AN: Okay, first Sterek fic. I have another one in rough drafts, but, depending on how this one goes, I may just put them together.

Also, I cannot unhear young Simba when Stiles opens his mouth for the first bit. I just thought back to the stampede scene and now it'll never go away. Just in case any of you need help imagining a kid!Stiles voice.

The next chapter will be done from Dereks POV.

Enjoy!

Of course, it was no surprise that he didn't remember.

He seemed to let everything he didn't need drop right out of his head, just leaving this trail of all lost memories on the ground behind him. This is why Stiles isn't surprised that Derek doesn't remember him from all those years ago. Remember that one little, insignificant, unimportant memory out of all the other more important ones he has floating around in his thickly skulled cranium. After all, they had only been kids – not even in the same school. Derek had to have been in Middle School or Junior High, Stiles guessed fourteen, maybe older, at the time. He himself had only been eight going on nine, snot nosed and as much the trouble maker as he'd always been. It was hard to remember if he'd been better behaved or worse, considering the stress in his home situation during those years. His father, burying himself in work and drink, always trying to keep his son at arms length because he couldn't handle thinking about what Stiles meant. That Stiles was all the living proof he had left.

He'd only just become friends with Scott McCall. Scott didn't fully comprehend it, but he knew that Stiles' mom was dead and that Stiles was a sad kid. Scott did what he could to cheer up his new found friend, and Stiles greatly appreciated the effort. He was more than happy to find someone he could cling onto. Still, Scott wasn't always there. He had days where he couldn't come out and play, usually because of a cold or a cough – being a severe asthmatic had many downsides. Those days, Stiles would take a walk. He would go to the park or he would walk into town, his father was always at work, so he never had to worry about being home until late, and if he was ever asked, he could just say he'd gone to visit Scott. On the days when he was really down and had no Scott to cheer him up, he would walk off into the woods, where he could be alone and break things or scream or cry and never have to worry about if someone had heard him or not. It was wide and open and empty with only the birds and the squirrels to judge him. He never felt afraid in the forest, never at unease. It was like he knew he'd be safe there, in the one place so many other people always seemed to fear. Maybe it was the grandness of it all, that he could walk for miles and see on for forever that made him feel so safe. Maybe it was just because he was so alone.

It was an autumn day, wet and foggy, and a bad one in particular for Stiles. He was angry. Scott had been sick again and so Stiles had had no one to play with at school, more importantly, he had had no one to help him with the bullies. They had three in their school that liked to pick on Stiles in particular, all in a higher grade than he and Scott. It was a general rule of thumb to only tease Scott because of his asthma – they'd found out the hard way that it was a bad idea to do otherwise – but Stiles was perfectly healthy and unlikely to keel over if he got a few smacks upside the head. Because Scott wasn't there to get in the way and because the only reason they were easy on Stiles was Scott, today had been a particularly abusive day at school for him. They had taken his lunch and shoved him into a mud puddle, kicked him and called him a few nasty names. As far as the teachers knew, he was running outside and tripped. Stiles and Scott never said anything about the bullying because they never wanted to find out if those boys would keep to their promise of making their lives even worse. So, when Stiles go home that day to his empty house in his ruined cloths, he cleaned his fathers morning mess of half eaten toast and empty glass that reeked of whiskey and changed his cloths and left for the forest.

For two hours he hit trees and threw rocks and ran until his legs gave, he would scream his frustration when he fell and hit the leaves on the cold, damp ground until his hands started to hurt. After two hours, he didn't feel so angry anymore. He just felt tired.

He walked for a long time. Not focused on anything in general, mostly just staring at his feet or the sky or straight ahead into the empty nothing of the forest without even paying attention to it or where he was or where he was going. He wasn't feeling numb or empty or anything dramatic like that. He could still feel the nip of the cool autumn air on his reddened cheeks and the throb of his exertion in his legs and feet. He could feel the scrapes on his hands and the slow forming bruises caused by himself and others. He felt it all, every little thing, his senses all on overload and that was what tired him. He wished that he didn't have to feel any of it, none of these things. The anger, the sadness, most of all, the pain and the guilt. He wouldn't have to feel the blame every time his dad took a drink of alcohol, the burn of his wrongdoings whenever they met one another's gaze. Then there was that ache, the one he got whenever he walked by that room. He wished he could stop that feeling the most, out of everything else. He couldn't, though, and so he was left here, feeling tired of all these feelings.

