An entirely too long one-shot because I can't keep with multi-chapter fics x.x Stiles might be a little ooc, so let's just say it's because of the current situation.
Also there's no real setting for this other than a few weeks after the Nogitsune. Everything that happened after that in the show isn't relevant for this story.

"You okay with that?" John Stilinski asked.

"Yeah, sure, dad." Stiles answered back automatically.

"Stiles." John sighed. Stiles looked up at his dad, who was giving him an exasperated look that wasn't entirely void of concern either. "You just agreed to paint the house and wash all of the police cruisers inside and out."

"I…uh…" Stiles trailed off looking down, his fork still poised in midair. His father was working a double shift so Stiles had dropped by the station with dinner for him and his father. He wasn't sure how long he had zoned out for but judging by the steam still escaping from his dads coffee cup, it hadn't been that long.

"Stiles, are you okay?" The look of concern adorning the sheriff's face was enough to snap him out of the torments of his own mind.

"Yeah, dad. I'm just tired. Lacrosse practice today killed me." Stiles said with a small laugh hoping he was as convincing as he thought he was.

The truth was, lacrosse practice couldn't come close to draining him as much as his guilt was. It had been almost three weeks since Allison's funeral and each day, instead of going away, the pain he felt only seemed to get stronger. The guilt ate away at him, slowly and torturously. It wasn't only the fact that he had gotten Allison killed, but Aiden and all those people at the hospital and who knows who else. The fact that he almost killed his best friend. The image of him twisting that sword into Scott haunted him every day. He was surprised he hadn't had a panic attack since, but the nagging feeling of one gnawing away on his insides for weeks was enough to put him at ease. 'At ease' in the sense that he felt like he deserved it. That he deserved any pain thrown at him; a punishment that couldn't come close the pain he had caused everyone else.

Being around Scott was a constant reminder of the pain and loss he caused his best friend. In the beginning, he had tried to give Scott space but Scott wouldn't have it. He caught on to what Stiles was doing and tried to set him straight but it seemed like the only time he had been able to get in the same vicinity of Stiles for longer than a few minutes before he took off with some excuse, was right before the funeral.

"Stiles, you know no one blames you, right? What happened wasn't your fault." Stiles didn't know that. Or maybe he did, but he couldn't let himself believe that. He wouldn't. It was his fault and if they didn't want to believe that, then he'd believe for them.

He had shrugged Scott's question off with a 'Yeah, I know.' But after that, he had made it a point to put up a façade, especially around Scott. He still couldn't find it in himself to face Chris Argent after killing his daughter. He was a coward.

A guilt-ridden, useless, coward.

Looking down at his forgotten dinner, his appetite gone as usual nowadays, he gathered the take-out container and put it in the small garbage bin beside his father's desk.

"I'm gonna head home. I forgot I had some math homework I haven't finished." Stiles said as casually as he could as he stood up from his seat at John's desk.

John gave him a calculated look before nodding his head, "Okay, son, and get some rest. Drive safe, okay?"

"Yeah, of course. You too, ya know, if you drive tonight. Then again I guess I could say be safe even if you don't leave this desk. You never know when there could be a freak stapler accident." He said lightly as John laughed.

"Goodnight, Stiles."

"Night, dad." He said as he left the office.

When Stiles walked out of the station, he shivered a little as the air hit him. He had forgotten to bring his jacket, which was ironic because it was still supposed to be warm out, but he could never seem to get warm. Then again he didn't know if he was ever actually cold, or if it was just a lingering side effect of having been possessed by a Nogitsune. Either way, you'd think he'd be used to it by now.

He got in his car and started to head back home, but his mind was reeling and he knew if he went home now he'd go crazy in the silence. He turned up the radio for background noise, and blasted the heat to stave off the chill that seemed embedded into his bones. He decided to take the long way home through the back roads to try and help clear his head a little.

He was half way to his house when he finally started to feel a little more relaxed- which really wasn't that much compared to what 'relaxed' meant before the Nogitsune uprooted his life.

Movement from the side of the road distracted him for a moment before two deer ran out into the street. Had they not been so close, maybe he could have avoided them. Instead, he slammed on the brakes so hard they locked up. The Jeep skidded as he pointlessly turned the wheel trying not to kill anything else. He barely had any time to register as the car skidded off the road and down a short steep hill, before an abrupt stop jolted him into unconsciousness.

If you had told him a few months ago, that he'd be getting help from an Argent, Derek would have either laughed in your face or threatened to kill you. It all really depended on his current mood. Regardless, now he was in the car with Chris Argent on the way to Deaton's as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

There was a rumor going around that an Omega was wandering through the surrounding towns looking for a pack. Rumor also had it that this Omega was completely unstable. After hearing this from other hunters, Chris sought Derek's help.

The pair were on their way to Deaton's to consult with him as well when something threw Derek off.

The smell of blood wafted through his senses. It wasn't a strong smell, he probably wouldn't have even noticed had it not been joined by a vaguely familiar scent that he couldn't quite place.

"Derek?" Chris inquired from the driver's seat, having noticed how Derek had tensed up.

"Take this left up here." Derek said.

"That's in the complete opposite direction of Deaton's." Chris said raising a brow at Derek's words.

