Teen Wolf 1. Prologue

It's raining. _Of course it is_, Stiles thinks, _how incredibly fitting_. It had been four months since Allison's death and they already had a new issue on their hands: berserkers, loads of them. They showed up in town in the form of a gang. At first, the pack had thought they were just a bunch of ass holes looking to cause trouble, just looking for something to tear down. It was Allison's father that had let them in on the myth and had told them what they were dealing with. He is in a perpetual state of grief yet he can't seem to stop fighting for the pack. Stiles thinks that he knows it's what Allison would have wanted. Thinking of her places the familiar ache of grief in his chest. It feels like someone is shoveling out his insides.

He looks out the car window, the downtown of Beacon Hill's passes by in a blur. He can feel her looking at him periodically, inspecting him with those sharp green eyes. Lydia insisted on driving him home after what happened. It was getting too obvious, his self-destruction. At first, he made purposefully getting hurt in these confrontations look like an accident. He always chose the right moments to let his guard slip and allow one of the berserkers to land a particularly brutal blow to his fragile, human frame. A punch here, bruise there, gash there went unnoticed. Every member of the pack got banged up so he blended right in with the familiar shades of black and blue.

Tonight was different.

They had been out in the woods, staking out one of the gang meetings and it had been going fairly smoothly. He, Lydia, Scott, Derek, and Isaac were going unnoticed to the group of hulking men, actually gaining useful information about their hierarchy and how they did things. Stiles could see that it wasn't going to come to blows and he felt rage bubble up in the back of his throat like bile. He needed this tonight but there he was watching his opportunity slip through his fingers minute after minute.

So he let his foot fall more solidly on a branch that he knew would break under his weight. The sound had echoed through the forest, the familiar snap reverberating off of the trees. He tried to look apologetic, tried to look like it had been an accident but she saw it and she saw everything else after that. She saw him loosen his grip on one of the men so that he could get free. She saw him slow his reflexes down so that the man coming at him could hit him squarely in the jaw, knocking him onto his back. And she saw him laying there, trying to look helpless, while he wailed into him. Once Scott took notice he immediately yanked his attacker off of him, throwing him back into the darkness of the preserve.

Stiles knew that she was inspecting him now. The car was quiet as they drove, their usual conversation replaced by a weighted silence. They had leaned on each other heavily after the night Allison died, she more than him because he wasn't as open anymore. Not that he was an open book beforehand but after the Nogitsune he didn't let his guard down, not even around Scott.

His house came into view as they turned onto his street, his dad's cruiser absent from the driveway. _Great_ he thought, knowing that his father working late meant that Lydia would most likely come inside. His suspicions were confirmed as she pulled in, parking and turning off the car. She didn't even look at him as she unbuckled her seatbelt and huffed out of the driver's side.

Stiles knew there was no point in fighting her so he got out as well and went to unlock his front door for them. She pushed past him, heading up to his room. He knew he was expected to follow and could feel the fight coming on. He didn't know what approach to take here. Pretending that he didn't purposefully start the fight and have the living shit beat out of him was just an insult to Lydia's intelligence. Yet, he was still hesitant about being honest with her. This burden was his to bear, not hers.

He didn't look up as he entered his room, just closed the door and went to lean against his desk. She was openly staring at him now with a calculative expression.

"So, do you want to tell me what the hell that was?" the words fell past her lips in a soft but decisive manner. She didn't seem frightened or appalled which confused him on many levels.

He sat there, perched on the worn wood as the seconds ticked past. How could he explain? How could he even begin to tell her that he needed it, needed to feel punished? That everything he had done or had let be done to his pack, his family could not go unnoticed? That he couldn't forgive himself as quickly as they had forgiven him? That, in a way, he felt responsible for all the shit that had happened to them?

He settled for two simple words, "It's complicated." The words were faulty. It sounded like a cop-out, an excuse.

Lydia's eyes flashed, angry now. "Don't you dare give me that bull shit, Stiles. How dare you even presume that I would let you get by on that reply? I'd say my ability to understand complicated things is on the high side so why don't you explain to my why you did what you did tonight?"

Her voice had risen in volume by the end and her nostrils were flared. She looked like a bull getting ready to charge at someone.

He couldn't be mad at her, welcomed her anger actually. Stiles hated them handling him like he was made of porcelain, treating him like he was still the innocent boy he once was.

"What do you want me to say, Lyds?" He sighed, he really didn't want to tell her all of this but he could see that determined look in her eye. He would never be able to go to bed if he didn't respond, as if he slept these days. "Do you want me to tell you that I gave away our position on purpose? That I wanted to get into that fight?"

"If it's the truth, Stiles," she said immediately, "then yes! I do want you to tell me that because you've been lying to me, to everyone for months! If you finally tell me something that is remotely true then yes I want to hear it!"

"Fine!" He spat out, the anger coursing through his veins again, hot and violent, as he pushed himself off his desk, "Yes, I gave away our position on purpose. Yes, I wanted to get into that fight and yes, I let that guy go berserk on me, pun intended by the way, because I fucking deserve it, Lydia! He could have killed me and I would not have given a damn because I deserve it after everything that I've done. Is that what you want to hear?"

