Authors Note: HEYO! XD Please tell me what you think; I would love to know XD I own nothing and no one, apart from the following: Zane, Chase

JUST SO YOU KNOW: like everyone else, I have no idea what Stiles' real name is, so I'm going along with what everyone else puts :) and I've made his middle name up XD

Please review XD

Chapter 6

Stiles

I didn't really sleep Saturday night. Sure, I must have gotten at least two hours, but it wasn't much. Instead, I lay on the bed, staring up the ceiling, or walking over to the window and looking outside...

At one point, early in the morning when everyone was still asleep, I jumped from the window and down to the ground, just so I could walk around the woods for a bit. Of course, before I walked for a while, I took the box of clothes I had in there – five pairs of jeans, five t-shirts and one hoodie – back into the room I was staying in, via the window. That was the only box I brought in – though did bring in my school stuff – leaving everything else in my locked Jeep.

But I couldn't keep walking now it was morning. I had to get back to the house. To be honest, I don't know if they would look for me if they couldn't find me, but it was better not to test it out.

Sunday morning was very quiet. I sat quietly on one of the chairs in the kitchen, looking over the research I had done so far for my English assignment. I had gotten everything I had looked up written down already, the rest I could do myself. There wasn't any better time to do it than when you were by yourself and in the quiet.

Sighing a little, I flipped to the back page of my writing pad, using the pencil I had with me to just make little doodles everywhere on the page. I had thought about bringing the sketching pads I had bought in with me...but thought against it when I realised there was a possibility that they could find them...

I didn't know how long I had been sitting there, or how long I had been doodling in fact, but I almost missed the sound of someone walking down the stairs and into the kitchen. Luckily I caught it though, so I wasn't surprised when I saw Derek walk in and go straight for the coffee machine.

"Want some coffee?" Derek asks, voice rough and deeper than the day before, as he grabbed a mug for himself.

I frowned a little, glancing towards the kitchen door. My lack of an answer causing him to turn around.

"Am I allowed?" I questioned, quietly, my gaze flickering to Derek, then the door and back again.

I knew it would get me a strange look, but I didn't expect him to understand. He didn't say anything about it though, only nodded in reply to my question. Looking back down to the writing pad in front of me, I returned to the doodling, eyes stick flickering towards the door.

"Yeah, please." I mumbled.

For a moment, Derek just stood there, doing nothing, just staring at me, probably silently judging me.

The only reason I asked is because, back in Dallas, if dad ever found out I just took something to eat or drink – he always found out – he would use it as more of an excuse to get the whip and knife and, sometimes, a cigarette or a candle or a lighter. The burning was always the worst...it only started within the past two years, so it would be.

It was only a few seconds before Derek finally turned around again, grabbing a second mug, before switching the coffee machine on. He sat down as he waited, sitting in the chair at the head of the table, which was to my left – so I was sitting on his right. Knowing that Derek was an Alpha – not that any of them knew that I knew they were werewolves – it felt strange sitting like that. It shouldn't be me sitting to his right, that should be his second in command...

Derek leaned his elbows on the table, hunching ever so slightly. Now that he was so close, I couldn't help but let my eyes flick over to the door more often... It wasn't my fault; it was a nervous habit... But Derek didn't say anything about it.

"You take anything with it?" he asked, quietly.

"Cream. Sugar." I muttered – shut up, it's how I liked my coffee.

Derek just nodded, not saying anything else. I noticed that he was kind of like Boyd, not saying much. Unless you pissed him off. Though Derek did say more than Boyd... Just not to me.

Later on, when everyone was down, we migrated into the living room. Well, I was dragged, much to my displeasure. Isaac seemed to have forgotten the 'not-keen-on-touching' thing. I tried to tell him, but he was just talking and talking and talking.

As soon as he let me go, I sat down on the floor and pressed my back into the corner where the couch met the wall. Isaac frowned, sitting on the couch in the closest seat to me, with Danny next to him, then Scott, then Allison. On the other couch were Boyd and Erica, in one of the armchairs Jackson sat with Lydia on his lap, while Peter and Derek had the other two armchairs.

