The plan was that Scott and Stiles would each go their separate ways and find out as much as they could about Deucalion and the Darach. They would meet up afterwards and discuss their findings. That was before Stiles found out about Derek's past.

Now, he couldn't bring himself to text Scott. It felt wrong to reveal Derek's past to him. Stiles felt as though that was his secret to keep. It wasn't like this had anything to do with the killings, or so he told himself.

He wanted to confront Derek about his past but knew that was not the way to do things. He had to get Derek to open up; confrontation would only make Derek hostile. He had to be smart about getting the information. He hated to admit it, but at this point, he wanted to get Derek's side of this story more for his sake than anyone else's.

"What is wrong with you, Stiles?" he whispered to himself.

It was bad enough that Derek's story had brought him close to tears, but now he was trying to get closer to Derek for no other purpose than to satisfy his own needs. He'd developed a soft spot for Derek, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.

"Now you're talking to yourself. That's great. Like we need any more crazy people on our side," Peter scoffed, brushing past Stiles.

"Yeah, well at least I'm not a homicidal werewolf," Stiles spit back, feeling annoyed. This whole situation was frustrating.

"You forgot good looking homicidal werewolf," Peter responded, looking pleased with himself.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for this narcissistic asshole.

"Whatever. Do you know when Derek will be back?"

"No. Do I look like his babysitter to you?" Peter seemed hell-bent on pissing Stiles off.

"Ugh," Stiles stomped off, feeling extremely aggravated.

"It's not my fault you're still a virgin. No need to snap at me. God, someone desperately needs to get laid," Peter called out smugly.

"Fuck you," Stiles mumbled.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Peter managed to say before Stiles slammed the door.

Stiles, I found out about Deucalion. –Scott

Dude, I have a lot to tell you. –Scott

Is your phone dead or something? –Scott

Stiles, are you getting my messages? –Scott

Why aren't you answering my calls or texts? –Scott

I called your dad. I think I worried him. I'm worried too. Answer and let me know that you're okay –Scott

Let me know when you can meet up with me so I can tell you everything. –Scott

Stiles felt bad for ignoring Scott, but it wasn't like Scott never did that to him. In fact, it happened fairly often. He was in no mood to talk to anyone except Derek. He couldn't do that until he'd devised a way to get the information he needed, so that was out of the question. This day was such an emotional roller coaster. Maybe if he just went to sleep, he would be able to think more clearly tomorrow morning.

Officer Stilinski looked up when saw the hall light turn on.

"Stiles, that you?" he called out, his voice slurred.

Stiles turned at the sound of his father's voice. "You're drunk."

Officer Stilinski shook his head but it made him queasy.

"I thought you said you wouldn't drink anymore." Stiles walked over to the table and snatched the drink away.

"It was just a few drinks," Officer Stilinski claimed, holding his hands up in resignation.

"That's what you said after Mom died and you turned into an alcoholic!" Stiles stomped off, taking the drink with him. He decided to pour it down his bathroom sink.

"Stiles," Officer Stilinski called out, stumbling after his son.

"No, Dad. No more excuses," Stiles disposed of the alcohol and turned to face his Dad. "How do you think Mom would feel about you drinking?"

Officer Stilinski looked ashamed. "She never liked it when I had a drink."

"Exactly, and neither do I, yet you continue to do it," Stiles walked away, going to his room. Could this day get any worse?

"Stiles, son, please, open the door." Officer Stilinski sounded less drunk but his words were still slightly slurred.

Stiles opened the door, but he didn't look happy. "Dad, please. It's been a hard day."

Officer Stilinski let himself in and sat on Stiles' bed, patting it. "Come here. Let's talk."

Stiles obliged, keeping a slight distance between his father and himself.

"I know you don't want excuses, but let me tell you why I got drunk."

"Dad-" Stiles began, but his father was having none of it.

"Stiles, you're not the only one that's been having a bad day. Please, just let me explain," Officer Stilinski sighed, rubbing his temple.

Stiles nodded, indicating that he was willing to listen.

