After so many years of being tormented by his past Stiles had grown accustomed to jolting to awareness following some form of nightmare, his chest heaving, heart pounding, drenched with sweat and often with a scream dying in his throat. His hands shaking, Stiles lifted them as he undid the improvised gag he'd secured around his head before he'd gone to sleep. He was pretty sure it had worked…no-one had burst into his room to check on him, yet, even though there was a werewolf in the house with him.

The werewolf in question, however, was Jackson, who had just spent two nights sharing motel rooms with Stiles, knew more about what Stiles had been though than anyone else in Beacon Hills, or even the entire world, other than Stiles himself, and was very aware of how prone to nightmares Stiles was. Jackson also wasn't prone to coddling people, even after the growth that he'd experienced since he'd left Beacon Hills, so it was unlikely that even if he had heard Stiles he wouldn't come to investigate unless Stiles had continued to suffer in his dreams.

Letting his improvised gag fall into his lap, Stiles sat upright in the bed, glancing at the alarm clock positioned on the bedside table. It was four thirty in the morning, actually a little later than Stiles had expected, but they had admittedly all stayed up late talking and catching up, and it had taken Stiles a little while to drift off in the unfamiliar bed. After so many years either sleeping on the ground, or in the cot in his room at Nada Parbat everything felt strange to sleep on…too soft and suffocating.

Despite the early hour Stiles slipped out of the bed on silent feet, not wanting to wake anyone up, but yet at the same time knowing that, once he'd had a nightmare, it was virtually impossible for him to get back to sleep.

Stiles' days had always started early when he was with the league; he found it helped with his restless energy, caused by his un-medicated ADHD, and it was a habit he hadn't gotten rid of once he'd left. He got changed into some workout gear, and crept, his feet bare, through the house, letting himself into the backyard, the first hint of dawn bringing the slightest touch of color to the sky.

He began by standing still, taking deep breaths of the cool morning air, focusing on putting the nightmare behind him and relaxing every muscle in his body, before he began practicing the katas he had learnt during his time at the league, slowly working his way through the movements, keeping his breathing steady and his movements fluid.

Stiles lost track of time as he worked through the exercises, before he went into a mediation exercise, focusing on calming his turbulent mind and thoughts brought to the surface by his return to Beacon Hills. When he came out of it a glance at his watch told him at was nearing six o'clock. Rising to his feet, Stiles made his way back inside, heading for the kitchen, and beginning the process of making himself a cup of coffee.

He was half way through the cup when Jackson appeared, fully dressed and ready for the day, although Stiles knew from the last few days that Jackson didn't really wake up untill he had a cup or two of coffee in his system.

"Morning," Stiles greeted. Jackson grunted and made his own cup of coffee, sitting down beside Stiles and taking a mouthful.

"Morning," Jackson returned the greeting, "how long have you been up?"

"Hour and a half, or thereabouts." Stiles replied with a shrug, "Woke up and the bed was too soft to go back to sleep."

Jackson nodded, "I didn't hear you wake up."

"I gagged myself, didn't want to freak anyone out," Stiles responded easily.

"That's…inventive," Jackson acknowledged, "I wouldn't go telling anyone else that though. I don't think they'll understand."

"Trust me, I don't plan on it," Stiles smiled as they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Stiles' father stumbled into sight, freezing when he laid eyes on the pair of younger men.

"Morning dad," Stiles greeted cheerfully.

The Sherriff blinked, "I would have thought you boys would have still been in bed…at least now I know that last night wasn't some kind of dream."

"I never sleep well in strange buildings," Jackson shrugged, "it's a …self preservation thing."

"That's understandable. Derek's told me about how difficult it can be for lone wolves, without a pack. It's why so many of them go feral. You've done well to survive so long without a pack."

"Thanks," Jackson replied, his cheeks tingeing red at the compliment from Stiles' dad.

The Sherriff turned his attention to Stiles who shrugged and didn't offer a response, knowing that his father would see through any lie he told. The Sherriff's eyes narrowed minutely, but he didn't say anything in repsonce, instead getting his own cup of coffee ready.

"What do you boys have planned for today?" he asked curiously.

Jackson shrugged, but Stiles shifted slightly in his seat, "I..I thought I might go see mom," he eventually admitted.

