"No!" yelled Stiles. "Don't you dare! You swore you wouldn't tell that story!" he tried to say through his laughing fits and desperate breathing. Scott was red from laughter too, mostly in hysterics over the memory, but partly over Stiles' reaction.

All fifteen members of the Hale pack were sat around the coffee table, on the couches. Many of the members were sitting on top of each other; even the pulled-up chairs were not enough to accommodate them all. Stiles, naturally, was resting on top of Derek's lap, next to Peter, and Isaac was sitting on the other side of the sofa. Right next to Stiles, on the second one, was Emma, then Maria, then Erica. And on the third couch, opposite the first were Jackson, providing a seat for Lydia, and Scott with Allison, the two couples separated by Michael. Three chairs were pulled up around the furniture that was almost groaning under the strain of the weight, for Andrew Zachary and David.

They'd been spending their Thursday night telling old stories and sharing memories from their old packs. It was kind of like a makeshift debate around a campfire, only indoors and without the fire.

"But it's so good!" Scott managed to say.

"No!" Stiles chuckled as he calmed down. The rest protested against being kept away from the light of such an amusing tale, but eventually they stopped. Stiles' face was red, and the wolves could tell by his elevated heart rate that it wasn't as funny for Stiles as it was embarrassing. Allison, while resting on top of Scott, leaned down and tried to coax him into whispering it into her ear, but he declined. They had been inseparable after confessing their not-so-well hidden love that lingered on, even after their braking up.

"Alright, alright, I got one," announced Andrew. He started talking and rubbing his beard as he did so, like a well-aged man preaching to a bunch of kids wanting to know what his years had taught him. He had a way of talking that enchanted everyone, had them all hooked and waiting for his next word. All the while, he stole mischievous glances at his mother, indicating that she was a part of the story, even if Andrew didn't mention her. After all, it wasn't a description of a particularly legal act that he had been giving. She had probably instructed him not to give such an unflattering presentation of her to their new friends.

Slowly, one by one, cell phones started ringing, parents started calling, and people were going home for the night. It was almost midnight before Stiles had to take off. He said goodbye to everyone.

"See you tomorrow," he said to Derek and left, being the last of the teenagers to go. But, before he even properly turned around, Derek had grabbed him by the arm and whipped him around.

"What, no kiss?" he said in a baby-ish pout. Stiles liked the how Derek had become more open now, happier and more eager to show his emotions. Now that the house was full again, now that the ill-fitting jigsaw pieces were shifting and fitting together, it was like the hole that had been left in him was almost filled up. There was a part that would be forever empty, but there was a significant difference in his psychology. He had a family once more, and he was doing his best to protect it.

Stiles laid a quick peck on Derek's lips with a smile, and tried to walk to the door. Again, Derek turned him around and gave him a more passionate kiss, one that Stiles found enough to replace the thoughts of his dad being annoyed at his son for being late and having to explain it somehow. Stiles' eyes fluttered and he saw a pained expression on Derek's face, so he broke the kiss.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked, concerned. Derek didn't bother changing his face to his usual, hard expression.

"Nothing, it's just… Nothing," he mumbled while keeping his gaze at Stiles' chest.

"Derek," Stiles called and cupped his chin with a hand, drawing his face up until their eyes met. Stiles was surprised to see how full of angst his eyes appeared to be when they had seemed so carefree only a minute ago.

"Tell me," he ordered the Alpha.

"Really, it's nothing Stiles. I'm just worried about you, what might happen to you…" Stiles managed to draw out of Derek.

"Are you sure that's it?" Stiles asked, unsure but distrustful. Derek nodded.

"Well, that's good, because there's nothing to worry about. I've already told you, we're all going to be fine," Stiles announced decisively. Derek looked at the ground and gave a sad smile. Stiles offered another quick peck on the cheek, and once he had assure himself there was nothing he could say to Derek that could change his worried mind, he set course for home.

