they could stay, that just isn't in the plan.
Chapter Notes
     Stay by Rihanna featuring Mikky Ekko. Love, love, love this song!
     This was actually the entire inspiration for this whole fic.
     No amount of apologizing can make up for keeping this from you, but I
     am still very sorry. I will try to be better with my next fic. As
     always, thank you for reading, for sticking it out, for putting up
     with it, and for being generally amazing. You all are truly
     wonderful.
     An explanation will be at the bottom, because some of you may want
     one, so don't you worry child.
     Without further ado, the finale.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"I don't like him," Stiles grumbled,  rubbing his temples with the heels of his
hands. He was leaning against the big window wall, tired, eyes a little red
from crying. The late afternoon sun shining on his back, creating a warm
feeling when he preferred the weather to match the somber way he felt.

Stiles had put his clothes back on before he told Derek the other reason for
going to him, which caused a lot of yelling, crying, and eventually a phone
call. Somewhere between the crying and the phone call, Derek had put some
clothes on as well.

"No one likes him," Derek stated. His arms crossed, impatiently waiting while
glancing worriedly back at Stiles every chance he got. After a moment he said,
"He's here."

The heavy metal door slid open to reveal a very smug looking Peter. "Well now
boys, looks like you've finally gotten together. Kudos, and may I be the first
to say that it is about time too." Peter coolly descended the steps into the
main room, headed straight for the couch, plopped down, propped his feet up,
and folded his hands across his stomach.

"Yes, please come in. Put your feet up, make yourself at home, would you like
some coffee and your slippers while I'm at it?" Derek's eyes rolled back into
his head at the obvious ploy to piss him off.

"I could leave, you know," Peter threatened with a smirk.

Stiles rolled his eyes, "No you couldn't. You're too curious about why we asked
you here."

Peter considered this, the nodded, "As perceptive as ever, young Stiles. Tell
me again, why won't you accept the bite? It was the perfect opportunity for you
to, and you just. . ." he waved his hand dismissively, "blew it all away."

Stiles nearly turned red, "No one wants to be bitten by your creepy,
narcissistic, egotistical, psychotic--"

Derek cut him off with a soft, "It's okay," Stiles composed himself and when
Derek was sure that Stiles wouldn't lash out again, he turned back to Peter,
"We are asking for your help."

The older Hale's ears perked up, "Really now? What is it that my dear nephew
cannot do as an alpha?"

"Something that Mom never got to teach me before she died."

Catching on quickly, "Oh ho ho, this is interesting. Now why would you want me
to do that? Then it would have all been for naught! You might as well have
never done that so extensively, then, if you just wanted me to do this."

"You're not doing it to us," Stiles said tiredly.


"Stiles?" Mr. Argent called out, slamming his car door shut, "What are you
doing?" He moved to the back seat and began taking out collapsed cardboard
boxes.

Stiles scrambled to his feet from where he was sitting on the stoop of the
house, "Well, I just needed to talk to you about something. . . Are you guys
going somewhere?"

Mr. Argent smiled sadly before replying, "We're heading to France for the rest
of the summer, to the house that are ancestors have had for centuries."

"So why do you have so many boxes?" Stiles asked, curious because there were a
lot of boxes, and they were huge.

Chris laughed, the corners of his eyes creasing for a moment, "As perceptive as
ever, I see. We're moving."

"Oh."

"The house is. . . it's just not the same. . . it's too big for just. . .
Allison and I need a change."

"Yeah, no, I get it." Stiles shuffled awkwardly, "Speaking of Allison, is she
here?"

Mr. Argent shut the rear passenger door and  glanced up at his daughter's
window, "She should be. Do you need to talk to both of us, or are you just
needing to speak to me in private about what happened."

"No, no! I need to talk to both of you about something different, but thank
you. For, you know, going along with what I told the police."

Stepping up to the door, Chris huffed a little in amusement, "It wasn't exactly
a lie, you know."

"I know, but you didn't have to do that, but you did anyway. So thanks."

