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Ain't Enough Hours (In My Day)

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Stiles liked to think he had a few plans for when the inevitable unveiling of everything happened to the adults in their life. Scott's mom, his dad, maybe even Danny, because hey, Danny was pretty mature for a teenager (or maybe Stiles just thought he was because the dude wasn't having a gay crisis like he thought every gay teenager did, for one), but never in his life did he think he'd be tearing out of class (chemistry class, because every time something happened it always seemed to be in chemistry) with Scott right behind him, mind going a mile a minute as it bombarded him with every possible scenario on the text he'd just gotten from Erica.

From: femme fatale
'Get 2 Dereks, ur dad was attacked.'

The Jeep was in front of him, his keys were in his hand, biting into the skin of his palm, and the first words out of his mouth as he jabbed it in and turned the ignition off were, "I'm going to kill him."

"Stiles," said Scott, looking suitably freaked out as the Jeep lurched forward with too much enthusiasm and almost collided into Jackson's porsche parked in front of it. Why couldn't the jackass park anywhere else? Why was it always so goddamn close to his Jeep, anyway? Why was the asshole even still alive, thank you very much? "Dude, you're kinda creeping me out here."

The horn blared as Stiles slammed it with a palm, manoeuvring out of the school's parking lot and onto the main street as he sarcastically laughed. "Me? Creeping you out? Why ever would I do that?" Maybe he'd said his thoughts about Jackson out loud, and okay, fine, maybe the pack had suddenly decided to act like one big happy family and Jackson wasn't as much as a dick as before now with his wolf hulk outs and no longer being a murderous tool of snake-ish wrath. Stiles didn't like Jackson – he never did – and for the record, the amount of dislike for the dick was so humongous it literally didn't have space in it to include the failure that was his epic-crush on Lydia.

"Y-You smell weird."

Why was Derek's house so freaking far again? Why did the unsociable, stalkerish, Edward Cullen wolf counterpart, and overall frowny face live in a dilapidated building that was more likely to kill them all than the apparent alpha pack roaming around here? He was going to kill Derek, and every other goddamn piece of–

"Dude! Too fast!" Scott yelled, fingers gripping the dashboard as he rudely wrenched Stiles out of his thoughts. "You smell like a storm!"

That was weird enough to actually grab Stiles' attention, making him glance at Scott for a moment before turning back to the road (he was driving a bit over the limit, and he really didn't want to die so eyes on the road, bucko), finally driving off it into the battered trail that led to the Hale house. "Like thunder and lightning and rain and stuff?" He curiously asked, still finding the idea of scenting emotions bizarre and totally fucking awesome.

"More like thunder and lightning and a hurricane and stuff," came the reply, and Stiles theorised Scott was exaggerating, because Scott liked to exaggerate, like, a lot. "I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but you're scaring the crap out of me."

Huh, so he could scare even big bad werewolves. Good, because he needed everything he could get to kill Derek Hale. Because of course all of this was Derek fucking Hale's fault – everything – from Scott being bitten to the alpha going batshit crazy (and Peter was still batshit crazy, just not an alpha, hahahaha) to Jackson going Alien vs Predator on them all, Lydia having a mental breakdown and Allison becoming some sort of bizarre hunter/spy/who knows what the hell she actually is besides Scott's obsession. All of it was Derek's fault. Hell, even Stiles getting his ass beaten by an old freaking man was Derek's fault.

Except it was sorta Stiles that had dragged Scott out into the woods that night in the first place.

But fate was a tricky bitch. She'd have gotten to Scott there sooner or later, anyway. Better with Stiles around, right? Right.

The Jeep began struggling, bouncing it's occupants around as the trail got thicker due to coming from the wrong side, abandoned for the more maintained driveway Stiles usually used, and in the horizon the Hale house could be seen growing bigger by the minute like some bad horror movie as the Jeep moved further ahead at a crawls pace. Growing more and more frustrated by the minute as the house didn't come close fast enough (why did he take the wrong turn? Why?), Stiles finally killed off the engine and threw himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him with his foot rather than his hand. It might've been a kick, it might've been just a friendly pat on his baby's exterior. Needless to say, he was angry again.

Oh so angry.

"Scott," he began, a warning note in his voice as he psyched himself up, pacing back and forth by his side of the car before setting out towards the house. "If my dad is more hurt than just a little bump to the head, I'm going to go break into Allison's garage where you and her say there's a ton of weapons and steal them and then go use them." Which was a great idea, shit that was an actually good plan. In fact, he might enlist the help of the Argent's now that old man Gerard was (hopefully) out for the count and become a bad ass hunter himself and hunt down those alpha pieces of shit and take them down then just hurt Derek a bit. Just a little bit. Enough to get his point across.

Yeah, that totally seemed like a plausible plan. Make that plan #47. Before the one with Allison's bow and arrows and below the one with becoming the kanima's master and using it for his own gain except now Jackson was a werewolf and that obviously wasn't going to work so scrap it altogether and make the Argent plan take number #46.

Scott jogged to quickly catch him, matching Stiles long strides with relative ease but still looking like it was taking everything he had to keep up, which yeah, considering it was Scott who just didn't understand exactly what being a werewolf meant even after all this time, probably might've been the truth. Stiles didn't know how anybody in their day and age could not know the basics of Werewolf 101. Hell, nowadays, everybody should be able to get turned and deal with their own transformation with the amount of crap that was out there. If Stiles got turned into, say, a vampire, he'd know he was going to probably start thirsting for blood, so he'd break into the nearby hospital's blood bank, get a few dozen or whatever and stock up until he figured out how to control himself so he could like, go clubbing and drink from sexy women without killing them.

See? Freaking easy. All hail the internet.

"And do what?" Scott was saying, trying to sound persuadable as the house loomed ever so closer. "Go after the alpha pack yourself? I don't know if you've forgotten, but you're human!"

Yeah, like he wasn't painfully reminded of that every freaking day. "It's me right?" He responded, his lips curling into something that may very loosely be called a smile. "I'll find a way. I always do." It really sucked when the only person that had ever listened to him had been Peter Hale, and that was while Lydia was slowly bleeding out beneath him and the then alpha wanted Derek back. Not to mention that psycho aunt of Allison's had still been alive. Oh, and Gerard hadn't been around. Something was obviously wrong with his life if he considered that the good days.

But he'd consider any day good as long as it didn't include his dad getting caught up in this mess. And today was not a good day. Today was a day that someone was going to get their ass kicked, one way or another.

Erica met them on the porch as they finally reached the house, and she looked dirty – leaves in her hair, mud caked over her boots, and the fabric of her jeans ripped at her knees – like she'd been rolling around in the forest, or maybe fighting a werewolf or two. She also looked wide eyed, and the pity Stiles could see in her admittedly pretty eyes had his own vision blacking out for one seemingly eternal moment.

Because he'd seen pity like that before, and it never boded well for him.

She tried to stop him from going in, probably wanted to calm him down, make him take a deep breath, whatever, but for once Stiles was actually able to push her out of his way, heedless of werewolf strength, and he might've actually shouldered her roughly, and she might've moved back more out of shock at the blatant violence than anything else, but it worked so who gave a crap. He could hear Scott still behind him, voice lilting higher in urgency, calling his name and telling him to calm down and slow down and Stiles! as he turned sharply at the landing into what would've normally been the living room, right where Derek stood over the couch where his dad was sprawled out on.

