Chapter 6:

To say school was weird would be an understatement. It wasn't just the bombardment of all the new things he could smell and hear. It was also the first time since his mother died that Stiles was not sitting near and talking to Scott. Even when they had fought in the past, they had still talked to each other, trading barbs or making sure the other knew they were still mad. But now, Scott was actively avoiding Stiles, trading seats to sit on the opposite side of every classroom.

Even stranger was who Stiles ended up near in the classes without Scott as a buffer. He found himself beside Vernon Boyd in English, Isaac Lahey in History and Chemistry, and Erica Reyes in Math. During his free period, he sat with Danny, who promptly moved to crowd Jackson. What was noticeable about this was his history with Boyd and Erica. They used to be his friends before his mom died, and he had to take some time off from school. After he'd come back, they'd all avoided him, and Scott said that they had been making fun of him, so he stayed with Scott.

At lunch, Stiles ate in the library, using the time to research what he could about reclaiming property through the legal system so that he could help Derek. He didn't talk to anyone directly, except the teachers, for the whole day. At lacrosse practice, he found himself gravitating toward Isaac to avoid Scott. He actually got the other teen to engage in some friendly banter by the end of practice, though that did little to counter the hesitant and distrustful glances that Scott was sending his way.

Derek met him with the Camaro after practice ended. "Get in," he ordered.

"You know, I drove to school today," Stiles said, getting into the passenger seat anyway. "So, whatever we're doing, you're gonna have to bring me back to get my Jeep." Derek didn't say anything, just gave him a look as he drove away. "What are we doing today, anyway?"

"Talking," Derek growled. Stiles frowned at him.

"About what?" he asked, but Derek didn't answer. "Come on, Sourwolf. You can't just say something like that and not tell me what it's about. I'll work myself into a panic attack if that's all you're giving me."

"Pack."

"So, we're going somewhere to talk about pack? Sounds perfectly not stressful," Stiles muttered. He slumped back in the seat, leaning against the window, not satisfied with the Alpha's answer. He let it drop, though, choosing instead to complain about Mr. Harris and the extra homework that the English teacher had insisted on assigning. Ten minutes later, they were pulling up at the cemetery, and Stiles let his words trail off.

"Come on, Stiles." Derek got out of the Camaro and waited patiently for Stiles to join him. Stiles let the silence sit, unwilling to break the peace of the cemetery. Knowing that just a day or so ago, the Argents had buried Kate not too far from where Derek was leading him. Derek stopped in front of a small headstone that read Paige Krasikeva. Stiles didn't have the chance to read the years before Derek was pulling him down to the ground and forcing them to face each other.

"Uh, Derek, why are we talking about pack in the cemetery?" Stiles asked after a long while, waiting for the other to speak. It was a few more minutes before Derek finally opened his mouth, but he wasn't looking at Stiles when he did.

"An alpha cannot defend their pack without knowing their pack. Before the fire, the only people who knew why my eyes were blue were Peter and my mother. After the fire, I had to tell Laura what happened. Paige was my girlfriend, and she was dying. A rival alpha thought that if he bit her, my mom would have to work with his pack. But she rejected the bite. She was in a lot of pain, and she asked me to end it. So, I did." Derek looked back at Stiles. "I need to know why your eyes are blue." His blue-green eyes were more vulnerable than Stiles had ever seen them.

