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Derek half-opened his eyes and quickly glanced at the clock.

3:47am.

He ran a hand over his face as he rolled onto his side. Stiles was gone. Again. Derek sighed.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his trousers and boots, running a hand through his hair as he made his way towards the kitchen, quickly made two cups of coffee and climbed into the elevator.

It had been a month since Derek had been called to pick up Stiles and it had been a month and one day since he had woken up with Stiles by his side.

Derek shivered as the night air hit him and he smiled sadly as he spotted Stiles on the other side of the roof, looking out onto the darkened town and leaning against the railing. Derek slowly strode over to him, handed him the cup of coffee and wordlessly stood beside him.

Long after the coffee had gone cold, Derek spoke quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Derek knew that Stiles had nightmares. He heard him whimpering and muttering in his sleep every night.

Stiles didn't reply, but then again, Derek hadn't expected him to. He never did. He never said much of anything anymore.

Melissa says it's some sort of PTSD. She says that Stiles would be affected by what had happened until he could learn to cope, until he could realise that it's over and that life goes on.

Scott had told him that he's only seen him like this once before and that was when his mother had died, he shrunk into himself and couldn't function for months afterwards.

Derek had noticed that Stiles had been overly distracted over the last month. Especially when being told to do something. Derek had frequently asked Stiles for a cup of coffee in the morning, and not received it until afternoon, with nothing but a rushed apology and a quick getaway.

Derek was torn between making Stiles take his medication or leaving him be, knowing that the Adderal would make him even more of a zombie than usual.

Between what Derek had been told on the phone that night, and Melissa's injury reports, they were able to piece together roughly what had happened, and Derek was almost sick to his stomach whenever he thought about it.

No wonder Stiles was the way he was.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow?" Derek said quietly. "Relax. I could bring you home for the day, I'd come back and get you in the evening, of course," Derek said, pleading for some bit of normalcy in the man.
"No."

"But-"

"I said 'n-no,' Derek. I-I don't want to go home. I'll stay here. I'll try harder, I s-swear," he said, sounding as he wanted to cry.

"Stiles, it's not about you not trying hard. I just thought you might want a little break. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"S-sorry," he muttered quietly.

"Don't be. You don't have to be sorry for anything, Stiles, none of this is your fault," Derek said, watching Stiles' face twitch slightly as he watched the lights of them gas station across the street.

Scott and Melissa had also mentioned the stutter. Stiles was finding it hard to talk about what had happened. He never liked to show weakness. Melissa had said that until he was willing to talk about what had happened, and what was happening because of it, he would have this stutter. Scott knew how to handle it because he'd had the stutter for over a year after his mother had died. Derek had often asked Stiles a question and had to sit there for a good five minutes before he could get an answer, wincing as Stiles grew more and more frustrated with himself. Scott said that the best way to handle this was to show him patience, act like nothing was different. He didn't say but Derek knew that Stiles appreciated it.

"Ma-Maybe I will go home," Stiles said after a while. "T-Tomorrow. Get- Get out of yo-your hair f-for a bit," he said, still not looking at Derek.

Derek's heart broke a little at the tone of his voice. "Stiles..." he trailed.

"Y-You should g-go back to b-bed. It's l-late. S-Sorry f-for keeping you aw-wake," he said quietly, turning around. "You t-take the elevator. I'm go-gonna take the s-stairs."

He was gone before Derek had a chance to stop him.

"Derek?" Lydia said as she stood in the doorway of his room. "Where's Stiles today?"

"He went home for the day, I'm gonna go back and pick him up around six..." Derek said absentmindedly, flipping through a book.

"Are you sure that's smart, Derek? I don't know if he should be alone right now," she said worriedly.

"He's fine, Lydia, Stiles is a big boy, he can handle himself," he said, not looking up from his book.

"Whatever you say..." she said, walking towards the living room.
Derek sighed as she left. He didn't want to admit it but he was worried about Stiles too.

"You heard from Stiles yet?" Scott asked over lunch, mouth full of pizza.

"No, I haven't, Scott, because he's able to spend a day by himself without us checking up on him," Derek said, irritably.

"Just asking a question, Derek, we're all worried about him, not just you," Scott muttered.

Derek sighed.

going to stay here tonight. will get bus back in the morning. thanks. –stiles

Derek sighed when he got the text, trying to decide whether or not to call him, just to check in. But Derek knew that Stiles wanted to be alone. Knew that he could use a night to himself. Despite how much Derek's wolf was screaming at him to go and pick him up.

2:55 am and Derek was awoken by the door sliding open. He slowly got out of bed and pulled on his trousers before leaving his room and going to check who was there.

Derek just made it to the top of the stairs in time to see Stiles stumble through the door, an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hand. Derek blinked when he saw him wearing ripped jeans, a white t-shirt with a vomit stain on the front and a plaid shirt covered in mud stains. Stiles' hair was a mess, as if he'd been running his hands through it. He also had a large gash on his cheek.

