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: Harlequin (Harley),Sam Campbell, Charlie Jones, Zane, Chase, Gabriel, Ben, Mia, Stiles' fox = Melrakki (Rak, Rakki), Stiles' wolf = Okami (Oki, Kami), Derek's wolf = Cana; Sheriff Brian Dawson.

JUST SO YOU KNOW: I know we are now aware of Stiles' real name, as well as his dad's, but I'm NOT about to go through every chapter and change them XD Also, I've made up Stiles' middle name XD

Please, please review XD

P.S. Know it's been a while, BUT I've graduated my Masters Degree in Creative Writing, and I'm trying to write my own book! I'll be trying to write more now, so, PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME!

Chapter 52 – Part 1

Stiles

In payment for getting my nails done, to see which colour she preferred, I decided that Charlie and Sam would have dinner with us for the next few days and that Charlie would help me cook. I would have laughed at the surprised look on Charlie's face if Sam hadn't been so close to us. Harley, of course, was more than happy to spend more time with Aunty Charlie and Aunty Sam.

The start of the next week had been nice and calm, even with university, with all of us celebrating Lydia's birthday on Tuesday (October 7th).

Then came Wednesday.

It started quite the same – peaceful, enjoyable. My first two classes had been cancelled, leaving me with only Chemistry and Music in the afternoon. Needless to say, Harley was incredibly happy to keep me at home for longer than usual.

While the others that were able to sleep in did so, I spent my morning with Peter, Derek and Harley. It was typical for the four of us to spend the early hours together, especially if it was the weekend and the Betas were taking advantage of the blissful nothingness that was going on. It was that morning, as well, that I presented Derek with something I bought for him when I had been in town with Charlie and Harley – a mug that said 'I am Superman', on one side, with the hero's symbol on the other. When I handed Derek his coffee, it took him a moment to notice. As soon as he did, his face coloured slightly, very much not looking at me. I couldn't help but laugh quietly to myself, especially as Derek cradled the mug carefully against his chest.

"Thank you," Derek whispered, staring at the liquid. "This, uh– It's, um– I like it…"

"You're welcome, Superman," I teased, handing Harley their hot chocolate. "I almost didn't stop there; almost got the entire collection of Superman merch the store had."

Since Harley had opened up to us about being Gender Fluid, there had only been a few times when they felt in between or neither. The first couple of times, Harley had said we could use he/him/his pronouns, that they didn't mind. Then Boyd had mentioned an acquaintance of his, from one of his classes, who identified as non-binary and used they/them/their pronouns. Almost immediately, Harley was interested.

We all took note, waiting for the next time Harley told us they were identifying as in between or neither – today.

"It's true," Harley giggled sleepily, snuggling into Derek's side. "Aunty Charlie had to drag Sti away by his ear."

"That doesn't surprise me," Peter snickered behind his mug. "How many times have we had to drag you away from hoodies and comics, my boy?"

"Hey, don't fault me for having priorities," I grinned, perching on the arm of Derek's chair, Harley sandwiched between us.

Reaching out with the hand that wasn't holding my coffee, I ran the fake nails through Derek's hair. The first night I had them, I had gotten distracted, just playing with the hair on Derek's neck. His head kept pushing back into my hand, eyes falling closed as he sighed. I was sure, if he could, he would have started purring.

Since then, I had found any excuse I could to run my fingers through his hair.

I didn't mind doing it if I was completely honest with myself. The repetitive motion was soothing and Derek's hair was so damn soft. When I could, I couldn't help but turn my face into it, taking in the scent of whatever shampoo he had bought and something that was just uniquely Derek.

But I had to force myself not to get too attached to it.

To not get too attached to him.

It was only a matter of time before Derek got tired of me, or decided I was too much effort, or regretted everything. It had already been over a month now – I was living on borrowed time.

"Hey, Sti?" Harley spoke softly, rolling their head back onto my leg to look up at me. "Are you going to be gone a long time?"

It was a question the kid asked every weekday, even though they knew my schedule by heart now; knew how long it would take for me to get home from the university. I could only guess they liked to hear me say it. It was the only reason I could come up with. They liked to hear me say it, and be reassured that they knew I was coming home at that time.

I tried not to dwell on the fact that Harley might think I, or anyone else, would abandon them.

"Not a long time, Sweetheart, no," I smiled. "I'll be gone three hours, tops."

"I don't want you to go," they admitted, quietly.