"Jesus, dad," was the first thing blurting out of his mouth as he shoved forwards until he too stood over his thankfully awake dad. "Are you ok? What happened? Are you bleeding? Is it–" insert tongue coming to a stop, words no longer forming, eyes widening and zeroing in on the patch of skin visible over dad's shoulder, aaaaand the bite mark right freaking there. "I'm going to kill you Derek," Stiles hissed instead, staring down at the bite mark on his dad's shoulder. "I'm going to murder you, castrate you, put you to sleep, even!"

His dad looked like he was going to say something, something that looked like it was going to be a scolding or something very similar to the crap spewing out of Scott's mouth and he did not have the time for this. Instead, Stiles rounded up on Derek, pushing in until he was close enough that he could feel Derek's breath fanning out onto his own skin, could smell whatever deodorant he used, and could see the different shades of Derek's eyes he was intimately familiar with thanks to all that time spent being pushed up into walls of buildings and derelict alleys.

"You bit him?" He seethed, the muscles in his back going tight, the fine hair at the back of his neck rising and goosebumps prickling all over his arms. "You freaking bit him?"

"He had too, Stiles!" His dad's voice rose from behind him, doing little to tamper down the swirling tempest of anger and undeniable rage sharpening Stiles' sight. "It was either that or me dying."

Spinning on his feet, Stiles threw his hands in the air as he shouted, "Do you even know what he did? Do you even realise what being bitten means?!"

"I do," dad replied calmly, and there was an apology somewhere in there, an apology in his eyes, but also a look of resolution, one Stiles knew from experience would never be wavered. "And I understand your confusion, son, but it's not Derek's fault. He saved me, twice."

"It was the alphas," Derek's deep voice said, answering Stiles next question before he could answer it. "They've finally made their move. We're just lucky Erica and Boyd mistook the Sheriff's scent for yours." Blue eyes bore into Stiles then, the intense stare coming from the man suddenly disconcerting rather than the usual creepy. "We thought you'd been attacked."

Oh. Oh.

They thought it'd been him being (grossly) ravaged by a bunch of violent alpha werewolves. That explained Erica's wide eyed look, but it didn't explain the thin thread of something in Derek's voice, something that oddly sounded like worry. Had Derek been worried, thinking it was Stiles out there almost about to die? Would Derek have saved him twice and even gone as far as to bite him just to keep him alive? No, he couldn't, he wouldn't, especially not that last one, because Stiles didn't want the bite.

He didn't want the bite.

"So they just came out of nowhere and attacked dad, and he was so bad off you thought the bite was the only way to save him." He summarised, finally calming down just a little bit to think things through. The anger was still there, the rage was still fully in play, up in first string, just like Lacrosse, and how sad was it that he was comparing his emotions to a sport most people didn't even know existed. But it was focused now, focused in the same way his therapist had told him to do when he was younger and full of panic attacks, because he'd been angry at the world for taking his mom away and rather than just being a loose cannon, it would be better if he focused all that burning red poker into something productive, something that let him let off steam. Hence, Lacrosse. "But why did they attack dad? That makes no sense, what does dad have to do with anything?"

Something was missing, something crucial, something that by the looks of it dad knew and Derek knew and they were actually wary of telling him. Dad he could understand – dad never liked to tell him things that weren't full of sunshine – but Derek? Wary of hurting his feelings? Of hurting Stiles? Same Derek that liked to threaten him in the same breath as ask for help? That liked to shove him up against things to the point a day without bruises all over his shoulders and back was a miracle? The same Derek that scared the living daylights out of him as well as string along Stiles teenager boy-hormones because he apparently liked rough treatment?

Except Derek didn't really... scare him, anymore... Actually, if Stiles admitted it to only himself, it'd been a while since he'd genuinely been afraid of Derek – afraid for his life – and quite a while since he'd been afraid of even simply just getting hurt by Derek's hands. Now it was mostly just talk, talk that Stiles found himself thinking would never actually become more than just talk. They'd saved each other enough times to the point that hurting the other would seem like destroying your hand-made Picasso. And that was just not cool. (Let's all just conveniently forget the part about his teenage boy-hormones, yeah?)

Derek was the one to finally do something, and Stiles found himself startled to see his own phone being held out to him from Derek's fingers.

"The hell-? Why do you have my phone?" He grabbed it out of Derek's hands, patting his own pockets for where he last remembered pocketing the phone as he held it up to study it for imperfections, finding nothing in his pockets and nothing but the small remnants of the forest on the phone. "Dude, I swear, if you messed with it I'm going to–"

"Stiles." Dad.

He stared at the phone, then at his dad, then at Derek. Derek nodded his head at the phone, confirming it, and Stiles' mouth suddenly went dry as a thousand and one scenarios played out in his head. He unlocked his phone (and despite popular belief, the password wasn't Lydia's birthday), and first checked the call records. A little bit of the dread sitting like a lead weight in his stomach disappeared, but he knew it wouldn't go away completely until he checked his text messages, so he clicked it too. And there, sitting in his sent box, was a text he knew for a fact he hadn't sent to his dad.

From: Stiles
'Need 2 talk 2 u. Meet me Hale house.'

His mouth opened and shut a few times, his lips felt dry, so he licked them, knowing his dad was watching him, feeling Derek's eyes boring into him, and he coughed to clear his throat. "I... I didn't send this..."

His dad sighed, sounding world weary and exhausted, but nodded his head. "Yeah, I figured as much. I was on my way here to meet you when they attacked."

"So..." And really, this was not the way he wanted his dad to learn about all this. "... you know?"

A disbelieving huff was his answer. "About werewolves? Alphas and betas and kanimas and every single thing that's been happening in this city that's been boggling me all this time? Yeah, I know." And some people wondered where Stiles got his sarcasm from. Dad's look turned different then, from exhausted to this quiet look of pride. "Remember what I said after the game?" Not liking where the sudden change was going, Stiles nodded, because there was no way he could've forgotten that conversation, and how guilty it made him feel that his dad thought he was a hero. "I stand by it," said dad, smiling softly. "You're a good son, Stiles."

Scott was behind him, hand on Stiles shoulder. "He's a good best friend too, Mr. Stilinski."

Something twisted inside his chest, curling into a tight little ball of everything negative and thrusting a fist into his throat, and Stiles swallowed it down and averted his eyes away from his dad and best friend, away from what they said, because he liked to think he was a good son, a good best friend, a good person, but if he was his own dad wouldn't be sitting there with a bite from a werewolf, and his best friend wouldn't have been walking in the forest alone for him to have gotten a bite himself. If he was a good person, a good son, a good best friend, then he wouldn't be even having these thoughts – he would've never hallucinated what he did at Lydia's party, and really, that was the root of everything, wasn't it?

In his haste to try and distance himself from the genuine praise, Stiles found himself locking eyes with Derek again, surprised to find that he'd almost forgotten about the alpha for a minute. How could he? But then again, Derek was never usually quiet when it came to these things – he usually dominated the conversation with talk of necessity and having to fight and be ready, so why was he so quiet now? And why was he staring at Stiles in that same disconcerting way again? Like if Derek thought there might be something wrong with Stiles, as if he was quietly worried for Stiles, but did that even make sense?

