Title: My Head is an Animal - Side B
Author: ANTchan
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating/Genre: Romance/T
Pairings: Derek Hale/Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski
Summary: Peter's death was supposed to be the end of it. They were supposed to go their separate ways, supposed to ignore Derek's new Pack as best they could. But with a reptilian nightmare and an army of hunters arriving at their doorsteps, that becomes difficult. And if they're going to live through this, they need to find common ground. Even in the most unexpected of places.

An s2 McHaleinski AU.

Hello everyone! This is the companion to Side A of this series, and runs mostly parallel to that story. Rather than go through all of Side A and then Side B, I've decided to work on the chapters in chronological order. I'll do my best to make things readable however you want to do go about it, though! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Happy reading!

Side B - While the young, they wait alone

Chapter 1

Before:
Side A, Ch2

His son looks dead on his feet. That's the first thing John notices after coming through the door.

The world swims back into fuzzy, pain-lined focus; which is the worst thing Stiles can think of. It feels like he'd just gotten to sleep, after tossing and turning in mind-numbing pain for who knows how long. The only aware part of his brain makes a desperate wish to go back to sleep, before the his body remembers the bone-deep cold. Before the icy pain makes it hard to move again. His body doesn't listen. With every passing second Stiles gets dragged further into consciousness. "Nooo…" he groans. Whimpers, really.

"Shhh."

"Mmn? Whazzi'?" Stiles is… warm. He's warm and cozy and… not hurting. In fact it's a little hard to feel anything other than warmth and like he's encased in molasses. Like his skull is full of fluff and not brain matter.

Wait.

"D'r'k?"

"Shut up, Stiles." Yeah, that's Derek. Derek's in his room. Being extremely grumpy. Again. It takes all his strength to even crack open his eyes. And when he does, Derek is a dark, blurry shape kneeling beside his bed. The world is tipped sideways and unfocused, but Stiles can barely make out the hand resting on his arm. His fingers barely twitch when he tries to move them. And he can't… exactly feel his arm. It's not the alarming dead weight like the kanima venom, though. Just… tingly and warm and odd. Like his arm has fallen asleep without the threat of pins and needles.

"W'cha doin'?" he slurs. He really wants to sleep.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Stiles."

And that, he wants to obey that. He definitely wants to obey that. Sleep sounds wonderful. If Derek wants to sit there and be creepy all night, well… he can go ahead and do that. Stiles nuzzles into his pillow, breathing a sigh. He's just relaxing back into a comfortable doze when Derek's voice washes over him.

"...Thanks. For coming back for me. For not thinking I'm a monster."

His eyes flutter, but don't quite manage to open. "Y're not a… not a m'nst'r…"

He's asleep before he finishes the sentence.

It's his phone blaring Bark at the Moon by his ear that wakes him up next. He jumps before his brain even comes online, and regrets it. His entire body throbs, a lightning strike of pain that shoots all the way down to his toes before he collapses back with a pathetic whine. "Ffffuck," he hisses. Stiles wants nothing more than to shut his phone up and just go back to sleep, where he was warm and comfortable and not in pain.

But that's Scott's ringtone. And with hunters and kanimas running around, there's at least a 40% chance that something else has happened during the night. And another 30% chance that Scott's forgotten their algebra assignment. He cracks open an eye, squinting at the blurry numbers on his alarm clock, and is swallowed up by a particular brand of hopelessness at what he sees there.

He blindly swipes at the accept button, and brings the phone to his ear. "Does being a werewolf make you a morning person?" he gripes. "It's not even 5 AM, Scott!"

"Sorry, sorry. I just woke up too." But Scott doesn't sound like he's just woken up. Stiles has heard that countless times. He knows what Scott sounds like when his voice is thick and dozy with sleep. This is Disturbed Scott. This is Panicked Scott, with his breath coming quiet and fast, his voice just slightly screechy.

"Scott?"

"I think… no, I know Derek was in my room last night. I can smell him, Stiles. He was here."

Stiles frowns. "You okay?"

Scott lets out a harsh breath on the other end of the line. "Yeah. Yeah, just… it feels weird that he was in my space. Like I need to get rid of his scent in here. This whole wolf thing is so weird, dude. Why did he think he needed to be in here when I was sleeping?"

He almost answers with something flippant - with something depreciating about Derek's creeper tendencies, when the night before comes back to him. "Uh…" he mumbles. "He was over here too, actually."