The Sherriff nodded in understanding, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's ok, thanks for offering…but…but I think I need to do this on my own."

"Make sure you don't get spotted, you are still, technically, legally dead," Jackson reminded Stiles, who rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Jackson, I am aware of my dead status, thank you very much."

"But…you aren't dead, shouldn't you make it obvious, go to a court and get it reversed, like Oliver Queen did?" the Sherriff asked.

"Then I'd have to go through the process of explaining how I got back into the country, and probably be arrested for illegally entering the country," Stiles pointed out.

His father blinked, "ah, crap, I hadn't thought of that. How the hell did you get in anyway?"

"The same way I left, on a boat," Stiles replied, "Pay off the right people, and you're fine."

"I did not need to hear that. Next time I ask you a question about that, just don't reply ok?" the Sherriff replied with a serious look. Stiles smiled to himself and nodded, imagining what his father would do if he learned how much illegal activity he had done over the past seven years.

"Sure thing dad. I should get going anyway."

"What? Now? Stiles, it's barely 6 in the morning. You haven't even had breakfast."

"Jackson's right…I can't be seen. It's 6 oclock on a Sunday morning. No-one's going to see me. Besides, I'm supposed to be dead…Cemeteries are where dead people live."

"Do you want to take the car?" Jackson offered, fishing the keys out of the pocket. Stiles thought about it for a moment, but shook his head. The long few days cooped up in the car driving to Beacon Hills had left him full of restless energy that his morning exercise hadn't done enough to fix.

"I need the run; I'll be back in a bit."

Stiles left his father and Jackson and headed upstairs, getting changed out of his workout gear and into something a little more casual, throwing a hoody on to over the top to ward of the slight chill of the morning, and strapping a knife to his lower leg before he put on socks and shoes, and headed back downstairs.

"Do you want some breakfast?" his father called, obviously trying to coax him back into the kitchen. Stiles rested is hand on the doorknob.

"I'll have something when I come back, I won't be long. Love you dad."

"I…I love you too Stiles," the Sherriff replied, his voice catching on the phrase. Stiles ducked his head sadly as he walked out of the house, closing the door behind him.

He didn't doubt that his father loved him…but it was all too apparent that his father had never expected to see Stiles again after the Queen's Gambit…had never thought that it would be possible to tell his son that he loved him ever again to his face.

Stiles had decided that, every time he left his father, he would tell him that he loved him…just in case the worst happened. Stiles was fully aware that his life expectancy, already short thanks to his involvement in the supernatural, had been cut even shorter by his involvement with the league. Even here in Beacon Hills his safety wasn't guaranteed…and Stiles wasn't going to take the risk that the last thing his father heard him say to him wasn't going to be I love you.

After seven long years of suffering and thinking that Stiles was dead it was the least Stiles could do for his dad.

Cutting along a path towards the woods, Stiles began to run, picking up a steady pace that would eat away at the distance between him and the cemetery where his mother lay, hoping that nobody else was planning on an early Sunday morning visit to the cemetery.

It didn't take long for Stiles to reach the cemetery, and he slowly wove through the graves, following the path, still etched into his memory after all these years, towards his mother's grave.

Stiles was silent as he approached the grave, his hands resting at his side as he read the familiar letting, dropping down to his knees, just like he used to when he was a child and used to visit. He'd used to think that, somehow, if he was on the ground, he'd be closer to her…that it would lessen the pain…but it never seemed to help, and the gesture had become a habit.

"Hey Mom," Stiles greeted, brushing his fingers through the grass that covered his mother's grave. It was longer than he remembered, and he idly plucked out a few long blades of grass that were close to his mother's headstone, and had grown to a height that hampered his view of the lettering, although what was written there had been permanently etched into his memory by the time he was ten, carved into his brain, just like it had been written on the granite headstone.

"I…I'm sorry it's been awhile," Stiles began, "I've been…I've been away. If any of that stuff they used to tell me about you watching over me is real then…then you know what I've been doing…what I did. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry I got on that boat and left Dad behind for so long. I didn't know it was going to go down…that it would be seven years before I got to come home again. I'm sorry I left Dad alone. I…I promised you that I was going to look after him when you were sick…and I broke that promise."

