Summary: Derek's the Alpha now, and Stiles is worried for him. So he goes to help him out.

Stiles is worried. Scott has told him he shouldn't be, but he can't help it. Derek's the Alpha now - the goddamn head douchebag, actual and literal Alpha werewolf - which meant more danger. Scott has told him that Derek is a big boy and can handle it himself, but Stiles' reasoning is that Scott believes himself to be a big boy and even he needed help when he was starting out. He thinks of Derek's change from Beta to Alpha is like being bitten and starting out all over again. The older teen would have to learn control again, and if he's a Yoda to Scott, he can be a Yoda to Derek. So, here he was, getting out of his Jeep at the old, charred remains of Hale house, his best friend and father thinking he's studying at the library. He doesn't usually lie to Scott, but this time he feels like the lie is needed, or he would have him following around and making things worse.

He thinks about bringing a bat in. He really does. He doesn't know what to expect of Derek, but he thinks it would be like Scott's behavior, only amplified. But he decides against it in the end. This is Derek Hale, born werewolf, totally in control of himself and emotionless… except when he has him pinned angrily against walls, getting in his face and making him scared. It gets his heart pumping, maybe that's what Derek liked about it the most. Nevertheless, he makes his way up to the house and quietly shows himself inside. He looks around before his eyes move to the stairs, feet starting to do the same, hand on the rail. He's never been upstairs before.

"Derek?" He calls softly, knowing he doesn't need to be overly loud, and that he really shouldn't be with one of the various states Derek could be in. He makes his way up the stairs, wondering which room the wolf's in. He doesn't have to look very far when he sees claw marks and blood on one of the doors. He should be more scared than he actually is as he pulls his sleeve over his hand and grabs the doorknob, turning it with an echoing thump, hinges creaking as he slowly pushes it open. It reminds him eerily of a haunted house in a horror movie, where the character who goes into the house gets slaughtered without mercy. That isn't a good way to think about things, he decides, and pushes the thought away.

He isn't completely ready for what he sees next. The walls are splattered with blood, deep claw marks dragged across the walls and floors, and the mattress in the corner of the room. There's rubble scattered around, pieces of wood from the ceiling on the floor, some of it from the fire, some looking more recent. There's no door on the closet, and the items inside looking like they've be forced out. He cautiously walks over to it.

There's bloody hand prints on the door frame. He takes his flashlight out of his back pocket and turns it on, shining it into the dark, and into Derek's face. He gasps softly at his appearance; clothes dirty and slightly ripped, dried blood on his hands and white shirt, and he looks to be unconscious. There's a lot of blood, and he hopes to God he hasn't just happen upon a dead body.

He kneels down and puts two fingers to the other's neck, right on his pulse point and feeling it, really slow, but it spikes a bit at the touch. Stiles looks him over more closely, a sliver of blue around his upper arm. He pulls his sleeve up and saw the light blue rubber band wrapped tightly around his arm, like a doctor who's about to take blood. He doesn't know how long it's been on him, but he sets the flashlight between his lips and reaches both his hands out, undoing it and letting it fall to the floor. His eyes travel down his arm, where a bruise is forming on his inner elbow. What did you do to yourself? Stiles checks the floor around him, and is shocked to find a bottle of… animal tranquilizers? Shit. Why, Derek? He takes the flashlight out of his mouth and looks up at the other's face.

"Derek?" He whispers, moving closer to see that he's actually breathing, "Derek." He says a bit louder, watching him stir and groan softly. The younger teen lets out a relieved breath. The wolf starts to breath more normally, coming back to consciousness, opening his eyes after a moment; all hazy and tired. He looks so weak.

"Stiles." It comes out as less than a whisper, more like an exhale, "Get out of here."

"No, I'm not leaving," The kid says, taking a hold of his shoulders and trying to pull him up, "Come on, you gotta get up."

"No. No, stop it. Leave me alone." Derek protests, a bit surprised the smaller teen can actually be getting him up. He tries to help, just to put some distance between them, but the tranquilizers make it tough. Stiles manages to drag him over to the ripped up mattress before they collapse on the floor next to it. He sits the older teen back up and opens up what seems to be the only window intact - no matter how warped and horrible the glass looks - in the whole house, letting the breeze get to them.

"Are you okay? What happened to you?" The lacrosse player asks, holding the other's head up, watching him try to keep his eyes open.

"Why do you care?" The wolf almost snarls, trying to swat the smaller teen's hands away.

"Because being a human who cares about stupid animals, I'm here to help you." Stiles gives back, pushing his hands away, "Now, you have to suck it up, because I have to get you down those stairs and into my car."

"No, leave me here, Stiles. It's not safe for you." Derek tries pushing him away again, but he feels too weak, too tired.

Stiles gets close, faces inches apart, making the other teen look at him, "If you haven't noticed, I don't care about my own safety."