borderline idiotic.

          ALLISON COVERTLY GRINDS HER TEETH as she helps stiles lift his shirt. she’d braced herself for the pain in her side and the accompanying ache in the rest of her body, but she wasn’t prepared for the pricking sensation in her back. that’s new. and as sweet and understanding and discreet as she is, allison is NOT looking forward to seeing melissa tomorrow. she is, though, proud of herself for hiding a grimace as her eyes fall back to stiles’s. she retrieves his hoodie off the floor and hangs it beside his shirt on a hook on the back of the door. there’s still the ghost of a smile on her face when he starts to flounder. 

          that smile fades entirely when stiles turns around. she gasps so quietly it’s almost silent. she blinks and a hand comes up to touch her bottom lip. his back is beautiful and smooth and chiseled, but discolored. nothing is broken, it’s just jarring to see porcelain skin with so many popped blood vessels. she doubts he’ll even bruise beyond this—these marks are indicative of scratches that couldn’t quite pierce fabric. “hold on,” she murmurs. gingerly, the huntress runs her fingers along the curve of stiles’s shoulder blade, pressing lightly. ( melissa is going to have a field day. ) allison reels herself in and kills that thought. she can worry about the hospital tomorrow. her priority right now has to be getting stiles into a bed and having him REST. the likelihood of popped blood vessels killing him in the next 24 hours is slim, and she knows that.

          sleepily, her hand traces over the bottom-most curve of stiles’s shoulder blade. in a moment of exhaustion-induced impulse, she allows her free hand to reach for stiles’s waist. she rests her forehead against the middle of his back. she sighs deeply. stiles is so warm, but allison doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and she’s worried she’s toeing a boundary now that has gone previously untested. and  y  e  t  … she can only have so much self-restraint when she’s   T H I S   tired. 

          “i don’t wanna be alone,” she admits quietly, her arms wrapped loosely around stiles’s torso. she closes her eyes and rests her cheek against the curve of his spine. she listens to him breathe. “i’ll wait outside, if you want me to.” 

          as gentle fingertips caress the skin of his back, stiles finds himself rolling his shoulders backwards into the touch, straightening his posture as he does. he wonders idly what she may have found there, but not enough to expend needless energy in opening his mouth again. what he can’t hold back, however, is the soft sigh that falls from his lips as her hands find the middle of his back, and then his waist. his own eyes fall closed, appreciating the simple soft touch, skin-to-skin, after such a hideous day.

          her whispered confession causes stiles’s heart to ache, and after only a brief moment of hesitation, he turns in her embrace to wrap his arms around her  --  gentle, but firm. he tangles the fingers of one hand loosely in the hair at the back of her head, and rests his chin atop it, eyes closed as he sighs into the steam - filled room.  it’s been a long day.  all of his apprehension suddenly dissipates into the steam just as easy as the words had fallen from her lips. this is good, stiles thinks. it means he can compartmentalise his own issues and ride out the slight adrenaline kick of being on a mission to help.

          “i got you,” he insists quietly, and pauses for a brief second longer, before slowly de-tangling his limbs from hers in order to finally get them both to bed a whole lot quicker. he meets her gaze, a look of sleepy determination in his eyes, nods once, and hops out of his jeans and socks, tossing them into the pile with the rest of his clothes. as a second thought, before stripping off the last article of his clothing, he gently guides allison towards the toilet seat he had recently vacated, and promises quietly, “i’ll be super quick.”

     with that, he turns his back to her once more and draws in a long breath before slipping out of his boxers, tossing them onto the pile, and hopping into the shower, all before he exhales and draws in another breath. with the curtain now shielding him from her view, he slumps against the wall for a brief moment, his forehead resting upon his forearm as the water soothes the bruises and sears the open wounds. his jaw clenches and his eyes scrunch closed against the pain, and now that he’s in there, and he’s warm, he has to try incredibly hard to convince his muscles to cooperate with him.

          ALLISON CAN’T HELP BUT SMILE INWARDLY at how nervous stiles is. she gently takes the towels from his arms and places them on the toilet seat as the room begins to fog up. the air is thick and sweet and warm, and she hums a bit to herself. albeit, she hums sleepily more than happily, but still. 

          it’s important to note that it’s not an act of ego on her part, her pleasure in watching stiles fidget. ( really, it isn’t. ) she thinks it’s sweet. it’s endearing that even after everything that day, he’s still so apprehensive. he should be entirely void of the ability to care, and yet, he still has it in him to worry about what she’ll think of him, about what he should or shouldn’t be doing. he still has it in him to care about things like getting undressed. he still has it in him to care about anything at all. it’s admirable, really. 

          though slowly, of course, allison takes a step in stiles’s direction. she sighs softly and keeps her eyes cast downward at the bathroom tiles before slipping her fingers beneath the hem of stiles’s shirt. “put your arms up,” she says, smirking lopsidedly. then, for good measure, she adds: “go slow.”

       HE ALLOWS HER TO TAKE THE TOWELS FROM HIM easily, his arms falling to his sides slowly, as though he isn’t sure what to do with them  --  he isn’t. and then she’s facing him again, and she’s advancing, and stiles has to gulp  ---- he’s glad that her gaze is cast downward; he hopes it isn’t audible. he nods rigorously and lifts his arms slowly to allow her to tug his shirt over his head. he grits his teeth against the deep tissue pain the action causes, and rolls his shoulders as he lowers his arms again.

      he hops slightly as he toes off his bloody sneakers and meets her gaze again, swallowing once more, “i can... probably manage if you wanna... i dunno.” he gestures vaguely between her and the door, before shaking his head inwardly and dropping his flailing hands to his belt.

     his hands work slowly, carefully, and by the time they reach the zipper on his jeans, he turns his back to her, nervous both in regard to his body, and also in case he’s overstepping any boundaries.   ----  he has to admit, though. part of him is glad she’s here.

