Chapter Text
Preface
You would think, given his predilections for non-conformity, that Danny would be above considering The Norm as a means of social construct. As a means of judgment; of oneself, and others.
You would think, but you’d be wrong.
He's a goddamn teenager. Sue him. Danny hits the gym like it owes him money, shops at Hollister and Abercrombie. He pours a countless amount of his parents dollars into bleaching his teeth, fighting the ever-present battle against acne, and yes, getting his eyebrows waxed. He listens to crappy top 40 pop music because that’s what the cool kids expect. He doesn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria, even when he’s fucking starving and wouldn’t mind stomaching down a precooked burger. He sits at the primo table instead, and drinks diet coke while Jackson and Lydia and their recyclable friends trade gossip about the good kids of Beacon Hills High.
He cares too much about what others think. He’s just a kid; he’s just as susceptible to peer pressure as the next fucked up sixteen year old. He just happens to be gay too. If anything, he has a few extra problems to consider.
But the fact here is...being gay didn’t enlighten him to Giving No Fucks.
Which is why when Stiles Stilinski asks Danny if he finds him attractive...Danny says nothing. He's sixteen. Sue him.
***
And So, Our Tale Begins
***
It starts in the sixth grade. It all starts in the sixth grade, really. Deep down, Danny probably knew before that but...sixth grade really nails it home.
Danny doesn't like girls. That revelation doesn't come so seamlessly as it does on television, or in the movies. No....It hits him at the oddest times, over a long period. He doesn't like girls.
Not like that anyway. Not in a way that made his peers stupid. He has no desire to impress them, has no desire to pull their pigtails or chase them on the playground. They don't make him tongue tied, or fill him with butterflies. He's twelve years old, so it doesn't concern him overly much. Why should it?
But then....
Age twelve turns into age thirteen, and his body starts doing things. Weird things with hair, and fluids and stuff he just doesn't want to talk about but his mother insists. At least, Danny figures, it wasn't like the Where Do Babies Come From talk, in which a power point presentation was created. He's pretty sure she has it saved on a thumbdrive somewhere, for his little brother and sister.
She spoke of girls, very briefly, and how it was okay to have those thoughts (whatever those thoughts were). She spoke of how he might want to touch them, how he might want to kiss them, and how those wants were natural. She promises him it was natural to want those things, perfectly fine, but he should always do his best to respect both himself, and them. It felt so impossibly ambiguous. Them. Girls. It could have been aliens.
So he waits, waits for that sick fluttery feeling of want to hit him too. He kisses a girl at bible-camp. The press of her glossy lips against his own did make his stomach clench, but it doesn't feel good. It made him feel sick.
He doesn't do it again.
Sixth grade became seventh. Seventh became eighth The want never comes, not even with the strange body-hair, and croaking voice of year fourteen. His mother whispers words about late bloomers, but there was no blooming, there was no buds of interest. Nothing. Not even confusing dreams, or embarrassing situations in the pants region. There was no want.
Junior High loomed. The want never comes.
When his brother came home, whispering all sorts of things about getting up his girlfriends shirt...Danny thought maybe the interest was there. So he looks. Admittedly, girls his age don't have much but...but surely there should have been a spark. Something.
But...there wasn’t. He looked at girls, at their glossy mouths, shiny curls, cute shoes and thought to himself for the very first time ; something isn’t right.
It was a dirty feeling, slimy and unwanted, curling up in the pit of his stomach and sizzling angrily until it was all he could think about, how something wasn’t right, how he wasn’t right. He was fourteen as he watched his peers hold hands, and press sticky kisses in the hallway. Some of the bolder kids did more, confused, too-soon fumbles under shirts and skirts. No one really knew what they were doing, but they wanted it anyway.
But not Danny.
So, with shaking hands, and a lump in his throat...he told his mother that she was wrong. It wasn’t until a week later, as Uncle Joe took him aside, and she slipped out the kitchen door with an encouraging smile, that Danny understood.
“I’m gay,” Uncle Joe had said, like it was a secret. It wasn’t. They don't talk about it, but not because it was something bad. They don't talk about it because....well, Danny isn't sure. Because it isn't something that needs to be talked about? Like the weather, or car insurance premiums. What is there to talk about?
“...I know.” Uncle Joe has been with Uncle Jesse for a solid five years. Danny doesn’t really remember - he was probably only nine or so. One day Uncle Jesse wasn’t there, and the next he was.
Uncle Joe nods. “I was really lucky you know, to have such an understanding family. Coming out...that is, when I told the family I was gay...it was very scary for me Danny. I didn’t tell anyone for years, because I was afraid they wouldn’t love me.”
