Chapter 2

Stiles is quiet.

Too quiet.

Derek watches him, every now and then, in the rear view mirror. Stiles rests his head against the window of the Camaro seemingly ignoring the two occupants in the front. It's disconcerting because Stiles is too still. For as long as Derek has known him Stiles had always been an excitable bundle of energy, even in his distress. Flailing limbs and spastic movements.

"What, Sourwolf?" Stiles asks when their eyes catch in the mirror.

Derek averts his eyes instead of answering.

They're nearly halfway back to the loft when they realise they hadn't actually got any supplies to take back with them so they end up stopping at a small convenience store. He leaves Stiles and Cora in the car, hearing Stiles shout 'chips and dips…' after him.

When he returns he finds them bickering quietly, Stiles appearing disinterested, and brightening in relief when he opens the driver's side door. He dumps the few paper bags he has in Cora's lap and flings a small orange pack into the back.

"What's that for?" Stiles asks, picking the pack of Reece's up suspiciously.

"I thought you could do with them," Derek tells him flatly.

"Oh… that's… nice of you?" Stiles says, clearly confused and even more suspicious.

Cora's looking at him with a frown.

"You get Stilinski chocolate? What about me?"

"You don't look like you're about to pass out from low blood sugar," he tells her with a shrug.

"Isn't chocolate poisonous to…?" he hears Stiles muster up some of his usual obnoxious tone.

"If you're about to refer to me as a dog…" Cora warns him, glaring over her shoulder. "Are you fond of your face?"

"More attached?" Stiles says back. Derek tries to hide the smirk as he watches Stiles physically withdraw back into his seat. "Like physically attached. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Then keep your cake-hole shut," Cora smiles sweetly at him.

Stiles offers her a weak thumbs up and Derek doesn't miss the fact that Stiles pushes the pack of Reece's into his pocket instead of ripping it open.

By the time they get back to the loft there's already a car and a bike outside the building indicating that the others had already arrived.

Derek actually feels a little nervous. He might have been an alpha and had betas but this is the first 'pack' meeting they've actually had. And it took Scott McCall to initiate it. Scott, who's only been an alpha for a few months, who's already doing a better job at leading a pack then he ever did.

Stiles scrambles out as soon as Derek slides out and disappears through the door without a glance back.

"Get the bags," Derek calls to Cora over his shoulder, following Stiles in.

"What am I? Your personal slave?" he hears Cora complain loudly.

When he gets to his floor he realises the door is open and he wonders which one of the little shits has a key to the loft.

The rooms occupants all stop their chatter when Derek slides in after Stiles, Scott's eyes widening when he realises they have arrived together, although Stiles appears completely oblivious and proceeds to make a beeline to the couch, staring at it greedily as though he could will Isaac's prone form off it from where he's lying.

Isaac cocks an eyebrow up at Stiles, smirking. "Not a chance."

"Isaac," Derek says firmly and even though he might not be an alpha anymore Isaac still tenses. "Go help Cora bring in the groceries."

"She's a werewolf," Isaac says, disgruntled. "I think she can manage."

"Go help her," Scott repeats and Isaac scowls before heaving himself off the couch.

Stiles immediately sinks into the heavy folds of the furniture as soon as it's vacated, completely unaware of the shooting gesture Scott's head is making towards the kitchen.

"Let's go help them," Allison says to Lydia, stilling her from filing her nail down the bone.

"What? Why?" Lydia says affronted, pulled out of her reverie, but then catches the non-verbal communication going on between the new and old alpha. "Oh, yeah, sure…"

As soon as the room is cleared Derek follows Scott to the kitchen in the far corner.

"What happened?" Scott asks worriedly as soon as they're out of ear-shot. "Why is he with you guys? He was supposed to go the nurse's office at school but he ended up skipping the rest of the day. Why the hell didn't you call?"

