Sunday night his father found Stiles in the back yard sanding wood. Sheriff Stilinski thought about asking his son what he was doing but realized that the boy was doing something with his time and that was good enough so he left it at that. By Monday, Stiles had measured and cut down the wood until all the pieces seemed the right sizes for his project. Except he'd forgotten to get hinges and a light bulb, so it was another trip to the hardware store for Stiles.

The trip should have been a quick one. Stiles was determined to be entirely focused on getting what he needed and not being distracted by the shiny lights in the lighting department. The lights were a weakness—they always had been. Something about the glass and the colors made him stare until he drooled.

But the lights weren't what stopped Stiles. It was the fact that the hardware store was virtually empty. He didn't notice it until he went to the check out counter. He glanced around and realized he was alone.

He tapped his fingers on the counter, eyes wandering over the candy display. After several minutes, he moved to glance down the aisles. Empty.

"Hello?" When does that ever work? "And Stiles invites himself to his own horror movie..."

Stiles moved down several more aisles, wandering the store. He started to panic just as red-vested employee rounded the corner. "Oh!"

"I just wanted to check out," Stiles called, breathing a sigh of relief.

The girl, a few years older than he, stepped around the counter, waving her hands. "Yeah, that's fine. I… was just surprised is all. Business is super slow today. I haven't seen anyone except an elderly couple this morning."

Stiles put his things on the counter. "That's weird. I was in here the other day and it was pretty packed. Almost couldn't get paint."

She shrugged and scanned his items. "I don't know what happened. I have a friend who works over at the video game store and he says it's the same. Only about ten or so people the whole day. Same thing with another friend of mine who works at Pixie's—the nightclub."

"A club? That's definitely weird."

She nodded and told him his total.

"Hope things pick up," he said with a wave.

"Thanks, have a nice day."

"You, too."

Stiles arrived home to an unexpected, although it shouldn't have been surprising, visitor. Derek sat on his front porch with a look that could only be described as grumpy. His knees were splayed out, and leaning on his left hand, all his weight seemed to slump him down on his thigh. His heavy brow and scowling mouth didn't help matters at all. Stiles would have laughed at the comical look if it hadn't been for the first-degree murder that was gleaming in Derek's red eyes.

Stiles rolled down his window, not willing to get out of the jeep just yet. "So…what's with the extra sour in your wolf?"

"You weren't here."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I know. I was the one that wasn't here, remember? Wow, forget that. It didn't make any sense. Are you trying to tell me you've been waiting for me to come back?"

Derek stretched his legs in front of him. "No."

Stiles let a smile flash on his face. "Yeah, okay. How long?"

"Aren't you going to get out of the car?"

"I kind of like it in here. Where I have an easy getaway."

"And why would you need a getaway?"

Stiles frowned. "I don't know… Maybe it's because of the red-eyed murderous looking wolf sitting on my front porch?"

"I'm not—" Derek turned and caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the front windows. "Oh." He bristled and his budding canines and red eyes simmered back.

Stiles stepped out of the jeep.

"I didn't realize," Derek muttered.

Stiles raised his brows. "Right. Well."

Derek glanced down to Stiles' hand. "What's that?"

Stiles lifted his plastic bag. "Stuff. For my project." He brushed past him and opened his front door. Stiles turned around before Derek could follow him in. "What do you want?"

"Erica and Boyd turned up again."

Stiles blanched. "What?" A grin tugged up on his face. "That—that's awesome! So the Alpha pack didn't do anything to them, right?"

Derek shuffled his foot. "They got away, but they're not okay. I think something happened to them before they got back—after they got away. They're eyes are all weird." Derek tried to shrug off the dark look on his face. "I think it has something to do with this whole strange feeling I've been having. They're not the same."

The smile on Stiles' face slipped off. "What do you mean their eyes are weird?"

Derek licked his lip and stuffed his hands into his leather jacket. "They're graying. Not completely, but they're getting there. Erica and Boyd showed up yesterday and they seemed fine. They were beaten up, definitely, but otherwise fine. And then this morning they stopped talking. And now their eyes are going grey and they won't move."

Stiles felt himself slowly freeze to the spot. This was definitely something supernatural. He couldn't pass this off as some sort of disease because werewolves were supposed to not get diseases. But the situation itself wasn't what turned his feet into lead. It was the fact that Derek looked so completely unstable—freaked out of his mind—that he knew that this was something far more serious than he wanted to believe. And Derek would now make Stiles help if he had to. In short, shit just got real.

"Is-Is it just them? Is everyone else okay?" Scott.

Derek nodded. "It's just them…right now. But if this thing can affect werewolves then I don't know." Derek shook his head, glaring at a spot above Stiles' head in endless frustration.

