Stiles knocked on his own front door frantically, rattling the keys in the other hand. The key, the key… how did it get there? How did he write those numbers without knowing? He is literally going out of his fucking mind.
"Stiles!?"
His dad has opened the door and Stiles' hand is still knocking on thin air.
"Dad! Oh fuck dad - the key -"
"Hey, hey Stiles, what's wrong?" his Dad pulls him tightly into a hug and pats his back.
"It's me, dad," Stiles whined into his dad's shoulder. "It was me who left the instructions for that psycho!"
A horrible thought hit him.
"Dad! You have to get away from me, I have to leave, oh my God -"
"Stiles, no you are not leaving" the Sheriff held onto Stiles' wrist as he tried to worm away.
"But dad if I - if I can't control my actions, who knows who I might hurt? I might even - oh God - "
Stiles felt the beginnings of a panic attack as the thought occurred to him - he could kill his dad and he wouldn't even remember it.
He started to feel dizzy as gasped for breath, his dad taking him inside, keeping up a reassuring commentary; "I'm here, Stiles, I'm okay - you're okay. We're okay." He produced a paper bag and handed it to Stiles.
"I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay…"

It took a while for Stiles' breathing to return to normal. He was collapsed against his dad and shaking.
"I'm okay now," he mumbled. "Except, nothing is okay right now. The key to the chem lab was on my keychain, dad! I went back and I- it was my handwriting. I gave him instructions to kill Kira, but I don't remember any of it. I'm not safe to be around. I just… I don't know what to do…"
The Sheriff thought Stiles sounded insane, honestly. But he nodded, patted his son on the back and said, "I'll call Scott."

Stiles heard the tone of his dad's voice and understood what was happening.
"Dad, give it here," he said,his voice sounding almost normal, and the Sheriff handed him the phone.
"Stiles? What's wrong? I would come over but something happened at the party and I think they're after Kira - are you okay?"
Stiles flinched at the mention of Kira.
"I'm… not in any immediate danger, But I can't say the same for anyone around me."
Stiles immediately saw the flaw in his plan. If Scott came over to make sure Stiles didn't kill anyone, he would be too easy to manipulate. Who knows what his murderous alter-ego is like? Maybe he's an insufferable smartass too. Maybe he would know exactly how to get to Scott…
"What's going on?" Scott sounded like he was getting ready to come over anyway.
"Okay, well, to cut a long story short, I'm the person who wrote Kira's name on the chem lab blackboard. But I don't remember doing it. So you can't bring Kira near me because for all I know I'm programmed to kill her. Just - take care of her, and - hang on, what happened to you guys? Who's after Kira?"
"Uh, it's a long story - these creeps in cloaks have been branding everyone and sort of trying to hypnotise them or something? All we know is they can't handle sunlight. Stay away from the shadows. Stiles, are you sure you're going to be okay?"
"Yeah, man… I mean who knows these days, right?" a nervous laugh. "I'll sort it out. Text me if something happens, but I have a feeling that we're better off without me knowing what's happening.. if something is getting into my head…"
"Okay… bye, then. Be careful," Scott said, his voice betraying the pain of leaving a member of his pack unprotected.
"You too."