I was sat closest to the door with my writing pad on my lap, closed this time. I put the pencil behind my ear, letting my ear hold it up, not looking at anyone. I was still glancing towards the door, actually wondering how fast I could get to the front door and to my Jeep...

"If you're going to make a break for it, go ahead." Peter drawled from where he was sitting.

My head snapped, seeing everyone looking at me – only Peter with a slight amusement. Looking down again, I jumped up, quickly walking out of the living room and back into the kitchen, hiding from the stares and judgemental looks. It was a habit, I couldn't help it! Besides, why give them anything else to laugh about, when I could hide the fucking blush that I could practically feel spreading across my face.

Of course, that was quickly replaced by pain.

"Shit!" I hissed.

One of the knives from someone's breakfast was pointing too far over the edge of the counter. Now, you would think it would be blunt, wouldn't do anything, right? Wrong. This one was sharp, the pointed tip of the metal sticking out dangerously. Any other time, it would have moved around with me, not dig into my side. But then knives were never usually trapped between two chopping boards.

The knife stayed in my knife, digging into one of the recently healed over cuts, reopening it. I could feel the warm slide of blood trickle down my side, seeing the way it pooled on the floor as it dripped off of me and knife itself.

Carefully, I pulled the offending metal out, dropping it onto the counter with a clang. With a sigh, I pulled off my now-ruined-shirt, pressing the balled up fabric to the reopened cut, trying to quicken the act of stopping the bleeding. It stung, yeah, but I had had worse.

It was just going to be hard to bandage it up... Damn awkward place.

"Stiles?" a quiet voice asked from behind me.

Jumping around, I came face to face with a frowning Isaac standing in the doorway. "You ok?"

"Yeah, fine." I muttered. "Stupid knife."

"Follow me."

I ended up following Isaac into the bathroom upstairs, the door pulled closed so no one would walk past and see. Isaac helped clean my wound and stop the bleeding – though my healing powers really helped with that.

I threw my t-shirt in the bin – now I was down to four t-shirts, great. I couldn't help but flinch away anytime he actually touched the cut or anything. Seriously, not good with the touching.

"So, how did you get all these scars?" Isaac asked, while wrapping the bandage around the wound.

"Did them myself." I replied, slowly, going tense as soon as he asked.

And, yeah, I admit, it's stupid to lie to a werewolf. Like, really stupid, I knew that. But it was a reflex. It's what I always did if anyone asked. It's what I did anytime dad dragged me to the hospital. I had to say that, I couldn't say he was the one doing it with him in the room!

"What about the ones on your back?" he asked.

Sighing, I sat down next to him on the side of the bath, now he was finished with the bandage. I kept staring at the floor, my leg jittering up and down as I rubbed my left wrist with my right hand.

"You know," Isaac said. "My dad was an abusive asshole. I used to be scared and bruised; I think he actually enjoyed it. He actually locked my in a freezer chest..."

Looking to the side, I saw that Isaac was staring straight ahead, elbows resting on his knees.

"Derek offered his help and I agreed." he continued – help meaning 'the bite', but he didn't have to know I knew. "I was still living with my dad at the time, but I ran away when he saw my cheek heal, after he threw a glass pitcher above my head and it cut me. Something killed him and man, was I happy about that."

Isaac ran a hand through his hair, giving a short humourless laugh.

"I hated the bastard." Isaac added. "But then Derek took me in. I got to know everyone else, and they helped me. I used to be at a stage where I didn't trust anyone... But they helped. A lot."

We stayed quiet for a few minutes. Isaac was staring straight ahead, while I was glancing between him and the door, biting my lower lip, eyebrows furrowed.

"Wh-Why are you telling me this?" I stuttered in a whisper.

"You tell me." Isaac said, looking to me.

Carefully, I stood up, pacing the small length of the bathroom, eyes still flicking to the door. With one look at Isaac's trusting look, I completely broke.

I told him everything.

