Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

Read on, oh faithful ones...

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Chapter One

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There's a darkness in Stiles - he thought he'd be able to handle the darkness that Deaton had warned them about, but after the nogitsune, he's not sure of much anymore. He can't handle it when his friends - his pack - leave him behind to fight the latest monster because they don't know if they can trust him yet. (Peter's allowed to go with them, and if that isn't the biggest kick in the guts, then Stiles doesn't know what is.) He can't handle being left behind, so Stiles follows them. Probably not his smartest idea to date, but he can't sit around while they're putting their lives in danger. Not again.

He arrives in time to see the crux of the fighting, and finds the latest monster wrapped around Derek so that he can't attack and is slowly choking him. The others surround them, but all of them are screaming in pain. Stiles can't see what's making them do that, but he vaguely remembers them mentioning something about this monster being similar to the Kanima's paralytic toxin. He covers his mouth with his large red handkerchief in case it's an airborne toxin, and runs into the warehouse with his bat swinging. Stiles imagines that the bat will hit the creature and make a difference, trying to work with his spark (something he had before the nogitsune and the darkness, and that's something he needs right now), and even though he's the one telling himself it will work, Stiles is still surprised as fuck when it actually does. The bat connects with the back of the creature's head and it falls away from Derek, hissing in pain. Stiles rolls away from the thing's tail, his body working smoother than it used to, and the tail hits the ground instead of his leg.

The creature turns around to attack Stiles, but then Derek's standing in front of him growling and his eyes glowing blue, his fangs and claws extended. Stiles stands up and moves beside him, briefly taking in the bruises and cuts that have yet to heal on Derek's body. Spark or not, this creature's more lethal than Stiles and Derek can handle on their own, and Stiles knows that to win, there's only one thing he can to do. Hopefully he'll be able to come back from this, he thinks to himself, and Stiles kind of blacks out as he lets the darkness inside take over him completely.

When Stiles comes to again, it's to find Derek holding him back, arms wrapped around him firmly and telling him it's over now. His hands are wet and slippery with blood, and Stiles struggles to breathe properly, even though he realises it's not his own or Derek's blood. He slumps against Derek's hold, gasping and his lungs burning, his eyes squeezed shut so he won't have to see what he's done. He still can't breathe, and he faints in Derek's embrace.

The next time Stiles opens his eyes, a few minutes have passed and this time, Derek's the one kneeling over him, slapping his face gently. Stiles gasps for air and sits up abruptly, his eyes wide and chest heaving.

"Did I kill it?" he asked quietly, clutching to Derek's ruined Henley tightly.

"Yeah, Stiles, you killed it," Derek replied, glancing over to what little was left of the creature.

Even Peter was shocked by what Stiles had done, and for a psychopath, that was definitely saying something.

"I didn't kill anyone else, did I?" Stiles asked, his heartbeat frantic and racing.

"No, just the monster. Everyone else is fine. We're alive, thanks to you," Derek replied, rubbing his back in gentle circles.

He stays there with Stiles, rubbing his back and calming him. Derek refuses to move until the globs of organs, blood, entrails, and skin that were scattered through the warehouse were disposed of by the rest of the pack. He also refuses to let Stiles to see any of it, and Stiles doesn't protest, staying in Derek's embrace until Derek stands and tugs Stiles to his feet. As far as Derek is concerned, Stiles had saved them all, and that's all there is to it.

...

Stiles knows that he's probably made it worse. Scott refuses to even look at him anymore - at least before he looked at him, warily though it was - and Lydia flinches when he's close. He stays home a lot, refusing to even go to pack meetings, and no one seems to miss him. His father's working overtime, what with the Oni having killed more than four police officers in one night (on top of the deaths caused by Matt controlling the Kanima, Stiles knows how short staffed they are at the station and doesn't blame his father for the extra work; it's his fault anyway), and there are some nights when the Sheriff doesn't come home at all. Stiles tells himself that he hasn't seen his father because of the late nights and early mornings, and tries not to listen to the voice in his head saying that his own father's avoiding him. (It sounds like the nogitsune, and Stiles knows that's a bad thing, but that doesn't seem to stop the voice.)

Two weeks pass, and it's like the world's fading around him. In that time, he's only seen his father four times, despite the new police officer's they've hired at the station; he only sees Scott and Lydia in class or at lacrosse (he's back on the bench); Isaac looks at him like he doesn't know whether to run away or scream; Danny apparently knows about werewolves but refuses to talk; and Stiles doesn't know Kira well enough to try to talk to her (he doubts she'll want to talk to him anyway, since he's the one that tried to have her killed). Then the summer holidays start and his contact with the outside world reduces to nil pretty damn fast. Scott's off with Kira most of the time, Danny and Lydia go to visit Jackson in London, Peter's disappeared for whatever reason, Isaac buddies up to Chris Argent and they go on a bonding hunting trip to France or something, and it's three full weeks before anyone takes it upon themselves to reply to any of Stiles' messages and emails (it's Scott responding with 'k' to a very lengthy text Stiles had sent; Scott knows how much he hates one letter texts, damn him!).

