They drove down this familiar road in a familiar silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

But there was something different. Something unfamiliar that hung in the air like an odor. Something was wrong with Stiles…Derek could feel it.

Silence filled the Jeep as the pair drove along. It was heavy, tangible. It made Derek uncomfortable and it made Stiles fidgety.

Stiles tapped his thumb rhythmically on the steering wheel and worried at his bottom lip until it became raw and swollen and it hurt. Beside him, Derek took deep breaths, each one filling his lungs with emotion.

Emotion that was radiating off of Stiles.

Pain. He felt pain. Anxiety, lots of it. Like, too much for one teenage boy to be burdened with. He felt fear. He felt stress. He felt exhaustion, guilt. And though it was vague, he caught the scent of anger.

Derek looked over at Stiles, then back at the road, then back at Stiles. Finally, he blurted out,

"Alright, what."

"What?"

"What."

"Derek…"

"What's wrong with you?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

Stiles puffed his cheeks. "I, uh… I-I I don't know wha—"

"I can smell it on you. All of it."

"All of what?"

"All of the…" Derek furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, searching for the right words. "the emotions. The anxiety, the guilt." He paused. "The anger."

"I'm not angry."

"You're also not very good at lying."

Stiles went quiet. Normally, this would have been like an answer to Derek's prayers but today…today it just made him worried.

"Stiles…" he said in the softest voice he could manage.

"I'm not angry."

"Okay."

"Derek, I'm not."

"Okay."

"No, no it's not like my friends always get hurt trying to do the right thing. And it's not like I'm just standing there, you know, watching them fall. No, I… that doesn't happen, because t-that wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be fair that they're always the ones getting hurt, it's not fair that Scott and Lydia and freaking Liam have to live their lives in constant fear. It's not fair that I have to just stand there and watch the people I care about the people I love—" his voice broke into a sob. He wiped his face with the back of his right hand, keeping the left one on the top of the steering wheel. "It's not fair that I have to just…watch because I'm just a regular human without claws, or fangs, or the supernatural ability to predict death. No, I'm just me…I'm just Stiles, and I can't help them because I'm not strong enough and that's—" he took a shaky breath. "that's not fair." He finished through clenched teeth.

"Okay." Derek whispered. Suddenly the Jeep jerked right and pulled over onto the side of the road. Stiles threw the gear in park, wrapped his long arms around the steering wheel and laid down his head.

Very cautiously, Derek laid his large hand on the curve of Stiles' back. Warmth leaked through the thin fabric of his hoodie and soaked into his pale skin.

"I'm sorry." Stiles mumbled. "I'm—"

"It's okay. I'm not angry." Derek replied calmly, removing his hand from the boy's back.

"I lied." Stiles began. Derek remained silent. "Back there, I lied to you. I am angry. I'm so angry. I just—like I… I just want to, to…"

"Hit something." Derek finished for him.

Stiles looked at Derek with sad eyes. "Yeah." He hung his head, like he was ashamed.

The pair sat in silence for a beat before Derek spoke up again.

"So do it."

"What?" Stiles asked.

"Hit something."

"Like what?" Stiles shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You got a punching bag hiding inside that leather jacket of yours?" He smiled slightly.

"Yes." Derek replied smoothly.

"Y-wait, what?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Me."

"I'm not going to punch you."

"Why not? You think I can't take it? Believe me," he looked Stiles' lanky frame over with golden green eyes. "I can." Without another word, he exited the Jeep and walked a few feet away, where he stood at the edge of the tree line. Stiles reluctantly followed. The cold wind whipped around them, making Stiles shiver. He suddenly missed the artificial heat of his Jeep's heater that mixed with the heat that was constantly radiating off of Derek.

"I'm still not going to punch you." Stiles said stubbornly.

"Yes, you are. Right now. Come on." He motioned toward his torso and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Stiles to make a move.

"Derek, no."

"Stiles, it isn't an option."

"Oh, so you're ordering me around now? Do I need to salute you or would you consider us close enough where that's not necessary?" he took small steps toward Derek as he spoke, unaware that he was even moving at all.

"Hit me."

"Derek, I—"

"You won't hurt me. I'll heal before you can even take a second swing."

"Why?"

"It'll help." Derek said simply.

Stiles stepped closer. He said nothing, keeping his eyes locked with Derek's. Derek only nodded, as if encouraging Stiles to take a swing. So he did.

He slammed his fist into Derek's torso. A bolt of pain and adrenaline shot up his arm and it felt…good? It felt good. Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and looked up at Derek.

"Again." Derek huffed out. Stiles cocked his head, skeptical. "Stiles, again."