          DEREK’S BREATH IS GONE.  he lies on his back, all but tearing his lungs apart in an attempt to fill them with oxygen. as he gasps for air, he worries how much more his respiratory system can realistically handle. a pain radiates outward from his shoulder blades, down his spine, to pool in his lower back. it’s hot: a fresh, white pain. something’s off, somewhere. the alpha groans and sputters. he grabs stiles’s wrist, HARD. 

          “you’re the monster here,” derek croaks. he gasps sharply. “not ME.” 

          and if he was dizzy BEFORE, derek is completely dazed now. the reverberation of the floor against his cranium is disorienting, jarring—enough that he becomes confused. he forgets, just for a moment, where he is, what he’s doing, why he feels the way he does. his whole world spins on an axis he can’t find as he stares blankly up at the ceiling of the loft, trying to find his breath. ( and trying to find his brain. )

         inside the cavity of his skull, which suddenly seems too big for his mind to fit comfortably inside, his brain rattles, vibrates. his ears buzz. and derek can hear the echo of xi speaking, but he can’t make heads or tails of what’s actually being said. he’s lost, for the time being. drunkenly, derek directs his vision to the figure in the kitchen, and he’s struck by an overwhelming sense of dread. 

          then he remembers. he watches xi as he floats away from him. the wolf tries to focus, tries to think, tries to conjure up a plan to get the book into his hands. he tries to anticipate the next inevitable attack, either on himself or on stiles, and—… huh.

          derek squints and winces. his vision is so blurred right now that he can’t tell if it’s the blow to his head or not, but stiles’s finger looks contorted. nobody walks like that—rests their hands like that; demon, human, wolf, they just… don’t. 

         XIUHCOATL SNORTS IN RESPONSE to derek’s indignant response, and they casually leap onto the kitchen island to perch there, as though they aren’t in the middle of a fight to the death with an alpha werewolf. they lounge back on their hands and watch calmly as derek stares at them, squinting  ----  they assume that he’s struggling to see through the head injury; stiles is doing a good job of keeping quiet. they grin slowly, and lean forward to get a better look, resting their elbows on stiles’s thighs, letting their hands hang between their knees.

        blood drips from the pinkie finger extended from the closed fist.  --  I.

       “i’m not the one who grows fangs and claws and monstrous sideburns,” they reply late, but pleased with themself nonetheless. “at least i was a human, once upon a time.  ----  you weren’t.”

       they remain still for a long moment, something that stiles could never do, and then reaches behind them for the disregarded knife, eyeing it carefully, before they lick the remaining blood directly from the blade, eyes closing as though the taste is to die for. reflexively, they close the fist that stiles is controlling, and shake it out, as though there’s a cramp in the muscles.  --  they think nothing of it.

          ALLISON EASES OFF HER KNEES.   she rests her back against the pale wall across from the toilet and tosses the gauze in the general direction of the garbage can, to the left of stiles’s knee. whether or not it actually makes it into the bin, she doesn’t know, and frankly, she doesn’t care. she’s lost in hazy thought, her mind complicated by the allure of sleep and the worry she bears in her chest for stiles. she brings a hand up to thumb thoughtfully at the corner of her mouth, then she wraps her arms around her knees. her ribs ache.

          “i don’t think that’s smart,” she says pensively, resting her chin atop her forearm.  honestly, her reluctance to leave him alone in the bathroom is just as much for her as it is for him, though she won’t admit it. and yes, of course she should be there. she should help him and she wants to. he’s hurt, and she knows he’ll need assistance with something at some point, but the real kicker right now is the thought of crawling into her empty bed, in an empty house—and she just… can’t. while the comfort of home is certainly helpful, and she knows she’d be able to sleep, she knows she won’t make it through the night without nightmares unless someone else is in the room with her. 

          ( and, really, the last thing she or stiles need is to hear screams rip from her throat again. she can see him now, running in, panic in his face, words gentle but firm, hands on her back, her face, her shoulders, frantically trying to calm her. yeah. no. SHE’S STAYING THERE. or at least… close to there. she’ll wait for him in the hallway if she has to, but she’s not leaving him alone. she won’t be alone. )

          “you probably have a concussion,” allie says, looking up at her friend. she licks her lips and a dimple appears in her cheek. he looks so much like his father sometimes. she squeezes softly. “you shouldn’t be alone in here. it’s not safe.” 

            STILES LEANS OVER THE BATHTUB to turn on the water, and quickly dodges out of the way of the stream, tugging the shower curtain across as he does so. he turns back to face allison with a small sigh of defeat. he perches on the edge of the bathtub, barely even noticing that the water is splashing lightly onto the back of his shirt. his shoulders shift uncomfortably, and his gaze finds the floor. he isn’t sure whether or not she plans on staying in the room while he showers, but from the way she’s talking, he isn’t wholly confident.  ----  and there it is !  you shouldn’t be alone in here. he swallows tightly, rearranging his shoulders once again.