His chest was heaving with the force of his words. Saying them out loud cracked him wide open. He felt like a tree that had been split in half by a lightning strike, raw and vulnerable, as she stared at him in disbelief.

Lydia's eyes were wide as she took him in. He saw her lip quiver and he deflated, he couldn't stand the thought of hurting her but, she tightened up immediately. Not letting her emotions get in the way just yet, she made her way over to him, turning him towards the mirror hanging crooked on his wall. He hadn't looked at himself in days, sickened by the sight of his own reflection. He looked like a different person at the moment. His face was smeared with blooming bruises; his top lip was split open, caked blood making the wound look grimy. There were too more cuts on his eyebrow and one on the sharp edge of his jaw. The rest of him, as per usual, was also covered in various scrapes and dots of purple and yellow where fresh bruises appeared and old ones began to fade; he was a mess.

Lydia spoke up then, "I remember one of the last times we were in here like this, do you?"

Even though she knew he was aware of what she was mentioning, her tone demanded an answer, "Yes, I remember," he grumbled, disgruntled by the memory, "Gerard."

Grabbing his arm, she made him face her then, "Yes, Stiles, Gerard. That night I was saying things that were very similar to what you just said. I didn't care either, about living or dying. As long as Jackson was safe, as long as it all stopped. You know what changed my mind about that? You."

He looked away from her, remembering his long-winded speech about how he would feel if she died. He had been thinking of his mother and what it had been like for him to lose her. He couldn't fathom why someone would choose to do that to the people who loved them, choose to put them through that loss when it didn'thave to be that way.

"You shook me out of that by simply telling me how much my death would affect others. The difference between you and I, though, is that you think that it will fix things, make them better," he looked away from her then, bottom lip fixed between his teeth. Of course she knew. He often forgets how well she could read him. "But guess what, Stiles?" she continued, "I'm sorry to break it to you but, it won't help a lick. You were not the problem, you did not cause the shitty things that happened to us, and you do not deserve to be punished for chaos and havoc wreaked by the Nogitsune."

He began to protest, started to tell her that she didn't know a damn thing about how that feels. To watch yourself twist a sword through your best friends stomach, set up traps and bombs that took the lives of innocent people. She had no fucking clue about what he went through.

She saw him begin to argue though and she put one of her dainty fingers to his mouth to silence him. "I already know what you're going to say and you're right. I don't know what happened to you, Stiles, and I can't fathom the guilt you have. That doesn't change the simple fact that it was not you and you did not cause those events. I need to you to believe that because I wouldn't tell you that if it weren't as true as me saying the sky is blue. I'm not going to push you and I'm not going to tell anyone but if I see you pull that again, so help me, I will make sure Scott and Derek know what you've been doing and that you are not present for anything but pack meetings, you got it?"

He couldn't do anything but stare. Her threat was real, he could see it in her eyes and the firm set of her mouth. It should have comforted him; the thought that she cared this much, but all it did was infuriate him more.

He yanked his whole body away from her, practically knocking over his desk chair in the process. "Lydia, why do you care?" he said in disbelief, "Why the fuck do you care if I live or die? Why do any of you care? I have done enough, allowed enough to happen to you all that you should have killed me yourselves by now. If it hadn't been for me she would still be here!" his eyes were welling now, unshed tears fogging his vision. There was no need to say Allison's name, Lydia knew who he meant. "It should have been me! They should have killed _me_. If they had, the nogitsune would have been gone, the oni would have been called off, and she would be here. You would all have been better off if it had been me; I would contribute more to this pack if I was lying cold and rotten in a hole in the ground."

His tears were flowing now and he couldn't seem to stop them. Every thought that had been running through his mind was spilling out. "And I'm so fucking angry! All you guys do is treat me like I need to be handled with care. Yet, I'm the one who was putting you all in danger. I'm so pissed at myself for being so weak, for letting it get inside my head. Do you know what that's like? I know that you get what it's like to be out of control of yourself, be in a fugue state, but, you didn't _let_ it happen to you did you? You didn't consciously let Peter take over. I let him in, Lydia! It's funny isn't it?" he laughed without humor, running a hand over his damp, tired face, "I thought I was helping, Malia. I thought that if I just gave in he wouldn't hurt her that I could save her. But where is she now!? Gone! She skipped town months ago and I was left to watch this- this _thing_ dismantle all the things that I've ever held dear to me. Some days I wish you and Scott hadn't gotten into my head to bring me out, that the final solution would have been to kill me and that I would be long gone because, God damn it, I already feel dead so why not make it permanent right?"

He was shaking with rage now, needing something to take it out on, something that would hurt him. Lydia was standing, wide eyed as he paced the room. He looked up and came face to face with himself. His reflection in the mirror only forced visions to play before his eyes, all of the devilish things he had done while seemingly shackled within his own mind.

In one fell swoop his fist collided with the glass, the force of his fist sending shards flying every which way, silently falling to the carpet. His breaths heaved through his lungs painfully, the burning reminder that his wish for death had not been granted, as he looked into the fractured image of himself. This was a more accurate portrait, he thought. This is how Stiles saw himself, a fractured shell of a person covered in blood and destruction.

