Vague voices permeated the air around him, every so often he could discern one from the next. Stiles became aware that he was being carried by a gentle swaying sensation, or maybe the world was still spinning. He felt like he was on a ship somewhere. That wasn't a possibility though because Beacon Hills was too far from any port.
"Come on Stiles, stay awake." Was that Scott? Or Isaac?
"What happened?" A familiar female voice registered, softer but yet held the same panic as every other one around him. Melissa ordered Derek to lay him down on the table. Stiles only knew it was Derek from the smell of leather and cinnamon that seemed forever ingrained on the guy. A very pleasant smell, especially this close. He happily would have lingered near it and let it envelop him until it drown out the rest of the world.
There was a sudden clattering of things being moved around before his back met something more solid than the chest he'd been tucked against. He must have made a noise when he was laid down because the pain that had begun to build, faded once more and threatened to take him back into unconsciousness.
"He's an idiot, that's what." Jackson, he'd know that voice anywhere. Somehow, it sounded fond and exasperated all at once.
Stiles wanted to open his eyes or tell them he was awake but everything felt so heavy. He wanted to tell them he was fine, that he just needed some sleep, even though he knew that wasn't the case. There had been so much blood loss before he'd passed out and he didn't want to think about how much more there had been since then. Considering the length of the drive from the preserve to the McCall house, probably too much. Their voices became muffled again, as though someone had put his head under water, and he sunk into unconsciousness once again.
It felt like swimming against a strong current that was perpetually forcing him back from the shore, beneath the waves. He was fighting to wake up, he knew he was, but it was so damned difficult. Every time he felt himself drawing closer to the surface someone was there leeching the pain away again and forcing him back under.
"You have to wake up, Stiles." Lydia's voice was choked in his ear, as though she were crying.
I'm trying, he wanted to tell her. The words wouldn't form.
"We have to stop the bleeding." Melissa was much closer and he could feel cold air across his chest. Someone had removed the tattered remnants of his shirt to better expose the wounds. Her fingers moved deftly over the claw marks. Stitching them, he assumed.
"Is he going to turn?" That was only the fifth time he'd ever heard Boyd speak, the man had a much deeper baritone than he'd have thought. It was currently filled with worry.
I don't want to turn. Stiles wanted to tell them. But I don't want to die either. He knew those were the only options afforded here. He'd been bitten by an Alpha.
"The Alpha was dying when it bit him, does that make a difference?" Allison's tone was curious. Honestly, he hadn't expected the girl to hang around. Having figured her father would have dragged her away the first chance he got.
"No." Came Derek's resigned reply.
Stiles winced, whether from the answer or Melissa sewing his side he wasn't entirely sure. Seconds later and a warm, firm hand grasped his wrist to pull at the pain again. Stiles felt himself slipping back out.
Stop! He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell them all to stop taking the pain, to stop forcing him back into the blackness. The pain was the only thing grounding him, keeping him among the land of the living. Or the aware anyway. He didn't want to sleep because he didn't know what was on the other side of it. Unconsciousness took him anyway.
"I think I've stopped the worst of it. There's nothing I can do about the bite marks." Melissa breathed nearby as he came around again. He heard the snap of a rubber glove before her fingers carded back through his hair. They came to rest beside his ear, hand cupping his cheek.
Everything still felt so heavy, enough that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't force his eyes open or move his arms. Even twitching his fingers felt impossible. Stiles knew it was from the massive blood loss, which left him so weak he wondered how his heart was still beating at all. Something pricked against his forearm and moments later it felt cool. Either someone had hooked him up to an I.V. or the lack of blood flow was beginning to make his body shut down. He was hoping for the former this time, despite his aversion to needles.
"Shouldn't we be calling his dad?" Scott's voice was slightly muffled. "He'll be off work soon and he's going to wonder where Stiles is."
Stiles made a noise, an effort to tell them not to call his dad. He didn't need the old man worrying yet. Though, if he were dying he'd have much rather have his father at his side. At the same time he didn't want to expose the man to all of this. If he could protect him from it, he should, right? A warm, hand raked back through his hair again and Stiles was barely able to incline his head toward it. "Not yet," Derek murmured from close by while resting that hand against the curve of Stiles' neck to pull the pain from him again. "Not until we know anything."
