Derek stopped dead in his tracks when he moved into the clearing after taking down his final Alpha.
Stiles was stood, back hunched ever so slightly, baseball bat rested loosely on the back of his neck, the wood dripping with blood. There was a deep gash over his left eyebrow and the one over his right cheekbone from a month back had opened up again, looking sore and angry. His mouth was pulled up to the left in a slight smile, eyes betraying his cool exterior as usual. His shirt was stained with blood slightly and the dagger hanging from his left hand was also glinting crimson and silver in the moonlight. Mud covered his worn down converse trainers, jeans a little threaded and sticking to his legs through sweat, his newly grown-out-slightly hair also a complete mess atop his head.
"Stiles, what the hell-"
"I guess my training sort of paid off in the end. Looks like you're going to have to run damage control man, there are at least three bodies back there and I think I took down two by the lake," Stiles' voice was strong, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. He appeared fine until Derek had barely a second to catch him before his knees wobbled and he collapsed.
"S'okay, just- just give me a second and I'll help you," Stiles said, shaking his head and pushing Derek back a little, but keeping a firm, steadying grip on his arm, breathing deeply.
"Stiles, you just killed five people, you're going to sit down and rest," Derek said curtly, trying to get his eyeline.
"Don't you dare fucking patronise me as the weak human, not now," he snapped, causing Derek to raise an angry eyebrow at him. There was a second of Stiles gathering himself before he breathed out "okay, I'm good," he nodded, wiping the baseball on the ground and sticking it in the back pocket of his skin tight jeans, stowing his dagger and bending over, hauling an 182 pound werewolf over the back of his shoulders and adjusting it for a second. Derek glared as Stiles gestured for him to do the same thing.
"What the fuck?" Derek snapped, refusing to move until he had an explanation.
"Look man, I've been working out okay, don't sweat it. C'mon, before someone sees and gets my dad down here," he said, becoming irritated.
Derek knew Stiles more than he liked to admit, and he could see that the boy was running on hormones, shock, and the overdose of Adderall he'd taken before they had left the house; once it all wore off, he would crash and panic. Stiles panicking was never that good; he could sometimes be more irrational than some of the betas.
"Stiles-"
"Derek just pick up a fucking body and move your ass," Stiles half-shouted, eyes wide, breath fast and laboured.
"We're going to be having words later you little shit," Derek hissed in resignation, grabbing two bodies and heaving them over either shoulder, trudging after Stiles.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"Scott's meeting us over in the ditches, he's with Isaac with the petrol and matches," he said shortly and Derek bit his tongue to stop himself from further berating the teen for completely disregarding anything he was saying and all concern for his own well-being.
Stiles was sat at the table in the kitchen of the Hale house, head hung forward, elbows supporting his arms up so his hands could roughly cradle his head. Occasionally he would stressfully grip at his own hair or run his fingers through it, but no one was speaking.
His dagger was out on the wood in front of him, cleaned and stunning in the light as ever. Stiles had a soft spot for it. Deaton had made it himself from scratch; brought all the materials, polished it down so it was a breathtaking silver that nearly always shined. The handle was engraved with circles and strange symbols Deaton was teaching him about, and when asked about what they all meant, Stiles always replied with a shrug and a half-assed "protection."
Erica was knelt in front of Boyd who was trying hard to keep his spine straight whilst she strapped his torso so it would heal faster. Jackson was drinking a silent glass of whiskey in the kitchen, eyes watching his girlfriend deeply as Derek wordlessly cleaned the cut on her eyebrow and wrapped her two broken fingers with a very tight, secure bandage. Isaac was laid out on the four seater sleeping soundlessly and deeply, sedated by a spell Stiles had cast before trudging out and collapsing at the kitchen table with Derek and Lydia. Scott was helping Allison fix a couple of her hunter weapons that were broken during the fighting and running, both sat cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table in the centre of the living room.
None of the lights were on despite the darkness outside; the house was lit solely by moonlight.
"Stiles, you should go to bed; you've done a lot tonight, you gotta be tired man," Boyd said quietly so as not to disturb the silence too much, waking Stiles from his thoughts that were forgotten the moment he looked up to see him stood in the doorway.
"I'm good. If anyone should sleep, it should be you guys, you were all injured a lot more than me and you're all falling asleep on your feet," he replied, not smiling or anything. In fact, he looked absolutely exhausted both emotionally and physically. His eyes were bloodshot, his posture sort of beaten. No one was fixing his afflictions because no one really knew how to approach him properly. No one knew how to really talk to each other at that moment.
Having such an active part in the killing of your own kind sort of did something to you; made you feel a sombreness that carried heavy and numbly in your gut.
But it was worse for Stiles. He was such a kind soul, meant for loving and healing; not killing and burning. He hadn't used magic during the fight and no one understood why. They were all waiting for him to start slamming people against trees and knocking people out with his powers. But now they were all safer and had room to think; Boyd got it.
