#howling forever

Stiles woke up to the sound of muffled voices. Considering he was son of the town's Sheriff and eavesdropping was something of a hobby, this was a familiar sound to wake up to. He'd lost count of how many mornings he'd slunk downstairs at the sound of his dad speaking on the phone in the kitchen, trying to listen in on the recent crime. Before his dad caught him, that was. And Scott, the wacko, mumbled in his sleep whenever they had a sleepover.

But these voices were not as familiar as his dad's or Scott's. He shifted where he was lying in front of the fireplace, with only the animal pelt underneath to shield him from the cold floor. The musty smell inside the cabin was what made him remember just where he was: in the middle of freaking nowhere.

"We don't know. It's up to you."

He quickly registered it as Isaac's voice, followed by a skeptical scoff he knew all too well. His curiosity took over and he froze again, pretending to still be sleeping as he listened in.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. We're only here because of you, remember?" Isaac said roughly. "When you learn how to put one foot in front of the other without someone pulling the strings, we'll head back home."

Since he faced the other way, Stiles was unable to see anything. The sound of the bed squeaking did, however, tell him Jackson was sitting on it. Hopefully Isaac was smart enough not to stand too close to the doorway.

"You honestly think you can survive out here?" Jackson snorted. "Because Derek said so, right? You guys follow him like blind puppies follow their mommy. He's a wolf. He lives in the ruins of a burnt down house! We're people. We need a lot more comfort than he does. Except for you, perhaps," he added, in his usual mock-voice. "This ain't very different from that shack you used to live in, is it? You must feel right at home."

"Yeah," Isaac replied, surprisingly calm. "Maybe that's why I'm the only one here not complaining like a 5-year old."

Oh snap!

There was a pause of silence where Stiles wished he could have seen Jackson's face. Hearing one of the school's biggest outcasts shut up the captain of the lacrosse team was pretty high on his list of things that would most likely never happen. Witnessing Isaac beat up two guys in the locker room went next to that, of course.

Even without the werewolf super senses, Stiles could feel the tension growing thicker as time passed. Thankfully it only took a few more seconds before Isaac burst the bubble.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" He spat.

Stiles could have sworn Jackson did that weird raise-an-eyebrow thing.

"For..?"

"For constantly craving more," Isaac growled, and this time his voice wasn't all human. It was dark and languorous; kind of like Batman's. "You had everything, Jackson. Half the school wanted you, and the other half to be you. Then you gave it all up because one guy suddenly played in your league."

"You have no idea what it's like," Jackson hissed.

"And you think you do?" Isaac snapped. "You think you know what it's like to have less than that? To have nothing?" Stiles heard the sound of Jackson inhaling, as if he was about to interject, but Isaac didn't let him. "I do," he clarified lowly.

Not only the sound of Isaac's steps acknowledged him moving, but also the vibration it sent through the wooden floor where Stiles still had one ear glued to the boards. Incapable of seeing any of the two shifters behind his back, he could only guess their positions. Considering Jackson not being able to leave the small bedroom, he was probably still seated on the bed. Isaac, who clearly had the upper hand in this conversation, had most likely moved closer to the door.

"You had everything an outsider like me could ever dream about. I had nothing!"

There was another pause when only Isaac's sharp breathing could be heard, before Jackson spoke. When he did, his voice was hoarse and strained, as if he spoke through gritted teeth.

"But now you got the one thing I don't. The one thing I wanted."

Feeling sorry for Jackson Whittemore was probably somewhere close to the top of Stiles' list as well. Nevertheless, he did feel sorry for the douche bag these days. He never asked for the ability to morph into a venomous lizard or have some lunatic send him out on a killing spree in order to seek revenge. Thinking about it, Jackson wasn't anymore guilty of the murders than the gun in a soldier's hand. His actions were not his own. The previous day might have even been the first time in a long time the real Jackson regained the steering wheel.

Suddenly the door burst open and three werewolves stumbled inside. Stiles flinched, raising one arm protectively over his head as a reflex. Good thing he did, because within the next three seconds a Scott McCall fell on top of him.

"Sorry, dude," Scott apologized.

"Get off me and we're cool," Stiles groaned. He sat up; pretending the wolves' arrival was what woke him up and leaving no suspicions of eavesdropping. Venomous or not, Isaac still had claws. "Whoa," he exclaimed once he took a proper look at the homecomers. "What the hell happened to you?"

All three of them looked pretty dishevelled. Erica's tunic was torn at the bottom and leaves were scattered through her hair. Scott's jeans were ripped at several places and his shirt was in disarray. Derek's leather jacket had somehow been spared unlike the white shirt beneath. Despite the stains of blood covering them, they didn't seem to suffer from any lasting injuries.

If not counting Scott's lack of balance as one.

"We bumped into our new neighbours," Erica explained, not sounding especially troubled while running a hand through her tousled hair.

"Wait, what?" Jackson asked, looking confused and worried, which reminded Stiles of a lost puppy. He was standing in the doorway now, which was as close to the others as he could get.

Isaac, who was leaning his back on the wall right next to the open door, turned his head to the side to look at him.

"The wolf pack," he informed curtly, which made Stiles suspect he'd filled Jackson in on the details of last night's happenings.

"You fought them?" Stiles wondered.

"They attacked us," Derek answered him. "We had no choice but to fight them off."

"Yeah, and it was awful," Scott muttered. "I work at an animal clinic, for Christ sake."

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Derek growled, shooting him a glare. "What was I supposed to do? Let us be their chew toys?" He got no response. He sighed before continuing, now in a lower voice. "Their Alpha was trying to protect the pack... and I'm trying to do the same."

Once again Stiles had expected Scott to step in and speak against his leader. Once again he didn't. Silence roamed for a while before Stiles was on the brink of stabbing himself in the face and instead unleashed the only beast he had: words.

"What were you doing out in the woods anyway?"

"Hunting," Erica replied as she sat down on the far end of the couch. "You think those two deer from last night were enough?"

"Was for me," Stiles assured.

Scott chuckled, sinking down next to Erica. She smiled lightly at him, offering to help put his shirt back in order.

"What is it?"

Stiles turned to see Isaac looking curiously at Derek who remained silent. To Isaac's words, he lift his head to meet the younger werewolf's look, contemplating his answer. Maybe he felt Stiles' eyes on him; for he looked down to meet his gaze as well.

"I caught a scent," he began slowly, sending a glance towards the couch and the two Betas as well, as if to make sure the entire pack was listening. "Up in the mountains."

"Congratulations," Stiles complimented. "Your nose still works."

The Alpha stared down and Stiles was suddenly reminded he was still sitting on the floor. Once upon a time this would have been the moment when his heart started to throb wildly with fear. Things had changed though. Looking up at the face of Derek Hale now only showed him a familiar why-can't-you-ever-just-keep-your-damn-mouth-shut glare. Nothing murderous.

"It didn't make sense," Derek eventually said, taking his eyes off Stiles. "I caught... wolf's bane."

"It's a flower," reminded Scott. "It could be growing here, right?"

"Herb," Stiles corrected, although no one paid him any mind.

"Not in these mountains," Derek defended, shaking his head. "There's a reason this was our territory. No wolf's bane; no hunters."

"No wolf pack roaming the area?" Isaac added in a mumble.

And they all got his point. A lot of things had definitely changed since the Hale family were here.

"Is it just me or do we start regretting coming here?" Stiles sighed.

He figured this must be more than a little hurtful for Derek. Not only was his childhood house still in dusty ruins back in Beacon Hills, but another place belonging to his pack had been taken from him. This made Stiles wonder where him and Laura had been all those years after the fire. Unlikely here, judging by the thick layers of dust when they arrived and the fact that a wolf pack had had enough time to make themselves feel at home in the area. The scent of Derek's pack must be long gone.

"Sorry to interrupt your little meeting or whatever," Jackson said, his tone anything but regretful. "But you have to let me out."

The wolves turned their attention to him.

"You're not going anywhere."

Derek's calm voice seemed to irritate Jackson. He clenched his jaws tightly, making his odd-looking jawbone steal Stiles' attention. Jerk or not, the guy had some impressive bone structure.

"Let me out. Now," he repeated, making the last word sound like a whole sentence.

"Are you deaf and stupid?" Stiles asked, finally rising to his feet. "We already told you–"

"It's a call of nature, you idiot," Jackson spat.

"What do you think the bucket is for?"

"Stiles," Derek said firmly, just as two amused scoffs came from the couch. "Let him out."

"Are you kidding me?" Stiles exclaimed as he stepped forward. "He can't control himself."

"And my plan is to teach him," Derek replied simply, tilting his head in a relaxed manner. "Starting right now." He looked at Jackson. "Step back."

