Chapter Text
Stiles was the last one left in the locker room after a particularly harsh lacrosse practice in which Jackson—the douchebag that he is, practically ploughed into him, causing him to hit the ground so hard that he even ended up swallowing some of the dirt.
Yuck.
Stiles shuddered in disgust, his tongue hitting the back of his teeth in attempt to get rid of the last remnants of the soil and grass which he spent the past 15 minutes trying to gurgle out in the bathroom of the locker room with Jackson laughing at him like an asshole that he is.
He hadn’t seen the moment coach had appeared, being too busy with trying not to throw up at the taste of mud in his mouth, but he specifically heard Finstock’s irritated ‘I have no time for this shit’ as he told Jackson to shove off, before a loud smack echoed in the boys locker room, followed by Jackson’s loud whine.
Despite the noise of the running water, Stiles could clearly hear the snickers from behind him at Jackson’s disgruntled whining about coach’s bullying and if he wasn’t too busy with rinsing the horrifying taste out of his mouth, he would have probably had some sassy remark ready to point out the irony in Jackson using the word ‘bullying’.
He suspected that because of his ‘always ready to burn you in the most embarrassing way possible’ attitude that he was probably now in this situation, since his mind and no-filter mouth were especially creative when it came to insulting Jackson.
He couldn’t help it really.
It wasn’t his fault that Jackson had been a major douche to him, since like forever, or since he realized that Stiles was pining after Lydia, the goddess of Beacon Hills high school, who was, out of some still inconceivable reason to Stiles, also Jackson’s girlfriend.
So, the sarcastic remarks directed at Jackson were practically like second nature to him, although it had already been half a year, since he got over his unrequited crush on Lydia Martin.
Everyone noticed the moment Stiles stopped staring at Lydia like a love-struck puppy and instead came to appreciate her as a good friend, always turning to her when he had some sort of a problem, mostly related to a particularly hard homework assignment, since she was extremely smart.
She had also proclaimed herself his own personal ‘style and love guru’, although considering the latter, there would actually have to be someone involved with him for her to be his romantic advisor.
So far, the only one romantically involved with Stiles was his left hand with which he was still in a committed relationship since the age of 14 when he regularly started jerking off to porn with redheads which resembled a certain girl.
It had been about more than 3 years since then and the only thing that changed was his preference in porn, now featuring mostly male muscular characters with dangerous expressions.
Needless to say that he and his leftie had still been going strong and he was almost 18, so he figured that on the love front, there would be no change anytime soon.
However, that did not stop Lydia from nagging at him constantly to ‘get out there and get laid, for fuck’s sake Stilinski’.
Stiles remembered that conversation vividly, since it was in that exact moment that his father decided to pass next to his bedroom where he and Lydia were on his bed, watching a movie featuring some hunk, who may have caused Stiles to drool a little, prompting Lydia to make that remark about his sex life, or the lack of it.
Unfortunately, his father did not realize that he should appreciate the fact that his only son’s virtue was still intact ( and probably would be for a while, Stiles thought bitterly), because his face had gone pale, his expression frozen, before he turned on his heel and left the house.
Lydia of course slapped his arm and called him a ‘lame loser’, muttering how it was all his fault that he was so pathetic and single, instead of admitting that she was the one who was at fault for blabbering about stuff that were not about to change in any near future, no matter how much she, or Stiles wanted them to.
Scott, of course being the best friend he was, laughed so hard that he spit out the milk he had been drinking at lunch the very next day.
Well, at least someone was amused, Stiles had thought then, since he was far from it, having to have the awkward talk with his father that night about ‘safe sex’ and what not.
Ugh, Stiles shivered just remembering the awkwardness of that talk, or the way both he and his father wanted to be anywhere else, but in the living room of their home at that particular moment.
It was a bit flattering when his father did not believe his reassurance that he won’t be involved in any sexual acts anytime soon and his father just gave him that ‘I am the Sheriff and I am sure you are full of shit right now but I will let it slide because this conversation is making my skin crawl’ look.
As if Stiles was really going to be participating in any indecent acts involving him getting naked with anyone anytime soon, Stiles thought with an exasperated sigh.
Remembering that talk, Stiles shook his head, before lifting his hand and saying with a slight grin“ Just you and me buddy, as always”.
He was so preoccupied with lamenting the fact that he was going to have to continue his relationship with the most fateful part of his body which was why he didn’t notice another presence in the otherwise empty locker room, until a low voice full of judgment spoke.
“Could you get any weirder?”
Stiles got so startled that he practically jumped back so hard that he managed to slam his back into one of the lockers, causing it to shake violently.
He was positive that his heart was going to jump out of his chest, grow legs and run far, far away with how terrified he was, his gaze landing on the tall figure leaning on one of the lockers at the other end of the locker room.
