Derek's rage allows his instincts lead the fight for him. His vision reds out as he and Peter fly at each other, fangs and claws bared. He doesn't resurface until Peter's on his knees in the destroyed den with Derek's claws at his throat.

"What are you waiting for?" Peter demands, voice garbled from the blood dripping into his mouth. "Do it, Derek. Kill the only family you have left," he goads. "Kill me if it makes you feel better. We both know it's only a matter of time before someone takes this pack from you. You were never meant to be Alpha. You can't handle it. You can't protect them. You'll get them killed just like your last pack. But, come on, slash the throat of your dear old uncle if it makes you feel like less of a failure."

Derek hesitates, just for a moment, and Peter seizes the advantage. He goes for the existing gash in Derek's side, claws plunging so deeply Derek feels when they puncture the lung. He stumbles under Peter's renewed onslaught, gasping for breath as the wound tries to heal. Peter cackles in triumph as he lands enough blows to send Derek to the floor. He lashes out desperately as Peter lunges for his throat.

The first thing Derek becomes aware of is the uncomfortable pressure of hands against the wound on his side.

Peter.

He growls and clambers to his feet as quickly as he can, ready to continue the fight. He advances automatically on the body that retreats from him, but stops as soon as he recognizes that it's Stiles, not Peter ,who's running from him, black tendrils throbbing up his pale arms where he'd been pulling pain from his Alpha.

His eyes sweep the room for the threat of Peter, and it takes only a moment to see that Derek's final desperate jab at his uncle had found a home in Peter's heart, the wound of an Alpha healing slowly enough to make it a death blow. He pulls his gaze away from the carnage and back to Stiles who's cowering in the corner, babbling incoherent apologies and trying to curl into as small a target as possible as sobs wrack his body.

The sound of sirens spurs Derek into action. He wraps Stiles in the bloodstained blanket lying on the overturned sofa. The distraught beta convulses in terror at Derek's touch.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles," Derek promises over and over. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Stiles doesn't seem to have enough presence of mind to follow him, so Derek scoops him up in his arms, ignoring the way it pulls at his wounds. They disappear down the fire escape as the deputies burst in the front door.

"Hey Scott," Isaac greets as he answers the phone.

"Where are you? Are Derek and Stiles with you?" Scott demands, the panic in his voice making Isaac sick with fear.

"No, Derek dropped me off. I was going over there later. What—"

"Peter's dead," Scott replies. "The sheriff's losing his mind, dude. Some of the neighbors called the cops and reported a disturbance. They busted in there and Peter's ripped the fuck apart. They're saying it's an animal attack, but we know better than that. There's no sign of Derek or Stiles."

"Fuck, shit, what—you think it's the last few of the Alpha pack? What the hell do we even—" a beep in his ear signals another call coming in. Relief washes through him when he sees Derek's name on the ID. "Hold on, Derek's calling me now. Give me a sec."

He switches lines.

"Derek, where are you? Do you have Stiles? Scott called he said Peter's—"

"Peter's dead," Derek finishes for him, voice completely calm and detached. "Stiles is with me. I need you to come to the Sitlinskis'."

"Are the alphas back? What do we need to—"

"No. There's no more threat to the pack. We're safe. I need you to come to the Stilinskis'."

"No more threat? Did you—"

"Isaac, please," Derek interrupts, the first sign of a break in his calm, and it honestly scares Isaac more than the previous coldness. "Just get here."

"Yeah, of course, I'm coming. I'm on my way now. I'll be there as fast as I can."

He takes Cindy's car without asking and calls Scott back as he barrels toward the Stilinski's, driving as fast as he can manage without drawing too much attention.

"Isaac, what the hell? You can't just hang up on me like that! What the fuck is—"

"Derek's okay—I think. He knows Peter's dead. He says the threat to the pack's been taken care of."

"And Stiles?"

"Stiles is with him. Call the Sheriff and Jackson and let them know Derek and Stiles are alive; I'll call you when I know more."