Stiles sniffed, wiping away the tear that rolled down his face, "I…I've done bad things, mom…horrible things. You…you used to say that I was a monster…that I was trying to kill you. Sometimes I feel like I am that monster that you used to think I was…even more now than I was when I was being possessed," he confessed, "I killed people, mom…people that were just following orders from whoever was in command. They probably had families…people that loved them, and I killed them just because they were trying to kill my friends and I."

Memories washed over Stiles. He remembered the first man he had killed (excluding those that had died while he was being possessed by the Nogitsune).

It had been during the first incursion he participated in, attacking Fryers' camp on Lian Yu. He'd attacked one of Fryer's men, a tall man, at least twice the size of Stiles, with muscles that would leave even Derek Hale's look scrawny in comparison. He'd attacked Stiles with a knife first, with Stiles managing (Somehow) to dodge most of the blows, receiving only a cut on his right shoulder. Stiles had hit his attacker in the head with a bit of metal piping, before he'd tried to run away. The man, however, had recovered quickly, chasing Stiles through the camp. As a last resort, Stiles had thrown himself at the bottom of a watchtower and begun to climb the scaffolding that supported the watchtower. His assailant had pursued him as Stiles climbed, grabbing onto Stiles' foot and trying to pull him back down. Stiles had looked up and seen a loose screw, and he'd reached up, frantically pulling it free.

The tower above Stiles had started collapsing, metal beams and supports falling down around him from above Stiles' head, and the hand that had been gripped tightly around Stiles' foot had suddenly let go. Stiles had stayed where he was until the scaffolding had finished falling, pressing himself against the railings he was clinging to to avoid the worse of it. As it was one of the pieces had struck his injured shoulder, almost causing Stiles to fall as pain shot through his arm.

It was only when Stiles was on the ground himself that he looked over and realized why his attacker had let go of his foot. The piece of metal that had impaled the man's chest stuck up from the man's chest at a ninety degree angle. Stiles had carefully risen to his feet, his injured arm cradled by his free one, approaching his attacker's body, the patch on the man's chest reading 'Donovan' soaked with the man's blood. He'd checked to see if Donovan had somehow survived the injury, but Donovan skin had already begun to cool, and the blank, unseeing eyes of death seemed to look up at Stiles as he pulled his hand away from Donovan's neck, having checked for a pulse, and found nothing.

In that moment Stiles had thought of his father, wondering what he would say if he knew that Stiles had just become a murderer. What would Scott say? Or the rest of the pack?

The panic attack Stiles had experienced right there, beside Donovan's body, had been one of the worst he'd experienced since arriving on the island. Later Slade had jokingly commented that it was a good thing that Stiles had passed out from hyperventilating because any of Fryers' men that were passing by would have thought that he was dead and had left him alone.

Stiles wasn't exactly sure how long he had lain, unconscious, beside Donovan's body, but he'd woken up with Oliver anxiously crouched over him, checking his head for any injuries. Stiles hadn't told anyone the truth about what had happened between him and Donovan, although he was fairly sure that Shado, Slade and Oliver had figured it out. It wouldn't have taken an IQ like Lydia's to put the pieces together after all.

Stiles remembered how the cut to his shoulder, which Slade at stitched closed, had ached persistently as it had healed, the scar left behind a permanent reminder of that night. Even as Stiles thought about the wound he felt a soft weight on his right shoulder, right over where the scar left by the cut lay. Stiles blinked, startling himself out of the memories and ducked away from whoever had their hand resting on his shoulder, tucking into a roll and then jumping upright, the knife that he had been carrying strapped to his leg now in his hand as he adopted a ready pose, his body tensed and ready to either attack or defend at a moment's notice.

Derek Hale held up his hands and took a couple of steps away from Stiles, eyeing Stiles' knife wearily as he retreated away from Stiles.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the former Alpha apologized, "I called your name, but you were zoned out and didn't hear me I guess."

Stiles exhaled, letting out the breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding as he forced his body to relax. He slid his knife back into its sheath and rose back to his full height,

"What are you doing here?"

"After…after what happened yesterday I couldn't sleep so I decided to go for a run. I was going to go and visit my family, but then I heard you," Derek explained, "I can go, if you want."

"No, it's ok," Stiles sighed, dropping his gaze back to his mother's grave, "Do you still visit your family sometimes."

