Friday night.
Friday nights always have a way of creeping up on Stiles.
While he would like to say that he loves curling up in front of the television watching Friday night primetime, or kicking back with an online RPG, it gets to a point where he can't lie to himself anymore: he has nothing better to do.
Before, he and Scott would get together and play video games, or watch horrible sci-fi movies, or perhaps, if it was warm enough, sleep out in that old tent with too many holes in the backyard.
Now?
Now Scott has a girlfriend that he may or may not be broken up with.
Scott: his adorable, dumb-as-a-brick puppy of a friend managed to get himself a girlfriend way above his caliber, and Stiles is a little – okay, who is he kidding? – very unhappy about it. Jealous? Extremely. There are too many conflicting feelings he has about Scott these days, and he can't help but feel like maybe he's a horrible friend because he's not completely happy for him. Sometimes, that thought alone can spiral Stiles into a depression.
But tonight? Tonight's bout of self-deprecation was a week in the making.
The news of the party spread like wildfire throughout the school. It was hosted by RJ Ferrera, a senior, who was also on the lacrosse team and didn't hide the fact that he barely tolerates Stiles.
RJ's family was 'Jackson Whittemore rich', and like Jackson, he flaunted it. All of his parties (there were usually at least two a year) were stellar, they were talked about for months after the fact. Something crazy always happened, but usually crazy in a good way, except for that one last year that ended with a girl and a liquor bottle doing some unmentionable things on a coffee table. That girl ended up moving away. But aside from that, kids would sell their first born to get an invite to one of RJ's parties.
Because you don't just show up. You get invited. There's no way around it. Unless you're someone's plus one: no-go.
Up until this year, Stiles could always rely on Scott to not be invited with him, but apparently things change when all of a sudden your best friend becomes super awesome at lacrosse, gets a hottie girlfriend, and actually starts getting along with Jackson Whittemore, not that Stiles isn't getting along with Jackson Whittemore, he is, a little. Ever since becoming a full-fledged werewolf, Jackson has actually toned down his rage towards Stiles, surprising everyone, especially Stiles. In fact, all the little werepuppies have been treating Stiles with a little more respect. Not that he's complaining.
But managing to get invited to one of the biggest parties of the year despite being friends with Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and the-newest-hottie-to-hit-the-radar Erica or even Isaac (because let's face it, Isaac suddenly showed up with those crushing baby blues and curls that has all the girls, a maybe some guys swooning)? Well, it's not in the cards for one Stiles Stilinski. But it's okay, he wasn't expecting to. At least, that's what he tells himself.
All of his friends were invited – well, except for maybe Boyd, but he's going with Erica anyway, so he fulfills the "plus one" – but Stiles, Stiles can't help but feel envious. And he knows, that maybe, just maybe, if he lets his feelings known, Isaac might take pity on him and let him tag along, but that involves pity, and that's something Stiles will never allow. Pity and Stiles are not friends, and never will be. So he shuts his mouth and tells himself he never wanted to go to a stupid party anyway.
And if he may have let it slip to Scott that no, he's not going because he's got "something to do" and that he wasn't even invited, well, it goes over Scott's head. But it's okay, really.
Who is Stiles kidding? Not himself, that's for sure.
Friday night.
This Friday night found Stiles barking commands into a headset for a freakin' heal while he keysmashed every attack he had available. And if he thought he sounded a little like Derek Hale, well, he was all by himself, so no one would ever know.
Logging off after being yelled at by his guild master for being a dick, Stiles spun his chair around, not expecting to find a certain sour wolf sitting on his window sill.
"Oh my God! Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"
"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Derek grumbles, ignoring Stiles' sudden exclamation.
"Uhh… I live here, Derek. What the hell are you doing here? In my room? Climbing through my window?"
"Why aren't you at the party?"
"Wha- what party?! How do you know about a party?"
"The whole pack is there. You're not. Why?" Derek was staring Stiles down while he tried to come up with a quick excuse, but all that tumbled out was:
"Maybe I wanted to stay home and eat some amazing pasta salad and play WoW. I don't have to go to some stupid party if I don't feel like it, you know. I have friends that enjoy my company on Friday nights. Sure, they might live across the country, but it's not really my fault I selected a realm on the wrong coast. It was suggested to me."
"Stiles…" Derek growled.
"What, Derek?"
"Why. Aren't you. At the party?"
"I already told you: I started a new character, and leveling my human rogue is way more interesting than some shindig," Stiles says flippantly. He knows he's lying. He also knows Derek knows, but he knows if you keep telling yourself a lie, you'll eventually believe it.
Derek crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.
"And that's why you just logged off."
"Listen, I don't have to explain myself to a criminal with a penchant for sneaking into underage boys' rooms at night," Stiles snaps.
He knows he hits a nerve. Derek's eyes flash red, and he knows that he only has himself to blame. His bad mood was the culprit. Stiles readies himself to be thrown against a wall, only it never happens. Derek huffs and looks to the floor, quietly turns around and heads back to the window.
