The Hale house, under the moonlight, was just as empty, cold, and depressing as it was the other night. Derek barely parked in front before he let out a frustrated breath and told Stiles that his uncle was not there. But he did go inside to search all the crevices and under the stairs for the laptop—which was nowhere to be found. Stiles followed him inside purely out of curiosity. And, nope, he honestly couldn't figure out what he expected because it was not any better on the inside.

"Have you ever thought," Stiles asked as they were back on the road, presumably to the next likely Crazy Uncle Peter Hideout, "that you should, like, fix that place up?"

"What place?"

"Your house."

"Uh nooo."

"Why not?"

"Because….of reasons? I don't know."

Stiles chewed his lip and glanced out the window. The streets looked oddly familiar. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home."

Stiles raised his brows. "Dude, it's barely ten. We still have to find your uncle. Seriously? Crisis at hand!"

Derek shook his head. "You need to get some sleep."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Did you not hear me? There is a legit crisis going on, Derek. Sleep is for the weak."

"Look, I'm going to go look for my uncle. Half the places I'm going to go are not places you should be."

"Oh so you want me just sit at home and wait for you?"

Derek gave him an exasperated look. "No. I want you to get some rest because tomorrow morning I'm waking you up—early—to go look for Isaac again in the woods." He gave a small smirk at Stiles frown, "And don't you think your dad would be upset if you aren't home?"

Stiles shook his head. "You had to pull the dad card."

They pulled up outside Stiles' house. Derek raised his brows and nudged his arm. "I'm serious—get some rest. You look like you need it."

Stiles grumbled but got out of the car. Before he shut the door, though, he leaned back in and fixed Derek with a determined stare. "You better find your uncle. I don't want my precious beauty sleep to go to waste. And I'm not the one that needs rest." He blinked and looked Derek up and down—and yeah damn he still looked delectable but he was also rather sickly around the eyes. Derek just rolled his eyes. Stiles let a small smile on his face. His eye rolling was actually kind of adorable.

Stiles shut the door. "I mean it!" he shouted as Derek drove off.

When he turned around he saw his dad's cruiser in the driveway. He scanned the front of the house. The lights were on and his dad may or may not have been waiting in the open doorway. Rubbing his arms, he trudged across the frosty grass.

"Hey dad."

His dad yawned and waved him inside. "So that Hale kid."

Stiles nodding, shutting the door for his father. "You okay?"

His dad shrugged. "Just really tired."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. His father sluggishly crashed back onto the couch. "Did you, um, go by the station today?" Stiles still had the file under his arm so he moved it behind his back.

His father shook his head, giving another long yawn. "I've been driving around the whole city," he muttered, eyes blinking slowly, "I'm pretty sure those two murders are connected…but nobody will talk."

Stiles was thrown. His father was so tired he was easily giving up information—no alcohol on Stiles' part required. But the problem was that he wasn't sure if he should feel bad for taking advantage of his father in this state. But it wasn't like he caused this and he needed the information….

Stiles mentally punched himself and then sat on the arm rest of the couch next to his father. "What makes you think they're connected?"

The sheriff shrugged. "They went to the same university."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up. "Wha—"

"Not at the same time, though. The first victim graduated about twenty years ago. But no one on campus seemed to know the second victim…and I couldn't find anyone to talk to me about the first one. And now I'm just really, really tired." His dad tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"Right, right, Dad…you rest." Stiles pulled a blanket from the other couch and put it over his father.

As soon as his breathing moved into slow even breaths, Stiles slipped upstairs and fired up his Macbook. He flipped open the file on his desk and began scanning the contents. The first victim was Mr. Ben Williams, a man in his mid-forties with dark hair, wiry glasses, and skinny body. He was a professor of ancient civilization mythology at UCLA. Stiles blinked at that. It could not have coincidence. But UCLA was not the university that he graduated from… The man had only been teaching there for the last five years, and his last address was in—unsurprisingly—Beacon Hills. Stiles chewed his lip and tapped his foot. The guy moves away from Beacon Hills to teach at UCLA and then five years later he and some college kid end up dead in the forest.

Who was this kid? Stiles opened up the website for the university, clicked on a few links, and then found himself on the news page. Top story was of a kid—dark-haired, freckled, and gangly—who had recently died. Memorial service was to be announced. His name was Christopher Bailey.

