Stiles didn't remember his little epiphany by morning. Instead, he retained a little feeling of foreboding all throughout the day. Something in his world had tipped off the table of things that are okay, and he couldn't quite put a finger on it. It was maddening in that he kept thinking he had solved some great life mystery—like a cure for world hunger—and couldn't remember it. But there was some part of his brain that told him that he didn't want to know. Whatever it was, by Tuesday afternoon, he'd let it go. And by that night he had forgotten completely.

Derek texted him a few hours after sunset.

Derek: Can you meet me?"

Stiles: No.

Derek: I shouldn't have made that a question.

"You can fuckin' shove it," Stiles murmured under his breath.

Stiles: I'm not one of your betas.

It was a few minutes before Derek replied.

Derek: Just please.

Stiles bit his lip. Derek could have threatened him…but he didn't. He was pleading. He could practically see the puppy eyes. Ugh. Stiles sent Derek a very angry okay, and Stiles wondered when a little tiny soft ball of yarn started growing in his gut—for Derek.

Directions were sent to Stiles seconds later, and they led to…the vet. Scowling at his phone, Stiles grabbed his keys and jumped out the door. Stiles drove the few minutes it took to get there and parked under a bright light in the lot.

"You could have just said!" he shouted, the door chiming as he burst through. "I've been here before. And I think you remember one of those times." Stiles shuddered. "God, you better not be here because Argent shot you with a wolfsbane bullet."

"Stiles?" Scott's head peered around the counter.

Stiles stopped in the foyer. "Oh. Scott. I was, uh… As shocking as this might sound… I was looking for Derek."

Scott blanched. "He's…in the back." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Stiles followed him behind the counter. "Erica and Boyd showed up. We think they're sick or some—"

"Yeah, I know. Derek told me," he added seeing Scott's surprised look. "He wanted me to try and figure out what all this was about."

Scott stopped before the door that led to the back room. "So, uh, how have you been?"

Stiles couldn't figure out why Scott's face looked worried. Maybe he felt the awkwardness as much as Stiles did. "Fine. You gonna—?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah." He opened the door and let Stiles through.

Derek sat in one of the metal chairs along the right wall watching as Dr. Deaton flashed a light in the eyes of the two wolves sitting on the metal table. Stiles wandered around to Derek's side and stared.

"Jesus," he muttered. "They're…"

"Catatonic," Dr. Deaton finished, flicking off his flashlight. That was when Stiles noticed how milky white their eyes were. "But they aren't blind…yet. It's just an infection of some sort. I'll have to take blood samples." He produced a pair of syringes and several tubes from a drawer on the other side of the room. One at a time, he filled the vials with their blood until he had four vials for each of them. "I'll do some tests. In the meantime, they should remain here for observation. It's the safest place."

"No one knows they're back except for my pack," Derek said. "They won't be hunted if they stay with me. I can protect them."

Dr. Deaton frowned down at Derek. "I meant safe for everyone else. I don't know how their condition will worsen. If they turn feral, it's best if they stay in a place where I can easily sedate them and keep them out of society.

"But they can't move. They're catatonic," Derek protested.

"Right now they are," the vet replied with a grave look. "This is the best option for everyone. You have to trust me."

Stiles knew that Derek didn't like this—it was clear enough on his face—so he put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Dude, they'll be fine. We'll find some way to fix them before it gets worse."

Dr. Deaton glanced at the hand on Derek's shoulder. "Derek told me you were doing research. It might help to know if you found anything."

Stiles frowned. "I found jack squat, that's what. Seriously, bro." He shot Derek an apologetic look. "I looked up stuff about Erica and Boyd—nothing. I started researching the dead guy—but he hasn't been identified yet and they haven't done an autopsy. Also, still not ruling out a perfectly human explanation to his death. And… this is the worst part… I even ventured into the third and fourth pages of Google—several times in different searches. I mean seriously, if it's not on the first page it probably doesn't exist. Those are dark places, dude. Dark places."

Dr. Deaton sighed and turned back to his patients. Scott scratched his head in the doorway and glanced warily at the catatonic wolves. Derek just sort of looked at his hands. Stiles couldn't help thinking he was taking the lack of information harder than was necessary. His hand was still on Derek's shoulder; he patted him absently, staring at Erica and Boyd. They were…disturbing to put it mildly. Erica's hair still looked as tangled and matted since the last time he saw her, and both their clothes had traces of dirt and blood on them although there was a clear effort to maintain some form of sanitation.

Dr. Deaton put the vials in a tube container and set them aside. "Scott your shift's up. Derek, I'll call you when the results come in. It should take couple days."

"But—"

"Go."

Derek, broody face full of reluctance, stood up, grabbed Stiles by the arm, and pulled him both out into the parking lot with Scott trailing behind. "Isaac is waiting for you," Derek told Scott with a pointed look.

Scott glanced at Stiles. "Uh, okay. Later, Stiles."

Stiles nodded. As soon as Scott found Isaac, Stiles ripped his arm out of Derek's grasp. "Dude, seriously."

"Are you sure there wasn't anything?"

Stiles glared, rubbing the spot where Derek gripped him. "Yes, I'm sure."

Derek growled a sigh and leaned against the light post.

"And I don't even get a thank you for driving all the way out here on such short notice? I have a life you know. I have stuff I want to do. I can't just show up whenever anyone wants me to."

Derek just glared.

Stiles shrugged, putting his elbows behind him on the hood of his jeep. "Fine. Whatever. This is the last time, though. I found nothing for your pups. Don't come calling again."