       “uh...” he begins uncertainly, “i don’t really...” his hands begin to gesture vaguely. ( he isn’t really sure what words are supposed to come out of his mouth right now. )   “uh...”

       towels, he thinks, i need towels. he smacks his palms on his knees and gets to his feet, to source some towels, hands fidgeting slightly. part of his brain is telling him that it’s stupid to be nervous and reserved about this kind of thing when an hour ago, they were literally saving each other’s lives, but the other part of his brain reminds him that he’s still a virgin and he’s only ever been partially clothed around scott, and this is his EX-GIRLFRIEND, and stiles has to ground himself on the feeling of the soft cotton of the towels so he doesn’t start thinking about that right now.

       “uh, so... d’you...” he gulps, scratching at the skin of his neck, and he realises he’s too exhausted to care very much, “how d’you wanna do this?”

          DEREK ABSORBS THE BLOW.   he finds himself grounded in the pain, in the ache radiating through his skull. the pain is familiar. the smell of stiles’s blood on his skin fuels him, drives his eyes to center again on xi’s expression—on the pooling black where amber irises should’ve been. xi is so dark, so unwilling to allow even the moonlight to glint off of the blackness. and until now, derek had been able to see stiles in every move xi made. he could see him underneath, lingering, some semblance of self there on his features—behind his eyes, someplace, even when none of his movements belonged to him. but now? it’s only xi—it’s only derek and his anchor and a demon. not hurting stiles is no longer an option if derek is going to save him, and he sees that now. 

          luckily for both stiles and derek, though, anger is his anchor. anger is a place where he can see clearly, where he can think rationally, where he can act deliberately, despite any initial impulse. and right now, he knows xi is HERE for this. he knows he’s playing into what they want, but something has to give. at least if derek is the driving force here, there won’t be knives involved, he rationalizes. stiles will heal from bruises. he’ll heal from broken hands. from broken ribs. from—

          derek stills. he directs his attention back to xi and forcefully takes hold of stiles’s arms. his fingers grip the vessel’s lower biceps, the space right above the crook of his elbows, and he bares his teeth. he feels the anger, feels the dread. i’m sorry, stiles. derek clears his throat with a growl, but his voice still comes out as if it’s being raked over rocks. 

          “—‘s that all you GOT?” 

          and he hurls stiles’s body across the loft. he watches as it slides smoothly across the floor to collide with the far wall. it’s now or never, he knows. they’re in the endgame now. the wolf strides forward across the loft toward xi and remembers the book on the bed, but he doesn’t approach it. not yet. he has to find a way to subdue xi long enough to find a ritual he’s only hoping is disclosed in that book. he considers the phone in his pocket, but knows xi will disarm him before he can even get scott on the line, so he does what he can. HE BUYS TIME. 

          “you think you know me? think you know him?” his voice is gritty and broken. 

          “YOU DON’T.”

       THE CHALLENGE INTRIGUES XIUHCOATL, and they wonder if perhaps derek has finally unleashed himself, finally ready to fight back. the hands gripping xi’s upper arms are weaker than anticipated, and they begin to question whether they underestimated him, or if he was simply pulling punches. and then they’re gliding across the floor, and the wall impacts their spine. they growl in pain and frustration, and they note that if derek had thrown much harder, stiles’s spine would have been broken.  good to know.

        as they get to their feet, they press the heel of their palm to their temple, grimacing just a little, before letting out another growl. “don’t YOU start,” they spit, referencing stiles, who seemed to be causing a little pain -- or at least some pressure -- just by fighting against them. shaking their head quickly, they meet derek’s gaze again and make their way towards him again, their hips swaying slightly with confidence. they move just slightly faster than stiles can, and they wrap a hand around derek’s throat once again, using more pressure than the first time. they use the leverage to lift derek and let him fall to the ground on his back, their hand not losing contact with his throat once.

       “d’you know... i know everything he knows. i know what you want him to know. i know that your girlfriend burned your whole family to death, and i know that you tore out the throat of the only family member you had left,” they spit in his face, “now... where’s THAT derek? where’s that monster?”

       they use their grip on his throat to lift his head and send it right back into the ground; the sound of his skull bouncing off the loft floor making stiles cringe, even from the recesses of his own mind.

       “and STILES,” they purr, drawing out the word unnecessarily, “well... he’s just a lost cause. it’s gotta be rough being the only useless friend, huh?  ----  and then he goes and gets possessed.  what kinda luck is that?”

          ALLISON MOVES AS QUICKLY AS SHE CAN  up the stairs, which, unfortunately, isn’t very quickly at all. regrettably, she lets herself fold inward just a bit as soon as stiles is out of sight. the ghost of her mother chirps in her ear about how important keeping her strength is. she leans heavily against the railing. putting one foot in front of the other is proving to be… incredibly difficult, but she manages, using her arms to pull her toward the landing.

          she enters her room and immediately relaxes. she’s thankful her bed is made, thankful her room is mostly clutter-free, thankful for the glade plug-in beside her dresser. she sighs and lets her head roll to the side as she slips her feet out of her boots. she abandons them at the foot of her bed and props her crossbow against her nightstand, leaning it upright against the drawers. she decides now is as good a time as any to get undressed, so she she shrugs off her jacket, hooks her fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and pulls upward. an unexpected pain shoots down her right side and she hisses, turning to face her mirror with her shirt half-off. her mouth falls open. she’s alarmed to find a developing bruise that stretches along the entire extent of her torso. it’s likely she has seriously bruised ribs, if not a fracture somewhere along the way, she knows, but there’s nothing she can do about it now—not here, anyway. she tosses the shirt in her hands on top of her discarded jeans. 

          after she slips into a flannel and her favorite sweats, she ties her hair up, away from her face, and she ventures into her father’s room. she rummages through his drawers and swipes a couple of articles of clothing for stiles to change into: a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt chris won’t miss. from under the bed, she pulls out the medical kit. with a yawn, she heads down the staircase, plodding carefully and ultimately limping into the guest bathroom with her arms full. something in her ankle burns that didn’t before. ( she figures the adrenaline come-down is highlighting just how hurt she actually is, and she’s probably right. it’ll only get harder from here to do the things she has to before she can rest. )

          allison gives stiles a hasty once-over as she walks through the doorway and notes the smeared blood on his face, the hoodie in his lap. honest, she can’t help but laugh again. somehow, this time, she sounds even more tired than she had earlier. the chuckle comes out in a little scoff—one that carries genuine sentiment, nevertheless—as she sets the clothes and the medical kit down on the edge of the sink. 