"Isaac, wait—"

He disconnects the call, tossing his phone into the vacant passenger seat. He's trying to process what the hell could be going on, but the possibilities are endless. Maybe he should tell Scott and Jackson meet them at the house. Something's attacked the pack. They should all be together, right? He reaches for the phone to call Scott back, but hesitates before he presses send. Derek says the threat's gone; they're not in danger, and he didn't ask for Isaac to bring any backup. It's also not lost on him that of all the betas Derek called Isaac.

So is it Stiles? You need me to help you with Stiles? If this thing killed Peter, how much worse is Stiles? Or did you protect him more than Peter and that's why Peter's dead? God, Derek what the fuck happened? What the hell's going on? Why did you call me and not the whole pack?

He continues to run through the hundreds of horrible scenarios that may have put that tone in Derek's voice; he may not be able to guess the details, but one thing's for sure: even if the threat is gone, Derek still thinks something is terribly, terribly wrong, and he' trying to keep himself together. He presses harder on the gas pedal and prays whatever's waiting for him at the Stilinskis' is something he can handle.

"Derek?!" Isaac calls when he bursts in the front door, voice on the edge of panic.

"Here," Derek replies limping to meet him.

His broken leg healed at an angle. He'll have to tend to it later. There are more important things right now.

"I need you to go take care of Stiles," he tells Isaac.

Isaac stands frozen in the foyer, gaping at Derek in horror. Derek knows how he must look, covered with blood—some his, some Peter's—his wounds still healing, swaying slightly where he stands. He still hasn't figured out if the vertigo is from blood loss or a concussion that's still on the mend.

"Holy fuck, Derek, what happened to you?"

"I'll heal," Derek replies dismissively. "I need you to go take care of Stiles."

"Where is he? How bad is he?" Isaac asks, clearly terrified of the answer if Derek's this bad.

"Physically he's fine."

"Well, thank God for that. What the hell was it? Did you—"

"It was Peter."

"It was Peter!?" Isaac repeats. "The threat? The thing that apparently sliced you to ribbons was Peter?!"

"Yes. I need you to go take care of Stiles."

Fuck the rest of it. Go check on him. I can't. He's so damn scared Isaac. I scared him literally out of his mind. He was trying to apologize or beg for mercy or something but it wasn't even coming out in fucking English. He's just quaking and whimpering and goddammit I can't help him. He watched me kill Peter. I fucking killed another beta in front of him. He doesn't even understand why. This is so fucked up. I fucked everything up. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Tears of anger and frustration and guilt well in Derek's eyes as he sinks to the floor, cradling his head in his hands as the dizziness washes over him again. Isaac drops to the floor next to him, hands on Derek's shoulders to steady him.

"I'll check on him," Isaac promises. "I know he's scared, but I'll talk to him. It'll be okay. You didn't fuck everything up, Derek. Don't say that."

At Isaac's words he realizes his pathetic rambling wasn't just in his head. He doesn't even have the energy to be embarrassed about it.

"I'm sure you didn't have a choice," Isaac continues. "I mean look at you, Peter was clearly out for blood. You were just defending yourself. Don't feel guilty you killed him. You—"

"I don't feel guilt about that," Derek replies, coldness in his voice revealing just how true the words are. "I would cut that son of a bitch down again and not blink, you understand me?"

I wanted to believe the resurrected incarnation of him was different. I wanted to believe he wasn't the soulless husk of a man who murdered Laura. I was wrong. He never changed. He hasn't really been Peter since the day of the fire.

"Okay," Isaac replies warily. "You weren't just defending yourself, but you're not exactly the type to kill Peter just for being a smartass. So then what the fuck happened?"

"I found them in Peter's bedroom when I got home," Derek replies, disgustedly. "Peter was—"

"Peter's bedroom?"

Derek nods miserably, closing his eyes against the memory.