On the way there, a legion of thoughts trundled through his head. Being a teenager, he always used to think he had his entire life ahead of him. And now, ever since Peter had given Scott the bite, he'd been risking his life more frequently as time went on, and he came closer to dying each time.

Maybe it's time I get real with myself. There's a big chance I'm gonna die on Sunday. Or even worse, the others are, he thought somberly.

For a second he considered calling his dad and selling him some story about working on some project with Scott, but the lying had gotten a little bit out of hand these days. If Stiles didn't watch it, he might have gotten used to it. He decided against turning the wheel around and heading back into Derek's arms. Spending some time with his father was something that he ought to do, when his possible massacre was in a few days. He also decided against thinking about anything but driving for the time being, because his thoughts were getting darker and more depressing by the minute.

Once he had arrived, he parked the car and walked inside to find his dad sitting on the sofa, watching something on the television. A baseball game, probably.

"Hey, dad," Stiles said, finally catching his father's attention.

"Oh, Stiles. Come here," he requested and set the beer he was holding down on the table with the other three identical ones. Well, not entirely identical ones. They were empty; the fourth one had a couple of swigs left in it. Stiles walked over to his dad, who was obviously affected by the alcohol.

"Do you know what happened there?" he asked and pointed to the ground. Stiles saw a claw mark on the hardwood floor, and his heart jumped when he thought of Derek. Then, it threatened to lunge out through his mouth when he thought of what he'd been doing to Derek when the mark was made.

"Looks like a scratch to me," Stiles mumbled after he swallowed hard.

More like a claw mark my ex-wanted fugitive and not strictly a human of a boyfriend made on the floor while he was ejaculating in my mouth after I gave him what he told me was the best blowjob of his life, his brain decided was appropriate to add.

Instead of saying just that, Stiles paraphrased a little bit.

"Maybe from when we moved some furniture around," he suggested.

"Huh," his father exclaimed, stumped. "That?" he said, and pointed to the ground again, only further away and in the other direction.

Stiles stared for a little, not entirely realizing when his father was pointing at, when he noticed the scorch mark on the carpet, from where the wolfsbane had been burning. Stiles was worrying that it was going to come back and bite him in the ass sooner or later when Derek and him were unable to remove it completely as they were trying to make Stiles' living room look like less of a battlefield that same afternoon. Sooner appeared to be much sooner than expected, but at a good timing, considering the Sheriff's vulnerable position.

"There's nothing dad, how tired do you have to be to be seeing things? Why don't you just go to bed?" he said, trying to get him to stop asking things Stiles couldn't answer.

"Yeah, sure," he said and groggily got up. He walked up the steps funnily, and slowly. Stiles watched him all the way, partly to make sure he didn't roll down the staircase, but mostly to amuse himself. He knew that he should really be spending some time with his dad, but there was nothing that could be said right now, not when he was in this state.

After he had emerged victorious from his climb, Mr. Stilinski took a left and headed straight for his bedroom. Stiles doubted that he took off any of his clothes. Nevertheless, he shook his head and took the time to throw away the empty bottles. Stiles went into his room and undressed, and climbed into bed, only too willing to simply pass out and wake up when the entire mess was over.

But that's not how things really are, is it?

As he finally settled into a comfortable position, he realized he was having many of the emotions he'd been having after his mother died. A dreadful sense of foreboding of what was to come clouded his mind at all times, and he felt desperate to close his eyes and disappear. Happen across another place, where he was safe from harm. Not physical harm, but spiritual. At the same time when he felt as if he were ready to give up just about anything to be rid of this complication that had been bestowed upon him, he was entirely and unwaveringly positive that there was no way to get rid of a problem without facing it. Either way, he just felt drained.

He closed his eyes, and he knew it was going to be one of those nights. The kind when he didn't actually get much sleep at all, or if he did, he suffered from nightmares about his late mother. Shuffling around and sweating profusely were the two main activities besides not getting even a handful's worth of good sleep. When the death used to be fresh and the wound in his heart was still ripe, Stiles used to know he was going to wake up in tears only a couple of hours after closing his eyes. The panic attacks didn't help.