"It's- I know, but just do it." The older man gave him a wary glance before turning down the street in question. The car rolled cautiously along the road, both men glancing around their surroundings for anything that seemed off.

"Do we know what we're looking for?" Chris asked skeptically after a few silent minutes.

"There's blood," Derek said warily, "and panic."

It wasn't long after before Chris saw something in the road a little ways ahead. He looked towards Derek to see him looking at the same thing. Pulling up to it, they both exited the car and headed towards the tire marks in the street, the smell of burning rubber still lingering in the air. Seeing the tracks had led off the road toward a small ravine, they walked over bracing themselves for what they'd see.

They stilled, as soon as they looked down the nearly twenty-foot drop. The well-known blue Jeep lay at the bottom, wedged between two trees with an unnerving amount of damage adorning the front end of the vehicle.

Derek was the first to come back to his senses, already heading towards the car, "Stiles!" He yelled, before listening for the familiar heartbeat.

Chris followed immediately after, thankful the drop wasn't as steep since he didn't have the same werewolf advantages as Derek. Also for the fact that it would make it harder to get Stiles out of there. He held his breath as they approached the vehicle, not ready for the loss of another teenager. It had been nineteen days since he had to watch his daughter be lowered into the ground, but it felt like it was so much sooner than that. He had managed to compartmentalize the pain within the following week of her death, but it still hurt. He had no one to blame but himself either- She became a hunter because of him. Now he felt like he owed it to her to make sure all her friends were okay, that she didn't die for no reason. He invested himself in making sure he kept tabs on all things supernatural. There was nothing he could do about something as human as a car accident, however.

They reached the Jeep in record speed, skidding to a halt next to the blocked off driver door. Chris was immediately trying to pry the door open, even though it would be impossible with how it was smashed up against the tree.

"Chris, stop. Stop!" Derek grabbed onto his shoulder pulling him from the door. Chris looked at him exasperatedly. The kid needed help, why would he try and delay that? Derek just pointed towards the driver's seat, "He's not in there."

"What? Well, then where the hell is he?" Chris said looking around worried noticing the broken windshield, blood glinting on a few of the broken shards.

Derek walked around to the front of the Jeep to where a trail of blood went from the windshield down to the ground, a broken lacrosse stick lay forgotten next to the car. Focusing on his senses, he listened for any sign of Stiles. The familiar yet rapid heartbeat that assaulted his ears had him up and running towards the sound. Chris was quickly behind him without any time to question.

Not even five minutes later, Derek had stopped up ahead and was staring at a tree. When Chris got next to him he realized it wasn't the tree he was looking at, but the boy leaning against it. Stiles was leaning heavily against the tree, harsh breaths filling the air.

"Stiles." Derek said cautiously before trying again louder once there was no response. Stiles jumped at the sound, jerking away from the tree a little too fast as a wave of vertigo hit him and he was tilting sideways. Derek and Chris both surged forward, each grabbing onto Stiles and lowering him onto the ground leaning him back against the trunk of the tree. He had blood dripping from his temple. It was too dark for Chris to make out any more injuries, but the fact that he could smell blood without having supernatural senses was enough to let him know Stiles wasn't in good shape.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Stiles asked confused. Stiles eyes met Chris' before looking away so fast that the older man wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not.

"Stiles, where is he?" Derek asked urgently and Stiles looked at him through hazy vision, eyes squinted in confusion.

"Where's who?" He asked as his head lolled back against the tree.

"The Omega. Where is he?" Derek said grabbing onto his shoulders to try and get him to focus. "The guy who did this to you!"

"Derek, what are you- what are you talking about?" Stiles struggled through harsh breaths as he pushed Derek's hand off the one shoulder, "There were deer, I- Why are you here?" Derek turned confused eyes to Chris at the question. Chris, in turn, had no idea either, but his worry increased tenfold.

Stiles woke up with a pounding headache. He tried opening his eyes but they felt like weights and when he finally managed to open them, his headache had only intensified. Bringing a hand to his head he startled when he felt something wet against his skin. Bringing his hand down he saw the blood now covering his fingers. He glanced around trying to remember what happened. It wasn't until he noticed his Jeep wrecked against the trees, that he remembered the deer running out in front of him and his car skidding off the road.

He tried to assess the damage done to the jeep but through hazy, pain-induced, vision but he could only make out the trees surrounding way too closely and the spider web cracks rendering the windshield useless. His dad was going to kill him for this.

Stiles went to reach for his phone, groaning in pain as he shifted his shoulder from where it was rested against the seatbelt. Huffing out a pained breath, he reached with his other hand to undo the seatbelt and removing it from around him before reaching into his pocket for his phone. He let out a strangled laugh as he looked at the shattered black screen of the device. Just his luck.

Maybe this was how it should be; dying alone in the woods. Honestly, he felt he deserved a worse death than this for all the irreparable shit he caused when he was possessed by the Nogitsune. Not that he'd ever want to willingly die, more like a form of survivor's guilt; an 'It should have been me.'

He leaned back in the seat as his exhaustion started making itself known. Maybe the 'goodnight' to his father should have been a 'goodbye'.

With a start, he shot forward, despite immediately regretting the onslaught of pain.

He couldn't die. He couldn't leave his father all alone. They only had each other and there was no way he was going to put his father through that.