A sob tore through him, the sound seeming to come from someone else. He fell among the debris, his back slamming against the wall. She was at his side at once, holding him as he cried for what felt like hours. He hadn't cried like that since his mom had died. Lydia's small hand came up to cup his face, holding him to her, as the other ran soothing fingers through his hair. When his tears ran out, they just lay there against the wall, his face buried in her neck as she wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders; her own tears falling silently down her face.

He wanted to say something, apologize for the mess he made, literally and figuratively, but his throat was raw from his cries. He felt her kiss his hair before getting up, moving into his bathroom where he knew she would find his first aid kit. She was always the one to clean him up after quarrels the pack would get into. Lydia returned quickly, kneeling before him and lightly grabbing his hand to start cleaning him up. Stiles didn't wince as she used tweezers to pick out the small shards of glass from his cuts, too exhausted to feel anything at all. In no time his wounds were cleaned and she was wrapping them up in gauze.

After she put the kit away, she was in front of him again, her hands gingerly grabbing his. He looked up through battered, unfocused eyes at this beautiful girl who for some reason cared for him. "Come on, let's go to bed." She whispered.

Sleepovers happened from time to time. Neither of them was able to sleep after the Nogitsune was extinguished. Lydia because she was haunted by nightmares of Allison's death and Stile's because, without someone there, he was too afraid to fall asleep. They both knew that Stiles wouldn't be able to sleep tonight no matter how exhausted he was so she shrugged off her jean jacket and toed off her shoes as he put on pajama pants. She was dressed down for once, only in leggings and a flowery tank top, other times she would have needed to borrow something of Stiles' to sleep in. She guided him into the bed, situating him under the warm, down comforter before turning off the light and climbing in after him.

They lie facing each other, knees bumping together but neither really cared anymore. Stiles heard her inhale as if to say something. She hesitated before saying, "You asked me why I care… if you live or die. So, for the record, Stiles, you're one of the most important people to me," she rushed out, the words a confession in the safety of darkness, "I… I honestly don't know what I would do without you now and I would never be the same if you were gone."

The last word was choked out, caught on the lump he could hear in her throat. He knew she was crying; he could hear the tremble in her voice. Bringing an arm under her to pull her to him, Stiles wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. She cuddled into him, crying silently while he held her.

He knew then that he would stop trying to get himself killed. Her hushed admission was enough of a reason but he knew he would never be able to do it to his dad or Scott. Forgiving himself and moving on, however, would be a whole different beast. Yet he knew without a doubt that he was more than capable of enduring as long as she and the pack at his side.


	2. Ch1 - Stay away, sweet misery

He was in the woods. He was in the woods and he had no idea how he had gotten there. The autumn night was brisk and smelled of firewood. Stiles took in the sights around him, feeling drunk. How had he gotten here? Suddenly he felt himself walking forward, he knew he was but in his head he never made the conscious decision to do so. He was in the preserve but he couldn't tell where, everything blurring into one mass of trees in the inky darkness.

An old dilapidated house came into his vision, Derek's. Well, not really Derek's per say but it was the old Hale house. He felt himself climb the steps, feeling anxiety crawl up his spine like a black widow. His hand lifted and pressed the door open with little care. Okay, he definitely didn't do that.

That's when he realized it. The Nogitsune. It was not he who was doing these things; he was simply along for the ride. He tried to move his body but he couldn't feel a thing. Could just watch through his own eyes as his body moved. Each time his leg moved it felt like a string was doing it for him, like he was a puppet. His saw himself open another door, walking down the rickety steps into the basement. He had never been down here before but the Nogitsune moved his body like he knew the old house like the back of his hand.

He heard whimpers and that's when he knew something was certainly off. Now, Stiles liked being right. He reveled in being right usually. This was not one of those times. His eyes focused on the scene before him and he wished he could scream. Scott, Lydia, Derek, Isaac, Melissa, and his father were all sitting in chairs. They formed a circle and all of their heads were bowed. The sight disturbed him more than most things he had seen in his life and Stiles has seen some shit. His eyes peered closer, letting him see that each and every one of them was tied to their chair with chains, a piece of kindling in each of their hands. He knew the Nogitsune was doing this on purpose, knowing that Stiles Stiles could see as well. He flitted his eyes from person to person as they stirred, letting Stiles get the full view of what was happening.

One by one his family and friends began to move as he felt his body grab a can of gasoline sitting in the corner. His father and Scott writhing against their chains trying to break free, forever the heroes. Melissa was looking at Lydia trying to calm her down, whispering motherly niceties through the tears streaming down her face. He felt his body move forward toward them, bringing the can up and dousing them in the liquid. Lydia was yelling, yelling directly at him telling him to stop that this wasn't him. Isaac was screaming, just screaming and thrashing about in sheer outrage. His eyes were flashing yellow as Stiles threw the gasoline over his head and Stiles could feel the hatred coming off of him. Then there was Derek and for some reason this got to him more than any of them. Derek was panicking. His eyes were childlike and wide, whispering a chorus of "_no, no, no ,no , no" _as he yanked at his binds. The second the Nogitsune jiggled the can at him tauntingly, the chant got louder, his eyes starting to water. He felt his hands spill the contents of the can in a circle around Derek's chair, ensuring that Derek would be encircled by flames first before he himself actually caught flame. Stiles knew what he was thinking, he was thinking of his family and how they had died where he was sitting and that he was going to die there too.

