Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Mooooom, stop it.”

“Oh, Derek, I only worry; I know how forgetful you are sometimes. What if you forget your lunch? And on your first day? I really don’t want you going hungry again, Sweetheart.”

He groans, valiantly trying to ignore Cora’s muffled snickers from across the kitchen table, and picks up the paper bag from the counter. “Fine. Got my lunch.”

Talia clucks her tongue. “Don’t be so hormonal, Derek. Whatever happened to my sweet and happy, Der-bear? He would have never grunted at me like a caveman. ”

There’s a thump on wood and a strangled ohmygod, signalling Cora’s descent into laughter, and Derek is officially done with this morning’s conversation. 

“Not so fast, young man!” Talia calls after him as he tries to speed out of the kitchen and toward the nearest exit. “Cora’s coming with you. You know she hasn’t got a car of her own yet and you know what we discussed last night.” 

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes. He still doesn’t think that arguing against letting his evil devil sister into his car and how her weird deranged energy will certainly mess up the electronics, and the like, quite deserved the grounding he’d gotten but he wasn’t willing to risk much more of his freedom. The ‘baby’ of the family did no wrong in his parents eyes, he should just accept she will never ever be caught in her acts of pure evilness. “Whatever.”

“You’re so cool, Derek,” Cora deadpans.

“Shut up, Cor–“

“Now, Derek, be nice and try to make more friends this time around and, please, no fights. It’s not that much to ask for, is it?”

Yes. Those posh rich kids really don’t like to hear the truth about themselves. He sighs in annoyance. “… No.”

Talia nods, satisfied, and kisses them both on the cheek, ushering them out the door. 

“How come mom didn’t wish you a good day at school?” Derek mutters grumpily as he climbs into the front seat of his car. 

Cora beams. “We had a lovely mother-daughter bonding chat last night after your hissy fit and being grounded for three weeks – even offered me advice to steer clear of repeating your mistakes and everything. It was magical.”

Derek doubted it had quite gone like that; his mom meant well after all, but he still had to grit his teeth and not rise up to Cora’s bait.

“Yeah yeah, mom doesn’t know anything.”

“I know,” Cora sing songs and then puts the radio on full blast.

It was fast approaching the eleventh year and the first time Stiles had ever set his sights on Scott. He wishes it was more of an exciting story to tell rather than the “Dude, ‘member that time we played in the same sandbox together and became bros for life?… So awesome” but, pathetically, that was all it was. All Scott had to do was enthusiastically agree to be the Robin to Stiles’ Batman, accept the lame farmer tractor instead of the amazingly awesome Bat Mobile, and young Stiles had basically fallen in bro-love. 

It was a magical time for all involved. 

Though, the day that, pretty much, took their healthy founding friendship and turned it into one slightly less healthy solitary, cemented and… well, okay… co-dependant existence, was when Scott pushed that horrible Jackson Whittemore kid right to the floor – “NO! You - you… you’re an id-jot!… So SO mean!” – for calling Stiles’ t-shirt stupid. 

Stiles remembers only being able to stare in awe at Scott for the entire day after while Jackson whined and cried his little heart out.

He also remembers the torn look of fondness and resignation on his dads face when Scott, literally, came along for the ride home at the end of said day. “I think I had an epiphany in that moment” he’d say to an older Stiles much much later. “You both looked up at me with such innocent smiles on your faces and I just- just… knew…  One floppy-haired boy’ed mistake and I definitely resigned myself to a life of hell and misery”. Stiles just snorts and tells him to quit the opera – so dramatic. There’s no mystery as to where Stiles gets it from, really. None at all.

And anyways, he and Scott are an absolute delight. 

Ask anyone.

“Watch where your going, asshole!”

“Cora!”

“What?! Look at him!” She gestures towards a guy with messily styled dark hair and a plaid T-shirt type combo casually walking up ahead. “He didn’t even turn around to apologise, he is an asshole.”

Derek sighs. “Perhaps he didn’t see you?”

Cora flips her hair and resumes walking toward the school. “Then he’s just arrogant and that’s worse.”

Derek shrugs. He doesn’t care. “Whatever.” 

Scott always seemed to be there for, what Stile’s considers, his most personal and important milestones. 

Like the time he broke his arm in two places.

Or the time he lost the school’s pet hamster.

Just Lydia. Oh god… Lydia Martin.

… His Mom.

He could go on, and on and on and on, because there isn’t a memory in his mind that doesn’t involve Scott somehow. Scott is one hundred percent Stiles orientated. So much that there’s no explanation for it, he just… gets him; most of the time no conversations needed, just facial muscles. 

Scott is much less difficult to understand as a person. He wears his heart on his morally righteous sleeve and counter-acts all of Stiles’ bad behaviour and barbed insults by generally just being a sweet and loving person. The guy can’t help it, just as Stiles can’t help his constant and unsuspecting word vomit – No, seriously, sarcasm and Jock really do not mix. 

Scott is too nice for his own good but he always has Stiles’ back in an impromptu fight. You’d think Stiles would have learnt not to mouth off at temperamental douchebags but, alas, it still continues to this very day.

Actually, that’s not true, now he thinks about it. He hasn’t had many run-ins lately. At all. Jackson used to be lurking around every corner but now it’s like he’s left the school entirely. 

He abruptly stops in the middle of the empty hallway, causing Scott to bump into his back with a muffled ‘Oof!’. 

Honestly, it’s their Senior year and they should be in class right now. Apparently, skipping English to simply wander aimlessly around the school was a much better idea than gaining good grades to further their education – Seriously, any other person, with common sense, would leave the building and occupy their time accordingly but not him, nope. He should find that weird but he doesn’t. Even more so, Scott should be stopping him and standing the moral high ground, lecturing on the importance of grades and education… but he doesn’t. They started the year this way and they’ve continued since. It’s a miracle that not one teacher has caught them out of bounds, it’s not as if they’ve been subtle or anything. 

“Stiles, what?”

Stiles snaps out of his daze and focuses on a confused Scott. “Dude, whatever happened to Jackson?” 

Scott just looks even more confused. 

Stiles shrugs. “You know, the smart-ass comments he’d say to us in passing, or whatever. Seriously, I’ve only just realised it… maybe he’s avoiding us?”

Scott gives him a disbelieving look. “I don’t know what you’re on about but isn’t that a good thing then, that he’s not been around to annoy you?”

“I guess I’m just paranoid. Hey–” Stiles pushes Scott as he starts to chuckle at him. “Shut up.”

Derek opens the door just as the squirrelly blonde woman looks up and asks where a Stiles is, whatever that may be. He figures it’s quite important when the class abruptly stops all talk and starts avoiding her gaze.

“No one?” She waits and then sighs sadly – and isn’t that strange? – and jots something down.

He decides now is good a time as any to announce his presence to her. She’s still upset, he realises, when he sees her visibly fake a smile for him and, after listening to his quick mumbled explanation, greets him as ‘Miss Hart’ and attracts the attention of the class once more.

“Guys, listen up! We have a new student who’d like to introduce themselves. Be respectful please,” Miss Hart, the english teacher says, politely. Derek groans internally when, typically, thirty pairs of eyes turn toward him. No, of course he didn’t want to introduce himself, no one ever did. 

It didn’t help that he and Cora were starting mid-semester and, just to really rub it in, mid-week. It’s Thursday, for god sake, what was his mom thinking? 

All in all, he really wants to hide incognito at the back of the classroom until class is over and never have anyone find out his name. Ever. 

“Hi, I’m Derek.”

There’s an expectant pause that has Derek wanting to squirm. He doesn’t need to pander to these people. Whether they think him weird for his quiet, broody nature so be it.

Miss Hart’s encouraging smile slips slightly when it’s clear he’s finished and not suddenly choking on his words out of shyness. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

Derek shrugs, causing the teacher to sigh for the second time that morning and the class to murmur and snicker behind their hands. He’d expected something sooner, and he’s not sure what impression he’s given them yet, but he’s not about to cut himself up about it. Moving to one too many schools throughout his childhood has given him enough time to harden himself against any type of bullying he might encounter.

He’s ushered to a seat next to an attractive muscly guy who is, by the looks of that sweeping gaze, eyeing him quite appreciatively. He knows what he looks like; it takes him forever to masterfully fix his hair so it’s that ‘spiked up, just got out of bed, but totally not’ look. He only shaves his scruff when he feels like it – so pretty much never – and he works out in any free time he has, and that, admittedly, started only because he found out it relaxed him after a particularly rough day at school. 
 Ironically, his school days grew only slightly better when the guys suddenly wanted to know where he’d got his latest jacket, or the girls developed crushes and wanted to stroke his facial hair. He hadn’t changed inside though, he didn’t drop his major anti-social issues because he had such raging hard muscles. No, he isn’t a fake and he couldn’t put up with such – hence the fights his mom so kindly warned him of. Turns out, the guys didn’t like being ignored and the girls did. He couldn’t have made it up if he tried.