Mr. Argent nodded, heaving the door open, "Allison!" He called out, "Could you
come down here for a minute?" He propped the boxes against the banister and
hung up his coat.

Stiles stood close to the door, intently watching Mr. Argent's back. When he
still had not heard a sound from Allison's room, he stepped up a few steps and
tried again. "Allison! Allison! I need to see you for a--"

There was a four pronged stab on the back of his neck, and then a slight dig in
further. Mr. Argent struggled a little against the dark clad arm keeping him
restrained. It was only half a minute or so, but Mr. Argent put up a fight
before he was released.

Allison came running out of her room just as there was a click of the front
door. "Hey Dad! I didn't know you already got back! What are you doing here
Stiles?"

Stiles smiled tightly, "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go see a movie
later, and I would have called, but I must have dropped my phone in the pool at
the party."

"Oh yeah? Well, I wish I could, but we're packing for France, and we're moving,
so sorry! Maybe when I get back?" Allison looked uncomfortable, as if she
didn't understand why her ex-boyfriend's best friend was asking her to hang
out. "Are you okay though? I heard it was a pretty bad car accident."

"I'm still standing, but I'll be fine. Not broken, just a little bent, though."

Allison smiled, "That's good, that's good. Well, I better get back to packing,
we've got a lot more to go."

"Yeah, okay, totally! Have fun in France! Do you need help packing?"

Mr. Argent, seeming to snap out of a trance, "No thank you, Stiles. I think
we've got it." He gave a curt nod at Allison, who nodded back, awkwardly,
"Thank you for the offer though." Chris gestured to the door forcibly, but
politely, for Stiles to leave and Allison turned to go back up to her room.
Stiles barely had time to catch a glimpse of the almost purple spots drying on
the back of her neck through her long hair.

Once outside, Stiles walked around the corner and got in his Jeep. He sighed
into the air and turned to the backseat, "Did you do it?"

"You were in there, you saw the evidence." Peter pointed out, "I know you're
not this dense."

"No, dumbass. Did you put it back?"

"Yes," Peter huffed, "wiped of all prints, stowed away in a box in the very
creepy basement."

"Coming from the guy that came back from the dead." Derek rolled his eyes in
the passenger seat.

Peter just shrugged. "So who's next?"


Stiles spotted Melissa McCall in an empty room, grabbing a few things that
other nurses left behind when transferring a patient. "Hey Stiles, what are you
doing here?" She quickly glanced up, grabbed a gauze wrapper, looked back up
and froze. "You're supposed to be dead."

"I get that a lot." Peter shrugged apathetically. He slowly moved foreword
until Ms. McCall was backed up against the wall, too afraid to move. "Don't
worry, this won't hurt too much." And his claws came out, pressing into the
back of her neck.

After she was released, she was carefully placed in a chair. While Stiles
patted at the back of her neck with a tissue, Peter ducked out of the room.
Stiles started to shake her, "Ms. McCall! Hey! Ms. McCall!"

"Wha? Stiles?" She blinked blearily and looked around, "Oh shit! I must have
fallen asleep for a moment!" She quickly got up and dashed out of the room,
leaving Stiles standing there. However, she quickly came back in, "Oh honey,
I'm sorry! Did you need me for something?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering if you remembered when my check up for the accident
was? I lost the card somewhere on the way home."

"It's in three weeks, at two o'clock."

"Thanks," he beamed at her, following her back to the door.

"Are you sure you're alright? The medics said that it was a pretty bad wreck."

"I'll be fine! You know me! Resilient as ever!"

She nodded fondly and waved goodbye. Stiles exited the building, meeting up
with Peter and Derek in his Jeep.

"Before you ask, yes I got all the nurses that were there." Peter stated,
reclining in the back seat.

"You better have," Stiles and Derek said simultaneously. The sun was casting
orange and yellow streaks across the sky as it set. They both felt that the
night would be a long one.


"I've been expecting you boys for some time now," Deaton said, checking over
some paperwork on the examination table.

