After the incident with Harris, Stiles makes it through the rest of school and his detention, though the pack makes sure he's never left alone just in case. By the time three thirty rolls around he's more than ready to leave and start his werewolf training, anything to get away from Harris.

He and Lydia drive out to the Hale house in the Jeep, going around and parking away from where Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Erica are sparring in the open field next to the ramshackle structure. She gets out and heads over to the porch where Allison is sitting, and Stiles goes to follow, planning on looking inside for Derek, but as he starts walking over he hears a slight rustle in the trees behind, signaling someone's not nearly stealthy enough approach, and from the smell he can tell it's Jackson. (He doesn't know how he can tell that, he just knows.)

Just as Jackson gets within a few feet Stiles whips around and shoves his hand into Jackson's chest, making him stumble back. Jackson growls and charges back in a little hotheaded – which is probably why Stiles is able to take down with just a few simple moves that he didn't know he was aware of let alone capable of, despite the fact that Jackson's wolfed out and Stiles isn't.

Stiles is glancing between his hands and Jackson, still on the ground, in amazement but, unlike pre-bite, he isn't startled when Derek comes out of nowhere, without a sound, from behind him.

"Good," Derek says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Looks like it's more than just control you're naturally good at."

Eyebrows raised, Stiles looks over his shoulder. "That's how you're starting my training? By having Jackson jump out at me?"

Look in place that clearly reads 'you're an idiot', Derek removes his hand and backs up. "I need to know what all I have to teach you. According to the others you can anchor yourself fairly well when angry, though I'll have to test that myself later, but right now I was thinking more physical training." He keeps walking backward until he reaches the middle of the clearing in between the sparring pairs, then beckons Stiles forward.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles starts forward only to be jumped from behind by Erica and the right by Isaac. He isn't fast enough to counter both, ending up with Erica lodged to his back digging her claws in everywhere she can reach. He struggles to flip her up and over his head, finally wolfing out to dig his own claws in her hair and bicep, but as soon as he gets her off Isaac moves in, swiping at Stiles' fleshy side and stomach. Just barely judging, Stiles throws a hard punch, hearing Isaac's jaw crack, just in time to spin around and block Boyd's attack. Except that's when Jackson moves back in, kicking Stiles in the stomach to send him flying a few feet as he's caught off guard.

"Are you sure this is really fair," Scott asks Derek as the other betas gang up on Stiles; "having four-on-one against Stiles when he was just turned a couple weeks ago?"

He continues to watch, looking for things that'll need improvement. "He needs to learn somehow." He turns a fraction of an inch to meet Scott's eyes for a second. "Wouldn't you rather it be with those he trusts, who mean well and are also still learning?"

Scott shrugs, then winces when a crack and pop, and subsequent yelp, rebound off the trees and rubble, signaling the break of Stiles' arm and dislocation of his shoulder as Jackson pulls and twists the arm roughly behind his back. "I guess."

As they watch Stiles falls back, leaning all his weight on Jackson, who isn't expecting such a move and ends up losing his footing. Stiles takes advantage of this, sweeping a leg around to trip him, going with the fall then rolling away and onto his feet into a defensive pose, growling quietly as Isaac, Erica, and Boyd circle him. They attack in turns, getting in occasional swipes, until Boyd and Erica move in together from either side, no doubt hoping to throw him off again with their quick double attack. It backfires when Stiles rolls out of their paths at the very last second, causing them to run into each other, while Stiles continues the roll into Isaac (who got distracted laughing at the other two), taking him down so he can sit on his lower back and pin Isaac's arms and legs before he can make a move.

Scott cheers and runs over as Stiles grins and laughs, Derek struggling to hide a smirk.

"All right guys," he calls, gaining all their attention, "time to take a break before you work on tracking." He watches with a warm, proud feeling growing in his chest as Stiles gets up and helps Isaac, the other slapping his back and complain good-naturedly about how they had been expecting him to still be a klutz, to which Stiles objects in mock-seriousness, making the others while, especially as Jackson keeps grumbling.

Peter comes up behind Derek, hands clasped behind his back. "Glad to see my instincts were right," he muses quietly so only Derek can hear, smirk apparent in his voice; "Stiles makes a very good werewolf." He leans in closer. "Imagine what he'll be able to do when he gets some actual training. Or if he every makes alpha."

Clenching his fists and starting to growl inaudibly, Derek hears Peter chuckle.

