"Stiles! Wake up!"

Stiles groaned, but responded to Scott's calls as he finally forced himself to move. Almost immediately, limbs ached from being pressed into the cold concrete floor for an indeterminate length of time. He managed to sit up, supported by his arms, but kept his eyes tightly shut as he battled a wave of nausea. Despite having no recollection of having got where he was, he knew he wouldn't like what he saw when he finally decided to open his eyes. Even as more voices called to him, his father, Melissa, Malia, Lydia, and Kira, he focused on regaining his senses.

It was Derek's call, as familiar as it was strange to hear after such a long absence that made Stiles open his eyes. Stiles was turned away from the others, but what he saw instantly caught his attention. Cruel and precise tools were laid about the room on an assorted collection of tables, not dissimilar to what a surgeon or torturer might be familiar with. From the heavy scent of earth and lack of windows, Stiles surmised they were most likely underground and in a rural location. Across parts of the rough stone wall were runes and symbols, although only a few held any meaning. Their captor had also managed to acquire electricity for his small dungeon, the electric lamps burning with a strong yellow light.

Stiles' blood only ran cold when he saw what was drawn around him, as there were no other chains or binds to hold him. He was confined to a demon trap. It was no wonder he was so disorientated.

"Stiles, can you hear us? Say something. Please, son," the sheriff said.

Stiles finally turned and saw that everyone else was locked in thick barred cages. There were several more faces than Stiles expected. Peter, Liam, Hayden, Mason and Cody were trapped along with them. Whoever had captured him not only knew what he was, but was mocking him.

"Oh, thank goodness," Melissa sighed with relief as he fixed his gaze on them.

"Can you get up?" Lydia asked with no small amount of urgency. Stiles blinked, rolling the idea in his head and feeling profoundly ill at the thought of moving.

"We need the key," Peter, who had been silent up until that point, urged. He pointed to one of the tables on the far side of the room, by a thick wooden door.

"We don't have much time. He'll be back soon. He didn't expect you'd wake up so soon," Kira said.

Stiles turned his head to where Peter had pointed and stared at the door. He wasn't going to get out of this. Someone had constructed a chess game without him even knowing and he was already in checkmate.

"Stiles! Get the key," Derek ordered. Derek looked the same as he had done before he disappeared, right down to the intimidating and humorously charming glare. More voices urged him to retrieve the key.

Stiles knew he could not help them, let alone himself, so he did the only thing he could think of to buy him some time. He slumped to the floor and pretended to fall unconscious. He just about knew how to bypass a werewolf's keen senses, and whilst the others continued to call out to him he retreated into himself so that he could think.

"You let us out right now!" Lydia demanded as soon as the door creaked open. Whoever had entered did not respond, but Stiles could hear soft footsteps approaching.

"Why are you doing this?" Melissa questioned, and Stiles wondered how many times he had heard that phrase before.

"What do you want from us?" Scott then asked, forever trying to be the diplomat.

"You'll regret locking us in here! Let us out, you coward!" Liam snarled.

Again, the figure did not respond to the bombardment of questions, but he did chuckle at Liam's attempt at a threat.

"You will have to try better than that," the figure stated calmly.

"You'll be sorry when I'm done with you," Liam pressed on, despite Scott motioning for him to stop talking.

"And what will you do to me?" the figure asked, a faint glimmer of genuine curiosity.

"I'll rip you to pieces with my claws," Liam said. Stiles imagined his eyes flashing and features distorting as his anger swelled.

"Don't let your anger control you!" Scott said. Liam growled, but said no more.

"Interesting, have you done that, Stiles? Ripped someone to pieces?" the figure quietly asked, stepping towards the circle Stiles was confined to.

"Leave him alone!" Scott and Derek snapped, almost at the same time. It would have been amusing if not for their dire situation.

"I know you're only pretending, Stiles," the figure continued. When Stiles still did not move, he sighed.

The sound of water should have been enough warning to move, but he remained still until the drops that fell on his skin seared his flesh. Stiles shrieked in shock and agony. He writhed on the floor and spat curses at the one who had poured holy water on him.

"That's how you threaten someone," the figure said as Stiles lay on the floor breathing heavily, his skin peppered with burns.

"You were a lot of trouble to find, Stiles," the figure continued as though the previous episode had never taken place, immune to Stiles' hateful stare.

"I had to go through a lot of people to get to you," he said gesturing towards the other cages. Stiles was surprised that the grizzled hunter, face lined with scars, could have accomplished so much. Then again, their group was riddled with holes, full of weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Some had just been patient enough to exploit them.

"Well, don't you sound like a right creep," Stiles replied, tone disinterested to conceal a steadily building anger. "So, what do you want? Money? Power? Sex? I assume all three are hard to come by for you."

The figure didn't rise to the bait, instead choosing to peruse through one of the older, thicker books he had on one of the tables.

"I never caught your name," Stiles asked conversationally.

"And you won't, I know what demons do with names," the figure said without looking up from the pages of his book.

"My son is no demon, you sick bastard." the sheriff angrily snapped.

