Author's Note: There's some Stiles feels in this chapter, but it's not nearly as bad as the last few. There's also some Batman and Catwoman bonding, some Sterek cuteness, and some good old-fashioned OG Hale pack stuff.

Enjoy!

Sitting at the little stainless steel island in Derek's kitchen, Stiles aimlessly pushed baby carrots around his plate with a shaky hand and ignored his sandwich entirely. Scott and his father had ganged up on him, guilted him into at least attempting to eat something.

"You have to keep your strength up, Stiles." Scott had pouted, all pleading puppy-dog eyes and sincere concern. "Your body needs nutrients to heal."

Stiles fought back his pissy response by sheer force of will, had allowed his father to usher him into the kitchen and fix him a roast beef sandwich. Isaac could be blamed for the carrots, but Stiles thought he was just trying to appease Scott and he could respect that, at least.

Thankfully, they hadn't hovered. They left Stiles in peace, or relative quiet anyway, and returned to the living room. Regardless, one look at his meal had Stiles' stomach heaving. How could everyone expect him to eat, to stomach even the thought of food, when his mind was still trying to process everything thrown his way in the last hour?

As if waking up with a hole in chest- both figuratively and literally -wasn't bad enough, Stiles' entire body ached in a bone-deep sort of way. He felt jittery and feverish, his bones too heavy and his skin too tight. Lydia had explained that it was the metal in his blood that had him feeling strange, like he was trapped inside his own body with no way out, his blood running just a few degrees hotter than normal through his veins.

Then, of course, came the almost crippling loss of his bond with Derek. It made almost no sense that he should feel so lost without something he'd only had for such a short while, but the bond wasn't just a thing. Not having access to his wolf was one thing; Stiles still knew that he was in there somewhere, caught in an iron cage. The bond though, that was different. The bond was a physical and emotional link from one soul to another. It was a diamond thread that tied Stiles and Derek together, blew open the doors and crumbled the barriers between them, made them just as much a part of each other as they were themselves. To experience something so profound, something that altered him down to his very core, and then lose it? The loss was painful on an unfathomable scale, left Stiles with a sense of being set adrift in deep space.

Pile on the fact that he'd killed Sean and was now numero uno on Carrick's list of people to eviscerate at the first opportunity, and Stiles was batting a solid zero in the great ballgame of life. He wasn't sure what was worse; The knowledge that he'd escalated things to the point where an out and out war was almost inevitable, or the memory that kept ramming into the forefront of his mind; the memory Stiles really could have lived without ever having to relive. A flash of deep green eyes and sandy-brown hair, an angry sneer of a mouth and the barrel of a gun.

It was the eyes, he thought, that haunted him most of all. Eyes wide with fear and glinting with ingrained hatred, set in a face so much younger than it had any right to be. Eyes that reflected shock that a werewolf, a veritable abomination, could ever manage to get the upper hand over a righteous hunter.

How was Stiles supposed to go about processing any of it? More importantly, where exactly did one start trying to cope with the fact that they'd taken someone's life, and would do it again without a moment's hesitation?

Stiles had never been directly responsible for someone's death. His body had been used to commit atrocities, to impale Scott and build a bomb that killed half of his father's deputies- among a whole list of other crimes -but Stiles hadn't been in control then. He'd seen the destruction with his own eyes, watched as his hands inflicted immeasurable damage, but he hadn't been the one running the show at the time.

On a few other occasions Stiles' negligence- purposeful or accidental -had led to someone's demise, but he'd never actively, deliberately killed another person. One could even argue that the incident with Peter and Lydia's Molotov cocktails hadn't been a death directly attributed to Stiles' hand. Not when Derek had delivered the killing blow and Peter hadn't had the decency to stay dead, anyway.

Stiles had advocated for people's deaths, had witnessed them and rooted for them, even applauded them in a few cases; Kate's, most notably. Hell, Stiles had asked Scott and Allison to kill and/or let Derek die on multiple occasions, back in the beginning. So, it wasn't like Stiles was morally opposed to death when the situation called for it, or even staunchly against being the one to take a life in defense of someone he loved.