"God, Isaac the sounds coming out of that room," Derek lament s, bile rising in his throat. "I lost it. I don't remember going in there, but once I had him away from Stiles he was going on and on about being Alpha enough to leave Stiles as he is, to use Stiles like the gift he is. He was planning to use Stiles' allegiance to get himself back to Alpha. This entire time Peter's been—" Derek closes his eyes and can't finish the sentence. "Jesus Christ, Isaac. How did I not know? How could I have trusted Stiles to him? Because I was too damn naïve to think that Peter would take full advantage of the whole fucked up situation? Because I didn't like having to deal with Stiles while he was so damaged? I didn't want to take time to control my temper and fucking talk to Stiles and figure out what he needed so he had to turn to Peter! He seemed happy enough to stay with Peter so I ran away to Deaton's to avoid dealing with it. I was fucking glad Peter was there to help. I walked out the door every day and left a broken, traumatized teenager at the mercy of a sadistic, sociopathic son of a bitch and never thought twice!"

Isaac doesn't reply, just stares at Derek looking nauseated as the sickening truth sinks in.

When Derek speaks again, the anger's gone, and he knows he sounds wrecked but he can't be bothered to care as long as it gets Isaac upstairs to help Stiles, "So, please, just go take care of Stiles. He's completely petrified, and me being in the room just makes it worse. I just—how the fuck do I even start explaining or apologizing or—fuck, Isaac what are we going to do? I don't know how to even start making this better."

"I'd say mauling the bastard that did it was a step in the right direction," Isaac replies.

"He doesn't even understand why I did it. He thinks the whole thing was his fault—which is another fucking problem we have to—"

"Hey," Isaac interrupts. "Look at me." Derek obliges. "You did what a good Alpha should, Derek. You got him away from Peter. You helped him. You protected him. He's scared and confused, but he's safe. We'll take the time to make sure he understands," Isaac promises. "We'll get him calmed down. We'll try to explain it. You can give him memories to help him understand what Peter was really like. It'll be okay. We'll figure it out."

There's confidence in Isaac's voice, but the fear in his eyes betrays him. He's just as terrified as Derek that there may be no pulling Stiles back from this.

Stiles sits curled in a ball on the desk chair where the Alpha deposited him, shaking uncontrollably as he awaits his punishment, the severity of which he can't even begin to comprehend. Surely if Derek were just going to kill him too he wouldn't have taken the trouble of bringing Stiles here. He promised over and over as they left the apartment that he wasn't going to hurt Stiles, but Stiles can't think of any other punishment the Alpha could give.

Unless…

This is the house that doesn't smell like pack. This is the place his human father lives. This is a place Derek could easily leave him.

Oh, please, Derek no. Not that, anything but that. Please, don't leave me here to fall to Omega. Beat me. Fuck me. Kill me. Just don't leave me here alone.

By the time the footsteps sound on the stairs, Stiles' fear of abandonment has completely dwarfed any fear of pain. He's waiting on his knees by the door when it opens.

See Derek. I can be a good beta. Whatever you want you can have. Whatever you do I will learn from. I can be a good beta.

But it's not Derek who comes through the door; it's Isaac.

As soon as he lays eyes on Stiles, Isaac knows without a doubt he'd have ripped Peter limb from limb himself if he'd been in that apartment. How can anyone possibly look at the broken, defenseless boy kneeling in terror and see only a puppet to be used and toyed with? See only a means to gain power and control?

"Hey, Stiles, it's okay," he soothes, repressing his fury at Peter because Peter won't hurt anyone ever again.

We're torching the fucking corpse this time. We'll scatter the ashes across the whole damn State. They'll be nothing left to resurrect.

Isaac's anger and need to ensure Peter's permanent demise can wait; Stiles is what matters now.

"I know you're scared, but it's gonna be okay," Isaac promises.

"What's he going to do with me, Isaac?" Stiles chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

"Don't cry, Stiles," Isaac pleads, crouching so their eyes are level. "Please, don't cry. He's not going to do anything. You're not getting punished. It wasn't your fault. He's not mad at you, Stiles, I swear to you. He sent me up to make sure you were okay. He doesn't want you to worry. He doesn't want you to be afraid. He just wants you to be okay."