“Hey, my name’s Danny by the way.” 

Derek glances at him and rolls his eyes. The guy actually has dimples, what is his life? “Yeah, hi.”

Danny, to give him credit, doesn’t falter. “So what school did you move from?”

Derek sighs. “Does it matter?” He should say he doesn’t mean to be rude but that would be a lie. People are nosy, goddammit. 

That would normally have prompted an indignant comment by now, and the person would be well on their way to defensive territory, but, surprisingly, Danny just chuckles. “Oh, hey man, my bad, none of my business, right? Normally people don’t mind answering questions. They like the attention, you know?”

Derek snorts, he knows alright. “Sorry to disappoint.”

There’s another chuckle. “Yeah… disappointed – I’m dying inside, really. Alright, chatty Cathy, if we’re not making riveting conversation about our workout regimes and who has the best hair gel I sure as hope you excel in this class because I’m not about to let you drag my grade down because you suck ass.” 

Derek snorts again, struggling, for the first time in a long time, not to let a genuine smile grace his features. He turns to Danny eyebrows raised. “God forbid I let you, a stranger, whom I just met, down. Whatever would I do at night?” 

“Well, not me, for one.” Danny shrugs innocently. Derek chokes. “Extremely good-looking isn’t my type, unfortunately… sorry to disappoint.” 

Well now, now his own words are getting thrown back in his face? This guy is ballsy for sure. Derek finds he kind of likes it. Seriously, whatever is the world coming to? 

He’s outright smirking now. “Hey, handsome muscled Jock isn’t my type either, you know.” He says, in a show of uncharacteristic honesty. Derek tries to make that sound like a joke, because Danny really is hot okay, but he feels weird; confessing all his secrets wouldn’t be that much of a hardship, right?

He frowns. Is this Danny guy a hypnotherapist or something?

Danny catches the inflection in that sentence and leans close, lowering his tone. They hadn’t been speaking particularly loud but not catching the attention of the gossips would always be a good thing. “So you are gay then? I wasn’t completely sure. You know I was being sarcastic, right? You’re every bit my type; your look, the broodiness, the mystery. God, I’d eat you right up… eat you for day–“

Derek nudges Danny to shut him up because, Jesus, he is not going to blush, okay?

“Sorry, sorry, so your type?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Stop dimpling at me, you don’t get that information.”

Danny pouts but Miss Hart interrupts then, bumbling over and looking harassed. “Sorry, Derek, we don’t have enough textbooks so you’re going to have to share with Danny in the mean time. Luckily we haven’t got that far, and we won’t be needing them for long, we’re starting on Mythology today so everyone is currently reading pages fifty-six to fifty-eight.” She waits for Derek’s nod of acknowledgement before hurrying over to another student who’s been impatiently waving their hand in the air for the past couple of minutes.

“I’m not sharing my textbook until you tell me.”

“Then I’m telling Miss Hart.”

“Teachers Pet.”

“Seriously?”

Danny pokes his shoulder. “Apple-Polisher.”

Derek scowls and hits his hand away. “What does that even…?” 

“Such a brown nose.”

“Whore.” 

Danny snaps his mouth shut and stares at him nonplussed for a second before he breaks down into barely muffled laughter. One or two other students, and even Miss Hart, stare over at them, confused, like laughing and silliness is a new occurrence for him. Possibly even for the temperamental new kid to be the one to have caused it. “What?”

Derek clears his throat uncomfortably. “Yeah, sorry, that kinda’ slipped out – it’s what I call my sister sometimes. Obviously I don’t know you; you might not be a Whore.”

Danny’s still struggling to contain his laughter. “Oh-oh, b-but I am…” More hysterics. “No one has ev-ever had the guts to say it, accident or not, because I’m ta-tahoo – fuck, too nice,” Danny splutters. He’s currently taking deep breaths to calm himself down and Derek has seriously never given anyone this reaction before. “Plus, you and your sister’s relationship sounds… lovely?” 

“You were trying to be nice? That’s what that was?” Derek deadpans. “Yeah, my sister is an evil troll, moving on.”

Danny smiles. “Hey! You were an asshole, you obviously needed special treatment. It’s my best friend, Jackson, he’s – well…” He pauses, tilting his head and looking away. “Let’s just say that I seem like an angel in comparison. He says something offensive and I shoot him down. It’s what I’m there for. People make their own judgements based from that I guess.”

“Makes sense. He gonna’ one of those dicks I usually try and avoid then?”

Danny shrugs. “He judges based on first impressions and he’s impatient. I can see, as much as you’ll disagree, you’re pretty much the same. You’ll clash for sure. Unfortunately, this will be inevitable because I’ve taken you under my wing and you’re stuck with the both of us for whole of this year. Like it or lump it.”

Derek would have disagreed but he was ready to write Danny off at the start of this conversation so he’ll take that. “Okay.”

Danny grins, pleased. “Good.”

School seems to speed up for Stiles, or just continues on – he’s not sure. He feels weird, kind of like his life is a series of flashes or a montage. If anyone asked, he wouldn’t be able to recall a specific day. If Scott seems to think there’s nothing wrong, who is Stiles to worry about anything? 

He’s fine. Everything’s fine. 

So Derek’s been through four classes so far and he’s ready to explode. That’s four needless introduction he’d rather have not done, one of which he’d had to write an actual, honest to god, essay because his loud and brash Home Economics teacher wasn’t satisfied with his ‘Hi, I’m Derek’ answer. Dick. 
 He’d had to endure countless amounts of whispers and stares, forced conversations and small talk. Apart from one decent interaction with some snarky curly-haired boy, who’s name he can’t quite remember, it seems he’d hit the jackpot with Danny. All the others were as empty-headed and intrusive as he remembered from his previous schools. He appreciates the pattern, really. 

Now he’s hovering outside the double doors to the cafeteria with strict instructions from Danny to not go in without him. The waiting is making him nervous, people are staring again. He’s going to tear his hair out. 

“Oi Zuko, you lost?”

Derek’s head snaps up with a scowl. What the fuck?

A leggy blonde in dangerously high heels sashays toward him, long curls bouncing and full red lips pulled back into a smirk. Derek thinks for someone referencing Grease she seems to be pretty spot on with the impression herself.

“Calm down there, Sandy, I’m fine.”

Blondie’s smirk widens to show rows of extremely white teeth, not dissimilar from a shark’s, Derek thinks. He has a feeling that this girl loves to make others as uncomfortable as possible. 

“Ooh, I like you.”

A very tall attractive black guy steps up beside her, towering stone faced and intimidating. “What does that make me?”

Derek shrugs. He’s not about to get into a discussion about Racism in the seventies on his first day here. What kind of asshole pulls that card?

“Ignore Boyd here, he’s joking,” the blonde giggles, slapping Boyd on the chest playfully. She flips her hair over her shoulder and holds her hand towards him. “I’m Erica, pleasure to meet you, Derek.”

Derek just raises an eyebrow, ignoring both her hand and how she seems to know his name already. “Yeah… pleasure.”

Boyd’s deep chuckles resonate through the hallway and he claps Derek on the shoulder, almost buckling his knees. Jesus, and Derek’s not exactly a small guy to push around. “See you, Zuko.” 

Derek glares once more as the couple share their creepy shark teeth smiles and glide through into the cafeteria. 

“I see you’re making friends. I’m proud.”

“Yeah, a real social butter– Ow! The fuck??”

Derek turns his glare onto Danny and an arrogant blonde model type he assumes is Jackson. He seems to be favouring his left bicep with a pained disgruntled expression and Derek barely manages not to smirk. “Took your time. I had to… meet people. It was horrible,” he grimaces. 

Danny laughs. “Yeah, but I’m surprised, you seem to be the perfect fit for the T-bird crew in there. It seems like they were missing their Danny,” he mock gasps and clasps his hands to his chest. “They’re now complete! So sweet!”

Okay, the stupid nickname makes more sense than Derek just being made fun of because he wears a leather jacket, and it seems that Erica and Boyd aren’t above making fun of themselves, which is cool. Derek shoves Danny anyway, just because he can. 

Jackson narrows his eyes at the display. “This is peachy and all but can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

“Oh, but I haven’t introduced you two yet…” Danny bites his lip, his only tell that, really, he’d just been putting it off.

