Isaac's had to pee for like twenty fucking minutes but, God help him, he can't bring himself to move and jostle Stiles awake. Both because Stiles looks maybe the most relaxed Isaac's seen him since before he disappeared and because once this day starts it's probably going to be a never-ending stream of complicated.

When a mockingbird outside the window starts doing an annoying but also rather impressive imitation of a car alarm, Stiles does finally wake, and, ready or not, the day begins. Isaac feigns sleep, not entirely sure he wants Stiles to know he was totallycreeping on him as he slept. It takes every ounce of control he has not to smile when Stiles, who is clearly awake now, doesn't move away from Isaac but instead settles in closer, seemingly content to wait here until Isaac's ready to move.

If everything else wasn't so fucked up, this would actually be pretty awesome.

But everything else is fucked up, and they can't ignore it forever. So Isaac pretends to wake, yawning widely as he opens his eyes and stretches as much as is possible with two of them crammed in the twin bed.

"Damn bird," Isaac mutters. "Morning, Stiles," he adds.

"Morning."

"Okay, bathroom is a necessity," Isaac says crawling over Stiles. "Be right back, okay? I promise." When he opens the bedroom door, he's met with the heavenly smell of, "Pancakes?!"

"I was bored," Derek yells back from downstairs.

The sound of his voice is all it takes to put the tension back in the room.

Ah, fuck; here we go.

Stiles doesn't totally freak, but he visibly tenses. There's fear back in his eyes when they meet Isaac's.

"You don't have to see him yet if you don't want to," Isaac promises.

"You can take Stiles his if he doesn't want to come down," Derek calls. "That's fine."

"See?" Isaac says with a hopeful smile. "No pressure, Stiles. He just wants you to be all right, and, let's be honest here, pancakes make everything a little bit better."

Seriously? It is going to take a helluva lot more than some fucking pancakes to make this better. Just stop talking, Isaac.

"I'll be right back, okay? Promise," Isaac says again, disappearing down the hall to the bathroom.

By the time he's back, Stiles is standing uncertainly by the door as though he thinks he should go out but can't quite bring himself to cross the threshold.

"You really don't have to go down there if you don't want to," Isaac repeats.

"I should."

"You should do whatever you want to do. If it's too much to see Derek before I expla—"

"I want to go downstairs for pancakes," Stiles replies firmly, the fact that the sentence comes out all in word giving away that he's trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to inform Isaac.

"Okay then," Isaac agrees. "Two reminders before we go: one, you don't need to apologize to him because it wasn't your fault, two, he's not going to hurt you, I promise."

Stiles nods but doesn't believe it. He's is trembling again by the time they reach the bottom of the stairs even though he hasn't even laid eyes on Derek yet.

So help me, Sourwolf, if you get pissed at yourself or Peter when you see how scared he is and scare him even worse, I will strangle you myself.

But Derek puts up a good front. He's forcing a fairly genuine-looking smile and there are pancakes and he's got flour on his shirt and on his forehead. There's a clear message of I didn't know how to seem less threatening but pancakes seemed like a decent place to start. Is it working? in the small eyebrow raise he gives Isaac. It is working just a little. Honestly, it's also pretty damn adorable, not that Isaac would ever in a billion years call Derek Hale adorable to his face.

He can't resist a small tease, "Some big scary alpha you are."

"I like pancakes," Derek replies with a shrug. "Sue me."

"You okay back there, Stiles?" Isaac asks, because Stiles has now halted and seems to be glued to the spot in the entryway to the kitchen.

He hasn't descended entirely into panic, but his eyes are fixed on Derek, flinching just slightly with every move of the spatula. Derek's determinedly trying to keep it casual and pretend not to notice. Isaac takes a step or two back, moving so that he blocks Derek from Stiles' view. Stiles' eyes go to Isaac's face instead.

"You're safe," Isaac assures him. "I swear."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles," Derek adds, voice adopting the same calm tone as Isaac's. "I know yesterday was—I mean—I know I scared you, but I'm not going to hurt you. You don't have to be afraid, okay?"