Still, the knowledge that he was single-handedly responsible for Sean's death, for taking a man's son away from him... It made Stiles' gut roil with guilt and something that felt uncomfortably close to pity for Carrick.

"It's the shock." Derek's voice jarred Stiles out of his internal struggle, had him flailing in place and flinging a baby carrot across the kitchen. "It'll pass."

"Jesus, dude, make some noise when you walk." Stiles huffed, shoving his trembling hands between his thighs in the hopes that Derek hadn't seen them shake.

"I did." Derek said patiently, crossing the room to pick up the carrot that had landed somewhere by the refrigerator. "Scuffed my heels and everything."

"Yeah, well, my ears ain't what they used to be." Stiles snarked, using his thumb nail to trace the inseam of his jeans.

Derek tossed the projectile carrot into the garbage before pulling a prescription bottle out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He uncapped it and shook out a single pill, then set the pill on the counter beside Stiles' water.

"Take that when you finish eating." he directed, pocketing the bottle once more.

"What am I, twelve? I've been taking Adderall since I was eight, Derek. I think I can be trusted with my own medication."

"Stop bitching and eat, Stiles." Derek replied evenly. He turned his back on Stiles then, set about taking off his jacket and tossing it over a stool. "How do you feel?"

Stiles stayed quiet, eyeballing the pill Derek gave him and weighing the pros and cons of actually attempting to eat some of his sandwich before he took it.

Derek seemed to take more from his silence than Stiles meant to give.

"Scott told you." Derek said, not making it a question and not bothering to turn around. He was rifling absently through a cabinet beside the fridge, a cabinet Stiles knew to hold nothing but a plethora of glasses and coffee mugs.

Again, Stiles held his tongue. He snatched up the pain medication and swallowed it swiftly, raising virtuous eyebrows when Derek glanced over his shoulder at him.

Derek cocked a challenging brow in return, asking, "Trustworthy with medication?"

"Bite me." Stiles grinned, for one brief moment feeling the weight of the day lift off his shoulders. But, as these things usually have a way of doing, it all crashed back down on him after the momentary reprieve. His grin faltered and fell away, leaving in its place a wobbling bottom lip and a fresh bloom of guilt.

Derek sighed, closing the cabinet and moving across the kitchen to slide up onto the stool beside Stiles. He nudged his knee against the side of Stiles' thigh, tucked one hand between them so he could tangle their fingers together. "If you want to talk about it, we can do that." he said, voice low so it stayed between them. "If you want to lay on my couch and watch Firefly, pretend for a little while that none of this is happening, we can do that, too. But, eventually, you're going to have to use your words."

Stiles snorted dryly, kept his eyes fixed on where their hands were pressed between his thighs. "I don't know if there are even words for what's going on in my head right now, Derek."

"Believe it or not, I'm familiar with that particular problem." Derek smiled, small and soft. It made Stiles' belly flip for a whole other reason, and he was glad to feel something that wasn't shame or regret. "Look, I get it, okay? The first is always the hardest. It changes things; takes things, important things, away from you, and puts other stuff in their place. It doesn't really matter if it was self-defense, if they'd have killed you and not even blinked. It's still a life lost, a life you are solely responsible for ending."

Swallowing tightly, Stiles blinked hard against the heat in his eyes. "He was someone's son, Der." he confided, his ribs aching anew.

Derek squeezed his fingers, rubbed soothing circles into Stiles' wrist with his thumb. "I know, and that's an unfortunate by-product of war, Stiles. People die and families are broken. But, we didn't start this war, they did when they shot Isaac. Carrick knew what he was risking, bringing his people here and going after our pack."

"Then why does it feel so shitty?" Stiles asked around the clicking in his throat.

"Because you're a good man, Stiles. You care about people, even when they don't deserve it. Sometimes it's the right thing, sometimes it's not, but it is who you are. No one knows your capacity for misplaced compassion quite like I do." Derek said, tone serious though there was teasing in his voice.

Stiles turned his head, glanced at Derek from the corner of his eye. "I wasn't wrong about you."