          “we have towels, stiles,” she quips playfully. nurse argent removes the gauze and the peroxide from the kit and places them on the countertop. she wets the gauze with peroxide and kneels down in front of the toilet. the smile on her face fades as she leans forward to press the gauze to stiles’s face. with her eyebrows pinched together in thought, she looks at the shower head, then back at stiles. she withdraws, chewing her lower lip.

          “you know… a shower would probably be quicker,” allison says softly. then she backtracks, nervous her sleep-brain has overstepped an invisible boundary. she swallows thickly and shakes her head. she anxiously eyes the gauze in her hands, then risks another look at stiles. “i mean, you don’t have to, i can do it this way, i just… you look so…” tired. 

       STILES LIFTS HIS HEAD IMMEDIATELY as she enters the room. he quickly notes her change of outfit  ---- despite his exhaustion, ultimately, his observation skill wins out in the end  ----  and finds himself longing to be as comfortable as she looks. he doesn’t notice as the corners of his mouth lift ever-so-slightly in the softest smile.  ( he cannot WAIT to be horizontal in a bed. )  in his sleep-drunk mind, he sees a brief vision of an alternate universe, where he and allison live together, and this sort of domesticity isn’t unusual.    ------    he runs a hand roughly over his face to shake off the bizarre thought; he’ll unpack that later. or never.

       his eyebrows raise, along with his shoulders, as she points out the obvious  --  we have towels, stiles.  --  and he sheepishly drops the hoodie back to the ground, offering a somewhat bashful smile.  “huh,” he offers with a ghost of his usual humour, “guess i musta’ missed those.” 

      his eyes narrow in a wince, a preemptive measure against the pain he’s expecting from the peroxide, before she retreats, her expression thoughtful. his eyebrows raise in response to her suggestion, and he follows her gaze towards the shower, sighing inwardly. he knows she’s right. but his limbs feel heavy, and his eyelids feel heavier, and he knows she’s right. his eyes fall closed briefly, during which time she begins to backtrack, and he shakes his head and makes an active effort to open his eyes.

      “you’re right,” he sighs, throwing a glance towards the window, where daylight seems to be approaching at an alarming rate. “it’s gonna make everything easier.” he drags himself to his feet, nodding to himself, and adds with sincerity, “you should go get some rest.   ----   i got this.”

         DEREK IS SURPRISED AT THE SUDDEN STRENGTH exhibited in stiles’s grip. the force applied is more than what he should be physically capable of, and he knows it. the pressure on his throat—the sudden change in the air—is more than enough to jar him, to bring him back into his body. derek’s eyes widen in dread and his teeth grind down on each other. his canines dig into his lips as he thrashes against the pressure on his airway. he desperately attempts to pry stiles’s hand from its place, seemingly immovable, cemented to his neck. 

          then the pressure lets up, just for a moment, and derek gasps. quickly pooling phlegm gags him and he drags in a gravelly breath with impressive force. ( it makes an awful sound. ) he presses both hands into stiles’s chest, pushing hard, firmly, on his shoulder blades. derek is conscious of injuring him, despite xi’s determination to strangle him. and, speak of the demon, xi tightens up again, and derek can’t breathe. the blood from stiles’s hand is dripping down his throat, cold against his skin—too cold for it to be blood, and yet… 

          “no,” he grinds out. “sho-ow yourself, you—…ba-astard.” he tries to swallow but he chokes and gasps again. his feet slide against the tile, and finally—FINALLY—he gives in. he eyes xi, and lets his eyes go red one more time. he smiles, a wide grin, and he lets the rage in. 

          “gonna hide behind a mask?” he taunts. 

                                                                       “come OUT and PLAY.” 

         XIUHCOATL IS NOT IMPRESSED by the strength derek is currently using against them. the alpha is still holding back, still too hesitant, still reluctant to hurt the fragile-boned boy. it’s almost admirable, almost honourable  ----  almost heroic, they think in a sort of patronising manner, head tilted to one side as though they find it... cute.

        and then there it is! derek’s eyes are glowing red, and they know that he’s moments away from giving in entirely. their own eyes glow with mischief, and the dance in the direction of the abandoned knife, pooling a small puddle of thick, red blood on the counter-top, to match the trickles running down derek’s throat. as the alpha begins to taunt them, xi grins in response, tightening their grip for a long moment, before stepping away entirely, allowing their eyes to cloud over black once more, but this time it doesn’t dissipate; it remains thick and dark and haunting. they’re grinning wide enough to show almost all of stiles’s teeth, and their stance is ready to pounce.

       “you think i’m hiding behind a mask?   ----   that’s RICH,” they spit back. “i’m just using this boy as a meat-suit, which is about as useful as he’ll ever be.   and we ALL know it !”

       with that, they make a dash for the alpha, clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, and whirling to thrust him in the direction of the nearest wall, immediately releasing one hand to send it flying right back to connect with the alpha’s jaw. their grin is still firmly fixated on their features, to an unsettling degree, never wavering once.