"I just poured holy water on him," the figure said blandly.

"I, too, can pour acid on people and call it holy water," Stiles answered.

"Then step out of the demon trap, if you're so pure," the figure retorted.

"I, too, can drug someone until they can barely move and call it a demon trap," Stiles said.

At that, the figure's mouth went into a grim line and he began to recite a Latin verse Stiles was familiar with. Stiles shrieked again, but he knew there was no mistaking it for humanly cries of pain as his voice split, the body wailing just as much as the damaged soul that was being pulled from it. Without warning, the pain stopped and all was deathly quiet. He was still whole.

"Not a fan of exorcisms, Stiles?" the figure asked as though he were enquiring about the rain.

"Not really. I could spew black bile if you'd like more authenticity," Stiles answered.

"Stiles, what's going on?" Scott demanded, unease growing.

"How did you find me?" Stiles asked the figure. He had been so careful. He had worked so hard to be different. He had fought for so long, so where had he failed?

"News travels fast, especially when there are whispers of a nogitsune," the figure said. "It's interesting, though, how little information about them has survived."

"What are you talking about?" Kira questioned.

"I'll humour you. nogitsune are limited by the capabilities of their host," the figure said. "They also seek out like-minded individuals, or those that, for lack of a better word, are just as damaged and twisted as them."

"Stiles isn't damaged or twisted! Don't listen, Stiles. He's trying to hurt you," Lydia stated boldly. Again, the figure wasn't perturbed by the outburst.

"The body count was too high to be from just one nogitsune possessing a human. However, if one somehow managed to possess a demon that was strongly connected to its host?" the figure left the question hanging.

"Stiles, what is he talking about?" Derek asked, but whilst he frowned his eyes showed fear.

"Yes, the nogitsune pulled out my more basic nature. I was weak and so I was played like a puppet, is that what you wanted to hear? I am trying, though. I have tried to make - I have made good choices. I have tried to be better than I am," Stiles said, although he did not know whether he was trying to convince the peculiar stranger or his friends and family trapped on the other side of the room.

"Would you like applause?" the figure asked. Whilst his tone wasn't mocking, still just as gruff and level as it had been throughout their whole exchange, it made Stiles shrink within himself.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked darkly, no longer trying to appeal to a better nature.

"A very good source informed me that demon contracts are unbreakable," the figure said.

"That is correct," Stiles said slowly.

"In exchange for their life, I want you to save a life," the figure said after some degree of reluctance, pushing the words out as though they had been rehearsed.

"Oh, wonderful, I do adore clichés," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

At that, the figure glared, the blue in his eyes becoming more vivid. Whilst interesting, they were not the captivating, electric blue that Stiles had seen in Derek's. Derek was probably disgusted by him now.

He wondered if Malia was angry or afraid of him, considering their previous relationship, but he couldn't always follow her train of thoughts. For all he knew, she was indifferent to his grand reveal. She did not appear overcome with emotion. The more he thought about the others, especially his father and Scott, their horror, the more it unsettled him. He pushed those thoughts back.

"Why do you think I care about whether they live or die?" Stiles asked, knowing he was taking a stupid risk.

The figure sighed and pulled out a well-made pistol and pointed it towards Lydia.

"Do you really want me to test you?" the figure asked.

"You test me and I will kill your wife. Exorcising me will make no difference. It would be a pity, we both seem to be fond of brunettes," Stiles said and he saw the first flash of concern in the figure's expression. Even the mere intention of signing a demon's contract was enough to give Stiles access to a well of knowledge, not that he would ever reveal that golden secret.

"How do you know about her?" the figure demanded. His eyes flickered back and forth, as though skimming through his memories of their conversation for any slip of the tongue.

"I'm a demon. I know things. Like how I now know your name, Bartholomew. Shall I call you Bart? You prefer it. Let them go, and I'll exchange your soul for her life," Stiles said, unable to refrain from demanding a higher price.

"For a demon that has gone through so much trouble for those close to it, I think we can come to a more reasonable exchange. You will cure my wife's illness. In return, I will let you and your friends go unharmed. I even promise to leave you all alone. However, I also want specified in that contract of yours that you will not cause me or those in my life any harm," Bart offered carefully.

"It's a good thing I'm not entirely confined to this circle. Oh, wait," Stiles said. Before he could begin mocking Bart, a pair of chains was thrown towards him, one end fastened to some metal rings in the floor.

"Put them around your ankles and I'll break the circle," Bart said.

"Oh, chains with runes? Kinky," Stiles commented, but sighed as he fastened the metal chains around his ankles. He considered only superficially fastening them, or leaving them loose so that he could slip out when the opportunity presented itself, but the chains were wise to a demon's bag of tricks and fastened of their own accord, sizzling faintly when securely sealed.

Only then, with the faintest wisp of smoke rising from the chains, did Bart break the chalk line. The restraints were cleverly made, but not enough to stop Stiles blowing every light in the room with a loud pop. His friends jumped, but Bart simply pulled out a battery operated light and placed it on the table, its beam as intense as it was limited. Whatever was out of reach of the harsh light was left in an eerie darkness.

