Gasping, shuffling, lurching, Derek was focused on one thing only.

Stiles.

Get to Stiles.

Stiles was safety. Stiles could help him.

Derek was familiar with pain. He'd been shot, beaten, burned, hit by cars, broken, and he always healed. For some reason, this time, he wasn't. He didn't know why, but he was weak. He was no longer strong, or quick. His muscles felt like lead weights after running, and fighting. His blood was drying on his skin, and hardening into scabs, instead of healing, and fading away into nothing.

He was…. human.

It had something to do with the frosty blue dust that covered his jacket. That he'd inhaled, and swallowed. Something about it made his body… wrong. After the rogue Omega who had seen fit to attack Derek had shoved a handful of the dust onto his mouth and nose, things had changed. He'd come very close to dying tonight, and that scared him.

His car was parked haphazardly at the curb in front of the Stilinski house. He could come here, he was safe here, because he'd personally asked Deaton to help Stiles ward his home against wolves. It was up to Stiles alone if he, or even Scott, could come in, anymore.

Already, he was wishing that he could smell. It was like the world was suddenly bland. His senses were dulled, making him feel hazy and sluggish. In the back of his head, somewhere, he wondered if this was what a cold felt like. He'd never been sick before, not like this. The only reason he could tell that Stiles was home alone, was the presence of his jeep in the driveway, but a distinct absence of the sheriffs Police Cruiser.

On any other day, Derek wouldn't have cared. He'd have gone around the back, to hop onto the roof and tap at the teens door, to be let in. Seeing as that was out of the question, he shuffled his way, stiffly, to the front door. His foot caught on one of the steps, but he caught himself at the last moment, by slumping against the front door. A few desperately weak raps of his knuckle against the wood went unanswered. Unheard. He tried the doorbell, but couldn't hear if it had gone off or not. Was there cotton in his ears? This was ridiculous.

Unanswered again. Inhaling shakily, he pulled his phone free of his pocket, with a shaky left hand. The Alpha's right arm was cradled against his chest. Fumbling, trying to get his eyes to focus on the cell phone screen, his fingers went everywhere he didn't want them to, smearing blood on the glass. He'd only gotten one word typed, when at last the door swung open. Derek toppled over, into the foyer, sprawled out on the floor with a whimper of pain.

The strip of mountain ash lain across the entryway hadn't effected him. Was he really human?

Coughing, and trying to move, it took Derek a few moments to tune in to Stiles, and the freakout the teen was having.

"OHmyGOD Derek!? What the hell man?! What the… Whats wrong? Dude, why are you… Oh God is that blood? Why are you bleeding on my floor?! I mean, I didn't mean it like… It's just you're not healing… Why aren't you healing?!" Letting out a growl, Derek was finally able to lever his left hand beneath him, rolling over, and struggling up into a sitting position, releasing a trembling exhale.

He was embarrassed. Weak. Pathetic. Groveling. Hiding from weaklings of his own kind at a humans home… Swallowing hard, he cast his eyes to the side, and pressed the heal of his palm against his throbbing temple.

"I… need your help… Stiles.." He whispered, a wave of dizziness overcoming him. But this time, it didn't flicker, and pass. It overwhelmed him, and soon, it carried him away to a world of grey, and then black.

Derek wasn't passed out very long. No more than a few minutes on the floor, when a rush of cold water over his face had him gasping in surprise, and then again, in pain. "FUCK! STILES! Dammit!" He cursed, rolling onto his side, dripping water from his face onto the hardwood floor. He had to take a moment to blink it out of his eyes, beads of water clinging to the tips of his dark eyelashes, enhancing the drama of them, when the mans hazel orbs fastened onto Stiles face. Or rather, one eye glared. The other was nearly too swollen to open, at the moment.

"Sorry, man, jeeze. You're too heavy to move and you wouldn't wake up! I panicked!" The teen exclaimed in a strained, anxious voice. He…. Derek couldn't smell him…Immediately, he was swallowing, inhaling, flinching away. Just that fact… It was like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Again.

"….Help me up." He demanded. For a moment, Stiles stared at him. Derek "Grumpyface McPissypants" Hale was asking (commanding, really) for help? An inmpatient lift of his eyebrows let Stiles know that Derek was waiting, and on autopilot, the teen jumped forward, grabbing the alpha under the arm, helping to haul him up to his feet. Dereks other hand was latched onto the banister of the stairs to add some extra leverage.

"So, you wanna explain to me a few things? Like, A) Why are you here? B) Who fucked you up? And C) Why aren't you healing?!"

I already regret coming here…

"Well, Stiles. I'm here because I'm hurt and need help, does it really matter who did this right now? And if I KNEW why I wasn't healing, I'D FIX IT!" Derek snapped. Stiles jerked back, letting Derek sway, and rest his wait on the railing for a moment. The younger male had never seen the wolf snap like that. Normally, though, that level of anger, and irritation would be accompanied by red eyes, and fangs. But there was nothing. Nothing but bruises, scruff, and pain.

"…Shit… Man… Come on…" Sighing, Stiles stepped forward, and ducked down to loop Dereks arm over his shoulder. It was a bit of an uncomfortable position at first, since they were the same height, practically, but after a few steps, they were able to adjust their weight, and make it work.

Sort of.

Climbing the stairs was a hue hassle, and in the midst of it, Stiles verbally noted that this had to be the longest it had ever taken him to go up a flight of stairs.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I inconveniencing you?" Derek drawled out. It was Stiles turn to bristle in irritation from sarcasm.

