Chapter Text
Life was a mess. It had been a mess for months, ever since Scott’s bite, but things were an astronomical mess these days, what with this lizard creature running around crushing people with Jeeps. It didn’t help that Scott’s head was in the clouds all the time, undoubtedly distracted by thoughts of Allison. Half of the time, Stiles felt like he was the only one invested in the increasingly insane situation they were in, and today was one of those days.
“So I’ve been looking into the kanima,” Stiles said, fiddling with his backpack straps. “Where it originated from, what it eats, how it mates, and I’ve found a few things that I thought were....” They left the school building (hallelujah), and Stiles easily noticed the glazed over look in Scott’s eye; the look he got when he was thinking about a certain brunette. “Scott?” Stiles waved his hand in front of Scott’s face. Despite his werewolf reflexes, he didn’t even flinch.
“Dear lord,” Stiles sighed. He knew what he had to do. “Hey, is that Allison? In nothing but her underwear?”
“Huh? What?” Scott perked up like a puppy to a tennis ball. Stiles gave him a deadpan look, then slapped him upside the head. “Ow! What was that for?!”
“For ignoring me, and for being a dirty, dirty pervert.”
“Sorry, I was thinking about-”
“Allison. I know. God dude, there are so many other important things at stake than girls. I mean, we have a super-snake on the loose, Derek went and fucked off with his little werewolf army; not to mention the hunters, who have gotten way more dangerous since psycho-grandpa decided to hobble into town,” Stiles rambled. Good grades weren’t even on the list.
“I know, I know,” Scott huffed. “How could I forget? Allison is just a nice distraction from all that I guess.”
“I get it, I really do. But there’s a difference between a distraction and an obsession.” They approached the Jeep, which a different auto shop had offered to fix for free after the...incident. It took two seconds for him to look at his keys, unlock the car, and look back up; but in that amount of time, an angel sent from heaven had approached them.
“Hi Scott,” Lydia greeted, a crimson smile on her face.
“Oh my god!” Stiles exclaimed. She looked him up and down with cold, calculating eyes, giving him a near heart attack. “I mean-hey Lydia. You look nice today.” He felt like he wanted to lean against something, so he rested his arm on Scott in a position that was more awkward than seductive.
“Sorry,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I think I forgot your name. Is it like Steve or Stanley or something?” The empty, hollow, pit she’d just created hurt more than any injury he’d suffered at lacrosse practice or as Scott’s sidekick: that meant something. He heard Scott inhale like he’d just seen Stiles get hit in the balls.
“Um, no. But you’re pretty close, it’s Stiles.”
“Oh. Weird. Anyways, Scott, when you see that asshole ex-boyfriend of mine at lacrosse, will you tell him I found one of his stupid old jerseys in my room, and have him send Danny or someone to get it? I don’t want to deal with him,” Lydia said, flipping that flowing, gorgeous, strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder.
“I guess so,” Scott said. “Is there anything else you need? Are you alright after-”
“There is one more thing. Tell Jackson his jersey smells like piss.” With that, she turned on her heel and strutted away, the swing of her hips mesmerizing.
“I don’t get it,” Stiles said, slouching and trudging on to the car. “What does she see in Jackson that she doesn't see in me? Is it my buzz cut? Is it getting too long?”
“Remember when you were teasing me for being obsessed with a girl?” Scott asked, a smug smirk on his face.
“One more word out of you and you’re walking home,” Stiles snapped. He slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door so hard, the entire car shook.
“Listen man,” Scott said, putting on his serious voice. “It’s been like ten years, right? Maybe, don’t kick me out of the car, you should try to accept the fact she just isn’t that into you, and I dunno, move on.”
“Move on? Move on, Scott? Don’t you think I haven’t tried? How the hell do you move on from someone so perfect? How would you like it if I told you to move on from Allison?” He turned the keys like he was twisting a neck; he definitely wasn’t imaging Jackson's. Scott was silent as Stiles pulled out of the spot. He had his thinking face on, which was always a bad sign.
“Do you remember Rachel Brie? From middle school?”
Stiles snorted. What a stupid ass question. “Of course I remember her. You wouldn’t shut up about her for all of eigth fucking grade.”
