Hello all! So sorry for the long gap between updates; I kinda of got sidetracked with this story and was waiting for the new season to start to regain my inspiration. And, my God, did it ever deliver! Stiles, you guys! I can't. *flailing*

Anyway, be sure to keep in mind that this is pre-Darach throw down so if the twins come off as dick-ish that's why. Also, I'm really sorry if Lydia and Erica seem OOC; I was trying to keep them true to character but still be worried and touchy with Stiles. Hope you all like it! :D

"They even give it physical and emotional comfort by intensely grooming it." -Peter Hale, S3E11 (Alpha Pact)

"You haven't been sleeping well," Lydia murmurs quietly, somehow managing to keep her eyes on her paper and give Stiles a once over at the same time.

The boy doesn't answer, opting instead to allow his elbow to slide across the table top a bit more and sink his chin further into the palm of his hand. He's not sure if the reaction is from pain, exhaustion, or boredom in chemistry but he's willing to take what he can get.

It's his first day back to school since the wreck, his body still miserably sore and bruised all over. His dad had tried to talk him into staying home for a few more days, just until he was feeling better, but Stiles refused. Not only was staying home, wallowing in pain, not the most exciting way to spend his day but to make matters worse, he couldn't even sleep through it. The nightmares have become more frequent now, every night and nearly every time he closes his eyes. They haunt him and hound him, plaguing his dreams and keeping him from getting a decent night's sleep. There are times when he feels so tired that he can only hope to override the dreams through pure exhaustion but it never works, the nightmares always find a way to come back. It's miserable and it makes the situation ten times worse than it should be and there's nothing he can do about it.

"I'm fine," he lies, his own voice sounding strained and bone-weary when he speaks. The words come out as an unfamiliar croak, raw and dry like leaves frozen on a branch, and he clears his throat softly. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Lydia counters easily, glancing up from her paper and meeting his eyes. Her eyebrows knit together just slightly, expression troubled, and she shakes her head. "You look terrible, like you haven't slept in a week."

Stiles resists the urge to sigh, settling instead with passing his hand through his hair roughly. "Thank you for pointing that out, Lydia. As if I wasn't self-conscious enough about my dashing good looks already."

"I'm serious, Stiles," Lydia says with a frown, turning to face him fully. "You have bags under the bags under your eyes and you look like you haven't slept more than two hours in the past four days." She frowns again, glancing back over her shoulder. "Do the others know about this? Is there something you're not telling them? Because if there is then you need to-"

"Lydia, it's fine, alright?" Stiles snaps, the words coming out a bit sharper than he means them to. He clears his throat again and amends, "I'm not hiding anything; it's just dreams about the wreck. It's nothing."

Lydia's frown doesn't fade but her eyes soften a bit. "Have you gone to see Ms. Morrell?"

Stiles shakes his head slowly. "No, I'm not exactly in need of guidance right now."

Lydia resists the urge to roll her eyes. "No, but she's a counselor and she may be able to offer some advice on how to deal with the dreams. It's kind of in her job description to help teenagers through various high school crises."

"Ms. Martin," a voice snaps from the front of the classroom, Mr. Harris's eyes leveled on the table Lydia and Stiles are occupying. "You seem to be in an awfully talkative mood today. Would you care to tell us the answer to problem 15?"

Lydia smiles sweetly and answers without looking down at her book. "Yes, Mr. Harris. The compound is cupric sulfate, a combination of copper and sulfuric acid. The blue color arises from water molecules attached to the copper ions; yellow and red light is absorbed leaving a crystalline blue behind in its place. Great for controlling algae in waterways and pools and for creating a blue-green flame in fireworks."

A twitter of laughter ripple around the classroom and Harris's eyes narrow a bit behind the lenses of his glasses. Lydia just offers him another sweet smile, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"Finish your work quietly," Harris mutters, glancing around the classroom as he speaks, locking eyes with Lydia and Stiles once more. "This assignment is due by the end of class. Anyone who doesn't finish can make it up after school in detention."

Stiles doesn't even have it in him to look up and see Harris's eyes flicker his way. Jerk. You'd think he'd give the injured kid a pass considering the circumstances but you'd be mistaken; Harris didn't allow for slacking from anyone in his class.

Lydia looks back down at her book, finishing the questions assigned for the day and moving onto the next chapter, one they haven't even covered in class yet. She breezes through the next set of questions easily. "Like I was saying," she murmurs quietly, working through an equation without so much as a hitch. "You should speak with Ms. Morrell, it might help."