"Whoa," Derek instantly says, eyebrows rising. "Calm down. We found him outside the store we were at. He was having some weird kind of panic attack. I don't know what's wrong but he ended up vomiting and he smells strange, like…"

"Burnt corpses?" Scott answers instead.

Derek nods quietly.

"What happened at school?" he asks.

"He just completely zoned out," Scott says, shrugging. "One minute he was writing equations out, the next he was drawling line after line across the page until I touched him and then he started freaking out, screaming and smelling like that," Scott continues with a wave of the hand.

They're interrupted by Cora banging the door loudly and shouting "We're coming in." She strides in with the only two bags they had, the other three sheepishly trailing in after her, and dumps them into his arms, "I did the hauling, you can do the unpacking."

She doesn't wait for a response and heads over the couch where Stiles has managed to take up most of the space with his long frame.

"Move it Stilinski," she mutters without bite. "My couch, my rules."

"Actually, it's your brothers," Stiles reminds her tiredly, squinting. He shuffles over all the same until he's sat at the opposite end, legs outstretched in front of him. In comparison, Cora snakes her body in, tucking her knees under her.

Derek watches Stiles, as Scott helps to put the few items of shopping away, legs outstretched in front of him, and despite the implication of his body being lax, he can tell it's actually the opposite.

He remains too still. His fingers too tense. His face twitches occasionally. And then there was the way his heart beat would catch and stutter.

It's obvious that there's something wrong, even if his smell wasn't, and that could be put, typically, down to PTSD.

He felt bad for the kid, not just for what he's been through, but the fact that that they were ambushing him. Derek wasn't entirely sure if this was the best way to approach the situation – if he had his way he'd probably take Stiles aside, away from all distractions, get him to focus on the him and now, and with perseverance he would hope Stiles would listen and maybe even talk. According to Scott though, a much needed 'direct intervention' was needed and he was 'just short of hitting him around the head with the hard facts'. So that was that.

Derek noisily dumps two bowls of Doritos and dip in front of him.

Stiles cracks his eyes open and grins lazily.

"Good boy," he cracks, although makes no effort to take any.

"Shall we get this started?" Derek asks Scott, feeling his patience thin.

"Thank god," Stiles mutters, forcing himself to sit upright. He slaps his face and opens his mouth wide open a few times as though trying to shake himself awake. "Some of us have lives to get on with."

There's a murmur of agreement. Lydia perches herself on the end of the couch, while Isaac and Allison take the floor. Derek grabs a chair for himself and offers one to Scott. Scott shakes his head and leans against the wall, as though unsure of himself.

Nerves. It was his first pack meeting, after all.

Derek lets Scott take the lead. He might be a little weirded out by it. Scott, who for all purposes, is still only a child himself. But there's still a hierarchy to respect and when it comes down to it, Derek isn't an alpha anymore.

Scott starts off with the basics, seemingly aware that Stiles would probably bolt if he realises this was all about him, like what do with the twins who were still hanging around like a pair of lost puppets, the fact that Deucalion was still out there, and Jennifer's body was still missing.

They were still throwing ideas back and forth (Stiles and Isaac bickering before Stiles had un-characteristically muttered 'you still milking that?' when Isaac reminded him he'd been locked in a freezer for a big chunk of his child-hood as a response to be being accused of not being helpful) and no sign of getting any nearer to discussing Stiles when Derek realises how tired the younger boy was. He's exhausted and obviously losing out to sleep.

After a few false starts and eye flickering Stiles truly sacks out, body going limp, fingers unwinding from their endless fidgeting, cuffs frayed from where he'd been playing with several loose threads.

Scott eventually calls time on their previous discussion when he realises most of the group are bickering quietly between themselves.

"Okay, how about a change of topic?"

"Not now," Derek says nodding to towards Stiles.

"Oh," Scott says disappointed and shakes his head. "I don't want to wake him. He's not been sleeping."