“Yeah, and then she moved to Utah, and I thought I would never love again?”
“Dude, you cried so hard you threw up.”
“Don’t remind me. Anyways, I thought she was the only girl in the entire world, but she wasn’t. If I had stayed stuck on Rachel, I never would have gotten the chance to be with Allison.”
Stiles rolled his eyes so hard he swore he saw his brains. “If you’re about to tell me to move on from Lydia because my own “Allison” is out there waiting for me, I will literally throw up; I will throw up all over your shoes like you did to me in the eighth grade, and I won’t feel bad about it.”
“I know, it’s dumb, but think about it: really think about it. Am I wrong?”
Stiles gripped the steering wheel tight, he knew Scott was right, but he was stubborn goddammit.
“Your thing is completely different. Rachel went away, you had no choice but to get over her. Lydia? Lydia is right there in chemistry everyday; she’s not going away.”
“Fine,” sighed Scott. “But it’ll make it really hard to sympathize with you the next time you whine about how lonely you are.”
Stiles didn’t answer. Instead he brooded to himself like Derek Hale, and turned up the radio.
------------
Stiles glanced at the time. It was nearing eleven pm, and as much as it killed him, he decided it was best to take a break from researching the kanima to do homework. It was more for his dad than him, he’d been disappointing his father so often these days, the least he could do was get a decent grade in chemistry.
“Come on Stiles, get to work,” he muttered, rummaging through his bag for his notebook and textbook. This homework was easy, he was just listing each periodic number three times; tedious, but easy. It wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. He pressed his pencil to the page, and wrote a 1.
Scott was right. The thought popped into his head out of nowhere. He’d been chasing after Lydia for years, and she didn’t even remember his name. Even after everything, after they’d ice skated and gone to formal together, he was irrelevant to her. It made him feel like he was being stabbed a million times in the heart, but it was true. What was the point, wasting so much time and energy on someone who didn’t spare him the thought of day? The healthy thing for him and Lydia would be for him to move on. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t going to be like some TV show where the nerdy underdog got the girl. It was going to be Jackson, or some other hot jock who didn’t warm the bench. But what did that leave Stiles with? Of course Scott would say plenty of girls were into him. He was his best friend, he’d be a dick if he didn’t. In reality, Stiles, the gangly weirdo who twitched and talked too much, would either die alone, own twelve cats, or he’d find a wife on ChristianMingle at fifty when every other option had run out, and Stiles wasn’t even Christian. The thought felt like an anvil in his gut.
Stiles looked at the clock again and slammed his head on the desk. “Eleven thirty? Really? Thirty entire minutes? Fuck you ADHD.” He shook his head, attempting to refocus.
“One: hydrogen, one: hydrogen, two: helium, two: helium, two: helium,” he muttered, hoping that saying them all aloud would keep him honed in on the assignment. For a while, it actually worked. He fell into a rhythm, and within three minutes, he was already in the forties. But at forty six, pallidium, a cold breeze of all things was his downfall. It wasn’t his fault, this breeze was sudden, and way too cold for the inside of his room.
“Weird,” he whispered. He reached for his red sweatshirt, but faltered in his movements: his window was wide open. “What the fuck?” His heart began to race, his first thought was that the kanima was hiding in the corner of his room. He looked at the mechanical pencil in his hand; not his weapon of choice, but it would have to do.
“Forty-seven: silver.”
Stiles whirled around, ignored the fact the voice was very familiar, and slashed at the air with his pencil. His wrist was met with a firm grip, his frightened gaze with green eyes.
“Really Stiles? A pencil?”
“D-Derek? What the hell are you doing here?! It’s the middle of the night!” He looked up at Derek’s shadowy, chiseled face, and the dude didn’t even have to talk for Stiles to get more confused. “Hold on, don’t we all sort of hate each other right now? Are you here to mame, kidnap, or kill me? If you are, be warned, I have a pencil.”
Derek let go of his wrist and that trusty Hale scowl emerged on his face. “I’m not going to do any of those things. Now pipe down before your dad wakes up. I’m already starting to regret coming here.”
“Trust me, I don’t want you here either. So unless you're going to do my chem for me, leave before I get my dad on purpose,” Stiles hissed, pointing to the window. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Derek pounced on him like...well...like a wolf, and snatched the pencil out of his hand.