I told him about my mom getting ill. About her dying when I was ten. About me hiding the fact I was gay from him until I was fourteen. About being attacked by him whenever he was home, because I was gay. About Zane and how I met him at sixteen and he used to be really nice...but then how he changed within a few months. About how Zane, like my dad, decided that attacking me would be a good idea – though his two reasons why were different to dads. About how I was thinking of moving before they almost killed me. About how I moved without either of them knowing.

I didn't tell him everything. I just explained it briefly, giving enough that he wouldn't keep asking, but not so much that I could still get away without anyone knowing too much about me.

Isaac stayed quiet through it all and suddenly I was glad that every room in this house was soundproof... I didn't want the rest of them knowing. Isaac, hesitantly, stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder. I still flinched away, but at least he understood.

"Is that why you have the tattoos?" he asked, unsurely.

"To try hide them." I nodded. "Failed big time, huh?"

"Just a little... Sorry."

"No, I knew it was a long shot. Had to try though."

"Yeah... Why do you have Genim though?"

I sighed a little, running a hand through my hair.

"I didn't want to let that part of me go." I admitted. "My mom was the only one who called me Genim after I came up with the name Stiles. It always made me feel closer to her... So I thought I'd get it tattooed."

It was later that day, around five that Sunday evening, that things went bad for Isaac...

Everything had been going fine, until he went into the kitchen where a few of the others were, while I sat on the stairs, still wanting to stay away from them, not really wanting to intrude. I could hear them all laughing and joking around. It was all going fine.

And then there was a loud crash.

I heard Isaac's elevated irregular heart rate. I could hear the others panicking, not knowing what to do. I didn't think about it as I got up and rushed into the kitchen, pushing them all out of the way. None of them liked that though, and I received many growls from the agitated wolves.

I just ignored them.

I got Isaac to sit down on the floor, back against the wall and bending forward slightly. The kid – he was a year younger than me, he was a kid – was shaking like a leaf in a winter breeze, his breathe coming in short and chocked off gasps.

I knew one way and one way only to help stop a panic attack... Thank God I was the one doing the touching right now.

I grabbed Isaac's hand, pressing it hard onto my heart. Breathing deeply and telling him to copy me. He looked up, confused, but I continued with what I was doing, repeating for him to copy me.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he actually started to listen to me.

Once Isaac had started to breathe properly, I let go of his hand so I could move to sit beside him, back against the wall. I put a hand on my back when I saw him start to freak out again though...

Guess unlike me he needed touch to feel safer... I complied with that...just this once.

I kept muttering to him about how he was fine, he was safe, that nothing was going to hurt him now. His family – because that's what they all were – were there to keep him safe, that he actually has a family now. Just reminding him of the little things that could keep his heart rate down breathing even. I just kept talking to him, telling him things that would keep him calm, repeating myself a lot.

We sat there for an hour before he finally calmed down enough that he wouldn't have another attack. He was embarrassed, I knew how he felt. I went through a phase of having panic attacks when I was four, for no reason at all... What made it worse was the confusion as to why I was having them and my age at the time. I haven't had one since though, thank God.

"What happened?" I asked, quietly, once I knew he was able to talk.

Isaac let out a shuddering breath, dropping his head.

"D-Dropped a g-glass." he stuttered. "R-Reminded me of..."

He couldn't finish the rest, shuddering a little more.

"Reminded you of the glass pitched." I nodded, understanding.

It was never nice to have to remember what happened in your past... No wonder the kid freaked out... I moved my hand from his back to his shoulder, squeezing it slightly and giving him a reassuring smile when he looked up, which he returned shakily.

"Well, the bastard can't get you know." I told him, my tone leaving no room for him to argue, nodding towards everyone else. "You got them. And I'll step in if you ever need me to."

Isaac's smile turned a little less shaky as he started to relax a little. I patted him on the back before helping him to stand up – when he was he was practically jumped on by Danny.

I couldn't help but laugh quietly.

Monday was alright, until later on in the day.

It was weird actually talking to people during the day and during lessons... People noticed the sudden change between the eight members of the Pack on me. They stared more, whispered more... It made me brood more.