"Don't worry, I won't touch a hair on your pet's pretty little head. We are pack after all." With that vaguely ominous statement he melts back into the shadows just as Derek's growl grows in volume and threat.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Stiles asks from directly in front of him, having inched steadily closer when he noticed Peter. "What'd he say?"

"Nothing," Derek snaps before he can stop himself, drawing a scowl and a flash of gold eyes from Stiles. "Don't you have tracking to practice?"

Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, Stiles lets it go, though Derek isn't fooled into thinking he'll drop it just like that. "Fine. Who's tracking and who's bait?"

Bounding up into the trees silently, Stiles hangs his jacket from a high limb to throw off Scott and Boyd before he leaps down and lands with a roll. As he runs through the leaves and brush, zigzagging in the hopes of throwing off Allison as well, Stiles considers what Peter could have said to Derek. Maybe it was something about him? Maybe Peter was a little pissed because he had been the one to actually offer Stiles the bite and he had been turned down?

…Nah, that can't be it.

He's just thinking that maybe now isn't the best time to be thinking about this when an arrow comes zipping from the west. Instinctively, Stiles catches it but others keep volleying after, one grazing his right calf as he changes course, heading toward the nearby creek so he can wash off the blood. Reaching it he splashes in, not worrying about the noise at this point, just hoping all the blood was washed off as the wound heals up and he keeps running through the creek and into where the trees start back up.

The arrows have stopped so Stiles figures he's lost Allison for the moment at least, but he quiets his movements again so he doesn't draw in the others. After a few yards he comes across a small clearing with cellar doors and, looking, smelling, and listening, notices no one else around, so he figures it wouldn't hurt to check out what a root cellar is doing in the middle of the woods.

Derek follows the pack, just to see how they're doing. When he smells Stiles and just finds his hoodie lying on the ground, ripped to shreds, he chuckles lightly. The good humor fades quickly though when he hears a distressed howl, one he just knows to be Stiles, coming from a direction he'd hoped he'd never have to go again.

If he wasn't a werewolf with freaky super-organs and shit Stiles knows he would be hyperventilating right now. As it is he's feeling much worse than this afternoon; his claws are out and stabbing at his scalp as he clutches at his hair, his fangs are chewing into his lips, and he can't stop howling – something he would find kinda awesome if he weren't so busy freaking out at where he is right now.

When Derek reaches the cellar – he's the first one there, where the hell are his betas? – it's to find Stiles standing in front of the nematon, unable to look away as he pulls at his hair, thankfully not tearing it out.

He approaches cautiously; making noise for once so Stiles knows he's there and holding his hands open in front of him. "Stiles," he says, trying to use a gentle tone as he moves to stand between the roots and the teen. "Stiles look at me." When that generates no response he reverts back to the alpha tone. "Stiles!"

Blinking and breathing hard, Stiles shifts his gaze to Derek, eyes moving rapidly, searching his face, as tears make their way down his face and the howls turn into a small, equally distressed whine.

Derek moves closer, not stopping until he's mere inches away, where he takes ahold of Stiles' wrists, grip just short of too tight, to remove his hands from his hair. "Stiles breathe."

Head shaking minutely, Stiles clenches his fists, claws now digging into his hands. "I can't. That – that was nothing, back at the school. This is, this is where she, this is why I'm here, why I'm like this, and I don't know what to do, I can't, I can't, I never wanted this, but it's so addicting, and I like it, and I don't know what to do with that, and I – I – I -"

"Stiles!"

He stutters to a halt, small whine creeping back in as he struggles to calm down, struggles against the wolf that's itching to come out. When Derek doesn't say anything else, just holds his gaze and tightens his hold on his wrists for a fraction of a second, Stiles fights back harder, taking a deep, stuttering breath and holding it in for several seconds before letting it out without a hitch. After a few minutes of that, of breathing in slowly and carefully the scent of Derek so close and near about surrounding him, his face changes back, claws and fangs retract, and he sags forward slightly, though his eyes still don't leave Derek's.

Hands uncurling, Stiles whispers, "Thanks," and swallows thickly.

Without even a nod, Derek lets go of Stiles wrists and heads over to and up the stairs, Stiles following right on his heels. When he reaches the open air he tilts his head up into the wind, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

Stiles stands far away from the cellar doors but not too far from Derek, fidgeting because that's what his muscles are used to after about seventeen years, and waiting for Derek to say or do something, anything to help Stiles understand the emotions he can feel and smell rolling off Derek, but an explanation never comes of course. Instead Derek just drags a hand down his face then heads into the woods that lead back to the house, knowing Stiles will follow.