Derek shrugged. "You've always had good instincts."

A dry laugh caught in Stiles' throat and he leaned his shoulder into Derek's chest. Derek parted his legs to let Stiles in between, lifted his chin so Stiles could push his head under it and get his face pressed right into his throat.

"Feeling this way is normal." Derek whispered, closing his eyes and letting Stiles' scent flood his senses. Despite the scent of metal, a little bit like old coins, he still smelled like Stiles; wolf and all. "Just don't let it consume you, okay? You did the right thing. You protected yourself from someone who wanted you dead, and there's no shame in saving yourself for once, instead of trying to save the world."

"I don't want to save the world," Stiles grumbled into Derek's throat, "I just want to save the pack."

"Boys?"

Derek and Stiles both turned their attention to the doorway, though neither of them bothered to move away from the other.

The Sheriff stood there in his uniform, his eyes taking in the pair of them and the corner of his mouth lifting. "I've got to head into the station."

"Okay, Dad." Stiles smiled tiredly, not wanting to let his father see the extent of his turmoil. "Be safe."

"Always am." John answered. "Get some rest, you hear me? Derek, you call me if there's any news."

Derek nodded his affirmation, smiled when his chin bumped the top of Stiles' head and he grunted. John rolled his eyes and turned to leave, calling an I love you over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Scott appeared a moment later, eyes fixed on Stiles.

"Isaac and I have to head out, too." he announced. "Parrish is working tonight, so your dad is covered, and Kira is at the hospital with my mom until her shift ends. One of the pack will be outside at all times, but I doubt Carrick will try anything tonight."

"Why not?" Stiles wondered, knowing that it if it were him, he'd want his child's killer dead before they got a chance to see the sun.

"It's the night before the full moon." Scott reminded him, his eyes conveying how much he understood the pained set to Stiles' mouth at that. "Not enough of us have been hit for him to risk attacking until the moon is over."

"So, we have a little over forty-eight hours to come up with a plan." Stiles scrubbed at his face, leaning away from Derek and flinching when his wound throbbed its objection. He tried not to think about the fact that he couldn't feel the moon like he was used to, though its arrival definitely explained why he felt so shocky and confined. He tried not to let himself think about the fact that he wouldn't be able to test out his anchor and shift for the moon's peak the following night, that he wouldn't get to do the full moon run with the pack as he'd hoped to do now that he had Derek.

"We'll figure it out, bro, I promise." Scott vowed, his jaw set determinedly. "I'll call you in a few hours."

Stiles stared after Scott as he left, brow furrowed. "What did I miss?" he questioned, turning his attention back to Derek. "He didn't even look at you. What's going on?"

Derek's shoulders drooped, making Stiles frown. "It's not a big deal, don't worry about it."

"My boyfriend and my brother won't even look at each other, and I'm not supposed to worry about that?"

One heavy eyebrow lifted sassily, Derek smirked, "Boyfriend, huh?"

Stiles huffed a laugh. "Yes, boyfriend. It doesn't sound quite as primal as Mate, okay? Deal with it, and don't change the subject."

Sighing, Derek got up from his stool and walked around to the cabinet that held the mugs, again. "Scott's angry with me for letting you get hurt. It's nothing, Stiles, just let it go. We'll be fine in a few days."

"Aww, my loyal Scottie. Such a good bro. He's wrong, of course, but I won't hold it against him. I mean, it's sweet of him to be all concerned and protective or whatever, but what happened wasn't your fault." Stiles said, making sure Derek could hear the sincerity in his words.

Derek set a mug on the counter, the obnoxiously big Chewbacca mug that Stiles bought him for his birthday the year before, and filled the kettle with water before putting it on to boil. "We're supposed to protect each other, Stiles. You might not like the terminology, but that's what Mates do. I failed to do that, and Scott has a right to his anger; as your brother, and our Alpha."

"I get all of that, I really, really do." Stiles acquiesced easily. "Scott would be pissed at a bee if it was ballsy enough to sting me, dude, that's just who he is. He's always had my back, even when I'm the one in the wrong. But, I think part of him is still struggling to see me as a wolf, instead of his breakable, human best friend."