Panic gripped him at the thought.

With a new sense of urgency, he grabbed the door handle and tried budging the car door open. He hissed in pain from the strain against his shoulder. After trying with his other arm he realized it was useless as either door was trapped between trees. Sometimes he just really hated nature.

He wracked his brain for a way to get out of the vehicle before eyeing the cracked windshield. Glancing around the car, he caught the glint of his lacrosse stick that he had in his back seat. Reaching back as much as he could, he grabbed the stick and braced it in both hands just below the net before driving the handle end into the windshield. He cried out in pain, dropping it as he grabbed onto his left shoulder to ease the pain that had reverberated through him. He looked up, distraught to see the windshield still in the same condition. Picking the stick up again, this time with only his right hand, he braced himself, clenching his fist tightly around the stick before driving it hard into the glass once more.

He faltered a bit as the stick broke through, sending him forward from the force. He breathed a sigh of relief before using it to clear off the rest of the glass so he could climb out.

Stiles pulled his legs from the foot-well, climbing onto the seat while bracing the stick handle between the hood and the windshield to use as leverage.

Climbing out had been a struggle. No matter which way he positioned his left arm, any pressure he applied sent hot pain to his shoulder. Keeping his left arm against him, he used his feet to propel himself forward with the help of the balance he had from the stick. Once he was on the hood, he made to climb down but he lost his footing and slipped off the hood, landing with a hard thud onto the ground.

"Gah! Son of a bitch!" He cried out as white hot pain invaded him. He braced his right hand against the ground to push himself off the ground, hissing slightly as a sharp pain pierced his skin. Climbing to his knees he realized he was laying in what used to be his windshield.

What a disaster.

"Alright, Stiles, time to get your shit together." He said to himself as he grabbed onto the bumper of the car to heave himself into a standing position. As soon as he was upright he felt a stitch in his left side. "That's what I get for such a graceful exit."

He headed back towards the road but stopped when he got to the bottom of the steep incline. There was no way he was making it up that with one arm. Sighing, he turned and made his way through the woods, parallel to the road, in hopes of finding a less difficult way of getting out of the woods.

With each step, he was finding it harder to breathe. 'I need to put more effort into lacrosse practice exercises.' He thought to himself as he panted out harsh breaths. It felt like he had been walking forever and he really wished he had a watch- or more importantly, a working phone.

When his vision started blacking out he figured it wouldn't hurt to stop for a few seconds. Not wanting to have to deal with a struggle of getting off the ground again, he leaned back against a nearby tree.

He didn't know if he had passed out or just zoned out, but he must have done one of the two because someone shouting his name had his eyes shooting open and he was pushing off against the tree- which proved to be a terrible idea as everything started spinning and nausea hit him like a freight train.

He wasn't sure how he made it to the ground without any more pain to his already battered self, but who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Remembering someone was there, he looked at the figures in front of him trying to stop everything from looking so blurry. When he could finally focus, he realized Derek Hale was crouched down in front of him. Confusion filled him as he tried to figure out why Derek was crowding his space.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He asked, silently cursing the waver in his words. He spared a glance at the second person, but looked away immediately after seeing who it was. He wasn't sure he could handle the hatred he was sure to see in the hunter's eyes on a normal day. He'd probably lose it as he was now.

"Stiles, where is he?" He heard Derek ask as he started seeing those damn spots again. He tried to get them to go away but was failing miserably. He gave up trying, instead letting his head fall back as it suddenly felt too heavy to keep upright. "Where's who?"

"-is he? The guy who did this to you!" He barely made out the words as the ache returned to his shoulder and he wasn't sure why since he was trying to be careful.

"Derek, what are you- what are you talking about?" Stiles questioned trying to stave off the throbbing before he realized it was because Derek had his shoulders in a death grip. Bringing his right arm up, he pushed Derek's hand off his left shoulder.

"There were deer, I-" He stopped, realizing he still couldn't figure out why they were there. "Why are you here?" He asked again, not sure why it was even relevant.

He got no response from Derek, but Chris Argent was suddenly in his line of view and he looked away, not prepared to face the man whose daughter he'd killed. "Stiles." He said and Stiles shut his eyes again just wanting to sleep and hopefully wake up in the comfort of his bed. "Stiles, look at me." The command left no room for argument and he certainly didn't want the man to have any more reason to hate him. He opened hesitant eyes towards the hunter and hoped the fear coursing through him wasn't apparent. He guessed he failed because Chris' eyes softened.

"Derek sensed something was wrong. We found your car." Chris said to him and he couldn't tell when the air got so much thicker. "Why did you leave the car, Stiles?" Chris asked slowly and if they were trying to find ways just to confuse him, they were doing a damn good job. Why wouldn't he leave the car?

"Stiles." Derek prompted him when he didn't respond.

"I-" He stopped trying to figure out what they were going on about, but his headache was still present and he was still hurting. He just wanted to rest some more but he didn't want to disappoint them any more than he already has. He was about to respond but Derek started talking.

"Damn it, Stiles, were you attacked?" Stiles couldn't help but think that's what they were hoping for and physical pain wasn't the only pain he was feeling now.

