Minor edits 27/11/16

Chapter Ten:

Stiles went home. In the end, it was his only option.

Despite the surprising words of acceptance, Derek had obviously not been totally fine with everything, and Stiles wasn't about to force his presence on him. He was grateful enough that their talk hadn't turned into a fight; he wasn't going to push it by lingering nearby.

School was a no-go. In Stiles' experience, there was nothing worse than turning up partway through the day; that was the sort of thing that got people talking. If there was one thing Stiles didn't need added on top of everything else it was senseless gossip at school; gossip was one thing when you were only sort of aware of it, and another thing entirely when you could hear all of it.

So, home it was. Still, he took the long way back, meandering about the woods for a time once he was fully out of earshot of the older werewolf. Being out in nature, distant from the sometimes overwhelming sounds of human life, gave him at least a semblance of peace.

It sometimes felt like an eternity had passed since he'd last known any actual peace.

oOoOo

Because he was exhausted and totally over pushing himself to the brink, Stiles decided to at least try and create some sort of cooperative understanding between himself and his uncontrollable new nature.

Derek had told him to try and accept the wolf.

Derek had told him to sleep.

Acceptance, well, he was at least trying to work on it. It was a big ask, and since Stiles still sometimes felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff where putting a single foot wrong would spell his ultimate demise, it was a step he was still incredibly hesitant about taking. Sleep though, that was something he could really go for. So, as a sign of goodwill and all, Stiles didn't even try and avoid sleeping that night.

As it turned out, he and the wolf were still not seeing eye-to-eye, and the whole sleepwalking thing was, unfortunately, not a one-time thing.

It wasn't as aggressive this time, however. The primal, grating instincts which had washed over him the night before were all much duller now, calmer. There was less desperation lingering in his mind, replaced instead by reassurance.

Stiles found that he didn't jolt into waking awareness in a panic. Instead, he merely blinked from sleep to wakefulness, somewhat resigned instead of afraid. A warm hand resting on the back of his neck anchored him in a sense of calm. He didn't need to turn to know who the hand belonged to, just as he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed or surprised by their presence.

He should have known his talk with Derek would ultimately lead to stalking. How else was Derek supposed to get a good insight into all of this when he wasn't big on talking about emotions and Stiles himself was iffy about explaining anything?

Stiles inhaled deeply, allowing the scents of the night to relax his body.

Derek's hand shifted from his neck to his shoulder, squeezing gently, before disappearing altogether. The older werewolf cleared his throat, loud in the relative silence. "So, where are we?"

In his mind, Stiles stumbled through levels of truthfulness, before settling on "a friend's house." He gestured vaguely about the street in general, not specifying which house they were there for, but Derek didn't appear to mind.

"Is it the same place as last time?"

"Yeah."

Now faced with the very real possibility that this sleepwalking was going to become a thing, Stiles found himself thinking he'd probably go along with just about anything Derek had to suggest at this point. He didn't feel the same panic about being caught this time, but the more often he turned up about town in his pyjamas the more likely it was that someone would stumble across him.

"We should talk."

"Right."

"Somewhere else."

"Sure, of course."

Derek pulled away from his side, and Stiles meandered lazily after him.

It wasn't the preserve Derek led him to this time – Stiles supposed he was thankful for that, given all the time he'd spent out there at night dealing with all the bullshit the supernatural world could throw at them – but the bunker. Part of him had forgotten that Derek hadn't always locked himself away in the loft. This wasn't the happiest reminder.

Despite being the one to request they talk, Derek didn't seem in any rush to kick-start a discussion. He shuffled about the bunker, perhaps a bit tense, as though awaiting some snarky comment about his current living arrangement. Stiles couldn't even remember if he'd ever been there before, and he was in no mood to pick a fight about something that petty. He tried to make himself comfortable on the ground instead, wondering how best to broach a subject he'd been wondering about without Derek accusing him of avoiding the current issue at hand.

He hung his head, playing with his fingers and staring at the ground. Sometimes direct was best.

