An odd thing happened at the police station. Although odd might have been putting it mildly. There wasn't a police vehicle in sight. There were the usual impounded cars in the in the back lot, but no police cars.

Derek slowed down as he saw the empty parking lot. He turned in, picked a space, and killed his engine. "Uhm, I don't know I might be blind, but it doesn't seem like there's anyone here."

Stiles barely heard him; he was twisting around in his seat, double and triple checking that there wasn't some sign of life. "…Okay. This…is not weird. Not weird at all." Stiles chewed his lip and then flung the car door open.

"Stiles!" But he was already out and jogging to the station doors. Derek grumbled something probably profane and followed. "Stiles! Don't go in—dammit. Never listens." Derek rushed after him and skidded to a stop as soon as he was through the door—nearly crashing into Stiles.

The blinds were shut on the walls. The reception was empty. Behind the glass, where all the desks rested with papers and files stacked to the ceiling, not a soul stirred in the main room. Stiles' hand reached back and gripped Derek by the arm. It was a steadying gesture, but not for him—for Derek. He turned and put a finger to his lips. Don't move, he mouthed to Derek. Since when did Stiles take lead on these things? Since when did Stiles try to protect Derek—of all people?

Stiles snuck around the counter and through the door that led to the main room. Derek would have gone after him, but his senses told him there really wasn't anyone there. He didn't know why Stiles was insistent on being silent. With a frown, he glanced to the right where a stretched out and turned left. The lights were out but he could clearly see the dim, glowing green EXIT sign above the door on the end. There was also a little flickering red light on the wall next to it, and Derek, nostrils flaring, could smell the faint musky scent of a draft.

Stiles came out just before Derek was about to go and check out the door. He had a file in his hand and worried look on his face. He grabbed Derek by the arm and tried to tug him back out the station.

"What?" he whispered when Derek didn't move.

Derek glanced at him. "Why are we whispering? There's no one here."

"I know that, dumbass—but there's literally a camera on every goddamn wall—with mics. Why do you think I said not to move? You're still a person of interest—and now they wanna nail you for those murders outside your property. You can't be seen walking in there."

Oh.

"But I asked you a question."

Derek blinked and nodded to the door at the end of the hallway. "I think the door is open."

Stiles followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. With a tight frown, he tugged on Derek's arm again. This time he followed. When they were safe outside, Stiles started walking around the building—not back to the car, but to the other side where the entrance to the impound lot was behind the wall of the station. Sure enough, even in the dim lamplight above the fence, the pair could see that the door was open just slightly.

The metal fence created a large box around the side of the building and about three-fourths of the way down was the gate and a small station for a residing officer. Except here there wasn't an officer and the gate, which rolled to open, had a giant hole in the center.

Stiles gaped at the sight, a wiped a hand over his face in frustration. "Shit. Stay here." He walked across the pavement and stopped at the little outpost. Glancing inside the window, he saw that everything inside was fried—the desk, the control panel, the lock boxes, everything—and the door had been blasted open. "Shit." Narrowing his eyes he saw something in addition to the blackened surfaces—a light sheen of some sort of blue filmy substance. "Shit." He looked at the gate. Same deal.

Stiles jogged back to Derek who gave him a questioning look. Stiles shook his head. "It looks like a chemistry experiment gone horribly wrong. And that blue stuff? Yep, all over the black bits. Whatever killed those dudes was definitely here."

"Fuck," Derek said. Stiles swallowed and clenched his fists at his sides. He bobbed his head in a nod, swallowing hard. But Derek could plainly see the shaking that was going on underneath his sweater. He could see the tremble in his lips, the way he kept swallowing like his mouth was going dry, the panic rising in his eyes. "What is it?" he asked. The kid annoyed the hell out of him at times, but he also had managed to crawl under his skin over the past couple weeks enough that Derek instantly felt concern and the need to protect.

Stiles shook his head and moved to fist his sweater around his shoulders. He took a breath that was meant to seem normal but was more shaky and panicked than anything else. Derek reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Hey, what's happening?"

"It's—it—fuck man, I can't do this in front of you." Stiles sat on the curb, clasping his hands over his head. He muttered a string of profanities under his breath and labored to breath normally.

Derek wasn't sure what to do. He awkwardly knelt down in front of Stiles and tried to peek at his face, but Stiles hid himself well. "Ar—are you having…like a panic attack?" He reached out a hand but wasn't quite sure where to put it so it sort of just hovered over Stiles' hand. "Stiles?"

Stiles shook his head. "Dammit," he mumbled. "Derek, don't—" Derek put his hand over Stiles'. Stiles glanced up, fear in his eyes. "I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

He blinked. "It's just…" He took a steadying gulp of air. "Where's my dad?"

Oh. "Shit," Derek breathed. He watched Stiles' scared face for a few moments, trying to figure out what exactly was going though his mind. There should have been at least someone in the police station—but there wasn't. He found the file in his father's office—a file that his father went out of his way to get the other day so it was important. Why would he just leave it behind? And then the outpost was blasted to bits? It wasn't looking good at all. "I'm sure your father is fine," he finally said.

Stiles took another gulping breath. "You were right earlier," he said.

"What?"

Stiles looked Derek in the eye. "You were right. I was being selfish. I am selfish. The thing is, I can't fucking lose anyone I care about. I can't do it. It would…crush me. I would rather let anyone else die to not lose someone I care about. If the boat is sinking, I'll fucking grab the last life raft, push everyone I love on to it, and leave everyone else to drown. I am that selfish. I would even sacrifice myself so I don't have to feel the pain of their loss. Do you understand?"