"I know, Sweetpea, but I have to. And you'll be having so much fun with Derek and Peter, that the time will just fly by."

"Can't you just stay home and snuggle?"

I couldn't begin to describe the way my chest ached.

Okami and Melrakki whined inside my head, the two of them wanting nothing more than to give in to the little one's wishes. I was right there with them, but I needed to go to class. No matter how much it pained me.

Setting my mug down on the nearby table and, reluctantly leaving Derek's hair, I used both hands to hook Harley under their arms. I dragged them up until I could slide onto Derek's lap myself, pulling them on top of me. It took a moment for the three of us to shift into comfortable positions and settle down but, as soon as we had, I tucked Harley's head under my chin and held them tightly.

"I wish I could, I really do," I sighed, pressing a kiss on the top of the white-haired head. "That sounds really nice, actually. But I've got to go learn stuff. That way, when I graduate, I'll be able to do a lot more jobs than I can right now."

"Why do you need a job?" Harley huffed, not bothering to hide their pout.

"So, I can earn money and do something good. And– Well, maybe I'll be able to prove some people wrong. Show them I'm not useless."

It wasn't something I had wanted to tell the kid, but I didn't want to lie to them. It was bad enough that I had to disappoint them by having to leave in a few hours. The least I could do was swallow my pride and tell them the truth.

A sound I had never heard before vibrated from the child's chest. Almost a growl, but not quite as intense. A soft rumble that was more on the level of a playful puppy, rather than a fully grown dog ready to attack. Still, however, I couldn't help the way my eyes widened at the sound, especially when it came from the little Sweetheart in my lap. Harley turned, using their powers to float their mug to the table until they were facing me. They sat back against my knees; tiny hands coming up to hold my cheeks in a gentle yet firm grip.

"You're not useless," Harley said, slowly, the fire of their eyes blazing. "You're the bestest person I know, and I know a lot of awesome people now. You–You do lots of stuff for us, like making sure we eat and that we're ok; you hug us when we're sad and-and-and you don't let anyone be mean to us. You're really smart and you keep teaching me stuff, and you don't seem to realise just how much you've done for everybody."

Harley's slight frame shook softly, voice shaking as they continued to talk. Their hands had moved from my cheeks to my shoulders, curling into my shirt with a tight grip. I wanted to reach out, to gather this tiny baby close to my chest and calm them. To hold them and reassure them that everything was alright.

But I couldn't get my arms to cooperate.

"Y-You don't know, but I do. Sometimes, their thoughts are so loud that I can't help it, but I try not to hear them," Harley continued. "But everybody thinks it. Scott feels like he finally has a best friend that understands him, and Allison knows she doesn't have to try to stay so strong anymore. Erica doesn't have her wall up so much anymore because you've helped her, and Boyd finally sees that he has the family that he's always wanted. Lydia feels like she doesn't have to hide who she is anymore, and Jackson feels like he's completely loved and accepted. Danny is learning to love himself and let himself be loved, and Isaac is starting to understand he never deserved what happened to him when he was little."

The shaking was getting worse, tears slowly rolling down Harley's cheeks. I was sure my shirt was going to rip, with how tight Harley was fisting the material – but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"And-and Uncle Peter is finally content, something he thought he'd never feel again since the fire; Aunty Sam feels like she belongs somewhere and has people who really understand her; Aunty Charlie feels like she has something like a Pack again," Harley whimpered. "Derek feels so full of love, and I– And-and I– I have people that love me for who I am when my own kind didn't, and I have a family, and it's all because of you!"

Breathing heavily, trying not to sob, Harley continued to shake; the second they were done talking, my limbs seemed to be able to move again. I wrapped my arms around them as tight as possible, cradling them close as I turned my face into their hair. I could feel the ache in my throat, and the burn in my eyes, as I forced myself to keep it together and focus on the little one in my lap.

"Y-You're– You're no-ot useless," Harley hiccupped, burying their head into my neck.

I didn't care that my skin and the collar of my shirt was getting wet with the tears that leaked from Harley's eyes; they sniffled softly, somehow tightening their grip on me. I held the child as tightly as I could, without hurting them, carding my fingers through their hair and whispering words I wasn't registering.

I barely noticed that Derek's arms had encased the two of us, his cheek resting on top of my head; barely noticed that Peter had moved from his chair, kneeling on the floor in front of us to join our group.