He swung again, this time only slightly harder than the first. His fist came in contact with hard muscle and the rough material of Derek's shirt, almost beaconing Stiles to hit it again. He punched, over and over he punched.

Stiles felt tears brim his eyes, the cold air nipping at his cheeks and clouding his vision but he didn't care. He let the tears fall. He screamed things as he punched. Derek caught words like "it's not fair." and "should have been me."

Eventually Stiles wasn't even punching anymore. He was just swinging, flailing. He was screaming and crying and his hands were bruised and bloody and his face was wet. Derek caught Stiles' wrists in his large hands and held them still. Stiles' body fell into Derek's as he cried, his legs nearly giving out beneath him.

"I'm sorry," Stiles sobbed. "I'm sorry. It's my f-fault. It's not fair. It should have been me." his voice broke into another sob and his face was twisted with pain and sorrow. "It should have been me." He cried out.

Derek held Stiles as he sobbed, his frail body shaking and shuddering. When Stiles' legs gave out and he sank to the ground, Derek sank with him, his body never losing contact with the fragile boy in his arms.

He held him, and whispered sweet nothings into Stiles' ear, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. It was enough to calm the boy, but not to stop the tears from flowing.

"They all hate me." Stiles quivered.

"No, they don't hate you. They could never hate you." Derek said gruffly, somehow still managing to be gentle.

"I do." Stiles whispered. "I hate me. You should hate me too."

"Stiles, why would I hate you?"

"Because I did terrible things. Terrible, awful things, and I—"

"We all do terrible things." Derek cut him off. "All of us. Everyone."

Stiles looked up at Derek, his neck craning almost painfully from the position he was in, practically in Derek's lap. His eyes were wet and sad and filled with so much pain that Derek could actually feel his heart breaking.

Derek was never good with words. He was always an action man. He was a man of few words, in fact the fewest words possible. He had learned that body language is how you could really tell how a person was feeling. Right now, Stiles needed to be comforted, reassured… held. It amazed Derek that the boy in his arms was the same snarky, sure-footed, resilient boy he once knew. The boy before him now was fragile, lost, scared. Stiles had shattered into millions of pieces and Derek knew he needed to put him back together, or at least try to.

"We all do terrible things." Derek repeated, speaking calmly and slowly. "But it doesn't mean we're terrible people. Stiles, you are not a bad person. You are not a burden. No one hates you. I don't—I could never hate you." Stiles shifted in Derek's lap, resting his cheek on Derek's chest. The cold nipped at his cheeks and nose but the heat that radiated off of Derek was enough to compensate. Derek took a deep breath and carded his fingers through Stiles' hair. "Sure, you annoy the hell out of me some days…most days." He corrected, earning a small huff of a laugh from Stiles. "But I could never hate you. In fact, I…" he paused. "I admire you. Really, I do. The way you care so much about everyone, the way you will physically put yourself in harms way to help the ones you love, how you speak your mind and always say what you feel…which is something I could never do. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. And it's frustrating and horrible but mostly it's just a way to survive. I grew up with the idea that letting people in only got other people hurt. And I couldn't watch anyone else I cared about get hurt."

Derek quieted, his hands on Stiles' back and his arms wrapped around him were the only indication that he was still here. It was silent, except for the wind that whipped around the barrier created by the Jeep.

"You are not a burden. You are not useless. You are brave and smart and without you none of us would be here today. You help, you do so much without even realizing it. And that's what makes you so incredible. We all have instincts we need to trust in order to survive… me, Scott, Isaac, all of us. You have an instinct too. Your instinct to protect, to save, to help… that's your superpower. So don't…don't ever say you're not useful because Stiles, you are. You are important beyond your own comprehension. That is your superpower."

Stiles flung his arms around Derek, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Silent tears streamed down Stiles' cold cheeks, but he was happy…he was so happy.

Stiles' phone rang, startling them both. He wiped his face in the crook of his elbow, laughing at himself for crying.

"Hello?"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, hey Dad. What's up? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I, uh… Stiles are you crying?"

Stiles huffed out a laugh, "Don't worry about it Pops, I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah I've got the big bad wolf here to protect me anyway." Stiles smirked at Derek, who just chuckled to himself and shook his head.

"Okay. Well, dinner is on the table, so hurry home kid."

"Will do, Daddio."

"Love you. See you soon kiddo."

"Love you too. Bye Dad." Stiles shut off his phone and looked at Derek. Derek stood and brushed the dirt off his pants. He reached down and offered his hand to Stiles.

"Come on, let's get you home."