"No, I'm sorry," He looked at Chris briefly, hoping the man would understand. He expected the man to look angry or disappointed- the widened eyes and look of disbelief was not what he expected, but he knew he needed to explain himself now so maybe they could at least let his dad know what had happened before they left him there.

"I wasn't attacked. Deer ran out in front of me and I- I crashed the Jeep. My phone broke so I couldn't call for help. Climbed out the win-window. And I couldn't make it back up that hill so I was trying to find another way back to the road." He was rushing through the words, hoping to get them out so they didn't have to deal with him much longer but the pressure in his lungs was taking a hold of him. "I just, I didn't want to leave my dad alone, you know? I'm the only family he's got left and I couldn't do that to him." His eyed widened as he realized he had done that same thing to the man in front of him. "But you can- you can le-leave me here. I'll understand, but my da- my dad… I ca- Please, jus-" He wanted to continue, he really did, but there was a vice grip on his lungs and he couldn't breathe. And it was just his luck that the struggle to breathe was causing a burning in his side and as pathetic as it was, he could feel the stinging in his eyes.

"His heart's beating too fast." Derek said frantically and Stiles wanted to tell them it was okay, but he couldn't get a word out. He was too busy trying to pull it together enough to finish talking. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's hyperventilating." Chris answered, "Stiles, you have to calm down. You've got to breathe." He would have loved to, but maybe it was for the best that he couldn't.

He hadn't realized his eyes had slipped shut until he felt a hand gripping his injured shoulder and when his eyes shot open and met Derek's, he knew he had done it intentionally, but the look of concern he was giving Stiles told him it wasn't something he had enjoyed.

"Wha- You don-" He would have huffed in frustration at his incompetence had he had any oxygen to spare. Using what he could, he whispered hoarsely, "-an't breathe. Tell m… dad I-"

"No." Chris cut him off before he could finish, "We've lost enough people, Stiles. We're not losing you, too." The guilt hit him hard and he turned pained eyes away. He managed to see Derek staring at him, an expression on his face Stiles couldn't quite comprehend, and he silently cursed Derek's werewolf senses, because he was sure he could feel the guilt that was pouring out of him.

Stiles couldn't help the lightheaded feeling that came next and as he started to list to the side, he really hoped it wouldn't be too jarring on his shoulder. He never made it to the ground though. Instead, Argent's hands were on either side of his face and he was talking but Stiles couldn't hear him over his own pained gasps. He owed it to the man, though, to give him full attention so he focused harder than he ever had before.

"-eed to breathe. Come on, Stiles. I need you to take a deep breath, okay? And then you're going to hold it in, and then exhale when I tell you to, do you understand?" Stiles, not able to form a complete thought anymore just nodded as much as he could. Chris removed his hands and he listened to the man's directions, but he kept failing- not finding it easy to inhale as much air as he should. After two failed attempts he shook his head, giving up.

Derek, seemingly, was having none of that. He grabbed Stiles' right hand, placing it flat on Derek's own chest. "Do what I do," was all he said, before taking a deep breath. He did it a couple times before Stiles managed to catch on, and once he did he was able to follow along to Chris' words and Derek's breathing. Slowly, he was able to breathe without mustering all his energy to take a breath.

"Good. You're doing great, Stiles." Chris said as he calmed down- his breathing and heart rate starting to return to normal.

Stiles choked out a sob, his head falling forward. His hand unintentionally gripping the shirt that Derek still had his hand against.

"I'm sorry." He whispered hoarsely, his lungs still burning. He released his hold on Derek, inching back a little before he grabbed blindly for the tree in an attempt to stand up. It took him a few tries before he was able to get his feet beneath him.

"Whoa, maybe you should wait a little bit before standing up?" Derek suggested seeing the struggle Stiles was having. He just shook his head as two pairs of hands hovered near him, probably in case he took a nose dive into the ground.

"I'm good now. You guys can get back to what you were doing. Thank you." Stiles told them as he mentally tried to figure out how he was going to make it out of these woods now.

"What? Are you crazy? What kind of people do you think we are that we'd just leave you out here?" Chris said exasperatedly and Stiles couldn't help but wince at 'crazy'.

"I didn't mean… I- uh, I just," Stiles inhaled shakily- and not just from how weak he was feeling. "I'd, uh, I'd understand, you know, if you wanted to leave me here after what I did to you." He said hating how small he sounded. "What I did to everyone. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I could trade places with her, I would do it in a heartbeat. You have to know that. Please, I'm sorry. I really am. I-" He didn't even realize he had started crying until another sob traitorously ripped from his throat. He braced himself for whatever was going to happen now. Whether they'd take their hatred out on him now, or just leave him there on his own, he wanted to be prepared.

He was taken aback when he glanced quickly at Derek, who looked more shocked than anything.

"Jesus." Chris forced out through his own surprise. "Stiles, I don't- What happened was not your fault. That wasn't you- everyone knows that. No one blames you for any of what went on. I don't blame you."

"But I-" Stiles started.

"No. No. Damn it, kid." He said to him and before Stiles could register what was happening, Chris Argent had him in a bone gripping hug. He would have returned it. He needed it, to be honest. But the truth of the matter was that it hurt. He gasped, going rigid and almost before Chris could even release him, Derek had pulled the older man back- having sensed the immense pain the second it had happened.