Stiles sighs.
"I wasn't invited," he mumbles. He hates himself for it. He hates that saying it aloud makes it real. He hates that on some desperate level he wants people to know that he's upset by this, but too prideful to let his feelings known.
He knows Derek heard him.
Derek stops and slowly turns. His eyebrows are knotted in what Stiles thinks might be confusion, but Stiles isn't really sure since Derek doesn't usually have any other expressions except mild discontent and anger.
"You weren't invited?"
"Yes, caveman, I wasn't invited, and – whatever." Stiles flops down on his bed at stares up at his ceiling. Maybe if he doesn't see Derek, he can believe he's just talking to himself. "These kinds of parties you get invited to. There's no way around it, RJ always has some sort of security detail going on, and he always knows when someone has managed to sneak in."
"Couldn't you have gone with someone?" Derek asks, clearly not knowledgeable with RJ Ferrera's soirees.
"Maybe, but considering the guy hosting the party hates me more than you on a bad day, I don't think it matters whether someone took me or not."
"I don't hate you," Derek confesses.
"Aww… Thanks, Sourwolf," Stiles replies with all the sarcasm he can muster, "but I did say 'on a bad day' like when you're feeling extra bitchy and growl-y and throwing me into walls and stuff."
Derek takes a deep breath and decides to sit in the desk chair, still warm from Stiles' body heat.
"So, you're just going to sit here and mope, and play some online games all night?"
"You know, I think that's one of the longest sentences you've ever said to me, and yes, sans moping, I'm not moping."
"You're moping."
Stiles sits up, face flaring a slightly unattractive, angry red.
"Alright, I'm mildly despondent that all my friends are having a blast at one of the best getups of the year, and I wasn't invited. Happy?"
"Who said they're having a blast?" Derek asks.
"Oh come on! Really? Tonight will be history, and who will never be there to witness it? This guy." Stiles jerks his thumbs back to point at himself.
"And after high school who will care?"
Stiles groans.
"It's not about after high school. It's about the right now. While I'm in high school."
"One day you'll realize high school wasn't everything."
"God, you sound like my dad…" Stiles moans.
"Please don't ever say that again."
"Did – did you just say 'please'?" Stiles sputters, incredulity all over his face.
Derek looks unamused.
Stiles flops back down on the bed.
"You know, if your intent was to cheer me up, you're doing a horrible job."
"I think you're more important to your friends than you realize."
"I never said I didn't think I was unimportant," Stiles grumbles, staring at his ceiling.
"You were thinking it, Stiles. I've spent too much time down that road to know the signs."
Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words, the admission freezing his tongue, but spiraling his thoughts out of control.
Derek stays. He doesn't say a word, just never vacates the desk chair, but Stiles isn't sure he's upset over it. In a way, he figures, this is the best Derek can do when it comes to consoling. Not that he really feels like he needs consoling, but Stiles just lays there on his bed and has a sneaking feeling that neither of them really know how to continue the conversation. As seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to even more minutes, Stiles realizes it gotten to the point where the silence isn't uncomfortable.
He isn't sure how much time passes, he wasn't really aware of the clock to begin with, but Stiles starts hearing car door slams and chatter, and he worries for a moment that his dad might be home, but it feels too early, and Derek would surely be making his way to the window, but he isn't. There's a knock at the front door and Derek just tosses him a sly smirk.
He's greeted by eight familiar faces, but is surprised to see every single one, especially Danny, who, yeah they've been spending more time together via wolf pack, but never expected to see standing on his stoop with said wolf pack in tow.
"Wha-? What's going on guys?"
They're all still wearing their party clothes. Lydia in a sexy black number with Jackson at her heels in some nice slacks and a blazer, Erica with her boobs of doom busting out of her low-cut corset, and even Isaac and Scott fancied up. He's starting to feel a little underdressed in his pajama pants and tee shirt, but Lydia shoves past him making her way to the living room.
Stiles sputters, hoping someone will give him an answer to his unasked questions.
"RJ Ferrera is a douche bag," Erica pipes, like this is sufficient.
Jackson looks especially vexed, and Stiles is pretty sure it's because Jackson doesn't want to be anywhere near here, but the whole pack pushes their way past Stiles like he invited them all in, and Stiles is left standing at the door and wondering what the hell just happened.
"Yeah, but everyone knows that, so what are you doing at my house?" Stiles tries again.
"Well, it's kind of a funny story," Isaac starts, but the smirk is wiped completely off his face by a particularly vehement look from Jackson.
Erica continues for him, clearly not scared of the newest beta.
"You see, there we were drinking, talking, having a good time…" Stiles knows she's rubbing it in because she's a bitch (literally).
Allison cuts her off. "But we noticed there was something missing."
"Yeah…?" Stiles has no idea where this is going because even though he's very intelligent, no one can call him smart.