          ALLISON CUTS THE ENGINE and steps out of the jeep. when stiles doesn’t walk around the front of the car, she sleepily cocks her head at him. her eyes, though dark and tired, are inquisitive. her eyebrows knit into a line on her face, but at the comment about school, she can’t help but chuckle downward. she understands now, why he didn’t move, and she can’t help but think it’s hilarious. the thought of him trekking to school, still covered in blood only to sleep in harris’s class anyway is so… stiles. she pockets the comedian’s keys and smiles at him: a wide, toothy grin. she gestures toward the front door, getting easier to make out as they enter the blue hour.

          “y’know… i think it’s a snow day,” she says. she waits a beat, opens the back door and slings her crossbow over her shoulder. chewing the inside of her cheek, the huntress jabs a thumb over her shoulder and takes a few steps backward. “come in. my dad’s at some gun conference in albuquerque till tuesday.” 

          she enters the 4-digit code on the pin pad and the front door swings open. that feeling of home overtakes her, and she sighs, softens, closes her eyes as she steps inside. it takes everything in her not to throw herself onto the couch and sleep, but she hears stiles’s footsteps follow her inside, and she turns around to face him again. she leans past him to pull the front door shut, and she as she rights herself, she places a ginger hand on his upper arm. 

          “hey,” she says, meeting his eyes. “there’s a guest bathroom around the corner,” she  nods, making sure he’s listening to her. “wait there, okay? i just have to grab the med kit from upstairs.” 

       HER COMMENT HAS HIM LAUGHING. it’s soft, sleepy, but genuine nonetheless  --  frankly, he’s surprised. he returns her smile with one of his own, and shrugs as he runs a hand over his head, giving in easily to her hospitality. he eyes her for a long moment, though he can’t quite pinpoint why, and slurs his thanks in a murmur.  frankly, it’s hard to say no when he’s not sure he can even see allison’s face properly, let alone the road.

       ( it’s even harder to say no when the keys to the jeep are in her pocket. ) 

       he trudges behind her slowly, rolling his shoulders as he goes, battle wounds and tension and exhaustion all beginning to catch up with him. he makes a pantomime out of not looking over allison’s shoulder at the entry code, and only turns to face the door when he hears it creak open. he follows shortly after she steps over the threshold, and as the door closes behind him, he’s overcome with relief to be in a safe place with four solid walls. so much so, in fact, that he finds himself leaning against the nearest one almost as soon as he comes to a stop.

      his eyes almost begin to fall closed when she’s requesting his attention once again, which he promptly gives. he nods in response, “got it.” and uses his shoulders to push himself off the wall. before heeding her instructions, however, he grabs her wrist gently as she begins to walk away and murmurs, “allison?   ------   thank you.” with that, he slowly lets go of her wrist and shuffles through to the correct bathroom, tugging off his blood-stained hoodie as he goes.

      once there, he tosses the article of clothing onto the floor in the corner and hunches over the sink, one hand on each edge, eyes closed for just a brief second, before he twists the cold faucet and cups his hand underneath the stream of water. he splashes his face quickly, bites his tongue against the pain, and shakes his head once more, blinking against the cold water. he eyes the nearest towel, but decides instead to retrieve his hoodie so as not to ruin any of their linens with his blood, and takes a seat on the toilet, dabbing at his face as he waits for nurse argent to return.

          STILES’S FACE CONTORTS as he searches for the information derek asked for. the wolf, in sheer desperation, grips the boy’s wrist tighter. derek angles stiles’s face towards him, his thumb pressed to his cheek. derek wants to say so much, wants to ask so much, but all he can do is sit there with his wild heart slamming itself against his ribcage like a battering ram. think, he wills stiles. think, please. FIND it.

          and then he’s crying out no, NO! and derek has to fight back tears pricking at his eyes. and it really isn’t personal—it isn’t, it’s that stiles is collateral damage. losing stiles will be another death on his back. losing stiles will be one more person he couldn’t protect. one more person he should’ve been able to keep safe. one more person gone because of his prideful rise to power. one more fuck-up. one more mistake that can’t be unmade. one more reason to stay awake at night. one more familiar face mangled and warped by death. and derek’s chest burns. he blinks to clear his vision. 

          the alpha cradles stiles’s face in his palm, veins on both hands now gone dark and inky. maybe if he can take away enough pain, he can help stiles find the name of the demon… and then—and then—

          —and then he’s gone again.

          as xi moves away from him, echoing in his head, derek hears stiles’s cries. he hears them as he watches xi dig the knife into stiles’s palm again, and derek feels numb, disoriented. his arms feel too light. his hands are empty. reality stuns him into a dissociative state. unconsciously, he rests his back against the island, and he stares out ahead of him as xi taunts him. then he looks at his palms. he’s bloodied with crimson stains that don’t belong to him. 

          and derek is afraid.

          he looks up at xi, wan, already tired.

          “what do you want?” he asks. “why are you here?”

         XIUHCOATL WATCHES DEREK CAREFULLY, relishing in the way that the alpha begins to shut off -- but, when their taunts don’t garner the response they’re looking for, they offer a petulant sigh, accompanied by what could be a shadow of a pout. they bring the knife to eye level and inspect it closely, humming as though in deep thought. they move and twist the knife in front of their eyes, watching as the blood trickles and sprays flecks on the floor and congeals in the wooden handle.