Stiles seems completely unaware of the scrutiny and sinks further into the couch, head listing sideways, until he completely crumples into Cora's side.

"Oh, okay…" Cora mutters. "This is completely invading my personal space, Stilinski."

She tries to gently touch his arm but he flinches violently as soon as she makes contact.

"No, no…"

"Stiles?" Scott starts worriedly, already moving away from the wall.

"Wait…" Derek snaps, catching Scott's arm. "Look."

They do. It kind of freezes everyone to the spot. There's the tell-tale signs of smoke drifting from the folds of his navy blue plaid shirt.

He's not a little boy now, but he still walks across the floor bare-footed.

Outside the room the name on the door is no longer out of focus but the letters are jumbled and he can't figure it out.

Cojab

There is smoke billowing up the stairs and he stumbles down them. He recognises the place but he's never been there before. There's a few trinkets on the way. Scattered framed photos, glass broken, that he vaguely recognises too.

By the time he's down at the basement there's loud crying. Begging. Someone is pleading.

A heavy hand settles across the back of his shoulders. Bigger than it should feel.

When he turns there's no one there except a small boy, crying, asking for his mother. Behind him there's a woman. Blonde hair. Bilious laugh. Stiles recognises her too.

"What do we have here?" she asks in a soft voice. She strokes the boy's face. "You look like your brother."

The boy looks confused, tilts his head and stares at her lips.

"Put him in with the others," she finally says, shoving him forward. Stiles automatically takes a step back as a man steps in front of him, catching the stumbling boy. Stiles glances behind him, sees the now open basement door and the struggling bodies. His eyes slowly lower to the floor. Mountain ash. His eyes catch hold of an older woman, brunette, staring at him. The stare follows him as he drops to his knees and tries to break the seal, but no matter how many times he tries, it just re-seals itself. He turns to look at her, shaking his head vigorously as frustrated tears prevail.

Her expression doesn't change at all.

It's only now that he realises she's silently signing the same gestures as what he'd seen Finstock and the rest of the class doing weeks earlier

He stands abruptly, turning, to find the other, blonde, woman standing right behind him. She's so close that he can see into the deep lacerations on her neck, ones that hadn't been there before, and despite the need to gag, he has an overwhelming urge to reach into her throat and squeeze with all his might.

Kate. Kate Argent.

He'd never seen her after Peter had ripped her throat out. Scott hadn't let him. And then his dad had made sure as hell he hadn't.

Instead he takes a staggering step backwards as she lurches forward and then he's inside the basement, surrounded by a deep veil of despair, and he forces his voice out. His own against the torrent of the room.

"No, don't, please…" and soon his voice is joined by others, synchronising, until it's a loud echo reverberating against his ear drums.

There's more gasoline.

A flick of a lighter

and-

"Oh my god," Cora exclaims loudly, panic settling into her voice. She reaches out to touch him again. "Wake up, Stiles…"

Stiles flinches away violently from her touch on his arm, flinging himself back towards the other end of the couch with a shriek, shoulder hitting the arm rest painfully.

Lydia yelps in surprise and jumps away from the sofa quickly. Her entire body is tense and her eyes wild.

"What's going on?" she demands, breathing heavily.

"Lydia?" Scott asks uncertainly, coming to a standstill beside the coffee table and hesitating between Stiles and the red-head. "What wrong? What do you feel?"

"I don't know. Something," she admits, shaking her head. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she insists and scrunches her face up tight, eyes squeezing shut. "I think I can hear voices. There's too many of them… I don't know what's being said," she opens her eyes, damp, but not crying. "Fear. I feel fear. Lots of it."

Stiles moans from where he's folded into himself, gasping into a choked sob and muttering "No, don't, please…" A single tear slides down the side of his face from his closed eyes.

"Great," Cora mutters angrily, "While you figure that out I'm going to wake him up. Stiles?" She asks in hesitation.