Stiles saw his newly discovered magic as a gift, a part of himself, something from the very core of his being, something that truly completed him. Magic was important to Stiles because it meant he could protect his friends, shield them from harm, it meant he could heal people, ease their minds, save their lives. He could even use it to make people happier. But he never wanted to use it for something as barbaric as killing, even if the things you were killing were evil or out to do nothing but hurt and destroy others.
That was why he'd asked Derek to train him physically. Boyd understood now. Stiles wanted to remember that if he didn't have his magic, he would only be human. Although, that was never a bad thing, and Stiles loved it; the boy also liked to feel in control. If there was one thing Stiles Stilinski hated, it was being powerless.
That was how he had been able to fight the werewolves; alphas, half an alpha pack actually. Or at least what was left of them after the incident with the first part of the pack. And Stiles had eliminated a lot of them. So if the boy looked tired and beaten, it was understandable. He hadn't asked for this, he'd never wanted to get caught up in it all. Yet it was impossible for him to leave now, to abandon his friends when they were in danger.
Stiles was allowed to feel sad and pissed at the world, even if it was just for a few hours before he put his pretences up again.
"You should heal yourself or something," Boyd sighed, furrowing his brow at him.
"I'm fine, it's just a couple of bruises," he brushed it off.
"He's right Stiles, you broke at least two ribs fighting that last alpha," Derek said curtly, not looking at him as he finished up Lydia's hand and grumbled when she pressed a peck of gratitude to his stubble.
Stiles huffed in frustration but sat back in the chair, wincing and hissing a little in pain. He lifted his baseball shirt up, pressing his hand to where the bruising was appearing on his diaphragm, whispering an incantation and coughing a little in an attempt to hide his discomfort when the bones fixed themselves in his ribcage.
"Dude, I don't get why you don't just heal Lydia with your juju," Scott called from the living room, the atmosphere picking up a little now there wasn't the heavy weight of silence on them.
"Because he's exhausted and shouldn't have even healed himself, his physical strength is low, he's not supposed to be performing magic when he's too tired," Erica answered in a patronising voice, glaring at Scott who pouted at her short tone with him.
"Stiles, bed, now," Derek snapped again, still not looking at him. Stiles opened his mouth to protest but was shut up swiftly when Derek near enough slammed his hand down on the table.
"Fine, I'm going to bed, christ man, chill yourself will you?" Stiles hissed, eyes narrowed as he got up from the table and disappeared into the hallway, stomping upstairs and closing Derek's bedroom door behind him.
"What are we going to do about him?" Erica sighed, moving into the kitchen and standing closely next to Derek, pulling his arm around her waist and grabbing Jackson's hand, making him move so she would have something on a higher level to cuddle into. Jackson huffed and looked angry, but allowed her to rest herself against Derek nonetheless. He really would never get used to this whole 'pack closeness' thing.
"You're just going to need to be there when he panics in the morning. You're his friends, so be there for him; that's what friends do, right?"
"Stiles. Stiles. STILES WAKE UP!" Derek's voice blasted through his eardrums and Stiles flailed awake, sitting up fast and panting in surprise, realising what had happened and glaring evilly at the alpha, holding his hand to his heart as he attempted to get his breath back.
"What the hell man? Dick move!" Stiles exclaimed, squinting through his eyelashes and rubbing his head as he struggled to see properly through blurry sleep vision.
"Whatever, your Dad keeps calling me asking me where you are so I told him you'd be staying here all weekend, okay?" Derek said stoically, chucking a baggy black T-shirt at him and leaving the room.
Stiles drew in a deep breath, plonking his body back down on the bed and sighing, running a hand through his hair and staring at the ceiling. It was difficult to assess his own mental state this morning. His chest hurt for some reason and his ribs felt really stiff. He wiggled his face around only to grimace in pain when the cut along the side of his cheekbone stung bitterly. He didn't want to think too much about the previous night; it was all too much to take in first thing in the morning and he at least wanted to make it through breakfast without having a panic attack.
Something was different though. He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in his heart. Killing people changed a person, did something to their head. Stiles realised then that he was very grateful he wouldn't have to go back to his house until Monday; he didn't know if he could take even looking at his father to be honest.
"Stiles, breakfast!" Lydia called from the kitchen down the stairs and he groaned, rolling sideways off the bed, pushing up weakly on all fours, clicking his bones into place and standing up, stretching wide with a loud yawn. He pulled on the T-shirt Derek had thrown him and stumbled across the bedroom carpet, following the scent of pancakes and honey as his stomach gave a welcoming grumble.
"Lydia Martin, I love you," he said, squeezing her waist and pressing a rough kiss to her cheek when she passed him a plate of them, smiling widely at him and pulling her bed hair up into a ponytail, joining Stiles as he sat down at the table with the rest of the pack.