"He was?!" There's a distinctly not-quite-human growl in the question. Stiles huffs into the phone. Werewolves. How is this his life now?

"Chill, dude. I woke up. Talked to him a bit. Uh…" Stiles vaguely remembers the words "thank you" and "not a monster" in that conversation. Which… no. Stiles has no idea how to handle that this early in the morning. Or ever. "I don't remember much of it." Can werewolves hear someone lying over the phone? "He did this really weird thing with his hand…"

No. Wait.

"I mean he touched me and then everything felt really nice-"

That… isn't any better.

"Shit. Not like- I mean he was touching my arm and then like… everything stopped hurting?"

But Scott doesn't laugh at him. Scott doesn't speak for a minute and a half. Stiles knows, because he watches the alarm clock beside his head. "You were hurt?" he says at last, voice hushed.

"Ah, shit, uh- ...no?"

"Stiles. Did that thing hurt you last night?"

"The freaky lizard nightmare? Nah. Just knocked into some cabinets last night. You know, nothing big…"

"Stiles, I wouldn't even have to listen to your heartbeat to know that's a lie."

"You suck," Stiles sighs.

"I wanna see when we get to school. Okay?"

He rubs hand over his face, mouth twisting as his joints throb. "I'm not injured, Scott. But uh, see, the thing is… I'm not gonna be at school today, buddy. M'kinda sick."

"Sick?"

"Yeah. Being trapped in cold water for two hours will do that. Not all of us have supernatural immune systems, you know."

"I'm sorry."

"Uh. What? Sorry for what?"

"For not getting there sooner." And oh no. No, no, no. That is definitely guilt Stiles is hearing. And that, that can't be a thing. Even if Stiles remembers - vividly - the betrayal, desperation, and fear of Scott hanging up on him. Remembers the dread that he - and Derek, both - were going to drown.

"I'm still here," he insists. "I wouldn't be if you hadn't showed up. Derek, neither." He wants to complain, to joke, and tease, about maybe next time Scott should get there a little quicker. But that's real regret and Stiles does not want Scott to regret saving his life. In any form.

"But you're sick."

"Better sick than dead." This isn't a conversation that's going to go anywhere but in circles. And Stiles is far too exhausted to attempt it. "So what about this magical painkiller touch thing? You guys can do that?"

"I… yeah. Deaton showed me at the clinic. We can uh… take someone's pain, I guess?"

Stiles hums. "Well that's… morbid. So you feel their pain instead? That sucks."

"It's not really like that. It's kind of… dulled, actually? I don't know why. I think if someone were in a lot of pain, then it would really hurt. Or maybe it's because dogs feel pain differently? I've only tried it on dogs so far."

"Gains werewolf powers, uses them to make puppies feel better. You're such a Disney Princess, Scotty," he teases.

"Ugh. I am not- look, I'll see you later, okay? Go back to sleep."

Mission: Distract Scott from baseless guilt - accomplished. He does a little victory fist pump, hits his hand on the shelves behind his bed, and whines. Yeah. He's way too sick and exhausted to be sentient at the moment. "Alright. Bye, Scott." After hanging up, he tosses the phone onto a higher shelf, where it won't deafen him again.

And then he twists over onto his side, curls around his pillow, and passes out.

The next time he wakes up, it's because really has to pee and because he's been in the same position for so long that it's starting to hurt. Which is why, after he's emptied his bladder and brushed the taste of death out of his mouth, he traverses the stairs with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. It's more carefully sliding down them than it is walking, but he manages to get to the couch all the same, so Stiles counts it as a victory. He collapses down onto it, clicking on the TV because while he's utterly exhausted from just the trip down, he doesn't want to sleep anymore. The cable guide reads 6:42 a.m.

He stays there until his dad wanders down, peering at him from the staircase with bleary eyes. Stiles waves weakly at him. "'Mornin'."

"Morning, son," John replies gruffly. He runs a hand over his face as he comes into the living room. "How'd you sleep?"

Stiles doesn't catch the look on his father's face until he's shrugged. "Good, I-" He freezes. John is staring at him with The Sheriff expression. "Uh, yeah, you know, when I finally did get to sleep. Kinda hard with all of…" He gestures to his general self, hoping it'll sum up everything Stiles can't actually say.