“It’s fine,” both Derek and Jackson say in unison. They exchange another loaded look that has Danny huffing and pulling each of them by the arm into the cafeteria.

“Seriously guys, the effort you’re going to being friendly is astounding, it really is, remind me to give you both a gold star later for being such good boys.”

“Make sure mine’s bigger than his,” Jackson mumbles sarcastically.

“Not possible,” Derek replies with a smirk. Jackson throws him another dirty look.

Danny rolls his eyes and groans. “Why, oh why, did I befriend the new kid?!”

Jackson tugs his arm back and folds him arms, sneering. “Yeah, why? Just let Derek here be the loner that he clearly wants to be and move on. Everybody wins. Everybody’s happy.”

Derek opens his mouth to reply with a scathing comment but Danny loses it and punches them both in the bicep. Hard. It hurts like hell.

“Jackson, compared to the complete air-headed idiots we’re stuck sharing this school with, I’ve found Derek to be quite refreshing. He’s new and he’s uncomfortable with being such. Have some patience and respect, I’ve taught you better than that.” Danny abruptly turns and points his finger into Derek’s face. Derek tries not to flinch – that punch hurt, goddammit – but he’s not sure he was all that successful. He ignores Jacksons poorly concealed coughed laughter. “Derek, Jackson is my very very best friend, whom I’ve shared very important life experiences with, we’re joined at the hip. Yes, he’s a massive tool–“

“Hey!”

“–Yes, he’s judging you for this and that, or whatever, but you’re doing the same! You’re both the fucking same. And now I have to speak to you both like children. Jackson, you know I hate speaking like this–“

“No one ever asks you–“

“–It’s for your own good. Now, can you please get along?”

“Will you shut up if we do?” Derek asks, hopefully.

“No, this happens a lot,” Jackson sighs, exasperated. He sticks out his hand. “Name’s Jackson Whittemore, incase you missed the rant, or whatever.”

Derek takes the bullet and just shakes the douche’s hand. If this is what it takes not to be oh so violently beat upon then so be it. “Derek Hale.”

“Oh goody, you’ve all kissed and made up, how… lovely.” Derek looks up at the sound of a bright female voice to see, yet another, beautiful person standing at Jackson’s shoulder. She's tilting her head, silky strawberry blonde hair slung over one shoulder, and grinning brightly. “Derek, I’m Lydia, Jackson’s girlfriend. Positively charmed to meet you. Now–“ Her face abruptly drops into the most unimpressed look Derek has ever seen. He raises his eyebrows. It’s like she’d literally just rolled her eyes with her whole face. Impressive. “Now that you’re all finished, can we please sit down? You’re attracting attention and I’m starving.” She gestures grandly toward a large round table in the centre of the room, suspiciously void of any student. “Shall we?”

They all sheepishly follow in her wake.

It isn’t until he notices people visibly shy away from Lydia, and instantly part the way for her, that it even clicks for him. God, he’s been slow on the uptake, hasn’t he? Derek’s only gone and… he swallows as he avoids curious eyes – curious eyes that are flicking between the trio of friends and himself like this isn’t a normal occurrence that happens all that often. He’s following the popular crowd. Literally. Danny didn’t deny being a Jock. Jock’s are popular. Lydia and Jackson are clearly prom King and Queen material. Is he going to be popular? Doesn’t he rebel against these people? His mind has gone blank all of a sudden. 

He collapses into his seat and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Hey, Zuko,” He almost face-palms as Erica’s smarmy voice drifts over from somewhere to his right. Derek steels himself and reluctantly glances over, blank look in place. She seated on the nearest table, long bare legs crossed one over the other and showing a great deal of thigh. “Look at you! You’re gonna’ be soooo popular! That’s so totally awesome, oh my gosh!” She fake giggles, chewing her gum erratically, and casually rests her face on her hand. “It’s okay, we forgive you,” she says. Typically, she blows a giant pink bubble and let’s it slowly deflate, ending the whole display with a big cheshire cat grin.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, gee, thanks…”

Boyd, from his place beside her, thankfully doesn’t acknowledge anything and merely grunts down at his burger and fries in appreciation. That leaves the only other person seated at the rag tag table to be the snarky curly haired boy he’d met in Home Economics earlier. Derek figures he should say something. “Uh… You?” Good enough.

“Glad to see I made an impression, Douche-face. It’s Isaac,” Isaac says impassively. Erica giggles.

Derek stares. He isn’t sure if he should be sorry or offended; even he has a limit to however many names he can remember in one go, but he figures neither when, moments later, he spots the mischievous glint in Isaacs eyes, completely belying his posture and the tone of his voice. Derek almost groans aloud when Isaac suddenly shifts and he spots the trademark leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair. 

Dear god, there’s three of them! 

Derek’s genuinely not sure how much more bullshitting assholes, and their massive amounts of sass, he can handle at this point so he’s secretly relieved when Danny nudges him, catching his attention. “Uh, Derek, you better eat something, man. You’ve only got twenty minutes left.” He notices Isaac and Erica and acknowledges them with a small smile before turning back to his own lunch.

Isaac sighs and puts his head in his arms. It must be a thing that happens because everyone ignores him.

“See you around, Sweetheart,” Erica says. “Don’t be afraid to hang with the lesser people, will you?” She winks.

 “Yeah yeah,” Derek says, halfheartedly. He turns back to Danny. “And who’s fault is it that I was wasting time waiting outside?” He mumbles grumpily. 

“Pipe down and stuff your face, Hale, you’re lucky you even have a seat.”

Derek glowers. “Shut it, Whittemore.”

Danny puts his face into his hands and groans. 

It’s three times this week alone that Stiles has managed to catch the eyes of a few of his classmates. He doesn’t think it’s an issue; he’s used to getting glares on a daily basis, he’s just… yeah, these aren’t glares. They’re something different and he’s definitely confused. Scott’s oblivious as always.

“Just ignore them Stiles, no one’s looking at you.”

“Well, not now,” he mumbles, glancing briefly towards a commotion near the popular table. He looks away and leans over the table. “But why were they looking, Scott? I can’t ignore that. It’s like they pity us because we’re losers. How ironic.”

Scott looks up from pushing his cheesy mashed potatoes around and frowns. “If you care about what people think about you, you will end up being their prisoner. Stiles, be yourself and you’ll be free.”

Stiles stares.“Uh, that was actually quite…” He trails off and narrows his eyes. “Wait a sec–” He suddenly leans over and grabs Scott’s hand, making him jog the creamy substance off his fork and onto the table with a disgusting ‘splat’. He turns it over and breathes a sigh of relief, grinning at the chicken scratch quote written on Scott’s palm in black pen. “And here I thought you were getting wise in your old age. Where did you pick that up from? Google?”

Scott shrugs and grins. “My mom.”

“I should have known.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true though.”

“Scott, hey, I’m myself, okay? I don’t think I’d be in this mess if I weren’t. I’m like Marmite, ol’ buddy ol’ pal, and only you seem to have developed the taste for this particular brand. Oh yeah.”

Scott grimaces and scrunches up his nose. “Um… ew?”

Stiles promptly drops his smile. “No refunds!”

Derek’s casually leant against his car, absently biting at his thumb. He’s waiting for Cora, but he’s also trying to ignore the group of cheerleaders glancing his way and giggling, it’s irritating as hell.

“I swear, you do it on purpose,” Cora says, walking toward him. “Wait in the car, Jackass, then they won’t flutter around for your attention.”

“I did, they still stared… and then Greenberg wanted to say hi,” Derek says tiredly. He slumps over the drivers wheel and groans. “Who even is Greenberg?”

“Who the fuck cares? I’m going on a date on Friday,” Cora beams.

Derek whips his head toward her as she practically bounces into the passenger seat, horrified. “What? No, you’re not.”

“Like you can stop me,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I will find this pervert, and I will make his life hell,” Derek spits out. 

Cora chuckles. 

Derek grits his teeth. “What?”

“You should have seen your face. You’re too easy. Like I’d even tell you if I’m dating – you’re the worst.”

Derek starts the car in sharp jerky movements; he’s worried he’ll melt the interior he’s that angry. “You shouldn’t even be dating. You’re, like, twelve.”

“I’m sixteen – Shit! Seriously, Der! You nearly ran over that guy.”

Before he has time to break, or do anything really, said guy is already sprinting off into the trees, not looking back once. “What the fuck?”

“I think it’s that asshole from this morning, I recognise the nasty plaid shirt.”

Derek doesn’t care who the hell anyone else is ever again, he just wants to get home and end this exhausting day. 

