A/N: I just want to apologize in advance..

Chapter 12

It turns out Scott, Kira, Liam and Malia couldn't exactly keep up on skipping out on school. So they would take turns. One person would take off school for two days to keep an eye on Stiles during the day.

Lydia didn't need to worry about such things because she already had enough credits to graduate under her belt, but stayed in her grade so she could walk at graduation with her friends.

Now, she was sitting in the Stilinski home in the living room with the Sheriff, while Derek was seated in a chair outside of Stiles's bedroom. After a few moments of awkward conversation, Lydia made her way up the stairs to go check on Stiles and Derek.

The beta looked up when he heard her coming up the hall and sighed, before he greeted her with a grunt.

"How's he doing?" Lydia inquired curiously, her head nodding toward the door just behind him.

"Take a look for yourself." Derek deadpanned, getting up from his seat and pushing open the bedroom door.

Lydia peered inside and saw that Stiles was in the exact same position he was in earlier, he hadn't moved a muscle. His chest lay still, also unmoving – there were no twitches or any indicators that this was a living breathing person.

Logic and Science pointed to him being dead. It was extremely unnerving to witness. But in this moment she was met with an idea.

She whipped her head back towards Derek, before looking back in at Stiles.

"I think we can train Stiles to stay awake during the day time." Lydia stated sounding matter-of-factly.

Derek quirked an eyebrow while glaring at her. "You said this earlier. Do you have an idea?"

"Yep." Lydia replied, "Not a very good one though."

"Is this something that's gonna get someone killed?" Derek wondered aloud with an exaggerated eye roll.

"Probably." Lydia confirmed with a quick nod, "I think we should try to wake him up, and just keep him up and talking for as long as possible."

"Ever hear the term 'never poke a sleeping bear'? I'd imagine this is just as bad, if not worse than that." Derek scolded.

Lydia huffed, fixing Derek with a stern look. "Normally I'm all for using your brain here…but we're letting our biggest advantage on this other vampire sleep the day away."

"Sounds like you've thought of a plan." Derek remarked, sounding mildly impressed.

"Apparently it's a little underdeveloped." Lydia admitted, "But I'm sure it shows promise. And it requires Stiles to be up during the daylight hours."

Without another word, Lydia marched into the bedroom with the sleeping vampire. Derek followed right behind her, watching as the Banshee attempted to shake Stiles awake.

After a few moments, proved to have failed so Lydia called out his name – but that didn't wake him up either. Finally, Lydia reared back and slapped Stiles across the face resulting in the loudest smacking sound Derek had ever heard a human make.

But the effect was instantaneous. Stiles's eyes snapped open, revealing the gray-white dead looking irises as he snapped his whole body into the sitting position before Lydia could even back away.

In that moment, like a snake – Stiles struck, a horrible screech escaping his throat. However, before his fangs made contact with her skin - Derek had jumped in her way, sticking his arm out in front of him to protect himself from Stiles connecting with his abdomen.

Lydia landed on the floor on the foot of the bed with a gasp, she looked up when she heard Derek release a bloodcurdling roar in pain.

Sure enough, Stiles's fangs were lodged deep into Derek's forearm – and judging by the sound Derek had just made, and the expression his face was currently wearing – Stiles was probably dowsing him with a ton of venom.

Derek's face had also his wolf-like features, and every grimace revealed his sharp fangs. Sweat had started to gather on his brow, as the pain began to mount.

"Oh my God." Lydia sobbed as she got to her feet, "Derek, I'm so sorry."

"I'll heal, you won't." Derek replied in one pain-filled breath, "Apologize later, just get him the hell off me!"

Suddenly, the Sheriff burst into the room gun at the ready – but when he noticed what had happened, he put his gun down.

"Stiles." The Sheriff called gently, "Come on, kiddo – let Derek go."

Stiles didn't seem to listen though, his empty eyes peered upwards towards his father and made a sound that seemed more like a cat with a chicken bone than a hungry undead creature – but still, he didn't release Derek's arm.

Derek's breath shuddered as the venom spread up his arm, feeling like it had caught on fire. He closed his eyes against the pain, and tried to stay as still as possible until they could find a way to remove the vampire. But he seemed to be clamped onto his arm very well.