When the light was turned on, the contract that Bart had demanded was already in Stiles hand, written in impeccable cursive.

"Your contract," Stiles said blandly.

Bart doused his hand in holy water before retrieving the contract, dissuading Stiles from any ideas of grabbing him. Without any urgency, Bart pulled out a stool from under one of the nearby tables, sat down and began to read the parchment.

"He won't let us go when he gets what he wants," Lydia said, voice wavering ever so slightly near the end.

"The contract binds him as well as me," Stiles answered, speaking to the wall because he did not want to meet her gaze.

"You can remove this clause," Bart said. Stiles didn't need to see what he was looking at. He clicked his fingers and Bart seemed pleased, continuing to read on in silence.

"You don't actually believe that he'll sign the contract and it'll all be sunshine and daisies," Peter mockingly commented.

"He won't harm you," Stiles said.

"Why do you care?" Derek asked, tone bordering a threat.

"Why does anyone care? Demons, despite it all, were human once too," Stiles said with his fists so tight that his nails cut into his palm. He knew his opinion was extremely unpopular, especially considering how little reason there was to doubt a demon's intentions as anything other than vile. He was no exception, but he did not want to let go of the idea of being better than he was.

"From everything I've read, I find the idea of a demon crawling up and out of whatever dark pit it came from and deciding that it just wanted to play the good human a little hard to believe," Peter said, needlessly stirring everyone's unease.

"Where's the real Stiles?" Scott demanded, eyes flashing red.

"I am the real Stiles!" Stiles' reaction was instantaneous. "I have always been me. I have always been your friend."

"It is signed," Bart said, breaking up the brief verbal exchange.

"It is done. Let us go," Stiles said.

"Not quite so fast. I'll return soon. I have to see that you've kept your word," Bart said. Stiles seethed at the insinuation he had failed, gritting his teeth as Bart redrew the chalk line.

Without waiting for a response, Bart left. He did not even turn when Liam yelled at him to let them go.

"What do you mean you're the real Stiles?" were the first words the sheriff said when the door to their prison closed.

"I inhabited this body before it was even born," Stiles stated.

"How do we know you're not lying," Malia said, voice tinged with suspicion but oddly calm. She appeared to be trying to make sense of him.

"How about I tell you something only the real Stiles would know?" Stiles said, hoping the cliché suggestion would be enough for them.

"For all we know, you have access to Stiles' memories. If you did possess him, we have no idea how long you've been in there," Lydia logically parried. Whilst he was immensely fond of Lydia, at times like this she was so clever it was annoying.

"Fair point, Miss Martin," Stiles answered.

"If you're telling the truth, then how did you –?" the sheriff left the question hanging, unable to find the right words to ask how Stiles, the demon, had come to be his son.

"Like most demons, I made a deal. I wanted a human body, and your wife wanted to live. We came to an agreement," Stiles said, staring up at the ceiling, fingers tapping on his leg.

"Claudia would never make a deal with a demon! What do you mean she wanted to live?" the anger in the sheriff's voice caused Stiles more distress than he anticipated and his fingers tapped against his leg faster.

"Do you remember when she said I was trying to kill her? Do you remember when she was afraid of me?" Stiles spoke quickly. "In her delusions, she wasn't wholly wrong. She wasn't right, but she wasn't wrong. She had signed a contract with me."

"What contract?" the sheriff snapped, afraid but with still that note of parental authority that caught Stiles' attention as it would any child to their parent.

"I wanted a human vessel of my own. One problem, viable bodies have souls, so even the most susceptible to possession will fight back control. It is never a peaceful or mutually beneficial existence. I needed to create a new body that my soul could claim before anything else could," Stiles said, speaking slowly as he weighed his words, cautious of how they may be interpreted. "I made a contract with a young woman who was scared of dying. In exchange for curing her illness, her child would have my soul. I had the rights to the body before anything else."

"Yes, we can see how well that worked out," Peter said. Stiles glared at Peter, knowing he was referring to his mother's death.

"She did not read the fine print," Stiles said, voice flat as he hid what he felt on the matter.

"What does that mean?" the sheriff asked, stress becoming apparent as his face reddened.

"You didn't want to kill her," Lydia stated knowingly. Stiles nodded.

"At first, I didn't care. Later, when I had this body, my thoughts changed. But, by then, it was too late. Typically, a demon will provide a service for ten years unless specified otherwise. After the contract is complete, the human dies and the soul belongs to the demon. She may have exchanged a human vessel for a cure, but what she unwittingly signed over was her soul."

"What would a demon want with a soul?" Lydia asked with a pensive frown. Stiles caught her gaze, seeing determination beneath the fear. She was searching for something, but he didn't know what. He quickly glanced at the others, emotions and thoughts flickering faster than he could catch. Liam showed the steadiest of opinions, the majority of it anger. However, with Hayden clutching his wrist, he kept his mouth shut.