Except it just makes his dad glare at him. Damnit. "...Hmm. Right." He turns away from Stiles, heading towards the phone instead. Giving Stiles plenty of time to sink lower into the couch and let his insides wither in dread. He's hyperaware of the tension in the room as the Sheriff calls the school to mark his absence. And even more aware that the tension might be a product of his paranoia. Which could give him away.

It's that circular kind of thinking that's going to get him in trouble.

He's saved from an awkward confrontation when the doorbell goes off. At seven in the morning. And Stiles really wants to get up and greet this angel that's apparently watching over him, saving him from awful conversations that will lead to an even worse fight. But his legs aren't cooperating, and so he pushes himself up onto his elbow to watch John answer the door. It's not a great vantage point.

Mostly what he sees is his father's shoulders go still after opening the door. "...Scott. Good morning."

"Morning, Sheriff!"

Scott.

"How are you, son? Have a good night?"

Stiles' heart, which had been transcending into another realm from elation, feels like it's fallen straight out of the sky and into his feet. Oh no.

"Um," he hears Scott mumble, and prays for his best friend to come up with something good. "I guess, yeah."

"Your mother gave me a call last night. Next time you have any guests over, Scott, you should probably tell them to use the door."

"O-Oh. Ah, I'll… do that. Sorry." And Stiles wants to scream because that is not convincing in the slightest. They're going to get caught. And it's going to be awful- "Can I bring this in? Stiles said he was sick, so…"

"Oh. That was nice of you, Scott. Thank you."

His ears perk up. "Scotty?" he calls, though it comes out as a croak. "I thought you were gonna come over after school?"

The Sheriff moves out of the way, allowing Scott into the room. Who peers at Stiles from the foyer in all his angelic glory, which may or may not be influenced by the large tupperware in his hands. "I said I'd see you later, dude. Not when," he chirps.

"Did… Did you bring me food?"

Scott shakes the container gently. "Albondigas~" he all but sing-songs.

It might be the illness that has his heart all aflutter, or it might be the sudden, overwhelming burst of love for his best friend. "You made me your Mom's meatball soup?" His voice comes out wavering. Emotional. But his best friend has spent what has to be hours making him his mother's family recipe because he's sick. Stiles is allowed to get a little choked up.

"Thought you might like some," Scott tells him, as if that explains everything. "I'm gonna go warm this up. You want some, Sheriff?"

"Sure. Thank you for doing this, Scott." Even his father seems a little mystified. Which, hey, if that keeps him from asking questions - bless Scotty.

His best friend beams. "It was no trouble." They both watch him shuffle into the kitchen, helping himself to their bowls and ladle. His dad follows him to grab them something to drink, and returns to Stiles with a glass of orange juice and more ibuprofen.

"Stay by the phone today," he reminds Stiles. "Your babcia's going to give you a call."

Stiles grimaces around the mouth of the glass. "Which one - Stilinski or Wawrzaszek?"

"Is there ever one without the other?"

"Great," he groans. "Can you at least keep them from bringing any of their 'old country remedies' over?"

"I can't promise you anything." And he looks delighted to say it too. His dad is a jerk.

His whine of despair has Scott popping his head in from the kitchen. "Are your grandmas coming over while you're home sick?" There's two steaming bowls in his hands when he reenters the living room. One goes to the Sheriff as he passes.

"I hope not," Stiles answers, eyeing the remaining bowl hungrily. Nothing beats Melissa McCall's meatball soup. "I love them, man, but… all the doting and the cooing and the weird home medicines…" He reaches out to take the offered soup. The moment his fingers brush Scott's, his stomach dips, followed by a rush of warmth and a pull as all of his aches dim by several measures. The veins in Scott's hands flow black for a brief instant. His eyes dart up to meet Scott's. Scott only smiles at him, gentle. Secretive.

"Aw," Scott says, as if nothing has just happened. "But I love your grandmas."

"That's because they adore you."

"No…"

"Of course they do!" Stiles insists. "What's not to love?"

Scott's cheeks go a faint pink, and he ducks his head. "You're just saying that because I brought you soup," he teases.

Yeah. Right.

Of course he is.

Next:
Side A, Ch3

Over the course of the next week, John is approached not by one, but three sets of adults worried about the sudden and potentially dangerous behavioral changes in their respective teenagers.

End Chapter 1. Walk on, Traveler of Worlds.