Jackson rolled his eyes, but stepped back from the doorway. Derek nodded to Stiles, who sighed dramatically before crouching down to break the line of ash. Once done, he was pushed out of the way by the Alpha's strong hand on his shoulder.

"Isaac," Derek said, eyes remaining fixed on Jackson. "Take him outside."

"Oh no," Jackson protested. "He's not coming with me!"

"Would you rather have Scott or Erica watching you?" Derek asked, raising a brow.

Jackson let out a long breath, glaring at all of them. Stiles fought the urge to crack a smug grin.

"No," he finally mumbled.

"Figured," Derek deadpanned.

Once the door was shut behind the two shifters, Stiles made his way to the other side of the cabin where Erica and Scott were still sitting on the couch. Scott was being a gentleman by clearing her hair from leaves and dirt. The fabric of their shirts were still painted red and shred by the wolves' claws. Stiles recalled seeing a werewolf movie once where clothes healed as well as wounds. Apparently that was too epic to be the real deal.

"Maybe you two don't mind walking around soaked in blood," he told them. "But for me and my nightmares' sake: could you please stop reminding me of the possible existence of freaking zombies and clean yourselves up?"

"Zombies aren't real, Stiles," Scott said, scoffing.

"How would you know?" Stiles countered. "Six months ago you didn't know werewolves were real."

To that Scott had no reply and chose to instead scratch his head. Erica looked up.

"I didn't bring any extra clothes," she admitted.

"Me neither," interjected Scott, sloughing further into the seat.

"Seriously?" Stiles burst out. "Jeez. With that wolf pack around, ripping your clothes into shreds, you'll soon be walking around butt naked." He frowned. "I don't even know which is worse."

Scott laughed and Erica joined in. Stiles heard a snort from the other side of the room, but when he looked over, Derek was staring out the window and his face just as cold as usual. His gaze was locked on the outside world, not appearing to even notice Stiles' eyes on him.

Stiles sighed, dropping his eyes from Derek's motionless figure to his sports bag on the floor.

"Suppose I'll have to share then," he said as he crouched down and pulled out two clean t-shirts from the abyss of unfolded clothing, tossing them to the Betas. "Considering you seem to have lost the need to dress yourselves along with your humanity."

"Just wasn't my top-priority," Scott explained. "Thanks though, dude. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it," Stiles warned, but knew it was only a matter of time before he did.

While they got changed – and Stiles tried to ignore the irony of Erica shrugging into one of his Batman shirts – he walked over to Derek who was still standing by the window. This time he turned his head to look at Stiles when he appeared at his side.

"Here." Derek dropped his gaze to the shirt in the boy's outstretched hand. "It's your colour."

It was the same black one he'd ended up wearing that night when they found Peter at the hospital, solving the big Alpha-mystery some months back. Since it had gotten Derek's blood on it, Stiles had had to wash it himself by hand to avoid tricky questions from his dad.

Derek's eyebrows did that only-Derek-Hale-can-do-this-because-I'm-the-Alpha thing as he glanced up at him.

"Really?"

"Well I did bring that orange-blue one you tried," Stiles offered. "But Danny said it was way too colourful for you, and when it comes to fashion..." He smiled distinctly. "I'd trust his opinion."

The werewolf kept a straight face for a long moment. Stiles half expected him to snarl or tell him to shut up the hell up, when he instead huffed and the corner of his mouth pulled up in a wry smirk. Huffed. The sound surprised Stiles to the point where he had no comeback.

It was the closest thing to Derek Hale laughing he'd ever heard.

"Derek," Scott suddenly said and even Stiles heard the tension filling his voice.

All three werewolves froze and Derek's expression turned back to his default grimness. Stiles saw his pupils widen, realizing the Alpha's super senses must be kicking in. Half a second later they all threw themselves at the door, leaving Stiles alone in the cabin, with the shirt still clutched in his hand for a moment, before registering what just happened.

Running outside, he found them with their heads tipped back, evidently sniffing the air. He was just about to ask if there was either a fire or insignificant squirrel demanding their attention when even he noticed what was missing: Jackson and Isaac.

When Derek lowered his head and glanced over his shoulder at him, Stiles noticed they were all wolfed out.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"No way," Stiles protested.

"There's a pack of predators out there, Stiles!" Derek reminded.

"And in case you haven't noticed, I'm quite used to be surrounded by monsters."

"Stiles," Scott said firmly, shooting him a look as well. "Don't."

Maybe it was the sight of enlarged fangs and burning eyes that prevented Stiles from coming up with a witty response, but it might as well have been his friend's tone. Once again he was baffled by Scott's loyalty to Derek and his decision to leave Stiles out of the wolf business.

Before he had the time to protest further, the pack took off sprinting toward the woods. Derek took the lead, transforming while running. Stiles watched them disappeared into the trees before walking up to his Jeep, starting the engine in a heartbeat.

- - -

The day was cloudy and the trees above formed a roof of branches and leaves, blocking out the daylight inside the forest. And as if that wasn't enough, a fog was ascending the higher Stiles drove. There were no roads here, and even if the Jeep was meant for this type of terrain, it wasn't easy making his way up the mountainside.

Unable to track the others by scent or hearing, he'd put his faith in following a path which was most likely a highway created by wild animals. He drove for half an hour without hearing or seeing anything. Sure, he saw a flock of birds flee from a bush, two deer skipping into the mist, one squirrel climbing a tree, but no wolves in leather.

When a loud howl echoed between the trees, Stiles nearly crashed into a boulder.

He knew Scott's howl and that wasn't it. Scott had gone from whining like a cat being choked to death to roaring like a lion. This had sounded too thin to come from a werewolf, and Stiles was suddenly reminded of the possibility that a pack of gray wolves could be circling him.

Before he had the time to properly freak out or decide in what direction to flee, there was a second howl, and this one he recognized.

Derek.

It came from somewhere to his right, but the fog prevented him from seeing anything. Soon the sound of growling and shuffling filled the forest. Someone shrieked in pain, causing Stiles' heart to jump. It was impossible to tell who it was, but chances were any of the Betas or maybe even Jackson. Stiles let his heart race for a while before sucking in a breath and climbing out of the Jeep, walking toward the sound as the mist swallowed him whole.

After stumbling over the rough and – due to the fog – invisible ground for some time, the trees widened out in a clearing. Stiles had expected to see the sun again, but this far up the mountain the sky was still covered in gray clouds. It made his heart sink even further.

Upon hearing a dull growl approaching, he ducked into the bushes. Soon a brown shadow entered the clearing, and Stiles recognized it as the wolf pack's leader. The distance was more or less the same as last night, but as he peeked through the twigs of the bush, which he'd picked for a hiding spot, the wolf looked bigger when separated from its pack. Not as big as an Alpha werewolf, obviously, but still bigger than any dog Stiles had ever encountered. It stopped to lift its nose, no doubt sniffing the air. Sniffing him.

I'm screwed this time, Stiles thought as the wolf turned its head in his direction. But it turns out he wasn't. A defiant growl vibrated through the air making both Stiles and the wolf stare into the trees.

Derek's eyes shone bright red and the mist seemed to subside. He walked into the clearing with his head held high and Stiles caught himself staring. At least he wasn't the only one. The brown wolf eyed Derek with big interest, folding its ears back in a straight line. He snarled and the werewolf responded equally.

But it wasn't until they started circling each other Stiles understood there would be a fight.

"Go," Derek breathed through gritted teeth and Stiles realized he knew he was there. His red eyes remained fixed on the wolf, but he could no doubt smell him. "Find Isaac."

It was the last thing he said before abandoning his human form. Following was the sound of bones reshaping beneath the man's skin, soon covered in quickly grown hair. He fell to his knees, letting out a wild roar when his muscles stretched. His fists morphed into paws armed with claws long as knives and his spine crackled as the change became complete.

This transformation was unusually slow and Stiles suspected it to be an attempt to frighten the wolf before any blood was spilled. If nothing had changed, Derek still wished to leave the wolves unharmed. Unfortunately, he was more human than animal, so there was no way to communicate or negotiate about peace.

Scott's familiar howl cut loudly through the forest and both wolves in the clearing clipped with their ears. Derek yelped and somehow Stiles knew it was meant for him.

Run.

And run he did. He turned his back on the two alphas just as the sound of their bodies colliding and violent growling reached his ears. He managed to make it all the way to his Jeep sooner than he had anticipated and climbed into the driver's seat with a racing heart.

Unable to identify Scott's location by scent, he was mighty relieved when his buddy repeated his call. It appeared to be coming from somewhere in the valley. While driving down the mountain, he heard the sound of battling predators fading behind him.