Peter, Derek, and Stiles walked in, "Wha--really?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"Well, it is only natural for you to want it to go away, and considering you
have some very influential friends--"

"We're not friends," Stiles muttered, glaring at Peter.

"--I figured that it was only a matter of time before you came to me."

"Well?" Derek implored, "Will you?"

Deaton was quiet for a moment, checking things off on the papers. He finished
up with them, walked back to the front, filed them away, and came back in.
Pocketing his pen, he replied, "Yes, but I want you to consider the
implications of what you are doing, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles nodded, swallowing hard, "I know what I am doing."

Deaton gave a forced smile, "Yes, I think you do," he said in his vague, half-
answer way.


Jackson sighed, "You know I don't care, right?"

"Yeah, but I do!" Stiles argued, tired of Jackson fighting his request.

"You will do it." Derek stated flatly.

"Oh yeah?" Jackson cocked an eyebrow, "Says who?"

Derek crossed his arms and stepped in front of Jackson, "Says your alpha."

Jackson obeyed.


Isaac was scared at first, but he went easier than Jackson had, "And you're
sure it won't hurt?"

"Well," Peter explained off-handedly, "only for a moment, and if it makes you
feel any better, I haven't paralyzed anyone yet."

"You know," Isaac looked worried, "it really doesn't."

"But you'll do it?" Stiles asked, hopeful.

Isaac nodded and closed his eyes.


Lydia had been asleep for a while by the time they had gotten to her. Her eyes
moved in REM sleep.

Stiles gave a small nod to Peter. The older werewolf bent over the bed and
carefully inserted his claws into her neck as she faced away from him. He had
not trusted Peter to go up to her room alone, not since he manipulated her and
nearly killed her.

She only stirred for a moment before Derek could leech the pain away. Once they
were finished, Stiles lightly tucked her hair behind her ear before they left
without a sound.

Back in the Jeep, Derek gave a contemplating look to Stiles, "You still love
her."

He nodded, a little sad, "But not in the way I used to. It's-- she's different
now. Still perfect Lydia Martin, but something has changed."

Derek nodded, understanding.


Stiles pointed from the Jeep, the night easily concealing his extended arm and
finger,  "It was the one with the cigarette, the one leaning against the wall,
and the older guy with the beer gut."

"Alright," Peter said tiredly, clearly drained from having done this so many
times in one night. "Be back in a bit." He climbed out of the car and literally
stalked up to them.

Derek turned to Stiles, "Do you think I should make sure he does it right."

Stiles watched for a bit longer before shaking his head slightly, "Nah, I think
by this point he's just doing it for the chance to poke around in peoples'
heads."

Derek blew air loudly out of his nose, a half smile on his face. As they
watched the officers falling against the wall after Peter finished with them,
Derek slowly slid his hand over to Stiles'. At first, Stiles froze up, but he
softened up and curled his fingers around Derek's hand as well.

It was a comfortable silence, a comfortable moment between them.

Once Peter was back in the car he reprimanded Stiles, "Your father was asleep
at his desk."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Stiles snapped, "It's not my fault that
some crazy werewolf decided to set off a whole chain of events putting Beacon
Hills into a literal hell hole. Which, in turn, causes lots of dead bodies,
thus more work for my dad."

"Point taken."

"Did you do it, though?" Stiles asked, licking his lips nervously.

"Yes," Peter rolled his eyes, irritated, "every single one of them, replaced."

Derek glanced in the mirrors, "And the papers?"

"Like I said, every. Single. One."


Peter slid into the back once again, "He was asleep, but I got it done."

"Good," Stiles grunted, exhausted.

There was a smirk in Peter's voice, "He was with a very handsome young man too.
Naked."

Stiles smiled, "Get it, Danny."


"Hey Scott, can I talk to you for a bit?" Stiles asked, tentatively.

"Yeah man! Let me just exit out of this--" he stopped and turned abruptly, "Why
are they here?" He instantly went on the defensive, trying to put himself in
front of Stiles.