"Yeah, every couple of weeks," Derek replied, "It helps, sometimes, when you need to talk about what's been happening. Sometimes…sometimes I used to go and talk to your memorial too…tell you what had been going on…how much Scott was annoying me…apologizing for how I hadn't been able to help you enough after the nogitsune…how what happened to Allison and Aidan and everything else wasn't your fault and nobody blamed you for it…how I wished you hadn't gone to Starling City…yelling at how stupid you'd been to get on that damn boat…how much I missed you."

Stiles blinked in surprise at how open Derek was being. The Derek he remembered would never have spoken this much in one hit before, and Stiles hadn't been expecting it.

"I missed you too," Stiles confessed, "I missed you so much, Derek."

Stiles felt his breathing hitch, and looked away, so Derek couldn't see the tears building in his eyes. The salty scent of the tears, however, must have given him away, as Stiles felt Derek approach him and wrap his arms around him in a hug. Stiles stiffened initially, his training over the last few years making him wary, but he quickly calmed down, leaning against Derek's chest and relaxed into the embrace, inhaling the smell of Derek's leather jacket, and the slight scent of the woods that Stiles could smell even without being a werewolf.

"It's alright," Derek offered gently as he rubbed Stiles' back, "You're back now, you're alive…and that's all that matters."

"I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," Stiles apologized, looking up at Derek's face "I'm sorry that the Queen's Gambit went down…that I got on that boat…"

"It wasn't your fault, Stiles," Derek reassured him "You didn't know that the boat was going to sink, and you'd just gone through hell, literally. Nobody blames you for wanting to get away. I'm sorry that we weren't able to help you more."

"Wasn't your fault that I'm screwed in the head," Stiles scoffed, closing his eyes in bemusement as Derek's hand drifted up and down his back, along Stiles' spine.

"None of that matters now," Derek eventually whispered softly, "you're back…that's all that matters."

"I…I almost didn't come back," Stiles confessed guiltily, "I thought that…if I stayed away, I'd keep you guys safer."

"Safer? Are you in trouble?" Derek's tone gave away his slight alarm.

"Dude, it's me," Stiles sighed, "I've been gone for years…like I was going to stay out of trouble. I am incapable of staying out of trouble."

"Well, when you put it that way," Derek rolled his eyes.

"Honestly…I've gotten involved in something…something big…and I…I think I might be in over my head this time, Derek…and I don't know what to do."

"You've done the right thing by coming back here for a start. You have friends…family…Pack here, you always will. Even though it's been awhile and things were…mess…when you left…you'll always have a place here."

"Thanks Derek," Stiles sighed, "I'm glad I came back here. I…I know that there's a risk it might come back and bite me on the ass...but I feel better than I have in months…years even…since before the Nogitsune."

"I'm glad," Derek smiled, and Stiles blinked in surprise.

"Was that a smile? I didn't even know you even knew how to smile."

Derek rolled his eyes, his eyebrows betraying his amusement at Stiles' playful teasing, "Actually, I've changed my mind,"

"Ha, can't take back the fact you missed me, even mom heard it." Stiles grinned, turning to look towards his mother's grave. The smile, however, slipped from his face.

"She'd be proud of you," Derek offered gently, "She'd be proud that you came back…that you kept fighting…that you didn't give up, that you came back to your dad…even if it is only for a visit."

"How do you know that?"

"Your dad…After you…went missing…I moved in with him to keep an eye on him. There was a couple of nights when he started talking about you and your mom."

"Was he drunk?" Stiles asked with a sigh. He'd always known that his father's coping mechanism when it came to grief was the bottom of a bottle, Stiles had seen it in the years following his mother's death. It was one of his biggest concerns about his father...scared that his father would drink himself into an early grave.

"Not always, sometimes, yes, he'd had a couple of drinks, but not all the time when we spoke. Between and Melissa and I we kept a close eye on how much he drank, and what he was eating," Derek admitted honestly, "Anyway, he told me a lot about your mom, and you, when you were younger. He told me about how much she loved you, right up to her final moments. He told me about how she seemed to understand you more than anyone else did. I think she would have wanted you to do whatever it was you had to do in order to survive."

"You think so?" Stiles asked curiously.

Derek nodded, "she sounded like she was a wonderful woman…I'm sure that she's watching over you... happy that you made it back to your dad's side. He missed you."

