Archive of Our Own

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Mornings were always a hard time for Stiles. Be it his refusal to actually climb from bed, or the knowledge of the day before him; he still despised mornings. This one in particular was his least favorite. It wasn't as if he didn't understand the reasoning behind his training. As a Spark and part of the pack, he had his own duties. He may be a kid; barely Seventeen, but he was powerful and an ally that was needed to safeguard what was built. He had himself to protect; words that continually were drilled into him. He was still considered 'human', but he didn't appreciate having it shoved in his face.

He wasn't like Scott, or any of the other's, truthfully. He had magic, yes. But it was wild and untamed. It fed on his emotions and whilst it was strong and ravenous; consuming everything in a controlled chaos; it also wasn't always reliable. Oftentimes, if he wasn't completely focused, it would fizzle out and refuse to obey. He knew it was the reason for the lesson; to aid him. To clear his mind; but it frustrated him. Sure, he didn't heal super quick; or have heightened senses; or, heck, even have a piercing scream and visions; but that didn't make him inferior.

Slipping from the covers, Stiles groaned with annoyance as his feet touched the cool wooden floor. Since everything in Beacon Hills, most of the pack had agreed on the concept of a pack house. A place for each member to stay, should it arise. For Stiles, it was a second home. He stayed mainly on the weekends; just as most. Though, recently; he'd felt his welcome was sometimes overstayed.

Rolling on the balls of his heels, he stretched his arms above his head before wandering toward the dresser tucked into the corner of the room. He wasn't really in the mood to search for clothing, leaving him to snag the sweatshirt that was left on the dresser. Zipping it around him he felt a shiver crawl through him. Made his skin bristle with bumps and his body tremble slightly. However, he carried onward, pulling his bedroom door open and wandering toward the banister that overlooked the large living room. He could see Peter sitting on his recliner, nose shoved in a book. It almost made Stiles smile if it wasn't for the fact Stiles still was at odds somedays with Derek's uncle. There was bad blood in the past and while Peter tried to make amends; though unsuccessfully; there was always a concern that touched Stiles' tongue. He trusted Derek to keep Peter in control; but it didn't mean Stiles had to forgive him entirely for past altercations.

Letting his gaze roll once more, he found himself hearing the front door open as Scott jogged in, laughter filling the room as Kira was behind him. Newer to the pack, but someone Stiles deemed good for Scott. It wasn't that he disapproved of Allison; as she was still also part of the pack; but their relationship was a bit different now. Allison and Scott had truly loved one another, but differences caused a rift. Distrust of the past left them drifting even further until both resigned to remaining friends. Shortly after, Scott had met Kira and man, Stiles had never seen his best friend so happy.

Taking a long breath, Stiles shifted from the railing as he descended the staircase, noticing that most of the pack was currently gone; Derek included. No doubt assuring the others weren't causing problems. Stiles was a bit grateful; truth be told. He was usually the one playing mother of the Pack, so knowing Derek let him sleep in was a pleasant addition to the current day.

Once on the main floor, Stiles drifted toward the kitchen where he chose one of the many mugs that had been bought. Well, some were bought and other's stolen from his own father's house, since he'd long since forbidden his dad too much caffeine. It was simply bad for him, and Stiles wanted to assure his father at least lived long enough to see him maybe get married someday. Though, he was hopeless most of the time in that department. Social he was, but he was also a trainwreck of clumsy and flustered embarrassment most times.

Pouring his coffee into his mug, he went to the fridge before huffing in irritation when he found there wasn't any creamer. Of the few things he's hated, it was when someone used up the last of something and didn't let either him, or Derek know. It left Stiles grumbling as he closed the fridge and just decided to drink his Coffee black. He hated bitterness, but he desperately wanted his caffeine. Each sip was like a pinch of his taste buds, leaving him unsatisfied.

It wasn't long before he broke into the living room, taking a seat as he noticed Scott approaching. It wasn't hard to notice his best friend's gaze, his face pulling at Stiles drinking his coffee black. Though, Stiles was smart enough to know Scott was definitely the last to use the Creamer when only Scott's mug was in the sink.

"I completely forgot I used all the Creamer... Sorry Stiles." Scott took the spot beside Stiles, leaning back. It truly made Stiles consider hitting his friend. He knew his dislike for bitter tastes and yet, instead of offering to get some more Creamer, Scott merely settled into the comfort of the couch. It was unbelievable somedays, leaving Stiles to huff as he set his mug down on the coffee table and rose to his feet. Scott gave a glance, but definitely knew where Stiles was headed the moment he snatched his keys. It left Scott rising before Stiles waved him off, sarcasm thick on his tongue.

"No, please. Don't let me bother you during your relaxation." Scott opened his mouth to speak, but Stiles wasn't really in the mood to listen. He walked to the front door before tugging it open and stepping beyond, hearing the door seal behind him as he crunched along the gravel driveway. There were usually only three cars; Derek's Camaro; Stiles Jeep; and Scott's bike. With Derek being gone, so too was his car. It left Stiles to enter his Jeep, leaning into the seats as he glimpsed the clock. With it being a Sunday, he had really just hoped to relax. To enjoy his day before school the very next morning.

Shoving his keys into the ignition, he started the Jeep before backing out, turning the wheel carefully before he was headed down the road, eyes watching the trees of the forest pass by. He found it peaceful out here, where nature ran free. Untouched by human hands. It left a faint smile on his lips as his Jeep carried on down the road toward the closest store. He just prayed he didn't have to buy more than Creamer.

Unfortunately, the world truly liked to work against him. He had made it to the store and had found the Creamer when his phone started going off, leaving him to notice the caller ID. It was a bit surprising it wasn't Scott, but it didn't make him happier that it was Peter. Answering, he tucked the phone along his chin before shoving his cart, wandering the isles. "What do you want?"

"Well, that's a friendly greeting... What has soured your mood? Was it little ole' me?" Stiles rolled his eyes before he added the loaf of bread as well, peering at the shelves.

"You may be annoying most days, but you're not my mood killer. I just don't usually have you calling unless you want something, so what is it?" He could hear a chuckle on the other end, along with Scott's voice. Great, he was about to get a whole list. "Make it quick please. I want to get back and relax before lessons with Deaton later on."

Peter hummed in amusement; "Scott wants to know if you'll grab a few more things whilst you're out. I figure you're already out there, so it's easier."

"What does he want?" Stiles waited, tapping his foot as he added a few sodas into the cart.

"Some chips, milk, and Cereal it seems. Not the best items, but kids; am I right?" Keeping silent, Stiles wandered toward the isles, grabbing everything Scott had mentioned. Once done, he had wandered toward the checkout, realizing he was still on the phone with Peter. It wasn't like he cared how Peter felt, so he hung up. Not a goodbye. Not anything. Stiles merely wanted to get back with the groceries and drink his most likely cold coffee.

Tucking his phone away, he scanned the items before finishing cashing out. One bag on both hands and a milk carton tucked between fingers. Sliding his receipt into his pocket, he took off toward the door, making it to his jeep before packing everything in and starting off back toward the Pack House. It left him sighing once more; something he realized he did a lot recently, eyes lowing to the clock in his vehicle as he mentally swore.

By the time he returned, he practically threw the groceries into the house and left the others to put them away. He could feel his phone vibrating, his alarm no doubt going off. It left him aware he was wrong about what time he was supposed to meet with Deaton. He had assumed he had at least an hour, but surprise; he was wrong. How perfect. Sealing the door behind him without a word he was once more off down the road, noticing Derek's car passing by. However, he couldn't be bothered as his foot touched the gas harder than probably necessary. Perk to being the Sheriff's son; he wasn't afraid of a ticket.

Back at the pack house, Derek entered silently, glancing at Scott in the kitchen putting away groceries. It left Derek to frown, gaze lowering to Peter, still reclined and unconcerned about anything. It made Derek clear his throat, noting his uncle glanced his way, a smirk spread wide. His usual expression, one that was always annoyingly punch-able. Dismissing the thought, Derek decided to speak, tone low but still just as stern. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to actually help out. Don't you think living here without doing something to help out is pretty low; even for you?"

"I think it's wonderful. You must not truly know me anymore, Derek, if you truly believe I'll be of assistance with household chores. I'm a freeloader, dearest nephew." There was a lot Derek wanted to say, but he chose silence as he wandered toward Scott, leaning along the counter.

"I wanted to notify you that we're having a pack meeting this Thursday. It's after school, so try to have Stiles bring everyone." Scott nodded before Derek himself wandered off once more, working his way up the stairs to his room. He had his room pretty much besides Stiles, tucked in the back. The house itself was large, as he'd helped build it. After the two packs, his and Scotts had combined into one, Derek took up Alpha with Scott assisting as a sort of Co-Alpha. It had worked out rather well. Scott had deemed himself unready to lead, so Derek had no issue taking up the task.

Slipping beyond his door, he sealed the space before falling onto his bed, taking a long breath as he rolled over. Watched the ceiling as his mind lingered. Allowed his mind comfort as he decided a nap was much needed and honestly, preferred. It left his eyes heavy as the world around him seemed to still and fall into a calming black that swallowed him. A silence that enveloped him, nestling him into a peaceful mindset of serenity.

Stiles felt his annoyance fester as he laid his head along the table, listening to Deaton continue his explanation. For nearly an hour he'd been practicing the same spell and for an hour, he'd failed miserably. It wasn't like the spell was hard. It was simple in context, but Stiles struggled focusing. He fell behind when spells needed his devoted attention. It left him tapping his fingers along the table as Deaton stopped talking and took a seat before him, eyes watching with understanding. At least Stiles knew that Deaton himself had once struggled just as he did. Not due to being a spark with ADHD, but as a Druid that was always torn into situations that made him weigh the values. Neither had it easy.

"Stiles, I understand it's difficult, but you must try to clear your mind. Too many thoughts will overwhelm you and I know even a single one will cause you to fail this spell." Those words, while true; still hurt a bit.

"I'm trying... It's just hard. I'm so..."

"Tired? I hear you've been keeping up with your pack well. Taking care of them; as you have been given the responsibility for. I won't say it's easy, being a spark connected to a Pack."

"How did you get through it? As a druid of course..." Deaton hummed as he thought through an answer. It wasn't like Stiles expected one, so hearing Deaton explain was a shock to him. A welcome shock, truthfully.

