Chapter Text
The one thing about being in high school was that even after all they did to save the town, Stiles and Scott still had to go to class.
For Stiles, this was one of the hardest things he had to cope with since Scott was bitten and they had fallen down the supernatural rabbit hole. He would spend every free moment reading about creatures in the beastiary, and then show up in school and have to remember all of the formulas to calculate the speed of a car moving down an angled slope. Reading The Scarlet Letter for English no longer seemed important when he knew that there were things like werewolves and kanimas. And the things that they had not even encountered yet! What if the next thing that moved into Beacon hills was a witch or a gypsy or a wraith? These were all things that were possible according to the beastiary, and Stiles was stuck in high school in government, trying to focus on the lecture about balancing power between the three branches.
“Psst. Stiles. Do you get any of this?” Scott whispered loudly, tapping his pen on Stiles’ shoulder and trying to get his attention from behind him.
Stiles, who had not been paying much attention having already memorized this years ago, just nodded his head. “Scotty, just take notes. I’ll let you copy my notebook after school.” He tried not to wince at the tapping of the pen on his shoulder, even though it caused a shudder of memory through him. He had to keep school separated from the werewolf side of him.
“I’m hanging out with Allison after school today,” Scott said, reminding Stiles of their romantic reunion and his inevitable third wheeling.
After Scott’s grand kanima plan, he and Allison were supposed to be done for good. But, after their summer of not-love, they had a talk and decided to get back together for their senior year of high school. Scott claims it was because he won her over, but Stiles is fairly confident that Allison is doing it to spite her father. Either way, the star crossed lovers were back together and attached at the hip, which left Stiles out of the equation.
“Fine, I’ll text you a picture of the notes. Semantics!” Stiles whispered, trying to look like he was actively paying attention.
As if saved by some grace, the final period bell rang, releasing all of the sleepy and bored teenagers from the hot room. After the hour of class, Stiles could not remember a single thing that had been talked about, but he had a notebook full of notes to prove that he was at least there. He followed Scott out blindly, moving through the sea of students all rushing to leave the school.
He couldn’t help but feel lost. And he sort of hated that. It felt so teenager of him to feel lost and alone, but they were starting their senior year of high school and the aspects of his life that defined him the most had to be kept a secret. He couldn’t date anyone (not that anyone was lining up) because of this huge Werewolf secret that was looming over his shoulder. He would make friends outside of Scott, but then there would always be this double life he was living whenever wolf stuff became more important. Even now, within his research into all things supernatural, he found that he could potentially start training as an emissary or at the bare minimum, some light protection magic. All of these things made him an Other by normal standards.
But he was still going to be an Other by werewolf standards. He was a human boy running around with his stupid best friend and his hunter girlfriend. Even Lydia was something special, but not the same kind of Other that Stiles was. She was still dating Jackson, and he was taking to Derek’s pack better than anyone thought he would. He was embodying his new werewolf self, and Lydia was right there in the thick of things. Stiles was still an Other to Derek’s pack, and would continue to be as long as things remained the way they were.
And even after all the shit he’s been through, people couldn’t possibly view him as strong. They didn’t want to. But, dammit, he was a lot stronger than anyone thought. He had the scars to prove it.
“Hey Scott, do you think I’m weird?” Stiles asked, looking up for his friend. When he looked around, Scott was nowhere in sight, having probably already bailed to meet Allison. “Great now I’m talking to myself.” Stiles paused. “And now I’m doing it again. I’m crazy.”
“You can say that again,” Jackson said from behind him.
Stiles spun around to see Jackson and Lydia, walking down the hallway and pushing past him. “Lydia. Jackson. A pleasure, as always.”
“Keep talking to yourself, Stilinski, and people really will think you’re crazy,” Jackson said, smirking as they walked by. His tone wasn’t malicious, though. Almost teasing.
Lydia didn’t say anything. She just flipped her hair and smiled politely. Even after saving her and her boyfriend, it seemed as if Stiles still hadn’t quite earned her trust.
“Crazy for you, Jackson!” Stiles called out after them. He winced at his own words, knowing he was being stupid.
After all the kanima stuff, he was totally over Lydia. And over his hatred for Jackson. She had made her decision to love Jackson so clear that she saved him through magical love powers, and Jackson seemed to become a little more human around her. Hating anybody seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of monsters attacking.
***
Saturday nights were for Stiles’ own personal research, now that Scott was wrapped up in the fantasy of dating whilst in high school. It wasn’t like Stiles had anyone else to talk to, or hang out with. Derek’s pack seemed to have their own thing going, and their own little secrets that they were holding. They whispered to each other and were clumped together whenever possible, and infiltrating their trio seemed to be nearly impossible. Even if hanging out with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd was appealing, there was still the issue that they were Derek’s pack. Which meant that they were off limits to Stiles, who was so distinctly aligned with Scott at the moment.