He felt his own panic set in, trying so hard to do anything. Move, scream, run, anything. Nothing worked and he felt his own mouth shift into a downward smirk and the feeling made him feel ill.

The Nogitsune took notice, chuckling darkly. "What, Stiles? Don't you want to have a bonfire?"

A hand slipped into his pocket, the second his fingers touched matches he was screaming. At least he thought he was, he felt tears roll down his own face. Maybe he was breaking through? He struggled harder against himself as his hands lit the match. His hand flung the match into the air. He watched as it dropped in the center of his loved ones where gasoline pooled there. The second the flame was lit he was screaming.

But this time it was him.

All at once his senses rushed back and the scenery changed. He was no longer in the Hale house but his own bedroom. His limbs were flailing as he screamed his throat raw. Then he felt the arms holding him down and he panicked more, opening his eyes expecting to see the Nogitsune above him.

All he saw was the worry ridden face of his father. His screams continued but his ears seem to open up.

"Stiles! Stiles, it's okay! It's okay! It's me! Stiles!" His father was trying to yell over him, trying to reassure him that this was real and that he was himself.

His cries faltered, petering out into heaving sobs. Stiles was having a night terror. It was nothing new, something that happened every night sometimes multiple times a night. He wondered when they would end, when the terror would bleed its way out of his life like snake venom from a wound.

His father came down on the bed to hold him, murmuring reassuring and encouraging words. _It's okay kid_. _You can do this_. _It's over you're here_. _This is real_.

After about an hour, Stiles calmed and the sheriff let him roll onto his back while he went to get him a glass of water and something to eat. He lie there, tears still silently falling down his face. He wondered what time it was, what day even. He'd been staying home from school this past week. Most of his days, he would just curl up in his dark room and just lay there. He had no energy, the nightmares taking most of his energy and his depression zapping the rest.

His dad returned with water and some toast, knowing he wasn't up for a big meal after a night terror. Stiles felt him looking down on him, his helplessly broken boy. Coming forward to take a sip of water, he placed his feet firmly on the ground, needing to feel something solid.

He sighed, his breath drying out his raw throat further. "Dad, what time is it?" the question was hesitant because it showed that Stiles' days had been running together into one long night that never seemed to end.

"It's uh, it's around 3, Stiles," the pity in his voice barely concealed.

"Three what dad?" The sherriff looked down at his feet, being caught in the omission of whether it was PM or AM. "Also… what day is it?"

The sheriff brought a nervous hand through his hair, a habit that seemed to be hereditary, "It's 3 AM… on Saturday."

Stiles blanched. Saturday? That means- "I've been asleep for three days!?" The last time he checked in with his dad it was Wednesday.

"Stiles, look-" His dad started but Stiles rose up from the bed quickly, fear making his hair stand on end.

"Dad why didn't you wake me up!? Did I do anything? Was I here the whole time? Do you have the tapes from the-"

"Stiles!" a mental slap to the face snapped his attention to his rather exasperated father. "Stiles," he said, calmer now, "will ya just sit down? Please?"

He did as he was asked, sitting back down onto his bed.

"Look, you need to realize that you're okay." The words were weighed down with meaning that he knew his father wouldn't express, "Deaton checked you out when… it was over. He said you were clear and those things, the shadow people-"

"The Oni," Stiles spoke up, internally chuckling at his father's lack of supernatural vocabulary.

"Yeah those things, whatever they were, they did their thing and they gave you that weird looking scar behind your ear that means you are in the clear. And the doctors, the doctors let us know that your new brain scans were clear too. Kid you've got to rest. You're sleeping three days at a time then staying awake for five. It's not healthy! If this keeps up I'll-I'll call Melissa and have her bring over a sedative every night you just-"

"Dad," It was Stiles' turn to interrupt. He looked at his dad, worry etched into his wrinkled skin. He knew he was right, knew that he was technically okay. He didn't know how to explain to his dad that he didn't feel that way. That he felt like he was just barely glue together, pieces falling off more and more each day. How did he explain that to him? "I know they said I'm okay. I just… need some time to actually feel like I'm okay, alright?"

The world worn man sighed, crossing his arms in defeat. "Alright. I get it. I do," and Stiles believed him. "You need to get back on track though, Stiles. You can't start feeling okay, feeling normal again until you get back into normal things. I allowed this week off of school but you gotta let your friends in. I know you don't want to see all of the pack but you could at least unlock the door for Scott. You should see him standing out there in the hallway. If he was an actual wolf his tail would be between his legs and his ears all pinned down to his head. You don't need to get back into the supernatural nonsense but you gotta open up. Figuratively and literally."

Stiles nodded, knowing he was right. He felt bad turning them away. Scott came every day, knocking quietly and trying to get Stiles to come out. He even slipped Reece's underneath the door once to try and persuade him. Even Derek and Isaac came. Isaac almost knocked his door down before Stiles heard Derek knock him up-side his head. Lydia hadn't been back since the night she'd noticed his unique form of self punishment. She called him every day though. He never answered but she would leave him voice mails, calling back and leaving another if the first got cut off. She would tell him news about the pack and school, tell him she was there for him and to come to her when he was ready.