Derek watched him as he stumbled over to the banister and leaned over it, head down. He seemed to be nursing his right arm. Derek could have sworn he heard him groan. He then watched as he stood up and stumbled slowly towards to kitchen, downing the last of the bottle.

Derek climbed down the stairs and followed Stiles to the kitchen, watching him intently. As he stood in the doorway, he saw Stiles leaning on the open door of the fridge, one hand over his eyes. Derek cleared his throat. Stiles tensed slightly, but didn't turn around, instead pulling a six-pack from the fridge and moving to the counter to pull one out.

"I think you've had enough," Derek said quietly.

"I know when I've had enough," he muttered, taking a swig and belching into his hand.

Derek moved towards Stiles and pulled the six-pack away from him, placing it back in the fridge as Stiles paled. "You okay, Stiles?" Derek asked tentatively. Stiles nodded his head, still not wanting to reveal his weaknesses. Derek nodded knowingly as Stiles stared at him. He scratched his uninjured cheek before turning to the sink and puking up a mouthful of vomit, wincing visibly.

Stiles leaned over the sink and groaned. Derek placed a hand on his back, to which he flinched and shrugged it away. "D-Don't," he breathed, "Just leave me alone."
Derek sighed, knowing Stiles wouldn't cooperate when he was like this. "You can stay here," Derek said quietly as he turned to the door. "Or you can come upstairs. I'll be waiting."

It was an hour later when Stiles made an attempt at climbing the stairs, which in turn took fifteen minutes. He flopped into Derek's desk chair and began to spin slowly, eyes closed. "You wanna talk?" Derek asked from the doorway.

"Rather not," Stiles muttered, not opening his eyes.

"How're you feeling?" Derek asked, leaning against his desk. "A bit shit," Stiles said quietly.

"How'd you cut your face?" Derek asked, trying to get the man to talk.

"I fell," Stiles muttered, sounding like a moody teenager.

"Does it hurt?" Derek questioned.

"I think I can handle it," he muttered.

Derek sighed. "I think I liked it better when you weren't talking."

Stiles opened his eyes, but didn't look up from his lap. "I think you liked it better when I wasn't here," he murmured.

Derek sighed. "I know you don't believe that."

"You don't know what I believe," Stiles said, throwing his legs over the armrest of the chair, arm in his lap and placing a hand over his eyes.

"Okay, I know you're pretty wasted but you can lose the attitude whenever you want. I'm just trying to help," Derek said, pushing himself back to sit on the desk.

Stiles shrugged.

"Stiles, you're going to have to talk about it sometime," Derek said, quietly.

"What's there to talk about?" Stiles said, leg twitching anxiously. "It's over; we need to forget about it. It was nobody's fault but my own. I just got in with the wrong kind of people."

Derek watched Stiles' leg twitch and could hear his voice threatening to break.

Stiles sighed before continuing, "But they're gone now, and that's that. Drama over."

"Stiles..." Derek said, heart melting at the words he spoke.

"I just- I just... It just happened so fast, you know?" Stiles said, keeping his hand over his eyes.

"Like, they were my friends, I grew up with them, and yeah, sure, I knew they were a bit on the rough side but I didn't think they'd do that."

"A bit on the rough side? The paramedics said you were all chock-full of every drug imaginable. Hanging around in an abandoned warehouse with people like that and doing... whatever it is you guys did... is not 'a bit' rough, Stiles," Derek said incredulously.

"Yeah, okay, I went a bit crazy, you can't expect me to be this funny little shit with a stick up his ass all the time. I just wanted to let go, just for a little while. I wanted to be away from all this. From life." Stiles sighed. "From me. It's an addiction and it's hard to kick, I'll admit that, I just need you and the others to stop treating me like a fucking child and acting like nothing's wrong when everything so clearly is," Stiles said, voice getting angrier and more upset with each word.

"Stiles, we're not here to treat you like a child, we're here to help you get through this. You shouldn't be afraid to ask us for help, especially when we're so willing to give it. The Pack are all here for you, we're not judging you, we know how easy it is to slip into these habits. No one thinks any different of you," Derek said, almost pleading Stiles to see reason.

Stiles got up from Derek's chair and stumbled across the room to the small bathroom, to which he leaned over the sink and upchucked another mouthful of vomit, wincing visibly, head down and groaning quietly. "You okay, Stiles?"

Stiles turned to him, arm wrapped around his abdomen. "I fell..."

Derek stood up and crossed the room quickly putting his arm around Stiles, "What? What do you mean? Where?"

"I-I went down to the- the warehouse, just to see it, I don't know why. And the only way we could ever get in was climb a tree and get in through a broken window. I got in fine but I fell climbing out. M-My ribs. I think I hit them on the way down. And my shoulder. It hurts," Stiles said quietly, slumping back into Derek's chair, returning his hand to its place over his eyes.