"Hey, it's okay. Scott! I said it's okay! They came here with me!"

"You're trusting them?!"

"Well, Derek I'm trusting, Peter's here on a favor."

Peter pulled up a hand and waved, "Hi."

"Stiles, I really don't think you should be--"

"I know, but I need you to listen to me okay?" Stiles locked eyes with his best
friend, making sure he understood that it was serious, "Okay?"

Scott eventually nodded, "Okay."

Stiles rubbed his palms on his jeans, "You remember when Derek got shot by Kate
Argent and he came to the school looking for you? And how he bumped into
Jackson when he was inside the school? And . . . stuff happened to Jackson?"

"Yeah, I don't see what this has to do with him being here though."

"Scott, I need you to do the opposite of what happened to Jackson, but I am
asking you because you're my best friend and I need you to understand that this
is important to me. Scott, do you understand what I'm asking of you?"

"But if I do this, then I won't be able to help you! I don't want to be a bad
friend to you, but--"

"Scott, you have never been a bad friend! A frustrating one, a dumbass one, but
you have always been a good friend! And I won't need your support after this is
all done. I can assure that, right Peter?"

Peter just shrugged, bored.

Scott narrowed his eyes at Derek, "And you're just letting him do this? You're
just going to let him do this? You're letting him throw away--"

"I'm not throwing away anything!" Stiles interjected, "I am gaining something
back! Something I lost on that vacation that I desperately want back!"

"Are you okay with that?" Scott asked Derek.

Derek ground his teeth for a moment, "Sure."

"That's a lie."

"It's not my choice to make, Scott." Derek sighed.

"Stiles, have you even considered how I feel about this? How Derek feels?"

"I have, and I've decided that Derek doesn't deserve the baggage I carry around
right now, which I why I need to do this. Please Scott. I don't want to be that
guy. I don't want to keep getting sympathetic looks every time I hang out with
any of you. I don't want to keep feeling like I'm made of paper and glass, and
this is my way of making sure I don't. Can't you see that?"

Scott clenched his fists, eyes averted from his best friend, "Yeah, I see that,
but why him?" He gestured at Peter.

"I asked Derek, but he didn't know how to do it, but he said that Peter did."

"Alright," Scott complied, "I'll do it, even though I won't like it."

"Thank you, Scott."

"I love you, buddy."

"Love you too."


Peter rubbed at his eyes, "Who's left?" He stifled a yawn as he buckled his
seat belt. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night, so it wasn't any wonder that
the three of them were beyond tired.

Derek also suppressed a yawn, "Erica and Boyd." He frowned at his phone,
reading a text message, "I told them to meet us at the school."

Stiles nodded and began driving. He was also tired. He could feel his eyes
begging to drop closed, but he had to get this done tonight, before he forgot,
or would back down. Pulling into a parking spot, he saw Erica's blonde hair
bobbing as she walked toward the field. Yelling, Stiles jogged to meet them,
"Erica! Boyd! Wait up!"

They turned there heads at the same time. Stiles caught the tail end of what
Erica was saying, "--have to get her out. She's Derek's sister!" before
everything seemed to go into slow motion.

A large figure stepped out of the shadow of the bleachers. He was tall,
muscular, bald, tan, and was definitely not of the all human variety, if the
glowing, red eyes were anything to go by.

Derek cried out to Stiles, "Get out of there, Stiles!"

Peter and Derek shifted.

Erica and Boyd were momentarily paralyzed by fear before they started to run. A
bare-footed woman blocked their path, here fangs extended. Clearly also a
werewolf.

"Stiles! Stay back!" Erica cried as the woman took hold of her neck and
injected a clear, gelatinous fluid into her body. She immediately slumped
against the woman and fell to the ground.

Boyd had continued running, trying to put as much distance between him and the
woman as possible. However, as soon as he heard Erica let out a small, "Boyd,"
he turned around and charged at the woman, furious.

She also seemed to be an alpha as well because of her red eyes and the ease in
which she took Boyd down with. The bare-footed woman injected the same fluid
into him.