“So…” Cora starts, after ten minutes blissful silence. Derek misses it already. “I heard you’re name mentioned a lot today; it was actually hard pretending we weren’t related. Congrats, you’re everything you said you never were.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“Uh-huh. Liam says some popular guy has the hots for you – you gonna’ hit that?”

Derek takes a deep breath. Don’t react. Do not… react.

“Sarah thinks you’re hot, as much as I tried to put her off. So gross.”

Derek’s glad they only live a twenty minute car ride from the school, he’s not sure how much he can take before he gives up and strangles the devil spawn.

“Cora, shut the fuck up with the gossip girl routine, what did I tell you about that?”

“To keep doing it?” Cora says, predictably, staring down at her phone. 

Derek suddenly breaks, hard, and Cora gasps when they’re flung forward into their seat belts. “You dick! You did that on purpose!”

“There was a duck,” he deadpans.

“There are no ducks in our fucking driveway!”

“My bad, must be seeing things…” Derek says, smirking.

“Then I’ll tell Mom you can’t drive your precious car until you get those much– much needed glasses,” Cora says, threateningly, before slamming the car door behind her and stomping off.

Derek stumbles out after her. “You dare!”

“Shouldn’t have tried to kill me then!”

“I didn’t– you– … I – Ugh!” Derek groans in frustration. 

Stiles shivers and pulls his thin shirt tighter around himself, wiggling around on his back for a more comfortable position. It’s that time of year where the overwhelming warmth of the summer has slowly given way to a dull blowing chill – not quite coat and scarf weather but too much for bare skin.

His current position – a hide-out in the woods, beyond the school parking lot – will forever be his favourite hangout, despite what he’d just been thinking about the creeping cold. It’s one of those things that kids do to pass the time; “create” dens and the like, when really it’s just an overgrown mudded area and just about anyone can stumble upon it at any time. 

He likes to imagine it’s special though. 

Despite the sharp bushes and the mud, there’s a lazy flowing river right at their feet, tiny twittering birds in the trees and the cheery echo of insects chirping as their background music. Nowhere else is quite so peaceful and calming. 

In the middle of every summer since third grade, he and Scott would be here almost everyday, just hanging out, playing card games, skipping stones. Now that it’s the fall of their senior year, here they are once more, goofing off and avoiding going home. The ground may be more damp and cold than usual but it’s nothing a blanket and a couple of sleeping bags won’t fix. Nothing changes but the weather and he smiles small thinking that that’s a damn good thing. 

Without looking away from the tops of the trees and the clouded grey sky peeking in between, he slaps the back of his hand lightly across Scott’s stomach. “Hey, Scott?”

In his peripheral, he can see Scott tilting his head to the left, staring at Stiles’ profile. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’ll be friends after high school, through college – through everything? Is that even possible?” 

Scott raises his eyebrows in surprise at Stiles’ sudden seriousness and Stiles tilts his head to look at him, giving him a reassuring smile. Scott huffs and stares up into the trees once more. “Of course,” he says. “If we want it to, it will work. But why–“

“Nothing, nothing. Just wondering,” Stiles sighs, contentedly. 

Derek has spent the next day and half of the following week acclimating himself with Beacon Hills High. His mom had cried that first day he’d come home and told her that one: he hadn’t gotten into any fights, and two: he may have made at least one friend. She even made his favourite dinner to celebrate, which was worth putting up with the embarrassment of Cora and Uncle Peter snickering in his ear the whole time.

Family aside, Derek’s still getting used to the idea of being well liked. He’s not sure why that’s even possible; He’s still moody and unapproachable, but he hasn’t been seen separated from Danny as of yet – enough that there’s rumours. He’s not addressing anything. 
 He thinks Danny, like he does with Jackson, buffers his personality slightly. He’ll take that as a good thing right now; he doesn’t know how to be friendly and it’s best putting it off until a further date.

He’d also been roped into trying out for the lacrosse team. He’d been dismayed that Basketball wasn’t the celebrated sport here and protested, rather loudly, against joining. Yes, he’d caused a scene. People were laughing as if he’d been putting on a show, but he hadn’t been, and it wasn’t funny.

But then Danny had taken a step back and pouted, and dimpled at him, and anything else that could get Derek to cave, and he suddenly found himself dragged to last nights try-outs. Not knowing much about Lacrosse still had him just about making the team, surprisingly – offence proving to be his best area, just like it had been in basketball. 
 He wasn’t best pleased to find out that the crazed Home Economics teacher was also Coach Finstock though. If he had, he might have objected just that little bit longer, and both of his eardrums would still be intact. 

All in all, it’s the most settled he’s been at a high school since… since – well, he can’t remember really. 

“Ready, Derek?” Lydia asks, suddenly appearing right behind him out of nowhere. 

He flinches and hits his elbow into the locker. “Shit… ‘god sake, Lydia!” he groans, massaging his funny bone, “that’s three times you’ve done that now. I’m beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean, Derek?” Lydia blinks innocently up at him, linking her arm with his. “It’s not my fault you live inside your own head. You should really pay attention,” she says, tutting at him. 

Derek’s not completely sure she didn’t just magic the sound of her heels away to mess with him so he just rolls his eyes. “Why do you insist on me walking you to class anyway? Isn’t that what Jackson’s around for?”

“Why, Derek, I should think this be the highlight of your–” 

“Speak, idiot!” A loud voice suddenly interrupts, drawing their attention away. “I know you can, you jabbering little shit – what are you, shy now?!”

A crowd is starting to form, and Derek can’t see much of anything now, so it isn’t until a group of wary freshman hurry away from the commotion that he can see the source of the shouting. 

Two twin stocky guys are standing in the middle of the hallway, looking down at a lanky messy haired boy on the floor. He seems familiar – Cora’s talk of plaid shirts and assholes coming to mind – but he can’t be too sure. 

The boy keeps his head down, shoulders hunched, making it difficult for Derek to see his face as he continues to have expletives screamed at him. He’s silent, though, as he slowly picks up the textbooks strewn about the floor.

“Oh, Stiles…” Lydia murmurs beside him. 

Derek looks at her in alarm – not because he understands what she’s just said, even if he has heard it somewhere before, but because she sounds sad, and a Lydia that’s upset worries him for some reason. He opens his mouth to ask but she’s already walking over to the trio.

More of the crowd reluctantly disperses as the second bell rings, leaving just the five of them in the now silent hallway.

“Go. You’ve done enough,” Lydia says mildly, voice echoing. Aiden – douche from Lacrosse, he thinks, belatedly – quiets at the sight of her, a look Derek can’t place flitting across his face. “Go,” she reiterates when he doesn’t move. She’s not looking at anything other than the floor and it looks like that’s bothering Aiden.

He still doesn't move. 

“What did she just say, Dick?” Derek couldn’t help the input. He has issues.

“Derek…” Lydia scolds.

“Well, this has been interesting and all,” the second twin interrupts before his sneering brother can open his mouth, “buuut we’re done here. Derek–” the guy pauses, looking Derek up and down, smirking. “–I’m Ethan, by the way. S’been a pleasure.” He winks.

Derek watches Ethan drag a reluctant Aiden away and out of sight, completely caught off guard with the abrupt exchange and departure.

Lydia sighs in relief and promptly drops her bare knees to the floor, grabbing for one of the books out of the boy’s reach and holds it out for him. “Stiles?” Lydia asks gently, when he doesn’t immediately react to her presence. 

It’s like this… Stiles? – A nickname? – has been in a daydream the whole time because he seems a bit dazed and confused when he finally looks up. 

Derek swallows tightly. God, he’s beautiful, he thinks, and immediately wonders where the hell that came from. He’s seen attractive people before – pretty friendly with some, actually – granted, none have had Stiles’ cute upturned nose, or his innocent boyish looks, or… honestly, those moles. He’s never wanted to lick anyone’s freckles but they’re positioned just so and– and–

Derek fidgets, uncomfortable, unable to believe his embarrassing thought process right now.

It all seems extremely inappropriate, what with the way Stiles is currently staring at Lydia. He knows he hasn’t known Lydia for long but for her to get on her knees, in the dirt, for anyone… well, it seems a big deal. To see the confirmation of this in Stiles’ eyes, and for it to be just for him, makes it really hard to watch. 

Lydia stands then, and whirls arounds, face blank. “Come on,” she whispers, walking ahead of him, “we’re really late for Gym.” 

Derek knows this, and he doubts Lydia would even care any other time, but he just nods and follows after her. He chances one last brief glance back, heart jumping when he sees Stiles is standing now – taller than Derek imagined – and he thinks he’s made eye contact, but Stiles is still staring in stunned awe at Lydia and Derek knows he can’t compete with that. 