- - -

To say Stiles was shocked when arriving back at the cabin, finding both Isaac and Jackson safe and sound, would be an understatement. They sat on the porch with Scott when the Jeep came to an abrupt stop. Scott was at his side before Stiles had even jumped down on the ground.

"Dude! I thought we told you to stay," Scott barked, clearly upset.

"And I ignored it," Stiles countered. "I'm not your dog."

"What?" Scott frowned.

"You heard me," Stiles said as he started approaching the house. "You know, before you joined up with the Sour Wolf Pack, you never once declined my help. In fact, you begged for it. Why do you suddenly care about my wellbeing?"

"I always cared, Stiles," Scott declared, keeping up with Stiles' steps. "I never wanted you to get hurt! But you used to be all I got. It's not like that anymore. Also, Derek made me realize just how freaking dangerous this shit is."

Stiles stopped and turned to look at his friend.

"You're keeping me out of harm's way because Derek said so?"

The look on Scott's face was unreadable as well as his hesitation to answer.

"Eager to die or something?" Jackson asked then.

Stiles spun around, glaring at him. Not for his stupid joke, but for making him worry sick for nothing. These guys didn't even deserve his concern. None of them had been particularly nice to him. Ever. Yet he'd helped Isaac escape a holding cell and shared food with Jackson when he was locked inside a transport van. Yet he'd gone out looking for them in this wilderness.

"Where the hell have you been?" He demanded, looking at both of them.

"They went for a walk," Scott explained.

"A walk?" He repeated, as if he barely believed his ears. "A walk?"

"Yeah," Jackson said in his usual you-are-so-dumb-voice. "We went for a walk. What's the big deal?"

Stiles turned his attention to Isaac.

"And you let him?"

"Actually it was my idea," he replied firmly.

"He insisted, actually," Jackson interjected.

"Why?" Stiles was seriously starting to think none of them had any brain whatsoever.

"He's been locked in that room for hours," Isaac said roughly, giving him a solid stare. "The lack of motion drives your muscles insane."

"What would you know about that?" Stiles blurted out, but realized his mistake half-way through.

Isaac's eyes narrowed slightly and, for a moment, he was reminded very much of Scott giving in to the bloodlust at his first months as a werewolf. His eyes remained blue, however, and when he spoke through clenched teeth, no fangs were visible.

"Everything."

The strength in his voice made all of them stay quiet for a long time. Scott looked at Stiles, probably trying to tell him something. Unfortunately they had never got the telepathy thing working very well. But even without words, Stiles could tell he was trying to apologize.

Erica came running on all fours a while later. She looked a bit flushed from running, but otherwise unharmed. She seemed only relieved to find the boys sitting on the porch. Apparently Stiles was the only one acknowledging the danger Isaac had put himself in.

"Where's Derek?" Scott asked when counting their numbers.

"Up the mountain," Stiles said and boy did that get everyone's attention? "He showed up right when the wolf pack's alpha was about to ask me stay for dinner."

"They fought again?" Erica asked.

Stiles nodded.

"He told me to leave." He looked back at Scott. "That's when we heard your call."

Scott just nodded. He looked unsettled and Stiles quickly noticed the same look of unease on the other's faces. Even if Jackson wasn't really part of the pack, he seemed to react to the absence of the Alpha as well. Stiles remembered Scott trying to describe it for him a few days back; the bond and the pull he felt from Derek and the other pack members. Now he realized he was the only one not feeling it and suddenly he wished that he did.

To let Derek know they were all gathered and unharmed, Scott, Erica and Isaac sent out a united howl that echoed through the valley. Stiles glanced over to Jackson who still sat on the porch of the house. His eyes were resting on Isaac, who had his head tipped back toward the sky. For the first time in Stiles' life, he saw nothing evil in Jackson's eyes. There was only longing. Longing to join them and be given the gift he'd been promised, but denied.

When Derek finally showed up, he looked tired. His clothes were torn worse than Scott and Erica's had been this morning and his sealed wounds were covered in blood. But as soon as he saw all of them outside the house, he sighed in relief. He walked up to pat Isaac on the shoulder and shared a nod with Jackson. No words were spoken for a long time.

Then he looked over to Stiles and suddenly time didn't matter. They maintained eye contact for a few moments before Derek dropped his gaze and walked into the cabin. The pack followed him and so did Stiles.

- - -

Stiles entered the cabin the following day to find Derek sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, barely flinching when the door was barged in. He had expected to find the place deserted after the others had gone hunting and Jackson usually preferred having his door closed, to feel less like a snake in the zoo.

“Hey.” He greeted vaguely, dragging out the word. “Didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you left with the others?”

He’d been down by the river washing clothes when the pack had run off. He’d thought he’d seen Derek’s dark head among them, but he must have been mistaken.

“Isaac wanted to hunt,” Derek informed, still motionless. Stiles saw his jaw move as he spoke. “Someone had to stay with Jackson.”

“I thought that’s what you had me for?”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Derek said quietly. “He doesn’t trust any of us. He prefers Isaac though.” He shrugged. “Apparently I’m in second place.”

Stiles nodded for a moment before remembering Derek couldn’t see him. He dumped the clothes he’d been holding on the nearby chair and approached the Alpha. He only now noticed he was wearing the black shirt he’d been offered the previous day. He probably would have given it a smart comment had it not been for the look on Derek’s face.

He just sat down on the floor next to him, slightly surprised when Derek actually let him. He saw the werewolf’s fingers wound tightly in the fur they sat on and frowned.

“You okay?”

Derek remained perfectly still for a moment before looking over at him. Stiles suddenly felt dumb for asking a question his eyes could answer alone. He’d never seen him like this. So... human. What bothered him the most was that he didn’t know the cause. He swallowed and nodded slowly in understanding. Soon Derek dropped his gaze back to the rug.

“It was Laura’s and my first kill,” he said, and Stiles blinked. “The bear. It was our first hunt with the pack.”

Stiles watched Derek’s hand desperately grasp the bear’s fur and was suddenly reminded of the town’s Sheriff clutching a bottle of alcohol. He felt the urge to reach out and make the man loosen his grip – like he did with his dad – but didn’t.

Instead he let his eyes sweep over the room, trying to picture what life must have been like for the Hale pack when living here. He knew they had been many. Brothers and sisters, friends and cousins. There was a faint memory in the back of his mind of his dad coming home with all their files and the news of the burnt down house. He’d been busy writing reports all night long and Stiles’ mother had been the one to tuck him in.

“How can you stand to be here?” He asked quietly. “With all the memories. It would have killed me.” He hesitated before continuing. “I don’t have anything left of my mom.”

Derek looked up to him again. This time his eyes weren't as hollow. His gaze darted between Stiles’ eyes, as if trying to find something different in either of them. For a long time they just maintained eye contact, before Derek broke it once more. Stiles took that as the end of the conversation and got back up on his feet. But just as he was about to return his attention to the damp clothes, Derek spoke again.

“I saw her once.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat when turning back around to stare down at the man.

“What?” He croaked, because his throat was suddenly dry.

Their eyes met.

“Your mother. I saw her at the hospital once, many years ago. You and your father, too.” Derek rose slowly from the floor. “When I first saw you and Scott in the woods five months ago... It took me some time to remember where I’d seen you before. You were just a kid back then.”

Stiles stared at him with his mouth hanging open and his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The thought of his and Derek's paths being crossed in the past seemed too unreal. A question was burning on his tongue. Something he'd wanted to ask people in the past, but never got a real answer. No one had been able to. Until now.

"Could you smell it?" He asked. It was barely a whisper, but he knew Derek heard it. Yet he frowned mildly in question. Stiles swallowed, gathering new strength. "Scott says he can tell which animals are beyond help at the clinic by their scent. He can smell the sickness. Smell the death on them. Did you know then, already? That she was dying?"

Derek's eyes remained on him in silence for a while. Then he nodded and Stiles tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that Derek Hale, of all people, had known his mother was going to die before he did. No one had told him. The doctors had known. His father had known. Yeah, even she had known. But they'd chosen to keep the little boy in the dark. Maybe they thought by believing the lie long enough – everything is going to be alright – it might actually become real.

He hadn't known until his dad started crying on the phone.

- - -

Later that night, when a cloak of darkness was lying over the valley, the pack built a bonfire down the shore to have another barbecue with the elk they'd caught on the hunt. Apart from the stars and the waning gibbous moon, the fire was the only light source and they gathered around it like journalists on a crime scene – or so the Sheriff would have said.

They sat in a circle in the sand while eating. Stiles sat between Scott and Erica, wrapped up in the blanket from the back of his Jeep. The nights were really cold up in the mountains, even though the fall had nearly begun back home.

"I can hear your teeth chattering from over here, Stiles," grunted Jackson, sitting beside Isaac.

Stiles sent him a silent glare, hugging the fabric more tightly around his body.