Everything had calmed down by the time Danny, Isaac, Jackson and Scott woke up and came downstairs. Harley had relaxed, the four of us slowly going back to our regular morning routine of talking mindlessly about whatever topic we came across.

I was careful to mind what I said.

Of course, by the time the four Betas appeared, it was almost time for us to leave.

Harley didn't try to make me stay; not like they had that morning. They did, however, sport a rather impressive pout as I hugged them tight to me, pressing a kiss to their forehead.

"I'll see you really, really soon, ok?" I whispered to them as we stood by the front door. "Then, when I'm home, we can get comfy and have lots and lots of snuggles."

"Promise?" Harley whispered into my chest.

"I promise. Now, you make sure Peter and Derek behave, yeah? They might flood the kitchen again."

"That was one time!" Peter's indignant whine sounded from the living room.

With a giggle and another tight squeeze, I waved goodbye to the little munchkin and jumped into Jackson's car with some of the Betas, since Roscoe was in the shop. With the windows down and shouting out a 'see you later', the car pulled away, being followed by the others in Danny's car.

It wasn't long before we were sitting in our Chemistry class, Harris droning on at the front of the room. I would have given almost anything to be back at home, curled up with everybody and watching a silly movie.

And then my phone rang.

I tensed as soon as I heard it ring, knowing what was coming. I couldn't even hide that it was mine, with it sitting on the table next to my books. I watched as Harris smirked, leaning against the edge of his desk.

"You know the rules, Stilinski," he chuckled. "Go ahead."

I was sure he didn't have the authority to do it but, for some reason, Harris had a 'rule' about phones in his classes. If your phone wasn't on silent and it went off, while he taught, you had to answer the phone, put it on speaker, and let everybody hear why it was interrupting their learning. You weren't allowed to end the call or ask them to call back later, or say it was a bad time. No one had called him on the bullshit rule yet and, honestly, I didn't want it to be me. Even after over a year of living in Beacon Hills, I was still on eggshells with so many people. I couldn't afford the chance of being kicked out.

So, I accepted the call, without looking at the number.

I put it on speaker.

"Hello?" I asked, relief washing over me as my voice kept steady.

"Good afternoon," a man's voice sounded, his Texan accent thick. "Am I talking to a Mr Stiles Stilinski?"

The moment he spoke, my entire body tensed; I held my breath as I risked looking at Danny, Isaac, Jackson and Scott. A Texan accent meant one thing and one thing only – Dallas.

Dallas never meant anything good.

"Y-Yeah, that's me." I breathed, curling my hands into fists and digging my nails into the flesh of my palms. "And, who am I speaking to?"

"Oh, right, sorry there," the man chuckled. "I'm Brian Dawson, the new Sheriff here in Dallas."

My chest felt tight; I could feel sweat beading on the back of my neck. I wanted to grab my things and run out of the room – Harris and the university be damned! But I couldn't get my muscles to work. It was taking everything I had to listen to the man on the other end of the phone; to breathe and reply.

"I have a few updates for y'all, if that's alright?" Sheriff Dawson coughed when I didn't reply.

"O-Oh? I– Uh, I mean– That's, um–" I stammered.

"Is now not a good time? I'd be happy to call back later if that's better."

I hadn't wanted to stay in Dallas longer than I had to. I had given my contact information to a Deputy, asking to be contacted instead. They had agreed readily – I supposed they'd felt bad for me.

One look from Harris had me shrinking back in my chair, my shoulders hunching up around my ears. I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking forward and back ever so slightly; my hands gripped the leather jacket Derek had given me for my birthday, sweating against it.

"Now's fine," I forced out, scrunching my eyes closed.

"If you're sure," he said. "Well, I'll start with the case concerning a Mr Zane Brooks."

My stomach dropped, eyes snapping open. After everything that had happened, I hadn't much time to think about Zane or Dad. But now? Now I couldn't stop the possibilities from running around in my head. What if they had decided to let Zane go like Gabriel and Ben had? What if he had escaped? What if he had made them think I was the bad guy; that now they wanted to arrest me?

"He's been found guilty," was added quickly. "Seems like y'all taking the stand was the final thing the jury needed."

"Oh…" I breathed.

"He was charged for it all – drug dealing, drug possession, GBH, rape, sexual abuse of children, murder. He's been charged for attempting to rape y'all, as well as the physical abuse he caused y'all. From what we can tell, everything he did to you was split into two parts – everything that happened from sixteen to seventeen, then everything from eighteen until present day."

