"Hey."

When nothing but silence greeted him, Derek heaved a tired sigh and scrubbed a hand down his face. He folded his legs beneath him and sank to the floor beside Stiles, not reaching out to touch but prodding at the faded ties of their Bond in the hopes that somehow, somewhere deep inside himself, Stiles would feel it.

When Stiles remained silent, the scent of salt and moisture heavy in the air around him, Derek spoke. "This isn't your fault, Stiles." After a second of hesitation, he added, "I know that you're probably really angry right now, and that everything hurts, but try to be patien-"

More weighted silence stretched on, Stiles not even bothering to swipe away the tear tracks streaking down his pallid cheeks. He didn't so much as blink, his gaze fixed pleadingly on a single spot Derek couldn't see. He was ready to resign himself to the unnerving quiet, to the dismal scent of Stiles' guilt and pain swirling around them in thick clouds, when Stiles spoke. It was more of a whisper, really, the way it cracked and splintered as it left his lips.

"He lied to us."

"We don't know-"

"He lied, Derek." Stiles croaked, shoving a shaking hand through his too-long locks. "It's been almost twenty-four hours."

It wasn't that Stiles' fears were unfounded. Derek knew that, he just couldn't bring himself to give up his last shred of hope yet. If he stopped hoping things would turn out the way they were supposed to, the way the pack needed them to, he'd go insane. As it were, Derek didn't even know where to begin trying to fix things. Not for the pack, not for Stiles… There didn't seem to be a way out this time. The thought pressed down hard on Derek's shoulders, hunching him forward uselessly while he listened to the padding of familiar footsteps moving toward them.

"Deaton's here." Scott announced, his tone strained and full of cracks when it sounded from the doorway.

Stiles nodded absently, finally reaching up to wipe the moisture from his eyes and cheeks.

"Come on," Derek rose to his feet, held a hand out to help Stiles up. "They need to see you keeping it together, Stiles. If you fall apart, the rest of them will too."

Stiles let Derek pull him up, wincing at the ache radiating out from the center of his body, winding its way through his limbs. "I guess we're all pretty much fucked then." he sighed, blowing out a breath through chapped, bloodless lips.

Derek didn't want to argue, not when things were so bleak, but he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping at Stiles. It wouldn't do either of them any good, not really, so Derek fought the urge.

When they shuffled their way down the spiral staircase and into the main floor of the loft, Stiles' gaze automatically searched through the pack. His gaze flicked through each face like fingertips through a rolodex, skipping over then going back to linger a few seconds more. While Stiles was more than likely taking headcount, Derek took the opportunity to really see his pack. He took in the dark circles beneath their eyes, the collective scent of salt and sadness permeating the air around them. Scott looked haggard and exhausted, the black beneath his eyes outlined in smudges of deep purple. He sagged down into the vacant space beside Jackson, head hanging down between his shoulders. Allison and Isaac watched Scott with worried eyes while Lydia dabbed at the corner of her eyes with the edge of her scarf and carried a cup of tea across the room, setting it on the table beside the Sheriff. Before he could finish taking stock of the pack, Derek caught the shift in Stiles' scent announcing a spike of pain, though he couldn't tell if it was physical or emotional.

"Jesus, Stiles, who died?"

"Bite me, Parrish." Stiles said, no venom in his retort despite the scent of agony clinging to him.

"I think that's Derek's job." Jordan parried back, smirking as he settled onto the couch beside the Sheriff.

John rolled his eyes like he hated them all, but accepted the pain pill his Deputy dropped into his palm. "Can we get on with this before my meds kick in?"

"But I want to hear more about the biting." Erica grinned, her hand never ceasing in its comforting drag over Boyd's hair where his head was resting in her lap.

"Erica." Scott intoned tiredly, his legs both resting against Isaac's side while Allison burrowed in beneath his arm.

With a huff and an eye roll, Erica sank back into the couch cushions and waved a hand in Deaton's direction.

"Thank you, Miss Reyes." Deaton dipped his head.

"You got it, Doc."

It was Scott's turn to sigh. "What do you have, Deaton?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." The vet informed them, his frown apologetic. "From what I've managed to gather from my sources, there is no way of knowing how long it will take before the cure's effects can be seen in a Spark-Wolf hybrid. There's no precedent for this particular set of variables, making predictions impossible."