“Uh… what–” 

“Not now, Derek, please,” Lydia interrupts, and Derek knows he won’t get anything out of her anytime soon.

“Okay.”

Stiles holds his breath as Lydia – Lydia! – hands over his history text book with a blank look on her face. When she doesn’t tack on the usual condescending look or scathing remark, he frowns and slowly takes it from her. It’s almost like he’s daring her to say something but the blank unreadable look doesn’t shift. Instead, her lips tilt slightly at the corner of her mouth and Stiles, being well-versed in all things Lydia Martin, takes the minuscule, practically non-existent smile for what it was and just about has an internal meltdown. He stands, stunned, as she turns away from him in one hair-flipping movement and struts down the hall, heels click-clicking on the way. 

When he can get himself together – honestly, he’s embarrassed, it takes at least five minutes – he lets out a shuddering breath and races off to find Scott to tell him the strange but wonderful news.

He finds him on the bleachers by himself, watching Lacrosse practice. The weirdo.

“Scott! There you– are! Oh god, fuck… hang on – out of breath.” He bends over, hands on his knees, taking deep gulping lumps of air.

Scott straightens in worry and puts a hand on his shoulder. “What? Is everything okay? What happened?”

Stiles bats his hand away and slumps down next to him, grinning broadly. “Aiden just tripped me in the hallway just now and then dumped my books on me.”

“What?! Why are you happy about that?! That ass–”

“No-no!” Stiles interrupts quickly, “You have no idea… she– no, Lydia helped me– Lydia! She totally told the guy off, or something, I don’t know – I wasn’t listening – and then got down on her knees– her knees! Her clothes could have gotten dirty… oh my god–”

“Uh… Stiles?”

“–Right-right! She helped me pick up my books and didn’t insult me and… Scott? She smiled at me. Like, she clearly just felt sorry for me because – you know–” He gestures to himself–“I totally pull off the adorable Bambi look but, seriously, my life has literally just been made. Oh my god. I mean, she usually ignores me, it’s a step in the right direction, right?” 

Scotts eyes could have fallen right from his face he’s rolled them that hard but he’s smiling fondly anyway. Good old Scott. “Sure, the fact that she’s ignored you for years, though, means you deserve better.”

Stiles flutters his eyelashes and swats Scott on the shoulder. “You’re still my number one, bro, don’t get jealous.”

“I’m not j– Oh, shut up,” Scott sighs and lovingly hits him over the head with his backpack.

It’s a month into the new term now and Derek thinks his and Jackson’s rocky relationship has steadied somewhat and Danny can now, apparently, trust them both to be in the same vicinity and not be in danger of re-enacting a whole wrestling match, complete with cheering crowd and fuming girlfriends. Now it’s all bickering and banter… which is more his level of friendship anyway. It amuses him. 

They both share the same lunch period, without anyone else there as a buffer once every other week, which is lucky really. 

“What up, Jerk-face,” Jackson greets, slamming his lunch tray down on the table.

“Thought I told you not to call me Jerk-face, Butt muncher,” Derek grunts munching through a bite of chicken salad.

“Only when you stop calling me Butt Muncher, Jerk-face,” Jackson emphasises, rolling his eyes.

Derek exaggerates a sigh. “Are we really going to have this talk again? It’s okay, you don’t have to hide in the closet anymore. I’m here for you. Really.”

“Sure, here to suck my dick.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

“I’m everyones type. Fact.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You. Wish.”

Derek groans, fighting the urge to slam Jacksons head into the table. He almost wishes he could be a loner again, even just to avoid the same topics over and over. Jackson is a delusional turd… somewhat – I’m sure some people want to fuck him. Ugh.

It’s like Jackson can hear his thoughts because he chuckles. “Whatever. You never did say what your type is, though. The hottest people in this school are throwing themselves at you and you’re not bothered. Frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the recurring topic – why are people that bothered by his love life, or lack thereof? “Fine! Just… fine! I’ll show you my type, look–”

He sees Jackson perk up in interest as he pauses to scan the cafeteria. There’s a few people – boys and girls, alike – trying to catch his eye, but none of them do it for him. Perhaps he’s asexual all of a sudden? Could that be it? No, no, he can’t– his eyes suddenly skim over a familiar messily-styled head, and he sucks in a breath.

Definitely not asexual.

“Him,” Derek says quickly. “Behind you.”

Jackson cranes his head around, grinning. “Where? You need to be more specific.”

“The only table in the far back, can’t miss it.”

“Hello? Far right or far left?” Jackson sighs impatiently. 

“Far left.”

“But that–” Jackson tenses suddenly, and Derek knows he sees the person in question. 

“I think Lydia said his name was Stiles?”

Jackson jerks to face Derek again, face blanching. “Um… yeah, that’s– that’s Stiles.”

“Oh, you know him?” Derek asks, casually, raising his eyebrows. He knows he’s playing this too cool but he’s only seen glimpses of Stiles since the incident in the hallway and, so far, no one has made any mention of him. 

He can’t help himself, his curiosity knew no bounds.

Jackson clears his throat uncomfortably and, seriously, Derek’s never seen the guy look so unbalanced. “No– I mean… yeah, we’re not– Uh… for fuck sake, I don’t want to talk about it, man,” and he abruptly stands up and leaves the table.

Derek sighs internally. Well… fuck. It’s Lydia all over again. He should feel guilty but he’s just pissed that he pushed the wrong person. He had thought Jackson wouldn’t have cared, he seemed the type. Something’s obviously up with this Stiles guy and he’s just too invested to leave it well alone – or stupid, definitely stupid.

He could approach Stiles himself and get talking to him that way, but he’s a coward. 

A cowardly coward with an embarrassing crush no less.

“Hey,” Danny says, joining Derek at the table five minutes later. “Don’t suppose you know why Jackson looks like he’s seen a ghost do you?”

“I do. Why are you out early?”

“There was an incident with a tie and a paper shredder. We were dismissed. Why are you avoiding my question?”

“I answered your question.”

Danny levels him with an unimpressed look. “Seriously, what did you do? I haven’t seen him like that since his dog died in 4th grade.”

Derek rubs at his face. “… Stiles?” He tests carefully.

Danny’s face shuts down immediately. “No.”

And there it was again; the avoidance, the emotional disconnection. What was so bad about this boy that the most put together of people couldn’t face talking about him? Was he an exceptionally violent bully? He certainly didn’t seem it.

“But, why–”

“Don’t.”

Derek groans and puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry for pushing you people into a simple conversation. Jeez. My bad.”

“Nothing’s ever that simple, Derek,” Danny states with finality. “Don’t ever forget that.”

What can Derek say to that really?

He’s probably using every ounce of stupid he processes by ignoring the warning signs but he’s drawn now, he can’t just give up.

“Jesus christ, you’re a stubborn motherfucker aren’t you?” Danny says, exasperated.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“It’s written all over your fucking face, Hale! Your eyebrows are like the window to your soul, goddamn you. Malia is the only name I’m going to give you, you no-good twit!”

Derek’s sits, stunned. “Malia?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself!”

“Okay, okay! Calm the hell down, god! Panties – definitely twisted. Just saying.”

Danny’s glare is murderous.

“Also… twit?– FUCK! Ow! What the hell?!” Derek shouts painfully, rubbing furiously at the hand Danny had just jabbed a fork into. He gasps. “I’m bleeding!” 

“And people are actually intimidated by you,” Danny scoffs. 

Derek flips him off. 

 
“They’re out to get us this year, Scotty. I just know it.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

Stiles mock gasps and slouches himself over Scott, making him hit the side of the wall with a hard thump. Scott groans in protest. “Gerroff!”

“How could they keep us apart like this?!”

“Stiiiles – Oomph! Jeez, you’re too heavy – hurts. Stoooop!”

Stiles waves a fist in the air. “Those… those beasts!”

“Mmmph– Ican’tbreathmmmSttmmmm…”

“Wha…? What’s that, Scott? Speak u– Ow-Ow-Ow! Hey! No need to injure!”

Scott settles himself upright once more and rubs at his reddened face, where it had been squished under Stiles’ armpit, with a disgruntled expression. “I wasn’t willing to die from Stiles induced suffocation, you idiot.” Stiles scoffs which Scott ignores. “What the hell are you talking about anyway?”

Stiles stretches his long legs out in front of him and lays his head on Scotts shoulder. “We have, like, no classes together. And only one lunch a week! I’m heartbroken.”

Scott makes a sweeping gesture with hand. “Um, hello, what do you call this then?”

“Gym.” Stiles slow scathing tone suggested just what he thought of that.