Despite wanting to remain as conscious as he could, he felt himself slip back under. Weightless and pain free. He was glad to note that it was dreamless, at the very least. After the last few weeks it was one of the better things that had happened. If he thought too much about it, he'd realize just how sad that was. His life had become so strange and abnormal just from one small decision: his father choosing to take up his old post here in Beacon Hills.
"How long has it been?" Peter asked from somewhere nearby. Sounds were beginning to rush back to him in the way they had since he'd passed out. Muffled, yet all at once. The slide of a fork against a ceramic plate grated too loudly in his ears.
Everyone was quiet long enough that Stiles thought maybe he'd imagined the question or passed out again. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Everything hurt much less; not in the same way it had when they were leeching the pain from him. Just less. As though the aches and pains weren't as prevalent as they'd been before. Hopefully that wasn't a bad omen.
His face scrunched when he swallowed, his mouth tasted like death and his body throbbed again with the effort it took to try and open his eyes. It took a few beats to register that no one had answered because they knew he was coming around. His heartbeat and the change in breathing must have alerted them.
"Stiles?" He felt hot breath on his face, which told him Scott was hovering right over him.
"Dude, you need a mint." He managed to croak back. Stiles heard several relieved exhales around him. Pinching his eyes shut before trying to open them again, he winced in the brightness of the McCall's kitchen when he did.
Isaac pulled Scott away and Melissa took his place, not hovering quite as close. "Take it easy, kiddo. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got mauled by a giant freaking werewolf." His voice horse from disuse. Another wince as he tried to sit up but didn't have the strength. "And like your table is profoundly uncomfortable to lay on for any length of time." She deadpanned on him but Stiles saw a fondness in it. Melissa tolerated his snark with a practiced ease.
When he tried to shift upward again, Derek's hands were under his back to help and he cast a quick appreciative glance his way before turning his attention toward the claw marks on his side. Melissa had taped gauze over them but it was stained through. Still, he was relieved to see bright red blood instead of black. That relief was short-lived when he realized what that could mean.
Stiles cleared his throat and looked back up to Derek who lingered close. "How long?" How long until I know if I'm turning or dying?
The werewolf must have misunderstood. "You were out for about four hours." Annoyance flickered in Stiles' eyes while shaking his head. The movement brought a wince with it as it tugged the raw skin around his neck. Derek frowned when he registered what Stiles was actually asking. "Some know within a few hours, others it can take almost a full day."
He swallowed hard and looked around the room. Each face held the same hopeful, worried expression. Except Jackson. Jackson almost always had this smug look about him but right now the one he wore was dejected. Because he knew. He and Stiles had talked about it before; about how Stiles was happy to remain a human among all the wolves. It wasn't that turning didn't have an appeal-all that strength and heightened senses-but there were other things that came with it. Like watching out for hunters and worrying about accidentally mauling someone. Stiles already lacked self control due to the ADHD.. was that something that would disappear or become heightened? He wasn't sure he wanted the answer to it.
He was semi surprised to see Chris and Allison still there but figured they really didn't have anything else to do. Their family was gone; it was just the two of them now. There was also the assumption that Chris only hung around because he wanted to know if Stiles was going to turn. So he knew whether or not there was another threat to Beacon Hills that might need to be eliminated.
To distract himself from that particular thought he looked toward Melissa. "Can I get up?"
"Can you do it on your own?" She quirked a brow in response. Stiles tried to sit up further on his own though lacked the energy. "You lost a lot of blood, Stiles. Take it easy."
"Yeah, well, I'm getting a backache from laying the table." He whined. Stiles knew he was whining. With a huff he turned toward Derek who was still holding him up and motioned toward the living room, "help me to the couch."
Derek snorted, amused by Stiles ordering him around, thankfully he helped maneuver him to his feet. The room spun and he gripped the werewolf's arm a little tighter, just a sudden head rush from a lack of vital blood but he managed to remain upright. With help, Stiles made it to the couch. Slowly. Each step took more effort than he liked. By the time he'd sat down he felt entirely drained again but was determined to stay awake as long as he could.