"So what's the plan for today then?" Isaac asked through a mouthful of toast and bagel, downing half a glass of juice before putting more food in his mouth.
"Lounge around, movies, comfort food. I don't have any energy to terrorise town guys today," she said distastefully, pulling her food apart absent-mindedly with her fingers before eating it.
"Stiles, you smell weird," Derek said suddenly and the whole table went silent.
"Uhh... I know. I haven't showered?" Stiles replied, arching an eyebrow in confusion.
"No, I mean something isn't right," he repeated, panic setting into the alpha's eyes as a possible explanation for his random observation appeared on his face.
"Stiles, why has your cut healed? It was there literally seconds ago when I was in the bedroom," Derek added, standing up slowly. Everyone was looking at Stiles now, who scoffed and shook his head, bringing a hand up to his face, splaying his fingers across where the gash was supposed to be. His mouth dropped open wide when he realised there was nothing there.
"Your ribs-"
Stiles lifted his top to find all bruising and grazes completely disappeared.
"Can Mage's heal automatically?" Scott asked quietly and it was as though everyone else was catching on to Derek's fear now, piecing together a suspicion, an assumption.
"No, the only thing I – Mage's don't just self-heal; they – they need to use spells, herbs, elixirs if they want to heal people, to heal themselves. This is – this isn't supposed to-" Stiles began catching on his words and syllables under the scrutiny and Derek was grabbing him by the collar, earning himself choice swear words and a yelp.
"Lift it up Stiles. Dammit, your top, lift your freaking top up," Derek demanded, taking the fabric himself and lifting it, turning him so that his spine was visible.
"SHIT!" Derek yelled, immediately dropping the top and crashing his claws over a desk surface, eyes red and glowing, teeth elongating. The entire pack flinched and someone whimpered.
"What the fuck dude?" Stiles retched out, looking completely bemused at the sudden outburst. Erica was staring at him with shocked, wide eyes, Scott was slowly moving forward, transfixed on his back; Lydia was clutching tightly at Jackson's knee, her mouth open as if she wanted to say something, tears glistening in them. Isaac was attempting to mutter soothing words at Derek who was now kicking things about in the living room and Boyd was gulping, putting his fork down and staring at the tablecloth, trying hard to process something. Allison... well, Allison looked completely and utterly stunned.
"Why is everyone looking at me like that?" Stiles actually stomped his foot before Scott took his shoulders tightly enough to hurt and looked him straight in the eyes seriously, top lip twitching, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, heart beat thrumming fast.
WHAT? How the hell could Stiles hear that? HE COULDN'T HEAR HEARTBEATS! He was magic, but he couldn't freaking listen in on BLOODY EFFING HEARTBEATS. He attempted to keep himself breathing slowly, pushing the sudden sickening thought from his head but failing, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, throat closing over slightly so he was almost choking on his breath.
"Stiles man, you gotta calm down okay, you can't freak out about this, it's just – it's just a small bite okay and the alpha wasn't properly transformed when it bit you, none of them could have been so we don't know for sure – Stiles?" Scott was cut off when Stiles gripped back at his arms, shaking his head, feeling the familiar tightening of his chest, the ice cold panic flooding through his nervous system, eyes watering and stinging as he gasped for air, swallowing.
"Stiles, breathe; its – man, you gotta breathe okay, c'mon okay, breathe," Scott's voice seemed far away, drowned out by a blurriness fogging things around him, a million different things happening at once, a million different noises and images and god it couldn't be true, it couldn't. He was Stiles, human. That's just – that was a huge, huge part of his identity; his humanity. For three years he had avoided it, resisted it, flipped it the finger and it was coming back to haunt him, to crush his lungs too apparently because he was most definitely having a panic attack.
"Stiles," another urgent, sharp and buzzed voice broke through the sea of thickness around him and someone else was grabbing him, warm strong hands clutching his face, trying to reach his attention, to reach rational thought.
"De – Der – I – shit," he sobbed once, shaking his head again whilst he focused on slowing down his heart rate, on bringing himself back to reality.
"Alright," the voice said and Stiles' vision was still a little cloudy "you're fine; we've got you, you're good," a firm, soothing tone brought his fast breathing down slightly and he nodded, feeling the pressure on his throat lessening, the heat constricting and itching at his skin leaving slowly as he was helped to sit down.
"My gums – my gums hurt," Stiles managed to say after a couple of minutes, feeling very faint and weak. It was crazy, terrifying.
"That's normal," Erica said, moving to sit on the other side of Stiles whilst Derek went back to the living room to pace and curse "it's just your mouth changing to accommodate your – your – fangs. Also, your nails and hands will probably ache too; and your vision is going to go all cloudy and weird," she tried to explain things to him so he wouldn't end up getting freaked out even more, but it didn't help.
He was screwed.