"Right…."

"We would have called you earlier to let y'all know, but we wanted to wait until the sentencing. With everything he's done, especially across different States, he's been given the Death Penalty. It'll take, a minimum, of six years before it actually happens though, but y'all can be sure he's going to pay from everything he's done."

Even with that, knowing that Zane was locked up and justice would be served, I didn't feel better. Bitter guilt twisted in my stomach, knowing I was the one that had, essentially, sent a man to his death. My testimony had sealed his fate.

If I hadn't taken the stand that, maybe, he would have just gotten life. He would have been locked up, for good, but still alive and breathing. If I hadn't said anything, I wouldn't, eventually, have blood on my hands.

I'm just as bad as he is…

I could feel eyes on me, staring.

I could smell the shock and pity.

My eyes started to sting, my throat tightening like a hand was slowly clenching it. I wanted to be sick; I wanted to scream. I wanted to hang up and run home, to surround myself with my Pack and fall into blissful nothingness.

"Oh my God…"

"I know it's a lot to take in, and it's only the first thing I have to tell y'all, but I promise I'll be available if you need to talk about anything in more depth, alright? Are you okay for me to keep going?"

"Yeah."

The sooner it was all over, the sooner I would be able to leave. That's what I kept thinking to myself. That was what I held onto.

"Right, okay. Well, next on the list is concerning your father, John Stilinski, our ex-Sheriff."

And if I hadn't felt sick before, I did then.

I hadn't heard a word about Dad since he managed to escape the handcuffs. I hadn't been sure if he was going to be found. He was good at hiding; he had been a Boy Scout when he was a kid. Before Mom got sick, he would take us camping deep in whatever forested area he could find. He knew how to survive out in the wilderness.

"As you know, after we discovered what we can only describe as his basement-dungeon, where he had y'all when we came round, he managed to get away from us. We finally found him, late last night. Unfortunately, he was DOA – an animal attack, it looks like. It's estimated he's been dead for a week."

I wasn't sure what I felt.

Numb? Maybe that was the right word for it. I wasn't sure.

It kept running around in my head – DOA.

DOA.

DOA.

My dad was dead. Gone. No longer of this Earth.

I was an orphan.

"I– Dead?" I whispered to myself, voice cracking.

"I'm sorry," Sheriff Dawson said. "I know he wasn't– I know y'all's relationship was bad, to say the least, but I'm sorry."

Dead.

Dad was dead.

Gone.

"I'm sorry to move on but, I'm guessing, y'all'd rather get off the phone," he sighed. "Saved the good news for last – it's about the expungement of y'all's criminal record."

I barely registered what he'd said.

"A lot has been taken into consideration. Whilst trying to find y'all's dad, we looked around his house, to see if we could find anything that could tell us where he'd gone. Instead, we found a file, on his computer, full of videos. It seems that he had installed a camera in the basement and recorded the physical abuse he inflicted on y'all, from two-thousand-and-eight up until August twenty-thirteen."

I wasn't sure what to do with that information. It had all been recorded. Everything he had done to me, over five years, had been collected and kept. For what? For him to enjoy later? As proof it had happened, once I had healed up?

"We don't think he knew there was a microphone embedded in the camera, so everything the two of you said was picked up; everything you told us was corroborated and shown to the necessary parties. After hearing, from y'all dad's mouth that a lot of what went on y'all's record wasn't true, it's been decided that y'all's record will be expunged. The assault will be dropped down to self-defence, and so will the attempted murder of y'all's dad. Especially since, when y'all tried it, he was in the midst of one of his attacks and, after reviewing the tapes, it's been determined that, had y'all not fought back, he would have killed y'all."

I didn't remember speaking again, though I know I did. I could feel the words leave my mouth.

I didn't remember saying goodbye or ending the call.

I only remembered pocketing my phone, grabbing my things, and all but running out of the classroom.

Derek

After Stiles and the rest of the Betas had left, Harley hadn't wanted to do anything. They stayed curled up on my lap, one hand curled lightly in the fabric of my shirt, the other holding tightly to the elephant toy they loved so much.

Over the months that we had had the little one, they never liked anyone leaving. Especially Stiles. There was always an air of anxiety surrounding the kid, like whoever left would never come back. Just like what had happened when we had met them.

Harley never really spoke about their family or the others of their kind. Only ever a comment or two now and then. Perhaps they wanted to forget; maybe it was still too difficult to talk about.