"Lydia, seriously, it's not that-"

"Stiles, please?" Lydia cuts in, looking up from her book and meeting his eyes. She's not being sarcastic or dismissive now, she's looking at him with absolute sincerity. She's worried about him, concern bleeding into her expression and flickering clearly in her eyes. And, damn it all, Stiles has never been able to deny her anything.

"Okay," he says with a soft sigh, defeated before the force of nature that is Lydia Martin. "I'll go during lunch."

"Thank you," Lydia says with a quirk of her lips. She knows Stiles will say yes to anything she asks and she's not ashamed to admit that she's using it to her advantage now. If it will help out in the end, she'll use every tool she has in her arsenal. "Here," she says, passing him a sheet of paper. "So your dad doesn't threaten to throw Mr. Harris in jail for giving you detention today."

Stiles looks down at the sheet and sees the completed formulas and answers from the chemistry book. He tries to laugh but it hurts so he settles for a smirk instead. "You're letting me copy your work?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lydia counters quietly, pulling out her notebook and sketching what looks like a tree.

Stiles smiles again and copies down the answers without another word; he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He finishes copying the last problem about thirty seconds before the bell rings and passes the sheet of paper back under Lydia's notebook before Harris can see it.

It takes substantially longer for him to gather his things while fighting with the crutch and his arm in a sling. The other class is already beginning to filter in by the time he gets everything together and he's somewhat surprised to see Lydia waiting by the door for him.

"What?" She asks, quirking an eyebrow innocently. "Your next class is down the hall from mine, I figure it can't hurt to walk together. Besides, if you trip over your crutch in the hallway I'll need photo evidence for future blackmail purposes." She gives him another sweet smile that's the closest thing to saying I'm worried about you and I'm making sure you don't trip and die in the hallway without her actually saying it. Once again, Stiles takes the offer without a word.

The hallway is still crowded and full of passing students when they step out of the classroom, kids milling about through the hall and hanging out by their lockers before the bell rings. Lydia leads the way but walks noticeably slower for Stiles's benefit. Navigating between students and through the hallway is a bit of a trick but Stiles manages it. He's almost worked up the courage to walk a bit faster to catch up to Lydia when the elbow catches him in his fractured ribs.

White-hot agony explodes in his side, shooting through him like an electric current. He lets out a choking, startled gasp and staggers in the hallway. He would have crashed the ground in a graceless heap had a hand not caught him by the arm in a vice-like grip. The fingers are digging into his bicep painfully, bruises forming on top of bruises, and Stiles grits his teeth in a grimace as he looks up.

One of the Alpha twins has him by the arm, Aidan or Ethan, he's not sure which. The boy gives him a lupine grin, flashing a startling amount of teeth in the process. "Sorry Stilinski, didn't see you there," he says with the same wolfish smile.

Stiles is light-headed from the pain, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Lydia has turned back to face him, seeming to notice that the other boy had fallen behind.

"You know, you should really be more careful when you run with wolves," Ethan/Aidan tells him, his eyes switching to a horrible crimson that washes out all other color. Stiles feels his heart stutter to a stop, a sick, cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He's seen that color before, burning behind his eyes and piercing him to the core. He saw it the night of the crash, glowing red eyes that peered down at him like a worthless insect. Similar to the eyes that are staring down at him now. "It's really not good for your health."

Stiles staggers backwards just as the wolf releases his arm. His back slams into a wall of lockers, jarring his injured shoulder and slicing through to his fractured ribs. It should hurt like hell, the pain should bring him to his knees and leave him a sobbing mess. He doesn't feel anything. He doesn't feel the pain or the impact because he can't breathe. His breath hitches in his throat, chest shuddering uselessly as he struggles to breathe. His lung are paralyzed, a two ton weight settled on his sternum, and his head is swimming in a fog.

His legs give out from under him and he can feel the cold solidity of the lockers scraping against his back as he slides down to the floor. There's a crowd of students around him now, some looking panicked, some looking confused like they're not really sure how to react. In the middle of all of them, Lydia bursts through and slides to her knees by Stiles's side.

"Stiles?! What's wrong? What happened?" Lydia asks frantically, her eyes wide and voice raising an octave or two as she speaks. Stiles wants to answer her, really he does, but his throat is constricted to the point of nearly closing completely. Black dots are beginning to swarm in his peripheral vision and there's a distinct ringing in his ears that's loud enough to drown out the sound of his pounding heart.

"Lydia? What- oh my God! Stiles!" A new voice cries from somewhere in the crowd and Stiles can blearily make out Allison dropping down beside Lydia. Her hands are on his knee, small and warm, and they're fluttering around anxiously like she's not sure where to touch him without causing more pain. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Lydia replies shakily, her eyes wide and watery like she's about to cry. Stiles wants to tell her not to cry, she's too pretty to cry. Stiles also wants to be able to breathe again but that seems to be asking a lot right now.