Derek bit his lips together to stop himself admitting that he, too, suffered from that problem every now and then. It was getting easier the longer he spent around Stiles, the more he got to see the fluidity and gracefulness Stiles embodied as a wolf as compared to the measured chaos he exuded as a human. Still, it was a slow adjustment.

"Anyway," Stiles continued, heedless of Derek's silence, "He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, I'll just have to remind him that Isaac was hit with one of these bullets, too, and he couldn't stop it. I mean, Scott has to know what it feels like, knowing you couldn't protect the person you love. The overprotective thing is cute, but-"

"It's because I was there and he wasn't!" Derek snapped, his own guilty temper crackling in the air around him as his fists clenched, nearly popping the seam on the tea bags in his hand. "I was in the woods when the Kearney's attacked you. I was close enough that I should have been able to protect you, to stop Sean and his men from doing this to you, but I didn't."

"It's not your fault, Der." Stiles repeated, his voice soft though it was backed with steel. "What happened was a fucked up convergence of stupid choices and shit-tastic luck. I know you would have done anything, given anything to stop it, but it happened, and it's done, and it is in no way your fault."

Derek turned around then, finally met Stiles' intense gaze. "Even if you believe that-"

"I do."

"It doesn't change the way Scott and I feel about it."

Stiles shrugged, mouth twisted in a what-can-you-do frown. "Then you're both idiots. Which, I already knew, so... Wanna cuddle on the couch and wait for the apocalypse?"

Derek couldn't help the smile that curled his lips anymore than he could stop the flood of affection that made his skin flush with warmth. "Who am I to argue with a plan like that?"

Jerking awake from a dream drenched in blood and destruction, Stiles made a soft noise of discomfort when the mostly closed hole in his chest throbbed. The pain drained away before he could even draw another breath, and Stiles sighed at the feeling of Derek's fingers splayed wide in the small of his back.

"Sorry," Derek apologized, sliding his phone onto the coffee table while trying not to jostle Stiles, whose face was smashed into his chest. "It was just Boyd, he needs a ride. You want to come?"

"Who's outside?" Stiles questioned drowsily, not even attempting to slide out of the V of Derek's thighs, where he'd fallen asleep less than halfway through the first episode of their marathon.

"Erica." Derek told him, his fingers kneading gently at Stiles' spine. "She and Boyd are gonna crash here for the night."

"Tell her to come up." Stiles yawned and let Derek help him upright.

Erica was taking Derek's place on the sofa less than five minutes later and Derek was kissing Stiles goodbye, a hand curled around the back of his neck. "I'll be right back."

"Bring me dinner!" Erica called at his back, grinning when Derek flipped her off before he pulled the door shut. She turned to Stiles, eyes appraising as they slid over him. "How's the battle wound, dumbass?"

Stiles snorted, shifting around carefully so he could stretch back out and pillow his head in Erica's lap. Her fingers threaded through his hair almost before he'd even settled, and he smiled his thanks up at her. "Remember that time I accidentally shot you with Chris' spare?"

Erica's laugh vibrated right through him. She flicked him playfully on the nose, earning herself a grin in return. "Vividly."

"Well, that's where I was at this morning. Now, it's more like I got kicked in the chest by a donkey. At least it's closed, though. I should be good by morning."

"Good." Erica sighed, tilting her head back against the couch so that she was looking up at the ceiling. "We can't have you benched this time, Stiles."

"I know."

"It's going to get ugly. Like, uglier than a glamorless Darach, ugly."

Stiles closed his eyes, leaned into Erica's belly with his cheek. "I know."

"Tell me we're gonna get out of this one, Stiles. Just... Please?"

Stiles hated the worry in Erica's voice, hated the vulnerability he could feel rolling off her skin even through the threadbare denim of her jeans and the rigid satin of her corset top.

"We're going to find a way out, Erica. All of us, okay?" he promised, reaching up to wrap one hand around the arm she had draped over his stomach.