"I know. He said this morning that, when he woke up, he thought it was all a dream. Last night…when I saw him…I felt so stupid and selfish for thinking about not coming back."

"You've been through a lot, Stiles, nobody would blame you for not wanting to come back, even without knowing where you've been. And you've never been stupid."

"You didn't use to think that," Stiles commented with a small smile, still leaning against Derek's chest, inhaling the scent of Derek's leather jacket, the faint scent of trees that Stiles could smell even without werewolf powers.

"No, I always thought you were smart. Scott was the dumb one," Derek corrected.

Stiles snorted, "He wasn't too bad…it was just that you met him at the start of the …the Allison phase. He was pretty much focused on using his downstairs brain while that was going on. Before he met Allison, and after they broke up he actually used his brain most of the time. When we were kids he was the one that always used to tell me when my plans were stupid and would end up with us either in trouble, or in hospital."

"Did you listen?"

"Sometimes," Stiles admitted with a shrug, "although in my defense he wasn't always right about all of my plans."

Derek shook his head, obviously struggling to think about the idea of Scott and Stiles before the supernatural turned their world upside down.

"I should go," Stiles sighed after a lengthy, but comfortable, pause, "I ran here, and if it gets much later I might get spotted by someone on my way back home. I'm still technically dead, so one of the neighbors seeing me walking down the street probably would cause alarm.

"What about in the future?" Derek asked, as Stiles rose to his feet, "are you going to be on the run for the rest of your life."

Stiles sighed, looking down at his mother's grave, before he shrugged, "I want to come back, legally," he admitted, "but I don't know if it's going to be possible, with, you know…that thing that I mentioned getting involved in."

"How bad is it, Stiles?" Derek asked, rising to his feet, noticing that the height difference between them wasn't as much as it used to be back when Stiles had been in high school.

"I don't know, how are you measuring badness?" Stiles asked, his voice distant, although his gaze remained fixed on his mother's grave.

"Are you going to die?"

"Probably,"

"Probably?"

"The odds are not in my favor…and the longer I spend in Beacon Hills the more likely it is that the trouble will follow me here, putting you all in danger…My Dad, Scott, Melissa, you, Lydia, Jackson…everyone."

"The pack is strong, stronger than it was when you left. Scott is a good Alpha…the pack are experienced and know more about what they can do. We can protect you, and this town."

"No…I don't think you understand, Derek. It…I've seen it happen. They don't care who gets hurt in the crossfire. They want me. The only reason I'm here in the first place because they let me go for a bit, to see what I did when I got a bit of freedom, but it would be stupid and naïve to think that they weren't keeping tabs of me…hell. I'm telling them where I am just so I don't have a tail put on me."

"Have you been threatened?" Derek frowned.

Stiles snorted, "Threatened? Dude, if threatening was all they did, I would not be this concerned."

"Stiles?" the concern in Derek's voice was undeniable, and Stiles turned to look sadly at Derek, suddenly seeming older than any 23 year old ever should.

"Stay away from me Derek," Stiles advised in a sad voice, "I'll be gone soon, and you probably won't see me again. It's better if you don't get too close. That way you won't get hurt."

Stiles turned and began walking away, not trusting himself to look back over his shoulder towards Derek. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, but Stiles didn't wipe them away.

Being with Derek at the cemetery had been a painful reminder that as much as Stiles wanted to remain in Beacon Hills, he couldn't. He would have to return to the League at some point, and he'd have to leave everyone behind yet again, knowing that he might never see them again.

The moment Stiles passed through the cemetery gate, he began running, tears still pouring down his face as it really began to sink into his brain that he would never get to have a life with his family and friends, that the league would be like a cloud hovering over his head, ready to strike down anyone that they thought he cared too much about, or he was getting too close to.

Stiles didn't want to be a member of the League of Assassins. He was done being responsible for the deaths of others, he didn't want to spend the rest of his life, however long it might be, ending the lives of others. He wanted to spend it here, where he belonged, in Beacon Hills. He wanted to spend it with Derek, his dad, Scott, the rest of the pack, Oliver and Sara…even Jackson.

Sliding to a stop Stiles leaned against a tree, his breath coming in gasps as he tilted his head back against the rough bark of the tree, closing his eyes against his tears. Being back in Beacon Hills hurt so much more than he thought it would now that he knew that the League were unlikely to let him stay there, and that he would probably never be able to return…not without an even greater risk of bringing the league back with him, endangering everyone in Beacon Hills.