"He's having a panic attack," another voice breaks through the fog, amazingly calm and collected in the midst of all the panic. Stiles could seriously kiss Scott right now if he could see him through the blackening edges of his vision.

His best friend's face swims into focus for a split second and he feels large, warm hands bracket either side of his face. Scott's face fades in and out for a second, the blurring matching in time with Stiles's heartbeat, and he struggles to focus on him.

"Stiles, hey. Listen to me," Scott says, speaking slowly and clearly, his voice cutting through the haze in the other boy's mind. Freaky werewolf powers...they even worked on humans. Go figure. "I need you to take a deep breath for me okay?"

Stiles feels himself shake his head before he's even aware of the movement. I can't. I can't. I. Can't. Hot tears are spilling down his face now, rolling down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw only to be caught in the fabric of his shirt. He's shaking all over, a horrible wheezing gasp escaping from his throat, and to anyone else, it would probably look like he was dying. Scott is unperturbed.

"Yes, you can," Scott says, countering the denial Stiles's was repeating over and over in his head like a mantra. "I know you can. We've done this before, remember?" One hand moves away from his face and moves down to grasp one of the other teen's hands. Stiles's fingers are knotted into a fist so tightly that he can't even feel them anymore; his knuckles feel like they've been frozen into a perpetual ball. Scott manages to work his fingers loose after a few seconds and places Stiles's now un-fisted hand against his chest. Almost instantly, Stiles's fingers curl back into a fist, clenching a handful of Scott's shirt so tightly that the fabric threatens to rip in his fingers. It's tight enough to bruise and probably be very painful but Scott isn't fazed.

"I'm going to count to three, okay?" Scott asks, locking eyes with Stiles and placing one hand over the fisted one tangled in his shirt. "And when I say three, I want to you take a breath like me, okay?"

Stiles shakes his head again, the movement weak and uncoordinated. "Can't…" he gasps, his voice coming out in a breathy wheeze.

"You can, I promise. Just trust me, okay? I wouldn't lie to you," Scott tell him, his eyes flickering gold for a brief second. "On three. Ready?"

He's not, he knows he's not, but he can't muster up the strength to shake his head or speak again to say so.

"One, two, three." Through the death grip he has on Scott's shirt, Stiles can feel the other teen take a slow, deep breath. Stiles tries to match it, tries to make his own breath a mirror image of Scott's but he fails miserably. He gets a slight hitch and a shudder and a small gasp of air filters through his constricted throat and into his lungs.

"Good, that's good," Scott praises, squeezing Stiles's wrist encouragingly. "I'm not going to count this time but I want you to take a deep breath every time I do, okay? Every time you feel me breathe, I want you to do the same thing. Got it?"

Once again, Stiles doesn't have the energy to respond so his simply tightens his fingers in Scott's shirt and waits for him to breathe. The first breath is slow and even like the one before it and Stiles struggles to follow. His own breathing is shaky and shallow, his lungs only expanding a fraction of their full capacity, but even that small amount of oxygen is helping to clear his head and wash away some of the black spots from his vision. Scott breathes again and Stiles follows, squeezing his eyes closed against the tears still spilling down his face. He can vaguely feel Lydia and Allison's hands on him, one on his knee, one on his ankle, one on his shoulder; it's steadying and grounding, anchoring him to the world around him instead of letting him get lost in his own panic.

He takes another shuddering breath, fingers still tangled in Scott's shirt. His lungs feel heavy, like they're full of quicksand, shifting and moving every time he takes a breath. He's able to take a deeper breath the next time around, fighting through the weighted tightness in his chest and feeling his lungs expand a bit more. He's still shaking but now he can't tell if it's from the attack or relief.

"Good, Stiles. You're doing good," Scott assures him, squeezing his wrist encouragingly. "Just remember: slow, deep breaths."

Stiles nods weakly and feels his head tip back and bounce against the lockers behind him. The crowd of students is still huddled around them even though the bell signalling the start of the next period has already rung. The idea of going back to class is mentally exhausting and Stiles feels himself sag against the lockers a bit more. "Scott…" he starts, but his voice is raw and breathy, fading slightly as he speaks.

"It's okay," Scott replies, seeming to realize what the other boy is trying to say without him finishing the sentence.

Stiles opens his eyes slowly to meet Scott's but the other teen isn't looking at him. His gaze is focused elsewhere, down the hall to the edge of the lockers where one of the Alpha twins is standing. The twin grins at him, a flash of red in his eyes that reflects crimson under the florescent lights of the school. Scott's eyes flicker gold in response, his teeth sharp as he clenches his jaw, and a low growl builds in his throat.

