Just a note: there will be a part 2 only because it just made sense to divide this part into two. I apologize if the formatting is wonky, I despise FFnet's formatting with a passion, and as always, it's easier to head over to my AO3 account and read it there.

AFTER

Part 1

The doctors tell them that, at least physically, that Stiles is fine considering everything he's been through. Luckily there are no major arteries or damaged organs to fix. His broken arm and cracked ribs will heal with time, and soon enough the cuts and bruises will fade away. They are worried about his mental stability. He hasn't said a word and hasn't made many noises since they brought him into the emergency room, not even to Lydia whom Stiles can't help but feel at least a little bit safe around. Stiles clings to Lydia when they leave the hospital and head towards the Hale house; even the elder Stilinski thinks it'll be much safer there with Stiles surrounded by a group of werewolves.

Lydia tells him that Andrew is dead, as he was the last wolf to have their throat torn out by Derek, but it doesn't ease the nightmares or the terrifying thought that he'll come back more angry than ever. His head is filled with constant looped images of Andrew hovering over him, Andrew beating him, Andrew coming back for him, Andrew slaughtering Stiles' entire family and all of his friends.

They've fixed up the Hale house in his absence. It doesn't look like a burnt out shell anymore, and Stiles doesn't understand why the change doesn't shock him.

Scott's mom doesn't come over until Stiles has had a few days to settle in. She smiles at him softly as she crosses the room and says, "Oh sweetheart, it's so good to see you."

Stiles skitters back and hits the wall behind him; one minute he's standing next to Lydia in the kitchen, and the next minute he's curled up in a ball in the corner of the room. He feels Lydia next to him, her voice soothing and warm and full of love as she coaxes him away from the rest of the group and towards his bedroom.

No one dares to call him sweetheart again lest they face the wrath of Lydia Martin.

He has his own room, furnished and decorated in Lydia's idea of what Stiles would like, and he has to admit that it does remind him of the old bedroom at his dad's house. He doesn't spend much time sleeping there, though, because the nightmares only increase and Stiles finds himself more often than not sneaking across the hall and curling up next to Lydia. If Jackson cares or is angry at the action he doesn't mention it out loud. It's a big bed and Stiles is pack; after being separated from him for so long Jackson doesn't really care where Stiles sleeps as long as he's safe and sound.

The only problem is Stiles has come to rely on it. He takes his leave every night, silently readying himself for bed; every night he does fall asleep on top of his own bed. The nightmares have plans of their own, and once he's caught his breath and calmed down enough to move, he finds himself climbing under the covers next to Lydia. She lets him curl into a ball against her back as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.

He doesn't have nightmares when he's next to Lydia. He falls asleep, curled along the warmth of her back and settles in for a nice, deep sleep.

Jackson and Lydia look at colleges closer to home rather than the ones they had chosen on the other side of the country; they're not sure if they could leave even if they tried. Because the tour is two days long Lydia and Jackson rent a hotel room for the night.

"It'll be fine, Lyd," Jackson tells her as he packs his own duffel bag with a few days worth of clothes. "Derek and Scott can handle it for a few days."

"It's not handling, Jackson," Lydia growls and for a second he forgets that she's not a werewolf.

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it," he says, anger boiling in the pit of his stomach. "He sleeps in here every night because you make the monsters go away."

Lydia considers staying, considers just sending Jackson to pick up all of their information and school stuff, but when she says this to Stiles he grabs her hand and pulls her towards the front door. It's weird, not hearing him speak non-stop, but she's getting used to understanding this Stiles and what his gestures mean.

Stiles is running through the forest. His heart, despite the fact that he's terrified and running away from werewolves, is surprisingly calm and steady. His lungs are on fire and his legs are sore, but his heart is slow and steady.

Slow and steady wins the race, his mother says once, and somehow he thinks this isn't what she had meant.

He's running out of time and the end of the forest keeps expanding further, and it's like he can't reach the end no matter how far he runs. He's pulled from the dream too quickly—just a dream just a dream just a dream—and finds himself in a pitch-black room and all alone. Even though he opens his mouth wide the screams and cries die in the back of his throat, but he lets the angry and frustrated tears fall.

He finds himself standing in the doorway of Lydia's bedroom for a full ten minutes staring at an empty bed before realizing that Lydia and Jackson are gone for the night. He would never admit it if pressed, but he's gotten just as used to sleeping next to Jackson as he has Lydia. He tries to curl up in his usual spot, but the sheets are cold and it's lonely without them lying next to him. He has another nightmare, worse than the one before, and he has to bite into his pillow to stop his screams and whimpers.