Stiles was still debating whether or not he should run away from home when there was another knock on the door.
"Expecting anyone?" His dad glanced at him warily. He had refused to leave the room for more than a few minutes, probably suspecting what Stiles was thinking.
"Nope?"
They both hesitated. The Sheriff ducked into his room and got his handgun. Then they approached the door and opened it.
Derek was there.
Derek Hale.
"Holy shit!" Stiles yelped, pushing his dad out of the way. "You're back? You're - why are you here?"
Stiles hoped that Derek would pass off his racing heartbeat as surprise and stress.
The truth was, he had a bit of a thing for Derek. He hadn't realised until the fucking sourwolf buggered off to who knows where. Heh, buggered. Oh my God, get it together, he thought, and tried to focus on what Derek was saying instead of the sexy timbre of his voice.
"Scott called," Derek grouched. "He said I had to protect you or something. Not sure what I'm supposed to do, considering I can't even protect myself."
He gestured vaguely at his head. Which was perfect, right down to the stubble on his chin.
"What are you talking about? Uh, come in. Scott sent you?"
Stiles shook his head furiously, trying to shake out the slight sense of disappointment he felt. For a second he thought maybe Derek had come to see him. But then, he didn't bother to even say goodbye, so…
"Yeah. He said you thought you were going to hurt someone…?
Stiles caught the skeptical look on Derek's face. Eyebrows held precisely in place. He must work on that in the mirror.
"Hey! I may look small, but underneath this shirt I am all raw power and muscle." He winked. Then froze. Did he just flirt with Derek Hale?

Derek felt uncomfortable, stepping across the threshold to Stiles' house for the first time. It didn't help that the Sheriff was eyeing him angrily with a gun in his hand. Derek doubted he could survive a bullet to the head at point blank range. And Stiles seemed agitated, which always put Derek on edge. Spending hours fighting the urge to take Stiles in his arms and comfort him made Derek intensely angry for some reason.
It was going to be a long day.
The Sheriff left, muttering about getting a drink. Stiles's heart was pounding hard and fast and Derek wondered what exactly was going on. Something about Stiles trying to kill someone and then not remembering it? The idea of that scrawny kid trying to kill anyone was slightly comical.
"Hey! I may look small, but underneath this shirt I am all raw power and muscle."
Derek's attention snapped back to the real world in probably less than 0.000000001 seconds as Stiles Stilinski winked at him. He winked.
Derek pushed his eyebrows into a "quizzical-but-grumpy" expression that he had perfected just days ago in front of the mirror. He usually enjoyed watching people squirm under the force of his disdain, but Stiles seemed to just be spurred on by it.
"Don't believe me? Huh?"
Derek recognised the reckless baiting tactics that Stiles fell back on when he was stressed.
Stiles grabbed Derek's wrist and placed it firmly on his abs. Stiles had always had muscles, in a sinewy, skinny kind of way, but Derek had obviously been away too long. The muscles he felt now almost ripped a growl from his throat. Fucking hell.
"Yeah, while you were away I channeled all my mental instability into exercise," Stiles was babbling nonchalantly, and Derek could smell the arousal behind everything else, now that he was paying attention. Now that he was paying attention to everything - Stiles had grown taller, more muscular, his hair up in some kind of boy band style which made his face look thinner and older - Stiles was hot. Derek was horrified at himself. Then, as was his habit, he became angry at Stiles.
"Fuck, Stiles!" he growled, pushing the kid up against the wall in a way that was intended to be threatening but, of course, became intensely erotic (Derek sighed inwardly - why did this always happen to him? Maybe he should lose the leather jacket). His hand was pushing up against Stiles's abs. He grabbed a handful of Stiles's shirt to try to save face. But this close to Stiles, all he could smell was arousal and Stiles may have actually seen the flash of blue in his eyes as his wolf purred.
"Are you trying to get me fucking arrested? Is that what this is? Some kind of revenge?"
"A-arrested?" Stiles stammered, licking his lips nervously. He sounded breathless. Derek watched the curve of his lips, enraged and horny. Enraged because he was horny. Horny for a fucking teenaged boy, and not just any boy, a human boy called Stiles fucking Stilinksi.
"Yes, arrested," he spat out, "you're underage, Stiles. This is completely... inappropriate."
Derek knows he sounds completely crazy but his wolf is making it really difficult to concentrate. He knows he should distance himself from Stiles's scent, but he can't help leaning in closer. If only for a moment.
"I'm not going to jail for your sweet ass, Stilinski," he growled furiously. He pushed Stiles against the wall one more time, letting go of his handful of shirt dramatically, and stalked as far across the room as possible.

