This is my self-indulgent fix it fic because I can't stand how everyone's trauma is ignored. It's my attempt at healing the pack. Derek's pack specifically. Really it's just what I wanted to happen in season three. Erica and Boyd survive, Isaac stays with Derek and Cora isn't a thing so he keeps his alpha status. Aiden makes it and everyone is aged up a year because I'm not dealing with the horrible inconsistencies that was the show's timeline. Derek is also already able to fully shift because if you all thought I was missing an opportunity for Stiles to cuddle a full grown wolf you're wrong. I try to keep characters as in character as possible in all my fics but again, this is just me needing to feel happiness and soft, protective Derek and powerful, protective Stiles is what does that for me. We don't hate Scott McCall but it'll feel that way in the beginning.
I DO however, hate how little effort the pack bonds were given in the show so we focus on them a lot. That and actual wolf behavior being part of the individual groups, as it SHOULD HAVE BEEN. Takes place a few months after the Void. No Beta, we die like Allison. RIP.

Ya'll it's been years since I've written anything much less a fanfic so be kind. Reviews are always appreciated!

xxx

Derek had come across his fair share of supernatural occurrences in his life. It came with the alpha-werewolf territory after all. From Nogitsune to Kanima to Darachs, the menagerie of creatures and supernatural events were enough to fill his own bestiary if he ever felt so inclined. He thought he was prepared for it by now, or at the very least immune to surprises but nothing seemed as farfetched as walking into his loft at 3:30 on a Saturday morning and finding Stiles sitting at his kitchen island, arms deep in a bowl of brownie batter.

Derek wasn't even aware that he owned a bowl of that size and wasn't entirely convinced he had enough ingredients in his fridge to make a boiled egg much less a third batch of baked goods. But Stiles seemed at home in the kitchenette, flour dusting over his cheek and hair, chocolate drizzled over the marble countertop. He perched on the bar stool, one leg bent underneath him and the other bouncing incessantly on the foot bar near the floor.

"Stiles?" Derek all but growls, more in astonishment than anger. "What the hell are you doing?" Stiles lifts his head and looks at him in mild surprise before turning his attention back down to where he's folding the mixture with a worn spatula.

"Oh! Uh… Hey Sourwolf. You're home early."

"It's three in the morning. What do you mean I'm home early? How did you know I was gone?"

Stiles shrugs.

"You're never home on Friday nights. I'm usually gone by seven."

"This is a regular occurrence?" Stiles nods.

"Yeah. Spare key under the mat? Really Derek? You're just asking for a break-in at this point. Might as well invite every supernatural creature in Beacon Hills for a cup of tea."

"Stiles, what is this?"

"Brownies."

"I'm not talking about the food! What are you doing here?"

"Making brownies?"

He drops his jacket down onto the couch in frustration, his green eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Stiles!"

"I didn't know where else to go." Derek freezes at that, the fight instantly draining out of him as he takes a moment to really look him over. Stiles is leaner than usual. He's always been more on the slender side compared to the other members of the packs but it's more prominent now, sharper cheekbones and jutting edges. Hid hands are shaking as he cleans the chocolate off his fingers, face pale in the fluorescent lighting. Derek sniffs at the air, tunes into the heavy scent of anxiety and the too fast beating of his heart and all the annoyance turns to worry.

"Whats wrong?" He's before him before he realizes what he's doing, hand outstretched to try and touch his shoulder but Stiles shifts uncomfortably away. His body jerks back as if he's been struck and the reaction has Derek freezing again. Warning bells are blaring in his head that something is wrong, something Stiles doesn't want him to feel because there's no other reason for the beta to avoid the physical check that's done to him any time the group makes it out of a fight.

"Nothings wrong. Just couldn't sleep."