"Dude," Scott sighed, smiling at him in the warm light of the fire. "Come here."

He held out his arm, ready to wrap it around Stiles' shoulders if he just scooted closer. Stiles gave in and moved up to his friend's side. For some reason werewolves were like freaking space heaters and didn't easily get cold. First time he'd noticed this was when spending hours in the pool with Derek. Scott's warmth made his teeth stop chattering, much to everyone's enlightenment, and he could finally relax. The sound of the crackling fire was comfortable and tiring.

"Thanks," he murmured, hoping the second meaning of it came through. Apology accepted.

Scott responded by squeezing his shoulders more tightly.

Across the bonfire sat Derek. Stiles saw his lit up face through the dancing flames and their eyes met immediately. It was the last thing he saw before falling asleep on Scott's shoulder.

The problem was not sneaking out of the house before his dad woke up with a possible hangover. The real issue was keeping himself from dozing off behind the wheel. If Stiles had known sleep would be such an important factor two days ago, he totally would've skipped that Spiderman marathon and just gone to bed. It might have given some compensation to last night's lack of it.

Other than arriving home just as the sun was about to rise, and the fact that he had to leave again just a few hours later, there was the whole pack-a-bag-for-a-camping-trip-of-unknown-length part. Because no matter how many websites there was out there, Stiles felt pretty confident that none of them would suffice a list of what you'd need for a camping trip with a pack of werewolves.

After standing in the middle of his room with an empty sports bag on his bed, eyes flickering savagely over the room, he'd just groaned and stowed a mess of shirts, socks and trousers into it. He'd been close to bring the laptop with him, but decided not to. Derek had forbid them to bring any traceable devices, and even if he'd mainly been referring to cell phones; one could never be too careful.

Somehow he managed to avoid driving into mailboxes and ditches, and made it to the lair. The pack was lined up by the side of the road, obviously waiting for him, and Stiles prayed they hadn't been there all too long. 'Pathetic human' was something he'd rather avoid being called.

Scott had two bags slung over his shoulders when he climbed into the seat next to Stiles.

"Dr. Deaton sends his regards," he said to Stiles' questioning look, handing one of them over to him. "Now we've got enough ketamine to keep Jackson comatose for two weeks straight."

"Two bags?"

"One bag," Scott corrected, tapping on the one still in his possession. "We increased the dosage." Then he nodded towards the bag in Stiles' lap. "That one is Mountain Ash."

Isaac climbed into the backseat, greeting Stiles with a simple smirk. Considering last night, Stiles thought he might've deserved a bit more than that, but he kept his mouth shut. At least he had no fangs longing to pierce his skin.

After him came Erica, with a most likely drugged Jackson in her claws. He was wearing more clothes than last time he saw him; now properly dressed in pants and a t-shirt. They couldn't be Derek's, as they would've been way too big on him, which meant either Scott or Isaac must have made a donation to the charity case.

"Wow, you look like crap, dude," Scott commented, regaining his friend's attention. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"One lovely hour," Stiles sighed dramatically. "And it's what I'll think about to feel better when this whole thing goes to Hell."

"Ever heard of coffee?" Isaac suggested over his shoulder.

"Ever heard of 'gross'?"

He flinched when someone clapped their palm against his side of the car. Derek stood right outside his window, with one hand resting on its frame. The Alpha immediately had everyone's attention, and he looked as if he had a lot he wished to say. In the end, however; he only let his gaze drift inside the car, as if making sure they were all there, before looking only at Stiles.

"Follow me," he commanded.

Then his eyes went red, and as he walked in front of the Jeep; he transformed. And even if it was just an explosion of black fur and the sound of crackling bones, Stiles realized it was the first time he actually saw the change. That's probably why he was the only one staring at the huge wolf, while the others barely blinked.

They made it out of Beacon Hills without meeting a single car, which was lucky. Some people might find a car full of teenagers following a wolf like a dog on a leach just a little bit weird. As soon as the asphalt turned into dirt, Derek started to sprint, and Stiles accelerated to keep up. He tried to maintain at least ten feet between the wolf and the Jeep's grill: figuring the Alpha wouldn't be too happy having his flapping tail run over.

For the next three hours they were surrounded by woods. Now and then Derek would vanish into the bushes to avoid being spotted by bypassing cars, but most of the time they were on their own. Watching the same landscape drift by for such a long time would have made Stiles incredibly bored – not to mention sleepy – had it not been for the pack's behaviour.

Being so deep into the woods must have triggered some kind of wolfish instinct in all of them. Stiles had seen Scott sniffing air before, but the way he stuck his head out the window; Stiles wouldn't be surprised if his tongue suddenly came to hang out of his mouth. In the review mirror he saw Erica and Isaac stare into the trees on each side of the car with widened eyes. Thankfully, they were both holding onto Jackson, who appeared to be the only shifter unaffected by the forest. The syringe in Isaac's hand still pointed towards his neck and it made Stiles feel safe enough to watch the road.

"You smell something, buddy?"

"That's an understatement," Scott replied and stuck his head back inside the car.

"Must be something delicious, the way you drooled. Was it deer? Fox? Rabbit?"

Scott just offered him a smile and a crooked eyebrow in response, and that was the end of that conversation. Letting the car fall in silence was something he'd like to avoid, however.

"So," he began in a more hushed voice. "What did you tell Allison?"

He knew it was pretty much useless. Everyone in the car could hear him. Maybe even Derek. But if Scott was aware of the non-privacy, he didn't seem to mind. Maybe because he thought the rest of the pack should know anyhow, or maybe they already did.

"Nothing," he said simply.

"Nothing?" Stiles repeated. "No 'don't worry', 'I'll be back in one piece' or 'I love you'?"

"Things are just... really complicated right now," he said hesitantly, once again looking out through the window. "Her family are all after Jackson, and they'll use her in whatever way they can to gain information." He sighed. "Dragging her into this would only make things worse. She'll be better off not knowing."

Stiles would have argued with that, but decided not to. This was troubling Scott enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make his friend feel bad about a decision already made. Perhaps he was right. The Argents seemed pretty desperate to get what they wanted. And as they seemed pretty good at torturing people to force out the truth; maybe being in the dark was safer.

Around midday they finally reached their destination. All Derek had told them was that he knew of a cabin where they could stay, many miles from the nearest civilisation. More specifically how he knew of the place was unknown, and no one seemed brave enough to ask. The cabin, as it turns out, was indeed far from even the nearest gas station.

It was also far from well-preserved.

As soon as the shack came into view, standing in a valley surrounded by rocky mountains, with a river flooding nearby, Stiles and Scott gasped in unison.

"He can't be serious," Scott said flatly.

If Derek heard them, he ignored it. The shape of the big black wolf disappeared into the cabin's entrance – as the door was hanging loose on its hinges. Stiles found himself amazed that the man even fit in there. The inside could not be much bigger than his own bedroom.

Once he'd parked the Jeep, and stepped outside to give the cabin a proper look-over, Stiles realized it wasn't as bad as it first had seemed. The roof was intact, and all four walls looked stable. Sure; the wood was old and grey as hell, and the porch surrounding the house was full of dusty leaves, but it didn't give the impression of collapsing any second either.

Derek re-appeared in the door just as Isaac got Jackson's zombie-like body out of the vehicle, now back in his leather jacket form. He looked just a little bit exhausted, and Stiles thought that was only fair. Werewolf or not; running non-stop for several hours must be draining.

"We're staying here?" Erica asked, doubtfully.

The Alpha shot her a glare, clearly disliking her tone.

"What did you expect? A five star hotel?"

That was probably intended to be rhetorical. Not that Stiles cared.

"No, but half a star would have been nice."

The cabin's inside was bigger than Stiles' bedroom, but it still wasn't much. It was divided into two rooms, where one of them was a very small bedroom with nothing but a single bed. The remaining area seemed to compensate for all the other rooms.

"This is... a hunter's cabin," Isaac remarked.

And it sure looked like it. The furniture were few and all made in wood; the same darkened gray as the rest of the house. In the corner to the left was a little kitchen area, with knives hanging in racks. The right half of the room was a more open space, with a couch against the opposite wall, and a fireplace at the short side. Stiles recalled seeing a chimney on the outside.

"You'd think that," Derek said, stepping further into the cabin so they all wouldn't have to squeeze in the doorway. "You're supposed to think that."

When the sound of the man's steps faded from hard to soft, Stiles lowered his gaze.

"Holy God," he blurted, when he noticed the huge brown pelt of an animal spread out on the floor. He must have missed it due to the thick layer of dust covering every inch of the place. Even the five pairs of antlers decorating the walls. He elbowed Scott. "Dude, did you bring your inhaler?"

