DISCLAMER: I don't own anythinggggg

Styles sat up in a bed and felt his head pound in agonizing rejection of the movement. He felt a hand on his chest pushing him back down but shoved it away. He forced his eyes open and was bombarded with light. He felt the world swimming, heard someone saying his name, felt someone trying to gently lay him back down, and he saw two blue beams of light. He tried to push the arms away but they wouldn't budge. He tried to keep his eyes open but soon they shut, out of his control. He began flailing wildly, not able to talk and then barfed up his breakfast before receding back into darkness. Styles liked the darkness. He couldn't feel the pain that his body was enduring, couldn't see the angry and worried expression Derek wore and he could just rest. It was like sleeping only he was spinning, dreaming? He was falling in circles and there was nothing to stop his decent. Ground? Was there any ground? No, it was just a vast darkness in which he was spinning. He felt like a dead fish that was being flushed down the drain.

Derek looked down at the boy. He was angry that Styles had tried to fight him, angry that Styles had thrown up on him, angry that Styles had not gone straight to his next class and angry that Styles was hurt. Yeah, he knew it was stupid to blame himself and he knew that it was stupid to have morphed at school. He lost his temper, something he had a habit of doing, but he had to know if Styles had seen anything. He had to know because if he hadn't everything would be fine. Everything needed to be fine. He was working hard in this town to make everything fine. He knew the hunters were after him, he knew the worst thing he could have done was get a job at the school and he knew they would be on his trail in a matter of days. The police were watching him, the hunters were after him, and the boy he loved was lying in his arms bleeding. He just needed everything to be alright for a few days.

Styles opened his eyes. There was only a small bit of light coming from the single lamp in the room. He heard screaming, scared, pained, angry screaming. Where was it coming from? He looked around and found that it was him. Why was he screaming? He remembered falling; he had been falling in circles. It was a long time before he saw the ground and then he was getting closer and closer to it. He was going to die. He didn't want to die. He was about to hit and then he woke up screaming. He calmed himself down, breathing slowly, in through his nose out through his mouth. He had to calm down. He felt wetness rim his eyes and tried his hardest to hold back the tears. He looked around and saw Derek watching him. Now he really was going to cry. His head began throbbing and he was having trouble breathing. Was he really going to have a panic attack? Maybe it was asthma. He hoped to god it was his asthma. He looked franticly for his bag as Derek stood there watching, not moving. Locating it he lunged for it to find he was very cold. He rummaged franticly through his bag and found his inhaler. He used it, breathing deeply before sighing in relief. He looked down at himself and found that he was wearing a thin black tee that was too big for him and flimsy pajama pants. He looked up to Derek who had his usual scowl in place.

"Whose are these?" He asked pointing to his clothes. "Where am I? What are you doing? Why didn't you help me? What happened to me?" Styles asked thinking back. He remembered Jackson going through his bag, remembered hitting the floor, remembered seeing Derek and remembered...fur?

"Those are mine." Derek said answering only one of Styles' infinite number of questions. There was a long pause that Styles used to collect his questions. "You're at my house." Derek said slowly, as if debating how much to tell him.

"How did I get here? How did I get in your clothes? What happened to me?" Styles asked quickly. Derek held up his hand and shut his eyes.

"One at a time." Derek said shortly before returning his fixed gaze on Styles.

"How did I get in your clothes?" Styles asked as a blush formed on his face.

"I had to change your clothes after you vomited on the two of us." Derek said bitterly. Styles shrank, he was sure he was going to die of embarrassment.

"What happened to me?" Styles asked.

"You hit your head pretty hard on the concrete floor of the school." Derek said nodding to the big lump on Style's head. "It stopped bleeding but it still looks pretty bad."

"Do I look like a sexy badass?" Styles asked grinning. Derek just stared at him with his usual sour look. "How did I get here?" Styles asked because Derek was clearly not going to answer.

"I brought you here." Derek said simply. Styles sat there waiting for him to elaborate. Derek sighed forcefully and continued causing a grin to plaster itself across Styles' face. "I brought you to the nurse but she couldn't wake you up. It was a concussion, something that needs to be fixed over time with sleep. She tried to bandage your head but you started fighting her so I had to help. When school ended you still hadn't woken up so I said I would drive you home. I don't know where you live so I brought you here. You tried to fight with me and you vomited on me but your head is looking better." Derek said calmly.

"Why didn't you help me?" Styles asked holding up his inhaler. Derek seemed to take that as an offense because his sour face got even worse.

"I didn't know what you needed so I figured the best thing to do would be to stay out of your way." Derek said tightly. "And I wouldn't say I didn't help you." He finished bitterly. Styles sighed, Derek had helped him but there was no way he was going to say that.

"Thanks." Styles said as he tried to get to his feet. He felt his legs buckle under him and he began sliding to the floor as his head throbbed. Derek, instantly by his side, slipped an arm under Styles and the other under his legs. The taller man lifted the 140 pound pale skinned boy easily before placing him gently on the bed. "I should be getting home. I'll give you directions." Styles offered with a weak smile. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay with Derek and sleep in the house where it was quiet and there were no bad memories.

"I don't think it'd be a good idea to move you just yet." Derek said not wanting Styles to leave. He wanted Styles to be there, in his home, to chase away the bad memories. "Not when you can't even stand."

"Ok." Styles said, he figured he should have put up more of a fight but the agitated look on Derek's face warned against it. "Your house is scary man." Styles mumbled before he rolled over and fell asleep. He was snoring happily as Derek watched him. His bed, he knew, would smell like the boy for weeks. Would he be able to enjoy the company for that long? Would he be caught? Would something happen to Styles? No, he would protect Styles. At all costs, he must protect him.