"Stiles-"

"Look, everyone has been busy alright? Scott's got this new thing with Kira and Lydia has Aiden. You know how it is with Erica and Boyd and Peter takes off more often than you do. I never know what Isaac is doing. Hell, I don't think Isaac knows what Isaac is doing. I don't want to bother them when I can't sleep and dad will worry if he hears me pacing all night so I just come here when you're gone. I can pace as much as I want here…"

Derek isn't sure what to say to that. The loft has unwillingly become the runaway house for all the members. He knows this. From raves to hideouts to the occasional lovers lane, the betas use the apartment like a revolving door. He knows the key under the mat is a stupid idea for someone whose had as many break ins as he has and he knows the betas are grateful for it anyways. He hand't really been upset at Stiles for being here, he had as much right as any of the others even if it's Scott's pack he belongs to and not Derek's. But he's alone and Stiles being alone at three in the morning—looking for a distraction from sleep— is not an indicator of peaceful times.

"Stiles. Look at me." Stiles does. "How long has it been since you've slept?"

"I sleep Derek. Just… not a lot."

"Nightmares?" Stiles nods slowly, averts his eyes and seems to take in the state of the kitchen.

"Sorry. Really, I try to have everything cleaned up before you're back. You're usually out much later-"

"I don't care about the mess." He looks down at Stiles' fingers again and frowns when he sees the tremors haven't stopped. If anything it looks like they've gotten worse now that there's nothing to occupy his hands. "You're shaking."

"You were growling at me Sourwolf, what do you expect?" Derek knows enough about Stiles to know he'd take on an alpha with a baseball bat and still not be afraid so he's not impressed with the excuse and Stiles sighs when he sees it fall flat. "I'm cold."

"Cold?"

"Yeah Derek. Cold. You know, the thing us humans without selective fur get when the temperature drops?"

"It's 70 degrees outside." Stiles frowns before looking away.

"I've been like this since…" The Void. He doesn't say it. Can't say it, but Derek understands instantly and the apprehension only increases when Stiles clears his throat. "I can't sleep and I can't get warm and I'm afraid it's going to happen again; so when you're gone I come here and I bake because at least I'm alone and if it all burns down when I'm having whatever batshit crazy episode I have then at least it's only me!"

The words hit Derek like a physical blow, his chest aching with the realization and Stiles is blinking back tears now. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry." He says, shaking his head dejectedly. "I'm not trying to set your house on fire, I promise. It's just to keep my hands busy and Erica likes brownies. Sometimes I take them to the lacrosse team and Peter will bitch about me being here even though he almost ate an entire cake by himself last time. Besides, he said you really don't mind if we come over and I thought-"

"Stiles!" Derek demands, his voice snapping the other out of the panicked spiral. There's an audible click as Stiles shuts his mouth, large eyes glossy and heart rate teetering to a worrying degree. Derek hesitantly reaches for him again and this time Stiles lets his hand close around his wrist.

Cold is an understatement. The shock is almost enough to pull his hand away. Derek isn't the best judge when it comes to a human's body temperature, werewolves run hot and he's even warmer now that he's mastered his full shift but this…this is wrong. Terrifyingly wrong. Even he knows a body shouldn't feel like this. He's freezing. He's ice. It's concerning enough on its own but the worst part is the steady wave of pain that accompanies it.

Derek winces and instinctually begins to siphon it away, frowning down at the black veins that rush up his arm. He can't even pinpoint where it's coming from. He doesn't smell blood or infection, doesn't feel broken bone or torn skin. Is it from lack of food? Of sleep? It's not an insignificant amount even by his own standards and Stiles gasps from the sudden absence of it, all but collapsing in relief.

Derek wraps his free arm around his waist to keep him from falling, panic starting to settle in his chest as Stiles grips him in return. He knows humans are fragile in comparison, knows there are a lot of things that can effect their physical state and he begins to feel more and more unease as he runs through the catalog of possible reasons and is able to dismiss each one. "Stiles-" He begins, hoping his voice doesn't betray the worry but Stiles shakes his head against his shoulder answering the question before he can ask it.

"I don't know. I don't know, it always hurts." Stiles murmurs. "Everything. It's just all over…"

Stiles isn't sure how to explain it, how to admit that whatever the Void left hasn't stopped. It eases sometimes but never stops. There's no injury, Melissa has claimed that all his results are normal and Stiles had finally chalked it up to being all in his head until now. Until Derek has literally pulled it out of him. "The d-doctors say I'm fine. I thought… I thought I was imagining it."