"No, why? I don't need it anymore, remember?" Scott asked, confused.

"Yeah, but if there'd be one place bad enough to bring back your ugly asthma attacks: I'd vote for this one."

- - -

They spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the place, even though Isaac ended up doing most of the hard work. (No one said anything about cleaning being involved. Wasn't this supposed to be a vacation?) The boy's skills in housekeeping may have something to do with his nasty past, which Stiles knew little about, and was wise enough not to bring up. Isaac's story seemed so unreal to him, and made him realize that when it came to a decent father and son relationship – he might be lucky.

He looked around the room, secretly watching the others.

Stiles never met Scott's father, and they had barely ever talked about him. When the McCall's first moved to town, and the young boys instantly bonded over a short play session at the playground; Stiles hadn't questioned the family's lack of a third member. Maybe because he'd only recently lost his mother. Perhaps the fact that they were both one parent short even made the development of his and Scott's friendship easier. Scott had mentioned his dad over the years, but only briefly. For all Stiles knew; the dude wasn't dead. But he had no custody of Scott. Whatever had caused the divorce, it couldn't be good. Mrs. McCall didn't seem very fond of the subject either.

Both Jackson's biological parents had died the day before he was born, and the thought of that still made Stiles shudder a little. The guy would probably never know what kind of people they were. His adoptive parents seemed nice – and rich – enough, but he had recently got an insight in their relationship. The same night as the stupid restraining order had occurred, his dad had told him how they knew his texts were fake. That Jackson and his dad – who bought him expensive Porches and hair products – were able to share a mutual 'I love you' was something he'd taken for granted.

That had been his mistake.

Then there was Allison, who wasn't present other than in Scott's heart and thoughts, but still had a pretty messed up relationship with her dad. While Chris Argent was aware of the supernatural stuff going down in Beacon Hills; he'd probably been lied to equal times as Stiles' own father. And while he didn't seem like a possible candidate for the Worst Father of The Year, he was still a man with a Desert Eagle; longing to put a bullet in his daughter's boyfriend.

Erica must have been the only one in the room with two parents still alive and sane. As far as Stiles knew she still lived at home with them. Other than being shocked by their epileptic daughter suddenly being cured and starting to dress like a supermodel, they probably still cared for her. But it must have required a lot of explanation on Erica's behalf, Stiles imagined. And the fact that she was here, far from home and in the middle of nowhere, spoke for some possible family issues.

And then there was Derek Hale.

Stiles' father always said the worst murderers were the ones with a deprived childhood. And even if the only person he'd witness to die by Derek's hand was Peter – who more than well deserved it according to Stiles' rulebook – that statement still fit. He'd been made an orphan as a teenager, with only his sister to share his loss with. He'd lost his home. He'd lost his whole pack, which Stiles had learnt to be a very important factor in a wolf's life. The cold and hard mask he'd been wearing ever since had been created for a reason. It was his shield and armour – just like sarcasm was Stiles'.

Suddenly the relationship between him and his father appeared to be a rare one, and a feeling of loss and guilt washed over him.

"Stiles."

He looked up from where he was crouching on the floor, finding Derek glancing down at him. The tiredness from the earlier sprint didn't seem to have lost its grip on him just yet, for his facial expression and voice were both surprisingly soft.

"What?" He croaked, rising to his feet. It was an attempt to scale down the Alpha's height advantage, even though he remained about half a head shorter.

The words 'I need your help' never left his mouth, even if that's what Stiles saw written all over the man's face. He had too much pride for that. Uttering that phrase to Scott had been different. They were pack. Werewolves. Equals.

Being the only human of the group; Stiles was the only one able to handle the Mountain Ash. Which was why he was assigned the job to draw a square of the black powder inside the small bedroom. The plan was to use it as a cell where they could keep Jackson. This far Isaac had constantly pierced a needle into his neck and drugged him with ketamine in order to keep him harmless, but they couldn't keep that up forever.

Jackson's motionless body was lying on the bed in the middle of the room as Stiles worked his way around it. He found it just a little bit distracting. Couple of weeks ago the guy had been nothing but a douche bag who had a beautiful girl on his arm. Now he was a literal monster and the killer Beacon Hills' police department worked their asses off to find.

"What have you planned to feed us with?" Isaac asked Derek, still with the rest of the pack in the other room. By the mention of food; Stiles listened in. "Remarkable mountain-views and fresh air?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Derek growled dully. "We'll hunt."

"As in... hunt?" Scott asked. "Running around in the woods at night with a rifle at the ready?"

"We don't need guns," the Alpha clarified, and Stiles noticed a tone of disgust when uttering the last word. "We'll feed like any other wolf pack: track down a prey, chase it, and kill it. This was part of our plan: for you all to connect with your inner wolf."

"I wouldn't mind a daily barbecue," Erica said in her new sensual voice.

"Excuse me," Scott said, "but you're forgetting the part where I've been human all my life."

"And you're forgetting the part where you swapped species," Derek responded firmly.

"But I've never killed anything!"

"Which you should." He appeared to be disturbingly calm about this. "It'll help you control your bloodlust and physical shift. This far you haven't taken out your aggression on anything."

Stiles stepped out of the cell with the bag of Mountain Ash in his hand, raising his hand.

"Objection."

The werewolves turned their attention to him. Scott smiled faintly, even if there was guilt glowing in his eyes. Isaac and Erica looked amused, and Derek sighed.

"Other than the mascot," he reformulated, shooting Stiles something close to a smirk.

- - -

Jackson returned to the world of the living several hours later, when the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, leaving the valley in a dusky darkness. They had stopped feeding his system with more ketamine once Stiles had turned the small room into a monsterproof prison cell. He'd been lying on the cabin's only bed, seemed to be asleep.

The first thing he did was bringing his hand up to brush his fingertips over the abused skin on his neck where Isaac repeatedly had pierced the vein with the ugly syringe's needle. Then his eyes snapped open, and he found five people watching him through the open doorway.

"What the hell is going on?" He demanded, rapidly shifting into a sitting position.

"Relax, Jackson," Derek said slowly. "We're just trying to help."

He snorted, glaring at Scott and Stiles by Derek's side.

"Again? Really, McCall?"

"Look at the bright side," Stiles offered. "You're not half naked this time."

Jackson ignored him.

"Where the hell are we?" He asked roughly, directing the question to Derek.

"Far from home," the werewolf replied shortly, as if that's all he needed to know for now.

Stiles was probably just imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw the anger grow inside Jackson.

"Look," he said through gritted teeth. "We all know what happened last time. You were wrong. Now let me go before you're making even bigger fools out of yourselves."

"Wrong?" Stiles repeated. "You mean there's a logical and completely natural explanation for how you escaped the handcuffs and a locked transport van?"

He remained silent, and Derek made a small nodding gesture. The air was probably filled with the scent of Jackson's doubt, even though Stiles couldn't feel it like the rest of them.

"You don't remember," Scott said.

"There's nothing to remember," Jackson insisted, but even Stiles could tell he was only trying to convince himself at this point.

"Okay," he sighed, taking one step closer to the doorway. "See this?" He pointed at the line of Mountain Ash along the room's insides. "This is magical fairy dust, Jackie. And it can't be crossed by anything supernatural. If you're so sure you're still just an ordinary imbecile; this won't affect you."

"That's right, Jackson," Derek said, also stepping forward. "If you want, you can just walk out of here. Right now. None of us will try stop you."

Jackson's eyes remained fixed on the line of black powder in front of the threshold. It was the only thing separating him and the rest of the outer world, and they all knew it. Slowly he lifted his gaze, giving them all a piercing glare. He clenched his jaws together, keeping silent, and still.

Stiles felt himself breath out a little. Part of him still doubted if the barrier would actually work for Jackson. In his human form, he appeared to be as much non-Kanima as the rest of them. Derek's test had proved that. What proof did they actually have of Mountain Ash stopping him when he was not transformed?

"Will he remember any of what happened?" Isaac asked quietly.

"He will. Just like you did, Scott," Derek responded, not taking his eyes of Jackson.

"Shouldn't he remember something just by seeing us?" Stiles wondered. "He's been lurking around me more than anyone else here. Isn't the people or places involved supposed to cause those epic flashbacks, or whatever?"

"Places are more effective than people," the Alpha responded. "But by time, he'll remember."

"I'm right here, you know," Jackson muttered. "And... you can't just keep me locked up here."

"Well, I did think about bringing a leach," Stiles admitted. "But the pet shop didn't have anything labelled 'mutated snake'."

The next second a wave of scales flashed across Jackson's skin , and his pupils narrowed to the ones of a reptile. He leaped forward, hissing with a mouth full of ugly-looking teeth and reached out a handful of claws towards the door. Stiles was unfortunate enough to stand just a little bit too close, and was the one receiving the strike. Jackson ripped at his arm, but was then pushed back by an invisible force.