All any of us want is for you to be okay; we're just trying to figure out how the fuck to get you there. Especially now.

It seems to be all Stiles can do to continue his shallow breathing and stave off another descent into panic. He needs something todo. He's clearly been up here too long stuck in his own head trying to understand what the fuck happened and what happens next.

"First things first; Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" Isaac suggests. You still smell like Peter, and you're covered in Derek's blood for Chrissake. "Shower and clothes. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"Good, Stiles, that's good. Come on," Isaac says, standing and reaching a hand down to help Stiles to his feet.

Though Stiles initially flinches away, he eventually takes Isaac's hand. He keeps a death grip on it the whole way down the hall to the bathroom.

"I'm okay," Stiles says once Isaac gets the water turned on and makes sure there's soap and towels still here. "Derek was hurt; you should go help him."

He wants to argue that he should stay, but he also doesn't want to crowd Stiles if this is a polite dismissal. Plus he really should go check on Derek; the Alpha needs to know Stiles is stable—stable enough for the moment anyway—as much as he needs the physical wounds to heal.

"Call if you need anything, okay?" Isaac says finally. "I'll go find some clothes for you and leave them on the bed."

"Thank you, Isaac."

"You don't have to thank me, Stiles. We just want you to be okay. Whatever it takes to help you."

Stiles nods though Isaac knows he doesn't fully understand.

By the time Isaac comes back downstairs, most of the lacerations are healed up. The huge gash in his side is finally starting to close up, but it still hurts like a bitch.

"He's going to shower and get some clothes on," Isaac says.

"Thank you, Isaac," Derek says earnestly.

Thank you for answering a phone call like that and then hauling ass over here, for dealing with me while I lost my shit, for stepping in and helping him because I can't.

"Dude, however I can help," Isaac replies, shrugging off the gratitude. "This is going to be a pack effort." He glances at Derek's leg. "You want me to reset that for you? Or were you going to wait?"

"Might as well get it over with."

"On three then. One," he counts before skipping to, "three!"

"Ah, fuck," Derek hisses.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just gimme a sec." He draws a few shaky breaths before the pain lessens slightly, and he can focus on the conversation again. "Thanks."

"Sure. Anything else? How's your side? That one looked pretty deep."

"It's fine. It's healing."

Isaac doesn't look so convinced Derek's fine, but he doesn't say anything. Upstairs the shower turns off.

"I should get back up there," Isaac says. "You should call Scott and Jackson and the Sheriff. They're all probably worried sick. Get yourself cleaned up, too.

"I will. I only stopped bleeding about three minutes ago, Isaac. Give me a minutes."

"If you need anything—"

"I'm fine. Go look after Stiles."

Isaac knocks on the door this time before going in the bedroom. "Hey, Stiles? Can I come in?"

"Yes."

Stiles is sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in the pajama pants and t-shirt Isaac put out. He's still trembling a little, but he's a lot calmer than he was when Isaac first saw him. Isaac takes a seat next to him on the bed.

"You're scared," Isaac says, "and you're confused. I want to help you understand so you won't be afraid, but I'm not going to make you talk about it if you don't want to. Not tonight."

There's a lengthy silence after Isaac's words. As he opens his mouth to suggest Stiles just try to get some sleep, and they'll talk in the morning, Stiles speaks.

"He killed Peter," he says quietly, tears forming in his eyes again. "If I'd known that was the consequence, I never would've let Peter take the risk."

"You let him take the risk?"

Stiles nods miserably.

"You're going to have to explain that to me, Stiles. I don't understand."