No. This was not important. What was more important was the fact that a bunch of arrogant assholes had tricked his dad into the woods and tried to kill him, and that his dad was now infected – and considering he wasn't dead – a werewolf. But dad and Scott were still looking at him, having a moment, so he needed to dispel that first before they got to the real meat of the issue. "I've been telling you guys this since forever!" He spread his arms to gesture to himself, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows in the right angle to get across his humour. "Jeez, you're only getting this now? You guys suck. And now you've got werewolf powers to go with that suckage. What are we going to do about the alpha's?"

Footsteps came from the stairs, thumping lower to the landing as one of the old boards creaked, and Boyd came through the door rolling his right shoulder and wincing. He sat beside Erica, who patted him on the shoulder, and seemed relieved on seeing Stiles, which only made the only human in the room realise these two had gone out to fight against an alpha pack just because they thought it was Stiles who was getting attacked.

Since when had they liked him, anyway?

"Where's Isaac?" He asked instead, cursing himself when his mouth wanted to ask what he'd just thought. "And Jackson, and hell, Lydia."

Derek folded his arms across his chest, muscles flexing underneath the tight tank top he always seemed to wear, and seriously, what Stiles would give to have muscles like that, damn. Or to just touch said muscles and map them out for purely scientific reasons. "I sent Isaac to get Jackson and Lydia, bring them up to speed."

Good enough answer, and Stiles forced himself to look away from Derek's neck, from the way the alpha's adams apple moved when he spoke, and thought to himself yeah, he'd probably give a lot for muscles like that. "And? Alpha's running around in a pack maiming people here! Anybody have a game plan?"

Nobody really answered him, Erica and Boyd looking uncomfortable in their seats – and Stiles could totally understand that, because they fought the alpha's and probably got their ass collectively handed to them, and the only plan they were probably nursing in their heads was to run all the way to Maine or something. But he found himself still surprised when nothing came from Scott, nothing came from his dad who was apparently up to speed on the craptastic twists and turns of Beacon Hill's animal wildlife, and especially surprised when nothing came from Derek.

"Seriously?" He gaped, irritation colouring his words and stripping them from the usual snark and humour he was famous for (what? He totally was). "Are you serious? If we don't come up with a plan here, we're screwed. We are all collectively screwed. Every single on of us. And Allison and the Argent's. Oh, wait, here's a plan," and really, he did have one – it was plan number 46, except slightly altered to fit with the new information and the fact that most of his killing ire was directed to a different party other than Derek Hale. He still wanted to just hurt Derek though, maybe break an arm or two, he'd heal anyway. Maybe he could enlist Allison's dad for that, last he heard the guy still had a totally understandable grudge against the alpha for the death of his wife. "Why don't we go to the Argent's, specifically Chris, who might I remind everyone helped us with Jackson, and tell him there's an alpha pack here and that they just tried to kill my dad, a human. That's their job isn't it? Protecting humans. From werewolves. And kanima's. And whatever else is in that freaking bestiary."

And just like every other time the name Argent came up, Derek immediately shot it down with a fierce, "No."

Casting his eyes heavenwards, Stiles turned to Derek and clapped his hands, threading his fingers together for a lack of something else to do with them. He needed coffee, and sleep. Actually, he needed a night's full of sleep, with no nightmares of red eyes and sharp teeth or scales and long claws. He needed a night's full of sleep that didn't have him and Derek dying in that swimming pool because he was human and couldn't keep them afloat much longer, where Scott didn't rip him apart on a full moon because he couldn't control himself, where he didn't get a call from the hospital telling him if he could please come and that his dad was dead, followed with Lydia, with Allison, with Scott and every freaking body he'd ever met and talked to in his goddamn life.

And obviously, he needed someone to come up with good ideas every now and then, because Stiles was just a normal teenager here. He didn't have mad fighting skills like Allison, he wasn't a secret genius like Lydia, and he sure as hell wasn't a werewolf, so why was it he was always the under appreciated sidekick here? It was like he was the ideas guy, and that was just not cool.

The roar of a car interrupted what probably would've been a rant coming out of Stiles' mouth, flashlights glaring through the window before getting killed off along with the engine. He could hear Lydia's voice, Jackson replying, even Isaac, and soon the three came through the door, eyes first landing on the man they only knew as The Sheriff (capital letters and all) and Stiles' Dad (again, capital letters and all). Surprisingly, Allison also came in with them, and she immediately navigated her way to Scott, where they clasped hands and gave each other lovey dovey looks.

Stiles felt like throwing something, but he caught sight of Derek looking mildly disgusted by the display from the lovebirds and found himself snorting instead. Derek's nose was scrunched up in distaste, his lips tugged down and his eyebrows furrowed together just slightly over the start of his nose. He also looked a bit... wistful...?

Stiles snorted again, because he was obviously suffering from some mild form of trauma brought on by the fact his own dad was now a fully infected werewolf and how the hell was he supposed to live under the same roof as the guy? He needed to feel safe in his house, everyday, and the full moon was in like–

–"Three days."

Everybody turned to look at him, but Stiles was too busy pointing an accusing finger at both his dad and Derek. "The full moon's in three freaking days! What're you going to do? Tie my dad up to a tree?"

"If I have to." Derek replied calmly, and fuck it all, Stiles just knew the bastard was serious.

"While the alpha's are out there and have already targeted him? Are you out of your mind?" Burning with the need to get some sort of common sense across, he turned beseeching eyes to Allison, watching as she looked surprise at his attention and glanced at Scott in confusion. "Allison, please, tell them; wouldn't it be a good idea if we got your dad to at least join us in this whole alpha pack thing?"

"Um..." She glanced at Scott again, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, having no clue how to help out himself. "... I guess so...?"

"Yes! Thank you! Someone here at least has some common sense. And as for why they targeted dad, that's obvious too."

Everybody was again staring at him, waiting for his awesome deduction skills to save the day. Lydia cocked her head to the side, and Stiles could just see that she was trying to connect whatever information she had, and was coming up with something but was missing that one crucial bit of information that would make it all make sense. He knew that feeling, sometimes it felt like every day was like that, filled with that annoying feeling that just bugged you until you either figured it out or it decided to chomp on you and leave you for dead.

He held up his phone, indicating the text message he'd not sent to his dad, and thrust it under Derek's nose. "Meet me at Hale house? Hale house? Do you get it?"

There, Lydia reeled back as she finally understood it, grabbing a hold of Jackson to steady herself, but Stiles only had eyes for Derek. Stiles could see the crystal blue eyes darken, become something turbid and deep as understanding flared beneath them, and Stiles knew that the last of the Hale family (or well, second last, considering Peter was stalking around somewhere acting really creepy) realised the sheer problem that was sitting at their feet.

The alpha's had made their move. Shit was about to hit the fan. Spectacularly.

"They wanted the Sheriff to die at my house." Derek confirmed, speaking it aloud for everybody else's sake as well as for his own. After all, saying it aloud always made something seem more real, unavoidable even, and wasn't that an annoying truth to be familiar with. "They wanted me locked away by the police."

Scott looked like he was only clocking on now, and he gripped Allison tighter to him, the two almost hugging where they stood. "They wanted you out of the way..."

