Okay! Here's the first part of The Rabid Alpha.

Some things that need be known: Stiles is hiding his magic because it would be dangerous for others to know, as it would attract unwanted attention to them, Beacon Hills, and Stiles himself. There are other warlocks and witches around in the world, and Stiles' mere existence draws them to him, and they like to mess things up so here we go.

Set during season 2: Boyd and Erica are still with the pack, Derek is the Alpha.

It was when Deaton called him the 'spark' that he thought they would all find out about him. It soon became apparent, however, that just about any non-human couldn't even touch mountain ash. It helped his cover that warlocks were still considered human, even if they were still beings of magic, and a bit like werewolves in that respect.

Stiles was happy to do something even remotely magical to help, because he was getting tired of acting weak. Any human could have been a spark. He wanted to help, and he wanted to be known as someone who could help.

When Derek asked him to break the barrier of mountain ash, he did so with his real magic. Stiles called on his warlock side to part the line, and it did so with great ease. Of course, it didn't look like much more than a displacement of the air that blew away the powdery substance. It was better that way; safer. If his magic could look effortless and, well, not like magic, then he was doing it right.

But then, there were also the big spells that required copious amounts of energy, and were completely conspicuous when in the midst of werewolves with heightened senses.

Stiles was mindlessly tapping away on his computer, headphones settled snugly over his ears, when he heard something land on his floor.

Well, he didn't exactly hear it (his headphones were of very good quality, and he could scarcely hear anything at all); the Other part of him could feel the vibrations of something big coming in from the open window.

He paused his typing, turning slowly in his chair to see who was in his room. The knowledge that someone would be there didn't make him jump any less, however, as he let out an embarrassingly loud yelp (he was glad his dad wasn't home) when he saw that Derek was right behind him.

When Stiles could breathe again, he clumsily pulled off his headphones. "Oh my god Derek, I have a front door."

Whatever he was expecting the werewolf to do, it wasn't to narrow his alpha-red eyes and pull out his claws, growling.

Stiles stared at the claws, completely aware of the damage they could do. He raised his hands in a placating manner. "Whoa, dude, sorry. You can—you can use the window as much as you like. Totally fine. Completely—" He cut off with a squeak as Derek stepped forwards menacingly, snarling louder.

Stiles closed his mouth, staring into his friend's (friend? He thought so, anyway) scarlet eyes. There was not a hint of recognition in them.

"Derek?" he asked softly, not breaking eye contact.

And Derek roared, wolfing out completely.

Stiles let out a yelp, scrambling backwards out of his chair, as the werewolf lunged at him, claws sharp and teeth bared. He shut his eyes and flattened himself against the wall, simultaneously preparing for his impending death and summoning his magic.

He didn't end up having to go to such drastic measures after all, for a wolfed-out Scott chose that exact moment to burst through the window, yelling "Stiles!" and slamming into Derek's side before he could reach the boy. He and Derek rolled around on the floor, pushing around the books and clothes strewn about, snarling viciously at one another. As Stiles clambered back into the wall, sinking to the ground, he ignored the great commotion happening all around him and called on his energy, taking a deep breath. He had to stop the fighting before someone got hurt, which he could see was clearly Derek's intention from the ferocity with which he attacked.

Then, with deadly calm he could never replicate under normal circumstances, he raised an arm, open palm facing the middle of his room. Neither werewolf took the slightest notice of him, too busy trying to rip out each other's throats.

Stiles released all the pent up energy at once in a blinding flash of heat, eyes shut against the rush of power.

The twin howls he heard told him that the other two had failed to close their eyes in time.

The two werewolves rolled away from each other, heads jerking from side to side as they tried to see. Derek was faster, and he kicked Scott in the face with an angry howl, before rolling back out the window and disappearing into the night.

Scott groaned, back in human form, hauling himself up to his feet. "What the hell was that? I think it burned me…" he groaned, rubbing his knuckles against closed eyes.

Stiles couldn't answer; his body was trembling, and his breaths came in short, uneven gasps.

Scott tilted his head, squinting at his friend through the bright spot in the middle of his vision. "Stiles? You okay? Did Derek hurt you?"

Stiles clutched at his chest when he could finally breathe again, shakily pulling himself off the ground. "No, he—he… I don't know," he eventually panted out.

Scott looked concerned, stepping forwards and putting a supportive hand on Stiles' arm. "Are you okay?" he asked again, more slowly.

Stiles nodded jerkily. "Yeah—yeah. I think so. Yeah." It was not the hardest magic he'd ever attempted, but it was certainly a lot stronger than what he had been going for. Why couldn't I control it? Stiles wondered. The normally mild spell had nearly drained him, he noted worriedly.

Scott didn't seem totally convinced, but he nodded through his friend's internal musings. "Okay. Do you have any idea what that was?"

Stiles blinked. "What what was?"

"What?"

"What?"

"The light, Stiles! What was the light? Did one of Allison's arrows make its way here or something?" Scott said exasperatedly, running a hand through his hair. "I need to find Derek. There was some witch, or something, and he's completely crazy now. We have to get Deaton—"

"I can help," Stiles said immediately, completely ignoring the first question.

Scott sighed. "No, Stiles. He's really dangerous—he's gone completely feral. You could get hurt, or worse, and…."

Stiles looked at him.

Scott huffed in submission, glaring. "Fine."

Thank you for reading!