It was a risk that Stiles knew that he'd never be able to take. Exhaling shakily, Stiles slid down the tree trunk, sitting on the ground at the base of the tree, his legs drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his shins as he thought about what he would do when it came time to leave Beacon Hills again. Saying goodbye to everyone was going to hurt…his father, Scott, Melissa and Lydia, but Stiles hadn't been prepared for how he was feeling about leaving Derek. Even the mere thought left his chest feeling tight, as if he was on the verge of a panic attack.

When Stiles had been in high school, before he'd been claimed by the Nogitsune, he'd had a crush of Derek. He'd never acted on it, and Derek hadn't ever shown any sign of reciprocating Stiles' affections. Why would he? Derek hadn't ever given the slightest indication that he was gay, or even bi-sexual. In fact, his tastes seemed to run towards psychotic women who were older than him, even if it was only by a few years. Stiles knew that he wasn't handsome, and he certainly hadn't been back when he'd been a teenager. Granted he'd filled out a little, thanks to his training with the league, but he still didn't look like much compared to Derek, Jackson, or even Oliver.

Still, when he'd been at the cemetery, when Derek had been comforting him, Stiles had felt the attraction he had felt long ago flicker into life again. He only hoped that Derek hadn't noticed it through his scent, although he didn't like his chances. Derek's senses were keen, and he'd been honing them for his entire life.

It had been a long time since Stile could remember feeling lie this about anyone. Actually, he could…and it had been Derek before the Nogitsune. Ever since then he'd been too busy drowning in guilty, struggling to survive, or trying to avoid being noticed by everyone around him who would take the slightest hint of interest on Stiles' part as an excuse to either kill him, or rape him and claim him as their own.

Stiles lost track of time as he sat in the woods, alone with his own turbulent thoughts. Eventually, though, he had the presence of mind to rise to his feet and continue on his run through the trees back towards the house his father and Melissa now shared.

A glance at his watch as he slipped through the door told Stiles that he hadn't been gone for as long as he had thought, although the sun was higher in the sky than he had anticipated. Still, he hadn't seen anyone other than Derek, and the few times he'd been running near a road he'd put his hood up to conceal his identity, so Stiles' doubted that he had been seen, although he'd learned during his time with the league that there were all sorts of different ways people could be spied upon.

He couldn't see Jackson, or his dad, but Melissa was in the kitchen, sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee, as Stiles walked through the front door. She looked up as Stiles entered, and Stiles blinked.

"Um…sorry for not knocking," he apologized, "I didn't know if anyone would be here, and I didn't really want to risk being seen standing at the front porch by someone who might recognize me, because I'm, you know, supposed to be dead."

"Stiles, you don't need to knock. This is your home, just as much as it is Scott's." Melissa shook her head with a smile, "now come and get some breakfast, your dad said you hadn't eaten anything yet."

Stiles smiled and approached Melissa, sniffing appreciatively as he recognized the scent of Melissa's famous choc chip pancakes…Stiles' favorite from childhood.

"Stiles, is everything ok?" Melissa asked, frowning in concern as she got a better look at Stiles. Stiles blinked and wiped at his face. His tears had stopped, finally, during his run home, and he thought he'd dried his face, erasing all evidence of his breakdown in the woods. Obviously it hadn't been enough to fool Melissa, the closest thing he'd had to a mother since his own mother had died. Melissa watched him carefully as she removed a plate with a stack of choc chip pancakes from the over, where they had been kept warm, carrying it over to the table.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Stiles lied, getting himself a glass of water and carrying it to the table, sitting down in the chair beside Melissa's, in front of the stack of pancakes, "why wouldn't it be? Where's dad? Did something happen?"

"Your father is busy with something, and Jackson's having a shower, and don't change the question, Stiles. Remember, I've known you since you were four years old…I know how to tell when you're lying, even without werewolf hearing. Your eyes are all red, and I know they do that when you've been crying, so tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on…I just…got a bit…emotional when I went and saw mom," Stiles evaded. It was the truth, after all, just not all of it.

"Derek called, Stiles," Melissa offered, "he said that he saw you up there, and that he was worried about you."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Since when has Derek cared about me?" he asked, picking up his knife and fork and beginning to eat the pancakes.