"Kanima paralyzing toxin," Stiles realized a moment too late as he scrambled
backward. What he failed to realize, though, was that as he was watching
helplessly as his friends fell, Derek and Peter were fending off the other
alpha.

Peter had multiple gashes sewing themselves back together on his back, but was
otherwise unscathed. Derek looked brutal. There were scratches, gouges, and
blood everywhere.

Stiles shook his head in disbelief and blindly attempted to run into the fray
to help, but he was hit in the back of the knee by something, causing him to
stumble down into the grass. Shifting around, he saw that the woman, who was
rather beautiful, was leering over him, looking smug.

Yanking him up by his shirt collar, one of her arms restrained his arms, and
the other held his chest back while that hand curled claws around his throat.
"I wouldn't do that, little Derek." she said, voice dark and smooth.

Derek recognized Stiles' rising pulse and immediately stopped fighting the
other alpha, "Stiles. . . Don't move!"

"I wasn't planning on it," Stiles replied. He may have been scared, but he
wasn't beyond sarcasm.

"Oooh, feisty little one, eh Ennis? I bet I'll like him when it comes time."

"Time?" Peter asked.

"Time for what?" Derek finished, eyes searching for a way out.

"Deucalion will let you know when it's time, but for now. . . ?" She brandished
another syringe filled with the toxin. "For now, you'll just have to forget."

Stiles tried to push her away, not wanting the awful, helpless feeling of the
toxin to wash over him again, but her strength was too much. The needle stabbed
its way into his throat and everything went numb. Once the required amount was
in his system, he was released to fall face first onto the grass. All he could
do was watch.

Stiles watched as Peter took off running at the first available opportunity.
The women easily caught up with him and took him down, injecting him on his
descent into the grass. He watched as Derek thrashed against the male werewolf
--Ennis, was it?-- thrashed against Ennis while he was pricked with the needle
and was sent to the ground.

With his last remaining mobility, Derek had crawled over to Stiles and extended
one hand. "I'm sorry," Derek muttered against the grass, but Stiles heard it.
"I'm so sorry, Stiles."

Stiles didn't know whether to laugh or cry, "It comes with the territory, big
guy."

"I know, but. . ."

"I know, Derek, me too." Before Stiles forgot, he had to tell Derek something,
"He D-Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"I heard Erica say something about your sister before all this. . ."

"Me too?"

"Do you have another sister?"

"Cora."

"Oh," Stiles somehow felt sad about that, "How old is she?"

"She should be your age."

"Oh! That Cora!"

"You remember her?"

"I think she kicked a dodge ball into my face in kindergarten."

"Sounds like her." Derek half laughed at the thought.

"I'm sorry, Derek. You don't deserve any of this shit that keeps happening to
you."

Derek reminded him, "Neither do you."

Stiles bit out some laughter, "Looks like we're just a pair of shit storms, eh
Derek?"

"Yeah," That was the last thing that Derek said to Stiles before Ennis was
digging his claws into Derek's neck, drawing out his memories from the last
couple of weeks.

The last thing Stiles felt before the prick of claws on his spinal column was
Derek's fingers reaching his pinkie finger. That one, tiny moment made him feel
the slightest bit better about what he knew would happen. He was just happy
that he could have said, at one point, that he, Stiles Stilinski, had awesome
sex with Derek Hale. And maybe Derek and him had begun to grow attached to each
other. Maybe even romantically.

But it wasn't like it mattered anymore.


Stiles woke up to the sound of his dad pounding on his door, "Hey Stiles! Wake
up! I've got the late morning shift, so if you want to go to breakfast with me,
hurry up and get ready!"

"Mmmm yeah, Dad," Stiles groaned stretching like a cat, feeling an odd muscle
twinge in his hips and lower back, "Be right there."

"I'm not waiting for you! And I will get at least ten slices of bacon if you
don't go!" His father was very good at persuading him to get up so early on a
summer day.

Stiles was up, out of bed, and heading to the bathroom in record time, "You get
that bacon and I will steal all of your left shoes and dump them in a river."