"It was endlessly tiresome. I had many that relied on me, though I wasn't a part of any pack. I was never one to refuse to assist, but I ran alone. You have others to rely on-" Stiles laughed. Relying on Scott or some of the other's felt more tiresome than him simply doing everything. "-Stiles... I say this to help. You need to see it as less of the negative and focus on the positive. You have a place to call home and as you've learned from your father, 'family' can and always will be tiresome. Love is never easy and will always have hurdles, but one must make the best of the situation. They rely on you, which shows their devoted trust in you."

How those words actually made him feel a bit guilty. It was true that he understood the trust they gave him. He had access to everything. No limits, which couldn't be said about anyone else beyond Peter and Derek. Stiles knew he had as much, if not more authority of the pack, then Derek and that thought truthfully, it scared him. He was human and not an Alpha and at times, he felt he was stepping on Derek's toes, even if the other didn't ever comment. "I get that... I just-"

"You're fearful. I understand. Listen Stiles, know that if you were overstepping, they would have alerted you. You may be unaware, but you hold more power over that pack then you want to believe. There will always be meanings that won't become clear until later; so, try not to fret over them. Letting them consume your mind will only hinder you. Try to forget them for now; until it is required you bring them back to light." Stiles seemed to sit on those words before he nodded, taking a long breath as he attempted to clear his mind, just as Deaton had mentioned. It was hard, but he was never happier when he felt his spell finally work, like a field that enveloped him. A warmth that was noticeable, as if he was standing by a small furnace. The air around him shimmered faintly, but he kept silent as he let the spell fall. Deaton giving a firm nod of approval. "That is how it is done. Very good."

"It helps that I have a great teacher." Deaton didn't comment, but Stiles could see the small smile as he rose from the table. His eyes glanced at the clock, not entirely registering that he'd been out for a lot longer than usual. It left him standing as Deaton gave a nod, words falling into the present silence.

"We'll call this here for today. Next week I will be gone, so let us meet on Friday. You truly did well today, Stiles." Stiles gave a victorious smile before he headed for the door, keeping silent as he exited. He had sent a few messages to the pack members about his success on the shielding spell he was working on: his eyes bright. He honestly felt better. It left him slipping once more into his jeep as he pulled away, moving down the road toward the pack house once more, eye watching the horizon. He felt today would only get better.

If only. He found he always had a way to jinx himself. It wasn't until he reached a mostly unused road that he found himself slamming his brakes as a car coming at him jerked into his lane. It left his heart racing as he motioned toward the other driver, who was stopped before him, feet from his jeep. "Are You Insane!!"

Those words left with heated anger, his hands unbuckling him as he stepped out, walking toward the vehicle. The windows were tinted, extremely dark, which to be fair, should have been a warning. But Stiles wasn't afraid of much. He was strong in his own way. Maybe it was why he dared to approach the driver's window, tapping on it as it seemed to lower. Just enough to feel his heart sink when a hand flew out of the vehicle, pulling Stiles roughly into the metal of the car door. Hard enough it made his head spin as he fell to the ground, hands touching his head and observing red that touched his fingertips. It left him peering through blurry vision as the door to the backseat opened, Stiles hand reaching out to attempt magic, but his mind was muddled and his focus long since gone. It left him unable as he felt a hand tug his hair and something pinch his neck, the world spinning heavily as nausea swept over him, leaving his stomach to turn and bile to rise. All while his vision seemed to fade in and out.

One second felt like an hour before darkness washed over him. He was too tired, too lost in the abyss of his mind, consciousness fading.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Faint sounds of gears rumbling; like thunder in the horizon.

The sound of animals squealing; frightened and tense.

Screeching of brakes; a sound that forces a jolt to Stiles frame as he jerks upward, eyes drifting about the dark area. A cage; noticeable by the minimal light. The movement is easy to feel; a heavy vibration rolling through the metal that was below him; back sore and arms reaching out for support as the cage jerks once more; roughly and without remorse. It soared quicker, as if the gears had been oiled, leaving Stiles' gaze to rise as shock hit him dead. His eyes locked on the solid mass coming quickly his way; heart thrumming violently. Hands raise before another jerk happens, sending him tumbling as he yelps, hitting hard against another object.

It takes a moment for Stiles' breath to come back, sweat soaking his face as his legs feel like jelly. Arms grip anything as he hears locks shifting. Feels his eyes burn as the mass above is pulled open. It leaves Stiles to flinch away the sun's harsh beams. His hand raises once more, blocking his eyes as ringing bellows deep in his ears; yet he can hear the voice of many beyond. All males. It leaves him slowly shifting to look at the many eyes that watch. Faces wearing smiles and glee; leaving Stiles further confused; at least until he sees a few jump into the cage.

Hands reach out, grabbing roughly before tearing him from the spot and helping him out. It wasn't tough it had seemed; not when he found himself dropped into the grass, fingers digging into the soil as eyes danced about. Observing his surroundings left him bewildered. "Seems we've got a new Greenie, boys!"

The voice leaves Stiles' eyes once more moving to view another nameless face, caution seeping from his very features. He stumbles away as a hand reaches, a gesture he knows isn't with ill intent; and yet Stiles feels a distrust. His nerves boil over inside him as the stranger seems to hesitate. As if weighing the rational approach before the stranger raises their hands high, a peaceful surrender. Their words draw the present as a dull silence has begun to grow. "Easy there, Greenie."

"I-" The dryness of his throat leaves him coughing; water clogged lungs leaving him breathless. Though he's quick to recover before he attempts to speak once more. Irritation cresting his chest and annoyance spread thin on his face. "My names not Greenie..."

"Greenie is the name for the new arrivals. You'll remember a name-"

"Stiles." It left a silence as Stiles finally released a breath he'd been holding. He had positioned himself onto his butt, legs folding as he rolled his shoulder. Ignoring the tension that was leaving him uncomfortable. "My name is Stiles; I'll have you know. Not Greenie."

There was a lingering silence as Stiles finally looked at the stranger from before, a look of utter shock apparent. It was strange; leaving him to tilt his head as he simply waited. It wasn't like Stiles knew anything. Not where they were. Not much beyond his very name and a few minor things.

"You're officially the fastest to remember their name. I'm surprised. Let's try this again; alright, Stiles?" Nodding, he noticed the hand once more held out, this time grabbing it firmly as he was pulled to his feet. It left him finally observing the whole area; massive walls blocking them in on all four sides. Four openings leading somewhere he didn't know. Countless structures were made, all made of wood, hatch, and leaves. It left many questions, though Stiles kept them silent. "Names Gally. Most people take a few days to get their name back; but it makes this easier. We can introduce you quicker."

All Stiles could give was a nod as he felt overwhelmed. The space before him was massive, but there was a lingering feeling in his gut, as if he'd eaten something bad. It made him press his thoughts into the open; noticing many had begun to already disperse. Beyond Gally, only two remained. One a small male; much younger than Stiles. The other was a bit more his height, dirty blond hair seemingly unkempt and ratty. "What is this place?"

"This is the Glade. Your home from now on." Stiles tilted his head.

"Home? Where is this even? Why can't I remember anything else?" Panic hit Stiles hard, his heart rate rising as he stumbled. Felt his lungs falter as his vision swayed. It left Gally to step forward, catching Stiles before he could ultimately fall face first into the ground.

"Easy Stiles. I'll explain everything in time, but you need to breathe. All you need to know right now is that you're safe." A long breath filled his lungs as he shuttered, steadying himself.

"Thanks, Gally..." The other nodded, motioning to the younger male. Stiles couldn't stop the faint smile that teased his expression when the kid held his hand outward.

"Name's Chuck! The one behind me is Newt; the one who'll be helping you get accustomed to this place." Taking that hand, his gaze shifted toward Newt, who gave a respectful nod. It ultimately left his attention shifting once more to Gally, who was watching the cage; or elevator as Stiles had figured out; being sealed off once more. The sounds grew faint before Stiles added onto the moment.

"What exactly is this place? I know you called it the Glade; but beyond those walls?" Gally sat on the question before he frowned. It wasn't really at Stiles, but more at the question.

"The Glade is where you're safe. No one; and I mean NO ONE; goes beyond those walls. Not unless you're a runner; but those jobs are tricky and dangerous. You're caught outside those walls at night, once the doors seal; it's over. No one's survived a night out there." A lump had formed in Stiles' throat, leaving him to swallow it.

"I understand, but what's beyond there exactly?" A heavy silence remained before Newt seemed to step in, his British accent a bit refreshing. Though still harsh. A sort of sternness to his words.

"A maze. All you need to know about Stiles is that you're safer here. You can ask Twenty questions as we work." Newt glanced toward Gally before adding on; "I'll get him adjusted. You've got Alby waiting for you at the new supplies."

"Thanks Newt. See you round Greenie." Stiles frowned but dismissed it as he watched Gally jog further through the Glade. It left Chuck and Newt with him, not that he minded. At least there were a few friendly faces among the many he didn't know.

"Come on; I'll give you the grand tour." Giving a weak smile, Stiles followed as Newt guided. Strangely, for knowing nothing, Stiles felt a bit normal. As if nothing was really wrong; though he couldn't deny when his eyes seemed to drift toward one of the massive openings. It truly made him wonder what was beyond.

To put it politely; the Glade was massive in a tiring sort of way. But it was peaceful. Everyone got along and there was a well-built system. Stiles had been notified of the many tasks available; Newt mentioned for Stiles to most likely remain with Chuck or himself. However, Stiles wanted to know more about the Runners. Call him curious. Though, he was anticipating Newt's response to be a bit hostile.

"You're kidding, right? Not many want to face death head on!" Stiles rested along a tree, observing Newt work. Hacking away at a stump. "You're either crazy; or flat stupid."

"Maybe both?" Stiles knew Newt's words weren't meant to be answered. But Stiles couldn't deny that there was a draw toward the unknown. Why, he didn't know. Maybe something inside him sought something he didn't remember.

"Look, Stiles. You just got here and there isn't any way they would put you in that maze unless you prove you're able. It's not just about running. You get lost out there; you might not make it back."

"I know... It's just; I don't know. I have this pull toward it. I'm weird, I know." Newt held his tongue but nodded. Though, Stiles couldn't help but notice Newt was truly taking in his words. He observed the other point the machete his way, sighing as he spoke.

"Best I can do is bring it up to Minho; but it ultimately comes down to Alby's choice."

"Alby?" There was a long silence before words were brought forth. A deep tone of loyalty and trust that even Stiles could understand and notice.