Stiles said the words, and he made it sound like he meant them. But he wasn't sure if he did. For a brief moment, Stiles had felt a part of something again. He wasn't wallowing around the house completely alone. And, honestly, he wasn't sure if he liked being left alone to begin with. Sure, it made sense—and Stiles was making an effort to do things that only made sense. But he was so quick to help Derek last night he had to wonder if he really wanted to be a part of this crazy supernatural life again…somewhere, not so far down below the surface of his words.

But even if he wanted to help, he couldn't. He remembered all too well the anxiety of not being able to do anything when any one of his friends could die. He remembered the nights he couldn't sleep and the pills he had to keep taking to remedy his jitteriness and erratic heart. He remembered how close he came to having panic attacks again and how strained he felt trying to pull the I'm fine mask every single day.

He didn't want to risk that again. He wanted to be fine and mean it. Unfortunately, he'd let his resolve slip the past week and half. And all because Derek Hale was good at pushing the right buttons.

"You confuse me, Stiles," Derek said.

Stiles just shrugged again.

"First you trespass on my property and accuse me of murder all because you can't wait to find out about things you shouldn't find out about and now you stay so far out of it you practically fall off the face of the earth. It doesn't make sense. But mostly, I can't tell if you're lying when you say it's the last time."

Stiles sucked in his bottom lip but chose not to say anything. What was he going to say? That he was right? Certainly not.

Derek looked like he was going to press the point, but instead switched gears. "You know Scott hasn't been doing too well lately."

"Allison broke up with him. He lost his anchor. And he puts up a good front, but he's definitely hurting over it. So, yeah, I expect he hasn't been doing well."

"Allison," Derek echoed. "Right."

"Is…is it really bad, though?" Hopefully that didn't sound too pathetic.

"Isaac had to…manage him the last two full moons." Derek was giving Stiles a heavy look.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"I'm talking about your face."

"What about my face?"

"You're giving me this—" Stiles flailed his hands "—look."

Derek glanced at his reflection on Stiles' jeep. "This is my face."

Stiles scowled, pulled away from his jeep, and walked around to the drivers' side. "Whatever, dude. Don't come bothering me again." Stiles took as much time as was socially acceptable—and not completely obvious—into getting in the car. His bit his lip as he turned the ignition. What am I waiting for?

Derek growled and knocked on the window.

Stiles glanced over. The knot of anticipation untangled. "What?"

"Unlock the door."

Stiles let him jump in.

"Look, I guess you're dumber than I thought." Derek twisted in the seat and fixed him with his most annoyed look.

"What?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Stiles glared. "Yeah I guess you do."

"Scott might be heartbroken over Allison, but he misses you."

Stiles clenched and unclenched his jaw. He tapped the wheel and glared everywhere but at Derek.

"I don't really care what happened but you two need to kiss and make up. He's ruining the pack dynamic."

Stiles gritted his teeth. "It's not really any of your business."

Derek just raised his brows.

Stiles scowled. "It's still none of your business."

"Stiles." Derek grabbed the boy's shoulder and made him look at him. "Kiss and make up with your boyfriend or I'm going to have to do something regrettable."

"I'm not afraid of you," Stiles blinked, "mostly."

Derek slipped out of the jeep and let a slow grin press on his face. The grin was bordering on creepy but somehow it managed to stay on this side of amused. Derek was laughing about something. "You're going to do it."

Before Stiles could stop himself he said, "you should smile more, it's definitely attractive." After which he nearly had a heart attack because under no context whatsoever could he pass off those words as anything related to platonic at all. And during that split second of shock, Stiles suddenly remembered the previous night. Flirting.

This was definitely not okay.

"Anyway!" Stiles quickly shifted. "It's none of your business. So." Stiles started the engine and prayed that Derek couldn't tell his heart was on abort mission mode. "Good luck on all this!" He waved his hands toward the vet's office and started to turn the wheel.

The grin never left Derek's face—in fact, it seemed to grow wider.

Stiles peeled out of the lot as fast as he could. He tried, and failed, to justify his words on the road.

When he got home, there was an unexpected and surprising visitor: Scott. Seeing him on the front steps, completely wiped away the last ten minutes of embarrassing horror.

He thought about what Derek had said: Scott missed him. He felt a little hope in his gut, but it did nothing against the tight wad of anxiety that had built inside him over the last couple months. Besides, what if Derek really didn't know anything? Maybe Scott didn't miss him. Maybe it really was just Allison. How was he supposed to act? They hadn't talked in a long time. What did he expect?

"What are you and Derek doing?" Scott asked as soon as Stiles got out of his jeep.

"Look, dude, I am literally going to fall on my face and pass out if I have to deal with any more craziness involving Derek tonight. I am just that done."

Scott's nostrils flared around Stiles as he trudged up the front steps. "Have you been hanging out with him? Why? What does he want?"

Stiles felt that wad of anxiety tighten. Did Scott just want to know about Derek? "What's it to you? It's not like it's any of your business."

"Of course it's my business. You're my be—" Scott stopped himself for a brief second. "He's in the pack. And if you're hanging out with him, I should know why."

Stiles didn't miss the change in words and felt a slight stab of pain in his abdomen. "He just wanted me to do research. I'm not involved." His words were flat and he managed to keep his face carefully even.

Scott swallowed. "Don't get involved. It's…getting more dangerous. And next time if Derek comes around… just don't get involved. Please."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You know you have a lot of nerve coming here and telling me what to do, Scott. Especially because—" He blew out a breath. "I can make my own decisions. I'm not an idiot. So fuck off."

Scott also had the nerve to look affronted. He jerked his head in a short nod and left. Stiles let out a tiny sigh and went inside.

Maybe he could have fixed things right then. He didn't know where the harshness came from. And if that part of him kept springing up, he'd never have the chance to fix things with Scott.

Why did he stop himself from saying best friend?