Scott shrugs Stiles’ head off and looks at him incredulous. “Gym is the best ever! There’s Lacrosse and… and when there’s not we barely have to do anything! The teacher let’s us – it’s great!”

What he means is that Lacrosse is his life and everything else doesn’t exist. 

“Finstock doesn’t let us. It’s normally him yelling ‘Bilinski’ into my face, asking why I’m such a sorry slob of a person, and forcing me to run laps. It’s because I’m so much of a distraction for him that you get to just sit there, safely, oblivious, and stare into space.” 

Scott shrugs, smiling innocently. “Well, uh… he hasn’t done that today?… Or the past month…?”

Stiles opens his mouth to respond but pauses, frowning. “You’re right. He hasn’t.” He narrows his eyes, suspicious, and glances across the basketball court they’re supposed to actually be practising on. He catches Finstock’s eye but the man quickly, almost uncomfortably, turns away. “First it’s Jackson and Danny avoiding me, then Lydia being nice… and now Finstock, of all people. What is the world coming to?”

Scott chuckles. “Look, you’re being paranoid. Finstock is just busy today, Danny has been avoiding you since forever, with good reason, and the others are just a coincidence. The world doesn’t evolve around you, Stiles.”

Stiles nods and ducks his head down, unable to get rid of the feeling that something was wrong but, for now, deciding to placate Scott and go along with it. “The world would certainly be better off if it did, I assure you.”

“It definitely would be a terrifying place,” Scott says solemnly.

Derek made it his mission to find out who this Malia was, after the tip-off Danny had given him – assuming it was a person and not a place he needed to visit or something.

He’d had all weekend to mull it over in his head. Did he want to do this? Did he want to involve himself in this Stiles’ life? Clearly there was something deeply wrong here, enough that people were avoiding the issue altogether. Why did he want to know again? Was it just a crush or was there something more to it then even he knew? 

His mom had taught him to lead with his gut and not his head, to risk his heart of heartbreak and pull through. Too many things in life are lost that way, she said, because people are too afraid to go after what they want. The classic saying goes: it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

He knows it’s not love but he’s made the decision anyway. Will he hate himself for what he’s about to do? Oh, most likely.

He’s in Spanish currently, ignoring anything even remotely related to learning the material required to pass the class. He’s not that good at languages anyway, he’ll leave that particular skill set to Uncle Peter. 

“Hey,” he whispers quietly, trying to gain the attention of a petit blonde. Derek’s lucky that he didn’t have to look around much for a potential target; He’d seen this particular girl as part of the group who liked to giggle at him from afar and flutter their eyelashes. It’s just easier that she’s sat in the next desk over so he didn’t have to manoeuvre secret love notes across the room like a ten year old.

Derek makes sure to lean in close, arm slightly grazing hers as he supports himself on her desk. 

Her eyes furrow in annoyance – like he knew they would because cheerleaders are arrogant as fuck – before she’s even fully looked up. “Um, excuse me, can I help you?” She asks snootily, doodling absently on the corner of her notepad.

Derek plasters a fake smirk on face, dipping his face down to catch eyes with hers. He’d been told by a number of people that the grey-blue of his eyes, teamed with his ‘bad boy’ smirk – really, people were ridiculous – were really quite intimidating. “I just wanted to ask a question,” he fake chuckled.

“O-Oh,” the girl suddenly flusters, clearly recognising him, and hastens to sit up straighter. “Derek, I’m so sorry… I-um, I thought you were someone else, you know how it is.” She giggles nervously, brushing her hair away from her face.

Derek makes himself swallow the retort he’d wish to give to fake chuckle once more. The teacher hasn’t looked up once, focussed on his laptop at the front of the classroom, but he purposely lowers his voice further, just to lean in even closer. “Don’t worry, I’m just sorry I don’t know your name.”

She blushes and he tries not to cringe at the corniness of it all.

“Poppy,” she breathes, trying her best to play coy by biting her lip. “And what was your question? You know you can ask me anything, Babe.”

Derek barely stops himself from grimacing. This is why he chooses to be anti-social, this is all levels of unacceptable. “It’s nothing really, I have an assignment coming up and my partner was out sick, I don’t suppose you know where I can find a–” He pretends to look down at one of his books, pulling it out of his bag for full authenticity. “Malia? Do you know who this is?”

Poppy’s simpering smile drops. “Ew– I mean, yes, she’s…” She makes a face like she’s smelled something particularly horrifying. “She’s certainly… something. She’s over there,” she flicks her hand dismissively over toward the window. 

Derek follows the direction, ignoring Poppy as she starts to speak again, and spots an angry looking brunette leaning on her hand and staring out of the window. He’s not sure what nature ever did for her to scowl that way but he thinks, if she eased up a little, she’d be terrifyingly attractive, just like everyone else at this damn school.

“–Lunch?”

Derek realises Poppy’s still talking. “Huh? Wha – Oh, lunch? No, sorry, I have Math next,” he says, offhand. He’s starting to revert now that he’s got what he wanted, his cheeks hurting from the unnatural position to his face.

Unperturbed, she licks her lips. “Don’t be a stranger then. You should join us after school sometime. Britney has, like, the biggest pool ever.”

The bell rings then and he becomes distracted with wanting to keep Malia in his sights. “Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever.”

He doesn’t stick around to exchange goodbyes because Malia is speed walking from the classroom like she’s on a mission and he’ll explode if no one answers his questions after all of this.

She’s halfway down the hallway before he catches up, breathing heavily and trying to get her to stop. “Hey– hey, Malia, right?” He grins the grin that he hates, just to butter her up a little. He hopes it helps.

It doesn’t, he notes, for future reference. She looks so unimpressed he wishes he could suck the grin back and choke himself on it. He drops it and sighs, walking backwards now to accommodate the fact that Malia apparently stops for no one. “I just want to ask you a question.”

“No.”

Derek is flummoxed really. It’s like talking to a female version of himself. “You don’t even know what–”

“No.” 

Derek really doesn’t want to plead but he’s close, goddammit. “Oh come on, it’ll take you ten seconds to answer.”

“N–”

“Please??”

Malia looks ready to punch him in the neck, she’s gritting her teeth that hard. “Fine, if you’re not going to leave me the fuck–” she abruptly cuts herself off and breaths in deeply. Derek thinks this could be where she’s been taught by someone – read: therapist – to slow down and count from one to ten. “You have a minute. Cafeteria. Now.”

Derek pauses. “Oh… now? I have Math.”

“Time is ticking, Hale,” she remarks sharply, swerving around him and pushing open the doors leading to the lunch area.

He doesn’t question how she knows his name; it’s probably old news by now, he does question, however, his mother finding out he’s skipped class. She will, undoubtedly, know by the end of the day. 

Derek hurries his pace, deciding his car and weekly allowance just wasn’t important enough right now – let his mom take it away, who cares, right?

Yeah, he’s definitely gone crazy.

“Took you long enough,” Malia mumbles when Derek finds her and slumps down into the opposite chair. “Must be desperate for Mr Perfect to miss his first lesson of the new year.”

Derek scoffs. “Mr Per–…? No, whatever, I don’t care. Could you tell me everything about a boy named Stiles?” He blurts, before he loses his nerve.

Malia raises her eyebrows in surprise, clearly not expecting the question. Her face doesn’t really betray anything else, like the others he’d asked, but her eyes do flicker across the lunch hall for a small second, letting Derek know just where Stiles is this very second. He resists the urge to follow her gaze… for now. “I could… but why?”

Derek frowns, thinking. He can’t explain the weird magnetic draw he has to the strange kid he’s never met or spoken to before. He won’t let himself think on it so he can’t very well answer the question. He settles for a half truth instead. “I don’t really know.”

He thinks Malia see’s something in his struggle for clarity because her scrutinising expression softens and she sighs, relenting. “I’m Malia,” she says, officially.

Derek nods. “Derek.”

Maria leans forward then, voice low, eyes darting around once before settling intensely – intimidating, he thinks – on his own. 

“There once was a boy named Stiles and a boy named Scott…”

Interesting. Derek leans forward, intrigued.

“… They were inseparable, right from the start. Best friends, Bros for life.” She smiles slightly here; something about the spoken sentence giving it an air of fond sadness. “They went everywhere together, got in the upmost trouble, all of the time – Oh, Stiles being the instigator, of course, and dragging poor Scott into his messes. Christ, did he get on everyones nerves –  Stiles that is. He was loud, brash, outspoken, and impossibly sarcastic. Scott was quiet, impossible to hate – the sweetest guy, had to dimples to boot. He balanced Stiles’ ADHD out, somewhat, stood by his side to be the voice of reason and to calm him down on the bad days. They were a comedy duo, never a dull moment, but that dimmed dramatically around the time Stiles’ mom died…”

Malia only pauses for a second, barely leaving Derek to process all of this new information.

