By the time Derek goes back in, Stiles has donned his shirt once more. He's still against the far wall. Instead of his previous cower, he's now on his knees, hunched in submission, facing Derek. Everything about the position is so not Stiles that he can't process it. This whole situation is so fucked. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he didn't even know where to start. Stiles breaks the silence for him.
"Please, Alpha," Stiles says quietly. "I didn't think the message would be offensive. I didn't know. I never would have—"
"Stop," Derek interrupts, and Stiles' words cease immediately as his head dips even lower. "You don't have to apologize. It wasn't your fault."
"Thank you, Alpha."
"What do you remember?"
"I don't—I don't understand, Alpha."
"Before the Alpha Pack," Derek clarifies. "How much do you remember?"
"Before the Alpha Pack? There was nothing before the Alpha Pack. I can't—I'm sorry, Alpha, I—"
"It's okay," Derek assures him, needing this broken apologizing to stop before he's sick again. "I'm just trying to understand what happened."
"I don't know, Alpha," Stiles admits woefully. "They said they were leaving. They said I was better suited for another pack, so they brought me here and told me to find Alpha Hale to deliver the message. I don't understand what I did, but I promise I'm a fast learner, Alpha. If you teach me what to do, I can be a good part of your pack. I swear to you I can do whatever it takes—whatever you need. I can be a good beta. I can, Alpha, if you'll let—"
"Stop," Derek says again, fighting at the bile rising in the back of his throat.
He stares sadly at the pitiful, panicked teenager who's holding back tears as he pleads for a place in the Hale Pack. He's not relieved to be set free of the alphas; he just feels abandoned.
Well then, I guess I do know where to start.
"You want to be part of the Hale Pack?" Derek asks.
"Yes, Alpha!" Stiles replies eagerly; he turns his head to the side, exposing his throat. "I can be a good beta. I can serve the Hale Pack. Please."
"I know you can be a good beta," Derek tells him wearily. "You're more than welcome in the pack, Stiles. We want you to be with us."
"Thank you, Alpha. Thank you. I'll earn my place; I promise. Whatever you—"
"First things first," Derek interjects, quelling the sickening gush of gratitude. "Tonight we'll get you cleaned up, and then get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow."
"Yes, Alpha."
It's a long morning of monologues in the back office of the vet clinic as Derek tries to summarize Stiles' life to him—what he knows of it anyway. It's clear that, while Stiles understands the concepts of what Derek tells him, he has absolutely no memory of his life before the alphas took him. He knows what a father is; he just doesn't think he has one. He doesn't understand why he would have hesitated to join Derek's pack or chosen a makeshift human pack instead. He can't figure out the motivations behind any of his actions from before; he just continues to assure Derek he can be better now.
The feeling of guilt churning in Derek's gut only intensifies as the conversation goes on. How many times has he wished Stiles would stop arguing and just listen to him? How many times did he seethe in anger that Stiles wouldn't help convince Scott to join the pack? How many times did he think the scrawny human should learn some respect? Now it seems he's been granted those wishes, and the truth is that the person sitting before him isn't Stiles anymore because of it.
"I know it's a lot to absorb," Derek tells him, "and the others have been told about your memory loss. They'll help you while I try to figure out how to reverse the amnesia. We won't stop trying until you're better, okay?"
"Yes, Alpha," Stiles answers immediately, "but I don't want to trouble you. I'm sure there are more important things you need to—"
"No, Stiles," Derek counters. "This is the number one priority now that the Alpha Pack is gone. We were looking for you for months. It's what got the pack together in the first place. We're not going to let them do this to you. You're going to get your memories back."
"Yes, Alpha," Stiles agrees meekly.
"I told you that you don't have to call me that," Derek reminds him.
"But you're an Alpha," Stiles replies, "I don't understand what else I would—"
"Just call me Derek."
"Yes, Alph—Derek. Yes, Derek, of course."