"So they could deal with us." Erica finished, looking resigned. "Get rid of the pack one by one, starting with the beta's."

"Weaken the alpha," Boyd continued, nodding his head in realisation. "Then take him out."

It was a good plan, a seriously good plan, and this was why they needed one better. "Thankfully though," drawled Stiles, voice dripping with dryness and sarcasm. "They failed step one. Instead, the Sheriff is now an honorary member of the pack. Meaning not only will Derek not get arrested, but that the Sheriff's on our side of the law-" oh man, that was great, he'd have to remember to use that phrase again when dad was the subject. "-and he's also a werewolf. Of our pack. Meaning Derek's stronger, all you other beta's are stronger, and they'll be trying something else. Probably me next time. Especially if they don't find out about dad being a werewolf."

"No, they won't." Scott reasoned, voice injected with as much comfort he could, probably thinking Stiles was playing that 'you tried to kill me how many times again?' card. "They'll just try something else."

For a minute there, Allison actually looked like she agreed, despite being the clever girl she was, except then Derek dashed that little piece of positivity by announcing, "Yes, they will." Scott looked to him in anger and dad looked alarmed at the confirmation. Stiles felt bad about saying what he had with dad around, because the last thing he wanted was for dad to get worried – with his new found werewolf abilities, he'd have enough to worry about soon enough, especially considering his job was a lot more stressful than highschool was. Trying not to change when a thief was shooting at you? Yeah, Stiles didn't think that'd be all too easy.

"They need me locked up, and they need something to happen that'll get me locked up. I might've been exonerated from everything before, but if someone dies on my property that I was seen talking to? I'd be the first to get called in as a suspect."

"I can get the Sheriff," Jackson said, his first words since arriving. "It was the Sheriff that led the man hunt in trying to get Derek, so him dying would obviously make you a suspect. But Stiles?"

"He's the son of the Sheriff and has been seen with Derek before." Isaac pointed out, a thoughtful look on his face. "I remember when Derek passed out in the parking lot and you guys put him in your car and drove off."

Scott looked confused for a second, so Stiles mouthed 'Wolfsbane bullet' at him, and the confusion was replaced with understanding. Yeah, Stiles had almost forgotten about that too – except now that he thought about it, Derek had smacked him into his steering wheel, hadn't he? Asshole.

"So we stage a trap," Stiles finished it up with, once more clapping his hands together. "I become little red riding hood – hey, I even have a red hoodie – and go trapaising off into the woods. They come growling and biting, and I deploy my mad dodging skills, and you guys come in to save the day." And wait for it, see everybody get gearing up to argue, see his dad look outraged at the plan, and now- "Oh, and we get Allison's dad to help us out too, because he's actually good at alpha hunting. Remember that? So he can, you know, shoot wolfsbane bullets at the alpha's that'll be trying to rip my throat out while you guys do your thing? Yeah? 'Cuz that's a good plan."

And there we go. Chaos.

Dad was up on his feet, loudly disapproving of the plan, and Scott was completely with him. Allison was trying to make adjustments, ways to make sure Stiles wasn't actually the one in danger, and Jackson looked like he was shooting down each and every one of her ideas simply because they weren't plausible. Isaac, Boyd and Erica just looked uneasy where they were huddled together. Stiles actually felt bad for them, but even though they looked uneasy, they didn't seem defeated, and he liked to think that if nothing else, they at least seemed to be good friends with each other. People needed friends. This life was hard enough being human let alone a werewolf.

Fingers curled around his left biceps, the tips biting into his flesh in a way that really said it all as to who it might be, and Stiles was tugged backwards a bit until he was out of the main chaos that was the pack (now including his dad, which he was still totally pissed about and was going to address as soon as he goddamn could). He never once felt Derek's eyes leave him throughout the whole conversation, and now those ice blue eyes – red when they glowed with alphaness – were locked with his own as Derek blatantly stared at him intensely. The plan needed to get approved by Derek, had to get the go ahead by Derek, because while Stiles sorta trusted in Scott's skills as a badass werewolf, he still didn't feel comfortable going into the woods as bait with only Scott as his backup. Derek was an alpha now, and even before when he wasn't, he was still pretty freaking awesome in a fight, and that was necessary here, it was necessary.

It wasn't until he could feel more than just Derek's eyes on him that Stiles realised they were standing just like before, when Stiles had been livid and ready to deploy some of that miracle human strengths that gave mothers the power to save their children from fallen trees or whatever, and now with the added bonus of Derek's fingers still hot and tight around Stiles' arm. Derek studied him, eyes finally breaking from the lock it'd forced on Stiles, and roved around Stiles' face, his hair, the space between his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his lips, and the rise and fall of Stiles' chest.

In return, Stiles found himself studying Derek back, like he always did whenever they were this freaking close, because staring into each other's eyes when one had thrown you into the wall was really awkward when there was only a space of like, two centimetres between you. So he looked elsewhere, at the space right above Derek's eyes and beneath his eyebrows, the hooded effect it gave his face, his jaw, the strong line of it that descended to his chin, and when he looked there he saw Derek's bottom lip, and from there his top lip, and both of them together looked surprisingly soft and maybe being a werewolf meant never having dry, broken lips? He probably never needed a chap stick, and the thought of lips and how dry they could get made Stiles think of his own, and before he knew it, he was running a wet tongue over them, moistening them up, feeling suddenly self-conscious and awkwardly aware of himself.

The fingers momentarily tightened on Stiles' arm, bruising the skin there, Stiles' nerves alighting for a second before the fingers let up on their pressure, and Derek's eyes had dropped to Stiles' mouth, had watched him lick his lips, and for a minute there, Derek looked lost, absolutely fucking lost, and Stiles suddenly didn't understand a damn thing happening.

Then whatever Derek had been looking for, he must've found, because he let him go and took a pointed step back, widening the space between them, and suddenly Stiles felt as if an Arctic wind had blown in the suddenly open space between them because he felt cold.

Derek gave a single nod before breaking eye contact again, instead looking towards the still arguing group. "Fine." He said aloud, and everybody went quiet, even dad, and Stiles just knew it was because that inner primitive part in every surviving organism in the world would recognise it when something faster and stronger than you spoke – even if you were human. "We'll do it."

Dad didn't want too, Stiles could see it, but dad had reached his quota of bodily movements for the day and fell back onto the couch, slouching in his seat with a tired sigh, fingers grappling to try and make himself sit up. Stiles took a step towards his dad, stopped when he saw him wince, and realised the change must be already happening. Knowing dad needed to get used to the sudden heightened sense of hearing, he quickly and with as much grace as possible made his way to his dad, seating himself beside him and patting him consolingly on the knee. "We'll talk later, dad, I promise. But you might want to take a nap now."

He was surprised when Derek was suddenly there too, gently pushing at dad's shoulders until he was resting his head on the sofa's arm rest, and Stiles dutifully put his dad's feet up on his own lap, knowing he wasn't going anywhere until his dad was past the three day mark, and more importantly, past the full moon.

"Rest," Derek's deep timber voice said, directed to his father, but sounding like it was meant for Stiles too. "Your body still needs to heal, even though you'll get better faster now."

"But..." Dad responded, stubbornly holding on even as he melted into the surprisingly comfortable sofa, hands finally resting limply against the fabric of his shirt covering his stomach.