“It’s like Stiles kind of broke. Scott was the only one Stiles would talk to. It’s like he went into a shell of his former self and just sat curled up there for a while. It was strange seeing him this way; others didn’t didn’t know how to cope with a quiet Stiles and left him alone. But Scott? Scott just continued to be what he was from the very beginning; his irreplaceable best friend. His support. He’d be seen coaxing Stiles forward, forcing Stiles to continue living, to realise that Stiles can be happy, that his mom would want that for him. It hurt slightly less for Stiles to be himself again, even if it meant, once again, annoying everyone he ever chatted to.”

Her lips twitch but the humour is short-lived. She exhales again, more shakily this time, making Derek wonder, for the first time, if Malia had more of a connection with Stiles than he’d originally thought.

“Then last year happened – January,” Malia continues. She swallows and looks down, unable to maintain eye contact. Derek finds himself slouching over the table, leaning in further, anxious for a reason he couldn’t name. “It was a normal day. Stiles was driving Scott home from school as usual. He wasn’t driving particularly fast, one witness has reported, cautious – ice on the roads prevented him driving much more than 15mph anyways. He couldn’t really have seen it coming. The truck came out of nowhere, knocking into Stiles’ jeep and completely off of the road. It flipped a few times from the force, a few more witnesses had said, and landed in a heap, smoking – like… like something you’d only see on one of those A&E hospital shows, you know? Or a movie. Neither should have survived, the damage was horrifying – well, I imagine it was…” She trails off.

Derek bites nervously on his lip to stop himself from interrupting but couldn’t help a hurried “But Stiles…?”

“The truck hit Scotts side directly,” Malia continues, absently, as if she hadn’t heard him speak at all. “He– he…” She clears her throat, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “He died on impact.”

Derek inhales quietly, eyebrows drawn down in sympathy. Poor Stiles, he thinks, instinctively, poor poor Stiles. How can someone come back from losing two such very important people in their lives? Who helped him with the loss this time? There’s a building ache in his chest that makes him turn, seeking. 

“Stiles survived with one major injury and several minor,” Maria says, as Derek watches Stiles smile and mouth something to himself, eyes flicking up to stare at the empty seat in front of him and then down again. “He was in the hospital a while, all over summer vacation. Nobody thought he’d be back, a blow like that. There he was – first day of school and all – but he was that shell, though, that empty hollow shell of a person he no longer was. You’d think there would have been s–someone to– to…” Her voice hitches suddenly and she curses.

Derek’s attention snaps back to Malia and he can only watch helplessly as she tries to muffle the unbidden sobs with both of her hands grasping her mouth, unable to do anything about the tears building up and sliding down her cheeks.

“There was no S–Scott, okay?! No help!” She weeps, distressed, throwing her arm out. “How could anyone possibly get him through such a loss? He was alone, just wandering and just… just being. I don’t know. We’re not too sure when it had started; when he started to talk and laugh and mutter to himself. It could have been before he’d come back to school or possibly after – fuck, but we were worried. What was even worse than this despondent Stiles was the occasional mention of Scotts name and questions to thin air.”

Derek frowns, at war with the confusion and the unfamiliar feeling of just wanting to wrap this boy in his arms and never letting go.

“It’s like he was hurting so much, coping so little, that he buried all the memories of the accident and trained himself to carry on thinking Scott was still there beside him. H–He– oh god… he thinks Scott is still alive, Derek.”

Derek stares at her in horror and whips his head around to find Stiles again. Searching for the truth in her words. 

“It’s true,” Malia hiccups, reading his face, wiping at her tears. “Everyone can see it now.”

And he does – he sees it. He watches, intently, the way Stiles doesn’t look at anything other than the spot to his right. His quiet chuckles down at his plate – food untouched, he notices. The body posture; like he wants to jab an elbow to the side in humour but stops, falling short. It’s like he knows the truth deep down but his mind doesn’t want to keep up.

Derek feels sick. Twitchy. His hands shake as he runs them down his face, trying and failing to cover the tears welling in his eyes. Forget the ache in his chest – his heart hurts. How can one person go through so much alone? Why isn’t no one helping? 

He must mutter this aloud because Malia starts speaking again. He kind of wishes she would stop; he feels guilty as hell for asking any questions at all and now he doesn’t want to hear anymore. Not about this boy who’s had the life stolen from him. Not anything. 

He understands now. 

“Stiles’ dad is devastated, doesn’t know what to do. Drinks, I think – Stiles hasn't said but–" She shakes her head. "Stiles doesn’t accept that he has PTSD, brushes it off when his dad tentatively brings it up. If his dad doesn’t even know, do you think anyone else does? Unless someone’s a complete asshole, most leave him alone out of guilt and pity.”

Derek can’t seem to process. He came to Malia for something else entirely. This wasn’t… he couldn’t have – he should have expected something like this. If no one wants to talk he should have left well alone. Now he wants to cry and he’s never cried for a stranger in his life. He shudders thinking about what he’d do in the same situation, if that was his family, and then he immediately feels guilty for still having those he loves most still around, guilty that he complains about their smothering and ‘evilness’. There’s no way he could have known but he honestly feels like an asshole. “That… that’s…” Derek’s staring at Malia, hand over his mouth in shock. “Malia… he needs help for christ sake!”

“I know.”

They grow silent and, if they were anywhere else, their pause would give them at a least a moment of peace. However, as the minutes tick by, the cafeteria becomes more overwhelming than anything; the odd shrill of laughter, a quick clack of heels against linoleum floor, a chatter of excitable conversation. Derek doesn’t know how Stiles’ story and these simple things can co-exist anymore. How could they carry on knowing?

He catches Malia’s eye, silent. She tilts her head, raising her eyebrows in question.

Derek licks his lips and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You’ve obviously been close to Stiles in some way, you obviously still care, will you… will you help me help him?”

She doesn’t hesitate, not really – relieved, almost – and nods once.

He interprets this as the most consent he’ll ever get and glances once more over his shoulder. Unexpectedly, Stiles captures his gaze then, his face a confused frown, eyes such a pretty shade of glowing amber, and Derek can’t take anymore of this day. He’s up and out of the cafeteria before his thoughts can really take precedence over his mind. He groans when the words ‘broken’ and ‘beauty’ traitorously hover at his subconscious and tugs frustratingly at his hair.

“You’re screwed now, you know that, right? To those that see – really see, he sucks you in and never let’s you go. It’s horrible; all those… feelings.” 

Malia had followed him into the hallway without a thought and had looped her arm through his without him even realising. Her face twisted into an odd grimace when he looks down onto her small frame. 

He sighs. “I… see.”

“We were seeing each other before the accident, you know,” Malia reveals quietly, as they pace slowly through the quiet, empty hallway. “It was all me, really. I hated seeing him pine after that Lydia girl and never have her see him, and everyone knew he was a virgin. It wasn’t hard manipulating him – I had breasts, easy.” Derek chuckles and nods. “And he was cute, in that squirrelly nerdy type of way. But then he relaxed and it was so so good. He taught me loads about life and he was funny.” She sniffles and ducks her head down. “The accident reverted him, you know,” she says abruptly. “He avoided everyone and, when I could get him alone, he looked through me as if I wasn’t even there. Then I’d catch him, every now and then, looking longingly at Lydia… like old times. This past year, and the last, have been the hardest I’ve ever had to face… but I can help now. You–” She jiggles his arm in acknowledgement. “You will be good for this school, Derek Hale. And I approve of your crush,” she adds, smirking.

Derek rolls his eyes, trying not to blush. “No pressure then.”

“So – so much pressure,” Malia grins.

Things continue normally for a couple of days. His and Malia’s new alliance seemingly blossoming by itself; grunted greetings in the hallway, tentative smiles and rolled eyes in the classroom. You could say they were on their way to being the bestest of friends, if Derek weren’t above such childish terms.

He'd spotted her sitting by herself again in lunch and, unthinkingly, called her over. 

He thought he was being nice, he couldn't have her sitting alone now that he knew her... kind of – she should be blessed he even thought of her in the first place – but she refuses straight away. He frowns, slightly offended, and starts miming exaggerated gestures toward the empty seat next to him, willing to give her a second chance. 

Malia mouths the word 'no' and pointedly shakes her head, lip twitching slightly when his mouth drops open in mock outrage. 

That stubborn little–

"Malia!" Derek calls, gathering the attention of a few nearby people. 