Was he ready? He didn't think he'd ever really be ready so now was as good a time as any. "Okay," he huffed, he dad peaking down at him hopefully, "I'll go back to school on Monday and I'll go see Scott Sunday."

His dad smiled, the first genuine smile he's given Stiles in months, clapping a hand onto Stiles' shoulder. "Atta boy," his voice was fondly warm, "Now try and eat something. You look like you're in the Hunger Pangs or something."

Stiles laughed, "Dad did you mean the Hunger Games? We saw that movie so many times! How do you still not remember the name? They say it like fifty gazillion ti-"

"Hey, gimme a break!" Stiles' missed the sound of his father's exasperated voice, "I liked you better when you were asleep."

He chuckled softly as his father made his way out into the hallway, closing Stiles' door behind him.

The second the door clicked shut and the silence crept in around him, alarm setting in. Sunday was pack meeting night. If he was really going to get back to a somewhat normal existence then he had to go. Sunday. He had 36 hours to get his shit in order.

How fast could he stitch himself together?

It's Sunday morning when Stiles realizes he can't do this. He can't just walk into the pack meeting like he hasn't been ignoring them for a whole week, like he hasn't been a self-destructive mess for the past five months. Would they throw him out of the loft? Had Derek changed the locks so he couldn't get in?

They had to know it wasn't about them, that it was about him and all the shit he needs to sort through. He had given up on that as well. There is no way in hell he could just put himself back together in a day and a half. It's going to take longer than that to sort through the muck in his head and in his heart but his dad was right. He won't start getting back to normal if he doesn't try and get back out there.

He knew the pack had forgiven him, that they didn't even think he needed redemption for actions that weren't his but how could he redeem himself in his own eyes? How did he begin to forgive himself for everything that happened, start to trust himself again?

By 3:30, a half hour before the pack meeting, he's a shaking mess in his room. He knew he'd been procrastinating all day. Cleaning his room, downloading copious amounts of music, and lots of pacing. He was onto re-netting his lacrosse stick now, helped him think. _I just have to do it, he thought_. He couldn't get back into things fully like he tried to before; the temptation would be too strong to continue punishing himself. So he would stay away from the stakeouts and fights and what not. He would help plan and research, those were his strong suits anyways.

That solved the problem of him not getting himself killed but how did he even begin to allow himself to heal? If he were shattered like this, cracked from the inside out, who would he be helping? He threw the lacrosse stick across his room in frustration.

It would happen all over again if he went back to things. He never allowed himself time to heal. Not from his mom, the kanima, or the nemeton and look where it had gotten him: weak and easily accessible to malevolent spirits. He would fail once again to protect the people he loved and he would continue to go through hell every single day.

_If you're going through hell, keep going._

The quote was from Winston Churchill, but it came to his mind in the voice of Morrel. Their whole talk after Matt died came back to him, the memory so vivid he felt like he was still sitting there, the sun warming his skin through the office windows. She had just explained to him that the constant panic he had been feeling, the panic he was feeling in his room in that moment, was called hyper vigilance. Like a constant panic attack, like he couldn't breathe, like drowning.

"_So, if you're drowning_," she had said, "_and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until the very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth, to not let the water in_?"

The thought had perplexed him, immediately reiterating that opening your mouth was a reflex. She kept pushing the idea into his mind though, the thought of fighting to hold that off for a bit of time.

"_More time to fight your way to the surface. More time to be rescued._" Her words echoed in his mind, reverberating through his ears.

He stood from his bed, propelling himself back into the present. Stiles hadn't been too weak, too vulnerable. He wasn't any of those things because he was here. He had fought hard enough to stay alive when the Nogitsune had him, to have enough time to be rescued by Scott and Lydia, to hear Scott's howl, to toss the Go board, and to fight his way to the surface of himself.

Stiles was, is, and will always be a fighter. He is here, he may have gone through hell but he kept going and he doesn't plan on giving up now. The rush of self-assurance was like a high, something he hadn't felt in a year. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of wanting to fight for himself, to tell misery to skulk back into the darkness it came from and leave him be.

The clock ticked four o'clock as he scrambled to grab his keys, running down the stairs and out to the Jeep. It took her a second to warm back up to him, the gears shifting clumsily as he sped to the loft.

Everyone was there, he parked behind Scott, suddenly excited to see his brother. He didn't even remember putting the Jeep into park as he fell out of his car and hastily closed the door. His too-fast heartbeat clicked in time with the slam of his feet up the steps.

The slightest bit of hesitation crept deep into his belly when he came to the door but adrenaline coursing through his veins silenced it. With a quick tug on the rusty door lever, Stiles was standing before his pack, panting and wild-eyed.