"There's been a lot of murders and it's on me to find the killer and keep everyone protected. I haven't been home much, I'm tired, and I'm scared that I'll be so busy protecting everyone else and you'll end up getting hurt. Scott told me that you weren't answering your phone and no one knew where you were. I immediately jumped to conclusions and thought the worst. What if something happened to you? I've already lost your mother, I can't lose you too." Officer Stilinski stopped and turned to look at Stiles. "I know that I promised I wouldn't touch another drink, and I'm sorry for breaking that promise to you, but I wasn't thinking. The only thing on my mind was that I would have to go identify your body, and I knew I couldn't go through that again." At this point, Officer Stilinskis voice was barely audible. He looked as if he'd aged 10 years in the last ten minutes.

Stiles didn't say anything at first. He scooted closer to his dad and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Dad. I've been upset all day and took it out on you. I'm sorry for worrying you. I just needed to be alone." Stiles felt extremely guilty.

"It's okay, son. You don't know how happy I was when I saw that you were okay." Officer Stilinski patted Stiles' leg.

"While I'm here, is there anything you need to talk about?" As soon as that question left his lips, Officer Stilinski felt a wave of déjà vu, as if he'd asked this before.

Would you still accept me if I told you I was in love with a man? Or would you reject me and never speak to me again? Is this just another stupid teenage thing that I'll get over? Am I really in love?

Stiles nodded. His dad was drunk, so anything they talked about right now would be forgotten by tomorrow. It always was. He wasn't ready to say any of those things out loud yet, so instead, he turned to a sensitive topic- his mother.

"I miss Mom." It was all he could bring himself to say. There were no words to express neither his grief nor his guilt.

"I know. I miss her too." Officer Stilinski looked extremely sad.

Stiles began fiddling with the edge of his blanket. "Do you blame me for her death?" he whispered, a single tear running down his cheek.

He got no answer. He looked over and saw that his dad had fallen asleep. He would be out until the morning, which meant Stiles had some hours of privacy. He decided to take his parents' bed for the night.

Walking into the master bedroom, a sudden wave of grief hit him. He remembered walking in here and it smelling like his mom's perfume, seeing all her girl things scattered around. Now, all that remained was a single photograph of them three on Stiles' tenth birthday. It was his mom's favorite picture.

Stiles had enough of today. He walked over to his mom's side of the bed and collapsed, crying into the pillow out of habit. She was dead and it should have been him. How dare he cry over her when he was the one that killed her?

He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to feel. He just wanted to sleep.

The next day, Stiles was late for school. His joints felt stiff and he felt like he hadn't slept at all. He didn't know if it was safe to drive, but he didn't have much of a choice.

Once at school, he walked straight into English even though the period was half over.

"Dude, where have you been?" Scott whispered, leaning towards Stiles.

"I've been around," Stiles shrugged.

"I need to tell you something important," Scott leaned in closer. Stiles could feel Scott's hot breath against his ear.

"Scott, is there something you would like to announce to the class?" Ms. Blake asked, a fake smile on her face.

"Um, no. I was just catching Stiles up on the class so far," Scott lied, leaning back on his seat.

"How kind of you, Mr. McCall. As I was saying…" Ms. Blake went back to teaching the class.

Stiles was secretly glad that Ms. Blake had interrupted, even though he didn't like her at all. He wasn't in the mood to talk. His head hurt and he felt nauseous.

After class, Scott turned towards Stiles to tell him what he learned, but Stiles was up and out of the door in the blink of an eye.

"Stiles!" Scott called out, rushing out after his best friend.

Scott saw Stiles run into the restroom and waited patiently outside for him. When he finally came out, he looked terrible. His eyes looked red and puffy and he was breathing heavily.

"Are you okay, man?" Scott asked, placing an arm around Stiles.

"I'm fine," Stiles responded too quickly, his voice raspy.

"Dude, you should have stayed home today. You look terrible. Go to the nurse," Scott suggested.

"No, I have to talk to Cora first," Stiles responded, swaying slightly.

