Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

1;

He didn't get a second on his own before he heard the distinctive voice of his best friend, Scott McCall.

Stiles glanced at him when he felt Scott's heavy hand patting his shoulder as a greeting, his action a little rougher than he probably intended to be. He was about to get a word out when Scott began his babble about his super hyper mega great date with Allison, "Dude, you're not gonna believe it, but last night—"

His hand reached to pull open his locker after putting in the correct combination, the metal creaking as it did, and he immediately started digging through the mess —loose notebooks papers with random notes, a crushed Dr.Pepper can got pushed and clattered around the confined space, a few pens that no longer worked— until he caught his math book wedged in the corner and hidden behind a dirty tee he forgot to bring home. He swapped it with his history book, a class that he won't be having today, and half-listened to Scott as he continued to talk.

"Good morning to you too, Scotty," he muttered low enough for his best friend to hear, but it did nothing to stop the babbling. So instead, he decided he had to half tune in to what Scott was saying and could then react accordingly.

He tried —really, really tried— to keep out the words he didn't want to hear that reached his ears despite the buzzing sound of the busy hallway, too bad he heard what he can only consider as knowledge of the Argent girl he didn't need to know as intimately as he heard Scott narrate their very, very... Eventful date night. He caught bits of "her smooth and perfect skin" and the unavoidable "sweet scent of her—"

"Scotty—" Stiles winced, his free hand coming up to put a stop to Scott's words, "Too much info, man," Stiles cut him off before he could say more than needed, not at all interested in knowing that much about his best friend's girlfriend, something Scott never seem to realize, considering the amount of details he had been told in the past year. He watched Scott nodding sheepishly, but his content grin was still very much there.

And such grin of his only grew wider when he heard his girlfriend making her way over to them. Damn those werewolf senses... Stiles thought to himself as he watched his best friend's stand just the tinniest bit straighter as she rounded the corner. Allison greeted her boyfriend with a short kiss and showed a bright smile at Stiles, who returned it after erasing Scott's words from his brain.

Stiles closed his locker and put his math book in his messenger bag strapped across his chest. Finally —somehow— Scott seemed to realize a minuscule but important detail.

"Man, sorry, I... I forgot about... The thing we talked about," Stiles looked at Scott, straining to hear his whispers over the sound of the buzzing hallways. He was definitely trying to make sure Allison wasn't listening, which it seemed she wasn't, since she was typing away on her phone, and leaned forward, keeping his voice low and just audible to him, "I will make it up to you, I promise."

He stilled for a moment, just thinking briefly, and remaining as calm as he could, avoiding any kind of emotion his best friend could pick up.

He really wanted to believe in Scott. The words 'I promise' tended to be pretty heavy and shouldn't be used so lightly, but... He's already been told those words by Scott before, and unfortunately, he had never been able to keep the promise either of the both times he has said them since being bitten.

Stiles sighed and smiled at his best friend, patting his shoulder more gently than he had done a few minutes ago, deciding to simply... trust that his best friend will not let him down yet again,"Sure, Scotty, you can make it up to me by..." he trailed on for a moment, and he caught sight of a student walking past them with a Star Wars backpack. Oh, he knew how Scott could make it up to him after ditching their gaming night for a last-minute date with Allison, "We're watching as many Star Wars movies as we can tonight."

Scott looked like he wanted to argue against it, but the look on Stiles' face made him sigh, his shoulders sagging as he nodded. "Deal, man, I'll be there after work."

Stiles chuckled at how miserable Scott looked, knowing it was mostly an act, when the groan coming from Allison caught their attention. Obviously, something on her phone pissed her off.

"What is it?" Scott asked, going into protective-werewolf-boyfriend mode, taking a step closer to the girl. She looked up at him and pursed her lips before looking back down and starting to type.

"Kate," she replied with a sigh, a frown appearing on her brow, "She's asking me to cover for her while she's at Derek's." Scott hummed in acknowledgement while Stiles rolled his eyes, already guessing what had happened.

"Thought they broke up," Scott added after a few seconds of silence, where Allison finished her conversation and put her phone away.

"They did."

Oh, Kate Argent and Derek Hale, known as the school's relationship strobe light— on again, off again a hundred times.

This time, Stiles' head rolled along with his eyes at Allison's words, emphasizing how done he was with those two for the past two years, "That's why I'm still single," he mumbled to himself, a little too quick, a little too casual to be entirely believable even for himself, and he pushed away from his locker, ready to head to class. God knew what Harris would do if he walked into the classroom late.

"You sure it isn't because of your inability to stay quiet for longer than two seconds, Stilinski?" A surprised yelp escaped his mouth at the sudden sound of another voice coming up from behind him, and turning around, he saw them.

Jackson Whittemore, co-captain of the lacrosse team and boyfriend of his life-long crush, Lydia Martin, who happened to be standing next to him, holding onto his arm.

It took about five seconds for his brain to catch up to what the blond had said, and he spluttered for an answer to that comment, but he turned to glare at Scott when he heard him chuckle, "Traitor," he mumbled to himself, but knowing them well both werewolves could easily hear him and he looked back at Jackson, who was looking at him with the usual superior grin he always wore around Stiles.

"I'm just... Waiting, yeah, waiting for the right person, Jackson. I am quite an acquired taste after all, you know," he tried to go for nonchalant, but he was sure Scott and Jackson heard his blatant lie, yet they decided to stay quiet. Though he attributed it to the first bell ringing, letting them know they should make their way to their respective classes.

They walked together for a bit before Scott and Lydia split to the hall on the right to their history class, then Allison and Jackson continue walking ahead as they walked to math, which is Stiles' second class of the day, but now... He dreads walking to his advanced chemistry class, with the teacher who seemed to have a personal vendetta against poor little Stiles Stilinski. Maybe he was hated because he's a junior taking a senior class but that's not his fault, though it probably is because he talks before thinking and has pissed off Harris more times than he dares count since freshman year. (Exactly, two hundred and seventy eight times since he met the guy.)

Thankfully, it didn't look like Harris arrived at class yet, and he's glad. But then...

"Wow, okay—"

This class he —unfortunately— shared with no other than Derek Hale himself, who's currently... Leaning against the front of this desk with Kate pressed against his front, kiss— well, they were making out quite intensely, and Stiles could've gone another year without having that scene burned in his retinas.

He huffed and adjusted his grip on the strap of his bag as he shuffled a bit, ready to reach his seat by the window. "They'll break up soon enough... " he mumbled to himself, and I won't have to see any of that ever again, he added in his head instead of letting it out for everyone with enhanced hearing to, well, hear him.

He took a step forward but suddenly stopped. Something —instinct, maybe, or just the uncomfortable prickle feeling crawling up the back of his neck— made him pause mid-step.

Don't look.

Every cell in his body seemed to be screaming at him to not look.

So, naturally, he did.

His honey-colored eyes glanced over at Derek, and he found himself holding eye contact with Derek's hazel eyes.

He was very much still kissing Kate, his grip on her hips tightening and still really involved in shoving his tongue down her throat, but his stare... It wasn't a chance glance, and it wasn't accidental.