They all were staring at him like they'd seen a ghost, so much for werewolf healing. Scott stepped forward first, "Stiles, what are you doing here? I thought-"

"I don't know what you thought, Scotty," Stiles interrupted, "But, I assure you you're probably wrong. I owe all of you an apology," He started, looking to the rest of the pack, eyes falling on Lydia a bit longer. She looked happily shocked to see him which gave him more confidence, "I'm sorry that I have been so shit to you guys this past week and just shit in general since… that night. I'm sorry that my inability to forgive myself has gotten in the way of everything and I hope it hasn't hurt any of my relationships here. If you're willing to accept me… I wanna come back. I don't think it's safe for me to go out in the field with you guys and I can't promise you that I'm fully back to being myself. I don't know if I ever will be…" he hesitated, all eyes were on him and it scared the shit out of him. He locked eyes with Lydia, the small girl nodding encouragingly at him. "I'm gunna try and put myself back together but it's gunna take time and I may need your help along the way. All I'm asking is that you be patient and just… please don't give up on me."

He peaked up from the spot he was staring at on the floor, looking at Scott. He thought he'd cry at the proud look Scott was giving him. He was on him in seconds, arms wrapped tightly around him; Stiles returning the hug immediately.

"There's nothing to forgive, Stiles," He murmured to him, pulling away so he could look him in the eye, "And there's no need to ask us to come back. You've always been apart of this pack and that's never gunna change as long as I have something to say about it."

"I might have something to say about it," Derek's voice was stern but there was a softness there that Stiles couldn't place.

He looked at him hesitantly, Derek approaching him slowly like Stiles was a caged animal. When he was in front of him, faster than Stiles could comprehend Derek smacked him upside the head.

"What the hell!?" Stiles yelped, hand grabbing his skull. It wasn't that hard of a hit but still!

"That's for purposefully get hurt," Derek said, Stiles was able to hear the undertone of worry and, was that fondness, in his voice. He looked at him incredulously. Derek had noticed too? "I'm not stupid, Stiles.," rolling his eyes at Stiles shocked expression. "It's good to have you back." Derek looked uncomfortably emotional and it made Stiles chuckled, earning another light smack to his cranium.

"Hey!" he yelled, ducking away from Derek's oncoming hand, "Is that how you show affection!?"

"Pretty much,"Isaac said as he, Lydia, and Kira approached him.

Kira hugged him quickly, "I'm happy to see you, Stiles," Her naturally happy expression warming him. He really did like, Kira. She was such a cheerful person even when talking about murder and demons.

"And for the record," Isaac said, looking like he wanted to be mean for routine's sake but seemingly finding nothing to say, "I'm the one who got you those Reece's so you better have eaten them!"

"They're only like a dollar, ya cheapskate!" Stiles said in his best annoyed voice but a smile was playing at his lips.

Then there was Lydia, looking at him from behind everyone else. The second he looked at her, she ran over to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug. His arms wound easily around her waist, pulling her into him.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing each other in, as the rest of the pack made their way back to the living room. He had missed her so much this past week. Not seeing any of them had felt so foreign to him but Lydia especially.

They pulled away from each other and he saw that her eyes were shining, he brought a hand up to her face and she leaned into it. "I missed you." Her voice sounded smaller than usual and it made his heart ache.

"I missed you too," he whispered back to her.

She laughed lightly and nodded, putting a hand to his arm to lead him to the couch. On the table was a large map of downtown Beacon Hills, exes marking a myriad of buildings. He looked around at them as he sat down, his curiosity piqued.

"Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together, "Let's do this shit."


	3. Ch2 - Haven

That night the pack fills him in on everything that had happened in the past week. It was much of the same, which frustrated him. So far, they had been tracking what the berserkers were up to, where they were living, who they were attacking, so on and so forth. There were around twelve of them, out-numbering the pack by four, and they all lived in different places. Some of them lived in an apartment together but it seemed only five lived there. They were assuming the others were farther down in the hierarchy but they could never pin down who was in charge. All they knew was that he lived alone, in his late thirties, and didn't seem to have any family.

Derek and Scott had been tracking the killings and Lydia was analyzing them, trying to find some kind of repetition. They were mostly middle-aged men living in Beacon Hills or its neighboring towns. The killings seemed erratic, never on the same day or in the same place and it seemed every victim was different. There were only a few women on the list of victims and they were just as random so it wasn't a gender bias either.

Some time in the night they ordered Chinese food, Stiles fishing out a menu he hid in Derek's kitchen. After being sufficiently stuffed on Kung Pow chicken, Stiles went back to the map and the list of names on the table.

"There has to be something, a method, a motive, _something_. I feel like we're not looking deep enough," he said, perplexed. Stiles liked a challenge but this was getting ridiculous. "We're missing something. If we could only find out who the main guy is…"

"That's what we had been thinking," Scott's voice found him from the couch. He sounded cautious, making Stiles turn around with a wary expression.

"And…?" he prompted, needing to know why Scott was talking him like a child about to have a tantrum.

"And… we were going to go on another stake out tomorrow after I got out of work. Creep around their apartment, see if we can catch a glimpse of him or see who seems to be calling the shots."

And that was why Scott sounded so nervous. He knew Stiles had said that he wasn't going to go out with them until he was feeling more like himself but… it was so tempting just to jump back in, especially since this whole ordeal was stumping him beyond belief.

"Do you… do you think you'd be okay to come along or…?" Scott was hesitant, not wanting to push his friend too far.

Stiles thought for a second, chewing on the strings of his hoodie. He knew in his gut he shouldn't go but then again if they were just sneaking around the apartment area there wouldn't be any chance for a fight so maybe…

"I don't think it's a good idea." He finally said with a resigned sigh. "I want to plan it though. I'll lose my mind if I don't do something to help."