"Yes, Derek," Stiles replies automatically in a strained whisper.

"Look, we'll just go hang out at the table while Derek finishes pancakes," Isaac suggests. "We'll all get a little breakfast, and then we're going to talk so we can all get on the same page. Nothing to be worried about; nothing to be scared of. Just a conversation so we can help you understand."

Stiles nods, takes the hand Isaac offers, and follows him into the dining room.

Here we go.

Isaac does most of the talking as they try to figure out Stiles' perspective so they can reconcile both the lies Peter told and Stiles' alpha-training-induced misconceptions with the actual truth of the situation. Derek and Isaac share more than one look of guilt as Stiles describes when and why he turned to Peter in the first place.

How could I be such an idiot? I spent so much time focusing on getting the old Stiles back I didn't stop to think what this version of Stiles needed. That kind of transition, from the Alpha Pack's absolute control and terror approach to a pack with the barest of rules and structure, of course it was too much for him to process. And what did I do? I handed him some peanut butter and crackers and left. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He pulls his mind back from the tangent, stamping down the anger at himself before Stiles can pick up on it. Luckily Stiles is listening too intently to Isaac's words, seemingly determined to fucking memorize them if that's what it takes, to notice that most of Derek's energy is spent masking his fury and guilt. His eyes do flicker over to Derek occasionally, the fear Stiles is trying to keep in check showing through despite his efforts.

Isaac's been running a monologue of all the moments that showcase Peter as a manipulative, power-hungry, psychopath. There's more than enough in the words to explain why Derek was justified in killing Peter. On the whole, it seems to make sense to Stiles who understands pack loyalty and the power of an Alpha in cruel hands. In comparison, Derek does seem a much better option.

"Okay, so one last recap for me?" Isaac requests, a tactic he's been using all morning to make sure Stiles' comprehension of the explanation is actually the message they want him to get from it.

Stiles always looks to Derek—well, Derek's shoes—to give these summations, tense as though the wrong answer will bring down judgment. It's another moment when Derek has to be sure and rein in the frustration in favor of nodding encouragingly and smiling as genuinely as possible when Stiles repeats the idea they were hoping he'd glean from the stories.

"Peter took advantage of a packmate who was confused and afraid. In this pack, we help out packmates; we don't take advantage. So Peter was wrong. He also wanted to leave the pack, which was wrong. He wanted to convince me to leave too, which was taking advantage again, and so it was wrong. He wanted to be an Alpha, but the power is too much for him. He's too controlling and too willing to hurt innocent people to be trusted with that kind of power. If Derek hadn't stopped him, he would've hurt me and the pack and Derek and lots of other people too."

Yes, Stiles understands.

Objectively he understands.

"He still doesn't really get it," Isaac says wearily when Stiles excuses himself to go to the bathroom. " He's regurgitating what I tell him. It's all instinctual pack dynamics and rules to him. He sees it as your duty and role as the Alpha, not you doing the right thing as Derek, ya know? Maybe giving him memories will help."

"Hopefully."

Or what I'm planning is going to confuse him even more, and it'll be for nothing.

"You figure out which one to start with? That death-match the first time you killed Peter might be a little much, maybe you should try—"

"I already know which one I'm giving him."

"Óh."

I wish I didn't, but I do.

"Not the death-match though?"

"I'm not a total idiot."

"Just checking."

"Shut up."

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, lying awake trying to wrack his brain for which memory could possibly begin to properly explain it to Stiles when not even Isaac—or anyone else for that matter—really understands it, this plan began to form. He doesn't like it. In fact, he fucking hates the idea with every goddamned fiber of his being. He's been hoping against hope all morning that Stiles would somehow understand enough through Isaac's explanations alone so that Derek could convince himself this wasn't really necessary.