"Alby was the first one ever in this place. He spent a month by himself; alone. He'd practically cared for each person who comes up in the shipments. He deems you unfit to be a runner; give up. But I'll bring it to Minho; alright. Now would you help?" Newt motioned at the stump, leaving Stiles to finally pitch in. He was a bit grateful honestly. He didn't know Newt, but he couldn't deny there was a deep feeling that he couldn't place. As if Newt reminded him of someone without a face.

Dismissing it entirely, both began to work as the sun kept dragging over the sky, clouds nowhere in sight. A calm breeze dancing with cheerful chatter and many bodies spread about. Truthfully, Stiles couldn't help but feel it wouldn't be so bad in the Glade.

By nightfall, most were done with work, all gathering around a well-lit bonfire. Chatter truly brought the place to life, the maze doors sealed shut. Many danced around; simply enjoying the moment. Celebrating. Supposedly it was due to the new arrival; himself. Newt had mentioned it being a monthly thing; but it was almost; strange. Stiles couldn't entirely place it; but just being around others and having fun; it felt like it stirred something in him. Though, those thoughts were abruptly halted the moment Alby's voice cut through the joy. A cup of handmade juice held high. Everyone seemed to understand, following along, even Stiles. "To Stiles; our new addition. A real crazy Greenie."

Giving a sheepish smile, Stiles nodded to Alby in respect. A sign of good faith. It made the space bustle with laughter and cheers; Newt taking a spot next to him as the life of the celebration bloomed once more.

"He's right, you know. You're the most crazy; idiotic Greenie I've ever laid eyes on. But maybe we do need more of that. I thought about it; and spoke to Minho. Be up early tomorrow; before the walls open. Meet on the West side and he'll give you a trail of the Maze. Pass his test and keep up; count yourself a runner." Stiles' eyes seemed to brighten; his smile pulled tight.

"Thanks Newt. Truly." The other shook his head, sipping his drink before he sighed, glancing Stiles' way.

"Don't thank me; not yet. Return, alright? Most don't know you; but you seem a good addition. I think you'll fit perfectly here." Stiles laughed, leaning back. Staring at the sky, how the stars glittered high overhead. A shooting star passed quickly. It made him point as he bumped Newt, grinning.

"Come on, make a wish. You always wish on a shooting star." Newt hesitated but didn't argue. A whisper that Stiles heard. A wish that made Stiles' heart ached a bit with an understanding.

"I wish this to never end. All of this; friendship and peace." How those words truly fell over Stiles, his own eyes peeling away from the sky. He brought a hand to his chest, feeling his heart ache. He didn't know why, but it was like a heat that welled in his chest. A lingering warmth that pulled him from beyond the walls. It made him ponder his own wish. Words a whisper; though overheard by Newt; who was left with a faint smile of understanding.

"I wish to someday find the past I don't remember. If there even is one." Newt kept silent, eyes shifting about the Glade. Even Stiles embraced the silence, simply glad Newt was beside him. It filled an unknown yearning in his mind. Left him strangely at peace with his current situation. Both staying together as night carried on. As the party slowly began to die out. Simply enjoying the comfort of having someone that understood the other.

A feeling that Stiles felt he knew.

That felt intensely familiar.

Yet, also remained unknown even to him.

By morning, Stiles was ready by the West gate; his gaze watching Minho speak with the other runners. To say his nerves were a wreck would be correct. He was incredibly nervous; yet also excited. He wanted to know more. There was a faint understanding of who he once might have been. His hunger for knowledge seemed vast. As if he was willing to throw himself into the worst troubles just to understand a situation. Maybe it was why he felt so drawn to the position of a Runner. The risk: it tasted almost intoxicating on his mind.

"You with me, Stiles?" Tugged from his mind, he nodded. Minho gave a nod before he spoke once more. "We're making this quick. Just running the route and heading back. Keep up, alright?"

Stiles didn't say anything, simply messing with his outfit to keep it in place before Minho began the jog in, Stiles remained close. The maze from the entrance seemed large, but it paled in comparison to actually being inside the maze. The walls towered incredibly high and while Stiles didn't get to truly admire the height, he could admire how well planned their route was. Minho led, keeping a quick pace. Truth was, Stiles was a bit glad he remembered a bit more than his name. Nothing major; beyond the feeling of sensations that felt natural. He'd played with the feelings after the party, finding himself remembering one of the few feats he had. His Magic. As strange as that realization felt.

He didn't remember anything beyond sensations; meaning he stumbled upon the correct way to activate the magic by merely feeling it. One thing he'd figured out was his focus affected it. Luckily, with no memories, that was actually quite beneficial. It was partly why he was able to keep up. His magic made him able to keep pace and from his knowledge; keep his lungs from screaming at him. While he did have the question as to why he had magic; as fictional as it seemed; he couldn't deny that he felt he'd had it all his life. Just by how it felt when he used it. As if it was as natural as walking and breathing.

Strange; yes. But he was almost glad. It gave him something to not only protect himself; but also help the Glade. Sure, he wasn't planning to expose himself; but from the sidelines, he'd gladly do what he could. He was simply like that. As Newt had mentioned the prior night. Self-sacrificing.

Stiles only stopped his train of thought the moment Minho stilled his movement. The whole group seemed to observe the split in the wall. An entrance somewhere; Stiles assumed anyway. But by Minho's expression it wasn't a good sign. It left Stiles wanting to ask; only he couldn't. Not when his lung felt tight; as if his body was dragged into shock. His blood ran cold and legs felt numb. He'd have remained still if not for those words that were briskly yelled. Loud and radiating authority. Minho's words.

"MOVE! GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!" That was all Stiles needed to hear as he stepped out of the way of something; his heart jumping in his chest as he stumbled and rolled. His gaze rose to see something that left his throat dry. What it was, he didn't know. All he was aware of was the hands grabbing him and dragging him along until his legs kicked in.

Minho had been the one to successfully grab him, leaving Stiles to glance for the other Runners. He almost wished he hadn't. The sight of blood along the concrete left him quiet and quite sick to his stomach as Minho didn't let him go. Assured he would be fine. Stiles truthfully would have let him continue if not for the scream that made Stiles jerk free. He glanced toward the Runner he'd learned was Ben, barely dodging the stinger of whatever was attacking. Maybe it was instinct, but Stiles felt his feet carry him toward Ben. His skin tingled as he felt as if his fingertip was burning. He wanted to help, leaving him to carefully let his magic build. A small speck of light; like a small kindling of fire. It was small, but just enough as it hit to knock the stinger aside, the end shooting past Ben and hitting the ground beside him. It gave Stiles enough time to tug him onto his feet, dragging him just as Minho had done prior.

He could hear the creature screech behind them; but Stiles felt almost grateful there weren't any footsteps to follow up on. It left all three running a few more turns and sections before they all stopped. Stiles slumped against the towering wall, catching his breath as he heard the approaching steps of who he assumed was Minho, though it was both him and Ben. Ben seemed almost grateful, which was a plus. Minho: he was harder to tell. However, he wasn't expecting the pat on his shoulder. "Damn Stiles... That was something. Your one crazy bastard! Do that again though and I'll personally hit you atop the head. That was suicidal!"

Stiles nodded, looking away before he heard Ben pitch in. "However, I have you to thank. Not sure what happened, but luck must really have you in its sight."

"Yeah... Seems so." Trailing off, Stiles sort of hoped they'd let it go. Memory told him they weren't too far away from the entrance and from Minho's expression, what just happened wasn't normal. It made Stiles seek answers. He was curious and sure; someday it might get him killed. Luckily, it wasn't today. "What even is that?"

"You didn't get told?" Stiles shook his head, a long sigh tearing through Minho. "It's called a Griever. They come out at night... So, this has been a problematic situation."

"What do you mean they don't come out during the day? It seemed pretty accustomed to daytime, if you ask me." Ben sighed, leaning beside Stiles. Oddly enough, even with Stiles' blood rushing through him, somehow, he felt he'd seen worse. Or been through worse.

"They are a night problem. It's why we say no one comes back alive if you're trapped out here at night. Truth is, that's the first time I've ever seen a Griever." Stiles kept silent, listening as Minho thought. It was hard to hear, but Stiles could just faintly make out the sound of shifting walls. It made him feel they were in the clear; though he wasn't sure they'd believe him if he claimed it to be just a feeling. So, he chose to keep silent, instead asking other things.

"Do we head back then? Maybe it was a fluke. Something that won't happen again." Stiles truly wanted to believe that; but he felt it wasn't the case.

"I need to report it to Alby, see what he wants to do." Stiles nodded, viewing Minho's smile. "Seriously though, you're incredible. Glad Newt recommended you. You're crazy for sure, but maybe we need a little bit of that. Anyway, let's head back. It'll be an early day, so you'll likely end up helping other groups."

Without another chance to speak, Stiles watched Minho lead them back. He stayed in the back, simply listening. It was strange to him. Not only the idea that their 'normal' was now changing since he'd gotten there. But also, how calm Stiles was. Not just about the Grievers; but with his magic as well. It made him really question his past. How fucked up was it; for this all to truly be normal?

Dismissing the thought, he picked up his pace. He knew; no matter how much he pondered a question; if he lacked the memory to give the answer, it would remain unsolved. It was the reality he was beginning to grasp; though, he supposed it could have still been worse.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

{ A Day Prior }

Anxiety wasn't something Derek felt often. Sure, he'd had his fair share of problems and situations that should have made him worry. But oftentimes, it was solved if not quickly, efficiently. Stiles had truly always been a solution; the brain of the pack. His presence was incredibly valuable, not just to the pack, but for Derek as well. A secret many knew; all beyond the one person it would have mattered to. Though, Derek had his doubts somedays.

Being mated was something wolves were accustomed to. It was a fateful way of assuring they wouldn't remain alone. Derek understood that and for months he'd known the truth. He'd known Stiles was fated to him. His destiny: but he'd kept it secret. Avoided the other finding out. Call him selfish, but he simply didn't want to force Stiles into a situation; not after everything. The only human of the group, who had carried the supernatural through every battle, simply didn't need another problem to handle.

It wasn't as if the two weren't connected. They were close; but it always felt more on the boundaries of friendship. There was the occasional flirtatious jest from Stiles; but that was his character. Derek knew that oftentimes, Stiles most likely never meant the real meaning to his words. Sarcasm was Stiles' defense and words were his shelter. It was simply impossible to fully grasp what Stiles meant most of the time. He was a wild human, but always someone Derek had learned to respect most. Without him, he knew full well the pack wouldn't be where it was now. Hell, Derek understood Stiles was a lifeline for them all. He was a hero to each pack member and those beyond the pack, even if Stiles didn't believe it himself.