"Stiles, go home. You seriously don't look well. How did you even drive here?" Scott started guiding Stiles towards the front doors.

Stiles spotted Cora a few feet away. He pulled away fro Scott and forced himself to jog to catch up to her. He regretted the decision as soon as he stopped. He was afraid he would vomit, pass out, or both. He leaned against the wall, trying to push the nausea away.

"Cora," he grasped her arm, noticing for the first time that he was shaking.

"What do you want?" Cora asked.

"I need… to talk… to Derek," Stiles explained slowly, closing his eyes so the room would stop spinning.

Cora looked at him blankly. "So?"

Despite his current state, Stiles scoffed, opening his eyes. He couldn't believe his ears. Couldn't she see that this was serious? "So? What do you mean 'so'? You're his sister."

Cora raised an eyebrow. "You barely figured it out? Congratulations. No wonder people are dying all over the place," she muttered, turning away.

Stiles shook his head unbelievingly. "She is definitely a Hale," he muttered to himself as he made his way back to Scott.

A few minutes later, as Scott was helping Stiles to his Jeep, Stiles started puking. He'd pretty much thrown up everything his stomach still hadn't digested in the restroom, but he still felt nauseous.

Even after there was absolutely nothing left in his stomach, he continued to dry heave. His stomach was sore and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He slumped against Scott. Finally giving in to the darkness that had threatened to consume him since he woke up.

"Stiles awoke to feel a cool piece of cloth being pressed against his forehead.

his forehead.

"How's he doing?" Stiles heard a voice ask. It sounded muffled, as though he were wearing earmuffs.

"He's got a fever, but it's slowly going down," someone replied. The voice was familiar, but Stiles was too tired to try and figure it out.

"That explains why there's a teenager half naked on our table."

No one used that sarcastic tone except for Peter. Peter?! He was at Derek's loft. He was half-naked on Derek's table. He felt himself blush. Why in the world was he here?

"Do you think we should take him to the hospital?" he heard Scott ask. Scott. That's why he was here. Scott brought him here.

He didn't hear anything else. The silence made him nervous. He began to fidget.

"Stiles," he felt someone's breath against his ear. He yelped and tried to sit up. The movement made him dizzy.

"See? I told you. You have bad breath," Peter laughed, slapping Derek's back. Derek gwoled.

Derek looked at Stiles. It felt like Derek was seeing his most intimate thoughts. Stiles felt exposed. "Can I get a blanket or my clothes or something?" He meant to sound commanding, but his voice was weak.

Derek nodded and left the room.

"Dude, get me a trash can or something, I'm about to…" Stiles began dry heaving, turning his head away from Scott. He puked for what felt like hours. He was tired of puking. It was like the tenth time today.

"Shit," Stiles whispered, feeling guilty.

"It's all right man. You're sick. Derek will understand," Scott brought a water bottle and offered it to Stiles.

"Thanks," Stiles took a small sip, scared that he might not be able to keep it down. When he saw that it would be no problem, he took large gulps, eager to get rid of the gross taste in his mouth. His hands kept shaking and he was sweating profusely. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he wondered.

"Do you know what's going on with Stiles?" Scott asked Derek quietly, making sure Stiles didn't hear them.

"He's sick," Derek whispered back.

"Obviously," Scott rolled his eyes. "Is it normal illness or something supernatural?"

"Everything seems to indicate a normal illness, nothing supernatural," Derek explained, looking over at Stiles.

Scott nodded, feeling better. At least the Darach hadn't gotten to Stiles.

"Is it safe for me to go back to class then?"

Derek shrugged. "I guess so. Am I supposed to take care of him until he gets better or something?"

Scott didn't bother responding. He knew he'd just done them both a favor, even though neither of the two would ever admit it.