Stiles wasn't sure how a hug managed to hurt. The man couldn't be that strong. Just as the white flashes started to fade from his sight, Derek had his hand against his side looking at it with furrowed brows and he held Stiles upright with a hand braced on his good shoulder. He was about to ask Derek what he was doing when suddenly he felt like he was being stabbed with a hot knife.

"No!" He heard Chris yell and Derek jumped back slightly his hand still holding him up, however. "Don't. It'll only cause more damage."

Stiles was torn between wondering why Derek had stabbed him, and why he hadn't done it sooner.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Chris asked Stiles.

"Me? I didn't… didn't know he was going to st-stab me." Stiles gasped.

"I didn't stab you, you idiot. You have a giant shard of glass in your side!" Derek may has well have just growled at him.

"What?" Stiles said bemused, looking down to his left side seeing the glint of moonlight shining off the glass embedded in him. "Huh." he said suddenly remembering the pile of glass he fell in earlier and the pain he thought was just from landing so hard on the ground. "I didn't know that was there." He said simply.

He momentarily wondered how Derek didn't smell the blood earlier until he realized the side of his head was covered in blood too so it's not like he could really pinpoint it. He went to touch it, for some ungodly reason unbeknownst to himself, but seeing what he was going to do his hands were wrenched away, "Don't touch it." Chris told him as he tried to assess the damage.

Stiles was going to tell him not to worry about it, because it didn't even hurt. Then it occurred to him that it had him in an excruciating amount of pain moments ago and now it was only a dull ache. It was then he noticed Derek's hand resting on his arm- black veins spidering up his arm.

He went to pull his arm away. He didn't deserve to not feel any pain. But Derek just gripped on tighter glaring at him as he did so.

"This doesn't look so good." Chris said, "We need to get you to the hospital."

And like a switch was flipped, Stiles felt like he was punched in the gut- glass wound and all. All that precious air he had collected since his panic attack abated felt like it was being ripped from his lungs again and he was backing away frantically. The pain in his side increasing again after wrenching himself from Derek's grip.

"No, no, no." He said panicked, hands held out in front of him. The last time he was in the hospital, he managed to get himself possessed and landed him in this mess in the first place. "I can't go back there. Please, don't make me go back there."

"Stiles, you have to. You need help." Chris told him slowly. Stile shook his head hysterically.

"No, I can't! I can't." He ran his hand through his hair wildly as his eyes burned and the feeling of panic started creeping up on him again. He had to get away. If he got away then they couldn't make him go. He could just go home and sleep it off. It was fine. He was fine.

He pushed his way between the two of them, not caring about any more pain as long as he didn't have to go to the hospital.

He barely made it two steps passed them before Derek was blocking his path. He made to go around him, but Derek stepped in front of him again. "Derek, move." He said desperately.

"The Nogitsune is gone, Stiles. It's gone, okay? It's not going to get to you again." Derek sounded so sure- so confident in what he was saying, but Stiles couldn't find it in him to believe him.

"You don't know that, alright? You don't. We didn't notice it last time. And even if it's not a Nogitsune it could be something else. Something else could get to me again because I'm weak and I can't do anything right!"

He winced as Derek grabbed the back of his neck forcing him to look at him. "You are not weak, do you hear me? If you were weak, the Nogitsune would have won, okay?" He told him and it was moments like this that made Stiles wish he, too, could tell when someone was lying. "You're here. You survived and that does not make you weak."

Anger filled him. Whether at Derek or himself, he wasn't sure but he was pushing Derek away. Which wasn't much considering how little energy he had left in him.

"That's right. I'm here. I'm here! Do you know who isn't? Allison isn't here. Aiden isn't here. Those people at the hospital? Or how about Scott? If he wasn't able to heal, he'd be dead too!" He turned wild eyes to Chris. "Allison would still be here if it weren't for me, and I will never forgive myself for that. But I am not going to let that happen again. So just leave me here, because I am not going back there. I'm not." He finished with a guttural sob, trying to dare either of them to force him. Though it probably would have been more efficient if he wasn't such a nervous wreck.

"Okay." Chris started, "Okay, listen. You don't have to go to the hospital, but," he added at Derek's incredulous look, "We're taking you to Deaton. And if we have to, I will call Scott's mother to come look at you as well, but you are not letting yourself go untreated. You are not alone, Stiles, and I will never blame you for what happened to my daughter. But you need to stop blaming yourself." He gave him a fixed look, daring the kid to try and argue.

The realization the Chris Argent didn't hate him hit him too late and too hard for him to even process it fully. Everything from the past few weeks- the guilt and self-hatred- swirled together in his mind and he suddenly didn't know what to make of it. He wanted to believe it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't hated as much as he had believed, but everything was getting really distorted and all the possible pain he could feel came rushing back to him, he gave up the inevitable and sighed. "I'll go to Deaton."

"Good. That's good, Stiles." Chris replied relieved. "I'll call your dad and have him meet us there."

"No!" Stiles said quickly, "No, I don't want to worry him."

"Stiles, I'm pretty sure this is a prime example of reason to worry him."

"No, please. I'll call him after, I promise." Stiles begged. After a few seconds of slightly awkward silence, Chris just nodded.