Stiles felt his breath still in his chest at the intensity of it all. He felt his mouth go dry and he didn't even think about it, just dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, and bit on it, trying to ground himself through the brief sting of pain. The action caused Derek's eyes to shine bright blue. A shiver ran down his spine, making his whole body shudder, and for a moment, he felt like nothing else but weak, exposed... like prey.

His grip tightened, and he took a deep breath in, swallowing nervously and tearing his eyes away from the two as the second bell rang. He could hear more students approaching the classroom, so he really knew he should move out of the way, and so that's what he did. Still feeling the uncomfortable weight of Derek's stare, he moved, probably too fast, but he didn't stop, didn't look back, and didn't allow himself to think about it for longer than the half second their stares lingered on each other.

As the classroom filled, he knew the shiver that racked his body wasn't caused by the breeze coming from the open window, mostly because there was no breeze outside. The shiver started low, at the base of his spine and crawled its way up to the back of his neck, sharp and almost electric, until it settled on his tense shoulders and his breath caught in his throat.

When the heavy feeling finally dissipated, he risked a glance over and was relieved to find out the couple was no longer making out, and Derek's eyes were back to normal, now looking at Kate with a subtle smug smirk pulling at his lips.

His eyes peeled themselves away from the two, and picked up his messenger bag from the floor next to his foot, placing it on his desk and pulling out a notebook and a random loose pen, dropping the bag back to the floor. He opened it and twirled the pen in his fingers.

He barely had time to re-read his last notes to refresh his memory on the previous lesson when the class went wholly quiet. He spared a quick glance to confirm that, in fact, Harris had walked in. "Miss Argent, please head out to your class."

Kate groaned before hopping off Derek's desk and latching her mouth onto him again. Stiles rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair, hearing the clicking sound of her heeled boots as she left the classroom, walking past Harris and whipping her blonde curls as she did. Briefly, he focused on the teacher. He wore dark brown dressing pants and a matching blazer, open to show the deep blue dressing shirt underneath, already radiating the particular brand of disdain everyone was so familiar with— Stiles even more so.

"Mr. Stilinski," he had barely glanced back down when his name was called, and he felt his shoulders tense, his hand gripping his pen tighter, and his eyes shot up again, not caring about lifting his head, looking at Harris through his lashes. He was unbothered while staring down at his attendance sheet, "I'd say I'm surprised to see you on time, but I would be giving you too much credit."

"Anything to see my favorite teacher," he replied cheerfully with a condescending smile, tapping an even rhythm with his pen on his desk. He could almost feel the whole class rolling their eyes at them.

Well, not his problem, Harris was the one who seemed to hate Stiles' guts before the poor boy even got a chance of actually getting the dude to hate him. He's proud of that one, hate at first sight, almost feels like no one would believe that's a thing, but Stiles knows better.

Finally, Harris lifted his gaze, glasses slightly sliding down his nose, staring at Stiles with the stare of a man who'd aged ten years because of one student, "One more sound out of you before I finish roll call, and you'll be joining me on detention today. Again."

Pursing his lips, Stiles mimicked a zipper over them and kept a steady bounce on his leg, sighing as quietly as he could. The mere sound of his breathing would be considered reason enough for getting detention.

His eyes drifted away before he could stop himself.

Two rows to his right and one ahead was Derek, arms crossed on his desk, leaning forward, and his head twisted slightly to the side, looking behind him.

At Stiles.

God, he hated it. So much.

He resisted his fidgeting and looked down at his open notebook, hearing the muffled sound of Harris calling attendance, and tried his best to ignore Derek's heavy stare. This was something that had been happening... for a while now. Why? He had no idea, and honestly? He was afraid to ask. His assumption was that it had something to do with the whole being a werewolf thing, but he hadn't been able to find anything on the 'werewolf deadly glare' so he was pretty much in the dark when it came to figuring out Derek's behavior toward him.

It always felt like he knew everything about Stiles, and he wasn't a fan of that. He felt exposed, as if he wore his feelings on his sleeve and was an open book. He liked to think that he was quite deceiving, but maybe that was just his wishful thinking.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, and stared forward, realizing Harris had already started the day's lesson, so he tuned in on what he was saying, glad to have something else to focus, even if it meant listening to the asshole dude he had as a teacher.

He scribbled a few things on the paper and randomly doodled on the margin of the page, a spiral here, another spiral there, one more and... we join them!

Keeping on with a few more of the same doodles, he half-listened to Harris giving his lecture on reaction rates, and Stiles lasted about four minutes before his big mouth betrayed him.

"—which is why temperature increases the rate exponentially."

"It's more like about collision theory and activation energy," Stiles muttered under his breath, definitely trying to keep it to himself.

But he has shit luck, so of course Harris heard him loud and clear, as if he had shouted the words in his ear.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Stilinski?"

The room went silent.

Well, not entirely silent, never completely silent, there were the distant and echo-y sounds coming from outside the classroom of other classes happening at the same time, but it felt like even the smallest sound would pierce everyone's ears with how quiet the classroom had become in the span of two seconds.

Stiles' scribbling hand froze at the call of his name.

Just his luck...

He closed his eyes for half a second, as if that might rewind time to the last ten seconds, just to be sure he won't speak a word, and yet, it didn't happen, the world didn't work that way, so... he had to keep moving forward with his actions, no matter the consequences (he was so sure he was getting detention today. Again.)

When he opened his eyes and looked up with a slow movement, Stiles forced a smile on his face.

"No, I uh—I was just thinking out loud," he replied with a subtle shrug of his left shoulder.

Harris' eyes narrowed behind his dark-framed glasses, before a small smug grin graced his lips.

"Then perhaps," he spoke, his voice slightly sharper than before, "You can enlighten us with your thought process."

Okay, now he's the center of attention. Most of the class was used to their bickering back and forth —most times started and perpetuated by Harris himself, the asshole— and they were mostly ignored by the majority of the class, but now? Now Stiles could accurately pinpoint every single pair of eyes locked onto him and Harris, and... it didn't feel as nice as he once thought it would feel.

His grip tightened on his pen. He could easily say no, he could sit there quietly, take detention and be done with this class.

He didn't.

"Well, I mean," he started, pushing himself slightly more upward so he was sitting a little bit straighter, "It's not just temperature, right? It's uh... particle movement, frequency of collisions, activation of energy thresholds—"

"Are you teaching this class, Stilinski?" Harris' voice interrupted him.

He closed his mouth shut, immediately.

"Nope," he made sure to pop the 'p' as he said it.

"Then I suggest you refrain from interrupting again when you can't seem to follow a simple lesson," whether he heard the quiet sounds of laughing around him, he decided to pretend he didn't. It was better for his psyche that way.

Stiles nodded once, slow and controlled, already detaching himself from the remainder of the class, eyes dropping to his notebook, glazing over his half-assed notes and margin scribbles.

"Right. Got it."

His voice came out light, almost too light.

The class returned to normal but he was no longer paying attention to anything that was happening, if anything, he could always ask around for class notes if he needed them, but knowing himself, he was gonna be fine.

He even managed to ignore the pulling feeling in his gut.