"Scott," Allison's voice cuts through the growl and she shifts herself into his line of vision. "Scott," she says a bit louder, her voice sharp and commanding as she tries to get his attention. An Argent through and through.

Scott blinks, the gold fading from his eyes as he look at her. "What do you want us to do?" Allison asks, her voice measured and even. She's still in his line of sight, blocking the twin from view, and she refuses the move until she gets her answer.

Scott blinks again, seeming to come out of his murderous werewolf state, and shakes his head. "Take him up front to the office. I'll call Derek and get him to come pick him up; he doesn't need to be here like this."

Allison nods and Lydia gets to her knees beside her, one hand sliding behind Stiles's shoulders and gently pulling him away from the lockers.

Stiles tries to muffle the gasp of pain that escapes him as Lydia attempts to help him up but he's not very successful. Lydia's eyes widen, the apology already on her lips, when another hand comes down to help.

"It's okay, I got him," Danny tells her, kneeling down beside Stiles and carefully lifting him up off the ground. It takes some work, Lydia and Allison both contributing to the effort, but they manage to get Stiles off the ground and somewhat standing again. Stiles, for his part, is clinging to Danny tightly with his good arm, his breathing still shaky and slightly uneven.

"Come on, man," Danny says gently, keeping the smaller teen tucked protectively against his side. "Let's get you home." He walks slowly, carefully navigating his way through the now dissipating crowd of students in the hallway. Lydia follows along beside them, Stiles's backpack slung over one arm. Allison starts to follow but hesitates, looking at Scott instead.

"Go with them," he tells her quietly, his eyes focused on Danny and Stiles's retreating forms. "Make sure Stiles gets picked up okay."

"What are you going to do?" The hunter asks, her dark eyes flickering between Scott and the place where the twin was standing. He's gone now, disappeared into the labyrinth of halls in the school, but she knows he's still close by. Alphas don't run from a fight.

"I'm going to have a talk with our friendly, neighborhood Alpha pack," Scott responds with a rumbling growl deep in his throat.

Allison catches his wrist firmly before he can go running off down the hall. There's no way to stop him, she knows that, but she can at least lend a few words of wisdom. "Don't do anything stupid," she mumbles quietly, well-aware that the twin can probably still hear her speaking.

"I'll do my best," Scott assures her but the look in his eye says he's out for blood.

She lets go of his wrist and watches as Scott turns on his heel and walks down the hall in the direction the twin was last seen. The halls are nearly empty now, classes now being called into session, completely oblivious to what had just unfolded in the hallway. Scott isn't fooled; he can smell another wolf from a mile away and the hallways are not that long.

Scott rounds a corner at the end of the hall, his eyes landing on the Alpha twin standing in the middle of the hallway like a welcoming party. His eyes flash red while Scott's flash gold and suddenly they're colliding in the hallway, at each other's throat and snarling like animals.

The twin, Aidan, Scott discovers, flips him into the wall, the impact hard enough to rattle the rows of lockers lining the hallway. Scott lands hard on his knees, regaining his footing a second later and growling deeply. Without his brother, Aidan isn't nearly as powerful but he's still strong enough to take Scott if he gets the upper hand. He is an Alpha after all. Scott refuses the give him the opportunity and strikes again, hard and fast. He grabs a fistful of the other teen's shirt and whirls him around, slamming him into the lockers hard enough to dent the metal doors.

"What did you do to him?!" He snarls, a low, feral growl rumbling in the back of his throat as he speaks. The twin snarls at him, baring his teeth, and Scott tightens his grip. "Answer me!"

"You know as well as I do that wolves and humans don't mix, McCall," Aidan growls, his eyes burning crimson as he speaks. "Consider this a preview of what you can expect if you continue to waste your time with the sheep."

Scott growls, pushing Aidan harder into the lockers, the metal whining in protest behind him. "Come near him again and I swear to God I'll-"

"Scott!" A voice barks from down the hall and suddenly two strong arms are looped around his waist and pulling him backwards, effectively breaking his grip on Aidan's shirt. Scott rounds on Isaac, baring his teeth angrily, but the other teen doesn't let go. At this point in time, Isaac is more in his right mind than Scott is and knows that a werewolf death match in the school hallway is not the way to resolve things.

"Not here," Isaac says firmly but his eyes are narrowed at the twin like he wants nothing more than to let Scott go and finish what he started. Scott is still tense as a bowstring but he relaxes marginally in Isaac's grip, his teeth clenched and bared.

