Werefox

Chapter Twenty

It had been one week since the confrontation with Gerard, and things could not be any worse for the pack.

Chris Argent took care of Gerard, sending him away to a long-term "mental care" facility that seemed more like a prison from the brochures Allison had shown Scott.

It had taken Stiles four days to recover from the injection; he slept most of the time, using the sedatives Deaton had given Derek, because most of the time the pain was too much. But luckily, it seemed that his body had taken to the werewolf DNA, making him some sort of werewolf-fox-human hybrid.

The three days where Stiles was finally good enough to stay awake for more than a half hour had been absolutely terrible for the boy. He refused to transform back into a human, as he had been a fox for the last seventy two hours and refused to turn back for anyone.

"Stiles." Derek said, sitting down next to the small fox on the couch. He seemed thinner, even in his other form. His eyes were sad, his head resting on his paws as he watched the clouds move slowly across the windows. "Stiles, we need to talk."

Stiles glanced at Derek, his eyes defeated, before looking at the windows again. He had never felt so sad. So done with life and everything despite the fact that it was probably going to get better if he let it.

Derek took a finger and pushed Stiles' head to face him, crouching down in front of the couch to look at the small fox. "I know you're upset." He began. "But please, let's just talk for a little bit."

Stiles looked at him once more before standing up, hopping off the couch and going upstairs. Derek assumed he was just going to hide upstairs, so he sat back down on the couch, running his hands through his hair worriedly.

He had never felt so worried. Even Lydia and Allison, two humans, could feel the pain and anguish rolling off the small fox when they visited; no one had come for the last day, but before that the others would come to visit, try to get Stiles to talk or do something.

"Derek?" His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. Derek looked up, standing as he saw Stiles there, dressed in joggers and one of Derek's sweatshirts.

Derek saw the tears forming in Stiles eyes, moving forwards to pull the boy into his arms as he began to cry.

"They took them, Derek," Stiles said, his breaths uneven. Derek frowned, not knowing what Stiles was talking about.

"What did they take, Sti?" Derek asked. Stiles pulled away, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them.

Silver.

Not violet like before, like the color Stiles had inherited from his mother. The last thing he had of the woman, besides memories and stories; Gerard had taken it away from him, and he was never going to get it back.

"Oh, Stiles." Derek whispered, hugging him tightly once more as the boy began to sob, his body shaking.

They stayed like that forever, Derek's arms wrapped around the smaller boy as he cried and cried until he had no more tears left.

"It's okay." Derek said quietly, moving over to the couch and sitting down against the arm of the sofa, Stiles laying on top of his chest. Eventually, his sobs reduced to sniffles and he fell asleep wrapped up against Derek.

Derek sighed, feeling tired even though he wasn't even the one who lost something important. It had happened to him, once- when Kate deaged him in the Mexican temple, and he lost the blue in his eyes. It made him mad, extremely mad- it was losing a part of him. Sure, his blue eyes hadn't been with him for his whole life and they resulted from something terrible but they were his, and he had lost them. But he had gotten them back.

He couldn't imagine how Stiles was feeling. To have something from when you were born, passed down from many generations, something he got from his mother, taken away from him by a hunter. Derek could feel the pain rolling off of him in waves, even as he slept; he wondered if Stiles was ever going to be the same.