The cafeteria was loud.

Well, it wasn't just loud, it was overlapping. Voices and laughter came from every place, tangling words of one with words of other, and sometimes there was no coherent sound at all, just... loud buzzing.

Stiles trailed slightly behind Scott and Liam, babbling incessantly about his morning class with Harris. He followed them to the last empty table and sat down across from his best friend, and Liam took a seat to Scott's left. His tray slid slightly as he placed it down rather carelessly, and he picked a carrot from his salad, placing it in his mouth and munching on it as he continued his rant.

"I swear, Scotty, Harris has a vendetta against me, man," he reiterated, now picking a cheese stick —definitely not mozzarella but cheap off-brand cheese— and using it to point accusingly at absolutely no one, "Like... I have no idea what I did to the dude, but had to have been bad, like-villain origin story level bad, because I swear that guy wakes up every-damn-day and chooses violence just because he has free will."

He bit into his cheese stick with clear annoyance and chewed rather obnoxiously, something obvious if the way Liam looked at him with a sneer and small recoil told him anything.

Scott simply chuckled and picked up some salad with his plastic fork.

"But the worst thing, the worst I tell ya, was..." he leaned forward, nearly tipping his water bottle over, but Liam held it and fixed it, "I walk into class, right? And— what do I see?"

Scott and Liam shared a look, already knowing where this was going, but Stiles didn't wait for them to say anything.

"Derek Hale and Kate Argent, fucking— Well, no, not fucking but—" he flailed his arms around and frowned briefly at the snicker both guys in front of him let out, "Fucking making out for everyone to see, zero shame, nearly humping, too early in the fucking morning—"

"Didn't take you for a voyeur, Stilinski," a particular known voice spoke from behind him. He didn't even have the chance to look at Jackson when he was suddenly shoved out of his chair to one beside it.

"Hey—!"

Jackson sat on the seat he was previously sitting on, and he reached over to drag his tray over to himself.

"First of all, gross, I'm not—" Stiles started his argument at Jackson's words, picking up another cheese stick, "A voyeur. It's called being unwillingly exposed to human indecency, thank you very much. And second," he pointed the stick accusingly at Jackson, this time with reason and intention, "I was sitting there, ya asshole."

Right as he had gotten comfortable in his new seat, he was shoved out of it again. And again. And again. Until he was sitting on the complete opposite side of Scott and Liam, the whole table was overtaken by the lacrosse team —which he was not part of anymore— now, and thankfully, he managed to keep his tray in front of him and his lunch untouched by foreign hands.

Scott even managed to look sorry for half a second about the turn of events when Allison came up with Lydia in tow, and suddenly, Stiles didn't exist anymore in the world of Scott's priorities. He huffed and slouched in his seat, stuffing his lunch in his mouth and washing it all down with big gulps of water —dying because he choked on food wasn't the way he wanted to go—, and rolled his eyes at every dumb and superficial thing he heard from about ninety percent of the lacrosse team.

He even considered leaving the cafeteria for the library to keep reading up some more on the supernatural beings known to day, when someone —Danny, you're a saint!— called out his name and started up a conversation with him, alongside Greenberg, who was actually the nicest guy ever, even if no one understood what Coach Finstock had against the poor guy. Stiles used to think it was kind of an inside joke, but it had been going on for so long that it started to feel more real the longer it passed.

He had recently been taking a liking for programming and computer science, so he and Danny tended to discuss it whenever they had a chance, but they decided to change their conversation topic for the sake of Greenberg, who looked as lost as a cow on a roof.

While he at some point expected to have Scott's attention back on him, the remainder of lunch time went by uneventfully.

As did the rest of the day, despite the wearying feeling of a heavy stare everywhere he went.

And finally, already in the safety and comfort of his home, after reminding Scott of their plans for the night, he chose to pass the time while his best friend ended his work shift at the animal clinic.

Stiles had remained Scott the way to make it up to him right as they headed to the parking lot of the school, he finally —finally!— had to watch as many movies from the Star Wars saga together with Stiles that night, starting with the original trilogy. Hopefully, they would get enough sleep for class tomorrow, but he was pretty hyped about being able to watch something he loved to bits with Scott and enjoyed referencing whenever there was a chance.

While getting the first movie set up on the TV in the living room, he kept remembering the conversation he had with Scott less than thirty minutes ago.

"Don't forget," he tapped Scott's shoulder as he walked backwards past him toward his old and trusty Jeep, "You promised me, bro."

Scott groaned and dragged his hand down his face, probably regretting his words in the early morning by Stiles' locker, "Dude—"

"Nope," Stiles quickly cut him off, before he could let the Scott McCall puppy eyes he always folded for. Not this time, no sirree! "No take-backsies, no re-scheduling, no sudden tragic girlfriend-related emergencies, it's happening whether you want it to or not."

Well, of course he wasn't a monster. If Scott had a serious situation he couldn't not attend, he was gonna let him go— he wouldn't be happy about it, but he would understand why he needed to leave.

Scott slightly hesitated, but managed a small smile, "Yeah, fine. I'll be there after work," he gave in with a nod, rolling his eyes at Stiles' victory fist bumping the air.

He got slightly startled by the movie soundtrack while still lost in thought, and managed to pause the movie before it went forward more than it should.

"Movie's set, now... snacks, and drinks," he rushed over to the kitchen, opened the pantry where he knew his dad "hid" his unhealthy snacks, thinking Stiles would never find them, and served them in a few bowls, filling up his arms with them and taking them to the coffee table, spacing eveything out so both he and Scott could easily pick anything they wanted.

Now—

"Well," he tilted his head and stared at the couch, "Might as well wait until he's here, or the drinks will get warm," he nodded determined to himself and plopped on the couch, wincing at the ominous creaking he created by doing so, "I will be your demise, my dear, and I'm sorry."

He rubbed his hand on the cushion, like petting a dog, as he said sorry to the old couch.

Letting out a sigh, Stiles stared at the paused movie on the TV screen, and looked over at the clock hung on the wall. Scott would be out of his shift in ten minutes, so he should be coming around in about thirty-five to forty, and in the meantime —because Stiles can't sit still, ever— he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and opened a random game on it, just anything to help him pass the time.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, he realized he should probably start cooking dinner to bring over to the station to his dad, just to make sure he wasn't eating junk.

Quickly typing a message to his dad, he let him know about him coming over later with dinner ready, and all he got back was an 'okay, son'.

Getting up to head to the kitchen, he managed to whisk together a quick, tasty and healthy meal for him and his dad, he wasn't gonna be mean and eat junk in front of the old man, this was an act of solidarity. Definitely.

Forgetting the fact that he would probably be eating junk later on in the week anyway.

"Eh, details."

Getting all the food proportionally equal on two square tupperwares, he shot Scott a text about heading out for a bit and that he knew where the spare key was— not that Stiles was known for locking the front door, but it was the Sheriff's house, who was gonna break in, anyway?

Putting the food in a random tote bag they had hanging around, he went over to the front door and fished his keys from the small ceramic bowl they kept on the table by the door, and walked out, closing the door behind him and strolling over to his Jeep.