He could feel it when she took a deep breath, blew it out shakily. "Okay."

By the time Derek and Boyd made their way back into the loft, Stiles was sound asleep and Erica was playing Tetris on her phone, Stiles' hand still firmly holding onto her arm across his belly.

Erica looked up when Derek tossed his jacket over the back of the couch by Stiles' feet.

"He been out this whole time?" Derek asked, his eyes sweeping the sleeping form curled on its side against Erica's hip.

"Pretty much." she said quietly, closing out her game and tucking her phone under her thigh as Boyd came around the couch, re-positioning the bag of groceries in his arm so he could lean down and press a greeting kiss to her lips, before striding off into the kitchen, presumably to fix the dinner she'd requested. Erica turned her attention back to Derek. "Anything?"

Derek sank down onto the edge of the coffee table and scrubbed a hand over his face. Erica couldn't help but notice the deep lines around his mouth, lines that screamed out just how tired Derek truly was.

"Nothing yet." Derek sighed, scratching at the hinge of his jaw, nails scraping over stubble he hadn't bothered with in days. "Lydia hasn't slept since yesterday. She's been reading nonstop, just trying to find something that can help them. Scott made her go home for the night, but she wasn't happy about it."

Erica's gaze settled on Stiles' sleeping face, his eyes crinkled with pain, even then. "You know, I can't help but think he looks worse off than Isaac. I mean, you can hardly tell anything is wrong with Isaac, other than the occasional dizzy spell or scent of pain. Yet, Stiles still looks like he's dying. Even sound asleep, he reeks of pain."

Derek hummed his agreement, able to smell the sharp tang of pain on Stiles since before he'd even woken up that morning. He could feel it, too, though it was muted and distant thanks to the connection issue between Stiles and his wolf.

"Isaac is in just as much pain." Derek said, eyes lingering on Stiles' back, watching his breaths coming in a steady rise and fall. "He's just better at hiding it. Stiles... He's used to hiding the emotional hurt, you know? He can shove it down and pretend he's fine, and if you didn't know him, you'd believe it. But, he wears physical pain like a shroud. It clings to him, seeps out of every pore, every inch of skin. Isaac's different."

"Because of his father." Erica said, her voice going hard.

Derek nodded, reached out a hand to touch Stiles, to reassure himself that Stiles was there and whole, simply sleeping, but let it fall back into his lap. "Isaac learned to bury pain long before any of us were a part of his life. You'd never know it by looking at him, but Isaac is tougher than someone his age should ever have to be."

Erica watched Derek for a minute, just let her eyes take in the soft expression he wore while his own gaze stayed glued to the heap of werewolf asleep in her lap. She'd never seen so much open affection on Derek's face; not for his Betas, not for his sister, not even for any of the women she'd seen him with. But, there it was, honest and raw in the way he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Stiles, the way he struggled not to reach out and touch with every second's passing.

"It's good to see you like this." Erica told him, her mouth quirking up on one side when Derek's eyebrows inched toward his hairline and he finally met her gaze. She laughed softly, careful not to dislodge Stiles. "I've never seen you smitten." she teased.

"Smitten." Derek wrinkled his nose, as if the word tasted foul on his tongue.

"Totally smitten." Boyd's rumbling voice called back, quietly enough that only Erica and Derek could hear it.

Erica laughed again while Derek rolled his eyes. She didn't miss the blood tinging his ears and neck pink. "It's cute." she assured, though that only made Derek scowl harder. "Stiles deserves someone to be smitten with him. You both do."

Derek huffed, seemingly gearing himself up to argue, but deflated a second later. He let his head drop down toward his chest, a ghost of a smile reaching his lips despite his best efforts. "Thanks." he muttered, and Erica thought he probably hoped she wouldn't hear it.

"You're welcome." she beamed, the smile turning sharp before she added the caveat, "Just remember, if you hurt my Batman, I'll gouge your eyes out and give them to him as a present."

Boyd's laughter echoed through the loft, Stiles stirred in Erica's lap but didn't fully wake, and Derek just sighed, "I knew I couldn't avoid that one forever."