Derek isn't sure what part is more disturbing. The fact that Stiles doesn't know what is causing him constant pain, the fact that 'always' hints that it's been going on for a while or the fact that he assumed it was something he had imagined. The sudden and alarmingly desperate urge to protect takes root in Derek. The alpha's instinct to fix all but consumes him as he guides Stiles to the couch. He's not sure what to do, what he can do, only knows that the human beta is cold and tired and hurting and he needs to get it to stop.

Derek reaches for his jacket, pulling it over Stiles shoulders and motions him to put it on. Ideally he'd get the blanket from off the bed but the dregs of pain aren't lessening and he's not comfortable with releasing Stiles' wrist just yet.

Stiles looks at the jacket in surprise, his eyebrows raising up to his hairline before he obeys, awkwardly shimmying one arm through at a time so Derek can keep hold of him.

It's warmer than he had thought though it may be from the residual heat from being on Derek's person. It smells like the alpha, pinewood and fresh rain covered under and old spice cologne. Something he's learned from rifling through Derek's bathroom one day in search of an unsurprisingly nonexistent bandaid. Stiles is glad for the familiar scent, uses it to ground himself to the moment as he buries his face down into the collar, trying not to meet the pair of worried green eyes.

"What did Scott say about it?" Derek asks carefully. He knows he's very close on encroaching on Scott's pack dynamic. Toeing a line over what could be considered either helpful or defiant depending on an alpha's mood. He doesn't want to start an argument over the members but he's not about to let Stiles leave when he's feeling like this.

Stiles shrugs. "He doesn't know."

"How does he not know?" Derek all but growls. The idea of Scott sitting next to Stiles in class, riding next to him in the jeep, having lunch across from him in the cafeteria and not noticing something was wrong is unacceptable. There's no way he hadn't smelled much less saw the anxiety leaking out of his beta. Not to mention the warning tugs from the pack bonds. Derek hadn't noticed the pain until he had touched him but he had heard the unhealthy heartbeat and seen the physical discomfort. Scott would of had to-

"We haven't spoken in months." That… was unexpected. Derek raises an eyebrow in question and Stiles looks down at their linked hands, ashamed. "H-He doesn't want me in the pack… He told me he didn't want me hanging around anymore. That it's safer for me not to be involved… I don't blame him, after everything… After Allison. Lydia can't even look me in the eyes…"

"He kicked you out?" This time Derek does growl and Stiles can't hold back the tears any longer as he nods.

A burning, white anger causes Derek to stand, to pull himself away from the other as his fangs drop and claws extend. Stiles is staring at him in confused terror, pale face now white. He grips the jacket to himself, watches as Derek closes his eyes against the barely contained rage and tries to breathe through the sudden shift. There isn't necessarily any danger but Derek doesn't seem to be fully in control either, his body shaking with the spike of adrenaline. "D-Derek…?"

Stiles' voice is nothing more than a squeak.

It had been gutting when Scott asked him to leave… Stiles can still see the look of disappointment on his friends face, the resigned disgust that had followed him since the Nogitsune had been banished. Lydia had isolated herself from the rest, nursing Aiden back to health and following the twins around after they were finally added to the pack. Kira had tried softening the blow Allison's passing had left, tried uniting the team in her awkward optimism but Malia couldn't adjust to the emotional turmoil and after Scott was able to teach her how to shift she had left Beacon Hills. Isaac spent a lot of time with Chris now; when Erica and Boyd demanded space, when missing Allison became too much to handle on his own... Melissa hadn't much changed in her opinions on Stiles but she didn't question it when she noticed he wasn't visiting her house anymore either.

It had hurt.

Watching each one move on in their own way, distancing themselves from him. School had been hard to navigate. He found himself spending more time with the lacrosse team and throwing himself into his studies, thankful for Danny and his welcoming smile. Home had been even harder, with Noah constantly asking about the pack, questioning why everything seemed so quiet. Asking why the cork board had been taken down from his bedroom wall. But Stiles had handled it, made up excuses when needed and played on the trauma and depression until his dad eased off. He could push his way through school, could ignore the newest crop circle or missing teen, could pretend the howls at night were nothing but a lonely dog abandoned at the landfill. It was doable.

