DISCLAIMER: Teen Wolf belongs to Jeff Davis, the god of all slash-shipping fangirls.

Well, this is probably my one and only Teen Wolf fanfic. It's Sterek, because they have my heart. But I suck at writing Stiles, so forgive me. Probably too out of character but I don't care. Review if it's constructive criticism. If you don't like it, say so nicely, thank you. Appreciated.

Yes, the point of view changes for two paragraphs. It was done deliberately. Don't judge.

+ UNSEEING WHAT'S BEEN SEEN +

There were some things in life that just could never be unseen.

Things like your best friend turning into a freaking werewolf and trying to kill you, for one.

And then things like the girl you've been in love with for most of your life getting mauled by a rabid werewolf pedophile, for another.

They were on Stiles' Top Ten Things He Wishes He Could Unsee But Can't list. Yes, Stiles had a list. And as of right now, nothing new was being added onto said list (so he hopes).

Those were just to name two. The other eight he really didn't want to get into detail about right now, partly because he had bigger fish to fry, or, in his case, bigger wolves to keep from blowing pigs' houses down. Except 'pigs' weren't really what the wolves were after. No, the wolves were after a pack. Mr. Sourwolf's pack, to be exact. And Stiles couldn't figure out for the life of him why he cared-

Oh, that's right. His best friend, the werewolf, was considered part of Sourpuss' (I mean wolf, Sourwolf's) pack. Yep. That would be Why, with a capital 'w,' because unlike Scott's misguided little lovestoned self, Stiles actually cared what happened to his best friend gone wolf. And that care was what would end up getting his fragile-boned human...ness...killed. Yes, killed. Stiles would die for his best friend. Kind of like how he almost died saving Sourwolf himself.

No, he had to keep telling himself. No. He didn't save the broody, self-loathing, witty Captain Dick-for-brains because he was getting sentimental for anyone besides Scott and Lydia. No, he saved him to save his own ass, which, he wondered sometimes if it even needed saving. Who saves asses anyway? Is there a superhero for that? He personally preferred Batman as his one and only superhero. Come to think of it, Batman brooded like Dere-

Again with the No, with a capital 'n' this time because No, he didn't want to be thinking about calling Sourwolf Alpha by his actual name. And second, he didn't want him to be referred to as his favorite broody superhero who wasn't as super as he was normal with a few gadgets to throw around, and not to mention the muscles he had under all that leather and, hey, Derek has a certain penchant for leather, doesn't he?

God, No. Italicize and capitalize that, Stiles, because your mind is taking you places you don't want to be.

That would have to be made Number Eleven on Stiles' list because it needs to get out of his head but won't. Dammit.

This was getting harder than he initially thought.

Now, back to the issue at hand, paw, whatever werewolves referred to their, uh, hands as nowadays. The issue is the other wolves, yeah, the ones after Derek, Mr. Sour himself, and his pack, including Scott. Scott is what worries Stiles the most. Because come on, he hasn't been able to focus on school since the night he was bitten (well, face it, he hasn't focused on school ever, so why even bother?) and by the looks of this, he's not even going to get to graduate with his best friend because wolves are nosy bastards who won't stay in their own territory. If they had territory. Whatever. Wolves aren't supposed to be in California anyway! Damn the Hales, er, Hale, no, wait, Peter the Creeper is somehow alive again, so yes, Hales plural. That's one too many Hales. Or maybe two too many... heh.

Back to the matter at... back to the matter. There we go. These wolves that are supposedly here. Where is 'here' exactly because I haven't seen one single wolf, well, apart from Scott, Isaac and, you know, Derek. Oh, and Peter. And Jackson, who, for some reason is now a werewolf because Lydia loves him? What? That's not fair. Jackson: 1 million, Stiles: 0. Always.

And I don't know where Boyd and Erica went. Last I saw them they were tied to a ceiling with the Argents know how many volts of electricity being sent through their bodies. I really wish I could have helped there. I feel like I owe them something...

When did this become me? No. ('No' is on the list of things Stiles says too much because no. Exactly.)

Now these wolves, Alphas to be exact, want a pack to control. Derek's pack. And as we all know, Derek's pack involves Scott, Stiles's best friend, in a manner of speaking. And Derek, but he's not who this is all about. Is he? No. See? Not about Derek sour-freaking-wolf Hale. Or his dastardly, creeper uncle. Maybe about Isaac. He didn't turn out so bad. Good, actually. Good for Scott. Better, really. God, not as a best friend! That was Stiles' place. But as a, well, Allison. Because she tore Scott's heart out.

...since when was Stiles wanting his best friend to be with a dude? Dude, that's awkward. Moving on.