"You should listen to your fellow beta, McCall," Aidan sneers, wiping a streak of blood from his lip with his sleeve. "Wouldn't want to get yourself stuck in something you couldn't get out of."

It's Isaac's turn to growl and he flashes his teeth at the Alpha twin. "Just because I pulled him off of you in here doesn't mean I won't let him finish it somewhere else."

Aidan laughs, short and sharp, and straightens his shirt. "You wanna finish it, McCall? Fine." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a slip of paper, flicking it to the ground at Scott's feet. "Come to this address tomorrow. Alone," he adds, turning his gaze to Isaac. The other teen bares his teeth at him in a silent protest of yeah, that's not going to happen. Aidan just rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to Scott. "Deucalion sent you a message and has been waiting for your response. And trust me when I say, he'll only be patient for so long."

Scott glances down at the paper and levels his glare on Aidan again. "I'll be there," he assures him with a deep growl. "If Deucalion wants a fight, I'll be more than happy to bring it to him." He snatches the peice of paper from the ground and turns on his heel, walking down the hall in the opposite direction. He doesn't worry about showing his back to the enemy; he welcomes it. The gesture doubles as an insult, a sign that he doesn't fear Aidan and doesn't see him as a threat. It's a non-verbal slap to the face and it works like a charm.

"McCall!" Aidan roars after him, enraged at the slight thrown his way. He starts to surge forward but Isaac steps forward, stopping him with a palm planted on his chest. The Alpha stops, glaring at the beta in front of him.

"Just so we're clear," Isaac says, his voice low and deadly in the silence of the hallway. "The next time he goes for your throat, I won't stop him. Hell, I'll probably help him." He removes his hand from the other teen's chest but his glare remains just as cold as his threat. "Consider this your one and only warning: come near Stiles again and I'll kill you myself."

Aidan's eyes narrow at him, red burning behind his glare once more. Isaac, for his part, offers him a sunny smile and a mock salute. "Glad we had this talk," he tells him casually, turning his back to him as well and following in the direction Scott left in.

OOOOO

Stiles doesn't remember much of what happened following the attack; his head has that heavy, fuzzy feeling it always gets following a panic attack. He can't concentrate or focus on anything for too long without feeling dizzy and tired so he doesn't even try. He focuses on the little things though: the worn and flattened cushions of the cots in the nurse's office, the sharp smell of rubbing alcohol used to disinfect the the supplies in the back room, the feeling of Lydia's fingers wrapped around his own as they wait for Derek to get there.

Any other time, Stiles would have been absolutely thrilled to be holding hands with Lydia. It was one of the simplest and most innocent wishes he could ever admit to. As it stands right now though, he's so exhausted that he can't even bring himself to be happy about it. He feels like he's just finished two triathlons and is being asked to start another one. He's weary all the way to his core and it feels like he'll never sleep enough to get rid of it.

Lydia's thumb is tracing small, straight lines along the back of his hand, her fingers soft and warm in his limp grasp. She doesn't seem to be aware of her movements, her gaze leveled on the door intently like she's expecting something to happen.

As far as he knows, Stiles is pretty sure that Allison is posted outside the door to the nurse's office, the first line of defense for anyone trying to get in to see Stiles that isn't Derek. The nurse provides another line of defense even though she's probably unaware of that fact at this point in time. Lydia is the last, the final barrier of protection between Stiles and whoever or whatever came through that door. It's a lot of responsibility and Stiles wishes for all he's worth that Lydia didn't have to be put in that position but he knows he's not capable of defending himself right now. He's weakened and vulnerable and he's never felt so useless in all his life.

Lydia blinks and straightens her shoulders as the door opens, her grip on Stiles's hand tightening unconsciously. She relaxes only slightly when Derek steps into the room, silent and looming as always. He walks over to the bed and wordlessly starts gathering Stiles into an upright position, his movements surprisingly gentle and careful. Lydia only releases Stiles's hand when it's absolutely necessary and even then she stays close, directly in his line of sight at all times. She follows them out of the nurse's office, briefly meeting the nurse's eye on the way out. She has no idea what Derek told the woman in order to gain access to the back room where the patients were kept but from the look on her face, it probably contained some kind of threat.

Allison falls into step beside Lydia as they exit the office and walk toward the front of the building. Derek doesn't quite carry Stiles to the car but he's definitely supporting at least 95% of the teen's weight as they walk. Stiles is still too drained to protest or do much of anything other than be dragged along so he stays silent and clings to Derek all the way to the car.