"So, um, Derek. I was sorta kinda wanting to ask something about yesterday…" So much for not beating around the bush. Stiles flexed his fingers, forcing the words out. "Why did you ask me about my dad?"

The sound of Derek's shuffled pacing ceased. In his mind's eye, Derek was probably glaring at him, arms folded across his chest, projecting lots of surly macho werewolf vibes. He didn't really want visual confirmation. And he wasn't sure looking at him when he answered would make it easier to keep going down this line of questioning.

"About Peter?" Derek clarified, tone unreadable.

"Yeah."

"Is my answer going to change something?"

Stiles sighed. Nodded. Shook his head. "I dunno… I'm still just trying to wrap my head around why I didn't walk away with a broken nose yesterday."

"I suppose you're on the right track then." Somewhere off to the side of Stiles, Derek started pacing again. It struck Stiles as a little disconcerting that he could tell the difference between the anxious tension from before compared to Derek's present contemplative state. "You seem to care a lot for your father."

"Of course I do!" Stiles wasn't sure what that had to do with anything.

"Precisely. Moreover, it's not exactly a stretch to assume that you care about his opinion of you."

"Sure…"

He could hear Derek grinding his teeth. That made two of them that didn't overly want to be having this conversation, yet they both continued putting one foot in front of the other.

"I was weighing my reaction against your sincerity, okay? You value your father's opinion of you, but you were honestly willing to confess to everything if asked about it, which, by your own admission, poses the potential to destroy your relationship."

That particular reminder was entirely unappreciated.

"If you had lied to me, or answered in some other way, well, we would have been having a very different conversation."

Ah. Yes, Stiles imagined that that particular conversation would have involved lots of claws and far less aid. He chanced a glance across the bunker. Derek had his back to him.

"An eye for an eye then huh?" Stiles wrinkled his nose after the words left his lips, reconsidering. "Or, more like, an eye for a heart? Because, uh, traumatic experiences aside, potential emotional damage doesn't feel like a fair trade-off for a life. It feels like… you picked a flower from my garden after I uprooted every plant you own. Or-"

Stiles' teeth clacked together as he shut his mouth suddenly, Derek groaning softly at his word-vomit.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

That was a conversation closer if he ever heard one. Sure. He could deal with that. Except now the topic would inevitably change to what Derek had wanted to discuss when he led him here in the first place. Hadn't they already had enough of a heart to heart for one day?

"Now that that's sorted," Derek turned, situating himself up against a wall, facing Stiles where he slouched on the ground. "Tell me about this friend of yours."

"What is there to know?" Stiles thought he spied a muscle in Derek's jaw tighten, so he hurried on. "No, seriously. What sort of details are you looking for here? Because while I'm all for this teamwork thing, there's a lot of stuff I know you won't care about, like how we used to read Batman comics together at lunch."

"Old friend then?"

"Um…" Stiles waved his hands in the air. "It's complicated? We were friends in elementary school but then we sort of drifted apart and like a total douche I sort of started ignoring her? But we're friends again now, kind of, at least I'm working on it. All this werewolf stuff is sort of putting strain on a whole lot of things at school. Secrets. Yay."

Stiles caught a quiet murmur of "oh god he never stops does he?" and resisted the urge to smirk. He'd just told Derek he was going to babble on if he didn't give him proper direction to focus his thoughts. It was Derek's fault for not taking that seriously.

"What made you reach out to her again?"

Oh, that was a sobering question. Stiles hugged his knees to his chest.

"Guilt? Regret?" They were both true. Hopefully Derek would never find out what had inspired those feelings in him. He wasn't sure he had it in him to explain the creation and subsequent destruction of Derek's fledgling pack, a group of teens Derek didn't even know.

Thankfully Derek didn't question him.

"Okay. But you're close?"

"I guess? It might be a bit one-sided though. I've got a whole lot of… stuff, emotions, whatever, going on, but I think she's still sort of confused about this whole rekindling of our friendship. It's comfortable, but we aren't close like we used to be."