        “what i want, derek, is a little entertainment,” they answer simply, using the knife to gesture vaguely through the air between them. then, another sigh is thrown derek’s way as x asks, “are all of the boy’s friends this dull? or do you think i can get one of them R I L E D   U P ?” taking a confident step towards the alpha, they add, “or. . . maybe we can squeeze some fun out of you yet.”

       they let the words hang in the air for a moment, before they toss the knife carelessly to one side and instead step right up into derek’s personal space, their hand snaking around his throat. leaning in towards his ear, they murmur, “whaddya say, wolf? do you think anyone around here’ll be any FUN?   ----   or... will i have to start KILLING PEOPLE?” the hand around derek’s throat flexes for a moment, loosening its grip for just a split second  ----  definitely not xiuhcoatl’s call. they frown for a brief second before gritting their teeth and doubling down on the pressure around the alpha’s neck.

       stiles is eerily quiet in the back of his own mind; he has been since xi begun to talk about others.

          ALLISON NODS and offers stiles a soft smile. she slips her crossbow into the backseat, closes the door, and shimmies into the driver’s side. the jeep roars to life and rumbles reassuringly underneath her. as she looks over her shoulder and pulls the car out of its spot, the tires kick up dirt. she tosses a gentle apology into stiles’s lap, knowing his car is going to be muddy the next time he takes it to school. then they’re on the road, and allison releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she allows herself to lean into the seat just a bit, and she rests her elbow on the driver’s side door. she rolls the window down and is jarred a bit by the coolness of the air, then she absently runs her hand through her hair. it falls away from her face in uneven pieces, thrown about by the mountain breeze. 

          partially to fill the silence, and partially in search of something normal, she turns the radio on. she scans through the channels as she heads down the street, searching for anything familiar. she finds an acoustic sunrise channel, and notes the hour on the digital clock in the dashboard. 5:37. she sighs and finally realizes that the sky is getting steadily lighter. she covers her mouth with her hand as she yawns, and she looks over at stiles. she wants to smile, but he looks… bad. he looks like he’s been through the wringer, and he has. they both have. allison considers for a moment bringing him to the hospital where melissa can take a look at him, but she thinks better of it. she knows he’ll put up a fight, and neither of them have the energy for arguing right now. she’s better off just bringing him home where she can take a look at him herself and personally keep an eye on him. 

          “hey,” she coos. “stay awake, okay? we’re almost there.”

         STILES IS GRATEFUL FOR THE COOL AIR filtering in through the opened window; the sting on his skin and on his open wounds keeps him alert enough to at least pass as alive. he is also grateful for the music that begins to pour from the speakers, soft, but just loud enough to keep him focused on staying awake. his head rolls to the other side to glance out of the window briefly, focusing on the spot where the sun is trying to peek over the horizon, rather than the trees whipping past the window -- perhaps motion sickness is not what he needs on top of what is almost definitely a concussion. allison’s yawn is contagious, it seems, and he yawns in response, his whole face scrunching as he does so. languidly, he wipes the collected moisture from his eyes and rubs at them in an effort to wake up just a little.

       her voice has him rolling his head back to face her, and he hums in response, taking another moment to wallow to himself, before he drags himself into more of an upright position, shaking his head as he does so. although the movement does what stiles hoped in waking him up a little, that isn’t without the help of a fair bit of unwelcome pain. he’s sure that, aside from the bleeding, he’s got bruises all over. he feels like he was dropped from the third floor. he bites back a groan as, thankfully, they pull up to allison’s house.  ( for a while there, he thought maybe she would take him straight to melissa  ----  he’s thankful she doesn’t. )

         as soon as the jeep is parked, stiles drags in a long breath and slides out of the passenger seat as carefully as he can, exhaling tightly through his nose as he pushes the door closed behind him, leaning against it to wait for allison to return his keys.

       “you should get some rest,” he suggests, offering a sour laugh, as he adds, “we got like... three hours ‘til school.”

       DEREK BREAKS.   watching the blood drip through stiles’s fingers had weakened him, sure, but the sound–––God, the SOUND–––that erupts when xi retreats… it wrecks him. ALL BETS ARE OFF. it’s as if derek has been in a stupor until this point: he understood what was happening, the situation, all of it, entirely in the abstract. nothing was concrete–it seemed like a vision, something that could’ve been construed entirely by an overactive brain. but when derek sees the pain, hears the pain… when he sees the absolute terror in stiles eyes, he can’t keep it together. he buckles. 

         he pitches forward, legs like fire underneath him, to catch stiles in his arms. he cradles him against his shoulder and instinctively tries to take his pain away, gripping stiles’s wrist over his slender hand. his veins darken, and he hisses a bit. THERE’S SO MUCH BLOOD. the wolf searches stiles’s face with fervor, shakes his head, closes the mouth that had fallen open. he can’t digest what’s going on, not really, but he know he has to act. a burst of air escapes his lips, then his words tumble forward in a slur. 

         “stiles, i need a NAME! a name,” he says panickedly. he doesn’t remember much from the horror stories that peter used to tell him, but he remembers that much–that a name can go a long way. “i need you to tell me a name. FOCUS!” he holds stiles’s face in one hand, forces him to meet his eyes. and he’s there. he’s there. derek’s eyes widen.

        “STILES!” 