Allison steps forward to open the door and Derek nods a 'thank you' to her as he carefully bundles Stiles into the front seat. Whatever lingering animosity resided between them, they were pushing it aside for the moment in order to care for Stiles, Allison's injured friend and the wounded member of Derek's Pack. Allison steps away from the car and rejoins Lydia on the curb, both watching silently as Derek shuts the door and walks around to the driver's side, sliding in behind the wheel and cranking the engine. The car pulls away from the school, the two girls disappearing in the rearview mirror.

Derek stays silent through most of the ride which suits Stiles just fine, actually, because he's not much in the mood for conversation either. He realizes that his silence is probably massively unnerving to the older werewolf because in all the time Stiles has known Derek, he can admit that he's never gone more than five minutes without saying something. He can't bring himself to speak now though; first of all, he doesn't have any conversation topics worth voicing and second, he simply doesn't have the energy. Probably best to stay silent for the time being anyway; if Stiles knows anything about werewolves and their freaky sonic hearing, Derek is probably using his to monitor the teen's breathing and heart rate on the way back to the flat. Talking would only interrupt that and Stiles is nothing if not helpful so he stays silent.

When Derek speaks first, Stiles knows his silence is indeed a red flag. "Are you in pain?" The older man asks quietly, keeping his eyes on the road but casting a quick glance to the teen in the passenger seat.

Stiles wants to lie and say no but he knows it wouldn't come out convincing enough for him to get away with it. His ribs are still throbbing from Aidan's elbow and his chest still feels tight and constricted like a weight has been settled on top of it. Lying now would be completely pointless. Instead, he just sags in the seat and nods slightly. "A little."

Derek says nothing to this and simply reaches across the seat with his free hand to touch Stiles. He can't touch his arm due to the sling and denim of his jeans prevents proper contact so he slips his fingers beneath the hem of Stiles's shirt and presses them to his side lightly.

The effects are almost immediate, the throbbing along his ribs and the tightness in his chest disappearing almost the second the Alpha's fingers come in contact with his skin. Stiles is not afraid to admit that he sighed in relief at the contact. He's also not afraid to admit that said relief caused him to pass out in the front seat of Derek's car before they ever made it back to the flat.

OOOOO

When he opens his eyes, he becomes aware of two things. First, he's not in his bed at home but in one of the many currently empty beds in Derek's apartment. This bed is too hard, that bed is too soft, this one is just right. All he needs now is for a ditzy blond girl to join him in some casual B and E and this fairytale will be complete.

Second, he realizes he's not alone in the room. Someone is standing by the door, arms crossed and leaning against the door frame. It takes him a second to realize that it's Erica and not Goldielocks. Erica is much less ditzy, blond, home invader and much more ruthless, terrifying, she-wolf. Stiles doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"You'll be happy to know that your little freak-out at school got you 900 views on Youtube," Erica informs him from the doorway, stepping into the darkened room and crouching down by the bed so she's eye-level with Stiles. "I've still got you beat though. Apparently, it's much more entertaining to watch an epileptic girl have a seizure in the middle of a biology classroom and piss her pants at the end of it," Erica adds bitterly, her eyes flickering gold for a split second before returning to their normal color. "It was a learning experience for all."

"Although, if you're wondering," she continues, shifting from a crouch to a sitting position and resting her chin on the edge of the bed. "I took the liberty of breaking Justin Houton's phone before he could upload anything else. And his thumbs," she adds with a wicked grin.

"Uh...thanks?" Stiles mumbles, frowning a bit at the she-wolf's glee at the admission of inflicted bodily harm.

Erica just shrugs and gives him a lopsided smile. "You know I've always had a soft spot for you, Stiles."

Stiles winces and tries to shift into a more comfortable position; it doesn't work, nothing is comfortable right now. "What are you doing here, Erica?"

Eric shrugs again and picks at a stray string on the bed idly. "Came in to check on you. You've been out for two hours so I figured one of us should come in and make sure you hadn't up and died when we weren't looking."

It's not exactly true; he knows Erica could probably hear his heartbeat clear across the house and would be one of the first to know if it suddenly stopped. He doesn't have the energy to call her on it though and simply takes it at face value. "Nope, alive and well over here."

"'Well' is a matter of opinion," Erica counters fluidly, shifting again to rest her head more comfortably against the mattress. She watches him wordlessly for a few moments, her eyes flickering over his face every couple of seconds like she's trying to read invisible words on his face. He's not sure if it's due to her past problems with epilepsy or if it's simply a female wolf thing but Erica seems much more in tune with pain and weakness than the others.

Finally she sighs and flips a wayward wave of blond hair away from her face. "Look, not that I care or anything, but you look like something is bothering you. So spill it."

