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The thing about Scott McCall was that he never asked for help. Not really. He'd accept it when it was handed to him, sure, but actively seeking it out? That wasn't Scott. Which was exactly why Stiles knew something was seriously wrong when he opened the front door on a Tuesday evening to find Scott standing there looking like he hadn't slept in four days.
"I need help." Scott's voice was rough around the edges, yet small. His eyes were glassy, his jaw set, barely keeping the growls from seeping through. He smelled wrong.
Stiles stepped aside to let him in. As he closed the door he glanced back at Derek, whose expression had already settled into something unreadable. It made the teen shiver although it wasn’t aimed at him.
“You’re turning.” The alpha simply stated as if that answered everything. It did.
“Derek-”
“You don’t want to join my pack so bad, you allow yourself to be in this state.” Derek scowled, a look of disgust took over his face. “You’re losing control.” The alpha glanced towards Scott's claws, which were piercing through his palms.
Scott nodded once. A tight, humiliated motion.
“Look at me.”
Scott looked up. His eyes flickered gold involuntarily.
Derek's went red.
The effect was immediate. Scott's breathing slowed. His hands unclenched at his sides. The misery on Scott’s face was unmistakable as he complied.
From the couch, Isaac had gone very still. He wasn't looking at Scott. He was looking at his notebook. Stiles was helping Isaac with his homework before Scott’s interruption. Something about the situation was stressing him out, something Stiles hated even if he didn’t understand what exactly was the issue. Stiles made his way back towards Isaac, shifting halfway there and then jumping on the other teen.
Scott hadn’t moved. He’d barely breathed.
The small black kitten currently kneading Isaac's thigh paid him no attention whatsoever. Isaac had gone rigid the moment Scott walked in, and Stiles had felt it like a change in air pressure. He hadn't thought about it consciously. He'd just gone. That was how it worked now.
Isaac's hand found the scruff of Stiles's neck automatically. His shoulders dropped half an inch, as the cat quietly purred.
Derek moved toward Scott with undoubtable authority, "Sit down."
Scott sat, while glancing towards the two teens on the couch next to him. Something moved through his face. Stiles caught it even from across the room. It wasn't anger exactly, it was hurt.
Derek crouched in front of Scott, gaining the teens attention, forearms on his knees. Red eyes still present enough to give Scott's instincts something to hold onto. "Your anchor."
"Allison." Scott said quietly.
"It's failing."
"I know."
"You need something internal." Derek kept his voice even, but Stiles noted the care behind the tone. Derek didn’t want Scott to die. He wanted to keep all of them safe. "It won't happen tonight. But you have to start."
Scott nodded. His breathing had evened out considerably. The gold had stopped bleeding into his eyes. He looked exhausted. Turning into a feral omega wasn’t a matter of suddenly going rabid. It was a slow process that caused the shifter to slowly lose their mind. Constantly fighting with themselves.
"I'm not joining the pack." He said it without heat. Just a fact. Something that gnawed at Stile’s heart vigorously. Scott was gonna get himself killed out of pride.
"You've made that clear." Derek stood. "But you will come to me when it gets worse. Not Stiles." He said it without cruelty. "Stiles is in my pack.”
Scott looked at Stiles one more time. Stiles held his gaze from Isaac's lap, which he recognized was a slightly absurd position from which to have a meaningful moment with his former best friend. To give Scott kudos, he didn’t freak out or give any sort of reaction to Stile’s cat form.
Scott left twenty minutes later. Steadier than before. The door clicked shut behind him.
The loft settled back into quiet.
✧/ᐠ-ꞈ-ᐟ\
Derek waited until Isaac had disappeared upstairs before turning to a now human Stiles with the expression Stiles had privately categorized as Disappointed Alpha Face Number Three.
"Next time Scott shows up—"
Stiles shifted.
It was not a decision so much as a response to the tone. One moment he was sitting on the couch. Next, a small black cat with orange eyes was sitting on the couch cushion, looking up at Derek with an expression of polite interest.
Derek stopped.
"Shift back."
Stiles blinked slowly. His tail curled around his paws.
"Stiles."
A quiet, resonant purr filled the loft.
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, "I am trying to have a serious conversation with you."
The purring intensified.
"You cannot just—" Derek gestured vaguely at all of Stiles, "—do that when I'm being intimidating. It doesn't work. I need you to understand-”
Stiles dropped off the couch.
Derek tracked him with his eyes as the small black cat padded deliberately across the floor and began rubbing against his legs with fierce commitment. Derek looked down at him. Stiles looked up. The purring had reached a frequency that was frankly unreasonable for an animal his size.
Derek's scowl deepened as he bent down and scratched behind Stiles’s ears. Stiles immediately leaned in more, almost tipping over as he did so.
From upstairs, Isaac cackled.
✧/ᐠ-ꞈ-ᐟ\
From across town, or maybe a few miles away, Lydia Martin had four pages of printed police reports spread across her bedroom floor, accompanying various sized mugs that used to be filled with coffee.
Three incidents. All surrounding county. All from the Past month. All written off; coyote, stray dog, a rabid porcupine, but nothing to follow up on. All victims had disappeared shortly afterwards. The mystery of it all irritated the girl. They all seem so miniscule, but something wasn’t adding up.
She connected the locations with a ruler.
Beacon Hills sat at the center of the triangle.
Stiles sat at the center of the triangle.