The Mountain Ash. It worked.

Stiles stumbled back, feeling more shocked than anything, until he regained his balance and the stabbing pain took over. Scott caught him by the shoulder, supporting him, while Derek urgently stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway completely, and roared furiously at Jackson.

"Jesus Christ," Scott exclaimed. "Can you ever just shut up?!"

"Well," Stiles breathed, attempting a smile. "You got your instincts. I got mine."

Derek stepped back, slamming the door closed in Jackson's face before turning around to judge the damage. First then Stiles lowered his gaze to check the wound. It was a short cut, probably caused by no more than one claw, but it was wide open and violently leaking blood.

"Was there any venom?" Erica asked, looking over Scott's shoulder.

"He wasn't fully transformed, right?" Scott said, hopefully. "How does it feel, Stiles?"

"Nothing like being paralyzed." He grunted. "Can't move my fingers though."

"You need to stop the bleeding," Derek murmured. "Someone help him down to the river and–"

"I'll manage," Stiles interrupted firmly, shrugging Scott's hand off of him.

He met Derek's eyes. It was obvious he wanted to object, but Stiles didn't blink. A moment of silence, and hopefully understanding, was shared. Then the Alpha nodded.

"Go."

- - -

The night air outside was chilly, but also refreshing, and Stiles tried to appreciate it while reeling down to the stream only a few yards away from the house. The almost-round moon above provided enough light for him not to trip over every stone on the way down to the little sand beach. He kneeled on the ground, leaning forward to let the entire arm disappear below the surface of cold rushing water.

Pain shot up his arm like a thousand of knives, and he had to bite his lip not to whimper. That would only have added to the pile of things which made him feel helpless and vulnerable. He hated that. Usually he wasn't one for complaining, but being the weakest link of this group sucked really bad. This was nothing but a scratch compared to the werewolves' many injuries, and therefore he did not want them to take pity on him.

He knew he was only a child in their eyes, but he refused to be a helpless one.

Stiles wasn't sure how long he sat like that; with his knees buried in the wet sand and his dozed off arm in the river. He didn't hear any muffled voices from the cabin. The world around him was completely still and quiet. Too quiet.

Suddenly he felt the hair at the back of his neck stand on edge as a cold chill ran through him. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the darkness with his human eyes. And even if he was unable to see anything; he had the tingling feeling that he was being watched.

"Scott?" He asked out into the emptiness.

Because his friend hiding in the bushes to scare the crap out of him would make sense. More sense than Jackson being on free foot without him being notified. Maybe even Isaac was involved. His new wolfish personality did seem like the one who'd enjoy pranks.

"Isaac..?"

His voice was weaker now, for there was no response. Scott would have blown the thing by now. He'd always been horrible with surprise attacks. The sound of a branch being snapped apart, breaking the thick silence, caused him to flinch. As his heart started to throb fiercely in his chest, his flickering eyes finally fell on the silent watchers.

It was a pack of gray wolves; standing on the opposite shore of the river, barely ten feet in front of him. Their golden eyes were all fixed on him, and like statues they let the wind ruffle their coats without moving a muscle. Had Stiles not been paralyzed by shock he probably would have ran. These weren't dogs who'd come to lick his face. More likely his inner organs.

"Don't move."

Stiles hadn't noticed Derek approaching, but suddenly he was at his side, standing tall and firm with his eyes on the wolves across the water. His voice was hoarse, and Stiles didn't need to think twice about obeying; remaining on his knees.

The wolf in the front of the formation – no doubt the pack's Alpha – folded back its ears and pulled up its upper lip to bare its red gums to them. The dull growl that emerged from its throat seemed to set the whole valley in vibration. Derek responded to it by taking one step in front of Stiles, letting his eyes flash red and snarl defiantly.

Other than one of the subordinated wolves clipping worryingly with its ears, the pack didn't seem to care much for the werewolf's treat. After seeing Isaac's reaction one month ago, Stiles was surprised not to see them fear Derek further. Perhaps this was their first encounter with a shape shifter, and Derek's ability to stand on two legs confused them?

After a long staring-contest, while defending each side of the river, the wolves finally retired from the scene. Slowly they vanished back into the shadows, offering some final glares at Derek. The pack's leader was the last one to leave. He growled lowly one last time before even his piercing eyes disappeared in the dimness.

Once they were gone, Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"What just happened?" He asked, looking up at Derek.

Derek didn't answer before they returned to the cabin, where Scott, Isaac and Erica asked him the same question. Apparently, they had all heard the sound of Stiles' rising pulse, but decided to stay back when Derek went out after him. They had also caught the scent of the other pack, which may be the cause for them being somewhat wolfed out upon Stiles and Derek's return. Their eyes were all yellow and Isaac's fangs were enlarged.

Stiles recalled both Scott and Erica being in the same state when Jackson lost control in the library, and Scott's eyes flashing gold when first sensing the presence of a fellow werewolf. Apparently that went for ordinary wolves as well.

"We're on their territory," Derek said absently, speaking with his back turned to them as he gazed through one of the front windows. "This is their hunting ground."

"Shouldn't you have thought about this a bit earlier?" Scott asked accusingly.

"I didn't know they'd be here," Derek confessed. "Last time I was here..." His voice died out.

Silence followed. Stiles let his eyes travel around the room, settling on the worn out sofa and the rusty windows. The fireplace with a few bricks missing. The small dinner table with its squeaky chairs. The kitchen counter and the obtuse knives. It was all so old. If he hadn't known better, he'd might even think that–

His eyes darted back to Derek.

"This place... It belonged to your pack," he said lowly. "Didn't it?"

Gradually, Derek turned his head to look at him. The emotions in his eyes were too many and foreign for Stiles to read, and the sight made a lump occur in his throat. He nodded slowly, then dropped his gaze again.

"No offense, Derek," Isaac began carefully, "but that was a long time ago. Things must have changed over the years."

There was a moment where everyone seemed to wait for Derek's reaction. While everyone else was watching their Alpha – Stiles looked elsewhere. He was way too familiar with this. Countless times he and his dad had had conversations where he'd found himself being thoroughly watched by the Sheriff, as if it was some kind of interrogation. He hated that feeling.

He looked down on his arm, where the previous wound still caught the attention of his eye. It wasn't bleeding anymore, and had started to heal. Stiles secretly wondered how many scars he'd have at the end of this forsaken trip.

"What do we do now?" Erica asked.

After a long silence swirling with doubt, Derek finally turned to face them all again. The weakness in his eyes was gone, replaced with determination. Stiles found himself impressed, but also disturbed, by how easily the man shrugged off pain, physically as well as mentally.

"I don't know about you guys," he said, his voice growing in strength by each word. "But I'm pretty hungry."

The pack suddenly scoffed in agreement, and the atmosphere in the room enlightened. Apparently not even a pack of wild wolves were gonna stop them from hunting tonight.

"Amen," Stiles said. "So, can I order now?"

"Doubt we'll find any of that healthy salad crap you eat," Scott said, smiling.

"At this point of starvation, I'd do anything for a freaking mouse! But," he added abruptly when the pack seemed to take it a bit too seriously, "...preferably something more tasty than mice."

Derek was heading for the door and the Betas were right behind him.

"Would you shut up if I caught you a squirrel?" Isaac muttered.

Stiles pulled a face, trying to picture what squirrel-burger would taste like. He'd eaten some weird shit in his life – his dad even brought home octopus once – but never something that lived in trees and fed on nuts.

"You get me a hare... then we're talking."

Isaac snickered.

   It was past midnight by the time Stiles pulled up his Jeep on the driveway, finding all lights inside of the house being put out, meaning his dad must have made Scott the main suspect for his kidnapping, and gone to bed. It was a weekend's night anyway. Normal teenagers – whose best friend wasn't a werewolf that was incapable of doing his own research and needed your expertise in order to survive the day – were probably getting drunk on some party which didn't end before sunrise.

Stiles? He'd chained up two werewolves in an abandoned train station.

Shutting off the engine made the world fall in dead silence, and he pulled a face when the door whined as he climbed out, more than convinced he'd woken up the entire neighbourhood. No one came running to put a bullet in his head, however, and that was always something.

He tilted his head back, offering the starry sky a proper glance. The moon stared back down at him, and he realized he'd been afraid to look at it all night. Its round and full shape was of course a good reason to look elsewhere, but he'd never admit it to Scott. Or Jackson. Or Derek.