Stiles waited for their lead, too exhausted to try and think. In the end they decided Stiles couldn't walk back in his condition, and that even trying to help him in that distance could make the wound in his side worse. Derek and Chris mutually and silently agreed on Chris going back to bring the car closer to where they were, thankful that there wasn't much of an incline from where they currently stood- not sure if they'd be able to get Stiles up anything steeper without causing him more damage.

In retrospect it would have made more sense for Derek to retrieve the car. Being a werewolf made him faster by default, but the other option might have been too much for the already distraught teenager.

The older man took off running the nearly half mile back towards the car as Derek helped Stiles back towards the road. Stiles tried to make it up on his own at first, and on any other day he would have been fine, but the pain in his side and shoulder and everywhere else was annoyingly hindering. After a few slips and nearly falling and impaling himself even more, Derek hooked Stiles' right arm around his shoulders grasping the hand of the same arm in his to drain Stiles' pain as they made their way to the top. Stiles tried to refuse, but Derek nearly growling at him had him snapping his mouth shut with a click.

When they got back up to the road, Stiles was panting through the exertion of trekking up the hill. What little adrenaline he had left was wearing off and he couldn't help but lean into Derek, trying to maintain an ounce of warmth as he felt himself start to shiver.

Instead, Derek removed Stiles' arm from around him and Stiles realized getting too into Derek's personal space probably wasn't the best decision. He hugged his arms to himself to try and keep warm when his right arm was suddenly being pulled away.

Confused, he looked at Derek questioningly before his arm was being slid into the sleeve of Derek's leather jacket.

"What're you-"

"Shut up."

"Stop, I'm gonna get blood on i-"

"I said 'shut up'." Derek interrupted him again but his tone lacked his usual frustration when telling Stiles to shut up. After getting his arm through the sleeve, Derek wrapped the rest of the jacket around Stiles' back, hanging it off of his left shoulder not wanting to jostle the kids shoulder.

"Thanks" Stiles said sincerely and Derek remained silent, shuffling awkwardly before he started to talk.

"After the fire-"

"Derek, you don't…" He realized what Derek was doing, but he knew he rarely spoke of what happened to his family, if ever at all. He didn't want him bringing up painful memories on account of him. The look Derek gave him, however, was enough to keep him from continuing.

"After the fire, I blamed myself. For the longest time, I was convinced it was my fault. That if I did things differently, Kate never would have set my house on fire and killed my family." He paused, remaining silent before continuing, "It took years before I could accept things for what they were and that there probably wasn't anything I could have done. I'm just… I'm trying to say I know what it's like to feel like you're to blame when things go bad and I know you might not ever truly believe it, but everything that happened with the Nogitsune is not on you. And if I need to, I will remind you of that every damn day until you believe it."

To say he was shocked would be an understatement and if there was ever a time for Stiles to break down and open the floodgates of tears, now would be the time. It took everything in him not to do just that. Instead, he wracked his brain trying to say something but before he could, headlights were illuminating them.

"Come on." Derek said gently as he put a hand between Stiles' shoulders guiding him towards the car.

It took some maneuvering to get Stiles' into the vehicle comfortably, even with Chris Argent's help. After crying out in pain as sitting scorched his side, he ended up in the passenger seat with it reclined back so he could lay down as comfortably as he could manage. With Derek jumping in the back seat, Chris sped off towards the vet's clinic.

Every time he so much as closed his eyes, he was being nudged awake and even though he knew what they were doing, it was still entirely too irritating. He managed to stay conscious for a while, but he must have failed because the last thing he heard before the darkness consumed him were frantic voices and hands shaking him.

Unfortunately for his exhaustion, he stirred back into consciousness as the car jerked to a stop. The door was being wrenched open and before he could do more than murmur out incoherent sounds, he was being pulled out of the car, arms coming from behind him to wrap around his chest as another set of hands were grabbing at his legs carrying him towards the clinic doors.

Movement from his side had him glancing over curiously.

"Scott?" He questioned, confused. Not sure if he was actually seeing his best friend or not as his vision kept going in and out.

"He was already here when I called Deaton." Chris assured him as he was being lowered down onto the metal table in the vet's office. Hands were on him pulling off the leather jacket that was the only thing staving off most of the chill he was feeling. He had tried to sit up more to make it easier for them, but before he could even move an inch, the jacket was off and he was being pushed back down and his shirt was being cut open.

He tried to sit up, feeling weird for laying with everyone hovering over him. He groaned when he was stopped once again.

"Oh my god. Stiles, man, talk to me. Are you okay?" Scott asked, eye wide and full of concern.

"I've been better." Stiles joked, but the way it came out as a grimace only made Scott more worried.

"Should I call my mom?" Scott said frantically, looking at the others for an answer.

"You could, but I don't think it would make a difference, because he's lost a lot of blood. If I wait for your mother to take this out of him and stitch him up I'm not sure he'll make it." Deaton said as he examined the massacre of his side, bringing a set of tools next to the table.

"Nice bedside manner, Doc." Stiles huffed frightfully. The fear of actually dying hitting him more than he had expected.

"Stiles, I'm going to give you a sedative, but it may not be strong enou-"

"No." Stiles said forcefully.

"Stiles, if I don't give you anything, you're going to be in a lot of pain."