He was up to the letter F in the beastiary, which brought on a massive section about fae and fairies that Stiles had to sift through and analyze. As if any of this was going to be helpful in the long run. Scott was so determined to stay out of anything supernatural related, and Stiles wasn’t on speaking terms with the other teenage supernatural beings in town that he knew. This research was not only for his own personal wellbeing, but for others. If he was going to be the weak human that was tagging along for every fight, he had to know his stuff.
He was waiting for his printer to print out a nice glossy drawing of a fairy, razor sharp teeth and all, when he heard a thump on the roof outside his window. Then, before he could react, Derek was pulling himself through the open window and into his room.
Stiles spun towards him, seated in his desk chair. He wished that he was surprised in any way, but at this point nothing that Derek did would surprise him. “What’s up, chicken butt?”
The expression on Derek’s face was priceless. He was both slightly taken aback and confused, which made his eyebrows do a little dance. It was kind of adorable, in a weird way. Stiles was going to pretend like his brain didn’t think that. Derek being adorable was going to be filed away under ‘Things that shouldn’t be mentioned again’.
“I need your help,” Derek said gruffly, his voice quiet.
“Asking for help? You’ve had some emotional growth in the past few months,” Stiles said, his hands clasping together in his lap.
“Are you going to do it or not,” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What kind of help? Because I have a very niche selection of things I can do,” Stiles said, gesturing towards the research piling up on his desk.
Derek rolled his eyes. “Research, genius.”
“So the Alpha can be sarcastic, good to know,” Stiles said, turning towards his desk and pretending to take a note. At Derek’s extended silence, he looked back to him. “Research on what?”
“Alpha packs.”
“A pack? Of Alphas? That can happen?” Stiles asked incredulously.
Derek rolled his eyes again. “Yes. Or I wouldn’t be asking. They are leaving vague threatening messages that I need to figure out.”
“Are they actual messages or weird symbolic things, like leaving a dead cat on your front porch?” Stiles asked, turning towards his computer. He quickly booted it up, waiting for Derek’s response. He had not come across anything regarding Alpha packs when reading the beastiary alphabetically, but that information was probably categorized under werewolf, which was the largest chapter.
“They keep leaving this,” Derek said, handing over a crumpled piece of paper.
The image was a sketched triskele, much like Derek’s tattoo, except there were corners and sharper lines coming from the center triangle. It was sharp and dangerous in every way that Derek’s triskele was smooth and soft.
“Does this mean anything to you?” Stiles asked, his fingers tracing the lines drawn onto the paper.
“Packs will leave their symbol if they are trying to challenge another pack for land or power. I don’t know much more than that,” Derek said quietly. To Stiles, he sounded almost sad at this reveal of information. It seemed as if Derek’s guard was starting to slip a little bit and reveal a little bit more about him. Then again, Stiles didn’t want to read too much into it.
“Come back tomorrow and I’ll let you know what’s what,” Stiles said, setting the paper down on his desk.
Derek simply nodded and vaulted himself back out the window. The sound of his feet hitting the ground was barely audible, and he was gone.
Stiles attempted to jump right into the research, but his hands paused. He looked back to where Derek was standing, trying not to imagine the way his soft hair was coiffed less rigidly, and the way his shoulders filled out his leather jacket. He was so undeniably attractive, and Stiles let himself live in that fantasy for a moment longer, imagining that Derek was still standing there. He couldn’t help but file that image away for later.
***
Stiles woke up slowly, like he did most Sunday mornings. He had spent most of the night before researching Alpha packs, and the information was piled on his desk before he had crashed hard. He barely had time to strip down to his underwear and throw himself into bed before he fell asleep last night, and he was enjoying the feeling of waking up slowly in the sunshine.
He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes, only to open them and see Derek at his desk.
“What the fuck?” Stiles asked, voice gravelly from sleep. “Why are you in my house?”
“Research,” Derek said simply, not even bothering to turn and look at Stiles. “Didn’t know you had that scar,” Derek added, his eyes flicking over to Stiles briefly.
Confused, Stiles looked down at his chest. There was a thin silvery scar that went down his chest, from the base of his collarbone to nearly his solar plexus. Stiles traced a hand down it absently, letting out a breath. “That’s the kind of permanent thing that happens when Gerard Argent decides torturing you is worth his time. I’ve got some more on my back,” Stiles said, looking down at his own hands, trying to push down the memories that were surfacing.
“Tortured?” Derek asked. The desk chair squeaked as Derek turned it, now facing Stiles. “Like Erica and Boyd?”
“It’s no big deal. Just got beat up pretty bad, mostly. He was moving on to round two when Chris came in and stopped him and let me go. Got an extra slap for demanding Erica and Boyd come with me, but Chris got us out of there before anything was permanent,” Stiles said, looking up to meet Derek’s gaze. He suddenly felt very vulnerable, sitting there in just his boxers. He didn’t want Derek to see him as weak.
“They said you rescued them, but–” Derek cut himself off. He clenched and unclenched his fists, quietly releasing a breath. “I didn’t know he did that to you.”
