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The house finally stops shaking from the the force of the spell. The overhead light explodes causing Stiles to topple over in an ungainly sprawl on the floor to avoid the shattered glass. Raw power courses through the air giving of a sharp smell of ozone before a noxious thick black smoke starts to pour out of the protective chalk drawn circle in the middle of the floor. Stiles yelps before crab-walking backwards toward the window, coughing and hacking on the smoke, to throw the windows open wide. He's starting to think this was a bad idea. Not that he thought it would work in the first place.

He leans his upper body outside the window to drag deep, gasping breaths of air into his lungs. Wisps of black smoke waft over his head, slowly dissipating into the afternoon breeze. Stiles wheezes out into the open window filling his lungs with clean fresh air before turning back to the room, waving the smoke out his eyes so he can see the damage.

The smoke still stings his eyes as he rapidly blinks his tearing eyes. Through the haze he sees a man standing in the middle of the room inside the circle. He's taller than Stiles and seems to loom over the entire room, owning it. He's wearing a leather jacket and a faded grey t-shirt drawn over hard pectoral muscles and doesn't look older than Stiles, maybe two to three years. The man observes him impassively, crossing his arms.

"Let me guess," the guy drawls. "You’re a witch."

"Not really," Stiles admits sheepishly causing the guy to growl. Maybe the spell did work after all. "I dabble! Dabbling. Just a little! I needed help! For a friend!"

Stiles grabs the window frame for support.

"I found this spell in an internet forum," Stiles gestures to his desk teeming with print-outs from various internet forums and Wikipedia articles. "I was kind of desperate, man. I mean, the full moon is in like two days! And I needed help, werewolf help."

"I see," said the guy, uncrossing his arms. “And what makes you think I'm going to help you?"

"Well, you're a werewolf, right?" asks Stiles, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "Oh God, did I summon a vampire? Like we need anymore Twilight shit in our lives right now!"

"Vampires don't exist." The corner of the guy's mouth twitches. "And what do you know about werewolves?"

"They don't? Thank God!" Stiles slumps against the window. "I needed expert advice. And who better than an actual werewolf! And I didn't think this spell would work, I mean, I think half of it came from an episode of Supernatural."

"Why would you need werewolf advice? You're not a werewolf," the guy says, his nose twitching.

"Then you are one! You did that thing with your nose - Scott does that," Stiles says excitedly.

"Scott?" The guy frowns stepping out of the protective circle Stiles had drawn on the floor and moves closer to where Stiles is slumped against the wall.

"Oh man, we need help," Stiles says morosely flinging his hands in the air. "I mean, I'm supposed to be Scott's Yoda except he's not listening to me and he keeps wolfing out during practice and Jackson's already suspicious and now he's dating Allison and he's having dreams of killing her on buses and I've run out of movies to rent to help him. Teen Wolf was no help at all! Michael J. Fox played basketball and everyone loved him! How is that real? And I'm running on like three hours of sleep and eating Adderall like candy. So you gotta help, like Obi-Wan this shit."

"Do you ever come up for air?" The guy says looking down at Stiles.

"That's what you decide to focus on? Is ignoring the obvious a werewolf thing? Because Scott does it all the time."

"This room's a mess," the guy says, making his way to Stiles' desk where his notes are balanced over his biology homework. "Half these runes aren't written properly. You're lucky you didn't kill yourself."

Stiles scowls. "Well excuse me, we can't all be perfect. And I didn't even think this would work. Does that mean I have superpowers? Maybe I could be Batman and Scott would have to be Robin."

The guy looks up from Stiles laptop with a glare. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Never mind. Not important," Stiles says. "So how long have you been a werewolf?"

"I've always been one," he replies and glances at the unfinished biology homework as he shuffles papers across Stiles' desk. "Stiles, is it?"

"That's me," Stiles answers in a huff. "Crap, that's due tomorrow. Are you going to be mysterious or can I know your name?"

“It's Derek,” says the werewolf. "You can start by telling me who Scott is and how you fit into all of this."

Stiles leverages himself up from the wall. "Great. So can you help us?"

"I never said that," replies Derek, dropping the papers into an even bigger mess on Stiles' desk. "But the fact that you managed to summon a werewolf means you're a danger to yourself and me. And if there's a werewolf running around without a pack - that could attract unwanted attention."

"Danger? Me?"

"You already display some magical talent - unsupervised, who knows what you would do," Derek sniffs in an irritated manner.

"Talent? I'm not even on the honor roll!" says Stiles. "Plus, this isn't about me, it's about Scott."

"Well it's obvious you need help," Derek says, leaning casually against the desk, his shirt riding up on his hips. His eyes sweep over Stiles, lingering on his face and chest in a way that has Stiles' heart racing causing him to be wracked with another coughing fit. Derek's mouth twitches again, his expression turning wry. "Though, you might be beyond help."

Stiles just glowers at him.

"Oh yuck it up, wolf boy."