Speaking of dudes being with dudes, Derek wasn't so bad looking. Maybe if he smiled.

No. He'd seen Derek smile. His smile is more of a I-will-kill-you-with-my-stare grimace. Not appealing. His tight leather could not redeem that terrible quality.

Whoa, when did he notice Derek's smile? And his tight leather? Something was in the water here because whoa, Stiles was losing his mind.

"Stiles."

He was even hearing his name. That wasn't good. Voices in his head. Being attracted to- whoa, wait, attracted to? That can't-

"Stiles. Hey, Stiles."

That voice was becoming more prominent. Closer. Clearer. Where was-

"Stiles!"

"Ow!"

Stiles opened his eyes to a blurry vision of Scott looming - well, not exactly looming, partly because even now that he's a werewolf and has ridiculous speed and strength, his size never changed - over his bed which was now the... floor. Since when does Scott do such things? And why did he literally kick Stiles off the bed?

"What was that for?" he asked, rubbing his lower back, which took the biggest impact on the wooden floor.

Scott grabbed his arm and helped him up. "Sorry, dude. You were mumbling in your sleep and weren't waking up. What was I supposed to do?"

Rolling his eyes, Stiles stretched. "Oh, I don't know, found a more conventional way of waking me up without throwing me on the floor?" He turned his back to his best friend and took off his pajama shirt and replaced it with a fresher one. He was feeling Rise Against today. "I don't even want to know how this wall-slamming, floor-throwing damage will affect me in my later years. I'm too beautiful to die a crotchety old man with back pains and serious migraines." When he finally turned back to Scott, there was a grin on his wolf companion's face. "What?"

"I can see it now," Scott said in an amused tone, "while I age just fine, you're this frog of an old man telling mine and Allison's grandkids stories about their crazy parents and their odd grandfather-by-friendship." Stiles shoved him before scurrying to his dresser to grab jeans. "Oh come on, it was funny. What you said was funny. Admit it."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved it off. "Now why are you here?"

Steeling himself, Scott nodded. "Derek wants us at his house." He received a look in return. "Stiles."

"Do you need my permission or something?" he replied, looking as confused as he sounded. "Last I checked, I wasn't your keeper." He grinned a sly little grin that may have been entirely too cute to be sly. "Derek is, right? He's your Alpha, isn't he?" Scott growled. "But seriously. Why are you telling me?"

Stiles received a pitied stare in return. "Because Derek wants you there, too."

"What?" But he couldn't say much more, as he was being dragged out his bedroom door and outside to his Jeep.

.o.o.o.o.

"As you all know, there are a pack of Alphas coming for us. They're here, but are in hiding," Derek said, his pack's eyes intently on him. All except Stiles. He looked everywhere but at Derek. "And as my own pack," Stiles felt cold eyes burning into him, but still refused to look, "I have to protect you all. We have to protect each other." Since when were Stiles and Lydia part of Derek's pack? "So I will train you, harder than before. Harder because I lost two, but gained two for the two I lost." Those eyes remained trained on Stiles. "And I gained two others, Stiles and Lydia, two humans who are my responsibility-"

Jackson growled. "Lydia is my responsibility," he said, holding her against his side like she would collapse without him. Stiles glowered, but quickly looked away. He would have never done anything to hurt Lydia like Jackson had. She deserved better and, wait, did Derek say he was his responsibility, too?

"And Stiles is my responsibility," Scott replied, eyes dark on Derek's. Stiles rolled his eyes because he knew Scott was only taking responsibility for him because he and Allison were no longer together. If Allison was here, Stiles wouldn't even exist to Scott anymore, the smitten bastard.

So that matter would have been settled, had Derek Grade A Sourwolf not growled at Scott. Growled as in, feral I-will-rip-out-your-trachea, growl. Yeah. The ground might have even rumbled with that one. Jeez, was Derek left out because he had no one to be responsible for? He could be responsible for Isaac, except, well, Isaac was pretty good on his own now. Even found his anchor. Good on him.

But that wasn't Stiles's current problem. No, his current problem was Derek and Scott potentially trying to fight over him, because both felt the need to fulfill a duty, one of which had to do with Stiles. He assumed Scott wanted to redeem himself for neglecting his best friend for traitor-hunter girl, and Derek just wanted to feel necessary. Not that Stiles really minded, since he rarely ever got this much attention. Though he was aware Derek could (but wouldn't, unless he was provoked) kill Scott. Alpha, leader of a pack strength and all.

Quick to assume, Stiles figured Scott would back down the second those wolf canines of Derek's were shown. But of course, no, why would Scott back down? That would be easy, and smart.