It's such a clusterfuck of everything that Stiles decides to leave for good, for everyone's sake. He starts packing a bag, shoving random shirts and pants in, scooping socks and underwear straight into the duffel bag. He'll go to the bank ATM, withdraw all of his cash, fill Roscoe's tank to the brim, and just leave. No one will notice, no one will care, and no one will come looking for him. They'll all continue with their lives, just as they should have before he fucked them up (before he killed one of them; before he killed someone again), and that's all there is to it.

He's in the kitchen, duffel bag sitting on the counter as he decides what to take with him (the Pop Tarts, obviously, or his dad will eat them and that's not good for his heart; Stiles wonders if the bacon will survive the trip in his Jeep, and decides to eat it before he leaves instead), when there's a knock at the front door. He frowns as he opens the door, wondering who the hell's knocking, since Scott's usually the only one to visit him and he never knocks.

"Derek?"

"Stiles," he replied easily. "Mind if I come in?"

"Uh, sure," Stiles muttered, stepping back. "What's wrong? Is there another creature? Lydia's still got the Bestiary, and she's over in London..."

"Nothing's wrong, Stiles. I wanted to see how you were doing," Derek said, glancing into the kitchen and stopping short, looking back over his shoulder to frown at Stiles. "Planning on taking a road trip?"

"Yeah, a permanent one," Stiles muttered, not bothering to try and lie to the werewolf.

"Why?"

Stiles' eyes widened in disbelief. "Why?! Why? How about because my best friend won't even look at me? My dad's spent so much time at the station that I can't pretend that he's not terrified of me anymore. My friends - my pack - left me behind to go get themselves killed because they can't trust me, and I don't blame them because I can't even trust myself! I can't sleep because I have nothing but nightmares. I can't do anything right, even when I try to save people, and I can't take this anymore. I'm leaving, and there's nothing you can say to stop me."

Derek listens calmly as he rants, and eventually just nods. "All right, if that's what you want to do... You're not really planning on taking your Jeep, are you?"

"Yes," Stiles said, surprised that he wasn't trying to stop him.

Derek rolled his eyes. "You'll never get to the next town in that thing. Where are you heading? I'll drive you."

"What? You're not going to stop me?" Stiles asked.

"No. You're an adult now, Stiles, and if you want to leave Beacon Hills, you can do that. Trust me, I know what it feels like to have to leave a place you grew up in, and a need to escape everything. If you need to leave, then you need to leave. Now, do you have your pillow?" Derek asked.

Stiles frowns, expecting the question to be condescending, but he can't hear any malice or a single taunt in Derek's tone. "No, I was going to get it last, along with my sleeping bag."

"All right. When do you plan on leaving?" Derek asked.

"Uh, after breakfast, I guess. Get an early start."

Derek nodded. "Get started on breakfast then, I'll go get my car."

"You mean you ran all the way here?" Stiles called to Derek's retreating form, not surprised when he didn't receive a reply.

Derek returns about fifteen minutes later, Stiles easily recognising the sound of his Camaro pulling into the driveway smoothly. He plates up the bacon and toast, figuring he can offer breakfast since Derek's been surprisingly good natured about all of this.

"Do you want some juice with your food?" he called over his shoulder as the front door opened, his head stuck in the fridge as he tried to decide what else needed to be eaten before his departure.

"Sure," Derek answered, echoed by a heavy clunk on the kitchen counter that made Stiles look up quickly.

He frowned at the sight of a big black duffel bag sitting on the counter. "What's that?"

"My bag."

"Your bag? What do you have a bag for?" Stiles asked, his frown deepening.

"I'm going with you," Derek replied simply.

"What? Why?"

"Beacon Hills already has an Alpha to protect it, and a wolf should always protect their anchor."

"Anchor?" Stiles echoed, surprised. Since when?

He doesn't voice the last part out loud, but Derek must recognise the question on his face, because he answered a moment later. "Since I talked to my mother. I didn't have as much anger left as I thought I would, and I ... I trust you," Derek admitted, shrugging.

Stiles snorts in disbelief at that. "No one trusts me right now; not even I trust me. Especially not after what happened at the warehouse..."

"You mean you saving all of us from being killed?" Derek pointed out firmly, refusing to let Stiles continue. "I trust you, Stiles. I watched you in the warehouse, and even when you were at your worst - " here, an expression passes Derek's face that Stiles has never seen before and couldn't hope to analyse " - you still kept your head and didn't go near any of us. You made sure that whatever you became was only focused on the specific threat, and didn't even try to hurt Scott when he went Alpha on you. I mean, you took a swipe at him, but it was to keep him back more than anything. You could've destroyed all of us, Stiles, but you didn't."

