A/N: I know it's been a long time but I had actually fell off watching Teen Wolf for a while there. Then, over the summer, I've decided to start catching up and while I haven't watched the last two seasons, I've watched enough to refuel my love for the show so I began editing and writing so I really hope to be able to finally get this story together, especially since it seemed like a lot of people liked it. So sorry for the wait. Also, I edited the other chapters. It's nothing major, but feel free to reread if you want.

Chapter Five

Scott could personally testify that getting stabbed hurt like hell...and that Gerard Argent was a dick. Scott managed to get to his room without fainting from the pain, even though the wound had already began to heal. He quickly slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Scott," his mom called, knocking on the door. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure, Mom. You can relax, alright? I'm fine," he told her.

Scott lifted his shirt, watching as the stab wound healed into a dark bruise and then into smooth skin. He touched around the area gingerly before tossing away his shirt. He sighed heavily and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

My life sucks ass, Scott thought to himself. Scott closed his eyes, attempting to drift off to sleep...but he felt something strange. A familiar and dreaded feeling, only recently felt after having weird, confusing dreams that he was slowly starting to remember. Oh, God! Why?

Scott rolled onto his back and looked down, noticing a very prominent bulge in his jeans. He huffed in annoyance and stood up; Scott began removing the remainder of his clothes in order to get in the shower because there was no way he would try to 'take care of the problem' with his mom up and about. Scott walked into his bathroom, closing and locking the door behind himself. He turned the water on and adjusted it to a cooler temperature. Scott calmly stepped inside, shivering as the cold water hit his skin.

Scott grabbed the soap bar and started rubbing it along his body, paying special attention to the dried blood on his abdomen. As Scott washed his body, a rising heat started pooling into his stomach, spreading throughout his body and escaping through his pores. Scott leaned against the wet shower wall, panting wildly. The heat grew to the point of pain, causing a whine to slip past Scott's lips. Hit, boiling blood travelled down to Scott's groin, leaving him hard and throbbing.

"Oh shit," Scott whimpered softly. Tiny convulsions rippled throughout his body; he tried to think of anything to make his erection deflate: Stiles, school, Coach Finstock, old ladies in bikinis...but nothing worked. Scott thumped his head against the wet tile, groaning in frustration as he throbbed painfully. I have no choice, Scott thought. Slowly, Scott trailed his hand down his overheating body and grabbed his pulsating member, moaning softly at the initial contact.

Scott started pumping his erection lazily, panting. Scott fantasized about Allison, imagining he lips wrapped around his dick. Scott could easily imagine her soft hands trailing along his arms, her ample breaths pressed against his chest, and her small shoulders holding his head. Scott could just see her hair to tangle his fingers in—except, when he thought about her long locks, they were dark and short-cut.

Suddenly, Allison's soft, small hands grew larger, rougher. Her breasts changed into a rippling, well-toned chest. Her shoulders became broader, and her eyes were glowing red.

Derek.

Scott sped up his movements, tightening his grip. Scott ran his thumb along his slit, the soap and pre-cum making it easier. Scott imagined Derek's strong hands tracing his chest, gripping his hips, tugging at his hair...oh God! Scott's pants became full-blown moans and he lost all self awareness, his pumping drawing him closer to the edge.

"Ahhh!" Scott exclaimed, tumbling over the edge and his body convulsed violently, his knees becoming weak. Scott slumped against the wall as he watched the evidence of his...activities wash away. Feeling drained, Scott turned off the shower and grabbed his towel, wrapping it around his waist; stepping out the shower, Scott unlocked the bathroom door and made his way to his dresser. Scott wasted no time putting on his boxers and pajama bottoms, collapsing onto his bed. Scott stared up at his ceiling, his eyelids dropped and his muscles relaxed. Scott could feel any remaining tension deep out of him, leaving him unbelievably tired. He closed his eyes and sought the comfort of sleep.

Scott's night was less than satisfactory; overnight, his room seems to have become an oven. Scott spent majority of the night tossing and turning, kicking away his covers, pushing at his pillows. It was as if the heat had seeped into his core. Scott woke up to a loud pounding, his ears painfully ringing from the noise. He groaned, barely noticing his mom screaming through the door.

"Scott! Don't you hear my knocking!"

He covered his ears, his muscles throbbing painfully. His door flew open and he heard loud, stomping footsteps make their way around his bed. A loud voice called, "Scott, are you alright?"

"Mom, stop shouting!" Scott exclaimed, clamping his eyes shut from the offending morning light.