"Dad." Stiles.

Dad huffed, shaking his head to himself as he stared up at the burned building. "So this is my life now." He mused to himself, voice filled with the appropriate amount of disbelief and incredulousness that Stiles thought warranted the situation. "Well, at least it'll keep things interesting."

"Yeah, dad." Stiles agreed amiably, watching as his father's eyes drooped until they finally stopped rising. "That's one way to see it."

Boyd and Erica were sharing the couch, Erica actually sitting in it while Boyd rested on the arm rest. Isaac stood next to them, leaning on the headrest, hands stuffed in his pockets, and the three of them seemed comfortable in their bizarre little club of three. Actually, if Stiles looked closely, he was pretty sure Boyd had an arm over the headrest, fingers suspiciously disappearing behind Isaac's back, and Erica had a hand on both the boys, which, okay, maybe they really were a club of three, or, considering there was actually a term for this, that term, because he so didn't want to actually think it and much less acknowledge it and just oh my god ew.

Dad was sleeping the sleep of the dead, but every now and then he twitched, and his eyebrows furrowed together in the way that Stiles knew meant he was in pain, yet he kept sleeping right on. Stiles rested himself, comfortable with his dad's feet on his lap, like all those times they'd watch some late night movie together at home and dad demanded to be shown respect because he was an officer of the law and officer's should be able to put their feet up on their son's lap and get foot massages on a nightly basis, dammit. They hadn't had a late night movie lately, not for a while now, not with dad getting busier and Stiles hanging out with Scott and later on getting caught up in all this drama.

"Allison, we need you to speak to your dad about this. Tell him what's going on, and tell him of our plan." Derek commanded quietly, glancing at her for a moment before staring back at Stiles' sleeping dad. It would've been creepy if it was anyone else doing the staring, but considering who it was, Stiles didn't really find it all that pressing.

Allison nodded and got up, smiling reassuringly at Stiles who gave an awkward one back. "I'll go with you," offered Scott, and at her nod he got up and the two left the house on silent feet. Silent feet on Scott made sense – werewolf, everybody! – but Allison? Remind Stiles to never get on her bad side. Ever.

"Jackson, your responsibility is Lydia. There's always a chance they'll set their sights on her, or you too, so keep track of each other and keep each other safe. I also want you here most of the time, especially as we get closer to the full moon. Got it?"

Frowning, Jackson grudgingly agreed, and next to him Lydia huffed but kept her attention to her nails, inspecting them for who knew what. Stiles figured the two were together again – that last kiss and hug and you know, everything, sort of gave that impression – and yeah, this full moon would be Jackson's first as a werewolf, and considering his past experience with the full moon and after, he could use all of Derek's help.

So could dad, actually.

"Stiles," did Derek's sound uncomfortable? "You need to go home."

What? "What?"

"You need to act normal, you need to act like you know the alpha's attacked your dad but you don't know why." Derek went on, looking like there was a bad taste in his mouth he just couldn't get rid off. "And you need to go to the station and get your dad some days off. Preferably three, or four, actually. He needs to stay here where I can keep an eye on him. We can't do anything until after the full moon anyway."

"No way!" Shit, dad was frowning, probably hearing his voice, so Stiles tried again but quieter. "Can't I just, I dunno, stay here?"

Derek growled, a low noise that rumbled and raised the fine hairs all over Stiles' body, and the remaining wolves in the room sat a little straighter as Derek's eyes glowed red. "No, you can't. You know how we get as the full moon gets closer. Do you really want to be in a house full of werewolves by yourself?" Stiles opened his mouth to say something, probably something along the lines of 'it wouldn't be the first time' or 'you'll need the practice anyway' when Derek gritted his teeth and interrupted him before he could even get a sound out. "Do you really want your dad to have attacking you on his conscience?"

Damn it. Of course he didn't. Well played, Derek Hale. Well played. "Fine," he answered, scraping his nails across the short buzz cut of his hair as he looked down to come up with a way to move dad's feet off his lap without waking him. "But you better keep an eye on him. All the time. And take care of him. And feed him. And keep him comfortable." Task completed, Stiles carefully stood up and placed his dad's feet back onto the sofa, wincing slightly at the twitch his dad gave at the movement. He still slept on though. "He likes black coffee in the morning, with three spoons of sugar and no milk, and he'll try and get unhealthy food from you but don't let him because then his blood pressure will go off the roof and he'll get dizzy or it'll drop and he'll get bitchy and–"


Wow, now Derek sounded like his dad. Who taught him how to say his name like that, anyway?

Heaving a huge sigh, Stiles relented and began to leave, casting a last glance at his dad who slept on obliviously. Now that he was a werewolf, that meant no more talk of his health, no more worrying about his dad getting a stroke or something outlandish and completely mother nature's fault, because now he was part of mother nature, or of anti-mother nature, or whatever the hell the supernatural was considered in terms of the Earth and The Universe and Everything In It.

Derek stared right back at him, probably wanting him to just leave already, and wow, today hadn't been all too bad considering there hadn't even been a single threat. Maybe Derek was trying to endear himself to dad, because what a way to chase someone out of your pack by threatening their son, right?

"He'll be fine."

Stiles blinked, and yes, that had been Derek that said it, and why was Lydia looking between them both with a strangely frightening look of thoughtfulness? Maybe she wanted to try and be a werewolf again, although apparently girl's were even more scary as werewolves than the guys were, if what Isaac and Boyd had told him about Erica was true. Stiles thought it was kinda hot, the fact girl's could handle more pain and went full hulk twice rather than once, but it also scared the living shit out of him too. Thank god Erica was the only female wolf he knew. Hopefully she'd always stay the only one he knew.

"Fine." Stiles repeated himself, forcing himself to walk away from the last family member he had. "Fine, Ok, alright, I'll hold you to that. But you better freakin' answer your phone whenever I call, or answer whenever I text, because I will, and–"

"Oh for god's sake." Jackson was out of his seat. Jackson was coming towards him. Holy shit was Jackson going to kill him already? No, instead, Jackson grabbed a hold of the collar of his sweater and dragged him away, mumbling to himself about Stiles being annoying and talking too much, and before he was forcibly removed from the premises, Stiles yelled out another warning to Derek that if he didn't freaking pick up his phone when Stiles called, there would be hell to pay. "Where's your piece of metal?"

"Uuh..." Stiles adjusted his clothing as soon as Jackson let go of him, glad that Jackson's claws weren't anywhere near the vulnerable skin of his neck, and pointed in the direction he'd come walking from. "That-a way, captain. Or, um, Co-captain."

And oh yeah, Jackson was definitely a werewolf now, he even growled like one!

By the time they got to the Jeep, Stiles already had his keys in his hand, and was already thinking of a major flaw in their plan. "You guys do realise I could easily get killed in my house when I'm all alone and then just dumped off around here, right?"

Heaving a sigh, Jackson watched as he climbed in behind the wheel. "So I'll drop off Lydia so you two can trade hair tips while I do whatever the hell it is Derek wants me to do here."

Oh cool, he'd get Lydia to himself for a few hours. That was awesome. "He wants to train you, like he did with Erica and the others. Make sure he trains my dad too, yeah?"