Thankfully, he hadn't really been the one to chain up Erica and Isaac in the werewolves' new lair underground. Derek had done it himself as soon as the youngsters had come back from school. This was a wise choice, as Stiles vividly remembered Scott's behaviour his second fullmoon, involving making out with Lydia, role-playing a serial killer, and just acting freaking weird. He'd never admit to it; but he was pretty sure Derek was better at handling odd Beta behaviour than he did. Which was why he was more than grateful to skip the dirty work involving chains or claws.

But he'd dropped by just to check on them and make sure the chains were still intact and Erica was doing okay. Ever since the 'detention scandal' in the library where Jackson had caused her to have a seizure, she'd been weaker. Maybe she had just simply calmed down her otherwise bitchy behaviour that apparently came with the bite – because Isaac had it too – but no matter the reason; she'd been different. Derek was still worried for her health, as well as Isaac's safety, and had asked Stiles to check on his puppies sometime during the night.

Erica had been next to sleeping; chained up against the wall in a seated position with her eyes closed. Stiles was pretty sure she was fighting either pain or the urge to rip his head off, so he'd kept his distance. Isaac, on the other hand, was not much different from last fullmoon when he would have made a sandwich out of Stiles if it hadn't been for Derek and his Alpha growl. Stiles was alone this time, with no backup to save his sorry ass if the chains would prove to be nothing but spaghetti for the wolves' bloodlust.

But who would know just how strong chains that would be needed, if not Derek Hale?

The Alpha probably would've wished to stay in his hiding place this fullmoon, to watch over his pack and do whatever he could to help them, but he was on a mission with Scott. They had been trying to track down Jackson for over a week now, and had finally picked up his alien scent this afternoon. To judge by the time they'd been gone they could be either dead or halfway to Mexico.

His pocket started to vibrate, and he hauled up his muted cell phone. It was thick and clumsy in his hands, as he was still used to his Smartphone. After dropping it in the pool, however, he'd been forced to dig up his old Nokia from the bottom of his drawer. Even if he somehow could come up with a story how he lost the most precious thing he'd ever owned – apart from the Jeep, obviously – he didn't have the heart to ask his dad to buy a new phone. Those things were bloody expensive.

"We found him," Scott announced as soon as Stiles brought the thing to his ear. He sounded slightly out of breath, but relief reached every corner of his voice.

"Jackson?"

"Yeah. We've been chasing him for hours, all the way into the hills." There was a pause when Stiles could hear him catch his breath. "We fought him off in a clearing. Whenever he gets too wounded, he turns back to human form. He's still unconscious."

Stiles breathed out, running a hand through his short hair.

"So what do we do now?" He asked, because until this point they had only planned as far as finding the poor bastard – nothing of how to keep him in harmless kitten form.

"Can you bring your Jeep up here?"

"I thought you wolves were supposed to be stronger in packs?" Stiles asked, confused. "Not that I usually check out Jackson's abs in the showers, but the guy can't be that heavy."

"Derek's wounded."

"What? Isn't he healing?"

"The venom, Stiles," Scott barked. "Jackson slit his throat with his claws."

Suddenly Stiles realized why there had been no impatient Derek muttering in the background.

He sighed, squeezing the car keys in his hand.

"Where are you?"

- - -

Scott's glowing eyes was what gave away the shifters' location in the dark, making it possible for Stiles to hit the break before driving over Jackson who was lying motionless on the ground. There was nothing but darkness around the clearing, and Stiles thanked whatever higher power that had made him remember to bring a flashlight.

Jackson's skin was bruised, dusty and revealed a series of open wounds. Some of them were healing, while some kept flooding blood – difference between the strikes of a Beta and an Alpha.

"Get him into the car," Scott urged, stepping up to grab Jackson's arms and shoulders.

Stiles first now realized that his friend was his more furry self, with eyes shining in bright yellow and fangs enlarged. While he was impressed and just a little proud that Scott now was able to control his bloodlust during fullmoons, the power over the physical shift obviously needed a few more lessons. At least he wasn't trying to kill him, and Stiles appreciated that. A lot.

He helped Scott to carry Jackson's – believe it or not – heavy body into the Jeep's backseat, where Scott covered him up in a blanket. There was little they could do for his bleeding wounds at this place, but he still tried to at least stop the major bleeding. Working at the animal clinic had surely taught him how to treat cats and dogs as well as snakes, and Stiles had to bite his lip not to make a very inappropriate comment about that.

"Where's Derek?" He asked instead, circling in place with the flashlight held high, but didn't see anything that could be the shape of Derek Hale.

Scott raised a hand and pointed with one of his claws towards the darkness to Stiles' left. Walking a few steps in that direction, the flashlight's beam eventually fell on a big boulder at the edge of the clearing. The light also revealed a boot attached to a leg on the other side of the rock, and Stiles hurried up his steps to walk closer. Because he knew that boot. Several times it had crapped dirt on the passenger seat of his Jeep.

And in his bedroom.

Derek was sprawled out on the ground with his back against the boulder in a seated position. Scott must have moved him, for there was a trail of blood disappearing into the surrounding darkness that most likely came from the open cut in the man's throat. His eyes flashed red when Stiles crouched down in front of him, and their gazes locked. Other than that he didn't move a muscle.

"Well," Stiles said with a sigh. " You look like shit."

As suspected; the werewolf was unable to snap back a reply. His face was pale, much like a ghost's in the white light. Unlike Scott, he wasn't wolfed out. The fact that he'd left his precious leather jacket at home also spoke for that he'd fought against Jackson in his full wolf form. The thin fabric of the shirt he wore was ripped by long claw marks across the chest. Though those wounds didn't bleed, they were still open and surely very painful. The Kanima's venom obviously slowed down the whole healing process.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Derek injured, or close to death, but the sight still terrified him. Not because he was afraid of the werewolf himself, or the fact that he could easily rip his throat out (with his teeth) if he wanted to, but because nothing and no one should be able to hurt Derek Hale.

Derek was strong, fast, and had the ability to hear and smell things no humans could. He had claws, fangs, and a skeleton which instantly repaired itself. He could be shot, stabbed or have someone cut off his arm – and he would still survive.

Knowing even a death machine like Derek could be hurt made Stiles fear for the survival of mankind.

Scott was suddenly at his side, jerking him back to the present issue with a paralyzed werewolf to somehow get back to Beacon Hills. The Beta didn't hesitate to walk over to the Alpha's side, lifting him from the ground like he wasn't heavier than a lacrosse stick.

"Hold his head," Scott ordered, in a voice somewhat too dark for him, and Stiles obeyed without blinking. "Make sure he can breathe."

Walking back to the Jeep, Stiles steadied the back of Derek's neck with the flashlight in his mouth. It was impossible to see more than three feet ahead, and he tripped more than once. Somehow he managed to keep Derek from choking on his own blood, even if the man certainly would've snarled at his clumsiness if his throat hadn't been sliced open.

"Now what?" He wondered as they reached the Jeep. "We put him in the backseat with the snake?"

Paralyzed or not; Derek's eyes still flashed towards Stiles at that suggestion, making his disapproval very clear. Stiles sighed dramatically. The guy was never easy.

"He'll take the passenger seat," Scott decided. "I'll be with Jackson in the back."

"What if he wakes up and transforms and kill you?"

Somehow he managed to open the door while still supporting the weight of Derek's head in his hand. His skin was cold after so many hours in the chilly air, and was a great contrast to Stiles' warm palm.

"Not any time soon," Scott said when lifting the man's immobile body onto the seat, and Stiles let go.

"But he is healing, right?"

"Yes." Scott turned back to him, and Stiles felt just a little bit of fear run through him when he suddenly had the werewolf's full attention. "But last time it took until dawn for him to heal properly, and then it was only one strike from Derek." He scoffed lightly. "He got a lot more this time."

Stiles felt the corners of his lips pull up in a weak smirk.

"Keep being this badass and you'll soon have your own Padawan," he said, before climbing into the driver's seat of the Jeep; now locked and loaded with three shifters and a slightly troubled teen, wishing he really was Yoda, a Jedi master, so he could just use The Force to get them all 10 miles from here; back to Beacon Hills.

- - -

If the ride back felt a lot longer than the ride there, it probably had something to do with Stiles acknowledging every second of what was going on inside the car. Every shaky breath that left Derek's lips, every painful groan Jackson made in his sleep, or every time Scott shifted in his seat. There was a tension filling the car and its thickness was about to strangle him. They'd been driving for half an hour, and not a single word had been spoken.

Stiles couldn't stand silence. It made his skin itch. End of story.

The Jeep suddenly hit a bump on the road, and the shaking made everyone slide slightly to the left. Stiles and Scott had the doors of the car to catch their weight, and Jackson had his head safely in Scott's lap, but Derek – unable to steady himself or strain a muscle – tipped to the side. He would have fallen right on the steering wheel, had not Stiles reached over and grasped the man's shoulder with his right hand; breaking the fall and holding him in place.