"No, Cora, wait…" Derek says, realising that every touch Cora has made since Stiles fell asleep has resulted in a more violent reaction than before, but it's too late. Her hand is already on his knee, gently shaking him.

The result is almost instantaneous. Stiles eyes snap open and he screams, louder than Derek has ever heard him scream before, jack-knifing off the couch.

He's no longer in the basement.

But there's still screaming and crying.

Someone's banging on the door, tearing skin, breaking nails… no, claws, screaming and sobbing hysterically.

Through the screaming there's a voice.

"Run, baby. Run and don't look back. Never look back."

The message isn't for him, but the signing that she's doing is.

Stiles blindly hits the table, sending the two bowls careening to the floor, shattering on impact. Stiles follows it, flying over it as knees strike it painfully and he crumples over. The momentum leaves him landing on the broken shards but the shock of it doesn't help shake him out of whatever he's seeing. He continues to scream, dragging himself further across the sharp fragments, until Derek shakes himself into action.

"Whoa, hey…" he grunts as he grabs hold of Stiles with both arms. "Stop."

Stiles screams further, wails deep, as he tries to fling himself away again.

"Stiles!" Derek barks, grunts again as he finds an elbow firmly in his sternum. He has to wrap both arms, followed by his legs, to prevent Stiles from hurting himself further, rolling their bodies away from the chip and dip massacre. "You're awake, you're okay. You're awake and you're at my loft."

There's sweat pouring off him, but his face is an alabaster white, and his clammy to touch. Stiles digs his hands into Derek's exposed arms, scratching his short nails against his skin, and chokes on more sobs, gasping for breath. "Don't let them in, don't let them in, don't let them…"

"Stiles?" Scott asks timidly. It should be laughable really, that a true alpha could sound so scared, but it's not. Derek glances at the occupants of the room and sees the same look on all of their faces, even Cora's. The look of the pure horror. By the way the three other werewolves were all heavily breathing, they too could smell the strong odorous fear and despair rolling of Stiles shaking frame.

Stiles resistance is subsiding, the dragging of nails down his skin has stopped, and he now has one hand wound around Derek's arm, the other has found its way to his shirt, clasping and twisting the material tightly. He's still gasping for breath, body shuddering. Derek can smell the salty tears on him.

"It's okay," Derek reassures him. "You're here. You're safe."

"Am I?" Stiles asks. Just the effort of the words leaves him spluttering and he tries to heave in a deep breath.

"Take it easy," Derek informs him quietly, releasing an arm so he can touch his back slightly. Stiles sags but doesn't fall any further, grabbing hold of Derek to balance him further. It should be weird and uncomfortable, being so close and tactile, but strangely it's not. He rubs Stiles back between his shoulder blades reassuringly. "Nice slow breaths, Stiles…" he encourages him.

He hears the hiss of a breath as it's sucked in and feels the vibrations as he slowly forces them out. It's an effort for him, Derek can tell, but at least he's trying.

Despite the calming of his breathing there's still an occasional stutter and shudder and he feels Stiles release his earlier hold to reach up and wipe his eyes as a fresh wave of tears make their escape.

"Can you guys give me a moment?" Stiles voice cracks loudly in the otherwise quiet room, despite hardly having much of a voice left.

Allison nods straight away and drags a protesting Lydia with her. Isaac wastes no time in bolting and Cora reluctantly follows, throwing a worried glance back at the shaking form huddled on the floor.

Derek doesn't move from where he's still sat and Stiles doesn't object so he takes it as invite to stay. As soon as the room empties, apart from Scott who insists on staying, Stiles curls away from Derek and folds into a foetal position.

Scott craws forward on his knees, not saying anything, and plants his hand over Stiles knee.

Stiles doesn't complain but he does start openly crying and covers his face, shielding it from them, and Derek doesn't know how to help any further except to offer a warm hand again, settling it firmly against his back and hoping it offered what little comfort he could give.

tbc