"Whatever." Jackson was such a dick. "Go home, Stilinski."

Ignition turned on, the Jeep coughed and spluttered her way to life, and Jackson took a disgusted step back and started walking back to the house. "Yeah, love you too!" Stiles shouted after him, just to piss him off, but when no answer came back, he cursed himself and carefully tried to navigate his way out of all these goddamn trees. It took a while to get back to the beaten up trail path, but from there it wouldn't really be hard to get home.

No, what would be hard was trying not to spazz out too much and drive himself into a ditch and die of human causes like idiocy rather than a big bad (were)wolf. Yeah, that was going to be excruciatingly difficult. Especially so considering he'd just missed his scheduled pill popping time and the nerves and jitters where making his fingers itch and his focus was sharpening and dimming and everything suddenly seemed like so much brighter and he was going home right? Home to an empty house because dad was at Derek's where he would start training to be a werewolf and at least now Stiles wouldn't have to worry about his dad in the line of duty or dying from cancer like mom did and what would mom think about this if she'd been alive anyway? Would she hate Stiles for bringing this to dad? Blame him even? If she were alive would he and dad grow even closer than they were now in their pursuit to a) keep her safe and b) in the dark? Would she be disappointment because she could feel they were lying about things like dad had known for a while now that Stiles was totally making shit up and was obviously caught up in some serious shit? Would-, would-, would-

-Shit, he really should've taken his adderall.

It wasn't every day he accidentally forgot to take one, but it'd happened enough times that Stiles knew how to deal with it and make do until he could pop one into his mouth and maybe even take a nap. He hated the freaking pills, but he hated how he became without them even more, and driving was enough to keep most of his attention anyway – especially with the very real threat of enemy werewolves out there vying for someone's blood.

Alpha's man, all bat shit crazy.

He flipped on the radio, nodding his head to some heavy house music that blasted out of the speakers, and drove through sceneries he'd seen practically every day of his life since birth. The sun was struggling valiantly to hold on to the last few specks of sky, but obviously gravity was pulling it down under the ocean of the horizon, and soon the sun would be drowning in the deep dark recess of the night while the moon cackled like a bitch. Stiles didn't like the moon – anything that changed shape in the sky just freaked him the fuck out – but the only person that had genuinely seemed to understand that notion had been his mom, even if she'd laughed herself to tears before giving him a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He must've been six or something then, because five, six and seven where the years he started to realise he couldn't just blurt out every single concept that came into his head. At least Scott was way too passive to have been creeped out by him, or maybe Scott had just not understood a word he said but followed along because Stiles was a grabby little kid that didn't wait for a refusal. He'd been really forceful as a kid back then, and Scott had been even more of a pushover than he was now. Thankfully that had changed throughout the years, at least.

Speaking of which, now that he thought about it, they were all pretty much the same as they'd been when they were kids. Lydia was still a genius and the most popular girl in school. Jackson was still a prick (back then he'd even been an actual bully, the asshole), and Boyd, the only one he could remember back then from the little 'club' the three beta's made had been pretty awesome during reading time. Dude had been reading the whole Narnia books in grade four. Stiles still cringed whenever he saw just how thick those books were.

What had Derek been like though? As a kid? Before the fire and everything. What was it like being born a werewolf into a whole family, a whole pack, of them? There'd been humans in that fire as well, even human children, so it must've been a huge freaking pack, and one of those awesome huge families that had loud, noisy, barbecue's in the back yard. Had Derek been like Scott as a kid? Pleasant and average and just satisfied with the simplest of things? Or had Derek always taken on too much responsibility and appointed himself the task of making sure his cousins never got hurt, along with whatever the other kids his age or younger around the house had been? Yeah, Stiles could see it now, Derek with his tiny hands fisted on his hips, glowering adorably at a bunch of toddlers rolling around in the dirt, telling them they were getting their clothes dirty. Maybe even Derek standing up to a bully that was four years older than him, glaring at the injustice of it all.

Stiles would pay to see that. Too bad any family album's that might've existed would've burned up with the flames.

The Jeep easily fitted into the slot of parking space in front of his house, so Stiles patted his baby's steering wheel and hopped out of it, making sure that his windows were closed and the Jeep was securely locked. He looked around the empty street, seeing not a soul around, but more importantly he saw no glowing red dots or fierce pointy teeth so he figured all was good. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he unlocked it as he made his way to his door and turned the key in, opening it up just as he selected the psuedoname Derek on his contact list and chose the 'send sms' option.

TO: Creeper

'Is he still sleeping? Don't give him coffee when he wakes up. Just cuz he's wolfie like u don't mean he should get high on caffeine.'

Text sent, he put it on top of the shoe drawer inside the hallway and turned around to lock the door, securing the dead bolt, the chain, the lock and every other paranoid combination of security his dad had installed ever since he decided to go into law enforcement. Grabbing the phone back up as he toed off his shoes, he walked around the house making sure all the windows were locked, investigating every dark corner that could hold a potentially wolf-y person, and then collapsed down onto the sofa in the living room with a pill and a glass of water.

His phone made a deep gong sound, signalling the arrival of a text message, and surprised, Stiles clicked it open.

FROM: Creeper
'He's fine.'

Wow, Derek had actually replied back. That was a miracle. Usually, if whatever Stiles had sent wasn't a matter of life and death (and even then), Derek usually didn't answer back until like a day later. Stiles had been prepared to not get an answer at all for this, so he had to give credit where credit was due, and realise he was an idiot because of course Derek would answer, this was Stiles' dad they were talking about. If there was one thing Stiles had figured out about the alpha, it was that he took family seriously to the point of a ninja code or something. And Stiles could get behind that – was one of the reasons why he was behind that (cough, behind that in the sense he was with Derek and not actually behind him, and wait, why was he even thinking such a clarification was even needed?).

Well, tomorrow was Friday, so Sunday night was going to be the full moon. That was alright, tomorrow he could get the news from Scott about how dad was doing, and he'd go by the station early in the morning and tell them dad had caught a bad cold or whatever. He'd heard from Ms McCall that it was spreading around or something. Would totally make sense. Yeah, great.

"You, Stiles, are amazing," he praised himself, speaking out loud to the empty room. "Even if you are completely alone in your own house."

The sun set down as he stretched out on the sofa, letting his feet drop down onto the arm rest at the opposite end while he stuffed his face in a sofa-pillow (or whatever it was they called these wondrous creations of the modern era). The silence irked him a little, made his mind go faster and his thoughts scream louder to fill it up, and seriously, no freaking wonder Derek was the way he was if he spent all his time in that broken ransack of a house all on his own.

Maybe after all this crap calmed down, he'd suggest the guy build it up again.

Derek would probably punch him.

"So yeah, he's totally got a cold, so I'd give him a few days before he's in any condition to be wielding a gun," explained Stiles, flailing a hand in an imitation of what his father would probably do with a gun while on his cold medicine. Technically, it wasn't too far from the truth. Mom would kill them both if she knew the sort of things they'd gotten up too after her demise. Let's just say there'd been a huge learning curve and lots of damage repair. "And he says if any strange or mysterious or just bizarre cases come through with dead bodies and patterns and blood splatters to send them through to me," no, he hadn't, and dad never would, but Stiles needed to inject just a bit of blatant lie to make the truth seem more realistic. "You know, so I could pass it over to him."