Stiles laughed a little nervously. "Great, I could kill an entire pack of werewolves. That's just great to hear."

"You're not listening, Stiles. I said that you could have, and I specifically added that you did not hurt or harm any of us. We're your pack, and you wouldn't hurt us knowingly - not when you're the one in control," Derek said firmly, as if he actually believed every word.

Stiles looked at Derek for a moment, the silence stretching between them. "I... I don't even know if Iwas the one in control there," he admitted out loud for the first time, even to himself. "I don't remember a thing, just like when it was the nogitsune. What if there's still a piece of it inside of me?"

"There isn't; I'd be able to smell it on you. What happened in the warehouse wasn't exactly you, but it wasn't the nogitsune either. It felt more like... a different version of you, if that makes sense?"

"Not really, but I suppose it's better than an evil demonic fox hellbent on chaos and killing everyone I love," Stiles muttered, rubbing his hand over his face as he laughed hollowly.

"Do you want to try training with it? You can get better connected with whatever it is inside of you, and it should give you a better semblance of control. I could help you; if you'd like my help, that is?" Derek added quickly.

Stiles nodded before he really processed the question itself. Derek seemed pleased with his answer, and Stiles started on his breakfast before it could get cold. As soon as they'd finished eating, Derek guided Stiles out through to the backyard before he could change his mind.

"We can practice in the forest until I've found somewhere more suitable."

From there, Derek commandeered Stiles' attention until they were in a clearing in the forest and he doubted he'd be able to make his way back without needing Derek's help.

"Now, do you think you can do what you did at the warehouse again?" Derek asked, standing a metre away from Stiles and watching him.

"Uh, I don't know. It was a kind of a spur of the moment thing, y'know? I don't think..."

"Lie," Derek muttered. "Let's try that again, Stiles."

Stiles tugged on the sleeve of his plaid shirt, scuffing his shoe at a clump of grass. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so much a spur of the moment thing as he'd've liked it to be. Maybe he'd been trying to ignore this and didn't trust himself with it - whatever it was. Maybe he'd hoped that by ignoring it, it would go away and let him live a normal life again. But Derek didn't look like he cared about any of that, and besides, he said he trusted Stiles. He needed someone to trust him again, even if that someone wasn't himself right now.

"Okay, get ready for it," Stiles muttered.

He closed his eyes, metaphorically felt down for the darkness wrapped around his heart, and then ... blacked out.

Stiles came to, Derek straddling his legs and barely holding his arms down. He went still immediately, letting out a yelp of surprise and shock, and then that yelp turned into a low groan of pain because his whole body ached.

"What-what happened?" he asked, licking his dry lips.

"We trained for a good hour or so. You fight dirty, Stiles," Derek replied simply, grinning as he stood and brushed his jeans off.

"I do?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"Yes. Don't worry, you'll remember more with time; your body's just getting used to the switch right now. It's the same with wolves," he added, reassuring Stiles before he really had a chance to freak out completely. "Sometimes they'll lose hours or days at a time because they don't know how to share the same space with another creature."

"Another creature? What is it? It's not another fox, is it?" he asked, his heart sinking.

"No, not a fox. It's... It's hard to explain; it's kind of like a wolfed up version of you. It's still you, bad jokes included, but you're bloodthirsty, and you've got claws. Sharp ones, too," Derek muttered, looking down at the tears in his henley.

Stiles' eyes widened and stopped Derek quickly, a hand on his arm. He lined up his fingers with the five tears on Derek's shirt, his heart beating erratically when they fit perfectly.

"I did that?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Yes, you did. I think it's part of you being a spark; you seem to think of something and it just happens. The claws changed into talons at one point. I think they did, at least; it was difficult to tell when you were trying to tear my intestines out as a joke."

"A... I... what?"

"A joke. You know: I tear your throat out, you tear my intestines out... It was probably funnier at the time," Derek admitted, scratching the back of his head.

"Sounds hilarious," Stiles deadpanned.

Derek just grins slightly and they continue back to the Stilinski residence in silence. Stiles' body hurts too much to even think about leaving Beacon Hills today - he needs a shower, a first aid kit, and about twenty solid hours of sleep. Preferably in that order. Derek doesn't bother leaving, even though Stiles expects him to leave the moment they finished training. He is surprised to find that Derek is still in his room after he finishes his shower, and is extremely grateful for the fact when Derek helpshim apply various creams, salves, and bandaids to the scratches he'd received (even though Derek rolled his eyes at the Batman bandaids, Stiles knew he was just teasing).

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles murmured with a yawn, the pain medication making him sleepy. "Stay until I fall asleep?" he asked, his eyes already closing.

"All right, Stiles," Derek replied quietly.

Stiles snuggles up to the blanket that's tucked around his body a moment later, and falls asleep easily for the first time in months.

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End of the first chapter.

Thanks for reading!