It doesn’t make any sense to Danny. Oh he knows about that kind of hate, knows what some people think of men like Joe and Jesse. But it’s just so dumb, Danny can’t even fathom it. “You’re family,” he says, because it’s answer enough. It should be. “It doesn’t matter who you love.”
Uncle Joe swallows hard, and took Danny’s hand. “Danny I was ten when I knew I didn’t like girls.”
Danny freezes, hand twitching in his Uncle’s hand. He doesn't say anything, because what was there to say?
“Jillian Meyers kissed me at recess and I cried.” Joe snorts. “I cried so hard, my mom had to come get me. I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell anyone, not for fifteen years. To be honest, I didn’t know myself, for a good five. Basically, the back end of puberty. Those first few years were rough. I didn’t understand myself, and it was...it was hard. I wish I had someone to talk to me.”
“I...” Danny fidgets, pulling his hand back to his chest. “I kissed Mandy Shelton at Bible Camp and it made me want to puke.” It comes out in a rush of words, and maybe some tears but Danny won’t acknowledge them for fear of crying harder. Honesty is hard. “It just felt bad, Uncle Joey and I...I don’t---”
“Hey kid, shhh.” Joe pulls him out of his chair, and crushes him into a hug. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. You can like what you like. No one will ever judge you here for that. We love you.”
“I don’t know what I like,” Danny cries because that was the problem. He wishes it was as simple as liking boys or girls. “I don’t like anything the way Mom says I should. I’m fourteen and I’ve never even, I mean I don’t...nothing does it---”
“Those aren’t the only ways,” Joe cuts him off, wiping his tears away with a thumb. It makes Danny feel small and stupid but...but protected too. Safe. His shoulders hitch with a shuddered breath, as his uncle ruffles his hair, and hugs him again. “It doesn’t come down to liking boys or girls, Danny. Some people like both. Some people don’t like anything. It’s okay, it’s okay. No matter what, we love you.”
There's a therapist after that, a nice lady by the name of Doctor Comfry. There's a therapist and a neat stack of pamphlets on Asexuality, and just like Joe being gay, they don't talk much about it. It was what it is. Perfectly acceptable.
And then Junior High happens.
They move from South Oregon, to Beacon Hills. It's a nice change, although people assume he's Native American now, instead of an Eskimo (which, his dad explains, is another form of Native American, so why does it even matter?). His mother tells him, with a dimpled smile, that they were still too far North in California, for people to consider Pacific Islander.
“Hawaiian!” His dad argues, shaking his head. “Just say Hawaiian.”
His mother sniffs, and begins unpacking another box. “I don’t want to be associated with Fruit Punch, thank you very much.”
"Polynesian, then. Pacific Islander. Ugh."
His family. Seriously.
He starts school exactly one semester into the year at Beacon Hills Junior High. It's a good school enough school, bigger than his last, but Danny has always been a fast learner. He’s waffling around outside the office, waiting for the aid to bring him his schedule when something barrels into him, knocking him to the ground.
Or rather, someone.
“Ooph!” The boy says, sprawled out on top of him. “Oh hey. I don’t know you.”
He has freckles, a whole bunch of them like cinnamon sprinkles, right over his nose, and his eyes were a bright, warm brown; it's the first thing Danny notices right before his stomach drops and his palms get sweaty. “ Danny. I’m... That’s me. My name. Danny Mehalini.”
Their whole bodies are pressed together, legs tangled, hips flushed. It's the most intense hug ever .He's bigger than Danny, but not by much, and his flannel shirt smells like Axe, maple syrup and sweat. The contact lasts only a moment, but...Danny is frozen by the feel of it.
“That’s what you think,” the kid tells him, wriggling up off Danny's everything. “But I bet you a buck, you’re New Kid for at least a month.”
He scrambles up, confused by his own body. His tongue feels heavy, and dry. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he form words? His face heats up with some unknown embarrassment. Danny doesn’t know why he feels so hot, only that...he’s not sure he doesn’t like it.
The kid doesn't seem to require a response. He grins. “I’m Stiles! Welcome to Beacon Hills, dude.” He holds out his hand, only to have it slapped away.
“Back off loser,” another kid cuts in, shoving Stiles aside. “Quit freaking the new kid out.”
“He wasn’t---” Danny begins, but his words are cut short as a heavy arm settles over his shoulders. Danny fights the urge to shrink away.