His dad's partner gave him a look that clearly said Stiles wasn't bullshitting anyone, but just like he'd planned, the 'cold excuse' had gone through without a hitch. "Give him our best wishes yeah?" Tom ordered him, accompanying the words with his 'you listen to your elders, boy' look he'd perfected the very first day he caught Stiles trying to sneak into an evidence room. "And tell him not to trouble you too much. I know he gets bitchy when he's sick."

Stiles snorted, totally not refusing that at all. "Sure will, man. Remember, those cases that may or may not turn up? To me."

"Get the hell out of my station, Stiles."

And there was his cue to leave like yesterday. "Technically, it's dad's."

Jesus, cops shouldn't be allowed to point guns at the Sheriff's son.

Climbing into his Jeep, Stiles sent a victory text to Scott, and got back a celebratory message almost instantly. He drove his way to school, parking in his usual spot – goddamn porsche always in his line of sight, one day he was going to do something to it and Jackson would cry – and spilled out of his beloved with less grace than usual. He was a swan, all limbs and beauty and awe-inspiring, and people just didn't have the necessary requirements of Swan-Eyes to see it. He was the swan princess, cursed to turn into something less awesome than himself right at the crucial moments, and Scott was probably the talking frog while Lydia was the talking parrot or whatever and he couldn't really remember the details because the last time he'd watched it he'd been four and it'd been in Norwegian because mom's best friend was totally Norwegian and thought it'd be hilarious to teach Stiles all the songs in it in Norwegian and people wondered why Stiles had turned out the way he did.

But considering his best friend and most of the people he hung around with were werewolves and Allison was a badass hunter of werewolves and Lydia was Something Else Entirely, people should give him an honest to God Nobel Prize for Putting Up With All This Shit And Still Coming Out Relatively Unscathed.

He was going to write a novel based on his life, do a Stephen Mayor move and aim it to all the impressionable simple minded teenagers out there and call it something totally unoriginal like Teen Wolf. He bet Allison liked that thing with the glittery vampires, she seemed like the type. Hell, even Scott did. The sacrifices he made for company.

Although now that he thought about it, that was actually a good plan. His life was awesome for a book deal – he could get rich – like J.K. Rowling and her Harry Potter and dude, this was so going as number 1 in his plans for the future way above becoming a genius mechanical engineer because he was actually good with his hands and putting one and two together and oh shit Derek would totally not let him write about werewolves.

Fucking sourwolf.

Scott was sitting in his seat in homeroom, making googly eyes at Allison who was right beside him, and the only seat free was the one behind Scott. This meant Stiles would be subject to watching them be sickeningly mate-ish with each other, and maybe that was really it and werewolves had soul-mates and Derek just hadn't told them because he had this problem with talking and divulging Highly Important Information of the Important Kind. Acronyms of that would be something like HIIIK, which was actually awesome. Like 'hike', except more like 'hiiik' because life just sucked like that.

"Derek told me to tell you to watch out and stay alert. He doesn't want you to get hurt." Scott informed him as their English teacher came in and immediately asked about who had done their reading. Stiles rolled his eyes at her, because seriously? He'd read Of Mice and Men when he was eleven or something, and secretly cried at the ending. Or maybe he'd been crying because mom was in the hospital again-

-and what the fuck why was he thinking about mom so much lately he didn't need this freaking punch to the heart every time he thought of her and the way she smelled and the way she looked in the hospital bed and the way she'd cried when she thought nobody could see her and how she always grabbed on extra tight when visiting hours were over and she didn't want him to go because she was afraid she'd never see him again and-

-"Mr. Stilinski?"

Get a grip on yourself, Stilinski. No tears in English class. "Uh, ugh, sorry," he muttered, sniffing to try and keep the burn in his eyes away. "It's just, Lenny. Rabbits. Everything." Cue despondent sniff and bam, the teacher was totally head over heels for him.

Oh yeah, he'd definitely be getting an A in this class.

Scott looked clueless – which was the default look on his face anyway – while Allison actually looked impressed. Maybe she'd forgotten that Stiles wasn't the one failing his classes, because while being the only really weak-as-a-human human, he still had time to do his homework and cruise by at a relatively good mark. Only thing teachers had to say about him was his attitude and attention problems, and honestly, dad was totally resigned to that. "And dad?" He whispered back, leaning forward in his chair as Scott leaned back. "Wait, did you say Derek didn't want me to get hurt? Is he, like, worried about me?"

Lips pulling into an unwilling grin, Scott shook his head fondly and answered the really important question here. "Your dad's fine. After speaking to Allison's dad we went back over and he was awake and everything. Don't worry."

Don't worry his ass. Dad had a trigger happy finger and now he was going to have a trigger happy claw, and if that wasn't the main issue here Stiles didn't know what was. Except the last time dad had actually shot someone it had been a serial killer passing through Beacon Hills picking off people and the FBI had awarded dad with a really cool pen. Or something. Stiles hadn't really been listening because he'd been too freaked out about the fact that his dad had pretended to be the serial killer's target and had almost gotten himself killed along the way.

Seriously, he was surrounded by martyrs. First dad, then Scott, and the biggest martyr of them all, Derek.

"So, Mr. Stilinski." Shit, teacher alert, teacher alert, mayday, mayday. "Since you're the only one that seems to have read it all rather than the set three chapters, why don't you tell us which was your favourite part of the book?"

Crap. Stiles hated questions like this. He hated English as it was, with all the questions that never had a right or wrong answer and why couldn't this stuff be as simple and straightforward as maths for God's sake? At least maths had only one answer. You just had to struggle to get to it. "Oh you know," he stalled, trying to remember the hazy memories he had of the book. "The whole bit where they always speak about their future and what they're gonna have and rabbits and–"

"–Okay, Mr. Stilinski, breathe." He didn't need to breathe, who did this lady think he was? "I've got to say, I'm impressed. Keep up the good work." He saluted her, wincing as his hand smacked a bit too hard against his forehead, and ignored the snickers that broke out around him.

The clocked ticked on, the lesson finished, they moved on to another lesson, Allison went bye bye, Scott finally got his head out of the cloudy fog of teenage romance, and Mr. Harris was glaring at him from over his desk. Great. There was still a few minutes left before class officially started, so Stiles put it to good use by calculating how long it'd been since his last dosage and realised he needed to take a pill now before he totally lost his shit. He really didn't want to give Harris anymore reasons to hate him, although why the guy hated Stiles in the first place was anybody's guess.

He dug into his backpack, rooting around for where he kept his pills, and crowed silently in victory when his fingers closed around it. The little white bottle proudly stated ADDERALL XR, telling the whole world or those that deemed to look at the right second that the person holding the bottle was a total ADHD-er. He fingered out one of the orange pills, scowling at it before popping it into his mouth like a popcorn, and chased it down with a bottle of water he always kept at hand. That done, he thrust a hand into his pocket, then another, then a third, finally finding his phone and taking it out as Harris continued glaring at him from his pale face. Still five minutes left to class, dude, until then Stiles could do what he wanted. And it'd been a whole two minutes since he'd last texted (read: annoyed) Derek for an update.

TO: Creeper
'just cuz he's a howler now doesn't mean he don't need food. Feed him. N don't eat him.'