Stiles glanced at the photo inside the file. "No…" He chewed his lip and opened up Facebook. Sure enough, this kid had a page. From what he could see, amidst the sea of condolence messages, Christopher had a sister with a different last name—Marcus. The woman he listed as his mother was Leila Marcus, married to a gingery man named Robert. Christopher looked nothing like Robert. So…step father. More than likely. And the sister was probably a half-sister. Stiles glanced at the file again. "No…that's too much of a coincidence."

Stiles pulled away from his chair and quickly hopped down the steps, jumping to where his father rested on the couch. He gently shook his shoulder and waiting for the eyes to flutter. "Hey, hey Dad."

"Mmrrphwat?"

"Did that kid have a father?"

His father took a shuddery breath and shook his head. "Saw his mother…said it was a drunken fling twenty years ago in college. Couldn't remember afterward."

Stiles sat on his heels for a second taking it in. So it might have been more than just the same university…they could be father and son. Stiles shuddered. This was too weird—like, really, really weird. But if they really were father and son, it would be a hell of a lot better explanation than just two people who happened to go to the same university.

Stiles pursed his lips. All the new information swirled in his mind. It was beginning to look likely that this professor had something to do with the mysterious invisible creature in the woods—and it's what got him killed. He did teach mythology at UCLA and this creature was obviously mythological. If that were true, then his son probably went looking for him—or whatever was in the woods—only to be led to his own death. But then why was this creature breaking into the police station? And what was it doing to his best friend?

Stiles stood back up and jumped back upstairs to continue his research. With the file open at his side, he read everything he could find on both the professor and his son well into the night. It was around three a.m. when Stiles felt the weariness on his lids and the weighty ton of mythological knowledge heavy on his brain. There were more creatures and legends from North American indigenous cultures than he ever thought possible. And the analysis and arguments of how they connected with other cultures in the world numbed his mind. With a heavy sigh, Stiles slid from his chair and onto his bed. Derek better have found his uncle. Because he pretty much found nothing.

Stiles lied back, rubbing his stinging eyes. There wasn't a single legend that fit all of the criteria for what they had on their hands. The closest was the sandman. At least, the scary version of the sandman who took children's eyes in the middle of night. And then there were the typical vampire legends—creatures that drained humans until they were wrinkly, mummified husks. Not just dead—drained. Just like the victims. But neither were invisible so. Stiles groaned a little, tugged the blankets over him and hoped that a couple hours of rest would be enough.

It seemed like seconds later when a fist knocked on his window. His eyes fluttered open, but his body felt like it weighed too much and he couldn't get up. Eyes half-lidded, he gazed at the open window. The grey fog frosted the glass, but he saw the blurry image of Derek—and his insistent eyebrows—pointing to the latch. Stiles blinks long and slow, almost unable to reopen them. Derek was knocking again. Stiles swallowed, feeling the dryness in his mouth.

"Okay," he breathed.

And then he fell onto the floor with a loud thump. Derek rolled his eyes. "Stiles, seriously—" He paused, narrowing his eyes on Stiles' face. Distracting pretty lashes aside, there was something glinting just on the line of his lids at the corners of his eyes. "Stiles?" He jimmied the window. "Stiles." Stiles' eyes fluttered but he didn't get up. With a frustrated groan, Derek pulled the window open, snapping the latch in a loud crack. He hopped inside and crouched on the floor. He took Stiles by the shoulder and shook him. "Stiles," he whispered, putting a hand on his cheek and lifting him up, "you have to wake up."

"Der…ek." He sighed and swallowed, leaning into his hand.

Leaning close, Derek heard the gentle thump of the boy's heart and the slow breaths. But on inspection of his eyes, he noticed a light sheen of something blue. "Absinthum," he muttered, a slight panic to his voice. "C'mon—" He pulled Stiles up against him, dug into his pocket, and dialed Dr. Deaton's number. He answered on the second ring.

"It's six in the morning, Derek. Your wolves are fine. They're sleeping."

"There's blue under his eyes—that Absinthum stuff. He won't wake up."

There was an agonizing pause. Derek gritted his teeth, eyes darting all around him and not even registering half of his surroundings. All he felt was the sleeping teenager in his arms.

"Stiles?"

"Yes, Stiles. Who else do you—never mind. How do I fix this?" His voice was panicked and he didn't care.

There was another agonizing pause but this one much less than the last. "Take him to the bathroom."