But none of that mattered now.

They were one of us – part of the Pack.

I had never seen two people bond as quickly as Harley and Stiles. Almost instantly, from the moment they had looked at each other, they had been drawn to each other. I had only heard of something similar once before and, even then, it was over a century ago. An Alpha couple had found an abandoned werewolf child, barely two years old. They had no previous connection to the cub, and neither knew the Pack they were from. But immediately, they bonded to the child. A pull in their chest; a need to protect and care for and nurture. The child had become theirs and, in turn, they had become the child's.

Humans called it an "Unexplainable Connection", or thought of it as a type of soulmate – platonic or familial, instead of the typical romantic.

Creatures, like us, knew it was something more.

We didn't have a word for it. At least, none that I could find. If there ever had been one, it was lost in history.

The connection, the one like Stiles and Harley had, was on the same level as the one Stiles and I had; on the same level as Mates. There was no other way to describe the intensity. When Dad had told me the story, when I was young, that was how he had described it to me.

Of course, he also said it was like a baby animal imprinting on its mother, but I always chose to ignore that part.

It hadn't taken long for me to fall into a never-ending, spiralling love for the fairy child. I wasn't sure when it had happened, all I knew was that it had. All too soon, I found that I would do anything for the child that had come into our lives.

Wrapping my arms tighter around Harley, I pulled the little one in closer, leaning down until I could press my nose into the top of their head. Over the months, their scent had changed ever so slightly; shifting until they had smelt like a proper part of the Pack. Mine and Stiles' scents were the main ones I could identify, along with the child's own; the others were all mixed together.

It was right that the little pup smelt like one of us – as they should.

"When's Sti gonna be home?" Harley sighed, quietly, tucking their head further into my shoulder.

"Not for a while, Bud," I replied, rubbing a hand down their arm. "He's only been in his first class for twenty minutes."

"Oh…"

The bitter scent of disappointment washed over the child in my arms; the overwhelmingly salty taste of sadness permeated the air. Cana's whines echoed in my head; all he wanted was to break free of the mental cage he was in and encase the little one completely. To wrap his body around Harley, to cover them with his fur and wipe all traces of those feelings away.

"Here we are, Moonbeam," Peter said as he walked in from the kitchen. "I made you something special. Just for you."

I had barely noticed that Peter had left the room a few moments after the others had left. I wouldn't have noticed, if not for the small squeak the door had made. He held a mug out to Harley – about the size of my hand; made to look like a panda head, with small rounded ears protruding from the rim. Peter had seen it one day when Stiles and the Betas had been at the university. Harley and I had decided to have a lazy day inside, so he had gone by himself to do a bit of window shopping.

He had come back with two large shopping bags, full of things for Harley.

Shifting carefully, Harley sat up until they could take the mug from Peter, still staying pressed tightly into my side. They cradled it between two hands, the elephant toy tucked into the crook of their elbow.

"What is it?" they asked, softly, staring at the mass amount of whipped cream.

"That, is Uncle Peter's extra special, secret, hot chocolate," I chuckled. "He only makes it for really special people."

It wasn't really a secret. Laura, Cora, our cousins and I had worked out the recipe fairly quickly when we were young. Of course, we had also spied on Peter when he had made it. Though, when I looked back as I had gotten older, I realised that he one-hundred per cent would have known we had been watching him. Peter would melt real chocolate in a pan, adding chocolate milk instead of regular milk; he would sprinkle in a bit of sweet cinnamon, whisking until it was frothy and hot. After decanting it into the mug, Peter would top the drink with as much cream and marshmallows as it could bear, before shaking as much chocolate powder over the top as possible and adding a couple of cubes of extra chocolate on top like a flake in an ice-cream cone.

"Really special people, that I love dearly," Peter corrected with a gentle smile, passing a hand over the back of Harley's head. "It's been a while since I've made it, though, so you need to tell me if it's good, alright?"

Harley nodded, seriously, lifting the mug to their mouth.

Peter never made the drink overly hot – always warm enough to drink, but not hot enough to burn. It was something he had gotten down to an art, one that no one seemed to be able to recreate. Laura and I had tried a couple of times, in New York. Every time we tried it was wrong – the wrong amounts of ingredients; always too hot or too cold. No one could make it like Peter.

After the first tentative sip, I saw the way Harley's eyes widened ever so lightly, almost sparkling. I would have said it was impossible, but the child was always proving me wrong with the little things they would do or say.