But as Isaac said, Stiles doesn't understand. Not well enough. He understands enough that he could function in the pack, but not with Derek at any level beyond Alpha-beta dynamics. Derek didn't spend the past four months praying they'd find Stiles alive to give up any shot at really getting him back now. He's already made the mistake once of treating Stiles as though this version will magically disappear when he gets the memories to transfer, but he's not going to assume that anymore. He's facing the fact that maybe the Stiles he knew, the Stiles he grew to know so much better in those first few weeks of fighting the Alpha Pack, isn'tcoming back, and this, for better or worse, is Stiles now.

And if that's the case, I'm not going to lose out on him because he's scared of me. I'm going to explain it, and I'm going to do it right—what I hope is right anyway—whatever it takes. Because losing him once was enough.

"Dude, why do you look like you're going to throw up?" Isaac asks worriedly.

Because I just fucking might.

I don't want to do this. I really, really don't want to do this. I definitely planned to die a bloody and painful death before I willingly chose to do this.

But it's not about Derek and what Derek does or doesn't want to share. It's about Stiles and what Stiles needs Derek to share to understand most effectively and expediently that this kind of violence isn't something that Derek doles out just because he can excuse it on Alpha instinct. It's about letting Stiles see that this isn't just about the pack dynamics of alphas and betas. It's about making him understand that Derek is something besides an Alpha to be feared and obeyed. He's a friend or a brother or whatever Stiles wants him to be; this pack can be a family. It's about hoping that even through all this bullshit—even if Stiles never gets back the memories from before he was taken—Derek still has a chance to have whatever bit of Stiles is still left or can be rebuilt underneath all the trauma.

It scares him just how badly he needs that chance, however slim it might be. It scares him even more what he's willing to risk for a shot at getting that chance.

"Seriously," Isaac pushes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Derek replies. "I'm just—I'm fine."

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," Derek reminds Stiles.

"I don't want to be confused, Derek. Memories always work better than words."

So much better than words. It's so much easier if you can just get in and reprogram. Please, Derek. Because I can tell there must be something I don't understand yet that you want me to see, and I can't figure out what it is.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Derek."

"Okay," Derek concedes. "This isn't—this isn't going to be a memory of Peter," Derek continues. "You understand well enough why I'd attack Peter from my place as an Alpha. You understand why I could never have let him stay in the pack."

"Yes, Derek."

"This is to help you understand why I went farther than that, as me not just mindless instinct of the Alpha, okay?"

"Yes, Derek."

There's a twinge of pain as Derek's claw slices into his neck, he closes his eyes against the momentary pain in his temple as the memory settles. Stiles searches his mind for it. Focusing in so he can really examine it.

There's a pretty brunette woman lying in in her lingerie on the bed when Derek walks in. She grins lecherously in greeting.

"About time, Derek, I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to start this party all by myself."

"Are you kidding? Of course I was coming. This is the only thing keeping me sane these days. I swear I can't wait to get out of this town. I'm going to college on the fucking East Coast. I'm so sick of their bullshit rules and constantly talking about my duty to the damn family legacy. If someone tells me one more goddamned time to listen to what Laura tells me to do…"

"Pretty short leash, huh?" she asks with a knowing smile.

"You have no idea how right you are."

"So if that leash is so short, how do you sneak out so often?"

"Basement," Derek replies, shucking his clothes as he talks.

"Basement?"

"It's—okay basement's the wrong word at our house—it's like these huge, creepy rooms and tunnels and shit. You could seriously get lost down there."

"And I take it some of these tunnels lead out?"

Derek nods. "That's how I sneak out."

"Huh," she replies. "Interesting."

"Guess so," he replies with a dismissive shrug.

"Enough about your family," she says, spreading her legs wide. "This is one place you don't have to follow anyone's orders. Your wish is my command, Derek. You're in charge."

"God, I love you," he confesses as he joins her on the bed, "especially when you say shit like that."

"I know," she replies leaning up to kiss him.

The memory cuts then, and Stiles pulls his focus back to the present and to Derek. The memory's confusing enough, but the real bafflement comes when he takes in the broken look on his Alpha's face.