Her lips thin as the nosy whispers start up, curious eyes flitting between the two intently. 

"Hey, Malia!"

He's chuckling at this point because she's seething. He watches her throw the book she'd been reading into her bag, grab her lunch tray, and stomp her way over to him. 

"Asshole," she hisses, slamming her tray down next to him and dropping into the empty seat. 

He raises his eyebrows innocently. "I was being nice." 

"You were being an asshole," she reiterates, biting into her apple and chewing furiously. 

He shrugs and, before he can retaliate with another sarcastic remark, someone clears their throat. 

He shifts uncomfortably when he looks up and realises that Danny, Lydia and Jackson are staring at them, all with various degrees of disbelief on their faces. If he was being honest with himself, he'd forgotten they were there, and definitely didn't think to ask if they'd approve of the new addition to the table. 

"Hey dick-face, what's with the loner?"

Malia narrows her eyes at Jackson. "Shut it, Jack-ass! I'll pound your fucking face in!"

Jacksons amused smirk turns murderous. "Listen, you flea-ridden–“

"Jackson, no, think about your words," Danny chides calmly, frowning. 

"But–!” Jacksons outraged protest breaks off when Lydia lays a hand on his arm and he hunkers down into a sulk, bitterly swirling his milkshake. "Whatever."

Lydia tilts her head at Malia, that same fake sweet smile on her face that Derek has come to hate. "Malia, it's a pleasure for you to join us."

Malia narrows her eyes, measuring. 

The boys sit there in suspense, watching between the two like spectators in a tennis match. 

"The pleasure's all mine... Lydia," Malia replies at last, a sharp grin gracing her delicate features. 

Lydia's smile widens into something more genuine and Danny looks like he wants to escape for his life. "That's a lovely blouse."

"Thank you," Malia replies. "I heard you got an A* in your latest AP calc test, congrats'." Jackson shoots Lydia a bemused frown. "Oh... did I mess up? Are we still not telling people you're a genius yet? My bad." She takes another bite of her apple. 

Danny actually leaves the table then and hurries off. Derek now feels like he's done everyone a terrible injustice, and he doesn't understand what's going on in the slightest. 

Lydia just sniffs, however, untroubled. "Very well." She stands up as the bell rings. "We're in study hall together, meet me at my locker this afternoon." 

And with a swoop of her hair, she was gone. 

Derek rubs at his face. "What." 

"What?... Hmm, not sure," Malia shrugs, cheerily. “But that was fun."

Jackson mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘women’ and Derek finds himself nodding. 

“Hey, Scott?” 

“Yeah?”

“Was that new guy staring over here before?”

Scott doesn’t look up from his phone, indifferent. “He was looking at you, dude.”

“What?!” Stiles startles. “Why– how do you–? Why do you think that is? I thought he looked angry– I’m so confused, did I do something to piss him off? It happens a lot and I never remember these days.”

“No,” Scott sighs. “Perhaps he fancies you.” There’s a smirk playing on his face. 

Stiles’ eyes widen and he panics for a moment. But then… “Dude… is it bad I’m having an identity crisis over this? Like, heterosexually speaking, from one straight male to another… non-straight male, I can appreciate the aesthetics of the guy. He has nice… beard–”

“It’s okay if you’re gay, Stiles,” Scott interrupts absently.

“Bi-sexual, but– oh thank god!” Stiles blurts, relieved, “I’m glad you’re okay with it! And it wasn’t just today – the identity crisis, I mean – Isaacs cheekbones are to die for! But I was scared – like, no girl likes me enough as it is, I didn’t want guys to reject me too! It’s all too much, and– and–” 

Scott grabs his wrist and shakes, effectively shutting him up. “One: I would have thought you’d want to tell me as soon as it entered your mind, Stiles, I would never have judged, but I understand, and two: Anyone would be lucky to have you, they’re just too immature to see it right now. Once you look past Lydia, you’ll see what I mean.”

Stiles hunches his shoulders over and looks down at the table. “Uh… thanks, buddy. I–” he clears his throat, “–um… something seems to have flown randomly into my eye so I’ll thank you properly in a sec, hang on.”

Scott rolls his eyes, smiles, and then… and then he suddenly fades, like he hadn’t been there at all.

Stiles frowns. 

Derek’s head snaps up as an agonised wail abruptly pierces the afternoon lunch chatter. His eyes scan the room, automatically trying to find the source of the noise, heart thudding in his chest.

“That’s– that’s–” Lydia’s halfway out of her chair, pale as a ghost.

Derek knows too. 

“NO– NO! PLEASE!”

Derek watches in utter despair, standing on his chair to see over the bustling crowd of students, as a panicking Finstock pushes Stiles to the floor, barely containing the tormented boy as he cries and thrashes against his hold. “Stilinski, stop!” He shouts, folding Stiles’ arms behind his back and holding as tight as possible. “Calm down!”

Stiles is screaming into the floor, sobbing and shaking his head. “N–NOOOO! SCOOOTT!”

“What is the meaning of this, Finstock!” Mr Harris shouts, hurrying over and taking over the left side when Stiles manages to wiggle an arm free and narrowly misses hitting his coach in the face. “You know the drill by now.”

Finstock flinches and grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “I… can’t.”

“Oh for f–” Harris hisses angrily, shoves Finstock out of the way and pushes his weight onto Stiles, mostly stilling his thrashing movement. Pained cries mixes in with anguished now and Derek wants to punch Harris in the fucking face. “STILINSKI, you imbecile! Scott has gone to the toilet, for christ sake.”

The background fades for a moment, willing him to process what he was seeing. What? 

Derek looks at Lydia, horrified. Lydia doesn’t look at him, shaking quietly as tears slide down her cheeks. 

“–Back in a moment, you overdramatic moron!” Harris spits as Derek zones back in, wishing he could cover his ears like a child and pretend this scene wasn’t playing before him. “I knew you were co-dependant but this is just idiotic!” Harris continues on and, to Derek’s disbelief, Stiles starts to calm, taking deep wracking breaths to get some much needed air. Finstock gets up and leaves, face blank. Harris nods and leans back, satisfied. “Anymore of this behaviour and it’s two weeks after school detention. No questions,” he murmurs, and makes his escape as well.

The silence is deafening.

Derek is off of his chair and half way across the room before it’s registered in his brain that he’s moving. He pushes through the students none too kindly, growling to the idiots to ‘stop fucking staring’ and crouches down beside Stiles.

“Stiles?” he whispers, terrified. 

It would look like the boy was sleeping, head laying on his arms, fists clenched tight, if it weren’t for the occasional sniff and shiver every now and then. 

Derek gently lays a hand on his back. “Stiles?” he repeats. Stiles jumps slightly and turns his head, staring up at Derek with red-rimmed eyes. “Hey… hey, you don’t know me–”

“Derek,” Stiles croaks, interrupting, to Derek’s immediate surprise. 

“Yeah… yeah, that’s good… uh, do you– I mean, we kind of need to move so… yeah, do you want to maybe go for a walk outside? Get some fresh air? You… you kind of…” Derek trails off, not knowing quite what happened and how to word it.

Stiles shifts into a sitting position, confused. He opens his mouth to say something but can’t seem to get the words out.

“It’s okay,” Derek hurries to say and holds his hand out. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

Stiles frowns, nods, and just dazedly lays his hand in his, letting Derek pull him to his feet. “My arm hurts,” he mumbles, almost disbelievingly, and Derek has to resist pulling the boy in for a hug as he tugs him through the still staring crowd and through the nearest exit into the school grounds. 

Derek doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, where he’s going. It isn’t until he’s almost to his car that he realises that he’s completely and truly out of his element. He’s lived a sheltered life, really, his family is thriving and full of life; he hasn’t a clue about PTSD and how to deal with it. Clearly, he isn’t the only one, considering what he’d just witnessed, and now this whole thing is going to be more difficult than he first thought.

He turns to Stiles. “Uh–”

“I should go,” Stiles interrupts, avoiding Derek’s eyes. He seems to be more focussed than a minute ago and definitely more closed off.

“What–”

Derek can barely get anything out before Stiles blurts a mumbled ‘thanks’ and walks away, head ducked down and hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. 

“Great,” Derek sighs to himself. “Just… great.”

Stiles opens his eyes to see Scott crouching down to sit by him in the grass, once again tucked away in their favourite hideaway. 

“Where have you been?” Stiles asks, rubbing the tiredness from his face.

Scott tuts at him. “Toilet, dude, you were totally too busy staring at the new guy to notice.”

Stiles snorts. “Fuck off.”

“Na, you’d missed me.”