Which was what ultimately led to Derek's growing unease. Stiles had left for Deaton's Sunday afternoon and while it wasn't strange for the hyperactive human of the group to break from his usual plans and schedules, it was still strange. Especially since Derek's last message received was a whole day old. He'd even sent his own the very morning of the current day, which still remains unread. It was completely out of Stiles character. It had ultimately left Derek to call a pack meeting that very afternoon once the others were free of school.

He just prayed he was wrong about the growing feeling in his gut. As if something was rotting away in the back of his mind and his stomach was being flipped. It was unnerving and truthfully, made his wolf claw under his skin. The faint whines and snarls of anger that shuddered within him, vibrating his very soul.

Glancing once more to his phone, Derek sighed heavily in an attempt to calm himself, foot tapping along the floor. Even with the meeting hours away, he almost wished he could have called it immediately. But his pack was mainly built among teenagers. Peter was the oldest of the pack, followed by himself. It wasn't as if multiple teens could simply abandon school, not even for the meeting.

"You know, dearest Nephew. You continue to clench that phone of yours any harder and it will snap. Calm down, would you? Surely there isn't anything wrong and you're simply worrying for nothing!" Derek finally registered Peter's words, loosening his grip on the device as he laid it on the table, finally flopping into one of the couch cushions. He was tired. Fearful; truthfully. Derek had lost a lot in his life, and he truly was terrified of the thought of losing Stiles. "Breathe Nephew. Last thing you need is your worries causing problems through the bond."

Peter's tone was serious; a first honestly. Concern for Derek present, though hard to accurately notice. "What if something happened to him? I can't lose him, Peter..."

"I know, from experience; but worrying yourself over something uncertain will only cause further problems. Calm yourself and once the meeting begins, we all can try to figure this out." Derek nodded. Peter may have been a villain in the past; ruthless and cruel. But he had changed. Most still didn't appreciate or like Peter; but Derek found their relationship had slowly become repaired. Strained: absolutely. But it was nice, having family still around him.

"You're right..." Peter smiled, his expression reading his assurance on him being right. It left Derek to roll his eyes before he leaned further into the couch, glancing at the clock. He truly just wanted time to pass on by.

Lucky for Derek, time did just that the moment he dozed on the couch. He hadn't even realized how tired he was until he was awoken by voices around him. It made him jerk upward, scanning the faces. Searching for Stiles, truthfully. Call him hopeful. However, Stiles was absent, only making his displeasure and fears blossom within him. Rage beneath his heart.

He was a bit grateful everyone settled quickly, as if they understood the importance. It left Derek steadying his emotions as he began, words still tense, but evened. "I get we had plans for a pack meeting on Thursday, but something has come up. I ask this out of concern, but has anyone heard from Stiles since yesterday?"

The room felt suffocating as most shook their heads. Even Scott, who was like a brother to Stiles, hadn't heard from him. That was a red flag. Stiles didn't go anywhere without Scott knowing. It left Derek chewing his nail momentarily before he carried on speaking. Hands clasping together and thumbs rolling along together.

"I messaged Stiles this morning and it was left unread. Was he at school today?" Again, Scott shook his head, though added his own remark.

"He wasn't, though his father yesterday messaged me after I had asked about him. Apparently, he'd received a message from Stiles. Something about going somewhere for a bit and not waiting for him should he be home late." That left most silent as Peter seemed to take interest.

"And Stiles' dearest dad didn't find it strange? That message screams out warnings, even for me; and I'm a walking warning." Derek huffed in annoyance, but Peter was right. The message seemed odd, especially if considered being said by Stiles.

"He told me that Stiles responded to him after he tried to ask about the first message. He was a bit weirded out, but the response eased his tensions. Last I heard, Stiles never returned home last night. Not unless he left before the Sheriff was up." Scott looked at the floor, frowning.

"Did he start a search?" Scott shook his head.

"He wasn't sure if he should. There was a certain worry that if he started searching wildly and Stiles showed, he'd be annoyed. He said himself that he was giving Stiles till tonight to get ahold of him before he started an actual search." Derek hummed, acknowledging the facts before he brushed his hand over his face. However, Scott was quick to add on. "I get the Sheriff doesn't want to make a commotion over this yet, without facts, but shouldn't we start looking? I mean, Stiles always has his phone on where we can track him if needed."

"He turned it off... Apparently last night." That left Scott without words as Allison decided to speak. She was one of the few that hadn't truly spent a ton of time with Stiles. But she knew well how much Stiles did for others. As a hunter, Stiles was someone she respected. A human that proved there weren't really limitations based on race or species.

"I say we go with Scott's words. A search should have been started yesterday. Last we knew, he was leaving Deaton's." Derek peered the Hunter's way, giving a small nod. Allison was right. A search should have already begun and while Derek understood the Sheriff's side of things, there was this daunting feeling. As if something was wrong since the prior evening.

"Then we can start the search. Maybe he got held up and will be angry about this all later on, but I want to be safe." All nodded in unison, Lydia twirling a strand of her hair to ease her own worries. Luckily, Derek felt Stiles was alive at least, since the only Banshee hadn't sensed anything. "We'll start with Scott and Allison checking the north. Search everywhere. You know Stiles' scent, so do what you can. Lydia, I want you and Jackson to head East. Kira, you go with Isaac South. Erica and Boyd, you take the remaining area."

"What about you and Peter?" Scott's question left Derek to grumble. It wasn't so much to question Derek as a whole, but it didn't mean he appreciated being under scrutiny of his actions. He was planning to work himself dead if it meant finding Stiles and he knew Scott understood that.

"Peter won't be much help, so he'll stay here and let us know if Stiles shows. As for myself, I'm planning a visit to Deaton. See if he might have any news or information that could help." All nodded, as Derek rose from the couch, wandering for his keys as he observed the pack disperse, many heading off, including Scott's bike revving. It made Derek glance at his own Uncle. "Let me know if you hear from him, alright?"

"I assure you; you'll be the first to know. I love teasing you, but even I don't crave death once more." Giving a growl of annoyance, Derek left, sealing the door behind him. He felt as if his stomach was threatening to fall from him. A bubbling unease only grew as he finally began down the road toward Deaton's. A sort of heaviness in the air that made it hard to breathe. Creeped up on him and left his wolf snarling in rage at the faint fear of Stiles being injured. Or worse; though he knew it wasn't the case. Benefit to being mated, he always had a connection to the other and his with Stiles still vibrated with steadfast respect. Thrummed a gentle toon; though strained.

The world had truly come crashing down on Derek as he had left Deaton's, heading down a road he'd traveled a few times. A road that was simply a shortcut back toward the packhouse, though connected to a main highway that was unused and left in need of repair. However, it wasn't the road that made everything crush him, it was the faint scent of Stiles that wafted through the air; along with a charred smell of something that left a grotesque taste in his mouth. It ultimately made him park his car, jumping out as he followed the scent past the road and into the woodlands before him. A patch of greenery that slowly seemed to morph into a concerning dusty blackish color. Withering plants and a heat that still simmered in the air as Derek finally broke into a small clearing.

It was hard to truly take in the site before him. But he knew that blue jeep anywhere, driven into a tree and melted away, as if once left on fire. It made the realization settle at the charred scent, Derek's heart dropping from his chest as he stumbled forward clumsily. He approached the car's destruction, fearful of what he might see, and though he could see a form in the front seat, he knew instantly it wasn't Stiles. Not when he could feel Stiles alive along the mating bond.

However, that insinuated someone had set the scene up. Wanted anyone who stumbled on the scene to believe that Stiles was dead. Truth was, it made Derek furious. The idea someone had Stiles, but that they actually believed this little trick could fool him. If he was human, absolutely. But he was a wolf and one that was feral now that he understood Stiles might actually be in danger. It left his jaw tensing as he finally took out his phone. He had a pack and a certain sheriff to involve now.

Involved he did, Derek resting a bit out of the way toward the roadway as he heard the sirens. Viewed the cop cars and firetruck that followed. He'd allowed knowledge there wasn't an actual fire anymore, but it was precaution. Though, that wasn't Derek's focus. Not when he noticed the Sheriff jump from his cruiser after barely putting it in park. The way the older male seemed to tremble with each step made Derek feel weak. Made his gaze waver as he pondered if it was okay to look in Stiles' father's eyes.

"Where is he? Where is my son?" Derek felt his lungs close suddenly, as if scared to speak. However, he had no choice. He was the one to stumble on the scene and call it in. He was a witness, as much as he hated that idea.

"He's not here, Sheriff. His vehicle is burnt to a crisp with someone inside it. Who, I'm not sure."

"But it's not Stiles, right?" Derek nodded. He wasn't sure if he felt comfortable with the way the Sheriff relaxed a bit at the notion Stiles wasn't the one burnt alive. Though, he also understood. He too was beyond grateful it was someone else other than Stiles.

Leading the way, Derek showed the officers into the woodlands, bringing them to the scene. The Sheriff himself seemed even more heart broken at seeing the car, the front dented in as if it had rammed the tree it was resting against. It all looked as if an accident, though Derek truly had his doubts with everything. It left him wandering a bit back toward the road, observing for anything.

Luckily, he found his gaze spotting a few skid marks, legs bending as he lowered himself. The tire marks weren't from the Jeep, that much Derek knew. It left him pulling out his phone and snapping a picture before he sniffed the air. It was faint, but there was a slight smell of something chemical. A drug, Derek noted. It left his fists balled. Stiles had been kidnapped.

Chewing his lip, he only rose back to his feet as he once more found his eyes stopping over faint red dots on the roadside that were well since dried. It left him snapping a picture of it as well, eyes scanning the horizon. It wasn't hard to smell the blood was Stiles, though he was glad it was a small amount. It at least meant Stiles hadn't been critically injured.

Finally tucking his phone away, Derek moved back toward the crime scene, watching the Sheriff. Smelling the distress. He couldn't blame the poor guy. Derek knew firsthand the pain of losing family. His thoughts however stilled the moment the Sheriff approached him, eyes watching Derek with hope almost. "You said it wasn't Stiles in the car, so I'm sending the body to the morgue for investigation. See if we can identify anything. Did you notice anything else?"