"It was you dumbass."
Stiles' head spins to find Jackson looking increasingly uncomfortable. There are a couple of chuckles from various pack members, and Jackson crosses his arms and tries to look haughty.
Stiles is still speechless, turning to look at all his friends pleading with his eyes for someone to explain what's going on.
"So that's when I asked Scott where you were and why you weren't there," Allison explains.
"And this idiot," Erica points her thumb at Scott, "said you had something better to do. Now what could possibly be better than going to an RJ Ferrera party?" She's looking at Stiles with an eyebrow raised, clearly looking for an answer.
"And that's when it hit me," Lydia starts, "I know RJ, and I know he doesn't like you," Stiles shifts his eyes downward, "so it wouldn't surprise me if he didn't invite you at all."
And that's Lydia, always there to make Stiles feel smaller than the smallest speck of dust.
"And that's where Jackson comes in!" Isaac exclaims. "He storms up to RJ and is like, 'did you invite Stilinski?' and RJ's like, 'why would I do that?' and Jackson lost it. I thought he was going to rip him apart."
"What?" Stiles is completely baffled. Jackson? Standing up for him?
Isaac continues, "We all thought he was going to shift right there. He was so mad."
"But Boyd came in and saved the day," Erica coos while sitting on Boyd's lap. They had made themselves comfortable on the couch.
"And Jackson's all…" Danny pauses and puffs out his chest in what Stiles thinks might be the best impression of Jackson yet, "'whatever, this party sucks anyway' and tells us we're all leaving."
"And we made our way over here," Allison finishes. "I hope you don't mind, but we also ordered pizza."
"Uh—no. No. Pizza's good. I like pizza," Stiles squeaks out. He looks around and finds nine people staking claim to various places in his living room and wondering how this all happened. Two years ago, it would have just been Scott and him in front of that TV, but today, there's ten because Derek made his way downstairs.
And he thinks this might be the best Friday he's ever had.
It's almost two o'clock when his Dad parks his car in front of the house, seeing as there was no room in the driveway. He had stopped by the diner to get a quick bite, to find Toby, Vito's pizza delivery boy sitting at the counter.
"Hey Sheriff, long night?" the waitress asks.
"Yeah, we got an anonymous tip about underage drinking at a party and had to break it up tonight," the Sheriff sighs, sitting his weary bones on a stool.
"Not the one at your own house, I hope," Toby snickers.
The Sheriff is caught off guard; Stiles doesn't have parties.
"What?" he barks, not intending to sound so gruff.
"Uh, yeah, we got a call around 11-ish for 6 pizzas to be delivered to your house. There were like, four cars in the driveway." Toby starts to panic. "Okay, so maybe not a party, but more like a get together? Yeah, a small gathering of people: a get together!"
"Lisa, I'm taking this food to go."
Sheriff Stilinski recognizes most of the cars in the driveway, but is especially surprised to see a black Camaro among them.
Fitting his key in the lock, and opening the door, he definitely was not expecting the sight he was seeing.
Scott and Allison curled up in his recliner, the Whittemore boy and Miss Martin cuddling on the loveseat with another boy with dark hair sitting on the floor head falling back resting on the Whittemore boy's thigh. And his couch was a mess of bodies. The blonde girl, he thinks might be named Erica lying across four bodies: a big black guy who maybe goes to school with them, but he's not sure and the Lahey boy next to him. And next to Isaac Lahey is his son, head propped on Derek Hale's shoulder, mouth hanging open and drooling.
Derek Hale.
How the hell he fit into this picture, the Sheriff isn't really sure, but he can't say they don't all
look comfortable snoozing in front of his TV.
Shaking his head and walking to the kitchen, he helps himself to some left over pizza and makes his way up the stairs to his room. He knows he should wake the kids so their parents don't worry, but he thinks he should change into more civilian, "dad" clothes so he doesn't terrify them.
The Sheriff hops down the stairs quietly and gently ruffles Stiles hair.
"Hey, son, I think it's time you say goodnight to your friends."
Stiles mumbles in agreement and slowly wipes the drool from his cheek only to snap-to and quickly looks to Derek, who's now awake and looking at his shoulder in disgust, and back to his dad.
"We can talk about this later."
One by one they get up and stretch and head to the door. Stiles asks repeatedly if they're ok to drive since they were just sleeping 5 minutes ago, and they all nod and make their way outside.
Stiles is standing in the doorway watching Scott and Danny get in Scott's car since Danny's on his way home, and Allison gets in with Jackson and Lydia since Allison can't be seen being dropped off by Scott, and Derek and his little werepups pile into his Camaro when Lydia calls back to Stiles.
"So next Friday I'm not paying for the pizzas."
And it's a promise that Stiles will find 6 werewolves and other 3 humans strewn across his living room next Friday, and he knows: this was definitely the best Friday he's ever had.