"Scott is going to come and get you to take you home. He can explain more to you—tell some stories that may help with your memories. Your dad knows the situation. He knows you've been turned. You don't have to worry about telling him that, just focus on not shifting; don't hurt him."
"I won't, Derek."
"I have some things to take care of, but I'll be by later to see how you're doing and talk through how we'll handle things until your memories come back."
"Yes, Derek."
He runs a hand down his tired face. Maybe the title Stiles gives him is different, but the tone is the same. He doesn't know how to explain what Stiles is doing wrong. Technically Stiles isn't doing anything wrong. He's doing what any beta is supposed to do, showing respect, but Stiles has respect out of fear that's been ingrained in him as he endured hell for four months. That's not the respect Derek ever wants as an Alpha.
He begins to answer to the name Stiles, as the Alpha told him to. He goes with the beta called Scott, as the Alpha told him to. He dons the hat and sunglasses the beta provides and rides quietly in the backseat hidden under a blanket so he won't be seen, as the Alpha told him to. He goes into the house with Scott, as the Alpha told him to. He greets the man the Alpha says is his father but who doesn't smell like pack, and he doesn't shift or hurt him, as the Alpha told him to.
They're careful with him, and he isn't sure why. They seem to be waiting for something, some sign from him, but he isn't sure what. He takes the water the human gives him and sits on the sofa with Scott, still trying to figure out why the Alpha would want him to come here instead of going to the pack if he's really going to be allowed to stay.
As Scott speaks, telling stories Stiles can't remember of time they supposedly shared before the alphas took him, he begins to understand. He wasted time on pranks. He broke rules. He put others in danger. He supported a beta's decision to deny his alpha—more than once—and fought against the Alpha's wishes. He created trouble for the Alpha by telling lies to the police. He inhibited the Alpha's ability to deal with the threat of the kanima; he allowed himself to be captured by hunters; he can't even count all the moments of disrespect and insubordination. The list of infractions grows longer and longer as Scott continues to talk. He wants to beg the other beta to stop; there's too much to be forgiven. Instead he bites his tongue and carefully catalogs the transgressions to ensure none are ever repeated.
"Maybe that's enough for now," Scott says eventually. "You don't look so good, dude."
"There's more?" he asks dismally.
"Well, yeah. There's, like, your whole life." When he doesn't reply Scott adds, "But, hey, hopefully Derek figures this memory thing out and you'll remember for yourself."
"I don't need the memories to understand the point."
"Well, yeah, but if you get the memories back you can get back to being your old self again."
"I will never go back to being that way!" he insists, rising to his feet. "I'm a good beta. I know how to behave in a pack now. I'm not wasting months of training to—"
"Training?! Stiles, that wasn't training! That was fucking torture; you have to know that."
"I know that I'm glad they got me first because otherwise there's no way in hell the Alpha would have let me in his pack if I really did all the things you say. You should be grateful the Alpha ever took you."
"What the fuck, man? That is some seriously messed up logic you've got going on. You—"
"There is nothing wrong with my logic."
"Stiles—come on, this isn't you. Did you hear anything I said? You're not supposed to roll over and take it. You're—you're supposed to be you. Everyone liked you the way you were—the way we were—all witty and hyper and fun and you. There was nothing wrong with it."
"If you believe that, then maybe you should be the one reexamining your memories. Your loyalty lies with an alpha, and it always should. Derek is your alpha now; he's taken you in and kept you from becoming Omega. Be grateful; don't forget your place," he warns. "Your job is to serve your alpha and your pack, not to satisfy some rebellious teenage—"
"Scott, I think maybe he's had enough for today," the human suggests.
"Maybe you're right," Scott agrees. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay? Derek too. He'll explain the whole pack thing better."
He rises to leave, and Stiles follows.
"No, you're staying here," he tells Stiles.
"What?"
"Derek said it's best for you to be at home. Familiar stuff from before, ya know? To trigger some memories maybe?"
"Stay here?"
"Yeah," Scott confirms. His previous frustration seems to be melting away as he adds, "It'll be okay, Stiles. I swear. Everything's going to be okay."