For once, Stiles Stilinksi was speechless. He stared across the room in disbelief. Did Derek actually think…? Stiles shook his head, trying to clear it, but he kept replaying what had just happened in his head. It was like something out of a porno! Is it possible for one room to contain more sexual tension than this? Stiles wondered if his dick had ever been, or would ever be, harder than it was now. He also wondered at what point in his life did he develop a love of violent and grumpy supernatural beings - did that count as a kink? What was it he said? "I'm not going to jail for your sweet ass"? Did that mean... Derek liked his ass? Was Derek bi as well? Stiles had never even considered it. Today just got a whole lot more complicated.
They were both still standing in silence when the Sheriff walked in. He looked slightly red. Stiles cringed with embarrassment at the thought that he might have overheard their exchange.
"Well, boys - uh, guys - I'm going to bed. Stiles, wake me up if anything happens, okay? I mean anything." He turned his gaze onto Derek. "That goes for you too. If my son is in danger, I need to know."
They both assented and he gave them both a long, lingering look before leaving the room.
There was a very long, awkward silence in which Stiles concentrated on taming his boner. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke.
"Uh, Derek… well, um, you seemed like the straightest guy in the world, I didn't realise - I mean I wasn't actually, like, trying to seduce you or anything. Not that I wouldn't if I could. I mean, like, if you wanted-"
"Shut up, Stiles."
More silence.
"I was just trying to apologise," Stiles sulked quietly.
Derek look up at him, eyebrows raised (hnnnng, sexy). Then his expression softened.
"It's okay."

Derek's wolf had finally stopped slobbering over the teenager. Thank fuck. But Stiles looked so vulnerable that he had to fight the urge to hug him. Derek Hale does not hug. Out of the question. Even when Stiles starts to visibly shake. Nope, not happening. He is Derek fucking Hale and he does not hug. Even when Stiles - oh shit, was he crying?
Okay, Derek thought to himself, go over there and put one hand on his shoulder. No hugging. You are Derek Hale. Make sure you look bored.
Derek crossed the room. He arranged his face to say "concerned-but-bored" and put one strong hand on Stiles's shoulder. So far so good.
Then Stiles looked up at him desperately.
"Christ, Derek, what if - what am I going to do?"
And Stiles collapsed onto Derek's broad chest. Without thinking, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles in a hug. Fuck. He rolled his eyes at himself. So much for Derek Hale doesn't hug. Way to ruin your image, dumbass.

Stiles was completely exhausted - there were only so many emotions that one person could handle in a night. Absolutely wrecked, he found himself crying into Derek Hale's shirt, staining it a navy blue. Some distant part of him was embarrassed - another distant part completely amazed that Derek Hale was showing human compassion, if only with a bored look on his face. But mostly he just couldn't think past I might kill someone without even realising and felt terrified.
It felt good to be held, though. At some point Derek guided him to the couch and they sat down, Stiles sobbing silently into his shoulder. He felt like he could afford to completely lose it now because Derek was here to protect him. He didn't even notice himself drifting off to sleep.

Derek listened to Stiles's heartbeat slow down and heard the beginnings of a snore. He sighed, the tension leaving his body. The kid was asleep, thank God. No more crying. More importantly, no more flirting. He picked Stiles up carefully and lay him down on the couch, moving himself to the armchair. As the day wore on, he had to work harder and harder to stay awake. He realised that if he fell asleep in the armchair, Stiles could easily sneak past him and go on a homocidal rampage. Blearily, he got up and went to the couch, lifting Stiles's head up and placing it on his lap. Now he would notice if Stiles got up. Yes, that would work…

Stiles woke up feeling calm and happy. His head was resting on a warm, firm pillow made of jeans fabric - wait, no, it was a leg. Blearily, Stiles looked up and saw Derek's stubbly chin above him. The big bad wolf was snoring. Stiles snorted with laughter and closed his eyes again. He felt Derek's warm, broad hand run through his hair. Stiles couldn't even be bothered laughing. He went back to sleep with a smile on his face.