His patience however, was beginning to wear thin.

"Just tear him the hell off my arm!" Derek instructed angrily.

"He's got you in a pretty good vice grip." John explained cautiously, "If we try to pull him off, we risk tearing a good chunk of your arm out with him."

"It'll heal!" Derek tried to reason, the fire was spreading into his chest – making it difficult to breathe.

"Stiles," Lydia said in a soothing voice as she finally got to her feet, "Listen to me. Derek's blood will make you sick, remember when we explained this to you? Come on, let go of him and we'll get you some other blood that won't make you sick."

Stiles's eyes snapped towards her direction, and Derek noticed that the grip on his arm had loosened just a little bit.

"K-keep t-talking to him." Derek encouraged, "I th-think it's working."

Lydia looked up toward Derek and noticed his face had lost a lot of color – she wasn't sure if it was from shock or blood loss, but she knew she had to get Stiles off him.

"Stiles, come on. I know you're better than this." Lydia continued, her words encouraging but her expression gave away how terrified she felt.

Just then, Stiles eyes faded back to their normal brown color before he forced his teeth from the werewolf's forearm.

He felt a little dizzy, and sat back down onto the bed next to him – just as Derek screamed in pain as he collapsed onto the floor in an unconscious heap, his features melting back to human.

"What the hell happened?" Stiles demanded, trying to shake off the weakened feeling in his bones.

"We tried to wake you up in the daytime." Lydia explained somberly as she went over to attend to Derek, "You tried to attack me, but Derek stepped in the way."

"Oh God." Stiles groaned, his eyes lighting up with many different emotions as the nauseated feeling settled among his gut and his chest.

Werewolf blood, he told himself. That's why he felt so weakened.

He looked over toward where Derek lay unconscious on the floor. Lydia had run over to him, and gently lifted the arm Stiles had clung to moments ago. She audibly gasped at the wound, and Stiles couldn't keep his curiosity at bay – he looked over at the betas arm.

Two deep looking puncture wounds where his fangs had latched on were surrounded by deep red & purple bruise which was covering a good portion of his forearm.

Immediately Stiles was hit with a bone crushing guilt as he reached up with a shaky hand to wipe the remaining blood from his lips.

"I-I'm sorry." Stiles whispered, as he blinked away the extra moisture in his eyes.

Just then his father walked up to him and placed a steady hand on his shoulder. Stiles flinched, and backed away from the comforting gesture. The quick movement seemed to jostle Stiles's unsettled stomach even more as the nausea creeped up into his throat, resulting in a tightness – meaning he was going to vomit.

Stiles bolted up from the bed, and made it to the bathroom just in time to crash to his knees and retch violently into the toilet. He wasn't sure if it was from the guilt and anxiety or the fact that he'd drunk werewolf blood.

Suddenly there was a hand placed on his back, rubbing circles into his back in a manner that was meant to comfort him. Instead, Stiles jerked away again before another violent spasm ripped through his abdomen causing him to spit up whatever was left in his stomach.

He knew it was his father, though he hadn't heard him approaching.

"I don't wanna hurt you too." Stiles sobbed, resting his head against the toilet seat.

He heard his father back up a step or two, he knew it wasn't to heed his sons' warning – he figured maybe giving him space would be the best thing for him now.

"Oh god, Stiles." The Sheriff whispered, sounding both surprised and devastated.

Stiles lifted his head to turn and look at his father. John was looking at his son, and then back to the toilet with wide, horrified eyes. Stiles turned his eyes back toward the toilet bowl, and saw what had his father so spooked.

A little vomit, who hasn't seen that? He could've handled that, sure. Instead, in the toilet all Stiles could see was thick red blood with thin streams of a black sludge resting on top.

Blood had gotten all over the toilet, it looked like a scene to a really bad gory film. Stiles reached up and gently wiped at the moisture on his lips with the tips of his fingers. He pulled his hand back and saw black goo. The same kind of black goo that humans expelled when their bodies were rejecting the bite of a werewolf.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, and couldn't stop the stream of tears that began to fall.

"What am I?" Stiles whispered to himself before slumping completely to the bathroom floor, and sobbed openly.