Once he realized who it was, his eyes narrowed instantly on the figure of the dark-haired man in a leather jacket and a worn-out gray Henley shirt, his strong arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed as he was leaning on one of the lockers.
However, his gaze was threatening and Stiles’ previous fear was replaced with annoyance as always, when it came to Derek Hale—creeper and asshole werewolf extraordinaire.
He straightened immediately, crossing his own arms over his chest in a challenging manner, his lips pursed in a tight line, before he said, “I actually can, but I don’t see how my weirdness is any of your business.”
He expected the usual from the werewolf with a resting bitch face, such as a murderous glare (although that was his default state when dealing with anyone—or maybe just with Stiles, he couldn’t be sure), or the usual growl, so he was slightly taken aback when Derek let out a snort.
Well, that was a first, Stiles thought, cataloguing that expression in the list of limited expressions Derek Hale made when he was dealing with him.
The list so far consisted of:
- Super intense “I am going to kill you any second now” glare
- Growling in various volumes-from mild, when Stiles was his usual self, to full on growling when he was blabbering a hundred words in a minute which Derek obviously did not appreciate like the jerk that he was, followed by an intricate eyebrow dance and honestly before meeting Derek, Stiles never realized just how much someone's eyebrows could convey the desire of killing someone-Stiles, in this case
and now number 3 was snorting, but still looking murderous af.
But before Stiles could make some remark, the werewolf took a step towards him, now sending Stiles one of those glares, well actually—he just intensified it in a “I am going to rip your throat out with my teeth” sort of a way which was something Stiles was already used to when it came to the asshole.
So, he didn’t take a step back, despite his heartbeat slightly picking up.
Unfortunately, Derek must have heard his traitorous heart, judging by the slight upwards curl of the corner of his lips, when the alpha parted his lips, his tone of voice deeper and more threatening than before as he said, “It’s not. What is my business is you meddling in stuff you have no idea about. So, I suggest you stop filling Scott’s head with nonsense, thinking how you know everything about werewolves and instead let him come to me, since I actually know shit about it, unlike you.”
Stiles clenched his fist while trying to steady his breathing which picked up at the alpha’s words.
His gaze was unwavering as he stared at Derek’s eyes whose colour he could never quite determine, since it kept changing under the light.
Currently, under the dim, or well-shitty, lights in the locker room his eyes were more on the hazel side with green flecks swirling in those orbs, making them stupidly enticing.
However, Stiles couldn’t be bothered about trying to figure out the exact colour of Derek’s annoying eyes.
Not in this moment when he tried so hard to keep himself in check, making his voice drip with sarcasm as he said, “Oh, Derek, sorry to disappoint, but Scott’s not into dicks. Methaporically and literally speaking. So, you will just have to go and prey on some other unsuspecting teenage boy. Although hey, you are on the right path, seeing how you are cornering an innocent young teen in an empty locker room right now. Kudos to you, big guy.”
Stiles was ready for Derek to snarl at him, or throw some more insults at him, but what he was not ready was a deafening roar coming from the alpha which made his blood run cold.
He didn’t even have the time to react, only succeeding in blinking, before his back was slammed to the locker behind him with a solid body weight pressing against him, Derek’s arm splayed over his chest and slightly knocking the air out of his lungs.
No biggie, Stiles thought, wondering how long he could go without air, before fainting.
He didn’t have time to ponder on it, though, because one pissed off alpha was practically spitting his words at him, and Stiles was sure that that was not the only thing the werewolf spat, he thought slightly disgusted when he felt something wet land on his cheek.
Werewolf spit, great.
Stiles was used to werewolf drool, with Scott falling asleep on his shoulder countless times during regular movie nights at Stilinski household every Thursday, but that was Scott—his bro, his platonic soulmate.
This, however, Stiles thought as he finally forced his eyes open, which he now regretted doing as he was met with red blazing stare of one very mad alpha, was a spit of a werewolf, who was nowhere near being tolerated in Stiles’ books.
Before he could voice out his absolute disgust at the stickiness on his cheek, which was starting to dry off—ew, Derek was already talking, or more like growling, every word.
“Are you really going to be so fucking selfish? You call yourself Scott’s best friend and yet you seem to be doing everything to lead him to an imminent doom with your stubborn ways.”
Okay, hold the fuck on, Stiles thought angrily as he glowered, hating that his eyes were a boring honey colour instead of bloody red like Derek’s, because his response would sound more convincing with such eyes.
Nevertheless, he was sure that his fury at such an accusation was felt as he spoke in a low, strained voice, “Fuck you. I’ve known Scott almost my whole life and then you walked in 3 months ago with your stories about pack, an alpha and how Scott needed you to guide him in the werewolf world. Well, if you thought that I would allow a constantly murderous looking alpha with apparent anger issues take away my friend and order him around, just because he can, then you have underestimated the force that is Stiles Stilinski.”