Once settled Melissa brought a glass of orange juice and a plate of spaghetti. To help regain his strength, he assumed. Needless to say, orange juice and tomato sauce were not a pleasant combination. He wouldn't complain. Not when his stand-in mother had taken the time to patch him up and make dinner on top of it.
After a short time, Derek sent Peter, Boyd, Isaac, and Erica home. Jackson refused to leave when told to, Derek didn't seem as though he wanted to argue about it. The Argent's only hung around another half hour before heading home as well. Lydia curled up on the other end of the couch and fell asleep.
"Anyone call my dad?" He asked when he'd eaten half of the spaghetti in front of him.
"I texted him from your phone, pretended to be you, and told him you were spending the night here." Scott gave him that look, that painfully hopeful one that said he was praying they wouldn't have to give Noah bad news.
Stiles hoped so too. He wasn't sure his dad would be able to cope with losing not only his wife but his only son. The thought of Noah turning to alcohol to relieve the pain again was one that made him cringe internally. "Good idea," he replied, casting a smile at his friend. "Melissa, this was amazing but I don't think I can eat any more." A soft laugh escaped him, one that ended abruptly at the pain it caused in his side.
Jackson, who'd sat between him and Lydia, reached out to grasp his wrist with the intent of leeching away the pain. Stiles swatted at him while Melissa took the plate and empty glass. "You guys need to stop doing that." When Jackson shot a wounded and confused look his way Stiles heaved a bodily sigh that made him wince. Again. "I probably would have woken up sooner if you guys didn't keep doing that. Every time I thought I was coming around one of you knocked me back out."
Understanding flooded the jocks features, followed quickly by embarrassment. Though that faded rather quickly. "We didn't realize that, dumbass. We just knew you were in pain and tried to help."
"While I appreciate that, I'd like to use what time I might have left to remain conscious." As soon as the words escaped him, Stiles regretted them. If only because everyone had that frighteningly depressive expression again. Scott sat in the recliner across from him, gripping the arms on it tight enough that Stiles was sure he'd tear through the leather.
Derek had moved to stand in the doorway by the kitchen, watching him as though he'd know the second this went one way or the other. Maybe he would. Stiles noticed that Derek's shirt was also tattered, but soaked through with blood. His. He wondered why the guy hadn't changed. Melissa settled onto the coffee table in front of him. "I need to look at them again."
When he nodded she reached out to carefully pull at the tape over his side. Despite his aversion to seeing gaping wounds, curiosity won out. As it always did. The claw marks were still deep and jagged but the bleeding had stopped. She traced her gloved fingers along the edge of the one beneath his ribs, which tickled, and exhaled a shaky breath. Her forehead crinkled.
Stiles looked back at her questioningly, Melissa appeared not to have noticed as she left the gauze hanging and reached toward the set covering his neck and shoulder. She did the same thing there. He couldn't see those wounds as well as the others.
"He's healing." Derek stated bluntly, Melissa nodded in confirmation.
"So.. I'm turning?" Stiles' tone was more melancholic than he'd intended.
Derek arched a brow upward, squinting at him as he asked. "Would you rather be dead?"
"No. But I also didn't want this."
"Then you should have stayed out of the fight like I told you." There was an edge to Derek's tone that he couldn't understand.
"Yeah, because I had a choice." Sarcasm. Stiles specialty. "It was killing you guys out there! What was I supposed to do? Let all of you die just to leave him trapped in that circle?!"
"It was 5 on 1. We'd have overpow-"
"Bullshit! Boyd and Erica and Isaac were all weak from the Argent's. You guys were-"
"Boys!" Melissa's voice rose over them to cut off the mounting argument.
"What's done is done, there's no point in fighting about it now." Scott stared between them.
"Besides, dumbass, you've got us. We'll make sure you don't go feral on anyone." Jackson cast a reassuring smile his way that actually made him feel better. A little anyway.