"I did." Derek hesitated momentarily before he sighed lightly, leaning along a tree. "There were skid marks, as if a car of some sort had stopped abruptly. One pair was Stiles' Jeep, the other a different vehicle. I noticed the smell of a drug of sorts, leaving me to consider this a kidnapping, though I'm not entirely sure who would attempt this. The scents aren't ones I've ever smelled and from what I can tell, this occurred yesterday evening."

The Sheriff's expression hardened as he spoke, "Can you at least tell me if he's alive?"

"He is. That much I can promise. I'm assuming he was slightly injured during the grab, as there was a small amount of blood. Nothing critical, I assure. Whether it was him fighting back, I'm not sure."

"Is there any information you have on which way they traveled?" Derek shook his head. He may have super smelling and whatnot, but he couldn't get much. Not with everything being a day old. The only real indicator he had was that the care originally came from outside Beacon Hills. But that wasn't something he felt needed being said. Not when he didn't want to allow Stiles' father to act recklessly.

Pulled back to the present, he felt a hand pat his shoulder as the Sheriff had teary eyes, but kept strong as he smiled weakly. His words strained and edged along a whisper. "Thanks Derek... I'll spare the questioning, so get out of here. I've a scene to scavenge."

A low hum was all Derek offered as he wandered back to his vehicle. Once inside, he found his hand hitting the steering wheel aggressively, claws beginning to surface before he leaned back in his seat. Stilled his anger as he sent a single text to round up the rest. A text he dreaded; one that truly made his worries become a reality. Stiles was in trouble and worse yet, there was nothing to really go on.

Laying his head on the wheel, Derek felt how his wolf cried in small whines. How his heart felt crushed. Even with the Mating bond allowing him to know Stiles was alive, it didn't offer him comfort. Not when Stiles was gods knows where. Alone and most likely scared. Stiles was strong, but he always had the pack around him. This time; neither had a preferred situation. Stiles didn't have anyone who would protect him from the world and the pack; they didn't have the only lifeline they all held onto.

It made Derek close his eyes, taking a long breath before he peeled his eyelids open and began toward the packhouse; a thought flooding his mind. Like a whisper that taunted him. Made his skin crawl with irritation. A thought that he couldn't do this without Stiles. None of them could; not anymore.

Stiles was all they had that linked them. A pillar to their chaotic lives.

Without him, Derek feared he'd falter.

Feared they'd all fail and that this time, they wouldn't overcome it.

That they might just lose the one thing that mattered most in the world to the whole pack: Stiles himself.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The following day after the Grievers sighting in daylight hours, Stiles found himself anxious. He'd been left behind, not that he didn't understand. He was new. He didn't know the maze, not like Minho and Alby. After the sighting, it only made sense that Alby would check the situation himself. But it left Stiles listless as he lounged around near Chuck, simply helping with minor things. Chuck himself was carving something, though Stiles never pried. He was pretty sure the kid would show him eventually.

It was a bit after midnoon, meaning most had already been well into their respective jobs and with Stiles on the bench, he was left to mix in with someone. Truth was, Newt was his first stop that morning. His deflated joy was briskly risen; though Newt assured he didn't need assistance. It had ultimately left him seeking out Chuck, since Gally had been too busy to pay him mind. Stiles hardly considered it a wound to his pride. Gally was simply a respected and busy guy.

It left Stiles glancing up finally, spotting Chuck had stilled his own movements. He seemed to be wiping at the carving, giving a low grumble. It made Stiles chuckle as he finally closed the distance, sitting just beside the other. Letting his shoulder bump the smaller frame. Which was saying something, cause Stiles was the second smallest of everyone in the Glade. It was a truth that left him a bit bitter. Made him really aware of how thin and frail he looked. Though, Stiles himself knew he wasn't just bone. He was something else, just never had a real word to label it all. "What's got those eyebrows raised so high, huh?"

Chuck seemed to sigh, lowering the small little knife. It allowed Stiles to finally view the sculpture. He knew Chuck was talented. He had a purely wholesome imagination. So, it wasn't a surprise to see a sort of bird, though more like an owl. Still, it was more than Stiles could do. Other than running; both with mind and body; Stiles only really had his magic. He wasn't really strong. He was smart, sure; but he was clumsy. Unfortunately, Stiles seemed to understand he had more flaws than actual benefits. "I'm just frustrated. Every time I look at this, it just seems so bland. So boring."

A low chuckle fell from Stiles. Bland was a way to put it. But the sculpture was beautiful in regard to craftsmanship. It left Stiles holding his hand out; Chuck giving a confused glance. Truth was, Stiles didn't want people knowing of his magic. But Chuck was different. The kid had Stiles' back, he knew that. So, what was one small favor? "May I?"

Slowly, Chuck passed it toward Stiles, who smiled calmly. He picked up a few blades of grass from below, giving a cheeky smile. "How does green sound?"

"Uh... I mean, if it was possible, I would love that... But-" Chuck's voice all but fell silent as Stiles focused on the little owl in his hand. Wrapped the blades of grass around the figure and felt the way his blood warmed. How his heart thrummed softly in his chest and his hands seemed to feel clammy. However, the faint glow of light left him aware it worked.

Finally peeling his hands away, the blades of grass had vanished, leaving the figure with green wrapping around; as if moss had grown from the little owl. It left Stiles holding it out, watching in amusement as Chuck tried to find words. "You... How?"

"Not too sure as I don't remember before coming here. But if I had to guess; I was able to do this before coming here. You're the first to know." Those words left the silence heavy before Chuck took the figure back, running his own thumb over it. His eyes seemed to sparkle with childlike joy before he seemed to register Stiles words as a whole.

"Wait... No one else knows?" Chuck tilted his head. "Why?"

It truly was an innocent question, and yet, Stiles didn't really know a complete answer. He was a bit worried about being outcasted, but he had come to learn a lot about the Glade. They truly saw everyone as family, flaws and all. Sighing, Stiles spoke, giving the best answer he could. "I am new, Chuck. What would they say if they saw I could do the unimaginable?"

Chuck seemed to understand as he lowered his gaze, though spoke gently. A weight lifted from Stiles' chest for once. "I see... Well, then thank you for trusting me, Stiles. This is the first time someone has offered me something first; so, it really made me happy."

"Anytime, Chuck." His hand messed with the kid's hair as the afternoon carried on, peaceful and without issues to arise. Laughter filled the space as Stiles felt a serenity grow within him. As if he could finally breathe fully.

By nightfall, most had gathered by the maze entrance. Waiting. Even Stiles was there, beside Chuck. It was as if everyone's fears were circulating. Alby and Minho had yet to return, and the walls would close soon. It left Stiles to chew his lip, something he did whenever anxious. But this wasn't just anxiety. It was a regret. He should have pushed to enter with them that morning, to keep them safe. He had the resources to assure their safety. It made him truly feel at fault.

However, he was torn from his mind the moment chatter rose. The sound of the gears clicking as the walls signaled their beginning to close. Not far off, down the long stretch of maze, Minho could be seen dragging Alby. A sight that made Stiles' stomach drop. He stood pretty much before the entrance, eyes shifting toward Chuck as he heard the voices of others. All calling out. All urging Minho to hurry, but Stiles knew the hard truth. They wouldn't make it.

Feeling a hand grab his shirt, he noticed Chuck looking his way. Eyes almost pleading. He knew without words what Chuck wondered. Stiles thought it himself. It left him bending down, whispering something to Chuck. Even without acknowledgement, he believed Chuck would understand. Only Chuck could truly comprehend the stupidity Stiles was reaching for.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles ran a hand along Chuck's head before the walls began their close. Screaming filled the space as Stiles took a deep breath. Felt another pair of eyes on him. Felt a hand reach his way as he took a step forward. Ignored all the dangers that were before him as he focused on Minho and Alby. One step turned to many as he broke into the maze, twisting his body as voices shouted now at him. He pushed his feet as fast as possible, feeling the walls threatening to crush him before he slipped onto the other side just in time, hearing the doors seal entirely as his eyes finally met Minho's. Disbelief written on that face as the other tried to speak, but Stiles waved him off.

Truth was, he knew what Minho would say and he didn't want to hear it. Not now. Not when they needed to find a way to ensure Alby's safety. It left Stiles wandering over as he took in Alby's state. From his brief knowledge, he knew the other would at least make it the night.

Not hearing the footsteps coming his way, Stiles wasn't prepared for hands that shoved him against the wall. Eyes burning into him with disapproval. A look that Stiles found didn't really bother him. Though, the words hurt a bit. "Are you actually suicidal? Why the hell would you run into a closing maze?"

Stiles gave a low 'tch' before he shoved against Minho. It didn't do much, but Minho got the overall message. It was Stiles' way to tell him to back off. A single step was all he was given.

"You were safe on the other side, and you should have stayed there!"

"And let you die?" Minho bristled at that, sighing.

"Yes! Two casualties are better than three, Stiles." Those words made Stiles ponder just throwing caution to the wind. Minho really thought their fate was sealed. It made Stiles frustrated as if he'd dealt with something similar. A life-or-death situation where lives were at stake.

Brushing the concept away, Stiles ignored Minho a moment and brushed past the other, crouching by Alby. He could stop the bleeding, though he was a bit worried about Minho, who was still glaring holes into his back. Though Stiles supposed now was better the truth came out. At least there weren't others to outnumber him if things went south; though he prayed it wouldn't be the case. He was only trying to help after all.

Reaching out, he brushed his hand along the wound under Alby's shirt, raising the fabric as a hand yanked his arm away. It made Stiles growl in frustration as he tore his arm free once more. By the way Minho's eyes widened, he assumed something happened around him that made the other falter. Call it a blessing, leaving silence to ensue as Stiles focused once more on Alby. Lifting the shirt, he brushed his fingers on the wound. Noticed the black veins that stretched from the wound itself. It made Stiles frown as he took a breath, feeling his skin grown cold this time. It was like a winter wind that enveloped him and by the breeze he felt, was affecting around him as well. Taking a long breath, he breathed in; feeling as if ice tore through him. Froze his lungs as air shuttered from his lips. His eyes were closed, but he already knew that he would see. The black veins along Alby's Skin seemed to retract, as if being pulled from Alby's own body. Without a conduit however, Stiles used his own body as the vessel of such affliction, feeling how it made his heart stammer in odd rhythms. How his eyelids felt intensely heavy. His shoulders shook fiercely, as if he was both freezing and not. His body ached; as if broken up and fragmented, muscles feeling as if cut and shredded.

