Hey guys! This was a quick write up - the next chapter is gonna take longer - but I can promise you that the next chapter is going to have a nice amount of Sterek. So hang in there!

Stiles couldn't even say that the next few days were a blur, because they seemed to last forever. He didn't know where he was - he hardly knew who he was - but every time he thrashed his way into semi-consciousness, it was to be greeted by the same blurry face. Well, almost the same. Sometimes it was scowling and disgusted, and sometimes it was tight-lipped and concerned. He didn't bother trying to think about it too much. He couldn't.

During the initial couple of days, he spent most of his waking hours being violently sick. Even after the first few times had pretty much rid him of his lunch and breakfast - and liver and kidneys, it felt like - his stomach still heaved and rolled and made him more miserable than he could have ever believed possible. The concussion was bad enough, but they kept waking him up, waking him up, never letting him sleep. It was exhausting. His throat was burned and rough from retching so much, and though he thought that sometimes his silent companion forced him to drink water, he was still always thirsty.

If Stiles had been alert enough to really consider it, his condition would have made him very, very afraid. It felt like he was doing a good job of dying. Worse, he was dying alone.

He got better though. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself back to the world of the living. The next time the teen was roughly shaken, he woke up. Really woke up. His body was pretty much taking a prolonged vacation, but his mind was sharper than it had been in some time. And Ethan was there. Wordlessly, he helped Stiles sit up - the human's muscles were weak and sore and protested even that motion - and gave him a cup of water.

The dehydrated teen finished it without pausing for breath; he nearly choked at the end. It was sweet, as if someone had poured a packet of sugar in, but that was hardly a deterrent. His stomach was tight and the water sat in it uncomfortably, but he still looked for more. There was another glass by Ethan, but when Stiles reached for it, it was pulled from his grasp.

"Wait," the werewolf insisted. "See if you can hold that down."

Stiles wanted to protest, but his throat was too raw to use for pointless arguing. Instead he croaked, "Where's my dad?" Because really, that had been the whole point of all of this.

Even in the midst of his delirium, Stiles had thought of the Sheriff. His lined, strong face had floated, cloudlike, through his mind time and time again, and usually it was stained with blood or tears or both. And those had been the hardest times, because seeing his dad like that, with the concussion blurring the lines between horrifying imagination and reality, he had never been more tempted to just give up and say, 'I'm sorry dad. I let you down. This is all my fault and I can't fix this.'

At the height of his disorientation, he had whispered and cried those words, over and over, and Aiden had gotten up and left the small room, to seat himself in the hallway outside. Stiles couldn't have known, but the Alpha pressed his hands against his ears and thought of how he could possibly apologize to the Sheriff if his son died. He concluded that there was no easy way to say, "Sorry for murdering your child. He didn't deserve it, and I didn't mean to, but he's still dead." Once, when Stiles was at his worst and Deucalion had told them to dig a new grave, he had even cried, a few tears seen only by his brother.

Ethan had also been thinking but, in a way, he'd always been better at hiding and controlling his emotions than his twin. He had to be, considering he didn't often agree with the things Deucalion ordered them to do. He sure as hell didn't agree with him now. Werewolves had no business dragging humans into their world - this fiasco proved that, if nothing else - and vice versa.

None of that showed on Ethan's face when he flatly replied to Stiles' question. "He's not here. He never was. We called him, told him you were in a car accident on the other side of town, and he rushed off. You missed him by a few minutes. And then you left with us and he missed you by a few minutes."

"Huh." Stiles let himself fall back, tilting his head against the wall even though it hurt. He was exhausted and empty. "Well... that's good." What else could he say? There was a weak impulse in his chest to scream and swear and punch some werewolves in the face, but besides the fact that the third part of the plan would never work, he was just too tired. There was relief, yes, overpowering and all consuming, but also desolation, because it turned out his bravery had been for nothing.