"It's so tasty," Harley mumbled in wonder, taking another drink. "Thank you, Uncle Peter."

"You're more than welcome," Peter chuckled, tapping the child lightly on the nose.

It was then, as I started to relax back into the cushions, that I felt it. The thing that tied Stiles and me together, that let me feel his strongest emotions, pushed through waves of panic and anxiety and fear. My throat tightened; it felt like my lungs were being squeezed down to a quarter of their size. The sour taste of bile scorched my throat, burning a hole all the way down into the pit of my stomach.

Snatching up my phone, I text the Pack group chat that Erica had made. I knew it was my only chance of getting a quick response from someone.

All I got was a '911 incoming' from Jackson.

It wasn't long before I heard Stiles' heartbeat.

I lifted Harley off of my lap and placed them in the chair I had just left, telling them to stay there with Peter. I walked as fast as I could do the front door, pulling it ajar as I stepped out onto the porch. My head darted around, locking on to the patch of trees to the left.

I had hardly stepped onto the grass before Stiles had burst into sight.

Eyes wild and panting heavily, a strange brown and green hue fluttering around him, in and out of view. He spun in a choppy circle, flinging his backpack as he went, letting it skid across the ground until it hit the house with a large thud.

Clawed hands reached up to fist in his hair; fangs dropping and retracting with a speed I had only seen in rabid werewolves. His eyes shifted between colours – from red, to red and purple, to purple, to their whiskey brown and back around again. Like they couldn't settle – wouldn't settle.

The ground shook violently; the trees swaying dangerously. I grabbed onto the railing behind me to stop from falling over – it was the only movement I seemed capable of making. Stiles' chest heaved, a rumbling growl rolling out with every exhale; the smell of blood seeped into the air.

"Rek, what's going on?" Harley's voice came. "What's wrong with Sti?

Spinning, I found them standing on the steps behind me, lower lip wobbling as they looked on.

"Harley, get back inside," I demanded.

"But, I–"

"Now!"

But it was too late.

A guttural scream-like roar ripped itself from Stiles' throat, his body contorting as it escaped him. The coloured hue burst out from him, flying towards the trees he had come through. The ground split in half, a deep crack running from where he stood to deep into the trees. Everything in the way was uprooted, leaving giant craters in the ground, as they crashed into trees that got in the way.

Harley called out to Stiles, launching themselves forwards. I only just managed to grab the child around the waist, dragging them back towards the house, before a large rock flew towards us, smashing into the porch where the child had just been standing. They kicked and screamed, fought to get out of my hold and over to Stiles.

But I couldn't let them.

Things in the house shook, glass rattling. I, faintly, heard the sound of something smashing, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Thuds and clunks sounded from deep inside the house as different objects crashed onto the floor.

"Peter, take Harley," I called out to my uncle as I stepped through the front door. "Keep them inside."

The moment Peter had the child in his hold, I ran back out.

Stiles was still screaming, his body shaking erratically, almost like he was having a fit. His entire scent had changed – now it was earthy, flowery, full of dirt and freshly cut grass. Nothing of what I knew he smelt like was left.

He dropped to his knees.

His hands wrenched themselves from his hair, digging into the earth beneath him, curling into the grass and dirt. Green and brown tendrils snaked up his arm, around his neck and his face, disappearing into his hairline. They pulsed and jumped, like something was being pumped into them – or out of them.

Rocks, twigs and fallen trees trembled, rocking back and forth, before they flew into the air, levitating above the ground. They hovered where they were as Stiles heaved out the same rumbling growl.

The moment a new roar left his lips, the floating objects launched the way he was facing. At a dangerous speed, they flew through the tunnel he had created, disappearing into the distance.

Seeing blood rolling down Stiles' head, and leaking from the corners of his eyes, I sprang forward, running towards him. Dodging through another wave of rocks, I barrelled into Stiles, tackling him to the ground and locking my arms around him as tightly as I could, without hurting him.

As Harley had, he thrashed, trying to break free as his screams grew. A tornado of dirt and debris swirled around us, blocking us from everything else. The more he fought, the more he yelled, and the faster it got; the more things were added to it. The green and brown tendrils glowed, almost neon, against his pale skin; he shook almost violently like he would vibrate right out of his body. His eyes were glassy, glazed over and unseeing, flitting between colours.

I held on as tight as I could.