Several thoughts occurred to him at once in the silence that fell over the room. "Wait. How did you, Lydia and Allison know where we were? When did Lydia wake up? Is she..?" There were other questions but those seemed most pressing.
Jackson nodded toward the sleeping redhead. "Allison was with me at the hospital. Lydia woke up screaming, completely healed. She just said we needed to get to the preserve when she'd stopped. She demanded they discharge her." He chuckled and stared fondly at his girlfriend. "When the doctor refused and said he needed more tests she threatened bodily harm. I don't think I've ever been more proud or scared of her than I was right then. We got out there and I could hear the howls. Allison had her weapons in the car already and we just.. ran."
"And did she.. turn?" Stiles asked now, leaning forward a little to look at her almost angelic face.
"I don't think so."
"Peter said he might have an idea what she is because she isn't a wolf." Derek interjected, sounding calmer now.
"Okay. So, back to Peter.." Stiles shifted a little on the couch, feeling some of that old restless energy returning to him. "He killed the Alpha right? So, does that mean he's one now?"
The question was met with confused stares. It was Scott who finally responded, slowly as though worried about Stiles just from this one question. "He didn't kill the Alpha."
"What? No… I saw him pounce on its back."
"You were also half blind and panicking," Jackson countered and smirked.
Stiles shot a glare in his direction and mumbled, "wasn't 'panicking'." His eyes rolled upward. "Okay, so who did?"
Jackson and Scott both turned their gaze onto Derek, who stood with his thick arms crossed over his chest like the god he was. Not that Stiles would ever say that aloud. One of those expressive brows rose just a hair before his green eyes flashed brilliant red. "I did."
Okay, so it was a Hale. He couldn't be blamed for the confusion. Peter and Derek looked an awful lot alike. Particularly when, as Scott had stated, half blind from the beating he'd taken from Gerard and-loathe as he was to admit it-panicking.
–
Even though he could probably think of a thousand other questions right then, Stiles was exhausted. He wound up falling asleep sitting up on the couch just as the sun began its ascent. It had been a ridiculously long night. Too long, in fact.
When he woke, sunlight shone lazily through the curtains that someone was kind enough to leave shut with his head on Jackson's shoulder. The guy had the decency to pretend he didn't notice Stiles drooling in his sleep. The first thing he recognized was his pain was basically entirely gone. Only a few small twinges of pain remained. The second was that someone had dragged a blanket over him, likely to cover his bare chest. The third was that he was absolutely burning up under it. It felt like someone had turned the heat to 90 in the middle of summer.
With a noise of discontent he shoved it off and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in one motion. "Jesus loser, I thought you'd never wake up. I have to take a piss." Jackson rolled his eyes while forcing himself off of the couch, acting as though Stiles had forced him to stay right where he'd been for the majority of the day.
Stiles winced at the volume in which he'd spoken. Did he have to shout?
Wait.
His brows knitted together. Jackson hadn't shouted. It was just loud as hell to his own ears. Along with everything else. Looking down at his bare chest Stiles noted that the claw marks were nearly entirely healed, leaving behind swollen pink lines. They would scar over eventually. Actually, he realized with a snort, they wouldn't. His fingers traced the lines with interest.
As he sat there running his hand over them, Stiles could hear a murmured conversation in the kitchen between Lydia and Melissa. He could hear Scott's shower running upstairs along with the kid singing very off-key, and the sound of a car passing by the house. If he focused hard enough he could even hear each of their heartbeats.
"Scary, isn't it?" Jackson's voice came again, quieter than before yet still loud enough that he jumped. Freaking werewolf stealth.
"Less scary and more overwhelming." He shook his head, marveling at it all.
Jackson reached high above his head to stretch, a smirk playing at his lips. "Well, since you're finally awake, I'm going home to shower. Later, loser." Stiles heard him move through the kitchen and murmur to Lydia that he was going.
Only a second later and she flounced into the room, taking Jackson's recently vacated seat. "Good, you're awake! How do you feel?"
"How do you feel?"
A wide grin formed, "I asked you first."
"Hungry."
She laughed softly, "Melissa's making dinner before she goes to work. I feel fine. Different, but fine." One slender shoulder rose and fell casually. As if she hadn't just spent the last week in the hospital.
