A/N: Dedicated to my best friend, Sammi, who took her sweet ass time in actually reading something I wrote.

Chapter

It had been two weeks since he had started school again, and Stiles had finally gotten the Twins to back off just enough that they didn't insist on one of them or their Other Halves following him to the bathroom. He loved his Alphas, no matter how irritating, exasperating, or just Jackson-sized proportions of dick they could be at times, and Danny was always awesome, but being alone with Lydia made his instincts quiver and he was constantly torn between giving her his throat and barring his teeth.

Not exactly something that helped keep his seizures or Wolfy side at heel, you know?

But now here he was, slowly, but steadily, making his way back from the restroom, using his walker to carefully shuffle down the hallway and listening to the entire school chatter. He was about half-way to his AP History class, when his eyes wandered to the wall of Class pictures. It was one of those timeline setups, where each section was a different Year's "Outstanding Acts" information, such as big tournament wins or awards, and he amused himself while shuffling along by finding names of people he knew, slowly working his way up the timeline and closer to the year before his "Incident", which was the last posting.

However, when the Class of 2005's picture came up, his eyes were unerringly drawn to a single name, to a single, picture, and the fire in his bones rose like a viper to sink its fangs of poisonous agony into his nerves.

'Derek Hale (15), 5-time member of the A-Honor Roll, Member of the Student Government, and Voted Best Smile of the Year!'

Stiles had a blank, brief moment of wondering at the fact that Derek could smile like he was in his picture, bright and bashful and beautiful, before the pain roared through him and made him drop to the ground like a stoned lemming, choking on his own spit as his muscles convulsed and spasmed, eyes rolling as he thrashed, knocking his walker aside and trying not to scream. There was nothing but the color of black-speckled gray as he struggled to breathe.

To breathe through the pain and the seizure and the memories—

(A snort of laughter, green-gray eyes, beautiful eyes, sharp, angry, glowing red, "Not Pack" pain, darkness, pleasepleasePLEASE)

—when suddenly, he's no longer flailing, unanchored through the pain and terror and uncontrollable movement. There are hands, two pairs, on him, the larger pair helping move his body, the smaller pair holding his face, the smell of strawberries and ice and the smell of Not-Pack Wolves and he snarls, but the two murmuring voices that are nearly drowned out by the poundpoundpound of his heart croon and sooth.

He's limp and ill and crying when the pain finally relinquishes its hold, and, what felt like hours had only been minutes, and his still-weak body is being cradled between the familiar expanse of Boyd's chest and Erika's hands are cradling his face with such a dark, knowing look in her eyes even as she leans her forehead against his own, sweat-drenched one, a crooning growl low in her throat.

"Boyd, keep Batman steady while I go get a teacher and one of those mutts he runs with," The girl ordered; Stiles vaguely felt the arms around him tighten briefly, and felt the small movement of air that was Boyd nodding. He whined, weak, wet, broken, as the she-wolf stroked a tender hand down his no-doubt disgusting face (Stiles could, even now, feel the revolting mix of drool, snot, tears, and sweat covering his face and dripping down his neck, and the only solace he took was that the acrid scent of urine wasn't accompanying it for once, because there had, thankfully, been nothing in the tank when the "episode" had struck). Erika pulled her hand away reluctantly, and then she was gone, darting down the hallway and Stiles felt almost like he couldn't breathe and where was she going, why was she leaving, not again, please, no—

A low, rumbling growl in his ear forced him to still his racing thoughts as best as he could, whimpering as Boyd carefully shifted him so that his weak neck muscles could go limp, letting his head loll on the large boys shoulder.

"She still has nightmares," The taciturn boy told him in a low rumble, quiet and somber as one large arm lifted away from Stiles chest, to stroke down the side of his head, cradle his neck, and return, petting, soothing, calming the younger Beta down with surprising skill. "Memories of being helpless and unseeing and abandoned on the ground to be laughed at or picked up when it was convenient and not funny anymore. Of assholes flashing lights in her eyes and mocking her when her body lost control. So, if anyone knows what's happening, what you're feeling right now, she does." Stiles choked on a weak sob and lolled his head enough to bury it exhaustedly into the larger Beta's neck, greedily gasping in air that was scented by his friend and former Packmate, fresh tears beginning to leak down his cheeks as the sound of rushing footsteps and the soft squeaking glide of his wheelchair began to rapidly approach, the familiar sound of Ethan's heartbeat reaching for him along with his young Alpha's Aura, making Stiles go limp.

"You're not alone," Boyd murmured into Stiles sweat-drenched hair, and Stiles closed his eyes, and wept weakly as he let the world fade out.

Afterwards, he couldn't quite remember what happened. He remembered being rushed to the hospital, of his Dad and his Alphas all visiting, the scent of their worry like the smell of mushrooms, loamy and damp and earthy in his nose as he sipped water and dozed.

Of the hesitant, uncertain form of Mrs. McCall in the doorway, asking his Dad how he was and if she could come in. Of the two of them leaving together and Scott hovering in the doorway, nervous and upset and reeking of the thick, mildew scent of guilt and the rancid tinge of fear, before the familiar Aura of Kali was there, leading him away and out of Stiles temporarily depleted Hearing range.