It's like Stiles' feet have a mind of their own. He climbs out of Lydia's bed, remaking it as quickly as he can so it looks nice for when she returns and stops at Derek's open bedroom door on the way back to his room. He stares for a moment, standing in the darkness of the hallway, before Derek stirs and rolls over to face him.

"Stiles?" Derek blinks away the sleep, his voice rough but concerned, "Nightmare?"

Stiles blinks, he's terrified, but he doesn't move. Can't move. Stiles nods, it's the first real communication he's had with the alpha, but he still can't look anyone—him, especially him—except Lydia, in the eye. Derek slides over to the other side of the bed and pulls down the covers; an offering, plain and simple. Stiles hesitates; there's a part of him that knows Derek would never hurt him, not on purpose, but the thought of anyone except Lydia touching him is terrifying. Stiles lays on his stomach, a habit from 'living' with Andrew, but his mind is running on high and he can't seem to settle down no matter what he does or tries.

He's still shaking and his heart is still thumping hard against his ribs from the nightmares, but when Derek reaches over to rub Stiles' shoulder blades he relaxes against Derek's hand. He follows Derek's breathing inhale for exhale and soon they're both fast asleep. In the light of the morning he still can't meet Derek's eyes and he flinches away when Derek gets too close during the day, but instead of climbing into bed with Lydia when she and Jackson return the next night he curls up next to Derek. They match each other's breathing until they're both asleep.

Lydia never says anything, but Stiles still worries over and over again that he's disappointing or upsetting her in some way.

Stiles goes to therapy. Lydia accompanies him to the office, but she's not allowed to go inside. It makes Stiles panic because Dr. Messing is a tall, robust man with thick green glasses, and while he seems like a giant teddy bear, Stiles is completely terrified during every session. He never says a word and never makes eye contact, and when they leave and walk out to the parking lot, Lydia can feel his entire body violently shaking next to hers.

She argues with Derek. Argues with Stiles' father. Argues because it's not working, and she's sure this is only making Stiles feel worse, but they insist that he needs to go anyway. They switch doctors five more times—where Dr. Messing was tall and fat, Dr. Hiller is short and skinny and female. She reminds him too much of the only female alpha in the Alpha pack who would bring him food and water. He doesn't even make it into the session before he's running back to the car. Then comes Maureen, call me Maureen, Stiles, who doesn't seem to understand that Stiles doesn't speak despite the extensive case file notes that she's given beforehand and spends the entire session trying to goad him into saying something.

Dr. O'Connors is just as quiet and they stare at one another for fifty-five minutes in silence before he takes Lydia aside and calls Stiles a lost cause. She's a little more than offended and possibly knees him in the balls before they leave his office. Dr. Tate and Dr. Fulton both last a full week, sessions filled with his silence and their soft voices. They seem harmless and kind, but Stiles still shakes after each and still doesn't speak a word.

Stiles wants to talk to Lydia, he honestly does, but he doesn't know how; he doesn't even know where to start. She hugs him after his last session with Dr. Fulton and whispers softly into his ear, "I'm sorry, Stiles, I'm so sorry. I love you." He wants to hug her back, wants to say I love you, too, Lyd,but he can't get his brain to mouth functioning to work.

He's gaining much needed weight that he hadn't been able to afford to lose in the first place, and slips back into his old routine of watching every move his dad makes—making sure he's exercising and sleeping and eating healthy foods rather than the cheeseburgers from the diner in town. Lydia smiles at him when he's doing this, and he thinks it's because she's seeing old bits of the Stiles she used to know. Lydia tells Jackson later that it's because she sees that Stiles is still in there, caring, loving, kind and generous Stiles; that despite what he may think, Andrew didn't take everything away from him. That Stiles is still there underneath the hard shell of this hurt and abused boy.

Derek wakes to pans clanking downstairs one Saturday morning and when he pushes into the kitchen to investigate, two things happen—he doesn't scare Stiles (he doesn't even startle him, Derek thinks with a twinge of pride and wonder), and Stiles is making breakfast with Erica. They're not speaking, but they're standing next to each other at the counter and Erica is all smiles and flowing blonde hair. Derek knows from experience that Erica doesn't know how to cook, but he also knows that Stiles does.

"Stiles is teaching me how to cook," Erica tells him and she's beaming for the first time in weeks. Derek can see and smell the happiness and excitement radiating off of her in waves. It's also the first time Stiles has had interaction with one of the betas without Lydia present. To be honest Derek is a little stunned. Incredibly and immensely proud, but stunned.