I pressed my face into his neck from behind him, nose against his skin as I clenched my eyes shut. I knew I was talking, but I didn't know what I was saying; words had no meaning. I could feel Cana reacting, hackles raised and a growling cry escaping him in distress. But all we could do was hold on.

With another growling scream, Stiles' arms flew out to his sides, gripping the ground again. Vines shot out from the grass, springing from nowhere, curling around the two of us. They twined around his arms, anchoring him to the ground; they grabbed around my waist, trying to drag me off of him.

I held on tighter.

Vaguely, I felt Cana force my eyes to change – could feel it, even with them closed. I felt a rumble in my chest and a slight hint of claws pressing against Stiles' sides; I couldn't stop it from happening. I couldn't pull it back.

Silence

Everything stopped.

The ground stilled; everything fell in place.

The vines and tornado disappeared.

I held my breath.

Slowly, opening my eyes, I lifted my head from his neck. The snaking tendrils were ebbing, fading. His fangs and claws had disappeared; the shift of his eyes calming until they settled on their usual whisky brown. His scent switched back – warmth, sun, woods, leather, spring, happiness, Mate.

His eyes refocused.

A second of panic, followed by a moment of recognition, and then he was sobbing. The shaking was back, his hands reaching up until they fisted into my shirt; screaming cries ripping from his throat. Sadness and anguish filled the air around us as he fell apart, fat tears seeping out from his eyes.

Sitting up, I bundled him to my chest as quickly as I possibly could, sitting him on my lap as I wrapped my arms around him. I rocked us back and forth, one hand cradling the back of his head and keeping him close enough for my scent to wash over him, my other arm tight around his waist.

"Ok, ok," I whispered into his ear. "You're ok; it'll all be ok. I've got you."

I wasn't sure how long it was before Stiles' sobs stopped. The entire time, we had sat outside, him on my lap, curled into each other, refusing to let go. By the time we decided to get up and go inside, the rest of the Pack had come home.

Harley was on us the moment we walked through the door. They jumped at Stiles, wrapping arms and legs around him, burrowing as close as they possibly could. Stiles grabbed hold of the child as fiercely as he could, shoulders shaking with the effort of not crying. With an arm around him, I herded Stiles into the living room, pulling him and Harley down onto my lap when I sat in our armchair.

Danny, Isaac, Jackson and Scott got up from their seats, moving until they sat in front of us, each of them touching a part of Stiles' legs. I would have been an idiot if I didn't know they knew what had happened. They would have, should have, been with Stiles when whatever made him so upset had happened. From the confused and concerned looks on the faces of the rest of our Pack, I knew they hadn't said anything to anyone.

For a time, Stiles just sat there, clinging to Harley and breathing deeply, taking in the scent of our Pack – of our family. He didn't relax, but I could see that it helped. When he lifted his head, resting his chin on the top of Harley's head, I was drawn to his bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes that were brimming with a new wave of unshed tears. I heard Isaac whine before he shuffled closer and rested his head on Stiles. One of Stiles' hands dropped from Harley and into Isaac's hair, brushing softly through his light curls.

It took longer for Stiles to start talking.

He started with his record being expunged, easing himself into it.

Then he told us about Zane, shuddering as he stuttered out the sentence he'd been given.

Stiles was up and pacing by the time he told us about his dad, walking back and forth with sharp turns and flailing limbs.

Slowly, as he spoke, anger rose inside of him. Shaking hands became tight fists; smooth brow became wrinkled in a frown.

"I don't know why I'm so upset!" Stiles shrieked with a croaky voice, angry tears falling down his cheeks. "I don't know if I should be upset!"

He never stopped his pacing, never once looking at any of us.

"Dad was never– He used to be amazing," Stiles breathed, shakily. "He would read me to sleep every night; he would play with me, even when he was exhausted from work. He'd let me talk his ear off about nothing and he never told me to stop. He– He gave the best hugs, and he'd make all these silly characters with stupid voices, and–"

An unsteady hand ran through his hair.

"He was so great before everything happened," he whimpered on a broken sob. "He was always there and he loved me. And now? Now he's dead and he hated me, and he wanted me dead, and–"

Stiles sank down onto his knees, trying to suppress the cries bubbling up from inside of him. Before I could think of moving, Isaac was already crawling over to Stiles, cuddling into his side.

"It's ok for you to mourn the loss of the great Dad you used to have," Isaac whispered to him. "It doesn't mean your mourning the asshole that hurt you for five years."