"Very simply, demons want power because it means less pain. The more souls you bring down, the more souls beneath you, the higher you rise. The higher your status and the more others fears and respect you, the less time you spend being ripped apart. Dog eats dog, or should I say, wolf eats wolf." Stiles said. It was as close to the truth as he was willing to go.

"Why not fight it?" Scott asked, as though it were a legitimate possibility. At the same time, his father had gone deathly pale, withdrawing into his thoughts.

"You can't understand real terror, anger and pain unless you have experienced it," Stiles said. "No one can fight it, Scotty, and no one should be blamed for not being able to either."

"Please, dad, believe in me," Stiles then said, trying hard not to let his voice crack. "I kept her safe, though. Her soul is sleeping."

"What do you mean?" Melissa asked. She had moved across to the sheriff when she noticed his face taking on a sickly tinge, trying to comfort him as best she could.

"I did not drop her in the pit. She tried to hurt me because she was afraid, but I also knew she loved me. Wizard of Oz's Tin Man," Stiles said with a grim smile, but he did not clarify what he meant. "I keep her soul close. I can't help her any more than that."

"Why not let her go?" Lydia asked, firm but soft.

"She would be lost, or pulled down. She willingly made a deal with a demon. She has been tainted by something unclean, so she cannot rest in peace until it is removed, if it can be removed. I can't help her as I am, so I just keep her safe until I find a solution."

"Where is she?" the sheriff asked, voice thick with emotion and Stiles grimaced knowing that he was the cause of it.

"I won't say here, but I'll show you when we are free. You'll also know where she is if I die. Contingency plans and all that," Stiles said, revealing more than necessary as a gesture of good will.

"A sentimental demon, very believable," Peter said, folding his arms as he endeavoured to cast more shadows. Stiles couldn't blame him.

"So, our captor, what'll happen to him?" Mason asked as he connected the dots.

"He has ten years," Stiles said. "It's not explicitly mentioned on the contract, but all contracts are the same by default unless specified otherwise. He was close to succeeding, but overlooked a simple detail that's not well advertised."

"So, what, you'll kill his wife?" Mason asked.

"No, but her illness could come back, depending on what I feel. Our friend, on the other hand, will be seeing me again," Stiles said.

"I'm not sure if that's terrifying or brilliant," Mason admitted. Stiles felt his face grow hotter with the compliment.

"So how are we getting out of here?" Derek growled out, having watched the entire exchange in stony silence.

"I can't do anything unless the circle is broken," Stiles said, looking at the white chalk with disdain. "Even then, I don't know for certain if I can get us out. I can try."

"So, how do we break the circle?" Lydia mused aloud.

"Stiles," Scott called. Stiles looked over at his friend, carefully keeping his expression neutral. "I just want to say I believe you. I'm sorry I doubted you."

Stiles smiled, but it was just a slight tug at the edge of his mouth. Even if Scott believed him, there was no telling what they were all thinking or how they would proceed once they were free. Stiles knew that there was a very good chance he would be exorcised or have his human vessel destroyed. For as much as he wanted them to see that he was doing his best, albeit still heavily flawed from a human's perspective, he knew he would not trust another demon.

"Are you sure we should trust someone who has been lying to us this whole time? For all we know, we free him and it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel," Peter said as he gestured to the rest of them.

"Stiles is still my son and he's a good kid. I believe him, we're breaking that damn circle," the sheriff said, straightening his posture. When their eyes met, Stiles' vision blurred, tears threatening to fall, and he turned away. He was a demon, he knew it could be a trick to get him to help them, but the words and idea alone were overwhelming.

"There's a water pipe," Derek said, letting Stiles have some privacy, staring up at one of the pipes by the wall. Peter sighed, resigning himself to their fate.

"If we break it, it could wash away the chalk," Kira said.

"But how do we break it?" Cody asked, eyes scanning the room. When Stiles looked at him he took an unconscious step back.

"What do we have?" Scott asked and everyone began searching their pockets and nearby surroundings for anything they could use.

"Your belts!" Lydia declared. "You have belts. If we fasten them together, we can hook it onto the stopcock and break the pipe open."

"The what?" Scott asked.

"The tap," Lydia said, rolling her eyes as she pointed to the two spoke tap.

Peter, Derek, Mason and Scott pulled off their belts, passing them to Kira's outstretched hand. She moved quickly, fastening the belts together as best she could. When she was done, she handed the belt to Derek, who was closest to the wall.

"Stiles, it'll be fine. Don't worry," Melissa said, voice gentle as Stiles tried to regain composure.

"Got it," Derek grunted as the buckle of the belt managed to latch onto the stopcock, eliciting a small cheer from the others.

Derek pulled and the old pipes groaned from the abuse. Immediately after the sound of metal snapping, water gushed across the floor and over the chalk markings. It didn't take long before the circle was weakened and a section was broken. Stiles instantly felt to his knees and began scrubbing the rest of the chalk away, preventing anyone else from redrawing it.

"Stiles, can you get out from there?" Derek asked.

"No," Stiles said.

"Then what was the point of breaking the circle?" Liam said, eyes flashing yellow briefly.

"I can try and get you out, though," Stiles then said as he stood up and turned to face them.