Getting the bag on the passenger seat and getting comfy behind the wheel, he took off to the police station, tapping a random rhythm against the steering wheel the whole way there, humming along to a different song, but he managed to make both rhythms somehow fit rather nicely.

Easing the Jeep on one of the empty visitor spots at the back, he snatched the bag and walked all the way around to the front. He recognized all three cruisers out front, Parrish's, Tara's and his dad's.

He walked up the few steps and opened the front door, greeting Valerie at the front desk, "Hey, kiddo," he smiled at her and she buzzed him inside the bullpen.

"Hey, Val, long time," she smiled back at him and nodded in agreement. He hadn't been around as often as he did when he was a kid— he just stopped being around when he was old enough to be left home alone without the possibility of killing himself without constant adult supervision.

He greeted every deputy on his way to his dad office, even Haigh had managed a grunted greeting at him, which he gave back with the same disdain as the deputy and made a whole show of knocking on his father's open office door, staring right into his dad's tired blue eyes, eying him with amusement and fondness. The name plate on his desk shining off the light, reading 'Sheriff J. Stilinski'.

Stiles grinned widely at his dad as he stepped inside the office, watching how the man behind the desk moved a few of his files away to make room for the bag with food.

"Hey, kid," the sheriff said, taking the tupperware and fork handed to him with a tired smile on his face, watching Stiles sitting on the chair across from him with his own share of food.

"How you doin', pops?" Stiles asked while pulling the lid off, glad the food was still rather warm and setting the container on the cleared space of the desk, holding his fork properly to take his first bite.

"As always, tired, but at least... there's no supernatural stuff going on around," Stiles nodded with a hum, chewing on his food enough and pushing it against his cheek before talking.

"What about the case you were working on last week?" His dad looked at him with an unimpressed glint in his eyes and shook his head as he too got some food on his fork.

"Discussing an on-going case is not something I would openly share with a teenager," they held eye contact for five seconds before the Sheriff leaned forward slightly, "At least not in public."

Stiles snorted and almost choked on his food, saved by the water bottle his dad handed him in a split second, as if expecting that reaction out of him.

"How was school?" Clearing his throat and trying not to cough, Stiles set the bottle down, getting some more food in his mouth.

"The usual, had chemistry first thing today, God... I hated every second of it, even more than usual," John kept his stare on his son, gauging his mood based on his body language. Stiles swallowed his food before continuing, "But at least Scotty is coming over to finally watch Star Wars with me, can you believe that?" He added with a wide, optimistic smile on his face.

The Sheriff frowned slightly, as if as surprised as his son, "That's unsual, even for Scott."

Stiles hummed in agreement, stuffing his mouth with another bite, "Well, he did promise me he would make it up to me for yesterday."

The moment he said those words, he winced, forgetting he hadn't mentioned the 'Scott ditching him constantly' to his dad, the Sheriff, who was pretty good at intimidation tactics and also carried wolfbane bullets on him at all times.

His father didn't have to say anything about it, the weight of his icy stare was enough of a speech for Stiles' mouth to loosen.

"He agreed to help with a dungeon in a game, but he didn't show up— it's fine though!" He hurried to defend his friend, "The rest of the war party had stuff coming up last minute so no harm done."

Lie.

That was an utter, ugly lie.

The war party was pissed at him because they had to sacrifice their damage to keep their one and only tank —him— alive the whole dungeon. It wasn't easy. He did promise them not to get Scott dragged to his gaming community ever again after that.

"Anyway, enough about Scott, how's the food?"

The change of subject was accepted with a sigh, and they kept their chatting going the whole time they ate their dinner, and even got a little candy bar from Parrish. Sugary one for Stiles, and sugar-free for his dad.

"Favoritism," his dad had accusingly pointed at Parrish, who chuckled, ruffled Stiles' hair, ignoring his annoyed grunt, and left for his desk.

Parrish barely took three steps out of the office before Stiles opened his candy bar and snapped a piece, tossing it in the air and catching it with ease.

"Definitely the favorite Stilinski around, I'm too adorable, pops," he announced with a cheeky grin on his face, breaking off another piece of his candy.

"Debatable," his dad muttered in reply, but there was an easy smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

Stiles faked a gasp, hand on his chest, "Betrayal, by my own blood. Outrageous."

His dad chuckled and picked up his candy bar, opening it and taking a bite. He probably expected something rather gross and tasteless, but surprisingly for him, it was rather good, so he finished it around the same time Stiles finished with his.

"Welp," slapping his knees, Stiles stood up from his chair and threw the wrappers in the trash while John put the empty, dirty tupperware back in the bag, handing it to his son, "Time to head home, Scott's probably waiting for me by now."

He leaned over the desk to give his dad a brief, awkward half-hug before stepping toward the office door, "Drive safe, son," he waved his hand over his shoulder at his dad.

"Always do, pops."

The expectation in his chest died down when, turning right on his house's street, he could already see the driveway and curb still empty, no bike in sight, so—

"No Scotty yet," he pressed his lips in a tight line.

He parked his Jeep in the driveway and grabbed the bag on his way out. His house was dark when he walked in, since he hadn't needed to turn the lights on when he left, so he carelessly dropping his keys in the bowl, hearing the clanking sound, and thankful they didn't fall out, and made a beeline for the kitchen down the hallway across from the front door.

Reaching out, Stiles turned on the kitchen light and made his way to the sink, getting the tupperware out of the bag —which he put away before he forgot— and started washing the containers, trying to keep his mind off the disappointing feeling growing in his chest.

Every part of his brain told him that Scott was on his way, just got held up at work for... something. He didn't know, maybe a dog came in with barbed wire around its feet, maybe a cat lady brought her cats over because one sneezed too loud, maybe a wolf—

The image of Derek Hale flashing in his mind made him flinch.

He blinked a few times to rid himself of the sudden image, and closed the still running water, drying his hands and then the now clean containers before putting them away. A big sigh escaped him when he was done, and he turned around, turning the light off his way out of the kitchen back into the living room, and sat on the couch.

Stiles' eyes stared at the still paused movie, then down at the scattered snacks and another sigh echoed in the quiet of his house. He backed out of the movie, and turned one of his consoles, deciding to pass the time gaming for a bit.

The clock on the wall read twenty past seven, so if Scott got there in the next ten minutes, they could get through one movie, at least.

He was nothing but optimistic, after all. Great trait of his. Well, most times being optimistic was great.

Minutes flew by, and honestly? He wasn't even that invested in what he was playing, so he decided to ditch gaming, turned everything off —console, TV— and brought a bowl of snacks with him to his room after putting the rest away in a ziplock bag that he hid somewhere his dad wouldn't find.

Closing his room door behind him, he kept his light off as he sat on his desk and turned his laptop on, deciding to distract himself with some reading. He clicked on a bookmark of his favorite blog and opened a few others he was used to reading through.

One of those blogs was run by Allison's grandfather, Gerard. Stiles wasn't a fan of him, the stuff he wrote was too speciesist so he tended to skip on that one most times, unless Chris Argent posted something. Hunter or not, he knew a lot. Another blog, arguably his favorite, was rumored to belong to Alpha Hale, though he doubted it.