I could feel the moment something shifted inside of Stiles, a bundle of knots inside of him easing ever so slightly at Isaac's words. Almost instantly, Stiles dissolved into more sobs, clinging onto Isaac before we all surrounded him on the floor.

Stiles

I wasn't going back to university for the rest of the week.

That was what I decided Wednesday night.

I couldn't face going back yet; couldn't face Harris and the rest of my Chemistry class yet. So, I was going to stay home with Peter, Derek and Harley, much to our little Fairy's delight. I could tell that Derek was relieved that I would be staying home; I was sure I'd be able to tell, even without our connection thing.

I woke up in the early hours of Thursday morning, sandwiched between Derek and Harley, in the Alpha's bed. Harley's left arm was curled around Phantasia, thumb loosely held inside their mouth; right hand curled lightly into my shirt. Their head rested on my right arm, my left resting over the top of them in a slack hug. Derek's arms were wrapped around us both, his head buried into the back of my neck and legs tangled with mine. Little puffs of air hit the nape of my neck, raising goosebumps on my skin. His skin was warm where it touched mine, a comfortable heat that ran through me from head to toe.

I almost penetrated the icy-sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It had been there ever since the phone call with Sheriff Dawson.

Ever since Derek had, reluctantly and at my insistence, told me what happened when I had we had been outside.

The last thing I had remembered, before looking up and seeing Derek's face, was running out of Chemistry, after hanging up with Sheriff Dawson. But, the wild mix of concern and panic in Derek's eyes was enough to tell me that something had happened. Knowing that something I did almost hurt him, had almost hurt Harley…

This is why I'm not allowed nice things, or nice people, in my life. I just break them.

Neither of them blamed me. That told me that in as many words as they possibly could, I couldn't detect a single lie. But that meant nothing. I was so close to hurting them – if Derek had been a second or two too slow…

I could barely bring myself to think of what would have happened.

"It wasn't your fault," Melrakki whispered, shaking and pushing himself further into Okami's side, as I was pulled into my head. "It's not our fault."

"It's not your fault," I corrected him. "I don't know what I did, but… It was me. It must have been."

"But it wasn't."

"Yeah, it was. It's always me; always something I do. And, soon, Derek will see that and he'll get rid of me and hate me or something, and– It'll be for the best. He doesn't need me around him. Shouldn't want me around him."

Okami and Melrakki stared at me, wide-eyed. I kept my eyes on the ground, wrapping my arms around myself. I didn't want the boys to look at me; didn't want them to see me. Neither of them tried to make me.

Neither of them moved.

"But– But he's our Mate," Okami stuttered. "He does want us; he does need us."

"Does he, Oki?" I sighed. "Because I only seem to bring trouble and someone always seems to get hurt. Sooner or later, he'll get rid of us. Or he'll change too. Just like Dad did."

"Dad wasn't himself," Melrakki hiccupped. "He loved us, he did."

The icy sickness spiked, a bubble of nausea lodging in the base of my throat. I closed my eyes.

"Dad didn't know us, Rak!" I growled, hands balling into fists. "He didn't know about you. How can you say he loved us when he didn't know about the two of you? How can you say he loved us, when he beat us, daily, for five years? Invented crimes to charge us with? Tried to kill us? He wasn't like that until I came out to him!"

They didn't speak. Melrakki cried softly, curling his tail around himself tightly, hiding impossibly further in Okami's side. Okami's tail folded itself around the small fox, his head turning to nuzzle against Melrakki's muzzle.

Without another word, I turned, looking away from them.

Blinking, I looked down to find Harley shuffling closer into my chest, a frown on his face. Derek's arms had tightened around us, burying closer into the back of my neck.

I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat; tried to ignore the persistent nagging in the back of my head that Derek would, one day, be like Dad or Zane, because of me. I tried to put aside the soft whines of Okami and Melrakki, begging me to just listen to them; to hear what they were saying, and to believe them when they say that would never happen.

Slowly, carefully, I turned until I was facing Derek. He always looked so relaxed, so much younger, when he was asleep.

And I'm going to ruin that.

Settling Harley against him, so the child could cuddle against him, I slipped out of the bed. I pulled the duvet up around them, covering them from neck to toes before I left the room and closed the door softly behind me.

P.S.Know it's been a while, BUT I've graduated my Masters Degree in Creative Writing, and I'm trying to write my own book! I'll be trying to write more now, so, PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME!

Please, please review XD

Thanks so much guys XD