“Don’t you have some meds to take, or something?” The kid sneers at Stiles, arching a pale brow at him. “Here’s some advice for you New Kid; don’t waste your time on Freak Show here.”
The squirmy hot-cold feeling in Danny’s chest shifts to something distinctly less nice, as Stiles's open smile falls. “I don’t think---”
“Whatever Jackson,” Stiles mutters, flashing a look Danny’s way. “It was nice knowing you, New Kid.”
Knowing. Not meeting.
That won’t make sense until the next day.
***His Royal Junior Highness***
That night, he doesn’t sleep well. He rolls onto his belly, but doesn't find a comfortable position. He feels weird, hot-wired and just plain hot. He moves listlessly against the mattress, body and mind seperate . His dreams are different, new. He can almost feel the press of a body down upon him, skinny hips against his own...it’s different. It’s strange. His heart pounds, as his palms sweat. He dreams of freckles, red mouths, and warm eyes. He dreams of flannel, and hands against his chest.
When he wakes, it’s with a gasp, messy sheets and possibly the most amazing feeling imaginable. He floats on that feeling, until he trips in the tangle of his boxer shorts, where they're caught at his ankles, and face plants on the floor.
His mother doesn’t ask him why he’s washing his bedding at seven in the morning, red faced and silent. But the happy look on her face says it all. She looks proud, or relieved. Whatever it is, it makes him terribly uncomfortable. She looks like she wants to talk about it. His first --- Just. No.
“I’ll call Uncle Joe later if you don’t make me talk about it,” He pleads, as he dumps fabric softener into the cup thing.
Her face falls, just a little, and seriously what is his family? “Alright,” she concedes. “But...but you can talk to me, if you want. About anything. Anyone.”
He knows what she’s asking, what she wants to know. “His name is Stiles,” he says with a pained little sigh. “I just...I don’t know. Oh my god, Mom stop looking at me like that please.”
“But...But...” She pouts at him, and he relents by hugging her. “I just love you, Daniel. I hate to see my babies suffer.”
He closes his eyes and forces himself not to shut his head in the washing machine. “I am suffering now. Humiliation. Shame. Horror. I’m fourteen, mom. I can’t... Uncle Joe. I will call him. It will suck, but it will suck less than talking about this with you. You’re my mom. I just. Can't.”
She grins, and sets the washing machine to medium. “You’re right. You’re growing up. You’re not my baby anymore.”
“Mom.”
***
Basically, Danny’s first boner is because of Stiles.
It won’t be the last.
***
He looks for him the next day, but Jackson cuts him off. He drags Danny to what can only be described as the Popular Table, of which Danny had never been invited before. It's like a throne, poised above all the other peons of Beacon Hills Junior High, and sparsely filled with those worthy. Danny, apparently, is included in this elite group. Jackson is clearly a jock, with money and junior high social power. Danny...Well. Danny likes the attention, okay? He’s fourteen, he wants to be popular.
Jackson's scoping out the meager female offerings the cafeteria provides, casually pointing out girls he could introduce Danny too.
He doesn’t know why he says it. It just comes out. It's a big deceleration, considering he's only just considered the possibility yesterday. “I’m gay.” The words sit there between them, frozen in a sea of insecurities. Jackson isn’t his family, Danny thinks with sudden horror.
Jackson stares at him for a long moment and Danny’s sure he’s going to be shoved away, and possibly hit. But Jackson just narrows his eyes. “I’m not,” he says firmly, jaw clenched .”That gonna be a problem?”
Danny’s not really sure what's happening. Shouldn’t he be asking that? This isn’t what he expected, the first time he said those two words out loud. “No, no of course not. I just figured you should know. I don’t. I mean, I don’t...like girls.”
Jackson nods, accepts this without pause and that “Good. More for me.”
And just like that, Danny has a new best friend.
***
He learns very quickly the acceptable social interactions of the Populars at Beacon Hills. He goes to wave at Stiles, across the cafeteria, when a pale, well manicured hand pulls his hand down. “Oh no honey. Just. No. Don’t encourage him. He might come over here and try to talk to us or something.”
Jackson snorts. “Stilinski has an epic boner for Lydia. It’s disgusting.”
Lydia makes a face, eyes shifting to Jackson. It’s not quite a frown. Danny thinks Lydia might be above frowning. “He worships me,” she says, after a long fashion. “Has since the third grade.”
Stiles is still staring from across the room, and Danny feels...bad. But then the boy just rolls his eyes, and flashes Danny an honest ‘what can you do?’ smile before he walks away.
Danny's stomach clenches again, squirmy and full of butterflies.