"My mom got sick when I was ten. I guess she was probably sick before that, but that's when they told me. She had something called Frontotemporal Dementia. It started with little things. Not sleeping well. Forgetting where her keys were or how we got somewhere. It got bad though. Eventually, she forgot who I was. It was scary, but sometimes it was better than others. Sometimes she'd just ask me if I was lost or if I needed help finding my mom. Other times…" Stiles' voice caught in his throat, but he cleared it and pressed on. "Other times, when the paranoia was bad, she called me a demon and claimed that I was there to kill her. Dad could usually calm her down, but then she started forgetting who he was. She was at home because Dad said that she didn't want to die in a hospital, and that means that all her meds were at home too. I could see where things were going. It had been months since she recognized my dad without him reminding her. So, I waited until it was one of the good days. One of the days where she thought I was somebody my dad was helping out, and I stole a full bottle of one of her pills—the ones that Dad had told me were for her pain. I dumped them in a cup of tea and waited until most of them dissolved. Then I gave her the tea." Tears were stinging his eyes, but he pressed on. "The doctors said that she probably would have lasted a few more months. They said that she must have gotten confused and taken the pills by mistake. Some of the parents at her funeral thought that she might have taken them on purpose in a burst of clarity." Derek's hand was firmly on Stiles' shoulder.

"Stiles." The Alpha waited for a beat, but Stiles didn't react. "Stiles, look at me." Stiles wasn't sure when he had looked away, but he forced himself to look up, not sure what to expect. Bright red eyes bore into him, and Stiles had to resist the urge to look away again. "Who else knows the truth?" Derek's voice was so quiet and gentle it was hard to imagine that this was the same man who had repeatedly slammed him into walls.

"Just you, me, and my dad." Stiles' own voice sounded broken and dry, despite the tears still stinging his eyes.

"That's all that will ever need to know." Derek let his eyes fade back to their blue-green color. "Come on." Derek was on his feet in a graceful movement that made Stiles jealous and also highlighted the fact that just because he was a werewolf now didn't mean that he suddenly became graceful. Compared to Derek at that moment, he looked like a newborn deer trying to stand up and would have likely ended up pitching headfirst into a tombstone if Derek hadn't grabbed his arm to steady him. Stiles was feeling almost hollow after his confession and just let himself be steered back to the Camaro by his alpha's strong hand. Derek let the silence stew, and Stiles didn't fight him. He let it sit until they were back at the school, the parking lot now empty except for Stiles' Jeep. But when Stiles went to get out, Derek locked the door. Stiles looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Derek looked back expectantly.

Stiles let out a defeated sound. "Just let me out, Sourwolf."

"You need to talk more," Derek said, as if it explained Stiles' impromptu imprisonment in the car.

"Trust me, a few more days without Adderall and you won't be saying that," Stiles snorted.

"I meant about your mom. You can't let your guilt keep you from remembering her."

"Pot meet kettle." His voice was acid. Derek's glare was worse.

"Try."

"Fine. I will. Can I go now?" Stiles tried the door again, but it was still locked.

"Tell me something about your mom."

"Derek, now is not the time for this."

"One thing."

"Derek."

"One thing."

"Roscoe was hers. She left him for me."

"Roscoe?"

"My Jeep. Satisfied?" Stiles didn't get a verbal reply, but the lock on the door clicked and he was out of the car instantly. He didn't let himself stop and think until he was back at his house, safely in his room where he could grieve without a care about who could see him. He didn't notice the text until hours later.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Full moon planning tomorrow. Full moon day after. Be ready.

4o

Stiles let out a defeated sound. "Just let me out, Sourwolf."

"You need to talk more," Derek said, as if it explained Stiles' impromptu imprisonment in the car.

"Trust me, a few more days without Adderall and you won't be saying that," Stiles snorted.

"I meant about your mom. You can't let your guilt keep you from remembering her."

"Pot meet kettle." His voice was acid. Derek's glare was worse.

"Try."

"Fine. I will. Can I go now?" Stiles tried the door again, but it was still locked.

"Tell me something about your mom."

"Derek, now is not the time for this."

"One thing."

"Derek."

"One thing."

"Roscoe was hers. She left him for me."

"Roscoe?"

"My Jeep. Satisfied?" Stiles didn't get a verbal reply, but the lock on the door clicked and he was out of the car instantly. He didn't let himself stop and think until he was back at his house, safely in his room where he could grieve without a care about who could see him. He didn't notice the text until hours later.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Full moon planning tomorrow. Full moon day after. Be ready.