It's the closest thing he's going to get to a crying shoulder and he realizes it will probably never happen again. Stiles is silent for a moment, debating whether or not he wants to bare his soul to the girl in front of him. The weight of everything is crushing though and he feels that if he doesn't let it out, it won't be long before he's buried underneath it.

"I just feel helpless sometimes, you know?" He mumbles quietly, his voice sounding small and frail in the darkness of the room. "I mean, I look at Scott and Isaac and you and I wonder how long it will be before I can't keep up anymore." He sighs softly, unable to meet Erica's eyes. "Like now."

Erica doesn't say anything but the look in her eyes reveals that she understands. She's been there before, helpless and vulnerable due to her condition, so she knows where he's coming from now. "The Alphas attacked me for a reason," Stiles continues, his body tensing unconsciously as he says it. "They wanted to take out the weakest member first before moving on to the stronger ones. And they were right," he adds with a bitter laugh. "I am the weakest one. I'm human through-and-through. They came after me because I'm not a hunter like Allison or a...something like Lydia. They came after me because they knew I couldn't fight back."

"You still have your bat," Erica offers, no hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"I didn't have it then," Stiles counters with a sigh, frowning at his own weakness. "The night of the wreck...God, it happened so fast. And now I see it every time I close my eyes. I remember the car flipping, the glass, the red eyes…" He tries to suppress the shudder that works its way down his spine at the crimson memories but he's unable to hide all of it; he knows Erica sees it too. "I see it every night, I feel that same heart-stopping fear every single night, and there's nothing I can do to stop it…" He blinks rapidly, trying to fight the angry tears that sting in his eyes.

Erica is silent for a minute, mulling over Stiles's words carefully. "You know it doesn't have to be like this," she tells him quietly. "You could be like us. Strong, powerful, fearless. You wouldn't have to be afraid anymore."

Stiles shakes his head weakly. "I can't," he says quietly, bringing one hand up to scrub the tears away from his face. "I can't do that to my dad. After all I've put him through these past few years…" He shakes his head again, an exhausted sigh escaping from his lips. "He doesn't need something like that to deal with. He doesn't deserve that."

"And you don't deserve this," Erica counters, gesturing toward the bed and its occupant. "Nobody deserves this Stiles, least of all you. I can understand being scared and vulnerable but don't think for a second that you deserve it."

She shakes her head, blond waves glistening in the dim light, and rests her chin back on the edge of the bed. "I always kind of admired you, you know?" She tells him quietly, raising her eyes just slightly to meet his. "You're either incredibly stubborn or stupid, I haven't decided which. Even when offered the easy way out, you turn it down every time." A small, deprecating smile tugs at her lips as she speaks. "I didn't have that kind of self-control; when Derek offered me a better life, I jumped at the chance without a second thought. But not you. Never you. You're stronger than you think you are, Stiles. You're resilient, adaptable, and yes, a complete pain in the ass sometimes, but you're also strong." She smiles again, a bit sadder this time, and shrugs one shoulder. "Sometimes I wonder if you're the strongest of all of us."

Before he has a chance to respond to what was probably the first and only pep talk he would ever get from Erica Reyes, she reaches out and flicks him on the nose. Hard. "Ow!" He gasps, slapping a hand over his face in surprise. "What was that for?"

"For thinking you're in this all alone, you jerk," Erica tells him, rolling her eyes as if she's stating the obvious. "You still have us and we're not about to step back and let the Alphas have you. And I can pretty much guarantee that Derek will literally bite the head off of anyone who comes close to you without his permission. So stop acting like you're a lone survivor against an oncoming storm and let us help you."

"You said you're having nightmares; tell one of us about them. You said you keep thinking about the wreck; talk to us. You have trouble sleeping at night; most of us are up half the night anyway and we can offer company." Erica lets out an exasperated sigh like she's explaining something to a child. "The point is, if you're having a problem, you tell us; that's what packs do."

Stiles is silent for a moment, rubbing his nose absently. He knows she has a point but admitting that he needs help has never come easily to Stiles. After his mother passed away, he got used to doing things on his own to avoid putting unnecessary pressure on his father. He pretended everything was okay when it wasn't, that he had everything under control when it was spiraling into chaos. The facade had served him well for a long time but now he's not so sure he can keep it up anymore. Now he may be forced to admit that he needs help and turning to the Pack may be his best option. Both Scott and Derek had told him that packs look out for one another and Erica had just reaffirmed it as well. And he was part of the Pack, wasn't he?

The nod is small and shaky but it's there and Stiles lets out a soft sigh. "Okay," he says quietly, meeting her gaze after a moment. "I'll talk to you guys from now on. I promise."