"So, basically, we have no fucking idea if the elixir will even work on me." Stiles bit out, as much sarcasm behind the words as he could muster.

Deaton winced, a barely noticeable flinch of his features. "Unfortunately, no. The uniqueness of your situation leaves too many factors in play for us to know with any amount of certainty."

"Okay," Scott interjected, "but that also means that we don't know for sure that it won't work, right? I mean, it worked for everyone else." He looked pointedly around the room, his eyes touching briefly on each of the pack, lingering on Parrish like he was an open wound Scott couldn't leave alone. "The bullets' effects have been reversed in everyone except Stiles. The elixir obviously works."

"Yes," Deaton agreed. "The cure itself is not the problem, however."

"Then what is the problem, Deaton?" Derek snapped, eyes flashing Blue despite the grip he tried to get on his temper. No one could blame him, not when Stiles sat beside him looking to all the world like a ghost caught in the human plane. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent and the shadows beneath his eyes had grown deeper and darker, making every expression look hollow.

Deaton opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles cut him off.

"Me." he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly, knuckles creaking noisily when he clenched his fists. "The problem is me."

"Your spark, more specifically." Deaton corrected.

"I thought- Isn't his Spark neutralized?" Lydia questioned, brows furrowed. "In the same way that someone cannot be a witch and Were simultaneously, neither could they be a wolf and a Spark."

"The magic which creates a Spark and the magic which creates a witch are not the same." Deaton said, shaking his head. "There's never been an instance, never in recorded history, of a Spark surviving the Bite. We have no idea how the wolf's magic and the Spark interact."

"So?" John asked, wincing as he shifted in place. "What does that mean for my son?"

"It means that we are left with two possibilities. One, Stiles' Spark is delaying the effects of the cure, and it will take longer for him to return to his former self."

"What's behind door number two?" Stiles asked, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Deaton made a sympathetic grimace. "The other possibility is that your Spark cancels out the cure entirely, and we are back to square one."

Derek and Scott both growled menacingly at that, but Deaton's face remained stoic.

"There has to be something else we can do." Jackson frowned, eyes meeting Derek's across the room. "It can't be that simple."

"Nothing ever is." Melissa added from her position beside the Sheriff.

"Deaton?" Derek asked, taken off-guard by the desperation in his own voice.

He was scared, he realized; terrified that Stiles would be bound forever in a body wracked with pain, unable to access his wolf. Unable to access the Mate Bond. The idea of Stiles being forced to exist that way, trapped inside himself with a wolf he couldn't feel and pain he couldn't stop feeling, made Derek's wolf whine sadly in his head.

"Stiles." Stiles looked up from where he'd been staring unseeingly at the floor. "Do you still have that scroll I lent you? The-"

Stiles snorted. "The one made from Dragons' hide?" he arched a brow. "Does that really seem like something I would lose?"

"I knew it!" John shouted, wincing at the way he jostled his ribs. "I knew there were Dragons." he wheezed, leaning into the hand Melissa carded through his hair.

Stiles rolled his eyes, surprised to feel his lips pull up in one corner. "Yeah, I still have it. It's back at the house. Why?"

"We need it." Deaton replied simply. "There's an incantation on it that I believe might assist us."

"Great." Derek nodded resolutely, already trying to drag Stiles toward the door. "Let's go."

"Derek, wait." Stiles shook off his hand, planting his feet to stop from stumbling forward.

"We don't have time to wait, Stiles." Derek argued, ignoring the way he could feel every single set of eyes in the room burning into him. "The sooner we get that scroll back here, the sooner you can get your wolf back."

"Don't you think I know that?" Stiles asked, voice soft but filled with anger and frustration. "But we have to be realistic, Der. Carrick is still out there and he's still gunning for me. He's probably desperate by now, and willing to do anything he can to ruin my life the way I ruined his."

"But-"

"No. I know it goes against every instinct you have, but you have to stay here, where it's safe." Stiles pushed on, hoping Derek could see in his eyes how much he meant it. "I can't risk losing you, Derek. I can survive all this," He made a sweeping gesture at the room in general, encompassing everything, "but I wouldn't survive that."

Derek's chest constricted, strangling the growl building in its depths. "You're not going alone." he snapped. "You can't protect yourself if Carrick makes a move."