Stiles closed his eyes briefly and took a few calming breaths. Without forewarning, he screamed, surpassing the cries that were torn from him when he was being partially exorcised.

Stiles' body jerked uncontrollably, his hands and forearms blackening like burnt wood. His nails elongated into claws as his human image was blurred with his truer form. He knew the white of his eyes had flooded with black, his vision changing, and could imagine the pupils burning an eerie red. He could not tell if anything else about his appearance had changed, most of his focus on the task at hand, but he hoped that was all. He did not want to repulse the others as much as he disgusted himself. Dimly, Stiles was aware of things breaking and tried to focus his efforts. With the chains attached to his ankles, it felt like wielding a broken chainsaw to cut a slice of cake, completely ridiculous and extremely difficult.

Stiles did not know if something had struck one of the locks or if it had shattered internally, but he knew the moment it snapped open. His cries stopped and he looked at his father and friends for one more moment, checking that he had not harmed them in his desperation to free them, and after seeing that they were fine he collapsed onto the wet floor.

"Stiles!" voices yelled.

He didn't expect to be touched, so he jolted when warm hands found his shoulder and tried to turn him over.

"Look for the keys," Scott ordered. Stiles was aware of people moving around, but he couldn't focus on anything further.

"Move back," Derek said and the warm hands were removed. He felt the chain jolt with a large clang. Several more strikes and then he heard someone declare he was free. Stiles wanted to disagree, still bound by the restraints on his ankles even if they were not fastened to the floor, but all he could do was groan and mutter nonsense, voice slurring.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek said. He sounded close, and then Stiles felt arms reaching around under his back and legs. Before he could respond or acknowledge what was happening, his body was being lifted off the floor and he was pressed against a warm chest.

"Do you want me to do that?" Scott asked.

"It's fine. We should leave before he returns," Derek's voice reverberated through his chest, a hum against Stiles' ear.

"Let him return, he can't take on all of us," Liam said.

"Yes, because we came here out of our own volition in the first place," Peter responded.

"Let's not tempt fate, shall we. We need to get Stiles out of here," Lydia said, forever the voice of reason.

The voices around him began to fade, finding the peace of unconsciousness too tempting to resist. He could dimly recall people talking to him, but he was too far away to care.

Stiles awoke when the first cuff around his ankle was snapped off. He kept his eyes shut, again trying to make sense of his surroundings, as he felt his other ankle being tugged on.

"If I see him again, I'll shoot him," he heard his father mutter angrily. More voices caught his ears as they talked quietly amongst themselves.

"Let me," Derek said. Stiles felt the metal groan before snapping and he knew he was finally free. He opened his eyes and stared up at a familiar ceiling. He was in Scott's living room. He sighed in relief.

"You're awake," Melissa said as she came into view. Footsteps approached and he spotted the others in his periphery. He took it that they had all returned to Scott's house after escaping Bart's prison.

"How are you feeling, son?" the sheriff asked.

"Extremely hungover," Stiles replied with a groan, eliciting a few chuckles.

"And you would know what that's like?" the sheriff said with a raised brow.

"Ignorance is bliss," Stiles replied with a sheepish grin.

"So, you're a demon," Peter said, bringing the conversation back to more pressing matters.

"And you're a saint," Stiles retorted.

"Why did you never tell us?" Scott asked, and Stiles felt a twinge of guilt at the hurt in his tone.

"How could I, Scotty? If someone rolled into Beacon Hills and we found out they were a demon I wouldn't give them a chance. I have no reason to trust demons, and so you should have no reason to trust me," Stiles said, unable to look Scott in the eye.

"We don't care if you're a demon, we trust you because it's you," Scott said.

"I care that he's a demon," Peter muttered. Scott growled and Peter raised his hands in surrender.

"I can't say that these aren't words I've wanted to hear for a long time. But, please, if you ever meet another demon, it doesn't matter what they say, don't trust them," Stiles said, voice cracking. He'd rather anything else. He'd feel personally responsible if they made such a mistake.

"Then why are you different?" Kira asked, coming to stand beside Scott. Stiles could see she was weighing objectivity with friendship, something that they both knew Scott was unable to do.

"Remember when I talked about why demons want souls?" Stiles asked.

"You said they want power," Kira answered.

"Yes, because it's better to cause pain than receive it. If a demon possesses someone, it's to achieve a specific set of short-term goals. What it does to the human vessel is irrelevant. The deal I made with Claudia was extremely unusual. It would require two things that almost all demons lack, real patience and the willingness to sacrifice power," Stiles said.

"So, why did you make it?" Lydia asked, coming to sit on the armrest above Stiles' head. Stiles had to admit he was entirely perplexed by their seeming acceptance. At least Liam, situated near the back of the room with Hayden and Mason, and Peter were behaving more as he expected.

"When I died and was sent to the pit, I did not have far to fall. I barely had any humanity to begin with," Stiles said morosely. When Melissa began to argue, he held up a hand and shook his head. "No, it's important, I know who I was."