Truth was, he felt the way his body swayed, threatening to let him fall if not for hands that caught him. It left him forcefully prying his eyes open as he sighed in exalted relief at the sight of Alby, condition more stable. The wound was still present, but minimal and beginning to scab already. As for the black that had begun from the wound, it coiled along Stiles' own wrist, held firmly in place by his own will. As if assuring it wouldn't spread further. It made Stiles' own body; wracked with exhaustion, slump against Minho. He didn't need to look to know. He also knew Minho would have questions. But Stiles needed time. He needed a moment to recover energy before anything else happened.

Honestly, Stiles knew it was a risk. Him using the magic he had was a gamble. He'd never used it before, but he could faintly understand the premise of the spell and he was glad it worked as he'd hoped. Truth was, he was glad he saved Alby. There wasn't ever really enough time to talk to the other male, but Alby was an authority the Glade needed. They couldn't lose him. Stiles... He always felt expendable.

Wiping his mind clear, Stiles finally sat up, struggling to stand as he leaned against the looming walls. He finally took a glance at Minho, who was now assisting in fixing Alby as well. It left a bitter silence before Minho broke it, though his eyes were speaking volumes. Not fear. Not hatred or even disgust. A look of appreciation. Of worry, but not for Alby anymore. A look only at him as if searching for whether Stiles was fine or not. It made a small smile tip his lips edges, head hitting the hard stone. "I'm fine, Minho... Just need to catch my breath and stay focused."

Minho nodded, but Stiles knew he wanted more. More answers and while Stiles would give them, now wasn't the appropriate time. Minho seemed to understand as he approached Stiles, helping him stand straight before a water skin was offered his way. The sloshing of water made Stiles thankful as he took a heavy gulp, feeling a drop slid along his skin as he breathed a sigh of relief. Felt his body stabilize as his eyes fell to his wrist. Like cuffs, the black running through his veins; circling, as if impatient.

Truth was, he had no choice but to remain awake and vigilant. If he had passed out after extracting whatever Alby had, he wouldn't have been able to contain it. It would have spread like wildfire through him.

Pulled from his mind, Minho hung the waterskin back on his waist before he peered around, words filling the eerie silence Stiles had just now noticed. "I'm going to head further into the maze. Assure the Griever doesn't come this way. You stay with Alby, alright?"

"Not happening." Stiles frowned. "And you call me the suicidal one. I'm fine, Minho. I promise."

There was uncertainty in the other's eyes, but eventually it fell to understanding as Minho sighed, running his hand along his face with a faint chuckle. Not entirely happy, but it was a bit along the edge of true laughter. "Today has been a real shit-show... First Alby getting Stung and now-"

There was a long pause as Minho motioned at Stiles as a whole and while it was oddly offensive, he understood. What Stiles had done was humanly impossible. "Look, Minho. I promise answers, but we need to get through tonight. Do you trust me?"

Truthfully, Stiles wasn't expecting the immediate answer. "I do. You could have kept it a secret and let Alby die; but you didn't. I don't understand what you are or what you can do, but I can tell you're a good person. You helped selflessly and for that, I owe you big time. Just tell me what you need, and it'll be done, Stiles."

Those words rested on Stiles' heart as he smiled weakly. It was strange. He was always so worried. Always self-conscious of what others thought and his mind teased him with negative scenarios. And yet, the reality was much greater. He was welcomed, even if he was different. It made his chest warm. However, he back-logged the feeling as he finally focused on the present. He had to assure the survival of all three. "Help me move Alby closer to the door. That way when it opens in the morning, they can get him out."

Minho nodded, helping to drag Alby. Resting him in the corner, Stiles glanced down the long, looming corridors. "What now?"

Stiles wasn't too sure, but he didn't voice that as he began to move, words falling toward Minho who followed. "I am hoping to find somewhere you can hide."

"What about you?" Stiles shrugged. Truth was, he was curious about Grievers. No one stood a chance against them and while Stiles doubted his own odds, he felt something unnatural with the Griever. Something that messed with his magic, like a little shock to his system. He didn't have proof, but the Griever was supernatural.

"I'm planning to kill a Griever. I don't know how to explain this, but something resonates with me. As if both it, and I are similar in a way." Minho was lost. Stiles could simply tell. However, he didn't have time to dumb it down, not when they broke further in and found themselves watching the space. It was a long corridor that branched off.

They had walked for a while, slipping down any and all paths in silence truthfully. It felt like hours, though Stiles wasn't actually sure what time it was. All he was acutely aware of was the little jolt he'd felt prior, tickling his skin. It made him acutely aware of the faint sounds of clicking, his gaze shifting just in time as a loud screech shattered what silence once was present.

Minho had seemed the first to jump into action, barreling into Stiles as the two fell from the spot where the Griever landed. It snarled, as if rabid. A long tail, mechanical in nature, waved around before it shot out, Stiles this time rolling the two from the spot. He could hear the end hit the concrete below before Stiles took off, Minho hot on his trail. He could faintly hear Minho ask him something, but he didn't give him the time to answer as they hurried down a left side branching pathway.

It led them into an area that Minho seemed to recognize. In all the years the other had been there, he'd made sure to notify Stiles about how the walls shifted every so often. It was why he understood what Stiles was aiming for. There were no questions, just trust as Minho nodded and hurried toward the other side, watching from a distance as Stiles readied himself. He could hear the maze mechanisms shifting, alerting him the maze was moving. It made him steal a breath as he heard the rushing sound of the Griever, sweat trailing his skin. Heart hammering in his chest, threatening to still completely from the fear that bubbled in his gut. However, intertwining itself was an excitement. It left him to stance as the Griever got just close enough that it left him nearly no time to actually get away.

A mad dash. That is what Stiles would call it. The moment he broke into a run, he could feel the Grievers breath on his back. Could hear its legs slamming into the concrete and threatening to break it with each step. The walls themselves had already begun to close, leaving him to twist his body as his legs felt heavy. As a chill tore up his spine. Minho yelled at him to hurry, leaving him to push onward.

One second; Heart pounding.

Five seconds; breath ragged and lungs tight.

Ten seconds; the walls clicking shut as the sounds of Stiles' body hitting hard into Minho left the two toppling over and the Griever to let out a curdling shriek. Sounds of popping flesh and squelching left Stiles to finally throw his stomach's contents up as he long since rolled off Minho. Minho however, stared in disbelief.

After a few more moments, Stiles also took in his work. Beyond the lumps of whatever made up the Griever that had been splattered beyond the walls pressed firmly together, it ceased moving. It left Stiles to smile in both exhaustion and victory. Ever thankful when arms helped him up, holding him steady as Minho breathed out words. "I'll be damned... you actually did it."

Stiles gave a cheeky smile. His body dead tired and mind rather numb as he leaned more into Minho, forcing himself to stay awake as they traveled once more a different way toward the maze entrance. Both oddly calm for being in the maze at night. Maybe it was the fact that the Griever was dead, but for once, Minho seemed his usual self since the last time Stiles had seen him. A firm smile and air of authority and pride.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

By the time the sun was beginning to rise into the vast blue above, most had stirred from inside the Glade. Chuck was one that really hadn't slept the prior evening. Truth was, he felt a bit at odds at the realization in himself the previous evening. His actions that pleaded for Stiles to act. He knew Stiles would be fine, but it felt selfish, asking the other to risk their life and yet; without a single moment of hesitation, Chuck had learned Stiles really was the self-sacrificing type. He'd run headfirst into that maze without hesitation. Truth was, Chuck wanted to hate himself for even tempting the possibility that evening of Stiles doing something so reckless, but now; as he rose that very morning before the others; lacking sleep and exhausted, he'd come to truly understand Stiles' character.

Stiles was selfless and someone Chuck truly admired. He was brave. Reckless, yes. But who wasn't?

That said, Chuck himself was the first one to be before that very maze door that had separated the two. Had left him wondering the fate of Stiles, who in all honesty; Chuck had grown comfortable around. Maybe it was a bit much, but Chuck saw him as a brother. The older brother he never had; or didn't remember having anyway. It might have been why he was so eager for the truth. To know his mind was right; that Stiles would be okay. That those doors would reveal that smile that made the days feel worth something again.

You see, Chuck hadn't always felt useful. He was the youngest. The weakest. He hardly was the smartest and not even close to the tallest. And yet, Stiles brought a peace that Chuck wasn't used to. That he cherished more than anything in the Glade. Stiles had somehow become a pillar for Chuck and dare he say it, he'd willingly trust Stiles with his life. If Chuck ever had secrets, he'd assure Stiles knew. That was simply how he saw the other; a true family bond that in reality, he'd snatched up and sheltered close to his heart.

Dismissing the countless things that fluttered among his restless mind, he watched as he heard the mechanism click into place and slowly pull the doors open. He wasn't really sure what he expected; but call him strange for the wide smile that teased his lips the moment he saw Stiles leaning against the wall. He looked just as tired as Chuck, if not more and had a hand wrapped around his wrist. As for Minho, he was the first to advance back into the Glade, shaking Gally to urge assistance.

In a single moment, bodies were moving, hands helping carry Alby inside. Minho had seemed the least affected by the night in the maze and though Chuck could see Alby was still not waking, he could tell there wasn't anything really wrong on a physical level. It left Chuck ultimately stepping toward Stiles, who was breathing roughly. Sweat touched the other's pale skin and trickled slowly. It didn't take him long to notice the black floating around his wrist, leaving his skin to appear as if pulsating. It was a reality that hit Chuck hard. A reality that was quelled the moment Gally came running back with Minho, both hooking one of Stiles' arms around a shoulder. He wanted to ask, but his voice stayed silent as he simply followed the two carrying Stiles, an anxiety welling up in his stomach as he finally felt the words flutter through his mind like a taunt. A layer of regret and fault teasing him eagerly. 'Stiles had been stung.'

The moment they pushed through the front door of the building that was made as an infirmary; Chuck had made his place beside Stiles. Stood as tall as he could and truth be told, had instinctively reached out for Stiles' trembling hand. It made him chew his lip, seeing the way Stiles' skin prickled and felt icy cold. How his skin lacked more color, and he looked deathly pale. It all made Chuck feel words choke him as silence was all he could give. His worry was present and it had seemed Minho had noticed as a hand rested gently on Chuck's shoulder. "It'll be okay Chuck, I promise."

It was hard to believe those words, as Chuck knew what happened to those that were stung. But he trusted Stiles to have a plan. Prayed he had one at least. It left him ultimately nodding as he noticed Stiles forced his eyes open, breathed ragged and sharp. As if the air itself stung his lungs. However, it wasn't long till Stiles had let his gaze meet Chucks. Could no doubt see the worries and the sadness. It left the other to force a broken smile as Stiles gave a reassuring squeeze.