The seven werewolves and one human seemed confused that I started trying to avoid them, purposely trying to be by myself again, I could tell they were. It was if they were choosing not to see the stares or hear the whispers... But I couldn't do that. I hadn't had anyone to teach me how to control my wolf or my fox, my mom had gotten ill before she realised I was like her... I had to teach myself how to stay in control, and I didn't really have the best control...

It showed after my last lesson. I was out on the field, heading towards the bleachers, like usual, but this time I was actually meeting my eight...acquaintances/housemates there. Instead of sitting behind the stands, I sat on them with my backpack beside me. Even though it was September, it was a nice day. The sun was shining, but it was still cold. Everybody was minding their own business.

Well, some were.

I heard them before I saw them. Chase and his three friends – the ones that surrounded Isaac that day I helped him out – were walking towards me. Sighing, I sat up properly, ready to stand up if I needed to fight back.

"Hey, it's the Pillow Biter." Chase sneered.

I rolled my eyes at the name calling. Honestly, did people have nothing better to do?

"What do you want?" I sighed, boredly.

"You mess with my work, I mess with you." he replied, easily.

His work? What did he mean his wo...

"You tagged Danny's car." I snarled.

"Good wasn't it?" Chase smirked. "Goes to show we don't want fags like you around here."

"Yeah, you pansy."

"Poof."

"Fairy."

"Queen."

"Nancy."

"Shirt lifter."

"Back door bandit."

I didn't let any of them get any further.

I snapped, lunging at them. The one closest to me ran away after I punched him. The second went down with a kick to the stomach. The third went down after being thrown down. Which left Chase.

Glaring, I only just managed to force back my wolfing/foxing out. Only just managed to keep my eyes their usual brown. I stalked forward, growling lowly, fists shaking, as I attempted to keep my anger in check. But it was hard. I could feel my skin prickling, wanting to let my wolf out. To show this kid who was in charge here.

But I couldn't.

And I definitely wasn't expecting the punch to the face.

He really shouldn't have done that.

My resolve broke more, making me reach out, grab him by the shirt and shove him against the nearest hard surface.

"Wanna say any of them now, buddy?!" I spat sarcastically. "No? Wow, who's the pussy now, Chase?

"Too bad there ain't no lockers around." Chase goaded.

"Good thing I don't need a locker door."

I chucked him away from me, like I kid would an action figure when they had finished playing. I turned around, slowly, expecting the fist that came flying at me. I caught it in my hand, using the momentum to push Chase back.

If I had used my full strength, well, he would have broken every bone in his arm. Every single one snapped. IF I had used my full strength. Which I didn't. No, I just shoved him back hard enough to make him stumble.

I started walking towards him again, not expecting to be grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. The two of Chase's friends that had stayed pinned my arms down as Chase crouched over me. Now, I would have fought back...

If I wasn't remembering what happened last time I was like this.

I completely froze, muscles tense, not being able to move, breathing heavily. Chase's smirk grew as he pulled back his fist, pounding his fist into the same place as before. But, still, I couldn't do anything.

But then they were gone, all three of them.

Slowly, I sat up, and I couldn't actually believe what I saw.

Allison, Erica and Lydia were all punching up one guy; Isaac, Jackson and Scott on another; Boyd and Danny against Chase.

I sat there, trying to stop my head from spinning. Only when I saw Chase break free from Boyd's grip and pulled a knife on Danny.

Pulled out a knife.

A knife.

FLASHBACK – Saturday, November 15th 2008 – 14 year old Stiles

"No, dad! Please! NO!" I yelled, as the blade sliced across my skin again and again, crossing over the whip marks.

Tears rolled down my face as I desperately tried to get away from the pain, desperately trying to just get away. But dad wouldn't let me. He kept a tight grip on my hair, pulling head back, one knee pressing into my lower back.

The pain was overwhelming, too much! I couldn't... I just couldn't...

Another scream tore out of my throat as he dragged the sharp blade along one of the whip lines, making the wound deeper. But as suddenly as the pain was there, it was gone.

I thought he had lost interest now; hopefully he would just let me go. Yeah, I would be so lucky. He kicked me across the basement floor, my back pressing into the cold, hard floor. I tried to sit up, but he just back handed me, he head turning so fast that it hit the wall. Dazed and probably concussed, I fell back onto the floor, my vision blurring from the tears.