“The force-,” Derek spat out, tightening his grip and really making Stiles consider his previous theory about how long he could go without air, “-should stay out of my way and let me take care of Scott. If you have actually researched so much about werewolves then you should now that we are pack animals and that a beta like Scott needs a family to rely on.”
“Scott already has a family,” Stiles spat back in one breath, becoming more and more enraged with each passing second.
Derek’s eyes narrowed, his voice coming out as an angry rumble, his expression almost on the verge of losing patience and probably fulfilling his previous threat of actually ripping Stiles’ throat out with his teeth, “A family that can actually protect him from a danger and not a human mother, a father that left without a trace a long time ago and a skinny, loud-mouthed human who can’t even protect himself, let alone Scott.”
Okay, Stiles was now 100% offended.
He could very well defend himself, thank you very much.
That is what the baseball bat lying next to his bed was for.
It would have really come in handy now, to prove Derek how wrong he was, except that he couldn’t be walking around school with a metal baseball bat without getting in trouble.
Not everyone could be a dark, brooding werewolf with a permanent 5 o’clock shadow, who could probably ( most likely—okay CERTAINLY) snap you like a twig just with his hands alone, Stiles noted dully.
Stupid freakish werewolf strength, he muttered under his breath.
He was brought back out of his thoughts by the air returning in his lungs and when he looked up, he was surprised to see Derek’s eyes had gone back to normal, the werewolf still so close, but no part of their bodies touching, which was slightly disappointing.
Wait, what?!
Stiles frowned at the unexpected direction of his thoughts, but Derek’s voice tight with something, made him meet the werewolf’s gaze once again.
“Listen, Stiles, if you really care about Scott then you will stop sabotaging my efforts of helping him. For some unknown reason, Scott seems to really care about your opinion.”
Stiles’ frown deepened at that underlying insult, and Derek should really work on his persuading skills, because offending someone like that is really not the proper way to gaining their support, especially Stiles’.
Unbothered by Stiles’ reaction, Derek continued talking, his voice becoming more strained as he said, “ It’s been 3 months since the bite and the full moon is approaching. Scott needs to learn control before that, or he could hurt someone. He needs an alpha, and I am the only alpha in Beacon Hills now, so just stop standing in the way.”
He sounded so tired that Stiles responded without heat this time, but his intention was clear nevertheless.
After all, how dare Derek say he would be standing in the way.
If anything, he was nothing more than supportive ever since that night in woods when Scott got bitten by Derek’s crazy uncle.
Sure, on a very big level he felt guilty about the whole thing, because it was his insatiable curiosity that made him drag Scott to the woods that night, after finding out that his father found half of the body in the woods and the other half was missing.
Could he be blamed for his natural inquisitiveness to take the best of him that night?
He thinks not.
Also, it’s not like he forced Scott to come with him.
Unlike Derek, he was good at convincing people to do what he wanted, especially Scott, who had been something like the Robin to his Batman ever since they were kids.
How was he supposed to know that they would end up separated and that Scott would get bitten by a freaking werewolf during that time?!
Who even knew that werewolves were a real thing until that night?!
Also, he should be praised for reacting better than anyone would have when Scott told—and showed him, to Stiles’ insistence, his claws and furry face.
Truth to be told Stiles was always fascinated by the supernatural and he thought that it was pretty cool that his best friend had become one of such creatures.
That was until a few days later when Scott had been attacked by the creeper that had bitten him while he and Stiles were lurking around the woods again, trying to find the rest of that body, for who knows what reason (read—Stiles’ natural noisiness being that reason).
Enter Derek Hale—a grumpy werewolf in a black leather jacket and a black turtleneck, engaging in a fight to the death with the feral wolf that bit Scott, before another werewolf joined the fight, helping Derek in ripping the guy’s throat out.
Stiles remembers the dread running through his body that night and the way Scott kept squeezing his hand, effectively cutting off his blood circulation, before Derek’s eyes flashed crimson red as he finally turned to them, his first words spoken to them being, “ I am the alpha now. And you are on private property.”
Talk about great first impressions, Stiles thought sarcastically.
Even after Derek, and the other werewolf—who turned out to be his sister Laura, explained to them that the psychotic guy that Derek had slaughtered was their uncle, who escaped some hospital, Stiles wasn’t really listening, but it was probably a mental facility, judging by the guy’s kink of biting teenage boys in woods ( they found out that Peter, that was the lunatic’s name, had previously bitten two more people which were now part of Derek’s pack), and also tried to kill Laura, Stiles was still not convinced of their justification in killing that dude.