But here… Watching Derek pull away… Thinking he had potentially just ruined whatever lingering relationship he had left sent him into a blinding panic.

Stiles stands, backing away from crimson eyes, shaking his head furiously to try and make sense of it all. It's obvious he's done something wrong but he's not exactly sure what that is. "I'm s-sorry Derek. I'm sorry. I d-didn't… I tried… T-The others-" He couldn't do it. Couldn't speak through he sob that wrenched in his throat, could barely breathe as the walls started closing in around him. Derek's eyes snap back to him and he nearly collapses again when the glowing embers flash from furious rage to heartbreaking concern.

Derek moves, faster than Stiles can track, arms pulling Stiles forward into his chest, wrapping around his shoulders and Stiles crumbles.

Derek grits his teeth against the sound that rises from him, the choked, shattering sob that rips outward. It's raw, feral in a way that has his alpha senses clawing against his own being. Help him, help him, help him. Instinct guides him now, pulling Stiles to sit back down, siphoning away the hurt once more as he holds him.

Stiles is clutching at his shirt, face buried into his neck as he cries. He reeks of fear. Anxiety and depression and pain and Derek can't quiet the voice in his head that is screaming at him to fix it.

It's easier with Weres, with the pack bond. Knowing when a touch is appreciated or unwelcome, when he can scent them, calm them with low growls of reassurances and presses of fur. When his own presence acts like a crutch his members can lean on. He knows his reputation states that he doesn't like physical affection. It's by design that he's built it up that way but wolves are —at their core—social beings and Derek can admit he's better at handling physical contact than he is emotional intimacy. He doesn't know how to navigate this. Stiles isn't a werewolf and there isn't the bond between them like there is with the other betas. The one that tells him how far and how much he can push. He knows however that he needs to do something. That whatever happens now is crucial to Stiles' wellbeing and it scares the shit out of him.

Luckily, or unluckily, it's Stiles' who breaks the silence, his voice higher than normal through the wave of tears. "I'm sorry Derek. I'm sorry. D-don't hate me. Not you. Anyone but you. I c-can't loose you too. I c-can't-"

Pack bonds be damned.

Derek cups his face, breaking the hold on him to bring them eye to eye and pushes forward, pressing his cheek against Stiles' to scent him. It shocks Stiles still, the panicked gasps catching hard in his throat and Derek closes his eyes as he does it again, smearing the tears onto his own face as he runs his jawline across the exposed skin.

It's awkward.

They're sitting wrong, their torsos twisted in a weird angle, knees knocking against one another as they embrace. The new couch Erica has chosen has never been comfortable, leaning too far back to actually provide any support, reclining more than Derek likes at the best of times. Now it just another problem, a barrier blocking him from helping and Derek quickly tucks his leg underneath him, turning more fully to pull Stiles closer.

Stiles is still weeping, still shaking, still hurting but the scenting had offered some sort of relief acting as a grounding force that Stiles seems to cling to. He bows his head to Derek, exposing the flesh of this neck in an act of submission. It's a pack gesture, a sign of trust. Derek isn't sure how or why Stiles knows it but his wolf's instincts purr in appreciation all the same. He takes the movement as the invitation that it is, scenting him once more and it causes another sob of relief to fill the space between them. He's done this right at least…

"I don't hate you." Derek says into his shoulder, because it's the truth. Stiles annoyed him, worried him, exasperated him in a way no one else has ever been able to do. He was sporadic and excitable and all the things Derek wasn't but he was also the first person Derek looked for in the group. The one whose opinions— when spoken earnestly— mattered above all others. He was also the one who looked out for the alpha more than anyone else ever had. Who texted Derek once a week a "checking in to see if you're still breathing Sourwolf". The only one who had asked if he was alright, letting them use his mother's urn for the Nogitsune… There were a lot of feelings he had for Stiles and hate was not one of them.

"I could never hate you." There's a noise, something stuck between a gasp of air and a cry of pain but the acrid smell of panic is slowly ebbing out of him. "I want to smash Scott's face in." He admits that truth as well.