Stiles groaned, holding his head in his hands. Ever since he tried to stand up, he felt as though his head were going to explode. If he hadn't vomited so much before, he was sure he would have vomited now. The pain was too much. Before he knew it, there were tears in his eyes and he couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"I think I'm dying. Oh my god, I'm going to die a freakin' virgin. I'm not even going to die in an epic werewolf battle, I'm probably gonna die of a brain tumor, just like my mom," he closed his eyes and waited for death to claim him. Instead, a warm hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Let me help," Derek pulled Stiles' hands away from his face and placed the palm of his hand against Stiles' forehead. He focused on a small crack on the wall and willed himself to absorb Stiles' pain.

Stiles quickly wiped away his tears. He felt better, but he didn't want to say anything. He watched Derek, took in all his facial features. It felt nice to have someone touch his face again. He hadn't had any of this since his mom died.

"How's that?" Derek asked, pretending not to notice Stiles' tears.

"Better," Stiles answered. "If only you could also take away emotional pain," Stiles mumbled to himself.

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Instead, he sat down in front of Stiles. He didn't say anything, he just quietly observed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Stiles demanded, feeling embarrassed. "Is there something on my face?"

Derek shook his head. He wasn't sure how to bring this up. It was such a sensitive topic, and he knew that if he said the wrong thing, it could seriously mess things up. Either way, he had to try. He wouldn't let Stiles do that to himself. He refused.

"I want to talk to you about your attempt," Derek spoke gently, maintaining eye contact.

"Derek, what in the world are you talking about?" Stiles felt confused. Maybe he was just hallucinating because of the fever.

"Your suicide attempt, Stiles. We need to talk about your suicide attempt," Derek said grimly.

Half an hour later, Stiles wouldn't even look at Derek. He would have been out of there as fast as he could, but the truth was, he couldn't even get up without puking his guts out. How dare Derek say something like that? Stiles would never try to take his own life, even though he had considered it after his mom's death. He would never actually do it though because he knew it would kill his father, and he'd already hurt his dad too many times before.

"Stiles, you're gonna have to talk to me sooner or later," Derek pointed out.

Stiles finally looked at him. "I didn't try to kill myself."

Derek sighed. "I understand this is hard to talk about, especially with me, but I caught the scent of depression on you. When I absorbed your pain, I realized that you'd almost overdosed. I'm not stupid, Stiles."

Stiles felt a rush of anger. "I did not try to overdose. Your stupid wolf senses are probably malfunctioning or something…"

Derek looked confused. "You're telling the truth."

Stiles nodded furiously. "Of course I have. It took you long enough to realize it."

"Sorry," Derek said, not really paying attention to what Stiles was saying.

"Don't ignore me, Derek Hale. I will take a bat, wrap it in wolfsbane, and shove it so far up your ass that it's going to come out through your mouth," Stiles crossed his arms and glared at Derek.

"Do you trust me?" Derek asked soddenly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "What did I just say about ignoring me?"

"Stiles, listen to me, okay? This is serious. Do you trust me?" Derek listened to Stiles' heartbeat intently, making sure he didn't lie.

"Well, as much as I hate to admit it, yes, I do trust you," Stiles avoided making eye contact, instead looking around the room. "You need to fix your walls. There's cracks and dents all over the place."

Derek scoffed. Sometimes he wondered if Stiles just ran his mouth for the heck of it.

"Think hard, okay? Can you remember the past few days clearly? Is there any times that you can't remember or anything?"

Stiles frowned, thinking about it. For the most part, he could remember everything, except…. Except for the fact that he didn't remember falling asleep last night, and this morning when he woke up, he felt like he hadn't slept at all.

"Yesterday," Stiles scratched his head, suddenly feeling dizzy.

"What about yesterday?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't remember falling asleep and it feels like I didn't even sleep last night. Maybe I'm just too tired to remember though," Stiles closed his eyes, forcing the room to stop spinning.

Derek was silent. It might not be what he thought it was, but maybe he was right, and there was no harm in trying it if they did it right.

Stiles opened his eyes. He saw the determination on Derek's face and knew something was going on. In his father's words, he wasn't seeing the whole board, and he needed Derek to show him.

Derek grabbed Stiles' cloths from a nearby chair and tossed them to him. "Get dressed, we're going to Deaton."