I was on my way writing another different Derek/Stiles centric fic called "Summer Days," but then I heard this song [Where do I Even Start by Morgan Taylor Reid*] and was inspired to write this, which is still Derek/Stiles centric, but is going to go a very different direction… Enjoy!

Story takes place after the end of Season 2. Minor spoilers for those who haven't watched it yet. Hoping to drag this out to when season 3 finally comes back to TV.

*Listen to the song. Do it. In fact, play it while you're reading parts of this. It might not make sense now, but hopefully it'll become clear soon.

A/N: Always making edits to things already published because I suffer from a mild form of OCD, so be sure to check back :)

Prelude

My heart is broken,

Somebody fix it…

"Funny how things work out, isn't it?" He said, his fingers grasping the hairs on the back of Derek's head and sharply yanking back. The moonlight danced quietly around the two figures posed tensely in the small clearing.

"What… do you… want…" Derek growled through heavy breaths, wincing as the figure pulled harder, forcing his bare throat to exposure.

"I've been watching you for weeks now, drowning in your own self-loathing and misery, all–" He smirked, crouching down so he could look directly into Derek's eyes, burning like red hot coals. "-alone."

He let go and pushed him to the ground. Glancing across to make sure his victim's hands and feet were still tightly bound, he stood up and began to pace in a slow circle, like a vulture honing in on his prey.

"I mean, normally someone would be coming to your rescue right about now, wouldn't they?"

Silence.

"What, cat got your tongue?" He laughed. "Oh right, they've all left you haven't they. Your pack." He jumped back as a body trembling snarl escaped from Derek, but shook it off quickly.

"Erica… Boyd… Yeah, I watched them leave, heard their little goodbyes right in there." He nodded at the remains of the Hale manor to his left. "Once you start running, you'll never stop, eh?" He chuckled quietly to himself. "Perhaps you should stop projecting yourself onto your little puppies every time you get angry. Oh, and Peter and Isaac? Looks like your uncle has other plans for your little beta. Left about one week ago, and nowhere to be found, huh?"

Derek's entire body was shaking now, his claws twitching, the razor sharp wires slicing deeper into his wrists, a deep thunderous growl about to burst from within. The man aimed a swift kick at his head and flipped him onto his back with another shove.

"Let's not even talk about Scott. What was it that he said? Oh right, 'You're not my Alpha.' It's a shame really. I don't think he'll last very long on his own."

"What... do you want…" Derek gasped, his breath shallow and sharp.

He crouched down once again, locking eyes with Derek. He leaned in close.

"I told you I'd be back, didn't I?" He smiled and stood up, hands reaching into the pockets of his overcoat. "Now then, let's get this over with." He pulled out a long silver knife, the blade glowing brightly despite the darkness surrounding them, and, kneeling beside him, gently placed the tip against Derek's skin.

"Hmm, I always wanted to know what would happen if I stuck this in a werewolf."

"Derek?"

Derek's body suddenly went still. The figure closed his eyes and sighed. "Now what?"

"Derek…? What are you doing? What's goin-ohmygod." Stiles yelped, falling backwards as the scene developed before him.

"Stiles," hissed Derek, struggling to get up. "Get out of here."

"Wha-"

"GO!"

"Now, now, wait a minute, he's just in time for the show," the man said, clearly amused. His left hand shot out, clutching Derek's throat and forcing him back to the ground.

"Dere-" But before Stiles could take another step forward, he was blinded by a wave of light as the knife plunged into Derek's chest. A sickening howl filled the air, causing Stiles' heart to skip a couple of beats and the hairs on his neck to shoot up.

Casually, the figure pulled away from Derek, examining the weapon in his hand with a look of utmost curiosity before putting it away. He grinned as Stiles came rushing toward them.

"Looks like someone does care, but… too little, too late." And he was gone.

Stiles's mind was a frantic, jumbled mess of thoughts, even more than usual. He rushed forward and fell beside Derek, whose claws had receded back into his finger tips, whose eyes were strangely human.

"Oh, Jesus," Stiles whispered, as he worked to untie Derek's hands and feet, wincing as the wires bore into him. There was no blood, let alone any noticeable wound, where Derek had been stabbed, but it was only a short while before Stiles noticed the rest of his body covered in cuts and bruises. Blood continued to drip from his newly freed hands and wrists.

"Why- why aren't you healing?" Stiles gasped, throwing the wires to the side and bracing himself against Derek's body as he sat up. Derek seemed to ignore him and instead just turned to stare, eyes heavy and dazed.

This… something's not right, Stiles thought, struggling to fully bear Derek's entire upper body weight against his shoulder.

"Why are you here," Derek breathed out, heavily. His eyes closed momentarily, but reopened to gaze at Stiles. There was a look in his eyes that Stiles alone had unfortunately become all too familiar with. Pain. Fear. Confusion. But there was something else there. And something else missing.

"Oh you know, casual midnight stroll trying to recreate my own Rocky Horror Picture Show." He snorted. But this didn't seem to be the time. "I mean, I was-" He stopped, mind blank.

You know, that's a great question...

Derek's expression didn't change. He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes.

Oh man, he's still bleeding.

Stiles shook his head and regained himself. "And good thing I did. I freaking saved your life. Again. Or, at least marginally, since I did see that guy stab you… but… there doesn't seem to be a knife wound anywhere and you would think that would have left a mark." He was starting to ramble. "Who was he, anyway? All doom and gloom. And that knife? And how-"

"Stiles."

"-did he tie you up like that? Aren't your Alpha senses on at all times? Oh! And where the hell are Peter and Isaac? Don't they live here no-god,why aren't you healing?" Stiles breath was running short, his hands trembling. He couldn't figure out what was going on, why Derek was fading so quickly. The blood continued to run and the gashes weren't closing up like usual. He felt sick. And legitimately scared.

Funny how a couple of months ago I would have paid to see Derek bite the dust. Real funny.

"Stiles."

"-and what school of witchcraft and wizardry did that guy learn how to apparate from?" Stiles muttered under his breath as he pulled the flannel shirt off from around himself and frantically started wiping away blood and trying to clean the wounds. "God, you are useless. WHY AREN'T YOU HEALI-"

"STILES," Derek managed to rasp, gripping the younger boy's flailing wrist.

"…WHAT?" He paused, mouth gaping, eyes looking up unfocused.

"Thank-" but the word caught dry in his throat as his vision tunneled to the ground.

Please review and follow! Let me know your thoughts. Honestly. I'm trying to decide which fic to dedicate more time to and could use some help deciding