He met Talia Hale a handful of times before, and she always seemed like the type to keep everything recorded on pen and paper. If the blog was run by a Hale, it was either her husband, Michael, or her younger brother, Peter.

Stiles stayed up reading for hours, fixated on the pixies and fairies stories the Hales knew about and chose to share with anyone interested. One moment it was 'oh, cute shining little things,' and the other was 'oh, they kidnap people, nice'. He learned a lot from them, rather shocked at first, I mean, who knew they were evil little shits? Not Stiles, that was for sure.

Briefly glancing over at the time on the bottom right corner, Stiles read the time. Twenty till midnight.

He sighed, defeated, and stood up from his chair, going to his dresser to snatch his pyjama off the top, everything on it almost toppling over at his precarious actions, but he didn't care. Quickly changing out of his day's clothes, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, relieve himself, and then headed back to his room when he was done.

Closing his door behind him, Stiles dragged his feet and shut his laptop, turned around, and plopped on his bed, bouncing slightly on it when he landed. He turned on his left, staring at the soft moonlight coming through his blinds, and landing on his carpeted floor. He blinked a few times, his body exhausted despite doing virtually nothing that required physical exertion, his mind feeling the same way, that- he had an excuse for feeling mentally exhausted.

He closed his eyes, keeping them shut and ready to fall asleep for the night.

And then his phone dinged on his bedside table.

With a groan, he opened his eyes and held himself up on his elbow, snatching it off the charger cable -hoping he didn't damage his poor, poor cable- and stared at the message on his blocked screen.

It was a message from Scott.

He read it over a few times, not sure how he was supposed to feel about it, and simply plugged his phone back in, dropped it where it was, and turned to face the other way.

Stiles could distinctly hear Scott's voice in his head, and he couldn't help but feel like a dumbass for believing the words 'I promise' meant anything to Scott anymore.

[Asthma King 👑]

srry man sum came up with ally and i frgt

Of course something came up with Allison. "Again." He muttered angrily to himself in the dark and got more comfortable under his covers, ready to just forget that day even happened.

Stiles had trouble trying to convince himself that whatever happened with Allison required Scott's immediate attention, but even if he tried to convince himself of that, there was an unease that settled deep in his bones that he couldn't shake off.

Keeping his eyes closed and attempting to fall asleep, Stiles figured he could get Scott to hang out with him after school. If anything, it'll be a new day, same disappointment.

The faintest sunlight just peeking through his blinds was enough to stir him awake. Blinking a few times, Stiles lifted his head off his pillow, looking around with bleary eyes and letting a yawn soon after. He mindlessly scratched his chin and slowly sat up on the bed, letting his covers pool around his hips.

His hand reached to tap on his phone, reading the time.

Realizing he woke up too late to have breakfast, Stiles groaned and got off the bed, stumbling his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Taking a shower was also out of the question- if he did, he would have to break at least a couple of traffic laws by speeding over to school, so he simply got dressed, put on his shoes, grabbed his messenger bag, and hopped down the stairs, rounding over to the kitchen. He grabbed a can of Dr.Pepper off the fridge, looked around for some granola bars he kept around for this reason, and rushed over to the front door.

Picking up his keys and swirling them around in his hand, he walked out of the house and jogged the short distance to his Jeep— his beloved Roscoe, poor thing had been with him through thick and thin since the day he got her. God, he loved that Jeep to bits.

Stiles debated turning on the radio and listening to some music until he remembered at the last second that the thing had stopped working last summer and he never got around to fixing it. Oh well, no music like always, nothing new at this point. At least he had something to nibble on and a nice drink to take big gulps from.

He drove as fast as he could, right under the speed limit, and parked his Jeep in its usual spot in a corner. His eyes had caught sight of Scott's bike as he passed it and he was reminded of last night's fiasco.

Parking in his spot, he unbuckled his seatbelt and picked up his bag before getting off. Stiles fixed the strap across his chest and made his way to the front door, ignoring everyone on his way to his locker- not that anyone tried to talk to him, either way.

Spotting his locker from a few meters away, Stiles could see Scott's frame resting on the locker next to his, a dumb look plastered on his face. Scott could definitely smell him or he picked up the particular pit-pattern of his heartbeat, because he turned to look directly at him, and... Stiles couldn't stay mad at him whenever his best friend pulled the puppy eyes on him.

He found himself smiling at him, a lot more genuine than he'd expected, but this was Scott. He was years of friendship and habit and comfort and loyalty.

"Dude, if you smile at me like at I'll feel bad," well, Stiles wasn't sure that was the best way to start a conversation.

So he just rolled his eyes and turned to put in the combination to open his locker, "I'll look at you however I want, traitor," the word comes out more truthful than playful, but either way, Scott didn't take it seriously —this is Scott he's talking to, he won't ever be serious— and he laughed openly at Stiles' words.

"Either way, I'll make up to you soon," this time, Stiles doesn't agree out loud to it, doesn't give ideas of how Scott could make it up to him, and doesn't mention the previous times he had been ditched that week. And it's only Thursday. Hopefully, Friday and the weekend will show a different turn of events.

Instead, he decided to do what he does best.

Rant.

Non-stop ranting about every single thing he learned the previous evening about fairies and pixies.

He got even chirpier the moment he realized Scott was actually listening to him this time. Not that he ignored him often, but lately— yeah, lately he had, so this was a good thing Stiles was gonna definitely gonna take advantage of.

"Everybody thinks fairies are all sparkles and flower crowns and little tea parties, right? Wrong! All fake, propaganda, shameless fairy propaganda," searching around his locker for his needed book, Stiles proceeded to explain when Scott incredulously asked if he was being serious.

He heard his best friend snort as he slammed his hand against the inside of the locker while trying to shove an unrelated book to the side, "You stayed up reading fairy propaganda?"

Shaking his hand to get rid of the pain —not like it would work, but it was all placebo effect, right? It'll work as long as he believes it does— and frowned at Scott from around the open door.

"I spent all night uncovering the terrifying truth, okay?" And it was worth it, he told himself as he remembered the fun he had reading all of it- whether that feeling lasted after he was done was something he didn't acknowledge. Alas—finally!— he found his Economics book and pulled it inside his bag, closing his locker and almost getting his fingers caught, "Did you also know pixies used to be blamed for people getting lost in the woods?"

Scott frowned, slightly skeptical, "Aren't people just bad with directions? I know I am—was."

Stiles huffed a laugh and slapped Scott's shoulder.

"Still are, Scotty, very much still are," his friend looked at him with an unimpressed look in his eyes, and he decided to continue with his ranting, "They can apparently mimic sounds, like crying or voices. Tiny manipulative freaks."

As if summoned by the word freaks, Liam wandered over with Mason and Hayden nowhere to be seen, backpack drooping off his shoulder and still looking half asleep.

"Who's a manipulative freak?"

"Pixies," Stiles replied without missing a beat.

Liam blinked slowly, brain struggling to catch up, "Like... Tinker Bell?"