Stiles draws a shaky breath, working up to the story. "I was so confused at how this pack works. I couldn't figure out what Derek wanted. I needed to feel useful; I was so scared Derek would make leave if I was just a burden to the pack, but I couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do to be less burdensome. Peter said he would help me. He gave me something simple that I could understand so that I could keep myself grounded while I tried to figure everything out. It worked, and everything was getting better and then—Peter told me Derek wouldn't like it, but I didn't think—Isaac, I didn't know he would—"

Stiles dissolves into sobs, and Isaac can't help turning to engulf him in a tight embrace. The rest of the muddled story is muffled into Isaac's shoulder as Stiles buries his face there. Isaac's burning inside with fury because not only was Stiles subjected to Peter's abuse, he clearly thinks Peter sacrificed himself for Stiles somehow; he thinks his abuser was protecting him. He think's Peter's death was his fault. It's so fucked up Isaac can't even begin to unravel it tonight. Stiles is in no state to absorb explanations right now anyway. All he can do is murmur assurances that it wasn't Stiles fault over and over and pray the message cuts through the misdirected grief.

When Stiles finally cries himself out and starts to drift off to sleep, Isaac moves him under the covers, tucking him in like a child. Stiles hand catches his as he turns to walk away. Isaac turns back to see Stiles' eyes are wide open now, panic back on his face.

"Stiles? What's wrong?"

What isn't wrong?

"Please don't leave me here," Stiles begs. "It's not pack territory. It's the human's, and I—"

"I'm sorry, Stiles. I wasn't thinking about that," Isaac replies.

I wasn't thinking about how you freaked here your first day back after the alphas. I wasn't thinking that this place isn't related to the pack at all in your mind. And you just admitted you turned to Peter because you were trying to be sure you were kept in the pack. You've probably been terrified all night that Derek was bringing you here to leave you.

It's another reminder that he'll never be able to predict all Stiles' fears, another reminder he's in so far over his head with this.

"If you want me to stay, I'll stay."

"Derek—"

"He won't mind. He told me to look after you, remember? If you want me to stay, it's okay. It's not any different than us sharing the living room."

And God knows you're sure to have nightmares now.

"You're sure?"

"I promise."

"You can have the bed," Stiles offers.

"I'll be fine on the floor, Stiles," Isaac says, grabbing the pillow discarded by the wall. "Just get some sleep. I'll be right here if you need me."

I'm not going anywhere.

Stiles loses count of the number of times he wakes from his nightmares. Isaac pulls him from the ones that leave him with Peter and Derek's growls echoing in his ears. Far worse are ones where he dreams of waking to find Isaac and Derek gone, the house empty, and no matter how he tries he can't get out of the house to try and find them. After glancing for what seems the millionth time to check that Isaac's there, Stiles climbs from the bed to lie next to him on the floor. This close, he'll wake if Isaac moves to leave. He doesn't know what he'd do to stop Isaac leaving, but at least he'll know it's happening.

Isaac stirs in his sleep.

"Stiles? What're you doing?"

"I keep dreaming you leave," Stiles replies, embarrassed he can't stop the pathetic whimper that escapes him; Isaac's already done so much to help. "I wanted to be sure I knew if you left."

"I'm right here," Isaac assures him, grabbing Stiles' hand and squeezing tightly. "I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'm sorry, Isaac. I can't help it I don't mean to—"

"It's not your fault; it's okay. Come on; I've got an idea," Isaac says, standing and pulling Stiles to his feet as well. "We'll push the bed against the wall. I'll sleep on the inside. Then there's no way I leave without you knowing, okay?"

Stiles nods. Why are you so good to me, Isaac?

He drifts to sleep with one of Isaac's arms tight around his shoulder and Isaac's other hand clutched firmly in his own. Even though Stiles knows Derek could come and take Isaac away just as easily in this position as any other, it blankets Stiles with the illusion of security, and, for once, the nightmares subside.

I KNOW, I know you all have been edging on to have Peter get what he deserves and finally it gets to him! I love you all for the support its been amazing! I've been trying to write tons of chapters so when I go on vacation to Disney World I can have some content for you to read. Keep up the reviewing and favoring because that's what keeps this going!

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Stay a sourwolf ~AlphaHook