“Whatever, just don’t talk to him. He’s a freak.” Jackson says, with a disparaging little snort. “I heard his mother killed herself because she couldn’t handle him.”
“Jackson,” Lydia snaps, voice sharper than broken glass. “His mother died of cancer, you know that. If you’re going to gossip, at least bother to base it off truth.”
He doesn’t talk to Stiles. It’s obvious that the boy is...odd .But he’s smart too. He’s in all of Danny’s AP classes, and even has an independent study period in the library at the end of the day. Stiles mostly uses it to goof off, or sleep, or harass the librarian. Danny uses it to watch Stiles, from behind a computer monitor under the pretense of studying C++ as a hobby.
He fidgets. Can never sit still. Talks, and talks and talks. Sometimes to others. Mostly to himself. Danny can understand why someone like Jackson would call him a freak. Mostly though, he thinks Stiles is lonely.
He thinks about sitting down next to him. Talking to him. Asking him about the stack of graphic novels peeking out of his backpack, because Danny...well. He hasn’t read comics since he came to Beacon Hills. He’s cool now and...comics aren’t. He wants to ask Stiles about his mother. He wants to touch at least one mole (the one that sits on the angle of his jaw). He wants to tie the kids shoes, and maybe undo his pants while he’s down there and Jesus Christ where did that thought come from? Danny wouldn't even know what to do! (But maybe...maybe he has some ideas.)
His mind flashes back to the dreams -there’s more of them now. Sometimes they’re about Stiles belly. Just a few inches of it. Danny had been watching him once, when he’d stretched to reach a book on the top shelf and his shirt had ridden up. It’s flat and pale, and he has freckles there too. Moles, Danny’s mind supplies, and a thin little trail of hair beneath his navel. Danny doesn’t have that yet, though he’s got hair where he didn’t before. It’s not much, but it paints a path to...to other things. Things that make Danny’s palms sweat, and his own jeans tighten.
It’s confusing. He knows it’s normal, to think these things, to want these things. His mother has lamented the fact over and over to the point that the embarrassment faded away entirely. He finds himself wishing he had gym class with Stiles, and then remembers what his Uncle Jesse told him about always keeping his eyes up in the locker room because even accepting straight people didn’t want their junk oogled.
That memory, if nothing else, makes him flush a deep, dark red.
Of course, that’s when Stiles appears.
“You okay?” He asks, looking down at Danny’s red, red face with a bewildered expression. “You don’t look so hot.”
“I...” Danny begins, floundering. He never sounds this stupid around Jackson. But then, Jackson doesn’t make him squirm. “Headache,” he bites out, clenching his thighs around his semi.
“Headache, or...headache?” Stiles eyes narrow, mouth quirking at the sides. His gaze flashes to the computer screen. “Man, you’re face is beet-red and you’re doing the awkward boner chair dance. Although, I mean...html is usually what gets me going. But if fancy programming is what you’re into, I won't’ judge.”
“ HTML is for livejournal and myspace,” Danny says in a rush, startled by his own voice. He blinks, watching Stiles’ smile spread. “I like something with a little more....”
“Challenge?” Stiles suggests, and then laughs out right. “There are ten types of people in this world...”
The segue doesn’t make sense, but Danny finishes it anyway. “Those who know binary, and those who don’t.” He leans forward in his chair, and prop his elbows on the desk so his headache is a little less noticeable. He’s not sure it’s acceptable to discuss boners between two dudes, even under the guise of computer programming. He's not sure he wants Stiles looking at his boner.
“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your headache. Thanks for putting up with me.” Stiles rolls his eyes, at himself, and offers Danny a little wave as he backs away.
“I wasn’t,” Danny says, before he can get to far. “Putting up with you. I wasn’t.” Jackson’s voice rings out in his head, about freaks and Stiles. Danny can’t help but feel a little ashamed on Jackson's behalf.
Stiles turns mid-step, but doesn’t keep walking. He’s still smiling, eyes still bright. He smiles a little, just a peek of teeth behind pink lips and Danny feels a little faint. “It’s okay Danny-boy, I won’t tell.”
If his life were some sort of rom-com high school movie, the next day Danny would have boldly sat next to Stiles during lunch. The cafeteria would have fell silent. Danny might have even kissed Stiles to prove a point.
But, his life is not a movie. It’s not a prime-time series, or even one of those b-rate shows they use to fill late-night Fridays with. It’s not even high-school. He sits next to Jackson, drinks his diet coke, and listens to Lydia gossip, all while wondering why it even fucking matters. Junior High shouldn’t be so hard.