He was so wrapped up in thinking this, that he had lost all awareness for his surroundings. The repetitive one foot after another suddenly stopped and Stiles very vaguely wondered, as his foot continued to move down, why the ground was suddenly so soft. It was only when he looked down to answer his own question that he noticed the sheer drop into a deep crevice and the dirt crumbling beneath his sneakers. His eyes widened and his mouth opened as he felt himself being pulled into the darkness, but he didn't scream. He had no voice, like he had left it behind him on the steady ground above him. Stiles could do nothing but watch as a flat surface came up to meet him, it was only as the glare passed his eyes that he realized he was going to fall into a body of water of unknown depth. If the water was shallow, he would most definitely break something, maybe even die – but if it was deep….

Stiles held his breath.

Blackness engulfed him, captured him and pulled him deeper. He wasn't sure if he was burning or freezing as needles pricked his skin all over. With a kick of his legs and a wave of his arms, Stiles knew that he was still alive and with no hesitation he started pushing himself back up to that pale shimmer of light at the surface. He broke through with a gasp and then a cough, looking around himself wildly in hopes of understanding his new situation. It looked like a little semi-underground pond, more or less. He was surrounded by water with at least ten feet of dirt and rock wall above him and nothing within arms length to grasp onto. He found this out as he tried reaching for some dangling roots of a tree that were just barely too far away. He swam to the side of the crevice, digging his hands into what soft spots he could find in the wall and took a look up. The wall curved in exactly the wrong way for Stiles to have any hope of scaling it and there wasn't anything on the wall for him to grab onto anyway, he was barely holding onto the bit of side he had as it was.

He was trapped.

"Help!" He called out "Help me! Somebody!"

Silence.

"Please, help..!" He tried again, though, this time with less force.

He knew nobody was coming to help. He was miles away from town, his dad wouldn't be home from work until nine and he had told no one where he had gone. No one knew he was out in the forest, no one knew he was in danger, no one would come looking. No one.

Stiles looked away from the opening of the crevice and back to his hands digging into the wall. They were shaking with strain as they clung to the wet dirt, the water wasn't freezing, but it was autumn and the nights were cold, the temperature would drop and his hands were already shaking. Stiles felt panic well up in his chest and the horror of it was almost paralyzing because he couldn't have an attack! Not now!

"H-Help… Help me! Please!" It was followed by a sob and another, his face grew hot and his vision blurred as tears started falling across his face.

"Hey, kid!" called out a voice, deeper than his own but still holding that youthful quality to it "Kid, you okay?"

Stiles looked back up quickly to see a young boy peering down at him from the crevice opening. He looked to be in his teens, fair skin and black hair. His eyes, even from this distance, seemed to attempt to pierce Stiles, but the boy's relief was so overwhelming that he even almost let go of the wall. "I-I'm stuck! There's no way out! I can't- Get out!"

"Okay, calm down. I'll get you out." He said evenly, obviously catching Stiles panicked state "I don't live too far from here, so I'm going to go and get some help- Don't panic! Do you understand? I'll be right back." He fixed Stiles with a stare that should have seemed authoritative and harsh instead of comforting and reassuring, but Stiles could only seem to find the later when he looked up at him, so he nodded and watched with a strange feeling of safety as the boy rushed off.

He waited, silently skimming the walls of the crevice in hopes of finding some possible way to escape. It had only been fifteen or twenty minutes before the boy had shown back up again with some rope and another person, a girl. She seemed to be about the same age as the boy, from the looks of it. They shared the same dark hair though his skin was a little paler, maybe it was his sister?

"Do you think you can lift yourself up the rope?" The girl asked worriedly as she looked down at him.

There was no way that they could reach him from the crevice to the wall with how the curve went, so Stiles let go of it, almost going under as he did. His legs were slow and heavy and his hands were weak, but he managed to keep his head above the water and, when he looked up to the two alarmed faces of the now obviously worried teens, he smiled weakly and said "I-I can try.."