“Wake your dad and I’ll rip your throat out,” he growled, flashing his eyes a vibrant ruby. Derek was close, like way in his personal space, kinda like the last time the wolf had threatened him in his bedroom. The thing was, Derek could bare his teeth, flash his eyes, and crush basketballs all he wanted: Stiles wasn’t scared of him anymore. He was all bark, no bite, and the things bothering Stiles were his awful dog breath and the freaky tension in the air that could be cut with a plastic spoon.
“Say it all you want, pal, I know you're bluffing,” he replied.
“Yeah? Wanna test that theory?” Derek asked, eyes raking over his neck like he was a piece of meat waiting to be devoured.
“Whatever you want, tough guy,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s wrists and attempting to shove his hands off his collar; but Derek, with those insane arm muscles, didn’t even budge. Instead, he glanced at the place where Stiles gripped his wrists, exhaled sharply, and loosened his knuckles.
“That’s what I thought,” Stiles said. He wasn’t going to goad, that was treading a dangerous line. But he couldn’t help it, he reached into the altoid tin on his desk and tossed him a mint.
“What is this?” Derek glared at the little candy.
“It’s a mint, dumbass. Your breath sucks, I’m doing you a favor.” Derek glowered at Stiles, but begrudgingly popped it into his mouth, sparing anyone else he got close enough to kiss that night from being assaulted via nose. As Stiles straightened out his shirt, once again the question popped into his head: what the fuck was Derek doing here?
“So, if you aren’t here to hurt me, why are you here? Do you want information about the kanima? Because all I know is the stuff written down in ancient books that have free pdfs, and none of it matches what this monster is doing.”
“I’m not here about the kanima,” Derek said, crossing his arms and stretching his shirt so tight Stiles swore it would pop. The dude was so ripped and attractive it was unfair. Stiles could only dream about having a body like that. If he did, Lydia would certainly be more interested.
“Well Derek, typically when a man sneaks into your room in the middle of the night without warning, he’s either going to kill you or bang you, and we’ve ruled out the first option so I’m starting to get worried. I’m a classy guy, I wanna be wined and dined first,” Stiles tried to joke, but no surprise, mister brick wall glared at him instead of laughing.
“Stiles. Shut. Up.”
Stiles, like instructed, didn’t say anything. He just smiled up at Derek like an asshole. It was becoming more and more fun to get under his skin like that now that he knew Derek wouldn’t act on his threats.
“You know what, I’ve already been here longer than I meant to in the first place. This is a waste of my time. I’m leaving.” He marched back towards the window. Stiles scrambled to his feet, grabbing his firm upper arm to stop him.
“Wait! I’m sorry, I’ll be serious. Obviously this is important, I mean I doubt you’d come to me for anything other than an urgent reason. What is it?”
“It’s not important.”
“Derek, tell me, or else you interrupted my homework for nothing. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“Jesus, fine,” Derek sighed. He didn’t turn to look Stiles in the eyes. He spared a brief glance over his shoulder at the boy, then mumbled a husky “thanks.”
“Huh? Thanks for what?”
“For doing what you did at the pool. You saved my life. So, thanks.”
“O-oh,” Stiles stuttered. That was the last thing he’d been expecting. He didn’t know what to say, so he did what he did best and deflected it. “I mean, Scott was the one to pull us out, you should be thanking him.”
“He wasn’t the one who kept me afloat for hours.”
“But-”
“Take the goddamn thank you, Stiles. It’s the only one you’re ever going to get from me after this.”
“Uh, you’re welcome then, I guess.”
“Good. See you around.” Stiles blinked and he was gone.
“That was weird,” Stiles muttered as he plopped back down in his chair. He wondered what mysterious force had possessed Derek and caused him not to be such a dick for once. Still, even during that awful “thank you” he’d managed to be aloof. He knew Derek had a rough upbringing, but so did Boyd, and even though he was a werewolf now Boyd was still an alright guy. It proved that having a perfect face meant nothing if you were an emotionless robot.
Stiles shook his head, grabbed a new pencil from his backpack, and tried to shake all thoughts of Derek from his head. He was the last person he wanted to think of while he did homework.
“Forty-seven: silver.”