"Good." Erica gives him a nod of approval and gets to her knees. "Now scoot over, you're taking up my half of the bed."

Stiles frowns and looks down at the mattress like he's going to see a demarcation for Erica's side of the bed. "Why did Derek put me in your bed?"

"Well, technically it's Boyd's bed and he put you in here because it's the biggest," Erica tells him with a nonchalant shrug. "But since Boyd and I have been sleeping together for over a month now, we've started sharing his bed. And you're on my side. So move."

"Oh my God, I'm laying in the middle of a werewolf love nest," Stiles groans and he doesn't even have it in him to feel weirded out by the concept. This is what his life has become.

"Damn right you are," Erica complies with a cheeky grin. "And Boyd is most definitely an animal in bed if you know what I mean."

"Please...stop talking."

"I'll stop talking when you move."

Stiles sighs and shifts as much as he can away from Erica's claimed side of the mattress and watches in confusion as she climbs onto the bed with him. "Uh, so you just told me that you and Boyd have been shacking up in this bed for over a month. Wouldn't he be pissed if he walked in and saw you in bed with another guy?"

Erica rolls her eyes and flops down onto the pillow Stiles had been resting on earlier. "He won't mind. You're not my type anyway. You know what they say: once you go wolf, you never go back."

"No one says that," Stiles counters with a slight shake of his head. "Unless they're talking about beastiality which I'm pretty sure if frowned upon in nearly every state."

Erica just rolls her eyes again and moves closer so her body is pressed up against Stiles. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close to her and tucking his head under her chin. When the other teen stiffens and goes rigid in her arms, she sighs heavily. "Relax," she tells him firmly, her voice commanding and yet surprisingly gentle at the same time. "Think of this as touch therapy. It will help you sleep better."

"I doubt that," Stiles murmurs against Erica's throat, still stiff as a board in her arms. He can practically hear her roll her eyes again.

"Cora told me about this the other day," she tells him, her voice dropping a bit as she speaks. "She said it's how packs take care of their injured and weakened members. She said she used to do this all the time with Derek and Laura when she was a kid." When Stiles coughs through a laugh against her, Erica smiles and continues. "She told me that when she was a kid, anytime she had a nightmare or got sick, she'd go into Laura's room and sleep with her. Most of the time Laura would pick her up and take her into Derek's room and they'd all end up in a pile on the floor. She said it always made her feel better the next morning."

Stiles resists the urge to laugh again but the strain is making his ribs ache. The mental image of a surly, teenage Derek cuddling with both his baby sister and his older sister in a pile of blankets on the floor of the old Hale house is both adorable and hilarious at the same time. If he wasn't so sure Derek would quite literally kill him if he ever brought it up, Stiles could use that against him for the rest of his life.

"Relax," Erica tells him again, reaching up with one hand and combing her fingers through his hair gently. Her short nails scrape over his scalp lightly, mindful of the bruises and scratches still hidden beneath his hair. She lets her fingers travel from the top of his hairline to the the back of his neck, fingertips brushing lightly over the base of his skull before sweeping back up and repeating the motion again. The movement is slow and methodical, mesmerizing in its slow, careful rhythm, and Stiles feels himself begin to relax slightly in her arms.

"Go to sleep," she tells him quietly, her fingers sliding through the short hairs at the back of his head. "I'll be right here if you have a nightmare."

Stiles wants so badly to protest and resist the oncoming tug of sleep but he's powerless against it. Coupled with his previous injuries and the panic attack he'd suffered earlier in the day, his well of energy is pretty much tapped and he doesn't have the strength to fight it when his eyes begin to flutter closed. The fingers of one hand loosely tangle in Erica's shirt and he holds onto her like a lifeline. "Please don't leave me," he mumbles softly, unsure if he's actually speaking out loud or saying it in his head.

"I won't," Erica replies, one arm still wrapped around him protectively. "I promise."

With that reassurance, Stiles allows himself to relax a bit more into her arms and take a slow, deep idea of sleep still terrifies him, the threat of nightmares still lingering just beneath the surface of his consciousness, but it doesn't feel quite as intimidating when someone is next to him. Rather than worrying about the nightmares, Stiles instead focuses on the fresh, orange/peppermint scent of Erica's shampoo and the thin, silver chain looped around her throat. He has no idea what's on it or where it came from; he wonders if Boyd got it for her.

His eyes begin to flutter shut and he doesn't try to fight it anymore, relaxing more into Erica's arms. Maybe there's something to this 'touch therapy' thing after all. Besides, he's always wanted to fall asleep in the arms of a beautiful woman; the day can't be a total loss, right?

Thanks for reading guys! :D