It hadn't occurred to Stiles that they might be lying about having his father. He had panicked at the thought of his biggest fear being realized, of his dad dying because of him. He had tried to think clearly, to leave a trail, but no one had come to the rescue, so he had failed in that sense, too. Closing his eyes, Stiles thought, I guess that means that Deucalion won after all. He played me like an idiot. I'm so stupid.

And there was silence. Ethan had prepared himself for a flood of questions, but Stiles asked none. There wasn't any point. Deucalion hadn't even been there in person and he'd proven that Stiles was just a child blundering around and playing at being a grownup.

Why do I think I can keep up with any of them? Scott or Derek or this Alpha Pack? I keep telling myself that if I'm smart, if I study, if I try hard enough I might just be useful. But shit... I'm so wrong. What... Why would Deucalion want me, anyways? Something to do with Scott, definitely, for leverage, blackmail or information or something. I don't want to give them anything, but...

Stiles thought about the sour fear that had coiled in his stomach and made him queasy when Aiden had shifted and come after him in the hallway. He remembered the terror that had weakened his knees and made him all but worthless when Peter had hurt Lydia and forced him to reveal Scott's password and username. He didn't acknowledge the guts, initiative and ingenuity he had shown in either situation, traits that had - at least in part - saved the day. Sunk into a sudden bout of self loathing and -yeah - self pity, he didn't notice Ethan's eyes abruptly narrowing.

"Seriously?!" The explosive question jerked Stiles from his swamped mind, and he looked over. "What?"

"Is that seriously it? You're just going to sulk?"

The déjà vu the accusation provoked was accompanied by a wave of irritation that served, at least a little, to help him push away his unknowingly undeserved contempt.

"I am not sulking!" he barked, sitting up straighter and then cringing at the discomfort that caused. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because yours in not a face for sorrow." That was definitely not Ethan. Stiles looked up sharply, and his brown eyes narrowed at the blind man who entered the room, one hand lightly placed on Aiden's arm. Instantly Ethan rose and stepped away from the human, and it definitely felt as though there was a line being drawn in the small room.

Stiffening, Stiles met Deucalion's sightless, sunglass stare evenly. "So," he said with deliberate casualness, "did you just make that up or have you got a collection of Braille Shakespeare tucked away somewhere?"

Both twins bristled, but the other werewolf just chuckled, a nightmarish echo of his laugh over the phone. "I made it up, sad to say. Not one of my more clever statements, I must admit. But Stiles, you should know more than most that everyone fails sometimes. Especially if they try an activity that just isn't right for them." He tilted his head and continued. "For example, trying to keep up with a pack of werewolves when you're just an ordinary human."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, only a little unsteadily. "An ordinary human trying that would be pretty weird. Almost as weird as a blind man leading a bunch of Hulk-outs who pick fights for reasons unknown and generally make a nuisance of themselves."

"Reasons unknown to you," Deucalion pointed out, and his voice had become much sharper. It softened slightly when he added, "And besides, I'm no ordinary blind man. I have powers far greater than those seen before. I am... special."

Swallowing against the dryness of his throat, trying to ignore the intense hunger pangs in his stomach, Stiles asked, "Did your mom tell you that? Cause my mom said about the same thing and -"

He didn't see Deucalion's curt gesture, but suddenly Aiden was lifting him up and yanking his right arm behind his back, making his muscles scream in protest at the movement. Forced onto his tiptoes in order to keep Aiden from applying pressure to his shoulder, Stiles dropped both sarcasm and his gaze, though he clung to his bravado.

Staring at his scuffed shoes, blinking back tears of pain, the teen said flatly, "I'm not afraid of you. I know you won't kill me."

"True on only one count, unfortunately." Deucalion made another motion, and abruptly Stiles' arm was being ripped off. Not literally, but it felt like it, and he choked on the agony, couldn't even scream, let alone breathe past it. Aiden held him like that for a minute or so and then relaxed his brutal grip, and Stiles sagged, panting and gasping for air. Completely motionless, Ethan looked on without expression, and Stiles abandoned that particular hope.

"All humans are afraid of pain," Deucalion told him distantly. "It's only natural, seeing as you all die so easily. And that's why you should be very afraid of me; because you're right, I have no intention of killing you."

