Scott dropped Stiles off on his way to Allison's house, saying something about being interrupted last night. Stiles only nodded weakly, staggering out of Melissa's car and trying to keep the light out of his eyes as he walked to his front door and Scott drove off. It wasn't until he dropped his keys and looked down to see the dead cat.

"Jesus Christ!" Stile jumped back, forgetting his keys and hangover. The cat was a neighborhood regular Stiles saw all the time and had no idea who it belonged to. That is, he was pretty sure, but it has hard to tell because there wasn't much left of the poor thing. Stiles covered his mouth to stifle a gag. After a moment he backed away slowly and walked to the garage, looking for a shovel. He certainly didn't want to leave it there for his dad to find when he came home from the nightshift in an hour.

"Stiles?"

"What?" Stiles paused, about to follow Lydia out of Derek's loft. The pack meeting was coming to an end, and everyone was filing out.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Derek asked. Actually asked instead of making a commanding statement, Derek's usual mode of interaction. Lydia heard it too, because Stiles saw her perfectly done eyebrows arch as she smirked knowingly. Stiles didn't like that look, it scared him more than the hesitation in Derek's voice.

"Uh. Sure." Lydia waved and shut the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Stiles turned around, looking at Derek wearily across the room.

Derek was leaning against the island between the kitchen and living room area of the open loft, not making eye contact. Stiles waited and lost patience with the quiet because when can Stiles ever have it quiet, and he finally said; "You know, as much as I wouldn't like to know what's going on behind those eyebrows, please enlighten me."

Derek smirked and it threw Stiles off. Usually that sort of thing just made Derek glare at him. "I'm sorry," Derek said, finally making eye contact.

"What?"

"I'm sorry about last night. I was out of hand and shouldn't have accused you of holding out on the pack. In your own infuriating way you've always acted in everyone's best interest. So I'm sorry."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair nervously, not looking at Derek. "Is this the Big Bad I'm talking to or a pod person version?"

"I thought I said stop calling me that," Derek said, frowning.

Stiles snorted and then started to laugh, and laugh while Derek stared at him with concern. "No, dude. It's ok. It's ok. It's not really your fault or anything. It's just weird to hear that much out of you without growling and threats."

"Don't get used to it," Derek said, smiling. Holy crap, Derek was smiling. It was the weirdest thing ever, Stiles decided, and it was doing odd things to his chest. Or was it his stomach? Stiles mind started racing and he fidgeted.

"Ha, yeah. So, um, anything else?" Stiles asked, looking anywhere but at Derek.

Derek shook his head and watched with hidden amusement as Stiles flung open the door to his loft and left and smirked when he heard Stiles trip on the stairs on his way out.

"You may go now, Stilinski," Mr. Harris said, not bothering to look up as Stiles jumped out of the chair and practically ran out of detention. Once down the hall he slowed down and looked at the detention slip in his hands. He wasn't looking forward to getting it signed when his dad got home that night, so he found himself lingering on his way towards the school exit.

As he walked past the gym, he heard music and stopped. Curious, he pushed open the heavy double doors and made his way through the gym, looking for the source. He peeked through the window in the door to the weight room and smiled when he recognized the person inside.

"Hey Ana!" Stiles called over the classical music playing from a speaker hooked up to Ana's phone. She was facing the wall of mirrors on the far side of the room, wearing close fitting black tank top and some yoga pants.

"Hey, you're looking better. How was the hangover?" Ana asked over her shoulder.

Stiles shrugged, embarrassed. Hoping to change the subject he asked what she was doing. "Brushing up on a few positions. Aunt Sonya wants me in top form when the studio opens next month." She let go of the bar she was gripping and gracefully brought her arms over her head before gracefully bringing them back down.

Stiles tilted his head, "studio?"

"Yeah. Aunt Sonya is opening a dance studio soon. She teaches ballet and she wants to show me off like a prized cow at market," Ana rolled her eyes.

"Wow, I didn't know you did ballet!"

"Mm-hmm!" Ana continued a basic routine and Stiles watched for a few minutes, just listening to the calming music.

"Hey… did becoming a werewolf make it easier to do that?" Stiles asked as Ana bent in a way that made Stiles wince.

Ana looked at him, considering as she stood up. "Easier? No… why?"

"I mean, when Scott got bit he got instantly good at Lacrosse."

Ana looked thoughtful before shrugging. "I did ballet before getting… bit. Now that I think about it… it was a lot harder after that for awhile. Imagine trying to get a wolf to dance." Stiles snickered and regretted it until he realized that it was indeed meant as a joke. "Some things became slightly less painful to do, like this," Ana said. She let her arms relax at her side, then as she drew them up over her head, Stiles saw her ribs pull in and she stretched up on to her toes. "Pulling up to en pointe hurts like a mother even for the pros, but its nice that when my toes crack they heal instantly." She lowered down to first position and took a slight step forward, away from the wall, and pulled up and did a series of pirouettes that left Stiles dizzy. "But that," she said after stopping, "is all practice and discipline."

"Dude," Stiles managed, thoroughly impressed. "I'm just getting off detention. Want a ride home?" Ana shook her head, said she needed to keep practicing. She reminded him, offhand, that there was an essay due on Wednesday and Stiles grumbled a goodbye and left.

Stiles could feel his heartbeat slowing, the pain getting duller as his body started to go limp. He tried to open his eyes, but it was much easier to keep them shut. "Stiles…" a voice whispered at his side and he wanted to respond, but just coughed and shuddered when he tasted his own blood. "Shh, S-Stiles… stay with me ok? Please… please…" he barely felt the hand on his shoulder but found himself somehow leaning into it as he felt lighter and lighter…