When Scott balls his first and moves to hit him, Stiles blocks the pathetic attempt at a blow and steps back, teeth bared and a growl in his throat, though he doesn't shift completely.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—" Scott says quickly. "I—we used to do the whole bro-shoulder-punch thing, and I—I was trying to make you feel better, but clearly I fail at life."
Stiles doesn't reply because he didn't even understand half of that sentence.
"I'll see you later, dude."
Stiles watches him go while keeping an eye on the human—Dad he's supposed to call him—out of the corner of his eye. Derek instructed him not to hurt the human, but he can still be ready for a defense if needed.
The mantra repeated so many times replays in his mind: Never trust anything outside the pack. Never interact with anything outside the pack. Nothing matters but the pack. You understand? Your place is here. Serving the pack in whatever way is required of you.
It's taking all his control to keep his panic in check now that Scott is gone. There's nothing here to suggest pack, only this human who smells vaguely familiar—probably because they share DNA—but not anything truly pack. He moves slowly to sit on the sofa, breathing deeply as he tries to control his heart rate.
The Alpha will come. He won't leave you here. This is just to allow you to think of what you've done and should never fall back to. This is a lesson—a reminder from the Alpha of what it would be like to be without pack—be grateful that he takes time to teach you. You told him you could learn so learn from your time as you wait.
The Alpha will come. He won't leave you here. You're pack. You aren't alone. Derek will come.
It takes longer than Derek expected to air out the apartment. They've been jumping between hideouts so often he hasn't been back here for more than a few hours at a time for nearly a year. Now there's not much to hide from—not even the Argents since Chris and Allison are the only ones left. It's a relief, but it still feels weird to make his bed and unpack his clothes. It's strange to bring in groceries and store them neatly in the fridge, mentally planning the meals for the week instead of figuring out how to fit in meals on the run.
Down the hall he can hear Peter settling into the second bedroom. He'd wondered if Peter would leave once things were settled with the alphas, but it seems his uncle has every intention to stay. He's oddly content to serve as Second and coast along as Derek takes the lead; he claims he enjoys sitting back and watching the shit storm unfold as Derek deals with his pack of teenagers. Derek can't help wondering if Peter's really just waiting for the moment when the pack is stable and Derek's not looking; Peter claims he doesn't want to be an alpha again because it's too much for him to control, but Derek knows this kind of power is hard to resist. Peter may make a damn good Second, but Derek still knows better than to trust him completely, which is why he's kind of glad Peter decided to move in; hopefully Derek can keep an eye on him.
It's nearly nine o'clock by the time Derek heads for the Stilinski house. Scott called earlier to say Stiles wasn't doing so well. Apparently Stiles seems to think he shouldn't be the same Stiles he was before the alphas; he doesn't think they want him to be his old self again. Derek has no idea how to convey how wrong that way of thinking is. He'll try once he gets there. Maybe time with his father helped calm Stiles a bit.
Hours pass and still no one comes for him. He sits, meditating dutifully on all the stories Scott shared and all the things he can do to show Derek that the previous, unworthy Stiles is gone. He can prove to them all that he can be an asset to the pack. He knows his place; he knows how to be useful. He won't ever revert to that smartass little wretch he was before. He knows better now, and he'll make sure Derek knows that.
If Derek ever comes.
He will come. He will. He's not leaving you here.
Not that you could do anything about it if he did. He's your alpha; he can keep you here as long as he wants. He doesn't have to come back. Could you blame him if he changed his mind about you?
No, he'll come. He said he would come. He told me to talk to Scott, see this Dad, and then Derek said he would come.
Please, come, please, please, please, please come.
No matter how hard he tries to fight it, the terror still seeps in. He can feel himself begin to tremble, and, when he realizes he can't calm himself enough to stop, the panic really take hold. He can't shift. Derek told him not to shift and not to hurt the human. He can't disobey; he won't. He takes the letter opener from the coffee table in front of him and drives it deep in his thigh. The searing pain blessedly clears his head and brings him back from the edge of the shift.