"Hurry up, kiddo. Hey, what happened to your neck?"

Stiles checked his neck in the mirror, a memory flittering far off in his mind,
"Huh, I don't really know, but it was probably at Jackson's party or at
practice."

"Ladies getting handsy with you? Just like your old man," Sheriff Stilinski
smirked, heading to his room.

Stiles rolled his eyes, beginning to brush his teeth.

At breakfast, the Sheriff asked, "What are your plans for the rest of summer?"

With a mouth full of pancakes, Stiles asked his own question in response, "What
do you mean?"

The elder Stilinski sighed, "You can't just laze around all summer like you
have been for the past two weeks, you know. Going to practice does not count in
this situation as doing something, before you saying anything."

Stiles frowned, having his only defense shot down, "Well, what do you suggest?"

The sheriff smiled, "I'd thought you would never ask."

"Oh shit."

"Indeed, you'll be working in the office. With me. At least six hours a day.
For the rest of the summer."

"Eh, that's not that bad." Stiles shrugged, gulping down some chocolate milk.

"We'll see about that."

Derek Hale walked over at the end of the sheriff's sentence, "May I speak with
you for a moment, Stiles?"

"Whaa? Yeah. Dad, do you mind?"

He narrowed his eyes, lifted and eyebrow, but eventually said, "Don't make it
too long."

"Okey-dokey," and Stiles slid out of the booth and walked near a patch of empty
booths with Derek. Once there, he asked curious, "What's up?"

"Erica and Boyd are missing."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "I know that. Hello, father is the county sheriff? Nosy
little shit right here? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Shut up," Derek glanced over Stiles shoulder at the aforementioned sheriff, "I
need you take your father's offer."

"Wait, what? Why?"

"So you can find out all you can about their disappearances, so you can help me
get them back." Derek's jaw was set in all seriousness.

"You're serious, aren't you? You want me to take police records, risk my
father's job, again, might I add, and help you find the betas that you were in
charge of protecting?"

Guiltily, Derek looked away, "Yes, but in return I can help you, if you would
like."

"With what? What could you possibly help me with that I can't do myself?"

"Protection."

"Protection?" A waiter came over and wiped down a table to their left so they
moved over a few, "Protection from whom?"

Derek leaned in close, lowered his voice, "The alpha pack."

"The alpha what? You mean like an entire pack of alphas? How does that even
work?"

Derek shook his head frustrated, "I don't know, but I do know that they have
Erica and Boyd." He shifted on his feet, anxious, "Will you do it or not?"

Stiles sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Thank you."

"But the protection has to be for my dad. He still doesn't know about any of
this, and I would rather he not be put in danger from it, okay?"

"Done."

"Okay, I'll see what I can find and I'll call you as soon as I have something
substantial."

"No, just call me when you find out anything that i don't already know."

"Gotcha," Stiles turned and knocked his left hip right into the hard plastic of
the booth, "Oh fuck! Oh fuck that hurt!" He lifted up his shirt to see quarter
sized, oval bruises on his hip. "Jesus that hurt."

Derek frowned, "How'd you get those?" His voice seemed oddly strained and a
little sad.

The way that Derek said it, Stiles felt. . . something stir in his chest. He
skimmed his fingers over the purpled skin, "I probably got them from practice."

Derek nodded, "Don't forget to call."

"Roger that," and they both walked back to other side of the restaurant. Stiles
slid back into the booth and watched as Derek went further in and slid into a
booth with Isaac glancing over a menu.

"So what did Derek Hale want?"

Stiles immediately put on his best lying face, "He wanted to know if I knew
anything about Boyd and Erica." Which was true, but the subsequent story he
formed in his head was not.

The sheriff nodded, sipping his coffee calmly, "Why does he want to know?"

"Erica and Isaac are really close, like siblings close, and Derek took Isaac
under his wing after his dad died."

"I see," he set his coffee down, "and why didn't Isaac come over here and ask
you himself? He is sitting right over there, after all."

