Day One: Monday / Debriefing - (Isaac POV)

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A/N - Note explaining my absence a bit at the end but look at that pic, I'm Dying. hahaha.

Us pups arrived back at the Pack house before Derek and were met with a pacing Peter Hale. When I saw Peter I found myself surprised that I was no longer surprise with his concern for the members of the pack. Peter had developed a lot from his whole, 'I will kill everything and everyone who has wronged me and my family or has done so by association' phase. His head whipped up to face us as we walked through the front door, Lydia lead the group fiddling with her note pad with the phase one information on Stiles. We all piled into the Living room and took our usual positions for a pack meeting, now all we had to do was sit, watch TV and wait for Derek and Stiles arrive, in whatever order that occurs.

That was answered when a black wolf with blazing red eyes burst through the door of the Pack house and sped up to the Alpha's room. A couple of minutes later Derek Hale emerged in the wolf's place dressed in his usual dark Henley and black jeans sans the characteristic leather jacket. Derek, also with a note pad yet for phase two sat on his armchair and tucked the note book behind the large cushion behind his back, Lydia followed his example tucking hers under the lush blanket that was draped on the love seat. The pack turned back to the TV that was showing some movie they didn't particularly care about in this moment of time and waited, and waited, and waited. It was another hour before the grinding of the Jeep was heard in the distance, time to act normal, time to ignore Stiles while we figured out what we could do to help him, because now we where going to change the normal.
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Stiles opened the door, arms laden with bags, five on each arm, I could smell his mood, the now constant self hate, depression, anxiety, blood and chemicals, it was as if his cinnamon, baked cookies and homely smell was fading, being taken over by what ever the hell that crap was. He looked up at the pack and smiled, it was strained, untrue, his eyes did not Brighten, his scent did not change, he did not feel that joy. It was as if all these joyful emotions were being blocked by that scent. I forced my head back to the TV, much like the rest of the pack, but still kept an eye on Stiles who stayed in the corner of my vision. I would not let that boy who treated me as if I was his child, whom looked at me as if I was a person who needed to be loved and treated slip out of my vision, not while I could still help him.
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Much like Friday night we watched. Watched as Stiles got into an organised frenzy, cleaning and tiding and cooking and setting the table simultaneously. Stiles dropped the bags on the counter, the scent of blood sharpened for a moment before dulling back down to a ghostly reminding presence haunting the Pack house. Stiles then swings his back pack off and reaches into it fishing out a yellow folder placing it on the counter next to his bag he spins around and begins to cook chicken breasts and rice. He the shifts and begins to set the table, going back and forth between this and chopping mushrooms and onions. Once the table is finished Stiles comes around the counter and moves towards us in the living room area, he goes around picking up dirty glasses and other dishes, his actions are almost identical to Friday's but this time he does not stop in the door he just keeps going setting the dished into the sink and running the tap over them. Walking back toward the living room area he brings the folder to the pack and places it in front of Derek. A voice croaks "Info on beta's", the voice is so vulnerable and fragile that it takes me a until Stiles is back behind the kitchen counter making a sauce with the mushrooms and onions to realise it came from him. From the once loud, sarcastic boy. Then it dawned on me, Stiles truly was broken.
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