Jackson pulled Lydia away, thank God, and Isaac watched from afar, admiring. Stiles, well, Stiles thought it a good idea to step closer and gain the attention of two nitwits.

"For the love of everything holy," he muttered to himself as he stalked (Stiles doesn't stalk) closer. "Guys, seriously, this is ridiculous. Can you share?" He felt like a kid whose parents were separating.

"No," two voices spoke together, making an eerie echo. Pairs of blue and golden eyes pierced Stiles and he got the hint, stepping back and away from imminent danger.

Stiles sat and waited for what seemed like hours sitting with Isaac, hoping the battle would end soon. Derek had long since tore off his shirt and Scott's was dangling by its last threads. The dried blood on their skin looked odd without any cuts, scrapes or bruises marring the flesh, all wounds that healed moments after they were inflicted. Stiles grew used to it. But as the sun started setting, earlier because they were in a forest, Stiles became bored. Not even Isaac could amuse him anymore.

"You know what?" Stiles said after the long silence. "I think I should just be your responsibility, Isaac. You seem safer." He stood up and stretched, completely unaware of the two pairs of eyes on him as his shirt rode up when he stretched. Scott stared in shock while Derek's eyes and mind were elsewhere, most likely on that pale sliver of skin before that damn tshirt covered it again. "This was some survival training, guys. It's late. I better get goi-"

In a matter of seconds, Gloom and Doom was right up against him, his chest to Stiles' face and Stiles didn't know what to do. Should he play dead? Will that make the wolf back off? Wait... playing dead was for bears... though Derek was as intimidating as a bear, all big and muscular compared to Stiles... well, a lot of people were big and muscular compared to Stiles. He couldn't help it. He felt the small, pale, defenseless boys got all the ladies. Except they didn't because he still hasn't gotten a kiss! Ugh.

But Derek was up against him, chest to... face, and Stiles wasn't sure what to do. His breathing became erratic and he trembled because oh my god, is he going to kill me? and was he having a panic attack because he couldn't breathe anymore. He needed an inhaler but that was in the glove compartment of his Jeep, as a just-in-case thing for when Alphas get up close and personal with Stiles' face. Those blue eyes were flickering from red and then back to that prominent blue before they stopped at their normal tone. "Uh, Derek?" Stiles gasped, feeling his clothes suddenly too tight, constricting his lungs and windpipe and, hey, how was he still standing right now? His head should have exploded with lack of air. Like drowning, or like he was in space. "Sourwolf? Can I-"

The Alpha growled. Yes, growled, and Stiles had the presense of mind to shut up because that's what that growl said without saying. God, why couldn't he talk like a human when he looked human? Well, Derek never really looked human. He always had that unnatural look about him; that inhuman look even when he wasn't wolfed out. It was creepy. Kind of like how he was looming - looming, yes, unlike Scott this morning because Scott can't loom because if Scott wasn't a wolf, he probably would have turned into a poodle or something he's that nice of a person. Maybe a golden retriever. Poodles are too... well. Scott would not enjoy that shot to his manhood being compared to a poodle. So Stiles should just forget that one.

Then there was a large hand gripping his forearm, pulling him closer and he panicked more because, god, what was Derek doing? He felt a wave of warm breath ghost over his ear and he trembled with a gasp that Lydia wouldn't be able to hear, but the five wolves around him could. That made him feel more exposed than he should have felt around Derek, while his friends were around him.

"I," Derek breathed, his lips barely touched the shell of Stiles's ear but all the same it drove another tremble through his smaller frame, "will be the one responsible for you. Scott yielded. You're my responsibility, Stiles. Not Isaac's. Not Scott's." And just like that, Derek was back where he had been before he invaded Stiles's personal space, like nothing ever happened. Like Stiles hadn't almost pissed himself thinking he would lose his humanity from an Alpha's bite. God, what is wrong with me? But he could breathe again, now that there wasn't anyone there keeping the fresh air from reaching his lungs.

He could breathe, but all he could smell was Derek.

.o.o.o.

"Dude, I don't think you know how I almost died there!" Stiles went on, hands shaking on the Jeep's steering wheel as he drove his best friend Scott home after his encounter with Derek. "I don't think I'll ever sleep again. Man, his eyes, the red and the blue and the holy god, why does he want to be responsible for me?"

Scott could hear every skip and every steady beat of Stiles' heart. He noticed it skipped when he mentioned Derek's eyes and how Derek wanted responsibility of him. He was intrigued and disturbed at the same time. Stiles was nervous around Derek, unlike how he was around everyone else. It was how Scott realized the difference between Stiles' crush on Lydia and his 'fear' of Derek. His fear was more for the fact that he doesn't want to like him. He's scared of getting hurt.