The blade was dragged over my stomach and chest, breaking old scars and making new ones. My throat had been rubbed raw from screaming, no sound other than pathetic little whimpers and chocked off sobs able to escape.

"Please, dad." I begged. "Stop!"

"You are no son of mine!" he roared. "You filthy, disgusting, fucking fag!"

With each word, he made a new cut...the deepest being on 'fag'. The cut ran from my right side to my left hip.

Dad threw the knife onto the floor, by my head, demanding that I clean it. He kicked me again when I didn't move right away, sending me skidding across the rough, uneven floor of the basement, towards the table to knife cleaning products.

Yeah, I had to clean the knife that tortured me. Ironic, huh?

END OF FLASHBACK – Back to Monday, September 23rd 2013

Ok, yeah, I had really snapped now.

"I've had it!" I growled.

I ran as fast as I could over to Chase, grabbing him from behind and throwing him to the ground, twisting the knife out of his hand, throwing it quickly off to the side.

"You know what?" I snarled as he scrambled backwards. "I've fucking had it with people like you! Thinking you're all high and mighty, thinking you can do whatever the fuck you want! Well, guess what, the sun doesn't shine out of your arse you narcissistic, homophobic, abusive bastard! If you knew half of what some people go through on a daily bases then maybe, just maybe, you would back the fuck off! And I swear if you don't..."

Someone stepped between Chase and me then. Clad in black, it was easy to tell it was Derek.

In a way, I was glad Derek had turned up, able to intervene before I ripped Chase's head off. On the other hand, I liked the idea of Chase not being able to talk again... So, mixed feelings really, mixed feelings.

"Go home. Go near any of them again, you'll find yourself headed somewhere you don't want to be." Derek said, calmly, making Chase and his two buddies run for it.

Derek turned around to face the nine of us, raising an eyebrow in question.

Derek and those stupid eyebrows!

The others quickly relented, explaining what they had seen, while I just glared, ignoring the blinding pain in my eye. I didn't do anything until a hand – Derek's – made its way towards my face... Instinctively, I flinched back out of reach, taking a step back as well.

I grabbed my backpack off of the bleachers, hefting it onto my shoulder, wincing at the small pain shooting through the reopened cut from yesterday.

"Thanks, guys..." I muttered, quietly, as I turned around, dropping my head.

I wrapped my arms around my torso, staring at the ground, making my way towards my Jeep without another word.

Chase avoided us from then on. Sure, he sent dirty looks and stuff, but Derek seemed to have really scared him. So school kind of got a little better.

People were still scared of me though. It annoyed me a little, since I couldn't go out anywhere, most of the time being turned down by shops if I try to buy anything.

That's why, on Wednesday, when Peter suggested we all go out for dinner, I knew it would be a bad idea. All the wolves picked up on my sudden change in mood, looking to me but trying to be subtle about it.

"You won't get in anywhere with me." I sighed. "They rarely do."

A sudden sympathy filled the group – even Peter, Derek and Jackson! I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the ground. That's when an idea popped into my head.

"When was the last time you had a home cooked meal?" I asked, smiling a little.

"Christmas." they all replied.

My smile dropped immediately, as I speed walked into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients as I looked in the cupboards, fridge and freezer – thank God werewolves need a lot of food!

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Erica asked, somewhere behind me.

"Cooking, duh." I grinned.

"Oh my God, he'd going to poison us!" Jackson cried, dramatically. "We're going to die."

Yeah, die from the deliciousness!

Spaghetti bolognaise was my choice in dish. Why not? I was good at making it! That with some garlic bread...

I was doing well so far, watching the mince as it browned while I continued to chop and dice and stuff. I liked cooking. Cooking and baking. Though I preferred baking. Baking gave you sweet things... What I liked when I cooked/baked was that, like music and drawing, it would make me forget everything, ignore everything else.

Which was probably why I freaked so much and pressed the knife I had to the throat of whoever came up behind me and touched my shoulder, after flipping them to the floor. I pressed the knife a little harder against their neck...

Until I saw it was Peter.

