Please… Don't. I don't want to turn. Not into this.

The words are in his mind. Fuzzy and nearly forgotten, but they lingered. He didn't' remember thinking them, let along saying them.

Drawing in a slow breath, Stiles blinked tiredly, his eyes scanning his room, still dark and only illuminated by the moon as it hung blissfully in the sky. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. He didn't even know what time it was. What day. But everything ached, like he'd gone a round with Scott on the field. But this pain was different. His insides felt meshed up, pulled and tugged. Like he'd been a puzzle, sloppily dismantled and forced back together in a way that just didn't fit.

The first breath after the realization was the hardest. The second wasn't so bad, but it left him feeling more dizzy, the smell of copper soaking into his skin. He could smell it all over himself.

Fumbling for his phone, he slid to sit on the floor, his tattered shirt still dripping in the blood that had been torn from his body only hours before. Though he had no memory of it.

Finding Scott's number, he pressed 'call' and lazily dropped the phone against his ear. His fingers were twitching, aching angrily, and it was hard for him to hold up something so light. There was no answer.

Sucking on his lips hard, the dizziness slapped him hard again, making him sway to the side. He caught himself only moments before his head collided with the side of the desk. A lazy agility that he hadn't had before.

He hastily tried the next number he could think of. The phone rang a few times until there was an answer, a deep and blank voice on the other end, "Hello?"

He tried to find the words, but there were none. It was almost like he didn't know English anymore, despite the hectic thoughts looping through his mind. What happened? Where were you tonight? What the fuck did that guy do to you? He could only peace together that he'd been at a party and then suddenly, he wasn't. He remembered the woods, the smell of rain and the coarse tickle of leaves as they slithered across his skin.

"Hello? Stiles… is that you? Why aren't you saying anything?" The voice wasn't panicked, not in the slightest, but the alarm was in the words the speaker had chosen to use.

Stiles let out a sigh, biting his tongue hard, trying to muster up anything, even a cry of pain. Just something. But his usual rapid word vomit came out as a ragged breath and a groan. It's something, he thought to himself, He'll know. He'll come, like he always does.

"STILES," the voice screamed and then there was deafening silence, the hazy buzz of the phone line tickling his senses. He'd never noticed before, the feedback from the phone, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Listening to the feedback made him feel lopsided. Leaning carefully against the side of his desk, his fingers lost their strength, dropping the phone hard to the floor. And then there was nothing. Just blackness and silence, pressing down around him. He imagined this is what Isaac must have felt like when his father used to lock him in the freezer. He tried to push, but his muscles wouldn't budge. And soon, he was enveloped in a warm nothingness.

"St-iles… Wake…. Come on—"

Stiles blinked slowly a few times, his body quickly reacting to the invasive sound. Sitting up sharply, his hand flew to a thick neck, new found razor sharp nails pressing into the flesh hard enough that he felt thick warm blood dribble out of the puncture marks and down his blazing skin. Everything around him felt hot, not realizing that he was actually the one that was hot. Burning up, in fact.

"Stiles!" The familiar voice screamed. A hand clasped his wrist tightly. A stronger hand. Gripping him so tightly that his bones began to splinter.

Stiles heard his name, but it wasn't the same. His eyes turning to the scruffy, dark face, he recognized the man, but in an obscure way. It was like he was looking through a telescope, everything narrowed to a single point- the man's lips. The edges of his vision as frayed and damaged as his body had felt before he passed out. He could see, and even hear, but his body was acting on it's own. Like a microorganism, he could feel himself move instinctively to a set destination, having no say in the route taken.

He felt his fingers tighten around the other mans throat. No… Stop, Stiles. Almost begging his body to relinquish the assault.

It took a few moments too long for him to stop. The stronger hand shot from his wrist to his throat, constricting his breaths in its squeeze until his body finally submitted.

Breathing hard, Stiles felt his vision start to spread like water. A feeling of control washing over him again as he heard his name again. This time softer, more concerned.

Looking up slowly, Stiles caught the dark red gaze under heavy eyebrows, a mouth open and fangs barred defensively. "Derek," Stiles whispered, noticing that the rest of Derek's face hadn't changed into the grotesque mask of a werewolf, which he was thankful for.

"Good morning, beautiful," was all the young boy could muster before passing out again, falling into Derek's chest as he slipped back into the steady darkness.

When he came too fully, Stiles felt as good as new. His vision wasn't hazy and his body wasn't aching. Like he'd been born again into a newer, better body, he felt like he could do anything.

Sitting up, he slumped forward a bit, his eyes scanning the room carefully. The high ceilings stretched out above him, carrying the soft sounds of sizzling meat throughout the apartment. His hands rubbed his legs slowly before pulling away the blanket, the cold welcome of the floor quickly dissipating into a fluid warmth that seemed to travel up into him, rivering through his body intricately and warming him from head to toe.

And the smell. It was rich and pungent. So much so that he could almost see the pig standing in front of him, tagged and grimly waiting to head into the slaughter. The thought made him gag a bit, but he held it in as Derek entered the room, barefoot as well.

"Good, you're awake," the older man said flatly, slapping a plate of his cooked pig friend down onto the coffee table. He shoved a glass of water into Stiles hand, which he accepted awkwardly, his fingers curling around the cool skin of the glass. He could feel the moisture burn away under his touch.