Of His Alpha's Aura soothingly covering him as Deucalion took a shift in watching over him, and the sound of the pages turning in his book (He was reading the original Jurassic Park book, by Michael Crichton, this time) and the occasional crooning growl that was so low Stiles could only pick it up by focusing.

He remembers being awake enough that when Danny and Lydia joined Aiden and Ethan in visiting, he managed to weakly fist-bump the concerned Hawaiian boy, was able to see the dark worry in his pretty eyes lighten a bit as he offered a half-hearted smile. Lydia watched him with sharp, assessing eyes, darting over his still-frail body consideringly, before she had stalked forward and settled one small, delicate hand against his throat, feeling his pulse and claiming him all in one motion, and Stiles felt his torn instincts settle that much more under the move, sighing out as he settled to doze.

It took three days before he'd recovered enough to be released, his worse seizure yet, brought on by—

(Alpha, Derek, PLEASE!)

—lack of his Alphas presence and the abnormally long time it had taken to calm back down. He was home-bound for a further three days, his Dad puttering anxiously around him, asking questions about his care and learning how to do things himself under Ennis's surprisingly patient hands, hands that were firm but gentle as they moved Stiles around and helped him settle.

Kali would come straight to him after work, without even taking her shoes off, and stroke a hand over his head, set her cheek next to his, and just breath in his scent, reassuring herself that he wasn't getting worse.

Aiden and Ethan and Danny and Lydia visited every day after school, bringing him his homework and surrounding him with the energy and chatter and acting as normal as possible around him, something he found himself craving after the almost condescendingly soothing voices of the doctors and nurses, after the smell of mushrooms had filled the air so long that he'd worried that an actual fungus was beginning to grow.

At the end of his temporary banishment, however, he found himself being wheeled into the school by Danny, and there, standing, waiting for him, were Boyd and Erika, as inseparable and steady as they'd always been since the Bite and, in a flash of blond with a teeth-baring grin, his Catwoman had bound forward to all but snuggle her face against his, ignoring the low snarls of his Alpha Packmates.

"Brucie~!" She sang, leaning back to peer at his face intensely while she offered a seductive smirk. "It's rude to leave a lady waiting, you know," she purred, dragging her nails up his arms, ghosting over his neck to stroke into his soft, almost-fluffy hair, and Stiles managed to smile weakly, uncertainly, even as his shoulder relaxed.

"Well, Selina, it's a good thing you're no lady, isn't it?" He spoke, carefully, slowly, working hard not to slur, and it was worth it, to see the shadows in her eyes lighten as she playfully pouted and flounced away with a cute 'Hmph!' noise of fake insult, to sprawl across her boyfriends back and shoulders. Boyd merely smirked, easy and relaxed, even as his dark eyes raked first over Stiles form, and then over the three males at his back, Lydia having gone on ahead of the three earlier.

"You good, Stilinski?" He asked, arching a brow, and Stiles stared at him, silent and considering, before deciding that he and his Wolf could be strong in this, at least, and offered the larger Beta a smirk.

"That's what they say," he offered back, earning a sharp laugh from Erika and an amused snort from Boyd, a groan from Aiden and a laugh from Ethan as Danny just sighed fondly and stroked his hand over Stiles head affectionately, having picked up on how all of his Pack did it (Unknowingly including himself in their Scent, something that made Ethan all but giddy with smugness, enough that Kali had gotten Ennis to work the teenager through his paces, his brother soon joining him for his mocking while Stiles had remained, curled against His Alpha's side, watching from the safety of the couch).

"We have class," the responsible boy reminded, and the group moved as one, the two Beta's effortlessly sliding into the group with Erika's witty sarcasm and playful flirting counteracted by Boyd's calm, steady silence and Stiles took a slow, deep breath and smiled faintly to himself.

It was good to have his—

(Packmates, Family, HOME)

—Friends back, even if there were still a few missing.

Maybe, just maybe, in time, those friends would come back too, and the jagged wounds in his Soul could get a little better, a little less sharp.

Stiles looked forward to that day, but, for now, he was content to listen to his old and new Pack get along, trading insults and jokes and information, with him in the center, surrounded, grounded, by it all…

Smiling the whole time.

A/N: Okay, so, I did a bit of research for this chapter so I could get things right. Derek is Six Years Older than Stiles, who is Sixteen in Season One. Season One took place in 2011. This means Stiles Stilinski was born on April 8th, 1995, and that Derek was born, according to Canon, on December 25th, and would put him in the year 1989. In the current season, Stiles is 18 and Derek is 24, which means, by Canon, Derek is currently 22/23. Now, according to canon, the Hale Fire took place 6 years before Season one (Which is, again, 2011) making it happen in 2005, two/three years before Derek would have graduated, and so he wouldn't have shown up in any of the year books or anything for his Graduating Class in Beacon Hills because he would have already fled with Laura, you see?

I did my research!