Then he looked at Minho, shaking his head. The other simply understood, Chuck supposed. He watched as Minho had left infirmary, leaving the two alone as Stiles tried to sit up. It made Chuck panic momentarily before he was tugged close. A sudden embrace that made his heart waver with concern. However, his anxiety seemed to settle a little in the comfort supplied. Words eventually being heard as a soft whisper, though Chuck could hear the pain in each one spoken. "I saved them, didn't I? So, no need to be anxious. It'll be okay."

Chuck chewed his lip once more before he pulled away, frowning. He wanted to believe those words. But a Grievers sting was a death sentence. Chuck knew that and he was sure Minho did as well. So why had Minho been so sure of Stiles' situation? Not worried for the other. "How? How will it be okay when you're dying?"

A long breath was heard before Stiles spoke; "I'm not dying Chuck. I cleared a lot of the toxins from my system already, so it'll be okay. Hey, look at me." A hand roughly touched Chuck's head as the kid finally took in Stiles' figure. How his skin seemed to slowly regain color. It made him glance at the other's wrist as the black that had been thick before, was faint. As if small etches.

"Wha-"

"Trust me Chuck, I don't plan to die anytime soon. In the maze I cleared a large amount out, so all I am dealing with is the symptoms before I get better. It might look bad, but I'll get through it. Okay?" Chuck wanted to argue. Wanted to deny Stiles his own words. He feared losing the other. It left Chuck with tears teasing his eyes as he fell into Stiles, wrapping the other in a hug. Cherishing the way Stiles seemed to pull him in as if protecting him. Shielding him from the reality that taunted his mind. Words a raspy whisper.

"You can't die on me, Stiles... We have to leave together..." Stiles gave a small hum. Acknowledged those words as Chuck felt Stiles release him just as Minho reentered the building. Gave Chuck a once over before speaking himself.

"It's time to go, Chuck. Stiles need time; alone. Come on." Chuck hesitated, but felt Stiles gently push him toward Minho, smiling his usual smile. It made Chuck obey, exiting the building as not too long after, Minho followed. Both of them in a heavy silence as groaning came from within. Cries of pain; faint, but recognizable as Chuck finally speaks to Minho. His question was one that Minho pondered himself.

"Are we sure he'll be okay?"

The other simply stayed silent. Truth was, neither really knew if Stiles would be okay. But what more could they do but trust the one person who had been doing the impossible all night. All they could do was believe Stiles would find a way; not matter what.

The first hour was excruciating for Stiles. As if his body was being boiled alive. His finger clung to his clothing, nails digging at his skin. It was as if he was alit, ablaze in a heat that seared his skin. Made his blood boil and eyes strain to open. Tears rolled along his face, endless and heavy in flow. His heart hammered roughly, threatening to break out. Threatening to stop at times as the rhythm kept a fast pace before stopping all together and returning to normal. His breath was like breathing in smoke; leaving him to choke with each breath he took. Even his nerves were raw, where the smallest touches or movement felt hundred times worse. All in all, it felt like he was coming undone. Being stripped completely to nothing but his very atoms, all jumble and devoured in a relentless frenzy.

The second hour was the polar opposite. As if he'd frozen over. His own heartbeat had slowed to a dangerous level, leaving his blood flow minimal. His skin was laced in goosebumps and while he knew someone was checking on him, his eyelids remained closed, as if glued shut. His lips were teasing blue, and his breath was shallow. He felt like death and truth was, he was positive he looked like he was dying.

Then the third hour hit. His body had yet to stabilize, but his mind ran rampant. The black abyss that it once was, now was stuff with images that overwhelmed him. Memories he'd figured out, all flooding back and leaving his mind raw. Offering a migraine that felt as if someone had brought a hammer down on him. Made his brain swell against the bone of his head as he could hear the cries that left his lips, though distant. He was trapped in his mind and the endless sounds and memories that eventually swallowed his very consciousness.

Followed by the fourth hour. Truth was, it was the most relaxing hour he'd felt. Where sleep took him greedily. His exhaustion was at max. He could feel the presence of others but never woke. It was if he was falling into an emptiness and as he kept falling, it was threatening to keep him submerged. The black of his mind held him under what felt like currents of water, drowning him in nothing. Made him gasp mentally as his lungs tightened and felt flooded. As if he was drowning; just as he had in a memory he'd remembered. A memory he now understood he was reliving. A memory that might have been his least favorite of all. It was a cruel joke, he considered; as he sank further into his mind; losing focus on the outside world around him. His senses seem to falter and eventually leave him with truly nothing but his memories to fall through.

Stiles found himself standing among the halls of a school that he faintly felt was familiar, eyes glancing at the area. Watching distantly with confusion as it remained empty and desolate. Silent and eerie all the same. Halls he couldn't help but travel as his feet guided, as if sure on where to take him. Brought him toward a locker that his fingers reached for, brushing along the padlock and without much thought opened swiftly. Left him bewildered as he looked inside. At the numerous books on topics, he never knew existed. Topics that felt so familiar and yet, strangely distant to him. However, one seemed to grasp his interest, hand reaching out before his body stilled. A faint voice that echoed out. Like a whisper, but almost pleading in tone. "Stiles."

Shaking his head, he turned to view a distant figure. A frame that yet again felt familiar. Hands reach for him, as if trying to pull him closer. But the world around him spun, leaving him dizzy as the world felt empty below him. As he now fell, as if sucked into a hole and left to descend. Leaving him in a vast emptiness as he closed his eyes once more.

Stiles sat up quickly as his muscles cried out, eyes dancing around as he made out a bedroom. 'His' bedroom, he noted. It left him rising from the bed, drifting closer to the window as he viewed the outside. Saw a town that somehow, a word lingered deep in his mind. 'Beacon Hills'. Though the meaning was lost to him.

Taking a deep breath he once more found that figure, eyes of concern and fear meeting his own. Hands trying to reach him. And yet, no matter how hard the figure tried, once more he fell into a bitter black world. Left to sink once more in a suffocating emptiness.

Eventually he was once more waking, this time in a woodland he could faintly recognize. 'The Preserve'. A feeling that tugged on his heart. As if a string was pulling him in one direction. Made his feet move toward the only building present, a smell of leather and spice. A scent that felt so familiar. Made Stiles' own heart thump gleefully too. His feet carried him up the steps until he reached the doorway, fingers pulling it open to reveal an empty interior. Beyond furniture, no one was present. No one beyond Stiles. So, he entered. Heard the door shut behind him before he moved further in. Why, he wasn't sure. But something urged him in, as if offering safety and truth was, Stiles couldn't help but embrace it.

Eventually it led him up to the second floor to a new room. One that wasn't his own, he knew that. The scent was heavy with spice and leather, and Stiles couldn't deny his appreciation for the smell. It left him to wander until he stood before a bed, hands touching the blankets as a warmth pooled in his stomach. Made his heart race once more before he heard the faint sounds of something. Not the same female voice he'd heard the prior times, but the sounds of small feet. Almost paw-like in size making gentle sounds as it grew closer. Stiles had left the door cracked and the moment a creaking filled the room, he found himself staring at a beast. No... Not a beast, he considered. A Wolf, that he felt he knew. Something familiar and that tug from before, now heavily present in the space. A small whine echoed out as Stiles saw the eyes that bore sorrow. Ears pulled back as he noted the wolf was saddened. Heartbroken.

It somehow left him sitting along the bed and while he was a bit concerned at the wild animal before him, he instinctively called out. Motioned it to come closer and it did. Sauntered slowly and soon enough, stood just before Stiles. Large and black in color. Eyes ocean blue and vibrant. Beautiful, Stiles thought.

His hands had moved on their own as he stared into those eyes, a fondness bubbling within him. Fingers gently touching the soft fur, tussling it with confidence. Somehow, he knew the wolf would not bite. It was a feeling that coiled around him. Made his skin heat as he felt tired. Leaned forward and rested his forehead along the wolf's snout. Rubbed his face along the soft fur and brought his lips to the very tip of the nose. A small peck that he hadn't realized he'd done. Words spilled from him without his confirmation. "I'm okay... I'm alive."

Stiles pondered why he had said that but was left unable as his eyes felt heavy. As he could hear the low howl and his body slump as he fell against something less fur and firmer. But he never got the chance to look as he slipped once more. The world dropped him completely into the abyss once more. Leaving him drowning once more. Once more, alone and left in a silence that was brutally deafening to his very conscious. The only thing he had heard was a remnant of his very name, called in desperation and slowly fading.

As he continued to descend into his memories, he found himself wishing to wake up. But time felt infinite for him as reality hid away from him. Left him bitter as he remained trapped in his very mind that teased him greedily with knowledge. With his past that unraveled violently. Without mercy and left him mad. Desperately praying someone pulled him back; lest he remain in the abyss that swallowed him whole and would never give him back.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Air surged through Lydia's lungs as she bolted upright in her bed, sweat glistening along her slightly pale skin. The air felt cold, eerie almost. Her head felt crowded as her thoughts ran rampant, head pounding. It left her holding her head, fingers getting twisted with her hair before she finally looked around her own room. A place that was cascaded in darkness; though not for long.

The sudden flood of lights made her harshly cover her eyes as she groaned in annoyance, hearing another voice and multiple footsteps. A single hand touched her shoulder, gentle and soothing. Made her take a small breath before her eyelids peeled open and she was left looking up toward Allison. Her best friend: no matter what anyone would say. After all, Allison was one of the few that stuck around even with Lydia's quite nasty personality at times.

She had forgotten about the fact she was at the pack house and judging by the other's looks that lingered in the hall, she knew she'd screamed. No doubt piercing and frantic. But that was how she felt. She was afraid, truthfully. Especially with her link in her sleep to Stiles.

She'd felt it. Saw him wandering and always disappearing. She would call him, but never with success. Lydia had felt death. She knew its icy grasp better than anyone and when she'd been with Stiles; locked in whatever the space had been; she'd felt it again. Death's cold gaze. It's taunting smile that made her body tremble. Hell, even awake, she felt her limbs shake with the lingering reality before her. "Lydia? Hey, it's alright. Calm yourself down, okay?"