"Isaac and I aren't really on good terms, I guess?"

"Why's that?"

Stiles unconsciously glanced over to their table, "He's kind of weaseling his
way in between Scott and I." He saw Derek snort and Isaac give a small smirk.

He huffed in laughter, "The amount you two depend on each other is almost
unhealthy anyway. You could use a little separation once in a while." Stiles
thought he saw a smile on Derek's face for a half moment before he registered
what his dad had said.

Stiles looked offended, "Dad, you wound me!"

"I'm just saying, kid." He shrugged and a silence fell over them. Once a
significant amount of time had passed, enough for Stiles to finish his pancakes
and the rest of his milk, the sheriff brought up the previous subject again,
"So? What do you say? Do you want to start today at noon or tomorrow at nine in
the morning?"

Stiles glanced over to where Derek and Isaac sat, obviously listening, "Today
is as good a day as any."


Stiles' ears were still ringing from the volume that Scott's voice could
achieve after being burned with a blow torch. He blinked several times and took
a finger to his ear. Scott was slumped over, passed out from the pain he
experienced.

"Thank you," he heard Derek say.

"Wha? Oh, no problem. Scott was never a big fan of pain, but he sure is tough
little guy."

"Not for that. For helping out with Erica and Boyd during the summer."

"Oh that? Sure. I'm sorry I couldn't be of better help and after the middle of
July, I wasn't any help because things suddenly got busy. Who knew that
tourists actually come to Beacon Hills? I didn't! And they sure love to get
drunk, creating more filing for me."

Derek smiled a bit, "I bet," he crossed his arms, in a self-conscious kind of
way, "But seriously, thank you."

"Any time, big guy, any time."
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for reading this crazy brain child o' mine! You are
     wonderful! And now, that explanation I promised.
     Why put it the summer before 3A? Because that was a whole playground
     of unexplained activity and I wanted to play.
     Why have two versions of the same story? It was an experiment. To see
     which one got more traffic, kudos, hits, bookmarks, and comments. It
     was to see if people liked the same-sex pairing over the opposite-sex
     pairing or vice versa. Also, I thought it would be a nice gesture to
     provide a fic that had Girl!Stiles in the same situations as the
     Guy!Stiles. It was interesting seeing the results.
     Why take all their memories away? Doesn't that negate the purpose of
     the entire fic? Possibly, but I wanted to show a non-lovey dovey, non
     sex all the time, non they end up married 5ever with babies Sterek
     story that stayed as true as I could to the characters and also
     ripped your little hearts out. Because what's more painful than
     having the start of relationship become something so good, evolving
     from trust, being brutally torn from you hands to show two
     characters' pain that will never cease. Basically, I wanted the story
     to both start and end in unforgiving agony, because it wasn't a happy
     story to begin with, so why should it end happy?
     What happened to Gerard? Why didn't he get his just desserts? I'm
     leaving that all up to Jeff Davis in canon storytelling. I trust that
     Jeff Davis will deliver a horrendous ending for that fucktwat Gerard,
     and I don't want to take that fun away from me or him. I want to see,
     physically see, that character suffer.
     Why did it take you so long to get the last chapter up? College man.
     It's a giant trap. It sucks out your soul, happiness, life, and the
     money right out of your bank account. And I have this thing, that
     when I did have time to write, I really feel awkward writing this
     caliber of fanfiction, with nudity, sex, rape, violence, and gore, in
     the presence of other people. And people are EVERYWHERE around school
     and the dorms. Also, I would rather have you wait for a chapter that
     I deem worthy than a piece of shit just to have it done with. I hope
     you feel the same, but if not, that's cool too!
     If you have any other questions, please do not hesitate to ask!
     Thank you for your time. Happy New Year everyone!
     P.S. I made a mixtape for this series! All the songs from the titles
     in one place! Go here: http://8tracks.com/mkaycopland/midnight-run-
     give-me-a-reason-not-broken-just-bent
     <3 you all! (｡♥‿♥｡)
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