Derek was up in less than a second. One arm wrapped under Stiles' arms and the other holding the phone to his ear. He dragged him across the hall and into the bathroom. "I'm there now what."

"Cold shower."

Derek hesitated for only a split second before he blasted the freezing water in the tub.

"It'll probably wake him up enough so you can wash out his eyes. Get a towel. Don't touch the stuff."

"And that's it?"

"For now. Call me back."

Derek slid the phone on the counter and starting backtracking into the bathtub. He was going to have to climb in there. Gritting his teeth and giving one epic eye roll to the universe that was meant to be sarcastic but ended up feeling more self-assuring than anything else because Derek was way too worried to be sarcastic, Derek awkwardly climbing into the tub, pulling Stiles with him under the frigid water.

Instantly there was a gasp and Stiles startled awake, body shaking from the sudden onslaught of ice water. It was only until Derek felt the icy line of water under his shirt that realized he probably should have taken some clothes off. Some.

"D-D-D-D-Derek!" Stiles chattered out, shakily twisting under Derek's vice grip. "Wh-Wh-Wh-What the h-h-h-h-h-hell?"

"Just—" Derek twisted around and grabbed a towel off the rack, "shut up—No, never mind. Don't shut up. Keep talking. Just keep talking." The cold water pounded down Derek's back. He was soaked within minutes with water pouring down his face.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-What are y-y-y-y-you d-d-doing?

"—Stop trying to turn around. Just lean back. I've got to wash out your eyes." Derek balanced Stiles against him under the showerhead, one arm around his middle and the other reached up with the towel to wipe the Absinthum from under his eyes. "You've got stuff—blue stuff." He could feel Stiles' heart pounding from his back.

"I-I-It's alr-r-r-ready c-c-c-cold—hyp-p-p—"

"You're not going to get hypothermia." Derek pressed themselves cheek-to-cheek and pressed his hand tighter on Stiles' waist. He wiped at the shine under his eyes with shaky fingers. "I run about five degrees hotter than most people. You can feel the heat on your back, right?"

"Y-y-y-es, b-b-b-but—"

"Then there's not a problem," Derek breathed. "Now just—I'm going to tip your head back. We have to wash out your eyes."

"N-n-n—Aaaghhhh!"

"Keep your hands down!" Derek grabbed his hands and pulled them off his face.

"Derek—Jesus Christ!"

Derek pushed him back up. Stiles sputtered and frantically rubbed his eyes. Derek shut off the shower and pulled Stiles back out of the tub. He grabbed a dry towel and wrapped it around the boy's shaking shoulders, patting his face and head as dry as he could. Stiles' teeth chattered as he blinked reddened, stinging eyes at Derek. They looked like amber orbs of unadulterated rage.

"Wh-What the fuck," Stiles breathed as soon as he could get a word out from his chattering teeth and violent shakes.

Derek grabbed the wet towel and showed him the light blue spots. "You weren't waking up."

He pulled the towel tighter around him. There wasn't any less rage in his eyes. Derek just stood there dripping on the rug. With an angry scowl, Stiles ripped the towel away from him and started painfully trying to dry Derek's hair.

"Hey—ow."

"You deserve it."

"I just saved y—mmpphhm." Stiles rubbed the towel all over Derek's face with a satisfied smirk.

"I wouldn't have died, you moron." He pulled the towel around Derek's shoulders, wrapping him tightly. "Absinthum is just a natural sleeping agent."

Derek looked at him from under his brows. "But wolfsbane is poisonous."

"Only in large doses." Stiles shook his head sniffled. His whole face was turning pink with reestablished heat. He pointed to his eyes. "I don't think that was enough."

"How do you know?"

Stiles tipped his head. "Well I don't feel like vomiting. And I think the tingling in my face is due to you stuffing me under ice water."

Derek bit his lip. "Still…you wouldn't wake up."

"I would have just been asleep."

"Well I need you awake." There was a little desperation in Derek's eyes. And a little trace of that panic from several minutes ago. And the way his mouth curled down and pouted…it was…very adorable, Stiles thought. He tried not to smile in the face of Derek's clear distress. But it was too damn cute. "What are you smiling at?"

Stiles laughed. "You're just really funny oh my God."

"I—ugh." Derek shook his head. He glanced down. "Your clothes are all wet."

Stiles pulled the suctioned Batman shirt from his abdomen to loosen it. "So are yours."

