Hey guys! I'm back! Bootcamp is finally over and now I'm waiting to class up at A school so we'll see how long that takes. It is so much calmer here. So, I know I said I would try to write during Basic, but that was thrown out the window as soon as I stepped foot on the base. I only got inspiration to write this chapter on my last Sunday there, even though I've been jumping from story to story for the past 9 weeks. Anyway, I've got the chapter, and I'm back now. The only thing is… I don't really remember what all I did in the other chapters, so if there're discrepancies, I'll try to correct them once I read through my chapters again. Have fun with this though! Hopefully it doesn't suck like I feel like it does!

Chapter 12: Refusal

"Derek!" Stiles shouted as he slid beneath the Whomping Willow, stumbling to a stop in the never ending tunnel. His voice echoed back to him, obscuring any noise of a boy breaking himself. A cry rang from his throat as invisible roots brushed across his exposed, feverish skin.

Quieting, he walked slowly, listening for any indication that Derek was tearing the Shrieking Shack to pieces. He didn't know if he was too far away or if Derek simply wasn't there, but he heard only the silence of the dead.

Suddenly, an agonized howl, like that from a wounded wolf, rang down the tunnel, piercing his ears.

"Fuck, shit, hell," Stiles muttered, staring into the darkness, dancing back and forth. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it. "Do I go? Do I not go? Is getting eaten worth finding out if Derek is down there?" he asked himself.

A more human howl cut him off, bringing his feet to a stop.

Gritting his teeth, he gripped his wand more securely. "God dammit," he whispered, taking off at a dead sprint.

For once since he'd gotten to Hogwarts, his wand was calm and quiet. He could feel his magic growing in his chest, leaking into his blood stream. His mind blurred, only one thought clear in the haze, 'Get Derek!'

The growls and howls, screams and shouts grew louder with each step he took until he couldn't hear himself think. They were agonized, wounded sounds, cutting deep furrows into his being. They reverberated through his body, sending shocks and ripples through the growing mass of magic contained within him.

With a flick of his wrist, the door leading into the Shrieking Shack was blown from its hinges, disintegrating into a cloud of dust. Stiles burst through the empty doorway, braced for an attack, wand arm extended straight out and spell already on his lips.

The shack fell eerily silent. Not even a floorboard creaked as the wind howled around the dilapidated building.

Stiles stood still and silent, listening for any indication of another living creature lurking in the shadows. It was easier to see, weak moonlight struggling through cracks and tattered curtains over boarded windows.

The silence dug beneath Stiles' skin, poking at muscles and nerves. A nervous twitch started along the back of his neck. His chest began to tighten little by little, making it a chore to breath.

The howl came again, more animal than human.

Stiles took off up the rickety, barely held together staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He rocketed passed the first landing, heading straight to the top. As he climbed faster and faster, higher and higher, it grew easier to see little by little.

Claw marks and thrown objects marked the path of destruction, leading to the last floor.

Stiles stood on the last landing, staring into the gloom, waiting for the next sign, the next lead of where Derek could possibly be.

Swallowing passed his thickening throat, Stiles took the first step into the massacred hallway. "Derek," he called in a barely there whisper, eyes darting into each dark doorway.

A door at the end of the hall hung open, nearly ripped from the hinges, doorknob crushed into a sad imitation of its former glory. Whimpering spilled from the room, keening and heart wrenching. A howl rose again, rising into the night, wolf-like and so, so lonely.

"Derek," Stiles called louder, approaching the door cautiously, wand only dropped a mere quarter of an inch. "Derek, I know what happened. I know it hurts."

The whimpering quieted, but didn't abate. Sobbing took over, loud, hard.

"Ah, hell," Stiles whispered as he entered the room, taking it in quickly.

Derek had torn the room to shreds. It looked nothing like Stiles supposed it must have. The pillows and bed had been ripped open, feathers thrown every which way. The bed post had been torn apart, wood snapped in half and thrown aside. The curtains and cover had been torn seam from seam. What looked like the remnants of books was spread across the floor, mixing spectacularly with the feathers. The wall paper had been ripped, peeling from the walls.

Huddled in a corner, Derek's back faced the door, shoulders trembling beneath his cloak. A sob choked from his throat.

"Derek," Stiles said again, voice soft, chest loosening. The magic in his veins sizzled and fizzed, unused, but so wishing to be. His fingertips tingled, the magic pushing against his chest. "Derek, I'm so-"

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Derek snarled, hostile, voice hoarse and watery, but entirely too aggressive.

Jerking back as if he'd been slapped, Stiles dropped his wand to his side, tightening his fingers until his knuckles pressed white. "Well, I don't know. Your whole family just disappeared into the fucking nether, and hasn't returned. I don't know, maybe I'm possibly worried about you because you're my friend and I care about you."

"Well, you can go back to the castle, I don't need you here. I don't want you here. You can't do anything about this," Derek bit out, curling further in on himself, "Go away."

Stiles' eyes narrowed, hand tightening until his hand ached with the pressure. "I understand that something really bad must have happened," his mind flashed on the flames raging around him, the burning of his skin. Shaking his head hard, he had to blink quickly to clear his vision. "And I know I probably can't do shit to fix it, but you can't just push me away. I'm here to help you. I'm here to keep you from hurting yourself even more than you probably already have. We're all out after hours looking for every one of you Hales so that you're not alone during this tragedy."

"Nobody asked you guys to do that."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock, that's the fucking point of having friends. We're there for each other even when we don't think we need someone to help us through," Stiles snapped, his wand flaring dangerously at his side.