Again the excruciating pain was back, and a sickening pop announced Stiles' shoulder dislocating. He found, somewhere, the breath to scream. As the first tortured sound faded away, Aiden made another harsh manipulation and, accompanied by a quieter clicking, his shoulder was forced back into place. Stiles screamed again, and the noise trailed into a whimper as the Alpha twin released him entirely, stepped away, and allowed him to collapse to his knees.

With clipped precision, Deucalion made his way forward and dropped to a crouch in front of the human. His slender hand forced Stiles' chin up, nails digging lightly into the pale skin. Stiles had his eyes closed, breathing heavily through his nose to keep back the sobs, but he could still hear the blind werewolf.

"Let me make this perfectly clear, Stiles. I have no interest in hurting you. I take no joy in seeing you in pain. It is time consuming and pointless. You will find this difficult to believe, but I honestly just want what is best - and that means for your pack as well as mine. But let us be honest. It is a simple fact that you will help me. There can be no dispute of that. The only question left then is, 'Will you help me willingly?' And if you're smart, which I believe you are, the answer will be yes."

The fingers left Stiles' chin, and a moment later, from farther away, Deucalion said, "I'll give you a few hours to think of the right answer."

He knew it was Ethan who stated behind and forced a mug into his shaking hands. Opening his eyes to reluctant slits, Stiles stared at the cloudy water for a moment before taking a small sip and then a larger gulp. The liquid was incredibly refreshing, but it was sharply contrasted by the sharp ache in his shoulder, by the helplessness in his throat. He's right. I... I can't hand much more of that. But I can't just sell out my friends because of a little pain.

Only it wasn't just a little. He'd never hurt so much.

Echoing his thoughts, Ethan muttered, "Deucalion's right you know. You are going to help us. No one can hold out when Aiden does that to them. Especially not a human."

Clenching the mug to keep from shuddering at the thought of what Aiden did to him, Stiles mumbled hoarsely, "You guys give humans such a bad rap." He paused, and then whispered, "We're stronger than you think." I really hope that's true.

"Why? Why be stronger? Are you really so set against helping us that you'd risk more?"

Stiles' head snapped around, and he set down the cup with a hard thud. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'm 'set against' helping you! Your maniac leader has threatened Derek and Scott, kidnapped Erica, Boyd and Isaac, and pretty much said that he'll be waging war against Derek until he joins your pack."

There was something there, a cloud across Ethan's guileless face, but the Alpha banished it so quickly Stiles wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it. Ethan's next statement completely distracted him from the look.

"What are you going on about? This - you being here - has absolutely nothing to do with Derek. Deucalion wants you to work for us, yeah, and that might sometimes involve your little hybrid bunch of friends, but it doesn't actually affect them in any way." Again, the shadow slid momentarily across his face, but Stiles was too busy processing to information to notice.

"It doesn't...?" he repeated slowly, and then with increased agitation, "It doesn't have anything to do with Derek?" That was relief and devastation delivered in the same package, and he found he was really starting to get tired of the double standards. Anger creased his voice when he demanded, "Then why am I here?"

Flexing his fingers, Ethan stood. In a tone that indicated it should be obvious, the Alpha said, "We need your help with something that's actually a threat to us. I'm going to grab you some food and ice for your shoulder." He turned to leave.

Stiles scrambled to his feet, swayed, and automatically flung out his injured arm to catch himself on the wall. Yelping at the mistake, he fell back into the wall instead and called indignantly, "You can't just dump that on me and then go! What is 'actually' a threat to a pack like yours?"

Ethan had smiled thinly at Stiles' antics, but the smile quickly departed. He stopped just outside the room, halfway through closing the door, and growled. It was an actual snarl, and when he verbally answered, the threatening sound still lingered in his voice. "Right now, just one thing. The Darach.

And he shut the door, locking it with a firm motion, and had to suppress a grimly amused grin as a human howl rose from behind the door.

"Ethan! What the hell is a Darach?"