Derek's eyes were wide. He nodded, moving his hand to Stiles' shoulder.

Stiles went on. "Except I'm not a hero, Derek. I'm not strong or powerful in any way. I figured that out the hard way. And…seeing my friends putting themselves in danger only makes that point worse because then I know I can't do anything to save them. So I would rather try to not care about them—to leave them—than to sit around and worry and feel terrified that something horrible is going to happen to them because I can't fucking lose them." He shook his head, eyes to the ground. "It's a backwards twisted logic because I still care—there's no getting around that." He let out a small, mirthless laugh. "I still give a damn about Scott." He touched the file on the ground next to him. "I can't lose my dad."

Derek nodded and sat down on the curb next to him. "If…it makes you feel any better, you were right about me too." He made eye contact with Stiles. "I did a lot of shitty things. I told myself, 'you're doing the right thing, Derek. These kids they need your help. You were just like them, and you don't want them to turn out the same—you want them to have a better life.' Except it was just a really, really good excuse to put them in danger. I needed the power, Stiles. I was so…angry. I just needed people to help me fight my war. I needed people that were like me. I didn't want to run or be alone anymore.

"But after Gerard…I realized power isn't everything." Derek shook his head and looked to the ground. "And I was easily beaten and overpowered because I failed as an alpha to Erica and Boyd and even Isaac." There was a half-smile on his face as he looked back up at Stiles. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time, but if there's one thing I do know—now at least—it's what pack means. Scott's my brother. Isaac and Boyd are my brothers. Erica is my sister. I have to trust them and protect them. I have to let them do the same. And as an alpha I have to lead them the right way—without anger or hatred. If they die, I don't get a second chance to do that." Derek put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I can't lose them either."

Stiles barely realized, but he had relaxed significantly. The panic was no longer in his throat. He breathed normally. With a heavy sigh and a God-What-The-Hell-Is-My-Life smile, he leaned back on the curb. "I guess we're both pretty selfish then."

Derek shrugged. "Well…I'm less selfish than you, for sure."

Stiles choked out a laugh. "Dammit. You're not supposed to make me laugh—we're in a fucked up situation."

"You're dad is probably fine," Derek said, hazel eyes lingering on Stiles' face. "We're gonna figure out what's happening, kill it, and then get everyone back to normal." He nodded, eyebrows up and a musing smile on his lips.

Stiles nodded. "Thanks…"

Derek's eyes wandered around Stiles' face. "You care a lot. It might border on obsessive and a little bit creepy—and even selfish—but you care. And so do I. Which is why we can't give up."

Stiles sighed. "There's not much I can do."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You might not be able to bench press a truck, Stiles, but that doesn't mean you can't do anything. Who's the one that pointed out these murders could be connected?"

Stiles smiled down at his hands, glancing over at the file on his right. "Well…"

"Yeah that's right. Don't be such an idiot." Derek nudged him with his shoulder.

That moment, Stiles felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Confused, he pulled it out. It was his father. "Dad!" he shouted. "Where are you?!"

"Yeah I don't think I heard you."

"Sorry, sorry. Just—where are you?"

"Police business, Stiles."

Stiles glanced at Derek and then the station behind him. "Er, I just…I came by the station to…ask you something and you weren't here. I thought you said you were going to be here late?"

"Stiles you do realize that police business sometimes means I have to leave the police station, right? I've been driving around the county all day and now it's looking like the rest of the night, too."

"Oh. Okay."

"Look, I called because I guess I've been so busy I forgot about Christmas—are you going to want to get a tree this year?"

Everything in Stiles heaved a sigh of relief. His father was okay. He was even okay enough to think about Christmas, which was still two weeks away. He was even okay enough to worry that the lack of Christmas spirit in their home was somehow detrimental to Stiles. But then Stiles felt a little wound up because how could he even think about Christmas when literally everyone he knew was probably going to die? His father didn't know that though so…

"Yeah, yeah, I… I'll get one. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, good. Now, wait, you wanted to ask me something?"

Stiles glanced at the file. "Oh yeah, it's no big deal. It was nothing."

"You drove all the way to the station."

Stiles grimaced and glanced behind him at the blasted gate. Next to him, Derek shook his head frantically. Stiles just gave him the are-you-fucking-dumb look. "About that—"

Derek snatched the phone away from him and hung up on his father.

"What the hell?!"

"You can't tell him about this, Stiles!"

"Are you fucking dumb?! He works here. He's going to see it anyway!"

Derek stood up. "We have to get rid of the evidence."

Stiles pushed off the ground and just raised a brow at him. "Oh yeah let's just get rid of the evidence—yeah that makes total sense. Except the only way to do that would be to burn the whole goddamn place down."

Stiles snatched his phone back. "You're a fucking idiot." He pressed a button and saw a new message. Dad: Disconnected? Have to go. We'll talk later. –Dad

"Does that look normal to you? This can't be explained by some animal attack! This is straight out of the X-Files."

Stiles gritted his teeth. He had no idea why he harbored a crush for this guy because he was clearly just a moron with a pretty face. "And what are we going to do about all the missing people? And the cameras that have seen our faces? And the camera that is over there above the gate—shit."

"Well we have to—"

Stiles put a finger to Derek's lips. "Shut up."

"What?" Derek mumbled.

Stiles let a grin stretch on his face. "Cameras."