Now that he had learned to hold the tears back, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He sure felt on the edge of collapse, especially after what had happened that afternoon. His breathing grew quicker, and he felt a tear dying to dive out of his eye. He realized that his hands were clenched and the lump in his throat was not letting him fall asleep. If he really thought that he would be dreaming within the hour, he'd be lying to himself. He jerked his eyes open, whipped the covers off himself and took off his underwear.

As he walked to the bathroom, he ripped the welled tears away from his face with the back of his hand. He slammed the door behind him and got in the shower and turned it on. He chose the coldest temperature it could offer him, and Stiles' skin protested. After half a minute though, he got used to it. The cold relaxed him by occupying every corner of his mind. It was like hitting a refresh button, and everything he'd been pondering about vanished.

He spent a couple of minutes in there, and stepped out. He was less jerky now, his movements stiff from the chill, but slower, calmer. He picked up a towel and dried himself off, and threw it in the hamper. He walked back to his bedroom, but didn't bother with any clothes. When he walked through the door, he stopped dead in his tracks, but the shock only lasted an instant as he realized that it was Derek that was crouching in his window frame.

"Hey," Stiles greeted in a confused manner.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" Derek demanded, in a manner that suggested that if he didn't get the answer he wanted within the next minute, there was going to be hell to pay.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles brushed off the question as he walked into his bed and got back under the covers, looking for some warmth. Derek stepped inside.

"Stiles, I know something's up."

"You don't have to whisper by the way, my dad had four beers, he's passed out right now."

"Then tell me."

"Derek, why are you even here? I don't know what you're talking about; I don't think if anything serious were happening I'd still be lying in bed."

"I mean with you. You're so…" Derek paused to think of his next word, and made a twisted expression. "Dark."

"Dark?" Stiles asked.

"What you're feeling looks dark. Almost like you wish you were dead," Derek spat. He hated the words he was uttering.

"Derek, what the hell are you talking about? How could you see what I'm feeling?"

"Because, I'm your mate Stiles. I can see what you feel, I can guess what you're thinking, I can feel where you are. If you were a wolf you'd be able to do the same things," he explained without missing a beat. Stiles decided to just go with it, because why not?

"Whatever, I was just thinking about the big fight, that's all."

"No, you think about the big fight all the time. This is different; this feels worse to you than risking your own life. I can't just sit at home and know that you're feeling like crap."

"You know, I really don't want to talk about this. If I did, I'd have picked up the phone and called you."

Derek looked confused at what he was sure wasn't meant to be, but definitely turned out to be a hurtful comment.

"Stiles, I just want to make you feel better. Help you, somehow. I love you, and I can't stand to watch you suffer. Why aren't you letting me help you?" he pleaded, and Stiles was surprised that this man right in front of him was offering every bit of his soul, mind and body to Stiles, and he was stupid enough to decline.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said quietly, like a child that has just been scolded. He flipped off some of the covers and turned his back to Derek, who got the message and kicked of his shoes and jeans before he got in, simply in his t-shirt and underwear. He pulled the covers back up and grabbed Stiles by the waist. As he was being spooned, Stiles felt Derek's familiar warmth singeing marks into his core. He was positive that his constant unbelievable radiation of heat was a supernatural thing.

It was then that Stiles closed his eyes, and finally fell asleep. Although he hadn't realized before, the carefree place he'd been longing to escape to, he found in the very same bed he was about to bawl his eyes out on ten minutes ago. Only now, he was in Derek's arms. He was safe from harm, and he finally appreciated what kind of a lover he had.

"I miss my mom," Stiles announced. It hurt, but Derek was holding him, and that made it better.

"Me too," Derek replied.

That was the last thing they said to each other before falling asleep. Maybe, if the circumstances were different, the next morning he'd notice that it was the first time he woke up to a dry pillow after he started slipping into one of his spiraling depression phases caused by the death of his mother. It was as if the hole in Stiles' heart was slowly healing, too.