Scott nodded his head, a sympathetic smile playing at his lips. Derek just nodded, putting the rest of his chicken away in the fridge. Lydia, Isaac, and Kira were all chatting in the corner so they brought no attention to the conversation next to them.

"We're meeting here around six tomorrow," Derek informed him, getting right to business. Stiles was thankful for it, needing to keep moving from the topic of his inner turmoil. They had heard enough of his moaning for one night.

"Okay sounds good." Stiles said, gathering his stuff. It was almost ten; he hadn't realized how long they'd been here. "I'm gunna grab the pictures and street view of the apartment and the road to take home with me. I can map out a rough plan before we meet and we'll all fine tune it together."

Derek nodded, going to grab the supplies Stiles would need. Scott came over to pat him on the back, saying his good nights before everyone else could come over. Stiles had missed him, not seeing Scott everyday was difficult. It had felt like one of his limbs was missing.

"Here," Derek huffed, shoving the papers into Stiles' arms. "Drive safe." His stern look was kept in place, a hint of worry in his features.

"Two signs of caring in one night?" Stiles said, slightly shocked at Derek's concern for him. "God, what has happened to you? Getting soft in your old age?"

The wolf closed his eyes slowly, "Shut up, Stiles." He sighed before walking back to the couch.

Lydia came over then, "I'm glad you came," She said, a pleased look in her eyes. "See you soon."

"I'll see you tomorrow," He murmured, leaning down to wrap his arms around her small frame in a tight hug.

Waving to the rest of the pack, he made his way out to the Jeep. He was feeling somewhat better. There was still that taste of self-loathing in the back of his throat and anxiety still permeated his muscles but he was breathing easier after being with his pack.

The autumn chill was starting to set in but he rode home with his windows down, relishing in the crisp air. His head felt clearest here, driving Roscoe with the windows down and the radio on low.

He thought of Allison then, knowing she would have been proud of him tonight as Lydia had been. She had been one of the most supportive friends he had ever had. They'd grown closer after he got to know her and stopped being jealous of her; especially after her mom had died. She had become more than just Scott's girlfriend who stole all of his time. She had become his companion, his confidant, and a fellow human in a world immersed in the supernatural.

He felt his chest ache with the pain of it all. "I miss you, Alli," He whispered to the silence. Somewhere he knew she could hear him and that was all that mattered.

After getting home and filling his dad in on the goings on, Stiles went up to his bathroom to shower. Taking his time in the hot water, he felt drained but his brain was still working over time. The warm spray helped calm his nerves.

He only got out when the water had run cold, his skin wrinkly and pruned. He threw on pajama pants and a t-shirt before opening his window to let in the cool breeze.

He knew he wasn't tired enough to sleep yet and he wanted to make sure he was exhausted before getting into bed, maybe if he was tired enough he would sleep through the night. Pushing away the thought of more night terrors, he grabbed the maps and photos Derek had given him and laid them out on his desk. He needed to start the plan so that he could tweak it tomorrow.

The road the berserkers lived on was a narrow one off the side of Beacon Hills' main street. A small hole in the wall type apartment building but not shotty enough that they would need to worry about safety. It looked like the apartment they suspected to be theirs was the corner residence, having some windows facing the main road and some facing the alley next door. Stiles was thinking that Kira and Lydia could sit in the car on the road to watch the front windows, they wouldn't be in plain view if they parked in the right area. The wolves could go into the alleyway. The apartment was on the second of several floors so they wouldn't need to get on the roof or anything to see into the windows. As long as they were quiet, no one would even notice they were there.

From the photos, it seemed that there was a den and two bedrooms facing the alley and a large living area on the side the girls would be on. This was lucky, Stiles could tell from the pictures that they seemed to have a lot of meetings in those rooms.

A knock at his door startled him out of focus. He stole a glance at his clock, it was close to midnight so it must be his dad saying good night.

Stiles went and opened the door. He didn't find the Sheriff though; instead a familiar strawberry blonde was in his doorway.

"Lydia?" after sweeping over her features, Stiles could see that she was quite shaken. "Lyds, what's wrong? What happened?"

She just shook her head, her eyes were red and she was in her pajamas. Lydia fell into him, wrapping her arms around his waist quickly and burying her face into his chest.

He hugged her back immediately, turning her to steer her into his room as he threw his door closed. He took her to his bed, she was full out crying now, sobs wracking her small frame.

"Lydia, talk to me. What happened?" He tried to keep the urgency out of his voice, not wanting to startle her.

"I tr-tried to go t-to sleep after the meeting but-but," she stuttered over the words, a small noise leaving her.

It wasn't much but it hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. He longed to help her, to do anything in his power to never allow her to make that tiny, broken noise ever again.

"But I-I had a nightmare," she said quietly, forcibly slowing her breathing so that she could get the words out. "She was there, Stiles."