"I'll bring Parrish. He can protect me. And if Carrick does show up, Parrish can regenerate from… Well, everything basically."

"No." Derek tried to argue, the fear behind his sternum swelling into a great mass, threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn't imagine letting Stiles out of his sight—not now, maybe never again. There was too much at risk, too many things that could go wrong if he wasn't there, by his Mate's side.

Where he belonged.

"I'm not asking, Derek." Stiles blinked wide eyes at him, steel glinting brightly in their honeyed depths. "I'm the only one who knows where the scroll is. If I don't go, we don't get it."

Derek did growl, then. It was closer to a snarl than anything, really. He knew what Stiles was saying with that. If he didn't let Parrish go with Stiles to his house, Stiles wouldn't tell them where the scroll was hidden. None of them had a chance in hell of finding the damn thing without Stiles, and they all knew that. Once again, Stiles was risking his own health, his own survival, in order to protect the people he cared about.

To protect Derek.

"I don't like it."

Stiles smiled. "I know."

"I'll keep him safe, Derek." Parrish said softly, rising from his seat.

Derek whirled on him, eyes flashing, but he didn't say a word. He knew that Jordan would fight until the very end to protect Stiles. The two of them had a solid bond, one that Derek used to be just the tiniest bit jealous of. Parrish would go down in flames before he let anything happen to Stiles.

"Der." Stiles all but whispered, his fingers grazing gently down the expanse of Derek's back, warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

He turned back to Stiles, knowing full well that every fear, every emotion was painted plainly on his face.

Stiles' eyes went soft around the edges, gleaming with moisture. "I'll come back." he promised, smiling despite the suffocating cold spreading through his chest.

Derek's pulse pounded inside his head, every molecule within screaming at him that this was wrong. Letting Stiles leave like this, not going with him… It was wrong on some fundamental level. His wolf whimpered, pawing at the inside of skull with frantic swipes.

It was in that moment Derek let everything else fall away, everything except—

"Stiles, I lov-" Stiles opened his mouth, but Derek slapped a hand over it, grinning despite himself. "I swear to God, Stiles, I will kill you myself."

He could feel Stiles' smile widen beneath his palm. The feeling of those dry lips rasping against his skin as the turned up melted something deep in Derek's chest, made him loosen his hold even as he stepped further into Stiles' space. He nodded and Derek released his mouth.

"Sorry."

Derek took a deep breath, blowing it out hard. He leaned in close, cupping Stiles' jaw with both hands, and pressed the softest of kisses to his lips. When he pulled back, eyes pricking with heat, he met Stiles' owlish gaze with conviction.

"I love you, Stiles." He heard Stiles' heartbeat trip, felt his own skitter in response. "No more hiding, no more talking around it. I love you, and you need to know that I have never meant anything more than I mean this, right now."

There were soft murmurs of surprise coming from the rest of the pack, and Derek could smell the salt that no doubt belonged to a few fresh tears, but he ignored it all, staring unflinchingly into Stiles' bottomless gaze.

"I need you to come back. Do you understand?"

Stiles caught his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding shakily.

"I've lost too much to risk losing you, too."

"You won't." Stiles vowed, pushing forward to wrap his arms around Derek's neck, burying his face in Derek's throat. "You won't lose me, Derek, I promise."

Derek's arms tightened around Stiles' back, hauling him in as tightly as he dared. He inhaled deeply, drawing Stiles' scent into his lungs and holding it there. A low whine rumbled in his throat when Stiles pressed his lips to his neck, murmuring delicate words into the warmth of Derek's pulse.

"I love you too, you know." he whispered, chapped lips dragging and catching at the skin beneath them. "Probably too much to be entirely healthy, but I'll risk it if you will."

Chuckling brokenly in his chest, Derek nodded. "I'd risk everything for this."

Stiles pulled back, smile blinding in its intensity. "It's not much of a risk, though, is it?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow high. "The Universe already thinks we're a sure thing."

Derek returned Stiles' smile, gliding the pad of his thumb across Stiles' bottom lip. "Just come back to me in one piece, okay?" he pled, entire face soft and full of affection.

"Why?" Stiles finally responded, his heartbeat a steady, even soundtrack. "It's not like I'm leaving that way."