Too soon, the alarm clock was buzzing, and Derek threw an arm around to smack it over the top. It was enough to stop it. Stiles stirred in his sleep a little bit, but didn't wake up. Derek on the other hand could hear Stiles' dad from across the hall getting up. Being the Sheriff also meant not being late. He listened intently as the footsteps approached Stiles' bedroom door, and decided he needed somewhere to hide in less than three seconds. Jumping out of the window was not an option in broad daylight.

Without any need for instruction, Derek flew out of the bed and behind the door, mimicking Erica's actions of not even a week ago, as soon as the door creaked open.

"Come on, Stiles," Mr. Stilinski groaned, and looked away. As Derek got out of the bed, he had knocked the covers half off Stiles' body, which was still naked. He groaned in his sleep.

"Damn it," he said, after he looked at his watch and closed the door. "You should get up!" he called through it and went downstairs for his morning routine. Stiles opened his eyes ever so slowly and looked around. Derek was the first thing he recognized.

"Morning," he croaked.

"Good morning," replied Derek with a smile on his face. How this lazy kid was one of the smart ones never ceased to amaze him. Stiles moaned in protest when he realized he was awake.

"Do I have to go to school?" asked Stiles while scratching his chest. Derek had a small moment of weakness at the sight of his nipples flicking up and down, but he didn't act on it. He walked over to the other side of the bed and picked up his discarded jeans and put them on to hide the morning wood Stiles had thankfully not noticed. If he had, Derek knew there was no way he was going to be able to leave that room before spent a good hour with Stiles.

"Yes, you already missed Monday," said Derek, trying to be the responsible one. He pulled the covers off the teenager completely, and his very own morning erection was exposed. If Derek didn't stop staring in time, he would have thrown himself at Stiles to provide some much needed release.

There aren't enough medals in the world for me right now, he thought as he painfully neared Stiles to nudge him awake, touching him torturously close to his cute behind.

At the touch, Stiles arched his back and yawned, sticking out his ass. Derek bit his lip and did some things to Stiles in his mind that he wasn't sure if they were legal or not.

He turned around, and much to Derek's relief, pulled the covers up over his waist.

"You should come to class with me," he said.

"Yeah, 'cause that works," Derek replied. He heard Stiles' dad run up the stairs and for a second considered hiding again, but there was no threat. The Sheriff was already preoccupied with getting to work on time. He got dressed in a haphazard way and ran back down, slamming the front door behind him.

"Is your car outside?" Stiles asked, suddenly alarmed and sitting up as fast as a rocket.

"No, I ran here," Derek explained. Stiles found it funny that a statement like that was completely normal to him, but to just about any other kid in his school it would seem like the craziest thing. He'd laugh, but his brain wasn't working quite fast enough yet. He turned around and hung his legs off the side of the bed while rubbing his eyes. He had his back to Derek.

"Sorry I had you running over here in the middle of the night," he said submissively, like he was anxious about the answer.

"Stiles, you didn't have me do anything, I decided to come find you on my own," Derek said sympathetically. There was silence for a few seconds and the wolf felt the atmosphere getting heavy.

"It's Friday," announced Stiles. "We only have today, and a couple more days, and I haven't talked to my dad yet. What do I even tell him?" Stiles' tone was dark.

"Nothing, don't worry him," Derek said. "There's no point. Just spend time with him. Make sure he knows you love him. In case..." Derek trailed off. Stiles didn't reply. Instead he got up and walked into the bathroom. He stepped into the tub and turned the water on. As he washed his skin, he couldn't help but thinking how his father would feel if he died. He remembered saying once that death doesn't happen to you, but to those around you. It seemed like he should have listened to himself and stepped out of the fight while that was still an option.

Then, the bathroom door opened and closed. Footsteps approached him and Derek pulled back the curtain. He got in the shower with Stiles and held him under the hot jet.