"My last memory from when I was alive was of my mother. She always avoided me, but one night, after I had returned from a successful war campaign, it doesn't matter now what it was, she was waiting for me in my room. For the first time, she told me she was proud of me and went to hug me. I remember being surprised, but I knew I wanted her love. I wanted it so much that I was blind to what was really happening," Stiles said and then paused as the fragmented memories resurfaced in his mind's eye. A hand came to rest on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. He did not want their pity, but he needed them to understand his motives.

"She slit my gut open with a knife. I remember her apologising, but I knew she did not regret it. Do not pity me!" Stiles then snapped when someone else tried to put a hand on his knee.

"I no longer blame her for what she did. I am responsible for a lot of suffering and many deaths. I didn't take pleasure in ending lives, but I can genuinely say that I didn't care either. I'd burn armies, villages, towns, it didn't matter. I only cared about honour and pride, which are so quickly ripped away in the pit that you hardly feel the loss. I'd burn my own men on the same pyre I burned the villagers if they disobeyed orders. If my father wanted it, then I did it," Stiles said. "In the pit, I didn't have far to fall because there wasn't much that could be taken from me. I was a demon as a human, and so as a demon I adapted quickly. Simply, it meant I didn't change that much and the final memory of my mother somehow stayed with me. I think I was curious, more than anything else."

"So the unloved demon wanted to be a real boy," Peter said. This time Derek growled but Stiles just laughed humorlessly.

"You can say that. I wanted to know what was possible for someone like me. I didn't think it'd work, I'd still be a demon, but I wanted to try. I was willing to risk being pulled down to the very bottom of the pit again for a chance," Stiles said.

"So you made a contract with Claudia," Lydia surmised.

"Not immediately, no. I had to do some research first. There's very little reason for a demon to want a human vessel of their own, so there's very little information on the subject," Stiles said.

"So, was it worth it?" Kira asked.

"Yes," Stiles breathed, and he didn't have to think about the answer. "I've gained so much more than I've lost. Wait, no, that's not quite right, because I've lost nothing worth gaining."

"Are we really going to trust him?" Liam asked, words thrown out as though he had wanted to say them for a while.

"Stiles is still Stiles," Scott said with an easy shrug, although not entirely devoid of a cautionary note.

"If it gives you peace of mind, there are plenty of times I could have killed you and no one would have guessed it was me," Stiles said.

"It doesn't," Liam said.

"What a pity," Stiles replied absently.

"That's enough. We need to find the hunter before he finds us," Derek said, bringing an end to the immaturity.

"I know where he is," Stiles said.

"You thought to mention this only now?" Derek asked.

"He is going to the hospital where his wife is being treated. He's currently driving," Stiles replied.

"That's not creepy," Peter said.

"You can't escape a contract," Stiles said, yawning.

"Will you know when he returns?" Melissa asked.

"Yes, the contract also said he'd let you go unharmed. As there is no time limitation mentioned, if he tries anything then he will have broken our contract. I don't have to tell you what will happen then," Stiles said.

"He's still out there," Derek said.

"That doesn't matter, we're safe and with the contract he can't hurt us," Scott argued.

"What if he goes through someone else to get to us?" Kira asked. Stiles didn't have to ask to know she was thinking of her parents.

"I count that as harming you," Stiles added.

"I have to admit I'm a little impressed," Peter said. When Stiles smiled smugly he added, "But I still don't trust you."

"Right, we're all safe. No one is hurt. I think we can call it a night and deal with everything else tomorrow," Melissa said as she ushered people to begin moving.

"Do you need help?" Stiles' father asked, leaning down towards Stiles.

"You're welcome to stay over," Melissa offered.

"I'll be fine. I'll see you at home," Stiles said. Before anyone could question what Stiles meant he was simply gone.

"You do know you can use the door? You can also come over at a more sociable hour," Stiles said as he sat on his bed, glancing at the clock which read fifteen minutes past eleven.

The day had been spent dealing with the aftermath of all that happened, which included addressing the loopholes and vulnerabilities that had led them all to being captured. Thankfully, for the most part, Stiles was left to recuperate in peace. He had spent the day at home, answering a few messages regarding his well-being and whether certain runes would be beneficial. He also knew the others were investigating more about him with Deaton. Scott sometimes called with peculiar questions. It didn't bother Stiles, not if it eased their concerns before it could fester. It didn't mean he wasn't keeping an eye on what they were doing, though.

"I wanted to talk with you," Derek said as he climbed through the window.

Stiles wanted to offer more practical methods of communication, but then he didn't mind Derek's brand of unusualness and so he kept quiet. He was also more curious about what Derek wanted to talk about.

"I've been thinking and I don't understand," Derek began and Stiles bit his tongue to refrain from making a joke. "Why did you help me?"

"What?" Stiles responded.

"At the pool, when I was paralysed, you kept my head above water. You could have let me drown and it would have been of no consequence to you," Derek said.

"Would it have made a difference if I was human?" Stiles asked in return.

"Yes," Derek responded bluntly. "I originally thought you saved me out of guilt, or because I would have been your best chance at survival."