Sure, he deserved to die after doing that to Scott, and to Isaac and Erica, who Stiles actually remembered from high school as the social rejects at that time, but he questioned Derek’s motives that night and he questioned them now as well.
After Derek’s offer that night for Scott to join his pack with Stiles stating, “No way in hell” without an ounce of hesitation, pulling Scott away before his best friend had the chance to respond, Stiles did an extensive research on werewolf history.
He spent many sleepless nights in the library and on the net and what he found was enough to convince him that he did the right thing that night when he dragged Scott away from the werewolf siblings with incredibly good genes in the appearance department.
Apparently, an alpha’s power increased with the amount of pack members, which is what Stiles suspected was Derek’s real reason of making an attempt to recruit Scott into his puppy pile consisting of his two sisters, Laura and Cora and the former social rejects now turned into badass, confident hot blonde and sassy curly guy.
Luckily, Scott, his naïve and foolish bro, had him and Stiles, despite being a puny human, he thought bitterly as he remembered Derek’s previous statement, was not stupid.
On the contrary, some might even call him a genius.
Okay, only he calls himself like that, but he is pretty sure that all of those who have known him for a while have come to that same conclusion, but are just too bashful to say it.
However, all of that was irrelevant now.
What was relevant was that despite Derek’s constant lurking in those 3 months since he became an alpha and since Scott turned into a werewolf, jumping at every chance when Scott was unsupervised—i.e. when Stiles had to reluctantly go home after Scott’s mom would kick him out, saying ‘go home Stiles, you two can’t be attached at the hip all the time’ ( oh how foolish Ms McCall, Stiles thought every time he was kicked out only to climb to Scott’s bedroom window immediately after only to be thrown out again by a frustrated Ms McCall), Stiles still hadn’t changed his opinion of the brooding alpha.
That is why his voice hadn’t faltered as he stared straight into Derek’s eyes since they were almost the same height, saying, “ Fyi, Scott has been controlling his big bad wolf urges just fine and thanks to who? Yours truly. So, I am pretty sure we will survive the full moon without you just fine. The only one standing in the way is you. So, take your lurker’s ass and saunter away from us.”
Obviously, Derek hadn’t been expecting that answer, because he looked like he was one second from slamming Stiles against the locker for the second time, but this time Stiles was saved by the bell.
Literally.
When the bell rang, it made Derek wince, the shrill sound probably too loud for his sensitive werewolf ears which gave Stiles the chance to run past him as fast as he could and even though he had no werewolf hearing, he could still hear Derek’s voice yelling behind him, “ You will regret this Stiles! And then it will be too late!”
Stiles didn’t glance back and he didn’t stop running until he was in the school corridor.
Once he was in the hallway filled with other students, he allowed himself to relax, slumping against the wall—his heart thrumming in his chest.
He knew he was doing the right thing.
Despite knowing that Derek was a born werewolf, and that he probably knew more about werewolves than he and Scott, Stiles still didn’t trust him.
Sure, he got rid of Peter, but that was because it was in his interest.
After all, Peter was the alpha before that and he tried to kill Laura, so it was clear that Derek did not do it for Scott.
Because, if he had really been worried about his uncle turning teenagers into werewolves against their will, then he would have stopped Peter long before, after he had given the bite to Erica and Isaac.
Sure, on some level Stiles could even try and understand Derek, since everyone knew about the Hale fire when Derek, Laura and Cora had been teenagers, which killed his whole family and cousins except the 3 of them, who were on a school trip at that time.
Technically, Peter survived the fire, but with nasty burns, practically being in a comatose state in the hospital all those years after the fire, although he was obviously plotting on how to become stronger by messing with the minds of emotionally damaged teenagers.
Stiles would be damned to let Derek anywhere near Scott, even though sometimes he thought he could see the sincerity in Derek’s eyes whenever the sour-faced alpha almost begged for Scott to join his pack.
No, scratch that, if he had begged then maybe Stiles would have believed him.
Derek Hale did not beg.
He ordered and slammed people—Stiles, into solid surfaces when he defied him which was always.
So, no, Stiles was not going to let his best friend be bossed around by that hairy ball of anger issues.
No matter how much Scott sometimes tried to convince him that maybe Derek had a point.
Scot was too pure and wanted to believe that there was good in everyone.
Stiles, on the other hand, was the Sheriff’s son and he knew that most people had hidden motives for doing the things they did, and he was pretty sure that Derek’s secret motive was his own benefit of power and not Scott’s well-being, so with that thought he collected himself, got up and headed to his class.
He was already late and Mr. Harris was a sadist, who took great pleasure in making his life even more miserable, if that was even possible lately with ridiculously hot werewolves with short-temper and what not in his life.