"First of all, Tinker Bell is a fairy," Stiles corrected him immediately, offended on behalf of mythology itself —no matter how unlike Tinker Bell real fairies were—, "And second, pixies are evil little forest cryptid shits."

Scott chuckled and crossed his arms, shifting against the locker he was leaning on,"You really believe all that stuff?"

Stiles paused.

Not exactly because of the question.

But because of how casually Scott said it, as if the supernatural world hadn't become public and common knowledge over a hundred years ago. As if he himself wasn't part of that world by being a werewolf.

He could understand where Scott was coming from, though. Most things about pixies were folklore, but... some of it had to come from true stories. Like how not every fictional werewolf accurately represented real-life werewolves, but that was because no one knew they were real back then. Van Helsing is still one hell of a movie, though.

"Some of it is probably exaggerated, but..." he motioned his hand up and down toward Scott, making a point, "You were therianthropic folklore until a century ago, now you're flesh and bones, the real thing."

Of course, Scott looked confused at the use of the big word. Liam looked just a little less confused.

"Thrian-therin— what did you say?" Stiles shook his head and dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"Well, aside from pixies and fairies-evil little shits, don't get me started on the changelings," closing his eyes after seeing his best friend's expression, he wondered how and why he was friends with someone who knew close to nothing about supernatural lore. Before Scott could dumbly ask 'what is that?' Stiles added, "They steal human babies and leave behind creepy magical replacement babies."

"That can't be real."

He pointedly looked at him, "You. are. a. were. wolf. Scott. Your eyes turn into yellow glow sticks, hair would grow from your cheeks and would immediately disappear, and I were to stab you right now it'll just magically heal."

With a shrug and a tilt of his head, Scott conceded his point.

"Actually, some folklore around fae creatures is pretty disturbing," Liam and Scott looked over Stiles' shoulder at the sound of the new voice joining their conversation. Glancing behind him, Stiles was greeted with an amicable smile on Danny's face.

"Yes! Thank you! Finally someone with brain cells around," Danny chuckled at Stiles' words, and the whole group —which also included Jackson, Lydia and for some reason, Matt— began walking down the hallway on their way to class.

"Talking about fairy dust before first period? That's a new low, even for you, Stilinski," Stiles rolled his eyes at Jackson's words, "You need some hobbies, asap."

"This is my hobby— research is my life's calling, I'm telling ya," he defended his honor, or... tried to, because Lydia was the one who destroyed his pride, with her sharp tongue.

"Well, isn't that depressing."

Stiles deflated momentarily until he realized Danny and Liam were still interested in his ranting, so he relayed what he had already shared with Scott. When he glanced around, Lydia was kinda listening, kinda looking at her phone, then he noticed that Scott was now half-listening to him and half-talking lacrosse tactics with Jackson as co-captains of the team, and discussing how to tell them to coach next practice.

A few minutes later, Alison showed up with a bright smile on her face, and a rosy color on her cheeks.

Immediately, she took all of Scott's attention, nothing and no one else existed around when she was in front of him. Even when Alison was busier talking to Lydia, Scott was still staring dumbly —lovestruck, he would say— at her.

Having no one to talk to anymore, Jackson struck a conversation with Danny, and Liam split off toward Mason and Hayden with a quick 'see ya at lunch', slapping his friend's back and holding his girlfriend's hand as they walked upstairs to their class.

And, well, Stiles was left talking to himself now.

He tried, really tried to get anyone's attention on him again.

"—and apparently, iron works against some fae but not all of them because of course folklore is annoyingly inconsistent and honestly if I ever get kidnapped by tiny forest demons, I fully expect one of you to at least attempt rescuing me—"

With flailing arms, he talked, gaze jumping from one to another. He waited, but nothing happened. Nothing at all.

They... weren't listening to him anymore.

Scott was too focused on Allison, who was focused on Lydia. Jackson and Danny were discussing something Stiles didn't quite understand —sounded like lacrosse again— and he was just talking about fae folklore.

His words died in his throat, pressing his lips in a tight line to prevent himself from saying anything else, even if he still had plenty of interesting thing to say.

Stiles gripped the strap of his bag tightly and looked away, feeling vaguely stupid for not realizing the people around him had more interesting topics to discuss than— whatever he had to say.

That was when his eyes landed on Derek Hale.

He was standing across the hallway, standing out amongst the crowd of passing students heading to class, still as stone and staring directly at him-at Stiles. Watching with a strange, unreadable expression on his face.

As if he were the only one who had noticed the moment Stiles had stopped talking.

The same shiver from the day before ran down his body, and just like he had done before, he shifted his gaze away and tried to make himself smaller, silently following behind everyone and beside Matt.

For a moment, Stiles found himself thinking about someone who always listened to him, even when he used to doubt it, he was proven otherwise by it.

He missed his Sou—

"Don't get so depressed, Stilinski," he glanced over at Matt, who had spoken to him but was busy staring down at his camera, "Our place in high school hierarchy is to make the popular ones... Even more popular," before Stiles could ask him what the fuck he was talking about, Matt got dragged away by Danny to their first class, leaving Stiles alone with the rest of the group ahead of him as they too walked to their first class of the day.

The five of them had most classes together while Stiles took advanced chemistry alone, and shared one or two classes with Danny. None with Matt though, so he wasn't that used to having the guy around.

Already in the Econ classroom, was Isaac Lahey, one of Derek's closest friends and player of the lacrosse team.

The curly-haired blond with an angelic face greeted everyone in Stiles' friend group with a cheerful hello, but greeted Stiles with a softer, tamer smile and subtle nod. Stiles mirrored his actions and made his way over to his seat on Scott's left.

Besides sharing most classes with his friends, in this class was also Derek's younger sister, Cora, who greeted him with a silent nod as he walked past, a similar action coming from her cousin, Malia, but very differently from the almost feral smile Erica Reyes shot his way.

For a moment, and not for the first time since freshman year, he wondered why Derek's friends —and family— seemed to... like him? In a way?

Definitely the Stilinski charm he always told his dad about— it was a double-edged sword. Brought good opinions and bad opinions alike.

By the time lunch came around, he had been quiet most of the break through classes with the occasional Scott, Liam, or Danny comment about teachers, class, or love-life —the last thing Stiles was still unaware about, but it sounded rough, he was sorry for his friends— and had walked into the cafeteria on his own after getting held back by his Literature teacher regarding his essay.

It was good. He ranted too much. Sometimes things just happened for the sake of happening. The usual.

He spotted his usual table, his usual seat already taken— actually the whole table was already taken by the lacrosse team, like the day before. So, deciding right then and there that he didn't want a repeat of the previous day, he went to the already short queue and simply got a chicken wrap, turning around to head to the vending machine by the cafeteria door, and got a Dr.Pepper before heading out to the library.

Stiles made sure to pretty much stuff his mouth with this lunch before he got there, otherwise he wasn't going to be allowed inside, so he did the normal thing of downing the food with big gulps of his drink to wash it down before he could choke and suffocate himself.