His childhood home looked mostly deserted when they pulled up outside it half an hour later. Stiles frowned at the exterior, unnerved by the way the house's windows seemed to look out at him with hollow, yawning sadness. For the first time in his entire life this was the last place he wanted to be. Even after his mother's funeral Stiles had loved their house. He felt closer to her there, where he could still see in her in the rooms, imagine he smelled her perfume clinging to the walls. Now, staring at his front door with a knot behind his ribs and a ball of lead in his gut, Stiles fervently wished he was curled into Derek's chest somewhere—anywhere else.

"What is it?"

Shaking off the cold prickles dancing over his skin in waves, Stiles shrugged. "My entire reality just shifted, no big deal."

Parrish cocked a brow but didn't press. Instead, he cast his eyes around them carefully, alert for even the smallest detail out of place. Stiles let them both in with his keys and they made it all the way up to the attic without so much as a speck of dust behaving suspiciously.

"It's up here, buried under a bunch of other shit." Stiles called breathlessly over his shoulder as he elbowed his way deeper into the attic. "I try to keep as much of this stuff out of sight as I can unless I need it, you know? That way, if the douchenozzle of the week comes looking for whatever they think I've got, even if I actually do have it, they won't be able to find it. Smart, huh?"

Laughing and waving away a swirling mote of dust near his face, Parrish squinted after Stiles into the dim light. "Doesn't that make it harder to find in an emergency?"

A crash of boxes and other debris falling down sounded from the other side of the room. "Maybe."

Jordan sighed and headed in Stiles' direction, careful not to nudge anything else loose. "Can I help?"

"Have you recently gained the power of x-ray vision and forgot to tell me?"

"Unfortunately, no." Parrish frowned.

"Welcome to the Completely, Not-at-all-Bitter, Totally Powerless and Entirely Useless club." Stiles quipped sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"That's quite a mouthful."

Stiles laughed, but even to himself it sounded empty.

"I was expecting innuendo there, Stilinski. You disappoint."

"You too, huh?"

Both of his eyebrows winging up, Parrish looked surprised. "You don't honestly believe that, do you?" When Stiles remained silent, Jordan shook his head. "No one is disappointed in you, Stiles. I can promise you that, okay?"

"Maybe that's not the right-"

"No." Jordan shut him down. "No one blames you for any of this, stop telling yourself that. The only one we're pissed at is Carrick; he started all of this, you were just defending yourself. We know that, Stiles, and we've got your back. 100 %, okay?"

Stiles felt his face heat, color crawling into his cheeks for the first time in days. "I know." he sighed, shoving things around inside the box he thought contained the scroll, mostly so he didn't have to meet Jordan's eyes. "It's just hard to remember that when you're the reason your pack is being targeted by a complete sociopath."

"Well, that's rather rude, Lad."

Heart stalling behind his ribs, Stiles froze in place. The feeling of ice water rushing through his veins made Stiles' body shudder, even as Parrish shifted in front of him and aimed his gun into the deep shadows of the attic.

"Carrick."

"Thas right, boy." The thickly accented Irish brogue poured out of the darkness, snaking its way down Stiles' spine.

"Don't take another fucking step." Parrish barked, eyes sparking into their fiery hue as he cast them around the open space.

"Ah, there's no need of that." Carrick growled, stepping into the fading light spilling through the window. "Came by m'self an' all that. Jus' wantin' a word with the boy, is all."

Parrish's eyes flashed brighter as he took a step back, closer to Stiles. "Over my dead body. Stay where you are and keep your hands where I can see them."

"Parrish, let me-"

"Shut up, Stiles."

Stiles did as he was told, swallowing the nauseous wave rising up in his chest.

Carrick chuckled darkly, moving closer still, hands held in plain sight. "Lis'en to your mate, wolf. There in't an'athing you can say 'll save your hide."

"Back. Off." Jordan spat. "Or I swear to god I will put a bullet between your eyes, Kearney."

Something dark and dangerous slithered in Carrick's gaze, his mouth twisting into a venomous sneer. "Now, that sounds like a mighty fine idea."

The crack of a gunshot rang out so loud in the silence of the space that Stiles' head rang with it. He didn't have time to process the sight of Jordan laying in a bloody sprawl on the floor at his feet before something hard and metallic collided with the side of his head and everything lurched headlong into emptiness.