Resigning himself to taking Stiles's side, Scott sighed, "It's okay, Stiles. He won't hurt you. See you tomorrow!" And he was out of the Jeep, leaving Stiles alone to himself and his thoughts of blue eyes gone murder red.

The drive home was silent. The Sheriff's cruiser wasn't in the driveway so he knew his dad was working late tonight. He let himself into his house, locked the door behind him (not that that would stop a werewolf, he thought begrudgingly) and went up to his room. And when he turned the light on, he swore his stomach and heart tried to force themselves up and out his throat because sitting there in his computer chair, eyes trained on him, was none other than Derek Hale.

"Oh my god!" His hand flew to his chest as he tried to calm his breathing. He was hyperventillating and he didn't know what to do. He had another inhaler in his desk drawer, but that was where Derek was and he really didn't think-

Suddenly, Derek was a foot away from him, Stiles's wrist in that big hand, and an inhaler was pushed into Stiles's open palm. He popped the cap and inhaled the medicine, his breathing calming. These panic attacks needed to stop, it was getting ridiculous. Why did Derek affect him this much?

Derek directed him to the bed silently, waiting for Stiles to regain his precious air. "Why," he said at last, "are you here, Derek? In my room. At ten o'clock at night. After I just left your creepy rundown house in the woods."

Dark eyes narrowed at him before returning to normal. "Because I can."

"Oh good, great. A werewolf with a superiority complex, in my room with me, alone, next to me on my bed, yes this is my favorite." He rolled his eyes. "No, really."

And before Stiles could get in another word or even thought edgewise, a hot mouth was on his, taking away that precious air he had just gotten back moments ago. But god, did he melt into the kiss. A hand found the back of his head and held him closer as he found that his mouth opened automatically. God, why was his mouth opening for Derek Hale? This wasn't right. No.

Those lips found his jaw and neck and collarbone and Stiles wasn't sure what even to do because his first kiss was just stolen by a werewolf and he actually liked it. He liked that the teeth nibbling his collarbone now were slightly sharper than any human's, and that a firm grip held his hips in place against his bed and, hey, when did he end up on his back with Derek Hale above him, devouring him? Those hot lips were sucking his flesh, leaving angry red marks to match Derek's angry personality and Stiles really didn't think he minded because he was tugging rough, dark hair in between his fingers to keep that mouth attached to his neck because holy god, Stiles had never been so turned on in his life except that one day just before the last game of the season when he brought himself off twice, embarrassingly having admitted that to his coach before he got to finally play like he's always wanted.

No, god, fuck, those hands with extending claws were sliding his shirt up his stomach and chest until a nasty growl rumbled his throat where Derek's mouth rested and his second favorite shirt was torn a-fucking-part, fuck. "Derek, you bad-"

"Say it, and see what happens," Derek said, never removing his mouth with the growing sharper-still teeth from that pale, now marred and marked neck. Stiles shut up quickly, biting his bottom lip. Canines nipped but didn't draw blood as they went down Stiles' chest and to his stomach, stopping at his bellybutton where his tongue came out to play. Stiles moaned. Fucking moaned and trembled and Derek almost lost it right fucking there because this kid was so fucking hot and perfect and was basically begging for it.

With a feral grin and a flicker of red in those blue eyes, Derek's claws tore the jeans Stiles had on, leaving him bare and shivering with want. He used those same claws to gently scratch down Stiles's sides and then his thighs, stopping only at the backs of his knees, hiking them up and over his shoulders. Light trickles of blood stained the beautiful pale boy's soft skin and Derek found himself mesmerized, leaning down, making Stiles bend in ways he didn't know he could bend, until his mouth was lapping at some of the blood. And without thinking, Derek fucking bit and Stiles screamed.

"STILES!"

"Oh god, not again!" Stiles groaned, now back on the floor where he'd woken up this morning. This time, no one loomed over him. "Thank god," he sighed, rubbing the back of his head where he smacked into the wood of his dresser. "HOLY CHRIST, DEREK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?"

His lights were off but he knew it was Derek by the electric, ice blue trained on him. His heart was pounding in his chest, first because of that dream he just had - holy... no he couldn't be hard. Not now. Derek would be able to smell...

The lights went on and Derek's eyes were definitely not on Stiles' face. Oh god. God, no. Please.

The wolf took a step forward and Stiles mirrored him, moving back. Another forward step, and Stiles went back, hitting the dresser. Fuck. "It's really not what you-" And Derek pounced.

Now that - Derek pouncing, that is - is DEFINITELY something Stiles will never be able to unsee.