Welcome, welcome to the angstier side of the force.

No happiness in sight.

Hehehehehe.

Come Out and Play

When All Hell Breaks Loose

"What am I doing here?" he asked as soon as he woke up. How the hell was he even in the middle of the woods? Had the pack finally snapped and kidnapped him for his inaptitude in keeping himself out of trouble? Were they going to kill him, or maybe ban him from everything-werewolf?

They were all starting at him, and they looked… scared.

He looked up and noticed Derek hadn't let go of him, he was half-crouching, supporting Stiles' weight, as if he had been keeping him from hitting the ground. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and Stiles looked away, backing away from the Alpha, and trying to get up – managing on his second attempt.

The strange thing was Derek looked as if he had to hold back from going to Stiles and helping him up.

"What the hell happened?" he asked again, rubbing the back of his head, completely confused and bewildered, "What did I miss?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" asked Peter, looking at him calculatingly, and Stiles started to get really nervous now – a calculating Peter was a scary thing. Probably only trumped at being scary by a creepy Peter.

"I…" he started and then snapped his mouth shut. The last thing he remembered was two days ago.

He knew it was two days ago, even if he didn't know what day was today. But him, going to bed, sleeping when he got exhausted over crying and his father pretty much admitting he'd rather Stiles were dead – that was two days ago.

What the hell?!

"Going to bed on the day of the fight. After the hospital," he answered carefully, staring at the others cautiously.

Lydia had her eyes wide, and Peter stopped looking calculating and joined up with Jackson, Isaac and Scott's bandwagon of scared.

"I think you should call your dad, just to check in," the girl suggested, and Stiles wanted to scream that no, he won't call his dad to check in, but it was the way she said it, as if she was afraid his dad wouldn't answer.

Stiles got his phone, and called his dad cell.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Stiles, where are you?"

"I'm… with Scott." It wasn't the best answers, but it'd have to do.

"Look, I know I was harsh that night, but you sneaking out and leaving only notes behind is not okay. I want you home in one hour, you hear me?"

"Okay," he agreed, because, apparently, his dad was back to being worried and disappointed, but at least the anger seemed to be gone.

His dad hung up, and Stiles looked at the others, still confused.

"My dad's just told me he hasn't seen me in two days. That I left notes. And I have no idea how come I'm here. Someone better explain things to me, fast, before I really start to freak out."

"You…" Scott started, but Derek cut him off.

"We don't know. You should really go home, we don't need your dad on our backs right now, and staying here will only create more trouble. We haven't seen you till this afternoon either" he finished and Stiles felt as if he's being punched.

Okay. He's apparently gone amnesiac on his last two days, and the pack he almost dies for on a weekly basis was just telling him to get lost, because he might attract the wrong kind of attention.

He looked hurt and resentful, and Peter was staring at Derek as if he wanted to cuff him on the head, but he didn't protest – none of them did. He shook his head while turning around and walking angrily over to his jeep.

And then he stopped. The air was filled with the faint smell of sulfur again, and Stiles turned around slowly, a bitter smile on his mouth.

"You know, guys, you're really making this too easy for me. It's almost making me regret picking him, because he doesn't even needs me to go through hell" he finished, still smiling, his eyes turning pitch black, and then fading.

Stiles shook his head a little, blinking – it was obvious he didn't remember what happened, or why he wasn't walking anymore. He continued his walk to his jeep, turning it on and leaving the pack behind.

"Scott," Derek looked at the boy, who was still staring at where Stiles' jeep was disappearing, "Contact the Argents. We might need them to figure this one out."

Scott simply nodded and walked away.

Lydia and Jackson stared at Derek, and he nodded at them too, going back to the house, followed by Peter and Isaac.

"Isaac, be a dear and follow Stiles home. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid" Peter ordered, and Isaac looked at Derek briefly. Seeing that the Alpha wouldn't protest, he left.

"Did you listen to what the thing in that boy said?" Peter inquires, and Derek sighed – he really didn't want to deal with Peter and his never ending lessons on How Derek Is Stupid right now, "Did you?" the man insisted, and Derek turned around to face him, all broody eyes and sullen looks, "I don't think you did. That thing had just warned you that that kid basically thought he is a waste of space, and you and I both know that's not the case. He's actually saved your pathetic little pack of misfits more than once. He would have been a good choice on a new wolf, not that waste of space like the girl and the quiet guy, who, you know, abandoned you. He would actually have been my first choice. And then you go and tell him to go home because he might cause trouble for you. Are you really that stupid, Derek? Wherever did we go wrong with you, because this level of idiocy doesn't normally run in this family" Peter stated, clearly displeased, and Derek leveled him with a glare.

"I'd rather him thinking he's a waste of space than freaking out about what is going on. This way we have time to figure this out."

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes, as is asking for patience.

"That thing in that kid is evil. It felt powerful – way more powerful than the whole pack of alphas we had at our door. And you sent it home, with Stiles. Who is unprotected. Brilliant plan."

The man left after that, disappearing to the back of the house, God knows where, and Derek closed his eyes, lost.

He knew Stiles had a crush on him. Of course he knew – it was impossible not to notice. He was pretty sure Lydia and Jackson and Isaac knew it too, and of course this wouldn't go unnoticed by Peter. Scott was the only one who clearly didn't have a clue about it, but Derek had refused to acknowledge it.

He didn't know how to deal with that.

Stiles was important to the pack – to him, in a way. It's impossible to have your life saved so many times by a human and not think of him with a certain level of… fondness, even if Stiles usually drove him mad in a few minutes, with the babbling and the inability to stay still, and the way he didn't seem to care that he was human and always insisted on being in the line of fire.

Derek wanted Stiles to be safe, but he didn't know how to actually show it to him. So he growled and ordered and shoved him around, and tried very hard not to treat him any different than he did the rest of the pack.