"Since you went missing for seven years, presumed dead," Melissa replied, "Since you were tearing yourself to pieces with guilt about something you had no control over…since you saved his sister's life…since you were kidnapped and beaten, and yet didn't give away any information, since you held him up in a swimming pool for two hours when he was paralyzed…since you lied to your father and gave up your first chance to actually play for the lacrosse team in order to help him. Derek's cared about you for a damn long time, Stiles."

Stiles hung his head, hearing the scolding tone that Melissa was using. It was the same one that she used when Scott and Stiles had done something stupid when they were younger, and it brought back memories of simpler times, before werewolves and the league and deserted islands that hadn't been very deserted.

"I'm sorry," Stiles apologized, "I just…it was easier to think he didn't care."

"Because you were in love with him?" Melissa commented. Stiles choked on the piece of pancake he was eating.

"What?" he exclaimed once he'd managed to clear his airway.

"It was fairly obvious, Stiles." Melissa admitted, "I don't think your dad knew, and Scott didn't either, but most other people who knew you well picked it out. Isaac and Lydia both knew."

"Oh God…Jackson knows now too," Stiles moaned looking up at the ceiling. He was never going to hear the end of this for the rest of his time in Jackson's company.

"Derek doesn't know, does he?" he asked hopefully.

Melissa only smiled apologetically, "Sorry, sweetie. I don't think he knew originally, but I kind of…told him about it a couple of years ago. He told me at the time that he could tell that you were aroused, but he dismissed it as you just being a hormonal teenager. I don't think he was really ready to know that you had a thing for him when you were underage."

"Because of Kate?" Stiles sighed. Melissa nodded sadly, and she lifted her hand and rubbed Stiles' back gently.

"Do you want to tell me what's really going on in that head of yours?"

Stiles hesitated, weighing up the options. Thinking about it…it would be easier to tell Melissa than to tell his dad. Even though Melissa had been a surrogate mother to him since he was young, she still wasn't his mom, not in the same way as his dad.

"I can't come back to Beacon Hills again," Stiles sighed, "When I leave here I'll probably never see any of you again…in fact, I really hope that I don't, because if I do it will mean that you've been dragged into the crap that I've been involved in, and I don't think I can deal with that."

Melissa's hand froze where it rested on Stiles' back, and Stiles tensed, ready for her to pull away, or to slap him. What he wasn't prepared for was for Melissa to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a hug. He stiffened at the initial touch, before he relaxed into it, allowing his body to let go, just for a moment.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time buddy?"

Stiles found himself shaking his head, his lips pursed together, unable to say who he'd found himself affiliated with. Melissa would hate him…the entire pack would.

"Ok, ok, I won't make you say it," Melissa offered soothingly, "It's ok, you're ok."

Stiles found himself wrapping his arms around Melissa, his fingers curling as he clutched onto her shirt, clinging onto her. He felt the soft press of her lips to his forehead and found himself blinking back tears as he realized that, aside from the previous night, it was the first time he'd been held like this by someone since he left Starling City on the Queen's Gambit. Oliver and Sara had both looked out for him as much as they could over the years, but they'd been just as overwhelmed by things as he was.

"They'll kill all of you," Stiles whispered in a broken voice, "None of you would be safe if they came after you…not if they had enough of them. They know about the supernatural…they know that I am…was…involved with the supernatural in Beacon Hills. You don't know how ruthless they are, what they would do, just to prove a point. They have to think that I don't care about this place anymore, otherwise they'll think it's a weakness."

"Oh, Stiles," Melissa sighed, her grip on Stiles tightening slightly, "You've gotten in over your head, haven't you?"

Stiles nodded, tucking his face against Melissa's neck, "I don't want to leave," he told her, "but I don't have a choice. That's why they let me come here after so long…to show me that I'm going to be looking over my shoulder, waiting for them to come after me again, if I leave. That, if I do the wrong thing, they would have no problem coming here and killing everyone I care about. You guys are all in danger just because you know me. That's why I have to leave and never come back…that's why…that's why they have to think that I don't care about you guys…but I do care…and I don't want to leave you and dad, and the rest of the pack."

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Melissa reassured gently, "you're not on your own, Stiles, not anymore."