"Would you believe me if I said I mostly did it because I like you?" Stiles said.

"No," Derek again answered without pause.

"Well, I do, despite your sour wolf attitude. Again, believe it or not, I admire you," Stiles said, his fingers pulling at a seam on his shirt. Derek raised a brow in question and disbelief. "Men who've suffered less than you have fallen. Even when you have had every right to walk away, especially with everything you've gone through, you still gave everything to do the right thing. You don't always get it right, but you keep trying. It reflects on your soul. I can admire that."

"I'm not as good as you think I am and I still walked away," Derek began but Stiles was shaking his head before he could finish.

"You and I know it wasn't as simple as that," Stiles said. Derek may disregard his sacrifice in Mexico, but Stiles couldn't. He knew it was something he would have been incapable of when he was human and when death meant something different. Derek also wore guilt like a cape, and it didn't take a demon to know he had believed they'd be better off without him. "I also know about Paige," Stiles continued, and at those words Derek bristled as though he had been struck. "You hurt yourself the most to stop her suffering. I can promise that you are not the murderer you think you are. You're not like me. If I could show you what you really look like, you'd see it too."

Derek's expression was raw, stripped of its usual guard. Stiles did not know what to do, so he dropped his gaze to his feet.

"I saw what you looked like. You're not the monster you think you are either," Derek said, voice oddly stilted.

"You didn't see what I really look like, you just saw what leaked through the cracks," Stiles admitted.

"Show me," Derek said.

"Show you what?" Stiles asked, unsure of what Derek was really asking.

"Show me what you really look like then," Derek said, face finding resolve as though he were out to prove a point.

"You'll regret asking that, I don't even look at myself. Enough to give myself nightmares," Stiles said with a comical shudder, but Derek was not dissuaded.

"Show me," Derek said again.

"I want you to remember you asked for it," Stiles said, frowning as he pointed at Derek.

Stiles took a few steps away from Derek. It took a short while, but Derek was blessedly silent as Stiles continued to battle with whether he ought to really show him. In the end, Stiles decided to let Derek learn a lesson about being careful what you wished for. Stiles internally prepared for the response and then, before he lost nerve, he pulled down his walls.

Stiles closed his eyes, tentatively opening them when nothing immediately happened. He expected terror and unbridled disgust, and whilst there was fear in Derek's expression it was mostly curiosity. What surprised Stiles even further was when Derek took a step forward.

Stiles knew what he looked like, the blackened claws and red eyes were not the most disconcerting things about his appearance. He skin was heavily marred and distorted, torn and resewn in parts so many times that it was difficult to see what had once been his original human image. Horns had pushed through the mop of darkened curls on his head, a grotesque crown for what he had achieved. All sense of humanity was gone and he knew there were no words to describe him other than creature or monster.

"Can I?" Derek asked as he extended a hand towards Stiles' torn cheek. Stiles gave an almost imperceptible nod, having absolutely no recollection of anyone ever touching this form willingly.

It was enough for Derek and he felt fingers ghost over his skin.

"Let me know if I am hurting you," Derek said as he continued his exploration.

"You aren't," Stiles said quietly, voice torn in two as his soul and vessel both spoke.

"I stand by what I said," Derek said when he was finished. "You're not the monster you think you are. Peter was scarier." Strangely, Derek was not wholly lying.

As Stiles turned his head he caught his reflection in the window and gasped. He pelted over to the dresser and scrambled around until he found a small mirror.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked as he came to stand behind Stiles.

"My face," Stiles breathed. "It's not the same, it's not the same."

"What are you talking about?" Derek again questioned, concern making itself apparent in his tone.

"It's hardly anything. But, my face, it used to be worse than this. It – my cheek is smoother. It used to be torn here. My horns are also shorter. Not by much, but I'm sure of it. Even my nose, this part used to be jagged," Stiles said as he touched the edge of his nose. "What's happening?"

"Maybe it's because you're more of a spaz than a real demon," Derek said.

"You want to try and run that by me again," Stiles said, sparing a quick glare at Derek before prodding further at his face.

"What I'm saying," Derek said as his hand came to rest on top of Stiles', "is that you're different. For as much as you say that I'm trying to be good, you are too. Perhaps you're becoming less of a demon than you thought."

"Be careful, I'll fall for you," Stiles responded, hyper aware of Derek's touch. Derek had willingly touched him twice. He had also never heard of a demon's appearance changing for the better, albeit on a very minor level. It was something to think about.

Derek laughed before removing his hand and walking towards the window.

"Wait," Stiles said. Derek paused. "Will you be leaving again?" Stiles didn't have to clarify that he meant Beacon Hills and not his room.

"I don't know. It might be worth sticking around for a while. I'll see you later, Stiles," Derek said before climbing over the ledge. Stiles chuckled, but gazed at his reflection for a while longer.

Derek was thrown to the floor, the air knocked out of his lungs. Snarls and the crackle of magic could be heard all around. He growled as he tried to move, but his limbs were dead weights and it was a losing battle.

