Pretty much every school night of the week, Stiles would find himself exhausted and running his hands across his head while sitting at his desk. His body refused to listen to his brain and his brain refused to listen at all to anything. Schoolwork in general was a piece of cake, but it was getting his thoughts out in a timely and concise manner that was the challenge.

Attention Deficit Disorder was exactly what the named implied, and more often than not Stiles found himself with a large deficit of attention on any given subject. The flip side being when he could soully focus on one thing for huge expanses of time, to the point he lost all senses around him.

This night, much like many others Stiles found himself in a similar situation, at his desk, brain focusing on nothing but racing like a Kentucky Derby winner. He went through all the stages that he normally did; Looking at the desk, to glaring at the desk, to telling himself he HAD to focus, to spinning a pen or pencil absent absentmindedly in his hand, to having said object fly out of his grasp which always shocked him out of his stupor, to spending the next 10 minutes sorting his writing implements by size color and use, to realizing he had just wasted time and focusing back on his task only to end up spinning in his chair 5 minutes later.

If he was doing school work his mind would shift from the subject to various other related subjects to completely unrelated subjects like a possessed man on Wikipedia.

Sometimes, his mind was less pure and he'd start off thinking about physics only to find himself grinning stupidly at absolutely nothing with images of naked individuals, 'uhn'-ing and 'oh god yes'-ing, working their way through his over active imagination.

This night was so much like all the rest. Here he was, in his room, at his desk, mind a scurry after a very long day at school.

Unlike all those other days, he had just gotten home at near 4am.

Unlike those days, he had just witnessed the death of two individuals.

Unlike those days, he had just spent a night in school fleeing for his life from an alpha Werewolf.

Unlike those nights, he spent a few hours being questioned mercilessly by other individuals on the police force than his father.

The janitor was dead, Derek was dead.

Stiles glanced down at his hand, which was shaking even now. It was funny, he hadn't reacted like this in school.

His mind while thick with fear was clear enough to think rationally in survival mode, with fewer horror movie mistakes than he thought he'd make.

Thoughts flitted to Lydia, and her fast acting with the Molotov cocktail. It hadn't worked, but it was certainly fast thinking. There was no mistaking that the girl was smarter than she acted, he mused, but not smart enough to not be attracted to the status power that someone like Jackson possessed. Jackson himself hadn't been much help and neither had Allison.

Scott wasn't much of a help either, regardless of being a werewolf himself.

And speaking of werewolves, the wound on Jackson's neck...Stiles shook his head ridding himself of the thought, it was possible but werewolves healed quickly. There's no way an open wound would have lasted that long on either wolf or human without the aide of a special bullet like the one that had hit Derek.


Stiles released a shuddered breath to the quiet room.

Derek was dead. Derek was dead.

It seemed impossible, but there was no way even a werewolf could have survived getting a hand through your back. The amount of blood he had spat up, not to mention the blood flowing out of his wound and onto the ground would have been too much to loose. Even with regenerative abilities he would have bled out too quickly.

Stiles rubbed a shaking hand across his face in exhaustion and disbelief, jaw clenched and with a heavy heart. His eyes came to rest on his bed.

It hadn't been more than a week that Derek had been sitting there. Or standing against his wall.

He had just started to realize the man was more alone and awkward than he was a crazed serial killer, even when he would randomly show up in individuals bedrooms. And just as he began to learn more the other mans life had been wiped out...ripped out more like.

As though he hadn't been replaying the night enough in his mind anyway, he looked back onto the moment where Scott had blamed the crimes upon Derek's shoulders.

He remembered the sickening feeling curling through his stomach, his uneasy breaths and reluctance to meet any ones eyes. Blaming the crimes on a friend that had just been viciously murdered?

Derek probably wouldn't want to be called a friend. Probably never even had a friend.

Using Derek Hale as an excuse however was the most logical path, he had thought at the time. Stiles was smarter than Scott the police found Derek's body and time of death found, his innocence would be proven. The only ones that would be held accountable would be himself and Scott who claimed they had seen Derek commit the acts, but that could be easily passed off as a mistake caused by fear or shock at night where visibility would have been poor.