"Her name was Kate," Derek says quietly, not looking at either of them. "I was sixteen and an idiot. She found me at my most vulnerable and figured out what I was starved for so that she could use it to gain my trust, and I did trust her. I trusted hercompletely and blindly because she made me think that she cared, that she was helping me, and that everything she did was for me.

She used my trust as a weapon to get my entire pack, my family, she killed my entire family, Stiles. Burned them alive because she knew enough about the pack and the house and everything through what I'd told her. It fucking wrecked me. It's a guilt that is with me every single moment and it will stay every single moment for the rest of my fucked up life because there's nothing I can do to change it."

"Derek, I don't—what does—"

"When I realized what Peter was doing, what he planned to do, all I could think about was her," Derek continues through Stiles' words. If I stop I'm never getting through this. "What my trust let her do to my family and what that did to me—and that's what Peter wanted to do with you. He told you he cared; he offered to help you when you needed someone—I should've been there and I wasn't and I'm sorry for that—but Peter was there, and instead of really helping you, he used you. He wanted your devotion so that he could get you estranged enough from the rest of us to start a new pack and rival or take over this one.

I know that you don't entirely understand family yet—that's okay, you'll get there—but you've seen the other betas. You know Isaac. You can see that he's not scared all the time; he smiles and jokes and he's happy in this pack, you see that, right? You would want Isaac to stay that way?"

"Yes, Derek," Stiles replies earnestly.

"Peter wanted to take that away, what's worse he wanted to use you as a means to take that away. If Peter had gotten what he wanted, you would have watched him take Isaac—Scott and Jackson too—and either kill him outright or do the same unforgiveable things to him that the Alpha Pack did to you. He would have hurt Isaac. He'd have taken Isaac's memories so he wouldn't remember anything good and make him as scared and as confused as you feel all the time, and you would've known you were the first step in making it happen. You would have that guilt inside you every day and it would only ever get worse. And I know what that's like, I know exactly how that guilt tears you apart, because of what Kate used me to do."

I know you understand guilt to some extent. You always get upset when you think something's your fault. Please let this fucking story make some kind of sense.

"That's why I killed Peter, can you understand that? Because he wanted to hurt you as badly as she hurt me, and I couldn't stand the thought that he would've had you live the same way I do—pissed off and guilt-ridden and so fucked up, Stiles—because he was so hungry for power that he didn't care who he wrecked to get there. People like Kate, like Peter, who are so selfish and manipulative and power-hungry that they use trust to turn others into unwilling weapons used against people they care about, people like them don't deserve the space they take up on this planet. There is no redemption for monsters that twisted."

"Does that make any sense?" Derek asks, "even a little?"

Cause that was really my best shot.

Stiles is still absorbing the words, and Derek can't tell yet if he comprehends.

Please God, let it make sense.

Tell me I didn't just confess that for no fucking reason. I know the situations are different, but, in my head, they're the same. Even if you can't understand family and pack the way I did, Peter still wanted to use you to take away anything good you'd ever had a chance to experience. If he'd done it—if he'd made you into anything as close to the wreck that I am—God, I can't even handle the thought of that, Stiles—I can't handle the thought of you being like this, like me. Even if we never get you back entirely to your old self, at least you'll never wake up every day feeling like this.

I just need you to not hate me for killing him. I need you to understand why. I need you to get it and not think that I'm like him or worse.

He's spiraling into some deep and dark anxiety now that the confession is out in the open. If Stiles doesn't understand what he's trying to say, Derek's pretty sure he's just going to lose his goddamn mind. This was the most he could offer in the way of explaining and connecting and trying to salvage something with Stiles after he terrified him out of his mind yesterday. If this doesn't work, he doesn't know what the fuck else to do.

He can feel distress of it all singing in his veins, and, though it's not anger, he's still worried it's enough to set Stiles off and ruin any shot at the memory and words breaking through. He rises from his seat and moves toward the kitchen, trying to put enough distance between them to keep Stiles from reading the apprehension in his Alpha.