"What happened?" Stiles asked cautiously, his eyes turning up to meet Derek's back as he crossed the room to his desk, sitting against the edge. His body was long and lean, like a rigid mountain of muscle, ready for him to climb. Stiles quickly shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth with his free hand, trying to deter himself from such thoughts.

"You were attacked. Turned."

Way to put it lightly, but I know that, he thought, giving Derek a bewildered stare to falsify his understanding of the actual situation. He knew Derek well. If he acted like he knew what was happening then he'd just lecture him about how he could help him and blah blah blah, as long as he joined his pack, blah blah. Fuck that, was Stiles' definite opinion on the matter. He sipped the water.

"By an alpha," Derek added, crossing his thick arms against a broad chest.

Has he always been so big…? Stiles thought as the word 'alpha' jiggled around in his mind until it was finally able to caught his attention, "An alpha?!" he breathed sharply, "I thought it was—"

"Who? Scott? Me?!" Derek snorted a mocking laugh, rolling his eyes at the younger boys naivety, "Like you could be so lucky. No, it was an alpha that wandered out of his territory. I think his pack died, but he was out of his territory," he reiterated.

Stiles felt like Derek was trying to excuse himself from something and it set a tingle of fear in place in his spine. He looked away from the man, his eyes landing on the bacon. The image of the doomed pig came back to mind and he choked on his saliva, pressing the glass to his mouth to quickly relieve the dryness.

"W-What did you do with him…?" Stiles asked carefully.

"I killed him."

Stiles furrowed his brow and looked up at him finally, still unable to meet his eye, his gazing falling on the man's long mouth drawn taught. Like when I was sleeping, or dreaming… or whatever that was. He could almost still see the fangs, even when they weren't there. It was kind of like being a wizard amongst muggles and being able to see Hogwarts when no one else could.

"Did you hear me, Stilinski?"

"Yeah, I heard you," Stiles quickly retorted, feeling no anger or remorse over the fact that Derek had ended the alpha. He wasn't sure if that was normal, to be so unconcerned with the death of his maker, "So, what do I do now, killer of wolves?" he mocked him. That had always been his defense, mockery and sarcasm. He slightly recalled giving Scott that same sort of excuse some time ago, but all of his old memories were veiled by the fresh ones: the attack, the turn, grabbing Derek's throat.

"You have to learn—"

"What? To be a wolf? You killed the one who turned me, right? So, I should be fine… I should go back to being human."

"Yeah, you should, but you haven't," Derek pointed out. Walking closer to him, he had a look in his eyes, something Stiles didn't recognize and it put him on edge, all of his altered senses on high alert, "You're still a wolf. I don't know why, and you're not going anywhere until we figure it out."

"I have school," Stiles muttered coarsely. He could feel his blood start to rise just from Derek coming so near to him. Something was drawing and repelling the man at the same time, and it was pulling at his insides until it hurt. He felt a need to submit and to serve. But there was something else. A drive rooted deep in his gut, pulling on his better judgment until it was ready to snap. A drive to kill.

"Then you'll miss school," Derek said sharply, a low growl limbering around under his tone.

"I can't, I have a test. If I miss the test then my Dad will flip. He already thinks I'm crazy, or that I have ADD. But regardless, I'm not giving him any reason to suspect anything. Do you understand?" he staggered rapidly through the words, the angry urge to kill altering his speech until he almost didn't recognize the mouth that was speaking those words. He'd usually make a joke, laugh it off, or make some condescending remark. But this was heavier, some sort of new, 'I'm not taking any of your shit' attitude that was unfamiliar to him. And in all honestly, he kind of liked it.

"Let's see how much you care about school when something pisses you off and you shift," Derek rolled his eyes, "You don't really have a choice in this, Stiles. I'm stronger than you, I can tie you up, chain you to the wall, if I have to."

"Please, I'd like to see you try," Stiles laughed, "I saw how strong Scott was when he turned. You wouldn't be able to hold me—"

As soon as the words left his mouth Derek was on him, pinning his smaller body against the couch, the older man's legs atop his thighs, a hand around his neck and the other hand, claws out, positioned against his torso, "I can't kill you like this, but I could damn well hurt you," he snarled.

Stiles flinched under his grasp, his body wiggling, but that new strength that he'd been sure would kick into gear, didn't. He could only feel the weight of Derek's larger body looming over him threateningly. Looking up into Derek's eyes, he saw the red tint flash over his dilated pupils, fangs slowly slipping free of his mouth. He swallowed and Derek heard it.

Smirking lightly, Derek gave Stiles' neck a hard squeeze before letting him go, climbing off of him fully.

Stiles felt like he'd been hit by a car and he was almost sure that one of his ribs had been broken during the sudden assault. But almost as quickly as it was shattered, it mended itself slowly inside of him. He felt like his insides were crawling with worker ants, eagerly repairing their home. He shifted to sit up on the couch, his face red and a heavy gale of confusion and inadequacy rolling over him.

"Now," Derek glared at him from the corner of his eyes, his fingers bending and cracking gently as his claws receded back, his fangs soon following, "You'll stay here until I can teach you to control the shift. You won't breathe a word of this to McCall, and you'll do everything that I say no matter what."

Stiles almost wanted to melt into the couch, fear of such dominance making him tremble. He watched Derek move with startling fluidity, taking a stance behind the coffee table as he looked down at him.

"Do you understand?" Derek snapped, his teeth slightly bared, only driving Stiles into a further state of fear as he nodded slowly, his fingers pressing tightly into his palms at the thought of what was ahead.