So, he supported Scott's claims, even though at the time he was thinking it would be smarter to tell Allison, Lydia and Jackson the truth.

If they had all been cut down by the beast, wouldn't it have been more fair to let them know what they were about to be killed by? But, lycanthropy was Scott's cross to bare not his own, so he went along with it.


Stiles had been so sure he was going to be killed, it wasn't even funny.

'I'm not dying in school!' he had said.

He never said anything about not dying in general.

Stiles rested his chin in his palm. His brain was desperately trying to come to terms with everything that had happened, which was saying something as he had a fairly high shock level. His emotions were a different story, he felt like he wanted to curl into a ball in his closet and shake and cry until all of this was over. His body just wanted to fall onto his bed and sleep and sleep until he couldn't sleep any more.

But there were so many things left unfinished and unanswered.

He had been so certain they'd find Derek and the janitors body, and all would be set right. Or at least, Derek would see innocence even if it was in death. The possibility of the alpha removing the bodies hadn't crossed his mind.

Carrying off a kill was animalistic, which the alpha most certainly was. But he was also intelligent enough to know to rip the battery out of Stiles' jeep and to use the ceiling vents as a way to get around. Which begged the question; Did the Alpha remove Derek's body and the janitors body as a wolf thing, or to set them up?

If it was the later, it had worked to a certain degree. Scott wasn't lying when he sensed Stiles' father didn't quite believe him. Stiles could tell the emotions across his dads face, it was all true. But his father wasn't stupid enough to completely rule out what they had claimed, even if it was a lie and Scott and Stiles knew it.

The blood from the janitor in the locker room, and in the gym would have still been proof of some sort of attack, the police would eventually pick up on that.

But did any of it really matter at this point?

Stiles licked his own dry lips, not noticing his leg bouncing in a jittery nervous tick.

Derek was dead, and an alpha was on the loose with no leads as to his identity. An alpha that wanted Scott to kill his current 'pack' to join with the beast instead, an alpha that almost succeded.

Scott and Derek might have posed a threat to the alpha, after Scott had been trained.

But...Derek was dead, and there was no one to teach him the werewolf way. Stiles might have been semi-successful in getting the other boy to control his rage, but he'd be no help in getting him to take down a smart alpha werewolf.

Without Derek around, Stiles really felt it sink in that his own survival chances were beginning to dwindle down to single digits.

Scott didn't have a teacher, and now with Allison looking like she had dumped his werewolfy ass, Stiles had no idea if his therapy would even work anylonger.

There was the bigger problem circling the mysterious text message Allison had received, supposedly from Scott. Werewolves, at least to Stiles' better knowledge did not have the thumb and finger mobility needed to push the little buttons on his phone. Which most likely meant someone else, someone human..or at least wearing human skin was working with the alpha. It was becoming a spiraling conspiracy.

Derek was dead, and Stiles knew he'd probably be next in Scott's 'pack' to face the reaper.

Stiles glanced down at his pocket as his cellphone began to buzz, a signal he had received a text message.

'do u thnk allison wll 4give me?- McHall

Stiles scowled and felt his own anger rising, they could all be killed by a psycho giant mythological wild dog and almost just had been and Scott felt the need just hours later to borrow his mothers phone to txt Stiles some whiny message about his not-so-much-anymore girlfriend? He tossed the phone as hard as he could against the other wall.

Exhaust set in faster than it had minutes earlier, bundled with anger and shock. Stiles rose, slowly and uneasily as his legs kind of felt like really painful jelly, but it was still possible to bridge the few steps to his bed.

Derek was dead.

Stiles curled in upon himself, pretending as though he could still smell the other mans scent lingering on his bed without the need of wolf like senses.

'I'm tired of seeing people die in front of me...'

Derek is dead.

A/N; So I'm continuing this?

Just saying though, I do not actually think Derek is dead. But I'm sure Stiles does. Hence why this reeks of angst. I was going to have it actually be angstier XD expanding on why Stiles was so against even the chance of his father getting hurt, and some of his issues with Jackson and growing problems with Scott...All of whom I love, but yeah. It's STILES side for a reason. If it was Scott Side or Jackson Side (which I may also write as small spinoffs at some point idk) it'd probably have slightly different takes on things.