TO: dad
'is he feeding u? Don't listen 2 his growls, his barks worse than his bite.'

He hesitated for a minute, the last text still not sent (and hurray for autocorrect), and after a quick mental argument quickly added on the real question;

'are you ok?'

"Alright, class," boomed Harris' voice, grabbing everybody's attention. "If I see another phone out or anybody talking, detention. The lesson has officially started."

He felt his phone vibrate, thankfully on the vibrate setting rather than normal, and then he felt it vibrate again – two text messages, maybe Derek had actually replied again, and wouldn't that be just the sign to the apocalypse? – probably just dad texting him, and then forgetting something and texting him again. Seriously, Stiles didn't think anybody's dad ever replied to a text with a hundred and three responses. It was a good thing they'd both changed to a yearly plan a while back, otherwise the amount of money they'd be paying would've been ridiculous.

He couldn't bring it out to check though, not with being Harris' main focus, so he resigned himself to spending forty five minutes of being stared down at disdainfully by a man that could give Snape a run for his money. But no way was he just going to waste his time on chemical equations and what mixing so and so with so and so produced, because that stuff was boring and not really interesting unless it was molotov cocktails and Lydia was awesome, man. Notebook out, Stiles turned to the last page and started scribbling down the main gist of what he knew, using shortcut writing and dipping into internet speak absorbed from hours spent on the online gaming communities in the off chance case Harris actually confiscated his book. There was no way anybody could know about this, so he used chat speak even the likes of Lydia wouldn't understand. And 1337. Lots and lots of 1337.

By the time the bell rang and class was over, he had about three pages worth of complete and utter scribbles, the like that made the whole white page seem like a grey colouring book (he'd been using a pencil – don't ask why). But he also had a plan. Or three. And basically back up plans because the first plans never actually worked for some reason. Oh, if only he'd been Bruce Wayne, all that money would mean half of these plans of his would be financially capable.

"How is he, anyway?" Stiles asked again as he threw his backpack over his shoulder, eyes tracking Lydia bending over to grab her own bag. "Dad, I mean. With everything."

Scott thought about it for a second, giving it the due necessary requirement of thought before answering. "Honestly, he's being really cool about it. And when I was there it actually seemed like him and Derek were getting along."

That did not sound good. "Noooo," whined Stiles, stepping back to let a cute girl walk through the exit before he followed after her. "They can not get along together. This does not work. This is not good."

"Personally, I think it's great," commented Allison, and really, what did she know? She was a hunter dating a werewolf. If Stiles had found out his girlfriend was a furry beast of the night, he would've totally joined his hunter dad up and saved his own ass – screw highschool romance. "Derek could use someone like your dad, and your dad just seemed really glad to know what was going on."

Dear god, Stiles could see it now, dad and Derek ganging up on him to do things. As if he already didn't give up enough for this pack. Just look at his non-existentlove life. Even Scott had a girlfriend, for crying out loud!

"Whatever," he sighed, coming to a stop at the intersection that led to different parts of the building, half of his mind stuck on the image of his dad and Derek telling him to stay in the car or something equally damsel-y whenever shit hit the fan. "I got economics now, and you guys have..."

"English." Allison said, and yeah, that was because they didn't share the same homeroom.

"Math." Scott grumbled, and yeah, that was because he was failing it.

He waved them goodbye, watched a bit as they gave each other the eyes before huffing and turning around to go to his own class. Now that he was free of distractions, he took out his phone and clicked it open to the two new text messages, and yup, just as he'd thought, both of them were from his dad and none from Derek. Adjusting the strap of his backpack to sit more comfortably on his shoulder, he read through them and scoffed. It was just like dad to scold him for nothing. Who was it that went to a previously thought of murderer's broken house in the middle of the forest because of a text message? Yeah, dad, way to be a detective.

The hallway that led to economy class was surprisingly not as noisy as he was used too. Stiles stopped for a moment, looked around, and because he liked to keep himself amused with humour, sniffed the air in the off chance case he was gaining abilities from all the supernatural people in his life through osmosis. Nope, the hallways smelled like air, i.e. like nothing, except oh hey, nobody was around. Where was Johnny? Or Isabella? Hell, where was Boyd? Economics was the class he even got to know of Boyd in, so the guy should've popped up out of nowhere with his freaky new werewolfiness and basked in the awesomeness that was Stiles. In fact, where was Samiya too? You could always see her brightly coloured headscarf bobbing about in the hallways. This was strange, suspiciously strange, and strange enough Stiles tightened his hold on his backpack and realised he might have to start running really freaking soon.

Actually, make that now, because he was definitely seeing glowing red eyes coming from the end of the hallway.

Stiles didn't waste time in running the opposite direction, wincing every time his backpack smacked against his back and bruised him, and the way he skidded and almost fell flat on his face really didn't help him in his bid to outrun a werewolf. Where was help when you needed it? Why were the alpha's attacking so freaking quickly? Why couldn't they just wait until the full moon where they were probably stronger or whatever and Stiles and co actually had a plan? And where was Scott when you needed him?

Something slashed at his right ankle, bright hot pain exploded and drowned him under white when he next stood on it, and he must've buckled because next thing he knew he was on the floor. He only got a hand underneath him to push up when something heavy landed on top of him, punching the air out of him, and Stiles dropped to the floor and didn't even bother holding back the pained noise coming from his throat.

His backpack had fallen off somewhere, probably when his vision had gone white with pain, and whatever was on top of him – alpha, his mind supplied, so far just one, and why would they bother with more than one? – didn't care that he was just human, that it could crack his ribs and puncture his lungs and heart if it continued applying more weight on him, and Stiles vision was going black at the edges, dots were swimming around his lovely view of the school floor, and the hallways were still empty, he was still alone, and this was it, he was going to die, wasn't he?

A claw trailed the dip of his spine, going lower to his legs, and further down. The weight finally subsided, and Stiles drew in a ragged breath that hurt him more than helped, and stayed still and painfully quiet as the claw traced his femoral artery. Just a nick, and he'd be bleeding to death, that's how easy it would be to kill him right now, except the claw went further down and oh-

-his ankle. His ankle.

Stiles gave in and passed out.

"Hey, Boyd, have you seen Stiles anywhere?"

Boyd shook his head, looking confused as he sat down on the table the Hale pack had unknowingly claimed. "No, I thought he was with you guys. Didn't turn up for economy either."

Scott looked around, enhanced eyesight taking in everybody around the cafeteria in search of his best friend. When he couldn't see him, he frowned to himself. Then his phone buzzed.

FROM: Stiles
'skipping skl. Going 2 see dad.'

"Oooh," said Scott, holding up the screen so everyone could see. "He's just gone to Derek's. Worried about his dad."

"That's sweet," Lydia responded, looking thoughtful. "Even the way he acted last night. I didn't think he'd be like that."

Scott smiled, smile going wider when Allison plopped down into the seat beside him, grateful that her dad had grudgingly given the go ahead for them to be together. "Yeah, you should've seen the way he was this one time his dad fainted from too much work."

His phone buzzed again, and Scott looked down to see another text from Stiles.

FROM: Stiles

Snickering, he shook his head fondly and started eating his sandwich. "Must've forgotten to lock it before stuffing it in his pants."