They had known about the witches and the trouble they had been causing close to the Nemeton. Deaton was even able to tell that they were practising very dark magic without even having seen them. What they had not anticipated was that werewolf had been on their ingredients list. Therefore, despite Scott's best efforts for a peaceful solution, negotiations collapsed quickly and the fight was more complicated than they expected.

"Dogs should be kept on leashes!" one dark haired witched snapped as she kept Derek pinned on the floor, one hand raised to hold him whilst the other gripped a sinister looking dagger.

"Then what are you doing, bitch?" Stiles spoke, voice split as he appeared crouched over Derek in his truer form.

Over the weeks following Stiles' identity being revealed, he had been pressured into utilising his abilities for good. It had been an arduous battle, especially as Stiles loathed to trust that side of his self. However, even with Stiles' metaphors that he was like a recovering alcoholic, they came to an experimental agreement. If they truly needed him, he would push his boundaries.

"That's impossible!" The witched gasped in shock, stumbling back.

"Oh, I am not the demon you made a deal with. They're keeping you around because they can still use you," Stiles said.

"I know your weaknesses," the witch snapped.

"I know yours. One is a snapped neck," Stiles replied. With a flick of Stiles' wrist, the witches fell to their knees, crying out as they gripped their heads as though to keep it from splitting. It was the very deal that made them stronger that made them vulnerable.

Stiles was about to approach the witch closest to them, but a clawed hand curled around his ankle and made him pause.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, a hiss issuing from deep within his chest. "I want to finish this."

With Stiles momentarily distracted, the rest of the pack moved forward to incapacitate the witches, using the binds that Deaton had prepared for them.

Derek moved his grip from Stiles' ankle to his wrist and tugged him closer. Curious and perplexed, Stiles followed Derek's guide, but he growled with impatience.

"Again, you've saved me," Derek said, partial shift receding, causing Stiles to frown.

Derek's lips pressed against Stiles' briefly, a ghost of pressure that still sent a jolt through Stiles. Derek pulled back slightly, watching Stiles' expression, brows drawn together as he waited for some response.

"I don't understand," Stiles said as he held himself back from kissing Derek again. He knew they had been more vocal lately, teasing each other and choosing conversation over brooding silence. It was as though they couldn't help their mutual curiosity. However, for as much as Stiles knew he was drawn to Derek, he did not know to what extent his feelings were reciprocated. Stiles hadn't even known that Derek was capable of being interested in men.

Derek shrugged, attempting to seem nonchalant and failing. His nerves were palpable. "I like you, Stiles. I think you could be good for me. But, what do you want?"

Stiles looked back up at the witch he had been about to attack. Scott was holding her wrists, but he was watching Stiles. He could tell that Scott was ready to intervene if he couldn't help himself. Scott also seemed to be in a mild state of shock, glancing periodically at Derek as though he had grown an extra head.

Stiles huffed, and then looked back down at Derek. He had always felt so out of reach, an ideal or silly daydream, but there he was waiting for Stiles' response.

"I want this," Stiles said before leaning down and kissing Derek again, deeper and bolder.

"We're kind of in the middle of something here. When you're good and ready," Peter called from across the clearing. Derek raised his middle finger in the direction of his uncle, lingering a few more seconds before he broke the kiss.

Apparently, Deaton had contacts who would deal with the witches appropriately, which meant they had to call and wait for them to arrive.

"He will destroy you," one of the witches spat out from where she was sitting on the floor, arms bound behind her back.

"He lacks the attention span," Lydia said as she scrolled through her phone.

"There could be no other end," Stiles said, tone split and eyes red.

"Is that an Elder Scrolls reference?" Scott asked after a short pause.

"Plagiarism: the greatest sin of all," Stiles replied just as gravely.

"You laugh now, but demons seek power and strength above all else. He will bide his time until you make a mistake, and you will make a mistake," another of the witches cryptically warned.

"Speaking of making a mistake and on a more serious note," Stiles said pleasantly before showing a smile that had too many teeth. "If you mention one word to my associate, the individual you made your contract with, I will know, I will find you and I will tear you to pieces."

"Stiles," Scott said in warning.

"I haven't done anything," Stiles defended with his hands raised. He then looked at the witches. "Not yet at least."

"Stiles has a point", Peter said, moving a step away when Stiles smiled at him.

"Don't encourage him," Scott said.

"For once I agree with my uncle, Stiles does have a point. He's protecting us," Derek intervened. Stiles preened at the appreciation.

"Did I ever mention I really, really like you," Stiles said. Stiles' delight only grew when Derek turned away, his face taking on an unfamiliar shade of red. Stiles wanted to remark that he was unaware Derek could blush, but he knew Derek would not appreciate the teasing and he wanted to see that colour more often. Instead, he moved to stand beside Derek and, hoping he wasn't being to presumptuous, gently took a hold of Derek's hand. Stiles held his breath, hoping that Derek did not baulk at the contact, but instead the pressure increased as his hand was held more securely. Whilst Derek didn't turn to meet his eye, Stiles was beaming.

"Can someone get me a bag? I need to throw up," Peter said.