"Her feelings in this aren't really relevant. The wolf feeds off of your emotions, not those of other people. Logically, would she have been your first guess of who you might run off to in a daze?"

"No. Under normal circumstances the first person I'd go to would be Scott. That's how things have always been. But he's a realist and Erica is… flexible. I've been reigning everything in with much tighter focus in regards to Scott. I don't exactly anticipate an overly favourable reaction from him if I slip up about all of this."

Derek hummed, thoughtful.

"So this… Erica, she's someone you'd be comfortable letting your guard down around?"

"Maybe?"

When he didn't elaborate, a heavy silence fell over them. Stiles tapped his fingers nervously on his arms, uncomfortable under the look Derek leveled at him.

"Whatever you aren't telling me, it's probably important."

For a moment Stiles froze, a startled, deer-in-headlights expression flickering across his face. How am I supposed to tell him that Erica used to be dead and I'm still struggling with some stupid separation anxiety style shit about her renewed existence?! But then he took a deep breath, and tried to consider all the non-time-travel related things that he hadn't yet voiced.

"I may have been thinking about, uh, pack dynamics, and stuff like that, for the last while. Before, and particularly after the whole alpha thing. We're the only werewolves in Beacon County, right? And we aren't even a pack, not really, not yet anyhow, if that's something you'd want. We're more of just two guys in a mutually beneficial working relationship that involves trying not to clue the hunters in on my existence in general. I'm totally down for being pack or whatever, of course, but that's not the point. Two werewolves isn't exactly a lot, right?"

"Not exactly, no," Derek allowed, dragging his response out in a manner that managed to question every single word that came from Stiles' mouth. "That would depend on where you're going with all this."

"Well, uh, three would be better, right? And, well, Erica's epileptic, and I was thinking of maybe telling her about all of this? And offering her the choice? I mean technically I don't need your permission, because hello, I'm the alpha right now, but if it was something you'd like 100% veto then that would put unnecessary strain on this whole cooperation thing and I've got enough of that going on already thanks."

"You trust her that much?"

"Yes. Whether she says yes or not is irrelevant, I suppose. I need someone to talk to about all of this. You're on one side and my dad is on the other and then Scott and Erica are somewhere else entirely. I need someone who's familiar with all of it, you know? I don't know if it'll make things better or worse, because Scott'll still be out of the loop and he'll probably get even more frustrated at me, but I need a reprieve."

Derek rubbed his chin, gaze cast down.

"The bite doesn't always take." Something bitter filled his voice; a remembered pain. "Sometimes the body rejects the bite. That generally ends in death. Do you even understand the risks involved?"

It'll work, he thinks. He knows from experience. Her biology hasn't changed, he's just jumped back to before it happened. It worked once. It'll work again. What he says, however, is a deadly serious "I understand."

If Derek's taken aback by his conviction, he didn't show it. When he spoke again he'd switched tracks once more.

"If you've been considering all this, it might explain some of your behaviour. Somewhere in your mind you've already classified Erica as pack. As you've said, we aren't a pack. We could be, but we aren't. Wolves don't generally cope well without pack. That's why omegas often go off the rails. Alphas without packs probably experience that absence in a different way. I wouldn't have expected it to be that potent, but maybe that's just you as an individual. Humans can still be part of a pack. Those bonds aren't as strong, but they're still there."

"So… it's Erica's fault I'm sleepwalking?"

Derek sent him a deadpan stare.

"No. What I'm saying is, maybe it's for the best that you talk to her. Regardless of the outcome, if you accept her properly into your pack, it might calm some of the subconscious urges that have been overtaking your resting mind. You've caused a conflict within yourself, and you need to resolve it."

Derek was starting to sound like Deaton. Stiles sighed.

"So, just to be clear, you're giving me the all clear about discussing all of this?"

"Maybe leave me out of it. But it's not my job to tell you what to do with your powers. All I can do is hope that you'll be discrete about things and not draw too much attention. Argent already knows I'm a werewolf. He doesn't need to know there are also teenagers getting mixed up in all this."