The girl and boy exchanged doubtful looks with each other, but the boy let out a loud sigh from his nose and threw half the rope down into the crevice. Stiles made his way to the dangling brown line of freedom and grasped onto it as tightly as he could, hugging it to his chest possessively and looking up at the two teens with wide eyes.

"Don't worry, we're holding the other end down." The boy said, nodding down to him as a confirmation to continue.

Stiles nodded back quickly and started pulling himself out of the water. It was taking him a lot more effort than he'd thought it actually would and by the time he had made it past his hips, he was out of breath and his hands were trembling as they tried to keep hold of the rope. He could feel heat on his face, he knew he was about to cry and the frustration of it all made him whimper pathetically into his hands. "He can't make it."

Stiles looked up to see the girl taking off her jacket as she stood over the edge of the crevice. She smiled down at Stiles kindly and leaned over the edge "I'm coming in there to get you, okay? You need to let go."

Stiles gave her a panicked stare, looking to the boy instead. He nodded again in that way that shouldn't be, but somehow was reassuring "Let go, it's okay."

Slowly, Stiles slipped back into the water and the boy disappeared from the edge. The girl walked a bit to the side before she hopped down into the water herself with a splash. She remerged moments later and swam over to him, wrapping her arms around his tiny torso and giving him a friendly smile "So, what's your name?"

"S-Stiles.." The heat of her body was seeping into his own, he hadn't noticed he'd been so cold until now.

"Well, hello Stiles. I'm Laura, and my brother there is Derek." She said, looking up. Stiles did likewise and saw Derek leaning over the edge again, giving a little half wave.

"I have the rope secured. You should hurry up and get him out of there." Derek called somewhat impatiently.

"Sir, Yes sir." Laura called back, grinning when Derek frowned at her. She looked to Stiles with that same grin "He's such a sourwolf, don't you think?"

Stiles couldn't help but smile, especially when Derek looked so grumpy over it. They both had a quiet little laugh about it as Laura positioned Stiles so that he could hold on to her while she climbed the rope. It was all over so quickly after that. Suddenly, Stiles was back on flat, solid ground again, sopping wet and wearing Dereks dry jacket instead of his own soaked one. They started on their way to Derek and Laura's house – which took a lot more than twenty minutes to get to, which made Stiles wonder if Derek had ran the entire way there – Derek eventually ended up piggy-backing Stiles because of his shaky legs and, when they got there, they were rushed by adults who wanted to know what the hell happened. They, of course, explained what had gone on. Derek and Laura's parents were completely understanding and offered Stiles some dry cloths and some hot chocolate before they drove him home.

"Thank you." Derek was the first to look up, the first to lock gazes with Stiles. Laura looked up next and met Stiles gaze after Derek had gotten flustered with the gratitude in the boy's stare and looked away. She simply smiled and said "You're welcome."

After everything had calmed down, Stiles reverted back to how he was every day. A hyperactive chatterbox and Derek was his plan of attack. Laura was easy to talk with, but Stiles seemed more content with talking at Derek, who rarely replied. Instead, Derek just generally looked flustered and uncomfortable with him. Stiles ended up staying a whole two hours while his cloths were in the wash with the excuse that his dad wouldn't be happy if he didn't come home wearing them. When asked if his dad knew where he was or if he was worried he wasn't home, he simply replied that his dad doesn't worry – he's too busy to.

When it was finally time for him to go, it was obvious he didn't want to by the crushed look on his face "Can Derek come for the ride?"

Everyone looked at Derek, who looked at Stiles. Stiles would find, years later, it was actually pretty funny watching the wolfs expression as his resolve crumbled right before him. Stiles had some pretty wicked puppy dog eyes when he wanted to. "… Sssure."

"Woopie!" Stiles cheered.

He gave Laura a hug and waved goodbye to Dereks dad and uncle and got into the car with Derek and his mom. The entire ride home, he talked at Derek, except for when his mom needed directions, and Derek sometimes talked back. When they pulled up into Stiles empty drive way, Stiles voice faded and he looked up at the dark windows with a frown, that tired feeling creeping its way back into every part of his being. With a weary sigh, Stiles looked over to Dereks mom and smiled as brightly as he could muster "Thanks Mrs. Hale for being so cool!"