But obviously he was overdoing it, if, in the way Stiles perceived things, he was at the very bottom of their food chain, and that wasn't it.

Derek just didn't know how to deal with him.

He wasn't a wolf, he wasn't his, for him to deal with and comfort and order around. He also wasn't truly Scott's – of course, as far as that pack goes, it's pretty much Scott and Stiles as a team, Allison as a part of it too, even if now she was managing to keep her distance, but there wasn't a hierarchy to deal with them. Stiles ordered Scott around, and Scott obeyed. Allison told them to do things, and they did, and Allison and Stiles trusted Scott, so when he made a decision they backed him up.

That wasn't the way a pack worked. And that's what disconcerted Derek – he didn't have to deal with Allison, and he could always be half respectful, half disdainful of Scott, but how to deal with the boy running with the wolves if he wasn't one of them? Stiles didn't belong to anyone – it was hard to find the way to deal with him.

And if that attracted and appealed to Derek to a certain level, he did his very best to ignore it, because if there was one thing he's learned in his life was that if he really, really wanted someone then that person was trouble.

His family could prove it.

So he tried his best to ignore Stiles when he could, and be hostile to him when he couldn't, pushing him away, because that was the safest option – only, as always, he was doing the wrong thing again, because pushing him away made him think he was unnecessary, unneeded, unloved, and that wasn't true.

Whatever it was that had taken residence inside Stiles was powerful, all of them could feel it, even human Lydia. He just hoped the Argents had some idea of how to deal with that – and maybe, after this particular mess was over, he could try and talk to Stiles, make him see he was a part of their pack even of Scott wasn't. That he had a place with them, and that he mattered.

He hoped it wasn't too late.

When Stiles got home, his dad was already there, sitting in the kitchen table, a mess of paperwork around him, and an empty glass of scotch by his hand.

"Hey," he greeted, seeing relief flooding his father's eyes. The man got up and went to his kid, pulling him to a hug.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles didn't answer right away, he just tightened his hold on his dad, because 'I'm sorry' wouldn't make it better, but it certainly made him feel less awful.

"It's okay," he answered, finally letting go, and taking a look at the mess of paper on the table, "What's going on?"

His dad looked at the table, and rubbed his eyes, looking troubled and miserable – and for once, Stiles wasn't to blame.

"Her name was Erica Reyes," Stiles froze when he heard that tone of voice coming from his dad – the dry and professional one he used to describe things he couldn't deal with emotionally, because it was a part of his job, "We found her in the woods earlier this morning. Her mother reported her missing last night." He got quiet after that, and Stiles came closer to the table, looking at the papers.

A picture of Erica, smiling, before the change, she was pale, and looked a bit sickly, but her smile was honest.

Stiles? What are you doing here?

Just making sure Batgirl is okay.

His heart sped up a bit. What…?

"I almost went on a panic attack when I couldn't find you this morning again. I know you're upset about what went down that night, but you have to understand where I'm coming from, son. It's hard."

"I know," he replies, still looking at the pictures and files.

A picture of her body, cut in half.

What are you doing?! Stop! Stiles, oh my God, HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME! STILES, STOP!

He took a trembling step back, his hands shaking as he closed his eyes.

"Stiles?"

Why are you doing this? Stiles, please!

I'm sorry, Stiles is not in at the moment, may I take a message?

"Son, are you okay?" His dad's face was worried, and Stiles looked at him, trembling still.

"Yeah, I just… I didn't sleep well at Scott. I think I'm gonna go and lie down a bit," he answered, his voice weak, still looking at the pictures.

The sheriff glanced at where he was staring, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Did you know her?" he asks quietly, and Stiles looked away, finally, closing his eyes.

"She told me she had a crush on me. She was the Batgirl to my Batman" he looked into his father's eyes then, too broken up to try and understand what was going on, "Do you know who did it?"

His dad shook his head.

"Nothing so far. She left the house on her own accord, no struggling. The only signs of fight are in the woods, and… I'm sure you don't want to hear the rest of it."

"Please" he begged, tears in his eyes, "What… How did that happen?"

"We don't know. Our best guess in an axe, but the cuts are too clean. It should be impossible for someone to do that kind of damage, no one is that strong."

A werewolf is.

But then again, it wasn't a werewolf that Stiles was remembering, was it?

He didn't say anything else and just went to his room, lying on his bed, eyes closed.

These were not the clothes he was wearing the night he fought with his dad.

He swallowed hard, and tried to remember – something, anything, from the past 48 hours.

Screaming. So much screaming, and begging, and tears, and threats she would never, ever, be able to fulfill.

He was laughing.

And then she cried no more, body cut in half, blood all over the ground, mixing up with dirt.

His hoodie was stained, he was drenched in blood.

He smiled.

Bye-bye, Batgirl.

He shot up from the bed, gasping. A dream? Or a memory? Maybe his hyperactive imagination coming up with something that wasn't real – it had happened before, when he went out of his medicine for too long, he would make up scenarios in his head, and he'd believe them.

He got up and looked around him – where were his clothes?

Where were they?

He started looking, in his closet, under his bed, over his desk – places where he usually put his dirty clothes. He eyed the hamper, usually empty except for laundry day, when he picked up everything from various places in his room, and put it all there, to take downstairs.

He approached slowly, as if the basket would jump up and bite him.

Opening the lid, he eyed the clothes inside.

His grey hoodie, the one he was wearing that night.

Pulling it out, he stared at it, horrified – it was drenched in blood.

He fell on his knees and threw up all over the floor, his eyes stinging, and his hands shaking.

Why couldn't he remember? What the hell had happened? Why… had he…

He had killed Erica.

It looked like his father's problems were his fault this time too, after all.

Aaaaaaaaand Death #1.

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