"I guess we're not friends then."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that, Hale," Stiles snarled, reverting back to the usual way of referral that floated through the Slytherin house, "I try and I try and I try, and you just blow me off. I don't know why I continue to try, but I do for some reason. Do you understand exactly how infuriating you are? I just want to punch you in the mouth most days, or shove my wand down your throat. Maybe both at the same time. That would be incredibly satisfying."

"Then why don't you do it if you want to so badly?" Derek challenged, fishing for a fight. He loosened his tight posture in preparation for what, Stiles didn't know. He wouldn't duel Derek.

A growl of utter frustration rose in Stiles' throat. "Because you're my friend. Just because you're a dick doesn't mean I'm going to act on my anger. Holy hell, what gave you the idea that any of your friends would ever treat you like that?"

"That's stupid," was Derek's only childish response.

"And so are you," Stiles shot back.

"Stiles, shut the fuck up."

Stiles ground his teeth. "Not until you admit that you need someone here. Just because you've always dealt with everything on your own doesn't mean you'll be able to this time. Why won't you let me help you?" His voice had turned nearly pleading.

"Because you wouldn't understand, so there's no point to you being here," Derek snapped.

Stiles' hackles shot straight up, anger and hurt making him bristle. "Well, maybe if you told me what happened, I would understand. You don't know everything that's happened in my life. You only know part of it, the part that I've had the guts to tell you about."

Derek spun around, springing to his feet. "My family, Stiles! My whole family, my entire pack, is dead!" he screamed, eyes flashing steel blue and fangs protruding from his lips.

Stiles just stared at him, going over every new feature he'd been presented with. Maybe Derek thought his face would scare him off, or maybe he simply couldn't control the transformations. "That's real fucking nice of you. I've lost family too. I lost my mom to the choices of other human beings and my dad to alcohol. I have the possibility of losing my dad every day even after getting him back. I may not know what it feels like to lose my entire family, but I'm pretty damn close."

They stared at each other for several long, silent moments, listening to the wind outside and their own swirling vortex of thoughts. Their eyes bore deep holes into each other, unflinching under the other's gaze.

Slowly, Derek's mask began to slip, revealing the broken fifteen-year-old beneath. Tears gathered in his eyes, ready to spill over at the slightest provocation. His claws and fangs retracted, but his eyes still glowed.

"Stiles," he whispered, throat closing and choked, "They're gone. They're all gone. All of them, and they can never come back." The tears spilled over, making tracks down his cheeks.

Images of Derek's family flashed across his mind's eye. His mother, father, siblings, cousins, uncles and aunts, nieces and nephews. Everyone he'd met just gone in the blink of an eye, erased from existence by a fire and an insane hunter.

Fear twisted in his gut at the thought of his dream. That was how Derek's family had been murdered, he was positive, but what could he do? He wasn't a Seer, no matter what people told him. He was barely passing divination. Why was he so certain of their deaths?

Stiles moved forward, slipping his wand back into his trouser pocket and his arms around Derek's waist. As the space disappeared between their bodies, slowly becoming flush, Stiles could feel his built up magic beginning to seep into Derek's body.

Derek inhaled sharply, breath hitching, shoulders jerking at the contact. His breath hissed out from between clenched teeth, arms tightening around Stiles' thinner frame. "What am I going to do without them?" he whispered, burying his nose in Stiles neck, nuzzling at the soft skin.

"I don't know," Stiles said truthfully, "But we're going to figure it out together."

…..

"How are they doing?" Scott asked, sitting down as quietly as Scott could ever manage, which wasn't very quiet at all.

Stiles turned his face out of his arms, blinking at his best friend blurrily, giving his exhausted brain enough time to process the question. He sighed heavily, tucking his face back against Derek's side where the other slept fitfully along the couch in the Gryffindor common room. "Tired. They're all very tired and emotionally exhausted… but we're going to all be alright eventually, I think."

"Did you guys ever find Peter?"

"No, and we don't care anyway. He's probably out destroying something in anger, or hunting down-" He stopped himself, snapping his mouth shut. No one knew what he knew, and for the time being, no one would know.

Scott was quiet for a moment, glancing at Stiles' and Derek's intertwined fingers. His best friend's knuckles were white where they pressed up against the skin. "How are you doing? Tonight was… stressful for all of us."

Stiles sighed again, more heavily than before. "I'm not having as bad of a night as the Hales, but… I'll be better when today is over. I'll be better in a few days, maybe. Tonight was stressful to an entirely new extent, Scottie." His fingers clutched at Derek's as if he would float away if he loosened them even the slightest amount.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Cora and Malia curled close to Laura, pulling the blanket closer around them in a protective cocoon. They lay in front of the fireplace, keeping their puppy pile close and warm.

"Well, if you need anything, I'll be in my bed. If any of you need anything, just come and get me, alright?"

"Thanks, Scottie. See you in the morning."

As Scott disappeared up the stairs, Stiles climbed on the couch, pressing close to Derek's side. It was a tight fit, but like everything else, they'd make it work.

So, did it suck? Were you highly disappointed with it? Sorry if you were, and sorry that it was so much shorter than the other chapters. I was so sure it was my usual length. So, if you were waiting for Stiles to freak out over the whole werewolf thing, don't worry, it's coming soon (if he already knows and I just forgot that he does, for the love of everything holy, please tell me!). On that note, I'm thinking about rewriting the first chapter because when I posted it, I actually didn't like it all that much. What do you guys think? I'll be anxiously awaiting your reviews!