"Be careful with this one, Stiles; she set off the smoke alarm the last time she boiled a pot of water," Derek says with a grin in Erica's direction.

"That was one time, Derek," Erica whines like a small child. "How was I supposed to know that it was going to overflow?"

"You filled it all the way to the top!" Derek yells before he can stop himself; Erica knows it's in a joking manner, but Stiles doesn't deal well with loud arguments or noises. He looks to Stiles, excepting to find him cowering and shaking in fear, but the boy's lips are upturned into a tentative but small smile.

It isn't much, and Stiles still doesn't say a word through the rest of the exchange, but it's a small step in the right direction.

"When you were gone it felt so weird being here," Derek can hear Lydia speaking the second he steps inside after a long day of chasing Scott, Erica, and Isaac around in the front yard. He can see the two of them, curled up on the couch, Stiles tucked against her side. His eyes are open and he's looking out the large front window with a perfect view of the pack playing in the front yard, wrestling and laughing and so carefree. "Everyone was so angry and lonely. And Allison was gone and then you were gone, and it felt weird being in Derek's burnt down old house."

Derek hears Stiles hum, actually hum, in response to Lydia's voice and he practically falls back from the shock of hearing it.

"Derek thought rebuilding the house would bring us all back together, but I don't think it worked until we found you. You made everyone complete and whole again, Stiles."

Stiles is helping wash the dishes after dinner; Derek is standing beside him washing the dishes and placing them on the dish rack so Stiles can dry them. They're listening to an old Christmas album that Stiles's dad brought over for some holiday cheer when the glass slips from Stiles' hands to the floor. He expects to pay for his mistake and drops to his knees and curls in on himself, waiting for Derek to deliver the painful blows he knows are coming.

Lydia's at the door in a heartbeat with the rest of the pack following behind her, but Derek waves her back.

"Stiles," Derek says softly and rakes a hand through Stiles' hair softly. He's watched Lydia do it enough times to know the effect it has on the younger boy. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Derek shoves the broken glass out of the way before sitting down on the tiled kitchen floor. He waits, only a moment, before Stiles crawls forward and lays his head on Derek's lap. Stiles is crying, the thick, heavy tears cascading down his cheeks and splashing down onto the kitchen floor as he whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

Lydia's eyes are wide and she's clutching Jackson's hand painfully, harder than any werewolf ever has, "Derek."

He doesn't speak again. Derek starts to think that maybe he imagined or dreamed it, but every so often Lydia reminds him that Stiles is getting better. She keeps telling him, over and over again, that their Stiles is coming back to them. He's never doubted her before, and he thinks it's probably not smart to start doubting her now.

It's just the three of them in the living room watching some insane Jerry Springer rerun on the television when Derek eyes the back of Stiles' head. His hair has grown since they had gotten him back, and Derek can't even remember a time when he's seen Stiles's hair this long before.

"Hey Stiles," Derek calls softly. "We should do something about your hair. It's getting kind of long in the back."

Stiles stiffens immediately at the mention of his hair, Lydia eyes them both carefully, but Stiles jerkily nods his head in agreement. His eyes, however, betray his answer, but Lydia and Derek silently agree to push the issue.

When they're set up in the kitchen Stiles eyes the razor with a look of anger and malice. He only pulls away and whimpers when Lydia brings her arm up to start. He crawls under the kitchen table, the furthest place away from them in the room, and presses his body against the wall.

"Stiles?"

Derek doesn't crawl in after him, but he does crouch down next to the table and looks at Stiles' shaking form.

"You have the right to say no when you don't want something, Stiles, okay? You know we're not going to hurt you or get angry because you don't want something that we do. Stiles." Stiles uncurls but doesn't move away from the wall. "You don't have to say anything. You just have to shake your head or stomp your feet in protest and we'll stop.Lydia isn't Andrew. I'm not Andrew. Scott and Isaac and Erica aren't Andrew. We will stop when you tell us no."

Derek pulls the table out, the legs screeching against the kitchen floor, and holds out his hand to help Stiles stand up. Derek rubs a hand, reassuringly across Stiles's back, and the younger boy lets out a long sigh and his entire body relaxes.

Lydia holds up the razor to show Stiles and asks, "Do you want to—"

"No."

Lydia almost drops the razor to the floor, her mouth dropping open, in shock.

"No. No. No. No. No. No," Stiles murmurs softly, clutching at the front of Derek's t-shirt and buries his face into Derek's chest and sobs. "No."