My eyes widened as I took in the older Hale's face, dropping the knife to the side and scrambling back, pushing myself against the wall.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't hurt me!" I babbled, over and over again.

I vaguely noticed everyone else gathering at the door as I started pacing, still mumbling out apologies and begging him not to hurt me...

"Stiles, I'm fine. Calm down." Peter said, unsurely, worriedly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean too. Just... Touching and knife and... And oh my God you're bleeding! Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry!" I all but screamed.

I stopped pacing, grabbing fistfuls of my hair, backing up as someone tried to step forward. Peter, quickly, got up to his feet, keeping everyone back.

"Stiles, it's ok." Peter repeated. "I'm not mad. It's just a little scratch, you didn't mean it. It's ok. Just... Calm down."

The only thing that brought me out of my panic was placing my hand on the oven, remembering that I was cooking. So, picking up the knife, I shoved it into the sink, grabbed a glean one, moved the mince around and, shakily, turned back to the cooking.

Isaac stayed in the kitchen with me, sitting on the counter and handing me anything I needed.

He understood.

They did actually eat what I made. And they loved it. So I told them I would cook every night, unless they wanted to order in. The question was brought up on how I knew to cook... So I told them the truth. That my mom taught me, and after she died it was either I cook or starve to death. Dad couldn't cook for shit! Of course, I left out the bit where I rarely ate, and only then it was three small meals a week. I cooked every night that week. And I was happy to do it. At least they all knew not to touch me when I was distracted...

It was Saturday afternoon, after lunch, that things turned funny. For me anyway. Everyone was outside training, since it was sunny and not too cold, and I was watching Allison, Erica and Lydia practise with some crossbows – even though Erica and Lydia were werewolves. I didn't realise how long I had been watching, or how it could look to their boyfriends.

Probably why I had Boyd, Jackson and Scott come up to me and tell me that the girls were spoken for and that I wasn't to do anything with them and, really, they were just being overly protective. It was sweet but still funny.

I mean, hadn't they even noticed?!

But then they said I better not try to steal them away. My laughing seemed to confuse them and draw the attention of everyone then, as I gripped my sides and just...laughed and laughed.

"You think... That I..." I snorted. "Oh, wow!"

"What's so funny?" Boyd demanded.

"The girls should be the ones worrying!"

As soon as the words left my mouth, all three of the girls grinned to each other, nodding. I kind of expected that they knew, but man was I glad the guys didn't!

"What? What are you talking about?" Scott asked, tilting his head to the right, like the confused little puppy he was.

"Too much breast, not enough cock." I laughed.

Still confused looked.

"Oh, geez!" I groaned. "I'm gay! You know, I like dudes! Is it that hard? Kind of why I put 'FAG AND PROUD' one my car and not 'EX-CON AND PROUD'."

And they were staring. Well, some were. The three girls, Danny and Isaac were all smirking – looked like they guessed. Peter was chuckling quietly to himself. Boyd, Jackson and Scott just seemed embarrassed and a little surprised. Derek just looked neutral, as always.

I just couldn't stop laughing...

After dinner that night, I offered to clean up like I did every night. Accept this time I got help. Help in the form of Derek. It was going well, I was washing, he was drying. Both of us enjoying the silence.

Well, the silence that was there before we both slipped on the tiles in the kitchen – stupid water – sending both of us tumbling to the ground. Derek lay flat on his back on the floor. With me on top of him. Where he was holding onto my hips. And our faces got really close.

I pretty much flew off of him.

"I am so sorry." I muttered. "Sorry. Didn't mean to. Water, stupid water!"

"Stiles..."

"Really, really sorry."

"Stiles."

"Really didn't mean to."

"Stiles!"

I stopped, looking up at Derek, seeing that blank expression on his face.

"Shut up." he told me. "It's ok, stop apologising."

"Sorry." I winced. "Can... Can I go to bed now?"

"Why are you asking?"

Looking down at the ground, I didn't answer, eyes flicking to the door. I heard a sigh and Derek mumble that I could do whatever I wanted, that I really didn't need to ask if I could do something.

If only he knew the truth.

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