There's so much in Derek's words that Stiles mind reels as he tries to process what Derek is terrifyingly desperate to convey. Stiles looks to Isaac, hoping for some clue how to react, but Isaac's clearly flabbergasted as well, in fact, he's got tears welling up in his eyes as he looks over at Derek. Stiles can understand why on some level. The Alpha is humbled; he looks so broken that every instinct in Stiles screams for him to fix it, to help his Alpha.

And to fix it I have to understand.

So he replays Derek works, carefully examining them. He would have hurt Isaac Derek had said. He'd have taken Isaac's memories so he wouldn't remember anything good and make him as scared and as confused as you feel all the time, and you would've known you were the first step in making it happen.

The idea makes Stiles sick. To look over at Isaac—Isaac who's kind and patient and smiles and cooks with Stiles and wakes Stiles from nightmares and holds him like he matters without ever asking for anything to be given back—and think of him broken and cowering at Peter's feet instead of the way he is now seems wrong. Even if Peter were to gain the power and be owed Isaac's allegiance, Stiles wouldn't want things to be that way. He's still figuring out what it means to know what he wants, but he knows he wants Isaac, and he wants this Isaac.

And this Isaac still okay and happy and here because Derek stopped Peter.

Because Peter would have hurt the Pack. Peter would have hurt Isaac. Peter would have used Stiles as a way to get what he needed to hurt Isaac.

But Derek stopped Peter.

He looks again to his Alpha, takes in the sadness again and understands a little more.

More of Derek's monologue replays in Stiles' mind, That's why I killed Peter. He wanted to hurt you as badly as she hurt me, and I couldn't stand the thought that he would've had you live the same way I do—angry and guilt-ridden and so fucked up, Stiles and the words pair with Isaac's from days ago that's not anger he's use against you, Stiles. That's anger he'd use to protect you.

Anger he has because Kate hurt his pack. Anger that's always there now. Anger and violence not because he wants to keep hispower; anger because he wants to keep his pack.

Derek stopped Peter because no one stopped Kate.

This is what Stiles was missing when he was trying so hard to understand why Derek would let his happiness be so centered in his betas. This is why Derek is happier when Stiles doesn't seem afraid. He couldn't see that the reasons Derek has for having a pack are different from the reasons his previous alphas had for having a pack. They wanted a fighting force; Derek wants a family because he lost his own.

Stiles knows he doesn't understand all of it to the depth Derek wants. His understanding of family is limited, and he still doesn't understand why in hell Derek would do so much to protect Stiles who's done so little to contribute to the pack dynamic Derek seems to care so much about. There's something going on with Derek beyond the the rules and the instincts of an Alpha; he's not quite like the alphas Stiles has seen before, and he doesn't seem to want to be. Stiles wonders if maybe there's just something about Derek like there's something about Isaac. Something that has them helping Stiles without a good reason why or an assurance of reciprocation. It still doesn't entirely make sense, he still doesn't understand why

But he wants it to. He'll figure it out. Whatever it takes.

Derek rises to leave, walking back toward the kitchen, and Stiles panics for a moment because it seems like maybe Derek's giving up on Stiles being able to understand. He isn't sure how to explain what he thinks he understands, but he needs to say something. He needs to show the words did make some kind of sense, and he can keep working at it until he gets it all.

"Thank you, Derek," he says simply, as earnestly as he can, and when Derek turns back to look at him he tries to put as much in the gaze as he can, meeting Derek's eyes determinedly.

Look at me, Derek. I get it. I understand. I'm grateful, not afraid. I'm happy you stopped it. I'm happy you didn't let it happen, and I'm sorry no one was there to stop Kate from hurting you. I don't understand it all, but I understand enough I think. See that. Please see that.

"You're welcome," Derek replies, relief washing over him at the look on Stiles' face.

There's plenty of confusion and a little trepidation, but the mind-numbing fear seems to be gone. This wasn't a cure-all for Stiles' conditioning on how to interact with an Alpha. It's not going to erase what he saw Derek do. Nevertheless, it seems to have served its purpose as a giant leap in the right direction instead of the usual excruciating baby steps.