"I'm already in pain. Don't give me a sedative. Just get this over with, I can handle it. Please. Just no sedatives." He pleaded. Last time he was given a sedative, he woke up with an evil spirit controlling him.

Clearly he knew how to hold onto his fears.

"Okay," Deaton replied, 'Chris, I'm going to need your help."

"What do you need me to do?" Chris asked from where he was standing next to Derek. Scott was on Stiles' other side next to Deaton.

"I need you to hold him down. You too Scott." Stiles eyes widened at his words and before he could even have time to protest, Deaton was slicing part of his skin while slowly pulling at the shard. He jerked in pain, biting down hard on his lip to keep from screaming out as he struggled to get away.

He didn't get far as Chris had his legs held down against the table strongly. Scott grabbed at his shoulders and that only made it worse because he had gripped his injured shoulder, and though he knew Scott didn't know, it brought pain-filled tears to his eyes and he wondered if he'd ever be able to go a full hour again without breathing being such a chore.

He couldn't try and warn him but he didn't have to as Derek had his hand on Stiles' arm, taking as much pain from Stiles as he could and suddenly he could breath and the fire in his side was rapidly easing and it felt like the greatest thing.

"Not too much, Derek. If something goes wrong, we need to be able to tell based on his pain level." Deaton warned, seeing what Derek was doing.

"Seriously?" Stiles choked out incredulously and braced himself as he waited for the agonizing pain to make its grand re-entry. It never came though, and he looked down at his arm confused when Derek's hand was still there.

"Slowly," was all Derek said as Stiles let his head flop back against the table. True to his word, pain slowly ebbed back through his nerves, his side slowly igniting once more. Thankfully, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had expected and he owed it to Derek for that. He figured Derek wasn't easing up on the wolf powers as much as Deaton would have liked but he certainly wasn't going to complain.

Once Deaton had fully removed the glass, Stiles nearly gagged at seeing how large it was. That, and it was coated in his blood. "Oh, gross." he moaned out rolling his head to the side towards Scott.

"Chicks dig scars, right?" Scott teased and Stiles couldn't help but laugh, immediately wincing as it pulled at the now open slit in his torso.

"Yeah, buddy, not sure how much that's worth all this agony though." He replied lightly.

He almost threw up when he saw the needle Deaton held up, preparing to stitch Stiles up. "Can't you just slap some butterfly bandages on it and hope for the best?" He was only half joking.

The needle had barely made it through the first stitch before he was seeing white. Hot intense fire burned through him and he cried out despite some of Derek's pain-drain.

No sooner than it started, the pain was disappearing. Thinking it was done already, he was confused to see Deaton still working, until he noticed Scott's hand on the skin on his arm aiding in taking away Stiles' pain as well. Stiles sent him a grateful look, relieved and hoping Deaton wouldn't make them stop this time. He rolled his head towards Derek who just nodded at him shortly.

No longer in agony, he let his eyes drift shut.

"Stiles." Deaton said and he could hear the command in his tone as he opened his eyes and glared.

"Deaton." Was all Chris said as he glanced from him back to Stiles. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but Chris was giving him an encouraging nod and before he knew it he was letting his eyes drift shut again.

"-is he? Stiles!" He woke up to shouting which went right through his head. He turned his head towards the opening of the room just as the sound of a chair scraping across the floor filled the room.

Shifting his eyes, he watched as Derek stood up giving him a look, before walking out towards the commotion.

He braced his right hand against the table he was still laying on, pushing himself into a sitting position, moaning as he felt the taut pull against where the stitches were. Derek's leather jacket he had been wearing earlier was draped against his chest like a blanket, slipping off as he sat up. His left arm was resting in a sling and he wondered why the hell a vet had a sling in the first place when he heard Melissa's voice from the other room.

"He's fine! Calm down. He's okay!" She said as Scott came bursting into the room, smiling when he noticed Stiles was awake.

"Stiles! You're awake!" Scott beamed, "How are you feeling?"

"What's going on?" He asked warily, glancing towards where Scott just came from.

"What? Oh! Your dad's here. My mom's trying to calm him down before he comes barreling in here."

"My dad?" He questioned, a lump forming in his throat and he was swinging his legs off the table as quickly as he could- which wasn't that quickly at all.

"Hey, hey, what're you doing?" Scott panicked, grabbing onto Stiles' arm as he climbed off the table. Just as his feet hit the ground, his dad was walking into the room, stopping short at the sight of his battered son.

"Oh, god." He breathed out, his forehead creased in concern.

Stiles started forward as his father met him half way, Stiles threw his arm around his father hugging him tightly and he could feel his eyes stinging. "I'm sorry. I crashed the Jeep and I couldn't call and-"

"It's okay. It's okay, Stiles. Argent told me what happened." he reassured him as he pulled Stiles back to see examine the shape his son was in.

"I already looked him over, John. He's okay now. Deaton did a good job of stitching him up." Melissa said and John blanched at the last part, lifting the shirt on him he recognized as one of Scott's- assuming Melissa had brought it over when she came.

"Dad, I'm fine. I promise. But the Jeep-"

"Damn it, Stiles. I don't care about the damn Jeep." John said exasperatingly. "You're never allowed to drive again." He added as an afterthought.