"Right. Okay. Yes." Stiles jumped to his feet, antsy, mind racing. He'd had about enough of all this, and he figured Derek had probably had his fill of emotional chats for the next year (though he could also admit that he'd probably be forcing another uncomfortable conversation on the older man before too much time had passed). "Dude, thanks. For all of this. For everything."

"Don't call me dude." There wasn't as much bite to the protest as Stiles generally expected from Derek. That was likely a side-effect of all this awkward heart-to-heart stuff. Which was even more reason to high-tail it home.

"Sure, whatever. Talk to you later."

"Try not to get into too much trouble."

With that, Stiles took his leave.

oOoOo

Having already tried the good faith routine once that night, Stiles didn't even contemplate going back to bed when he got home. It was late, or rather, incredibly early, but there were plenty of ways to better spend his energy that didn't involve potentially more sleepwalking.

Tonight was a night for making decisions.

He'd already made one.

It was true that talking to Erica about all this was a thought that had crossed his mind once or twice, but he hadn't really had the time to take a moment and really think it out. Until Derek brought it out of him. Now it seemed like a no-brainer. One way or another, it was something he needed to do.

Then there were things he'd been avoiding. Such as lacrosse.

He wasn't sure how Coach would feel about getting emails from students at two in the morning, but no time of the day was ever good for receiving messages about players quitting the team. That was the strange thing about Finstock – if you didn't make first-line you were pretty much benched forever, but even then, he didn't like it when people left the team.

His economics grades were definitely going to suffer for this. But one day Coach was going to notice he'd stopped coming to practice; it was easier to just get it out of the way in one blow, instead of getting berated for skipping.

Quitting was going to make Scott mad. Stiles understood that he was confused, really, he totally got that, but he still wasn't settled enough in the situation to try and smooth things over with him. He needed clarity, and space, and maybe a second opinion. He didn't want to complicate Scott's budding romance – again – but if maintaining his silence was only going to make their friendship crash and burn… Well, he needed more time to figure it out.

He settled himself at his desk and prepared to research until dawn.

oOoOo

Unrealistic though it was, Stiles had been hoping to avoid talking with Scott until Coach had talked to him about Stiles quitting the team. Then he'd only have to have one argument, instead of two separate ones about skipping school and quitting without talking to Scott about it.

Stiles had made it to school earlier than usual, with the intention of finding Erica, but Scott was obviously thinking along the same lines. He'd barely gone more than a few steps into the building before he was being manhandled roughly into the nearest classroom. Resisting would have been simple. All he needed to do was plant his feet and his supernatural strength would prevent his asthmatic friend from moving him a single inch. But he wasn't trying to aggravate Scott, no matter how things might seem to his friend, so he let it happen.

The moment the door closed behind them Stiles wriggled out of Scott's grasp, mumbling irritably and smoothing out his sleeves. He walked a little way into the classroom, but Scott stayed by the door.

Stiles figured he should speak first, take control of whatever conversation was to come, but he couldn't think of what to say. He couldn't read the situation without looking at Scott, which he was hesitant to do, and cracking a joke when Scott wasn't in a receptive mood would only lead to shouting that much sooner. Fighting with Scott, especially so early in the morning, was not something he enjoyed doing.

He sat on the teacher's desk and stared out across the room, waiting.

"Is this how it's going to be from now on?"

Stiles glanced over at Scott. He looked utterly defeated, slumped against the closed door, lacking the anger Stiles found usually accompanied being manhandled places.

"What are you talking about Scotty?"

"This. Am I going to have to start locking you in rooms just to get you to talk to me?"

Ah, there was that guilt again. Stiles bit his lip, supremely uncomfortable with the turn this was taking. Scott sounded so broken and betrayed and, above all else, confused, and Stiles didn't know what to do about it.