"Look, Stiles, I know that was the craziest bombardment of information I could've thrown at you, I just—I need you to get it. I need you to see why I did it. that it's not just because I'm an Alpha."

"I think I understand why, Derek," Stiles assures him, and for once it's not the automatic, eager-to-please reply. "Mostly."

Something as simple as an honest, conversational reply shouldn't make him this happy, but it does.

"Good," Derek replies with a small smile.

"And you can give me memories now, Derek. Memories are easier than words. I'll figure out the rest."

Yeah I bet memories are easier than words, especially if you're stuck with me as an Alpha. I was never really so great with words. Pretty sure that's the longest damn speech I've given anyone in my whole life.

"We'll take it slow, though, okay? Be sure you get rested up and healed between memories."

Stiles nods his understanding.

"They don't hurt much, Derek," he says so flippantly it breaks Derek's heart. "I heal faster than the others I think."

"All the same. We'll take it slow. You've had enough to deal with for a while."

Holy fucking shit, Isaac's mind repeats over and over. Holy fucking shit.

He didn't see whatever memory Derek gave Stiles. He's not sure he ever wants to. It wasn't hard to put together though. Kate and Derek were together—whatever the specific details—they were a thing.

And then that psycho, pyro, nut job burned his whole family alive. What the fuck?!

The knowledge changes absolutely everything. Everything Isaac thought he understood about Derek—his attitude toward hunters, his unyielding hatred of Scott and Allison being ScottandAllison, his rage, his trust issues, everything—must be driven by this. Since the age of sixteen, every single action spurred not by an anger at the world that he lost his family but by anger at himselfthat he brought about their deaths.

Holy fucking shit.

Isaac can barely begin to process it, much less understand how Derek's lived with it for upwards of six years.

God, Derek, how do you carry that every day? Why didn't you tell us? How do keep from losing your fucking mind trying to deal with that on your own?

"Isaac?" Derek says worriedly. "You—uh—okay?"

You're asking me if I'm okay? You who hate to talk about feelings or be vulnerable or do any of that gushy sharing and caring king of stuff , you Derek Sourwolf Hale just fucking put all that shit out there and talked about your emotional baggage and your hurt and hating yourself and you're the one asking if I'm okay?! I should be—I don't know—baking you cookies, hugging the shit out of you, and driving you to therapy. Jesus Christ.

But Derek's watching carefully for Isaac's reply, the apprehension on his face evident. Out loud he's asking if Isaac's okay, but his eyes are also asking if Isaac's okay with Derek. Isaac quiets his mind enough to keep his voice even as he replies.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just—processing."

I think I'm going to be processing that for like the next decade. What the hell do I even do with that? Are we keeping it between the three of us? Or are we telling the pack? Did Laura even know? How do I start convincing Derek to let go of some of that guilt? How badly must he want Stiles to be okay to jump to sharing something like that instead of trying the more obvious paths? I didn't think Derek cared that much about any of us yet.

It makes his head spin. He needs a distraction, so he stands, grabbing his empty plate and Stiles'.

"I can help," Stiles offers.

"Only if you want to."

Stiles follows him into the kitchen where Derek's already rinsing the pan. They make quick work of the clean-up between the three of them, talking little as they finish up, each one of them quietly trying to catalog the craziness of the last ten minutes in his head. It's Stiles of all people who breaks the silence.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"The scratch is healed I think."

"We don't have to start back yet."

"I want to understand more, Derek."

"Okay then," Derek agrees, sitting his coffee on the counter and turning his full attention to Stiles, "but you decide what you want to see."

"Anything's fine, Derek."

"We've got time for everything. I'll make some suggestions later. Right now, I want to know what's most confusing to you? Or just what you want to understand the most?"

Stiles considers a moment or two.

"Can you show me family? If that's okay, Derek?"

"That's perfect, Stiles."

OMG I am soo soo so sorry I haven posted! I am preparing for my trip to Disney and I´ve been writing and stuff. Please forgive me I am trying my hardest!

Stay a sourwolf ~AlphaHook