Becoming a pack is not only symbolic, it's crucial. Both for the strength of the team and the health of the alpha. It's why the beta's take the oath, to protect and defend the family, a promise to serve not only their leader but each other. In return the alpha offers up the same fidelity, the enduring loyalty of living for the pack and the unquestioning decision to die for it if need be. They are universal laws, sacred. The bonds they share are deeper than any known, deeper than marriage, than familial, than religious. Removing a member is worse than loosing one. The greatest failure an alpha can make.

You can be mad at your beta, can disagree, punish, even resent them but only the truly unforgivable are discarded. Betas leave often but they are rarely thrown out. Not unless the crime they've committed can truly be declared dishonorable to the pack. It's a death sentence, to willingly change a beta to an omega, to strip them of all protection and relations and send them out into the wild. An execution.

Stiles may not be a wolf but that only makes the sentencing harsher. Allowing a human to dive into their world, offer him the comforts and safety of the pack and then take it all way. It's cruel, beyond cruel and Derek shakes with the unfairness of it. Scott can't know, can't possibly begin to understand what he's done. The damage it will cause.

Stiles doesn't deserve this. Not for the Nogitsune. Not for anything. Scott should be here caring for his friend, should be treating and nursing him better. He should be the one to hold Stiles while he weeps, fixing whatever pain is plaguing him. Not this…

Stiles cries for a concerning amount of time, the pain never falling below a level of uncomfortableness even as Derek works to lessen it. He's warmer now at least, curled between the leather jacket and the alpha's shoulder and his heartbeat finally stutters into something that resembles steady. It's barely enough to offer reassurance but Derek is prepared to take whatever small victory he can get. And they stay sitting there, until cries turn to sniffles and eventually to silence.

Even then Derek is hesitant to break away, afraid the lack of contact will have him spiraling once more but Stiles begins to fidget in his arms and he takes it as a sign to lean back.

Stiles does not meet his eyes, just stares down into the space between them. Embarrassment and frustration pile onto the other self depreciating emotions that filter through the room. It's overwhelming. Derek hates every bit of it.

"I-It's not his fault…" Stiles says eventually. "I… I don't blame him." Like hell it isn't!

Derek grabs his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "None of what happened was your fault. None of it. And Scott knows it."

"It was Allison-"

"It could have been his own mother and it still wouldn't have been your fault." Stiles goes pale at the mention of Melissa.

"You can't say that! Y-You don't know… I-I remember it Derek. I remember everything… I remember doing it. I remember liking it." He says in disgust. "And I still feel him, like something crawling under my skin." He brings his hands up to his head, clutching at his hair as he shuts his eyes. "H-His voice… I still hear it."

Derek wants to punch something. Wants to scream. To snarl and growl and shake the wrongness out of him. The fear is pungent, growing, filling the room and the hackles of Derek's wolf rises, itching to fight and defend. He reaches for Stiles' hands, pulling gently until their grip releases and he can take them into his own. He scents them too, letting out a small whine when he notices the fingernails have been bitten down enough to bleed.

Stiles watches him, pained, tired. "W-Why?" He begs.

"Why what?"

"You. Scenting me…?"

"You're hurting." Derek says simply. He knows it's not usual for humans, it probably doesn't have the calming or reassuring effect it's meant to have on Weres. He's done it now partly because Stiles had reacted to it and partly because he doesn't know what else to do in response to the anxiety coming off him.

"I'm n-not pack." Stiles stutters, sounding almost… guilty. "I don't have a pac-"

"You do. You've always been part of my pack." Derek realizes, even as he says it that it's true. In some ways Stiles had been his first beta. Having forcefully pushed himself into Derek's life, carving his own Stiles-sized space around him. He was the first to trust him, to defend him against Scott, to reach for him when he was injured; to save him from drowning in the pool. When it came to rescuing Boyd and Erica from the vault he had offered to go even before Scott was asked. Always willing to help, to fight, to protect… giving the oath with actions alone. He offered himself up as the sacrificial lamb for supernatural creatures that overpowered and outperformed him. And Derek had been awed by it, humbled by it. Watching as the small human took on alphas and kanima and darachs with nothing but snide comments and a baseball bat. It was terrifying at the worst of times and enchanting at the best. And if Scott wasn't going to appreciate the unyielding, all-encompassing selfless devotion Stiles gave Derek sure as hell would.