          STILES STAGGERS FORWARD INTO DEREK’S ARMS like he’s the only lifeline the boy has.  ( he is ! )  he has NEVER been good with blood, but now? it’s gushing out of him like he’s never seen before, and the pain alone is enough to make him feel faint. somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s cursing himself for being so pathetically human. he’s gasping and groaning with each and every breath, trying to keep his knees from buckling entirely under his weight. and then there’s relief! stiles notes the ease in pain before he processes derek’s veins turning black against his skin. ( he thinks that maybe he might cry in relief ! )

        and then derek is requesting his attention  ----  and stiles swears, if this wasn’t life or death, he’d be berating the alpha for not listening to him  ----  first throwing his name out in a similar tone to the one he usually uses when barking stiles’s name  --  a healthy mix of panic and desperation; stiles rarely hears his name without it, these days.  ( in a different situation, it would have made stiles chuckle bitterly. ) but now, there’s no time for reprieve as derek presses him for information, for the name of the demon inside his body. he scours his brain for any trace of the name, anything at all that can give derek a hint as to how to get this thing away from them, but comes up short.

          “no, NO !” he cries, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to stop xiuhcoatl from taking over again. “xi----” he growls through the gutteral sound that tears from his throat with the effort of trying to hold them off, and his eyes flash open just in time to meet derek’s gaze, before they drown in liquid darkness once more, and a smirk dances across his features.

          STILES MOVES AWAY FROM HER TOO SOON, and allison finds herself surprised to feel disoriented without the warmth of his body. and that, she knows, could easily be attributed to how absolutely drained she is, both from lack of sleep and applying the subconscious effects of what’d happened over the past day and a half. frankly, as she struggles to focus on stiles’s face in the dark, she doesn’t have it in her to be concerned with whys right now. and just as well, allie knows he’s right ( as he so often is ); they should be getting out of there. it’s dark and dingy and they’re both well overdue for time tucked away, safe, in a bed, behind locked doors. and apart from that, people are going to start getting concerned soon, if they’re not already: nobody knows where stiles and allison have been but each other. 

          the huntress blinks a few times to clear her vision and she allows stiles to help her stand, despite his own physical injuries. her stomach drops to her abdomen when she catches the sight of fresh blood trickling from his forehead. and as he turns, she reaches out to him. “um, you shouldn’t—” and she realizes the grip she has on stiles’s arm is just a bit too tight, and, embarrassed, she takes a step back. 

          “umm—” she stops herself, furrows her brows together, and centers herself. she swallows hard. CLINICALLY & UNEMOTIONALLY. get it together, allison. she meets stiles’s eyes. CLINICALLY & UNEMOTIONALLY. you’re okay. he’s okay.

          “i’ll drive.”

          STILES’S BROW FURROWS as her expression changes, her gaze focused on his hairline, which has him reaching up to touch his fingers lightly to the spot, hissing in pain as he does so. as he pulls his fingers away, he sees blood and quickly wipes it off on the seat of his pants, lest he begin to feel faint. closing his eyes momentarilly to ground himself, he begins to nod in response, a little too quickly, a little too jerkily. he feels nausea begin to bubble in his stomach, though he isn’t sure if it’s the blood, or the fear, or the head injury, or all of the above -- and, at this point, who’s counting?

          with his clean hand, he roots in his pocket for the keys to the jeep and eyes them for a moment, well aware that he doesn’t let just anyone drive her.  ( but allison isn’t just anyone ! ) he makes eye contact with the huntress again, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he presses the keys into the palm of her hand and closes her fingers around them.

        “let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, and with that, he’s making for the door, fingers lingering on allison’s for just a moment too long as he goes. he makes it to the jeep in one piece and clambers into the passenger seat, feeling an immediate sense of relief as he does so. as he waits for the jeep to begin pulling away, he relaxes with his head against the seat’s headrest, his eyes closed, and sleep threatening to pull him under. well aware that it’s a bad idea, given that they don’t know how serious his head injury is, he instead rolls his head to the side and slowly cracks his eyes open to watch allison instead, hoping that she might provide adequate distraction to keep him awake.

          DEREK AUDIBLY GASPS when the knife touches stiles’s abdomen. it’s an involuntary sound—one he knows shows undeniable vulnerability—and he hisses inwardly at himself, then he directs his attention back to xi. he watches wordlessly as the knife presses into stiles’s cotton shirt. he is absolutely still as xi’s eyes wander to the staircase and they taunt him. beads of sweat form at the base of derek’s neck. stiles is so fragile, so soft, with bones SO easily breakable, like that of a bird, and suddenly, derek’s jacket is too tight on his arms—on his chest—and he takes a short breath, softens, and withdraws momentarily. 

         “demons don’t PLAY nice,” derek grinds out. he sounds solid, and he’s relieved long enough to shake his head at xi. “i know you  t h i n k  you have nothing to lose,” he says, moving forward again, carefully. “but you’re wrong.” 

          and everything in him wants to charge, to tackle xi, to see if he can at least keep them pinned long enough to restrain them, somehow. but derek holds back. he waits for a plan to come to him. ( operating on impulse never works well for him, he’s learning. ) had this happened a year ago, he’d’ve attacked already, but he’s learned patience and deliberation from scott and from lydia and from stiles. so he waits. he takes another breath and hopes his voice comes out as strongly as he thinks it will. 

          “you expect me to believe he’s alive?” derek ventures. the ghost of a smile passes over his face—one that’s more nervous than anything, but he knows it’ll be perceived as suggestive, even playful. it’ll be perceived as one of those smiles that alphas tend to give when they’re power-hungry. and this is a risky move, he knows, but stiles is already in the line of fire, and derek isn’t sure what else he can do right now. 

          “p r o v e   i t   to me,” he says, tilting his chin toward the demon. “show me he’s alive.”