The tad of concern that had appeared was washed off of the woman's face with a chuckle "Not a problem, Stiles. It was nice having you over, though I hope you don't make a habit of falling into holes in the ground now."

"'Course not, ma'am!" He chirped up, causing her to smile even more.

Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned in between the two front seats to grab Derek for a hug. The older boy was stiff and awkward, but did return the gesture at least. Pulling back, Stiles smile seemed twice as bright as he stared down Derek "Thank you for saving me Derek! You're a really cool guy, I hope I get to talk to you again sometime!"

Derek just stared at him, only able to muster a weak "Y-Yeah…"

"Bye Mrs. Hale, Bye Derek!" Stiles said getting out of the car.

"Bye… Stiles." Stiles managed to hear Derek say just before he closed the door.

He watched as the car pulled out of his drive way and felt a hollowness in his gut as he watched them drive away from his house.

Leaving him. Now Derek was gone too.

Stiles went inside and went to bed early that evening and cried.

It was years later now and, as Stiles sat on the stairs to the Hale house with his chin in his hand, he found everything so very strange. Derek was arguing with Scott as usual and Stiles was just there, as usual. He never thought he'd be here though – not here as in the werewolf thing, I mean, who ever thinks they'll be there? – here at the Hale house, all these years later, he was here. He still remembered Laura's smiling face, looking so kindly at him. Derek's mother and father questioning him like good concerned parents should and Peter, who had just looked amused and normal. Really actually normal and nice. He remembers the house as it used to look, how it felt like such a home and how Stiles had felt so safe – most of all, he remembers Derek. Awkward, flustered, young Derek. Before everything, before the fire. Stiles had felt so bad for him all those years ago, when he'd first found out about if from his dad. When he went searching for him and Laura after it, though, they had already run off. Stiles was sure, after that, he would never see Derek Hale again.

And then, there he was.

Standing there, in the forest, Derek was there. Stiles met his gaze, looked for any sort of recognition, but then Derek threw Scott his inhaler and turned and walked away – like he'd never seen Stiles in his life. Stiles knew it was stupid of him to feel hurt, he'd only ever interacted with the guy that one time before that moment. Still, he was hurt, and so he acted as if he'd never talked to Derek before that moment either. Every time they met, there was tension. Every time they talked, they hit each other's buttons. Every single time. Stiles wasn't sure if he did it on purpose and he wasn't sure if they actually hated each other or had some kind of unsteady truce that bordered on an actual friendship. All he knew was that, when he got around Derek, he couldn't think straight. All he knew was, he just wanted to go back to that day, all those years ago. When Derek didn't look at him with aggression, but bewilderment. When Derek made him feel safe, not threatened. He'd really liked that Derek, he wanted to talk to that Derek again.

"Stupid, sourwolf."

"What did you say?"

Stiles head snapped up and he looked at Derek and Scott, whom had stopped their bickering to look at him. Scott looked surprised, confused and very vaguely amused. Derek just looked angry, but when didn't he? Stiles just looked back and forth between the two wolves staring at him and swallowed nervously "… D-Did I say that out loud?"

"Yes." Derek replied instantly. There's a look in his eyes that Stiles catches, he knows he hit a chord. Just like the last time he'd used that nickname.

Raising his hands in the motion of surrender, Stiles ducks his head "Sorry, my bad."

"Why did you even say it then." Derek snaps.

"What does it matter? It's not the issue here!" Scott butts in "Are you going to help me, or not?"

Derek holds Stiles gaze a moment longer before turning back to Stiles with an equal amount of hostility "If you'll listen, then I'll teach you. Will you listen?"

"Yes." Came Scott's quick reply.

"Then meet me here, tonight." Derek ordered, walking towards his house. Stiles made sure to shuffle back as Derek fixed him with a hard stare.

Once the door was closed, there was a momentary silence before Stiles got up off the steps with an enthusiastic stretch "Well, alright! Looks like I won't have to tie you up with chains this full moon!"

"That's if he can teach me." Scott reminded.

Stiles groaned "Do you always have to ruin the moment?"

They walked back to the jeep and hopped in, driving out of the Hale house driveway and Stiles couldn't help but look at the rear-view mirror at the shrinking house behind him and imagining it like it use to be, with three figures standing on the front steps on an autumn day. Waving goodbye.