"Do you.. do you remember anything from when you were out?" He asked, curious if she remembered the dreams she kept screaming him awake with.
After a moment of thought her lips pursed and she shook her head. "Not until right before I woke up. I had this… I don't know, dream? You guys were all out on the preserve and I recognized Allison's family. I just had this feeling when I woke up. It felt like danger. Like if we didn't hurry someone was going to die. I've had those feelings before, but never like that. Why?"
"Just wondering." She'd visited his dreams every night, sometimes several times a night, but didn't remember any of them until the one that had woken her. It was odd, to say the least.
–
Lydia only stayed a short while longer, having gone back to help Melissa finish making dinner. Derek had left sometime before Stiles had woken to clue in the rest of the wolves. Melissa had a shift at the hospital and after putting some of the dinner she'd made into a container and checking on Stiles again, she kissed Scott's cheek before leaving as well.
Scott had given him a shirt since his own had been ruined before lobbing his keys to him. Stiles fumbled to catch them; Maybe the whole werewolf thing just hadn't kicked in yet. Apparently someone had had the foresight to go and get his Jeep to keep his father from being too suspicious.
When he'd made the drive home, all Stiles could think about was the silence. He'd gotten so used to having someone with him all the time that now the silence was deafening. Worse than it used to be anyway. The cruiser was gone when he'd pulled into their drive, meaning Noah was working.
Probably for the best, since he didn't really want to explain to his dad why his jeans were crusted with blood. That would mean having to explain far more.
A hot shower was in order. While stripping down for it he made a face at the jeans, there was no saving them. The shower wasn't nearly as relaxing as he'd hoped it would be either. He couldn't get the water hot enough. Likely because his own internal temperature was higher now. Grunting his annoyance, he just rushed through it. In the process of drying himself Stiles froze.
Until now, it'd been quiet in the house. Save for the general noises of an older house and a water heater that seemed incapable of getting hot enough. He'd heard a soft thump followed by a steady heartbeat. Struggling to pull clean sweats over still damp legs, Stiles tried to dress quickly. Even then, he was still yanking his shirt on when he stepped into his bedroom.
Of course, it was Derek. "Do you wolves not know how to use a door?"
"You're one too, and it's habit now." Derek shrugged a broad shoulder.
With a roll of his eyes Stiles flopped into the desk chair. "So…"
"So?" Derek's eyebrows ticked upward.
"Does this mean you're our Alpha now?" 'Our' was meant as a broad term, referencing the other teens as well as himself.
Derek went silent for a moment, as though considering the weight of it. Without asking permission he settled onto the edge of Stiles' bed. "I guess. I mean, I didn't plan for it. It was supposed to be my sister, you know? I saw him going after you and just reacted. I didn't get there fast enough, though."
Something bitter scented the air and Stiles couldn't stop himself from wrinkling his nose. Resentment. Frustration. He didn't even have to question if he was right, it was like his senses just knew.
Again, he felt overwhelmed by everything. Everything he could hear and see and smell. Derek must have picked up on that as he eyed him. "You alright?"
"Yeah. 'M fine." He shrugged indifferently. Even if Derek knew otherwise the elder teen didn't question it.
Time seemed to drag on as a silence fell between them. Stiles stared out of the open window and fiddled with a loose string on his sweats idly. Whether it was a habit by now or the ADHD didn't entirely go away, he didn't know. After a while he leaned back in the chair and turned his attention back to Derek, noting that the guy hadn't looked elsewhere.
"So how does all this work?" When Derek raised a brow in question, he sighed. "The whole claws and howling at the moon thing?"
"We don't actually.." Once he realized the younger male was joking his eyes shifted heavenward as though to beg the gods for patience. It was a look Stiles was all too familiar with. "We'll teach you. Don't worry about it."
"Hard not to when I think back on all the trouble Scott had."
"Scott was doing it alone, you won't be."
Stiles sputtered for a moment, flabbergasted. "I'm sorry, what? 'Scott was alone', um! Excuse me, I was helping him! What am I, chopped liver?"