"I just, I don't understand what's happening with you anymore Stiles. You keep skipping school, you don't reply to my texts, you don't answer your phone at all. You barely talk to me at school, you're hardly anywhere long enough to try and talk to you outside of school. You keep saying I should hang out more with Allison, and while you sound genuine when you say it, it's starting to feel like an excuse to spend less time with me. How else am I supposed to take it?"

Stiles jumped off the desk, hands flailing about in the air. This was bad.

"Shit. No, stop that, don't be like that Scott. You're my best friend. That hasn't changed. Maybe my word doesn't mean much to you right now, but I swear this isn't me rescinding your best bro status." He scraped his fingers across his scalp, frustrated. "This is just… It's just…" He growled, low in his throat. It sounded more animalistic than he would have liked. "It's complicated."

"Then un-complicate it."

"This really isn't the time or place for this."

"If not now, when? It's impossible to predict whether or not you'll be at school anymore. Do you really think dragging this out is going to help?"

"Scott," Stiles snapped, slamming his hand down on a desktop. "I can't right now, okay? I just can't. I can't have this conversation, and I don't want to argue with you. Can you just put a pause on this interrogation? I have to sort this out for myself before I even start trying to explain it to you."

Scott was not making it easy to keep his secrets close at hand until he could make a rational decision about revealing them. Part of Stiles itched to just wolf out right there and then, to put the seriousness of the situation out there in the open, but that wouldn't solve anything. At least, that's what he told himself.

He glanced up, hand curling into a fist where it rested on the desk. Scott was visibly taken aback. Stiles hadn't raised his voice, but his frustration was evident, and Scott was shocked by it. This January had not been a good month for their relationship.

"Sorry. But, can you just wait? Until I bring it up? Otherwise we're just going to keep going in circles, getting mad and fighting without closure. I don't enjoy fighting with you Scott. So can you be patient for me? Just for a bit longer?"

Scott was quiet, looking anywhere but directly at Stiles. He was still in front of the door, blocking the only convenient exit. Finally, he met Stiles' gaze. "You promise you'll explain?"

"Cross my heart. I'll pinky swear it if you want."

"No, it's fine. But I will hold you to that. You can't avoid it forever."

The bell startled both of them. The room they were in wasn't used first period, which was the only reason they hadn't been interrupted. Early for Stiles didn't exactly translate to early in general, and they'd used up all that free time shut inside an empty classroom, arguing. Now they were verging on late, and Stiles hadn't even had a chance to find Erica.

He cursed his luck.

oOoOo

Thankfully they were all in different classes before lunch. Stiles didn't think it would do anything to help his strained truce with Scott if he saw him sneaking off to talk to Erica in private.

If Erica was surprised to find Stiles waiting for her, she didn't say anything about it. She'd been taking a lot of things about his behaviour in stride since that first day when he interrupted her solitary lunch. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or if she just figured there was nothing he could do with himself that would anger or upset her more than ignoring her existence. Stiles really hoped it wasn't the latter.

He led her to a corridor somewhere halfway between her classroom and the cafeteria. Students flowed around them, uninterested in whatever they were doing, headed off to enjoy their lunch break.

"What's up?" she asked when they were still again. Stiles was glad she hadn't asked where Scott was. She was always perceptive like that.

"This is going to sound like it's coming out of the blue, but I need to talk to you. Are you free after school today?"

"Yes… But what's this about?"

"Listen. It's… big. And confusing. And important. And not something I can really talk about at school. Meet me in the parking lot after school?"

Erica scrutinised him, taking in everything, from the furrow of his brows to the slump in his shoulders, and the tension and nervousness that lingered in his voice.

"Fine. But only because I get the feeling this is going to be about why you're so god damn confusing sometimes. Call it curiosity."

"Good. Cool. Just… Don't mention this to Scott? Please?"

"McCall wouldn't believe my word over yours."

"That's not the point, but sure. Let's just… go eat."

They met up with Scott in the cafeteria. Erica kept her word not to mention anything to him, but she spent most of lunch glancing between the two of them, as though attempting to decipher their silences. She'd understand soon enough.