          DEREK’S GASP ONLY FURTHER PROVES XIUHCOATL’S THEORY.  ----  he’s far too righteous to let a squishy human die. at least... this squishy human. at the sound, xi twists stiles’s lips into a smirk so slimy it’s almost a grimace; especially on stiles’s innocent features. their fingers flex and dance on the handle of the knife, and they maintain’s eye contact with derek, watching every tic and change and falter. oh, how they love this. the panic, desperately masked by makeshift anger ---- it’s xi’s favourite kind of pantomime.

          they watch carefully as derek inches closer, narrowing their eyes in response to his shots in the dark. it’s always interesting, xi thinks, to witness how people respond to them.  most people tend to just scream and beg.  ( but, then again, most people are HUMAN. ) their eyes flash with delight.

        “oh -- you want to know that the boy’s alive?” they’re almost salivating now, with their next move handed to them on a plate by the alpha. “are you SURE about that?” they ask, with faux-concern, twisting the knife in the wound made on the boy’s palm. “just remember, derek, you asked for this.”

          IN XI’S PRE-OCCUPATION with derek’s anger, they turn stiles’s back to the wolf for a moment. derek pounces on the opportunity and manages to silently slip the book he needs from its home on the shelf. with shocking dexterity, he replaces it with american gods. silently and almost impossibly quickly, he places the leather-bound book on the mattress where the novel once was. he eyes the cover of it, then returns his gaze to xi, hoping they won’t notice the difference. derek tracks them as they find the knives. he swallows hard, and again, his stomach drops, this time to his knees. 

          don’t hurt him, he thinks. wolves heal. stiles doesn’t. scott would never forgive derek for not protecting stiles, and he’d never forgive himself for not being there to fight off the demon with the alpha. the sheriff would never understand what happened either, would never hear an alternate reality where derek wasn’t to blame. the wolf would be tried for murder, on top of everything else. ( and apart from that, derek would never forgive himself. stiles is a kid: an innocent wrapped up in a mess of a situation he has no control over. losing paige was enough blood on his hands for a lifetime. he can’t do it again. )

          the sound that erupts from xi makes the hairs on derek’s arms stand up. the accompanying words are no more relieving, much to derek’s dismay. he doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. he’s working with what he’s got, and what he’s got is an active, pending threat. it wouldn’t take much for xi to lethally injure stiles with that knife, and all of them know it. derek feels it, the danger. his only solace is that the growl that tore from stiles’s chest sounded genuine, and derek believes that xi speaking aloud to stiles isn’t a strategic device. he’s in there. he could be okay. hypothetically.

          the alpha moves closer to xi, away from the book. his face begins to warp. he shifts. 

          “put it. down,” he growls, narrowing his crimson eyes. “i TOLD YOU, i don’t PLAY NICE.”

        STILES IS SCREAMING, STILL. cries of concern for derek’s safety mixed with pleading with xi, to just leave, to leave derek alone and get far out of town. his pleas, of course, fall on deaf ears. x isn’t listening, and is in no mood for negotiation. in fact, derek’s demands cause the demon to scoff callously, twirling the knife between their fingertips. the smirk on their face disregards any hint of frustration though  ----  derek is playing right into their hands. in an all-too-quick motion, xi has the tip of the knife pointed at stiles’s abdomen, the tip resting just hard enough on the skin to make an indent any accidental slip, and it could be fatal.

       “ah - ah - ah !  not so fast, wolf,” xiuhcoatl PURRS, “i don’t think I wanna play nice either.  ----  not anymore... not when you’ve been so RUDE to me.” they grin sadistically, digging the tip of the knife deep enough to cause pinpricks of pain, but not yet deep enough to cut the skin -- at least not through stiles’s shirt.

     as though noticing it for the first time, xi’s eyes flicker towards the spiral staircase leading up, and curiosity piques. “does that lead to the roof? i wonder ---- how does a one-hundred-pound boy survive from a height this tall?   ------ see, my gut tells me he doesn’t.

          “OR !” x continues, monologuing like a bad bond villain, stiles quips. “what if we see what happens to a soft, weak little human body when we RILE UP A WEREWOLF!”

          ALLISON ALLOWS HERSELF TO RELAX into stiles’s touch, and the ghost of her smile remains present in the upturn of her lips. she’s been awake for well over fifty hours, easy, and she knows he’s done the same. his touch is comforting in a way it’s never been before now. and maybe she’s just tired, or… maybe she needs this. then he moves forward to hold her, and she lets herself lean into him. her eyes fall shut in the dimness of the warehouse and she exhales a long, slow breath. she brings a hand up to the base of stiles’s neck to cradle his head in her hand. her thumb smooths over the tiny hairs under her palm.

          “i’m okay,” she echoes weakly. her lips rest against the top of his head. he still smells like shampoo. 

          “i’m… i’m just tired.”

       AS ALLISON RECIPROCATES HIS EMBRACE, stiles draws soothing circles into her back, however clumsy they may be. he finds his arms tightening ever so slightly, although whether that’s for his benefit or hers, he couldn’t confidently say. he listens for her response and drags in a long, deep breath; so desperately needed after their ordeal. then, with that, he’s slowly pulling away and switching his attention to trying to pull himself to his feet. a few beats slower than usual, he’s crouching again to find a gentle grip on her upper arms.

        “we should get out of here,” he suggests, throwing a glance around the abandoned warehouse once more, “come on.” with that, he uses his grip to help her to her feet and takes a few moments longer to let go once she is upright. clearing his throat, stiles turns away, scratching at the back of his neck as he surveys the scene to check that they haven’t let anything behind.

        “c’mon,” he murmurs, nodding towards the door, “i’ll drive you home.”