He curled a protective arm around her shoulders. This happened from time to time, the dreams. Ever since Allison's death, Lydia would have dreams about her. Well, sometimes they were dreams. Dreams of them riding around in Allison's car like they would or it was like Allison would be coming to her in her dreams, talking out her problems when Lydia was yearning for her best friend. Other times they were nightmares. Nightmares like it was happening all over again, the feeling of her friend's life slipping away and Lydia would wake up screaming. Scott always heard her, he'd call Stiles and they'd rush over to her house, the two of them taking care of her until she fell asleep.

Tonight it seems was a nightmare if Lydia's state was any indication. She would always cry after she woke up but not like this.

"What happened? Talk it out with me," Stiles whispered into her curls. It always helped her to say it out loud, to acknowledge that they weren't real.

"It was different this time," She said. Her voice was quiet but stronger; her sobs had subsided not from the alleviation of emotion but of sheer force of will. "I was there this time, there in the courtyard while the fighting happened. I don't even know if it was _how_ it happened but… it felt so real."

"It wasn't real, Lyds. You're here, you're right here with me." He said quietly.

"I know," she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing, She knew it was a reflex of his to let someone know they weren't dreaming after a nightmare. "I was standing there and I saw her shoot the Oni, watched that triumphant look spread across her face as she realized that she figured it out. But then… then I saw the other Oni coming towards her and I tried to yell but it felt like… it felt like I was paralyzed. I was screaming so loud in my head that it was shaking the ground. Then it stabbed her and as the sword went through her the ground shifted and broke beneath me. I just felt like the earth was swallowing me whole. Then I woke up, screaming."

It sounded all too familiar, the sense of being paralyzed. He knew better than anyone.

"I know it wasn't real, that I was dreaming but that feeling… that's exactly how it feels every time I think about her, Stiles." She looked up at him then, her eyes were searching his desperately for understanding. "Every time I think of her it feels like the ground is swallowing me up and like my head is pounding with a scream I can't get out. And the dream… being paralyzed… that's how I felt that night. Like I could have done something but I failed, like I failed her. Do you… do you understand?"

He hated that he did and he hated even more that she knew this feeling. That she knew the feeling of the world gulping you down like you were nothing, the feeling of not being able to do anything as someone you loved slipped through your fingers. He wished more than anything to bear this weight for her, to take all her pain and soak it into his bones.

"I do," he said quietly. He knew he didn't need to say much else, she knew the two words were loaded with his own experiences.

"I knew you would," she said, he heard a smile in her voice and he hugged her tighter. "Does it ever get better?"

Her question didn't sound hopeful, she knew better than anyone that for Stiles it hadn't gotten better.

"It will for you." He said in earnest, he needed her to know that this wasn't bullshit. That he wasn't just placating her. "You're strong, Lydia, stronger than you know. You know deep down that you couldn't have done anything to help her and that's the worst part because feeling helpless is not something that either of us enjoy but we're all too accustomed to. It's the price of being human I suppose," he sighed into a dark chuckle before continuing, "You'll make it through this though. It will take time and it will never be easy but it will get _easier_."

She looked up at him again, placing a hand over his heart. He knew she could probably feel it speed up at the contact but she didn't shy away.

"Do you think it'll get easier for you too?" She sounded so hopeful for him it nearly broke him into pieces.

"I don't know," he said to her, "I think it will eventually. Scott's optimism may finally be making an impression on me."

She laughed lightly, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always made his heart soar. Not everyone was awarded that smile, she didn't let that wall down for everyone and he would never stop being grateful for being one of the privileged few.

"Good, you're too cynical," She chuckled, looking down and leaning into his embrace. She fit her head under his chin and he loved how easily she fit into him. He would never let her know that though.

"I would say I'm realistic with a hint of cynicism if you don't mind," He said playfully.

"Technicalities," she snorted. A yawn broke free from her mouth, indicating to Stiles that she was worn out.

He untangled himself from her, going over to turn his lamp off. Lydia was sitting in the same place when he stumbled his way back to her. He found her hand in the darkness, getting onto his unmade bed.

"C'mere," He whispered. He couldn't help but keep his tone hushed. The cover of night making him feel as if every word he said was a secret.

She came to him wordlessly, hunkering down beside him under the covers. She rolled onto her side; her back nestled neatly against his chest. She reached back, grabbing his arm to pull around her.

"Can you hold me for a little while, till I fall asleep?" she said, her hushed tone matching his, "I just… need to feel safe."

He smiled to himself, loving that he made her feel protected. "Of course," he said, he kissed her hair and tugged her as close as she could get.

He liked that he could do that now. It wasn't weird or contaminated with his childish crush. It was just Stiles and Lydia, two people who cared for each other and needed one another.

"I can be your safe place whenever you need me to be," he murmured sleepily, the warmth of her enveloping him and lulling him closer to unconsciousness.

"I know," she whispered back, kissing his hand softly. "You're my safe place to land."

"And you're mine," he mumbled into the crown of her hair.

And it was true because as he drifted to sleep the darkness around his heart waned and for the first time in weeks he wasn't afraid to fall asleep.

**Author's Note**: Hey there! Sorry this took so long. It's been a rough few weeks and homework is piling up. Kind of a filler chapter but with some sweet stydia sprinkled on top Hopefully the next chapter will be up in the next week or so. As a heads up I've planned out for eight chapter + and epilogue.

Song Inspo: Ribs by Lorde and Degausser by Brand New, once again.


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