"I'm not even shouting. Are you sick, honey?" Scott felt a cool hand touch his forehead before it abruptly pulled away. "Scott, you're burning up. I'll call the hospital; no way I'm going to work with you like this."

Scott shook his head slowly, "Mom, no. You can't. I'll be fine."

"But, what if—"

"Seriously, Mom," Scott croaked. "You need the hours. If I need you, I'll call you. Don't worry."

She sighed, "You promise?"

"I do."

She sighed again, "Ok, well, I'll make you some soup before I go. And if you feel worse, you will call, got it?"

Scott nodded and listened to his mother leave his room. The young Wolf dropped his hands to his sides, taking deep breaths. Scott managed to drag himself out of bed and stand on wobbly legs. He opened his windows slightly, enjoying the light breeze that momentarily cooled his overheated body. He heard footsteps again.

"Alrighty, so the soup is on the stove and there's also cold medicine on the kitchen table. And I'm serious about calling me, Scott."

Scott nodded, "I know, Mom. Have a good day."

Melissa kissed his forehead and left for work. Scott waited to hear the sound of her car leaving before collapsing back on his bed, exhausted and feverish. Scott couldn't mention it to his mom but he was worried. A lot. He shouldn't be sick because, as dad as he knew, werewolves don't get sick. Ever. He shouldn't have a fever. Should be bed-ridden and weak and tired. He shouldn't be like this, at all. So why was he?

What's happening to me? Scott thought frantically. He shook his head, trying to physically rid himself of these thoughts. Thinking like this wouldn't help him. It would only accomplish freaking him out. I'll be fine.

A strong scent filled Scott's oversensitive nose and he gagged. Adderall, baby body wash, and cocoa butter caused Scott's nose to burning harshly. Stiles. Suddenly, a knock sounded on the front door. Didn't he having a fucking key?!

"Scott, it's your compadre, Stiles! Open the door!" Stiles called loudly. Too loud. Scott flinched at the sound of his friend's voice. Nevertheless, Scott reluctantly rose to his feet and made his way through the house. He grudgingly pulled open the door, squinting to block out the brightness of the sun.

"What," Scott deadpanned.

Stiles grinned, "Hey, buddy. What're you doing?"

"Wishing I was in bed," Scott replied in a flat tone. "And don't you have a goddamned key? Why are you knocking?"

Stiles ignored him and brushed past him, entering the house. Scott huffed and quietly shut the door, not wanting to aggravate his ears. He turned to see Stiles spread out on the couch. "What are you doing, Stiles?"

Stiles smirked, "Lying down? Duh."

"I meant here," Scott huffed.

Stiles rolled his eyes but sat up, "Alright, I'll confess. Your mom called me and said you were sick, freaking me out because you can't get sick...right?"

"Right, but I think it might just be some kind of freak accident. It's nothing to worry about," Scott reassured.

Stiles frowned, "Maybe you should ask Derek about it, because, and no offense, you look like shit, dude."

Scott flushed at the mentioned of the new Alpha, his mind wandering to his shower last night. "No way!"

"Why the hell not? It could get worse and then what?" Scott exclaimed, exasperated.

"Well...I'll ask him if it gets any worse," Scott compromised.

"Cool," Stiles said. "Awesome. Fantastic. So, wanna play some XBox?"

"Can't. My mom took it when I failed that test I chemistry."

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly, "Doesn't matter. You would've lost, anyway."

Scott snorted, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Do you want a soda?"

"Must you ask? How long have we known each other and you don't even know what I want. Maybe I should get a refund. Do you think I could?" Stiles asked rhetorically.

Scott rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen. He grabbed two cans of soda and placed them on the table. Suddenly, the heat rose in the room, stifling Scott. It was singing his skin and clogging his lungs. The lights were too bright. The TV was too loud. The smells were burning his nose. His clothes were irritating his skin. Scott's body began shutting down from the sensory overload. Scott slid to the floor, covering his eyes to block out the brightness of the room.

"Scott?"

The voice echoed in his head, pounding against his brain. A loud thumping filled his ears and Scott curled more writhing himself.

"Oh my god, Scott! Are you okay?"

Scott looked up and open his eyes; his eyes struggled to focus on his hyperactive friend. "Stiles," Scott croaked.

Stiles' eyes widened in horror, "Scott, your ears."

Sure enough, dark blood had begun trickling down the sides of his face from his ears. Black dots started dancing at the edges of Scott's vision. "St-Stiles," Scott slurred. "Call Derek."

And then, everything went black.

Stiles watched in shock as his best friend's eyes rolled up and his body slumped, sprawled out on the floor. He was unconscious. Focus, Stiles. Derek. Call Derek, Stiles berated himself. He pulled out his phone and quickly called Derek. It rang thrice before Derek's voice floated through.