By the time he took his last gulp of Dr.Pepper, and his hand fidgeted with the rolled-up film of his chicken wrap, he had already reached the big, wooden double door to the library. He paused a few steps to the side, letting students walk in and out without him being in the way, and threw away his trash in the bin to his left. He pushed the door open, and greeted with a smile the lady sitting at the front,. Unlike the stereotypical old librarian lady, she was rather younger, quite close to the age of the students themselves. It might have been a rumor, but Stiles heard she was no older than twenty-five, and she looked like she was often mistaken for another student skipping class whenever she was out in the corridors.

Stiles didn't know her full name yet, but he knew her name was Mackenzie, as he had heard the principal call her a few times after school hours.

Why was Stiles around after school hours? Well, because he liked to watch his friends during their lacrosse practice or just quietly studied/researched in the school library, where the internet wasn't as easily accessible as it was at his house.

When she greeted him back, he made a beeline for the supernatural section. He reached the Were section and picked the same book he had been reading over for over two weeks now, then looked around for the book on magic users, which he knew was hidden pretty well.

Both were old-looking, worn-out books with leather covers, so most students never bothered checking them, even less reading their content, but Stiles had read up pretty much every single book available on the shelves, and those two books were the ones with the most details he had ever read.

Gripping the books tightly in his hands, he walked around toward the closest table and sat down, reaching inside his bag for his small journal to take notes on everything he might find interesting or useful.

Flipping page after page and thoroughly reading every passage on the yellowed pages, making quick work of his pen on his journal, he heard the distinct sound of the bell ringing, signalling the end of lunch time. It sounded a little too muffled to his focused mind, so he paid it no mind, and he had his self-study period right now, and every teacher knew that Stiles would rather spend that hour in the library where he could actually get stuff done.

Even through the fog of his focus, there was no way he could ever —ever— ignore that heavy stare that never seemed to lighten, and just like every other time since he realized it, he wondered why.

Briefly pausing in his note-taking, he glanced up, barely lifting his head from the hunched position he put himself over the books. Now, Stiles wasn't the typical nerd who thought all sports guys were dumb and knew nothing, but the lacrosse team —as stereotypical as it sounded— were like that for the most part, so you'll have to excuse him if he looked surprised at the sight of the basketball team sitting across from him.

They looked like they just got done with practice, and thankfully, they were respecting the quiet space they were now a part of too. Some of them seemed to also be studying, and he recognized two or three dudes from his class, who were helping each other with homework or simply reading.

Which seemed Derek had been doing ten seconds ago until he decided Stiles was far more interesting than whatever it was he was reading.

Ignoring —like always— the shiver down his spine, Stiles chose to focus on his book and notes, reaching into the pocket of his bag to get his earphones, plugging them to his phone and putting his favorite playlist on shuffle, ready to ignore everything and everyone in the surrounding area of Stiles until his next class.

Thanks to his music, the rest of self-study period went by in a blur, feeling the fluidity of his hand as he wrote down anything he considered important in his journal, and he soon ended with at least a page filled, both sides, for Weres and magic users.

Eventually, the bell rang, piercing through the music and snapping him out of his trance, grimacing and wincing as he moved his aching neck, sore from staying in the same hunched position for over an hour. Stiles put his journal and pen back in his bag, and picked up the books, putting them down on the closest trolley so the librarian could put them back where they belonged— he had tried to do it himself once, and was scolded by the lady because he disrupted her system, so never again.

With his bag now strapped across his chest, he walked out of the library after waving at the lady, who returned it politely, and he made his way to his next class.

History with Mr. Yukimura.

As soon as he walked in, he went to his seat pretty much in the middle to the right. Danny was already sitting at his right and to his left —Scott's seat— remained empty. Thankfully, his best friend walked in about thirty seconds before Mr. Yukimura walked in to start his class of the day.

"Today," he spoke as he began writing on the board. Stiles slightly perked up when he read 'mythology & folklore' on the chalkboard, "We'll be talking about how mythology and folklore influenced public fear."

He leaned closer to his desk, cheek pressed comfortably on his left palm and pen twirling in the fingers of his right hand.

"Across multiple cultures," he began, placing the chalk down and rubbing his hands together to rid of the residue, "Unexplainable illness, disappearances, and even poor harvests were often attributed to supernatural entities. As it's common, human-kind feared what they couldn't comprehend, and sometimes..." he paused, gaze drifting across everyone in the class, "they create monsters to explain their constant suffering."

Stiles' mind went back to his rant that morning. About fairy circles. About changelings.

About werewolves.

About how often humans blamed monsters for things other humans caused. About how hunters came to be and were accepted when the supernatural was exposed, for a long time, but other humans —the good ones— realized that not everyone who looked or was different meant evil.

If anything, the ones hunting innocent people -those deemed as monsters because of something they couldn't change— were the evil ones.

After his small but needed analysis of human and supernatural history, Stiles focused back on the class as Mr. Yukimura shifted through topics smoothly, with practiced ease, discussing old Japanese yokai legends and how folklore evolved differently depending on the region it originated from or reached.

Normally, on a topic he loved, Stiles would've raised his hand every few minutes. Not today.

Today, he stayed quiet and let the man talk, explaining everything he knew from years of teaching.

And maybe that was why, as the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, Mr. Yukimura called out his name right as he picked his bag up from the ground.

"Everything okay, Stiles?" He couldn't help but blink a few times, not sure if he should feel glad or offended that his lack of ranting —more like interrupting by mistake— made his history teacher worry that something was going on.

Well, if he was ever actually in a bad place, most of his teachers would realize and talk to him- that was nice.

"Uh— yeah, totally, everything's fine. I just find stuff like this fascinating and I wanted to let you have your lesson without my constant yapping and interruptions of your class since I know I definitely do that a little too much and too often and every teacher I've met has had a problem with my lack of filter when—," he snapped his teeth together to shut his mouth when he realized he was doing exactly that, rant without a single thought filtering through his brain before making its way through his mouth.

Mr. Yukimura didn't look surprised, and showed a gentle smile his way.

"If you ever have problems, you know where to find me."

Nodding a few times, he spun on his heels and walked out of the classroom, heading toward his last class of the day, Biology.

This class he had alone, as none of his friends shared this class with him on Thursday, and the only person he knew in the class was Cora Hale.

Because it was the last class of the day, few people were actually paying attention to the teacher— unfortunately, Stiles wasn't one of them. He was busy reading over the notes he took in the library and absentmindedly doodling on the margin of the pages the same triple spiral.

When the final bell finally signalled the end of class for the day, Stiles put his stuff away and grabbed his bag, getting up and making his way through the halls toward the parking lot. His gaze spotted Scott slightly ahead of him, so he jogged over to his friend and patted his shoulder as a greeting, "You ready to make it up for me, Scotty?"

And... Stiles noticed immediately how Scott hesitated.

Really— he really should be used to the disappointment of being forgotten, he was too naive in thinking Scott would go back to being the Scott Stiles had once known, but that was before he was bitten, and there was no cure for lycanthropy.

Believe him, he looked for a cure everywhere when Scott was in denial and constantly headbutting with everyone who tried to help him. Eventually, he accepted the help of Alpha Hale, and now... now he loved being a werewolf.