As he expected, Stiles is following closely behind, but he's doing so without a sound, which would be disturbing under normal circumstances, but is one so considering what just happened back there. So Derek decides he should probably say something.

"Tomorrow you can tear that down or burn it or something," he offers, voice rough and stilted, flinching slightly at the burning suggestion, even though it was his and it's been seven fucking years. With his back turned he feels more than sees Stiles jerky nod.

They're just clearing the woods just outside the house when the rest of the pack comes scrambling over, rushing into Stiles' personal space to nuzzle into him in an attempt at comfort. For a few minutes Stiles endures, Derek watching from the porch as the girls hug him and Scott and Isaac each clasp a shoulder, until he seems to need space and pushes them away.

"I'm fine, guys," he says, voice cracked and broken, "it was nothing. I think I'm gonna head home now, though." He brushes aside all the protests about how he shouldn't be driving right now, how someone should go with him, getting in the Jeep and driving away on autopilot.

Once he's gone, Lydia and Allison following a few minutes later in Allison's car, Derek lays into the betas. "Where the hell were you? Stiles could have been hurt, he could have been in serious danger, and none of you were there."

"It's fine, Derek, you were there," Jackson drawls, rolling his eyes, though Derek hears the slight skip in his heart.

"Yeah, I was, and there was nothing fine about that situation. Stiles is pack and when pack calls you come, no matter what. You got that?"

They all mumble replies.

"I said, do. You. Understand."

"Yes," they all say, each looking guiltier than the last, though none more so than Scott.

Derek folds his arms across his chest and jerks his head. "Go. We're done for the day."

It's several hours filled with worried looks from his dad, visits from the whole pack except the Hales, and trying to get rid of the memories of that cellar before Derek comes in through the door.

"Wow, using an actual door," Stiles remarks from the bed where he's staring up at the ceiling. "If I had known all I had to do was have a mental breakdown in front of you I would have done that ages ago."

Of course Derek doesn't respond, just walk into the room the rest of the way, shuts the door, then stands at the foot of the bed.

Stiles rolls his eyes as Derek just stares. "I'm fine, you didn't need to make a house call. Go back to chasing rabbits in the woods." (Never mind that Stiles basically just called himself a dog too.)

"You - did well."

"Uh, what?"

"In training."

"Well that's specific."

Derek glares in a way that says 'shut up and let me talk, you idiot'. "Surprising considering it's you."

"Gee, you know just how to make a girl feel special." Eye roll. "Hell of a non-sequitur, by the way."

Derek huffs and sits down stiffly in the chair by the bed, not saying anything else because it's Derek and he can't just say what he means; he has to be all awkward and tense and grumpy and shit.

"Whatever. Don't know how I did any of it though."

"Don't you?"

Looking up from his lap, Stiles meets Derek's inscrutable eyes, both of them searching the other. "I… maybe?" He swallows thickly as Derek keeps staring, something different about the look though Stiles can't tell what.

Nodding to himself like he's found the answer he's looking for, Derek says a simple "okay" and gets up, heading for his usual exit out the window.

As Derek opens the window Stiles' mouth speaks up without his permission. "Wait."

Stopping with the window half open, Derek doesn't move an inch or breathe.

"Stay. Please." Stiles' voice cracks on the second word but he can't bring himself to care too much as Derek stiffens for a second before his body relaxes on a sigh.

Closing the window again, Derek shrugs off his jacket and toes off his shoes before settling into the desk chair, figuring he may as well get comfortable for the night.

With an eye roll Stiles motions him over to the bed. "Come on, you're not sleeping in that thing, you'll get a crick in your neck, dude."

Expression making it seem like a burden, Derek stands back up and heads over to the bed, rolling his own eyes as Stiles glances at his jeans with a raised brow. He stops and shucks the pants off, ignoring the slight hitch of breath and skip of heart as he climbs in bed alongside Stiles, careful to leave as much space as possible between them.

"Thank you," Stiles whispers again just before he drifts off, lying on his side facing Derek.

Once he's sure Stiles is in a deep sleep, Derek reaches over and brushes his hair off his face, Stiles nuzzling up into it. "No, thank you."