"Yeah, you kind of are you ungrateful gimp. Shut up and focus. 5 more steps." He grumbled before pursing his lips, physically straining to haul Derek up, and towards the bathroom across the hall from his room. Using his foot to tap the lid down all the way, Stiles almost lost his balance, but out of sheer willpower, he didn't fall.

Derek slumped onto the closed toiled with a hiss, arm cradled protectively around his sternum.

"Crap… Umm… Okay…. I guess, first aid, first. Take off your shirt and jacket. They're ruined anyway… Are those claw marks? Was it other werewolves?" Stiles was talking and moving at the same time. He'd dug out an old first aid kit. A big one, in a white case, with a big red cross on the front and everything. Knowing Stiles awkwardness and his tendency to be less-than-stable on his own feet, Melissa had probably insisted on giving them a medical grade kit.

Derek had stayed still, watching for a moment, before resigning himself to obey, pulling his garments off painfully slowly. Stiles had to try really REALLY hard to not tap his toes. His… bare toes. Derek only just realized, when his un-hindered eye focused on the ground, hunched over to wriggle out of the shreds of his formerly grey shirt, that Stiles wasn't wearing shoes, or socks. He could see each of the boys long, but not freakishly so, toes. When he wasn't shifting around from foot to foot, those toes curled, clenched, and relaxed many times.

Straightening just enough that he wasn't staring creepily at the human teens feet, Dereks gaze swept upward, taking in the other details. Like the fact that Stiles was wearing black, baggy, cotton pajama pants with an energy drink logo printed in an annoying neon color all over them. His upper body was sovered in a long sleeved thermal shirt, a t-shirt over that. Was the boy so self conscious of his own body that he wore this much, even when he was alone? It wasn't cold in the Stilinski house, so he couldn't rationalize it that way….

"OW, FUCK!" The sting of pain wrenched Derek out of his thoughts. He felt like a dog with his hackles up. Stiles had instinctively jerked away, holding up a alcohol saturated pad of gauze in his hand, stained just faintly, with blood, from a claw mark on Dereks shoulder that he'd started to clean.

"….Quit being a pussy, man. Hell, I've seen you break bones without too much of a flinch." Stiles sounded like he was in disbelief. Seeing this side of Derek was foreign to him. Derek took in an attempt at a calming breath through his nose, nostrils flaring as he repeated it, and forced himself to relax back onto his seat.

"I wasn't expecting it, okay? I just got mauled, I'm a little out of sorts." He rasped out,licking his dry lips. Stiles just chuckled, and leaned in again, to go back to what he'd been trying to do. His hands were a little more hesitant, until he finally pressed the sanitizing fabric against the wound. The only sign that Derek registered it was the telling flex of a tendon in his pronounced jaw. Like he was biting back on his teeth to keep in his reaction.

"Mauled is an appropriate term. You look like a couple of bears decided to play catch, and you volunteered to be the ball. Now, are you going to explain what happened to me, or are you saving it to pantomime to me in a bracing game of charades, later?" Derek didn't answer for a long time as Stiles systematically cleaned all of his wounds, practically sponge-bathing him in alcohol.

"I was investigating something. Erika had been running through the forest, and thought she'd smelled someone. A new werewolf. If there's a wolf in my territory, I need to know about it. Well, it turns out that there's a few wolves in my territory, and they have some new tricks up their sleeve. Namely, a silvery blue powder that smells like candy, and seems to have made me completely human." The mans tone was a little bitter.

Okay, 'a little' is kind of a big understatement…. Stiles thought quietly, as he started bandaging the scratches. After a few moments, it seemed more like he was trying to create a mummy.

"…I think I over did it a little…" He mused out loud, only to receive a disparaging glare.

"You think?" Was the retort. Stiles rolled his eyes, and took off the superfluous wrappings, so that Derek was only as bound as he absolutely needed to be.

"Alright… So how are we getting you home?" Stiles asked curiously. "Do I have to take you in my jeep? Does this mean I get to drive the Camaro?!" He suddenly lit up, only to deflate when Derek shot him a look that plainly asked 'are you a fucking idiot?'

"There's no way I'm going home. It's not safe. I'm human now, but I think I know why. The wolves that did this to me were beta's. They're trying to get me weak, so they can kill me. Whatever this is, I'm betting it's temporary. Making my wolf dormant long enough that they can kill me, and claim my alpha power. I've got to wait this out, and I can't do that if I'm not safe. Do you want another batshit crazy alpha out on the loose, like Peter?" He could practically hear Peters insulted retort to that.

"What, you mean… You think you're staying here?! Nu uh, buddy! Not happening! My dad had you in HANDCUFFS, and has had warrants for your arrest, TWICE, now. You think he's just gonna… Believe you're a reformed criminal, and let you sleep over? No. Not happening. Go stay at Scotts, you guys are furry brothers. What about your pack? Isaac, or Boyd? Wouldn't you be safer around a werewolf, not a human?" Derek could see the panic that Stiles was going through at the suggestion, but he couldn't feel it anymore. He felt so numb, and daze. Like there was a blanket over him, and it was just sheer enough that he could hear, and see through it, but everything was unclear.

Stiles, to him, had always been a beacon of feeling. His pulse was always jumping all over the place, his scent changing, sometimes by the second. He felt emotions so strongly, and so quickly, that he was never boring to be around. Even if he did have some bad talking habits…

Desperate, Derek reached out, grabbing Stiles wrist to press his fingertips into his pulse, forehead pressed against the teens fabric covered ribs.

"…Please." He whispered.

Close, like this, he could feel the life inside of Stiles, and that calmed him more than anything else could.