Amusement registered on Derek's face, a smile threatening his lips. "Okay, Scott was learning without other wolves. You did good, though."
"Thank you," Even though he knew Derek was only placating him, he'd take the win. "Alright so, does.. does this mean we have to, like, bow down to you now that you're the Alpha?"
Derek snorted and shook his head. "No. I don't think anything will change too much from the way I was doing things before with the others. We'll just be adding you, Scott and Lydia in. So long as you're intending to be part of the pack, that is."
As if that was even a question. On his part, anyway. He hadn't talked to Scott about how he felt about the idea, though he couldn't see why his friend would take issue with it. "Wait, does that mean you guys know what Lydia is?"
"Peter is still looking into it. Like I said, he has a few ideas. Actually, she should be over there now with him and Jackson." 'Over there' meant Derek's loft.
Apparently the Hale's were overly wealthy but not showy about it like the Whittmore's. Peter had his hands in more than a few businesses in town and Derek owned several apartment buildings in Beacon Hills. He lived on the top floor of one of them. From what Stiles understood, both men were working to finish construction on the old Hale house in the preserve so that they could live there. Laura had been working on it before her death and since then not a lot had been accomplished. He wondered if either man would ever feel truly comfortable living there.
Stiles shifted a hand back through his still damp hair. "Say I do join your pack," he planned to join already but having realized he'd not given an answer had a question of his own, "what sort of training schedule are we looking at here?"
"Schedule?"
"Yeah, I mean, I've got school starting back up in, what three weeks? Senior year and all, I'll have enough to do. But I mean, you train everyone right? Fighting, control, all of that?"
Derek chuckled quietly. "I do, pack meetings are usually once a week, Saturday mornings. Although, I suppose with adding you and Scott we might want to have one sooner. Why, do you feel out of control?"
"No. I don't really feel any different than I did yesterday…"
"Except?" Because of course Derek knew there was more to it.
"Except being able to hear everything. You know, I never realized just how loud a fly can be. There's one in the kitchen." He hadn't even been in the kitchen since he'd gotten home but knew that's where it was. "And I'm so hungry. Like starving."
"High metabolism."
Stiles made a disgruntled sound and Derek actually laughed. He refused to admit how much he liked seeing the guy look so relaxed, so carefree. Somehow it felt wrong to. It wasn't that Derek was too old, two years didn't make much difference. It wasn't even that Stiles hadn't looked at other guys before, he'd had a grand total of two boyfriends and three girlfriends in his life. If one didn't count grade school crushes. It was just… Derek.
The guy was broody and seemed relatively closed off from most people. And okay, he was freaking gorgeous. And Stiles was just… Stiles. Skinny, awkward, hyperactive, too talkative, and not nearly as attractive. Sometimes just sitting in the same room as his newfound friends took a major hit on his already low self-esteem. Particularly Derek. He'd meant what he'd said to Scott on that first night back in Beacon Hills. All their friends were freaking models.
He blinked himself back to reality, having gotten lost in the way Derek's mouth moved when he talked and how his eyes seemed to light up when he was happy about something. Stiles hadn't heard a word he'd said. Oops. "Sorry, what? That fly distracted me." A complete lie.
If Derek picked up on it, he had the courtesy not to mention it. "I said: you have to watch out for Isaac, he's faster than he looks. Boyd has the strength but it slows him down and Erica is cocky in every move she makes. To a fault."
"What about Jackson?"
"Jackson's actually good all around. Not really a surprise considering he's been first line in every sport for years. His only problem is when he starts to lose control he has to fight to get it back."
"Really? The way he talks, he's got it mastered." Stiles breathed a laugh, shaking his head. Then again, Jackson was egotistical. Maybe it shouldn't be all too shocking that the guy seemed to believe he had everything down.
Derek just shrugged one shoulder upward, then stood. "I should check in with Peter, see if he came up with anything. Get something to eat and rest up. I'll give you a call in the morning."
Stiles lifted a hand to wave while pulling himself up. He turned back when he'd reached the door, another question on the tip of his tongue, but Derek was gone. The curtains rippled softly in his wake.