“Derek, no one does. Not even Scott. He was too wrapped up in Allison and the kanima situation that by the time he stopped to pay attention to me, it was irrelevant,” Stiles said, curling into himself, as if that was going to hide the scar on his chest. “Scott didn’t even notice the scar when we were changing in the locker rooms. You’re the first person to even really notice, which means that it’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Derek said quietly. Instead of saying more, he turned back to where the research was piled on the desk. “Get dressed and we can go over this.”
Stiles complied, trying not to let Derek see how shaken he was over this interaction. He walked over to his dresser and pulled out some clothes for the day, excusing himself to the bathroom to change and relieve himself.
The harsh lighting of the bathroom always made the scar on his chest seem more intense than it was. The cut was thin and shallow, and Stiles had applied a few butterfly bandages for safety but didn’t even bother going to the doctor. The ones on his back were more rough than even he could have anticipated. They were four lash marks from a whip.
“Stop it! She’s passed out, she can’t even speak!” Stiles screamed, voice ringing in the closed off basement.
“Shut up, boy!” Gerard yelled, open hand slapping Stiles across the face. His face took the entire impact, his arms tied above his head keeping him in place. “You keep running your mouth about protecting these filthy dogs, and you’re going to get punished like them.”
“They’re teenagers. Kids. Not dogs,” Stiles said quietly, face tucked into his arm.
“What did you say?” Gerard spat, getting up into Stiles’ face.
“They’re kids,” Stiles said louder. “Not dogs.”
“That’s it,” Gerard said, rounding Stiles. For a moment, there was quiet. Then the whip cracked and struck Stiles’ back, searing pain exploding from where it hit. Again and again and again, four total strikes. Stiles couldn’t help but cry out in pain at each strike, his whole body shaking with fear.
Stiles shook himself of the memory, trying to forget. Those cuts were harder to clean and harder to take care of. He knew that they had scarred up, but he wasn’t brave enough to look at them. Having those scars– those memories– were just another reason why Stiles felt so out of place in high school now. He had lived an entirely different life.
He had hidden his scars from the world. His father didn’t know. Neither did Scott. The only people who knew were Boyd and Erica, but he had avoided them since they had all been relieved from the horrors of the Argent basement. Not that any of them were eager to rehash the events again.
He pulled on new underwear and jeans but quickly realized he had left his shirt on the top of his dresser. Even though Derek had already seen him shirtless, he didn’t want to walk back into the room that way, or have Derek’s eyes looking over his scars. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about the whole thing.
He walked back into his room, turning to grab his shirt from where he had left it. He could feel Derek’s eyes on him, looking at his back where the other scars were. He pulled his shirt on quickly, wanting his skin covered as soon as possible. No one had said anything about them before, but then again, no one had ever talked to him when he was changing in the locker room. Scott hadn’t mentioned if his back looked marked up, but Scott was also extremely dense and unobservant.
“What made those scars?” Derek asked, not looking up from what he was reading.
“A whip,” Stiles said, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible. He rubbed his hands on the front of his jeans, palms sweating. He never felt nervous around Derek, but more unsettled. Right now, with his secret out and the most attractive man in Beacon Hills sitting in his bedroom, he was definitely feeling a little unsettled. In a weirdly good way.
“Gerard Argent whipped you,” Derek said, his hands stilling from where he was leafing through the pages. He slowly dropped the pages, his hands tightening into fists, knuckles white.
“Can we get to the research? Can I go over it?” Stiles asked, trying to move on. He really did not want to rehash the entire situation. Especially not with someone who was only using him for research, and probably couldn’t care less about him.
“Stiles, you have to tell me if something like that happens. It’s my job to protect–” he cut himself off, pushing the research into a pile. It seemed like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t, eyes sliding over to Stiles. “Explain the research.”
Ignoring the weird behavior, Stiles launched into his spiel about Alpha packs, and what the beastiary was telling him. There wasn’t that much to go off of, but Stiles gave him some info about Alpha bonds and the ways that Alpha’s can bond to each other, showing him the examples of twin Alphas or an Alpha mated pair as ruling leaders of a pack. All of the info was pretty much useless, because if a pack was challenging another pack, then there was very little that Derek could do besides meet the challenge.
“Any questions?” Stiles asked at the end of his long winded monologue.
“No.” Derek looked at Stiles, his expression carefully blank, but his eyes boring into Stiles’. It was as if he was looking deep into his soul, trying to convey a message that Stiles couldn’t figure out. He wished that Derek could use his words and just talk, but this significant look was all he was going to get.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his neck. He was attempting to dispel the awkward energy, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. All this significant looking was not helping the feelings Stiles had for Derek. Or the way that his heart leapt into his throat. Derek had to be hearing the too fast beating of his heart.
“If you’re hurt, I’m the first person you call,” Derek said sharply. He got up and moved back out through the window, leaving Stiles alone in his room.
“Fucking Derek,” Stiles muttered. He got up and threw himself onto his bed, closing his eyes and hoping that he could somehow sleep a little bit longer.