That was when Stiles realized that Derek had come to him and let a load off his chest. Why? He wasn't sure, but it softened the ball of tightness and anxiety inside him that he hadn't realized was there.

Stiles sighed. "Come on. I've got…coffee."

Derek followed him inside and leaned by the fridge while Stiles made a fresh pot. "I know you don't want to get involved…"

Stiles tensed over the coffee. "All logic tells me I shouldn't."

"So now you listen to reason?"

Stiles poured Derek a mug. "Milk in the fridge. Sugar in the cupboard above your head."

Derek just sipped his drink with raised brows.

Stiles leaned on the counter at his back and watched. "I…I'm not a hero, Derek. I know now that I'm just human."

Derek nodded. "So what's the reason for avoiding your pack?"

Stiles blanched mid-sip. "Pack? What pack?" Did you see a pack? I didn't see a pack.

Derek shrugged. "Scott, Allison, Lydia…"

"They're your pack."

"You're still avoiding them."

"I'm not…" Stiles trailed off seeing the knowing look on his almighty wolfie's face. He shrugged. "I wouldn't call it avoiding. We just... we're travelling in different directions is all. Oh, don't give me that look! You're Wolf Yoda, not Relationship Yoda. You can't just occupy two completely different Yoda fields—only canon Yoda is allowed that. Besides, why do you even care? I thought you hated me."

"I absolutely loathe being around you," Derek confirmed. But his words held no bite and only made Stiles smile a small smile and shake his head.

"Well there must be a strange exhilaration…in such total detestation—whoa, never mind. Can we please talk about something different? Didn't you come here to ask for help again?"

Derek downed the last of his coffee. Stiles managed to refrain from asking how fast mouth burns healed for werewolves. "I don't need to ask, Stiles. You're going to find out what is going on or I'll tear out your innards…with my teeth."

"Careful with the threats, buddy. One might start to think you don't mean them."

"Why don't you shut up? Else the wall and your head will get personal."

"Ha ha, very funny. But I see through your game, Grumpy McGrumpypants. You put up a tough front with all the broody faces and gymnastics, but I know exactly what you really are."

"And what is that?" Derek took a step forward, crowding along the edges of too close and looked straight into Stiles' big, auburn eyes.

"A big ball of yarn," Stiles replied with a satisfied smirk.

"A big ball of yarn?"

"Oh yes. Just a cuddly little sphere of soft plush goodness."

Stiles grinned. Derek just set him with a glare as he shuffled another small step forward.

"Cuddly?" His eyebrows rose and there was a laugh just around Derek's mouth.

Stiles glanced over him. "Well, you do have that whole look-at-this-leather-and-metal-I-will-fuck-you-up thing going on but I don't believe it for a second. And don't even flash those alpha eyes at me. I know you can do that on purpose."

Derek sniffed. "Do the research." His voice was growly but it didn't mask the clear amusement on his face.

Stiles put up his hands. "Alright, alright. I give. I'll do whatever you ask! Just don't knit me a sweater. Anything but the knitting needles!"

Derek snorted and backed up. "You don't need me to knit you a sweater." His eyes wandered down Stiles' front.

Stiles grabbed the knitted blue fabric that had deer printed across the bottom. "What? This? It was a gift! From a family member! Don't you dare tell me that you've never had one of those!" Stiles stopped. He realized the territory he'd just stepped in to.

Derek lowered his face with a sad smile. "Yeah," he huffed. He looked back up, remembrances gone and all seriousness returned. "I need you to do it right away. I'm not sure if this thing is fatal."

Stiles blew out a breath and nodded. Derek let himself out.

Stiles did get started on the research right away. He worked on it until the nightblogging hours of the morning, well after his father got home and crashed asleep. He delved into the sea of websites, digging through anything resembling supernatural folklore and werewolves. All the while, his mind kept revisiting his and Derek's conversation and the weird way it turned out. It resembled something like friendly. The way Derek easily assimilated himself into his kitchen and the way he returned tit for tat every time Stiles made a jab. Yet this friendliness had an odd edge to it, something that veered it away from innocent.

When Stiles finally slumped onto his bed, eyes drooping and fingers aching, he revisited the conversation one last time. Something about the whole encounter bothered him to no end. There was something there he couldn't quite name. It was on the fringes of his brain, just out of reach. Some word that could properly describe this strange exchange.

And right before he fell asleep, Stiles heard it.

What Derek and Stiles were doing in the kitchen could only be described by something truly terrifying. His mind jarred to a halt around this word and for a second he felt his insides cringe and shake at the possibility. But it couldn't be true; this word, Derek, and Stiles didn't belong in the same sentence let alone the same universe. But Stiles wasn't an idiot, and he knew that the only possible way to describe his encounter with Derek, which was all together terrifying and oddly exhilarating, was…. flirting.