"Dad!" There was no way his father was keeping him from driving. Well, except for the fact that he had no car to drive.

"I could still ground you and never let you leave the house again. I told you to drive safe and you disobeyed me." John told him authoritatively. Stiles rolled his eyes as he moved back to lean against the table.

"He's joking." Melissa rolled her eyes at Scott whose eyes widened at the thought of Stiles never being able to leave his house.

"Not like he wouldn't sneak out anyway." John teased sarcastically.

Stiles looked around the room, frowning slightly as he noticed the absence of the people who were the reason he was even still alive. He was sure he had seen Derek walking out of the room earlier and figured he'd have come in with the others and Chris Argent. Maybe he had imaged it.

"Derek just left. Chris waited until you were all patched up and stable, but he had something he needed to go take care of." Deaton told him knowing that's what he was wondering.

John had to go back to work after he was fully convinced Stiles was okay. He had offered to just have someone else take over the rest of his work, but they needed the money so Stiles gave him no choice.

Melissa and Scott brought Stiles back to their house to keep an eye on him not only for John's comfort but their own as well. Surprisingly to Stiles, he had slept through the night and when he woke up he wondered if his nightmares were no longer a problem or if Scott had been doing some weird werewolf things as he slept. It was the first time in a while that he didn't wake up scared of not knowing if he had done something he wasn't aware of.

It was nearly a week later that the bruising in his shoulder was gone and then almost fives days after that when he was able to get the stitches in his side removed. Scott, his ever worrisome best friend, borrowed his moms car to drive Stiles to and from school whenever his father couldn't do it himself. He had tried to explain that he was still perfectly capable of walking as he had no injuries to his legs except a few very minor scratches, but they weren't accepting it. He had just sighed and given in.

After he was sure his father and Scott wouldn't berate him for it, he set out on foot. He was sure Scott would have given him a ride, but he wanted to do this on his own, and he didn't want to put Scott out more than he already has.

He headed off towards the cemetery, stopping to pick up two bouquets from a florist nearby. He brought one to his mothers grave, replacing the older ones and then he headed off to the second grave.

He stopped when he saw someone else was already there, not wanting to disturbed them he went to turn away when the figure turned and spotted him.

"Stiles." Chris Argent said in greeting. Stiles slowly approached, laying the flowers down against Allison's tombstone.

"Hello, Mr. Argent" Stiles replied as he stood back up.

He turned towards Chris, and all the things he had been preparing to say for whenever he saw the man again had vanished from his mind. He had wanted to apologize again, for taking the mans daughter from him. Tell him how we was coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't his fault- well, not completely anyway. He wanted to tell him how he spent weeks waking up in cold sweat from the nightmares that haunted him- that every time he looked at him or Scott it reminded him of what he had done. How if he could bring her back, he would do everything he could no matter what it took.

But when he opened his mouth, none of that came out. His mind was blank and all he got out was,

"I-" He looked down, ashamed at himself.

"I know." Chris said, surprising Stiles. And when he looked in the mans eyes he could see the same sincerity his tone displayed. He looked for any signs of anger or hatred, but he could find any. "I blamed myself, too, you know." Chris continued, "I couldn't help but think that if I hadn't introduced Allison to hunting, that she'd still be alive. It wasn't until I realized that you were blaming yourself that I realized no matter how many 'what-ifs' I could throw at myself, it still wouldn't bring her back. And it's no ones fault but the Nogitsune. No matter who it would have taken control over. She died fighting, saving her friends, and she'd hate for either of us to regret the choices she made."

Stile's eye flickered toward the tombstone at Chris' words.

'Beloved daughter, friend, and hero.'

"I'll see you around, kid." Chris clapped a hand on his back before turning to walk away. He only made it a few feet before Stiles called out.

"Thank you." Stiles said sincerely.

"Thank you." Chris replied before continuing back to his car.

Stiles stayed at the grave for a few minutes longer in silence, not knowing what to say but not wanting to leave right away either.

He was only a few houses down from his when he looked up and did a double-take at the blue Jeep parked in front of his house. Derek leaned against the hood, looking up as Stiles approached.

"Wha- How-" Stiles stuttered not entirely sure he wasn't losing his mind. He was sure his car had been totaled. That there was no way to repair it, and even if there was, him or his father certainly didn't have the money.

"The damage was mostly done to the body of the car so it was any easy fix. I had some extra money laying around." Derek tossed him the keys and Stiles fumbled to catch them.

"Oh, my, god. Derek. You really shouldn't have done that. I mean thank you. Really. But that must have cost you a fortune and… and I-… Are you sure? I'll pay you back! I don't know when I can get it all to you, but I'll do whatever I can." Stiles said in awe and still not sure he was processing this correctly.

"I don't want you to pay me back, Stiles." Stiles mouth hung open in shock before remembering he still had Derek's jacket. He told him this and was about to run in to retrieve it when Derek held up a hand, stopping him.

"It's fine. I have more."

"Of course you do." Stiles couldn't help the sass that slipped from his mouth, eyes widening at how ungrateful he just came off after Derek fixed his car. But instead, the corner of Derek's mouth quirked up slightly.

"If you get into another accident, I'm going to rip your head off."

And for the first time in weeks, Stiles' laugh wasn't forced.