But he can feel it building back again almost immediately.
Oh God, please come. Please come soon. Please. Please. Come soon.
Derek can smell the blood once he steps out of his car; panic clenches in his chest as he sprints up the front steps and bursts in the door. Stiles is in his beta form, covered in blood, and flings himself immediately at Derek's feet.
"I'm trying to control it, Alpha, please," he sobs desperately. "Help me; I can't. The pain isn't working. I don't know what else to do. I'm sorry, Alpha. I'm so sorry. I tried, Alpha, I swear I—"
He shifts into beta form and growls, sending Stiles scurrying back. It has the desired effect, and now the panicked beta is back to human at least. He approaches slowly as Stiles continues to sob out apologies.
"It's okay," Derek soothes. "I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles. It's okay. What happened?"
"I couldn't control the panic-it just—it was too much being here so long—I couldn't—without something pack—I just panicked. My pulse jumped and I could feel the shift coming and I tried to control it but the pain didn't work and that just made it all worse and I tried—God, Alpha, I swear I tried—but I couldn't keep it from happening."
Derek sees now the slashes all over Stiles body where he tried to conjure enough pain to control the shift. There's so much blood in the carpet he doesn't want to think how long Stiles must have been trying to inflict enough pain to shift back before Derek returned.
Unless some of the blood isn't his.
The sheriff's cruiser and truck are still both parked outside.
"Stiles, where is your dad?"
Stiles points toward the bathroom door. The sofa, recliner, and coffee table have all been shoved in front of it. He can hear the sheriff's muffled voice from behind the door now.
"You told me not to hurt him," Stiles says by way of explanation. "When I felt it coming, I forced him in there."
"Good," Derek says with a relieved sigh. "That's good, Stiles. You did the right thing."
Stiles seems to relax just the tiniest bit at the praise.
"I tried to keep the shift from happening," Stiles says again, beseeching Derek for mercy he clearly doesn't actually expect. "I was weak, Derek. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I can do better. I can learn. I learned today from the stories from Scott. Derek, I understand. I won't ever be so disrespectful again. I won't ever hesitate to support the pack or your decisions or—"
"Stop," Derek orders.
Stiles silences himself with a whimper.
"That's not what I meant—I was just trying to help you. Sending you here was supposed to help you."
I'm supposed to help you, not put you in a situation where you start mauling yourself in a tizzy of panic. Jesus fucking Christ.
"It did," Stiles insists. "It helped. I learned. I know. I understand. I shouldn't act like that or I'll be separate from the pack," Stiles elaborates, clearly convinced he's affirming some sick lesson Derek had planned in sending Stiles here. "I'm better now, Derek. I swear to you. I'm not like that anymore. I won't ever be like that again."
That's exactly what we're afraid of, Stiles.
Derek turns, trying to compose himself and figure out what the fuck he can say to make this situation remotely better. The turn sets Stiles off though, and he's back at Derek's feet in an instant.
"No, Alpha, please. Please don't leave me here! I'll learn to control the shift better just don't—"
"Stiles, don't," Derek says wearily, crouching to Stiles' level because he's honestly not sure that the beta can stand.
There's at least one thing he can say right now to ease some of Stiles' distress.
"Look at me," Derek requests.
Stiles lifts his head but doesn't make eye contact. Derek moves to put a hand on Stiles' shoulder, and he can see the effort it takes Stiles not to recoil.
"Look at me," Derek repeats, and Stiles' eyes slowly find his.
"I am not going to leave you," he promises solemnly. "You are part of this pack now. You will never be abandoned again. No matter what."
"Thank you, Derek," Stiles replies with a weak smile, eyes dropping again. "I promise I—"
"I know," Derek says, cutting off whatever assurance Stiles wants to offer because he can't take much more of this tonight. "I know you're going to be good in the pack. I'm not worried about that; you don't have to be either. It's going to be okay."
I swear I'm going to figure out how the fuck to make it okay.