Stiles could see the appeal of it, but he was happy with what he was. Relatively normal. For the most part, anyway.

"Sorry, Stiles," he blinked as he was brought out of his thoughts, "Allison and I are going bowling."

For a moment, Stiles seriously —genuinely— considered making himself a third wheel because he really wanted to spend time with his best friend, but the distinct clicking sound of Lydia's heels approached, Allison by her side and Jackson in tow.

"It's a double date," she said, barely sparing a glance at Stiles. Allison held onto Scott's arm, who smiled at her with that dumb look on his face, and they continued walking out of the school, soon reaching the front door, and down the steps.

Well... he could've handled being a third wheel for the sake of best-friendship, but not a fifth wheel— pinning over Lydia from a distance was one thing, watching her make-out with Jackson so up close was not something he wanted burned in his memories.

"Oh! Okay, cool, yeah that's... That's great, go- go have fun," he stumbled over his words, arms moving around as he stared at Scott. For a second, he saw that Scott wanted to say something, but Jackson spoke first.

"We will, Stilinski."

And just like that, he was shoo-ed away to his Jeep with a small hand movement. He pursed his lips and nodded, taking a few steps backwards toward his car. He ended up turning around soon enough before he could accidentally bump into someone, and he spotted a sleek black Camaro.

He noticed Derek leaning against the driver's side, broad back to Stiles, busy talking to his friends.

Stiles figured he was probably waiting for his sister, Cora, who Stiles could already spot walking over from the back of the school, talking to Erica and Kira. Glancing back, he saw Isaac and Boyd looking over Derek's shoulder at him, and they nodded in subtle acknowledgment.

Unfortunately, that action caught Derek's attention, and he turned to look over his shoulder.

Feeling like a deja vu, he watched Derek's hazel eyes change to an electric blue, and the shudder Stiles felt all over his body made him look away and hurry over to his Jeep. He walked past the Camaro, and soon after, past Cora and her friends, and he heard a quiet, "See ya, Stiles," from her. He simply responded back with a grunt, feeling a pull at his gut, urging him to turn around and look at Derek again.

He hated it. So much.

He hated that he couldn't look at Derek Hale without his body reacting so weirdly.

And he couldn't understand why— he was still in love with Lydia last time he checked, namely five minutes ago, so this weird pull in his gut was just-

"Annoying as hell," he muttered to himself and figured he should read more on werewolf lore at some point.

Part of him figured that feeling was something to do with the werewolves and not... Whatever the fuck he was.

In the solitude of his home, Stiles found it hard to focus on getting his homework done before his dad got home. He could feel his dad's stare on him as he stood at his room door, and Stiles couldn't stop fidgeting with his pen or bouncing his leg rapidly. "Stiles? You okay, son?"

He lifted his gaze from the halfway-done homework, ruffled his already messy hair, and sighed, "Just a little stressed, pops," he saw his dad smile at him and walked into the room, hand patting Stiles' shoulder a few times.

"Why don't you invite Scott to hang our? It's been a while since I've seen the kid around," John smiled softly at him and Stiles huffed a laugh, ignoring his dad's frown as he turned to try and focus back on his Spanish homework.

"He's out with Allison. Again," he mumbled the last bit to himself, not wanting to deal with a more serious conversation than he was ready to handle. He knew his dad knew there was something Stiles wasn't telling him, and thankfully, he didn't pressure his son into saying anything he didn't want to, and simply left the room with a small smile.

Stiles spent around thirty to forty minutes trying to finish his homework to the best of his abilities, and whether he did it correctly or not was up to his teacher to know and for him to ignore, for now. He dragged himself off the chair and made his way downstairs, rounding the last step and heading to the kitchen, hearing cabinet doors opening and closing.

His dad glanced over when he walked in.

"Homework done?" Stiles sighed and approached the fridge, trying to get some healthy dinner cooked for his father, otherwise, he would cook something he shouldn't.

"Define done," his dad chuckled as he got some water in a pot, putting it on the stove with high heat.

"I'd define it as all activities finished and no blank spaces," Stiles hummed in response and got out some vegetables, closing the fridge before speaking again.

"Then it is done, whether is correct or not- we'll see tomorrow," he heard his dad sighed as he placed the vegetable down on the counter, and reached up to check the cabinets- frowning at how empty it was, "We really need groceries."

John looked up into the cabinet and then at his son as he reached to grab the vegetables now within reach, "We have groceries."

Stiles blinked a few times and grabbed the last bit of rice they had. He quickly scanned it for an expiration date, and was glad to find it was still edible.

"No, we have ingredients," Stiles corrected him- just because he could, and he always enjoyed the back and forth he could have with his dear father, "Not food, there's a difference."

His dad gave him an unimpressed look, "You're saying that as if ingredients don't become food."

"And who's the one who cooks said ingredients?" He asked, his eyebrows raised and a cheeky smile making an appearance on his face. John stared at him, and then there was a smile on his face too, reaching his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulling him close.

"A pestering child I call son, who refuses to let me eat good food," Stiles chuckled and briefly tapped his dad's chest.

"Taking care of your heart, old man, you should thank me for getting you to live past a hundred," his dad ruffled his hair and stepped back, getting back to the vegetables, placing them on the chopping board, and getting ready to... well— chop them.

A while after, they both had a plate each of rice and vegetables, chatting at the kitchen table about already solved cases or anything that happened at the station that John could share with his teenage son. Eventually, they were done with their food, and John called in an early night for his morning shift the next day, so with an exchanged good night, Stiles was left alone in the kitchen as he did the dishes, humming a tune to himself. He couldn't remember the name or the correct lyrics, but he knew it was an ABBA song- his mother loved their music so much, and Stiles liked to remember his mother singing and dancing to their songs.

When he was done, he turned off the kitchen light and went over to the living room, where he turned on the TV and stumbled on a Harry Potter movie marathon, so he got comfortable and watched, mumbling the dialogue he knew by heart. He was halfway through Prisoner of Azkaban when his phone dinged in the pocket of his sweatpants.

Scott's Snapchat showed pictures of his double date, and Stiles scrolled through them, staring at every photo with a blank expression on his face and without an opinion in his mind.

"Looks like they're having fun."

He's okay. He's not jealous.

Stiles and Scott grew up being each other's only friend, and now Scott had pretty much the whole lacrosse team at his side— even Jackson, the same jerk who used to shove them into lockers before Scott made first line freshman year. He even had his first girlfriend, too. Stiles should be happy.

He tried not to think about how Scott becoming popular began with him being bitten around two months into their freshman year when a rogue alpha came trespassing into the Hale pack territory.

Stiles didn't resent Scott for it- going out into the woods that night was Stiles' idea in the first place, but... He can't help but feel lonely.

All Scott did was hang out with Allison, and she was all he talked about whenever she wasn't around.

Sometimes —only sometimes— Stiles wondered if revealing he could use magic would make people interested in him and he would stop being lonely, but he wasn't sure what type of magic user he was- also, would that actually make him less lonely? Or would it just do the opposite?

The thought of people wanting to be his friend because of what he is, what he can do.... "Sounds lonelier."