"Stiles, rib injuries can be pretty serious, you could have damaged a lung, I think I need to call Melissa," Derek said, pulling out his phone to call the Pack's nurse.

Stiles eyes shot open. "No!" he gasped. "Don't call Melissa. I don't want Scott to know what happened."

"But, Stiles, I have to. We have to get you checked out."

"No. I can't let him know..." Stiles said quietly.

"Let him know what-?" Derek stopped as the realisation hit him.

"You weren't alone at the warehouse, were you? Stiles, you promised me you'd tell me if you were anywhere near this stuff again. We had a deal."

"My head hurts," Stiles muttered, before groaning, "Could you turn down the lights, please?" Derek flicked on a lamp in the corner of the room and turned off the overhead lights as he pulled out his phone and dialled Scott's number.

"What do you want, Derek, it's like 4 am?" Scott grunted into his phone. "It's Stiles, I need your mom to come check him out, I think he's cracked some ribs and by the looks of it he's dislocated his shoulder, and he just- he just seems a little off, he hit his head, he's pretty wasted as well."

Scott sighed. "Shit, um, yeah, sure, we'll be there in a half hour, don't let him fall asleep," he said tiredly, hanging up the phone.

"Stiles, buddy, you have to stay awake for me. Melissa is gonna check you for a concussion," Derek said softly.

"Stiles, kiddo, I've gotta check you over, c'mon, open your eyes," Melissa said, yawning.

"I don' have a c'cussion..." Stiles murmured, arm in his lap and hand over his eyes.

"Stiles, we have to get you checked out, just work with us for ten minutes and you can go to sleep, I promise," Scott pleaded.

"M'fine," Stiles muttered, "Jus' g'way..." he slurred as he tried to curl away from the people kneeling beside him. Derek and Scott's eyes widened simultaneously as their heightened senses picked up on Stiles' dinner moving slightly too late, wincing as he gagged and puked into his lap.

"Stiles, I'm not here to piss around. You can sit here, and go to sleep and there could be a very large chance you won't wake up. Or you can let Melissa check you over and make you feel better. Your choice," Derek said, losing his patience.

"Mmm..." Stiles hummed but made no move to get up.

"Derek, he's high as a kite, wasted beyond belief, concussed, possible broken ribs and a probable dislocated shoulder. He's not gonna cooperate with us so we're gonna have to get him to the bed ourselves," Scott said, scratching the back of his hand. "Pick him up on three. One, two..."

Derek and Scott lowered Stiles onto the bed to which he bent his legs and threw an arm over his eyes. "Lights..." he muttered.

"You're gonna have to stick it out, Stiles, I can't work in the dark," Melissa muttered, pulling Stiles' mud and vomit stained shirt up and inspecting his ribcage. Derek winced as he saw the deep purple bruises already starting to form.

Stiles winced and pulled away as Melissa lightly placed her fingers on his lower ribs.

"Okay, Stiles, I'm just gonna check your head. I know you don't want to but you're going to have to open your eyes for just a little bit," Melissa said, picking up her doctor's flashlight and flicking it on.

Stiles groaned, "No..." he whined, screwing his eyes shut even more.

"Boys?" Melissa said nodding to Stiles. Derek sighed and pulled Stiles' functioning arm from above his face and held it down while Melissa held his eye open and shone a light into them, looking for the telltale signs of concussion.

Stiles whimpered and tried to pull away as Melissa finished up.

Derek looked at her questioningly. Melissa tapped Stiles' cheek, "Stiles, kiddo, stay awake for me, I just need to reset your shoulder and then you can go to sleep, I promise. You have a mild concussion but I'm gonna stay here with you to make sure you're okay," Melissa said loudly into Stiles' ear. Stiles mumbled and tried to pull away from the sound and the sting of Melissa cleaning the gash on his face.

Once Melissa had finished disinfecting Stiles' face and tending to his cracked ribs, she tapped his face again and said loudly to get his attention. "C'mon, Stiles, sit up, we have to get this shoulder fixed."

Stiles groaned again and made no more to sit up. With the help of Derek and Scott, Melissa got Stiles sitting up and as they held him steady, Melissa grabbed Stiles' shoulder and quickly twisted it.

Derek's eyes squeezed shut as Stiles cried out. Melissa let Stiles lie back down for a moment to catch his breath. Melissa took a deep breath.

Stiles groaned loudly and gagged.

"Shit," Melissa muttered before dragged Stiles upwards and picking up a bowl and shoving it under his chin as he retched.

"C'mon, kiddo, there's no need for this," Melissa said quietly, "Get it up and you can go to sleep." Stiles groaned as he finished and spat into the dish.

Melissa pulled the sheets up and tucked him in, before quickly packing up her things and moving towards the kitchen.