Stiles blinks back at him in surprise and the hesitation is enough for Derek to continue. "I never asked because I never wanted to insult Scott. I knew how close you both were but you've always been. To me. I'd be proud to have you as my beta."

Stiles opens his mouth to respond only to shut it a moment later. He looks around the room, seeming to come back to himself as his eyes fall on the forgotten brownies and the leather jacket wrapped around his shoulders.

"I'm not sure I can take any of this seriously when I'm crying on you like a kindergartner." He finally says, voice almost back to normal and Derek smiles gratefully at that. They move to right themselves on the couch, Derek grasps his wrist once more, turning on and off the pull of pain. A comforting silence settles over them, it would almost be peaceful if Derek wasn't so worried about the hurt traveling up his arm. Stiles looks down to watch the worm-like movement, frowning. "You can stop Derek. You're doing it too much."

"It hasn't eased."

"It won't. It doesn't." He says quietly.

"How long?"

"Since the Nogitsune…"

"It's been months Stiles!" Stiles nods. "Is it always this bad?" Another nod. "Have you asked Deaton?" This time Stiles shakes his head.

"I thought it was just… Lydia called it something. When Scott couldn't heal after we thought you were dead. Just my guilt making it up? The doctors couldn't find anything so I thought it was all in my head."

"You don't have anything to feel guilty about." Stiles scoffs harshly at that, turning his face away and Derek decides not to push it. "We'll both go to Deaton tomorrow."

"Today you mean?" Stiles motions to the microwave clock and Derek sees it's almost five now.

"You need to sleep, even if its just a few hours." He moves to stand, pulling Stiles off the couch with him and makes towards the bed. "Come on. You can nap. By the time you wake up Deaton should be at the clinic."

"Derek, you don't have to-"

"Shut up Stiles." He says, though there's no bite to it and Stiles' lips tick upward in a small smile. Derek guides him to the mattress, watches as Stiles kicks off his shows and clamors on top of the comforter.

"Get under the blankets."

"No way. I'm still in my clothes, your sheets will get dirty." Derek scoffs and pulls the edges up and around him, efficiently making a Stiles-sized burrito.

"Der, I won't be able to sleep." Derek doesn't respond and Stiles looks back to at the bedside to find he's disappeared. It's a moment later that he hears the door lock, the oven powering down. Lights begin to fade and curtains are drawn and the domestic sounds both surprise and lull him. Derek eventually returns and kicks off his own shoes before sitting down next to his leg, reaching for his arm under the blanket. "Derek…" Stiles chastise when he feels the pull of pain begin once more.

"Go to sleep."

It goes quiet. Stiles hasn't felt this level of relief or comfort in months. The absence of pain, the protective presence sitting next to him… At first, right after things had calmed down from the Void, Noah would sit in a chair in the corner of his room. It had helped to a degree but there was little comfort in knowing that his very human father would be no match for the very real monsters that plagued their lives. It had taken some convincing and some sleepless nights staring at the ceiling to prove that didn't really need a security guard, but it's different here with Derek. An alpha, sitting at attention... Stiles' very own sentinel. It's safety. Safety he hadn't felt since he learned about werewolves and demons and druids. Safety he hadn't expected to ever feel again. And he's grateful. Incredibly grateful. "Der…" Stiles mumbles into the darkness.

"Hmm?"

"You know, you've always been my alpha. You know that right? Before Scott became-" He shakes his head. "No, even after Scott became one. I loved him, he was my brother but I've always thought of you as my alpha. No matter what happened to the packs it was always you."

There's a long stretch of silence, a worrying beat where he thinks he might have said something wrong and he opens his mouth again to correct it, to apologize when suddenly the bed shifts and he feels Derek's hand squeezing gently over his own. It almost causes the tears to kick up all over again. "I…I'd be proud to be part of your pack." He says instead and hears a pleased growl rumble quietly through the room.

"Go to sleep Stiles." Derek says gently and Stiles does.