"I don't want your clothes."

"Well did you happen to bring a change of clothes when you decided to crash in and stick me in a cold shower? No? Well then I guess you pick out something pretty. Oh, don't look so sour—you're only an inch taller than I am and not that wider so you'll fit fine. C'mon." He grabbed his wrist and pulled Derek back into his bedroom. He shut the door and then peeled off the sticking layer. "Oh, and jeez this whole thing almost made me forget, I found something last night." Stiles shook out the wet shirt and hung it in his closet. "Toss me that towel, will you?"

Derek did. Without taking his eyes off the gleaming pale torso in front of him. Soft skin. But at the same time firm. There was a very…lean musculature underneath all those layers. He quietly cleared his throat. "What did you find?"

Stiles patted the towel on his skin. "The two victims? Related. Literally. Like, the first guy was the second's long lost father. Totally weird right? You gonna keep that shirt on, or…?"

Derek swallowed and pulled off his black shirt. The chilly air from the window hit his chest, sending goosebumps along his skin. Or maybe it was the split second—that he felt rather than noticed—where Stiles let his eyes travel. But he barely had time to feel embarrassed before the towel was being tossed in his face and his shirt snatched from his hands.

"Anyway, this guy—the father—was a professor of mythology at UCLA. I know, right? What was he doing in Beacon Hills? Well he did grow up here—same as the kid. But what was he doing back? I mean, it could be because he found out he had a son…and I think that may be part of it—did you want Iron Man or Captain America?" Stiles held up the red and blue shirts in each hand, respectively. Derek jerked his eyes away from…other areas and pulled the Captain America one. Dark blue suited him better anyway. He slipped it on. Stiles watched in appreciation, pulling on the Iron Man one. "Looks good on you. Cap is the best avenger you know."

"Yeah he's your favorite. You told me."

"And don't you forget it." Stiles found a dark grey pair of jeans, stepped forward, and held them up to Derek's waist. "We're about the same length, I guess. But…I don't know. You've got more booty than I do."

Derek choked. "What?"

Stiles frowned. "And, you know, muscle. So not fair."

His eyes were wide as he glanced from Stiles' face to the jeans.

"Welp, only one way to find out. Jeans. Off."

"Um."

"Seriously."

"I—"

"I go to high school. I'm on the lacrosse team. Sort of."

"What."

"Boy's Locker room?"

"Oh."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you…blushing?"

Derek shook his head. "No."

Stiles cracked a smile. "Oh come on. Just take off your jeans." He rolled his eyes. "Alright fine, I'll turn around…to protect your virtue or whatever."

Derek waited until he back was fully turned before unzipping his jeans. "So…what about this guy?" It was times like these that Derek was glad he didn't bother with underwear. He didn't think he could take the indignity of borrowing from Stiles.

"Oh yeah, well I think they were up to something in the woods. Not surprising, really. I'm pretty sure at this point that that invisible thing—which, by the way, I still don't know what the heck it is—lives out there in the woods and is the reason why Isaac is missing and those two dudes dead after venturing out there. And…it might've been the thing that was out there the other morning? You know? The thing that disappeared out of thin air?"

The jeans fit. They were a little tight, but they fit. He'd change as soon as he could anyway.

Stiles turned around. "Did you find your uncle—you look so weird in my clothes. It's like you've trespassed into the world of fandom and lost all your original self only to come out like a confused child wearing a shirt some stranger gave you off their back."

"I—what? Never mind. I found him. There was nothing on the laptop. Just some old legends that didn't quite fit."

"Same." Stiles sighed. "Saaame." He glanced down at his wet jeans. "God I hate wet underwear. It like sticks to your junk."

Derek snorted.

Stiles unzipped and peeled his pants off right there. He was wearing Batman underwear. And it was wet. Clinging. To areas. Derek's face flushed red and he turned around just before Stiles peeled those off too with a cracking grin. Derek was too much fun to tease.

"Yeah, um, the closest thing was this sleep demon spirit thing. It takes its victims eyes. You probably know the nice story of the Sandman."

Stiles paused, one leg in his jeans, shook his head, and laughed. "That's so weird I came across the same thing." He shoved his other leg in jeans. "Evil Sandman that takes children's eyes. Weird."

Derek turned around. "What?"

Stiles blinked, freezing for a second as his words just registered. "What?"