"Stop feeling like shit," Derek instructed. "It makes me feel even worse because I can't do anything about it."

Stiles smiled at the notion and reached for the soap. They spent their time washing themselves, and each other. It wasn't sexual or tense, simply caring and sensitive. They savored the intimate moment for it was soon over. Derek put a towel around his waist and walked downstairs, to the kitchen. Stiles walked into his room instead. He slowly got dressed and tried not to think about the ominous images that'd been haunting him since last night. Falling back into his depression pattern wasn't something he wanted to do first thing in the morning. Soon enough, he smelled toast and the scent dragged him by the nose to where Derek was.

Walking into the kitchen he saw a model of a man in nothing but a small towel around his waist, making him food. Stiles had to say, from where he was standing, he really had incentive to get on the optimistic side of things. Derek handed him the plate of toast and jam with a smile and Stiles ate gratefully. Once he was done, he shared a small kiss with his wolf he was ready to leave when Derek piped up.

"You're really good," Derek said. "With the magic stuff. You're getting really good, and fast. Morrell said so. You shouldn't be this worried."

Stiles simply stared with a grateful smile. "You talk with people about me?"

"Yes, so stop feeling bad. You're an excellent fighter, practically like a wolf without the werewolf part."

"Well, if you run with the wolves long enough, you learn how to howl," Stiles said with a wink. Soon, he was out of the door and on the way to school.

Maybe I'm being a little too pessimistic, he thought. Maybe he was being perfectly realistic, but Derek definitely helped lift his spirits.

While he was stopped at a red light he heard a honking behind him. He looked at the light but it was still red. After a few seconds the car behind him honked again.

"Where the hell do you want me to go? It's red!" he said, to himself really, and looked through his rear-view mirror. He recognized Allison's car, and turned around. He saw her waving and he waved back.

They drove together and parked next to each other when they arrived.

"Morning, sunshine!" Allison greeted when they had both locked their cars.

"Why are you so happy?" Stiles asked.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she replied. Stiles was a little jealous of her peppiness but being around her made him feel better. He noticed that he generally felt better around others. Maybe it was the feeling of being alone that brought everything crashing down on top of him. They walked together through the school doors and walked to their first class. They made it just in time, and they sat down looking at the teacher bore them with some details about something that they didn't really need to know anyway. Allison turned to Stiles.

"Did you hear about Isaac?" she whispered.

"What about him?" Stiles asked quietly, careful not to catch the teacher's attention.

"He kind of vanished today. Scott texted me he was with him and Erica, and he went to the bathroom but he didn't come back."

Stiles frowned.

"Is he not picking up?" Stiles asked.

"No."

They didn't say another word to each other for the rest of the lesson. Stiles simple hoped that nothing extraordinarily bad was about to happen. But it usually did.

After the bell had rung, they all got up and went into the hallway. Stiles' phone started ringing, and it was Scott.

"Hello? Scott? I can't hear you," Stiles tried to yell over the noise in the corridors.

"Stiles—"

"Scott, I can't hear you, just text me!" he shouted and hung up. Allison made a confused face instead of trying to ask him what was wrong, which would have been pointless on account of the noise. Stiles lifted his shoulders but his phone buzzed.

"COME TO MY LOCKER NOW" the message read. Stiles waved frantically for Allison to follow him, and she complied. He pushed through the sea of people without caring if he hit them in the face with his shoulder. His main concern was getting to the locker.

Once he was there, he saw Scott standing over Erica, who had sat down on the floor holding her head.

"Scott, what's wrong?" Allison asked, and Scott simply handed her a piece of paper in reply. Stiles tried to read it over her shoulder, but people kept bumping into him and he couldn't keep a steady gaze upon the scratchy handwriting.

When she was done reading, she looked up from the paper to Scott with eyes wide in panic. Stiles yanked the page from her hands.

"We have Isaac. On Monday, give us your land, or he will be the first one to die."