An impressed snort came from the backseat.

"Nice catch," Scott commented.

"Hey, I play lacrosse too, you know," he replied, keeping his eyes on the road, but his pride reached out to his words. "And I do it without any wolf-mojo."

Once the road was somewhat more plane, he dared a glance in Derek's direction. He wasn't prepared to find the werewolf already looking at him, meeting his gaze with a firm gaze. The paralysation must've started to wear off because he'd turned his head in order to give Stiles the proper monster-stare. The cut in his throat had healed up some during the ride. This only made Stiles fear for the speed of Jackson's healing process, however, and didn't calm him down one bit.

"How..." Derek tried to speak, sounding as if he was still gargling blood. He swallowed, and Stiles watched the skin around the wound move. "Isaac. Erica."

"They're fine," Stiles assured, going back to watch the road. "I had just left them when Scott called."

Derek dipped his head in a short nod. If Stiles had been able to sniff out peoples' feelings, the Alpha would most likely have a scent of something similar to gratefulness. He wasn't expecting a thanks though. If there was one thing Stiles had learned over the last elapsing months, running with werewolves, it was that Derek Hale wasn't a man of many words. He preferred snarling.

When Scott leaned forward to stick his head between the two front seats, Stiles thought about withdrawing his hand. But what if he let go, and Derek dropped all his unknown-numbers-of-pounds on the dashboard, and the Jeep got out of his control? So he let it remain on Derek's shoulder – fingers grasping the torn out shirt – while keeping the other steady on the wheel.

"Where should we take him?" Scott asked, directing the question to Derek, for which Stiles was very thankful. His only plan would be another police van, and that hadn't worked well last time.

"The lair," Derek breathed, and Stiles could practically feel the effort it took for him to speak, vibrating under his skin, and under Stiles' fingers.

"Not to be negative or anything, but the other night we locked him up pretty nicely in handcuffs and chains, and that was no match for him. Unless you have some kind of super chains..."

In the corner of his eye Stiles saw Derek look sharply at him, and he chose to just shut up.

"You think you could keep him there?" Scott asked, sounding sceptical, clearly being on Stiles' side.

"I don't know." Derek turned his focus on the Beta instead. "I don't know his condition. I..." He pulled a face, clearly fighting off pain. "I missed the finale of the match."

"He's still unconscious. My strike for his ribs was what turned him back."

"Okay," Stiles cut across. "How do we know he'll be our Jackson when he wakes up? And not just a freaking zombie being controlled like a puppet?"

"We don't."

Derek's voice was ringing of frustration, and Stiles was wise enough to not proceed. Scott retreated to the backseat, and Derek gazed through the window on the bypassing darkness.

"Awesome," Stiles mumbled to himself, just as he thought he felt Derek's muscles tense beneath his palm. He spent a moment rethinking the withdraw-thing, but decided not to. For the safety of his Jeep, obviously.

Silence reigned the rest of the ride, and Stiles' tapping on the wheel was what kept him from going insane. The two werewolves appeared to be deep in thought, and he was all for that. As sooner they came up with a solution, the sooner he could go home before needing to confront his dad about being gone all night. How he was gonna dodge the fact that Jackson was kidnapped again was another problem.

When they reached the outskirts of Beacon Hills, about an hour after their cheerful conversation had ended, Stiles finally let go of Derek's. His skin was not as cold anymore, and he managed to stay on his side of the car when Stiles no longer supported his weight. The Alpha kept his eyes on the road, barely seeming to notice the change.

As soon as the car slowed down outside the deserted train station, Derek ripped the door open and reeled towards the entrance. Scott was right behind him, even before Stiles had done a proper parking.  Once he had, both wolves were already gone. Being alone with Jackson in the car wasn't exactly Stiles' idea of a good time, but since he couldn't just leave the monster, he was doomed to keep watch.

Nearly ten minutes passed before either of the wolves came back up. Stiles thought he even heard Derek growl more than once during that time, obviously bossing the Betas around. When the door to the racked building opened, not only Derek and Scott appeared, but the whole pack.

Isaac was wolfed out, and his golden eyes instantly fixed themselves on Stiles' surprised face. Derek, now appearing a lot stronger than earlier, snarled lightly and pushed the boy further to his left, and Isaac took his eyes off Stiles. Erica and Scott walked side by side, appearing to be a lot calmer than their 'brother'. From the state she'd been in earlier tonight, Stiles was a little surprised to see Erica on her feet. Scott kept giving her the eye, however, and Stiles suspected Derek had asked him to help her if it became necessary.

Jackson got carried from the Jeep down to the lair by the new wolves, while Derek and Scott remained with Stiles; who finally dared climb out of the driver's seat.

"What are you gonna do with him?" He asked bluntly. "Kill him?"

"No." Derek offered a glance in Scott's direction, and Stiles' figured he must have been persuaded. "We'll lock him up for tonight. But it won't last. He's too strong to keep safely in a place like this."

"So what are you saying?"

Derek let his eyes wander over the surroundings of their hiding place. They were just outside the city, when the landscape transformed into miles of woods and wilderness. Here they were safe from prying eyes and snoopy neighbours. Here they were safe from tripwires and other traps set up by the Argents who'd known the Hale house to be Beacon Hills' Headquarter for werewolves. As long as nothing traces them here, this was the only place they could feel safe.

"We must leave town," he finally answered, voice low and bitter. "Take him into the wilds."

"What?" Scott snorted. "Why? What good would that do?"

"You think werewolves were first invented on the 21-century?" Derek snapped. "They've walked this earth for as long as humans and wolves have. How do you think they lived in the medieval times? Or stone age? Why do you think my family lived in a house so distant from the rest of town, surrounded by forest? We need wilderness. It's in our nature."

"Jackson's not like us," Scott remarked.

"Wasn't you the one who translated the text?" He said, raising an eyebrow. "You should know more about the Kanima than I do at this point. It's supposed to be a werewolf, remember? Just whatever happened to it in the past made the bite of an Alpha it to turn into something else. And before we've figured out how to either help him solve this, or found a way for him to control himself, we should keep him somewhere where he can't hurt more people."

There was a pause. Stiles thought about joining the conversation, as he felt incredibly useless and stupid just standing there muted.

"You're taking them with you?" Scott asked, supposedly referring to Isaac and Erica.

"You're coming too," Derek said in response. "I need the entire pack for this. I know it's my fault, my responsibility,  and I got no right to demand more help from you. I know you got a life to deal with." He sighed, dropping his gaze to the ground for a bit before looking back up. "But I need your help."

Stiles looked over to his friend whose face was unreadable. For the longest time he just kept his now human eyes steady on Derek, before absently nodding.

"Okay."

Scott's simple reply was the complete opposite to what Stiles had expected, and it had him thrown off for a while. Wasn't this the part where Scott wouldn't stop go on about Allison and how he couldn't leave her behind, or that if Derek needed him then they had to take her with them, and that Derek was not the boss of him?

And maybe that's what it was all about. Because these days; he really was the boss of Scott. Yet it just didn't seem right. Just because Scott had given in and joined up with the Sour Wolf Pack, he didn't exactly roll on his back and cower to please his Alpha. Whatever this was about, Stiles made a mental note to bring it up at another time.

"Great," he said instead. "I'll be the chauffeur for Snakeboy in the morning then."

"Dude," Scott said, looking at him. "You're not coming."

"He's right," Derek agreed, looking firmly at Stiles. "You're the son of the Sheriff. There will be a crossfire of questions."

"Exactly!" Exclaimed Stiles. "Do you have any idea of how many times I've lied to him right in the face? I've lost count. Just for how long do you think I could keep that up? You think I could actually come up with a story of how my best friend and a bunch of freaks – which I happen to have spent a lot of time around lately – just disappears, and I had nothing to do with it?"

"Also," he went on before either of them had the time to interrupt. "Your precious Camaro got too much grace to take on the terrain, and there's no way I'm gonna lend out my Jeep to a bunch of wolves who's gonna babysit a venomous monster who'll use just about anything for chew toy."

"He's got a point," Scott said, sounding amused, looking at Derek.

"Alright, fine," Derek sighed in defeat. "But you're responsible for him," he clarified, pointing at Scott. "I got enough puppies to look after."

"Hey, I'm the one going camping with four dogs and a snake," Stiles pointed out.

Later that night when he finally got home, finding his dad sleeping over the desk in his office with an empty bottle of Whiskey standing on the top of a pile of recent murders-files; Stiles would feel bad about it. He would feel bad about leaving his father and responsibility behind, and run away with the truth which his dad fought so hard to discover. He would feel bad about not saying goodbye before leaving early the following morning. About not even leaving a note or any reassurance of where he'd gone to. He would have.