Giving a faint nod, Lydia did just that. Tried to steady her heart and calm her very being. But the events in her mind were damning. They had a heavy hold over her. Sure, she wasn't anything more than a friend to Stiles, but the thought of the idiot's death really made her heart break. Death was her knowledge. It was hers to embrace and feel; but this whole situation and sudden news were something she wasn't ready for. The concept of Stiles being somewhere unknown; potentially alone; and dying... It terrified Lydia.

Pressing her arms around her, she felt Allison sit at the beds edge, merely waiting. Watching. Observing the way Lydia knew her body was offering information. Her skin was cold, and truth was, even the walls that felt safe honestly felt suffocating in that very moment. However, she cleared her thoughts, taking a long breath. One that Allison understood as she finally broke the silence. "Tell me what you saw, Lydia."

So, she screamed. It made sense as her screams often only occurred when death lingered. But it made her taste sour and honestly, made her a bit bitter about her abilities. What good was a Banshee when she was never able to actually make a difference?

Dismissing the thought once more, Lydia met Allison's gaze, noting the many bodies that had filtered in. All beyond a few. Derek wasn't seen, but she figured he was still asleep. Grief of everything hit each person differently and for Derek, sleep was the wolf's sanctuary. He has slept a lot in recent days. As for Scott, he was at his mother's, so it was understandable why he wasn't present. Peter on the other hand, wasn't allowed near Lydia to begin with.

Clearing her throat, Lydia licked her lips calmly as she opened her mouth, words a harsh whisper filling the room. Words that were heavy and honestly, purely suffocating. "I think Stiles is dying..."

Derek wasn't sure where he was. What he really felt, not beyond his legs. Not beyond the very ground he ran along, watching the world around him move quickly by. A world that while he was aware wasn't real, felt just as empty as the reality he'd sometimes wake to.

However, the place he was currently, was a bit different. It felt like a dream as if he could simply wish for something. Alter the space before him; but was unchangeable as a whole. It wasn't his space; so, it begged the question of whose? Granted, Derek had a faint understanding by the rhythmic hum of his mate's bond. How it shuttered with partial glee. Something Derek definitely didn't feel, as Stiles had been lost to him.

How that truth had weighed on Derek for a while. A guilt that hovered as he merely moved through the forest of the Preserve. He knew these woods perfectly, leaving him merely guiding himself toward where the house should have been. Though, he supposed he was a bit startled to actually find the pack house; newly built and so vastly familiar. His newfound home with everyone.

It left his wolf legs to carry him, though caution prickled his senses upon the open door. Dream or not, Derek didn't like mysteries. He didn't like things seeming out of place. It left his snout to nudge the door further open as he stepped in. Looked around before it hit him hard; a scent that made his heart tumble in his chest. Made his mouth water with anticipation at the potential possibility.

What he was smelling; it was undoubtedly Stiles'. A scent that he'd missed more than anything. Maybe it was why he moved toward the second floor, spotting his own room, door ajar. Slowly entering, Derek simply couldn't find words. He froze, disbelief piercing him. How? How was he seeing Stiles?

It felt like a dream. A cruel Nightmare honestly. At the concept that the Stiles before him wasn't real. That his desperation decided to trick him, to maybe make him more at ease. However, the Stiles before him was perfect in comparison to the Stiles of his reality. From the pale skin that was smooth and kissed by moles. To the slender figure and small stature. To even the slightly grown out hair that Derek knew never got brushed; always ratty and yet, still was perfectly worn on Stiles. Even those eyes... God, Derek loves Stiles' eyes. The way the other looked at him, anger or joy.

It left him to take a step. Especially when he saw the hand hover. As if welcoming him. It was all he needed as he grew closer. Broke the distance as he smelled it finally in full. Stiles' scent; a nature like smell of wood and fresh grass. A smell that made Derek make a small whine. Hands that he knew, touching his fur and a head pressing to his snout. However, what truly made him wolf tremble with adoration was when he felt Stiles' lips touch his nose. A small gesture, but through the mating bond, it was left alight. Burning into Derek. Proving just how much he loved Stiles.

Once more he whined: was it sorrow? Joy? He didn't know. All he was aware of was the words whispered like a prayer to him. Words that made his heart hammer as his body pleaded to shift to human. As his paws shifted to hands and his body reverted as Stiles seemed to collapse. Fear coursing Derek's chest, leaving him to hold onto Stiles tighter. Daring to hurt him with his hold if it kept the other close.

But Stiles seemed to fall, as if the world ate him. Swallowed him whole as Derek clawed at the floorboards; his very wolf snarling in anger as loneliness crept up on him. As if invisible hands grabbed him and cut his airways. Left him breathless and thrashing with untamed panic. Hands that dared to smother the world before him and drag him out of whatever dream space he'd arrived in. His own howls left silent as darkness consumed him.

Derek woke not long after, irritable and annoyed. He searched the Mate Bond, feeling it rumble under his skin. A sign of good grace as he finally seemed to notice the voices outside his room. It ultimately left him climbing to his feet as he pulled his door open and wandered toward Lydia's room. Watched the other tremble and reek of fear. Though, Derek had an inkling to why. After all, it wasn't that hard to comprehend that Derek, who wasn't a Banshee, had connected to Stiles. So, it also was likely Lydia had too. Though, from the appearance of the other, Derek could only assume her connection wasn't on good rapport with her current desires and realizations.

That said, Derek ultimately entered and watched as everyone grew quiet. Maybe they just hadn't anticipated Derek getting out of bed, but that wasn't the issue. He approached Lydia's bed before crouching down, letting his gaze equal with her own. Listening to her heart give a different tune. Almost impatient and layered in worry. Cascaded in something else that made it stutter at times. However, Derek pressed his hand out, letting it land gently on the young girl's shoulder. Gave a firm squeeze as Derek merely said what Stiles had told him. "Stiles is fine. He's alive, Lydia."

The look Lydia gave spoke everything. Her eyes glazed over as tears rolled down her face. Truth was, Derek knew Lydia and himself were the closest to Stiles, at least in the present time. It made Derek's very words reassuring for Lydia, as it basically meant that Derek himself understood what she saw even without words. Most of the pack knew a bit about Derek's fondness, but in terms of being mating to Stiles; some had their guesses. Lydia however, had been the one person beyond Peter to fully have the truth. Derek had simply bled his heart dry to her in hopes of understanding and support; and he'd received both.

"How... How do you know he's okay? Did you also-" All Derek offered was a nod, Lydia giving a somewhat broken smile. However, she had truly seemed to settle. It left Derek to stand up once more, facing the rest with a raised brow; words thick and demanding.

"Last I checked you guys need sleep for school tomorrow. So, get off to bed; Now!" That alone left a flurry of bodies rushing away, doors closing before silence resumed once more. Even Allison had taken her leave, allowing Derek to remain with Lydia. He took a seat where Allison once was, giving a partial smile before Lydia spoke first.

"You felt him through the bond, right?" Derek nodded. There weren't words that needed to be said. Lydia may be a Banshee, but if Stiles had died, unfortunately Derek would be the first to know. It wasn't like the Mating Bond was completely solid in evidence. It was extremely straight to the point. If Stiles was dying, it would simply deem him as dead. The bond would break until it realized he was alive and at that point, Derek would have to reclaim the mating bond through traditional means. Luckily, Stiles wasn't in critical danger; though with Lydia's reactions, he was edging that fine line. It was a Stiles thing to do, Derek supposed.

"He told me he was alive and alright. I trust those words, Lydia. So, try not to stress over the connection." Lydia nodded, taking a long breath.

"Alright. I want to find him, Derek..." Those words were true to anyone in the house. Stiles was a huge loss, not only because he was essentially the brains for the group, but he was a figure of the house that was of high authority. Everyone looked up to Stiles, age or whatever else. Stiles, though human, was irreplaceable.

"Me too, Lydia. More than anything." How those words floated in space for a time. Left them both in silence that while tense at times, was strangely peaceful.

Eventually the two separated, Lydia laying back down to rest for school in the morning. As for Derek, he wasn't sure sleep was possible. Instead, he sat on his bed, eyes glancing at a photo he'd had taken. Once the packhouse had been completed, Stiles had insisted the memory be captured. It was one of the many prized possessions Derek had. Picking it up, he smiled lightly before glancing out the window. Observing the moon high in the sky. Words a harsh whisper, yet soft in tone. A promise, he supposed. 'I'll find you Stiles; no matter how far I must reach to get you back home.'

By morning, Derek woke to a silent household. He knew from the very beginning the others headed out to school. It was partly his plan. Rising from his bed, he wandered down the stairwell before entering the living room where he kept a bag that he'd left packed the prior day. Placing it along his shoulders, he grabbed his leather jacket before stepping toward the door; only to stop as he heard Peter's voice. "Leaving already? What about all those kids of yours?"

Derek paused before looking at his uncle. It wasn't like words were really needed. He knew Peter understood Derek's actions.

"I have to find him, Peter. I won't lose him." A small hum left the other before footsteps approached. A single hand resting on Derek's head. An odd sensation to say the least. Peter wasn't affectionate, so Derek swatted the other's hand away. "I need you to watch them. Make sure they behave. They're kids. I want them to go to school and act normal."

"Derek, I understand. I will watch them, but you realize if they pursue you, there isn't much I can do to stop them. I'm not even allowed near Lydia and she has a way of affecting us wolves." Derek rolled his eyes, but sighed. He knew it was true. Lydia could easily overwhelm both Derek and Peter. "I'll do what I can Nephew; but don't take too long. I promise nothing if you dally."

There was a moment of hesitation before Derek nodded, opened the door and stepped out beyond. He heard the door close before he took one more glance back, slipping into the driver's seat of his car. Starting it, he was about to pull out before he heard the passenger side door open. It left him peering to who was present, a frown plastered to his face at the sight of Scott. He should have figured the other would skip classes.

"You should be in school, Scott. Why are you here?" The other frowned back, buckling in.

"I'm going with you. I heard you and Peter and I'm not letting you go alone. I want to save him just as much, Derek. He's like a brother to me, so ignore my selfishness this once... Please!"

"Your mother will kill me, Scott." Derek leaned against the steering wheel before taking a deep breath. His eyes glanced toward Scott. A lingering thought on his mind as he sighed. "If we go, you need to listen. Completely. You follow my orders, understand?"

Scott nodded with an eagerness as Derek sighed once more, putting his car in reverse as he backed out of the driveway. His gaze lingering once more on the house before he took off down the road. He'd find Stiles, no matter what. He just prayed he wouldn't be too late. That he wouldn't have to face loss once more.

Truth was, he wouldn't survive losing Stiles.