"What."

Stiles was so rattled that he didn't even think about complaining about Derek's lack of conversational skills. "It's Scott," Stiles stammered.

There was a dead silence on the other end, "...What about him."

"H-he was a-no there was like-blood," Stiles stuttered.

"Stiles," Derek said. "Clam down and tell me what's going on."

Stiles took a deep breath, "Yeah, okay. I'm, Scott's sick. Like, really sick. Now, he's passed out on the floor and blood's coming from his ears. I don't know what to do!"

"Stiles, I need you to do something for me."

Stiles nodded, "What?"

"Check his pants. Are they wet?" Derek said.

"Check his pants?" Stiles bawled. "What the hell does that have to do anything?!"

"JUST DO IT!" Derek snapped.

Stiles jumped and looked at the front of Scott's pajama pants. "No, they're dry."

"The back, Stiles. Check the back."

Stiles sighed and rolled his friend over, careful not to hurt him. His eyes scanned Scott's pants. He didn't know what the hell he was looking for but he couldn't explain the relief he felt when he couldn't find it.

"Are they wet?"

"No," Stiles said.

He heard what he could only describe as a sigh of relief on the other end. Stiles heard muffled rustling and then, "I'm on my way."

"Well," Stiles frowned. "What should I do?"

"Get him to bed, then leave."

Stiles gaped, "I can't just leave."

"Trust me, Stiles. You don't want to be there. So leave."

Stiles heard the dial tone and cursed. He tossed his phone on the counter and grabbed his friend. He started dragging the Wolf up the stairs and down the hall. He managed to get Scott into bed. He quickly left the house and got into the car, slightly upset that he had to leave. Don't worry, He told himself. Derek will take care of him.

Scott opened his eyes and saw his room's ceiling. He sat up, confused. The last thing he remembered was fainting in the kitchen. How did he end up here?

"Stiles brought you to your room."

Scott started and looked over at his desk. Derek was sitting nonchalantly in his computer chair. Scott's heart skipped a beat. Derek raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"What happened?" Scott asked.

Derek shrugged, "You tell me."

"I don't know!" Scott huffed. "I was fine this time yesterday."

Derek cocked his head, "Has anything changed before that? Anything...not normal?"

"Well, I've been having these weird mood swings and my dreams have been...different," Scott admitted.

"What are they about?"

Scott felt his cheeks warm and he glared at Derek, "Does that matter?"

Derek smirked but conceded, "I guess not."

"So," Scott started. "Do you know what's wrong with me?"

Derek frowned, "I do."

"Then tell me! I feel like I'm losing control of myself," Scott demanded.

"Only your senses," Derek amended.

"Tell. Me."

"It's a...condition," Derek stated slowly.

"A condition?" Scott breathed out. "Have you ever had it?"

"Um," Derek trailed off. "No, this...condition isn't common in Wolves like me."

Scott was hesitant but he had to ask, "Can I die from this?"

"It depends."

"On?" Scott prompted.

"Many factors."

Scott scowled, "Like?"

"Like anything."

Scott huffed, exasperated. He didn't understand why Derek was messing with him like this. "Well, at least tell me if this mystery illness that I might die from has a name."

"It doesn't."

Scott felt the air shift around Derek. "You're lying. Why?"

"I didn't lie," Derek said simply.

"Yes, you did!" Scott snapped, upset at how secretive was being. He could die and Derek knew more, but he refused to tell him!

"Scott," Derek warned. "Calm down."

"No! Don't tell me to 'calm down' because you're not my fucking Alpha!" Scott shouted. "I'm in constant pain and you just said I could die and you're acting like—"

Scott cut himself off when that familiar feeling rose within him. Fiery heat locked up his body, coursing through his veins. A whine dislodged itself from Scott's mouth at the extreme discomfort. He closed his eyes to block out the sudden bright light, lying back. Scott felt a cooling sensation on his neck and he let out a small sigh of relief. The pain seemed to subside, making the heat bearable. He opened his eyes to find red orbs staring intensely down at him. Scott's breath hitched and he felt molten lava pour into his core.

"Derek," Scott panted heavily, wanting nothing more than to spread his legs for the Alpha—what?

Derek growled at the need and desperation in Scott's voice. Scott closed his eyes, allowing the sound of Derek's growl to wash over him. He felt lips brush against his and Scott leaned forward, hoping for more of the sensation. Suddenly, the hand disappeared and the pain set back in. Scott's eyes flew open to find his window wide open.

And Derek was gone.